Tunga Asked, "Do You Watch All the Games?" Yes, I Do. I Try to Keep Track of the World Cup, It Is One Way of Explaining the World (the Good, the Bad, and the In-Between)

I know my high school had a soccer team, and I remember going to my first game when they made it to regional championship my senior year...I was a Northstar and I had spirit for the class of 1990. But I don't think I ever kicked a soccer ball in my life.

Brown School had a soccer team and I loved it, because it was co-ed (at the time) and included the super-diversity of our school. Didn't understand the sport, but respected it. Louisville/Syracuse/Kentucky basketball held my attention more.

Football, as a universal sport, however, didn't make sense to me until I worked with Abu, Bior, Muhammad, Werdi, Edem, Kanyea, Lossine, Akech, and all their teammates in Syracuse. They helped me understand the spirituality of the sport, and its history, and from that point on I was convert. Yes, I love college basketball, but through listening to the brilliance of young people, I learned the faith of fandom and how much soccer really DOES matter. 

Bring on Ted Lasso. Soccer, football, is storytelling. World Cup is a narrative. The Olympics are part of the story. Athletes continue to be amazing.

In the years I taught back and forth in Denmark, I also remember that the football matches were like a religion, and listening to fans helped me to get a grasp of what this meant. It was there I realized, "Crandall, why have you missed out so much on this sport?" 

The boys, obviously, taught me more. 

I get it now. The passion, the drive, the inclusivity (and exclusivity), and the reason why the game universally unites (and divides) nations. 

This is why I now watch the World Cup, sir. When I was doing research in Syracuse, I remember vividly how the games made classes stop in their place. A school of many nations, these games represented home, culture, drive, and intentionality. Teaching was attempted during the games, but the kids were following an alternative literacy lesson. It was sort of like NCAA tournament time (the madness) and how it was impossible to get many to concentrate on academics when a game was being played. 

Reading Warren St. John's Outcasts United  brought me closer to the universal language of kicking a ball on a field, too - what it means for a global village (and the millions of people we tend overlook). I was easily hooked, and although the U.S.A. has not been a powerhouse until the women's team began rocking it in recent years, I think more and more people will join the phenomenon. Reading Franklin Foer made it clear. 

I'm a convert. So, yes, I do watch all the games...and I learn from them with admiration and respect. 

From a Writer's Notebook (2006). We Were Playing with Shape Poems so I Wrote Around MY HANDS & I've Always Wanted to Translate from Composition to a Digital Platform

Reading Torrey Maldonado's Hands that will be coming out in 2023, I remembered I had a poem by the same title and searched my Brown School notebooks in search of it. Found it. And with that, another day commences.

These hands are marked.

They’ve been blistered by good intentions

and pushing the rock upon Kentucky hills & New York State highways.
They’ve layered brick & tile
upon concrete, lifted fallen trees
into sawdust epiphanies.
They’ve pushed aside dust
into piles of forgotten yesterdays.
The blisters eventually popped
causing callousness & walls around the soul.

I am thicker today than I was yesterday... ...a little bit wider - more cautious
of the sculptures I create & relate
to what I’ve destroyed

from a lily pad.
Another palmed creation
sparkling in bedazzled stupidity.
My humility has sunk below
& sits aglow before koi,
catfish, & worms.
These ideas squirm from synapse to synapse, with the momentary lapses in fluidity.
At the tips of my fingers are dreams
& it seems as if they wanted to burst, shooting stars across liquid landscapes.
Yet, they struck & stuck by
the lack of luck in all my fortunate.
I am rich & have a world
in the center of my palm.
Stay calm.

PURPOSE. DOUBT. CREATION. INTEGRITY. SOUL.

METAMORPHOSIS. BIRTH. JOURNEY. WONDER. DEATH.

Traffic Not a Total Nightmare La La La La La La La La., Fa Both the Trees Are Standing Up Now, Fa La La La La La La La La.

