Not knowing the context (or even the validity) of this picture, it’s hard to comment, but that didn’t stop these people. At the time I posted this, there were already 188 comments. Some of them heated.

Like these:

 

IMHO, that’s honestly a student’s failure to study! That’s such a simple mathematics problem and he couldn’t even get the first step correct?

Then again, why attach a McDonald’s application form. He’ll probably not be able to use the cash registers!

Being bad at math in no way qualifies you as a “failure.” Everyone’s different/ has different aptitudes – this kid could be really good at languages or art or sports or a number of things besides flipping burgers.

Not to mention jobs like those at Mickey D’s tend to be major time commitments and can often contribute to kids doing poorly at school.

I fully believe that if they’d had great teachers from the beginning, only kids with major learning disabilities would fail. You’d have some do better than others, sure, but failing? No.

If you fail – it is the teachers fault… the teachers failure to teach.

Not really. You can’t just sit there in class and wait for the teacher to throw knowledge in you. As a student, you have responsibility too.

When did “F” stop meaning “Failure” and start meaning “It’s OK, maybe you just need a hug.” Come on, guys, this is bullshit, and the teacher is being tough but motivational. Stop treating kids like they’re babies, and make them accept some personal responsibility. Good job to the teacher, and to the kid who got the Mickey D’s application, that’s your future if you don’t start putting some effort in, yourself.

Save for when I was screwing off, doing lots of drugs, and not taking life seriously, every F I got was a kick in the pants to stop resting on my laurels and get the education I was after. I understand that giving out Fs sucks, and if it’s the kind of kid who won’t get it, then she won’t get it. But if she’s the kind of kid who will understand, then she’ll look back and thank you for it.

Bullshit, for a couple of reasons:

1. Who (bad words) is ever going to use calculus unless they’re going to spend the rest of their lives doing advanced mathematics? This kid is probably required to take this ridiculous, unnecessary class, and he’s failing probably because he sees no way in which he will ever use what he’s learning. And he’s right about that.
2. Not everyone who fails at advanced math will end up working at McDonald’s. Get off your high horse and get rid of your (more bad words) elitist attitude.

 

 

Sure the picture and idea that a teacher would do this is interesting and somewhat amusing. But what really strikes me here are the sheer number of comments, and passion behind them. Many relate personal experiences, feelings and ideas.

It’s a great reminder that what I do (or don’t do) as a teacher can hit hard and run deep.

How’d that headline grab ya?

I bet (though you may not be aware) it got “grabbier” after that one little word—the smallest one–“or”.

As if you can’t to both. Like you have to choose.

It’s like this: When it comes to matters of faith or spirituality (or whatever you want to call it), I think there are a lot of “non-Christians” that see it this way–that Christians aren’t rational. They’re not logical. When it comes to a Christian’s faith in Jesus Christ, there is no room for debate. In short, Christians are driving with blinders on.

BELIEVE:

• It is easier for a camel to fit through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get to heaven,
• Jesus is the way the truth and the light,
• No one can get to heaven but through Jesus,
• You need to pray,
• Go to church,
• Do good works,
• Spread the Word

or . . . well . . . sorry but you’re probably going to Hell–don’t say I didn’t tell you so.

Consider:

Regardless of whether you believe Jesus was born of a virgin, is the son of God, or conquered death–I gotta believe he would have totally dug Seinfeld.

Good comedy cuts to the truth, exposing chinks in the armor. It says what we’re thinking–especially when we don’t know we’re thinking it. Great humor drags seriously entrenched attitudes, paradigms, and frames of reference to the public square for a good flogging.

And we laugh.

C’mon, despite the slight exaggeration, don’t you know someone with faith like Puddy’s?

How about this exchange about Elaine’s preference in men:

Jerry: So you prefer dumb and lazy to religious?

Elaine: “Dumb and lazy” I understand.

And, really, I think that about sums it up for most non-Christians I know. They just don’t “get” it.

‘Course neither do many Christians (ie Puddy). Sorry, but many sign up, then call it good. You know, they go to church, listen to the sermon, sing the hymns, stand, sit, kneel, memorize all the stuff. They learn the stories and do their best to be good people, but never really consider the metaphor.

Because when you start to play around with the metaphor, you have to take the red pill–and then the rabbit hole gets pretty deep.

But that’s not so much what I wanted to talk about today.

I just thought I’d mention it . . .

What I wanted to share today was how I’m trying to teach Jesus’ lessons to my kids–without strapping on the blinders.

Because I’ve been on both sides of the fence. I was born a Lutheran. My parents made me go to Sunday school, confirmation and all that. We prayed before supper (if we didn’t have company). And we prayed the Lord’s prayer before bed. But we never really discussed it. We just did it–I think because that’s how my parents grew up.
So, naturally I didn’t take much stock in any of it. I might even go as far as to say that I rejected it all thinking religion to be okay for the weak or hypocritical–but not for me.

