It's a Wednesday and I Am Channeling the Superpower It Will Take To Make It 3 More Days. #SuperpowerOfHope

This is a secret and this is Kevin. He's my math/artist teacher who is pre-service and astute- hired to run artistic aspects of our summer work (and his Spanish-speaking talents are also useful).

#TheSuperpowerOfHope

Truth is, the secret is a collaborative art project between teachers and students in Project Citizen, but they won't know this until Thursday (and today is a Hump Day). We've been using Matt de la Peña's Superman: Dawnbreaker in all of our programs and now it is time for teachers (and kids) to react.

That product is hush-hush, shhhhhh.

It will come, though.

So, we are mid-week, last week, and we are now at 200 youth and 40 teachers (those hired and those working for us). I feel like time is my kryptonite and I am unsure I can accomplish all I hope to (really, what I'm thinking about is if Chitunga make it to Orlando okay - he's on a business/intern trip).

Ah, but we can channel our heroes, our amazing humans, those who have incredible powers (my mom was always partial to the Incredible Hulk because she harvest such rage).

Me? I'm thinking that the only Superpower I have is hope and that I will make it to this Friday unscarred and optimistic of all still to come.

Phew. It's been a July.

Well, Julie, Another Year We Can Say, "Well, It's the Last Week. Phew, Where Did The Time Go?"

In 2012, I read an Op-Ed by New York City Writing Project teacher Julie Roneson and I called her and asked, "Do you want to meet?"

She was teaching at Central High School in Bridgeport and I knew I needed an in-practice teacher to partner with for the first cohort I'd have on my own as a new director of a National Writing Project site. Her Proud to be a Bridgeport Teacher caught my attention and I basically said, "You're a fan of NWP. You're hired." She's also penned Teachers Need Support, Not Suspicion and In Connecticut, Let Us Teachers Tell our Stories.  She's a reader, a thinker, a devoted educator and a passionate writer. It's hard to believe this is our 7th year co-hosting an institute. We're proud to add Denise Howe this year, too, to bring an additional perspective and voice to the work we do. We feel honored that she was available and that she could bring the expertise that she has.

Today, we begin day one of our final 3 days after a semester of interviewing and recruiting and 6 weeks of the summer invitational. We have a full agenda ahead of teacher demonstrations and workshops, plus the final week of reflection and paperwork that is necessary to complete. This is our biggest cohort yet, as funding from Noble Trust allowed us to double the intake of teacher participation, especially those from high needs districts. As always, they are a beautiful cohort and we couldn't be happier. The pace, however, of how fast it all flies by is something else. It seems like I just met all of these stupendous individuals.

There's a big year ahead for Julie as she's working towards her PhD and finishing her own goals and passions (looking forward to hearing of her success). She's been a gentle calm to my manic wackiness and I'm very thankful that she's lasted with me throughout all these years.

Fortunate for Fairfield University, she's also stepped up and taught many courses for us, too, in the Graduate School of Education and Allied Professions.

I'm very much dreaming of all still to come, but for this morning I'm finger-snapping and applauding another year with Julie at my side, and feeling extremely thankful that Denise joined the team. There's a lot of us this summer, but the work is great.

With that, there's much to accomplish today!

I Went For The Walnut Beach Creamery Overdose So I Could Get It All Out of My System in One Summer Visit

I've been thinking about it all summer, but I've resisted. The timing wasn't right and the mood wasn't there. Ah, but when Pam's Netflix wasn't working and someone said Ice Cream, Abu even said, "Oh, I could skip volleyball for that."

I knew I was doomed. Worse was when he and I both decided to get waffle cones with 4 scoops (they wouldn't give us any less). I had Peanut Butter and The Sandman, and he had Peanut Butter and some chocolate concoction. We over ate and then held our tummies while realizing that each of us ate 1/2 a gallon of ice cream in one evening.

I am cured for a while (and it is so so good....hands down some of the best ice cream I've ever had anywhere ... except Denmark). It's that good.

