Representing Louisville, Syracuse, and Fairfield Days in Orange & Blue (Biased) But Knowing I Am, Because They Were (Are)

When Abu called me yesterday, President's Day, I was in need of a catch-up festival and a reason to take a break. I was in my office working on a "lecture" for the Divergent Award from the Initiative of 21st Century Literacies Research. Over the weekend, I needed to upload my slides so that they could be used for television programming in Oklahoma and, alas, I sent the slides without composing my remarks.

Ah, I'm a visual learner. This actually worked to my advantage. I knew what I wanted to say, but needed to conceptually put it in visual form before I wrote.

Thank You, Brown School. Thank You, Kentucky. Thank You, Syracuse University. And Thank You, CWP-Fairfield and all the teachers and kids I work with. Because of you, I knew exactly what I wanted to say.

On President's Day, before the rain came, I went for a 4 mile run before heading into room 115 Canisius Hall to compose my remarks. Many don't know, but I began having complete paranoia with public speaking while doing my doctorate at Syracuse University. I often remarked that before I have to present to fellow academics, it feels like a flock of starling birds trying to exit my rib cage.

For these reasons, I knew I needed to write out what I was going to say, slide by slide, so that I wouldn't have to improvise slide by slide like I sometimes do.

I have something to say, and I want to be sure I say it correctly.

I also happened to be wearing Syracuse paraphernalia which, coincidentally, matched the slide graphics I decided to create. While talking to Abu, I realized that my sneakers matched, too (wait? Crandall, isn't it disrespectful to put your feet on your desk?). I also saw the CNS Wall of Fame plaque that was given to me by my High School alma mater, when I was working with Syracuse youth during a Writing Our Lives conference.

This is all to say that my trip to Oklahoma is the result of my Louisville/Syracuse/Connecticut ties and that I am able to say what I have to say only because of all the individuals who have helped me to find a voice.

And look at that - an writing activity genre research theoretical lens in the background.

Phew! A day of writing is complete, as well as several recommendations, ESTP application work, nominations, and my remarks. I awoke this morning with a dead brain, but I'm sure it will begin to work soon.

Here's to The Great Whatever. I am, because we are. Shouting out to many for the work I'm fortunate enough to do! Feeling grateful.

Finally Put the Project Citizen Soundtrack to Images From Last Summer

In preparation for Oklahoma this week (and as a back-up plan towards the end of my presentation if I get a read that people are like, "Crandall, Shut up already," I finally sifted though images of Project Citizen and added them to the soundtrack created by Luca Connor, Lambert Wangu and Dave Wooley (with special guest, Akbaru Niyonkuru, poet).

The purpose of the video is to emphasize what is possible when promoting community and togetherness in writing activity systems and this is a phenomenal example: kids from all over Connecticut, from S. Dakota Lakota nation, and recent arrivals to Ubuntu Academy found space over the two weeks to collaborate on their own writing project to be on display during the culminating prom (for parents, friends, politicians, and family).

At the time, they only played the audio but I knew in the back of my mind that I wanted to pull in photographs from the summer. Wola! Got them! Captured the books, the artwork, the happiness, the work with teachers, the planning, the diversity, and the theme.

We will be getting ready for another round this summer and already have numerous ideas up our sleeve. I just with we all had more time together to savor all the work that actually came out of the project  I guess that is my job as a researcher; I need to sift through this data and begin to tell its story.

I am, because we are. United we stand; divided we fall. Ubuntu.

Let This Be the Last Storm of The Season; I Know It's Not March Yet, But Still

The birthday gathering began at 5 pm., an hour later than planned because Fairfield University's basketball team kept going into overtime to beat Quinnipiac (phenomenal game) and because,

well,

My car was not where I parked it when I got out of the game. In fact it was missing. The jeep in front of me and the black truck behind me (I parallel parked) were in their place, but no Kermit. Called Leo and Pam in a panic, then the police. They asked if it was being repossessed and I said, "I feel like I'm possessed. This is where I parked."

My heart was in my stomach and I was furious. Then I saw it in a lot a few streets over. Not even parallel parked. Doors unlocked. All the quarters taken. No scratches. Nothing. Just in another place. I have no idea. Did they put it in neutral and role it to another location to take the quarters? The whole thing shook me up. When the police came I said, "Abandon action. This is my car and I lost $5.00 in quarters."

I came hope to birthday cupcakes, falafels, Greek salad, tahini, and other fun foods. We played the guess-it forehead game, which was fun, until the snow really began to accumulate. Then, I swept everyone's car and they made it home safely.

I am still thinking about the car, however, and it creeps me out. I thought it was gone. I was like, "Are you kidding me? Someone stole my car?"

Feeling thankful, but freaked out. What was that all about?

Got My Hair Did, a Few Sport Coats, Coffee, a Feather Pen & A T-Shirt

Love that someone said they liked the salt-n-pepper look on Facebook because all I am seeing is salt.

Another Facebook birthday, where all the hype and messaging is on public display and hard to keep up with. For me, however, it was a slow day: a haircut, a visit to the DMV (no parking, gave up), a trip to buy sport coats, an egg sandwich, a 6 mile run, a 3 mile walk, some cleaning, made some Guac, then prepped to make falafel, went to Milford for a Manhattan, came home for ice cream cake, then got a call from Tunga.

Wasn't sure if I was going to have any human interaction until my parents called around 5...the rest was all digital interaction.

But I need to talk about Jerry at Fade Shop who cuts my hair. I took the boys there throughout the years, and then finally decided that I should go, too. I'm impressed. I don't think I've ever had cuts where such meticulous care has been given to ever snip of scissors and stroke of clippers. I always leave feeling like I've been pampered to the nth degree, but can't seem to keep my own professionalism for more than a week. Ha!

Okay, Saturday. You have tremendous vision for what you hope to accomplish. We shall see. It's nice, though, to know that the birthday is over and I can start to concentrate on what comes next...
...like a winter storm.

