Happy New Mirrors!

December 28, 2014June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

I’ve long loved New Years. It may be my favorite holiday.

I’m not much of a drinker, and rarely up past 11:00 by choice. I am, though, a sucker for fresh starts, for rebooting. It’s why I actually prefer Monday to any other day of the week.

I know – it’s like a sickness, right?

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions anymore. I’m convinced most important changes are evolutionary, torturously slow and staggering as we claw incrementally forward. It’s not that I expect much to be so very different in the next calendar year… I suppose it’s more of a symbolic thing – this idea of perpetual re-creation.

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It’s why we celebrate spring, yes? And birthdays? Part of the meaning non-believers bring to Christmas, so they can still have lights and presents without feeling they’ve completely sold out?

I think, too, that there’s an inherent human love of rebirthing the familiar, rather than seeking the completely foreign, the truly unknown. Sometimes we want to be entirely different people, but mostly we just want to be better versions of ourselves.

It’s why we like to tell the same stories again and again, varying them over time – revealing as much about a changing us as about events themselves. It’s why a good cover of a familiar song can make it alive in a whole new way, while the original improves through the contrast. It’s why we respond to familiar characters, lines, or plot tropes in new contexts – note the popularity of Breakfast of Champions or The Bone Clocks among fans of their respective authors, or the ‘insider’ enjoyment of Star Trek or Planet of the Apes reboots. Recall the public backlash when Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock Holmes in favor of other literary pursuits, and the praise from that same public when he varied narrator or tone within the Holmesian universe.

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Sure, the commercial side of the movie and publishing industries tend to squeeze profits from rehashes until even the originals are ruined, but that’s not the only reason common stories or characters or genres come ‘round again and again. There’s something analeptic about yet another space cowboy trek and its thinly veiled moralizing over contemporary events. It’s fascinating to see how many times Lizzy and Darcy can circle one another before falling in love – in yet another setting, genre, or medium.

We want the good guy to get the girl and overcome the darkness – but we want to doubt along the way, again, so that it’s new. But not too.

Ideally, of course, as we rewrite ourselves and our stories, rearrange our songs and rehearse our plays, we get a little closer to the ideal – to the “best” version. (It would be weird to try to do worse.)

For me, some sense of the past falling away – or any shot at ‘new and improved’ – may be a bigger deal than it is to a more balanced or reasonable person. My life has not been particularly onerous nor my sins so noteworthy, but I manage to carry varying degrees of despair and self-loathing almost constantly. There are days it’s more prominent, others more subdued. Please understand, I don’t claim to fathom the depths of clinical depression or other personal hells some endure – I’m not competing for most tortured soul or anything. But I have my issues, and New Years and Mondays and new semesters salve them in some way. Even reformatting my e-reader brings on the vim.

A student sent this to me a few years ago, and was a bit vague about its source. He may have written it or appropriated it from elsewhere – it doesn’t matter. At the moment he sent it, it was his:

For some of us, the devil is not a deceiver, subtle and coy. He does not argue with our reasoning, let alone our theology, or tempt and taunt us like a car salesman, a drug dealer, or a frat brother upon our initial inebriation.
For some of us, the devil is a tape recorder, a running loop of all of our failures, inadequacies, and foibles, playing continuously in the background. It hammers us not to make a case, but to bludgeon us softly, with truths out of perspective, until we carry a complete conviction of our own uselessness. Rejecting and despising ourselves on behalf of those around us, we are no longer able to act out of purpose, but only out of quiet despair.
For some of us, the buttons are broken and can’t be reached – especially from without. No wonder we are tempted to dash the entire machine to the ground, seeking solace in silence and tangled ribbon.

I don’t know if this is technically any good, but I get it. I hear and see this radiating from my kids in so many variations, it’s heartbreaking. I adore them, but I can’t help what they see in the various mirrors around them. I can’t turn off their tape recorders.

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It’s absurdly relative – some blaming themselves for tragedies and dysfunctions beyond all reason, while others self-flagellate just as intensely over that high ‘B’ they can’t quite push into an ‘A’. The reality of each situation is largely irrelevant. It’s the sense of shortcoming, of failure, of despair. It’s the idea they’re not good enough – may never be good enough.

