“Flexible”

December 4, 2019June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

The Offer

Several years ago, I was asked by a major edu-organization for whom I did some work to lead a week-long training in Jordan. Like, the country. In the Middle East. Far away.

The workshop was for no less than the King’s Academy – a prestigious boarding school founded and regularly visited by, you know… the KING. Like, of Jordan. The country. In the Middle East. Far Away.

Of course I said yes, and it turned out to an amazing experience in more ways than I’ll attempt to recount here. There was, however, something that confused me.

I’m pretty good at the teacher workshop thing. I could fake some basic humility about it, but it would be disingenuous and – unless you’re new to the blog – you’d never buy it.

What I’m not always successful at is making people in power happy with me. While I liked to think I carried some notoriety in my little corner of the world, I was hardly the first name that should have come to mind when someone in Manhattan said, “We have a chance to make a strong first impression and promote our rather uptight branding in a potentially lucrative foreign market – whom shall we send forth?”

How I was even on that particular list?

The Question

I kept wondering, so I called my primary contact at the all-seeing acorn and asked. Of all the legit, reliable options (many published and several revered in ways I find rather unhealthy), how many turned you down before my name came up?

None, it turned out. I was the first and only person in my content area who they’d asked. There’d apparently been a bit of a discussion about it – the details of which my contact was kind enough to blur over – and it was determined after much consideration that I was – wait for it…

Flexible.

My handler assured me my qualifications were perfectly solid. (I knew that, but I used to sometimes at least try to project some of that humility I mentioned earlier.) I had every right to be on the list, etc., etc.

But this was going to be something potentially outside the norm. The flight itself would be nearly 13 hours, and the schedule once we arrived remained unsettled. I should have such and such resources available, but they couldn’t be certain. I should have X number of hours with Y number of teachers expecting this and that, but it might not be the same group every day.

The institution was unlike any they’d partnered with up to that point, and teachers with whom I’d be working would be a mix of the traditional adherents to Islam (in full burqas and with their own set of cultural norms), progressive American transplants (no doubt wearing hemp sandals and still carrying an unhealthy attachment to Dave Matthews), and a range of unknowns in-between and beyond.

In short, I’d be operating with serious jet lag in an unfamiliar setting for high stakes in an unpredictable environment. Oh, and the King would be attending at least one major event while we were there. His wife was giving that year’s commencement speech and we had really good seats.

It seemed, then, that while my other qualifications were a necessary precursor, what bumped me to the top was the perception that I was…

Flexible.

The Irony

I suppose I was a bit less uptight than some, particularly when being paid to be inspiring and promote good pedagogy and such. I always appreciated the accommodations and the endless food and the quality of the people with whom I worked during that time.

Still, I can be impatient and rather elitist. I’m quick to judge and slow to listen at all the worst times. I enjoy antagonizing people and talk too much when I’m not sure what to say. I can be great company… IF I already like you and IF I find you entertaining and IF you’re appropriately enamored with me.

Otherwise, I have stuff to do. Like, I dunno… Spider Solitaire.

But I had been discussed. I had been debated – possibly with actual emotions involved! And I had been decreed…

Flexible.

For the rest of the prep time and throughout that trip, that’s exactly what I was. In retrospect, it became both a badge of honor and a battery pack of reserve energy. Clichéd as it sounds, I became what I was labeled – often without fully realizing it.

The Flight

As it turns out, roughly everyone on the planet was heading to Jordan at the same time as me. Apparently, many families who live in the states during the school year return home for the summer. They don’t vacation there so much as move back for ten weeks. Never in my life have I watched so many people check through so much luggage. I’m talking literally twenty or more large suitcases and duct-taped boxes per family.

Needless to say, this slowed down the ticketing process substantially. I was concerned I might miss my flight, despite having arrived well ahead of what would normally be necessary. Still, I didn’t fret. I hadn’t even left Chicago and the trip was already proving to be something of an adventure! Besides, I was…

Flexible.