Dull post, but it was a calm birthday. I'm hoping this will be the last snow event of this season.

A Gift To Myself. Strategic For What Is Most Important, Especially To Me. Community.

Dear Bryan,

Today, you're 46 years old. You stop to think about this milestone, especially in relation to the week you've had, and everything that was your yesterday (budgets, numbers, grants, and reports). You spent way too much time in your office working on the economics of what you do, especially in relation to politics in 2018 and the fact that a new administration has wiped away funding for public schools, the Connecticut Writing Project, professional development for teachers, and the passion you have for working with immigrant and refugee youth.

Always looking for hope, you volunteered to drive two young men from Ubuntu Academy to take part in a poetry reading in Ridgefield, Connecticut (where the average home is $586,000). You knew that poets in the area wanted the voices of two stellar relocated youth and you said, "I'll get them there. It's the least I can do." You drove 45 minutes and arrived to find out that you were put into the program and, although you thought you were merely an Uber driver, you found a writer's notebook from your days in Louisville in your book bag, and discovered that there's a poem in the pages that you drafted in 2002: "Song For the Lost Boys, Opus I".  It was a poem you wrote when you were asked to play with poetry in a summer institute (and you were thinking about the Sudanese men you mentored at the time, one of whom was murdered by a gun for being in the wrong place at the wrong time).

The theme for the evening was "Home", and that poem was drafted while listening to Lady Smith Black Mambazo singing "Homeless" in collaboration with Paul Simon. You wrote the poem to teach the young men while they were studying for the GED in Louisville, Kentucky. You had no idea that 16 years later you'd be leading a National Writing Project site of your own, including the work you do with Ubuntu Academy, and that your own family (who you love with all of your might) would be forever touched by Chitunga, Abu, and Lossine...the world you live with teachers and kids.

That is the Great Whatever. In that, I trust. In that, I love.

In the photograph of the two boys you brought, as an Uber driver (you thought), you see that there are three teachers that came to support the young men. Janet Krauss, an adjunct instructor of English at Fairfield University who has retired, Jan Blevins, a teacher at Bassick High School (and Chitunga's favorite teacher), and Denise Howe, an educator at St. Immaculate in Danbury, Connecticut, who was a part of the Connecticut Writing Project-Fairfield summer institute in 2016, and who read on Twitter that Akbar was sharing a poem in Ridgefield. She drove from Bethel. She came to show support.

You know these three teachers are heroes. You know this because they came on a Thursday night to support the writing of young people, especially those that came to the United States despite incredible obstacles. Although the a current movement is to remove these young men from the United States and to stop them from their American Dreams, you focus on the teachers - you know they are amazing human beings who will never be rewarded for the excellence they bring American society. They, like these young men who came to the reading, have been demonized by leadership in this nation and scapegoated.

They are what makes this nation beautiful. The boys and these teachers are my inspiration.

These young men and the three teachers are the greatest birthday present I could give myself and that is why I wanted to be at the poetry reading last night. I knew I needed to believe in goodness once again. It was a present to myself and, because of them, I'm rejuvenated. And, yes, Akbaru taped me being put on the spot at the Mic. The poem was partially caught by him and I am thankful.

God Bless the World. God Bless everyone who is works towards love and hope.

You know there's a lot of work to accomplish today and you need to get to your office to get it done. You have one life. One hope. And only one faith that the world is supposed to be a much better place than it actually is. That is your Great Whatever. You love / to believe/ in hope.

Here's to hope and a belief that humans can change.

Bryan

Pure Acts of Evil, Pure Acts of Love. We Know What Needs To Be Done. They Don't Don't Do It.

I was in Kentucky, teaching, when my administration sat us down to talk about Columbine. This was after Paducah, and years before Newtown.

I will not forget Newtown because it was way too close to home. I've written about it, tried to process it, reflected, written some more, and still don't know what to do with the reality of it all.

18 school shootings in 2018. It's not even February. These are suburban, large schools where calm, safety and tranquility are supposed to occur.

My friends are writing that it is a cultural norm. A school shooter comes in, destruction occurs, families are upended, prayers go up, and then nothing changes. Politicians continue to defend the gun policies in this nation because it lines their pockets and it falls into the state of fear they spread to keep people voting for them.

Children die. Teachers die.

Meanwhile, funding is removed from public schools: for professional development, for training for teachers for materials or safety. Greatest Civilization of all times, and this is the truth of the nation.

It's disgusting.

In my files, I have a 25 page paper that highlights all the ways that schools have reacted as a result of such violence. I wrote it to highlight how English teachers can come together in solidarity to react to the violence in our schools. I wrote it for Sandy Hook, knowing that other schools would need it, too. Why? Because I see how too many rationalize the insanity of guns in this nation and skew reality to justify their own politics. Meanwhile, children die. Teachers die. The nation loses. I'm cynical. The piece I wrote is a blue print for how to react when such violence comes to your school. It's simply a synopsis of how communities cope -- what others have done -- what others can do when it comes to a school near you. Sad, that we've normed this type of violence in the U.S.

Other communities, still unnamed - suburban, middle class communities - will be next. That is the trend. It will not be believed by people in those areas until it happens to them. This is the craziness of our country.

Yesterday, I hosted 6th graders with my undergraduate class and we had a fantastic day. They appreciated every second, were thankful, and learned a lot. It was beautiful. I know that the these kids live in a demographic where young people see a lot, but they don't see mass shootings like those in suburban schools. It's fascinating. Every time such violence occurs, security at their schools is tightened (as if the shootings arise from urban centers). It is not true.

Meanwhile, corporate American works to undo any support for teachers and kids. Sadly, parents vote for individuals who carry hate in their heart, support the NRA, and pull blinders over their constituency.  There's too much evidence of this. People are stubborn.

All I know is that I will live my life until I die trying to make it better. I stand with Chris Murphy, the families of Newtown, and the families of all these school shootings.

