Well, Damn. It's Monday Again. I Am a Salt and Pepper Shaker Richer (& a Few Vegetables, Too)

 I guess I have to succumb to the fact that it is not normal to wake up at 7 a.m. on Saturdays and Sundays so one can get as much work done as possible during the sunlit hours. Of course, I do that so I can have the occasional experience of a normal life - like going to a beach community benefit to raise money for summer bands and paying $20 for tickets and a chance to win a gift bag....

which I won! Gift bag number 9, which included $20 in Outback Steak House cards, $10 in Chili's (Baby Back, Baby Back Baby Back Ribs) cards, $50 in pedicure/manicure cards - already gifted (as if I'd use them), $30 in hair salon cards, and my favorite, an Outback Salt n Pepper shaker.

I don't normally win, but I won. I spent about $60 for the event, and was awarded with $110 in products. I guess that is a good exchange.

Otherwise, I spent the weekend reading and writing and grading, and am feeling somewhat ready to tackle the hours that are this week: at the end of a semester for undergraduates and graduate students, it's all about celebrations, activities, meetings, and hoopla. You'd think we'd be better about arranging our end-of-the-semester schedules. It seems like a lot if you ask me. There isn't a second to spare this week, and I'm looking at my calendar with acid rising in my stomach.

I did, however, get two days of great runs and Glamis the Wonder dog want on very long walks. I also grilled a week's worth of food so that I can pace myself with packed meals and snacks - it's that crazy this week.

I just want to survive it all with a smile and not go at it with resentment, frustration, aggravation and fear (that's what can come at you at this time of year). Rather, I want to approach the finale with zest and optimism, which is hard to muster when one doesn't feel there's any more energy to find or insight to offer. It will happen, though - it always does.

This too shall pass (as Sue always said in Kentucky).

I'm ready for it to pass, simply because I need to move onto other things that need my attention...like the business time of year! Summer!

Mother Nature - 3, Bryan Ripley Crandall - 0. I Am Reading Her Signs

It was absolutely gorgeous yesterday so I ran a few more miles than I normally do. I whistled in the sun and took pleasure in seeing so many people outside enjoying the warmth and working on their lawns.
About mile 3, I felt like something fell from a tree or that I dropped something, but I looked down and said, "It must have been a seed or tree blossom."

I realized when I got home, however, that a bird shat on my shoulder. Those are Mulberry seeds mixed with bird feces. Joy. It's like graduation, 2000, all over again.

Shhhhhh. It Happens.

When I got home, I brought a few items to my basement for storage and I found a mole by the furnace. I was down there yesterday, so he was rather fresh.

Then, while cleaning up the garage I found a little mouse (well, he wasn't as fresh as the mole).

Thanks, Spring, for sharing so much life with me.

I don't have Lossine here to throw at, so I had to bury them away (or I could put them in the mail, but that would be terribly cruel...I can here him say, "What's wrong with you?").

It's too bad that Saturday started with all of this, because otherwise it was a really awesome day. Blue skies, blooming trees, greening grass, singing birds, and even few butterflies.
I'm sad that these guys, though, won't be around to appreciate it. I'm also wondering how they went. I wonder if the mole went mad trying to find his way out of the basement (how he got in is beyond me) or if the mouse froze to death during the winter months. Maybe they told their wives, "I'll be right back. I'm heading up to the store to get some Milk and I might stop at Tommy's to have a couple of beers." Then they never found their way home.

Poor fellows were swept into a dustpan and thrown to the woods.

RIP, little guys. Hope there's cheese and grubs for you in the afterlife.

Because They are CENTRAL to My Heart, Mind, and Soul - Hilltoppers, Way To Go!

My first summer institute on writing for teachers introduced me to the awesome-sauce of Mr. Shaun Mitchell who has folded his ways into the National Writing Project way of life and who continues to bring magic to the Central High School community, including the Central Players who put on The Man Who Came To Dinner - a screwball story that features a phenomenal group of Christmas carolers and the hilarious talents of Arnold Setiadi (as Patrick notes, "It runs in the family). Wonderful to see the leadership and talents of Vanessa Arroyo, who has brought her theater-teaching talents to the work of the young thespians at the school. It's always a great thrill to leave campus to attend a production by the school.

A round of applause to Alexis Charles, Amir Alibali, Taylor Simpson, Kelsey Tonacati, Adonia Adams, Celeste Cabrera, Abigail Estrada, Mariana Costa, Ederson Leal, Alexa Boyle, Aliyah McAllister, Chunjang Bruynden, Brandon Jorge, Arnold Setiadi, Alexandra Vazquez, Nathan Oakes, Shemar Chastanet, Stephanie Maso, Julia Inacio, Shamay Edwards, Max Godinez, Amber Vasconez, Max Godinez, Deja Davis, Shamoy Edwards, Stephanie Mazo, Julia Inacio, Max Godinez, Shemar

Chastenet, Mariana Costa, Deja Davis, Abigail Estrada, Shemar Castanet, Mauricio Woods, Stephanie Maso, & Julia Inacio

Also, a tremendous standing ovation for all the stage hands who helped to make the performance possible.

My night ended with the Central Players, but also began with another Central crew brought to Fairfield University by Charlotte Pecquex, student teacher for Shaun Mitchell, Fairfield University grad, CWP-teacher, and now colleague to all the Hilltoppers. She brought her crew to the writing center in the morning and showcased her experiences on our campus, while creating a pathway that her students might aspire toward. Undergraduate Michelle Hernandez helped to make the connection, as well as Dr. Elizabeth Boquet and her Writing Center staff. As a result, 60 Hilltoppers came to campus to learn more about college life.

It is amazing to me to see the family grow and to be able to "write" on the wings of such phenomenal educators. The passion these teachers have for their students and district is simply contagious. A poem from the morning:

J ust because we're Bridgeport, doesn't mean we don't
u nderstand this
l ife thing (see, cuz we bring
i nttelect as we sing
a nd fling creativity to the moon).
n o. We are bigger than the universe.

H ell, we don't even need to rehearse
a t all because we are packed in brilliance.
m an, we should dance, wo-
m an, we should take a stance, screaming
o ut loud that we are Hill-Toppers proud,
n ot needing anything, but what
d estiny will bring our way.

