Accepting Harlan

                                        "You'll Never Leave Harlan Alive"

In the deep dark hills of eastern Kentucky

That's the place where I traced my bloodline

And it's there I read on a hillside gravestone

You'll never leave Harlan alive

Full Song

Something about the haunting tone of this country song has always resonated with me.  I couldn't put my finger on what that something was until today.  It wasn't the fact that it references a small town from which few people escape.  Though, given my complicated relationship with Nebraska, that would make sense.  

Here's what it is.  At it's heart, this song is about inescapable fate.  It's about that thing you don't think you will ever overcome no matter how much you want to or how hard you try.  I believe that at some point in every person's life, they will have at least one moment like that.

My friend Brian's suicide is my Harlan.

Today, I was packing up my things at the coffee shop where I sometimes work, and the song "Amazing Grace" shuffled up next on my playlist.  I was immediately swept back to another Sunday, almost exactly ten years ago, when I stood in front of my congregation singing that exact same song.  I looked out on the sea of sleepy smiles and spotted five grey, breathless faces.  They knew what I'd known since 7:30 that morning.  They knew what everyone else would know in a matter of minutes.  Something beautiful had been destroyed, and none of us would ever be the same.  

The next song, you can guess what one, landed me safely back in 2015, and all of the sudden the words made sense.  For six months after Brian died, I felt dead too.  For the rest of that first year, I felt painfully alive.  I felt like everything and everyone I loved might crumble before my eyes at any moment, and that constant fear left me paralyzed.  I was sure life would never be the same, and I would never be happy again.

I was half right. I've never left Harlan.  Honestly, I hope I never do.  I never want to stop missing Brian.  I never want to become numb to the painful memories that accompany each September 18th.  

However, I have learned how to be alive in Harlan.  

I realize this part smacks of George Bailey, but hang with me if you will.  I'm no longer afraid of Harlan.  I've overcome paralysis, I've stabilized the relationships I know are solid, and I've accepted that others will inevitably crumble.  Most importantly, I've learned the difference between living and being alive.  Regardless of where I am, I will eventually stop living.  It's just nice to know that when I do, I'll be in Harlan - alive.  

Well Hello

I’m 4.  Brow furrowed, heart aching, I am somehow leaving Blockbuster without “The Sound of Music.”  Whoever this "Dolly" is, I do not want to say, "Hello!" to her.  My brain has no room.  I need to see my Maria spinning free on the hills!  They are alive for heaven’s sake!  She wants to skip across rocks and run through fields.  So do I!

"You’ll like it Erin!  Stop pouting!"

The VHS clunks and whizzes, and I whiz with it - into a world completely choreographed by a whipperwhool of a woman with the boldest voice I’ve ever heard and the biggest energy I’ve ever seen.  Her charisma eats up the screen, and while she could never, ever replace my nun who longed for adventure, she makes her own space in my world.

I’m 14.  Boys are really cute - especially this one boy with deep blue eyes and a soul and brain to match.  Plus he has a six pack.  

We have cable now, so I’m flipping through channels.

-And if you act right now-

FLIP

-f only we’d gotten there sooner sh-

FLIP

-ming up next, see how-

FLIP

- OUT THEEEEEERE! -

FLIP pause FLIP BACK

And Dolly and her gang are at it again.  Except it’s the young people who draw me in this time.  All Barnaby and Cornelius want is to kiss a girl.  All I want is to kiss that boy.  I get them.  They get me.  We all eventually get our kiss.  Life really is like the movies!

I’m 17.  Our director is sick so we’re watching a musical in class.  Babs wins the vote over those gangsters who for some reason fight by snapping their fingers at each other.  I smile.  It’s like seeing old friends. I sit and think of other things.  That is, until the parade passes by.

Alright Dolly, you’ve got my attention.  

Suddenly I realize, Dolly got lucky.  She married rich.  Her husband died.  Now she can do WHATEVER she wants.  What a life she’s lived…

Fuck the boy!  I mean - you know what I mean.  Why does every girl who goes looking for adventure end up married?  Really - fuck the boy.

I have to get out of here before the parade passes by, because out there, there’s a world outside of Nebraska, and…

I’m 20.  My college home is Swarthmore, PA, but for now, I’m back in Nebraska.  I’m triple-counting to make sure I have the same 12 bobbing heads that I had when we first sat down.  The chair kicker is strategically seated next to me, I’ve convinced the man behind the counter that it's worth everyone’s while for him to refill two pops that have already spilled - free of charge - and the lights are dimming.  

