Good Will Education

Matt Damon was on CNN last night and said the following about education:

"The idea that we're testing kids and we're tying teachers salaries to how kids are performing on tests, that kind of mechanized thinking has nothing to do with higher order. We're training them, not teaching them."

Holy Moses. I agree with the young Matt Damon. 100%. I'm thrilled that he said this and tens of thousands of viewers heard. I'm glad this idea has been dropped into the airwaves. (Anytime I say something similar, I'm usually in a roomful of educators/administrators who think the opposite).

But the other notable thing is that Matt Damon graduated from Cambridge Rindge and Latin School (CRLS), where I am currently a teacher. Which raises some questions:

Did he say what he said because he got the right kind of education at CRLS? Or the wrong kind?

Will he come to visit my classroom one day? Would he be pleased or disappointed?

Did I always have an unrecognized crush on Matt D., which has now turned into full-blown love?

Exchange with an Ex-Student

One of my ex-students just wrote me today. I taught him his junior year, and now he's a freshman at the University of MIssouri. Let's call him Byron. He wrote me one long paragraph, which I broke up and responded to step by step. Here it is:

BYRON: Mr. Jordan, I know it's been a while since we've talked, but i need to ask you a very important question.

MR. JORDAN: Byron, great to hear from you, and I'm honored you've asked for my advice. I'll go step by step through your email, using some fancy colors to distinguish your words from mine. That's right, I love technology, and technology loves me.

Ask me any questions, anytime. Get in touch anytime too. For years to come.

BYRON: I've been considering changing my major from Psychology to either Journalism or English, but something has been holding me back. I've always considered your opinion very highly, and I'm in desperate need for your most honest one.

MR. JORDAN: Honest it shall be. I promise.

BYRON: Going straight to it- I need to know if you think i have what it takes to make it in the writing world. I'm at Mizzou, the top Journalism school in the country, with all the credentials to make it into the J school. The thing that turns me off is how competitive it is. I don't want to waste 4 years of my life, paying thousands of dollars, for something that I might not make it in.

MR. JORDAN: O.K. Honest opinion: I don't think the question is whether you've got the intelligence or the chops. You do. The question is if you want to put in all the work, or if the work is worth it. A mediocre talent who works really, really hard will always make it before a mediocre worker with lots of talent will. Meaning hard, relentless work is the key. For example, I suppose the only real skill I have in the world (perhaps) is teaching. While it'd be nice to say I was born with some teaching talent, 99% of my success and acumen comes from the fact that I've done it every day, day after day, hour after hour, for 17 years. Now I always liked doing it, so it wasn't a drag to put in all those hours, but it was the work that was the key. I think that's the question you'll have to confront.

BYRON: I know you've read some of my best work, or the work I'm most proud of, and I really hope you remember it. I wrote one paper comparing an Animal Collective song to a Jackson Pollock painting. I'll never forget the comment you wrote on the rubric. right next to the 15/15 score i think it said something like, "This might be the best thing you'll write in High School."

MR. JORDAN: Yep, I remember the essay well, and I remember my comment. I meant it.

BYRON: At the time i was super stoked about the score I got, but the comment started to confuse me a little bit. To be honest, I still don't know what you really meant by it, or if I just misread the comment completely. Or if maybe you were just in the comment zone and you were writing that on everyone's paper. I would totally get that. But regardless, I really think your opinion will help me make a decision.

MR. JORDAN: More honesty (but in a good way). I think you were always a little hesitant to hear compliments about your work. I think in your last journal of Honors English 3 you mentioned that you weren't sure if you deserved the grade that you got from me--if I just handed it to you, etc. I'm not so sure your inquiries about your ability are/were what you're questioning though--I think you're toying with the idea of ACCEPTING that you really do have some ability. And the moment you accept that fact, you'd then have to start making some demands upon yourself. You'd realize that you have something you shouldn't squander--a responsibility to live up to your gifts. And to do so would mean (drum roll) . . . you'd need to really put in the time and hard work.

