A Wonderful Stroll in New Haven, A Couple of Books, and Friends' Sons Art Work

I spent the majority of Saturday wandering around New Haven, looking at Yale architecture, and seeing the art work of Nick Robinson on display at Atticus's Book Store while I picked up a couple new YA novels for my collection. It was so tempting to depart with a few extra bucks to support a local artist, but I'm still not in a place where I can afford such consumption - I was tempted, however. What I love about Nic Robinson's artwork is that he paints post-apocalyptic scenes that are easy to imagine: images of earth, telephone poles, greenery, stop signs, etc. in a divisive, exploded memory of what once was. The skill is top notch and I like the game-like, futuristic representation of what may one day be.

Saturday: a run, a walk, some strolling and then a lot of music while hanging out with friends. Sometimes you simply need a stretch of time away from grading, planning, preparing, and writing. It's hard for me, but I'm glad I took an afternoon off.

Now it's Sunday, and I have to think ahead to the week that will be, including all the papers in my my cue and the instruction that must be given to bring my students to the end of the semester objectives I set forth. I should clean. I should put away laundry, but more importantly, I need to set everything in place so that I can ride out the week with the minimal amount of stress.

New Haven, with its Yale influence, is a very interesting community, indeed. The people watching is fascinating and the game becomes, "Which ones are students and who are vagabonds pretending to be Ivy-league -type brainiacs?" The stores match the street atmosphere.

I've said before, if you ever want to know the cultural divides in America, take a stroll down the streets of New Haven, CT. There is Yale, its ivy, and then the extreme poverty that is omnipresent. The meshing of style, people, and representations there is quiet astounding. I don't know it would be the college of my choice, but the irony of the elite next to the downtrodden, gets me thinking every time. So American. So academic. So 2019.

Last day of March. Started as a lion and today, it is the lamb. But how is it April already?

Inspired, Overwhelmed, Optimistic, but Exhausted. I Keep Trying to Do What is Best for Teachers and Kids

A friend from Alabama who was attending a southern literacy conference took this photograph as a Keynote was giving a talk on best practices for teaching writing.

It's not my favorite picture, but it's floated across the National Writing Project network and was used on their Annual Report (a photo taken by Jason Miczek when he documented our work last summer). She wrote, "Bryan, I didn't know you were famous."

I wrote back, "Um. No. That photo might be infamous, but not famous."

I worked all day yesterday on campus getting teachers paid, items ordered, and new workshops set in place. Additionally, I began to review several proposals for a national grant award, giving my feedback and advice in the peer-reviewed process. At 10 p.m. Friday night, I realized I am too cross-eyed to do another proposal, so checked my email.

Phew! My teachers and I have several proposals accepted for the 2019 NCTE conference in Baltimore, Maryland. I need to put the good news aside for a while, because I have to get through this semester before I can begin thinking about the Fall. It is, however, very exciting, as we are able to present new work and very exciting collaborations.

And here is a word about my eyes...I really can't see anything without my reading glasses and without a second computer screen to highlight the online materials I'm reading; it is really, really difficult to do the academic work that I must. The problem is, however, I only have a bigger computer screen in my office. I am not thinking that I need to invest in a second screen at home or an Apple TV so I can project words onto a bigger apparatus. My eyes need the assistance.

Hello, Saturday. Good Morning.

I have big plans for you, but also a million goals I want to keep. Fingers crossed I can reach 1/100th of them. And he's off.

Dapper Thursday Because of an Unexpected Gift (Didn't Don the Bow Tie, Though...Yet)

My colleague, Dr. Diana Hulse, ordered me a bow-tie and handkerchief set to show her appreciation for my 'look' at work...that is, pocket squares with ties, sports jackets, and blue jeans. I have to admit I came to pocket squares late in life and I really do love them - they add a little oomph to the everyday, and make for a little more funk in my step, and pep to my teaching.

I am extremely thankful.

I am now realizing that the purple also matches my colleagues hat....so appreciative of such gifts brought to me in a wrapped up package from someone who should be thinking about her retirement (where gifts are given to her and not the other way around).

He sneezes. As I said in the GSEAP faculty meeting, everything is in bloom, including allergies. I've been sneezing for 3 months now. Fun. Fun. Fun.

Today, I have monumental goals to get on top of budgets, grants, and proposal reviews (I am looking through a number of applications for the next round of a major national grant - proud to be asked). I'm more concerned, however, with working my way through Work Day, our new accounting software that is supposed to make work easier, but that has tripled the amount of work I have to do on a daily basis.

Ah, progress. I was waving the white flag before, but now I'm standing on the roof top waving it. Someone needs to stop purchasing technology that does not make work easier, but that adds 8 more hours to everyday that none of us have time for. Still, the work has to get done.

Thank God It's Friday. Because I will have all day Saturday and Sunday to try to catch up. Very interesting times we live in where the workweek has crept into a 7-days-a-week cycle with fewer and fewer people employed to get the work done. Seems the Administrative progressives have won out - as a colleague said recently, "There's a reason why unions were formed and people fought for the laborer's rights."

Exploitation seems to be where we are right now...fewer around to do the work, but with more and more expected to get the work done. It's just gross. I see it. I experience it. And I wonder, "What can we do about it?"

When Crazy Lil' Monsters Match Laptops and Fun Activities to Think Through Philosophies of Education

Yesterday started with a 2.5 hour turbo class and a stomach virus. I made my way through. At one point, I did an activity that was taught to me by a 4th grader - write a basic sentence. Pass it to the right. Draw what was written. Pass the drawing. Write a sentence to correspond with the drawing. Do it again several times. Draw what it written. Write what is seen. Be sure to cover all the previous sentences and drawings so text is interpreted in art form, and then art from is made into sentences.

This required finger puppets of course, as we contemplated Dewey, Freire, Greene and Kristina Rizga's Mission High. Why? Each of the students are to work towards their individual creeds for education.

Fast forward to the afternoon...2 hours of professional development for middle school teachers. Here, we did a consultancy protocol and maneuvered our way through dilemmas and problems in our practice.