So, here's to Central. I'm going into my Saturday grateful to know so wonderful human beings at this school!

Proud of Ms. Diandre Clark and Her Entrepreneurial Vision @Fairfieldu. Woot Woot!

 Last night, I attended the Fairfield Start Up program at the Quick Center where four teams pitched their business ideas, Shark Tank style, and received financial offers from alumni and supporters of the Fairfield University community. This is the first time I attended the event, in part because I was curious by the end-of-the-year opportunity for students, but also because Diandre Clark, Class of 2018, was there to pitch her idea of Belle, a clothing line created to empower young women who may or may not face low self-esteem and confidence with making it in the world.

Diandre established Simply Belle, t-shirts and accessories, to help fund programs for beautiful young women looking to be placed in leadership roles.

Several years ago, Diandre was a senior at Bassick High School who was enrolled in my freshman English class. She was easily the best writer, although a year younger than her peers, and I was drawn to her vision, feistiness, creativity, and realness. All of this was placed in her design as the CEO of Belle. 

Over the last four years, Diandre has stopped in at least once a year to discuss her dreams, her writing, and her spirited drive to make a difference in the world (embracing the true Jesuit tradition). Although she didn't win the grande prize of the competition, the investors quickly remarked that they wanted to put their dollars onto her. Her personality, wisdom, cleverness, and humor won them over and they were extremely drawn to her mission of social justice and ingenuity.

Watching her from atop the Quick Center, I couldn't help but feel amazing pride and joy for this young woman and all that lies ahead for her in the future. She was a classmate of Chitunga, a Bassick High School graduate, and a person I saw as having the power to overcome any obstacle thrown her way (why, because she was always quick to throw the obstacle right back at ya!).

I fell in love with her poetic connection to the work and am hoping there might be a way to bring her into Project Citizen, where she can tell her story and pitch her ideas to a group of 30 young people also driven by social change and doing good for the world.

I am extremely proud and can easily say, "I knew her when."

It is the work of individuals like Diandre that makes me proud to be an educator. I can't think of another senior who has impressed me more.

Congratulations. Girl Magic all the way.

"With Mirth and Laughter Let Old Wrinkles Come" and Stray Blonde Eyebrow Hairs. That's My World

This morning when I got up, I didn't have two long blonde hairs protruding from my brown, but by 9:30 a.m., on I-95, they decided to grow. These, like nose and ear hairs, are a part of post-pubescent adult male puberty that no one ever told me about.

Note: I will keep the writing from the neck up and knee down.

From the knee down, I look strawberries mixed in vanilla ice-cream (the psoriasis is out of control).

And the eyebrows? What are these? I cut them down and two days later a couple more sprout out of nowhere. It's absolutely insane.

I have to say, though, that the light coming through the fog into the skylight of my car hit these lashes just right, highlighting the fact that I'm official an older fart than I ever realized.

Now, with that self-defamation over, I can say that I officially said goodbye to my undergraduates enrolled in a writing course (love everything about their cohort) and am officially going into grant writing and processing mode for the next 48 hours (with a couple of breaks to celebrate students both at Fairfield and in Bridgeport).

I hear it might be in the 80s next week. I can life with that. Maybe I might even tan my legs.

Well, I Guess I Should Let It Be Known. Not My Thing. But The Materials Were Returned, So....

Yesterday, I received an email from an administrative assistant stating that my materials were ready for pick-up. In January, I received an unofficial letter and I threw it onto a pile of pine cones sitting in a tremendous basket given to me from a Somali Bantu community in Syracuse. Four months passed and an official letter came from the President of the University. I threw that letter on the same pine cones.

Today, however, collecting my container of materials that were submitted (they wanted to get rid of it), I realized that perhaps it is official.

Not sure how I feel about it, because I have a love/hate relationship with higher education (and this thing within me that uses it to set, limit, create, and inhibit boundaries for my life), but I guess another milestone was met.

I'm pregnant.

No.

Actually, I gave birth to the documents within those binders. 98 pages of self-explanation of what I've tried to accomplish since 2012 when I first arrived to the University. I suppose it can all be summarized in a paragraph from the first pages:

Since 2012, I published 9 peer-reviewed articles, book chapters, and reviews, presented 41 times at peer-reviewed, national conferences, taught 296 undergraduate and graduate students, led 55 teacher leaders in summer institutes for teaching writing, received 25 grants totaling $504,700, served Fairfield University through departmental and university-wide initiatives and committees, was featured in news stories 53 times (see Appendix J: In The News), and received 9 awards in recognition of community-engaged scholarship.

Whatever. That's the game played. In truth, what isn't documented is much more important: the Young Adult Literacy Labs, Ubuntu Academy, hours and hours of professional development with K-12 teachers, and the relationships I've built with others.

I've reflected often that when I announced this, that I'd also quote Groucho Marx when he said, "I'd never join a club that would have me as its member."

I have to acknowledge, however, that membership has been granted. I now need to figure out what to do with it.

This is all to say that I received tenure at Fairfield University. I'm still not sure what that means or is supposed to feel like, but it is a step that one takes when they are in higher education.

I'm still not satisfied, however. I work too much in K-12 schools and I see the incredible inequities that exist. I know, too, how far removed a life in higher education is to the reality of the rest of the world. These are my demons and they are what wake me up at 2 a.m. in a panic. With that noted, I recognize my privileges and am thankful that the odd way I do the academic world was respected by campus leaders and colleagues. That means a lot (because I tend to do what I do in the Brown School way - that is, my own, quirky way).

When my bins were returned to me I said to a colleague, "Let me dress up. I guess it's time I share with others that this occurred." I think I need to let myself acknowledge it, too.

But there is so much more we all need to do....

For now, another hoop was stepped through.

And This Guy is Thankful to Facebook Live! I Had a Seat at the Kitchen Table (sort of)

No hate on the quality of the photo I snapped while hearing the brilliance of Drs. Yolanda Sealy-Ruiz, Marcelle Haddix, Gholdy Muhammed, and Detra Price as they presented "A Seat at the Kitchen Table: A Conversation About Black Girls' Literacies" from NYC. The intent was to be there with a team of phenomenal young educators from Fairfield University, but the summer planning for CWP needed my attention. I sent a cohort, but couldn't attend the conversation myself.

