Baseball season is around the corner. It's an amazing game. A game that appeals to those who have played, those who watch, and those who love math. For those that have played there is a certain feel, a memory, of standing in the batter's box. A moment staring down towards the pitcher, waiting, anticipating, the quick inhale as the ball comes and the energy as one unloads the bat. An insatiable sequence in which all that exists is a pitcher, yourself, and a ball hurling towards you. It is something that pulls you back towards the game whether you are 14 or 54. As an observer, there is a dramatic artistry that plays in front of you. After the initial batting sequence, this small white pellet is flung into the field. At times we see routine plays in which one sits under the ball and waits patiently for it to fall from the sky. At other times we see acrobatics as shortstops dive and flip for the ball or outfielders run as if they were gazelles streaking across the field eventually climbing the wall to grasp the ball before it lands. A play that moves from quiet stillness to dramatic exuberance in a heartbeat.
The interesting thing is that baseball offices are no longer run by former players, experts in the action, but now mathematicians. Graduates from Harvard, Yale, and Amherst. Computer nerds who run statistical models and probability. Individuals that loved the game but may not have been able to play it very well. They have charts, graphs, regression analysis, and spread diagrams. They know what area of the strike zone to swing and when to walk away. Baseball leaders, who are essentially mathematical gamblers, measuring payoffs of certain types of risks in relationship to the impact on winning. Within these models, there too is an elegance, exuberance, and energy. These are the leaders choosing rosters, guiding decisions, and facilitating the game.
Education has become full of metrics. Comparable data points in which we believe we can measure student development, teacher impact, programatic impact, and learning engagement. We create opportunities for student goals, teacher goals, administrative goals, and district goals. Measurable items that analyze change over periods of time. Metrics break things down into components and assume these pieces add up to a greater whole.
Carlos Quentin, like many baseball players, was a very analytical individual. He was constantly watching film, making adjustments, thinking about his swing. He consistently looked at metrics and was known for overthinking each at bat and each performance. Carlos constantly analyzed himself, seeking data on how much he could improve. This journey consistently had him underperforming his talent. He was known as an uptight, super focused individual. However, in 2008, as a member of the Chicago White Sox, Carlos was having a career year. It all seemed to be coming together. He was hitting .286 with 36 home runs when batting against Cliff Lee he became so frustrated with one of his swings that he punched his bat. Carlos broke his wrist, loosing the season and never regaining MVP form again.
More and more we are teaching students and teachers to focus on the metrics. It is an important, valuable, and dangerous path. A child focusing on a time-bound achievement goal may become so mechanical, that they lose the flow and ease of the product. Imagine a young reader, focusing on how many words per minute they can read. Focusing so much on speed that they lose comprehension. Imagine a teacher driven by the same words per minute metric that they don't halt the child so they can make their evaluation goal.
Metrics are becoming our film room. Ways in which we are analyzing and at times overanalyzing our practice. Metrics are valuable as they tell us about what we are seeing on the field and in the classroom, but they are only one measure of the art before us. In the end, it is the art and the game that matter, not simply the mathematical performance predictors.
In the 80's we learned courage was going in face first against all odds. Courage was standing up to the impossible. All of the movies glorified it. Who couldn't remember John Rambo taking on all of the Vietnamese in Rambo: First Blood Part II, John McClane taking on German terrorists in Nakatomi Plaza in Die Hard, or even Jimmy Chitwood sinking basket after basket as Hickory defeats Southbend in Hoosiers. Courage was something only amazing individuals possessed. Something that was hard to find within ourselves. Finding the courage inside was the theme of almost every movie.
As we grow up, we discover we aren't the bigger than life hero. Even though we want to be Joe and leave the drudgery of the office to go out into the wider world, we discover our realm is safe. Things happen. We find jobs, grow lives, become responsible for others, discover mortgages, bills, and taxes. Life becomes easier as we learn to play it safe. Soon the office becomes our lives and the theme music of life's dreams moseys into the sunset.
Over time we become risk averse. Less willing to share in front of others for fear of being judged. Less willing to try innovative ideas for fear of failing and losing either status or our livelihoods. Fear and desire for stability entrenches us in our status quo. Our inner creativity can often die as courage becomes an attribute of others.
However, there become times when others help us find it within ourselves. No, we aren't going to pick up the rifle and save the foreign language students from terrorists. Rather we find the courage to stand up and try something new. To share an idea. To present something you tried just yesterday. To be open and fallible with others. At our inservice yesterday, I saw teachers present ideas before their colleagues that they themselves were just exploring. New thoughts and techniques that had been tried for just the last few weeks or even few days. Individuals who had never shared before standing before their colleagues and saying, "Hey this isn't perfect, but I am liking the adventure." Sharing their risks and their students responses.
