Reading Weather

IMG_5480The winter is proving wet. After flirting with a white Christmas ‒just enough snow on the 24th to dust the lawn and allow a few determined snowballs‒ gray rain has settled in, a reminder of the true nature of the Pacific Northwest. Oregon is a place of warm drinks, flannel shirts, and independent bookstores.

Beyond prompting the purpose of a new coat and some sensible shoes, the winter weather hasn’t dampened life in Portland or in any way drowned the creative spirit at ACMA.

Art students look longingly out windows, poets feel a touch more like Thomas Hardy, and dancers find it easy to stay inside the studio. Student filmmakers are pushed inside more often, I suppose, but return to the out of doors with every parting of clouds and seem to enjoy the coziness a January chill gives to the gathering audience at a film night.

Winter in a world with seasons reminds me of what I missed in my decade or so spent in Southern California. As Kim Whysall-Hammond, a poet I dig, describes it:

Not a light soaking rain
Squalling, hailing and sleeting
Flooding, flowing, swamping
A deluge chucking it down

There’s a joy, sure, to sunny and seventy-five, but for an invitation to contemplation, a prompting to open a book, there is no better landlord than Oregon in the opening of a new year.

Nurturing this fireside reflection, a slew of books have piled up beside the chair in my living room, some of merit amongst the gingerbread of popular fiction.

untangled.pngI work at an arts rich school with an almost 75% female student body, and found Untangled: Guiding Teenage Girls Through the Seven Transitions into Adulthood by Lisa Damour to be a book rich with examples and strong with advice. Written for parents, Untangled presents a real and reasonable perspective on how best to support the young women in our lives. As an educator, and a dad of a teenager, I appreciated Damour’s organization of the transition from childhood to young adulthood and her explanations of distinct stages that I see the students in my life going through, particularly as the principal of a 6-12 grade school.

An example of Damour’s rich and memorable perspective comes early in the book as she uses the analogy of a swimmer in a pool to describe the relationship between daughter and parent.

Consider the metaphor in which your teenage daughter is a swimmer, you are the pool in which she swims, and the water is the broader world. Like any good swimmer, your daughter wants to be out playing, diving, or splashing around in the water. And, like any swimmer, she holds on to the edge the pool to catcher her breath after a rough lap or getting dunked too many times.”

Knowing our role as pool edge is as difficult as it is important, particularly when “like a swimmer who gets her breath back, your daughter wants to return to the water, and she gets there by pushing off the side of the pool.” Those pushes away hurt, or can, but Damour’s book helps to put the value of that stress into perspective.

In addition to helping parents see the challenges their daughters are going through as they navigate adolescence, Damour does a nice job of helping parents see the challenges they are going through themselves. Being a mom or dad isn’t easy, but Untangled is a resource for parents (and educators too) that can help us all help our daughters thrive.

this is a book for.jpgMore focused in scope than Untangled, but just as important and powerful is Dannielle Owens-Reid and Kristin Russo’s book This is a Book for Parents of Gay Kids. Written with heart, insight, and humor, this book provides information that could make a difference for parents of LGBTQ kids and would be on my required reading list for educators entering the field today.

Owens-Reid and Russo acknowledge the challenges faced by LGBTQ students, but never get mired in the stress that students identifying as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer or questioning confront in the minefield of adolescence.

Written, as the title implies, for parents, this book addresses parental concerns and provides strategies parents might use to overcome those concerns. The honest and caring tone the authors strike not only makes their answers to the series of questions they use to structure their book accessible, but adds a reassurance to parents that while the struggles may be real, all will be well. I finished the book feeling informed, reassured, and better able to support and understand the LGBTQ students I know.

As Untangled and This is a Book for Parents of Gay Kids begin with students in mind, All Joy and No Fun starts with the topic of parents. Subtitled “The Paradox of Modern Parenthood,” Jennifer Senior’s book takes an unflinching look at the stresses parenting takes on the moms and dads (and uncles and aunts, grandparents and guardians) who take on the important job of raising kids.

all joySenior takes a historian’s eye to parenting, nodding to the utility of children on farms and then juxtaposing that with what she sees as the current reality of kids being “economically worthless but emotionally priceless.” This emotional pricelessness comes, of course, at a price, and Senior writes in real terms about the tremendous pressures parents face as they do their best to give to their children and maintain at least a part of themselves.

This challenge, Senior argues, is real not only because of the stresses put on marriage, relationships, and self by the overwhelming act of parenting, but also in light of “the dirty secret about adulthood is the sameness of it, its tireless adherence to routines and customs and norms.” Senior acknowledges that kids can “liberate” parents from routines, but doesn’t shy away from the difficulty of managing the beautify chaos of kids and the responsibilities of adult life.