Move ahead: a radio recording with teacher-writer-leader Jack Powers. Another 12-hour day that has me in awe, admiration, and total celebration of in-service teachers and pre-service teachers on their way.

As for me? Okay. Sleep is in order, as is mindlessness. As I noted, the day began with a stomach bug and I know it was still hovering with me for the rest of the day. Still, I didn't have time to stop because the calendar wouldn't allow it. That day is coming and I can't wait.

Just one more long day this week and then I can rest and, more importantly, reflect. Proud of those I am fortunate to work with, but knowing there's a limit to my personal sustainability.

This has been one heck of a semester and one day I hope I'm able to say, "Wow. Look at all that happened." NCTEAR, TESOL, MLK Essay contest, Jacqueline Woodson, Laurie Halse Anderson, a Writing Our Lives Youth Voices Conference, a MLK Youth Leadership Academy, teaching and the other everyday routines. These past three months were packed.

Now I need time to unpack them.

Hmmm. If I Had The Gavel In a Court of Law, What Legalities Would I Make Illegal? Nice Prompt, Mike Isgar.

This from my brother-in-law's book of writing prompts: What legal things would you make illegal if you could?

Well, every summer I give this prompt to teachers and students when we're working through our personal pet-peeves. It's not new news that I would first ban one's ability to leave grocery carts in the parking lot, when one can simply walk them back to the front of the store. I've written about this before. I don't understand the leaving of grocery carts all over the lots. It's just wrong.

I would also go after those who drive 45 mph in the far left lane of any highway. These are individuals who will drive side by side other people going under the speed limit, holding everyone behind them absolutely hostage. It makes me want to require more viewing of the rearview mirror.

I know my parents and others in retirement land would be against this, but I think it should be illegal for retirees to go to grocery stores on weekends. They have M-F to shop, so on weekends, when everyone is rushing to get their weekly shopping done, it would be wonderful not to have aisles cluttered with those who read every label, operate at sloth-like speed, and move about in space-consuming motor-carts not impeding movement in every aisle. I know that is harsh, but I think there can be a compromise somewhere.

I might also work on creating action litigation. That is, I want to hold people accountable to their words by measuring them up with the actions they take on a daily basis. The saying, "Your actions speak louder than words" should be litigated in court. I'm in higher education, so I know the language of words and expression are at a heightened level. I simply want to say, however, but what actions have you enacted to meet the words you espouse. That seems like it would be a no-brainer, but I've learned otherwise. There are many, many words without any acts to back them up. That, I feel, should be triable in courts. Again, not likely, but that's what this morning's prompt asked me.

Finally, I get the policing of American public schools to be accountable to what they're supposed to teach and assess. I feel, however, that until resources are given to teachers, students, districts and administrators to actually carry forth the instruction expected of them, we should not be making kids and teachers accountable. I'm also weary of the assessments they use, as they don't necessarily measure what is important, helpful, or useful for college and career-readiness.

Quite the soap-box report, but I'm heading into a 14 hour a day and the gavel was put into the court of Crandall. These are items I'd address if I had the power to make things happen.

I Can Hope, No? Yeah! Optimism! Oh, That's Right? It's All Pretty Crappy! I'm Not Poop. No, I'm Not!

Funny that the first jpeg found when searching for optimism was a pool reference. There. It's out in the open. Crap. Yep. The dog. Me. Those with children. Poop. That's what it comes down to.

I came home last night after teaching my Graduate course on research, realizing I got ZERO rest while on spring break and needing a vacation. I did rest during the weekend, by not going out and refusing to spread my germs to others; instead, I caught up on grading, planning, reading, and wishing I was ice-cream.

I felt good entering the final weeks of the semester. Then yesterday hit. Crap. They're back, it's back, and it doesn't end.

Still, I'm trying to be optimistic. I did as much as I could last night to get ready for the rest of the week. I also looked at the calendar and all the commitments, distressed the it will be impossible to meet all those meetings, timelines, and agendas. I looked to my courses that need to be taught and thought, "I can only do what I can do."

Then I blew my nose, coughed, and realized, I continue to be sick. There's no time for that, but it is the truth. I need to get through what I need to get through despite the fact that I feel like crap.

Oh, how I wish I was ice-cream. Right now, however, I'm total poop, but holding onto my optimism that I can fool people. Does the calendar really say that I have a 12-hour day today and tomorrow? That can't be, because I'm totally not prepared.

Yay! Optimism. It's all we can have at this point in the year. This, too, shall pass. 

We Get By With a Little Help From our Friends. Thankful To Dr. B for Her Opening Remarks.

Dr. Jocelyn M. Boryczka

I'm using Monday's blog space to simply share the words of my colleague, Dr. Jocelyn Boryczka, Associate Vice Provost, and the wisdom offered to over 200 kids last Friday. I am fortunate that she shared her speech with me, as it was a wonderful way to kick off the youth conference event. 

For the last few years, Jocelyn has been a mentor, friend, guide and role model for how to survive the craziness of a higher education profession. I appreciate her zest for scholarship, for service-learning, for community-engaged work and for offering the rallying words that were heard by all in attendance.

Note: it was never my intention that our slides should match her professional attire - that was just luck!

2019 Identity and Education Conference

“Empowering Our Communities and Beyond:

A Writing Our Lives Event”

BCC

Fairfield University

Friday, March 22, 2019

8:30 - 1:30

Jocelyn M. Boryczka

Associate Vice Provost, Fairfield University

Welcoming Comments

Framing

Welcome to Fairfield University!  Let’s wake ourselves up a bit this morning.  I am going to greet you and say “good morning” and you will respond “good morning.”

You have just engaged in the most fundamental form of community building that, in and of itself, is a type of activism.  You have now had your voice heard in concert with others to begin forming a space of conversation and sharing.  It always starts with greeting.  Never underestimate the power of saying hello, or hey, or what’s up, or whatever you like to say.  It conveys recognition of the humanity and presence of others and a connection between them and you.  Community is born in that space.

