This Sits Not Well With Me

“I'll prove mine honour and mine honesty

Against thee presently, if thou darest stand.” – Comedy of Errors (5.1. 1453-1455)

Day 3                                                             (7-7-2016)

We’ve done many great – if frustrating – exercises that work on movement, breathing, and team-building in our intern ensemble. And many that require working together and thinking quickly.

One of the most memorable ones was with three balls. In this exercise, we got in a circle and tossed Ball 1 stating as the ball traveled to another person in the circle our Name with a positive adjective with the same beginning letter or sound as our name, along with our Hometown and Hobby. Meanwhile, we were kicking Ball 2 stating the name of our first crush as it went to the person next to us, and bouncing Ball 3 with the name of our favorite fruit to another person. At times, one person had to manage all three balls at once.

Less memorable were the lines that I had to bring in today.

On Day 1, Tim and Doug asked me if I knew any verse from any of Will’s plays because I was going to need it. I searched my memory but came up mostly with one-liners mostly like “To be or not to be, that is the question” and “Out, out damn spot” or “Luke, I am your father” (okay, so that last one’s not right, but the relationship seems Shakespearean, no?).

I finally settled on Iago’s soliloquy when he reveals his villainous “double knavery” plot against Othello and Cassio. It was the only one I remembered for more than a couple of lines. (Actually I remembered 5.) Our homework was to memorize 12-14 lines of verse. I knew I had some work ahead of me. I spent a couple hours at my kitchen table committing each line to memory. I practiced it over and over in the car today on the 75-minute ride to Skidmore.

When I got there, Doug made us recite one line at a time while walking across the room, then taking a deep breath and turning 90 degrees before walking the next line. And I thought the 3 Ball Exercise was difficult. If I had been chewing gum while I was walking, breathing, turning and reciting, I might not have been able to remember any of the lines this time.

“When you practice your lines, don’t do them sitting down. That’s not the way you’re going to perform them,” Doug advised. Great. Now you tell me.

But I have to let that go. One of my goals is to live the lines, not just memorize them. And today’s theme is Release.

We begin in a different studio with mats on the floor. After stretching, we partner up and have to give each other a massage. My partner is Tommy. We’re encouraged to make sounds to let our partner know that we appreciate this. Feels a bit weird, but it works on communicating with your partner, works on breathing instead of holding your breath, and it adds to the release.

We then work with something called the Fitzmaurice Technique. This is a vocal technique developed by Catherine Fitzmaurice that deals with destructuring and restructuring. A couple of the interns had done some work with this technique before. It was completely new to me, and I had looked forward to learning more about voice because that is the least developed tool in my teaching arsenal.

Tim gave us a copy of an American Theatre article explaining the technique. I was surprised to find more prizes for the Teacher Me in the article. “It is primarily about getting rid of what’s familiar, what is habitual, what makes logical sense, what other people are asking you to do. And the restructuring is putting things back together from a more aware place, coming back to a very strong sense of focus, intention, functionality and structure in the work – but in a way that is simple, healthy and effective, while remaining organic.” I love that. It’s exactly what I do with my students with the Index Card Test (see previous post entitled All’s Well That Begins Well).

Fortunately, we didn’t have to do anything more with our lines today. (That’s the Student Me talking there, if you couldn’t tell). That work will begin tomorrow. Breathe.

You can see the full blog of my experiences this summer on the Saratoga Shakespeare Company website at www.saratogashakespeare.com and on my own Out of the Centrifuge blog at www.outofthecentrifuge.blogspot.com.

I Did Not Say Macb ...

Blackadder: Oh, incidentally, Baldrick - actors are very superstitious. On no account mention the word ‘Macbeth’ this evening, alright?

Baldrick: Why not?

Blackadder: It brings them bad luck and it makes them very unhappy.

Baldrick: Oh, so you won't be mentioning it either?

Blackadder: No... well, not very often.

Blackadder BBC TV show, Season 3, Episode 4 (1987)

Day 2                                                              (7-6-16)

Had two days off. Monday was just a warmup for the interns and then a full day of work on the company’s first summer production, Cyrano, which I’m not part of. Tuesday was move-in day for setting up the stage in Congress Park. I wasn’t required to be there either, and it’s a good thing.

You know how you wish an actor luck by saying, “Break a leg”? I guess I’m too literal. Actually, I didn’t break my leg, but just sprained a knee. I don’t know if that means I’m too committed to this project. Or maybe not committed enough.