Here, however, I first need to be critical. In year one of my CWP directorship, I did a presentation on my work with African-Born males with limited and interrupted formal education and a teacher asked, "What about females?"

She was 100% correct in calling me out on this, and I had to explain that my study with young male writers, alone, resulted with guardian permissions from elders (many of whom didn't think it culturally appropriate for me to allow me to work with their daughters) and because, well, as a male teacher/scholar I was always interested in male resistance to reading and writing in school.

I've always recognized the shortcoming and am proud that others, with similar interests as my own, did similar studies with female youth parallel to the stories shared with me by the boys. That is why I was drawn to the expertise of these 4 panelists in a conversation of what educators should be aware of in promoting the excellence of young Black females in school. I could learn from these 4 all day long. Dr. Marcelle Haddix has been more than gracious in mentoring me, and because of her I've been introduced to the scholarship and leadership of Yolanda, Detra, and Gholdy. On the rare occasions I'm in the same facility with them, I simply go numb with appreciation. The collective knowledge they hold is tremendous. The grace in which they share what they know with others is something rarely found in higher education. They offer togetherness, hope, strength, wisdom and poise, and I've always been drawn to the energy they exude into the universe. As individuals they are phenomenons; in a room, together, they bring explosions. Epiphanies arrive in stereo.

Over the years, I've come to recognize my biases as a White male teacher/researcher of literacy, especially one who has had a vast majority of teaching experiences in educational settings where youth populations bring diverse, multicultural, and rich perspectives. My goal has always been to uphold the exceptional intellect of each and every student and I hope that I've been smart enough to always look to others where I feel my limitations inhibit me. This is why I was thrilled to see the panel streamed (there needs to be more of these dialogues in academic settings). There is so much more I still have to learn and experience.

At the closing of the talk, a male in the audience made reference that a majority of participants at the talk were female and he wondered where other males were. There was conversation about who shows up and participates in conversations such as the one offered by the panel and it made me think how much better we, male scholars, need to be as colleagues and professionals to the rich contributions of others.

I'm thankful to have the Facebook Live link, as I want to revisit their blended brilliance. I needed their talk, especially at the end of a semester when I'm trying to collect myself and figure out what needs to happen next, for whom, with another year of investment toward Connecticut youth communities, especially those we're not reaching.

If only these 4 had offices down the hall from me.

I am thankful they opened their doors, from their institutions, to offer us a seat at their kitchen table.

I will go to my grave in total admiration for the contributions all four of them make! Marcelle often says you can feel a person's energy from the hugs they give. Marcelle, Yolanda, Detra, and Gholdy hugged the universe last night - I am hoping the Great Whatever felt it!

Not Sure If I Should Hang My Head Low or to Be Extremely Proud

So, Connecticut had a lot of rain throughout March and April, not to mention unexpected snow storms. Still, the temperatures rose a bit this week and all my neighbors mowed their lawn, so yesterday in a burst of spring fever (and cleaning), I mowed the lawn.

I learned from my sister that nothing has begun to grow in Syracuse yet, so I think - I can't believe this might be true - I actually mowed my lawn before Papi Butch mowed his own.

Could this be? Have I actually become him? Will it need to be mowed again tomorrow?

I always hated that as a kid...the constant need for lawn mowing on Amalfi Drive. Ah, but the grass was ridiculous long and I was somewhat embarrassed by how high it was, so I gave it a cut.

I also got the porch furniture out and even grilled vegetables and shrimp on the grill, forecasting flavors for the summer days to come.

Of course, I'm sneezing a lot, too, because the buds are bursting pollen into the sky and covering the surfaces with too much pollen.

I think the plants are just excited about warmer days as I was yesterday.

Even Glamis got a path and sprinted around the yard in absolute frolic. She tired herself out and went to bed early.

I wish I could say the same.

Powering Up for Saugatuck StoryFest '18 (October) By Mixing Communities & Dreaming of Diverse Futures

I spent a large part of Saturday working with two wonderful young men from Central High School who are on the youth board of the Saugatuck StoryFest helping teachers at Staples High School envision a collaboration for youth all across southern Connecticut. Today, we were part of the Westport Maker Faire getting our toes wet about what is possible for next fall when big name young adult novelists grace us with their presence and when we join forces with others to create a one-of-a-kind experience: this is the vision of Kim Herzog, Rebecca Marsick, and the Westport library association.

Lucky for us, Jerry Craft was presenting his books at the table next to ours and because of luck of a friend and a friend, I was able to connect with him abut a vision for creating diverse books and offering illustrations that were highly appealing to Kemoy and Chunjang who came with me for the day (or, at least, I came with them).

Chunjang, interestingly, brought a copy of the 2014-2015 Poetry For Peace publication where he wanted to show Kemoy he had his first published poem. He was proud, which made me proud because he didn't know that I'm also lucky to work with Carol Ann Davis and Elizabeth Boquet on that publication every year.

Publishing student writers matters and, at least in the case of Chunjang, it was affirmation that the words he pens at Sea Side park are important; others want to read what he has to say.

There's much more to come, but today was a launch of sorts and I spent the day extremely happy for all that these incredible teachers envision!

I'm more thrilled, though, to follow the leadership of Kim Herzog and Rebecca Marsick as they bring diverse communities together around the power of story.

The Power of an Incredible Human Being: Stefania Vendrella. Phew! What a Kid!

This semester, my ENW 311 course: Composition and the Teaching of Writing offered 17 students an opportunity to think about the teaching of writing, but also the power of service learning. As a result, Stefania was assigned to me as a student-learning associate (SLA --- if she was cold, it would be cold SLA, which is always good with fish on Fridays).

Stefania is heading on a path to become an elementary school teacher and, to put it bluntly, she is simply amazing. Her energy matches my head in the clouds (cumulous Crandall) and she puts the weights on my helium balloons to keep me grounded and focused. "Crandall," she said. "Look. You and I both have ridiculous schedules and we need to get on top of the service-learning gift we want to give to Columbus K-8 this semester."

