Note To Self: When Looking For A Photo of A Dead Bird, Be Careful What You Ask For. But I Have A Point.

I'm not sure how I feel about Jurich's decision. The news of the NCAA investigation and Katina Powell scandal at the University of Louisville made him forbid the Cards to have post-season play in the tournament. I believe in ethics, though, and if they know something went down, then there needs to be repercussions.

Something went down and, sadly, the wrong Cards have to pay.

Obviously, the trust in Andre McGee was a mistake, but there is blame on anyone who would hire such an idiot and allow him to bring prostitutes to recruits (although I like that it rhymes). For that, I fault Jurich and Pitino, and all administrators at the University. They should pay.

Ah, but I also blame the young men at the parties for tolerating the objectification as they did. If boys were raised to be men, they'd be taught to live a life with integrity. Integrity means that the idea of women throwing themselves at you, stripping, and doing sexual services as an occupation is rather seedy, if not vulgar and skanky. The young men involved are at fault, too. Bigger than the scandal is the fact that there's obviously a market for women like Powell in the appetite (stupidity) of college athletes.

To all of them I ask, "What were you thinking?"

It is a sad day for Cards fans. I've been loyal since middle school --- the day I flew with Peter Caroli to Kentucky to see a game at Freedom Hall. I remember getting my first U of L sweatshirt and feeling so proud. I have two Masters degrees from Louisville and being a basketball fan was very much a part of my experience while there. I've watched underdog teams become powerhouses and powerhouses at the epicenter of every other team's revenge. As controversial as Pitino's always been, I believe he is a phenomenal coach. Hearing him discuss his players in the press conference, I believe, is demonstrative of the real man he is (or he is an exceptional actor who also coaches)

I do think Pitino was somewhat in the dark about McGee's poor leadership and that he truly is hurting from the news (perhaps, because it was finally exposed and he hoped it never would be). I wonder though, "This garbage happened in your house. You had to know. For that you are at fault, too."

This year's team loses the most, however. After the UNC game this past week, I knew the team had something unique going for them. I've grown to love the players. They are athletes who were not around during the time that Powell and her underaged daughters 'made a living' from dollars received from McGee.

It's a sad, sad day, though, for those of us who are Cards fans. I hear people blaming this person or shaming the stripper/escorts/call girls/whistle blowers (probably not just whistles). But I blame everyone...parents of the recruits who didn't raise their sons better, players on the team who didn't do what was best for their fellow men, peers in the dorms who participated in such cheesiness, everyone...what the hell were they thinking? They're so dumb. And now they've embarrassed the game, the city, the University, and themselves.

All of this for a few horny thrills in the heat of a party. Idiots. Bottom line. Idiots.

Then A Letter Arrives in the Mail (Unexpected) And the Memories Flood The Moment (And You Are Thankful)

Yesterday, I drove around southern Connecticut delivering 36 tickets to K-8 student winners who nominated Mentors4Life, a partnership program with CWP-Fairfield, Fairfield University Athletics, and Hoops4Hope. These young people wrote letters of recommendation to name an individual who helps them succeed in and out of school with focus, integrity, self-esteem, self-awareness, and responsibility. I felt like Santa Clause doing presentations in the classrooms. Each student received two tickets to Sunday's NCAA basketball double header featuring the Fairfield University Stags.

I went to my office soon after and worked with the extraordinary Caryn Sullivan on website updates and the distribution of POW! The Anthology (3rd edition).

I made copies of grants for the University that I've submitted, visited a colleague who is retiring and who wishes to donate her library to CWP-Fairfield, and came home to chill out with the dog (while Chitunga was at work).

When I went to the mailbox there was a card, a letter, and a eulogy that a grandmother of one of my students in Kentucky wrote. The grandmother wanted me to know how much I meant to her and the Brown School community in Louisville and to say, "You had a touch on what my grandson had to say at his father's funeral." I did not know of the passing and I was sorry to hear the news. Still, I was touched that she reached out to me to share an update of her family and a young man who meant a lot to me (I tutored him while I was working on my 2nd Masters degree at the Kentucky Institute for Education and Sustainable Development and, a few years later, he enrolled at my school). He was a precious kid, and I though the world of him.

Out of nowhere, I was suddenly back to 1998-2002.

