General Thoughts

To My Beautiful, Newly Minted 12-Year-Old Daughter

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Dear Baby Girl,

Today is an important day. Twelve years ago you were brought into a world that already looks a lot different than it did then. The evening I met you face to face we were watching the news, and I thought about the scary world you were going to face. I doubted my ability to keep you safe in a world where people hurt each other on purpose. Of course, I meant strangers, but this year your own parents did what you had labeled unthinkable. They got a divorce, and they hurt you more than any stranger ever has. We didn’t start out to hurt you, or for that matter, each other.

I always liked October because that was when all the leaves fell off the trees after achieving brilliant colors like gold, red, and orange. It never seemed sad when the leaves fell because it is understood that in order for there to be a spring, there must first be a fall. So, that’s how I hope you can grow to see this period in our lives together. Our family achieved brilliant things, just like those trees’ colors, but just because we don’t all live together in one house doesn’t mean life is over. We have a ton of life left in us.

So, I sat down to think about what I would give you if I could give you anything on this very important birthday. I would pick courage, but you already have more than your share of that. I see it everyday. I’d choose to encourage you to be who you really are, but again, you do that without blinking, despite your peers. Beauty would also be pointless because your heart is already shining out of your sparkling brown eyes and showing the world how caring and wonderful you are. Then it came to me, and I knew it was a perfect gift.

If I could give you anything, I’d give you mistakes to make. I’d also gift you not being afraid to make those mistakes. I know you’ll give me a deep frown when you read this and grumpily say, “Mom!” Please understand that this gift keeps on giving. Making mistakes is priceless. I’ve made more than my share, and I have even hurt people with my mistakes. I’ve made mistakes I’m incredibly sorry for, and I’ve made a few I don’t consider actual mistakes unless you look at other people’s definition of mistake. No matter what kind of mistake you make, you come away with something valuable. You’ll have more knowledge, strength, and hope that things can get better. Some of my “mistakes” are the best things I ever did.

Please know the world is still a scary place. It’s probably more scary now than when you were born, but don’t let that change YOU. Take all that courage, beauty, and being yourself and make some mistakes. You only get a few years anyway. Just yesterday I was holding a tiny bundle of pink and purple, and today I have a giant, leggy, beautiful 12-year-old. You are perfect, and don’t let anyone ever tell you any different, not even when you make mistakes.

I love you more than you could ever know,

Mom

The View from the Existential Porch

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A porch used to be a state of mind, especially in the South.  It was a place to wax philosophical about the world and everything wrong with it.  It was a place to share news, shuck corn, snap green beans, and catch a breeze.  In the year 2014 modern conveniences like air conditioning and refrigeration have caused us to lose the need for fresh air. When we lost that, we lost valuable communication time.  Last week I caught a glimpse of the past with a couple of friends.

We are lied to as children and teens and told that one day when we become adults we will be able to do exactly what we want. All too often life gets in the way, and it leaves no time for us to do those things we wish to do.  But once in a while stars align, and we end up on the porch with friends, old and new. I found myself on my porch surrounded by friendship, laughter, and cigar smoke.  I ended up with an evening that couldn’t possibly have been planned in the best kind of way.

Perhaps the porch atmosphere first exists within ourselves.  Maybe the porch is an existential porch before it can be anything else.  The people on your porch define your porch.  For instance, on my porch I had two friends.  One old friend and one brand new friend helped define that porch for me.  We are subject to what others will allow us to share withholding judgement.  We are also subject to what we feel comfortable sharing and discussing.  That particular night felt like a no-holds-barred getting real with ourselves kind of night.  That is probably the rarest of porches.