My love and thoughts go out to Stoneman Douglas today. I shouldn't have to write such a post.

This is America, 2018. The tradition continues. And its sad.

Confused About the Holiday, But Just Going Along With It Anyway. Stars Are In Odd Places

Yesterday, there was a lunch on campus in celebration of Mardis Gras, but I also learned that tomorrow's Valentine's Day also will be Ash Wednesday (eeks, I should know what that means, but don't), and next Monday is President's Day which means that there's no school, so Monday's classes are on Tuesday, and Tuesday's classes are canceled. Of course, on Wednesday, I fly out to Oklahoma, and this Friday I turn 46.

I'm not sure if these are dates to be celebrated or if it merely is an indication of everything being chaotic.

Did the Groundhog see his shadow? Is this more winter or are we heading to spring?

The campus provided one heck of a meal, including stuffed shrimp, jambalaya, and bourbon-induced ice-cream with cartelized bananas and King cakes (with a creepy baby in the middle). Note to self: research the baby - what is this all about? I know my colleague was collecting them from the dessert because she wanted to make a necklace. I'm missing something, but I was more than glad to give her my plastic child. It sort of creeped me out (although the rest was delicious).

Meanwhile, my graduate class went well and we hit most of the targeted goals, although I felt loosey-goosey with the points I was trying to make, trying to make up for the fact that there's no class next week. It's what it is.

This morning, I have 30 6th graders coming to be part of my undergraduate course, and I think I'm ready, as I stayed in my office until 9 pm preparing for their arrival.

And today is the V-Day, but to be honest, yesterday was everything anti-the-V-Day. There's something strange in the universe occurring right now where relationships are coming to new challenges. I spent a lot of time on the phone yesterday trying to work through crazy scenarios with couples that I never expected to have insane conflicts. Phew.

Oddly, the graduate class was all about active listening, showing support for dialogue, and engaging in where people are in their own thought processes. I simply listened. There was a lot of listening, and I kept thinking, "Hmmm. Is my planning for tonight and tomorrow's classes that important given the nature of these conversations?" I decided they were, and curbed them when necessary; still, I am shaking my head wondering what is going on. Sometimes, the curve balls surprise us all.

Today should be the last of my 12 hour days for a while, as I will get a slight retreat from classes, and concentration on other things - including grants and a 30 minute speech I need to give in Oklahoma next week. I know what I want to say, and with the changes in technology, I know that I can't rely on my usual way of saying it. I will need to write this weekend, and have a blue print of my thinking.

So, for today, I simply want to leave the word LOVE on the page. I guess it's also good to have ashes on Valentine's day, because sometimes LOVE leave scars and markings - even when we least expect it.  I'll be reading Love by Matt de la Peña and Loren Long with the 6th graders today as a prompt for writing, but I will also be channeling friends and family who may not be quite capable of articulating and explaining LOVE in their own lives. I've never enjoyed the 14th - because of it's proximity to my birth - and realize today, more than ever, that this holiday can really suck for people, especially when the ugliness of the heart presents itself.

Baby in a cake? It's weird. Ash tray markings on a forehead. I need to figure that out. Teaching 60 individuals in a space that has no windows - well, what else am I supposed to do? I wish I could share the back story of what it took to get the kids and undergraduates together.

Okay, Great Whatever. At this point, this day is up to you. I relinquish all control to you.

I Live Hegel's Spiral, A Little Forward, A Lot Back, A Little Forward, A Lot Back

As I prepare for summer 2018, I'm still trying to rap up Summer 2017. We're getting closer on the publication of POW!, the Anthology for Teacher and Student Writers that showcases excellence from the summer, and I'm also getting closer to a solid program for this year's work (should we get the grant, which is due this Thursday).

Write On!

Last night I was on a conference call where I learned about Playlists and a new vision from the LRNG folks. The skinny is to provide our summer curriculum in easy to navigate instructions so that high school students who don't have access to a college campus in the summer for writing camp work, can move through playlists in order to do the work, and if they complete it, earn a badge.

I created the badges in a fit of a sleepless night a few days ago. We're aiming for a Playlist for the Op-Eds, the TedTalks, and the Poetry/Raps kids created. What I learned last night is how complicated, yet fruitful, it is to take a summer's curriculum and condense it in an easy-to-navigate website. The goal is to offer opportunities for young people who aren't given easy access to National Writing Project excellence a location that they can, in a self-directed way (as I named it), teach themselves.

Given hyperlinks, web pages, YouTube, and online models, a young person might be able to accomplish the same outcomes that they would should they have taken part in a community of summer campers. I'm intrigued by this, but also a little squinty-eyed and crooked-head. First, I worry about a future culture where there are fewer and fewer teachers for face-to-face interaction, and more game-like awarding for youth to meet new writing opportunities. Of course, I also think this is a great thing, because I've said for a long time, teach a kid how to learn and then, well, you're no longer needed. I think that's great. Second, I am apprehensive about is not being face-to-face with others in a learning process. I wonder about community. My research shows me over and over that there is no individual written outcome without a community to belong to. That said, there's a tremendous amount known that online communities are real and they are effective. The learning does not occur in the confines of a classroom alone.

This is all to say that my ears are perked to learning something new. I've never been one to wear badges or pins, not wanting to belong to this group or that, but there's something interesting to this movement that, I think, may bring new enlightenment to this ever-changing world.

The capitalist/marketing dreamer in me thinks, "Hmmmm. How do I get at the forefront so that the world has to pay Me, only ME, and ME ME ME for what I bring to the writing world." Then I think about Ubuntu. There is no ME without a community of others.

Last night on the ZOOM call, I realized I was excited because I had faces to connect with and dreamers across the nation who are rethinking access, instruction, best writing practices and phenomenal possibilities. I'm so much stronger this morning, because I learned from others last night.

I would worry about the kid, however, that doesn't have the experience of belonging to a larger group. After all, writers grow from being in the community of fellow writers.