The plane itself held around 14 million people, most of them children. The volume of their collective discomfort, boredom, colic, coughing, and – as the flight wore on – whining, was beyond anything I thought possible in a confined space. Passengers freely passed around whatever medications or home remedies they’d thought to bring, but in any other situation I’d have found the hours of mini-person bedlam unbearable.

Except that I didn’t. I don’t mean that I faked it better than usual. I mean that for whatever reason I just kinda… accepted it. I was aware of the chaos, but atypically un-phased. You know…

Flexible.

I’m told I radiate an anti-social mojo on planes so thick it’s literally venomous. It’s a rare journey when a stranger finds me in any way approachable.

But one did this time. He wanted to know everything about me, why I was flying to Jordan, what I knew about it, etc. He shared his life story with me, up to and including his current plans, and everything I needed to know about the country while I was there.

Strangely, I didn’t mind. Not this time. He wasn’t all that interesting, but he wasn’t overly boring. He happened, and that was OK. Apparently, I’m actually quite…

You get the idea.

Arrival

And so it went. Remember that endless luggage being checked when I was trying to depart? It had to be picked up when we arrived in Jordan. All of it. A single baggage retrieval station with a squeaky conveyor belt, inundated by approximately 19 million suitcases and large, duct-taped boxes.

It took hours. Literally. I was very aware of the time because I was supposed to meet a driver from the Academy who couldn’t possibly know why I hadn’t appeared despite my flight having landed nearly two hours before. I didn’t panic, exactly, but neither was I sure I knew how to contact the Academy, or even call a taxi.

Actually, I wasn’t sure if they had taxis in Jordan. (They do.) How embarrassing.

Still, I tried to focus on what I could control and what I couldn’t. Besides, people in the know consider me…

Flexible.

The week turned out to be a great success. I learned as much as my participants, many great discussions were had, and yada yada yada. It was totes nifty by any measure – no joke.

The workshop schedule changed several times as predicted, and our social itinerary took some unexpected turns as well. The flight back was just as long, although I managed to sleep much of that one. (All those unhappy little children were still in Jordan.)

The Lesson

In retrospect, I can’t get over the power of a simple label: “Flexible.” It’s not like I’m new to the concept that it matters what we assume about others. It especially matters how we speak to – or even about – our students.

Not that we can manipulate this in any predictable way. It’s ridiculous how often it seems we can’t so much as dent their mindset despite nuclear effort, while other times a single comment on our part can save or destroy them – at least for that day. Sometimes for much longer.

In my experience, such “labeling” also has to be real. If I were a genuinely inflexible personality, or otherwise fundamentally unsuited for this particular experience, no amount of rhetoric would change that. I don’t think we can just call kids “smart” or “hard-working” repeatedly and turn lead to gold.

What we can do, however, intentionally latch onto positives which are genuinely there, however buried or corrupted at the moment. We can notice and appreciate them at opportune moments. Ideally, we’ll find ways to cultivate those characteristics in hopes they grow and gain prominence in the overall mix. Perhaps it’s not “labeling” so much as “recognizing” or “validating.”

It’s impossible to predict what this looks like with a given teacher or a particular child, let alone guarantee what will work in any specific situation. So, we focus on building relationships and keep doing our best although sometimes we get it wrong. We find ways to maintain our convictions despite the insanity around us. The needs are so great, and our abilities so small, but we show up every day and try again – just like we ask them to do.

Oh, and along the way it helps if you’re able to stay, you know…

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Dear Involved Parents: Chill the $%&# Out!

June 17, 2018June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Dear Engaged, Sincere, Loving, Active Parent(s):

I just finished my twentieth year in the classroom. In that time, I’ve had a decent variety of kids from a wide range of circumstances. Every one of them has his or her own issues, own strengths, own styles, and own reasons for doing what they do however they do it.

It’s true what you fear – there are too many young people who lack serious motivation to do well in school. They may not see the purpose, or perhaps they lack the emotional maturity or personal stability to focus the necessary time and energy. Some come from messy backgrounds, others have that sense of “entitlement” you’ve read about, and a number of them simply choose to be vagrants and take their chances.

I’m so thankful that you don’t want your child on that path.