Since January, my ENW 311 students have hosted almost 200 middle school students in a service learning project for developing a writing community. We have covered poetic, argumentative, poetic, and informative writing since we began, and even doubled up on occasion because of snow days. The young people from Bridgeport have done a tremendous job providing services to my undergraduates thinking about careers in teaching, especially in relation to writing pedagogy.

One of my students, Shannon, even wrote a poem she dedicated to the Columbus School students and Stefania and I thought it would be a perfect catalyst for a 'gift' to give the school. The trouble was, "What should we also include?" We decided to build upon a bumper sticker activity we did in class and had each of our students create the actual bumper sticker. It collaged nicely and will be a wonderful addition to last year's Columbus School poem.

I need to stop for a second to celebrate Stefania, however, because she is one of the most up-beat, enthused, focused, task-mastering young people I've worked at Fairfield and I'm grateful to the Great Whatever for having her assigned to this class (so much so, that I wrote a grant so I could hire her this summer to help me with all our CWP-Fairfield activities!).

I should also point out that Stefania is a graduate of West Haven Public Schools where I did professional development a few years ago. She gets it! She has an eye, an authority, a creativity, and a zest for life and I couldn't be more pleased to have an opportunity to collaborate with anyone else.

What a great semester it has been! I owe this soon-to-be-teacher so much more than a blog post. She's thorough, targeted, funny, innovative, and 100% focused. We're both extremely pleased with the artwork!

Boom!

Never Been Good at Taming Shrews, But Teaching Kates....Well, That's Inevitable at a Jesuit University

On the first day of school, K-12 teaching, I often walked around the room with a giant arrow and pointed to every new face I met. They would tell me their name, first and last, and I'd make everyone write it down. I then said, there will be a quiz Friday on the names of your classmates. You need to know one another; I'm irrelevant. My students of yesteryear tell me that the best thing I can do to change my practice is to teach students how to network and learn how everyone might benefit them one day.

That, to me, equalled a spelling test of first and last names.

I've always prided myself on the fact that I quickly learn kid names (even though I fail on learning the names of most adults). Names are important and I know the sooner I nail them, the more rapport I'm able to build.

Yet, at Fairfield I fail and it is quite a Kate-tastrophe. Why? Because when rosters are Caitlin, Caitlyn, Katherine, Katie, Kate, Katelyn, Katelin, Katie-Lynn, Kaitlyn, Kaitlin, Catelyn, Cattelina, Cate, & Mary Kate, with the occasional Justin or Alec, I seriously am not able to learn as quick as I should. Yes, I have a 90% chance of being correct if I use the "k" sound at follow with 'ate,' but it gets tricky deciphering this Cate form Kait!

...You know you teach at a Catholic/Jesuit University when....

Typically, by week two, I do a Price Is Right challenge where I put a timer on the screen and then run around putting name cards in front of all my students until I get 100%. I come to the front of the room and the kids can be human buzzers. Yet, deciphering Caitlin, Caitlyn, Katherine, Katie, Kate, Katelyn, Katelin, Katie-Lynn, Kaitlyn, Kaitlin, Catelyn, Cattelina, Cate, & Mary Kate, from last year's Caitlins, Caitlyns, Katherines, Katies, Kates, Katelyns, Katelins, Katie-Lynns, Kaitlyns, Kaitlins, Catelyns, Cattelinas, Cates, & Mary Kates gets mightily confusing.

By the way, I typically get the Justins and Alecs correct right away. No brainer there.

And as a fan of Taming of the Shrew, I've always had a fondness for the Katherines of the world, but typically Fairfield Kates do not have the feistiness or sharpness of tongue. Instead, they say things like, "Thank you, Dr. Crandall, for teaching me today," as they leave the room. Appreciation. For learning. Kindness.

"Why thank you, Caitlin, and Caitlyn, and Katherine, and Katie, and Kate, and Katelyn, and Katelin, and Katie-Lynn, and Kaitlyn, and Kaitlin, and Catelyn, and Cattelina, and Cate, & Mary Kate," I say. "And you, too, Justin and Alec."

Of course, I always want to sing the k-k-k-Katie song, coming to to my k-k-k-kitchen, but that's never been appropriate for the K-18 classroom.

I guess I'm scrapping today's post up to the drama of teaching at Fairfield. Or maybe I'm just c-c-c-crazy with my head in the c-c-c-umulous clouds.

Improv-ing The Teaching of Writing One Cohort At a Time. The 10-Minute Play Workshop

 I will never grow tired of running a 60-Minute workshop on ten-minute play script writing and it thrills me to death that a tradition I began at the J. Graham Brown School in Louisville, Kentucky in 2002 continues in 2018 (in 3 states).

I was in massive need for 'play,' yesterday, so the night before I resurrected a workshop and used it to as a writing lesson model to go with the on-coming language of EdTPA. My point with the students is that, above all else, writing should be a tremendous amount of fun. One of the students said, "We so need a selfie of this," and I responded, "Um, I incorporated that in the script I composed for our classroom performance."

It was part of the show.

The skinny is that today's lesson was to learn the EdTPA language for lesson planning, and I paired it with vocabulary activities, readings, Gallagher's chapter that The Wizard of Oz Would Be a Lousy Writing Teacher, and an in-class writing workshop where students could tap dialogue from their own lives to design a script of their own.

It has to be the best workshop I have up my sleeve and, kindergarten through Ph.D programs, it never fails. Everyone writes and has a fantastic time (Phew! I need to publish on this - it's too much fun).

My students and I share that we are absolutely exhausted at this time of the semester, so today was designed to bring Joy back to the classroom - the same Joy presented to us by Ralph Fletcher who helped me to kick off the semester with his book.

100% writing. 100% laughter. 100% happiness. 100% lightbulbs. In my dream life this is how I live my life everyday.

The National Writing Project helped me to come to this.

Okay, it's Thursday, and my day consists of an international conversation, a Fall spectacular (to be announced very soon), and 2 hours of PD with CWP teachers this evening. Sadly, there's a funeral in the mix, too (that I'm not looking forward to, but that I am....because he was a tremendous inspiration and he gave me hope for what I am trying to do. He saw me and appreciated the work).

Phew. This job. I tell ya'.