What makes a porch a porch?  As I was sitting outside under the stars with my friends talking about everything from philosophy to theology, love to divorce, and all the things that make us humans, I realized I was in a  consecrated gathering place.  I was in a meeting of sorts, although a very relaxed one, holding council with people that matter about the things of our lives that matter. I watched my concrete (in both senses of the word)  porch transform in front of me into a state of mind where  I experienced acceptance, thoughtfulness, and companionship.  I laughed, I thought deeply, and I listened to two guys that at times I was doing well to catch 5% of what they were talking about.  I grew as a person.  I considered things.  I wrote down books I wanted to read.  I never wanted to leave the porch. Why would you want to leave a place that made you glad to be a human?  I could have stayed on the porch for days.

How did I end up on this porch?  The short answer is relationship.  A porch is a starting and ending point.  It can be where you greet someone new, or it can be where you watch someone exit.  You can turn a stranger on your porch into a friend.  Some porches are traveled on everyday.  Some people wind up on our porches more than others.  In today’s society, we are used to finding our identity in what we have instead of who we are.  If we drive a nice car, have a nice job, and have a nice television we must be good people. But what happens when people never get past the porch? Will they still like you when they aren’t going to sit anywhere but the front steps?  Can you offer others undivided attention, heartfelt concern, and thought provoking questions?  Do you have friends that you can debate whether you are looking at a star or an airplane for 10 minutes straight?

Your porch is what you make it.  What kind of porch do you sit on?  Some people have a hard time seeing past themselves, but a porch can help you see the world in a different way.  It can be a place to share humanness, struggles, and advice.  It can make new friends seem like old friends.  It can remind you why your old friends are still your friends after all these years.  Sometimes the easiest way to go somewhere is to stay on the porch, and the places you end up may be out of this world.

Unapologetically A Human

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Lined up across the room of my 8th grade literature class was every student waiting for their turn in the spelling bee. I was sweating bullets when I finally got my first word.  It was the first round, and I was so relieved when I heard my word.  Sugar.  I was so excited I quickly blurted out S-U-G-E-R.  I then promptly smacked myself in the face before the teacher had a chance to tell me I was wrong.  I knew I was wrong.  I heard it with my own ears. To say I felt stupid is the understatement of at least 3 decades. My first word in the spelling bee was also my last. The other kids went on spelling words for what seemed like forever while I sat cuddled up in my shame. I guarantee those kids don’t even remember that day, while it is marked in my history forever.

We all do dumb things.  We all get overconfident and immediately become righteously human in ways unimaginable seconds before. Moments of weakness remind us daily we are not deity, and we should have no such grandiose opinions of what we are capable of doing. To remove all doubt, I’ll admit that just this week I tripped over my own feet a few times, closed the door to teacher’s lounge on the principal I’m currently working for, had my car get stuck in gear and lurch forward in front of a group of new friends, and I called someone by the wrong name 4 times in a row.  Did I mention it is just Monday? So, my point is impressing people isn’t exactly a forte of mine.

We all want to belong.  That’s why we struggle with rejection from an early age.  It doesn’t matter if we are on the playground, in a classroom, or even at home with our siblings.  We strive to fit in.  We want to make people like us because it’s a part of what makes us human.  To be rejected on a basic level is devastating.  As children, those that reject us will be considered sworn enemies for a lifetime or until the next week when a different kid tells us we can’t play kickball, we are picked last for a team, or we are laughed at for not having the current cool item.

As nice as it would be, this doesn’t go away when we become grown ups.  We want to seem acceptable to our peers.  Some of us might want to be the funniest, the prettiest, the nicest, the best cook, the best party thrower, or even the best screw up, but we all want to be something to someone.  To be nothing to anyone says we are practically invisible and unimportant somehow.  As a fly on the wall at any water cooler scenario you could listen in to conversation to see that the basic need to not be rejected is still relevant and alive in any person.  Can some people generally not care?  Yes, I believe that is possible.  On a more specific note we all have people who we invest in their opinions more than others.  We will care about them, even if we don’t mind the herd’s point of view.