Having teenagers of your own, it will probably come as no surprise to you that even the best of them can sometimes be a bit lazy. They whine, they argue, they feign helplessness, and sometimes they even self-destruct a bit despite the fact that their lives are really not THAT difficult. Left to their own devices, many would spend too much time goofing off with friends, playing video games or watching stupid videos, or otherwise simply wasting untold time and potential.

Thank you for expecting better of them than that. Sincerely.

You’ve figured out, too, that the version of events they give you at home is not always as closely tethered to objective reality as we might hope. I appreciate that your first instinct is not to bail your kid out every time they’re irresponsible. To automatically blame the teacher. To coddle, spoil, or otherwise feed the beast of teen melodrama.

In short, engaged, sincere, loving, active parent, I genuinely appreciate what seem to be your overarching goals for your child. And I in no way intend to challenge your heart or your purpose with what I’m about to say.

But you need to chill the $#&@! out.

Seriously.

Your daughter is in band and swimming and multiple advanced classes and rarely gets more than five hours of sleep. It needs to be OK for her to occasionally have a ‘B’ in something – especially if it’s a hard-won ‘B’. She’s 16 and not exactly an expert in managing stress. When was the last time you told her you were proud of her and that she was doing well?

Your son is fully immersed in speech and debate and still has a trace of genuine excitement about that engineering elective, but he’s still trying to survive Honors English because that’s what the ‘Distinguished Graduate’ path requires. You insist he participate in everything your church does no matter what the time commitment, which is your right and your decision. Couldn’t he skip that summer program you’re convinced will help him get into some particular college or other? Let the boy recover… he’s 15. When was the last time you let him sleep in, then took him to a late breakfast somewhere just to talk?

I realize teenagers are prone to drama, but they come by it honestly. They’re adolescents, full of adolescent hormones and spilling over with adolescent concerns. I know plenty of folks twice their age who struggle with organization and time management and unhealthy coping mechanisms – but “grown-ups” have some control over how much they take on and what they do to handle it. We constantly expect teenagers to “act like adults” while giving them almost no actual control over their lives.

What we really mean is “do everything we say the way we want, but handle it as if it’s all entirely intrinsically valuable to you.” I’m not suggesting we go to the opposite extreme and let them fly free and foolish, but let’s at least be honest about the dynamics.

You don’t inculcate internal motivation through extrinsic haranguing. You don’t build stamina by keeping them broken and resentful. It’s hard enough to engage them in the complexities of world history or the subtleties of a well-crafted novella when they’re relatively happy and secure; you’re not increasing their chances of success in life by badgering them into seething resentment or insisting that nothing they ever do is anywhere close to good enough.

Here’s a news flash – the kids who aren’t feeling loved and validated at home do some pretty sketchy things to scratch that itch in other ways. Many of the ‘bad things’ from which you’re trying to shield them are – not unironically – manifestations of their desperate need for approval, to feel good enough, to be SEEN and HEARD.

That’s why your daughter – yes, YOUR daughter – is sending those pics. That’s why your son – yes, YOURS – is mooching those prescriptions. You’d be surprised what they tell any adult who’ll listen without yelling at them.

Not all of them, of course – some just cry a lot and want to die. Which I don’t suppose is actually better.

That doesn’t even include the number of you punishing your kid for your personal shortcomings. Your relationship mistakes. Your financial difficulties. Your upbringing. They make a nice whipping post for all those things you can’t say or do in public, don’t they? They’ve reached an age at which they can offer just enough attitude and resistance for you to feel justified turning off the filters and letting it all out. Like you couldn’t with that boss – that ex-husband – that government – that illness – that childhood.

But let me get back to those of you who aren’t overtly abusing your child in easily documentable ways. Those of you who genuinely mean well, and who fear the paths they may take if you don’t “stay on them.” I know you sometimes try to find better ways but they just make you so crazy and you feel like a bad parent and you lose it sometimes. I know you’re terrified they’ll turn out like their brother, or their father, or like you.

I know it’s hard to raise a teenager. Harder than almost anything else.

Except maybe being a teenager.

Try something for me. It may sound crazy, and it’s certainly going to be harder to pull off in real life than to write about on some silly blog. But please – just try it. Maybe a few times.