Often as I read All Joy and No Fun I felt a sense of melancholy appreciation for her spot on observations, and a desire to transcend the challenges, even as I wrestled with the doubt that comes with adulthood in general and parenthood in particular. I believe that the parents I know, like me, would see themselves in Senior’s book, living the quotation from William Blake she cites: “Joy and woe are woven fine.”

In the end, however, All Joy and No Fun is a hopeful book. As hard earned as it is, the “Joy” of the title is profound and the “Fun” might be had (at least in bits) if we as parents are able to have the perspective this book aims to help us find.

Alongside these important (to me, anyway) books are piled some volumes clearly not chosen directly for my work. As lovely as winter is for contemplation, there’s a place too for poetry and a ripping good yarn. Seamus Heaney’s Field Work has inspired me this winter, as has Jane Goodall’s A Reason for Hope, and I’d be fibbing if I didn’t say that The Star of the Sea by Joseph O’Connor wasn’t one of the most moving experiences I’ve had with a book in a long while. I remember a teacher once telling me that her principal liked to say that “the best teachers teach from a full life.” That’s true of bookshelves too.

So as the rain falls and the students dream of spring, I’ll pour another cup of tea and scan the shelves in search of a good book.

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A Couple of Jedi

I’m proudest that at the end of the visit my son insisted that the sandspeeder stayed with Papa.

IMG_5521It started as a Christmas present from my folks to my nine year old son, a Lego set that made his eyes widen. Sitting at the dining room table assembling his Jakku Quadjumper, my son seemed as happy as the proverbial clam. Midway through the big project my dad sat down next to him, looking from the visual directions to my son’s nimble hands dancing over the plastic blocks.

For the past few months, remembering has been a bit tougher for my dad, familiar things sometimes unfamiliar, and while his memory of people is unflagging, some of the complexity of life that he has always enjoyed wrestling with seem to be taking an upper hand.

But as he watched my son build, the expression on his face was a mixture of delight and curiosity. Bit by bit this spaceship was taking form, my son so focused on his work. I went into the kitchen for a cup of tea and by the time I got back something wonderful was happening: they were building together.

They’ve always been pals, but watching them now I saw something different. My son, patient and positive, helped guide my dad’s hands to the right blocks, put them together, and snap them into place. My dad, concentrating, listened to my son and smiled as they completed each step.

IMG_5581They stayed at it for the better part of an hour, leaning in to talk about the emerging spaceship, my son offering “great job!” after they finished each page.

Teaching. Learning. Collaborating. Creating. The principal I am saw something to admire.

The expression of happiness on both their faces as they presented the completed Jakku Quadjumper to my mom, my wife, and me was marvelous. That Lego set provided a path to something magic.

It’s the sort of magic that a principal like me longs to see in classrooms at my school, teaching and learning led by love and followed by building, the process of working together to construct something to be proud of. At its best learning is creating, making something (from robots to meaning) in an environment that is supportive, focused, and can be transformative. When that happens, lives change.

The next morning, a trip to the store for toothpaste and dental floss brought me near a toy aisle. I couldn’t resist.

By the afternoon our two Jedi were at it again, not Padawan and Master, just two noble knights working together to build a sandspeeder, the pile of Legos around them building blocks of memories.

About ten minutes into the build my dad looked up and said: “He’s a good foreman!” Then he smiled and they went back to building.

IMG_5572When we were ready to leave town the next morning, my son told me that we should leave the sandspeeder for Papa. “He might want to play with it,” he said. The perspective of a nine year old. “You bet,” I answered. “He might.”

And it was in this last kindness, on top of the patient collaboration I’d seen earlier, that I felt an overwhelming sense of joy.

As we begin a new calendar year I wish for every student a teacher with passion and patience, and for every teacher students with curiosity and a pinch of awe. For all I wish kindness and connections, the chance to build, the chance to learn from each other, and the chance to be proud, together, of a job well done.

18 for 18

No, not eighteen New Year’s resolutions; that would be silly. But, being a goal setter presented with a brand new year, I’ll set out these three things that I’d like to accomplish in 2018.

pencilsEighteen meaningful classroom visits every week. I know that’s a lot, if they’re more than poking my head in the door, and I also know that as a principal I’m at my best when I’m chin deep in the hurly burly of school, not at my desk.

No more than eighteen minutes in a row in my office during the school day. Sure I’ll have meetings that go longer than that, and I’ll take them, but from the start of school until bus duty at the end of the day I’m shooting for less time away from students, teachers, and staff.

Eighteen calls home to celebrate students before the end of the year. As a teacher I was good about this, often meeting my goal of calling home with a positive message to a third of my kids before back to school night. It’s different as a principal, but if I can share positive messages home with more parents and guardians I think it can make a positive difference in the world of my students.