And working hard doesn't just mean doing what you feel like when you feel like it--it means putting in the time EXACTLY when you DON'T feel like it. Because only when you do can you really get somewhere.

I'm sure you've heard this (on occasion) before: Byron is very smart, but doesn't always get his work done. I think that's what you're wrestling with.

BYRON: I don't know if you read any of my journalistic stuff, but i wrote for the newspaper. I actually was the entertainment editor for a while. I feel like it might totally be my ideal style of writing; i'd rather be doing some kind of creative pieces, but i still feel like i could contribute in that world. So I ask that you please respond quickly, i hope my humble subject does it's job.

MR. JORDAN: Now that I'm very old (40, yes, I'm 40), it's become even more clear how short life is. And I'm astonished by just how much people squander the precious years of their lives. Usually they do it for security and money. So if you can say fuck easy security and fuck (lots of) money, then you can really go out and LIVE, you can go out and have a life that's as exciting as it should be (though all that hard work will still be there). When you get to be my age, you meet (and date) lots of people with lots of different careers. Do you know how boring most careers are and how boring they make you? What am I going to say to a trader? Someone who works in pharmaceuticals? Sales? All boring. Soooooo boring. Why are they so boring with boring jobs? Because they wanted to make money, and they traded in their souls and an interesting life to do so. But the person who doesn't mind scraping by and hanging by their fingernails from time to time, those people are damn interesting.

So you might want to ask yourself, what is jazzing you the most? What excites you the most? What would most make you wake up in the morning and say "fuck yeah, I get to live this day today." Might be a good place to start to get an answer.

And, you're young. People change majors all the time. And then they change careers. And then they have successful professional lives in areas that they never studied. So never, EVER think that this decision you might soon make is consigning you to one path. It will just create some options and possibilities for a bit, and then you can change them again if you want.

BYRON: If there's anything crazy/new/awesome that you'd like to share i'd be willing to hear it. How big of a Strokes fan are you? Hope to talk to you soon.

MR. JORDAN: Never really did the Strokes thing, don't know why. I'd take a listen if you think I should.

Since I moved out east I've seen some pretty great shows: Grizzly Bear, Pixies, Built to Spill. But even better, I've seen some killer comedians: Louis CK, Demetri Martin, David Cross, Patton Oswalt.

What about you? What have you been listening to?

Hope this email helps a bit. I really was sincere, and I hope it was more helpful/encouraging than harsh. And be complimented that I thought you were important enough and strong enough to hear it that way.

Write back!

Jordan

Notes to My Student Teacher

Well, since this is my 17th year in education, I hope I have something to say about. I'm not saying I have the answers, I'm saying I have something to say.

Here's a recent exchange between us:


STUDENT TEACHER: I started looking over Great Gatsby and experienced a mix of excitement/inspiration and dread/intimidation.

STEVE: I get that same mix most every day, and this is my 17th year.

STUDENT TEACHER: How can I teach this when I am no Fitzgerald expert?

STEVE: No problem not being a Fitzgerald expert . . . no one is really an expert on any author they teach. I remember an education professor say something which has turned out to be very true: a teacher pretends like they know something, and through the process of pretending, they come to know it.

So sometimes you know a lot about an author, sometimes you don't. What is that literary theory that disavows the author from his/her work? New Criticism? So there's some value in leaving the author out anyway. And if you just read the wikipedia page on him, you'd be WAY a head of the students.

STUDENT TEACHER: How do I know if my lesson plan ideas are good ones?

STEVE: Well, you never know. Sometimes you throw together a lesson, and it's a hit. Sometimes you spend hours crafting a masterpiece lesson, and it falls flat. You never know exactly why. There's just too many factors always at play: the weather, the time of year, the time of the day, which kids are having hard days, which kids are having good days, the ever-changing alchemy of the class, etc. That's why the best metaphor I've ever thought of for a teacher is a jazz musician. You've got to improv every day.

