Relics

I last posted on May 2, almost a month ago.  What has been so important that I could sacrifice reflection and writing?   During that time, I have been targeting one corner of the house for sorting and cleaning.  I apply this vendetta with a satisfaction even more merciless in the reprieve its victims have been granted over the years.  The day of reckoning has, however, arrived.

Mess will be involved.  Garbage bags of it.  And shredding.  And decisions, for sure, as I pick through the detritus of my childhood and my teaching career with the same dread I untangled the plants from the weeds of the neglected gardens of my young adulthood.  No matter, it has to be done.  I prep the downstairs living area as I imagine a chef would a professional kitchen, or medical professionals an operating room.   Shoeboxes, the physical mnemonics of my goal, collect by the wall to collect mementoes.  Strewn next to them, garbage bags, a lowball estimate, I suspect.   By the footstool, next to the plug-in, the shredder, ready for the marathon.  Last, ranked by importance, three remotes: Signal box and TV power, TV functions, and DVD.  Their mission:  to entice me to the depths below and to save my sanity while I’m there.

 

I retrieve my childhood from the boxes spread like lego blocks over the downstairs kitchen floor.  It has lodged between the repository of French teaching materials of my forties and classroom memorabilia of my fifties.  A death-row of obsolete teaching material and stuff whose stay of execution has run out.   As I sort, I find

·      the oriental-themed black jewllery box, royal blue, pink, green and opal on ebony, a gift from my godmother when I was ten.  A keeper—for the joy of someone knowing that I would need to feel grown-up.

·      a square headscarf from Canada’s centennial year, folded and stored in a plastic bag.  Another keeper—some value, maybe?

·      my Grade 3 class photo—timid unsmiling me, prim and stoic at the end of the front row, neat in one of my mother’s flawless creations.  My children might want to see that.

·      a collection of holy cards with images of saints on the front and prayers on the back.  Shred, all except one signed by Aunt Gert, whom I never met, who sang at my parents' wedding and died young. The boxes are filling more quickly than the garbage bags at this point.

·      cards with signatures of my maternal and paternal grandparents, signed Grandpère et Grandmère but alive in my memory by their aliases, Memère et Pepère.  How can I shred those today?

·      a certificate of appreciation from local Chamber of Commerce in recognition of musical service to the parish.  Shredded without pause.

·      tiny plastic religious statues offered as rewards in school—garbage.  I’m sorry.  Mea culpa.

 

·      my high school report cards—keep, maybe the kids might enjoy them, and then they can shred them. 

·      letters—mine to my parents,  and my sister’s and roommates’ to me.  Shredded without rereading.  The past is the past, gone, and I have no desire to relive it.

·      the valedictory address I wrote for my high school graduation, an outgrowth to my idealism and my hopes for the future, which a local businessman liked so much, he had hundreds of copies printed and distributed.  I keep one of those, and the white satin pocket my mother made for my notecards.

·      a poem my sister handwrote for me on rough paper.  Keep and return.  We have always been writers.

·      Grade 2 penmanship notebook.  Really?  Shredded.

·     The green-bound History of Willow Bunch 1870 – 1970,  English version,  that I helped translate one adolescent summer.  My first published work.  Keeper.

 

·      my internship report, just for fun.

·      letters notifying me of scholarship awards.  Keeper: the satisfaction still wells up.

·      Piano and theory examination results and certificates—I shred them all, those reminders of mediocrity.

The artifacts of my self that my mother’s careful and respectful management has preserved for decades have been dispatched.  They await labelling and storage in this family room turned repository of memory, those relics of a valued past,  filaments knotted into the threads of the current me.

That’s about as much time as I have for sentiment.  There’s not even a dent in the garbage bags, and rows of boxes in the next room await their summoning.

Bamboo

I am lucky to know many true professionals who exhibit all the qualities I mentioned in my professionalism checklist yesterday. These individuals care so much about what they do that they get discouraged when their efforts might not yield the results to which they aspire, or, at least, not as quickly as they might wish or expect.

To those individuals, I offer the peace I have come to in my own deliberations on that subject. All I can do is what I can do. I can put in my brick to build the cathedral. I don't have to finish the whole building on my own. I may not even see the structure finished. I can, however, pick a solid brick, make sure it fits with the pattern, make it straight, and mortar it well to last for a long time.


The story of the Chinese bamboo offers consolation to those for whom results seem slow in coming. I encountered this story in sessions with Jacqueline Caron, an educator of renown in Quebec, who passed away last year. Where she got it from, I don't know.