So welcome 2018 and a renewed focus on spending time with the most important part of education: the people who share this grand adventure.

Sock it to Me

I’ve seen “drives” before, canned food, toys, that sort of thing. Holiday sharing, as it’s sometimes called at a school, can be a positive part of our students’ experience, reinforcing kindness, teaching empathy, and helping remind us that as important as learning is, caring matters just as much.

This year at ACMA a spirited counselor took the reigns of a Sock, Hat, and Glove Drive, rallying students to bring in so many warm things that they filled my office. She made witty and wonderful announcements over the PA, stood in front of the school before dawn to collect donations as parents dropped off their kids, and even enlisted an intrepid board member, and ACMA kindred spirit, to join her one morning.

Day by day the sock pile grew. Hats and gloves filled my windowsills. Wool hung from my bookshelves, and every morning more warm clothing arrived.

Giving is something that comes naturally to students, and the generosity of our kids was matched only by the glee with which they presented their gifts.

The difference with ACMA’s Sock, Hat, and Glove Drive this December, subtle as it was, came in the way it reflected the spirit of our students and our school.

In addition to mountains of functional woolen gear were Star Wars socks, rainbow gloves, and hats with ears. Just because someone needs a helping hand doesn’t mean she can’t look fabulous. It was a fact lost on me at first, covered by the sheer quantity of clothing, but then one morning as I walked into my office I saw the pile of socks, hats, and gloves looking back at me!

sock hat

This, I thought, is ACMA.

Also ACMA is the expression of delight on the faces of the students who came by my office every morning to deliver their donations. Student after student, sixth grade through senior, ACMA kids brought smiles as wide as Christmas to my door, leaning in, laughing, and tossing the socks, hats, and gloves onto the ever growing pile.

Over time, and at the invitation of that marvelously mischievous counselor, students were encouraged to throw their stuff at me if I was sitting at my desk. We even made a couple of short videos to promote it, and the playful joy on the students’ faces moved me beyond words.

Then, this morning, the last day of the drive, a student, a huge handful of lavender socks in her hands, said: “I can really throw this at you?”

“Yes,” I answered, “but if I catch it, I get to throw it back at you!” She grinned, threw, and ducked. ACMA magic.

The socks, hats, and gloves will find feet, heads, and hands this winter, and I the warmth our students feel from giving will last for a long, long time.

A Great Hall of Reflection

“Art … is a great hall of reflection where we can all meet and where everything under the sun can be examined and considered.”
                                  -Iris Murdoch

Just about every morning I take a walk. At 7:30 my amazing assistant, Margaret, and I cue up a song, turn on the PA, and let music fill ACMA. For the next five minutes, as students hurry to classes to the sound of Miles Davis or Ella Fitzgerald, Sharon Jones or David Bowie, Mozart or Edie Brickell and Steve Martin, I walk.

coffeeA cup of coffee in hand, I navigate the front hall by the main office, zigging around the trophy case filled with ceramics, dodging kids wrapped in fleece blankets (a thing at ACMA during these cold winter months) and turn the corner by the door of the dance studio at the mouth of ACMA’s Hallway of Hope and Justice.

Every morning I see teachers standing at doorways greeting students, I see kids carrying projects (a canvas, a sculpture, the makings of a robotic hand), and I find myself surrounded not just by art on every wall, but by the creative student artists who make our school the work of art that it is.

Ours is a school of plush ears, horns, and tails. We are a place that exudes the creative spirit, a place where students create their identities as well as their art. At ACMA we laugh often, dream big, and are comfortable being just a little bit different. Seeing this creativity made manifest every morning is an inspiration.

To walk down ACMA’s hallways first thing in the morning, The Clash, The Bangles, or the Beatles filling the air, is to see hope.

At 7:30 in the morning students are focused on what’s ahead. They’re not performing; they’re preparing. As these artists, writers, dancers, and musicians move together through the hallways, nodding hellos to one another, smiling, and toting instruments, cameras, and portfolios, they seem to me less a disconnected collection of individuals and more the cohesive colors of a creative rainbow. They share a desire to make art and a poetic way of seeing the world.

IMG_4637

My walk takes me to the end of the hallway, past paintings and wire sculpture, past displays about LBGTQ pride and announcements for upcoming productions, beneath student murals reaching back for decades and temporary installations on kindness, body image, and environmental issues.

Each step, to the strains of Mendelssohn or the bounce of Billie Holiday, takes me through a sea of anticipation. The day is about to begin. In the next hours together students will dance, and sing, and draw, and sculpt. They will write, and act, and make films. They will discuss literature and math, debate history, experiment in science (and maybe artistically too). They will support one another, encourage one another, and help each other be the best artists (and people) they can be.

