Posts

Showing posts from February, 2008

Reinvention Anyone?

Image
The writer Baharati Mukherjee said in her novel Jasmine that" we murder past selves and reinvent new ones in the images of dreams. " I am a completely different person now that I live in Portland. Even my closest new friends do not really know me. They know only the self that is trying to be born. This reinvntion stuff is heady business.I find that somedays I try desperately to abandon who I was, but then on others, I think about becoming the same person, or re-creating the same life. It probably wouldn't be that difficult to teach full-time again. To enjoy what brought me a sense of accomplishment and pride; to fight similar battles and work toward equity and inspiration in education. We are so identified by our professions or our careers or our lack of them that self-reinvention is only for the strong. Try it, you'll see what I mean. It is at once terrifying and exhilarating. With reinvention comes freedom- a word I seldom use because it means so much an

Testing 1...2...3...4

Image
The last edition of This American Life, the NPR program turned TV show, was all about testosterone. But what a fascinating and rather different look. In the four chapters comprising the program, a rather ironic picture of the "master hormone" emerged. We all have some testosterone but the first question raised was what happens with none? A man who experienced this and then wrote a GQ article detailing his daily life without the production of "T" focused completely on desire. He had none. So it's not just sexual desire; it's all desire. He ended up liking the rather pleasant sensation of wanting nothing. It does simplify things doesn't it? Of course after this medical condition was corrected he returned to a more balanced reality. "It was nice to be free of some of the things I find offensive about my own personality, like judging people and things," he said. So just how much does testosterone determine? For a former woman who trans-

Where They Have Gone

Image
I always figured when the long hair turned gray or disappeared altogether it would get ugly. Nobody ever expected the counterculture of the late 60s to age gracefully. Some have done remarkably well; myself included if I may be so bold. It doesn't take much these days to figure out that the values of that era are long gone. True, there is a peace movement, and certainly the use of recreational drugs continues, but make no mistake, we live in a mean spirited time. I'm hopeful that will change. With age and experience comes a different kind of hope. Cycles bring things back around. I'm certainly not waiting for any return to the way things were, that's not what I mean. I'm talking about perspective and what we can take from the past. Lots of talk lately about the failures of the 60s. A friend of mind recently explained to me why he's voting for Obama. "Boomers have had two chances at the presidency; both have fucked it up, wouldn't you agree?&q

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

Image
I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of

How Logo can you go?

Image
They came in the cafe together but she went to the counter and he hung back. Probably missed their first class by design. A quick cup of something warm and a bite of something flakey on the way to school is easily obtainable. While she tended to the lid, cream, and napkins, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. I never really saw their faces because I couldn't get past his jacket. On the sleeve of this red white and black pseudo leather monster were a string of advertising logos. The train of colorful badges looked like a page from the stock exchange. Wrangler, Napa Auto Parts, Ritz crackers. From soda to guns, clothing to corporate consensus. When did all this become fashion? Are we that out of touch? Off they walked, meeting the universe on their own terms. Terribly in but laughably out of it. You tell me what happened to the empty cup. In 2003 a couple of educational psychologists published a study in the American Psychological Association's Journal of Educati

Why Teach?

Image
Lots of talk lately about hope. From the political campaigns, to the economy, to the future of public education. All education is public, isn't it? Obama talks about the audacity of hope; one must be audacious to hope these days. So many have either lost hope or never seen any that they seem to live in a cloud that not only erases their humanity, it limits their vision. They have no hope because they cannot envision the possible. Such a tragic turn from the ambitious days wanting to make a difference. Yet, all hope is not lost. It lives on in those still able to imagine, those who sense the power of the promise, those who know how to act without being asked or forced. I was reading an excerpt from a book called Why We Teach and, of course, I applied the question to my own motivation. After all the important, but cliche ideas like making a difference, passing on knowledge and curiosity, and modeling learning and the behavior of learners, I was struck with one teacher'