And I never even said the name of the play that I’ve taught the past several years, Macb… er, the Scottish play. Okay, perhaps once or twice. It might be different saying the name of the play in the classroom, but ask any actor and they’ll warn you not to say it in the theater. I’ll try to heed their warning from now on. (Ouch.)

When the cast saw me walk in on crutches today, they of course wondered what happened. They didn’t know it occurred about 10 minutes into our warmup exercises on Day 1. (For the record, a spinning kick is not something I will do again as a warmup without 15 minutes first of pre-warmup.) I hobbled noticeably the remainder of that first session (making me feel really old, even if I am more than twice the age of most of the cast) but I didn’t notice a problem until I had trouble sleeping and getting up to walk in the morning. An UrgentCare visit on the Fourth of July yielded the crutches and an orthopedic visit the next day yielded the diagnosis (medial collateral ligament sprain), some therapeutic exercises and warnings to avoid jumping and side-to-side movement. In other words, avoid most of the physical activity we do to work on movement.

Fortunately, our instructors advised me to modify the movements and avoid anything I didn’t think I could do.

Speaking of which, I had a sudden realization (re: panic attack) that I have never read the play that we are performing. I’ve read a number of the Bard’s plays, and taught a few of the standards – Romeo and Juliet, Julius Caesar, Taming of the Shrew, Othello and of course the Scottish Play – but never the one that I will be performing, Much Ado About Nothing.

Hello, old friend Riverside Shakespeare (look for it on any English teacher’s desk or bookshelf). Time to crack your spine once again.

You can see the full blog of my experiences this summer on the Saratoga Shakespeare Company website at www.saratogashakespeare.com and on my own Out of the Centrifuge blog at www.outofthecentrifuge.blogspot.com.

All's Well That Begins Well

"Did you find me in yourself, sir? or were you

taught to find me? The search, sir, was profitable;

and much fool may you find in you, even to the

world's pleasure and the increase of laughter.”

– All’s Well That Ends Well (2.4. 1236-1239)

Day One                                                            (7-3-16)

Zounds! What have I gotten myself into?

I find myself in a studio on the second floor of the Bernhard Theater building at Skidmore College and introduced to 13 very talented interns and three great instructors. Who’s got the least experience in the room? Who do you think? I bet I can’t even beat the tables and chairs in that department. (Although I may have a chance against the thermostat.) The credits of this ensemble cast ranges from Shakespearean standards to Neil Simon, Cabaret, and even a Yiddish version of Death of a Salesman.

“Anxiety” is the theme of the day for me. It’s been many years since I’ve been the new kid, the stranger in a strange land. And as a teacher, it’s very discomfiting finding myself as the one in the room who knows the least about the subject matter. I don’t even know how to breathe correctly. (For the record, actors breathe in through the mouth, not the nose.)

Perhaps this is some karmic payback for all the years that I have confounded my own students with the Index Card Test. In this exercise, which I perform on the first day with a new class, I hand each student as they come in an index card with the lined side down. I then have them write on it the standard information that every teacher seeks on the first day: name, contact information, parents, favorite word, etc. (This past year yielded the word floccinaucinihilipilification, which was a new one on me, but I digress.)

After everyone finishes, I ask them how they did. They usually feel confident, but some start to become suspicious. Their forebodings are confirmed when I tell them that the “test” is not about the accuracy of the information provided, but rather which side of the index card they wrote on.

At this point, heads dart back and forth checking each other’s cards to see if they did it “right.” By right, I of course mean if they did it like everyone else. Psychologists have proven that people will go along with a group giving the wrong answer even when they know better. The majority always write on the lined side, and at least a few will smack their head when I point out that I handed them out with the blank side up.

There is no right or wrong in the Index Card Test. The exercise is designed to make students reflect on why they wrote on the side that they did. When asked, many say it’s because that’s what they were taught to do. And that’s my point. We can’t really learn, or create, or evolve as an individual or as a society if we just follow what everyone else says or does.

With this in mind, I find some comfort in beginning as the Beginner in this accomplished SSC group. After all, the Zen philosophy of the Beginner’s Mind says that one should approach every situation as if for the first time, regardless of their level of expertise, because for the beginner there are many opportunities but for the expert there are few.

Our instructors, Tim and Doug, keep telling is that there is no right or wrong way of doing things here, there’s just your individual way. Sounds very familiar.

Okay, so let the show begin…

You can see the full blog of my experiences this summer on the Saratoga Shakespeare Company website at www.saratogashakespeare.com and on my own Out of the Centrifuge blog at www.outofthecentrifuge.blogspot.com.

A Mid-Life Summer's Dream

“I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream.”

