Honored to Represent @FairfieldU During the Barnum School's 8th Grade Moving Up Ceremony Today in Bridgeport

The following is a sketch of the words I'll deliver this morning at the Barnum School's 8th Grade Moving Up ceremony in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Throughout the last semester, 22 Fairfield University students and I participated in a service-learning course on Philosophies in Education. While my students read major philosophies in education, the young people at Barnum School gave them hands-on experiences of what they face as students in the 21st century.

At one point in the semester, I had my students do a visual reflection where they had to present their philosophy for teaching in a puzzle-shape I gave them. Their puzzle pieces, however, came together to create a piece of art I'm presenting to the school today. #BEBARNUM. It is a community-art piece with a poem I wrote for the school.

Good Morning.

It is a pleasure to have opportunity to welcome you to the 8^th grade Moving Up ceremony at Barnum School and to celebrate the young people here who are part of the Barnum School family. My name is Dr. Bryan Ripley Crandall and I am an assistant professor at Fairfield University and the Director of the Connecticut Writing Project. This semester, the Barnum School opened their classrooms for my students and many worked with 8^th graders who are “Moving Up” from here today. Together, my students and Barnum youth discussed educational philosophies, the power of learning and thinking, and the importance of education. Students from Barnum were the heroes and in just a few short weeks, they changed the lives and perspectives of my university students.

President of the United States, Barak Obama, teased his daughter’s school when he was asked to speak at a “Kindergarten” graduation. He told them, “I’m not going to share wisdom until the kids graduates high school – better yet, when they finish college.” I agree with our President that the real standing ovations and finger snaps are more deserved at the larger crossroads in life, but even so, there’s much to be applauded today, during the 8^th grade Moving Up ceremony.

You’re moving up, Class of 2020…and four years from now I welcome you to ask our soon-to-depart President to come speak at your high school graduation. For now, I want you to stand up, however, because you’re stuck with me (make the kids stand up).

I like finger snaps, the poetic applause given during an open Mic and I welcome you to join me for a few shout outs/finger snaps that I want you to give. Please start by giving yourself two finger snaps.

(do it). You've made it to this crossroads and should be proud.

I want you to now turn to your teachers, the administration, and the staff – and give them two finger snaps. They make your education possible and there are not enough fingersnaps in the world for all the work that they do. They don't expect red carpets or ticker-tape parades, but they do appreciate when students recognize the hard work they put in for supporting you.

I also want you to offer finger snaps to your family and supporters. They love you. They support you. They want the best for you, and they care about you. In the long haul of your life, these are the people - the individuals -  that matter most. You owe much to them. In fact, you owe them big time.

Finally, I want you to give two finger snaps to each other…for your friends. Do it. Do it now. I didn’t know when I was an 8^th grader, that a good friend is someone who encourages you to be your best: to achieve, to excel, to live with integrity, and to be a good person. When one is in middle school (sometimes called mental school) it is easy to be hoodwinked by so-called friends who actually weigh you down. You don’t know this now, but you will learn this one day. Good friends, I mean really good friends, are hard to find. I hope that the fingers you snapped just now were for those friends who have made you a better human being, rather than those who have pulled you down from reaching your greatest potential. Anyone who does not support you in achieving a better life is not necessarily a real friend. I want you to think about that.

Congratulations, Kids. I am giving your school a gift from the 22 Fairfield University Students who visited this year. Each of them wrote you a note of encouragement and collaborated on a piece of art they hope will hang in your school (along with a copy of the poem, “#Be Barnum” that I wrote with you in a workshop this year). My students offer advice like,

·      #Be Yourself
·      #Be Bold
·      #Be Flexible
·      #Find Your Motivation
·      #Laugh
·      #NeverStopLearning

I thank you for inviting me to your ceremony and wish you the best as you pursue an additional education in high school. I challenge you to be lifelong learners, to appreciate the beauty of the world, and to follow the wisdom of Martin Luther King who advised us to always find the time to do what is right.

And close with two snaps for you. I want you to be successful. The world needs good people, not knuckleheads, know-it-alls, and bullies. Go do you, but do a you that adds joy to the world, and not harm. Take this moment to reflect on who you’ve been so far in life and make it a location for deciding on who you hope to be come. Choose to become somebody right now. Life's too short not to begin seizing the day right now.

My best to you and Ubuntu.

Bryan

Not My 5K, but His 5K, and He's 20-Something, So He Has The Energy. I Had a Lawn To Mow.

Tunga, Roy, & Jacob
Black Rock 5K

I took Jacob and Chitunga to run a 5K - run for refugees - almost four years ago. I love that they now find 5Ks to run, whether I run with them or not. They're competitive, and Jacob has placed at 2 of the last 3. Now, Roy has joined their competition. They are the 7-minute mile club, and I haven't had that time since I was 24 years old. Now, I'm happy with a 9-minute mile.