And herein lies why teaching is a magnificent profession: it's always elusive, never quite figured out, and never quite mastered. And that's great, because it's alway a challenge, always intellectually absorbing. Mastery can sometimes feel like a death, after all. Embracing the surprise and contingency (scary as it may be) is what keeps you coming back.

And it's hard to know what a good or bad lesson plan is when you don't know the students, haven't gotten a sense of their interests, their dispositions, their ability. Once you observe the students, it will become much more clear what a good lesson plan would look like.

STUDENT TEACHER: Do you plan lessons with the Massachusetts Curriculum guidelines in the forefront of your mind? If not, how would you suggest that a novice teacher such as myself assess whether her lesson plan ideas are practical and useful learning tools?

STEVE: I never, ever plan with the Massachusetts Curriculum guidelines in mind. But I/we need to be a bit careful here--I may be an exception instead of the rule. Maybe the guidelines help some, maybe they could help you. I have always, always gone rogue with my lessons, which may be a bad professional decision if I want to keep my job, but it hasn't gotten me fired yet. (The irony is, anytime I've gotten some sort of teaching accolades from students, it's BECAUSE I've gone rogue).

It can be very hard to engage students at all these days, and following something as sterile as the MA guidelines may make it worse. I've found you can almost always make a lesson plan that feels good in your gut, and then you can bend the curriculum guidelines fit it if you need to.

This will be interesting for me to figure out as we continue to work together: most of my decisions in my career come from asking simply what feels right. Using intuition is probably a good thing after you've been doing something for 17 years, so the question then becomes: what do you do your first few years? How valuable is intuition when you're inexperienced? I don't really know the answer, but my guess is the intuitive voice is still often the best way to go. My career started without very little guiding or direction (working in poor schools), and I became addicted to that freedom and autonomy, and I think it has always served me well.

Like I said before, I want you to choose the exact amount of prescription or freedom you want. I don't want you to feel hamstrung by structure, nor directionless by freedom. I can provide you with exactly as much prescription/structure as you think would be best at any given time.

STUDENT TEACHER: Do you read up on the history & politics underlying the books you teach? About the authors? Literary scholarship about the work?

STEVE: Usually not. There just isn't time . . . teaching high school is too busy an affair. Sometimes I might know a little something about an author, or will have previously read something that relates to a book, but for the most part, time is too short. And the CP class that you'll be teaching will have a lot of struggling students, and what works best (I think) is to use themes of the book to help them reflect upon their own lives. I find they are often eager to write about their lives, maybe because they are forming an identity at that age, or they need the catharsis because their home life is chaotic. That's what I often have in mind with a class, particularly a CP class.

And some final thoughts for you:

It's really hard to conceptualize lessons or teaching when you don't have the specifics of a particular class in mind. So I wouldn't try to figure out too much or worry too much at this point; much of teaching is dealing with things as they come up, and things won't come up until you're in the class every day.

I can tell by these questions alone that you'll do a great job. It will be hard and messy and complex and frustrating (and wonderful and exhilarating and interesting and rewarding) to be sure, but no matter what happens we can sit down and address every single concern. I may be out of the classroom (eventually) much of the time, but you won't be doing this alone by any means. I be working closely with you, you'll have a co-teacher in the room, you'll have all the other teachers around, you'll have your BU support (I know you know all this, but I'm typing it all out for some reason), so it will be a group effort in many ways. As it should be.

Hope some of that helps.

Steve

That Was Unexpected

One day this week, before 3rd period started, a student of mine came into class early. Let's call her Karolina. She seemed to be in a good mood, smiling and humming to herself. I asked her how she was:

ME: Karolina, how's it going?

KAROLINA: Great Mr. Jordan.

ME: How so?

KAROLINA: Well, I got some good news back from the doctor.