Sunday was for trees. Fake trees. Hand me down trees. Karal and I put ours up and then we went to Stamford for Chitunga's, that was conveniently stored in my basement. Pam and I were invited for brunch, but when we got there, we put up the tree, and he suggested he wanted to help Pam put up her tree, so back to Milford we went, stopping to get Ambrosia bread for sandwiches and heading to the attic for the mermaid-themed white tree, World Cup soccer, and a Jacksonville upset of the Baltimore Ravens. 

I don't think anyone wants to return to work. We're ready for holiday mood until the new year arrives. I could easily sit and watch television under a blanket for the next four weeks, all while staring at the lights glittering above Karal. Work, of course, gets in the way of this. Screw work.

We also went for a walk at Wavenly Park in New Canaan, known for stowing cars after a crime has been done and for the occasional disposed body. Pam has the most wonderful trivia for afternoon walks.

I spoke too soon about the lights. Of course a strand lost its twinkle after the first night in the bay window yesterday. It needs to be replace - this, after my tap dancing last night.

Phew. Tunga's got a pencil tree. It is fun seeing him put up his own ornaments with his own traditions. He has a good apartment, and I wish Karal could come with me when I visit. 

And then there was tree (#3). Pam's tree is beautiful with its aquatic theme. At one point, I asked her, "Hey, I thought this tree was wider than this," and Chitunga laughed to say, "It can't get any whiter, Dad." Her tree is snow-white with sea ornaments, whales, starfish, mermaids, jellyfish, and seahorses. It's perfect for her beach condo. 

I'm just glad we all got into the season and now, at any space, we can put our feet up for hot cocoa and Christmas Carols. More importantly, we can enjoy one another's company - that is most important. 

Jake is recovering from his ACL surgery and permanently in his bed (well, he's supposed to be, and now he has a glow stick to keep him entertained. 

So there you have it....three trees, three homes, three supporting roles in one another's lives.....two resting dogs....and total procrastination on facing Monday for what it will likely bring...ugh.

But it really is the most wonderful time of the year. The older I get, the more I soak it all in. 

Garfield was always right. @#$@#$ Mondays. 

No One Wants These Pies, So I've Cut a Deal with the Devil to Pacify My Guilt. I Will Eat One Piece of Each & Then (Sadly) Throw Them Away

This was definitely the Thanksgiving for desserts. Five pies were left behind, as well as Kaitlyn's Pecan, bourbon shortcake bars (which I refuse to share with others - it is my daily treat until they are gone). Even so, I started to feel bad that all of these pieces only had a slice taken from them. I sent two home with Chitunga, and the others I promised I'd at least taste before I dumped them.

And trust me...I've been calling around to see who I could share these desserts with. I don't want them in the house because they whisper seductive thoughts in my ears, like the apple pie did last night, "How about you heat me up a little, warm me, and mix me with rum & raisins before slurping me from a bowl?"

Okay. I did. I wanted to get rid of rum-raising ice cream, too. One slice of heated pie, one bowl of ice cream, and a day of high-fiving myself. I readied Mt. Pleasant for Christmas. 

Decorating the house took all day, even with watching the World Cup matches. I am still knocking on wood, because all the lights worked. That's a first. Tree is up, decorations traded with usual fixtures in the home, and the bounty of gifts I bought last year on clearance that I forgot about. Bonus.

Rumor is it will be a crappy day, so I can start getting my head wrapped around the last few weeks of the semester...just 3 more weeks left.

They all fly by and blur together, anyway.

Ah, here's to your Sunday. I'm feeling rather good that so much was accomplished yesterday.

Fact: I Never See the Movies I'm Supposed to See, but 32 Years Later, On the Kid's 27th, Well, I Had the Opportunity to Catch Up (on a holiday film, anyway)

Yes, I've never see Home Alone. It came out in 1990, and that was the year I graduated high school, so when it came out, it was my first year returning from college to celebrate Christmas. I left Binghamton University and immediately returned to my job at Kaufman's, acting as a replacement, or custodian, or stock person. I was likely battling lake effect snow, friendships, family, and 2nd semester dreams, too. Going to Penn-Can or Great Northern for a film was  not on the radar.

I knew of the film, had all the pop-cultural references to go with it, but never sat down to watch it. Chitunga would be born 5 years later. Funny to think it is older than he is.