Strangely, I also see this – in slightly more sophisticated variations – in some of the best teachers I know, or in others of strong gifting. I don’t know that it’s ubiquitous, but so often the most valuable carry the deepest sense of inadequacy. Maybe that’s the universe’s way of balancing things out. Maybe it’s some form of the Devil as Accuser trying to slow them down.

But a New Year is coming. A new semester. Fifty-two weeks of new beginnings.

I guess I could also reformat all of my electronics, but that seems like overkill.

If revolutionary changes aren’t available, maybe we could do a more conscious job of turning down our tape recorder, or at least arguing with it more loudly. Maybe we could occasionally help to pause the tape recorders of others, or help each other look into different mirrors.

You can’t bequeath self-worth to another, but you can invest in their reevaluation of themselves. We can ask for assistance shining different lights on our own assumptions and traps. Let’s not worry about making dramatic new people of ourselves or our darlings so much as finding recurring ways to keep stretching forward and cutting loose the weights of the previous year’s failures.

Despite the ready rhetoric, it’s a lot of work. You may need a hand.

I’m positive they will.

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The Colored Chalk Learning Revolution

December 21, 2014June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

The challenge of incorporating technology in the classroom has always been finding ways to utilize it effectively. It’s tempting to begin planning around what the technology can DO, building the lesson from that rather than the reverse.

Got a screen that responds to touch? Let’s make lessons that involve kids running up and smacking the big expensive screen we don’t have a repair budget for! Look at them whacking at that screen! How very interactive! And this thing over here has a camera? OMG – no more writing! When we cover Populism and bimetallism, instead of explanations I’ll assign a PHOTO ESSAY! No words, just… truth of the soul.

The opposite error is far more common, however – that of merely taking existing lessons and activities and throwing them onto some high-dollar tech in hopes they are now modern.

1980: Hey kids! It used to be Jeopardy w/ pockets of index cards – but now it’s on the Overhead Projector!

1990: Hey kids! It used to be Jeopardy on the Overhead Projector – but now it’s on the Dry Erase Board!

2000: Hey kids! It used to be Jeopardy on the Dry Erase Board – but now it’s on the Smart Board!

2010: Hey kids! Handheld personal interactive devices! Instead of SAYING your answers, you poke the tiny expensive screen we don’t have a repair budget for and your answers appear on the big screen! TECHNOLOGY! INTER-F***ING-ACTIVE!

At least in these efforts, though, teachers are trying to be creative, to connect, to find ways to keep kids engaged. They avoid our deepest institutional loathing.The serious scorn is reserved for those of the Section Review – the users of Ancillaries, the givers of Worksheets, the dark perpetuators of… (please pardon my language):

BOOK WORK.

Hide your kids, hide your wife, they’re mimeographin’ everybody up in here.

There is no greater sin against pedagogical piety than sit-down, shut-up, paper-pushing. Follow any edu-spiring Twitter account or attend any PD of the past, oh… 200 years, and your cup will overflow with the essential role of student collaboration, interaction, teachers who build relationships, the individuality and quirks of each and every little darling. How dare you limit and categorize them with due dates! Grades! Assignments! Stop ruining the future, you maladaptive crony!

Facing such venom, the façade of technological revolution has had to settle for second place – runner-up status in the ranking of all things shameful.

Until now.

Introducing “Virtual Learning” – it’s misused technology AND worksheet learning!

Before you get your EduTech Panties in a wad, I realize there are teachers using technology in wonderful ways out there. For that matter, there’s a time and place for a little book work. But let’s be honest about what we’re doing the rest of the time, and why.

“Virtual Learning” is a flashy new euphemism for “book work and worksheets,” but online.

Students who for whatever reason fall short on credits, or can’t handle the rigors of participating in a regular class, are plopped in front of a computer and allowed to scan through some direct instruction, click some A B C or Ds, type out a few short answers for a real person to look over, and to keep clicking as often as necessary until they get enough correct to proceed to the next ‘module’ – what we used to call a ‘chapter’.

There’s no real interaction with the teacher, none at all with other students. There’s no discussion, participation, or any of the things the rest of us have been told we’re stupid (and quite likely dangerous) if we think students can learn without.

It’s everything teachers have been badgered and mocked for, in pop culture and required PD, minus the human interaction. While teachers are gathered in one part of the building being told for the hundredth time that “students don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care” and that any lesson built around teacher-selected content or students working individually is outdated, ineffective, and grounds for dismissal, students are gathered in another part of the building (or on laptops at home in their sweats with Teen Mom blaring three feet away) working individually on teacher-selected content without a clue what their teacher even looks like, let alone “how much they care.”