Make a point today of telling your child you love them. Tell them you’re proud of them. Pick something specific they’ve accomplished – especially if they didn’t do it perfectly but worked really hard on it. That soccer game they lost by one goal, but busted their butts trying to stay in. That essay they actually started the day it was assigned (go figure!) but still didn’t get the grade they’d hoped. Kinda cleaning up without being asked. Being relatively patient with their sibling.

Maybe their biggest accomplishment lately has been just getting up and trying again when things don’t go well. That’s a big ol’ beaucoup bunch of the difference between success and failure over time – some people keep getting up and pushing forward, while others… don’t.

Here’s the really tricky part – DON’T FOLLOW EVERY EXPRESSION OF LOVE OR APPROVAL BY EXPLAINING WHY YOU GET SO FRUSTRATED OR WHAT YOU REALLY WISH THEY WERE DOING DIFFERENTLY. They already know, believe me. Just give them one weekend of unconditional acceptance. Give them one evening of unabashed love, harassment-free.

Consider a new philosophy in which it’s sometimes OK to do LESS, as long as what IS done is done well, and with genuine commitment. Ponder the possibility that ‘B’s and ‘C’s have their place, so long as they’re earned by legitimate effort. Sometimes the flip side of challenging yourself is that you’re not perfect at everything you do. I mean, if you can do it all perfectly, you’re clearly NOT challenging yourself, right? What’s more important?

I know you want them to get into a good college, hopefully with some scholarship action. I know you want them to have good lives, good careers, to hang out with the right people and make the best choices. I’m not being sarcastic when I thank you for this; I have far too many kids whose parents aren’t nearly so concerned.

But it can be a trap, letting high school become four years of joyless torture in order to secure four or more additional years of soulless suffering at some university in hopes of landing forty or so years of unending commitment and sacrifice – all chasing some fictional future moment in which they can be… happy? Secure? Relaxed? Fulfilled?

Love and approve of them NOW. As they are. With what they’re doing. Repeatedly.

Then, sometimes, you can nudge. You can question. And once you’ve reestablished your “unconditional acceptance” credentials, you can play the parent card from time to time to stave off the sorts of truly stupid decisions teenagers sometimes try to make.

But for now, you simply MUST chill the $#&@! out – for their sakes, as well as your own. I know you love them. Prove it to them in ways they can understand NOW.

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The Problem With Linear Reality (You Can’t Go Back)

April 29, 2018June 23, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’… into the future.
Time keeps on slippin’, slippin’, slippin’… into the future.

One of the sobering things about edu-bloggery – or social media in general – is how hard it can be to keep up when your tangible, so-called “real” world gets crazy. Far more humbling, though, is that when you DO fall away for a time (slowly, and then all at once), the entire apparatus and most of those involved keep right on going just fine.

Which is rude.

It would be ridiculous, of course, to expect any less. And despite my substantial ego, that’s not actually the difficult part. You see, I miss it. The writing and the editing, the labor and the self-loathing. I miss the reworking, the doubting, the publishing, and the connecting.

There were times I’d knock out several posts a week and discover that thousands of you were reading and sharing them. Other times I’d labor for days over such pith and profundity that I doubted there were words or emotions left in the universe for others to use… and manage a good three or four dozen views. Sometimes the most amazing conversations would start in the comments; other times it was that same bit of misspelled spam from some college essay writing service in Russia.

The numbers weren’t really the point, though. It was the process. The struggle. The recurring leap.

It helped me reflect, and to clarify thoughts and emotions. It brought me into contact with some of the most AMAZING people. It forced growth, and – if I’m being honest – it far too often left me snickering endlessly over some clever phrase or another which I’d somehow managed to wring out.

And then real life asserted itself.

I took a new position this school year, in a state far, far away, teaching something I’ve not actually taught before. I love our new home, and the area, and my co-workers, and my kids. I’m glad we made the move – especially given the new lows to which the Oklahoma Legislature is attempting to sink.