"OUT THERE!"  Plays on the screen.  In a theater populated by college students and summer campers, I realize I’m the only one who recognizes this song as we spin through solar systems, and streak past planets - Star Trek style - until finally Earth comes in to view.  We meet a cube-ish robot who collects things, human things, things he’s piecing together in a world where he is totally alone (save for one bug).  This little robot reminds me of what it means to wonder.  And he does it at a time when wonder feels very far away.

I’m 27.  Gin and olive juice fill my nostrils as a chorus of voices announce they’ve, “gotta get in step while there’s still time left.”  It’s a sentimental last hurrah for a man who is about to leave the city by the bay.  I talk to him later, and he tells me through tears that he is moving to Florida.  To be close to family, yes, but also to be there for a godchild with a gay son.  The man I’m speaking to wants to make sure that neither of them are left behind by the parade, because many, many years ago he feels like he and his father were.

I now have a heart and a brain full of many examples of courageous, intelligent, independent women.  Many of whom don’t get married at the end of the movie.

The boy is dead, and with him died that little girl who thought that all stories have a happy ending.  It’s a perspective that needed to die.  Still, I wish something else would have killed it.  There have been plenty of moments that would have done the same job far less viciously.

The parade has not passed me by, and I am certainly OUT THERE, both figuratively and literally.

I still love that kid who bangs his feet against the chair in front of him, and I still feel the unrelenting drive to advocate for every kid who “spills a soda.” They all deserve a second chance.  Many of them didn’t get to believe in happy endings as long as I did.  Many of them still do. Regardless, they are all beautiful.

What is all this for?  Who knows.  I got to say, “Hello!” to Dolly for the first time in a while on Monday night.  I guess it just got me thinking.

ALIVE! SHE'S ALIVE!

This year has been insane.  I've been pushed hard and stretched thin, and I have not had much time to reflect.  My focus as a second year instructor has been on the practical aspects of educating; procedures for a productive room, incentive structures, exit ticket trackers, etc.  I have also taken on a lot more responsibility for whole-campus tasks such as planning various field trips and creating units of curriculum on subjects like debate and story-telling.  This has been a wonderful experience, and I feel like I have grown immensely as a teacher and a professional.  Now I need to learn how to balance that with thinking about why I do this work and what kind of teacher I want to be.

This week I finally had the chance to sit down and look over my 1.5 years of blog posts.  I'm shocked by how much I have already learned and grown since my first post.  I'm also shocked and a little disappointed by how many times I read an old post and thought, "ooooh, that's why I do that," or, "wow, I've really lost sight of that."  My focus for the coming year is going to be to find more of a balance between practice and reflection. 

One area of thought and practice where I feel I have made some actual headway is around the issue of trust in the classroom.  Questions surrounding trust and belief have been a reoccurring theme in my posts:

           How do I empower students to take chances?

           How do I show students that failure is not an end point but rather a step in the process?

           How do I balance the needs of different students so they all feel supported?

           Where should the greatest portion of my attention be directed, towards students who are already
           motivated to learn or towards students who have yet to find that motivation?  Do I have to choose?

What I have learned this year is that creating a safe and supportive classroom is more dependent on the culture of my room than the planning I put in to my lessons.  Students need to feel like they can be successful.  Some students come to my classroom having already experienced plenty of success.  They are the students whose hands eagerly launch from their desks whenever you ask, "What do you think about...?" or "Does anyone have any questions?"  Then there are the students who have not experienced as much success.  Either the will to learn, the skills needed to learn, or both have been absent from their educational experience in the recent past.  These students are either lethargic or are attempting to highjack the class.

My greatest area of growth this year has been in recognizing students who are not motivated to take academic chances in my room and helping them to find their academic strengths.  I've used many skills and strategies that have been very effective, but what I find most striking is also what probably should have been most obvious.

My students start trying because they realize I am never going to stop trying.