Lately I’ve been considering what happens to you after repeated rejection? What if the rejection is from the one person that has an opinion that matters to you?  I know what was true for me.  I started to tell myself stories. I made excuses for the person rejecting me.  I considered maybe the person didn’t like himself. Maybe he is hurting right now because of something that he is going through.  Or perhaps he is depressed. He had a poor situation growing up, so maybe that explained it.  Specific days of rejection I’d say to myself that he must have had a bad day at work. In general, I would hypothesize that perhaps he just didn’t value the same things I did.

As a result of all these stories I told myself something sinister happened.  The stories stopped being about the person who was rejecting me emotionally, and they started to be about me.  When the person I looked to for affection or affirmation didn’t have the reaction I was hoping for, I told myself I told the story wrong.  I felt like I was annoying them by needing attention in the first place, and just maybe I was too needy emotionally, and they deserved to be left alone instead of being bothered by me and my needs.  I felt like my narrative was uninteresting, and no one would want to hear about my day.  I questioned whether jokes were funny because he never laughed. It didn’t matter what excuse or reason I ended up telling myself for the day, the end result was the same. I felt alone, lonely, unloved, and unwanted.

Do you sometimes do dumb things?  Of course you do.  That makes us the humans we are.  If anything the stories that make us dorky or human should unite us and bond us.  We all have them, after all. Moreover, our stories are not important unless we tell them.  Our stories make us who we are, and we are wired to want to share, build community, relate, and communicate.  Relationships are tricky, but wanting to be accepted transcends age, gender, location, and whether we were popular as a young person.  There are people out there that want to hear your stories.  They want to invest in you.  They want to know about the time you spelled sugar wrong in a spelling bee, how you poured liquid soap into the dishwasher once and caused an evening of agony, and the time you took Benadryl right before a church service and couldn’t stop singing “I Feel Good” during the sermon.   If someone isn’t investing in you, don’t stop telling your stories. Tell the stories anyway.  Those that matter will adore them.  If they don’t, they just aren’t your people anyway.

Thinking Deeply about Thinking Deeply

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Metacognition can be a dangerous activity.  Thinking about other people’s thinking  can be even scarier.  I’ve had the unique experience to have spent time in various classrooms in the past six months ranging from 2nd grade with 7 and 8 year olds, to 5th grade with 10 and 11 year olds, to 9th- 12th graders who can be anywhere from 14-18.  They all have something frightening in common.  They are all used to getting an easy answer.

I think the greatest problem students face today is the lack of struggle. The greatest reward comes with hard work.  The struggle makes you stronger.  A butterfly builds a cocoon for itself, only to have to tear that same cocoon apart after it completes metamorphosis.  What would happen if someone tore open the shell and let the butterfly out?  It dies.  It won’t be able to fly because it has never had to fight through the material to gain freedom.  Are we cutting open the cocoons of students and standing there in disbelief when they just give up? Are we handicapping them for the world they will live in and things will not be easy?  What will they do when they can’t google every answer?  Technology solves a lot of problems, but it creates as many as it solves.

My feelings on this stem from the time I have spent in the classroom.  It does not matter what the age group, the questions students ask are always the same. The most disturbing questions I’ve heard are ones that I would have never thought to ask my teacher.  “Do I have to write the sentences?”  “Do I have to show my work?”  “Can I use a calculator?”  Most people would think, yes, but I asked my teacher those same questions back when I was in school, but there is a big difference in that now students are used to not having to do those things, and when asked to do them they act like you are trying to kill them.