That being said, this year has completely kicked my ass. It’s mocked me and broken me and shamed me and frustrated me, leaving me without cab fare and not calling for weeks at a time. I scribbled about this previously, but in retrospect, I think I dialed back the intensity a bit in an effort to maintain my own little ‘growth mindset.’ And while I don’t mind ranting, I prefer to provide you, my Eleven Faithful Followers, with the sort of witty, contrary-but-inspirational Blue magic you and I have both come to adore.

Now that the annual reboot looms, however, I confess that the learning curve of a new subject was much more intense than I anticipated. My pedagogy and strategies and years of experience seemed suddenly seemed rather… shallow – perhaps even fraudulent – like I’d been skating by on audacity and circumstance and confusing it for talent. Above all, my inability to more quickly figure out my kids and adjust to what they REALLY needed and where they were was simply…

Well, it was unforgiveable.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Blue – you did the best you could. You probably made more of a positive difference than you realized some days.”

Yeah, I probably did. But that doesn’t make it OK. They needed more. They needed better. I absolutely must go back and redo this year – to fix some of it, and try better things.

But that’s the problem with linear reality – we can only learn forward. We can only change in one direction, and even those efforts are based on limited, often flawed perceptions and information.

There are those who insist that if they COULD go back and change anything about their lives, they wouldn’t do it – because those experiences are what made them who they are today.

Pshaw.

Nonsense.

Hockey of the horse.

I’d go back in a heartbeat, several times if necessary, and I’d change so very many things, over and over until I figured out what might work – how much more I could accomplish; how much less damage I could do.

But no.

Time is marching on. And time… is still marching on.
You’re older than you’ve ever been, and now you’re even older. And now you’re even older. And now you’re even older. And now you’re older still.

It’s the time of year that kids start coming to me for “make-up work,” wanting to know what they can still turn in. Whatever my past failings, I do sometimes learn, and two decades have taught me that it’s generally pointless to give students a pile of old assignments to complete NOW – out of context, and in bulk. That’s not really how learning works.

“Here’s that Quarter Pounder with no pickle you asked for three weeks ago” isn’t exactly a life skill, but then again neither is “sorry you fail there’s no hope for you now guess you shoulda done it when you had the chance cackle cackle.” One alternative I’ve come to like, depending on the student and the surrounding circumstances, is to suggest that rather than get bogged down in what they should have been doing two weeks ago, they focus this sudden burst of concern into THIS week’s work, THIS week’s discussions, THIS week’s activities. Give me one good week (sometimes two), at least 80% of your energy each day, mostly keeping up with whatever we’re doing now, and if that happens, well…

Maybe one or two of those old zeroes can go away. Maybe the next quiz can count double – as itself, and in place of that last quiz you bombed. That sort of thing.

It shouldn’t be easy, of course. Straying from the course comes at a cost, especially when it’s a result of willfully poor choices. But it should be possible – at least in most situations. I mean, I don’t know how your gig works, but I don’t get paid any extra for assuring kids in March that they’re mathematically doomed and they should appreciate what a valuable long-term life lesson this is as they come to class for no possible reason the rest of the year.

In case you’re worried, I don’t think we do them any favors when we go to the other extreme and shield them completely from their own irresponsibility, either. It’s an imperfect balance, and there’s no “rule” to it that fits all situations or all types of kids.

Nothing we do is that simple. Ever. Which is exhausting.

You failed – you sunk like Jonah to the whale. Big mouths follow behind you; still small voice swallowed up by you
You failed – you picked the right time to fail – got your past behind you; got your future in front of you
You can’t go back. You can’t go back. You can’t go back.
You can go on…

I have several students who are starting to nail down college plans – where to go, whether or not to swim for this school or keep doing drama at that university. Even those with several good options struggle, partly because they’re starting to realize a rather painful lesson of semi-adulthood:

For ever choice you make, every path to which you commit, there are multiple other options you aren’t taking. You can sometimes change, but for the most part, you’ll never really know for sure what those other paths would look like – you can’t save the game and replay this level later using a different strategy. It’s forward… always.

Nor are there always “right” and “wrong” choices. Sometimes all of your options are bad, but you must nevertheless commit one way or the other. Sometimes a half-dozen different roads look fine, but you can only take one at a time and at best see through the grass darkly what lies along each.