It is both touching and inspiring to me to see how their attitudes change when they figure out that I am going to continue to care and to try no matter how much resistance I'm met with or how much they might be struggling.  Until this year, I never really realized the impact a teacher can have when students know that no matter what happens, that teacher will still expect big things from them and will still care deeply about them as people.  Its difficult, it takes patience, and I'm definitely not perfect in my resolve just yet.  Still, it is reaffirming to me as an educator to know that if you hold out the rose petal, students will eventually sniff!  If you show that you care, your sparkle can respark the "dull gray dots of apathy".  If you make sure students know that you think they are making unfortunate choices but you maintain your belief that they are smart and good hearted people, they will eventually begin to believe it too.

So I keep hoping. 

And I keep working on being as patient, consistent, and caring as I can be.  Now, I need to learn how to pair that demeanor with high expectations and rigorous curriculum.  I need to work on how to use the supportive environment I am getting better at creating to push my students to grow academically.  Needless to say, I still have a lot of work to do.

It's just nice to know that all this time, I've been on the right track.  Its re-energizing to think that my early notions about teaching, though idealistic and not fully-fleshed out, were not totally out of the ballpark or completely naive.  Hopefully when I look back 5, 10, 15 years from now, I am still saying the same.

Power of Passion

This morning, I felt like crap. When I got on the subway, I was so focused on how putrid I felt, I was barely aware of what was happening around me. What brought me back was the familiar whine of a three year old girl who had just been scolded by her mother. The affected child's face, though far cuter than my own, directly reflected my internal feelings.

Then, something interesting happened. The little girl's mother handed her a tube of bubbles with a yellow plastic cat's head for a lid. She grabbed the toy in a huff and let it hang limp in her tiny hand. This only lasted a couple of seconds. Maintaining her scowl, she began to examine the object she now possessed. She soon discovered that the cat head screwed and unscrewed, and her face began to change. Her pursed cheeks softened, and the wrinkles that had formed above her nose relaxed slightly from wrinkles of anger to ones of interest.

This tiny child, who only moments ago had been so distraught, was now enthralled with the simple motion of twisting and tightening that yellow plastic cat head.

I watched her with a mixture of deep adoration and considerable envy. In my mind, I was already starting a blog post about how kids start out with natural curiosity about the world and how that curiosity overrides their negative emotions. In my mind, that would have been followed up by a rant about how that dies overtime because of experiences they have in life and school.

But then I realized that this same little girl had acted as my yellow plastic cat head.

Education is my passion. No matter how terrible my mood, any display of childhood curiosity transfixes me and sets my wheels in motion. I found myself sitting on a subway, no longer feeling like crap, but instead completely enthralled with a small girl and her tube of bubbles.

Student's do not loose their curiosity about the world, it just evolves. Eventually, children figure out why the cat head untwists, and that is no longer a subject that is transfixing. That is why it is so important to help students find a focus for that natural curiosity. In other words, they need to start uncovering their passions.

As a teacher, I feel it is my job to help my students find that thing that gets them so pumped up, so focused, and so dedicated that they forget anything else they are feeling. I want their desire to to explore and discover to override the negative feelings they experience and to give them renewed purpose in moments when things are hard. I want them all to have days like I had today. That is to say, days that start out completely terrible, and end with an exciting revelation.

Half and Half

My life as an educator has been tumultuous for the last couple of weeks. I've dealt with frustrations including everything from poorly delivered lessons and hours of standardized test prep to deeper systematic changes that are completely going to change the job I am doing next year. I've felt disgruntled, angry, frustrated, mopey, and helpless. Sometimes, when I look at the current direction education in this country is headed, its easy to feel like the "good fight" is simply too overwhelming.

No worries, this post turns around fast.

On Saturday, I went with a co-worker to the Museo Del Barrio (a Latin American Art Museum) on a scouting mission. Our college to career connections class just finished a unit on family history and identity, and many of our students have Latino roots. We thought it would be a nice way to end the unit, but we wanted to check it out first to be sure.

As I was meandering about the museum, I was picturing my tiny scholars flitting from placard to placard reading about the different pieces. Eventually I found myself in front of the painting Virus Americanus by Rafael Vargas-Suarez (see above).

I found this painting interesting, but not particularly inspiring. What got my mind flipping circles was the description of the painting provided on the placard that accompanied it. The painting was described as a visual depiction of America as a virus that is attempting to infect the entire world. However, it is difficult to tell whether the virus is advancing or the world is successfully fending it off. In other words, what we are really witnessing is a fight between optimism and pessimism. Again, I wasn't that impressed with the image, but this description of the painting hit a chord.