Still, I'm thumbs up. This is really cool. I'm also apprehensive. In the end, it will balance out, I'm sure.

Sundays are For A Real Meal and a Six Mile Run in the Rain To Take a Break

Received two hoodies from my older sister last week so that I could tackle the arctic on winter runs. The trouble has been that since they arrived the temperatures have been higher than 32 degrees! Ah, but after a day of pouring rain and fog, I looked out at the muck and said, "You need to run, Crandall. You need to blow off some steam!" and then you put on a hoodie to act like an umbrella.

It was a fantastic run, too, although running in a hoodie during the rain is like running with a wet towel on your head. My feet, too, were drenched, but in all honesty it felt wonderful.

I was on my arse from 7 a.m. until around 4 p.m. doing work yesterday. I knew a run would rejuvenate me to get back to work after I ate dinner.

Which I did.

I love my green beans, mushrooms, cranberries and almonds mix. Easy to make, colorful, and tasty. I was back at the work by 6 pm and went straight through until talking to Chitunga from 9 until 10:30...our Sunday night catch-up call.

I'm not sure what people did before FaceTime. It's my happiest time of the week (and fingers are crossed that he might be home for the summer with a possible internship in CT). That would be great.

The house was still not cleaned this weekend, but laundry was done. One class is almost ready to go and I have another one on the back burner with many ideas flying through my head (I know colleagues make fun of me for thinking about classes so much, but I rarely can do the same thing twice - I have to resurrect what works and doesn't work each year, as I trade one book for another and get to know my students who are rarely the same from year to year). It keeps me on my toes.

This is a week of meetings, followed by meetings, followed by meetings. I've yet to understand how they work, but 24 years in a profession, I know they are part of what one does in a career, even if they rarely accomplish anything.

Here's to another week and all the crazy that is sure to come. I have leftovers so I should be good for a few days.

Thumbs Up, Once Again to @DTCabaret. Raisin In The Son, Spectacular

Sitting in my office yesterday writing, researching, plotting, and planning, I received a text from my Stratford friends, Dave and Kris, with the idea to get dinner and to see the Downtown Cabaret, Bridgeport, production of A Raisin in the Sun. I tend to make poor decisions in my life from time to time, so I'm always happy when I make a good one. I said, "Sure. I'll pick you up at 5:40."

It was Kris and Dave's first time to this theater and I told them, "Trust me. The quality will be phenomenal. You'll be impressed."

Impressed? Without a doubt. Jahi Kassa Tahanqa, Noel Ginyard, LaMarr Taylor, MaeTae Harge, Ajibola "Keeme" Tajudeen, Avery Owens, Garth West, Elijah Manning, Eric Dino, and Joe Cardoza did a phenomenal job - standing ovation worthy. Everything about the production was fantastic, and more applause is needed for the Theater and Production Staff.

Dave has co-directed the play at Westhill High School in Stamford and Kris had seen the production on television and in other locations. I was 99.9% sure I had read the play, but quickly realized I had zero memory of the story. From the first scenes, I was hooked. When I was teaching in Kentucky, A Raisin in the Sun was introduced to sophomores and even with my background, I guess I never had the opportunity to teach the script. I know I own it. I know it's quality, but I've never seen it. Lorraine Hansberry's play is meant to be seen and tomorrow, when I wake up, I'm making a call to several teachers I know to insist they find a way to see it.

To the performers who portrayed the Younger family --- WOW. It was nailed, and the love, conflict, struggle, dreams, worries, politics, and fear were performed with excellence. The entire production sparked hours of conversation afterwards, especially with the play's historical context, plot, believability, and total frustration for the struggle. These actors made it obvious why such a script should be celebrated in the canon of American literature. They did Lorraine Hansberry incredible justice with their heartfelt portrayal  - so much so that the ear piece distractions in the beginning could be easily forgotten.

The Downtown Cabaret provides quality theater for southern Connecticut and 7 years in the state, I'm ready to say, "It is a Fairfield County gem." I can't wait for more of their work.

Going Into The Weekend Like...Okay, Coffee...I'll Need You This Weekend

I know I need a few days in my office without any interruptions, emails, phone calls, text messages or face-to-face communication. I just need time to write grants, evaluate them, and to lay out a budget for projects still to come.

I felt somewhat satisfied when I went to bed last night that I finished one major project, but know that the other ones - bigger ones - loom ahead. Glamis had to carry me to bed. It's work that I love to do, but sometimes I wish I had doppelgängers to assist me in accomplishing all that still needs to be done.
Forget the dust rhinoceros's needing to be swept from Mt. Pleasant.

I've got my ram horns, however, and I'm charging ahead knowing all that stands before me for the next two months - it is NWP season, I'm excited for NCTEAR, and rapping up last summer before we start another one are all on the radar.

I need to shout out to the writers of This Is Us, Scandal, and How To Get Away With Murder who gave me background music for the week and momentary distractions where I looked up from my screen to a reminder that there's another world out there.

Still, I'm being wheeled into this weekend, dragging, and with visions of a raft, my parent's pool, and a good book (like Rebound, sent to me yesterday as an advance reader copy - so thankful to Houghton-Mifflin and Kwame Alexander for the read to come).

Happy Saturday, All. I used to TGIF. Now I am TGIM - Thank Got It's May. It can't come soon enough!

Throwback to March & April in My KY Teaching Days; Of Course, It's Only February

Since I've arrived to Connecticut, I've taken part in the Joel Barlow High School Junior Year Portfolio Assessments - one of, if not the only, writing portfolio assessments I've encountered since leaving Kentucky in 2007. Each and every year I attend the two-day scoring session, I am in awe of what their kids can do with writing, what their teachers assign, and the style of preparation they're getting for college achievement.