These individuals are finding the inner strength to say I have something to share. Becoming leaders in their own right. Encouraged perhaps by a colleague, a coach, or a principal. Discovering the courage to share, innovate, and create. A courage perhaps more needed and more important than one fighting a hopeless battle against all odds. A courage all of us need. In taking the risk, being fallible in front of their peers, they become the coach, the risk-taker, the encourage. Courage breeds courage. Thank you to those who took risks to share, encouraging us all to find the courage to share more.
As a kid, we would go to school and learn things. We would come home and our parents would ask us questions. Deep and thoughtful ones. "So, what did you do in school today? What are you learning in math? What's your favorite class? What are you reading in school?" They would ask these questions because for them, just like us, school was about acquiring knowledge. Back in 1980something, or 1950something, we couldn't ask Siri what was the capital of Nepal or what was the heat capacity of Aluminum. Life was about gathering information. Those who accelerated to the top, knew how to acquire and hold information and were able to retrieve it quickly.
Teaching during this time required a transaction. The goal for the teacher was to distribute information quickly, accurately, and meaningfully. Occasionally in some subjects we would apply the information. We would all do labs in Science and from time to time have simulations in Social Studies. Even in these experiences, the fundamental component in the end was how we transmitted the information back in the form of a lab report or write-up. The product was secondary to the process. Everything was about the transaction of information. The few kids who actually engineering products were in the shop classes not the college prep courses. Each experience was a transaction. A redistribution of information.
Beginning in 1989 Compton realized it would be very powerful to put the encyclopedia straight on everyone's computer. They released Compton's Multimedia Encyclopedia. However real traction came in 1993 when Microsoft changed paradigm with the release of Microsoft Encarta. Distributing encyclopedias as they sent out Windows operating systems. In 1995 the World Wide Web began to make traction and by 2001 Wikipedia was introduced. In a short 12 year span, we went from information being the vital limiting reagent to universal access to all information. Gone were the days of microfilm and microfiche. Card catalogues disappeared. Film strip projectors vanished the way of the Dodo.
In classrooms, our expectations and our instructional skills were all about the transmission of information. There were exceptions vocational education, fine arts, and physical education. Each class relying heavily on transactional distribution of information for a knowledge economy. Skills, better handled by Siri, Wolfram Alpha, or a Google Search. A shift in the paradigm is occurring. Our kids have figured out how to quickly survive in the world of the knowledge economy. Ask any 10 year old "Who was Joan of Arc?" and instead of replying like Ted from Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, they quickly will search the web through any of a variety of means and give you a deep answer about who she was. The transactions of the past have little skill or value in the application world of today.
The differentiator for us as well as our students is how we can transform the knowledge into unique and innovative products. What a student can do with the information is far more valuable than the act of acquiring or redistributing knowledge. This process requires us to rethink the learning experience. Adjust rubrics to include the acquisition of key knowledge but emphasize the capacity to apply that knowledge to create new products and new knowledge. In the past we would encourage students to make the same diorama or poster presentation. Now we want to infuse creativity, innovation, and uniqueness. As these will be the skills that open doors of employment and success. As instructors, since distribution of knowledge is no longer the utmost priority, our role changes. We become coaches. Giving students baseline skills and challenges. Encouraging them to problem solve, create, and cultivate. Providing feedback to their creations not reporting on the status of them recreating our ideas. In a short time the paradigm of learning has changed. It should make the dinner table conversation about "What did you do in school today?" a whole lot more interesting.
When you live in a snow state, February is a grind. The newness of snow and winter has passed. The novelty of snowmen and winter lights has faded. Instead days are simply short. Nights are long. It's cold. The wind is bad. If there is snow, it's a hassle because no one remembers how to drive and getting the kids snow gear on is a pain. Winter, this lovely festival becomes the dreary day to day. It is the grind.
In school's it is no different. The kids wander in their various states of dress. Some bundled up like Nanook of the North, which I remember watching at Downers Grove South High School in 1989, and some dressed like they are ready for Weekend at Bernie's, which I also watched in 1989. Each day we are presenting harder concepts to them because this is the work time, the productive time, the time during which growth accelerates. Each night, kids go home and hit the books. They read, do their math, watch some youtube and head to bed. The next day it's back to the grind.
This is the hard time of year. This is the difficult work. The time in the trenches. This is when the growth happens. Just like a child, where you put them to bed and they wake up a little taller. In schools, this is when we do the day to day hard work and then Spring comes and we realize they came out a little smarter. These are the hard days and the long nights. For kids and adults it can feel like a grind. In our district, between January 4th and March 24th, there are 57 days of school and 2 three-day weekends. There will be many indoor recess days, many wind-blown bitter bus stops, daily learning opportunities that challenge the very fabric of our understanding and many long nights. For now in schools, it is the grind.
