Snowflakes drifted out of an unwashed grey sky and began to suffocate the familiar shapes and colours of the school playground…etc. etc.
It is time to talk about snow again the weather has hinted rather unsubtly, whilst we were still in October and on summer tyres. Snow always raises controversy the moment a child gathers some and begins to shape a sphere. At this point a polemic develops amongst the adult sections of our community as to whether snowballing is a good thing or a bad thing. There’s no room for grey between this black and this white. The kids need no such debate, of course; most head straight to the white stuff or away from it, minds already made up.
The question is whether snow is dangerous. In the past few years folks from North America have tended to answer ‘yes’ and Europeans to answer ‘no’. In Europe humankind has more or less domesticated snow and with its unique talent turned it into a money-spinner and an expensive one at that. Snow is a source of fun over here. We can turn it into heaps of sport and recreation forms. We tend not to get combination of the quantities and the vast terrain mix that produce danger. Unless we are pretty stupid or vastly unlucky getting lost in a white wilderness with consequent treacherous disorientation and hypothermia is an experience we can avoid. Off piste skiing when avalanche risk notices have been posted is the main and rather too frequent example of the stupid.
On the campus of ICS the real risk is of a snowball in the face which can be very nasty. So what do we do about this? We have a policy at present that allows children to throw snowballs once they enter the secondary school. But we stipulate and monitor closely certain conditions. The Field is the only permitted snowball area, so that a child who does not want a close encounter of a cold kind can roam the rest of the campus in peace (and warmth). Those who go on the Field know that there will be snowballing. Members of staff are at the edge of the Field during breaks and are ready to intervene or even close the Field if the play gets too rough. As soon as the temperature rises and the snow gets soft we lock the field and snowballing becomes but a dim memory, for this is when snow becomes icy and the resulting snowballs are too hard for friendly play. Further, ganging up on children or snow fights involving much younger kids against much older and stronger are not allowed. Nor is face washing, nor is the deliberate making of icy snowballs. If Jemima were to break one of these rules she would be sent inside for the remainder of the break with a stern warning. So you can see the teachers are busy and mostly unappreciated out there getting cold whilst protecting safety.
But wouldn’t it be easier just to ban snowballing? Yes, it would; and all body contact sports and roller blades and climbing frames and kickboards and skateboards… you see where this is leading: the elimination of outdoor education’s relevance to the IB learner profile. The ICS does not have a prohibitive philosophy or mission statement; rather it is an enabling one. So children need to have the time and space and permission and supervision to learn about fair play and safety and consideration whilst at the same time working off all that surplus energy. They need a break from lessons and classes and walls and instructions in the middle of the day. They need and deserve fun.
But this is so unfair on the girls, someone irately commented last year. Well, no, not really. Lots of girls are out there on the Field joining in. They also gather are on the perimeter egging their favoured boy to deeds of greater gallantry. Remember, too, that everywhere else is snowball free. Remember that the days of safe snowballing could recently be counted on the fingers of two hands. Finally, remember this policy is not set in concrete. The situation is discussed each year and change therefore is always possible.
Thursday, 6 November 2008
Friday, 24 October 2008
Dean's Blog 'Cows'
(Another one for the DOZ list this week:
‘Oh, can’t I?’ said the driver as she left the car parked on the big yellow drop off signs on the tarmac and under a yellow notice…)
It was a chill, grey, late autumn mist in mid September that spread across the field as though dawn had tried and then given up on lighting the planet this morning, or at least that bit that included Wangen (ZH). There was a group of a dozen and a half cows in the near part of the field looming out of the gloomy morning mist. The cows puzzled me. Normal cows eat grass and flick their tails at the same time. Cunning that. Except when they lie down they do this all day. This seems to be the sole point of cows. These weren’t. Instead, they were standing totally, uncannily still stiffly facing a variety of directions, as though some giant child had just taken them out of his toy cupboard and placed them in a group near the fence. The scene was like the age very young children go through when they play next to rather than play with another child. These were clearly not playing. Presumably unwittingly, they reflected all the horrors of a chill, damp, early Monday morning after a wet weekend in October, which is where I was at.
However, they did get me thinking about something that happened in the Dean’s Office the previous week. A student asked to speak with me about a pending situation that this student could clearly see was most likely to spiral out of control and then cause a very difficult situation out of which this student felt climbing was no option. Reputation would be damaged and college entry threatened. Why? Because teenage patience, dignity, reputation and respect were being threatened to destruction by another student. Since student two was in a younger grade than him, student one knew he would be blamed if there was trouble. He understood the implications and reasons. And this was happening publicly and with increasing frequency. Recent history showed this student that a satisfactory remedy was not on the peer personal menu of student two as all attempts to reason had been rejected. So it was time to seek an adult’s advice. I felt thrilled, of course. Here was the perfect model of a student maturing rapidly and sufficiently proactively to obviate a poor decision. Everything we try to instil in students had been internalised. Appropriate measures had been tried. Sensible alternatives had been considered and then prioritised. One had been decided on independently. Already half a dozen boxes on the IB Learner Profile had been checked. Whichever way I examined this particular model it seemed valid.
‘Yes,’ you are saying. ‘Well, that’s good. But where do the cows come in?’ Well, hang on in there. So the student and I devised a strategy together. (Collaboration is under Communication on the IB Learner Profile). The student examined each stage and each proposal showing wisdom beyond his calendar age. Everyone had to be winners; no one need have a dented ego. Respect must be maintained. Cooperation was the target outcome. Has it worked? Well, there’s no Hollywood ending to this anecdote as it is too early to tell and there are too many behavioural variables. But so far there has been no further incident so we are both confident the tense stage is over for this student.
And the cows? Well, I was coming to them…
‘Oh, can’t I?’ said the driver as she left the car parked on the big yellow drop off signs on the tarmac and under a yellow notice…)
It was a chill, grey, late autumn mist in mid September that spread across the field as though dawn had tried and then given up on lighting the planet this morning, or at least that bit that included Wangen (ZH). There was a group of a dozen and a half cows in the near part of the field looming out of the gloomy morning mist. The cows puzzled me. Normal cows eat grass and flick their tails at the same time. Cunning that. Except when they lie down they do this all day. This seems to be the sole point of cows. These weren’t. Instead, they were standing totally, uncannily still stiffly facing a variety of directions, as though some giant child had just taken them out of his toy cupboard and placed them in a group near the fence. The scene was like the age very young children go through when they play next to rather than play with another child. These were clearly not playing. Presumably unwittingly, they reflected all the horrors of a chill, damp, early Monday morning after a wet weekend in October, which is where I was at.
However, they did get me thinking about something that happened in the Dean’s Office the previous week. A student asked to speak with me about a pending situation that this student could clearly see was most likely to spiral out of control and then cause a very difficult situation out of which this student felt climbing was no option. Reputation would be damaged and college entry threatened. Why? Because teenage patience, dignity, reputation and respect were being threatened to destruction by another student. Since student two was in a younger grade than him, student one knew he would be blamed if there was trouble. He understood the implications and reasons. And this was happening publicly and with increasing frequency. Recent history showed this student that a satisfactory remedy was not on the peer personal menu of student two as all attempts to reason had been rejected. So it was time to seek an adult’s advice. I felt thrilled, of course. Here was the perfect model of a student maturing rapidly and sufficiently proactively to obviate a poor decision. Everything we try to instil in students had been internalised. Appropriate measures had been tried. Sensible alternatives had been considered and then prioritised. One had been decided on independently. Already half a dozen boxes on the IB Learner Profile had been checked. Whichever way I examined this particular model it seemed valid.
‘Yes,’ you are saying. ‘Well, that’s good. But where do the cows come in?’ Well, hang on in there. So the student and I devised a strategy together. (Collaboration is under Communication on the IB Learner Profile). The student examined each stage and each proposal showing wisdom beyond his calendar age. Everyone had to be winners; no one need have a dented ego. Respect must be maintained. Cooperation was the target outcome. Has it worked? Well, there’s no Hollywood ending to this anecdote as it is too early to tell and there are too many behavioural variables. But so far there has been no further incident so we are both confident the tense stage is over for this student.
And the cows? Well, I was coming to them…
Dean's Blog 'The Grey Wall 2.0'
‘An unseasonably chilly rain was slicking and polishing the grey concrete etc. etc.’
Actually, the other day a twelfth grade studentess dropped into my little office in the MB. She had never been there as these students spend most of their lesson time and all of their free time in and around the DSC. ‘I don’t see why you were complaining about your view, Mr D. it’s not that bad. I mean you can see quite a large strip of grass as well as the concrete wall!’ Such positivism really cheered me up as it was clear she meant it. Mind you, she was standing up; when you sit down naturally the window sill as horizon raises itself to cover the lower part of the view and bang goes a heap of my grass. But then you see a little bit of sky, she pointed out. But the positive comment, the ‘glass half full’ attitude, had me reflecting on just this remarkable aspect of teenagers. They will fall about in class till 10.00 am, moaning about lack of sleep and the presence of acute hunger. They will allege that they had a boring evening, too, and that they have a maths test for the third week running, a science lab write-up and a humanities essay all due today, rolling their eyes the while with pantomime drama. Having been shown a suitable lack of sympathy in response, however, (‘Go to bed earlier.’ ‘This is a school, you know.’ etc. which is what they really expected in the first place) they charge off at the sight of their friends to play a noisy version of football that seems to entail kicking the ball as hard as possible over the Red Top fence and into the school drive as often as possible within the time available, part of the thrill being, presumably, whether it bounces on the roof of a car. Or they create a rugby scrum like huddle of gossiping that produces both sudden and random screams of laughter and horror, or exaggerated exclamations of total disbelief that threaten to damage the delicate workings of the adult human’s inner ear. No sign of depression, deathly fatigue or near starvation there. Their experience is limited, protected as it should be. Their experience tells them that life will improve dramatically and radically in a moment as it always has and always did.