My argument will continue to be: IF A SCHOOL IS NOT REQUIRING SCHOOL-WIDE WRITING PORTFOLIO ASSESSMENTS, CHANCES ARE THEY ARE NOT BEING PREPARED FOR POST-HIGH SCHOOL: CAREER, COLLEGE AND COMMUNITY LIFE. The kids at Barlow remind me of my kids in Kentucky; that is, the incredible, voice-filled, energized writing that comes from a system that supports them. The administration, faculty and students should be proud of the tradition they carry forth at the school, despite the State's irresponsibility of not supporting such writing. Heck, even the nation is negligent for promoting portfolios and writing across the curriculum.

At Barlow they achieve. At Barlow I'm impressed. At Barlow, I simply state, "This is what should be occurring in every school."

I think back, too, that from 1998-2007, while I was teaching, the State of Kentucky had my back. By this, I mean, that most of my professional development, the training I received at my school, in my district and at the state level, was in support of writing excellence. As a result, I knew the best of what students could do in their senior year. I've had to adapt my expectations through understanding NYS's Regents program, Connecticut's CMTs, and now the nation's Common Core. The standards may look good on paper, but writing has definitely fallen to the wayside.

Yesterday, reading the portfolios I did - hearing the voices, seeing the analysis, connecting to the creativity, and acting in awe of the voice - miss my KY days. Every spring, I coached the senior class for their own assessment (there, by the state at the time) and all my juniors for the district evaluation. In my preparation, I had to get all my colleagues ready to score, too, as I wasn't allowed to give an evaluation of my own students. The entire experience was heavy for many of us, but so rewarding in the end. I would put a KY senior from that time against any senior in CT or NY (two states stereotypically celebrated for excellence over a state like KY). Of course, those days are gone and there's no longer a portfolio process.

Bottom line is this: I have nothing but positive things to stay about the tradition that continues to exist in Redding, CT. There's a story there about how they've maintained it, and I imagine that schools across the nation could learn from them. I've said it once, and I will say it again, "This school offers the best writing instruction in Connecticut." Why? Because they have an entire infrastructure to support it!"

The evidence from the portfolios I've read are all I need. I don't see students in other schools writing at this level or in the variety of genres they expect.

I leave the school missing my KY days. That's how I know it is magic.

First Ever Rain-Day Home From School. Accomplished Much But So, So Depressing

I was expecting more snow when I learned that everything was closing, including Fairfield University. We got a dusting, then the slush, and then rain. I will admit, I did spend a few hours in a raincoat and goulashes pushing the Snoopy Snow-Cone machine precipitation onto the lawn in case the rain didn't wash it all away and/or the temperatures decided to plummet and freeze everything in the evening.  That, and my neighbor fell in Boston breaking an elbow on one arm and a wrist on the other. She stopped by a week ago asking if I could help keep her driveway and sidewalk clean while she recovers, "Otherwise my 90 year-old mom will insist on doing it for me and I'm worried about her." They have a huge driveway!

Middle child. Lover of the outdoors. Always wanting to be a good man.

Of course, reading about the closings at 5:30 a.m. meant that I couldn't fall back to sleep, so I started grading, editing, revising, and planning. My students lost, however, because I told them that if there was a snow day, I would always hold class via ZOOM, which I did. I did say, however, only for 30 minutes. In a semester of 15 weeks, every class counts. I needed to check in with them and to go over what I would have done in class if it wasn't raining so much.

It was sloppy, but it wasn't close-the-universe tragic. I'll take it. Why? Because I worked on POW! Power of Words and am a week ahead of when I found time for it last year. I thought I was behind, but I'm slightly doing okay! Trapped indoors all day, however, also meant I felt guilty about the laundry and the kitchen. I think I folded two months worth of clothes and put them away. It's so annoying, and I hate every second of it, although it did mean 75 minutes away from a computer screen.

This morning, I'm off to Joel Barlow High School for portfolio scoring, one of my favorite events of the year. Of course, it's 35 minutes away and we begin at 7:30, so I will be an early riser once again.

This just in: Two hour delay! I now have to report at 9:15!

I have always been miserable in the morning; I am much, much worse as I age, but now I can have more coffee.

But I do hope we see sun today. If all that rain yesterday was actual snow, it would have been an event. It didn't end. Still, I'm ready for the blue sky now, thank you.

Holding My Breath Like a School Boy (or Teacher) Watching The Weather Channel

It's been a long time since I went to bed holding my breath in anticipation of morning announcements. The storm is supposed to bring 1-3 inches on the coast, followed by ice, followed by rain. Normally, I tap my inner-Syracuse and think, "Fools. This is nothing."

But, I'm tired. I've been working through weekends to keep up and this week, I am way overbooked. It's the luck of timing and I am hoping something might give. Of course, being an educator, I've prepared for the multiple scenarios that may ensue.

Scenario one: Life as usual, which means I need to be in Redding at 7:30 a.m. for portfolio scoring. This requires me to be out of the house by 6:45, only to leave Redding at 9:40 a.m. to be on campus by 10 a.m. to greet 30 6th graders for a tour of campus and then a 2.5 hour turbo course with undergraduates.

Scenario two: No Redding and I can sleep in a little and better prepared for 6th graders and turbo course.

Scenario three: Redding, but not 6th graders. I have no doubt that the turbo class will be happening.

Scenario four: No Redding, no 6th graders and just the turbo course (this is where I am like, "Please, please, please, please let this be." I need sleep (well, until 7:30) and I need time for being on top of the turbo class. I haven't had a second to be on top of my game like I usually am, because last night I taught a graduate course followed by a Saugatuck Story Fest Teen Board meeting.

And I know that the 2nd day of portfolio scoring is a sure thing.

I'm fried. My email is up to 586 unread emails needing my attention. I need space to slide through this week with greater ease.

It's up to Liam, however. It's up to district officials to interpret safety for kids as Liam does what it does. So, I'm holding my breath on a Wednesday, but am not very optimistic. I anticipate exhaustion and crazy, no matter what evolves.

This just in. 