This is known as “working at their own pace” through “adaptive software.” In other words, if you click too many wrong letters the first eight times, you get to click them again. If you haven’t clicked enough by the end of May, you fail. Hey, we gotta draw a line somewhere, kid.

Fallout: New Marzano this is not.

Don’t misunderstand me. There’s a place for this kind of thing if we’d just be a bit more honest with ourselves. The State in its wisdom has set forth requirements for garnering a diploma, and we know the statistics for kids who can’t or won’t meet them. Given the choice between holding fast to the importance of World History and English II for future cosmetologists and mechanics, or finding some way to check the box on the paperwork so the kid can get on with their lives employed and happy, I’ll check the box and ship them forward without guilt or regret. Besides, the State has required that we offer this option as part of their drive for, um… “higher standards.”

(In other news, irony is dead.)

It’s unfortunate we can’t have two flavors of high school diploma – one saying you made it through in some form and met minimum requirements, another to say that as best we can tell you’re as ready for college or other post-secondary pursuits as anyone can be at 18.

But we don’t.

So I get it – we need options for kids who are going to fail otherwise. Failing them helps no one – not them, not us, not the community, the economy, the world, no one. So we find ways to check the box and move them on.

I just wish we could do it without the rhetoric and euphemisms. I wish we could call it what it is – a safety net for kids who can’t or won’t join the class discussions, collaborate effectively with their peers, or inquire-base their own learning. It’s worksheets online – a few passages and questions from the Florida version of Wikipedia, a little extra work by some classroom teacher who’s never met this kid, and some flexibility regarding whether they fill in the blanks for an hour a day or simply cram it all in one weekend during the Simpsons marathon.

While we’re at it, maybe we could ease up a bit on the teachers doing similar things in class, just trying to get their kids through. Yes, they’ve photocopied a crossword puzzle for review. No, they won’t be winning any awards for creativity. But instead of condemning them, maybe we could notice the way they’re impacting their kids in other ways – taking those random one-on-one opportunities or dragging the whole group kicking and screaming into the light of basic knowledge.

Doing the things that 2007 Dell can’t, whatever its other impressive features.

Let’s keep all of our options open, but let’s call things what they are. It’s easier to make the best decisions with the tools at our disposal if we do.

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We Are Building A Religion…

December 17, 2014July 31, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

We are building a religion; we are building it bigger
We are widening the corridors and adding more lanes
We are building a religion – a limited edition
We are now accepting callers for these pendant key chains
To resist it is useless – it is useless to resist it…
You can meet at his location, but you’d better come with cash

I don’t spend much time defrocking the Edu-Reform Industry. Too many others are covering that issue far better than I am likely to manage. But the Spirits of Shuffle Play keep bringing around this song*, and I can’t help but see a correlation.

You could interpret it a variety of ways, but I hear a critique of the music industry in the guise of a commentary on televangelism. I can’t shake the image of Gene Scott back in the day, cigar in hand, wearing his weird hat of the night, scolding the audience for wasting his time and not giving enough. But it’s not the music industry I think about every time it plays. It’s the other guys – the ones “saving” education…

The parallels between a well-packaged religion and an effectively marketed edu-reform movement are rather fascinating, I think.

(Now don’t get all defensive and think I’m attacking faith in general. I’m talking about the #edreform equivalent – the fake stuff with the gilded flakes. “Some of my best friends are evangelicals,” etc., so just stay with me a moment…)

1. Both offer easy answers to complex questions. The impact of a Hinn or Hagee lies partly in their utter rejection of inconsistency or uncertainty. The Great Mystery of faith is transformed into stubborn conviction regarding every interpretation, implication, or sensation.

No Jim or Tammy Faye, no Koresh or Moon, would be worth their salt if they let a little reality slow them down. Faith is the substance of things not seen, sure – but it takes a special twist to proceed from that into complete and utter denial of reality. It goes beyond a willingness to accept what you cannot prove and gives you a noble – nay, holy – foundation for ignoring even what you can.