No Harm

Image
What a funny little experience I had today. While backing out of a parking place in my local grocery store, another driver didn't see me and began to back up shortly after I began. We tapped back bumpers. Immediately, we both rolled forward back into our original places, got out and greeted each other. "No harm, no foul," said the gray frizzy haired woman about my age. I glanced at the back of my truck and then at her sedan. Apparently not even a mark. "I'm glad you didn't hear what I said," she continued. Before I could respond, she leaned forward and gave me a hug; a real hug. While in this sudden embrace she continued, "This is nothing; much more important things to think about, yes a hug is good. OK." She was definitely calling the shots. Then, inspecting her car one more time, she noticed a slight tear in her tail light. "I think that happened because your bumper is higher than mine. But it's nothing to worry about.&qu

Above This Wall: An Excerpt

Image
Here is an excerpt from Above This Wall: The Life and Times of a VISTA Volunteer c2008 I’ve been writing this book for the past few months. Hopefully a first draft will be completed in the next few months. Rabbit’s Hutch “What can I bring?” “Just yourself, and make sure your house mates come with you, we need as many VISTAs from inner city Houston as we can get.” Nancy Hite was adamant about having a good turnout from the Third, Fifth, and Sixth wards. As the force behind this Fourth Ward open house, Nancy wanted as much support as she could muster. Her little strip of downtown poverty was all set for an influx of direct action. Living in this community composed mostly of decaying shotgun shacks and an occasional church or street corner market, she had a good deal invested in its makeover. My two housemates and I were first year VISTAs. Nancy was in her second year, having endured the political and emotional tornado that was 1968 deep down in the alley of the Fourth War

A Work of Art

Image
Last week a few things finally crystallized for me. Writing a memoir from recall is very tricky stuff. It's a genre unto itself and raises untold questions from accuracy to ethics. Fortunately my writing group began the process of making this kind of writing possible for me to do. Then, quite by chance, last week I stumbled upon a little workshop at Portland State led by Debra Gwartney. I had met her along with her significant other, poet/writer Barry Lopez about a year ago at another event. I was pleased she remembered me. "I was the dude who stood up and read a poem," I reminded her. "Of course," she smiled. Most of the other folks that showed up were writing memoirs about their father's WWII experiences. And then there was a woman whose 92 year old father, a Holocaust survivor, was about to visit her. Her life has been shaped as metaphor for the survival of her father. Powerful stuff. There was also a woman who was forced to move many times

Creative Writing

Image
I have disparate interests. I guess that makes me more complicated than some folks. In revising my CV, these contradictions present themselves in various ways. That's why when I sent out my CV in response to a request for possible employment mentoring beginning teachers, I was wondering how my writing experience would play. There, next to memberships in professional organizations like the American Psychological Association's high school affiliate, the National Council of Teachers of English, and the National Council for the Social Studies, sits my NTWA membership. National Turf Writers Association. My colleagues in the Bay Area Writing Project have always found it fascinating that I managed to balance two worlds. Thoroughly supportive, for them, it was always about the writing. People still judge the racetrack through a clouded lens. I guess they can't get past the gambling. Good reason for some. That addiction has taken its toll in similar fashion as other addict

Odds and Ends

Image
I. So Exxon Oil achieved some corporate distinction the other day by being the first company to post earnings of $34 Billion (that's Billion with a B) That's not really a surprise, but what's fascinating is that according to an online poll 85% of respondents find that statistic troubling, while 64% said they NEVER fill up at an Exxon station.  Makes me wonder about the other oil companies earnings.  But maybe there are no other oil companies.  I wonder what percentage of respondents believe there is really only 1 oil company?   Reminds me of a little town in Northern California with three Basque restaurants.  A friend of mine once suggested that all three serve the same food.  Each restaurant is connected by an underground tunnel with one large kitchen serving all three.  I can just see the waiters and waitresses all converging on the massive kitchen from three angles, dressed very differently but serving the same food.  Nobody knows the difference. They may suspect somethi