Scenario five (which I never imagined). No Redding, no 6th graders, and no day classes on campus as all offices are closed. I didn't see that one coming. Of course, I won't be able to go back to sleep. Really wasn't expecting this one.

Prepping for Oprah-oma (Well Thinking About It), Two Photos Emerged

While searching for photos of my younger sister during the big-hair 80s, Crandall in a box-cut picture with Sally Jesse Raphael glasses showed up. And he's working on an electronic typewriter. I know that table very well and am trying to guess if this is in my first year of college returning home to write a paper.  I remember the typewriter, though. It was the one before I moved to a Brother Word Processor (the fancy kids at Binghamton had Apple computers. I learned after hand writing my first paper that college professors would not accept my writing on Mead, double ruled paper). I saved up money and bought my Brother Word Processor and thought I was Mr. Cool writer extraordinaire.

I'm also see the photo showcases a Syraco plastic bookshelf (with a copy of The Color Purple up front) and, of course, the gigantic spoon and fork that I tried to use to eat, but mom never thought  was funny. I believe the floral centerpiece is still alive and well on Amalfi Drive and, I might be mistaken, it is placed on the dresser in my bedroom). I do think paintings have disappeared, however.

Then, yesterday afternoon, Dr. Kris Sealy sent me a professional photograph of me taken during the MLK Dinner where I was announcing winners of the MLK Essay contest. I told her, "My tie is poppin'" and reflected, "I'm so glad Tunga left one of his tie clips behind." I wear it all the time so he's near my heart when I'm trying to act all professional and stuff. He's better at it than I am.

Now, it's surreal to look at these two photos side by side I still see myself as the kid at the table (or laying on the couch reading books and using my mom as a pillow). I know both these photos are me, but somewhere I've lost the transition from the boy into the man - the foolish, nerdy kid that has turned into a University professor. Reflecting on the in-between spaces is just surreal. It sort of freaks me out.

The one constant, though, has been the writing - and my life quest to meet Oprah Winfrey. I still want to  have a talk show like hers where I bring joy to the world like she did. I saw her as an academic, a psychologist, a sage, a personality, a therapist, a teacher, a mother, a sister, and a role model. In retrospect, I realize my life as a teacher has sort of helped me become of a variation of her, expect I've been a father andbrother. In that sense, I've made my vision come true (but I still want to sit one on one with her some time).

I was thinking about this because I get to speak in Oklahoma for the Divergent Award in a couple of weeks and I'm trying to figure out how I want to address the crowd. In my head I've been singing "Oprahoma," as if my 30-minutes of fame on stage will be this incredible Broadway event. I have visions of Oprah sneaking up behind me in a cowboy hat, too, where we can co-present together. I know this won't happen, but I'm definitely opening with Oprahoma! That's the Jim Carey (and not Chitunga tie clip) party of me.

Who is that old guy with all the white in his hair and beard? And why does he look like he's singing, "Hallelujah?"

He's never been able to sing.

Maybe he's impersonating a large mouth bass. That would make sense.

Immigration, DNA, Dreams, Hope, and a Poem. That's This Monday Morning.

My Ancestry.Com kit was sent to the labs a week ago. I now await six weeks to see the results. I have always written that I'm an ethnic mutt, knowing my relatives come from Wales, Ireland, Scotland, England, Germany and Ukraine. That's the belief we've had anyways. We have knowledge of the Crandalls settling in Rhode Island with Roger Williams (perhaps folklore) and information about the Lysaks emigrating during the Russian pogroms (maybe). I'm hoping my spit in a plastic tube will verify some of this.

Either way, my family like all families in the U.S. immigrated during times of turmoil with a hope for a better life.

This is why I love all the work I do with refugee youth in the United States and my passion for urban schools that often educate the children who arrive with a strong belief in the Statue of Liberty and America's place in a global world. Yesterday, in New Haven, a record number of runners ran in support of refugees and as IRIS Director Chris George announced, "These numbers send a message about the America we're intended to be." I was proud, too, to sponsor our team of almost 40 runners from Fairfield by donating money I've earned through doing professional development for teachers. My faith in the power of education and the importance of learning history, immigration, global conflict, and inequities, I believe, has been central to the work I've done on my campus and schools.

Poem by Brian Bilston. Mailed to me by
a friend last week. Written March 23, 2016.

With this noted, there has been a tremendous amount of misinformation being spread across the United States and all I can think is, "What are we thinking? Why aren't we reading and doing research? What happened to one nation under God?"

God, which I call the Great Whatever, is good when you add the extra 'o.' At my core, I know it is always right to do what is right and this, although it seems to be very hard for many, requires a power to love. God is love. I hear it preached on Sunday morning sermons on the television, and I know that many across the country read the bible religiously.

God is, then, good for everyone if we look to the good of humanity: the tired, the poor, and the hungry.

This weekend, I learned that a wonderful family in Bridgeport with two stellar achievers at Fairfield University were denied citizenship because they come from a Muslim nation and they are viewed as a threat to the United States. This is a family who fought against the Taliban on the side of the United States, but because of today's political climate, now have 15 days to appeal the decision made from the Department of Homeland Security that they are a danger to our nation. They are a tax-paying, store-owning family with straight A students who have done nothing but demonstrate kindness, pride, and hope to all that know them. The father, too, carried his business forward even after American-born punks shot him in a robbery, trying to take away what little their cash the registers bring in. They have been thankful for what America has offered them, but like stories that are popping up all over the country, they are being torn apart, ice-cold.

I'm trying to put myself in the place of their father, especially knowing that my ancestors were immigrants, too. My grandparents made their way in the nation so their children could provide for their children. In high school, we watched videos of vitriol against the Irish and Italians when they arrived in the 1900s - families that led to so many of my fantastic, childhood friends from my neighborhood and schools.