But there are so many bunches of kids, as we know, in so many environmentally and socially impoverished places on the planet where their far too extensive, negative experience will tell them that life will not get better, that it will most probably get much worse very soon as it tends to, that help and peace and a cessation of pain or fear or hunger are not even worth considering. You know all this as well as I. (I was in Zimbabwe at the end of March for a few days. On the night the rumour spread that the government had been defeated in the elections in this township the elation and relief were infectious. Three weeks later these same joyful people were being hunted down and abused.)
ICS has an unbroken tradition of making a specific difference to the lives of communities and, through sponsorships, to specific children, since the late ‘60s. And grade 9’s programme for the recent IB MYP Areas of Interaction Activity Week continued, improved, and broadened this tradition. The focus was ‘Children at Risk’. But when this other world is introduced to our world, it is essential (and not so easy) not to produce hopeless feelings of guilt or indignation or despair in our students at the size of the situation. A careful programme of information, films, research, creative writing, pod casts and drama as well as the presentation of valid, possible and available ways to make a difference, had been prepared by the relevant staff. The timetable was flexible so that activities were lasting a morning or a day or even 48 hours. The students’ enthusiasm grew rapidly and the quality of perception in their reflections was impressive. Last week, therefore, grade 9’s location was really rather a wonderful place to be.
Actually, the other day a twelfth grade studentess dropped into my little office in the MB. She had never been there as these students spend most of their lesson time and all of their free time in and around the DSC. ‘I don’t see why you were complaining about your view, Mr D. it’s not that bad. I mean you can see quite a large strip of grass as well as the concrete wall!’ Such positivism really cheered me up as it was clear she meant it. Mind you, she was standing up; when you sit down naturally the window sill as horizon raises itself to cover the lower part of the view and bang goes a heap of my grass. But then you see a little bit of sky, she pointed out. But the positive comment, the ‘glass half full’ attitude, had me reflecting on just this remarkable aspect of teenagers. They will fall about in class till 10.00 am, moaning about lack of sleep and the presence of acute hunger. They will allege that they had a boring evening, too, and that they have a maths test for the third week running, a science lab write-up and a humanities essay all due today, rolling their eyes the while with pantomime drama. Having been shown a suitable lack of sympathy in response, however, (‘Go to bed earlier.’ ‘This is a school, you know.’ etc. which is what they really expected in the first place) they charge off at the sight of their friends to play a noisy version of football that seems to entail kicking the ball as hard as possible over the Red Top fence and into the school drive as often as possible within the time available, part of the thrill being, presumably, whether it bounces on the roof of a car. Or they create a rugby scrum like huddle of gossiping that produces both sudden and random screams of laughter and horror, or exaggerated exclamations of total disbelief that threaten to damage the delicate workings of the adult human’s inner ear. No sign of depression, deathly fatigue or near starvation there. Their experience is limited, protected as it should be. Their experience tells them that life will improve dramatically and radically in a moment as it always has and always did.
But there are so many bunches of kids, as we know, in so many environmentally and socially impoverished places on the planet where their far too extensive, negative experience will tell them that life will not get better, that it will most probably get much worse very soon as it tends to, that help and peace and a cessation of pain or fear or hunger are not even worth considering. You know all this as well as I. (I was in Zimbabwe at the end of March for a few days. On the night the rumour spread that the government had been defeated in the elections in this township the elation and relief were infectious. Three weeks later these same joyful people were being hunted down and abused.)
ICS has an unbroken tradition of making a specific difference to the lives of communities and, through sponsorships, to specific children, since the late ‘60s. And grade 9’s programme for the recent IB MYP Areas of Interaction Activity Week continued, improved, and broadened this tradition. The focus was ‘Children at Risk’. But when this other world is introduced to our world, it is essential (and not so easy) not to produce hopeless feelings of guilt or indignation or despair in our students at the size of the situation. A careful programme of information, films, research, creative writing, pod casts and drama as well as the presentation of valid, possible and available ways to make a difference, had been prepared by the relevant staff. The timetable was flexible so that activities were lasting a morning or a day or even 48 hours. The students’ enthusiasm grew rapidly and the quality of perception in their reflections was impressive. Last week, therefore, grade 9’s location was really rather a wonderful place to be.
The Accidental Death of a Boy in Morning Traffic
That morning had the signs, I guess,
The frosty light refused to grow,
The damp and cold and bitterness
Clung onto pavements white with snow.
Cars stood steaming in the cold
Impatient when the lights turned red;
Drivers occupied with phones,
Distracting children late to bed,
GPS and babies’ cries,
Radio news and texts to send,
Late appointments fixed with lies,
Enough to drive you round the bend.
A car accelerated now,
(The distant traffic lights turned green)
As focus on the phone hid how
A teenage boy in hood and jeans
Had raced his bike across the road.
He did not signal, did not look
He had no lights, no fear, no load
Of bag or books. That’s all it took,
The bike and car will occupy
Too small a space outside the school
Thus turning morning routine rides
To noise and shock and pain so cruel.
Only half awake at eight
A headstrong, happy handsome boy
A boy who knew that he was late,
Seduced by speed, the wind was joy.
That lithe, athletic boy just flew
Across the greasy tarmac, smashed
Against the hood and bounced off stone
As screams and paint and blood and bone
Spilled out to chill the startled air.
Now cars moved on, the buses too,
And no one seemed to see or care
About that scene now out of view.
Nick Darlington
The frosty light refused to grow,
The damp and cold and bitterness
Clung onto pavements white with snow.
Cars stood steaming in the cold
Impatient when the lights turned red;
Drivers occupied with phones,
Distracting children late to bed,
GPS and babies’ cries,
Radio news and texts to send,
Late appointments fixed with lies,
Enough to drive you round the bend.
A car accelerated now,
(The distant traffic lights turned green)
As focus on the phone hid how
A teenage boy in hood and jeans
Had raced his bike across the road.
He did not signal, did not look
He had no lights, no fear, no load
Of bag or books. That’s all it took,
The bike and car will occupy
Too small a space outside the school
Thus turning morning routine rides
To noise and shock and pain so cruel.
Only half awake at eight
A headstrong, happy handsome boy
A boy who knew that he was late,
Seduced by speed, the wind was joy.
That lithe, athletic boy just flew
Across the greasy tarmac, smashed
Against the hood and bounced off stone
As screams and paint and blood and bone
Spilled out to chill the startled air.
Now cars moved on, the buses too,
And no one seemed to see or care
About that scene now out of view.
Nick Darlington
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
The Grey Wall
Here we go again…a non-contact period, a blank white ‘page’ on the Microsoft Office screen and chilly, slanting rain sliding down my office window smearing my view of a soiled grey concrete wall…not much there for inspiration. And suddenly my doorway darkens with the figure of a student.
I have now been interrupted, willingly, by four different groups of students who were variously asking for information, telling me information or just coming in to say hello. Sorry, make that five as two 5th grade girls just came by, stopped to say hello, tell me about the assembly they were practising a poem recital for (they are nervous but are really doing it for their friend’s sake as she likes performing and they do not want to let her down) and ask me if I liked my job. So this topic is now what I want to write about.
ICS has always had a culture of communication between the adults and the children. As long as I can remember and that is nearly as long as Mr. Mills or Mr. Greaves can, children have felt comfortable coming up to us to chat about whatever they are enjoying or what ever is troubling them, spontaneously, openly. This is a pedagogical characteristic that is precious and cannot easily be bought, taught or acquired by attending a seminar. It would seem that the kids pass it on by doing it and therefore modelling it in front of new students or members of a group; that new teachers quickly realise it is a wonderful, essential part of the ICS style and absorb it..
As a result it is relatively rare compared to other schools in our collective experience, that a major event, a hurricane of a bad decision if I may use an unfortunately topical meteorological metaphor, strikes our ‘island’ without some advance warning. The warning is almost always accurate. The spirit of the warning is almost always the need to protect a friend from her/himself as a temptation or action or dialogue is on the brink of being enacted which would cause unfortunate reputational damage to its enactor.
No, I am not talking about kids telling tales or sneaking. This confidence sharing is altogether something far more sophisticated and valuable. I am talking about a child supporting a friend during difficult times of ‘teenagerhood’, of offering help and advice (forcefully if necessary) out of community concern, of risking damaging their relationship in the interest of helping their friend. This is altruism. And as a result a huge amount of my dean’s time is spent just listening, and then asking what it is a student wants me to do (maybe it is just to listen as good listeners seem to be a dying breed), asking what she/he had done so far, constructing an action plan, and dropping hints in the appropriate ear. What might I be doing during dean’s time in different educational culture? Well, I would be lecturing, ticking off, assigning punishment (or sanction or consequences or mandating a conversation - whichever is the current PC phrase). I would be seeing aggressive and uncooperative and sad teenagers, maybe the same old faces of repeat offenders and not really achieving much in the way of amelioration.
To end on a personal and parental note, I was so pleased that my teenage son found someone in his very strict Swiss secondary school to whom he could open up, as there are always going to be heaps of things that teens just do not want to discuss with us, their parents, right now. And be assure that ICS is full of such adults.
I have now been interrupted, willingly, by four different groups of students who were variously asking for information, telling me information or just coming in to say hello. Sorry, make that five as two 5th grade girls just came by, stopped to say hello, tell me about the assembly they were practising a poem recital for (they are nervous but are really doing it for their friend’s sake as she likes performing and they do not want to let her down) and ask me if I liked my job. So this topic is now what I want to write about.
ICS has always had a culture of communication between the adults and the children. As long as I can remember and that is nearly as long as Mr. Mills or Mr. Greaves can, children have felt comfortable coming up to us to chat about whatever they are enjoying or what ever is troubling them, spontaneously, openly. This is a pedagogical characteristic that is precious and cannot easily be bought, taught or acquired by attending a seminar. It would seem that the kids pass it on by doing it and therefore modelling it in front of new students or members of a group; that new teachers quickly realise it is a wonderful, essential part of the ICS style and absorb it..