Recently, however, I’ve found a current of peace and strength so deep, so calm . . .

To quote the song, “Dive,” by Steven Curtis Chapman:

There is a supernatural power
In this mighty river’s flow
It can bring the dead to life
And it can fill an empty soul
And give a heart the only thing
Worth living and worth dying for . . .

. . .The river’s deep,

the river’s wide,

the river’s water is alive . . .”

So there you have it. A little transparency so you know where I stand–sort of.

And here is just one example of what I’m doing with my girls. Together, we say the Lord’s prayer before bed. Just like I did when I was a kid. And they like it. If I neglect it, they request it. I think they like the sameness of it. The ritual. It’s sort of like a way to anchor the day. Wrap it up. Call it good.

But then I like to mess with ‘em.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

“What do you think that means,” I ask.

“What, Dad?” a little exasperation in her voice.

“who art in heaven. What does art mean? And what about hallowed be thy name? What’s all that gibberish?”

And so, over time we’ve gone through it. Bit by bit. Verse by verse, we’ve picked it apart, we’ve clarified, and we’ve asked if it makes sense to say “Our Father and forgive us our trespasses” and whatnot if we are saying the prayer alone. So now not only do they know it by rote memory, but the eight year old can paraphrase it.

Which, I think, is a good first step.

Tonight it went this way,

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,

Give us this day our daily bread and forgive . . .

“Hey wait a second,” I interrupted (again).

“Now what Dad?” Emma’s on the top bunk so I couldn’t see her, but I could hear her eyes rolling in her head.

“We should be saying this prayer in the morning, not at night.”

“Why?”

“Because it says, “Give us this day our daily bread. This Day. But this day–you know today–is done now. Why are we asking for what we need for today when today is done?”

Silence

“Dad . . .”

“Yeah?” I said.

Silence. It was a long pause.

“Are you picking your nose again?” I finally said.

“No!” she giggled. “Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we just say the rest tonight, and . . . you know.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I know.”

Sometimes it’s nice not to think so much.

Our girls have a routine and checklist that they work through every night before bed. One of the things on the list is to get out the clothes that they are going to wear in the morning. It’s a good routine. The girls ask what the weather is going to be like and they plan accordingly. Sometimes they’re not sure about a particular match or color or something, but we’ve been at this long enough now that they pretty much take care of this themselves.

This morning there was a bit of a hitch. The third grader’s shorts were a bit, well, short. Nothing skimpy by any means–fine for bumming around the house or with friends, just not really appropriate for school. Lisa pointed this out to Emma on her way down the steps. Emma, however, was confused.

“Dad?”

They both looked to me for validation. Luckily, this time I had an answer.

As an educator, I’m a big fan of writing–journaling in particular. I really can’t say enough about it. Journal writing does wonders for both personal and academic growth. From creative and critical thinking, to problem solving, to communication skills, journaling is indeed the bomb. And I’m not the only one that thinks so.Consider the following from a recent article at parentmap.com by Sara Kahne,

This winter I was introduced to TED talks a collection of speeches by today’s most intelligent people. The range of topics are fascinating so I strongly encourage anyone to check it out.

Anyway, one of the first speeches I heard/saw (because you can, if you choose, just download the sound without the video as a podcast) was given in 2006 by Sir Ken Robinson. As soon as I saw it I was hooked. He’s brilliant.

Before I go any further, I should also say that in order to be brilliant in my book, you also have to be funny. For me, Robinson clicked on all cylinders.

So when I saw his speech at TED talks plugged on Spurgeonblog, one of my favorites, I conked myself on the noggin and thought, “Why didn’t I do that?”

And since I don’t think I can say it any better, Chris Spurgeon puts it this way:

For more than a year I’ve been forcing friends to watch this 20-minute presentation by creativity expert Sir Ken Robinson on what’s wrong with our educational system. Now it’s your turn. His talk (filmed at the 2006 TED Conference) is funny, profound, inspirational, inflammatory, and paradigm shifting Watch it and see if you don’t also want to throw out our K-12 and college curricula and start over.

Anyway, I was inspired enough by this speech to write this column titled “Why Stupidity is a Good Thing,”  for a local paper. I should have linked to Robinson’s talk back then.

Oh well.  Better late than never.

Chat bots: Artificial Intelligence Links Us to The Big Guy (and other interesting personalities)

First it was Peteranswers.com, then it was Ask Jud, now my students are hooked on igod. I’m all for 21st century skills, shrinking the world with electronic dialog, better opportunities for learning and all that—but this is getting ridiculous.