All of you who have come together today are “writing for your lives and those of others” to empower our communities and beyond.  This is a fundamental and powerful form of activism.  You will assert who you are, who you are with others, what world you would like to live in, and how you will make that happen. This is no small task and one desperately needed.  To jumpstart your day and all the wonders it will bring, I would like to talk a little about three ideas:  activism, radical hospitality, and the beloved community.

Radical and Activism

I want to start with this word, “radical.”  Usually this means extreme - specifically politically extreme whether on the Left or the Right. Radical in its purest political form means is to advocate for the overthrow of all existing political, social, and economic structures. Whew!  That is extreme.  Truth be told, most folks do not hold to this kind of radicalism.  

But, there is another meaning of “radical.”  This comes from the Latin root of this word that means “the root,” or to get to the root of.  Radicals want to identify the key problem or problems in the world and figure out how to solve those problems to make the world a better place.  Huh.  This does not sound too radical to me.  

What does it take to figure out this key problem and then, most importantly, make a move about it?  ACTIVISM. How will you engage with the world in a way to think about the major problems that need to be addressed so that this world becomes the one in which you want to live?  You will need to take action.  That means be an activist.

Here’s the deal.  “Activism” has been identified with people on the Left who take extreme positions because most folks in society want to get by, get over, survive.  And that usually means not pushing for change.  Change is threatening.  Even small changes can upset folks.  If you and your friends sit at a different table in the cafeteria one day, other students will notice and it will likely create tension.  People don’t like change.  Activists make change happen.  Activists seem like radicals because any change to make this world a better, more just, more equal, more free, more inclusive place, honestly, is scary and equates with a massive upheaval.  Especially when we are living in a time of injustice, inequality, constraint, and exclusivity.

Taking all this down a notch, I want to hone in on a couple of critical moves each of you can make today in this activist spirit.

Radical Hospitality

Here, let’s consider the relationship of “radical” to the idea of hospitality.  Hospitality is the idea of welcoming and showing generosity to guests and even strangers. In the Christian tradition, this is conveyed in Matthew 25-35, “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me.”  

How can such a fundamental act of humanity be “radical”?  The very act of welcoming people into your home, your group, your social media network is an act of courage in a world telling you to build walls, shut doors, and protect your privacy.  Hospitality involves welcoming people regardless of their identity (race, class, ethnicity, age, abilities, religion, gender/sex/sexuality, etc.) to the table.  To be part of the conversation.  To share the food and drink - the resources - equally to all those at the table.  

But radical hospitality which is one of the four pillars of Fairfield University’s Diversity and Inclusive Mission Statement is more than that.  Coming from our university’s Jesuit tradition, it also means taking hospitality on the road.  Going out to meet people where they are and welcoming them when you are the person on the road, the MetroNorth train, or the bus.  You all took to the road today.  You are already practicing radical hospitality by coming together here at Fairfield University to engage with each other, to welcome one another, to share the rich diversities and differences that make up the tapestry of human life. 

I would like to invite you right now to turn to someone near you and shake their hand, greet them, and say your name.  

Beloved Community

You have now taken, in this short time we have had together, another step toward forming a beloved community, an idea and vision central to Martin Luther King, Jr. The first step is to greet, to connect, and to share your name.  You are locating yourself in relationship to others when you share who you are and hear them state the same.

In 1957, Dr. King stated “But the end is reconciliation; the end is redemption; the end is the creation of the beloved community…It is this love which will bring about miracles in the hearts of men.”

The vision is broad and maybe daunting.  The reality of how it happens is specific and completely doable.  You have already started this journey.   You are here.  You are present.  You have greeted me and you have introduced yourself to another person.  Open your hearts and your minds to each other today. Welcome each other into all spaces and share the vulnerability of exploring who you are and the amazing gifts that you bring to yourself, all who know you, and the world in which you live. This act is radical.  It requires bravery, courage, and persistence. 

As you welcome each other, Fairfield University welcomes you in the spirit of radical hospitality that can translate into the beloved community achieved through our collective commitment to activism - to making the world a better more just, equitable place.

Sometimes This Aging Thing Trips Me Up and I'm Not Sure What I'm Supposed To Do With It

The sweaty armpits remain the same. There are no grays, however; here I am filling in for an absent Moonbeam as I work with a little All Star on her self-portrait to hang in the hallway of the school. It was a ritual we did every fall and I'm happy to say still exists 12 years after I departed the school (I will always feel a sense of pride when I learn that some of our traditions from yesterday remain true today). Like my tongue. I'm my father's son, and when I concentrate (like I am writing this post) my tongue comes out.

But back to the photo. It was sent to me by a Brownie who was celebrating her 28th birthday - I never had her, but she graduated a couple years after I left. She found it in her box of treasures and it put a smile on my face. It's surreal to think that this kindergartener grew up, graduated, went to college and is now approaching 30, but still remembered me and wanted to share this picture.

Photos like these are the best, a capsule in time and a memory of what once was (the blink of an eye).

I managed to stay in, under a blanket, for the last 24 hours. Okay, there was no blanket, but I didn't leave my house nor go to any of my commitments. I graded, read, cleaned a little bit and drank lots of liquids. I have to be on top of this cough before things kick off again. I know when it gets bronchial and I get scared. We're working on this!

Hello, Saturday. I So Very Much Need You. And This Morning I'm Waking Up Thankful to Gina.

The way it went down was this.

A Graduate Student in Educational Psychology stopped by to say she's arranging a youth conference at Fairfield University - one that is in its 3rd year, but that she wanted to bring to campus.

I listened and took notes.

The following weekend, I had a gift given to CWP-Fairfield in memory of a writer who was committed to creative energy and the Jesuit mission of Fairfield. I reached back to Gina and asked, "How'd you like to join forces?"

The result was a youth conference that brought a record number of kids together for a day of writing, of activism, of talking and of thinking about their empowerment in the future. There were a lot of kids - 200+ or so, in fact....more than we intended, but enough to make for a joyful day.