To grow bamboo, you must plant the seed, water it, and fertilize. The first year, nothing happens. The second year, you water and fertilize, and again, nothing happens. Same thing for year three and year four—nothing ever happens. During the fifth year, in less than six weeks, the bamboo grows 90 feet.

Did the bamboo grow 90 feet in six weeks or in five years? The answer has to be five years—because the seed would have died if, at any time during those five years, you had stopped watering and fertilizing.

Any change takes time, effort, and perseverance.


Et, en français :



Si on veut faire pousser un bambou, on plante la semence, on l'arrose et on la fertilise. La première année, rien ne se produit. La deuxième année, on l'arrose et la fertilise, et de nouveau, rien ne se produit. On répète les mêmes opérations la troisième et la quatrième année, et il ne se produit toujours rien. Au cours de la cinquième année, en moins de six semaines, la bambou pousse de quatre-vingt-dix pieds.

Le bambou a-t-il poussé de quatre-vingt-dix pieds en six semaines ou en cinq ans? Il faut répondre cinq ans, parce que la semence serait morte si, n'importe quand pendant ce cinq ans, on avait cessé de l'arroser et de la fertiliser.

Tout changement dans la culture d'une organisation exige du temps, de l'effort et de la persévérance.





Professionalism

When I witness a lapse of professionalism in myself or others, my spirit droops like a parched plant.  Whenever, during my career,  I myself have said something untoward or taken the easy road, I feel I’ve let down the side, maybe like the Islanders who allowed a goal at 19:58 of the third period of a tied hockey game yesterday to lose the seventh and deciding game of their series against the Washington Capitols.  It takes me a long time to recover, and the best thing I can do is own it and move on.   

In the last few months, lapses in professionalism have impacted me.  Each time, I felt disrespected, as I imagine being slapped in face might, had I ever been subjected to that indignity.  Those experiences have prompted an examination of conscience on my own conduct as a professional.  Here is my 7-point professional checklist. 

1.     Walk the talk. 

Whatever we as professionals expect of others, we must model ourselves.  In my case, as an educator, that means embed the pedagogy of most promising practice in the sessions I facilitate—the communication skills, the strategies, the philosophy.  In addition, I must contribute and engage in sessions I attend, given that I appreciate those behaviors in my sessions.

2.    Be prepared.

Clients’ time is precious.  We need to respect and maximize it—whether our clients are students, colleagues, patients, or customers.  How can we not have gathered the materials we need for a lesson, reviewed documents for a meeting, read the files, or helped to find a product?

3.     Be knowledgeable.  

Professionals stay current.  They read, experiment, attend seminars, and assimilate research.   They are open to different ways of doing things.

4.     Practice the code of ethics of the profession.   

a.     Not all professionals do, so we must read and reread and rereread that document throughout our careers.

b.     Maintain confidentiality. 

c.      Address any grievance with the individual concerned before talking to that person’s superiors.  Communication skills make those conversations possible (see #5).   Enduring tension or talking behind the person’s back out of fear of a confrontation are not options.

5.    Hone communication skills.  

If we are not yet confident enough in our ability to navigate through a problematic situation, we need to develop the requisite communication competencies.  Can we use paraphrase?  Mediational questions?  Tentative and neutral language?  The Crucial Conversations program is a great resource to build know-how in this critical area.

6.    Be “unfreakable”.    

Keep a calm, steady demeanor, and smile through the rough waters.  Rise above the turbulence, in the words of Liz Prather (How to Be a Teacher Leader, April 27, 2015).  Marsha Sinetar writes that “unfreakability,” a term coined by Timothy Gallwey in The Inner Game of Tennis, to describe the ability to maintain a clear head in the midst of challenges, as one of the keys to developing a twenty-first century mind.  The idea is to “enjoy the climb,” enjoy the challenge that problem-solving requires.

7.    Deflect credit. 

Professionals are the last to take credit for any accomplishments.  They acknowledge their role as part of a team.

The incidents I experienced are a great reminder for me, to reflect on my own behavior, to refer to my checklist, and to keep myself honest as a professional.

Play

Last night, Carey Price, goaltender for the Montreal Canadiens, stopped 43 shots en route to a 2 – 0 shut out of the Ottawa Senators to clinch the first round of the Stanley Cup playoffs, four games to two.   Given that the second Montreal goal game at 19 : 58 of the third period into an empty net, Price and his teammates faced unrelenting pressure from the Senators in the last three and a half minutes of the game.  To ratchet the normal level of frenzy up a few notches as a desperate team endeavored to catapult the game into overtime, the Canadiens had to kill a penalty until just over a minute before the end of regulation time.   Coach Michel Therrien admitted after the game that the last minute seemed to stretch forever, and he couldn’t wait for the final siren.  Price saw the end of the game differently.

