I don’t live or teach in Stamford, but I do both in the next town over.  And so I started reading Stamford Talk.

I never thought I was a material person, but now that my Civic and I are getting older, I find myself craving a BMW 6 series. I can’t afford that car, but I want that car, because I see some beautiful ones in my gym’s parking lot at 6am. That car has started to look normal- and, in my fantasies, attainable- to me. That car is not normal, and this area is not normal. We have some very, very, very rich people around here, and we have a lot of poor people. I’m in the middle and I feel pretty damn lucky about that.

If it’s hard for adults to keep perspective, it must horrible for kids. If I were a poor kid in Stamford, I’m not sure how I’d deal with seeing other kids driving nice cars, using their iPhones and talking about fancy vacations. If you have money, this area is awesome; there are so many ways to spend it. If you don’t… well, you’re stuck on 95, living in an ugly apartment, and unable to enjoy a lot of the activities around here. Thank goodness Stamford has some beautiful parks, the free summer concerts, and… uh, that’s pretty much all the free stuff around here, right?

Can you imagine living in this area with no money?

Valid points.  You can’t even imagine how valid these points are unless you’re in this particular part of CT, or something similar to it.  It’s crazy here (and I grew up in affluent Westport, just a few exits away on I-95).  It’s gotten worse, and it’s getting worse.

Meanwhile, we’re spending money on dumb things like water, which is a status symbol, a seemingly cheap manifestation of conspicuous consumption.  Check it:

This book looks really interesting (via Very Short List).

And have you seen Chris Jordan’s work? I can’t really explain it in any way that will make any sense, but he takes stats on American consumption and takes photos of the actual numbers.  His photo of the two million plastic water bottles consumed every five minutes, which is on the page I linked to, is staggering.

I’m never going to get people to stop thinking that having a lot of stuff is a good measure of their self-worth, but I’ll be damned if I stop trying to figure out how to discourage the sale of Poland Spring bottles in our school cafeteria.

First, I read Jose Vilson, who has quickly become one of my favorite bloggers:

Whether it’s at the movie theatre or my schools, many of our youth have become more superficial, less integral, more belligerent, and more careless with themselves, more than anything.

While it’s easy to point at the parents, I’m of the belief that the village raises the child. When communities as a whole set a standard for how their neighborhoods like, for what their children should know, and how their offspring should behave in any given environment, I strongly believe that translates into higher success for the communities in general.

Hmm, I thought as I picked my way through the layer of trash on the floor of our student center, stepping around kids making out on tables and past the pharmaceutical trade show that clearly doesn’t, couldn’t exist in such an Affluent Suburb Where No Children Are Left Behind. There sure are a lot of things wrong here!

And when an entire section of sophomores rolled into my classroom five minutes after the bell, claiming they weren’t late “because nobody was there,” I thought, There sure are a lot of things wrong here!

And when, at a house meeting in the middle of the week, we were told that the reason why we can’t go to the Board of Ed with an Actual Attendance Policy was that not every teacher in the school consistently enters his/her grades into the attendance database after school every day, I thought, There sure are a lot of things wrong here!

I don’t want this to be a complaining post. Nobody likes reading those, for starters, and May is such a great time of year to try to be happy. So instead, I’ve been thinking about things I can do which will raise my ability to respect myself as a teacher, which should translate into improvements, at least in my immediate sphere.

It really comes down to one thing: I will not teach behaviors that I do not want to see in my students. Or, if you’re more of a positive person, I will teach by example the things that I think are most important. I think this is the only way to counteract what Jose points out.

Thing One: Environmental responsibility

I’m not dumb enough to believe that this high school is going to become even a little bit more environmentally responsible. Replace our non-opening windows and inefficient HVAC system with fresh air? Naaah. Stop allowing students to drive to school? Nope. Rising gas prices (we’re over $4.00/gallon in these parts already) aren’t going to have much of an impact on rich kids driving inefficient SUVs. The school-wide campaign to recycle clean printer paper and print on the other side hasn’t gotten much traction. They’re still selling Poland Spring bottles in the cafeteria line.

I don’t entirely agree with Michael H. Schneider’s comment on UnFogged that it’s not in the American character to change our consumption patterns:

I’m confident that life in this country will get steadily more nasty, brutish, and short. I expect that anthropogenic climate change will accelerate and wipe out most coastal communities and totally disrupt agriculture.

I’m not doing a thing to prevent it. Judging by the election results of the last few decades, people like me are in the majority. Sorry, kids.