But where are we America? What is going on? Why such fear? We should not be afraid. Our super diverse society and our ability to be fully inclusive within the military, our schools, our Universities, and in the workforce is what has makes our society great. I want to still believe in this beautiful nation, but I'm crying for the beloved country like Alan Paton did in S. Africa.

We are better than this. We have to be. I cannot believe that people feel this is acceptable. I'm not religious, but I'm praying for them, too. I'm so sorry for the hatred they carry in their hearts and the ignorance they use to guide their paths.

Throwback to February 2015 (Later in the Month) When We Moved Into Mt. Pleasant

I was deleting old photos to get some of my computer's memory back, when I came across pictures of the first night we moved into the new house. We debated on whether to stay at the place we rented or if we should just jump in and make it our home the first day we got the keys.

Obviously, we jumped in (and the rug for the kitchen ended up in Chitunga's room). Hmmm, I might just want to claim that downstairs again.

It's hard to believe that we've been here for 3 years, but when I put it into perspective with summers, guests, jobs, classes, cars, chores, and parties, I realize that the three years flew by rather quick.

Last night I sat in my house with Glamis at my side thinking, "Crandall, you've become boring in your old age. A Saturday night and all you did was read and retire early."

Actually, I knew I had a 5K this morning and I worked on grading all day; I was fried and didn't want anything exciting to ware me out more than I already was.

So I went through old photos while watching the first Hunger Games and found some from the night we first stayed in the house. Each of us slept in our rooms on the floor. I think we managed to get the mattresses in, but not the frames.

Funny, too, because it was a horrible winter, I moved a lot on my own, and the end result was the hernia I didn't take care of for a year (which begged for my sister and mom to come take care of me a year later for the surgery and recovery).

Looking at the empty house photos, I begin to think that there might be something to minimalism. I like the vacancy and cleanliness of it all. I have too much stuff now and it all needs to be sorted, cleared, dusted and swept.

I guess this is all to say I'm lucky. I found a great location and space to settle for a while and this home has crafted many memories and stories in a very short time. Here's to it all. 

Syracuse Taught Me How To Run in Cold Weather. Louisville Taught Me How to Warm My Heart.

I should be given a contract for Saucony because I continue to be a tremendous fan. Yes, my little toe on the left foot always breaks through after a month or so, but there is not a sneaker that is more comfortable to wear while running. They provide awesome support. I've tried New Balances and Asics, gave up on Nike as a high school student, and have not been impressed by Reeboks. Of course, my bank account determines my purchase, and with new sneakers every few months, I always look for the best buy. I love when I find a pair of Sauconys on sale.

DSW did right by me and mailed me a birthday coupon which I cashed in on Thursday. Two days of running in Sauconys again and I'm like, "Crandall, why would you ever stray to another brand?" It is night vs. day. Saucony is the sunshine, green grass, blooming flowers, trees, and singing birds for my feet. I just feel like a different runner with them on.

Usually, I opt for an obnoxious color and design (that matches my car or 80s fluorescent music videos), but when I put on these puppies, I admit, "I've found myself a lover for the next few months." It is a beautiful relationship and right now I'm going through the star-gazing, dreamy period. I want to put them on the pillow next to me while I sleep.

Runs have been arctic, however, but I came home from work at 5 and hit the pavement. It was cold, but my Syracuse heritage helps me to realize that at 15 degrees, it is actually a heat wave.

And I wore my new Sauconys today when I visited the Read School, a pre-K thru 8 school in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Dr. Yohuru Williams introduced me to the principal, Sarhanna Smith. She invited me to her school, where I toured yesterday, and got the opportunity to learn about their building through her and a young man, with tourettes, who was having a difficult time accomplishing classroom goals. He was sent to the office to refocus. Principal Smith empowered him, however, by inviting him to be a guide for the two of us - a beautiful move by a brilliant leader. By the time we got to his class, he was ready to settle in and focus.

To be truthful, I could spend the rest of my life having principals and their students give me tours of their schools. This comes from my years as a K-12 teacher in Kentucky. My mind is especially drawn to art work and murals, as my Louisville kids taught me the power of creative expression. I particularly loved this mural because it reminded me of a doodle I would find in one of my grandmother's notebooks: loops, colors, and a few words: be responsible, be respectful, be safe.

These are the messages kids receive in a hidden curriculum. The more I explore schools across the nation, the more I want to find a way for local artists to paint murals above doors, in hallways, and in all the peripheral (and forward) views of kids. Shoot. Let the kids pay them.

Yes, the challenges are indescribable (maybe it should be an American prerequisite to shadow a Principal for a day to see what they face). Yet, art speaks and heals.

While walking, Ms. Smith and I came across an 8th grader who was not in class. "I'm taking a meta-moment," he reported. He explained that a meta-moment is a choice he has to leave a frustrating classroom situation to get a grasp on one's self - to refocus. Ms. Smith said, "Okay. I appreciate that you told me this is your meta-moment. I trust you'll find peace in your mind and return to the good work I know you're capable of doing."

That, I believe, is wonderful. School is hard: school is hard for everyone. Moments like this make me trust that there's hope.

"Life on Earth Was Always Supposed To Be Better Than This;" Thinking about a Thursday in Connecticut

 Yesterday was #World Read Aloud Day, and I had the honorable opportunity to visit one of my favorite schools in Connecticut, Hill Central, to work with wonderful third grade teachers and their students. The challenge given to all was to dress as their favorite book character and the educators and their youth represented.

Following a 2018 theme of LOVE, I read Matt de la Peña and Loren Long's book of the same name. In a dream world, they would be at Hill Central to read the powerful poem with accompanying illustrations, but they are in demand and not all schools can have the authoritative gurus of the book.

So, I read it. I also modeled for the 3rd graders the LOVE I have in my life and what I am able to do with that LOVE to make a better world. I challenged the kids to write a book called 3rd GRADE LOVE AT HILL CENTRAL, where they named and illustrated what they love most in their life. MLK quotes and conversations assisted the prompt, and I was highly impressed that the kids all had something they wanted to share.