--A Midsummer Night’s Dream, 4.1.204-205

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When I decided on a career switch from newspaper reporting to a teaching many years ago, I knew I needed to shift my professional perspective. How would I change the semi-anonymous introvert behind the notepad into a “sage on the stage”?

So as I waited to begin my college studies to become a teacher, I figured the best course of action was to work as a guide on a haunted hayride and to study clowning. I could think of no better training for controlling an unpredictable group and developing a fearlessness about making mistakes.

Now I’m 17 years into my teaching career. I’ve taught several different high school English courses, earned national certification, even taught a graduate college class. Yet still I find the need for new challenges to keep energizing myself and my teaching, and to refine my focus and perspective. This year may be my greatest challenge yet, as I work as an intern for the Saratoga Shakespeare Company.

This opportunity began last summer. After watching SSC’s latest offering, Love’s Labour’s Lost, I thought how great it would be to join them on stage. It’s always been somewhat of a dream of mine to be an actor, although I have no real experience. (Unless you count a junior high production of Donald Payton’s The Boarding House Reach. I played the protagonist’s father, Mr. Maxwell.) I approached SSC directors Barbara and Lary Opitz and Tim Dugan after the show about the possibility of them taking on a teacher intern. Already they train a number of college students each year in the on-stage and behind-the-scenes workings of a professional Shakespearean production. Why not do the same for a local teacher? Someone who teaches Shakespeare, but doesn’t specifically teach or work in theater? Someone like me. (Okay, actually me.) What could be more natural than putting a teacher on a stage? Already, I “perform” in front of 125 students a day. I do about five 50-minute sets of “standup” (as in I rarely get a chance to sit) each day, five days a week, 40 weeks a year. 

And they said yes!

It was only then, with my dream about to become reality, that I realized (gulp!) that the thought of being on stage outside the classroom makes me as anxious as a bookworm asking the head cheerleader to the prom. (Something else I never did. Although I did play a good bookworm in high school.) But it is this very anxiety that shows me I must do this. I tell my students all the time to dream big and to work to fulfill their dreams. Now, after reaching my half-century mark, I figure it’s high time to practice what I teach.

And so, for five weeks this summer I will be a teacher intern in the Saratoga Shakespeare Company. What does that mean? That means that I will be training daily with an ensemble of 13 college interns to learn the ropes of staging and performing a Shakespearean production. That means I will be taking the same classes learning about voice, movement, and other components of the theater. And that means that I will take part in one of these Shakespearean productions. (Breathe.) Our intern show will be a traveling production of the comedy Much Ado About Nothing. The intern production lands in Congress Park on Aug. 6 at 2 p.m.

Despite the anxiety, I am ecstatic about this opportunity that SSC is giving me. “I have had a dream,” as Bottom put it, and now thanks to SSC I get to live it.

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Check out the Saratoga Shakespeare Company website at www.SaratogaShakespeare.com and like it out on Facebook.

A Rumsfeld-ian Take on the Traditional KWL Chart

In a February 2002 news briefing, U.S. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld gave the following famous/infamous quote. Responding to a reporter’s question about the lack of evidence linking the government of Iraq with the supply of weapons of mass destruction to terrorist groups, Rumsfeld stated: “Reports that say there's -- that something hasn't happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things that we know that we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns, the ones we don't know we don't know.”

The statement is an example of Rumsfeld’s mastery of obfuscation, saying something while saying nothing, but in education we can apply it as a model for student’s understanding, or lack of understanding. The classic KWL chart has students list in three columns the things that they Know, the things that they Want to know, and later the things that they have Learned.

K

W

L

This new chart allows students to list initially Known Knowns and Known Unknowns – things they know they know and things they know they don’t know – and later list things Unknown Unknowns and Unknown Knowns – things they didn’t know and, more importantly, things that they didn’t know that they had known.

Known Knowns	Unknown Knowns
Known Unknowns	Unknown Unknowns

I think there are similar versions of this chart out there, but I was interested in experimenting with it. What do you think? Let me know your thoughts on this, or your experience if you have used something like this and how it's worked, or your experience if you try this and how it worked. And I'll do the same.

Freedom Writer Poetry

I recently had an amazing experience at the Freedom Writers Institute in Long Beach, California. I often felt on the periphery of things, as usual, as people opened up about their experiences in teaching and in life. I didn't hit my cathartic "Freedom Writer" moment until Day 4 of 5. We began our full day at the Museum of Tolerance and after our first activity, which quizzed our knowledge of problems around the world, we were asked about how we felt. Many people said "mad." I said that I actually felt sad, but that I realized that sadness was a passive emotion and that what I needed to get to was the mad so that I would be able to do something about it. "You just quoted Malcolm X," our hip young tour guide replied. (Whoa! I'd better read more about and from him.)