I know that most people will claim my education in the late 80’s to early 90’s by all rights was sub-par simply because we only had one computer in the back of the classroom, and we only used it to play Oregon Trail.  Sure, we were taught in units about dinosaurs and Native Americans.  Do I remember everything I was taught?  Absolutely not, however, I gained something valuable from this kind of learning.  I learned how to research without the benefit of typing something into a search engine.  I learned how to glean important information and throw out what I didn’t need. I learned proper sentence structure when I wrote those 300 book reports. I was forced to not just read to do a book report, but I had to think about that book.  I made models of volcanos, Native American villages, and cells.  We collected bugs, leaves, and wildflowers.  We labeled, we followed rubrics, and we didn’t have a clue that we were doing anything of substance because it all seemed kind of fun.  But, even with all the fun we had, there were no easy answers.  We had no Google.  We had World Book Encyclopedia and whatever the card catalog had for us to use, IF we could in fact figure out the Dewey Decimal System.

Students of today rely heavily on technology to do their work for them.  If you don’t believe me, just ask them.   The local high school is full of classrooms where students spend all their spare time on cellphones, or other mobile devices, and they are traumatized if you ask them to put it down for a few minutes to actually talk with them in person.  Their only thoughts during class in the local high school are when can they can get their phones back out to play music, take selfies, and text their friends. Coupled with this problem there is the other  issue that has nothing to do with technology.  It has to do with a mindset that this access to technology has created. Because there is always an easy answer, they do not know what it is like for a problem to take many steps and time to solve.  We know that in the real world the jobs that we have are not likely to have answers waiting for us on google.  Students that are in today’s classrooms, getting ready for tomorrow’s job market need to understand how to think. Right now they are used to letting a computer do most of that for them.  What does this mean for our education system?

The reality is students might not remember all the finer aspects of geometry, Spanish III, or chemistry.  They will remember working together to solve problems, and what is the most important to remember?  Sometimes it is healthy to give a student a problem and let them work through it. We should be asking them hard questions.  We should ask questions that may have more than one answer.   We should teach them to question things and not just take things at face value.  We need students that struggle, and are given time to struggle.  We need to stop letting students google answers, and instead ask them to dig deep, think deeply,  and embrace the struggle.  Let these students figure out for themselves how great it feels to accomplish something they never thought they would ever be able to do.  If we are truly going to prepare students for jobs that are not created yet, we have to change the way we educate them so that while technology is used, it is not the focus.  If someone had focused on technology when I was in school I would only know about cellphones the size of an infant, a computer without a mouse, a dot matrix printer, and an overhead projector.  Those were all great, but they weren’t the focus.  The focus was on what I needed to make me an educated member of society.

We can’t predict the future, even as teachers stand with the future in front of them everyday.  We don’t teach subjects.  We teach students.  What do the students of today need to know to be a well rounded person? We know they will figure out the technology, but will they figure out how to embrace the struggle before we have a country full of CEOs that are looking for the easy way out? Struggling makes us strong.  Teaching students to think and ask questions trumps showing them how to find the answers.  Answers will come, questions require digging deeper.

Sitting In Someone Else’s Chair

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I remember the day I got the key to my first classroom. I was shocked someone trusted me enough with a key to something I saw as so valuable. That key represented I was part of something bigger than myself. It was acceptance. To some people that key was a paycheck, a duty, or stacks of papers to grade. All I could see was the difference I wanted to make.

Today, in sharp contrast, I waited for an assistant principal to unlock the door of the classroom where I was to spend the day in someone else’s chair. I thought about the lack of a key, and how locked out I feel right now. The difference I wanted to make does not go away with the absence of a key. Without a chair of my own it would be easy to feel not quite a teacher, and not just a babysitter either.

What makes you a teacher? What makes anyone what they are? Is it the key that fits in the lock where they work each day? Is it the chair they sit in? What about the papers on their desk? All of those things I no longer can call mine, but I still feel like a teacher. I still hold teacher credentials. Are those the key? But I’m reminded of the months I was still in school to get my teaching license, and I was an intern at a local elementary school. Even then I felt like a teacher. So, a teaching license doesn’t make a teacher a teacher either.