(As a teacher, anytime you hear half-revealed information like this, you always wonder if the students want to tell you more. And in case they do, you give them the chance.)

ME: You did? Is it anything concerning? And, if you want, you know you can feel free to tell me about it.

KAROLINA: Well, O.K. (pause). I just found out my chlamydia is all cleared up.

(Good to know Karolina, good to know).

Another Reason I'm Opposed To Facebook

When my dear friend and roommate Cara was a sophomore in high school, a girl named Stephanie Gouge etched the following into her locker (with a knife, and without my asterisk): "C*NT FROM BEYOND".

And just today, Stephanie asked to be her facebook friend.

Being Observed

When you're a teacher, you get observed. The principal or the department chair or the curriculum instructor or someone else important will sit in your classroom, observe your teaching, and then write up an assessment. It goes in your permanent record, and that's how you get tenure (or get fired).

I hate being observed. I HATE IT. So much so that I just wrote it in all capital letters. And let me be clear, it is NOT because of the people who have observed me. I've had my department chair observe, the principal observe, about 14 Fulbright teachers observe, and two German exchange teachers observe. And that's just in the first 8 weeks. (In one class, on one day, I had 11 observers observing 11 students). All of these observers have been thoughtful, respectful, helpful, inquisitive, and downright wonderful.

But I still hate being observed. This is my 17th year of teaching, and if I did the math, I've probably been observed on at least 40 occasions, by 50 or 60 people. I should be used to it. But I dislike being observed today as much as I did in my first year.

And why?

Because of murphy's law, and because of the observer effect (otherwise known as the observer-expectancy effect or the actor-observer bias, sometimes erroneously conflated with Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle).

First, murphy's law: You've been having an entire month of fantastic classes. The students are engaged, the conversations are authentic and organic, and curiosity abounds. You've had 20 straight classes of good behavior and sophisticated scholarship. And then your department chair or the principal wanders in on the ONE day that month when the kids are dragging, or when one kid says a cuss word to another, or when the kids complain, or when the kids have endless sidebar conversations, or when the whole room seems to be off task. That's the day you get observed. The observer will only see the thinnest slice of your teaching, and it's that one bad day out of the entire month, and from that one class they will have to come to broad conclusions about your teaching ability.

I remember, about 14 years ago, I had one last observation before I was up for tenure . . . so I planned and I planned, and I even got a haircut the night before to look presentable. And lo and behold, on that very day, as my department chair was sitting in the back, a kid shot a coin across the room at someone else at 100 miles an hour that clanged into a cabinet and bounced around the room. After weeks of good work with that class, I was now yelling at a student as I watched the whole room (and lesson) fall apart, on the day of my final, crucial observation.

(Happy ending though, I did get tenure . . . back then in the mid 90's, it only took 2 years).

Here's another perfect example of murphy's law at work.

I teach AP Language second hour; I've really enjoyed the class thus far, and I am pleased with the progress of the students. We've talked about rhetorical strategies, we've read some of the big name philosophers, we've talked about justice, happiness, human rights, animal rights, etc. Which means 99% of the time, if anyone would have walked in the room, they would have heard something that might make me look good.

But one day we talked about female genital mutilation. It's a great way to talk about cultural relativism, and whether the good life is a universal virtue or something contingent from society to society. But it's still about female genitals and their mutilation.

And this was the one day that the principal came in to observe, unannounced.

That's right, the principal Dr. Saheed has been in my class once, and he walked in during our female genital mutilation conversation. For all I know, he opened the door when I was saying "genitals."

I quickly told him the broader discussion we were having, how this issue is an entry into important philosophical and sociological questions. He was great about it, and he had some really interesting things to say to contribute to the class discussion.

But, think about it. The one day he comes in. Female genital mutilation.

And then there's the observer effect. This is a psychological term that refers to the idea (in my mind, the truism) that you can never actually observe anything in it's true form, because the very act of observing changes the nature of what you are trying to observe. When there's an observer in the classroom the kids know it, and you the teacher definitely know it. So now everything is different--this isn't how you are normally as a teacher, and the atmosphere and goals of the class have been altered.