We just have to learn to be OK with this, and to make the best call we can, then WALK BOLDLY AND WITHOUT LOOKING BACK (unless it’s to learn a bit from what’s back there without getting mired down, of course).

Sometimes you screw up. Sometimes you just don’t know better. And sometimes you do the wrong thing even when you knew it was a bad idea. Whatever the reason, the options are all forward. In that sense, they’re all in one basic direction.

So it’s almost summer. Some things will change dramatically soon, others will just keep plodding along. Maybe it was a good year for you; maybe you can’t wait for this one to end. Maybe you did amazing things, or maybe you just can’t believe how few things actually worked out the way you’d hoped. Could be it’s time for a change – but is it a change of paths, or of attitudes and mindsets along your path? Do you need to take a deeper look at your own stuff, or cut yourself a little more slack and realize you’re working miracles with what you’ve been given?

Hell, maybe it’s all of the above, and more, all tangled up at once. It happens.

But forward we go, my beloveds. Forward.

Teenagers Are Weird

April 11, 2016June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal ~ 1 Comment

Teenagers are weird.

A few short weeks ago, on April 1st, I returned from lunch to discover that a couple of my girls had turned every student desk in the room onto its side or back. They were already in rather random formation for silent reading day, but this made it look like there’d been some sort of explosion.

Students entering the room were flummoxed. “What – why – WHY did you DO this?!” they demanded of me – even those who’d clearly just walked back from lunch with me and knew – at least in theory- that I hadn’t been in the room since they’d left it with me a half-hour prior.

I wasn’t upset. As April Fool’s gags go, it wasn’t a particularly funny one, but neither was it destructive. They were just desks, on their sides and backs. I stayed at the door as expected in my building and shortly before the bell was approached by a student from another hour with a pressing question. I walked in to begin class about a minute after the bell.

About a third of my kids had righted their desks and were murmur-mingling as they waited. Ideally they’d have started silent reading without my having to announce it – it’s every Friday, it’s not news – but it’s not unusual for me to have to get them started.

What threw me, though, was seeing the remaining two-thirds of my kids standing near their toppled desks, looking bewildered – a tad annoyed, maybe a bit hurt as well. Clearly, however, at a complete loss as to what to do.

They’ve been with me for eight months working on mindset and grit and going around the leaf, but when confronted with a desk on its side, they had absolutely NO idea how they might possibly proceed. It would simply never occur to most of them to move past their horror over this unexpected wrinkle and begin considering options.

Like, for instance, righting their desk. Then sitting in it.

I’d have also accepted sitting elsewhere – on the floor, or in one of the many empty extra chairs in the room. At that point even seeking outside assistance would have been an encouraging step in the right direction.

But no. They were at an impasse. Had I not explained – with some irritation – how to proceed, they’d likely still be standing there today.

Teenagers are weird.

Earlier that day, I was less certain of how to react with a very different group. It was silent reading day, and for once everyone had come prepared with a book of choice. I was modeling sustained silent reading as well (a departmental priority despite grading and planning and emails and forms all vying for our attention).

No headphones were loud enough to produce bug-beats (the pinched, high-pitch drum noises you get from ear buds when the music is too loud), and most students seemed to be engaged. It was strangely quiet.

*sniff*

Just one sniffle. No biggie. Probably not even noticeable to anyone but me. I’m weird like that.

*sniff*

Another, elsewhere in the room.

*sniff* … *sniff* … … … *sniffsniff* *SNIFF* … *snifflesniff* … … … … … *sniff*

I refused to look up and react, because – and this is what’s so ridiculous – I had no idea whether they were messing with me or not.

It’s entirely possible. They’re freshmen. They’d need no plan, no malice, to simply do a surround-sound sniffle throughout the hour – keeping themselves entertained and their teacher distracted and crazy for an entire class period.

But maybe not. Kids are convincingly clueless when it comes to snorts and taps and innocuous noises. They eat Cheetos at deafening volumes without realization, and I may genuinely be the only one who notices, they’re so accustomed. You’ve been at the movies with them – you know the power of their complete lack of awareness.