As a result it is relatively rare compared to other schools in our collective experience, that a major event, a hurricane of a bad decision if I may use an unfortunately topical meteorological metaphor, strikes our ‘island’ without some advance warning. The warning is almost always accurate. The spirit of the warning is almost always the need to protect a friend from her/himself as a temptation or action or dialogue is on the brink of being enacted which would cause unfortunate reputational damage to its enactor.
No, I am not talking about kids telling tales or sneaking. This confidence sharing is altogether something far more sophisticated and valuable. I am talking about a child supporting a friend during difficult times of ‘teenagerhood’, of offering help and advice (forcefully if necessary) out of community concern, of risking damaging their relationship in the interest of helping their friend. This is altruism. And as a result a huge amount of my dean’s time is spent just listening, and then asking what it is a student wants me to do (maybe it is just to listen as good listeners seem to be a dying breed), asking what she/he had done so far, constructing an action plan, and dropping hints in the appropriate ear. What might I be doing during dean’s time in different educational culture? Well, I would be lecturing, ticking off, assigning punishment (or sanction or consequences or mandating a conversation - whichever is the current PC phrase). I would be seeing aggressive and uncooperative and sad teenagers, maybe the same old faces of repeat offenders and not really achieving much in the way of amelioration.
To end on a personal and parental note, I was so pleased that my teenage son found someone in his very strict Swiss secondary school to whom he could open up, as there are always going to be heaps of things that teens just do not want to discuss with us, their parents, right now. And be assure that ICS is full of such adults.
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
welcome Back IF...
‘Welcome back!’ That’s what I want to say. Not original, not at all and you will hear many people say this many, many times, of course, over the first few days. This traditional greeting is symbolic, semiotic even, and stands for fond messages, good wishes and hopes for a pleasant vacation, saying the socially correct thing at the right occasion and all sorts of other subtexts depending on status of speaker, status of speakee and the situation (and in the UK the weather, of course.)
I, too, have a subtext as Dean of Students which runs something like this:
If you are new to our rather special ICS society then a very sincere welcome indeed!
If you are one of our wonderfully supportive parents or guardians, or…
If you are one of our charming, motivated and exemplary students then you are more welcome than I can express in a short Blog; these people are in a vast majority.
If you are a teenager then you are especially welcome if your intention is to work to improve your performance in as many school relevant areas as possible and to become an example of a successful and fun kid contributing to and benefiting from the academic, the sport, the artistic and the social aspects of the curriculum.
If you have occasionally and in exceptional circumstances parked your car where it is not supposed to go (we clearly indicate where for the safety of the students and smooth running of the school) or have driven down the driveway on the phone or with a cup of hot coffee in your hand but will never do this again and indeed you will encourage others to follow your example, then you are exceptionally welcome.
If you have been entered in the Dean’s Log in the past but intend never to repeat this experience then to you a special welcome back to the fold.
And as a colleague pointed out to me, if you all do all of this then I, in my role as Dean of Students, could be out of a job…
I, too, have a subtext as Dean of Students which runs something like this:
If you are new to our rather special ICS society then a very sincere welcome indeed!
If you are one of our wonderfully supportive parents or guardians, or…
If you are one of our charming, motivated and exemplary students then you are more welcome than I can express in a short Blog; these people are in a vast majority.
If you are a teenager then you are especially welcome if your intention is to work to improve your performance in as many school relevant areas as possible and to become an example of a successful and fun kid contributing to and benefiting from the academic, the sport, the artistic and the social aspects of the curriculum.
If you have occasionally and in exceptional circumstances parked your car where it is not supposed to go (we clearly indicate where for the safety of the students and smooth running of the school) or have driven down the driveway on the phone or with a cup of hot coffee in your hand but will never do this again and indeed you will encourage others to follow your example, then you are exceptionally welcome.
If you have been entered in the Dean’s Log in the past but intend never to repeat this experience then to you a special welcome back to the fold.
And as a colleague pointed out to me, if you all do all of this then I, in my role as Dean of Students, could be out of a job…
Monday, 25 August 2008
Final Blog of the Year
Another year of Deaning and the first year of The Dean’s Blog has come and gone.
The Dean of Students has subdivided into the Deans of Duties, Food Queues, Hats on in the Dining Room whilst Eating, Red Top is a Non Eating Zone, Red Top Usage, Poor Decision Making, Occasional Bullying, Occasional Disrespect, Snowballs, Blocked Toilets, Graffitied Desks and Doors, Late to Class, ‘Not on the Field today, it’s too wet!’, ‘It’s not fair…’, ‘It wasn’t me…’, and more.
Blogs have been written about behaviour and neighbours and rain and the library and Africa and helicopters and animal traces, not to mention teenage dialect and losing things or having them stolen and forgetfulness and breaking rules and the nature of the (teenage) beast, as well as ‘Why can’t I? Why shouldn’t I? and moments of despair and of fulfillment for parents, and more.
There were a below average number of Deanworthy events to log. Deanish interviews were at the usual level and there was a lower than average range of behaviours. Kids talking and thinking twice and not going ahead with the wrong decision seemed up. Repeat offenders were down.
Balance? A good year overall.
The Dean of Students has subdivided into the Deans of Duties, Food Queues, Hats on in the Dining Room whilst Eating, Red Top is a Non Eating Zone, Red Top Usage, Poor Decision Making, Occasional Bullying, Occasional Disrespect, Snowballs, Blocked Toilets, Graffitied Desks and Doors, Late to Class, ‘Not on the Field today, it’s too wet!’, ‘It’s not fair…’, ‘It wasn’t me…’, and more.
Blogs have been written about behaviour and neighbours and rain and the library and Africa and helicopters and animal traces, not to mention teenage dialect and losing things or having them stolen and forgetfulness and breaking rules and the nature of the (teenage) beast, as well as ‘Why can’t I? Why shouldn’t I? and moments of despair and of fulfillment for parents, and more.
There were a below average number of Deanworthy events to log. Deanish interviews were at the usual level and there was a lower than average range of behaviours. Kids talking and thinking twice and not going ahead with the wrong decision seemed up. Repeat offenders were down.
Balance? A good year overall.
Friday, 13 June 2008
Graduates' Survival Cookbook entry
Mr D’s recipe for getting target person to fancy you something dreadful as a result of eating Potato Bake
Potato Bake needs several large potatoes, a packet of grated parmesan cheese, ¼ litre of double cream, cool clothes, 1/3 litre milk, two twigs of fresh rosemary or powdered stuff in bottle, black pepper, dimmed lights, salt, great music, large red candle, one packet of your natural and irresistible charm.
1. peel and slice potatoes and place overlapping in rows in easykleen, no stick, wipe with old t shirt oven dish
2. add milk over the top evenly
3. place or sprinkle rosemary on top, grind pepper, add a bit of salt and place in medium oven
4. have a beer
5. after about 25 minutes in the oven (dish not you) remove burned milk skin (your fault), add cream and cover with parmesan
6. have a beer
7. sort clothes, music, candle and charm
8. after 15 minutes in oven remove, check if cream still gooey and parmesan brown and serve. If not, wait (if white) or start again (if black) depending
9. serve with dressed lettuce – no need for meat because…
…if target person is male praise strength enhancing attributes of potatoes and protein in cheese whilst winking salaciously, whereas…
…if target person is female, quote Hamlet act 4 scene 5 line 172 ‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember…’ as you serve and avoid smug smirk of sincerity.
Potato Bake needs several large potatoes, a packet of grated parmesan cheese, ¼ litre of double cream, cool clothes, 1/3 litre milk, two twigs of fresh rosemary or powdered stuff in bottle, black pepper, dimmed lights, salt, great music, large red candle, one packet of your natural and irresistible charm.
1. peel and slice potatoes and place overlapping in rows in easykleen, no stick, wipe with old t shirt oven dish
2. add milk over the top evenly
3. place or sprinkle rosemary on top, grind pepper, add a bit of salt and place in medium oven
4. have a beer
5. after about 25 minutes in the oven (dish not you) remove burned milk skin (your fault), add cream and cover with parmesan
6. have a beer
7. sort clothes, music, candle and charm
8. after 15 minutes in oven remove, check if cream still gooey and parmesan brown and serve. If not, wait (if white) or start again (if black) depending
9. serve with dressed lettuce – no need for meat because…
…if target person is male praise strength enhancing attributes of potatoes and protein in cheese whilst winking salaciously, whereas…
…if target person is female, quote Hamlet act 4 scene 5 line 172 ‘There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember…’ as you serve and avoid smug smirk of sincerity.
Monday, 19 May 2008
‘We do have neighbours to consider, you know!’
And then there are our neighbours…I spend a good deal of time working on this issue with students as Dean of Good Neighbourly Relations. Sometimes it’s observational as I stroll at break time around by Waltikon station, past the filling station, across to the Denner loading bay via the Kusnacht bus stop, back to the DSC and then along the rear path to the Annexe checking in ‘Smokers’ Bikeshed’ on the way, greeting our students cheerily and encouraging them to unblock the pavement and retrieve the litter just dropped. How do I usually get involved if there is a formal complaint from a neighbour? Well, last time it was a sunny Thursday morning as a fresh but tepid, early spring wind ruffled the crisp sycamore twigs when a phone call ruffled my desk …
Basically we had the following problem: A very noisy, nervous, small, black dog tethered near to the outside door of Migros was fed popcorn by a student who felt sorry for it. Its enraged owner apparently received less than a handsome apology from the student concerned (though it was admitted by her that neither spoke the other’s language – the humans not the dog.)
But in the previous two weeks a few of our students had also taken a short cut through neighbourhood industrial premises and a very few had trespassed on private land in order, in the unseasonably pleasant sunshine, to eat lunch or even smoke a cigarette. (Clarification: ICS is a No Smoking Zone for adults and students on, and to and fro the main geographic campus (MB, DSC, Stables, Academy, Annexe, pool, sports fields and gyms being borrowed and at lunchtime around Migros Island) during the school day or at school events periods as well as on Field Trips and Field Days.) Students were accumulating in noisy and apparently financially negligible groups at the entrance to and in the foyer of Migros at 1.05 and 3.30 and occasionally leaving a mess. None of these are heinous crimes. Not all of them are committed by ICS students. None of them are committed only by ICS students. But they are all irritating to our neighbours living and/or earning their living nearby.