I was thinking about retired high school counselor, Faryl Edelyn, from my J. Graham Brown School days who once advised me, "It's never good to clip the wings of worker bees." This was said when a new administrator came in and squashed the incredible projects many of our teachers did to promote kids and their work. Clipped wings resulted in my departure, but the good thing about frogs is they grow their wings back (didn't know frogs had wings, did you?).

Then, when you find another worker bee with a creative idea you recognize the fellow soul and you join forces.

There are many who say things like, "If you don't like the world you live in, you might want to question the people you are surrounded with."

It's short-lived, but Gina is a powerhouse at Fairfield University while she works on her Masters degree and when you see parallel visions, you simply say, "Let's get this magic going."

Yes, it was Spring Break, and true, both of us were on campus late on Thursday night getting things into place, but it is fact that teachers and kids had a powerful, inspiring day.

That's what it's all about.

But for now, it's time to rest. School kicks back into gear on Monday and I'm simply exhausted. I'm sure Gina is, too. Ah, but if you want things done, you simply put yourself into action. That's what it is all about!

Last Friday of Spring Break and Final Event: Writing Our Lives with Fairfield Warde Voices of Equity

Okay, Mucinex monsters. You moved in for longer than an overnight I am listening. I loaded up with all I could take to keep you at bay so I can arrive to Fairfield University and see all the hard work of the presenters showcased in a 12-session opportunity to the 200 young people and teachers who signed up. I'm looking forward to learning from those in several Connecticut School who have been Empowering Our Communities and Beyond.

We are very thankful to the gift made in the memory of Lisa Calderone-Perelli, a graduate of the MFA program and close friend to the Fairfield University program. This kindness, and her legacy, is what stands behind the work that will be carried out today - writing our lives, and putting our words into action.

There are several colleagues who I am looking forward to seeing again, and many more that I can't wait to meet. The buses were arranged, the breakfast snacks are set, the writers' notebooks have been assembled, the Sheppard Divas are set for their Keynote, and lunches are being prepared.

It's such a wonderful opportunity for young people to present their work - conference style - to peers across the state, especially in a National Writing Project tradition.

The brilliance of Laurie Halse Anderson and Jacqueline Woodson, matched beautifully with the screening of American Creed, to bring forward this Identity and Education Conference.

Now, if only the Mucinex Monsters would travel elsewhere for the day, so I can have all my faculties with me. It's hard to focus with a foggy brain, dripping nose and never-ending cough.

The panacea is the beauty of the middle and high school students. This is all for them. And we're off.

Hmmm. What Does Feeding 170 Middle and High School Students Look Like for Under $200

On Tuesday, the incredible Gina Ludlow and my graduate assistant Joanna Warren joined me on a shopping excursion to buy breakfast snacks for 170+ middle and high school youth who will be coming to Fairfield University for the joint enterprise of Fairfield Warde Voices of Equity and the Connecticut Writing Project's Empowering Our Communities and Beyond: A Writing Our Lives Event.

I should know by now that doubling the numbers we expect in attendance should be the norm. When we first began the collaboration, we thought the goal should be around 80 students. Nope. We always surpass our expectations.

Little Bites. Pop Tarts (even Unicorn pop tarts). Fruit. Juices. Nibbles. We're all good. When the kids arrive on Friday to participate in the teacher and student-led workshops, they will have their tummies filled.

By count, this will be the largest Writing Our Lives event at Fairfield University to date. The response has been overwhelming and school communities are using the daylong conference as an award for their stellar students to attend. We should be proud - especially because our mix of communities is going to be at an all-time high.

Writing and activism goes hand in hand.

I'm still running on the high of the American Creed screening in Stamford last night and the fruitful conversation and connections made afterward. I was proud to make it on I-95 in record time, not expecting to have fluid traffic (does that ever happen?).

In the meantime, I'm still unsure if I have a cold or if allergy season has arrived sooner than usual. I've been a sneezing and coughing hot mess. I'm simply tired to it (and I know. I know. This is Spring Break and I should be giving myself a break. Alas, this is also a time to make things happen).

Thursday, today, will be about inhaling. Just one more event! Friday! We got this.

Part of a Story: American Creed. Proud to Moderate a @writingproject Story @fergusonlib ‏Tonight for @cwpfairfield

I am honored to be asked to be a presenter following tonight's screening of American Creed at the Stamford Public Library-Ferguson tonight at 6 p.m.

The movie, produced for PBS, asks teachers, educators and youth advocates to have students write, create, and respond to the contents of the film, as several individuals discuss the American mission, its purpose, and what it means to be a citizen in the United States (I've embedded the film below so that all who read my blog are given the opportunity to view the film that will be shown).

For the last several summers, CWP-Fairfield has offered Project Citizen, a young adult literacy lab for argumentative and political writing (the brainchild of Central High School, Bridgeport, teacher Shaun Mitchell and tremendous advocate to the National Writing Project mission). Over the last two summers, we've benefited through Supporting Effective Educator Grants to increase enrollment and to have youth from a wide variety of communities participate, including urban, suburban, rural and indigenous young people. Our experiences with this program have been immeasurable and, tonight, I will highlight some of what we've learned from their writing and expression. 

I can't help but think about how the philosophy of Ubuntu, togetherness and humanity, adopted from many African youth who've been part of our summer programs, seems to align beautifully with the message of the film.

What's your American story? Where have your people come from? How have your ancestors sacrificed so that you could write another chapter for yourself? 

I am looking forward to talking with tonight's audience and reflecting on some of my own teaching and place in a heterogeneous, complex, but mission-driven society. I hope you'll find time in your schedules to watch the 55-minute video and find a group of people to talk about its message.

To me, this is as American as it gets. 

What an honor to be part of this phenomenal opportunity.

Laurie Halse Anderson! TESOL Panel! Jacqueline Woodson! Now It's Time For Writing Our Lives!

"Um, Bryan," Gina updates me, "We have over 170 pre-registered youth for Friday's conference." It was my first day back to the University after last week's bookstore event with Laurie Halse Anderson, and discussing my research with youth at TESOL in Atlanta. My mind was on Jacqueline Woodson's Quick Center talk, but also the two hours of literacy work with middle and high school students in my Educational Research course before we attended her keynote.