Thus my dilemma – was I going to disrupt silent reading to accuse a dozen kids of… malicious sniffling?

How do you make THAT phone call? Is there a Board policy to go on the D-hall slip for that?

But if they were playing me, and I let it keep going, it would just get worse. I appreciate a little jibe here and there, but you can’t let freshmen get TOO much of a foothold, or they start to lose respect for the –

This circular thinking went on for what seemed like hours. In reality, it was probably more like 10 minutes or so. All the while, my eyes were on my book, my ears on maximum alert, waiting for that next…

*sniff*

I move several tissue boxes to empty desktops around the room – silent and non-confrontational, but hopefully not TOO subtle. I notice several taking advantage. Thank god.

Teenagers are weird.

I think my favorite freshman talisman, though, is The Paper Wave. It works like this:

A student – sometimes with an ally or two, sometimes not – is off-topic and talking or otherwise creating sounds they should not be creating. (There are plenty of opportunities to be active and engaged and rowdy and such in my class, but at other times that the opposite is necessary.) In the most egregious examples, animated conversations are being propagated right up to the point I manage to get their attention by calling their name(s) or throwing small objects at them.

“But- but- but-” (I always know it’s coming) “I WASN’T EVEN TALKING!”

The indignation is real. The outrage is subdued but genuine. Even when I’ve had to try several times just to get their attention because they’re so engaged in their off-topic conversation, my little darlings are both hurt and offended that I’d even suggest they were doing exactly what they were doing until I interrupted.

And they’re not even in trouble – I’m just redirecting.

When their protests gain them little beyond soft mockery, they pull out what in THEIR worlds is THE ultimate trump card – the unshakeable proof of their righteousness. After a few frantic seconds digging around to find whatever it is they were supposed to be working on, they do it.

They do the paper wave.

“See?! SEEEEEE?!?!?!!” it says – “I have a piece of paper in my hands and I am WAVING it! WAVING IT VIGOROUSLY! Clearly this would not be possible had I been engaging in the sorts of shenanigans you so cruelly and unfairly suggest! Ha! WAVE it I do! WAVE! WAVE!”

They need not say the words themselves, of course – it’s all in the wildly flapping paper and their set little faces.

It would be annoying if it weren’t so adorable. They’re not being defiant so much as delusional; at the moment they spin around and begin grabbing at half-finished scribbles, they BELIEVE every word they’re saying, spoken or no.

Because teenagers are weird.

I suppose they come by it honestly. My grades are divided into three equal categories – Show Up/Turn It In, Content Knowledge, and Skills. Full explanations are on the class website and in the syllabus, in case the titles aren’t clear enough. From a parent email just last week:

“What can ____ do to improve his grade in the ‘Show Up/Turn It In’ category?”

Apple. Falling. Tree.

Teenagers are weird.

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Dear Frustrated Student…

December 11, 2015June 4, 2023 ~ Blue Cereal

Hello. Pull up a chair.

I know you came here to talk about grades, or get help on an assignment, or maybe just because your mom or one of your principals forced you to. That’s OK – I don’t take those sorts of things personally.

I can’t help but notice, however, that whatever your motivation, it does NOT seem to be a deep hunger for learning this particular skill or content. That’s also OK – like I said, not personal.

I can see your frustration. Seemed like you had all the time in the world to make up work, catch up on reading, figure out a plan… and now – suddenly – the semester is almost over, due dates are past, and you finally noticed the review sheet for the final and you don’t know ANY of this stuff – or so it feels.

Or maybe it’s a nagging disdain for school in general. Maybe you’ve begun to notice that the system itself isn’t particularly geared for deep, personal learning. It’s more like a weird bureaucratic game – fake some nice, show up and turn stuff in, and guess what each teacher actually wants from week to week. What you want, who you are, where you’re at, doesn’t seem to matter much.

And you’re right – it’s a stupid system. Some of us are working on that, but…

Hear me out – just for a moment. Please consider that even if grades are stupid, they’re still how the current system works. Even if they don’t accurately express who you are, what you know, or what you’ve done, they ARE attainable without extensive suffering. More importantly, grades give you options.

