The Cool Factor -- or Lack Thereof....

So we're waiting for the doors to open at the Fox to see War Horse (a theatrical technology tour de force*), and I'm toying with my iPod when a boy about 8-10 comes over to me and says, "I was wondering why someone like you isn't using an iPhone." 

My first thought was to be complimented, thinking, "Yeah, I still have at least a modicum of cool factor."

Upon further review, maybe he was saying that I'm obviously too old to have a really cool phone and am relegated to the no longer cool iPhone.

He and I compared iPods and went our separate ways, leaving me with yet another unanswerable life question. Thanks a lot, kid.

*The puppetry in War Horse was amazing, but I kind of agree with Carolyn's assessment of the music: "The songs were there so they could call it a musical." Glad we saw it, would recommend it for what it is, but that's about it.

Part of Life is Leaving It Behind

 It has (after a long period of agonizing soul-searching that even took me to a psychologist) occurred to me that if you're ambivalent, you can't be fully committed, and if you can't be fully committed (and circumstances don't require you to continue), then that's probably a clue it's time to move on. So, if you'll pardon my self-indulgence, this is what I started writing (without any certainty that I wanted to publish it) as I wrestled with my decision about continuing my teaching career, until finally reaching the conclusion that my ambivalence was sending me a clear message -- I had already made the decision!
    So, on Monday, 3/18, I will be giving Carolyn an early birthday present, turning in my retirement letter. I'm hopeful that it's a present that I will enjoy, as well.

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I am treading water in the Gulf of Ambivalence, trying to come to a decision on whether to continue (or at least at what level--I'm close to full-time now) my career as a teacher. Being a teacher has always been more than a job for me; a teacher is who I am at least as much as what I do, certainly far more than just how I’ve made a living for the past 42 years.

We teachers are kind of like hosts at a big, annual party that lasts for 9-10 months. As a teaching staff we are responsible for providing the sustenance and entertainment for our guests, ostensibly while steering them toward a bright and productive future. The limits of my energy, time, and motivation have pretty much reduced me to bringing chips and dip. While I confess that I had the fantasy of ending my career as Mr. Chips, I had a more Peter O'Toole kind of image in mind. 

Of course, I like to believe that my chips are unique, that my dip is a personal brand developed over 40+ years. I also like to believe that my scintillating company is of value, because I really do care for my guests and take pride in being a congenial, stimulating host, worthy of their time and effort. Still, despite assurances to the contrary from students and their parents, I’ve come to wonder if I’m not spinning my world-view for my own convenience.

The truth is, I am no longer willing to invest the time to develop new recipes or get advanced training in party-giving. It’s not that I don’t want to work with my colleagues, to pitch in when help is needed, to contribute my expertise, such as it is, to the mix of ideas, or to be a part of group projects, but there are definitely limits to how much I’m willing to do to make my party room better. Sure, I’m always open to and on the lookout for minor changes to improve the ambiance or content of my room, to tweak my time-tested recipes based on my guests' needs, but I’m pretty much as good a room host as I want to be.

Sadly, but realistically, I am content to manage my own little room with its chips and dip, and enjoyable, sometimes, perhaps, even memorable conversations on wide-ranging topics, flavored with dashes of serendipity. I don’t lack for guests in my room; people always seem to be happy to spend time there, but that may be because I have become a purveyor of tasty junk food; what they may need are people willing to make them eat their vegetables.

The Party Biz has changed dramatically since I started hosting, with ever increasing demands for documentation and accountability. I concede that party-house management has every right to insist on certain standards, personal and party improvement plans, even a certain level of standardization. But, to paraphrase Bob Dylan, “That ain’t me, babe.” What you see is what you get and I can no longer commit to more than what I am already am. 

I recognize that a good room requires not only the artistry to capture an audience, but sufficient planning to implement that artistry. At this stage I confess that I rely more on my skills, experience, and 42 years of previous performances than new preparation. If that’s no longer good enough, well, then it’s time to go our separate ways, ideally with no hard feelings on either side.