Still not my FW moment.

After going through the Holocaust exhibit and listening to the testimony of Auschwitz survivor Elisabeth Mann, I had my reckoning. How can I maintain the carefully-created facade of being unaffected and unemotional in the light of these powerful stories? I'm a "recovering" journalist, but that's not it. For the longest time, I blamed my aloofness on my jobs: maintaining an arm's length as a journalist to be objective, and as a teacher to be professional. But now I had to confront the question of whether I had chosen these professions to give myself the excuse to remain on the periphery.

One of the biggest lessons I learned from the Freedom Writers Institute is that, given a choice, we always retreat to our comfort zones. Knowing that bit of human nature, we need to take people out of their comfort zones and create new comfort zones.

I couldn't process this with everyone around, and didn't want to break down in front of everyone, and fortunately I did not have to because it was our lunch break. I pulled aside two wonderful FW staffers and said I desperately needed a journal. They said they could probably get me individual sheets of paper, but I knew that wouldn't work. Neither would the wallet-sized notepads they had in the MOT gift shop. When the cashier pulled a fancy journal out of the Anne Frank section, I said "I'll take it!" without even looking at the price. (Still haven't.) I went outside and wrote 18 pages trying to clarify what was happening.

I'm still not ready to share that, but I wanted to provide some backgrounding for what I will share.

In our last group activity, on Day 5, we all got to say a little something. I waited, not wanted to take anyone's space, especially those in the early departure groups, because I knew my sharing would take a little longer. I had decided that I would share a bit of poetry, something that I usually don't write and something that I largely do not share. But since the mantra that I brought out of the FW Institute was "Bring it!" I knew that I had to do this. I went back to the work I shared in my Oct. 23, 2011, post entitled "Poetry 102." But I knew I couldn't share the light, heart-warming personal poem that Taylor Mali brought out of me and that I presented in front of him in a NYSEC workshop, but the more angry version that I had worked on myself. This was "inspired" by the BBC radio reports I had heard in October of 2011 about a 2-year-old girl from China who had walked out the back door of her parent's restaurant into an alley and was struck not once, but twice. The video (which my wife suggested I watch if I was going to write about it) shows how people went by her without helping. I got mad, and I had to write. The first thing that ran through my mind was "She was only 2. They were 18." And I let my enraged muse take it from there. And on the morning of Day 5, I decided to let my muse post an addendum to include my FW experience.

So here is my poem (rough as it is):


SHE WAS ONLY TWO

She was only 2.
They were 18.
She lay bleeding and suffering on the sidewalk.
They drove or walked by, unblinking, unseeing, unhelping.

She was only 2.
They are 1.3 billion.
They are evolving to a fast-paced, consumer-driven economic power full of hope.
She was evolving into a beautiful life, as any toddler, full of hope.

She was only 2.
We are 7 billion.
She, like any child, looked at the world with searching eyes.
We race through life, seeing only the next thing we “need” to do, the next thing we “need” to buy, the last thing we did, the last person who screwed us, and a hundred million other pieces of fucking nonsense.

Our children are our future.
But they are also our teachers, teaching us
how to slow down
how to enjoy,
if only we will watch and listen
with open eyes and a caring heart,
not pass them by
without a second look.

She was only 2.

I am only one. 
They are numberless;
The vocal critics, the doubters, the haters, 
And not just outside my school.
I am on an island, alone, sad, feeling run over every single day. 

But now ...

I am a Freedom Writer teacher
I am legion
I am part of something that is more than myself
And for the first time I have people to watch my back.
And it is the critics, the doubters, and the haters that have to fear my headlights.
I won't hurt them, I won't hate them, I won't hit them, 
I will feel sorry for them
I will forgive them.
But they should note my speed and get out of my way,
Because I am sharing the 2 year old from China to restore my kids' curious eyes,
I am slowing down life in my classroom, looking at everything, outside and in, and shielding my students from all the fucking nonsense that seeks to run them down and leave them dying in the street.
They will be revived, restored and recharged every day in my classroom, and go out every day and share the story of the 2 year old from China, 
And the story of the 18 blind witnesses,
And the story of Room AB18,
And their own valuable stories,
And change their world 
And they will be part of the movement.

I am only one
And one can be a powerful number. 

50 Shades of Red

From: Me

Subject: Why?

Date: October 19 2012 12:30 EST

To: My darling Risse

“Why did I ever agree to do this?”

The question spilled out of me as I talked to you this morning about my looming hour-long presentation for my state English conference.