I am either phoned directly (‘Gruezi, Herr Darlington. Hier ist die Migros Central Administration Stadt Zurich…’) or notified by email (‘Nick, please phone Frau Huerlimann on 012 345 6789…Our students are trespassing at lunchtime.’)
What do I do? Well, I start with a few controversial comments way under my breath, in that secret place we all have at the back of our mind – this is good for a calmer Karma I was told, because this is going to take time and diplomacy as I defend the basically excellent behaviour of our ICS students whilst acknowledging the presence of a rotten apple, or an apple tempted into making a rotten decision. Then I telephone to make an appointment.(‘Ja, gruezi wohl, Frau Huerlimaa! Saged sie, wie labed Sie?Wie gaht es Ihre Maa?) Then I make a visit to assess damage and effect its limitation control. Afterall, some of these circumstances could really be annoying, for example in excess of 300 children traipsing past your door twice a day (and in some cases up to 60 teenagers traipsing up to 10 times a day). On the other hand these are Normal Teenagers which all adults presumably once were. Maybe our neighbours even now own a NT but do not want the added aggravation of dozens of them; yet not every single noisy or careless teenager in the neighbourhood is from the ICS any way. (You spotted I was getting a little defensive there of our students.) Furthermore, an inability to find a common language in a moment of stress can tighten the tension (see reference to small dog above.) Then there is the not eccentric view that four or so assorted large teenagers lounging even sprawling, eating even smoking next to your garden gate whilst speaking loudly in an unfamiliar tongue can be intimidating. And then when they go if they leave their litter there on your ground…well, apoplexy is excusable.
Now I have to find the culprits (I am quite good at this); I speak at an assembly; I ask the tutor to address the students; or I have a Deanish one-on-one depending on the circumstances. Maybe an apology is written or delivered orally, maybe some useful community chores are added to the recipe so that there is an opportunity for reflection and reparation. Several factors dictate which and how much. Whatever, the kids have to see we are in a Swiss community and that big bunches of noisy, extrovert kids might be irritating in certain circumstances so we need to be squeaky clean, therefore, in order to maintain or establish a popular image and reputation. And I am going to push this, they know (or do now.) We are all ambassadors, I say, even when we think we are out of sight or earshot. And stepping aside to let a senior Swiss citizen walk by on the pavement of her own village rather than, say, continuing up Strubenacher in a wide, progress-blocking and frankly intimidating noisy mixed group of 60 ninth graders thus forcing her to step out into the Strubenacher Grand Prix, is a sign of good manners, too.
And this generally does the trick (until the next time), because our ICS students are nothing if not amenable to an appeal to their common sense and good upbringing (but are so involved with the present and the ‘me’).
So now in order to complete the purge I appeal to the few parents and few teachers who short cut across Rinspeed’s courtyard and through the Opel garage behind Waltikon FB station to rethink this decision as it is trespass as well as dangerous. Like the proprietors say to me, big vehicles will be backing out with drivers only cursorily using their rear view mirrors. And I did point out to a close neighbour that we expected their Administration to do something about their customers who park in the DSC parking places whilst going shopping. And they did.
Basically we had the following problem: A very noisy, nervous, small, black dog tethered near to the outside door of Migros was fed popcorn by a student who felt sorry for it. Its enraged owner apparently received less than a handsome apology from the student concerned (though it was admitted by her that neither spoke the other’s language – the humans not the dog.)
But in the previous two weeks a few of our students had also taken a short cut through neighbourhood industrial premises and a very few had trespassed on private land in order, in the unseasonably pleasant sunshine, to eat lunch or even smoke a cigarette. (Clarification: ICS is a No Smoking Zone for adults and students on, and to and fro the main geographic campus (MB, DSC, Stables, Academy, Annexe, pool, sports fields and gyms being borrowed and at lunchtime around Migros Island) during the school day or at school events periods as well as on Field Trips and Field Days.) Students were accumulating in noisy and apparently financially negligible groups at the entrance to and in the foyer of Migros at 1.05 and 3.30 and occasionally leaving a mess. None of these are heinous crimes. Not all of them are committed by ICS students. None of them are committed only by ICS students. But they are all irritating to our neighbours living and/or earning their living nearby.
I am either phoned directly (‘Gruezi, Herr Darlington. Hier ist die Migros Central Administration Stadt Zurich…’) or notified by email (‘Nick, please phone Frau Huerlimann on 012 345 6789…Our students are trespassing at lunchtime.’)
What do I do? Well, I start with a few controversial comments way under my breath, in that secret place we all have at the back of our mind – this is good for a calmer Karma I was told, because this is going to take time and diplomacy as I defend the basically excellent behaviour of our ICS students whilst acknowledging the presence of a rotten apple, or an apple tempted into making a rotten decision. Then I telephone to make an appointment.(‘Ja, gruezi wohl, Frau Huerlimaa! Saged sie, wie labed Sie?Wie gaht es Ihre Maa?) Then I make a visit to assess damage and effect its limitation control. Afterall, some of these circumstances could really be annoying, for example in excess of 300 children traipsing past your door twice a day (and in some cases up to 60 teenagers traipsing up to 10 times a day). On the other hand these are Normal Teenagers which all adults presumably once were. Maybe our neighbours even now own a NT but do not want the added aggravation of dozens of them; yet not every single noisy or careless teenager in the neighbourhood is from the ICS any way. (You spotted I was getting a little defensive there of our students.) Furthermore, an inability to find a common language in a moment of stress can tighten the tension (see reference to small dog above.) Then there is the not eccentric view that four or so assorted large teenagers lounging even sprawling, eating even smoking next to your garden gate whilst speaking loudly in an unfamiliar tongue can be intimidating. And then when they go if they leave their litter there on your ground…well, apoplexy is excusable.
Now I have to find the culprits (I am quite good at this); I speak at an assembly; I ask the tutor to address the students; or I have a Deanish one-on-one depending on the circumstances. Maybe an apology is written or delivered orally, maybe some useful community chores are added to the recipe so that there is an opportunity for reflection and reparation. Several factors dictate which and how much. Whatever, the kids have to see we are in a Swiss community and that big bunches of noisy, extrovert kids might be irritating in certain circumstances so we need to be squeaky clean, therefore, in order to maintain or establish a popular image and reputation. And I am going to push this, they know (or do now.) We are all ambassadors, I say, even when we think we are out of sight or earshot. And stepping aside to let a senior Swiss citizen walk by on the pavement of her own village rather than, say, continuing up Strubenacher in a wide, progress-blocking and frankly intimidating noisy mixed group of 60 ninth graders thus forcing her to step out into the Strubenacher Grand Prix, is a sign of good manners, too.
And this generally does the trick (until the next time), because our ICS students are nothing if not amenable to an appeal to their common sense and good upbringing (but are so involved with the present and the ‘me’).
So now in order to complete the purge I appeal to the few parents and few teachers who short cut across Rinspeed’s courtyard and through the Opel garage behind Waltikon FB station to rethink this decision as it is trespass as well as dangerous. Like the proprietors say to me, big vehicles will be backing out with drivers only cursorily using their rear view mirrors. And I did point out to a close neighbour that we expected their Administration to do something about their customers who park in the DSC parking places whilst going shopping. And they did.
'PDP'
If a school were to develop a perfect Personal Development Programme for students (PDP) ‘Deans of Students’ might very well become obsolete, extinct, sort of museum pieces. I am thinking of a pedagogical equivalent of the Tyrannosaurus Rex; to be reckoned with but dead.. This assumes that the main function of a DoS, traditionally, is to be reactive in situations of poor decision making, making decisions about who to alert and how the student should make good, to do ‘blame’ rather than ‘no blame’. In old eduspeak this was ‘punish’; now it is probably ‘enjoy a constructive conversation about restitution’. A PDP that involved all students drawing them ineluctably into a desire to know all about the dangers of…well…dangerous things and that made them incapable of failing to apply actuarial logic rather than ‘it can’t possibly happen to me’ so that such behaviours were abandoned before being tried… If…Of course, students would still need access to advice and encouragement but not to a confessional. They would analyse the facts and lead safer lives that counselling would then help them to fine tune.
I have been excited to be working this year with a team of enthusiastic colleagues designing a new PDP for implementation next academic year in grades 6 to 12. It builds on what we have done successfully over the past few years and reaches out to other schools’ experiences. It uses the expertise of experienced tutors, it seeks collaboration with experts beyond the school and embraces latest research and models across the globe. It places the student and the students’ social, emotional and intellectual development and all available information at its core. To increase transfer and relevance it will not be encountered just in a dedicated weekly lesson labelled PDP but will appear through collapsed days, through events, through the MYP curriculum already taught in academic curricular, through Inter Disciplinary Units (IDUs) taught at each grade combining the skills of several academic subjects, through sport and service and clubs and activities…
It will open up sympathetically both for discussion and for instruction the vital topics educationalists believe students need expertise in at their age and it will allow timely attention to vital, relevant current events. It will have input from the students, in fact from peer groups and from older students, not just from adults. It will be communicated to parents so that they can contribute and support and at the same time be reassured.
What it will not do is to replace behavioural expectations and consequences in the school. It will not obviate poor decision making either, not because the PDP will not be excellent but because it will be designed for teenagers. And they are volatile and unpredictable as well as being at the centre of their own universes; pre-Copernican a literary figure once dubbed them. So they will not give in to the concept that they do not need to experiment merely because an adult can tell them in advance and save the pain. That will take away the thrill and risk, indeed the whole point of being an adolescent on the way from dependant child to independent adult. We couldn’t stop that even if we wished as this quest is built-in and hard-wired. But the cliché is true that their world is developing so fast and in so many directions in addition to the obstacles to success that we all knew such as college degrees, competition, seeking employment, unemployment, inflation, supply and demand. So it behoves us as educators to ease this rite of passage in order that your children are as well equipped as it is possible to take on their role of improving our planet. And that is what the ICS Secondary School’s team of PDP writers, deliverers and coordinators will endeavour to do.