I've found that when I'm being observed, my mind is always split into two: the part of me that's speaking and teaching, and the part of me that is watching myself speak and teach. And a split mind isn't a fully immersed mind. The best classes are the one where you not only speak and teach, but also merge with the students and the lesson and the content and what you're pursuing-- you're almost no longer an individualized self (or as Alan Watts would say, a "skin-encapsulated ego"), but rather a part of something bigger. Which is why Yeats wrote "how can we know the dancer from the dance?"

O.K., I know that's a bit trippy and metaphorical and mystical, but the point is we're never at our best when we're hyper self-aware. And being observed makes us hyper self-aware.

So where does all this leave us? How do you ever know how good a teacher is?

Here's the only way I know: teach next door to somebody for 10 years. I taught in the same hallway of English teachers for 11 years, and only after all that time could I go down the hallway and give you my personal assessment of the teachers. Only after all those years of knowing the teachers, talking to them, teaching their former students, discussing students in common, being in their classrooms, walking by their classrooms, working on curriculum with them . . . only then did I get a true sense of who they are as educators.

I don't know how you formalize that into a school policy, (O.K., you can't), but that's the only way I know how to do it.

The Social Network

I just saw The Social Network. Great movie. Here's the thought I left with:

Nothing changes the world like a jilted nerd.

Least-Fun Uncle in the World

I think I'm the least-fun uncle in the world. Why? Because I I'm opposed to sugar and television. I won't buy ice cream or candy for my niece and nephew, and I won't let them watch T.V. if I'm babysitting. I bring over vegetables in a plastic container to eat in front of them. If they are watching T.V., I cover their eyes.

And do you know what two things children want to do more than anything else in the world? Eat sugar and watch T.V. It would be interesting to put sugar in one room and a television in another room and tell a child to pick a door. They might blow a gasket.

But I found a third thing that makes me the least-fun uncle in the world: I'm opposed to the song "Little Bitty" by Alan Jackson. My niece and nephew LOVE the song and would think nothing of listening to it 20 times in a row. And I have made it my campaign to prevent them from hearing the song--to try to save them from bad art that is defiling our collective cultural consciousness.

In order attack these three crimes against humanity all at once, I wrote my own version of "Little Bitty." I removed the corporate country twang and turned it into a bluesy, folksy number. And I've repurposed the idea of "little bitty" with my own lyrics: my version is about how sugar and television are acceptable only in the ittiest, bittiest amount.

So come and sing along everybody, and join me in being no fun to children:


"Itty Bit, That's It, Thank You"

You have a little dinner at the end of your day
Drink a little milk, have a little bit to say
You ate all your broccoli, ate all your greens
And you’re asking for a little ice cream

It’s alright to have an itty bitty
You can just nibble like an itty-bitty kitty
Just one bite, no more than two
Have an itty bit, that’s it, thank you

You’re a little kid with a lot of growin’ up
You never want to fill up on sugar-filled stuff
Eat a biggie meal as healthy as can be
Then and only then have a little candy

It’s alright to have an itty bitty
You can just nibble like an itty-bitty kitty
Just one bite, no more than two
Have an itty bit, that’s it, thank you


The best of you is right inside your head
You think all day and even when you go to bed
So much to learn and so much to see
But now you ask to watch a little tv

It’s all right watch an itty bitty
Then close your eyes like a sleepy little kitty
Or go outside, read all your books
Then and only then have an itty bitty look

In your head is where you keep your dreams
All the words and stories, and your self-esteem
So don’t slow it down, your head ain’t tired yet
Got so much more than the television set

It’s all right watch an itty bitty
Then close your eyes like a sleepy little kitty
Or go outside, read all your books
Then and only then have an itty bitty look