Well, once they’ve wiped the sleep from their eyes; 7:30 am is awfully early for artists.

To help them wake up we may cue up some Prince or Buckshot LeFonque, Pink Martini or Johnny Cash. Whatever the soundtrack for the morning, the feeling is the same: gratitude for being at ACMA, excitement for the creative process, and a belief that today great things may happen.

I never take that morning walk for granted. Never. It’s a time to connect with students and staff, absorb the inspiration of our vibrant school, and witness first hand the profound power of creativity.

Thank You

It took my breath away.

I saw the envelope in my box and, it being December and all, thought: Holiday card. How nice. How wrong.

IMG_5405Inside was a beautiful Thank You covered in so many messages from students that all I could do was be overwhelmed by gratitude. I’d had the chance to teach a little poetry lesson a couple of weeks ago and this was in response.

The explosion of colors and variety of handwriting, the little drawings, the creativity, this was a window into the world of the amazing students who fill ACMA. They are truly independent and creative spirits and this kindness was in keeping with the spirit of goodwill that I have come to realized helps to define our school.

Then I slowed down and started reading. My goodness.

And hidden amongst the student messages was a line from Rumi jotted out with a message from their teacher.

Everyone has been made for some particular work,
And the desire for that work has been put in every heart.”

Thank you for sharing your heart with us.

To every student, and particularly to that generous teacher who was willing to give me the keys to the car for a couple of marvelous days, I say thank you. I’ve long believed that there is nothing in the world like the give and take of conversation in a classroom. The energy teachers and students share when they are discussing ideas can’t be replicated, it is, like poetry, music, and art, magical. It is why we do what we do.

IMG_5407As a principal that’s an important reality for me to keep at the front of my mind as I do all I can to support the work going on in my school. Often the day to day reality of being an administrator is much more mundane than Rumi or Cavafy, but the motivation for what I do should always be that “particular work … put in my heart.”

That thank you card is proudly displayed on my bookshelf now, and the appreciation will live in my heart longer than this school is standing. Those students gave me a treasured gift, both during my time in the classroom and this afternoon when I opened an envelope filled with kindness and perspective.

(Robotic) Hands On Learning

“Mr. Paige, come look what I did!”

I’d just stepped into a sixth grade science classroom, prompted by the knowledge that they were in the building phase of a cool project involving robotic hands, and she was the first student who looked up and made eye contact. The class was so busy, so focused, so when this young scientist invited me to check out her work I threaded through the groups of students standing around tables talking, tinkering, and engaging with each other, and hurried to where she was standing.

IMG_5349When I got to the table this student shared with her group I saw pure delight in her eyes. Proudly she explained the intricacies of the mechanical glove she and her peers had been working on. “Biomechanics,” she called it, as she talked about the “anatomy of the hand.” This young scientist explained the project to me, nodding at the open Chromebook on the table and pointing across the room where their teacher was working with another group to test some fingers.

This is a project championed not only by our amazing ACMA science folks, but also by our district’s TOSA team (Teachers on Special Assignment). It’s a nice example of what can happen when educators work together, teachers open their classrooms to new ideas, and everyone puts student engagement first.

At an art school like ACMA it’s not unusual to see students engaged in activities that mean much to them. Potters, poets, and performers spend hours both in class and out creating works that demonstrate their creativity and artistic ability. Musicians, dancers, and painters practice, problem solve, and innovate as part of what they do every day. Filmmakers, theater techs, and graphic designers know all about trying one approach, revising, adapting, and doing something different. In all those artistic fields I see passionate and purposeful students determined to create something amazing …the same qualities I saw in that robotic hand.

Similar too was the pride in that student’s voice when she invited me to come over and see what she and her group had done. That hand, all wires and cardboard, showed the results of that same curiosity and creativity so familiar in art studios and performance spaces across campus.

It’s in these moments of creation that real learning flourishes. As students make, from clay or musical notes, or words, as they build, with movements, code, or even wires and cardboard, they create connections that bring understanding to life. The students who are making maps in history class, building court cases in English, or applying math to real world problems all have a chance to find relevance in what they are learning.

IMG_5354This week’s robotic hand could be next week’s Sphero challenge or next month’s cigar box guitar build. The joy I saw in that student’s eyes, and the focus that filled the whole sixth grade science classroom, could be echoed in choir, or theater, or Spanish class.

At its best education provides students with opportunities to succeed, to create, and to engage. When that best arrives, as it did this week in the form of the robotic hands, the power of learning is profound.

Our challenge as educators is to build our lessons and our schools with the potential to inspire students to want to know more, to work together to understand, and to come up with a product (be it something written, built, or performed) that inspires them to turn to us when we enter the room and say proudly: “Come look what I did!”