These questions would make sense if I was talking with someone at school about this whole problem. Why can’t I get through to Dad?
“I know all this is hard for you to accept,” he says. “But that’s reality. I know it’s your dream. That’s why I wanted you to have a chance to experience reality, before it’s too late.”
I’ve experienced your reality, Dad, but my reality is just starting. Failure means looking for another way forward. I’m only sixteen. There’s no way I’m resigning myself to “it is what it is.”
Still riding the high of the hurricane day, Chelsea, Cora, Daniel, Sean, Amelio, Jorge, and Will decide to celebrate our summer’s end with a late-night bonfire at my fire pit. Only Chelsea knows how down I am about the financial results of the summer. For everyone else’s sake, I need to be in a positive frame of mind. I want to celebrate their hard work and loyalty.
First order of business is, of course, roasting marshmallows to put on graham crackers with chocolate bars. Among a small group of friends, chocolate is more satisfying than alcohol. That’s a law of nature—google it.
The next best thing is laughter. Sean and Jorge accommodate this need by acting out vignettes of disaster, such as how to chase a cow out of the pasture before she tramples the vegetables. The slapstick is the real humor.
Chelsea points to the stars, set in an ebony sky, and says, “There I am—Libra, my birth constellation.”
“I’ve always had a thing for Aquarius, the water-bearer,” Sean says, pointing. “But it is always so faint and pretty much impossible to find. Then there’s the idea we’re entering a new age—you know, the hippie song, ‘The Age of Aquarius.’ Supposedly, peace and love will guide the planets.”
“You do know, don’t you, that the idea of the New Age, when Jupiter aligns with Mars, is not scientifically precise?” Cora says, gazing up at the sky.
Sean shrugs. “I don’t need it to be precise. Still, combining the poetry of peace and love with science, I wonder where we are now, in the big picture.”
“I like the Carl Sagan statement, ‘We began as wanderers and we are wanderers still,’” Cora says.
“That’s awesome, Cora.” Sean grins. “I like thinking of myself as a wanderer, combined with adventure. Maybe we’re the generation of grown-up Star Wars bearers of the force,” Sean says, escalating in excitement with every sentence.
“Let’s go around and answer this question posed in my sophomore science class,” Cora says: “What word best describes your self-defined identity as a being in nature? You can only answer with one word, no explanations of why you picked that word.”
Starting with Cora, we go around the circle:
CORA: “I think of myself as human.”
CHELSEA: “I feel things really shifting for me. Lately, I’ve been preoccupied with the word mammal.”
JORGE: “Nobody will be surprised if I answer male.”
AMELIO: “My answer is brown.”
SEAN: “You’re a man of few words, Amelio, but they’re always powerful ones. I choose cetacean.”
DANIEL: “My experiences this last year have resulted in a deep dive into how I see everything in the world, including myself. My identity is an animal.”
WILL: “Dark.”
ME: “Dreamer.”
“Next, we try to guess why each person chose that word,” Cora says. “We keep guessing until we get the right reason.”
Some people’s words are somewhat easy to guess about, since most of us know each other pretty well. One identity factor is obviously ethnicity, with Cora saying “human,” not “race,” and Amelio being proud of his “brown” heritage. We all wrongly assumed Will was referring to his black ethnicity; when we ask, he explains that he chose “dark” because he is fascinated by darkness, night, and mystery. It took a long time for us to guess his reasoning, showing that even though I knew him best, none of us know him well. For Jorge, male machismo rules with girls. My word, “dreamer,” was also cultural, like ethnicity and gender.
The rest of the “whys” turn out to be more related to nature. Chelsea explains her newfound desire to have children, which has prompted viewing herself as a mammal who will birth and care for children. Sean’s spirit is tied to life in the ocean.
The most complex explanation comes from Daniel, who, of course, has spent this past year in deep soul searching. His conclusion is that humans think of themselves as exceptional, better, within nature. People build up artificial things that end up hurting other animals, nature, and ourselves. Daniel thinks remembering he is “only” an animal will keep false journeys in perspective. And as an animal within the huge planet and cosmos, he is nurtured by our awesome home.
What Daniel says really hits home for me. That kind of thinking is what underlies my love of the farm. The events of the summer have given me that understanding about myself, even as they’ve forced me to confront the overwhelming practicalities of living in a world that hasn’t yet catapulted to where I dream.
Beautiful as Daniel’s statement was, though, the truth is I am stuck in the vision of Chelsea as a mom.
Chapter 11: Freedom Fighters
Once upon a time, a band of friends battled a corn king.
JAKE
Driving into the Stone Creek parking lot for the fall opening day of school, I park my truck, sit back, and, as I often do, take stock of my dream failure. What pops into my head is the first time I met Sean, when he told me I was lucky to know what I wanted in life. Turns out I only knew part of it—the farm.
The community’s support before and after the hurricane was like a passing down of the baton from my father’s generation to mine. Personal support like I’ve never had before came from friends who I knew would be there for me through it all. Most unbelievable for me was the summer life Chelsea and I shared, and our sense of certainty with each other.
Chelsea almost decided to drop out of UVA this summer. But then she found a Charlottesville group engaged in learning to “turn” from a Sufi whirling dervish teacher who comes to town several times a year, and is in the direct line from Rumi. Chelsea says her goal for the year is finding a bigger self. Bet that’s not in the UVA curriculum.
I miss her already, but then I would be embarrassed to see a “poor Jake” look from her as I wallow in self-pity every day, obsessing about my summer failure as a farmer.
