“I would like to get better at soccer, learning skills, rather than just playing at my same level.”
“We also talked about getting better. Maybe the Southies could help the Chileans with drills and stuff like that.”
“That will happen only if Chileans want to learn. Isn’t that the way this school works? You can’t teach somebody anything they don’t want to learn?”
The teacher looks around to see if anyone else wants to say anything. “Okay, I compliment you guys on the maturity in your comments. The school’s emphasis on problem solving, saying what you really think first, seems to be paying off. Sean, since you are new, it might be easier for you to be more objective about this problem. How about if you come back tomorrow, or rather Monday, with ideas about where we could go from here?”
Thank goodness I didn’t get asked to do that assignment. My afternoons when school is over are consumed with my new job. It’s making me super tense. Maybe my career choice isn’t the best for someone with anxiety issues. Between that and the stress of having to be “on” every minute while I’m doing it, I get home every day feeling totally wiped out.
Word got around school quickly about intramural soccer. On my way home, I got a text from Cora: “How did y’all manage to destroy positive relations between different ethnic groups in fifteen minutes?”
My response: “That’s a long conversation.”
After not getting the newspaper job and now the soccer fiasco, two big failures in the last few days, I was feeling pretty shaky about doing my first newspaper story, the Chautauqua book club meeting. I sent another text to Cora: “Will you show up a little early tonight to help me do a good job covering your book club?”
Her text back: “It’s easy. Use quotes from what book club members say and then just write a concluding comment to wrap things up. The book we read is My Beloved World, Sonia Sotomayor’s autobiography.”
I arrived to this meeting feeling nervous, but I don’t have much time to worry, because, as usual, Cora drives right to the heart of the matter. “I was so surprised that Sonia Sotomayor, a US Supreme Court Justice, thinks that the Latinos of the Bronx she grew up with are as important to her success as her Ivy League schooling at Princeton,” she says.
Others in the group agree that Sotomayor’s sense of community and Puerto Rican heritage assists her ability to see the world through a multifaceted lens.
A middle-aged woman says she has lived in this county all her life, but the sense of family and community here has changed. She says her experiences in school were all about social life, time to be with others her age. Now she has two young children who hate school, mostly because of all the pressure around testing. One has developed stomachaches and begs to stay home every morning.
Funny, I used to get stomachaches when I was in first and second grade, too. I had to take pills every day, and they eventually went away. I never drew a connection between the pressures of school and those stomachaches until now.
“At Stone Creek, we learn a lot from other students,” one student says. “Just like Sotomayor learned from the Princeton students instead of envying them.”
A man I recognize from the law school where my former stepfather works talks about Sotomayor’s victories as a New York City prosecutor and how she stresses that fairness, not winning, is the end in our system of law. Sotomayor felt she could not try a case if she had to lie to the jury. Truth was more important than her own ego. I had a hard time listening to this guy at first, putting him in the same basket with the former stepfather, but I realize I like what he has to say. I guess nobody, not even lawyers, should be put in basket categories.
I write the story as soon as I get home from the meeting. My conclusion: “Growing up is about deciding what values are important to live by.”
My weekend with Mom was much-needed relaxation time. Watching a movie with her on Saturday night and reading The Great Gatsby on Sunday night helped me let go a little bit. But I forgot to prepare for my interview today with Chief, and now it’s too late, because it’s time for us to meet.
Chief and I sit at a table in the cafeteria for our talk. He’s eating a salad he made at the salad bar; I’m having fresh bread and a pear.
“That pear is locally grown, you know,” Chief says as I take a bite. “I’m hoping to get more local foods in the cafeteria. In fact, the FFA club, led by Jake, is spearheading the idea of forming a Community Supported Agriculture (CSA) project in the county where individuals, and places like the school, can purchase food grown in the area.”
“That’s a cool idea,” I say.
“Some older farmers don’t much like the idea, seeing it as a communist plan that will be bad for family farms,” Chief says. “The discussion Friday night at the Chautauqua was pretty lively.” He chuckles. “But you want to talk about me visiting classes. Best part of my job. They are really inspiring. The bottom line for me is whether students are actively engaged, relaxed, and spirited.”
“What was the best class you visited?” I ask. This lame, third-grade-level question is embarrassing. I definitely need to prepare for interviews and come up with better questions in the future.
“That’s easy. I had the most fun in the class where they invited me to participate. You know I like to talk. A senior physics class asked me to talk about the seminar I participated in over the summer with Elon Musk, the CEO of SpaceX. Students wanted to know about the latest rocket launch and the progress that’s being made in getting the rocket stage to land on a platform in the ocean so it can be reused. I also got to tell them what Musk thought of our school, and how he dropped out of Stanford graduate school because he didn’t want to be an academic. Musk made a bunch of money as a cofounder of PayPal, invested it in Tesla, the all-battery car, and then started SpaceX. He likes our approach to cultivating individual student initiative and our three core values of openness, inquiry, and compassion.”
He’s telling me about meeting Elon Musk and I don’t even have the decency to come up with thoughtful follow-up questions. Get it together, Daniel!