Last night, at the 27th year of his life in the 50th (going on 51st) of my own, we did a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers and, because of his phone, watched Home Alone, as he air-played it onto a television set...this after watching It's a Wonderful Life (I'm sure both were available on cable somewhere)

I think that is special, and I was twisted and turned by time, age, and the endlessness of laughter and humor that came from his giggles, my memories, and the fact another Christmas season is upon us.

Truth is, much has followed the child actor, and I supposed tabloid television let me know the tragedy of such a cute kid. His screams were famous, but his adulthood rather tragic. Phew. Who lived in such a large house in Chicago in 1990? Who could afford a Christmas trip to France at the time? That wasn't my childhood, but somehow it appealed to the generation I grew up in. 

The iron-burned face of a burglar. Classic. 

A story told through the eyes of a...beautiful.

 I can now say I've seen this move finally, but it took a while. I'm no better or worse from seeing it, but I'm definitely turkey-fatigued and love being trapped in a house, heat turned up with blankets, and knowing it is a-okay to chill out for an evening. This is bliss, no matter where we are in life....a perfect way to spend a Friday night.

Well, Then Comes the 27th Year (Snap of Fingers, Just Like That). Wasn't I Just 27? I Swear I Was. Seriously, Though...I Could Not Be Prouder

I'm not supposed to celebrate the kid on social media...as outward and social as I am, he is introverted and careful. It's all good, though, because love is love, and I love how much this kid has accomplished in the last ten years, and the man he had become/is becoming. 

27 years old today. Doesn't seem possible. A Masters degree, his own apartment in Stamford, two work offices, and a zest for hiking, reading, thinking, bourbon, and now, perhaps, snowboarding -- his new winter board is in my garage stored for days when the snow arrives (along with golf clubs, footballs, weights, & other clutter he doesn't want in his space when he's not using it.. 

This photo was taken in Lake Placid while enjoying Eric & Rhiannon's wedding. 

Yesterday, though, we hosted Thanksgiving and had a feast, but the highlight found new traditions, because both Kaitlyn & Dominic AND Patrick & Stephanie have newborns and they joined us for the gravy. It changed the entire dynamic in beautiful ways, including the calm of holding them and sitting still while watching the World Cup and American football games.

I'm celebrating Tunga today, and trying to avoid Kaitlyn's pecan, bourbon shortcake bars, which keep calling my name no matter what room I am in. They are so frickin' good. I successfully did not have one for breakfast; instead, I had a slice of apple pie.

We'll see if we can have an adventure today for the kid (well, man) and find a way to bring all these desserts somewhere less tempting than my kitchen. 

Happy Birthday, Chitunga! You're wings have always been meant to soar. So, so proud. 

This Morning, I'm Warming My Heart, Mind, & Soul, with Thanks to Many, especially @easms for Gifting Me with Maple Toddy Black Tea from @TheCulturedCup

Last night, my house smelled like smoky peppercorns, salt, sugar, orange peel, and herbs as I prepped the turkey brine (btw, that's how they said my name in Kentucky). Inhaling this smell accompanied a crisp day and it acted as a reminder that this morning would be a day for giving thanks. 

I awoke, and said, "Okay, Crandall. Check out the tea diffuser you bought so you can finally taste the maple, toddy-black tea Ellen Shelton sent from the University of Mississippi." 

This was a gift mailed after I slid into year 50 with a hernia, stabbed eye, Covid, snapped ankle, and an eight inch wound on the back of my head. I fell out of a bathtub right before presenting with her (and several other brilliant mentors) at NCTEAR. This deliciousness comes from The Cultured Cup, and I must admit, it is as aromatic as last night's brine (what? did you call me?). I'm an upstate NY kid, so maple is one of my favorite flavors, and anything having to do with Toddy...well. That's easy. (Hmmm....actually, if I brew more of this and mix with bourbon and a little sugar, I think I might have a new evening cocktail).

And soon...around 4.5 hours after it gets in the oven, my house will smell like the once-a-year Mt. Pleasant turkey (no, not my armpits. Brine, you stink). 