Song for Stella

Congratulations to my brother Matt and sister-in-law Senoe on the birth of their daughter Stella Naga Jordan Torgerson. I wrote her a song (everyone should start off life with their own song) called "Hello World." Here are the lyrics:


Hello world, how do you do
A pleasure finally meeting you
Why yes, I’d love to stay

As soon as can I learn to stand
I’ll cross all your meridians
I’m thinking if I may, I’d like to say:


REFRAIN

Hey-yo what’s up howdeedoo
Ni hao, sabaidee, yiassou
Shalom and gutentag
Que honda with a bon giourno
Salam alei kum, hujambo
G’Day, konnichi wa


I’ll shake the hands of all the trees
The oceans want to play with me
Take lunch up in the sky

The animals all dancing ‘round
The mountains echoing the sounds
As everyone decides to come on by


I know I’ll grow up big and tall
It makes it much more fun to fall
With grass stains on my knees

But here, today, I just arrived
To keep this feeling deep inside
To stay as new and free as I please

My Awful Confession

So, I really like the outdoors. I like my Outward Bound trips, I like forests and rivers and mountains, I like the wide-open permeable feeling you get after being outside for seven days straight. I feel healed, I feel right. I think that's also true for all of us and the whole world.

Anytime I make these jaunts into the natural world, I come in contact with people who who have organized their life around it. I hang out with wilderness guides, mountain climbers, kayakers, wilderness rescue crews, campers, hikers, etc., etc.

But I have an awful confession to make.

Here it is:

These outdoor types are BORING.

Boring to talk to that is. I like how they can take me into the wild, which makes their actions interesting I suppose. But their minds and their words are BORING.

I don't know how to explain it exactly. You might know the type. They wear Patagonia and fleeces and have tons of camping equipment and wear sandals with wool socks. They're never, ever mean to anyone; they're laid-back and easy going and know a lot about the outdoors.

But it's like they're psychologically 10 yards away from you anytime you converse with them. They never seem to quite register the real you that is trying to talk to them. They have no edge, they have no irony. Their highs and lows are flattened into a white noise of a personality. They seem interchangeable. You can feel your own sharpness depreciate when you talk to them.

But they're not dumb. In fact, most of them were usually pretty good students. But their words never seem to cut into anything, and there's never a shortage of things that need cutting.

Of course I feel like a jerk saying it. Like comedian Patton Oswalt said, "I never realized how desperately I depend on negativity and cynicism just to communicate with the outside world."

Maybe these outdoor types lack irony because they're kind of happy and satisfied with life. And that shouldn't be a bad thing.

Maybe I was hoping to export my interest in philosophy and literature and the like INTO the natural world. To be hiking and paddling WHILE ALSO talking about Heidegger and Orwell would be some kind of heaven.

But those two interests never seem to coexist.

There are eleven other students at this wilderness first responder course. They can talk all day about the mountains they climbed . . . and yet, how much is there to say? What else besides, "yep, I climbed that mountain. All the way to the top. Then I came back down."

Not a single one of the students brought a single book with them. For an 8 day course.

My wilderness first responder teacher is a 55 year-old guy with an amazing history of outdoor experience. It seems like he's climbed every mountain, plunged through every rapid, weathered every kind of injury. He pioneered the snowboard craze in the 90's, he started his own outdoor gear company, and he's rescued hundreds of people in his 30 year career as a search and rescue expert.

And his sense of humor as he lectures in class? It's no more developed than the noises 6 year-old boys make. Fart noises ("ppppffffffttt"), falling down noises ("badoom!", "kerplunk"), or engine noises ("vvvrrrrrooooommmmm!"). He'll start to use weird voices (of various characters I suppose) that have no point, make no jokes, have no irony, and go nowhere.

I know, I'm just a pompous jerk elitist who plans to read Anna Karenina this summer. But I've heard if you climb to the top of one of the tall Tolstoy mountains, you might have an interesting thing or two to say when you get back down.