Hey kids. Happy Friday! First off, cheers to readers who responded to last week’s meditation on Yom Kippur. Grateful that my confrontation with the holiest of holidays in the Jewish calendar resonated. A couple folks reached out to ask how my classroom visit went.
It was fine, thanks. It didn’t start great. I tried to break the ice. I told them that while I don’t comfortably identify as Jewish, 23 and Me tells me that I’m 99.8% Ashkenazi Jew. On one hand, I definitely don’t feel THAT Jewish. On the other hand, given the boring and perfectly predictable results, I did consider asking 23 and Me for a refund.
Crickets.
Sometimes a cold open is a cold open. Suffice it to say that if I’m ever again enticed to talk as a token Jew in a room full of German teens, there are things I’d do differently. But the substance of the talk was, umm, substantial. In retrospect, perhaps it was too weighty. Levity ain’t my strong suit. But to the extent to which my audience was open-minded and walked with me, they probably learned something. Maybe they rearranged a few prejudices. I think they sensed the tension. The tension matters.
Like a good Jew, which I’m probably not, I appropriately agonized in front of the kids, problematizing my relationship with Judaism. I struggled with the essence of Yom Kippur, how it demands us to humbly confront the dreadful truth that we can all be selfish and hurtful and altogether shitty. I grappled with the need to make space–sacred, spiritual, secular, or what have you–to graciously confront our failures and to seek forgiveness.
So check. I done did the thing. The students seemed interested, or they faked it just fine. They staged no revolt. I didn’t have to field questions about circumcision, nor did I have to perform one. And it helped that I was able to hide my horns the whole time. Phew!
If I had to grade myself, and since it is, after all, school, where everything must be reduced to a grade, I’ll give myself a B-.
That was Monday morning, ever since which I have been disheartened by the whole kit and caboodle. Listen y’all, school sucks. Kids rule, grown-ups drool. Twas ever thus and ever thus will be.
I sold my soul to this devil in my foolish, idealistic belief that I could infiltrate and subvert the system. As I settle into my 24th year as an infiltrator, I can’t say I have subverted much.
The world has changed tremendously, but the system stays the same. Same damn system, more damn screens.
Chalkboard > Whiteboard > Smartboard might be the most significant evolution in education since I started teaching last century.
Friends, this week, I was reminded again and again that all in all I’m just another brick in the wall.
I’m a pawn in a game where the rules aren’t fair, the refs are crooked, and everyone is playing injured. Who actually believes in this game?
The Stress. Anxiety. Social Pressure. Cliques. Bullying.
The utter and complete lack of autonomy is heartbreaking. Every school claims to produce “independent thinkers.” What fool believes this balderdash?
Glue your ass to your chair, listen to the fool in the front, or equally painful, the foolin your small group, and you’ll be healthier still. Twaddle!
The sitting! If sitting is the new smoking, these kids chainsmoke like Walt Disney, but without the creative license to innovate.
Innovate? With these half-baked cookie cutter curricula? Still? For 25 years I’ve heard teachers and administrators babble about “differentiating instruction for our diverse learning communities.” Lip service. No more, no less. All hail the standards!
Dear Class of 1994,
I regret to report that, save for the smartboards and smartphones, it looks and feels the same here as it did last century. Sorry, I tried.
You were right to chase the Benjamins. I was wrong. You win again [shakes fist].
Also, are we having a 30 year reunion next year and, if so, can it be close to Yom Kippur so I can apologize in person?
Love,
D
Okay. Fine. You want it, so I’ll hedge. I’m not seeking to throw the baby out with the bathwater (eww). Yes, I suppose the kiddies ought to learn maths and sciences, social studies and humanities. They should study grammar so they can differentiate between knowing their shit, and knowing they're shit.
But why does school make most kids feel like shit most of the time? I’ll tell ya. We’re serving up a toxic stew and my looks in the mirror this week reveal a sinister chef stirring a grim goulash garnished with good intentions.
It’s a prison, I’m a warden, and whatever soothing self-talk I have about being a “good warden” taking solace in public service fell on my deaf ears this week.
Bart and Lisa BOTH know school sucks. Poor little Maggie has feared her fate for three decades.
In 1992, my pal Mike, who had the dignity to drop out, told me this one:
What's the difference between a dead sex worker and school?
…School still sucks!
This week, I’m embracing the suck. Listen, I’m not saying this is how I feel about my life’s work every week. But, true to the mission of this newsletter, this is what I’ve been obsessing over this week. Surely next week will be better.
Plenty to look forward to in school life that can buoy my spirits. Working on a new journal with a student activist group I facilitate. Articles are due 11 October for a November release. More to come…
Oh. Hey! Also on 11 October, my beloved NHS Chapter is hosting a benefit concert for Human Rights Watch Europe (I dropped a podcast with HRW Europe Director, Hugh Williamson.) If you are in Berlin, please come say hey at JFK. Show starts at 6:30.
And my Friday starts now. Have a great weekend!
Hugs,
D
I’m learning how rituals that mark time matter to me. So this year, I am carving out an hour or so on Friday to sit quietly before my family wakes to write about what I obsessed about that week. If you enjoy this weekly reflection, please subscribe so I can send it to you every Friday.