I am in a very similar place right now. As someone passionate about education reform, I see NCLB and other similar policies as a virus that is taking over the education landscape, and I am forgetting that the fight is far from finished.

As a teacher, I have been so focused of late on perfecting my lesson planning and ensuring that things go exactly according to plan, I have forgotten something vital...

That's not my style.

Luckily, I have brilliant and beautiful patches of light surrounding me who find ways to remind me of why I started doing this in the first place.

For instance, on Monday I had a group of three seventh graders who chose not to go outside for free time, and we were playing with play-do. One of my seventh graders made a ring out of the play-do and threw it across the table trying to ring it around a marker that another student was at that moment using. I could have reacted to this in many different ways.

1. Kicked my unruly student out of the classroom because I felt he was not mature enough to handle the activity.

2. Admonished the student for throwing the play-do with the stereotypical, "play-do is not for throwing" retort.

I almost did both, but instead for some reason I responded by saying, "My dear if you want to throw play-do rings at markers, please find a way of doing so that does not cause Thomas to mess up his beautiful picture."

And he did.

My chosen reaction led to the creation of ULTIMATE RING TOSS, a wonderful game in which you throw play do rings at ever changing formations of markers stuck to the table with gobs of play-do. It kept the whole group entertained for nearly 40 minutes, and it inspired another student in the room to create a play-do based game of her own.

I learned two major lessons from this experience.

1. No matter how daunting the world of education reform may seem, ULTIMATE RING TOSS moments are worth fighting for.

2. Sometimes it is necessary to remove the stick from where the sun don't shine and just go with the flow.

Are you ready, are you ready for the floor?

This weekend I was watching Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland. My feelings about the movie were mixed. However, one thing about the movie that I found delightfully refreshing was the opportunity to see an on screen heroine boldly and actively pursuing what is right and just. Watching Alice constantly propelling herself forward toward her goal tapped in to the desire I have for my students to do the same. It left a question echoing in my mind.
How do you get students to jump down the rabbit hole?

One of my continuing challenges as an educator is to create an environment in which my students feel safe taking chances. I have written on this topic before, and I feel it is an appropriate time to return to it now that I have some experience attempting to create such an environment. My first impulse was to shield and protect my students from failure. I figured, if they took a chance and succeeded they would be more comfortable taking them in the future. When lesson planning, I tried to think of all the possible ways my students could make a mistake and then created safeguards within a lesson plan to ensure no such hiccups occurred.

This was very silly.

Obviously, it is impossible to think of everything that can go wrong, and attempting such a feat is hugely counterproductive. The message I ended up sending to my students was that you should always be cautious and do things perfectly the first time you try. It is completely possible that they came away from my lessons believing that doing a good job requires following a set of explicit and detailed instructions and creating an end product that fits a strict set of criteria. Planning lessons in this way makes it impossible for students to get comfortable taking chances because there are no chances to be taken.

Then last night all the thoughts that have been swirling around in my head regarding chance taking finally conga lined into a single stream of conscious thought.
Alice can fall because she has fallen before.

In Burton’s adaptation of the tale, Alice is returning to Wonderland as a young woman. Which means when she jumps into that rabbit hole she can do it without batting an eye because she has done it before and it turned out fine. This isn’t a perfect metaphor. In the movie Alice does not remember having been to Wonderland before and she thinks she is in a dream, but stick with me on this.
When I think of my own life and the moments when I have exhausted my ability to analyze, criticize, categorize, and every other “ize” you can think of for a decision, experience with falling is what allows me to finally say, “what the hell” and go for it. I have lept into the murky unknowns of life before, I have fallen into the blackness, and I have hit the ground at the bottom.'

Sometimes that ground is an embracing plushy surface that allows me to get up immediately and move on feeling glad that I jumped. Sometimes it is fitted with long jagged spikes that leave my body mangled and leave me seriously questioning why I ever thought jumping was anything but insane.

What always saved me from remaining impaled, hurt, and defeated was that during my early “spikes at the bottom” experiences is that someone was there.  Many people actually were there to say, "Wow Erin, you really f-ed this up, but you are not done, you are not defeated. Get up, learn from what has happened, and move forward." This was essential, because I learned that I could make mistakes. I could make huge mistakes, and with time and perseverance, I could recover and move forward.

I need to let my students hit the spikes.