After the game, reporters asked Price, too, about the stress of the final minutes of the game.  “That’s fun,” Price replied.  “It’s not stressful.  When you’re living in the moment, it’s just fun.”  Maybe he sees it as getting to block shots in a maelstrom rather than having to.  What a ringing endorsement for the benefits of play, not just in the hockey world where  it seems that people get paid just to play, but for the rest of us as well.  If we bring a mindset of play to what we perceive as our “work,”  we, like Price, can be in the zone, shielded from stress beneath an umbrella of positive energy.  Imagine the  possibilities if our talk changed, if we got to teach a lesson, rather than having to, or got to mow the lawn or clean the bathroom, or sort through boxes or prepare reports.  How might our lives be transformed!

Indeed, Marsha Sinetar describes Price’s zone of play in very similar words.  In Developing a 21st Century Mind (1991, New York :  Villard Books), she says:  "Those who can play with self-abandon, who can put their whole bodies and minds into an activity, rid themselves of tension.  Time, space, and self-consciousness evaporate." (p. 49).    Sound familiar?  She goes even further than stress relief.  When we play, she says, that is, “stop trying, competing, comparing, intellectualizing, criticizing, judging and brutalizing ourselves and others” (p. 50), we can experience a rebirth of our creativity, gain needed insights in the very field of our work-turned-play.  Imagine the power.

For many years now, I have been on a mission to turn my “work” into play.  I began slowly.  I  ironed (in the days when I still ironed) while watching a movie.  I compacted my “work” into small bites interspersed with variety.  I focused on the smile on my face, no matter what I was occupied with, even if I had to paste it on at the start.  At school, my playful mentality brought rich rewards.  There, too, I inserted movement breaks between focused sessions of  what students perceived as ”work.”  We group-juggled small soft balls, played ping pong with styrofoam plates,  and shot arrows with styrofoam ends to understand the elements of the plot of a short story.  I added zany options to exams. Inspired by Kyle MacDonald’s attempt to trade up to a house from a red paper clip, I used the gambit  to help students understand bartering.  The day a student from another class thanked me for doing the paper clip activity, I had yet another confirmation, had I needed one, of the power of play.

Now, my own focus for play has expanded just a bit.  I apply it consciously to my music practice and performance, to my writing, and to my contract work.  I strive to let go of the judgment, the censor, and the comparisons, so that I can concentrate only on the joy of the moment and the task at hand.  Time dissolves; insight trickles through, and my mind sees only the image I try to capture in word,  sound, or deed. 

Hats off to Price for figuring out the power of play while still in his twenties.  You can’t argue with the results—more wins than any other goaltender in the storied history of the Montreal Canadiens.   Thanks to his generosity, the rest of us can benefit from one of his secrets.

For(Back)ward

On the road again, it’s time to fuel up and change drivers.  I take the service road off the freeway, curve along its length, around the mall, past Boston Pizza, to the pumps.  We take care of business, and my husband takes the wheel.

Immersed in a square of my Sudoku puzzle, I don’t notice my husband has turned left, east, back the way we came, instead of right, west, further along the service road in the direction we are headed, to rejoin the highway.   

“Why not go right and continue on the service road?” I ask, as we wait at the traffic lights, facing east, ready to turn and double back onto the highway heading west.

“It’s about the same thing,” he replies.  “The other way, you travel more slowly on the service road, make a left turn, and then yield and merge onto the freeway.”

“So you can go backward to go forward,” I comment.

“Seems that way,” he concludes.

After that exchange, my Sudoku puzzle forgotten, I mull over his statement.  Does that apply in other contexts, I wonder.  Can you move forward by going backward?  Even more important, can you move forward only by going backward?

The examples I generate look like this:

·  In the teaching, it’s critical to access the learner’s prior knowledge and to help the learner make connections to lived experience as he or she interacts with new knowledge.

·  With each lesson, it’s important to give the learner the opportunity to reconnect with what has just come before.  These key steps assure the learner’s progress.  Omit them to move forward more quickly, and, ironically, you can expect to move backward.

·  A thorough knowledge of history helps decision-makers avoid the errors of the past.  Time spent looking backward helps societies move forward.