Deconstructing Language To Reconstruct It All Over Again. Coincidental Epiphanies in Developmental Reading

Last night, graduate students read a chapter by Deborah Appleman about teaching Deconstruction in secondary classrooms and, because I forgot the book I wanted to use, I came up with an impromptu alternative, which worked and has me thinking in all sorts of new ways (potential everywhere).

The skinny is this - students read Dear Martin as a course YA novel so that I could hang lessons onto something concrete, and I'm always pushing for supplemental readings to get the themes and motivations across. The short is I forgot the other book I wanted to work with, so I ended up searching the NYTimes for relevant Opinion pieces around race, gun violence, international stereotypes, Black history, MLK, and justice. I ended up finding around 18 relevant OpEds from this year alone.

Because I was teaching deconstruction, I asked students to read their Op-Ed, choose a section, and then operate with a de-word poem (via Kwame Alexander's models in Booked). What occurred, I found, was a language synopsis from each article that could easily be turned into found poetry, but that also could make a larger point with academic writing. I had students put each article on the board with the words they 'contained and constrained' through the deconstructive/black out activity. What resulted was that 15 students established a word bank extremely relevant to a reading of Dear Martin. I then said, "I failed. I should have had you write the name of the author of each OpEd, too."

Why? Because I realized that with high school students, should they have opportunities to read numerous OpEds, would also gain perspective from NYTimes sources to help articulate larger arguments they might have for a reading of Dear Martin. I said, "This is interesting, because all of these words actually become focus points for what we might say and reference. These Op-Eds help us to form opinions, and I'm sure kids would benefit from such an activity, too."

The students, with deconstructing the OpEds with blacking out words to get to the main point, actually captured the essence of the article the could be turned into a statement to enrich the conversation for reading Dear Martin.

It was dumb luck. I figured the poetic connection would be made obvious (and it was), but I was more intrigued that this activity helped my students explicate the points of the OpEds in rather tremendous ways.

I will be doing this activity again.

Drafting Thoughts for Exceptional Connecticut Student Writers (the @writingproject way)

          This morning, I will be attending a breakfast with outstanding student writers from Joel Barlow High School. I drafted the following, and wish I had a few more hours to edit.

So, this is intimidating. I am honored to be asked to speak to you at Joel Barlow High School, yes, and to have the opportunity to acknowledge topnotch writers from the school, true, but trying to figure out what to write (or in my case, to say) is a little challenging because…

…well…because these kids may be way smarter than me and, if truth be told, much better writers than I’ll ever be.

            My colleagues and I who spent over a decade working with high school writers in Kentucky used to secretly fantasize about how our own writing might score if we were blindly reviewed by a group of strangers asked to put a number on our portfolios. “Hey, Henry,” one teacher might say, “Whatchu think about slipping some of our own poetry into the mix to see how it would be rated? We could put in your essay about working the Kentucky Derby and that OpEd you talked about where you discuss teacher wages and pensions.”

“Oh, BRINE,” would be a common response (while teaching in Kentucky, I got used to my name being a variation of shrimp and a wonderful sounding one-syllable drawl, “That would unethical. We can’t do that.”

We all wanted to, however, because it was rare, extremely rare, 4-leaf clover and shooting-stars rare, for a kid in any school to get the top-notch, highest rating. In Kentucky, that category was called distinguished and it was a category saved for only the best writers in the state. Secretly, however, every English teacher in our schools wished we could tell our students, “I was one of those distinguished writers once myself.” The reality, though, was that most of us who taught went through schools where very little writing was required and, to be even closer to the epicenter of reality, a vast majority of us, the English teachers, did not see themselves as writers. We had dreams, though, that if we subversively submitted our own prose the State would write us back with invitations for the Caldecott Awards, Nobel prizes, and guest appearances on Ellen or Oprah.

Of course, that never happened, but it was definitely a conversation in the teacher room around the coffee maker. “I wonder how well I’d score.”

My own relationship with writing and words is quirky, as I imagine many in the room might also claim. As a little boy in upstate NY, I had a grandmother who saw herself as a writer and who kept notebooks and notebooks of her poems, thoughts, doodles and dreams. Every time my sisters and I visited her, she would read us more of her work and then, with crayons, she’d set us free to pages where we could create pages and pages of artwork we thought would make it to the Metropolitan, but that looked more like melted M & Ms or ice cream sandwiches smeared on the page than Monet, Pissarro or Renoir. We left scribbles in her notebooks and by the next time we visited, she edited our work with markers and ideas, turning our blobs of pinks, greens and blues into creative masterpieces of dancing frogs and battling lawn gnomes. In other words, she taught us that putting marks onto the page mattered and what we invested onto her Mead notebooks were later turned into the poems, essays and comics she wrote. She saw something in our crap that not one of us intended. She made meaning out of our craziness.

Some of you may have had teachers like this, too, who saw something in your submitted work that you didn’t quite know was there.

Mr. Powers often says, “When the best student writers come your way you simply hope you don’t screw them up.” 

I always interpreted this as, “Stay away, kid. I don’t want to be blamed when you write a NYTimes best-selling memoir and need a scapegoat for how teachers ruined your craft.”

Seriously, I’m not sure if you really know, have really processed, or can really comprehend what this writing accomplishment means during your junior year. If you are being recognized today, it is because there is something brilliantly amazing about the way you put words onto the page. Some of us – maybe even some of your peers – might say this accomplishment, above all accomplishments, is an obnoxious achievement by the nerdiest of all nerds….but, let’s just say it…they’re jealous.

Heck, I’m jealous. Do you know how amazing it is that your writing was selected as outstanding as it is? I need to stop for a second and give you a round of finger snaps (that’s what writers do) because what you’re being recognized for is quite amazing.

(Note: Bryan. This is when you encourage the audience to do finger snaps for these amazing kids). 

So, I was given only 10 minutes to speak and I did a Google Search and it said that for every page of writing, it takes roughly 2 minutes to read. That means that, at page 2, I have to speed things up because I still have 3 more pages to go if I am to fulfill my 10-minute obligation.