I think what makes you a teacher can’t be tangible. I think of Jesus sitting on mountains, roaming around with followers. He had little with Him. He needed no Promethean Board, paper clips, or red pens. He didn’t need a textbook or a list of important words hanging on a wall. He had followers, or students, because of the example He gave. He taught with kindness, loaves and fishes, and a fisherman’s net. He taught with stories, ones that made you think. He never held a teaching license, never had a key to a building, never graded a stack of papers, and never had a chair to call his own. His teaching was nomadic, but clearly effective. I have to wonder if He knew the difference He was making. I’ve always heard that if a student didn’t know how much you care, he won’t care what you know. I’d say Jesus probably understood this better than most.

So I guess I am left having to take a note from what Jesus never said, but instead did. I’ll travel from classroom to classroom sharing a chair with some great teachers. My message is different, and not as important, but it is what I am supposed to do. I’ll do it with a willing heart knowing I don’t have to have a key on a key ring, a red Swingline stapler with my name emblazed across the top, a bookshelf full of curriculum, or a chair to call my own. After all, the greatest gift a teacher can give his or her students is to never stop learning. So far, I’ve learned a lot about teaching from students, content that I normally don’t come into contact with, and about myself.

Who needs a chair? Real teachers never sit down anyway.

Breaking Free of Silence

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Silence can be an enjoyable thing or it can be a marinade of lonely mixed with apathy.  The first kind is found with old friends, a good book, or a hot bath.  The second kind was where I lived.

This Silence wasn’t characterized just by a lack of words.  It was a tangible entity enveloping all those that lived inside the house.  It settled first into the rooms, making them seem hollow,  then settled into the bones of the people that called that place home. Once it was there, even as an uninvited guest, it simply wasn’t willing to vacate, and Silence has a way of taking over.

Since the Silence isn’t just heard, it’s felt, those that dwell there try to fill it with other hollow things.  The one that created it will try the hardest to fill it up with electronic noise, which only serves to exacerbate it instead of filling it. The others try to fill it with comforting things like playing music, baking, talking to friends on the phone, or making plans with family.  All of those create temporary respite for those enveloped in the Silence.

Breaking free of the growing Silence, and it does grow, is complicated.  To get out you have to find the opposite of the Silence and try to replace it with those things.  Since the opposite of this kind of Silence is communication and relationship, this is a daunting task.  After all, Silence gave them a beating for months, possibly years, before they left for good.  Luring them back takes time and a lot of effort, and you have to pass the gatekeeper before they can get in.  The gatekeeper is the one that made Communication and Relationship leave in the first place.  If they can’t get past the gatekeeper, then there is only one other thing you can do.

Leaving Silence isn’t like leaving a person.  If you lived with it for years, then it has a habit of hanging around until you’ve made it clear it isn’t welcome anymore.  Silence is an optimist.  It will think that shadows of what you were in your former life will slowly become who are you in your new life, but this does not have to be true.  Now you are the gatekeeper, and you have the power to fill your new home with communication and relationship and finally be happy.  And when you are alone, and you have silence, it feels just like being with old friends, reading a good book, or taking a hot bath.

Not Quite Found, But Safe and Sound

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When I was about 13 years old my friend Kelli and I decided to walk to another friend’s house.  It didn’t seem like that far of a walk, there was safety in numbers, and we thought we were adults. (We were really really wrong.) Really long story short, we got lost.  We thought we knew where we were. We had our landmarks, were in the woods, and after walking for at least 2 hours we never made it to our friend’s house.  The woods simply got the best of us that day.  To make matters worse just as I stated that things could not get worse the heavens opened and poured rain and we heard a sound of thunder.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this the last few months.  You think because you know your way around somewhere and you have landmarks,  you are safe from getting lost.  This is just not true.  I got lost on my way home this year, metaphorically speaking, and I felt like I knew exactly where I was going.  I felt like I had a plan on how to get there, and just when I thought I had it all figured out, the metaphorical rain started pouring from the sky.