Chief misinterprets the look on my face as boredom. “Sorry, Daniel, I’m not a good subject to interview because I go on and on …”
“That’s okay, Chief, I’m new at this interviewing thing. What else should I have asked?”
“Maybe why I visit classes at all?”
Duh, that’s a no brainer. So why didn’t I come up with it?
“Good one. So, why do you visit classrooms?”
“Seeing classes gives me energy to do my job better. I love witnessing the excitement that happens in the classroom and then sharing that excitement with other people in the community.”
“Can you give a specific example of something you shared with community people this week?”
“Good question, Daniel.” Chief gives me an approving smile. “I spoke with a minister about our school approach to how the universe began. Some people in our community would argue a religious origin. I told him we teach the science part and leave the religious interpretations up to students. We are clear that science and faith are different ways of knowing, and both exist in our society.”
What I take away from this interview is Chief is a kind and patient teacher and I’m going to prepare better for my next interviewing job. In a few days, the 9/11 speaker is coming to my US History class. He’s not really speaking so much as being interviewed by me. I want to be respectful to somebody taking the risk to come talk to us about his personal, very difficult, experience. Tonight I’ll start coming up with questions.
“My goal for our soccer playing is mainly to have fun, plus get to know new people,” Sean says.
We’re back in intramural soccer; time to figure out our next steps.
“If you want to have fun, relajarse with us. Try the moves our way. Don’t act afraid of us or like you’re better than us.”
Sean stands up, walks over, and gives him a high-five. “Vamos a jugar,” he says.
“Let’s divide i
nto teams by mixing up,” one of my teammates says.
Other ideas are thrown out.
“Let’s go recruit some girls.”
“People who know the rules explain to the rest of us as we go.”
“Teachers could act like coaches, giving tips to individuals.”
The tension is gone. Except from me and a few white guys standing next to me. We have no idea how to save face in this situation.
“Daniel, your idea of learning Spanish in a natural way was a good one,” Sean says. “Now we have all these tutors who can help us.”
I feel like I have lost control of my idea. But it’s clear I am in the minority. Better to join in than continue fighting a losing battle. If I go along now, maybe nobody will remember when I lost my cool the other day. That’s probably how someone in the business world would handle the situation. Besides, I’ve got too many other battles going on in my life to invest in another one. I nod to Sean in agreement.
The teachers seem to reach a similar conclusion, like, let the students work it out. “Sounds good,” they say.
“Daniel, are you going to the park?” Sean asks after soccer. “People ask about you.”
“The newspaper stories are keeping me busy and I want to do a good job so maybe I can get a real job for the summer at the community newspaper,” I tell him.
“Don’t drift away, man. You got to have some fun too.”
“Later,” I say, with the tiniest of smiles and a good-bye salute. Then I head to my real job. Everything is going smoothly on the surface, but I’m still constantly on edge.
When I arrive at our spot in the woods, Godfather is already there.
“I won’t be here tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll leave the bags of weed in the waterproof box and you leave the money collected for the afternoon in the box when you’re done.”
At today’s newspaper meeting at lunch, I am surprised to see the local publisher of the community newspaper walk in. Our newspaper teacher/club sponsor walks over to greet him, and soon they are huddled in the corner, talking intensely.
The two student editors call us over to a large seminar table. “Sorry we forgot to mention he was coming,” they tell us. “Actually, we’re not totally sure why he is here. But I guess we’re about to find out.”
Mr. Peyton heads our way, still talking with the teacher. Finally, she introduces him and thanks him for agreeing to her request to meet with us.
“I’ll be honest about why I asked him to come,” she says. “I need help in communicating standards of high-quality journalism. I believe that some of you are not open to that kind of input from me and would prefer the paper be entirely student-run. Since the newspaper is a reflection of our school in the community at large, however, Chief and I both believe it must be held accountable to certain standards. I’m not saying accountable to Chief, to me, to the whims of community beliefs, or to any particular student who is editor for a year—I mean to standards y’all agree upon. Mr. Peyton, as a career publisher, can help us develop the parameters we want to use in holding ourselves accountable. I know y’all are already very busy writing stories for the first month’s edition, but I think it is important to devote the time necessary to agree on what the newspaper should be.”
This is the first time I’ve heard this teacher say much of anything. I’m not sure I get all she means about standards, but it seems like she has, like me, noticed the arrogant attitudes of the student editors.
One of the editors asks in an accusing tone, “What’s wrong with what we’ve done in the past?”
Our teacher doesn’t take the bait. “Before anyone can answer that question,” she says calmly, “we have to agree on the purpose of our paper and how to uphold that mission.” She’s looking around at everybody in the room, not focusing only on the editors. “Perhaps the fault is mine in not insisting we establish those ground rules before publishing. I thought they would emerge over time, but that hasn’t happened. That’s not to say that we haven’t published some great work—we have, and we can use those big successes in establishing what we want to do going forward.”