It is also why I want this next paragraph to be about Jack Powers. Well, not just Jack Powers, but Tim Huminski, too. Actually, not just about these two gentleman, but about all the English educators who work in your school. Scratch that, I want to make a comment about all the teachers at Joel Barlow and even the school’s administrators and superintendent of this district. Why? I’m not sure if you really know how truly miraculous this school actually is. I’ve been in Connecticut since 2011 and every February I am invited to your school to read a few portfolios (and yes, I think I’m doing something wrong because they keep inviting me back to score more. One of these days I’m going to get it right and they’re going to say, “Crandall, thanks for helping but we’re moving to different scorers next year). 

For the last 20 years I’ve researched and studied the teaching of writing in K-12 schools across the United States. The data collected has been grim. The truth is that a vast majority of kids across the United States continue to graduate with limited opportunities for writing and scant preparation for writing for post-secondary schools and real world success. 

Over and over and over again I have seen schools destroy writing instruction for their students. They don’t offer choice, they teach literary analysis alone, and they rarely have young people write for audiences other than the teacher. Now, as a faculty member at Fairfield University, I get to work with incoming freshman and, well, trust me….I see the shortcomings of writing instruction in K-12 schools. Students know a tremendous amount about writing for tests and writing to check this box, and that box, but they don’t know writing as a way of life. Writing, in reality, is living. Young people need to realize that composing a life is actually life itself. 

It is a way of knowing. It is a way of being human. It is the essence of growth, reflection, entertainment, argumentation, information, flirting, and memorials. We've built our civilizations on words.

So let me go back to Jack and Tim (I can call you by your first names, can’t I?) and all the other teachers at this school. Let me go back to the administrators and Board of Education and the family support that stands behind the Junior writing portfolio process. I’m sure there’s much grumbling about it being too much and numerous complaints come this way. "This expectation doesn’t help students in the real world. It's a waste of taxpayer's money." I attest, however, the opposite. Every junior who makes it to their senior year at Joel Barlow should count their blessings that their school cares enough about them to maintain this expectation. At a time where curriculum is being dumbed down all across the nation because testing companies have taken over what matters in schools, Joel Barlow maintains its resistance (and its integrity) to uphold expectations for their graduates so they're prepared for a post-high school life. 

 An Irish poet, Brendan Kennelly, once wrote that the world’s oldest trilogy is “I Love / to Believe/  in Hope.” Every time I score Barlow portfolios I leave saying, “the expectations for students at Barlow to be writers gives me hope.” I’m in absolute awe of the writing I read every February from this school and, truth be told, my soul is restored. This is a ceremony for exceptional writers, and I also think it’s important to recognize that the teachers, administrators, family members and staff have fought hard to maintain integrity for you as they put forward hope for a better tomorrow.

(Bryan: This is where you encourage finger snapping again.)

Wow. Look at that. I’m on page 3, and I’m starting to think that maybe 2 minutes per page might be a little abrupt. Who ever calculated the pace may not have accounted for the occasional, dramatic….

….pause (count to ten)

At this point I’m sure you’re wondering why this guy, Bryan, was asked to come to your celebration over bacon, bagels, scrambled eggs, and orange juice to squawk at you, and what credentials makes him worthy of giving a speech. I am not a writer who has written a best-selling novel or who crafts the texts that your librarians can’t wait to order. In my head, of course, that’s who I am, but it’s not me. You must also know that I see myself looking more like Adam Levine than I actually do (and I don’t even have a single tattoo). Rather, I’m a writer who writes to advocate for K-12 teachers and who craves better writing instruction for all. See, I’m a National Writing Project Director and that licenses me to run programs across the state to keep the act of writing on the scholastic radar.

Rather than penning books of poetry, young adult novels, and soon-to-be Marvel Comic movies, I spend most of my life writing academically about the teaching of writing, writing communities, and youth-centered writing instruction. Believe it or not, I spend about 14 hours a day behind my computer tap dancing my fingers across my laptop piano responding to emails, sending texts, proposing conference topics, and maintaining a daily blog. As an academic, too, papers need to be written, submitted and more often than not rejected, and even more time is spent responding to students, offering feedback and guiding the ways my students communicate with the world.

For me, writing is synonymous with dreaming. My vision for the universe is that more and more opportunities are provided to communities who sometimes are neglected and overlooked and who, for example, don’t even know that schools like Barlow exist. These are locations that do not require junior portfolios and may not even know that writing instruction is anything more than responding to writing prompts expected by state assessments. My personal mission in Connecticut has been to mix and match as many of our school communities as I can so that unlike individuals can share their worlds with one another. I’m a huge lover of stories and I personally think that communities are enriched when diversity is upheld, so it has been my mission to bring young people and their teachers together from a wide variety of backgrounds to share their stories with one another. 

And this is where I want to stray a bit from my verbal meandering to come to a single point  - the one I want you to take away today. 

Say this word with me, “Ubuntu.”

(wait for them to say it). 

Anyone know what it means? (be surprised if they know).

Ubuntu is a S. African philosophy that means I am me because of who we are together. In other words, an individual can only be an individual because of the other individuals around them. You, as writers, have achieved amazingly, and I can’t take any of that away from you. Yet, this accomplishment arrives from the fact that you belong in the company of many others. Writing accomplishments only occur when one joins the fellowship of others through the traditions of writing genres. Your individual thinking, mental meandering, silliness, and brilliance is only a thought, a mental note, and a truth because what you put to the page makes meaning for those who read what you have to say. What you have to say, however, is a direct result from how you’ve interacted with friends, gained access to new knowledge from teachers, experienced your world through coaches and mentors, and directly interacted with the individuals that have the most influence on you – your families.

So, Ubuntu. You are, because of the ways your communities have made you who you are. It’s the togetherness that needs to be valued. Your recognition today is about you, yes, and I’m in total awe of what you’ve written as 16, 17, and 18 year-olds in high school. When I grow up I hope to be just like you. Yet, the achievement is also on the bones, backs, histories, and stories of many others (some you may know and others you do not). Don’t forget that. Every word you commit to the page is the result of direct the individuals and communities influencing you. Don’t forget the influences.

Writing, too, is a way for taking action. Since you have a magical ability with the language powers you possess. I hope you will take your talents and write your way towards a better world. I’m not sure if you’ve been watching the news lately, but we are in drastic need of a better world.