Selfishly, I know that I may (probably will) miss being a room host; I’ll definitely miss working with my great team of co-hosts, professionals for whom I have the utmost respect. I’ll miss the interaction with my guests and visitors. (I do sometimes wonder if I need to teach or if I just need an audience.) Although I still love my kids and believe I help them grow, maybe it's time for me to take the advice I give my kids: "Good enough is seldom good enough." 
    It's kind of moot whether I can no longer give my best or if my best is no longer good enough. I’m becoming increasingly frustrated and dissatisfied with my own performance, and while I’m egotistical enough to think that my 80-90% is as good as many others’ 100%, the question is, “Is it good enough for me?” If I’m not sure, I’d rather go out a little too soon than a little too late. (I'd rather be Stan Musial than Willie Mays, although I don't claim teacher-equivalence to either of those baseball greats.) 

I am also aware that, personally, retirement may not be good for me, that I may, probably will, regret walking away from a keystone of my identity, losing the regular interaction with students and colleagues. When I returned to the classroom at Schechter four years ago, I came home that first day, hugged my wife and cried, saying, “I had so much fun today!” While I still have fun working with my kids, I’m not sure that’s enough, that it’s not just selfishness on my part. Their job is to learn, not make my life entertaining or pleasurable.

As noted way back in the introduction, I started writing this with no clear intent to publish, but simply needing to put thoughts down in writing to help me with the decision. It’s also possible that the decision is no longer mine to make, but that’s OK because I ceded that power; in fact, I may have retired myself by being open and honest about my lack of ambition in the professional growth arena. 

If such is the case, I can live with that (especially since I'm taking the decision back into my own hands now). It is now time to redefine my normal and find a new focus that satisfies my needs, but, for better and worse, it seems unlikely that classroom teaching will continue to be much more than the background of that picture.
Final note: The title is from a song (Adrienne Young).

Living in the Echo Chamber

 First it was the election; now it’s the gun control “debate,” mostly everyone preaching to their own particular choir. I have, for the most part, restrained myself from commenting in response, certainly from responding angrily or sarcastically. More than one post or picture with either some founder’s quote out of context or just plain wrong information has generated a draft reply, only to be erased because I have zero hope of it changing an opinion.

One FB-friend even posted something along the line of, “If you’re in favor of gun control, please unfriend me now. Thank you.” I toyed with acceding to that request or at least suggesting that if he wanted to delete my name from his list I was okay with that and that he wouldn’t be the first. I know that I was deleted by at least one former student because she didn’t want to hear a contrary point of view.

While those on the wrong side of an issue (which is to say, of course, not my side) have about as much chance of changing my mind as I have of influencing theirs, I haven’t yet deleted any FB-friends simply because their point of view is misguided, although those who insist on pounding their drums day and night do give me a headache and try my patience. Incessant postings about the supreme importance of the 2^nd Amendment, the inherent evil of President Obama, the monopoly of conservatives on patriotism, etc., are not convincing, but increasingly annoying as they multiply. I get you have strong feelings (so do I, by the way); I don’t need hourly or even daily reminders.

Still, were I to keep on my FB-friends list only those who agree with my thinking (or who have [or express] no opinions at all), I’d be limiting myself to only those ideas with which I’m already comfortable. That would be a lot like Governor Romney, who heard only the news he wanted, primarily from the Fox Echo Chamber and advisors with a vested interest in making him feel like a winner. It was why he didn’t have a concession speech written, why he was stunned to lose, despite mounting evidence in the last weeks of the campaign that he had no chance. It was why even one of the Fox babes asked Karl Rove if his “facts” were just what he wanted to believe, and why we were treated to the comic opera of the trip to the Fox data room to question the numbers geeks who were calling states for Obama.

So I’m resisting (at least so far) the temptation to live in an echo chamber of my own design, of pretending that mine is the only opinion of value. The benefit of that? Occasionally (okay, rarely) I will have a calm, rational discussion that, while not changing any minds, will at least convince me that there does exist a middle ground, room for compromise, albeit a narrow isthmus between the raging oceans of righteousness. Our country was established by patriots who recognized that people of good will have differing points of view and that the welfare of the country, indeed, the existence of the country, depended on finding common ground, not vilifying those with a different world view.

My hope (and, I admit, it’s a rather forlorn hope) is that those who use the statements of the Founding Fathers as “proof” of their point of view will remember that it was the spirit of compromise that was the key, overarching theme that united the founders and created the country, not some entrenched position (e.g., the necessity of the Bill of Rights—in today’s political climate, we couldn’t even get that passed). 

But, in the words of that great philosopher of Sesame Street, Grover, “Where there is life there is hope.” I hope he's right!