I've only lost myself twice in front of students (and an additional time during my dissertation defense). Like Wendy Kohli, a philosopher who I worked with when I first started at Fairfield, I sometimes inform people I'm a leaker when I have to talk about what is beautiful. The work is never easy, and when someone cares to ask why you do what you do (which is rare), the emotions come quickly. When I told my students I was leaving the Brown School in 2007 (yes, right after Harold & Maude...there's something wrong with me), I couldn't get the words out. All my years at that school poured out of me as I did - the passion, the history, the love, the difficulties, and the joy of what is possible when someone envisions a great school. I was a sobbing mess.

At my dissertation event, when a reviewer asked a question about why this subject, these boys, and my ability to represent their voices, I turned my head and regrouped, because the tears came quickly. "If the world was an equitable, fair, and kind place," I said. "I wouldn't have to defend their literacies and greatness...they'd be here to do it for themselves."

Then Tuesday night, after a week with NCTE, my YA lit course happened to be an evening where everyone read books that featured immigrant and/or refugee stories. 

I learned from Penguin Random House that a new YA biography is coming out about a woman who is an unmet hero of mine, Luma Mufleh, and as I worked with refugee communities in Syracuse, another text written about her by Warren St. John, became a textbook of sorts. Luma Mufleh amazes me - her drive is unmatched. When I shared that all this work is in memory of James A'kech Mungui from Louisville, a Sudanese man who was murdered in the U.S. after all those years he survived the war in his own country as a child, and I alluded to the NYTimes article From Hell to Fargo, which began my desire to volunteer with relocated refugee "Lost Boys," and shared how I used to teach a movie where Ger Duany played a coincidence, then vetted a book for Penguin Random House, only to be asked to write an educator's guide for them with Abu Bility years later, then hosted him at my house with Jessica and William right after the grasp of Covid....

Well, the slide that came next with pictures of some of the young men from Syracuse who quickly became parts of my life as teenage readers and writers, and who are now, well, men with careers, I lost myself. I choked up. I couldn't get words out. 

Coincidence. 

And I knew that Abu & Lossine were going to drop into the ZOOM and tell their story, which they did, and then they shared all the books I've given them over the years, and how they have them in their own classrooms (both are teaching at Syracuse Academy of Science now)....well, you can understand. If you can't understand, I highly recommend you look into global history, the brutality of imperialism and post-colonialism in African nations, and the conditions many, many people live with in refugee camps there, and all around the world.

This summer, too, will be the 10th year of Ubuntu Academy - and we can approximate the program has served almost 300 immigrant and refugee youth since 2014. It's a lot.

But I'm thankful. Why? Because all I've invested into this work, is because so, so, so many have invested in me...including Ellen Shelton and everyone in the National Writing Program. It's the students I taught in room 301 on the 1st and Muhammad Ali, the brilliance of my own educators (especially Carole Boyce Davies), the endless investments of Sue McV, the wonderful colleagues across the nation who I read, listen to, study, and admire, and my friends who have always found a way to keep me laughing, enjoying life, and remembering the important stuff. 

And then there's family....Mimi Sue, Papi Butch, the older sister and the younger one, their families, my cousins, aunts, and uncles....all the dogs of today and yesterday, the niece and the nephews, & the boys who have folded into our lives seamlessly, with love & humor, and incredible achievements that simply are hard to believe. 

It's hard not to be thankful (especially since I'm drinking this delicious tea, Ellen). And I know this day comes with controversy and I remain thankful to those who bring forward the multiple truths that they know (and that question those single stories). 

A day of thanks is healthy. And nothing feels better than appreciating those we love. 

Husky & Juice - a Bedtime Story Told to Karal Lynne Crandall (Karalvan) on the Night the University Classes Shut Down & He Could Concentrate on Thankfulness & Turkey

Settle down, puppies. Curl up on the couch where you're not supposed to be, with the toy you've chewed all the stuffing from. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.

Once upon a time, there was a manic, exhausted, overcommitted human being named Bryan who, on the day the University would shut down for a while, had a graduate class. This was a man who just returned from six days at a national conference where he had to avoid university responsibilities. He returned them in stereo, and being overwhelmed, he decided he needed a walk.