I'm now thankful that I ran 6, walked 3, and played some frisbee. Without a doubt, I put every calorie and then some back into my system.

That's what summer is for, right?

Chitunga missed out, because he was at the golf course doing 18 holes. I guess it's a good thing that I bought peanut butter ice cream this morning at the grocery store. He can get his fix if he wants it.

Meanwhile, it is week #6, the final week of our summer programs. Holding my breath and ready to take it on.

Let's go. We got this.

With Hope They Work. Twin Blueberry Bushes on Mt. Pleasant and Wishes For Their Success.

Ever since my Indiana days (even KY), I've loved going to Bryant's Blueberries to score bushels of blueberries (which I used to use for pancakes and a blueberry crunch dish for ice cream). Phew. Many moons ago, too, I picked blueberries for weeks knowing I was making 100 or so jars of blueberry jam for my little sister's wedding (Spread the love with the Barnwells). I taught myself to preserve the jam and after making 60 or so, I said, "You need to bring me to Syracuse. I can't keep the pace in time for the wedding."

I'm trying to figure out where I got the energy for that...but it was an act of love.

This summer in Connecticut, I've been mowing my neighbor's lawn because she had surgery on her elbow and was under doctor's orders not to labor in her yard. I don't mind mowing another lawn (I am a son of a Butch), and she has awarded me with blueberries from her bushes.  Yesterday, too, however, I heard a knock on my door and there was Debbie with a card and two blueberry plants. "I want to thank you for your willingness to step up and help me this summer," she said. "These are for you."

Huge smile. Super joy. Then a panic. What if my yard isn't suited for blueberry plants.

Fingers crossed that they will take off and do well. It would be amazing to know that every year I will be able to go out to harvest my own berries (and perhaps make jam again).

It was a wonderful gift....absolutely unexpected and 100% appreciated. Bryan's Blueberries has a ring to it (just drop the t from Indiana).

We shall see. They're in the ground and I'm ready to go.

Mother Flicker! That Was a Friday. Returning To My Naturalist Roots In Prayer for Maude. Bless That Animal.

The crash came at 5 a.m.

I was sound to sleep with another hour to go when I heard the bang. I jumped out of bed and looked around the room but nothing had fallen. I though, 'Oh, Shit. Glamis fell through the bay window.'

I looked outside, but all I could see was a pile of something and several song sparrows investigating the scene from the sidewalk with their stink eye. The eyes are on the sparrow. They knew something was up, and I figured a bird hit the window during the a.m. morning feast. I hoped not, but I soon realized it was true. It was a Northern Flicker, a kind of woodpecker, and I instantly had remorse. I love my woodpeckers and they've been entertaining my front and back yards for years.

I didn't want it to be true, but it was. While Chitunga ate his buttered bagel and Abu took a shower, I went out front to investigate more. He was beautiful. She was beautiful. I'm guessing a male, but I couldn't make the identification. I only knew I wanted him or her to be buried before the flies came.

I found a shoe box and then proceeded to make a bed of leaves and grass for the creature (my window did this). I also picked flowers and laid them on top of the bird in the shoebox. It was so beautiful and still fresh from the death. When I zoomed in the photo, I notice how long the bird's tongue actually was. It must be how they pull insects from the trees and I thought, "Phew. Nature is beautiful. I also noticed the eyes were x'd out like a Warner Brothers cartoon.

I began Aretha Franklin's, "I'll say a little prayer for you." I then closed the box and said a few more prayers for the tiny critter. I walked to my Subaru, Hulk, and placed the box in the back by my computer and a container of M&Ms I bought for the teachers. I reentered my house and didn't say a thing; instead, I spent my morning in silence and mini-prayer.

"Bless that Animal," I said under my breath, recalling Kirsten's prayer every time we passed road kill in our adolescent and college lives. She always looked for animals on the side of the road and I loved this about her. She would always offer them a spirited chant as we passed.