I have been excited to be working this year with a team of enthusiastic colleagues designing a new PDP for implementation next academic year in grades 6 to 12. It builds on what we have done successfully over the past few years and reaches out to other schools’ experiences. It uses the expertise of experienced tutors, it seeks collaboration with experts beyond the school and embraces latest research and models across the globe. It places the student and the students’ social, emotional and intellectual development and all available information at its core. To increase transfer and relevance it will not be encountered just in a dedicated weekly lesson labelled PDP but will appear through collapsed days, through events, through the MYP curriculum already taught in academic curricular, through Inter Disciplinary Units (IDUs) taught at each grade combining the skills of several academic subjects, through sport and service and clubs and activities…
It will open up sympathetically both for discussion and for instruction the vital topics educationalists believe students need expertise in at their age and it will allow timely attention to vital, relevant current events. It will have input from the students, in fact from peer groups and from older students, not just from adults. It will be communicated to parents so that they can contribute and support and at the same time be reassured.
What it will not do is to replace behavioural expectations and consequences in the school. It will not obviate poor decision making either, not because the PDP will not be excellent but because it will be designed for teenagers. And they are volatile and unpredictable as well as being at the centre of their own universes; pre-Copernican a literary figure once dubbed them. So they will not give in to the concept that they do not need to experiment merely because an adult can tell them in advance and save the pain. That will take away the thrill and risk, indeed the whole point of being an adolescent on the way from dependant child to independent adult. We couldn’t stop that even if we wished as this quest is built-in and hard-wired. But the cliché is true that their world is developing so fast and in so many directions in addition to the obstacles to success that we all knew such as college degrees, competition, seeking employment, unemployment, inflation, supply and demand. So it behoves us as educators to ease this rite of passage in order that your children are as well equipped as it is possible to take on their role of improving our planet. And that is what the ICS Secondary School’s team of PDP writers, deliverers and coordinators will endeavour to do.
Wednesday, 7 May 2008
'But everybody else can...!'
“But Jemima Gruntfuttock’s mum always lets her stay out in town after 12.00! In fact I’m the only one who…and she’s got the Noki Sonyson P7000 with digital 4 mp toastmaker and doesn’t have to pay the abo…”
This is a tricky one, and right now you are thinking ‘You are telling us?! There are actually two issues here. One is to do with parents of teenagers always being wrong in the latter’s eyes when parents do not agree with them. This is to do with growth hormones. The young lion surveying the sun soaked savannah grass washing this way and that in the hot breeze, or chimpanzee if you will, and wanting more power, challenges the established symbol of authority, takes more personal risks until it feels powerful enough to chase away the current (and in his view obsolescent) leader. This urge is something that does not really fit into our urban jungle lifestyle scene. So the teen needs to be presented instead with worthwhile, authentic opportunities to feel a sense of increasing and real responsibility that is not imparted merely by a bigger spending allowance or more freedom later at night downtown with friends.
The second issue is to do with the paradox of a teen wishing to be different whilst wanting at all costs to be an accepted and identifiable part of the pack, the gang, the group; hence the odd and challenging fashions even if they are cold or uncomfortable, or the virtually incomprehensible and rapidly changing jargon they use, in micro soundbites, to communicate. These rituals exclude or include as the teen requires. For the teen wants to be an individual and respected for being such on the teen’s terms as well as to be loved enormously and included in everything at the same time.
So what is the answer for responsible parents of teens who wish to continue so to be, rather than the increasingly attractive alternative of simply going mad? First, be there! There is absolutely no substitute for the parents’ love and interest, involvement and concern, boundary setting and boundless love. This role connects the reassuring past common to all members of that family, to the launch pad to independence where informed decisions will be made. There is no substitute.
Next, find out what other teen parents are really doing and saying to their children, to get the information first hand rather than through a frankly biased messenger. Another idea is for grade parents to pool ideas about the dynamite issues of, say, the amount of spending money, the time of last train home (yours, not the SBB’s), sleeping over, attitude to alcohol (beer as opposed to spirits?), smoking (‘My parents let me at home…’) and so on. Only the G9 (or G10 or G8) pool of parents will be able to come up with the full spectrum of issues relevant to international teenagers growing up now in the city.
Now, come up with a set of agreements or procedures (‘If she says she’s sleeping over at Muriel’s I’ll check with Muriel’s mum there will be someone there. I’ll also check if another adult in the next room watching TV would be a help.’) Check out the clubs and pubs that some of these teens go to and where, by the way, they can access alcohol whatever the law might state (‘I just ask the first young adult who comes by and give him the money…’ was quoted to me this month.) Use the Web to check the sites. If they do go out in a group insist that you know exactly where they will be at all times; avoid the random as it hides the unknown. And so on…your pool of parents will cover all of this and more.
And will an increase of knowledge (you), or interference (them), cause more stress in the family? Maybe for a moment, but it will eventually just prove your loving concern. It did for me with my teenager.
This is a tricky one, and right now you are thinking ‘You are telling us?! There are actually two issues here. One is to do with parents of teenagers always being wrong in the latter’s eyes when parents do not agree with them. This is to do with growth hormones. The young lion surveying the sun soaked savannah grass washing this way and that in the hot breeze, or chimpanzee if you will, and wanting more power, challenges the established symbol of authority, takes more personal risks until it feels powerful enough to chase away the current (and in his view obsolescent) leader. This urge is something that does not really fit into our urban jungle lifestyle scene. So the teen needs to be presented instead with worthwhile, authentic opportunities to feel a sense of increasing and real responsibility that is not imparted merely by a bigger spending allowance or more freedom later at night downtown with friends.
The second issue is to do with the paradox of a teen wishing to be different whilst wanting at all costs to be an accepted and identifiable part of the pack, the gang, the group; hence the odd and challenging fashions even if they are cold or uncomfortable, or the virtually incomprehensible and rapidly changing jargon they use, in micro soundbites, to communicate. These rituals exclude or include as the teen requires. For the teen wants to be an individual and respected for being such on the teen’s terms as well as to be loved enormously and included in everything at the same time.
So what is the answer for responsible parents of teens who wish to continue so to be, rather than the increasingly attractive alternative of simply going mad? First, be there! There is absolutely no substitute for the parents’ love and interest, involvement and concern, boundary setting and boundless love. This role connects the reassuring past common to all members of that family, to the launch pad to independence where informed decisions will be made. There is no substitute.
Next, find out what other teen parents are really doing and saying to their children, to get the information first hand rather than through a frankly biased messenger. Another idea is for grade parents to pool ideas about the dynamite issues of, say, the amount of spending money, the time of last train home (yours, not the SBB’s), sleeping over, attitude to alcohol (beer as opposed to spirits?), smoking (‘My parents let me at home…’) and so on. Only the G9 (or G10 or G8) pool of parents will be able to come up with the full spectrum of issues relevant to international teenagers growing up now in the city.
Now, come up with a set of agreements or procedures (‘If she says she’s sleeping over at Muriel’s I’ll check with Muriel’s mum there will be someone there. I’ll also check if another adult in the next room watching TV would be a help.’) Check out the clubs and pubs that some of these teens go to and where, by the way, they can access alcohol whatever the law might state (‘I just ask the first young adult who comes by and give him the money…’ was quoted to me this month.) Use the Web to check the sites. If they do go out in a group insist that you know exactly where they will be at all times; avoid the random as it hides the unknown. And so on…your pool of parents will cover all of this and more.
And will an increase of knowledge (you), or interference (them), cause more stress in the family? Maybe for a moment, but it will eventually just prove your loving concern. It did for me with my teenager.
OPEC - It is very important...
It is very important that I address around 12 to 14 specific students in G11 right now. They told me most of the Dean’s blogs seem aimed at parents and/of middle school students and why did I never mention them? So, hello, the G11 Oil Painting Class (aka OPEC but we have yet to decide what the ‘E’ is for) that meets mainly Thursdays after school but also Wednesday and Tuesday have not been ruled out occasionally either. I suggested I hadn’t mentioned them because they seemed to be making appropriate decisions on campus and that was silly of me because it lead instantly into the ‘Yes, but, you know, what would you do as Dean if, supposing, I’m like…’ And this idea of flirting with the dark side looked like it was going to kill interest in Leonardo’s colour loss theory of perspective. So, I said, ‘OK, I’ll write something.’ Now you are up to speed.
We start with a few exercises, actually three specifically, to get accustomed to the tactile nature of painting with oils by smearing brightly coloured toothpaste look-alikes together and then spreading the resulting creamy self-made colours over canvas textured paper and finally onto real stretched canvas on a wooden frame that needs eight wooden pegs hammered into it, in a special sequence that we know, to get the cloth as taut as a drum skin which is then very responsive to pressure and thus great to paint on. Twelve or so boys and girls (I always set the maximum I can teach at six but as usual the maths of it seems to have gone wrong) doing this together in a smallish classroom produces theoretically the greatest mess I have seen since breaking up a grade 6 chocolate yoghourt fight in the top corridor of the primary school across the lake where I taught a while back now. Yet by around 5.00 or so they clear the place up to almost perfection (you probably can’t have, semantically, ‘almost perfection' as it’s an absolute but this is fine art not English). One of the reasons they do the dreary clearing up so responsibly is that the palettes and brushes today will be the same ones they have to use next week so don’t let them go spiky and hard. And at the same time and in the same spirit they no longer squeeze out Titanic painting potential amounts of titanium white when just a centimetre will do. But that makes it sound so self interested and that’s not fair as the spirit of the group is really mutual support with advice, admiration, consolation and gentle constructive criticism being the hallmarks.