"Karal," he said. "Let's go" (in which, it also must be pointed out that as he read on this out loud, he now has a dog pushing at his feet that, yes, she's ready to go, even though this is yesterday's story, being written this morning).

"Seriously, poopie-doo. Let's go," Bryan continued. 

And they went. They did their usual four mile walk, because Bryan was procrastinating, had mid-life guilt for packing on post-covid weight resulting from numerous injuries, so walking daily was an excuse to move away from the computer for a while. 

Which he did. Proudly.

The joy he felt was stupendous, but that is when a pit bull on a leash, without an owner, came running from across the street - Nichols Ave, in fact, busy with much traffic - and had to act quickly, as dogs on leashes are not predictable. Karal, who was adopted and returned 3 times in her first year of life, is definitely not predictable.

Are you girl? Are you? Keep breathing. Close your eyes. Go to sleep. It's all good.

So, Bryan, his dog on a leash, and the other dog, leashed, but without an owner, came to a quick standstill. "I just need you to stay calm, Karal," Bryan said as the dog charged before the crotch-sniffing began. It was a big dog, with even bigger testicles, and his pink tongue hit the concrete where they stood. Karal's hair stood on edge as it typically does whenever another dog comes by.

"God damn it. What the fuck is wrong with you, dog!" a woman's voice yelled from across the street. "I'm going to kill you, you fucking douchebag."

You see, Karal. Your daddy has a love for that word and sees it as a badge of honor. He loves to hear how others use it.

"You douchebag," she continued, as she fell to the ground and put her hands to her face. She started bawling, and Bryan reached to comfort her with one hand, while pulling Karal back from the stray dog wanting to mount her. "I just lost my husband, and I can't take this. I can't take this stupid dog not listening to me and always running away. I'm sending him to the pound."

She was uncontrollable, you see. Keep the eyes closed Karal.

"Well, this is the reality of owning dogs," Bryan said. "They're stupid." He remembered he had a lifetime of canine ownership and they act ridiculously. "I've always wondered how they ever survived on their own," he continued keeping one eye on the mourning woman and another on her dog who took off on her.

Her dog then decided to spring towards the soccer fields near Wooster Middle School. 

"Juice," she screamed. "Juice. Come back." 

But he took off. A new woman approached with another dog on a leash, and said, "My mother's having a hard time," and handed Bryan this dog's leash while she sprinted after Juice who seemed to want to play soccer. Bryan stood with leashes in both hands and prayed Karal didn't do Karal things (dog things) while he had this stranger's dog. Meanwhile, Juice leaped into a goal-post and tried to tear it down by shaking the net in his mouth. He just wanted to play.

"How old is Juice?" Bryan asked the woman who was still in a fetal position sobbing by his feet. Her daughter's  dog began licking her face and Karal, in response, decided it was a great time to sniff doggie butt.

Juice one years old and still having testicles didn't help. 

"I get it," Bryan said to the distressed widow. "These creatures are crazy." 

He told her about Karal's history and his patience in training her, about Baby, the dog, who loved to gallop away just out of reach when she got out and how her gallop was that of a horse. He told her about Juliet Catherine Alanis Madonna Potatohead Scrappy-Doo Houdini Olivia Dennis, too, and her night of running away only to return days later after he gave up ever seeing her again.

Well, this was good enough, because the mourning woman stood up and decided to grab her daughter's dog and run after Juice at the goal post. Bryan's dog just watched with curiosity.

Yes, Karal, that's you.

Karal was such a good dog that Bryan didn't even recognize her. The two ladies, one with a leashed dog and the other with Juice peeing on goal posts and bushes, ran away every time they got near to him. They eventually disappeared into the wood where he led them. 

Bryan said, "Okay. That was a close call. Let's go home," and they started walking only to arrive to three new women screaming at him in Spanish. One of them had a leash in her hand. A fourth woman came out of the home where they stood, and asked in English, "Do you know anyone who owns a husky. This dog just jumped in my mom's car while she was leaving" At that moment, a Giant white husky with a tremendous amount of fur jumped out of the car. Karal's hair stood up once again. This dog was beautiful. The blue eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight.