However, when they do, I need to be there to help them stitch up the wounds and move forward. Hopefully that way, when they come to a rabbit hole in the future, they will jump with the understanding that regardless of what awaits them at the bottom, they will learn many valuable things about themselves and about life. More importantly, they will know that no matter what awaits them they possess the strength to propel themselves toward their dreams for the future.But what is the best way to do that?

Defining Moment

If you know me, you know I like poems. If you read this blog, you know I like using poems when I teach. The first poem I ever taught was The Dream Keeper by Langston Hughes.

The Dream Keeper

Bring me all your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world


I did the explication of this poem with a group of 10 year old boys from Chester, PA. It did not take them long to uncover Hughes' meaning. However, what has stuck with me about this first experience is the response one boy gave to an off-handed question I asked at the end of our discussion.


Erin: Now that we have figured out what this poem means, what do you guys think about the idea of a person who protects other's dreams?

Darien: Erin I think that's stupid. No one can protect a dream for you. You have to take care of it yourself.


At that moment, I knew I wanted to be an educator. Not only that, but I knew what kind of educator I wanted to be.

Today I stood in front of my room full of sixth graders and did another "poetry activity." We compared the lyrics of two different love songs. One of them dealt with romantic love (All My Life by KC & JoJo) and the other with familial love (A Song for Mama). As I watched eager hands shoot up in the air and listened to the connections and observations my students were making, I felt a desperate longing that I am very familiar with.

My heart ached with the desire to be their dream keeper.

But Darien was right. That is something I cannot be, and trying to take on that role would be doing my students a grave disservice. Instead, it is my job to help my students develop the perseverance and passion they will need to fight the sparkle-dousing cynicism the world will inevitably throw their way.

As a teacher, I cannot buffer my students from disappointment and disillusionment. However, I can do everything in my power to prepare them to be brave and vigorous protectors of their own dreams. I can help them discover the strength and beauty that I already see in each and every one of them.

In the end, why would I ever want to keep their dreams when it is so much more amazing to watch them become their own keepers?

Standardized Sculpture

You are a brilliant sculptor. A patron comes to your studio and plops a giant lump of clay on the table in front of you.

"I want you to take this lump of clay and make me something beautiful," says the patron.

Then, before you can ask any questions, he leaves. You find yourself not knowing where to start. Something beautiful? How do you choose? There are so many beautiful things. Does the patron want something realistic? Abstract? Based in nature? The ever-mounting swell of possibilities paralyzes your talent for creative creation.

Eventually, you accept the fact that the task before you is overwhelming and do the only thing there is to do...

Start.

You work tirelessly night and day. You shape and mold the clay until it takes on an aesthetically pleasing form. You scoop away the unneeded excess. Finally, you stop and step away from your sculpture. Being the professional that you are, you can see that the piece you have created is far from perfect. But it is beautiful, and you decide it is time to be done.

You contact the patron. He returns to your studio to see what you have created.

Your heart sinks as the financier of your piece stares in disgusted disbelief.

"Where is the pedestal?" asks the patron. "Don't you know that all great statues are sculpted to look like they sit on a pedestal? And why isn't it painted? Don't you know that every statue should be painted?"

The patron refuses to pay for what you have created and storms out of your studio. He snaps a picture of the monstrosity in order to show it to the National Council of Artists. He wants your sculptor’s license revoked.

The National Council of Artists sees your sculpture and is appalled. They decide that there needs to be a crack down so that no sculpture will ever be created without paint and a pedestal. Soon there is a national mandate requiring that all sculptures contain these two elements. Artists who refuse to comply lose their membership in the counsel which makes it very hard for them to get commissions.

Many members do not think that these restrictions are enough. They feel that the national council should also decide acceptable dimensions for a sculpture, the subject matter that can be depicted in sculptural form, and they mandate that all sculptures must be carved out of marble (they have a surplus in the quarries, and using it up will be very profitable to the council).

You lose passion for your work. The council no longer seems to have faith in the ability of sculptors to create beautiful works of art without national intervention and strict regulation. Your work becomes dull and passionless. All the sculptures in the country begin to look the same. If nothing changes, they will all begin to look like they were cast from the same mold. You give up the craft, because you are deeply distraught by the lack of freedom you have to make every sculpture into something unique.

Question 1: What kinds of students should our country strive for?

Dull passionless clones?

Or

Unique works of art?

Question 2: What kinds of teachers should our country strive for?

Regurgitators?

Or

Creators?