Every little piece of us makes up the whole.  When we feel broken, we forget that even while we are broken, our parts are still there.  You can be broken and still be a whole person.  Sometimes we find the pieces of ourselves in the places we wouldn’t think to look, and for me the place I wouldn’t have thought to look is in the rear view mirror.  While I’ve been feeling lost I’ve come into contact with a few folks that I felt like had already come into my life and had gone out of it forever.  I think sometimes people are in our path to remind us of who we were before we got lost.  We all can use a reminder sometimes.

When my oldest child started middle school she joined  a club sponsored by my former 8th grade middle school teacher. She came home and said she wanted to join a club, and she told me the teacher’s name.  A few weeks prior to that the same teacher and I had a conversation at the front of the school on registration day.  This teacher played a huge part in why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place.  I was a teacher’s aide for him in 9th and 10th grade during my study hall because the schools were right next door to each other.  I was allowed to grade papers, decorate the bulletin board with wild abandon, and help students if they needed extra help sometimes.  So, here I was, fresh out of a teaching job because my contract wasn’t renewed, and here he was reminding me of the things that caused me to want to teach in the first place.  I needed that reminder, and I’m glad to have crossed paths again. I’m blessed that now his legacy will extend to my child.  I picked up a piece of myself that day that I had neglected to think about in many years.

This week I was substituting my final few days  in Algebra 1 and my 7th grade homeroom and math teacher walked in the door.  She smiled a big smile.  She came straight over and hugged me, and said my name.  She said my name, and I hadn’t seen this lady in 22 years.  She was one of my favorites, but more importantly she was the first person that showed me what it meant to be in a middle school.  That was a scary time, but she helped me grow my confidence, and her sense of humor always made math fun.  I knew she was important to me, and she held relevance to my life.  But it was her that said my name first.  That meant somehow my life in her class hadn’t been forgotten.  After she left I found myself smiling the biggest smile and tearing up at the same time.  A teacher makes a huge impact, and to be remembered brightened my day.  It made me hope that one day, I will remember a student’s name I run across, even 22 years after they sit in a classroom with me.  It was just a moment to her, running across a long lost student, but I picked up another piece of me.

Some pieces of ourselves aren’t pretty.  Some pieces have doubts, confusions, hurts, anger, and failures.  It’s the rare person that can tackle those parts of us and not grow weary, but another person I knew from long ago came back into my life last year and did just that.  This friend is the reason I told my students in Algebra on the first day to be very nice to people this year because you never know if your friend that can help fight your worst battles in a few decades will be sitting near you in Algebra class.  Some people don’t just give you one piece of yourself back.  Some people hold up a mirror and make you see the whole person again.  You just can’t put a price on that.

Some words aren’t big enough.  Some words attempt to convey meanings, but never can cover exactly what you are trying to say.  Sometimes your heart is so full you can’t fully impart upon others the exactness of the spirit of your words. I have had moments in the past year that have helped me pick up pieces and decrease the amount of lost I feel.  I am surrounded by fantastic people.  Grateful doesn’t quite cover it, and even when you are still kind of lost, grateful feels pretty good.

Adventures In Algebra: Existentially Solving For Why

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Math Atheist

I’ve always been what Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes calls a math atheist.  I understand why numbers exist, and I comprehend the importance of basic math.  What does not seem to compute with me is when we start having to deal with fractions of numbers, decimals, and the rest of the concepts that start the downward spiral toward adding in the letters of the alphabet. That’s right; I’m talking about algebra.

As a math atheist, I believe the science involved in math is somehow made up in order to confuse those that have an undying affection for all things word related and none of the things number related. But it would stand to reason if I love words, then I would find comfort in the kind of math where they start adding in letters.   I not only do not find comfort in it, I honestly think that there is not a time I have ever used it after the year I graduated high school and passed the math in college.