Yes, Karal. You're beautiful, too. Go to sleep. Go to sleep.

"I'd call animal control," Bryan suggested to the ladies, before they responded, "We tried, but no one answered." At that very moment, an animal patrol van came out of nowhere and pulled up to the Husky and Spanish-speaking ladies. 

And Bryan kept walking, guessing that the distressed, frantic, overly dramatic woman who lost her husband must have called Animal Control about her own dog. As the van pulled up and the warden took control of the Husky, Bryan simply thought, "Phew. This could have been us."

And this is where Karal fell asleep, knowing that she's still a pain-in-the-ass and ridiculous example of man's best friend, but at least in this story, it wasn't her being the outrageous, insane subject. She could just rest easy for this one. 

She began to snore. 

Some stories, Bryan thought, are just too true to be made up. 

At Least We Don't Have Snow, but WOW! Adapting to These Temperatures in Connecticut After a Week of Anaheim Sun Will Take Some Adjustment

I'm actually surprised I made it to 10 p.m. last night. I only slept five hours the night before and had a day of meetings on campus. I knew I wanted to walk Karal (she's been overly excited that I'm home and didn't get walks while I was away) and that I needed to stock up for Thursday's day of Thankfulness. Turkey is thawing.

When Karal and I arrived back home, and I checked the sky, I thought, "Yep. This is definitely a Fall evening." The colors of the sun setting looked like the West was ablaze in fire (which probably isn't the best, most appropriate metaphor, considering). It was beautiful, and reminded me of some of the ones I used to see in Clarksville when I lived there. I used to walk to Alice and Charlies and loved the way light burst through the branches after the trees fell and the pre-hibernal sun went to the other side of the world for a while.

I have to teach tonight and it's a day of holding my breath to get there. We're on ZOOM because too many travel away for the holiday, but it still requires getting ready. And I also have to do accounting-grant work that is way overdue. 

This is why lists and scratching out items are important.

But truth be told, all I really care about is taking time to walk the dog, enjoy the outdoors, and looking at the sky. NCTE 2022 taught me I've aged and a cross-country travel, post-Covid, is a bit much in the grand scheme of things. Yes, every second was enjoyable, but all the time at home getting things done offered a totally new perspective on life. Taking flights is like going to Walmart on a Saturday afternoon....too much for an individual to take. Not always sure it is worth the journey.

Rock it world. I'm going to try to....

Much Smoother Wing-Flapping on the Way Home and Head to Pillow by 1 a.m. - Now to Recoup, Recover, and React. There's a Turkey to be Roasted

I broke down and bought earbuds for my phone, since I left mine home. This was great, because it gave me a location to listen to six hours of audio books with my eyes closed, while flying from L.A. back to New York State. Shuttle driver to the airport was humorous, as he had me call the passengers in the other hotels because he reported his "accent was too thick." Driving in LA and NY/Connecticut is so much easier on the weekend and away from rush hour.

I haven't had a chance to reflect on what an incredible job Kristin, Rich, and Janine did in their National Parks/Outdoor writing workshop. The design was amazing, offering storytelling-sharing, resources, and opportunity to play, too. I sat in the back of the room to take it all in, and it was phenomenal. There were many in attendance and they were soaking every word in, including the wonderful student work that Janine brought to share. As context, Kristin and Rich have been leading Reading Landscapes & Writing Nature with Weir Farm National Historical Park for several years now. Janine attended these workshops twice and has brought the out-of-school learning back to her classroom, getting her kids outside and threading what was offered into ways that she and her students love. I told NWP colleagues with me in the back of the room that it is amazing to watch from a distance...to really see the impact that work has had.

The photo was sent from Kristin, and also features Fola who was there to present on another project (the collaboration between two high schools) and we were about to leave the NWP social on Friday night (many of us still digesting steak from the night before). 

Shucks. Looking at the clock, I already see the agenda for the day starting with on-campus meetings. It sort of makes my stomach churn, only because I returned from a whirlwind of travel, obligations, reunions, and presentations. I can already feel my body saying, "No more." I don't want to get sick.

