Joan Benoit Samuelson

As part of an amazing lecture series, this lady came to our school today:


I went last night to hear her speak, and heard her again today when she addressed the students.

As part of her introduction, the Head of School said something I had heard him say once before, when Cal Ripkin was speaking at our school. Quoting a remark by his own headmaster when he was a sophomore, he said "If you have the chance to see someone who is the best in the world at what they do, you go."

I'm hyper-critical of speakers, and she had some habits that normally bother me. But I found myself inspired in spite of myself. She told an amazing story - her life and career - she got some laughs, and she gave the "marathon = life" metaphor real relevance and depth. She said lots of good things, but one thing in particular stuck with me. She said it in the evening lecture, not to the students. I wish she had repeated it. It has the flavor of an old nugget, but I don't think I'd heard it before - or, at least, she put it in a context that made me listen.

She was talking about goals, short-term, intermediate, and "pie in the sky" goals. And she described "pie in the sky goals" this way: What would you do if you weren't afraid of failing?

Well, I thought about that. And I came home and started a new project.

Also, I'm training to run a half-marathon in May. Still talking my knees into that one.

So, here's to speakers who make an impact.

Patton Oswalt on Teaching

This post has profanity in it. But not mine.

I came across Patton Oswalt's blog today - not sure why. He's a comedian and actor; he was in The Fan, which I didn't see, and he was the voice of the rat in Ratatouille, which I did see but can't spell without looking up. He wrote a New Years post on phrases he hates, phrases that are not invited to 2010. It's called "These Phrases Are Not Invited To 2010." One of the phrases he is not inviting is "Those who can't, teach."

I've read a million saccharine posts and viral emails about how wonderful and inspiring we teachers are. They're not condescending at all! We love that! Here's one of them. I've seen it many times, most recently sitting on the lunch table during Faculty Appreciation Day. Skim it:

The dinner guests were sitting around the table discussing life. One man, a CEO, decided to explain the problem with education.

He argued: "What's a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"

He reminded the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about teachers: "Those who can...do. Those who can't...teach."

To corroborate, he said to another guest: "You're a teacher, Susan," he said. "Be honest. What do you make?"

Susan, who had a reputation of honesty and frankness, replied, "You want to know what I make?"

"I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could."

“I make kids believe in themselves when no one else will.”

"I make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honor and an A- feel like a slap in the face if the student did not do his or her very best."

"I make parents tremble in fear when I call home"

"You want to know what I make?

"I make kids wonder."

"I make them question."

"I make them criticize."

"I make them apologize and mean it."

"I make them write."

"I make them read, read, read."

"I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, and definitely beautiful over and over and over again, until they will never misspell either one of those words again."

"I make them show all their work in math and hide it all on their final drafts in English."

"I make them understand that if you have a dream, then follow it...and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make or what you do, you pay them no attention."

"You want to know what I make?!"

"I make a difference."

"What about you?"

You tell him, Susan!

Of course, if they had left the camera running, the story would end with the CEO's response: "120 million dollars a year."

(Susan should also make them learn the rules for quotation marks.)

But here's a response to the "Those who can't, teach" saw that rings true with me. Oswalt captures the truth of it in a way that I hadn't heard before. Here:

"Those Who Can, Do. Those Who Can't, Teach"

Bullshit.

Yes, there are shitty teachers. There are unimaginative, by-rote educators who take no joy in their profession. Maybe they went in full of idealism and energy and got beaten down. Maybe they never had it. Yes, they exist. But the bulk of teachers -- at least, the ones I've encountered in my life -- teach because they are truly passionate about a subject, concept or discipline. They don't take any pleasure in the amassing of property or finance. I know that must sound like low-grade insanity, especially these days. They want to keep kicking open new rooms and dusting off windows in their minds and souls. They get a truly endorphic lift from delving deeper and deeper into something -- an author, an epoch, a science -- within which they perceive a teasing glimmer of the infinite.

And since there's only so much someone can read about a subject or person or book or piece of music, they create new strategies for revelation. One of the surest is to see the thing they love through untrained, unbiased eyes. In other words, students. Semester after semester, year after year, sometimes generation after generation, they watch how the changing world warps, diminishes, or builds up this thing they've become obsessed with.