So, why talk about math if I hate it so immensely? It’s one of those things in life that makes you realize God has a sense of humor. If someone had asked me this time last year what I would be teaching this fall, I probably wouldn’t have said math.  I probably wouldn’t have said high school.  I know I definitely would not have said high school math, but I love teaching, so when an opportunity opened to teach Algebra I to 9th graders for a maternity leave I decided to give it my best shot.  Going straight to high school from 2nd grade was a lot like being dumped at a dance contest with two left feet and chronic knee pain, but I was determined to make this work.

Things have been going well, and I’ve been reflecting on the first three weeks of teaching. I’ve learned a lot by teaching algebra, and I have a much different take away on the things I have taught in the first few weeks of school.  I already told you I wasn’t endowed with a math brain, so you probably won’t be shocked that while the things I’ve learned had to do with math, they weren’t all that mathematical.

Most people know that all numbers fall into specific categories.  Two of these categories you can place numbers into are rational and irrational.  People can also fit nicely into those two categories.  This is applicable no matter who you are or what you do.  The biggest thing to remember is that with people and numbers the rational and irrational both fit into a larger category: real.  It’s okay to be irrational, as long as you remember to stay real. And who among us hasn’t parked themselves for a few days on the side of  irrational?

In order to solve any problem in algebra, you have to remember how to combine like terms.  You can’t add things up that aren’t supposed to be together.  How can you tell if numbers should be together?  You have to examine them closely.  Variables can be a pain. Adding 4r to 2b is still 4r + 2b.  It’s never going to add to up 6.  And, just like in algebra when you have people in your life, sometimes it is best to keep the ones that are alike together.  They will always add up correctly that way.  I’ll be the first to say I’ve tried to combine myself with people that were unlike me and tried to make us add up.  In order to have a successful relationship with those people I have to remember to see individual parts, and not all jumbled up together.  This helps me when solving problems in both math and with people.

The equation is another concept we address immediately in algebra.  What a great concept! When we think of an equation we can think of a scale.  The things on one side have to equal what is on the other side of the equal sign.  Sure, there are different ways of writing them on each side, but they will add up.  That variable is just an unknown on one side.  We all have unknowns when trying to make things add up in our life.  We are sometimes given puzzles with missing pieces. We can think of the task of working equations as practice for the real world.  There’s always going to be a y (or a why???) on one side of the problem.  There is always a solution.  All you have to do is remember to keep a balance when you are adding and removing things in your life to make sure the scale doesn’t tip to one side.

Inequalities have also gotten me thinking.  You solve an inequality like equations for the most part. Sometimes things aren’t equal on both sides in math or in real world relationships.  Sometimes one side is greater than the other side. The hard part for so many students is figuring out after you solve the problem whether you have to flip the sign the opposite way.  The rules say if you divide or multiply by a negative you need to flip the sign.  So, that’s also a great life lesson, right?  If you are multiplying by a negative, you are going to have to change something.  Rarely do negatives do anything good in our lives if nothing changes.

So I am not teaching what I thought I would this fall.  The students are doing a fabulous job putting up with an algebra teacher that is doing her best to teach the rules while questioning them herself.  For now you can find me  reminding students to show their work while I  glance at a clock every day with a sign on it placed by the classroom teacher that says,“Time will pass, will you?”  What a great question! I hope I pass.

See Life

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Even though a shell is just the hard outer layer that is meant to protect the animal that lives in it, the hunt for the perfect seashell is a beach standard. On most trips to the beach people go to the edge, put their feet in the water, and look down. They see shells being washed up right at their feet. Before they have time to do an appropriate survey of which shells are the best for keeping, the surf whisks them right back out into the ocean. Sometimes people get lucky and snag a shell before the inevitable happens. If it is a perfect specimen, they feel fortuitous. More often than not the shells that wash up are broken. Shells that are shards of what they were. And when you think about it, shells are just shells in the first place. They are incomplete compared to what they once were: a living being. Now, they are just what remains after the life is swept away.