Behold the wisdom of Pearson and its ilk. They’re not out to win an argument – they’re offering to scratch an itch, to meet an apparent need. They have easy answers – textbooks which work in any state that’s not Texas, assessments which, because they’re online, somehow guarantee students have entered modernity, and suites of ancillaries, strategies, terminologies, and priorities.

It saves so much time compared to wading through specific student abilities or needs, and if you order today they’ll throw in a new sense of progressive identity and an assortment of Twitter-ready platitudes.

We are building a religion; we are making a brand
We’re the only ones to turn to when your castles turn to sand
Take a bite of this apple, Mr. Corporate Events
Take a walk through the jungle of cardboard shanties and tents

2. Both institutionalize things traditionally built on relationships. A good mega-church or movement has mastered its marketing, its placement, its packaging and branding, so that content itself is almost secondary – like the perfume in the bottle. Members are guided in what to profess more than what to believe, and as with any corporately controlled environment, dissent is discouraged despite token mechanisms in place to accommodate “suggestions” or complaints.

A faith founded on walking around talking to people, helping them out, even staying in their homes as you invest in their souls, is neatly packaged and shrink-wrapped into broadcasts, books, CDs, and playbooks for those who wish to move up the pyramid – Amway for the soul. It speaks of relationships but it markets systems.

It’s efficient. Cost effective. Economies of scale.

Edu-Reform talks incessantly of individualizing learning and teachers being the most important factor in the classroom, but allows for no such nonsense in practice. Every “solution” or “tool” requires a purchase order and a follow-up email suggesting scaffolds and assessments, available today at an introductory rate.

Any teaching method not consuming product is belittled and dismissed until those still practicing such things do so in shadows and shame. Classroom priorities not easily assessed are elevated in lip service while discarded in fact – at least if you want to survive evals. The Curmudgucation sticker on your keyboard or the Jose Vinson book on your shelf become clues to your heresy – an Ichthus fish for edu-bloggers.

He says, “Now do you believe in the one big song?”
He’s now accepting callers who would like to sing along
There’s no need to ask directions if you ever lose your mind
We’re behind you, we’re behind you – and let us please remind you
We can send a car to find you if you ever lose your way…

3. Both choose language which obfuscates rather than enlightens. The statement that kids aren’t all the same is difficult to refute, so they don’t. Instead, all children are capable. All kids can learn. All students should be equally prepared to function in an increasingly global economy and culture.

All of these are true in and of themselves, but are used to collectively imply that all teachers and all students should be on the same page of the same guidebook on the same day, regardless of background, ability, or interests – that is, if you believe that children are the future, and teach them well by feeding them the way…

One man’s “oversimplified” is another’s “firm convictions.” And on a similar note…

4. Both bring the feels. “Higher standards” is the new “Holy Holy Holy,” the edu-quivalent of “Our Test is an Awesome Test, it’s scored with Rub-uh-rics! It’s yours, when you join PARCC – Our Test is an Awesome Test…”

The power of manipulative rhetoric is in how it sounds and makes you feel rather than what it means – if it means anything. “Highly qualified” instructors “adding value”, focusing on “skills” and “inquiry” and “student-driven {insert anything here}” – are your ideals tingling?

I can feel nobler by taking a clearly marked path? The Grand Inquisitor would be proud.

Feelings are stronger than thoughts, and neither Pearson nor politicians worry about the latter when the former will do. Elected leaders or successful entrepreneurs are granted all the feels they can feel and all the rhetoric they can rhetor by simply joining the right conglomerate, writing the right check, and attaching the proper strings. It’s how we run wars, how we build cities, and how most policy is written. It doesn’t sound insane to them the way it does outside the Bicameral Halls of Cynicism and Delusion.

5. Both target effectively. Religious charlatans aren’t overly concerned with co-opting the truly devout – that’s not their demographic. They gently but firmly excommunicate them, either openly condemning or crocodile mourning their refusal to see ‘the light.’

Ed-Reformers aren’t overly concerned with winning over real teachers. They don’t need to. Most couldn’t if they cared to try. Instead, excommunication comes via the narrative of “failed teachers” protected by “entrenched unions.” Teachers resistant to bad ideas are “afraid of change” and hostile towards a little “accountability.”

(No wonder they won’t wear the t-shirts we passed out at the conference.)

6. Both come with pretty high stakes based on questionable standards. Need I elaborate?

7. Both are most successful when least successful.

You can build bigger churches and sell more books, but you can’t upscale a faith based on intimate relationship with the Almighty. It is by its very nature personalized and individual.