Maybe your parents will go easier on you about stuff if your grades are good. You have more choices about what to take next year if your grades are good. It’s easier to get into things you want to join, or get the jobs you want if you start working while still in school.

When you graduate, those silly numbers and letters largely dictate how many choices you’ll have about where you go and what you do from here. It’s not about what I think you should do at that point – it’s about YOU having OPTIONS.

And those, for better or worse, largely come from grades.

I hope, too, that you realize that even if grades don’t always measure learning, there’s still lots of learning to be had here. Most of your teachers got into this profession out of some combination of caring about kids and loving whatever subject they’re teaching.

Not ME, of course – I’m working out my personal issues by torturing teenagers – but I’m the exception. Most of the others felt a ‘calling’ to do this. They may seem jaded and bitter now, but the roots of their idealism are still there. You just have to tap into them.

You don’t have to love every subject, and certainly not every assignment, but please don’t let your frustration get in the way of noticing when something really is kinda cool, or interesting, or important, or engaging. It’s OK to care from time to time. It doesn’t mean you’ve sold out or given in; it just means you’re listening and willing to learn.

One other thing, then we’ll look at your grade and realistic options between now and the end of the grading period. Pretend you’re really listening to me here and I’ll probably go easier on you when it comes time to finalize this stuff. We like to feel like we’re ‘reaching the kids’.

It’s possible you haven’t made very good decisions so far this year. Maybe this is the latest in a long series of rocky semesters, or maybe it’s new – school used to be easy until…

If the underlying issues are about family, or legal stuff, or chemical imbalances, addiction, abuse, or simply good ol’ generalized rampant dysfunction – you need to understand that you’re not old enough for most of what’s happened to you in life so far to be your fault.

For the same reasons we don’t let you vote, drive, decide whether or not to go to school, or let you manage your own behavior while here, etc., you’re not morally, legally, spiritually, or intellectually culpable for the vast majority of what’s happened to you up until now.

Even when you’ve made choices – good OR bad – they’re inevitably shaped by your upbringing, DNA, and events beyond your control.

It’s not that problems go away when you hit 18, but they become more and more YOUR problems to handle as best YOU can. Part of what sucks about being a teenager is you have so many near-adult responsibilities, but so little power to handle them as you see fit.

That’s going to start changing, and suddenly all the rules will be different. Good decisions won’t always produce immediate good results, but a series of good decisions usually results in more good results than bad. All we can do is play the odds.

Old people like myself used to hang this poem on our bathroom walls or behind our desks – it starts with something like, “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

You can’t change your parents, or your teachers, or your past. I know that sucks, but that’s how it is. You’d be surprised how many people burn up all their time, energy, and emotion trying. It never works.

You CAN do a better job with the parts IN your control. It won’t seem like it at first, but the learning happens in the struggle. You get better at it by doing it over and over. When it works, keep doing it; when it doesn’t, try again.

I know, sounds easy, right? It’s always easier to see and understand when it’s someone else.

Finally, you’re smart enough for this class. If you weren’t, you’d already be in another class. If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s categorizing and tracking kids. I’ve been doing this for a long time, and if you were too stupid to be in here, I’d have taken you aside long ago and said, “Honey, I have some difficult news. You’re… well, you’re a great kid, but you’re simply too stupid for this class. I’m going to help you find a bozo class where you can be with your own people.”

But I didn’t, did I?

I promise you, then – you’re more than capable. Of course it’s hard. Why would we come to school and practice a bunch of stuff we could already do, or learn stuff we already know? Hmm? Oh, well – I can’t help how that other teacher does things, but that’s not what we SHOULD be doing, at least.

And you’re going to make it. It won’t be quick, but it WILL GET BETTER. Life doesn’t get easy, but you’ll get better at it being hard, I promise. Eventually you’ll be able to reach out to those around you less capable than yourself and help them get through their craziness as well. Because you’ll get it. Because you’ll have done it.

I’ll stop now, but I’m right about all of this. I’m very, very old, and very, very wise. Understood?

OK. Let’s look at that grade…

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