However, there are days when I can’t help but nod when I read this bit:

I just hope it happens after about 2035, because that’s about as long as I think I can possibly live. People in this country like being ignorant and bigoted and selfish and stupid, and we’ll choose to stay that way until it kills all of us.

If we could see the impact of our bad decisions, if we could see the impact of our good decisions, I think we’d have a lot more people willing to work to curb their excesses and pitch in. But I also think we need role models for sound stewardship of the resources (natural and unnatural) we’ve got left. Because it’s not just about global warming and the impending fuel crisis; we’re running out of food and money and pretty much everything (except for blogs).

So that’s why I’m planning on going paperless with all of my classes next year. I don’t want to photocopy anything, because all those papers wind up in the recycling bins, which, because of cuts in the facilities department, wind up getting emptied into the same trash cans as everything else. The papers clutter my desk, leading me to discard them, and things get wrinkled and coffee-stained and meet all sorts of other fates. It’s not worth it.

I’m thinking that setting my students up with the Google online software suite would be the way to go: papers could be “handed in” by sharing them on Documents (and I can write comments directly on them). Homework could be posted on Calendar. Announcements via a group on Gmail. Etc, etc.

Thought: does having a computer on to do all this use more resources than using a copy machine to make handouts?

Thing Two: No More Timewasting

My mantra this year has been “another committee…another meeting…another hour spent doing something that doesn’t directly benefit my students.”  I’m on the Senior Internship Committee, which, while a good cause, is really inefficient; I’m doing something involving figuring out which non-special ed support services are available to which kids, which has so far consisted of brainstorming the same things over and over again and writing them on chart paper and yellow legal pads; I spend a lot of time sitting around waiting for students who aren’t in my classes to show up for CAPT test remediation, which nobody wants to deal with; the cringe-inducing tech committee.  There are more, of course.

Recently, I’ve been thinking more and more about my desire to refuse to go to these things anymore (especially because I wasn’t given much of a choice in the first place).   Why is it that I can complain about these meetings and events, pay little attention when I’m there, and not complete my assignments while if my students did that in my class, I’d come down on them?  Is not the behavior I’m modeling the behavior I’m getting?

The solution I’ve come up with here is not to start going happily to crappy meetings.  It’s time for someone else to pick up that slack.  But I want to focus on giving my students only meaningful work to do, only things that have a clear value to them.  the trick, I suppose, is to figure out what those things are.

UPDATE: I’ve given up on the book.  It’s way too nice out to be able to focus on something like this.

I just read a post on The China Beat about Wolf Totem’s reception among Western reviewers.  I haven’t read more than a couple of pages of the book, which I found out about through the Very Short List*, but I feel like I’m going to be into it pretty soon.  Anyway, without knowing a whole lot about the book, it’s interesting to see how varied the response to it is.  Over on Paper Cuts, Jennifer Schuessler calls the reviews of the novel “strangely fevered, if not always appreciative.”

In my own classroom, I’ve just distributed copies of The Odyssey to my sophomores.  For some reason, I always end the year with it, even though it’s the toughest read of our three district-required works (the others are Macbeth and Huck Finn).  I’m not sure why, but every year I feel the need to really sell The Odyssey to my sophomores.  I find myself engaging in some serious used-car-salesman-esque hucksterism (”It’s so good–there’s action, adventure, romance, sex, the works. I can’t believe you’re refusing to even open this book.  You’ll love it!”) to convince my students that a 400+ page epic from almost four millenia ago is going to be fun, or even interesting, to read.

I guess part of the problem is that I feel the need to convince my students that reading a book is going to give them a similar experience to watching a movie or playing a video game, when that couldn’t be any less truthful.  We read books for very different reasons than we watch movies, and that’s okay.  A movie is a two hour commitment, give or take.  It is meant to be consumed in one sitting (I only give five stars on Netflix to movies during which I don’t get up to go to the bathroom or anything).  We can get a lot from watching movies, and some even go as deep (or deeper) than do our greatest books.  TV shows like The Wire, too, can play out as almost Dickensian, introducing us to characters and subplots that boggle the mind.

But reading a book requires a different mindset.  And when I try to communicate this to my students, they tend to shut down.  So I’m asking if any teachers who are reading have any metaphors, allegories, parables, etc they use to explain how and why we should read.  Please post them here, if you don’t mind.

* Why haven’t you subscribed to this yet?  You really should.

Has anyone else (aside from Clay, who turned me on to it) seen the NYC Students Blog?  If you haven’t yet, take a few minutes and read it, then come back.  I’ll be here.

Anyway, am I told to be excited by the idea of a few high school students using a blog to organize protests, to call the system to account, and to pass information along?

Why don’t we have this in my district?

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