I know which of these I would choose. What about you??

Hear! See! Speak!

I say...

"I work with middle school students in an urban setting."


They say...

"Well, in this economy you can't expect to get your dream job straight out of college."

"Its so noble of you to take such a thankless job when your education could have allowed you to teach at any number of prestigious schools."

"You brave soul!"

"Given your...background...wouldn't you be more comfortable working somewhere more...suburban or...rural?"


I hear...

"Ms. Ronhovde, why don't we have a basketball team?"

"What's the point? I'm not going to college."

"Ms. Ronhovde, why don't we have any music classes?"

"Our school is broke. They can't give us nothin'"

"Ms. Ronhovde, how am I supposed to do this project when this school has no internet?"


They hear...

"Urban schools need to stop focusing on "fluff" and get back to the 3 R's"

"Gang violence is on the rise."

"Graduation rates for urban public schools still linger below fifty percent."

"High School drop outs: What's feeding the trend?"



I see...

Sparkle

Furrowed brows as furious pencils race to unlock the mystery of a variable

Mesmerized stares as thoughtful fingers turn crisp pages of a beloved book

The light bulb turning on as a young mind is introduced to a completely new world of thought

A smile full of love in response to every moment I prove to them I am listening and I care

Hope


They see...

Nothing




Here is what I am currently pondering. How do we get well meaning and intelligent people to stop simply painting a picture of urban schools and their students based on statistics and news stories? These children are not numbers, monsters, deadbeats, and certainly not pathetic beings in need of anyone's pity. I am humbled everyday by the intellect and perspective provided by the brilliant young minds surrounding me. I know that if others could see the sparkle I see in my students, they too would be invested in ensuring that it never fizzles out.

He kindly stopped for me...

I crave the crunch of fall. It is the season of my birthday, Halloween, and football. All of these things make it perfectly lovable, but what I love most are the warm colors. However, as I watched green turn to yellow, red, and brown this year, a thought hit me for the first time.

Those leaves are dying.

If I could choose how I leave the world, it would be as a beautiful yellow leaf. Before you freak out, let me explain. When most things die, people are either sad because they loved them or happy because they want them gone. A loved one dies- that makes people sad. A mosquito dies- that makes people happy. The death of the leaf makes people happier because they loved it. Nothing else that I can think of does that.

I have actually been working on this post for about two weeks, and I've been vacillating with regards to publishing it. However, I am going to publish this (as you can see) because we cannot avoid death.

So why avoid talking about it?

Death is what makes my life beautiful. Not the actual experience of losing a loved one. I have experienced enough loss to know that it is always unalterably devastating. It takes a piece of a heart that will never again be filled. Still, isn't loving someone so deeply that losing them causes literal pain its own form of beauty? As awful as death is, knowing that I will eventually lose the people I love most is part of what drives me to appreciate every beautiful and special thing about them. It makes me truly cherish our time together, and it drives me to overcome even the most painful of offenses.

But that's not really what I am talking about. The beauty in mortality, to me, is the vitality it adds to existence. If I knew I was going to live forever, I would be far less likely to embrace moments with the potential to be exhilarating.  Though I would like to think that I would still drop whatever I was doing and go running through a thunderstorm or dance like a fool in a department store when my favorite song comes on the radio, I doubt it would give me the same feeling.  There is no urgency when you have all the time in the world.

The fact of the matter is, I will not live forever. Death will stop for me even if I will not stop for him (thank you Ms. Dickinson). Why not face that fact head on? If we have to live with death, why not really LIVE with it? Stop sweating little things that don't really matter in the long run and appreciate everything beautiful that we are blessed to experience for a blink in time. That's what I choose.

Buddy Bolden's Cues: Jazzing up Classroom Culture

I love Jazz. Every time I hear a jazz band play, the sound penetrates straight to my soul. My breathing slows, my pulse picks up the beat, and for a while I am consumed by the raw vibrancy that courses through the horns, intertwines itself in the strings, and dances across the keys. Still, until recently, my enjoyment was purely visceral.

Ken Burns and Wynton Marsalis changed that. Over the weekend, I watched the first episode in the documentary series "Ken Burns' Jazz." It's really hard to explain the effect that it had on me. All I can really say is that before I was even ten minutes in, I knew this documentary was going to significantly effect my world view. I was not disappointed.