You can mass produce books, and tests, and videos, and propaganda. You can mass distribute media materials and multiply social media mouthpieces. You can create the illusion you are improving public education through the sheer scale of standardizing and branding it all.

But you can’t mass produce teaching. You can’t scale up the essential relationships, perceptions, guesses and decisions that go into any successful classroom. You can’t make kids or their teachers standard-enough to generalize about them or how they should be interacting. It just doesn’t work.

You can maintain the facade, but the substance is lost. And what shall it profit a reformer to gain the whole edu-world…?

We are building a religion; we are building it bigger
We are building a religion – a limited edition
We are now accepting callers for these beautiful pendant key chains…

* “Comfort Eagle” from the album Comfort Eagle by Cake

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What’s In A Name?

December 14, 2014June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Names are a big deal.

When we discuss slavery in early American history, inevitably we talk about names. Back in the day, when time permitted, I’d show parts of Roots, the revolutionary mini-series from the 1970’s.

The second installment ends with a brutal scene between the recently enslaved Kunta Kinte and the overseer Ames. At issue is not his resistance to work, his refusal to eat pork, or even – directly – his effort to run away the previous day. At issue is his name.

“You’re name is Toby,” Ames explains. “It’s the name Master Reynolds gave you. It’s a good name – ‘Toby.’ Now, what’s your name?”

Kunta is at this point hanging, tied by his arms, already having been whipped several times. I don’t know about you, but if there are issues for which I’d endure something comparable, what you call me isn’t one of them.

“Kunta. Kunta Kinte.”

The whipping resumes as the other slaves watch. The process is repeated with some variation until Kunta is broken.

“Toby. My name… is… Toby.”

It’s the saddest part of the entire miniseries, in my opinion. And one of the most important.

Names matter. This is something too easily lost in American culture and history, but it’s worth a ponder or two.

When you’re born, who gets to name you? Why?

It’s a funny system, actually – letting parents with little or no naming experience make such an important decision. Why not doctors, who could develop a system similar to that used to label hurricanes? Or some sort of local committee? Imagine the balance and variety we could inject into our population simply by having fewer Stephanies and more Ophelias?

And why your specific name? Does it reference an ancestor or other family member? Does it mean something in another language (or in this one)? Maybe your parents just thought it sounded cool. Consciously or unconsciously, though, your name likely reflects something about your progenitors culturally, economically, educationally.

For some of you, your name evolves as you grow. Your parents call you one thing – a variation of your given name, perhaps – and your siblings another. Friends, teachers, girlfriend or boyfriend – each have an opportunity to tag you in their own way. The choice often demonstrates relationship – the faux-abusive epithet your older brother uses, or the pet name between you and your most recent romantic entanglement.

Names are often relationship-specific. You may speak of ‘Boo-Bear’, and I know who you mean. You call him ‘Boo-Bear’, I can ask you how ‘Boo-Bear’ is doing, and he may even sign his cutesy notes to you as ‘Boo-Bear’.

We all know the name. But can Sinéad from 5th hour call him ‘Boo-Bear’? Why not?

Because he’s YOUR ‘Boo-Bear’. Not HER ‘Boo-Bear’. She can call him Charles, because that’s his damn name. Actually, though, you’d prefer she not talk to him at all, or you may begin calling her by a new name.

Names claim power.

You can name your pets, some people name their cars, and anymore you have to name your laptops and e-readers so various networks will know who they are and that they’re YOURS. Nicknames can be affirmations of comradery or tools of brutality. When I call my students by their first names, it’s a sign I’m being slightly less formal than usual – almost “nice”. If they do the same in return, it’s considered defiant, or at least disrespectful. We don’t have that kind of relationship – we’re not “equals” in this social context.

It’s still pretty common for a woman getting married to take the last name of her husband. Why? It shows a transfer of ownership from her father to her mate. For centuries this was quite literal – property rights, inheritance, legal authority, etc. Some now keep their maiden names, or hyphenate. Either choice indicates something about self-empowerment and relationship.

Some languages formalize grammatical variations indicating relationship or status. In many Amerindian cultures, your name might change over time based on your unfolding personality, accomplishments, or desires. When you want to eliminate someone’s individuality, enforce their impotence, you identify them only by number, or not at all.