To go back to the process, the three exercises lead on to attempting to forge a Van Gogh of their choice in order to get the energetically applied impasto effect of how corn or sunlight or wind feel rather than how they faithfully look in our megapixel age of exactitude, on to the canvas textured paper in a fast but fun exercise. These results are added to the display on the wall in the DSC as they show spontaneity, originality and enthusiasm as a result of loads of courage of which I am absolutely sure VG himself would have approved.We have observed, however, our next challenge which is that the artists tend to be more pleased with the displayed colour sketch than with the final canvas. Hmmmm! Treat the canvas as the first sketch medium? Remedies, anyone?
We start with a few exercises, actually three specifically, to get accustomed to the tactile nature of painting with oils by smearing brightly coloured toothpaste look-alikes together and then spreading the resulting creamy self-made colours over canvas textured paper and finally onto real stretched canvas on a wooden frame that needs eight wooden pegs hammered into it, in a special sequence that we know, to get the cloth as taut as a drum skin which is then very responsive to pressure and thus great to paint on. Twelve or so boys and girls (I always set the maximum I can teach at six but as usual the maths of it seems to have gone wrong) doing this together in a smallish classroom produces theoretically the greatest mess I have seen since breaking up a grade 6 chocolate yoghourt fight in the top corridor of the primary school across the lake where I taught a while back now. Yet by around 5.00 or so they clear the place up to almost perfection (you probably can’t have, semantically, ‘almost perfection' as it’s an absolute but this is fine art not English). One of the reasons they do the dreary clearing up so responsibly is that the palettes and brushes today will be the same ones they have to use next week so don’t let them go spiky and hard. And at the same time and in the same spirit they no longer squeeze out Titanic painting potential amounts of titanium white when just a centimetre will do. But that makes it sound so self interested and that’s not fair as the spirit of the group is really mutual support with advice, admiration, consolation and gentle constructive criticism being the hallmarks.
To go back to the process, the three exercises lead on to attempting to forge a Van Gogh of their choice in order to get the energetically applied impasto effect of how corn or sunlight or wind feel rather than how they faithfully look in our megapixel age of exactitude, on to the canvas textured paper in a fast but fun exercise. These results are added to the display on the wall in the DSC as they show spontaneity, originality and enthusiasm as a result of loads of courage of which I am absolutely sure VG himself would have approved.We have observed, however, our next challenge which is that the artists tend to be more pleased with the displayed colour sketch than with the final canvas. Hmmmm! Treat the canvas as the first sketch medium? Remedies, anyone?
‘Were they thinking at all?’
I was walking past the Red Top the other morning at about 08.40, a blustery and icy wind whipping noisy orange leaves into a tumble at my feet, when I nearly fell over a car. It was very large and metallic anthracite. That’s last year’s cool so it was not that that attracted my attention. What did was the fact it was neatly parked on a ‘no parking’ sign under a ‘no parking’ sign explaining that there was ‘no parking’ in English and German and giving an excellent reason why. Within normal human visibility from this point was the car park with several spaces obviously not full of car.
I thought to myself… no, we won’t go there… I’ll think something I might regret. But it did get me thinking about why some of our students sometimes do something that defies all logic and reason to adults. Sometimes they seem…how shall I say?... non conformist. Deliberately they seem at that moment to ignore established social convention, common sense, everything we told them, safety, hygiene and the laws of physics and do something breathtakingly ununderstandable. And the answer to my apparently inappropriate (I have learned this and so have you) question: ‘But what were you thinking of?’ often said with just a tincture of exasperation, is: ‘I don’t know!’ And they don’t! Really! Because they weren’t. Thinking, that is.
I went to a superb workshop, twice it was so good, given by a venerable lady professor, at the ECIS Conference in Nice last year, on the adolescent brain and she came to the same conclusion after years of tests and studies and trials and observations including a wonderful and hilarious anecdote involving her own son, her husband who was a police officer and a gigantic marihuana plant. The adolescent brain at certain moments in its development, for explicable chemical reasons, can motivate its owner to do something who has no explanation for the motivation thereof and therefore for the subsequent action. It’s not that the memory was conveniently in its short term mode; Jemima was simply not at that time thinking. (Two days ago I had to see some students who had made an unwise decision. 15 minutes before I needed them in my office, I happened to see them and reminded them. 14 minutes later they had forgotten and in my office I waited in vain. When they remembered they were genuinely mortified, jumping up and down and beating their sides with frustration and self directed anger that memory had malfunctioned so inexplicably. After just a small explosion I remembered the above and as a result had a much more constructive discussion as I decided not to get distracted from our main topic by the annoyance of this adolescent aberration of memory.)
So, on the positive side you could say it does produce a wonderful moment of togetherness as you and your teenager both are bemused at the same time by the same thing. Childhood is a different world; it is smaller, more magical, more flexible, more controllable by the kids and a very often lot more fun than ours as we get older. But we cannot get in there. We cannot share it. We cannot speak the language anymore. The codes and cues and prompts are forgotten. If we try we embarrass them. We just secure it, I think. Adolescence is like this but there are no rules nor signposts there, not even for its inhabitants.And my point? So they do want help and guidance as much as we teachers and we parents do. Again, that throws us onto the same side about something very important to all participants. It takes away the conflict.
I thought to myself… no, we won’t go there… I’ll think something I might regret. But it did get me thinking about why some of our students sometimes do something that defies all logic and reason to adults. Sometimes they seem…how shall I say?... non conformist. Deliberately they seem at that moment to ignore established social convention, common sense, everything we told them, safety, hygiene and the laws of physics and do something breathtakingly ununderstandable. And the answer to my apparently inappropriate (I have learned this and so have you) question: ‘But what were you thinking of?’ often said with just a tincture of exasperation, is: ‘I don’t know!’ And they don’t! Really! Because they weren’t. Thinking, that is.
I went to a superb workshop, twice it was so good, given by a venerable lady professor, at the ECIS Conference in Nice last year, on the adolescent brain and she came to the same conclusion after years of tests and studies and trials and observations including a wonderful and hilarious anecdote involving her own son, her husband who was a police officer and a gigantic marihuana plant. The adolescent brain at certain moments in its development, for explicable chemical reasons, can motivate its owner to do something who has no explanation for the motivation thereof and therefore for the subsequent action. It’s not that the memory was conveniently in its short term mode; Jemima was simply not at that time thinking. (Two days ago I had to see some students who had made an unwise decision. 15 minutes before I needed them in my office, I happened to see them and reminded them. 14 minutes later they had forgotten and in my office I waited in vain. When they remembered they were genuinely mortified, jumping up and down and beating their sides with frustration and self directed anger that memory had malfunctioned so inexplicably. After just a small explosion I remembered the above and as a result had a much more constructive discussion as I decided not to get distracted from our main topic by the annoyance of this adolescent aberration of memory.)
So, on the positive side you could say it does produce a wonderful moment of togetherness as you and your teenager both are bemused at the same time by the same thing. Childhood is a different world; it is smaller, more magical, more flexible, more controllable by the kids and a very often lot more fun than ours as we get older. But we cannot get in there. We cannot share it. We cannot speak the language anymore. The codes and cues and prompts are forgotten. If we try we embarrass them. We just secure it, I think. Adolescence is like this but there are no rules nor signposts there, not even for its inhabitants.And my point? So they do want help and guidance as much as we teachers and we parents do. Again, that throws us onto the same side about something very important to all participants. It takes away the conflict.
Snowballs
Allow, say, two hundred and forty mixed teenagers between the ages of 15 and 18 to spend three or so hours of an evening after school, Friday for example, in a large room decorated with imagination, flair and partying spirit by the kids themselves, with up to the minute, loudness to the max music mixed by a cool teenage deejay and you have a recipe for chaos. Right? Right! But not all recipes work out – think soufflé, for example.
This was the SnowBall ( no, I am not back on that topic again – ever probably) – I am referring to the Winter Ball organised by the student council reps of G10 in particular and helped by some very effective senior students, that started the new year. At least half a dozen teachers gave up their evenings to proctor the event. I was there, admittedly only to 23.55 - some adults were helping to clean up for another ¾ of an hour – and had a privileged glimpse at kids really creating, enjoying and then dismantling an event that they had ownership of at all stages. They turned the, let’s admit it, very dreary dining hall into a breathtakingly beautiful and romantic club with a stage and dry ice, tables dressed in white and strings of soft lights draped across edges. They dressed up themselves to kill and arrived in style (I’m glad the snow white and immensely long stretch limo did not try to negotiate the exit drive of the car park, though). The boys wore tailored shirts hanging outside, of course, their immaculate suits. They behaved impeccably, enjoyed themselves a great deal (they said) and then, when it was over and the last slow dance had dwindled away into the chill night air, left with dignity.
Just as well the Dean was there? Well, in a strange sense, yes, because I love to see our/your kids getting it so right. This should be an annual event – it brings a whole new positive meaning to SnowBall… Posted by The Dean's Blog at 2:15 AM 0 comments Thursday, December 20, 2007
This was the SnowBall ( no, I am not back on that topic again – ever probably) – I am referring to the Winter Ball organised by the student council reps of G10 in particular and helped by some very effective senior students, that started the new year. At least half a dozen teachers gave up their evenings to proctor the event. I was there, admittedly only to 23.55 - some adults were helping to clean up for another ¾ of an hour – and had a privileged glimpse at kids really creating, enjoying and then dismantling an event that they had ownership of at all stages. They turned the, let’s admit it, very dreary dining hall into a breathtakingly beautiful and romantic club with a stage and dry ice, tables dressed in white and strings of soft lights draped across edges. They dressed up themselves to kill and arrived in style (I’m glad the snow white and immensely long stretch limo did not try to negotiate the exit drive of the car park, though). The boys wore tailored shirts hanging outside, of course, their immaculate suits. They behaved impeccably, enjoyed themselves a great deal (they said) and then, when it was over and the last slow dance had dwindled away into the chill night air, left with dignity.
Just as well the Dean was there? Well, in a strange sense, yes, because I love to see our/your kids getting it so right. This should be an annual event – it brings a whole new positive meaning to SnowBall… Posted by The Dean's Blog at 2:15 AM 0 comments Thursday, December 20, 2007
A Poem for Two Students
Shy She
She…suffers no fools, rules the cool,
Shares her cares, wears pairs of
Old rolled gold
Creole rings in her ears
(Bling!), sings ‘Wings’’ songs
Longs for the throng’s wrongs to be righted
Far sighted, rarely delighted by the
Noise of boys’ joy in their toys –
But inside she sighs soft cries
For ties wise guys would die for.