You know I have presented here before, once as part of a group in a writing workshop setting, once as part of a dual lesson presentation linked thematically with another teacher, and last year my first time solo-ing. And I – like you – “present” every day in front of a group of demanding high school juniors and seniors. But the ante is upped when you’re in front of your peers, even if they’re strangers.

“How do I look? Do I have my copies of my packet packed? Do I have my extra paper and markers? Is my opening strong enough? What about the closing? How risky/risqué should I get, with the title of my presentation referencing the very non-English curriculum book 50 Shades of Grey?” And a little irrational Sally Field voice stirs in the back of my mind, “Will they really like me?”

I should have waited until I had my answer.

The presentation was called “50 Shades of Love: Exploring the Lost Genre of Letter Writing.” It was an appeal to teachers to think about teaching a universal theme that is often overlooked: love. And to use a genre that is becoming antiquated: letter writing. The 50 Shades reference was at first just a creative hook, something I always appreciate in choosing presentations to attend, and one you warned me against. But it became a link that I used after reading the book, at your urging, before the conference.

The presentation was admittedly shaky at parts. Perhaps it wasn’t the best strategy to approach an unknown audience by comparing the theme of the book to the total control that administrators expect us to have in the classroom, nor re-reading Christian Grey’s rules for a sexual relationship substituting “Student” every time it said “Submissive” and “Teacher” when it said “Dominant.” Granted, I took out all of the sexual references in it, but still it seemed a good idea at the time. (Example: “The Student will obey any instructions given by the Teacher immediately without hesitation or reservation and in an expeditious manner.”) I can almost see you rolling your eyes at me. It was a risk, I admit, especially with people who don’t know me or how to take me.

Thinking silver lining, however, I was able to bring it around and get the group interaction and discussion going as I had planned as my major goal. And getting participants to write a love letter, or at least a note of appreciation. (I even wrote one myself, for you.)

So, back to the question. “Why did I ever agree to do this?”

I asked another presenter the question to help get an answer. She said she did it as a condition of getting a $500 mini-grant. “Did you get a grant?” she asked.

“No.”

She continued that another possible reason was that we enjoy sharing with fellow English teachers and pre-service teachers something that we’ve taught that worked.

“I never taught this lesson before.”

So still no answer, but I’m glad I asked the question. Because it got me to continue the inquiry that began the first thing this morning, and find my own answer. When the pressure was off.

I did the presentation because I want people to look at things differently. It’s been my major theme with my students for years. You can’t settle for things as they always have been, because times change and you need to be adaptable to any change, I say.

So the way that I should have framed it, to both the veteran teachers and the pre-service teachers, is this:

     I want you to look at what you do. And I want you to look at what the state and federal      

     government mandate that you do. And I want you to put that all aside, because I want to talk to 

     you about looking at yourself, and having your students look at themselves, in a different way.

     When is the last time you explained to someone that you love them? When is the last time that 

     you put it in writing? What has happened to the “love” letter? What has happened to the art 

     of written romance?

     With most people choosing to express their feelings in an email, or tweet, or text message, or 

     sext-message, what are we doing as teachers to teach students about expressing themselves 

     properly, elegantly, in dealing with this most basic of human emotions? What are we having 

     them read to show role models in this universal theme -- Romeo and Juliet? What are we having 

     them write that is as motivating as the expression of love?

     And so in my presentation I give you historical and fictional love letters, from people like Abigail 

     Adams and Macbeth, who really knew how to express their feelings to “My Dearest Friend” 

     and “my dearest partner of greatness.” I give you a guiding structure for the love letter. But most 

     of all, I give you the time here today to write to your significant other, or someone who has had a 

     big influence on you, or someone who has made a difference in your life. And I implore you to 

     give them this letter. And get your students to write and send their letters of love and/or 

     appreciation. Writing doesn’t have to be an assignment, it can be a gift.

That’s what I should have said, if only I had been less concerned with the anxiety of doing what I thought I had to and focused more on what I really wanted to share. And maybe it’s the new reality all teachers face every day in education with the new standards and assessments.

So before I get back to checking how my sub did -- and in this case I do mean by substitute, not Submissive:) -- or get back to lesson planning, or grading, or cleaning the house, or all the million other things that are tangled up in everyday life as a professional, a husband and a father, let me make sure I take my own advice.

Here, Risse, is my gift to you:

When I first saw you smile, I was enticed.

When you held my hand, unexpectedly,

I was entranced.

But when you said “I do,” I was utterly

ridiculously

exquisitely

head-over-heels

happy.

Laters, baby.