See, my grandmother used to take our crap and turn it into brilliant artwork that made us proud. She had this incredible way of helping us to see that our voices matter and that everything we committed to the page was something more spectacular than we ever realized. She wanted us to doodle on the page because she wanted us to see that every mark we make with a Crayola, pencil or Bic Pen, has the potential to make a difference.

Making a difference has been my life mission with the work I do at Fairfield University and writing has never ceased to amaze me, whether through comments I make on a student paper, receiving $600,000 in grants written to support K-12 teachers and kids, publishing chapters in books to celebrate the excellence of Connecticut teachers (including Megan Zabilansky who participated in the John Legend LRNG Innovation grant), or simply touching base with my family.

Writing is communication. Writing is community. It is an act of being with one another, and with without a community, there’s no one to communicate with. And that’s Ubuntu. Write as you do, but write to enhance, uphold, and celebrate the communities you belong to and that have made you who you are. Write to empower those communities, but also to uphold those communities that haven’t had the same fortunes as you've had.

            And with that, I offer a final lap of finger snaps).

            (Snap. Snap. Snap.)

            Congratulations.

And A Win, Vin, For The Great Whatever. A Loss for Us @FairfieldU. A Poem

Dear Vin,

I am feeling really bad. Why? I don't have an original picture of you - a mentor - and I had to go online to take a profile from your University page. Dr. Vincent J. Rosivach, Professor of Classical Studies.

Actually, I have photographs, Vin, when you received the 2017 Lifetime Achievement Award from the Faculty Welfare Community (the second time you received this recognition in 50+ years of work on campus). I was in the front row with you and felt your emotion when you were being acknowledged once again. Truth be told, our work on the Faculty Salary Committee introduced me to you later than I wish a friendship occurred. You stepped up to play a part for another who was on sabbatical. It was then I learned of your academic achievements, but more importantly the brilliance you brought to your students and colleagues. I was drawn to your wisdom and would stop by your office to discuss politics, history, and personal readings of Victor Davis Hanson, another classical scholar who was introduced to me in Kentucky. You always said, "Dr. Hanson's smart, but his politics and writings are skewed by his own short-sightedness and drive to fight for the farmer."

I was never smart enough to understand what that meant (& don't claim expertise on the Classics, either), but I know I enjoyed every visit I made to your office, often coupled with a nip of Scotch from your drawer and your sincere interest in my work with refugee youth, teachers, and the Connecticut Writing Project. In fact, you saw us from your office window and wanted to know more. "Tell me about those kids I see (you had a perfect view of them dancing in the courtyard). What is their story? Tell me about how you've come to work with them."

Charlie. Gobstopper. "So shines a good deed in a weary world." Dr. Rosivach - an extremely good man. I can only imagine how many lives you have influenced through your incredible, respectable career.

In a year, I saw all that was amazing about you, Dr. Vincent J. Rosivach, an individual who published over a 100 articles since 1965, your first year at Fairfield and 7 years before I was even born. Your interests were Greek classics, but lately you liked talking to me about his work on slave histories in southern Connecticut. You were a teacher of tragedy, of Latin, of myths, and ideologies - subjects that always piqued my interest, and I was drawn to your fondness for Greek tragedies and my own curiosity about the roots of modern day stories.

Euripides said, "Death is a debit we all must pay,"

On Saturday, during the Race Matters faculty discussion on campus, our colleague Dr. Jocelyn Boryzcka silently told me that you passed Friday afternoon. It took the wind out of me and she walked me outside so I could collect myself. It hit me hard. You were someone I admired and I didn't foresee a day when you wouldn't be in your office for me to stop by.

I hate that you are gone (and am still processing it). In the last year you became a  friend - a man I looked up to and one, not for 'honeyed words,' but for what is good, just, and fair. You had a shrewd eye for seeing through 'evil' guised through 'a veil' of piety.

And so I was punched over the weekend, because your loss wasn't expected (and because, well, Dr. Rosivach, you became a saint to the kids of Ubuntu Academy).

Last night, before heading off to sleep I began processing my thoughts and I still don't know where to begin. I'm not Sophocles, Aeschylus or Euripides, nor I do not have many Homeric hymns. Still, I wanted to write you a poem.

For the Win, Vin – The Great Whatever Shoots & Scores

V erba docent exempla trahunt, an

I llustrator of wise actions -

n anons gigantum humeris insidentes, and a

c randall attempt to write a dwarfish

existence on the shoulder of you, a giant.

n emo nisi per amicitiam cognoscitur…

t he friendship, so learned in such a short time.

J ust when I was getting wiser, exitum, disappearance, another rhyme &

R eality check. 

o ra pro nobis. Ordo ab chaos. another prayer, (what the heck?)

s ong sung for chaos, sips of scotch, curiosity, kindness shown

i n an office, man to man, a patience for a new-found friend - my mind, blown...

v eritas omnia vincit. 

a truth. The kindness conquers all. Always another virtue to learn.

c aritate. Empathy. The human condition. Scholarship (an investment I must earn)

h istoria vitae magistrae. Thank you for teaching me a life. Sage.

When You Are Told It's a Disco Party, You Take the Hosts Seriously.

I'm not sure if it is good or bad that I whipped together a sport coat, glasses, and a shirt for a disco party, but it seemed to work. The spring like weather this morning, too, prompted me to shave (slightly). I knew I wanted to keep a 'stache for the outfit. I needed a night without a computer, papers, or books.

And yes, I was out by 9:30 and ready for bed. That's the way it is at 46. I know. I know. That was the time I used to take showers so that I could head out around 11 p.m.

My bed seemed too inviting and I knew I wanted sleep. Disco lights and all couldn't keep this guy awake.

Instead, I was thinking about laundry, planning, dog hairs, bathrooms, and cluttered tables.

Of course, today I'm waking up to colder temperatures and less joy as the blue skies and warmth brought yesterday.

It's all good, though. I got to throw back to my early years of ages birth to seven to get my Soul Train on. It just makes me wonder, will kids of today have early 20-teens parties? If so, what will their cultures be? Who are they?

Going Into the Weekend with a Giant "Ugh" - I'm Trying to Get It Done!