She knows she could and should, indeed would say to him:
'Please talk to, walk with me, see how I plea; bended knee
Is not beyond me for one smile, stop awhile,
Don’t let my guile rile…’
He…walks past fast, hopes at half mast,
Memory still aghast at last laughs
But thinks, ‘Her? Lonely? If only!’
Posted by The Dean's Blog at 2:20 AM 0 comments
She…suffers no fools, rules the cool,
Shares her cares, wears pairs of
Old rolled gold
Creole rings in her ears
(Bling!), sings ‘Wings’’ songs
Longs for the throng’s wrongs to be righted
Far sighted, rarely delighted by the
Noise of boys’ joy in their toys –
But inside she sighs soft cries
For ties wise guys would die for.
She knows she could and should, indeed would say to him:
'Please talk to, walk with me, see how I plea; bended knee
Is not beyond me for one smile, stop awhile,
Don’t let my guile rile…’
He…walks past fast, hopes at half mast,
Memory still aghast at last laughs
But thinks, ‘Her? Lonely? If only!’
Posted by The Dean's Blog at 2:20 AM 0 comments
The day I gave up Jurisprudence at Oxford and read English Literature instead.
‘That, Mr...errmm...Didlington, was in my 40 years …ah…experience of teaching…ah… Jurisprudence, the most inadequate, immaterial and…ah… insubstantial essay I have had to listen to, exploring as…ah… it did, the previously uncharted depths of…umm… legal irrelevance and vacuous pomposity!’
Silence gave in only to the antique grandfather click ticking accusingly in the corner of my tutor’s dusty rooms on the first floor of the New Building.
‘Oh…Where exactly would you say I went wrong, Professor Hale? You see, I thought I had explained quite fully the legal implications of a storm flooding a river and thus sweeping a piece of my ground away and adding it to my neighbour’s across the river…’
‘Mr...errm...Dullington, ‘rather well’ cannot…ah… be utilised to describe anything in that essay except, perhaps, your use of the...umm…full stop.’ Professor Hale regarded me dryly over the rim of his frameless reading glasses, with distaste, such an affectation I used to think, as though I was a piece of invasive putrefaction adhering inappropriately to his Chinese rug.
The late afternoon summer sun slanted through the huge, old oak trees and across New Meadow, illuminated in a golden yellow a bald patch of faded rug near my left foot.
He continued, as though with an effort of will to focus at all on such minimal pusillanimity. ‘Your style is both obtuse and…ah… pretentious, your main points are obfuscated and random, your reasoning is…ah…feeble and inconclusive, your reference to obiter dictum impertinent, your use of legal precedent is…ah…unprecedented, your…ah… understanding of the Roman law, frankly, leaves me…’
The voice, dry as brown winter leaves, rustled its wounding way through the literary critique. For a moment I ceased to listen, caught up suddenly in a burst of literary self congratulation at my seasonal metaphor.‘Ok…ok… I understand!' I interjected after a while, showing just a smidgeon of damaged pride through which self pity oozed. ‘Ermm…What would you recommend I do then?’ My voice wanted to crack and my eyes seemed to peer through hot tears of shame.
‘Well, Mr…ah…Doodlington, that is an intriguing question. You see, I ask myself after witnessing that inane…ah…verbiage, what indeed CAN you do? And the answer is clear to me…little!…ah…very little indeed…!’
The evening sun seemed to hurry now on its way across the floor and flat surfaces of too much furniture, to clear the room and illuminate another, leaving me in the dust and silence and gloom of academic inadequacy.
Silence gave in only to the antique grandfather click ticking accusingly in the corner of my tutor’s dusty rooms on the first floor of the New Building.
‘Oh…Where exactly would you say I went wrong, Professor Hale? You see, I thought I had explained quite fully the legal implications of a storm flooding a river and thus sweeping a piece of my ground away and adding it to my neighbour’s across the river…’
‘Mr...errm...Dullington, ‘rather well’ cannot…ah… be utilised to describe anything in that essay except, perhaps, your use of the...umm…full stop.’ Professor Hale regarded me dryly over the rim of his frameless reading glasses, with distaste, such an affectation I used to think, as though I was a piece of invasive putrefaction adhering inappropriately to his Chinese rug.
The late afternoon summer sun slanted through the huge, old oak trees and across New Meadow, illuminated in a golden yellow a bald patch of faded rug near my left foot.
He continued, as though with an effort of will to focus at all on such minimal pusillanimity. ‘Your style is both obtuse and…ah… pretentious, your main points are obfuscated and random, your reasoning is…ah…feeble and inconclusive, your reference to obiter dictum impertinent, your use of legal precedent is…ah…unprecedented, your…ah… understanding of the Roman law, frankly, leaves me…’
The voice, dry as brown winter leaves, rustled its wounding way through the literary critique. For a moment I ceased to listen, caught up suddenly in a burst of literary self congratulation at my seasonal metaphor.‘Ok…ok… I understand!' I interjected after a while, showing just a smidgeon of damaged pride through which self pity oozed. ‘Ermm…What would you recommend I do then?’ My voice wanted to crack and my eyes seemed to peer through hot tears of shame.
‘Well, Mr…ah…Doodlington, that is an intriguing question. You see, I ask myself after witnessing that inane…ah…verbiage, what indeed CAN you do? And the answer is clear to me…little!…ah…very little indeed…!’
The evening sun seemed to hurry now on its way across the floor and flat surfaces of too much furniture, to clear the room and illuminate another, leaving me in the dust and silence and gloom of academic inadequacy.
Out There
For a second out there it was like Lord of the Flies as Jack and his tribe chased and kidnapped another littl’un, picked him up and took him back to their stronghold, The Fort.
I was on duty at lunchtime out near the Red Top on a breezy, mid October day as cream coloured clouds moved purposefully across a steel blue sky. But this kidnapping was safe, a game…just.
Lunchtime is there for teenagers to use up pent up energy and to tank up on new energy. Younger teenagers tend to seek physical excitement, to take risks, to look for extremes; that’s why the new adventure playground is a loser some grade 6 boys confided in me. The school’s job is to find a safe environment for this where common sense and firm boundaries meet with supervision.
So what was the game? The G9 boys were kidnapping G6 boys who in their turn were rushing in to snatch a hat and then withdrawing at speed to regather and celebrate their trophy. G9 then moved in with cunning and strength to recapture their lost honour and humiliate the enemy as a warning. Accompanied by an amazing amount of noise and swift lateral movement across Green Island, the Red Top, the Basketball Place and the Rugby Ball Area, this was fine spectator sport. Screams of delight, shouts of warning, yelled instructions merged with bellows of outrage and whoops of victory. When the bell went there was time to assess the damage: one grazed knee and one torn item of underwear (!) – That was all. ‘Typical boys!’ muttered Jemima with disapproval, but she’ll soon change her tune…
Boys need to be boyish and a little collateral damage they take in their stride. But they have no idea about their strength at this age and nor the fine motor coordination skills to moderate it correctly. The littl’uns in their turn have no concept of this danger and how much of their provocation is necessary to release a powerful reaction. The game was a safe way for these two ages to discover these limits.
I expect the same discovery to take place when the first snow arrives, and I expect to be besieged with calls to ban snowballing which I will resist. Yes, it could be dangerous if the snow turns icy or too many children gang up on too few or face rubbing happens. But in the first case we close the Field and in the others, these are banned types of behaviour and the tutors talk to their students carefully about the safety rules. Break the rules and the student is sent inside for the remainder of lunchtime. Break it again and the student meets me, not to be advised. The Duty Team, now four teachers instead of three, will need to be vigilant. And after a fresh fall of snow extra observation will be called for; I certainly will be there and so will Mr Hall whenever he can. Within these careful limits, within this risk assessment, however, we must allow this age group their challenges and their excitement. And I for one am pleased that snow, provided free and unpredictably by nature, at least is not operated electronically.
PS And no, I am not condoning violence nor am I encouraging war games nor am I suggesting girls have little space by right in the playground. I am describing an event I observed where no actual school rules were being broken...
I was on duty at lunchtime out near the Red Top on a breezy, mid October day as cream coloured clouds moved purposefully across a steel blue sky. But this kidnapping was safe, a game…just.
Lunchtime is there for teenagers to use up pent up energy and to tank up on new energy. Younger teenagers tend to seek physical excitement, to take risks, to look for extremes; that’s why the new adventure playground is a loser some grade 6 boys confided in me. The school’s job is to find a safe environment for this where common sense and firm boundaries meet with supervision.
So what was the game? The G9 boys were kidnapping G6 boys who in their turn were rushing in to snatch a hat and then withdrawing at speed to regather and celebrate their trophy. G9 then moved in with cunning and strength to recapture their lost honour and humiliate the enemy as a warning. Accompanied by an amazing amount of noise and swift lateral movement across Green Island, the Red Top, the Basketball Place and the Rugby Ball Area, this was fine spectator sport. Screams of delight, shouts of warning, yelled instructions merged with bellows of outrage and whoops of victory. When the bell went there was time to assess the damage: one grazed knee and one torn item of underwear (!) – That was all. ‘Typical boys!’ muttered Jemima with disapproval, but she’ll soon change her tune…
Boys need to be boyish and a little collateral damage they take in their stride. But they have no idea about their strength at this age and nor the fine motor coordination skills to moderate it correctly. The littl’uns in their turn have no concept of this danger and how much of their provocation is necessary to release a powerful reaction. The game was a safe way for these two ages to discover these limits.