Completely by coincidence, my decision to screen "Jazz" came the day after my colleagues and I had a very in depth conversation about the kind of classroom and school culture we want to create for our program. I had a lot to contribute during this discussion, but I did not feel like much of it was very productive. My thoughts just would not crystallize, would not flow and integrate the way I needed them to. It was very upsetting to me, because I have thought a lot about classroom culture and what I would like my classroom to look like. I just could not verbalize it.

As is usually the case, the verbal artistry of a far wiser individual became my catalyst to clarity. Something about Wynton Marsalis' description of jazz tripped a switch on my internal circuit board, and all the lights started flashing at once...

I want my classroom to be like Jazz!

Jazz music relies on collaboration to synchronize the beautiful and unique sounds of many individual musical themes. It is simultaneously the ultimate form of self expression and the ultimate example of cooperation.

Jazz intelligently challenges convention. It is constantly trying new things and pushing the limits of what is acceptable. It never apologizes for itself, but it is very reflective. Jazz musicians learn, adapt, and evolve both by reflecting on and refining their own craft and by critically analyzing the work of their predecessors and contemporaries.

Most importantly, jazz takes on societies' proudest and most shameful moments with equal vigor. It startles the ugliness in humanity without ever losing its sense of humor. Often, jazz sounds likes its biking up a PAM covered hill, but it recognizes the beauty in that struggle. In fact, I would argue that it recognizes the beauty, the vibrancy, and the current of joy flowing through every aspect of life.

And that sums it up. That is what I desperately want my classroom to embody. I could go on forever about all the parallels, but they are pretty direct and transparent. I want my students to see collaboration as the best way to both showcase their individual talents, and as an opportunity to create something more meaningful and relevant than they ever could have working in isolation. My hope is that they can be unapologetic in their academic risk taking while still maintaining an evolutionary attitude. There is something to be learned from every success and failure and a way to grow from every experience.

I guarantee that my classes will very critically examine what is most atrocious and most impressive about the world and the people living in it. However, my goal is to guide them through this process in a way that recognizes the beauty that exists in every struggle.

I want learning in my room to bounce off the page and foxtrot across the classroom in a whirlwind- often chaotic, but never without purpose.

My dream is that learning can be for my students what jazz is for me: A force that penetrates them to the very core. I want them to get so excited by the very prospect of exploring something new that their breathing slows, their pulse picks up a brand new beat, and they enter a world that they never before realized was available to explore.

What do you say to taking chances?

"If you are never scared, embarrassed, or hurt, it means you never take chances."

This post is going to be an examination of what it means to take a chance. There are all kinds of quotations out there about taking chances. The one starting this post is my personal favorite, but here are some others...

"Risk more than others think is safe. Care more than others think is wise. Dream more than others think is practical. Expect more than others think is possible. "

~ Cadet Maxim

"Never let the odds keep you from doing what you know in your heart you were meant to do."

~ H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

"Do one thing every day that scares you."

~ Eleanor Roosevelt

"We must walk consciously only part way toward our goal and then leap in the dark to our success. "

~ Henry David Thoreau

"Trust your own instinct. Your mistakes might as well be your own, instead of someone else's."

~ Billy Wilder

I know that is a lot to take in all at once, but each of these quotes reveal something very important about how our society views the experience of taking a chance. We are told that taking chances means we might potentially feel embarrassed, scared, and hurt. These great men and women explain to us that chance taking requires us to lay aside safety, wisdom, practicality, the impossible, and instead take an instinctive leap of faith.

To a certain extent, they may be right. It is almost impossible to take chances without the presence of the unknown. However, as an educator it concerns me that we are sending the message that taking an unknown path to new experiences has the potential to be painful, scary, and embarrassing. I also do not particularly care for the message that there is no room for analysis, experience, and calculation in taking a chance.

In my classroom, I want my children to see taking chances as an adventure. I want to eliminate fear and embarrassment so that trying new things is comfortable or even exciting. When approaching something new and different, I want them to rely on wisdom and practicality (both their own and that of others) instead of treating them like an impediment on the road to discovery.

Sometimes taking chances will be scary, and sometimes it will require a leap of faith, but I do not think it always has to. My question for all of you is how? How do I create an environment where my students feel safe, comfortable, and even eager taking chances? How do I ensure that trying new things and heading in new directions is a positive experience instead of a scary and overwhelming one? As always, I appreciate anything you have to contribute.