Names similarly serve the divine purposes of God – or Allah, or Yahweh (it matters which name you choose, despite all three presumably referring to the same entity). In the Old Testament, Abram and his wife Sarai are called by their Lord to go places and do things, and He changes their names, albeit slightly.

With new names come new identities, roles, relationships – and in this case even new attitudes. Abraham and Sarah become the begetters of a people who won’t even say their god’s name aloud, as it is far too sacred – “hallowed be thy” and such.

In the New Testament, Saul is famously struck down on the road to Damascus and given a name change – “Paul.” Converts to Islam take on new names – Malcolm Little became El-Hajj Malik El-Shabazz for purposes of the faithful, and Malcolm X for the rest of the world. Each name brought a specific purpose and power of its own; each carried away some part of what he became while bearing it.

The angels sent to Mary and (cousin Elisabeth’s hubby) Zacharias to let them know divine babies were on the way didn’t dictate how John the Baptist or Jesus were to be dressed, educated, or fed – they hit the highlights of what they were destined to DO before explicitly decreeing what each must be NAMED.

Authors love this power as much as actual deities – from Rose of Sharon to Four, names toy with readers and augment themes. President Bush supposedly mispronounced Saddam Hussein’s name as an insult. It’s an honor to have a building, a bench, or a star named after you, but you’ll upset Sean Connery if you replace your name with the family dog’s.

Tulsa recently changed the name of Brady Street to… “Brady Street” – the former being in reference to Tate Brady, long-deceased area businessman and KKK member, the latter honoring Matthew Brady, famed Civil War photographer who never set foot anywhere near Tulsa, OK. It seems it’s not just names but what they mean which matters.

And then there are those mascots. I can’t speak to the world of multi-zillion dollar professional sports, but Oklahoma’s public school system is full of Chiefs, Warriors, Indians, and the infamous Redskins. And it’s a kerfuffle.

I hear the bewilderment of those offended by proxy – why not just change the name?

It’s difficult for those outside to understand the communal force represented by some of these mascots and monikers. They stand for something of which all involved can be proud. Individual and collective identities blur together as these names provide an anchor in the past, a ballast for the inevitable uncertainty of the present.

Imagine being asked to change the name on your grandfather’s tombstone for the convenience or sensibilities of modernity. Consider rechristening your child so her teacher can more easily pronounce her name.

Then again, there are those for whom these names have the same power as any other racial slang. They carry diminishment, and negation. They’re an anchor on the present, dragging against progress and hindering understanding.

I’m not sure I have a solution that doesn’t involve tearing something away from someone else, or inflicting my interpretations of the past on theirs. I do know we must resist the temptation to call one another unflattering names in our frustration, and instead try a bit harder to appreciate the existing power held by these sobriquets to each interested party.

I do know that names are a big, big deal.

A Wassailing We Will Mimeograph

December 7, 2014June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

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There was a time in which a devout heart and an applied mind were considered mutually antagonistic in Christendom – a mindset some might argue lingers to an unfortunate extent today. Generally, though, those who seek to save your soul see comparable value in renewing your mind, while those focused on stretching your ability to think care deeply about your character, and your ability to find your calling – if not specifically your ‘soul’.

Neither of which matters much in this post – but it seemed I should open with something suggesting a deeper purpose for this use of virtual real estate. In reality, I just had an urge to compare Lesson Plans with Christmas Songs. I figured the pith and marrow would kinda naturally emerge once I got going.

I was mistaken.

Still, point or not, the correlations themselves are undeniable:

1. Lesson plans seek to enlighten, to teach, to inspire. Christmas songs seek to shine light, share news, and comfort or extol. Both are founded on the underlying premise that a fuller understanding of their content will lead to a fuller, richer, more meaningful life. Both assume lack of said knowledge means darkness, struggle, and unnecessary suffering.

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2. In teaching or in creating music, a certain amount of technical proficiency is essential. There are basics of the craft that any competent participant should know. Both have deep roots and universal truths regarding what’s important and what’s not, and both are ripe with experts regarding the effective spreading of these essentials. In both, the violating of one or more universal truths is sometimes required in order to serve the higher calling – because sometimes what should work, doesn’t, and what shouldn’t work, does.