I expect the same discovery to take place when the first snow arrives, and I expect to be besieged with calls to ban snowballing which I will resist. Yes, it could be dangerous if the snow turns icy or too many children gang up on too few or face rubbing happens. But in the first case we close the Field and in the others, these are banned types of behaviour and the tutors talk to their students carefully about the safety rules. Break the rules and the student is sent inside for the remainder of lunchtime. Break it again and the student meets me, not to be advised. The Duty Team, now four teachers instead of three, will need to be vigilant. And after a fresh fall of snow extra observation will be called for; I certainly will be there and so will Mr Hall whenever he can. Within these careful limits, within this risk assessment, however, we must allow this age group their challenges and their excitement. And I for one am pleased that snow, provided free and unpredictably by nature, at least is not operated electronically.
PS And no, I am not condoning violence nor am I encouraging war games nor am I suggesting girls have little space by right in the playground. I am describing an event I observed where no actual school rules were being broken...
‘Just another morning at around 8.20…’
“We are so like going to be chillaxing ‘cos the guy he’s so like wow!” I looked encouragingly at the speaker as we sat in the Dean’s ‘Open Office’ round the table under the stairs on level 3 before first period, for a chat; smilingly, bemused, as one does when faced with the unknown content of a sentence in a foreign language, especially if, like me, you are English. Jemima waited coolly in controposto for approving admiration, expertly flicking one huge earphone in matt black plastic and brushed aluminium backwards off her left ear for a second. “And I am so like totally not going with that…” And I am so totally not going there either as it is eliminating adjectives and lumping words into verb phrases that become adjectival when the ubiquitous, emphatic adverb ‘so’ is placed in front proceeded perhaps by the negative which is stressed as in ‘I am so not going to go there.’ Then you have the apparently random but actually quite deliberate ‘like’ to place in the new sentence and it’s its deliberation that distinguishes it from the non semantic discourse markers such as ‘er’ or ‘um’.
But communication is obviously carried in the new syntax; it is semantically valid and obviously culturally very, very cool. In this way today’s teenage speakbites mimic the explosive spread of ‘ok’ a generation or two back, and then the suffixed tag ‘you know’. Plus ca change plus c’est still very irritating as it tempts us, the oldies, to imitate (Do not go there, into that good night…) or scoff and both ways lead to exclusion and derisive laughter from the teens.
In my open ‘office’ under the open stairs on level 3 some days at 08.20, a sharp chill draught sweeps a few shredded umber leaves along the spotted grey stone floor as the double glass doors squeeze in some bundled students. A few of these students, in grade 9, boys and girls both, managed to convince me that smsing in mnemonics actually saves time whilst communicating accurately. Well, until Jemima in hysterics informed me that LOL in my sms did not mean ‘lots of love’ as I had fondly thought with a warm glow. Omg gets a bit of the way round offending when mildly swearing. And rofl, cya and imho are no more offensive than asap or ok, after all. So at the white round table beneath the open stairs I get my unique opportunity to learn and even try out these unfamiliar idioms that must for my own credibility remain uncomfortable.
But what a fascinating conversation it was and so many more students dropped by to add a view or disagree. And if you are going to have a conversation at 08.20 then why not about the meaning of the words that code this meaning? Metalinguistics was never so fun at university and I am so like not stopping this now…
But communication is obviously carried in the new syntax; it is semantically valid and obviously culturally very, very cool. In this way today’s teenage speakbites mimic the explosive spread of ‘ok’ a generation or two back, and then the suffixed tag ‘you know’. Plus ca change plus c’est still very irritating as it tempts us, the oldies, to imitate (Do not go there, into that good night…) or scoff and both ways lead to exclusion and derisive laughter from the teens.
In my open ‘office’ under the open stairs on level 3 some days at 08.20, a sharp chill draught sweeps a few shredded umber leaves along the spotted grey stone floor as the double glass doors squeeze in some bundled students. A few of these students, in grade 9, boys and girls both, managed to convince me that smsing in mnemonics actually saves time whilst communicating accurately. Well, until Jemima in hysterics informed me that LOL in my sms did not mean ‘lots of love’ as I had fondly thought with a warm glow. Omg gets a bit of the way round offending when mildly swearing. And rofl, cya and imho are no more offensive than asap or ok, after all. So at the white round table beneath the open stairs I get my unique opportunity to learn and even try out these unfamiliar idioms that must for my own credibility remain uncomfortable.
But what a fascinating conversation it was and so many more students dropped by to add a view or disagree. And if you are going to have a conversation at 08.20 then why not about the meaning of the words that code this meaning? Metalinguistics was never so fun at university and I am so like not stopping this now…
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Let's go Visit the Library
Rain apoplectically spluttered against the windows of the library, while outside a grey wind whipped wet skeins across the dark puddled Red Top where two boys kicked a bright orange ball.
‘But it’s so boring when it rains, Mr D!’ whinged Jemima as though as Dean I were in some real way responsible for this wasted lunchtime as well as for the microwave melt down last week and the primary kids on the Red Top at lunchtime for their Walkathon. The computer labs are full of kids, or if full of primary kids the corridors nearby are full of moaning kids…
‘It’s so not fair that they get to use the computers now when it is our lunchtime…’ Hey, remember the C in our name, guys?
The library has more students than usual and the seductive atmosphere of the place with its wild variety of displays that constantly change, sheltered booky corners, huge comfy chairs for sideways sitting and studying of magazines, squashy cushions to pummel a hole in for reading in comfort, new Bridget Rileyesque rugs scattered throughout the shelving to make leaning against a stack a pleasure…I mean, the place should actually be stuffed to the very roof with kids! And then there are the computers…
As an English teacher, on wet lunchtimes I thank JK Rowland for helping children to rediscover the vanishing art of reading and the vanishing pleasure of reading. A good proportion of the 400 million copies of her books that have been sold were bought by children themselves rather than by grown up children or by adults for children. But I think she can also bring closer the thrill of actually creating text (which then can get read in an authentic way.) To have the invention of written language at your fingertips, alone of all the animals, and then have the thrill of inventing people, moulding a relationship for them, dialling in, say, parental concern, bad weather, a misunderstood rendezvous and Halloween, and then letting your protagonist loose in that scene of your creation? The excitement is infectious and reminds me of the time I sat in the co-pilot’s chair in a Swissair flight simulator in Kloten and was able to dial in storms, cross winds, dusk and the approach to Hong Kong…just thrilling! How could all this power and potential not go to your head? And then you can write alternative endings and get them voted on or have your friend finish your story at a key point, or experiment in a safe environment the construction of a couplet in iambic pentameters just like Shakespeare did. Or if you are scientific you can create an outrageously complex but memory effective rhyme scheme after experimenting just how long a human can carry the memory of a stressed line ending in their head. And how exciting that you can repeat the adrenalin kick time after time as your characters weave in and out of the challenges you manufacture, and you cannot ever overdose!
‘Yeah, but she’s, like, an adult I mean she’s grown up…’ implying it’s alright for her, it’s easy.
‘Mr D, this is so just not going to happen…’ Well, SE Hinton was a woman and a teenager and wrote ‘The Outsiders’ at the age of 16 and got it published, and it was filmed with Rob Lowe and Matt Dillon and Ralph (‘Karate Kid’) Macchio. It says some pretty relevant things, too, for teenagers, and for parents, about coping with what life throws at you...So go on, kids! Just ask the Librarians where you can publish your creative writing on the web for feed back!I can’t wait for it to rain again at lunchtime.
Posted by The Dean's Blog at 12:12 AM 0 comments
‘But it’s so boring when it rains, Mr D!’ whinged Jemima as though as Dean I were in some real way responsible for this wasted lunchtime as well as for the microwave melt down last week and the primary kids on the Red Top at lunchtime for their Walkathon. The computer labs are full of kids, or if full of primary kids the corridors nearby are full of moaning kids…
‘It’s so not fair that they get to use the computers now when it is our lunchtime…’ Hey, remember the C in our name, guys?
The library has more students than usual and the seductive atmosphere of the place with its wild variety of displays that constantly change, sheltered booky corners, huge comfy chairs for sideways sitting and studying of magazines, squashy cushions to pummel a hole in for reading in comfort, new Bridget Rileyesque rugs scattered throughout the shelving to make leaning against a stack a pleasure…I mean, the place should actually be stuffed to the very roof with kids! And then there are the computers…
As an English teacher, on wet lunchtimes I thank JK Rowland for helping children to rediscover the vanishing art of reading and the vanishing pleasure of reading. A good proportion of the 400 million copies of her books that have been sold were bought by children themselves rather than by grown up children or by adults for children. But I think she can also bring closer the thrill of actually creating text (which then can get read in an authentic way.) To have the invention of written language at your fingertips, alone of all the animals, and then have the thrill of inventing people, moulding a relationship for them, dialling in, say, parental concern, bad weather, a misunderstood rendezvous and Halloween, and then letting your protagonist loose in that scene of your creation? The excitement is infectious and reminds me of the time I sat in the co-pilot’s chair in a Swissair flight simulator in Kloten and was able to dial in storms, cross winds, dusk and the approach to Hong Kong…just thrilling! How could all this power and potential not go to your head? And then you can write alternative endings and get them voted on or have your friend finish your story at a key point, or experiment in a safe environment the construction of a couplet in iambic pentameters just like Shakespeare did. Or if you are scientific you can create an outrageously complex but memory effective rhyme scheme after experimenting just how long a human can carry the memory of a stressed line ending in their head. And how exciting that you can repeat the adrenalin kick time after time as your characters weave in and out of the challenges you manufacture, and you cannot ever overdose!
‘Yeah, but she’s, like, an adult I mean she’s grown up…’ implying it’s alright for her, it’s easy.
‘Mr D, this is so just not going to happen…’ Well, SE Hinton was a woman and a teenager and wrote ‘The Outsiders’ at the age of 16 and got it published, and it was filmed with Rob Lowe and Matt Dillon and Ralph (‘Karate Kid’) Macchio. It says some pretty relevant things, too, for teenagers, and for parents, about coping with what life throws at you...So go on, kids! Just ask the Librarians where you can publish your creative writing on the web for feed back!I can’t wait for it to rain again at lunchtime.
Posted by The Dean's Blog at 12:12 AM 0 comments
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