"170?," I inquire. "That's great, isn't it?"

This Friday, Fairfield University's spring break will host Empowering Our Communities and Beyond, a joint enterprise between CWP-Fairfield and Fairfield Warde's Voices for Equity. The goal is to have students presenting to students and to use writing as a vehicle for social change.

Over the weekend, the stickers arrived and Gina quickly brought them to Warde so they could create an assembly line to make the writers' notebooks. For one day, young people will present to young people about the work they are doing in their high schools to promote literacy, to close achievement gaps, and to challenge curricular decisions made by their schools. I am very excited to be involved in the entire effort and am very proud of the parent/teaching/youth community of Fairfield Warde High School for pushing forward their 3rd year of youth advocacy work. It is a delight to be involved with the National Writing Project.

On a more worrisome note, the cough is back. I felt it sneak in as I slept Sunday night, and I woke up with the phlegm returned. The sad thing is that everyone who suffered the cold/flu/gook in January are all reporting it's come back in March. Lord, what is this crud and why is it hovering. I thought it was over and I've had great runs the last few weeks, but coughing now - a sign of its return  - it simply not an option (unless it is).

Rest. Rest. Rest. Phew. It's something.

And I need my health for this week: too many teachers and young people have been doing amazing work in our schools. It needs to be celebrated.

27 Years Ago, 1992, I Was Returning to London From Ireland and Bought Me an Aran Islands Sweater

I was nineteen years old and, cold, I walked into a thrift store in Galway and found an Irish-knit sweater on a rack that I could afford - it was like a Salvation Army. I was a pup, and in love with the age, life, legality of booze, travel, and literature, I finally found a sweater to keep me warm.

It remains my go-to sweater, too, whenever the air is cold and I know I want to be extra warm. Yesterday, after a long run, I realized, "Today is a perfect day for the sweater." And it just happened to be St. Patrick's Day, also St. Gertrude's Day (patron Saint of Cats), so I went for my Sheppard's Pie and corn beef feeling like quite the Irish man. Of course, when I first wore that sweater, I don't even think I was able to grow facial hair.

I'm only 19% Irish according to my DNA, but with Ripley as 50% of my genes, some of my family likes to claim a lot more. I'll take it, as both times I've been to Ireland, I've enjoyed looking for ancestry and felt a connection. My Uncle Dick, a Crosby, was proud of his Welsh ancestry so when I found out that all the urinals in Whales were Crosby ones, I took a photo and said, "Every time I wee, I am thinking of you, Uncle Crosby."

I can report that Chitunga is safe in Syracuse after a week of care-free youth on Spring Break. Talking to him is remarkable, simply because he's always been mature, but the more he has world experiences, he comes back with greater wisdom. Sometimes I feel like I'm talking to a younger version of myself or I wonder, too, if he's a figment of my imagination. I just love catching up with him and learning new insights and perspectives.

Back to Ireland, 1992. I read that the Irish don't celebrate St. Patty's Day like the U.S. does, and Judy and I booked a ferry out of Ireland on, well, St. Patty's Day. Dublin was a carnival, and even though our ferry left at night, we regretted not staying for the entire evening celebration. She never forgave me for that. It was all good. I remember getting a good night's sleep on the ferry after a week of being youthful (like Chitunga) while we were there.

Now...I can't even imagine. I simply want to go to sleep in my own bed.

Playing Catch-Up - The Price One Pays For Going to a Conference When There's a Full Week Ahead. Phew.

If you wanted to know what my Saturday looked like, it was a Muppet-show phenomena. I missed a grant report deadline while away and I promised my cousin I'd have curriculum created for his NBA collaborations in Africa, so I hunkered down on Saturday and composed and composed and composed. There is something about deadlines (and missed deadlines) that can get a Frog cranking out a lot of material quickly.

Then, looking ahead to the calendar of next week, I realized I needed to get on top of my grading. Whereas I work with a majority of in-practice teachers, I often trade Fairfield's spring break with theirs so that I can honor when they have time off from school (and they can actually take a break). I know, I know. I should also give myself a break, but I am still living with the memory of teaching K-12 school. Although my days are long and difficult now, it does not compare to what they go through during their 5-classes a day, 5 days a week. As University faculty, I can chisel time to make myself sane in the chaos. K-12 educators can't.

So, we'll be having class this week, but it's all good, because it is in collaboration with One Book, One Town and Jacqueline Woodson's visit to campus on Monday night. William King, Jessica Baldizon and I have 30 students coming to work with the teachers before we go to the talk...we will have a youth-centered dialogue about Harbor Me (with research methodologies in the back of our minds). Nothing like an opportunity to collect more data.

That is why last night I avoided invitations to hang out and relax, so that I could get a huge chunk of grading done. After I finished the grant report and curriculum, more guilt set in (this is what happens when one flies to another state for a 20-minute presentation). He returns extra-focused on what he neglected to do while he was away,

In truth, too, I was working through anticipation of Chitunga's return to the United States from Puerto Rico and his overnight flight (arriving at 6 a.m. - geez). He's unlikely to swing back home, however, because he has to return to Syracuse for his classes. Although I know he brought work to do while on the island, I also learned he partook in the tomfoolery of his age (pulling an all-night party-fest with his friends). He so rarely does this (well, Joe and Bank filled me in on a few stories from LeMoyne).

I'm writing this on Saturday night, knowing it will post Sunday morning, where I will be awaiting updates about their landing and travel plans.

Then, back at it. I'm determined to finish grading this morning and moving onto the other big events of the week. 

I Am Home. I Am Safe. I Had a Good Time, but I Am Definitely Thinking About the Wonderful Sleep of a Hotel Bed

I will miss my hotel bed where I was able to sleep, without distraction, for the last two nights. Thank you, Atlanta Marriott Marquis, for the comfortable mattress, plush pillows, dark rooms, and non-domestic distractions.

I am thankful that I gave myself plenty of time to get through the security check at Atlanta International Airport - it was quite the long, timely process, and I'm glad I arrived 3 hours early (for others at TESOL, I hope you know that security is not a fast experience). Be prepared.