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3. Both have essential characteristics which are difficult to replicate on a large scale. In the same way that increasing the size of a honey badger thirty-fold doesn’t give you a giant-but-fully-functional honey badger (its body would collapse in on itself), it’s near impossible to take what works in one setting with one teacher and one group of students and scale it up effectively. You can do the lessons, but you lose the life-changing. Spreading the ‘good news’ and the life-altering this implies – same thing.

(I, um… I don’t have a Xmas video representing that correlation – it just seemed important to mention it. The next point is related, though, so… half-credit?)

4. Both teaching and caroling are manpower heavy and relationship-based. Both can be entertaining or poignant, even in large groups, but if one is serious about educating the young or sharing the gospel, it means investing in your charges personally and long-term. It means offering to them something worth emulating. Like King W.

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5. Both offer infinite variety to what often seems to be a limited body of material. Even when we use others’ ideas or materials, the actual lesson – the event – the song – is never quite the same, nor should it be. Our kids are never exactly the same kids, our classes never quite the same classes, and we are inherently different teachers from one another. Despite overwhelming efforts to overstandardize everything, different = good.

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6. In both, “classic” can mean old and boring, or “classic” can be reimagined and recombined with other pedagogical standards so that its familiarity becomes a strength instead of a weakness.

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7. At the same time, whether wassailing or reviewing the Progressive Amendments, not everything needs “modernizing.” Sometimes you teach just by teaching. Sometimes you gospel just by gospeling.

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In both, we largely rely on what’s already been sung, what’s already been taught, what’s already been written, recorded, saved to flash drive, or filed away for use again this year. Some we get sick of, until we find a way to make them fresh again, and some we just stay sick of forever.

(Jeopardy on the Smart Board is like “Jingle Bell Rock” to me – if I never experience it again, in any form, it will still be too soon.)

8. Both education and faith are going through identity crises currently. What is our primary purpose? What are the non-negotiables? What’s effective vs. what’s “selling out”? How do we fulfill our calling in this changing world full of all of these very different people than we faced not-so-long-ago?

As a result, both are evolving dramatically, while still staying very much the same. Both are anchored to the past while trying to save the future, and both are struggling to figure out how this… this ‘calling’ of theirs – might ideally work. In both worlds, practitioners seeking to engage in new ways, or add elements not directly related to the primary purpose. There’s nothing wrong with making one’s message a bit more palatable, but whether in the classroom or the choir loft, we sometimes extrapolate until we completely lose sight of our original priorities.

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Education and Christmas – One is perpetually in danger of having its basic premise undercut, subjugated, perhaps entirely forgotten in service of commercial interests. The other involves giving presents to each other.

9. Both offer a wealth of shining examples to emulate and inexplicably poor behaviors which nevertheless continue. Education has its Horace Manns, Maria Montessoris, and Anne Sullivans, but also its fill of nameless stereotypical coaches in small towns wearing shorts and whistles, that scary cartoon fellow from The Wall, and at least a half-dozen fairly attractive but empty-eyed women per year who decide they’re in love with 15-year-old boys. Christmas music has its Mormon Tabernacle Choirs, Bing Crosbys, and ability to make Sarah McLachlin interesting for 45 minutes, but also that song about grandma being run over by reindeer and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

Sometimes we can’t agree about which is which. I say awesome, you say atrocious…
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10. In both, sometimes you mean well, but what you try just doesn’t work. I had several possible examples for this one, but by the time it came to final editing, it just seemed cruel and out of keeping with the spirit of the piece. Tri-hos.

11. Both, whatever their struggles or victories, come around annually – the efforts at educational erudition for nine months out of the year, and the celebration of Yuletide for one. Or actually more like two, recently. Maybe three months out of the year. In any case, they’re getting ever-closer to taking up the same percentage of calendar.

12. Both are worth it – not only for the ideals and message behind each, but for the occasional moments when something new happens, and works, and makes all the tired lessons fresh and all the old feels feelier, stirring either your heart or your mind in a way which may not be literally unprecedented, but might as well be.

The humblest lesson plan by the most obscure teacher or the weakest bit of Christmas cheer sung out of tune by that enthusiastic alto who thinks he’s a tenor… both – if we let ourselves get a bit touchy-feely about it – both give us a little hope and a little promise and throw a few more candles into the otherwise-overwhelming night.

Both promise it doesn’t have to stay dark.

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