And I entered yesterday with ambitious goals. Whereas I only had two face-to-face meetings, I said, "Crandall, you need to get these midterms done."

Why? Well, finals will come in shortly (like 3 weeks). I simply have not had a second to get to them (just like I haven't found a second to do a last read/edit of our summer book from 2017). There's just not enough time in the day.

So, I committed myself to my house on the first REAL spring day where the temperatures were in the mid-70s. Okay, I did run and I did walk the dog, but after my meetings I simply sat on my are, read, and graded. I said, "You must get this far by midnight or else!"

Whoops. It was "or else."

Actually, I was two project behind where I wanted to be. At midnight, I just couldn't read or think about another one. My students are going to kill me. They want these back so they can work on their finals. I simply need a few more hours.

And my award? Well, I can grade all the weekly writing they've submitted since they turned in the midterms a few weeks ago. It never ends (and this has nothing to do with the planning and instruction that is around the corner.

That meme says it all.

On a good note, however, is that I've set these goals because (a) I want to attend a University function this afternoon (although it is all day and I simply can't do that, and (b) I want to celebrate the birthdays of my friends later tonight.

If ever I could use Hermione's time stopper, it would be now.

You chose this career, Crandall. You get what you deserve!

Congratulations @donnadelbasso !!!! Hill Central Poetry Slam Knocks My Socks Off Once Again

There is nothing I enjoy more than seeing young people doing their thing out of the control of adults and from the genuine sincerity of their hearts, minds and souls. There is nothing I appreciate more than knowing a school where the vision of stellar administration, a team of supportive faculty, and a wonderful crew of teachers come together in support of the personal best of each and every child.

That is Hill Central in New Haven, Connecticut. Each and every year the middle school hosts their Voices slam where spoken word artists can perform their prose for the rest of the school.

Each and every year it gets better. I am so honored to be brought back every April. It is one of my highlights from the year (and I can't wait to post all the photos on Facebook - I am waiting for a special permission to share a special guest poem recited by Willow, a 1st grade at the school - to say I was blown away is an understatement....it was one of the best things I've ever witnessed in my life).

The other highlight of my day was the verse and performance of a young man named Felix. I quickly picked up that performing in front of a large audience is not his norm, but he told me he loved his poem and he couldn't wait for me to hear it. When he got on stage, he knocked the roof off. He had words for bullies and wanted the entire school to know that he celebrated individuality and the beautiful way that he is who he is. He finished his performance with a dance (a variation of Pew Wee Herman's famous gate and the energizer bunny). His dance was so awesome that the entire crowd stood up with him and did the dance, too.

A M A Z I N G !!!

I hope any and all involved with the tradition that is the Voices of Hill Central tradition wake up this morning feeling very proud. These kids are out of this world and the entire day is simply a festival of phenomenal. They are the greatest hosts on this planet.

I'm kicking off my Friday with more pep in my step because of them. They are an inspiration and the only regret is that these poets weren't televised for everyone to see.

Boom! Hill Central did it again!

There Are Moments When I'm Teaching That I Think, "Well, This Is Working."

As much as possible, I try to give my undergraduates and graduate students the opportunity to kick off a class with their own writing prompt or mini-lesson. It always cracks me up when they do this and they see that 100% of the class is on task and doing what is expected. I then whisper to them, "This is what you never see as a student. When a task is given and everyone is on target, you never see the teacher looking for what they should be doing."

I then mentor them that this is the time to take attendance or to write items on the board. This is a place to gather materials for next steps.

Of course, I took this today when I had students doing a sentence combination activity where they had to put kernel sentences together in more complicated ways.

It gets so quiet and I think to myself, "Hmmm. What should I be doing now?"

Logically, I snapped a photo to document the point I wanted to make with them about assignments to capture everyone's attention and where you can see the minds of students churning and working. It doesn't happen all the time, but the more one teaches and gets a grip on strategies, the more quiet, self-motivated, and purposeful students become during class.

I guess this is what learning looks and it always makes me happy when I see it.

Now, however, I'm off to work with 120 middle schools. We shall see if I have similar luck.

It's Happened: I Looked At the Calendar And I Went Into Panic Mode. Phew!

There's a place in every semester when a student comes into the office to ask about the final project and you think, "Wait. We have at least 5 more classes, no?"

Nope. The semester is winding down and I am thankful for these students being on top of their game more than I am. There's so much more that I want to accomplish, but as we head towards the final lap, it's time to target the course objectives so that students know exactly what they're supposed to do.

This, however, didn't solve the dilemma of a community art project that I like to assign each semester, especially in collaboration with a service-learning course. I like to leave gifts to the teachers who were kind enough to lend their expertise and students to my undergraduate and graduate courses.

Bring in Ralph Fletcher and what I now know he dislikes about the 'condensing' generation - that is, shrinking information to a Tweet, a Bumper Sticker and a 6-Word Memoir. I understand that...we want kids to develop their thinking, so minimizing it to a fast-pace, scroll-down meme-world is troublesome. Even so, my misreading of a chapter in his book led to some of the most interesting insight my undergraduates had to offer. This, and a poem a student scripted during a poetry workshop last week has me envisioning a collaborative art piece.

My model is above: Ubuntu. That's my bumpersticker and what I stand for. I am, because we are. It sums everything up in my world, emphasizing community in relation to the individual. This morning, I'm giving my undergraduates the challenge to do the same - to take their bumpersticker motto to actually create that bumper sticker. They don't know it, but I'm going to collage their work with my students poem, with my Bumper Sticker poem written from their bumper mottos, to create a piece of art for the school we've been working with.

Ah, but that is for next week. This week, we need to get on top of all we've learned from participating middle school workshops and begin transitioning their thinking with a teacher-identity cap. I want them carrying forth National Writing Project standards and celebrating all we've experienced this semester.

But I also am in need of sleep. My nostrils don't know if this is sinus season or allergies so I wake up with a plugged head followed by hours of absolute dripping. I guess this is because it's still snowing and the pollen count is extremely high. The whole seasonal thing is totally wonky.

Today, when teaching ends, I need to sit on my but and get on top of grading and editing from last summer. It's getting ridiculous how there's only 24 hours in a day.