We drove to work. I didn't say anything, because my mind was on the bird, the inevitability of it all, and the tragedy that happens out of the blue. This is one of God's creatures and it's a stunning, ornithologist dream. I know Downies and Piliated, but I've always been fond of the Northern Flickers. I wondered what he (maybe she, but I'm guessing he) was doing when hitting the glass....a moment of distraction...a chase of a particularly delicious bug, a run from a hawk in pursuit of its own tasty toast. I don't know. The bang woke me up and I wanted to lay it to rest.

The casket came to work with me. Dodging morning traffic I continued my look to the sky, wishing the feathered phenomenon well.

Abu left the car and walked ahead of me. I still didn't say a thing, but carried the box in my right arm as I holsted my computer bag on my right shoulder. Abu entered Donnarumma Ding Dong, and I proceeded to the right by the large garbage bins.

"Bless that animal," I said, leaving him in an empty green canister. "I'm sure this isn't the way you wanted to go, but it's the best I could do."

And that's the way the morning began.

Keeping It In the Family and, Well, Generationally, with CWP. I Am in Awe At How Interconnected the Work Is We Do

This is just to say that several years ago I had an incredible teacher come through the Writing Institute, Tom Ward, and he not only endured a summer with me, but also several courses. He was an awesome educator with a sense of humor, passion, direction, and a justice mission.

Fast forward almost 8 years. A marriage, a rearrangement, and new brothers following suit, I was honored to have Tom's step-mom write to see about enrolling her three incredible young men into the program. I simply said, "A brother to Tom Ward is a brother to me. Bring them to CWP and let us see what we can do."

Wola! College Essay and Project Citizen! Boom! These 3 young men are making a name for themselves just like their older brother. They are incredible, admirable and hardworking young men. I can't believe what they'r accomplishing, but even better, how modest they are. They have the literacy proficiency of their older brother. Each stands bashful, but one on one I'm hearing from their instructors that they are powerhouses.

I am loving the fact that my work at CWP is now crossing generations. I'm in awe of the parental support, focus, and devotion behind these three kids.

Only time will tell the story behind this photo, but I for one and fully in belief of the power of family,. The Wards...well, they're family and I love them for this. Ha! The family that writes together, stays together! That might be another motto worth considering. 

We All Have These Moments...These Traditions...These Rituals...That Fill Our Hearts and Give Us Hope

We are in the 6th year of CWP redesign, and one of our rituals has been a literacy lab for immigrant and refugee background youth. We started with 12, moved to 20, and now average 20 to 30 students a summer. All of the kids come from Bridgeport Public Schools and many are affiliated with the Connecticut Institute for Refugees and Immigrants. This year, our numbers are lower than they have been in the past but that is likely the result of lower numbers of such families allowed in the country. Even so, we still do our part - what we believe to be the mission of the United States of America.

In our tradition, we host a dialogue day between in-practice teachers and kids attending Ubuntu Academy so that the young people have opportunity to share their stories, to practice their English, to ask questions of teachers in non-threatening ways and to enjoy the beauty of Fairfield University's campus. This year, the teachers and the kids are reading Jerry Craft's graphic novel, New Kid, and we worked through dialogue questions today surrounding the themes of that book: race, newness, America, access to schools of privilege, bullying, feeling an outsider, and parents (ah, those parents). The teachers spread across the campus with the kids and I told them they had 30 minutes.

Wrong. I knew it would happen. They took 60 minutes before they returned. Then, as the teachers returned, they reported how amazing the experience was to listen to youth about their lives and travels to the United States.

We are all stories and those fortunate to share them with others are lucky, indeed.

I came home from a fantastic day at the University to pick up my car (we'll see), weekwhacked the lawn, and then lost, beat, and lost to Abu in Cornhole (phew. The games were intense. We have a week left of game play).

Today is the last day of teachers and then we head into the final stretch. 200 kids, 40 educators, 210 hours of instructional activities over 6 weeks.

This is what I do for a living and I love every second of it.