Humans have shells too, but much different kinds of shells than marine life. Human shells are intended so that no one can do damage to the insides. People do things that hurt our feelings and make us feel less than human. We wear our shells to protect us from those things. Our shell might have too much makeup, it might take illegal substances, or it could make a joke out of anything that hurts. Just like seashells, this does not always protect us. Sometimes what is inside dies. Sometimes we just can’t ensure and all we have left is a shell. We all endure hardships. Some endure tragedies. But when we are left with a shell, things get complicated. Humans might push people away because the ultimate fear of a “shell person” is that someone might get too close and discover that what was once in them withered up and died. Human shells serve as a distraction to the real problem.

This trip to the beach I wasn’t worried about the perfect shell. I wanted to find the prettiest shell. I discovered that the prettiest shells weren’t whole shells. The prettiest shells were the broken ones. Those shells probably had more of a story to tell than those shells that were still mostly intact. The broken shells had learned lessons that the whole shells hadn’t learned. Those shells had “lived.” People are just like those shells. By dismissing the people that might not have the prettiest past, or have made mistakes, you miss out on the greatness of life. The greatness of humans is that we all don’t lead a cookie cutter existence. Instead we help others by spreading light into a path that you might not have crossed otherwise. People are made great by their stories. People are made great by being broken and living to tell those stories.

A seashell can’t tell a story to us, but it can teach us to look beyond faults. We can look past the cracks in other people and see who they really are. When we can do this, I like to think that unlike the sea counterparts, the shells that are human can come back to life. They can start loving and living again. See potential. See the light. See life.

How Minecraft Is Just Like Real Life

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This week I made my way out of my comfort zone and decided to play the one thing the kids constantly play if given screen time with an iPad or iPhone: Minecraft. I knew that it was a good game, and I knew it taught my kids valuable lessons. If they didn’t want to get off the couch, then I was going to join in their world and let them teach me a thing or two. What I didn’t anticipate was a game reminding me of a few things about life. Here are a few ways Minecraft is just like real life.

1. There is always safety in numbers. Creepers are everywhere, but if you stay together you can fight any battle and come out victorious. We like to think that there aren’t bad guys lurking around every corner like in a video game, but when that becomes true, sticking together is a smart tactic and nothing bonds you like fending off a creeper.

2. Sometimes you are holding everything you need to make something awesome; you just have to work at it. Too often we think if we just had one more thing, everything would be perfect. Just like in Minecraft, sometimes you have to change the way you are looking at what you have, instead of changing what you have. But let’s be honest. Sometimes you might just be missing something important. Then you just have to set off and find it.

3. If you spend all your time tearing things down you don’t have time to build anything worthwhile. The first time I played I kept gathering materials. To gather materials in Minecraft you have to basically tear them apart and collect them. I spent probably two days and two nights gathering materials. My son said, “What have you built?” I hadn’t built anything at that point. When I confessed this he said, “Well, why work so hard if you aren’t building anything helpful?” And that was a great question.

4. Finding a diamond requires a lot of digging through dirt. Most of the time it requires digging down to the bedrock and making your way back up a little at a time. My kids are always looking for diamonds. Item value is a little subjective since the items you value are typically the items you need at that moment unless diamonds are involved. They are the prizes that can build armor to crush any creeper out there. Finding them is hard work, but I have noticed that once you find one you feel pretty awesome. So, sometimes it’s worth it digging through all that dirt and hitting rock bottom because sometimes you get diamonds. For adults, that might be a person, a place, or a thing. Whatever it is you’ll be glad you dug.

5. You can never spread too much light. Leave a torch wherever you go, and your path will always be lit. When I first started playing I would make torches and leave them like Hansel and Gretel to help me find my way back home. When it would get dark I could still see everything I needed to see. Spreading light can rarely be a bad thing. If we spent as much time spreading light as we did playing video games, I bet this would be a much better world to live in.