As all Winters, even in Narnia, Spring truly is just around the corner. With it, renewal, sun, energy, children still not dressed for the weather, and celebrations of growth. In these tough days we cannot lose track of the power of each day. The investment that comes from the hard work. When we feel as if we are going to snap, recognize that for all of us, kids and adults, this is the grind. However, it's just a stage. This too shall pass, and the value gained from our investment of time, energy, and diligence will bring value in Spring.
As humans we like to believe in a little predictability. We put our faith in the idea that if we do certain actions that certain consistent outcomes will occur. We surround ourselves with people that will provide us with those replicable actions so that we know what will happen. As a result change is hard. We build nests in which faithfully actions will occur. With this predictability often we are more than willing to accept the negative voices within our culture. Predictability and consistency build a comfort and trust that outweighs hope and chance for something more. Courage to break the occasionally bonds of the day to day in order to become something greater takes both energy and faith.
Many of us live good lives. We surround ourselves with good people. We work hard to do a good job. We try our best to raise a good family. Whether its five cats and a little dog or two children with the nicknames mischief and mayhem, we find our niche and work to make it our own. In the process of slowly building this cocoon of success, brick by brick, we rarely stare out the window and ask what could be. Even rarer we stick our head out the window and say can we make this happen.
Nearly three year ago, our kindergarten team came forth and asked why can't we find an opportunity to extend the day to support children. For generations they have led a terrific program. It would have been easy to complain to each other that we need more time. It would have been easy to dream about new opportunities. It's hard to gather together and ask your district leaders, "can we explore this?" It would have been easy for the leaders to exclaim that we don't have the money, the facilities, and the time. As one of our temple's rabbis once said to the other rabbi, "I hear all the reasons why not. What are the reasons why to?" So instead of not asking, the team asked. So instead of saying no, we said why not. In that moment, both groups had the courage to trust and dared to believe what could be.
Nearly three years later, we have 5 schools piloting our Optional Kindergarten Enrichment and
Enhancement Program. In those schools we have nearly doubled our number of kindergarten teachers and rooms. We have found cost neutral ways to do it. We left the cocoon of predictability and dared to make something greater. It has not been without challenges, change, problems, and struggle. However, to walk in and watch those teachers and children engage in the learning process, social interaction, and creative journey, we wonder what would happen if we didn't cultivate this opportunity. It is our hope that we can work through the challenges and create this same experience in all six buildings.
The creation of something new requires a courage to trust, a willingness to ask why should we, and daring to believe that we can be something even greater. Whether its a new program, a new teaching partner, a new job, or a new career, developing the energy to aspire for something more is hard. It's an act of faith, an act of trust, and a hope for the future. Like all leaps forward, there are times we stumble, times we hear rejection, moments in which we discover that there are no points for second place. However we must hear those rejections, face those failures, and accept those losses while still moving forward to a greater future.
I am a baseball fan. Specifically a White Sox fan. I enjoyed the teams of the early nineties and the World Series in 2005. I look at the team on the north side of town. I see the century of failure. I followed the five years of losses in this decade as the leadership team openly developed an organization and vision: 2010 (75-87), 2011 (71-91), 2012 (61-101), 2013 (66-96), 2014 (73-89). Five year of failure while maintaining the courage to trust. The Cubs, an organization that dares to believe. The fruits of their willingness to break the cocoon of safety are beginning to ripen. A team with a pipeline of talent that is starting to blossom. I don't know if they will win the World Series in the next few years, but they certainly are a contender. Instead of asking why not, they found reasons why to. A moment for each of us to look within ourselves, a moment to consider the risks, have the courage to trust, and dare to believe in what could be.
Back in the 80's, television went through a period in which showing of what "real men" did included building gadgets and coming up with creative fixes. Each episode of the A-Team contained a montage of B.A. Baracus (Mr. T) building some necessary vehicle or fortress in order for the team to help solve some victim's dilemma. However, no show was better at it than the Richard Dean Anderson classic, MacGyver. With the tagline, "His Mind Is The Ultimate Weapon," MacGyver was the guy into maker spaces before there were maker spaces. He was known as the character who could build any gadget, make any escape, or solve any problem with his pocket knife, some duct tape, a paperclip, and whatever else was laying around. Furthermore, he would explain it to you as he built it. It was a cool time when fictional characters did more than simply drop one liners, they did real things too.