They say that in order to understand the magnitude of teaching, one needs to stay in the profession at least five years. I was in Louisville for more than ten years, but have been gone for eight. When I receive flashbacks from colleagues, parents, and students I'm overjoyed with my memories. The decade I spent on 1st Street were miraculous and in all my wishes, I desire that other educators could have the same teaching opportunities that I did - it was a period of student-centered visions, high standards, creativity and an emphasis on individuality. The activist in me, sadly, knows that this is not the reality of 21st century classrooms. Teachers are stifled, innovation is hindered, and a political maelstrom via Charters, alternative certification programs that are abysmal, and ridiculous state tests have virtually destroyed what was once possible in K-12 teaching. The pendulum is swinging again, however, and the fighters to restore professional pedagogy in the classroom are numerous.

Receiving a letter like the one I got yesterday simply inspires me to (a) contact more politicians, (b) fight more of the misguided reforms sabotaging effective education, and (c) celebrate the work of public school teachers and students even more.

There is a tremendous amount of work to be done, but memories like this fuel the strength for me to fight on.

"Ms., I Don't Want Free Time. I Want To Read" - Day One of Service Learning in a K-8 School.

This semester I inherited a 2nd service learning course and I'm spending 3 hours a week in a K-8 school. The location is near a large immigrant population with a vast majority of kids speaking English as a second language. My 22 students are reading philosophies of education and getting a hands-on experience with one-on-one work with adolescents. I never know what I will find doing such innovative teaching, but today - day one in the school - I realized, "this is the way all courses should be.

The quote that moved several teachers and me.

Ms. I don't want free time. I want to read.

The Fairfield University students were paired with teachers and in this particular class 8 English majors were given a task to work with a student as they wrestled with a Frederick Douglas text. The teacher in the room and I discussed her research interests while the partners did their thing (it was so quiet, that we forgot they were in there with us).

As the time came to an end, a teacher announced the students could take a break and this one young man said those words. The teacher in the room just shook her head. "It's not that I'm not believing this," she said. "I've just never seen this. We paired the most reluctant readers with your students and they typically resist all reading activities. Look at all of them...it's 100% on task."

The school, led by a Fairfield University alumni, welcomed us with open arms as did the principal. In fact, he brought coffee, cookies, grapes, and water for the undergraduate students. Amazing.

It's work like this that makes me love my job.

Yes, I'm Graying, but the Passion Remains the Same. Celebrate Kids and Applaud Their Writing Acheivements

Photos from last Friday's Poetry For Peace event were posted online yesterday. There were several of my colleagues and I presenting on stage, but I appreciated this one the most. As the young people signed in for the event and I handed each a copy of their published book, I pointed to the ISBN number on the back and said, "Your wisdom for peace and poetry is now registered in the Library of Congress. I bet the President, himself, is reading your words right now."

This, of course, is because of the foresight and publishing knowledge of Carol Ann Davis, who I've also works with for the Newtown Poetry Project. 

Over a hundred kids attended this year's celebration during MLK Celebration at Fairfield University and I'm very pleased/proud/hyped/happy by the great work of the poets and those involved with the project at Fairfield University.

On this day, I simply get to go to the event and act like I'm some sort of celebrity.

I simply give out certificates and throw funds behind the vision of Carol Davis and Elizabeth Boquet. CWP-Fairfield helps notify schools the event is taking place and we throw a few dollars to help out the efforts. The enormous leg work, however, is done by the students arranged by the English department and the instruction of classroom teachers. I just get to go on stage for a few moments and make people laugh.

The true hits are always the kids. Having each of them stand at the MIC to recite their poems is inspirational, motivating, and precious. They are very proud (as they should be) and so are the families they bring.

I am grateful for the photographer, too, who captured moments of every reader in a way that totally grabs the essence of the night. This community work is what I love most. Receiving links to the photos yesterday totally put a smile on my face.

Both Beth and I felt like we were handing out Academy Awards. I need to be grateful to the wonderful work I'm allowed to do.

Life is This. Also, It is the Nature of a Dog To Be This. And I am Processing This Because I Can. And That's the Truth

I have a dog, but I can't help but think about cats and the way they play with mice. They torment them, torturing them. They are not good creatures to their pray and although they have talents to destroy a smaller creature, the game of capturing them becomes more important.

Welcome to my life with Glamis. She's not a cat, but a dog. Even though she is a dog, she has cat tendencies. I am her mouse. She loves to play with me.

Last night, after funeral and services, MLK celebrations and dossiers, youth academies for 85 kids and a dossier due, Glamis decided that at 12:30 p.m. it would be a great evening to hop the fence and run from Bryan. Why? Because Bryan was in shorts, a t-shirt and slippers and Bryan was beyond fried and exhausted. Bryan spent two 12-hour days in his office trying to showcase what he does for a living because the higher education process requires such justification.