Later, at the Quick Center at Fairfield University, I had the privilege (emphasis on the the word privilege) to hear insight and wisdom of Dr. Angela Davis. This post isn't going to delve into the genius (and controversy) of this individual - there are libraries filled with content naming what she's accomplished and incited in the United States. Rather, I am thinking of a line she said in response to a high school student's question about what they might do as a freshman just starting to think about issues of social justice.

Life on earth was supposed to be better than this.

Others asked about the Black Lives Matter movement and the response of All Lives Matter. I agree - ALL LIVES MATTER. What I want to know, however, is that when people counter with #AllLivesMatter, what does this look like? I want to know what people who stand by that statement have to show for what THEY DO to stand by that statement. If they have examples and actions, reports and policies, histories and narratives that show that they really stand for the slogan, then what does that look like? Black Lives Matter, then, wouldn't be countered with ALL LIVES MATTER, because if ALL LIVES mattered, there wouldn't be a Black Lives Matter movement.

That's history. That's books. That's simply driving into communities where struggle is an every day norm.

At Hill Central, a school with dedicated educators who are working passionately to change the lives of young people, the community surrounding the school looks like a world of decay, poverty, hopelessness, and loss. I'm not sure if any political party, the left who claims to stand for such populations or the right who likes to shame such poverty as individual choice, have done anything to address the issues that such communities face. Rather, they pit one another against one another in a political show for power, but equally ignore the fact that communities are struggling.

Look at the schools with their lack of resources. That's my primary exhibit. They have been forgotten. Look at joblessness, the lack of adequate health care, the blaming, and the current vitriol against such communities as evidence of why both parties are lost when it comes to the extreme inequities in the U.S., especially in regards to class and what is available to American youth.

The youth are the ones that deserve champions.

I couldn't help but think about all of this last night during an intellectual forum at Fairfield University. Walk across campus, look at the price points for an education, survey the student parking lots, look at demographics and, WOLA! the inequities seem ubiquitous (and, I should add, comfortably complacent).

I'm not sure what the answer is, but I do know that I'd much rather spend time working with kids and teachers who are working so hard to challenge the American inequities than to surround myself with castle inhabitants pointing out the flaws of society from the castle. That, to me, is hypocritical and central to the problem.

I will be thinking of Angela Davis's wisdom for the rest of my life. It was wisdom. It was sage-material that she was passing on to another generation that will inherit the Earth. The hope is that they will make it better and a location that imagines a more perfect world of LOVE.

Such LOVE has not been realized just yet. The 3rd graders at Hill Central, however, know. Love is about reaching out to others and finding a way to be kind, to be supportive, and to offer help wherever it is needed. I'm afraid too many adults, for generations and generations, have lost sight to this.

I Continue To Be In Love with Dialogue Books for Democracy, Conversation, and New Learning

I have published on dialogue booklets (which I picked up from Robert Probst) where several questions, around 10, are compiled into a little booklet to initiate conversations between individuals who may or may not have shared experiences, but who likely can offer insight on a shared idea or book.

On Tuesday, in my graduate course on Developmental Reading, I used a dialogue book to get students talking about equity, especially in relation to Nic Stone's Dear Martin.

Dialogue Booklet –

To use with ED 459 & Dear Martin

as a way to initiate conversation

(feel free to stray, but keep each other on task, too) 

• Start with flow. 1) What is something you do/have done where you have been so much in the flow, you didn’t even realize how much time went buy? 2) Did Dear Martin bring you flow? Why? Why Not? 

• Grade Nic Stone. A+ is outstanding and F is, well, you know. What do you give Dear Martin? Why? Do you want to give it multiple grades? Why? 

• Gallagher suggests we need to offer high interest texts in our classrooms. With your knowledge of adolescents, do you think this book will capture their attention? Why? Why not?

• Characters: Believable or not believable? Does Nic Stone successfully set up Justyce’s interest in S.J. (as contrasted to Melo)? What do you think of the romance line of the story?

• Do you have a speeding ticket story? Was it you? Someone you were with? What came of it? What was being pulled over like?

• In Ch. 2, Justyce and Manny are playing a video game (lots of shooting…Boom! Pop! Pop! Pop!). What are your thoughts about video game violence? Does it relate to U.S. violence? Does Nic Stone include this intentionally?

• Doc’s class initiates debate (allows some things and not others). Where do you stand on debating controversial topics? Are you opinionated? How do you defend the truth as you know it?

• What’s your read on Justyce’s mom? How do you feel Nic Stone uses her in the story? Does she help readers to understand more of the tensions Justyce faces?

• Dressing up as a cultural stereotype for Halloween – good, bad, undecided, or I just don’t know. Why would you say this? Sense of Humor or Taking things too far?

• Is there a race card in the U.S.? race privileges? Do you have thoughts of where we might go in the future in regard to race relations?

• As a group, prepare a final thought about the dialogue you had and the use of dialogue booklets. It can be a simple sentence.

What was scheduled to be a 25 minute dialogue turned into 55 minutes of engaged, introspective and poignant conversation about Nic Stones book. I was able to point out the fact, too, that they all got closer to the text without me acting as a sage on the stage, but with their insights, talk, and wrestling with the complex issues presented by the young adult novel.

I was interested in the process and asked the students to help me think critically about the activity and whether or not it might be adapted to classroom practices (I love that I have in-service teachers enrolled in my class, too).

I've been using them with mixed communities for years, and love seeing how they go over in a graduate course. I was most thrilled that content teachers: math, history, and science gave the exercise a thumbs-up and articulated ways they could adapt the activity. 

I'm still processing what I overheard from meandering through the groups, and the 20-minute conversation that followed in regard to such practice. (By the way, Nic Stone got extremely high grades - most consistent was A+ for content and the way the book initiates conversations).

Okay, I need to head to New Haven for International Real Out Lout Day! Happy Thursday, Y'all.

Great month, by the way.