In the 80's, it wasn't a big stretch to see guys building things because we all knew those guys. The ones who just did home improvements, tuned their cars, got up on the roof and fixed the roof. It was a time when real people actually fixed things. If something didn't work, we didn't just go back to the store and return it, but we went to the repair shop to fix it or you found your guy. I've been lucky enough to have two such MacGyver's in my life. Uncle Deedles was the original. He built an entire cabin in Canada. He had a blow torch in his garage and an oscilloscope in is his basement. I remember him hooking up motors and running pulleys. He always had something in the works. Uncle Deedles moved to the Pacific Northwest in the 80's and I went MacGyver-less until the mid-90's. Then I met my father-in-law Don.
Don was a throwback. Like Deedles, he had a 100 different projects in the works. His basement was a treasure chest of tools. There were saws, grinders, wires, wrenches, and conduit. He was always fixing something, and like MacGyver always willing to tell you how he was doing it. Not only was he the dad who would be waiting up for you on the couch to return with his daughter from a date, he would want to tell you about the project of the day when you got there.
As a first-time homeowner, Don was the father-in law you wanted to have. He taught me how to snake the plumbing and install a sink. He was there on a weekly basis as I finished up the basement, teaching me to frame the room, bend conduit, install electrical, and tape drywall. Don would stop by each week, teach me a skill, give me homework, and comeback to check if I'd done it right.
Don knew things that most college-grads never dreamed of. He was a guy who did his own tune-ups and oil changes. Taught me how to change brake pads. He barbecued and fixed things. And most of his projects were mostly done most of the time. Over the past few years, Don slowed down. As many of us, not being able to do the projects he once did. But his gifts didn't slow down. Last year, my friends were rebuilding their kitchen. Logan, my youngest son, and I went over to Don's, borrowed the reciprocating saw, the pipe bender, and a couple of sledge hammers and went to work to help them. For a couple of months, there we were. Hammering away, hanging in the crawlspace running conduit and fishing wire. A young man learning to be the next generation of MacGyver as he hung with his dad.
It's been a hard week around here. Last Saturday we lost Uncle Deedles and yesterday morning, Grandad Don passed away. While I sit here crying, writing, and crying, I look at little reminders and realize that your gifts go from generation to generation. While you might be lost, your legacy lives on. Although my friends may think I'm handy, I am a poor substitute. My brother Roy is the MacGyver of my generation. He's the guy when you need to go down the pit to fix the well or sweat copper, you call. As I look at the next generation, Cameron is me in far too many ways to count, a digital child who is the son of a digital child. However, Logan is very much both of you. Last night, there he was building away at some creation. Some cardboard, tinker toys, trinkets, and other stuff. Little projects started here and there. Pausing to explain to anyone who would listen, how the creation works and what it does. An engineer coming into his own living in a world that once again embraces creativity, innovation, and maker spaces. He will be the MacGyver of his generation. L'Dor V'Dor, the Hebrew saying of from generation to generation.
Growing up, my aunt and uncle lived just down the street. Frequently when my parents weren't home, I would spend time hanging out at their house. Sometimes I would be annoying my cousins or being tormented by them, depending on the day, sitting with my aunt discover new plays, television shows, or foods, or watching my uncle build something creative. Everything there was unique and different. It was a potpourri of creativity.
As I knew my uncle, he was a thinker and a tinkerer. I remember taking long evening walks with him, my dad, and the dogs. We traveled the streets of Downers Grove for what I believe was miles, but I was a kid. As we walked he would talk about politics and science. He would express thoughtful views on so many things in the world. My dad and him would analyze everything as if they were in the salons of Europe two hundred years earlier.
In an era of Cold War politics and yuppy materialism, my uncle was the tinkerer who rebuilt everything, drove around an old right-handed drive post office jeep with the dog in the passenger seat, and retreated each year to an isolated cabin in Canada with no running water. In an era that pushed for conformity, he walked a different path. He found meaning in other things and showed my brother and I that there were other things one could do. He was a successful business owner, yet found meaning in things far greater than that.
As we raise our children, are we giving them the courage to be different? Do we give them the opportunity to explore their interests and be one with themselves? Living life within our true interests and self requires a tremendous amount of inner peace. I thank my aunt and uncle for helping teach me this. As I look at the lives my cousins, my brothers, and I lead I see it. I see it in a daughter who each year participates in Doctors without Borders, a granddaughter who plays roller derby, a son with a deeply religious family, a nephew who builds the most amazing creations and works deeply to preserve our world and another nephew who studies the ancient world. Very different lives in a world that likes sameness.
Last night we lost Uncle Deedles. While I hadn't seen him often since they moved to the west coast. Each time I had the opportunity it was like picking up exactly where we left off. Thank you for teaching each of us it was ok to question assumptions, be unique, and live different lives. It may not have been in words, but it was modeled in everything you did.
Logan and I are going to go for a walk now. Maybe its time we got a dog too.