The drive back from Bradley, too, was a trek of 35 m.p.h. highway driving (when we were lucky) The roads were packed with Friday automobiles! I'm just thankful I made it home to Mt. Pleasant.

I have Glamis, too, who is always neurotic when I leave - I'm sure she will be thankful to be in her own house again. I wish I could have my hotel bed with me on Mt. Pleasant for a good night's rest.  I came home to pouring rain, and I am thinking it might continue into Saturday. It's all good, because I need a good few days to catch up from the time I spent away. Now I am simply hoping for Chitunga to have save travels from his Sprint Break, as well.

Happy Saturday. This is a short post, but I knew I needed to regroup my life in Connecticut.  I'm optimistic for the days ahead. I'm not sure I'm ready, however, to catch up on the news that has been. The drama will, I'm sure, return. Indeed. Never a dull moment in global history. 

All Love for #TESOL19. Why? I Got the Opportunity to Run Into Andrea DeCapua (2011) Who With Helaine Marshall Made My Work Possible

After our session on Refugee Writing Across the Lifespan, my fellow presenters and I hung out to debrief our session, share resources, and discuss possible next steps. In our circle, a woman arrived and joined the conversation. I looked down at the name tag and it was Andrea DeCapua and my brain exploded. She was the first to publish on students with limited and interrupted formal education and with Helaine Marshall, she helped me to position the work with the African-born male youth in the literacy world from which my study occurred. She was gracious enough to share my joy and to help me unite the family, albeit it small, of individuals who work with such a wonderful population of human beings.

I know that this made every second of the conference worthwhile. I thoroughly enjoyed my session with Lisa Gonzalves, Nicole Pettitt, and Eliano Hirado (we covered high school, to college, to adult education) and I took pages and pages of notes. Walking out of our session into Andrea DeCapua was the cherry on the cupcake. I should also say that Raichle Farrelly, one of the editors for Educating Refugee-Background Students (2018) in which I was able to share writing with Somali-background youth, was in the audience. So great to put a face to the name..

The connections are what make all of the academic work possible. Phew. In 2007, when I began my intellectual pursuit, I didn't realize how much the writing of strangers would be an influence of my own work. I am forever grateful to their scholarship, so that mine could be made possible.

I was also humbled to see my writing paired with my role model, Kristen Perry of the University of Kentucky, cited for another's scholars work with L2 Refuge writing in college. The audience laughed when I jumped up and said, "Whoa. I'm being cited! And I'm right next to one of my heroes. I'm having a moment right here" (and snapped a photo).

I am leaving TESOL in Atlanta inspired for continuing the work and imagining new possibilities for how we might better support the literacies of youth populations arriving to our nation. It is amazing to be surrounded by so many people who have dedicated their lives to language, humanity, love, social justice, equity and global truth. In such company, it's hard to see how so many others can be surrounded in communities that counter such love.

For now, I am believing in the beauty of good people, because these good people are doing amazing things. This is what matters most.

In Atlanta for #TESOL19 to Present "With Ubuntu: A Philosophy for Humbled Togetherness & a Community of Refugee Youth Writers

Was such an honor to be asked to present on a panel for Refugee Writing Across a Lifespan, and to highlight the research work from Syracuse that led to all the work at the Connecticut Writing Project at Fairfield University. As of a week ago, I officially hit a milestone with grants and fundraising and am still shaking my head at what has been accomplished since 2014. This summer, we will have served over 1,000 young people in CT with our Young Adult Literacy Labs, including Ubuntu Academy, our two-week literacy lab for immigrant and refugee youth. In Atlanta, my goal is to highlight how this summer work has become yearlong work through the excellence of Jessica Baldizon and William King.

The presentation features highlights from previous publications, but sets up a framework of how that academic work was married with the National Writing Project philosophy to create the phenomena that is CWP! I'm a visual learner, so tend to present less with text and more with photographs from the years: they trigger the story, and I am at TESOL to tell the story.

This is the first time, however, I've been to this conference. I'm sort of solo, except for the names of the other presenters on the panel that were asked to speak. I've been to Atlanta before with my CWP teaching crew for NCTE and while walking by Sal's Liquor Store I said, "Oh, now I remember downtown Atlanta." That was the year my teachers got CrAzY!!! It was a blast and very unforgettable.

I'm not sure how much sight-seeing I'll get done, as I'm committed to several deadlines (a few I KNOW I WILL MISS - so sorry, NWP...I mean well). I have the opportunity, however, to walk through Olympic Park everyday. This puts a smile across my face as I walk to and from the conference convention center.

I'm also in a hotel so have a nicer bed and pillows than I'm used to (I should simply get a new mattress - I sleep so much better in hotels).

Finally, looking forward to meeting new TESOL friends today...last night at dinner I struck up many conversations with total strangers who gave me more insight on what to expect from this! It seems like an enormous crowd!

And, Universe. I Get It. Dogs Have Emotions, Too. But the Sighing and Whimpering. It's Just Two Days.

I'm heading out of town again, this time for TESOL, Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages conference in Atlanta, Georgia. I was asked last fall to be part of a keynote panel on teaching writing to refugee-background youth. I'm not familiar with their sessions or the layout of their professional discourse, but I'm ready and happy to be part of a new community.

In the meantime, Glamis the wonder dog watched me pack and I saw it in her eyes. She will be in great care with her friends Jake and Pammy, but it doesn't change the fact that this dog, more than any other dog, is extremely dramatic and emotional. She likes her routine more than any creature I've ever known. She freaks out when a snowman is built in someone's lawn that is new, or when garbage is out. She knows her world and that is what she wants on a daily basis...her schedule, her agenda, her timing, and her needs.

That's why the suitcase throws her off. She's been sulking all evening, and although I took her for a walk, and played extra hard with her, the drama wins out. She literally has been laying at my side whimpering and sighing (insert dramatic elbow and paw to the snout) with her sadness that she detects I'm going away.