·  Demolition of a space precedes its renovation.  Once the debris is clear, new construction can begin.

·  Mess and chaos often accompany deep cleaning.  To overcome the feeling of moving backward when I sort, I must keep my eye on the progress that will inevitably follow.

·  Leaders that come into an unfamiliar environment, be it a school, a parish, a company, an organization or a business, sometimes want to move forward quickly with their vision for the future, without taking time to understand the context in which they find themselves.

·  I wonder if the adage, “Things have to get worse before they get better“ grew out of analagous situations.  

It seems, then, in my experience, that going backwards can be an important factor in moving ahead.  Sometimes, we fixate on the goal and forget the steps needed to get there, the first of which might be a step or two behind the start line.   If we neglect the key backward look, any forward progress we might make can be illusory.  That progress can be fragile, not having the underpinning of a solid anchor in what is already known.

The solid foundation that a look backward provides can even justify the conclusion that time for a careful analysis of the past and an orientation to the present context is vital to move forward.  Although it was the humorous look at typical Saskatchewanisms that sent it viral, the Insightrix video made an even more important point, as far as I’m concerned.  The original focus group facilitators represented in the video, not having taken the time to understand the Saskatchewan context, failed in their mission to acquire the information they were sent to collect.  They tried to move forward without taking the time to lay the groundwork that would assure success, that groundwork being a knowledge of Saskatchewan-speak.  In the promotional video, Insightrix, the rival company, took that time (or already had the knowledge, the video doesn’t clarify).  The final scene in the video implies the success that strategy assured.

An ordinary driving decision and a corresponding simple question, then,  led to a conversation that reminded me of an essential truth:  To move forward, take the time to lay the groundwork for a project, even if that groundwork might appear to be a step back.

Mystery

“Keep me safe,

O God,”

I sing.

“Keep me safe;

you are my hope,

my God.”

I sing

“Keep me safe” in the shower,

while I bake muffins,

at the wheel,

why, I don’t know.

I’ve just learned the hymn

for the Triduum,

and it itches in my head

unsoothed.

I sing, though, without expectation

of protection for myself.

I don’t find Christ

in the trappings

of the traditional Church—

icons,

images,

gold-fringed red collars,

crystal toppers for candles,

a large monstrance.

Heresy, maybe, to some,

I know.

Impiety, at the very least,

that forfeits petition.

I do find Christ in people—

my husband’s killer questions,

my son’s integrity,

my daughter’s strength,

my son’s courage,

my colleague’s compassion,

a student’s struggle,

the lab tech’s kindness,

the cashier’s fatigued eyes.

No worries.  It’s all good.

But him,

your servant,

who preached your mercy

for decades,

opened people’s hearts to you

and opened his own heart to them,

why?

Why not keep him safe?

I wonder why,

my God, my God,

why have you abandoned him?

Leadership

Everyone is a leader: the four-year-old in a play group, the adolescent at school, the teacher in the classroom, the politician on the stump, the quarterback on the gridiron, the orchestra conductor with bâton poised and the section first chair, the consultant in the office.  Our actions and decisions have the power to influence others, for the better or for the worse.  In that they reflect our values and character to the world, those actions and decisions are the foundation of leadership.   

Given that all of us lead through actions, then, it is critical that those actions match the values we preach through word and deed.  So, for example, if I expect my French Immersion students to speak French at all times in class to me and to each other, I need to do the same with my French-speaking colleagues in the school, whether there are students present or not, or when I attend meetings, sessions, or conferences where French is the language of facilitation.  In the same way, the dress code in the school applies to me as much as to students.   Otherwise, I am guilty of a double standard.

My responsibility extends beyond the classroom and the school to activities outside school hours where I still wear my teacher hat and represent the profession.  Should I be participating in a teachers' hockey tournament, could I agree to a team name that masks profanity, a name like “Falcon Awesome”, for example, given the very good chance that a name with similar lewd connotations would not be allowed to designate a team in a school-sponsored context?   As an educator, whenever I expect behavior from students to which I myself do not adhere, I lose credibility.  My actions do not match my talk.  I abdicate my responsibility as a leader.

We are leaders because we are people. No matter our age, state of life, or line of work, we must strive to align our words, our practice, and our values.  Any less is not worthy of us as human beings.

To remind myself of the goal, and to express my conviction in another form, I have reposted a poem (Mis/Alignment) I wrote on the subject, added to this blog for a short time, and then removed for reasons that seem quite cowardly now.  Alignment requires discipline, mindfulness, and courage.  We can’t lead without it.