“I think that is an excellent way to establish standards,” Mr. Peyton says, pointing to the student who asked what’s wrong with what we’re already doing. “Look at what articles have ‘worked’ in your minds, and why they worked will be a standard. The same could apply to good articles in other newspapers—figure out why they ‘work,’ and use that standard for your newspaper.”
From the back of the student cluster, I say, “That would help me think through how to cover a story or do an interview. Like, ‘What does a reader want to know about the Chautauqua book club?’ or ‘What does a student in US History want to know about 9/11?’” If Cora or Sean could see me right now, they might think I’m just sucking up to Mr. Peyton, knowing how much getting a job at the community newspaper would mean to me. But I really believe what I’m saying.
I can tell by the dismissive looks of the senior leaders that my point of view is not popular with them. A few sophomores and juniors are giving me encouraging looks, but they are not about to say anything.
One senior who rolled his eyes at me a minute ago says, “Maybe not everyone knows what to do, but the experienced students can help them along. Clubs are supposed to be student-run.” He adds an exclamation point to his statement when he crosses his arms across his chest.
Our teacher has had struggles with this guy in the past, but she always tries to get him to see the value of what she is saying rather than pulling a power play. “That is true,” she says, “clubs are supposed to be student-run. That’s why I am asking y’all to come up with these standards yourselves. Mr. Peyton and I are offering to be consultants to you in that process, but you’ll be leading it.”
The tension in the room is coming from the older students who obviously think they know how to do everything and the teacher should just get out of the way. I’m comfortable just watching things play out. But others are starting to fidget.
Another junior says, “If we spent some time thinking and researching on our own, we could bring specific ideas to the group so it wouldn’t take so long. Maybe we could have an end-of-October deadline for the standards, and start using them after that.”
“I brought a few articles with me written by professional journalists,” Mr. Peyton says. “They might help get your creative juices going.”
Finally, a sophomore has the nerve to say something. “I have wanted to be more involved but didn’t know how. This sounds good to me.”
“I’m going to talk with Chief about this,” says one of the editors.
Ah, the old appeal-to-authority power play. I think I’ll talk to Chief, too, and tell him how these older students are trying to maintain control … but to what end? Chief always says to focus on the goal of what you’re trying to do and everything else will fall in line. I guess my goal is not to be a gopher for these seniors with attitude.
I meet Sean in the hall as he is leaving Math Club. “So, you’re joining the braniacs?”
“I’m checking it out for now. There are enough newbies so I’m not too intimidated.” He shrugs. “Speaking of not having much experience, my group is doing our presentation in Calculus today. I hope I don’t get asked any questions.”
“You will, sorry man. But they’ll go easy on you since you’re new.”
Sean’s group presents the sports stadium project. Their task was to figure out the amount of space below the dome for seats. First, they have to state in clear English what the question is and then translate the question into mathematical terms of change, since this is Calculus. They tell us how they cut the area underneath the dome into pieces to find out how it changes, then joined the pieces together to find out how much space there is. As different students describe the process, the teachers ask leading questions to expand their explanations, drawing out calculating principles. This is how we have learned math for the last two years, and it makes it seem alive—so much better than gettin
g lectured about dead facts, working out the answer, and having to memorize processes we’ll all forget in a couple weeks.
Sean does fine. I can tell by how fast he talks, using his hands to gesture, that he has thrown himself into the project and is feeling like he “gets it.” A teacher even asks him if he’ll go over the group presentation tomorrow with a student who is absent today. He’s so shocked he can barely squeak out a “yes.”
Sean seems more animated today than I’ve ever seen him, including at soccer. His fun-loving spirit is obvious when we’re on the field, but in here, grappling with this math problem, he showed an intensity and determination to clearly explain what was a challenge for everyone. This place is bringing out a whole other side to him. I like math for its precision and logical steps, but Sean’s passion to figure things out is different.
Inspired by Sean’s enthusiasm, I spend the evening focusing on the 9/11 interview I have coming up. All I know about our guest is that he’s a local firefighter who went to New York City immediately after the Twin Towers came down, as firefighters from all over the country did, to help look through the wreckage for any signs of life.
What do I want to know? Was he angry at the terrorists? Has he been back to the new Ground Zero Memorial? Where was he the day it happened? What does he want to tell our generation? Did he support the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq? Is he glad we killed Osama bin Laden? Did he know anyone who died on 9/11? This is probably not the right order for the questions, but I’ll let him direct the discussion and ask a question when appropriate. I’m going to record our discussion, too, so I can go back and listen to it again before I write my story. I really want to be able to focus on not just what he says but how he says it—I want to capture his feelings during his experiences in my story.
After an evening of thinking about 9/11, I remember a TV documentary I watched a few years ago where people told stories of family members who died. I can still remember some of the details: a woman’s call to her teenage daughter from the second tower just before it collapsed; a voice mail left by a man on the plane right before they charged the terrorists; bagpipes playing at the funerals of the Irish police and firefighters; survivors of the Pentagon explosion; President Bush’s expression when he found out what happened; the ABC news reporter who broadcast an interview with Osama bin Laden saying years before 9/11 they were coming after us.
School Tales Page 14