I am going away. She will be taken care of. Still, she prefers the theatrics. It is something. I know guilt is self-created. I won't let her win.

Instead, I will catch my flight to Atlanta, present on Thursday, and head home on Friday. I'm treating this as a semi-mental retreat, too, where I can have the space to process all that has been going on.
I will bring the sighing and whimpering with me.

Hello, Atlanta. I'll be there soon.

With Thanks to @FairfieldUBooks for Hosting @halseanderson the Night Before SHOUT Debuts - Feeling Lucky

Last night, it was an honor and privilege to spend time in the company of writer Laurie Halse Anderson as she began her tour of SHOUT at Fairfield University Bookstore. I wrote about the impact of the book last year (see the poem below), but last night the writer offer more context for the work she does, her thinking, her resiliency, her power, her voice, and her mission. Listening to Laurie Halse Anderson as she was interviewed by Meg Wolitzer, I couldn't help but think, "Wow, we are in the presence of magic...a magic that arises from pain, language, perseverance and the power of words." 

It was a full house at the Fairfield University Book Store, too, which it needed to be. As gracious as always, however, the Laurie Halse Anderson gave time and care to everyone who attended, had a question, wanted or hug or asked for a picture. This is the beauty and strength this writer. She truly is a champion of teachers and young people (many of whom were in the audience last night), and exudes love, hope, and safety in her message, always with a touch of wit and a bit of rage.

(photo credit, John Berry, Syracuse, NY)

There's a story about the photo taken above and it has to do with the photo to the left, taken by John Berry, father of Rhiannon, a VIP human in my world (and the world of my boys). While I was doing my research in Syracuse, Mr. Berry was assigned to do a photo shoot of Laurie Halse Anderson in upstate New York and took this photo that featured in the Syracuse Herald Jounal. It has been imprinted in my brain for ever: so much light, so much of the outside shedding truth for the inside, and so much openness and hope. It was taken WAY before I met the writer, but whenever I read her work or think of her, I think of this shot (and my friend/colleague/life-sojourner, Rhiannon, whose father captured the moment). The photo, to me, is Laurie Halse Anderson, and I channel it in my head whenever I want a muse for my own work. . The light that was filtered onto her, was filtered into her books. This is the shine that readers feel, too, when they read any of her books. She is the same shine. She allows light into an often dark world.

I told her this last night. There's an optimism in youth cultures, and in them they carry the light for another generation, one more tolerant, yet intolerant, for the claims of previous generations. They want action and for the United States to become the democracy it has always claimed to be (but that has always been experienced by the few). 

I suppose there's a place in every writer's history where they simply sit back and reflect, "I had a story to tell, and I told it. Then this happened, and this. And of course it was followed by this." 

I was in my second year of teaching high school when SPEAK debuted. It had a tremendous impact on my students, and it made me a better teacher. Fast forward 20 years, and we have this post. 

Actually, the post is all Laurie Halse Anderson. There are time to Speak and times to Shout. Her writing screams and we need to listen! 

And so I return to my original post about Shout - a poem I wrote in response to my first reading.

I wish Laurie Halse Anderson the best as she travels across the country bringing such window-light into the world. We are better because of her spirit, heart, vision, kindness and absolute generosity. 

T hen there are days, privileged in nirvana,

h armonious cosmic karma, where

e verything I wanna understand gets

r eflected in poolside chlorine, an arched

e yebrow from Walter Meyers, that Dean of

a dolescent possibilities, & where a writer crafts

r eality (or at least it seems), and I

e volve from storytelling, poetic dreams, as

t he beautiful writer screams at the

i nsanity of the sane, the saneness of our chaos,

m e, her, him, they, us ---

e arthquakes in deep water

s end ripples to the surface, resting bitch face, a

t ouch-me-and-die face

o vertured in a symphony of existence.

S houts are rarely heard in silence, but

P oems capture the clutter of noisy voices,

E very second, all our choices,

A nnouncing who we are supposed to be -

K nowledge, truth, love - the trinity to set us free.

a nd a book is written. a confession,

n orse codes for our imperfection, where

d anish fjords become explanation,

t eaching water to flow in Anderson ways.

i magination is a gift for the soul, it prays,

m anages pain, blooms branches w/ sun-rays, &

e verything evolves at exactly the right time -

s ongs composed/praised to counter its crime

t hat sing survival through rhythm and rhyme, that

o ffer humanity to counter its slime.

S hame turned inside out - 

H ow the story found a page,

O mnipotent strength from a writer's rage

U ntangling Gordian knots -- all un-

T wisted and crafted by a poetic sage.

The Fastest 24 Hours Spent in CT...Home Briefly, But Spent Productively (and with Love).

Waking up at 1 pm, means breakfast comes at around 2 pm, and I believe my kitchen was in shock, "Wait, you're cooking breakfast?"

I never cook breakfast. I pour milk into a bowl or put a bagel in the toaster oven. Ah, but I was pretty sure these boys would need greasy food, eggs, and toast to soak up all the undertook until the wee hours of Daylight Savings Time. I had to laugh, too, because all 3 came to the kitchen table with their laptops and immediately began doing school work. I actually had to tell them to put the technology away so we could eat.

Then they left. Chitunga took him for a tour of Fairfield University, Bridgeport, New Haven and Yale, the beaches and then to meet Pam and Jake. I, on the other hand, used the guilt of sleeping in until 11 a.m. to kick my ass in gear to plan, grade, write and get on top of the week ahead.
I also looked over at the dining room and realized it makes a great extra bedroom when we turn it into one. I need one of those Giant Bean Bag chairs that my cousin Mark has in Amagansett. It would be a good alternative for that space when not using it as a dining room.

I got a long run in, and then they returned around 7 (love that it will stay lighter later). They brought pizza and some of Tunga's home friends stopped by to eat and hang out, including Gino, his funeral parlor friend, who came today as if he was auditioning for The Godfather. Love that kid.

At 2 in the morning last night, they left for the airport on their trip to San Juan. I was impressed that they actually were
lights out at 10 pm trying to get 4 hours of sleep before they took off (and of course I woke up as they departed - making it two pretty sloppy sleeps over the last couple of days).

