The Book Group We’ve Been Waiting For

#wellrED logo

You and anyone you care to invite are invited to join the new book group on GoodReads – #wellrED.

Jose Vilson and I have started the group, and our first book study will start March 19 when we dive into Lisa Delpit’s inaugural work Other People’s Children. The book is scheduled to last 5 weeks, with a second book starting not long after that.

I anticipate online discussion forums, hangouts, and twitter chats will be on the schedule as we move forward.

More than all that, though, is my excitement over the conversations we’ll be having. For me, it’s been a jarring experience heading to Colorado after being on the East Coast for 5 years. Here, there is little-to-no practical conversation about race, class, privilege, and all of the other difficult conversations that should come up when we consider what it means for people of all backgrounds to come together for a joint educational enterprise.

I’ll let Jose explain his hopes for the group, and I’d like to think this is a continuation of his EduCon conversation with Audrey Watters – “The Privileged Voices in Education.”

I don’t expect the conversations to be easy. I expect some folks will be uncomfortable. That’s how growth and change usually work. I also expect that it’s an important conversation we’re not having enough of in our schools, in our district’s, and in our country.

Join us.

Things I Know 207 of 365: We might have First World First World Problems

She dropped her Kindle into the foot tub when she nodded off during her pedicure.

First World Problem

Normally, I’m a fan of first world problems. Without them, we would be without series such as Seinfeld and Curb Your

Enthusiasm (both of which I’m told are quite good).

First world problems, when you take notice of them, help to put perspective back in the daily game.

“My online grocery order is late,” or “The projector isn’t working properly during the trailers for the movie I’m watching.”

These are problems of the First World that set people’s blood pumping.

(Let me add to those first two, “I can’t think of suitably ridiculous first world problem examples.”)

Pointing out sadly ironic first world problems is one of those gifts of privilege given by being fortunate enough to be born into the First World.

For those who are self-aware enough to note such problems when they arise, such realizations can serve as suitable gut-checks to the consumption-induced cloud of modern consumerism.

A danger lurks in such global mindfulness.

In making a distinction between the “worlds,” it’s easy to discount the strata that divide citizens within whatever world of development we live.

As I sat with my dinner tonight in the airport, I watched the following exchange between a restaurant cashier and a visibly disgruntled customer. The customer had breezed his way to the register, but his continued look of concern gave the cashier reason to pause.

“Is something the matter, sir?”

Grumble, grumble, grumble. “Yeah, I’ve got a four-hour flight.”

“Well, I’ve heard of bigger problems. Have a safe flight.”

Exchange complete.

Now, bear in mind, the cashier’s last line with spoken with a tone of complete empathy and frankness. It was a sort of “Gee, buddy, that’s tough” line.

The customer’s huff arrived, and he left in it.

I was left behind wondering about what had transpired and what happened in the minds of both men.

Did the cashier hear a whiny voice in his head, “Oh, poor baby, got to sit on a plane for four hours while I keep the beverage cooler full”?

Did the customer realize his complaint and accompanying frustration were first world problems?

Obviously, there are many pieces to this puzzle to which I will never have access.

What I saw were two men separated by station, one relaying a problem of privilege that the other, in that moment at least, did not have access to.

It wasn’t about access to privilege, it was about access to the problems of that privilege as well.

Compared to someone who must struggle each day for access to clean water or suitable nourishment, these men stood together a world away. Compared to one another, they stood a world apart.

The entire exchange has been filed away under the archive of Types of Moments in which I will Keep My Problems to Myself.

I’m a firm believer in the idea behind “Think globally, act locally.”

After today, it might not be a bad idea to make sure I’m thinking locally as well.

Things I Know 86 of 365: Sometimes I need to put on the teacher hat

Friday, one of my G11 classes was having a class discussion. I gave them 7 minutes to find an interesting news story, pull out the main details, state their opinion in one sentence and draft a question to spark conversation.

If a particular topic lost steam, whoever brought that topic up called on someone else to inject a new topic into the conversation.

One student introduced the proposed fair schedule changes to SEPTA, Philadelphia’s mass transit provider.

As soon as the name left the student’s mouth, the class was awash in groans.

Philadelphians love to hate SEPTA. Cheesesteaks, Rocky Steps, booing our own sports teams, and abhorring SEPTA – in these things we find our brotherly love.

Once the topic and the proposed fair schedule were introduced, the expected flurry of slanderous complaints started up.

Each student took his turn to talk and called on the next.

“I know SEPTA’s not perfect,” someone said, “But, when you think about it, SEPTA can get you pretty much anywhere in the city of Philadelphia without much of a problem.”

A lone voice against the tumult. One brave villager against throngs of pitchforks and torches.

“Sure, sometimes they’re late, but most of the time they’re on time.”

“What bus do you take,” someone asked?

The lone voice answered.

“Those are white people buses,” the questioner scoffed his reply.

The conversation took a turn.

In the moments the class was snickering at this half joke, I had to decide how I was going to be a teacher once the laughter subsided.

“Hold on a sec,” I said, “I need to be your English teacher right now.”

“I need to unpack that statement because you said a lot more than what you said.”

It was one of those great moments where I got to use real language as the object of study. I talked about the mixture of humor and seriousness in that moment and suggested the humor might obscure the deeper point of the statement.

Then I pulled attention to the embedded implication that only black people in Philadelphia lived in poverty or that white people’s experiences in poverty were less valid. Briefly, I touched on the possibility that the statement also could have been construed as a weapon meant to make others positioned anywhere on the class spectrum feel guilt over their socioeconomic status.

Another student said she agreed the comment was inappropriate, but insisted their was a difference between bus service across neighborhoods.

We talked about the truth of that statement and started to play with the complexity of the whole idea.

I stopped to clarify that I wasn’t angry about what had been said, but that I would have been remiss in my duties if I didn’t take the time to pull it apart and start to consider the multitude of meanings.

I know there were probably a million ways I could have handled the whole conversation better, but that’s how I handled it Friday. Next time, whatever the next time is, I’ll do it a little bit better. And, it was loads better than some similar conversations from my first years in the classroom.

Then, as always, I tried for the same things:

  • talking, not yelling
  • eliciting conversation not compliance
  • respecting whatever opinions are on the table
  • challenging the untested opinions
  • speaking with authority, not as an authoritarian

Though it’s un-Philadelphian of me, I’m thankful for SEPTA for inciting the conversation.