People who toss this phrase off were probably shitty students, and were too dull to spot the passion in the eyes of their quality teachers. These were the assholes I encountered at college, who "studied for the test", and bragged about how, "I'm never gonna read another fucking book or listen to this faggy-ass music ever again..." and became lawyers who can't spell and who nod their heads to the same five Bon Jovi songs over their buffalo wings at Bennigan's.


I love that. Here's my favorite part, other than that whole Bon Jovi, Bennigan's cheap shot:

They get a truly endorphic lift from delving deeper and deeper into something -- an author, an epoch, a science -- within which they perceive a teasing glimmer of the infinite.

You tell 'em, Rat-chef man. Now take that last royalty check and buy your high school theater teacher a Mercedes.

Acting is Hard

It's, like, really hard.

If I return to directing, this will be a good thing for me to know .

For my first audition, I prepped. I worked on the monologue, tried different approaches, played around. And I think I did pretty well. I did, actually. I got called back, right?

But the call-backs were different. In the scenes I was called back for, I only had a couple of lines to make an impression. I worked them out a little, made some choices.

After about an hour of waiting during other characters' call-backs, we (all of the Mr. Gilmers, Bob Ewells, Scouts, and Jems) were called into a room where the director and the already-cast Atticus and Judge were sitting. And we went through the scenes.

In my many years as a director, I took for granted that I should be able to ask a new actor for a certain approach, and they, you know, should do it. Eventually. I understood why they didn't do it right away. But I never really got it. But, it turns out, it's hard. Acting, I mean.

Really, it is.

All that TV you watch, all those movies, and you have your opinions about who can act and who can't, but really you secretly think they're just moving around and talking, right? I thought I knew better, but I didn't. Since my audition, I've been amazed at how good real actors are. And I haven't been watching Meryl Streep or Deniro movies. I've been watching Arrested Development and Modern Family. Actually, I watched the same episode of Arrested Development four times in a row, and even the lamest actor (I'm not naming names, David Cross) amazed me.

(Why did I watch the same episode of Arrested Development four times in a row? Because I write self-indulgent lesson plans, that's why.)

As I watched the other Mr. Gilmers do the scenes, in a couple of cases I thought "Oh, I'm better than that," but, really, I'm probably not. I realized sitting there that it wasn't just about having a particular approach or trying to look natural, although neither of those are a cake walk. Those are the base-line minimums, even in a little community show like this one. [Just about] all of the actors had that. The hard part is doing all that and being interesting, even with - especially with - a character who doesn't do all that much.

I had my approach to the character. In the scene, Gilmer, the prosecuting attorney, is questioning young, naive Mayella Ewell, the victim. Since he was on her side, and she was shaken, I let him be nice to her, but condescending. It makes sense, from an English-teacher analysis point of view, which, duh, is the wrong point-of-view to use, because it isn't dramatic.

Which makes it sound like if only I had chosen a different approach. . . But I don't think so. Cuz you know what? Acting is hard.

Talking to my wife on the way home, I said "If I were the director. . . hello? Are you there? Hello?. . . Is this my phone or yours?. . . Can you hear me? I can't hear you. Hello?. . . Oh, hi. If I were directing, I would cast two of the other guys in this role before I would cast me." And she said nice things, but, really, what could she say? She wasn't there. And, well, I'm not much of an actor, but I am a good director. So nyah.

And he did. The director, I mean. Cast one of those guys. If I could, I would tell him that he made the right choice. Cuz he did.

Did it sting a little? I think so. It's hard to tell. The very minute - nay, second ("nay"? See what even a little theater does?) that I read the disappointing email, a teacher came into my classroom and told me some unrelated, emotionally loaded news that had me angry for the rest of the day. I had a hard time sorting out whether I was over-reacting to her news because of the casting, or if it was the other way around. Either way, it wasn't the worst day, but it wasn't the best, either.

But okay: I was bumming a little. The thing about being called-back is it makes you want it.

Will I audition again? Maybe. It would be harder next time, because now I know how easy and fast it is to slide from "doing it for the audition" to "I want this part." And now I know how hard it is to say the lines, and know when to move, and figure out what the hell to do with your arms.

My daughter got an audition notice in the mail today. She's going to try out. I admire her courage.

There are adult parts, too.