I know Glamis is exhausted, too. She never got a second to sleep and even had double the amount of walks.

Okay, it's Monday. There's much to be done in the next 12 hours / 24 hours / 36 hours / 48 hours / week / and month. I will take it one moment at a time. It is always joyous and warm to have a full house - the whole rhythm seems to be in better play. The walls, beds and floors miss all the chaos when everyone is away.

So, here we go week. We got this. But first I really need a cup of coffee.

With Respect For Butch & Sue, The Paybacks Are Real. Youth Is Wasted on the Young. Oh, To Be Young Again.

I attended the Milford St. Patrick's Day Parade yesterday afternoon, but the truth is we never saw much of the parade. Instead, my friends knew that downtown Milford would be a zoo of people, and they recommended we find somewhere to eat to begin the shenanigans.

I drove separately. I drank water. I was hungry, but I knew I needed to accomplish a lot later in the day.

So, I got up, wrote, ran, walked the dog, cleaned a little, and then drove to meet them for lunch.

They were dropped off, which was an indicator that their day was going to be a lot longer than mine. I knew that Chitunga and his friends were coming in from Syracuse and we were going to get Paradise Pizza. As a result, I left early so I could get groceries and come home and finish cleaning. Then I asked Chitunga, "What's your estimated time of arrival?" He reported 10 p.m., so I did a "Roger" and went back to cleaning. Knowing they would be in later, I decided to lie down for a little big and pretend to nap. Didn't work, so I got up and started preparing for the week. That's when I got a text saying it would be more like 11 or 11:30. "But stay up," it read. "Joe wants to have a drink with you before he goes to bed. Don't fall asleep."

Dude. At 11:30, I'm already asleep. What do you mean stay up?

Of course, I stayed up. They are only in CT for 24 hours before they head to Spring Break in Puerto Rico - a trip I've never made, but one that I'm happy for, because Chitunga doesn't allow himself many breaks (cough cough, doesn't sound like anyone I know).

I inflated a guest bed (because I needed one for everyone coming) and then remembered that Chitunga said, "We'll get Paradise Pizza. Don't cook."

I didn't cook, but they ate in Amsterdam, when Chitunga stopped to pick them up at their own homes. I lose out. And he texts, "We have a full day on Sunday, and won't be home much."

They leave for the airport at night!

All of this is to say, "What comes around, goes around," and I deserve it. Earlier years stressed me out waiting for the car to enter the driveway so I knew he was safe, but I recognize his independence now and the fact that when I'm not around, he has no one but himself to be responsible to. I also know that I have no problem sleeping or staying in my groove while he's away because we always text one another right before we go to bed. Alas, he will be in this house tonight - probably rearing to go - when I should already be counting the zzzz's.

My dad turned 77 this week. He was 53 when I was 23. I was already in KY by then, and when I came home, it was family time, but also friend time. He and my mom were still working, but I was cruising along my post-undergraduate days where going to bed at 3 a.m. was normal. Two hours after I went to bed, my father was already out the door to work.

I don't know how they did it - with 3 of us. Of course, they have always been better nappers than I'll ever be.

Alas, let them sojourn Connecticut today, as I have the Keynote to prepare, my graduate course, and an author visit. I'm simply remembering the Yoga-breathing techniques I once learned a long time ago, and will work hard to find my ommmmmmmmmmmm.

ummmmmmmmmmmm.

Will Finally Represent #Breadloaf in Spirit Thanks to The Hard Work of a Pomperaug H.S. Senior & His Hard Work

I've been wanting Adirondack chairs for my backyard ever since I move to my Mt. Pleasant home. Maybe it is because I live in a yellow house (no green shudders) that I've craved the wooden chairs for my outdoor landscape - a landscape I first learned from Bread Loaf School of English. For the last 8 years I've looked for the chairs, peeped them online, and simply gave in to my economical practicality not to buy them. I've been waiting for the right time, the right location, the right price, and the right style.

That is when French teacher, Ms. Kelly, who works at Pomperaug High School in Southbury, Connecticut said, "We have a teacher at our school who works with kids to make these chairs."

I wrote to Ms. Carpenter (her name is Caryn Carpenter), the wood-shop teacher, and she put me in touch with a student, Gunnar, who was assigned to my request - two chairs.


Gunnar contacted me in a professional manner, inquired about my request and said he'd love to take on the job. Last November, I replied, "Go for it." During every step of the way, Gunnar sent me updates and photos of the project, treating his carpentry and artwork as a pro! I would later find out that one of my neighbors, Mr. Blanchett, a counselor at the school, also had Gunnar as one of his seniors. We tried a few ways to get the chairs to my house in Southern Connecticut, but nothing worked. Yesterday, however, we had the vehicle, the space, and the time to make the transition happen.

I'm more than thrilled by the work of Gunnar, Class of 2019, and in our textual exchanges, I inquired about his name - very Danish, indeed. It turns out that his grandmother was from Denmark and I told him about my friendship of a mentor in Denmark, Gunnar, who shared his name. He reported he's never been to Denmark and I'm hoping it will be a post-high school experience he'll allow himself.

He did extremely well and I'm proud for numerous reasons. The first, of course, is that I finally have my chairs. More importantly, however, is the vision of Pomperaug to mentor seniors like Gunnar into a hands-on trade that teaches a skill that can be carried to a post-high school career. It's a win-win-win situation. I got my Adirondack chairs, Gunnar had the opportunity to work with me as a customer, and his school is providing space and time to help him to be successful. If only more of our schools committed such time and mentorship to their students.

I asked Gunnar if he'd send a photo so I could include it in this morning's post and he sent the one to the right. I could have bought two chairs and never know who made them. With respect to the craft-manship, time, and care, however, of an artist like Gunnar, I wanted to give credit where credit is due. As of March 9th, the chairs are a part of the home in CT. The chairs will always be a celebration of his hard work and I will always tell the story of the investment he and his school made in making this purchase possible.

I am feeling lucky, indeed.