But here's to the weekend ahead and the beautiful people doing the work for NCTE and beyond.

Honest Truth: Nothing Is More Important than Beautiful Relationships Built Alongside Young People. @NCTE Met with A Student from Long Ago...26 Years Later

One of the cool things about the privileges and affordances of being at a University and doing the collective work I do with K-12 youth and public school educators, is that the bonds made in the classroom are often much stronger than the pride and prestige of academic work, or the pomp and circumstance of conference presentations and publications. It is an absolute privilege to travel the country, city to city, to meet with alumni from my high school teaching days and to catch up on their excellence, their stories, and their appreciation for life so many years later. Phew. Time is something.

Truth is, I ducked out from NCTE for of couple hours on Saturday because a girl I taught from 1996-1998 settled in the LA region after taking our girls basketball team to state, then graduating from the University of Kentucky. Always an amazing student.

I was fortunate to teach in a K-12, public school dedicated to diversity, inclusivity, and individual excellence. All I've known as an educator is what is possible through human connectedness, dialogue, sharing, and support for individual achievement. Diversity. Inclusivity. Community. Always. Exclusivity is always dangerous. Bringing in voice, perspective. lived experiences, and democracy remains the top priorities for how I believe we get things done.

I was fortunate to meet her husband, too, to catch up on the last few years, and to reminisce about my first years of teaching, and the young minds that made a tremendous impact on the man I am today.

The older I get, the more cautious I become. Still, I remain stalwart for youth and the many ways they teach me about good, justice, equity, and human possibility, especially as they counter their own adversities in life. 

Love you, Nadia. Alway have. Always will. Definitely the highlight of this year's conference.

Well, Dr. Alice Hays @haysalice and I Were Being Book Nerds When We Made a Wild Connection @NCTE a Few Years Ago, So This Year We Presented the Literacy of @WGIcolorguard

Yesterday, Dr. Alice Hays and I presented at "The Intersection of Literacy, Sport, Culture, and Society" during the National Council of Teachers of English conference in Anaheim, California. Our presentation, "Sport of the Arts - Towards Equity, Justice, and Literacy through Pageantry" was an opportunity to begin theorizing, academically, the out-of-school performances by many youth who participate within Winter Guard International events. As a younger brother to a sister and an uncle to a niece who marched with the North Syracuse Winterguard (Northstars) over several years, I joke that I spent many weekends in gyms and on football fields watching performances. 

Alice and I bonded over National Writing Project work and a passion for young adult literature, which led me to learn that she performed and judges for circuits, including WGI. As a person in the audience for so many years, I felt I might get an inside view into how teams are scored, which led me to interviews with her, watching shows with her, and hearing her talk through feedback she gives teams. As a result, we started thinking about the poetry of pageantry, the ways physical movement and equipment share storytelling, and the similarities of "scoring" student writing an evaluation the genre of this particular sport. There are many parallels. I felt like I was connecting with my family's history with a deeper level of what we mean by sports, arts, and performance. Alice is a phenomenal teacher.

For our analysis, we chose to discuss Sun Lake's performance of Amanda Gorman's inaugural poem (as the spoken word piece brought poetry into showmanship). It also paralleled the conference theme very well, especially in pursuit of light. 

We created a one-pager that we discussed while participants could see the team do their job on the floor and began to theorized ways that such sport is a literacy that may be used in classrooms, especially for teachers interested in the out-of-school literacies of young people (and want to find ways to use it for in-school success).

Alice is a dream-colleague and I've loved our weekly meetings as she's talked to me and helped me to think deeper about the sport that was central to my family's lives for so many year (something I've kept up with because the storytelling through movement has always interested me). 

It's one thing to watch shows as a spectator, but listening to the brilliance and insider-knowledge of Alice's expertise, made me rethink the all the ways I've viewed the competitions I've experiences - the value system of the circuit parallels the one we uphold in literacy instruction, which is intriguing. 

I can now say that all those weekends in gyms paid off in my adult career...the brother/uncle (floor uncle...I've carried a few mats over the years) paid off. I'm hoping the to of us explore this much more and find an outlet for the work.

Anyone want to hire us to write the book about this?