Rather than running, I got up and mowed the lawn, walked the dog, ran, and then sorted more of the garage. Tunga and I then ran errands - got him a new car stereo - then went to Pam's for BBQ, ribs, corn-hole, battle ship, and ladder ball. It's a ritual now, "Um, We going to to Pam's? It's Sunday."

The weather outside is reminding me of Denmark. The winds are nice, the temperatures are cool, but the sun is warm. It makes for the best sleeping in the world - especially with the windows wide open.

Glamis is pooped from playing with Pam's dogs and I'm fried from moving hundreds of books around all day.

Man, is it Monday again already? Well, my faculty friends - I hope you enjoy your time off...that is not the case for me. I'm back in tomorrow with a tremendous list of things that need to be accomplished.

Have a great week.

Somewhere In My Files is a Short Story I Wrote Called "Moth." Moths To Flames. I Am Shaking My Head.

It has been my nature for most of my life to attract eccentric individuals. I usually love the company, but somewhere in the early 2000s a witch friend of mine (yes, I collect eccentrics) did a spell around my house to keep the crazier of eccentrics from my home. Of course, that was Louisville, and I didn't have the magical barrier when I moved back to Syracuse and now in Stratford.

Long story short. I told Chitunga it is his official duty to now look out for me and to say, "No. You're not helping that person. I'm protecting you. It's in your best interest to leave it alone and send them on their way. In the long run it will behoove you if you listen to me. Draw lines. Say no. Resist. You must resist."

I will write in code from this point on, but let's just say that I spent 8 hours yesterday unboxing and sorting through ghosts. They weren't ghosts, per se, but they were memories that someone left at my house under the guise that they were something else. I said I could store the items in my basement, but then the items were left to me, and I have to deal with them. So, now I'm working through ghosts and they aren't mine, but from my reading between the lines, they are heavy ones from several decades ago. Human beings are strange creatures and somehow I get duped by them every time.

Back in the day, Alice used to say, "Moths to the flame, Crandall. Moths to the flame." I've always contemplated what she's meant by this, and my only interpretation has been that since I tend to be vivacious about this life thing, others who are more lost (and dead) inside simply find me. They play a game with my energy and sucker me into believing truth that is far from it. While they crash and burn their wings, I'm left with the bright light and the dirt. The story teller in me loves the wackiness, but the work-a-hol-ic in me doesn't have time!

I wrote a short story for my students in Kentucky about a kid who I never met, who wrote me letters about his life on and off for 4 years. A student encouraged her friend from another state to start writing to me. The more I read his letters (remember letters?) the more I realized how self destructive he was. I fictionalized his character some, and then did a "what if" scenario playing on his stories to write a story for myself. I called it "Moth" and I believe I should find that story again.

It's not the point, though. The point is that I need to purge myself from the crazy. I've been good about it for a while now, but sometimes I have lapses. This week, the moths are fluttering around my head. I'm not happy with myself for allowing them back in my attic. That is why I told Chitunga it's his job now to look out for me and to say, "Stop."

Shouting Out To Class of 2016 #BassickHighSchool. May You Stay The Miracles That You Already Are! @FairfieldU

Yesterday, GSEAP and the leadership of Dr. Robert Hannafin welcomed the graduating class of Bassick High School to Fairfield University for a celebration of accomplishments and yearlong partnership with Fairfield University.

Their senior energy was felt the second they exited the bus, and I could hear the cheering crowd from my window. I couldn't wait to bump fists with these remarkable kids and share pizza with them. My colleagues and I offered high fives and applauded the miraculous accomplishments they made as the class of 2016.

Fairfield University hosted the senior class every Friday on campus, offering mentorship, guidance, space for English classes, and support. It was wonderful for my colleagues and I to hear their visions, comprehend their societal concerns, follow their dreams, and listen to their hopes. I was also proud to see several young people from Ubuntu Academy in the line-up of soon-to-be-graduates.

Statistically, the U.S. likes to report deficit construction for urban students --- that they don't achieve, won't achieve, and can't achieve. This is not true for the 200 young people who are earning their high school diplomas next Tuesday at Webster Arena. They are athletes, writers, thinkers, and mechanics. They are beauticians, linguists, politicians, and medical technicians. They want to drive trucks, learn electrical units, become fashion designers and aim at coaching. They are tremendous individuals and I am thrilled at the young people they've become.

Ms. Smith, the senior year principal, reported Bassick has a record number of graduates this year. The faculty, staff, families and support systems should be proud. I couldn't think of a better way to spend a Friday afternoon than applauding them as they move forward in their lives.