I finished most of my dossier at midnight, and after finishing a few items, I went outside with Glamis to let her pee one more time. That is when she leaped the fence and made a game called, "Dodge Crandall at any cost, but let him get close enough so he thinks you're tiring out."

Seriously. The game lasted two hours. A leash. Biscuits. Talking. Nothing worked. She always remained two steps beyond me and loved the fact that she escaped the yard, it was the middle of the night, and she was in control of me.

I wanted to kill her, but more importantly I wanted her inside.

The winning strategy was falling to the ground, face down, at 2 a.m. in the middle of some person's yard. I began to fake cry like I was an infant and this, THIS, seemed to get her attention. She got on all fours and crawled my way, eventually licking my face. As she did this, I went into bear hug mode and carried her all the way home. I couldn't even think about discipline. I only wanted her in the crate and sleeping so I could sleep, too.

Exhaustion. Dossier. A week of MLK events and total dedication to my job. This was her post sabbatical revenge ("what do you mean you have to work? um, there's me? what about me? you think it's okay to go back to a 12 hour day? well, let me tell you something...).

And with that I went to bed. The rest of my Monday is a blur. And today is Tuesday, isn't it?

Getting By With a Little Help Of My Friends (and Colleagues). #%$#% Coming From Our Office Doors

Erica, Ryan and Me on Saturday - Evelyn
joined us on Sunday

It's too bad film-ographers aren't in Canisius on the weekend before dossiers are due. Our non-tenured faculty crew are such happy campers. We spring from frustration, angst, aggravation, fear, peppiness, elation, stress, joy, disappointment and more frustration all in the matter of minutes.

It's a ritual now...the weekend before the dossier is due to our colleagues for the Annual Review. I know this is the way it is everywhere, but it still doesn't make the process enjoyable at all. I suppose it is a necessary evil (and at one point yesterday I even said I was thankful we had to do this every 365 days so when we go before rank and tenure, we're that much more prepared).

Ah, but the trees we kill from printing. The divisions we create at home with friends and family who wonder why we're miserable. The neglect our poor animals feel and don't say anything about housekeeping. What is saddest, though, is that for 48 hours we are distracted from doing the work needed for our classes that exist in the week ahead: grading, planning, organizing, and thinking.

And breathe. That's what the tenured folks tell us. And breathe.

I wonder if there is any other profession that needs to collect one's achievements in a given year like that expected in higher education. Fascinating to fit every molecule of your existence into spread sheets, binders and page sleeves. Yet, this is what we do (and for me, the real thing is getting really close - I need to find out if I have to go through this again next year at this time, or if I'm allowed to delay it for the summer. I have to check into that).

At one point, Evelyn played Michael Jackson and we all danced in the hallway to destress. That may have been the highlight of Sunday (because it wasn't the fact that I spent from sunrise to sunset - and beyond - working on this puppy).

I'm breathing. I promise I am.

Oh, snap! It's February already?

Amidst the Wackiness of the Weekend Before The Yearly Dossier is Due, A Talisman Presents Itself

I can't write forever today because I wrote yesterday from since 6 a.m. until midnight and I have to do the same today until I turn in this year's dossier to my department on Monday. Of course, I still have to teach, live life, do groceries, take care of a house, etc., but the weekend the dossier is due, that can be thrown right out the window. Chitunga said, "What? You have to go through that again?" My fellow untenured colleagues who were in their offices today, too, said, "Yup, my family doesn't even ask. They just know."

When I went to settle around midnight, I looked up on a hook and saw my Kentucky hat I got this Fall during my sabbatical and a charm given to my by a student my last year teaching in Louisville in 2007. She had a dog charm engraved, "546 S. First Street. UR Home Forever."

I grabbed the charm in my hand, squeezed it tight, and thought, "Ah, she is right." I am no longer doing the work I do in one school alone, but have taken the Brown School vision to schools and kids in many grades and within many districts.

As I wrote so much today, I realized that I'm a lively fish swimming upstream when so many in the world of education (and this includes higher education) are simply dead fish floating with the stream. With such apathy (and lack of imagination) I wonder how any of us are going to make the changes that will be best for kids and teachers.

Ah, but this is a pointless post because it isn't in a peer-reviewed journal.

I will be a better person in a few weeks. I swear. There are only parts of the year that are this frantic and this happens to be one of them.

For now, I am thankful for my charm.