Six young adults from Bassick High School will join Fairfield University's Class of 2020 this September.

Garage Game Play Throwback...Felt Like It was the Early 1990s. Late Night. Silliness. Stupidity. Laughter.

You sunk my battleship.

The first few years I was away at college, summer nights (when I returned home) became an occasion for gathering in the garage over games of Pitch, Dweebs, Geeks, and Weirdos, Claim To Fame, Pictionary, and other games -mostly turned into drinking games. Cool nights led to relaxed evenings and it was fun to unite with family and friends with a little competitive spirit. I remember some nights Bill Patrick would come over with his guitar and play music and we could always count on Karl for a Budweiser or 2 or 8 or 16 or 32. That was summer on Amalfi Drive in our 20s, and I'm still wondering how my parents went to sleep and tolerated it.

Last night, a garage sale find of Battleship became an evening of intensity between Patrick and Chitunga. The seriousness in which they battled (Patrick took the series) was hilarious, strategic, intense, and amusing. They were at war, and I loved watching their youth, their calm, their care-freeness, their competitiveness, and their absolute joy for being in a garage on a summer night.

It reminded me of Cherry Heights and what seems like yesterday - all we needed was the sun to go down and then the people would gather in a garage for games.

I'm not sure if I recognized how precious those moments were then, but they were special. We never knew who would congregate, the refrigerator was always stocked, and the laughter would continue late into the night.

Of course, too, it helped that the temperature dropped drastically and it was one of those almost frigid nights in June. I love when we have those, especially before the humidity strikes.

When You're A Stubborn Detective and You Persevere, Even When You're Pissed Off and Cheap

I bought a new grill a couple of years ago and it is my tradition to spend a large portion of my summer months outside standing by the grill. Last summer, one of the grill handles broke and I duct taped it to stay in place. This summer, the other half broke off and I realized, "Fudge. This sucks. Duct tape won't work."

I went to a few home stores to see what they have in stock, but they didn't have a thing. Frustrated, I crawled underneath the grill to get all the important digits for the actual product that I own. Technically, I think Brinkmann should give me a new grill, but I don't have the receipt and I doubt they'd give me a new grill simply because of a faulty handle. So, being the nerd that I am, I played sleuth last night and worked with the numbers I had until I finally found a Brinkmann distributor that specializes in parts.

Now, note: I found many Brinkmann grill part stores, but not one had the handle that would fit my grill. In my OCD mode, however, I kept googling and googling, deeper and deeper in grill part terrain (read SKUs and measurements, models, and advice columns) until I finally found the part I was looking for. Was it expensive? Ah, it could be worse. The cost of shipment was actually more than the part.

The waiting begins today. I've been using tongs to open and close the flaming pit, and when the replacement handle comes in, I'm hoping it is easy to assemble, perfect for my model, and painless.
I have to say, however, that the way the handle is assembled is very flimsy - it is easy to see why it broke so easily.

On one hand I feel like I'm Tim on an episode of Home Improvement, and on the other hand I'm an aggravated consumer perturbed that I had to do this hunt for a two-year old grill, anyway. But victory will be mine if the 14'' handle fits like my investigation showed that it would.

The Masked Crusader Is Sneezing A Lot: The Cottonwoods Are In Bloom and Hatchoo! God Bless Me

When I was in the Louisville Writing Project and early summer was upon us, the Ohio Valley punched me in the head, causing me to lay my head on a desk. Jean Wolph, the Director-extraordinaire, wet a cloth, put it in a microwave, and instructed me to put it on my face. It worked. Within an hour, my sinuses deflated some and I could concentrate to think.

Sue, a Louisville mom, bought me a mask while there that I'd keep in the fridge or sometimes put into warm water to put on my eyes during the most painful days. The crud that filters on Louisville is remarkable and I don't think anyone could experience worse allergies.

This year in Connecticut, however, there is pollen on everything. My car is covered, my windows are covered, and my head has been clogged. That is why when I saw a $1.99 sinus mask at Christmas Tree Shop, I reminisced my Kentucky days and thought, "You might want to grab one of these, Crandall." So, I did.

Yesterday, I noticed the cottonwoods were in bloom because there were white cobwebs on all cars and the streets were aligned with albino cotton candy. They cause my head to clog up the most. Knowing I don't want to wrestle with the Mucinex monsters, I came home to wear my Batman & Robin (Captain Ribbit) mask to ease the pressure in my head. I honestly think I should begin wearing this mask in my everyday attire. I just need a cape and a pair of tights. Wait, I have running tights. I may have the new look, indeed.