The walk from my truck to the school building, surrounded by majestic mountains, reminds me of Daniel’s campfire vision of our nest in nature. As I open the front door, I have to laugh at the big “no fear zone” sign.
The first person I see is Cora. We give each other a big hug, and then walk together to the library, the senior first period home.
Chief leads the opening activity. “You folks started here in ninth grade, the same year I first came to Stone Creek,” he begins. “I believe we’ve been bringing about change here every day since. I think we’ve been adjusting how we see school toward a different paradigm. Let’s test out my belief. Everyone close your eyes and visualize the organization of Stone Creek. What do you see? What’s in the frame of your picture?” Chief waits a considerable amount of time, until people start shuffling. “Okay, shout out a description of your picture when I point to you, and your three counselors up here will write what you say on a flip chart.”
For every shout-out, the counselors look at each other and decide who will write it on their list. By the end, one list has picturing words, like the parking lot, principal’s office, the science and math classes on the first floor and social studies and English classes on the second, and students cutting off their phones and heading to class. The second flip chart list has people going to their lockers, a kid glued to a computer screen, and a teacher writing notes at his desk. The third list has friends waving for another person to come join them, a lively debate at circle time that begins class, a group of students laughing, and a teacher helping someone with a project.
Chief points to the first flip chart. “Seeing the fir
st list, we could say it is a view from the outside looking in. There’s a principal and a student, two different roles for people in the school, and they are related to each other by the hierarchy of their role, me on top.” That comment gets lots of laughter. “The student is turning off a phone because … right, that’s the rule. So we have a picture of power structure, roles, and rules. That’s the definition of a structure that is a bureaucracy, or, visually, a pyramid.”
I’ve never thought of Stone Creek as a power structure. I suppose you could think of any setup, like family or work, in power terms. But it seems to me the “I’ve got more” thing just gets in the way of relationships and accomplishing things.
“Okay,” Chief says, moving over to the second flip chart, “this second set of pictures looks like people doing things individually.” He moves to the final chart. “In the third set of visualizations we see friends, welcoming, emotion, fun, and helping. This third vision is where we want to be, correct?”
Finger snaps, sounding like a hoard of insects, signal out our answer. Last year our class switched from the practice of clapping to finger snapping.
“I think we have been labeling something incorrectly for the last several years, and that is holding us back in fully reaching this last paradigm,” Chief says. “We have talked at length about ‘individual interests.’ That’s a misnomer. No interest is truly individual. Many people—scientists, artists, writers—share your interests. We should have been saying ‘personal’ interests, emphasizing that these interests come from within each of us and yet we want to connect with others around them.”
It feels like Chief is talking directly to me, where my head is at this morning.
“This last view of connections looks like a circle, or overlapping circles, or webs of connection, the links between us strengthening over time,” he says. His delivery is getting louder and faster, so you know he’s getting to his main point. “The circles, or webs, represent a new paradigm. That view explains why teachers want you to ‘circle up’ for discussions in class, right? They don’t want to stand at the front of the class and dispense information to you top down, right?” He reaches his finale: “Scholars describing strong interconnections among people say they are based on acceptance of each individual as a whole person, in the present, and are often hard to describe in words. You can recognize that interconnection when you feel calm satisfaction, in sync with all around you. How’s that vision for a life worth living at school this year?”
I don’t know. He lost me at the end. I get the strong interconnections idea, like my life over the summer with Chelsea, Sean, Jorge, Amelio, Cora, and Daniel. Also, ever since the campfire night, I’ve been thinking about Daniel’s vision. It helped me realize something important. I never felt anger toward the hurricane. Nature is. Humans are interconnected with all of nature. We just need to figure out how to be a part of the bigger scheme of things. There’s a strange kind of security in that understanding, even though disaster happens.
Morning block is government/rhetoric with Sean, Daniel, and Cora. Question of the day: “What is freedom?”
“Doing whatever I want,” one student calls out.
Ms. Jordan, our government teacher says, “Like, using your cell phone in school?”
She receives a rousing chorus of, “Yes!”
“What if I presented credible data from brain research showing there is no such thing as multitasking?” Ms. Jordan asks. “You can’t do two things at once, like texting and driving, for instance.”
“I can,” says a guy who’s into drag racing.
“I would love to see research results from you that demonstrate your belief,” Ms. Jordan says. “What I’ve seen from neuroscientists is that the brain cannot function that way.” She continues, “Let me give another example. If one of you is using your phone right now, you are saying to the rest of us that what we are doing is unimportant to you, an example of disconnection.” She gauges our response to this statement. “Okay, I’m sure many of you are still skeptical, so let’s switch gears. I would like for you to free-write one page expanding on the following statement: If government ceased to exist, my life would be different because …”
When I look up from my writing, I see many students are writing more than one page. That kind of pushes me to go deeper. When most of us have wound down, Ms. Jordan suggests we form small groups and share our answers.
My small group gathers under the window on the carpet, using pillows as seats. We are surprised to find a lot of similarity in our writing. The lead sentence for several of us is, “If government ceased to exist, I would not be in school, a government requirement.” From there, however, we have gone in many different directions, describing life amid lawlessness and survival of the fittest expressed with weapons, all the way to “Armageddon.” Looking around our comfortable environment, this conclusion is mind-boggling for me.
The other groups report similar scenarios. When conversation begins to peter out, Ms. Jordan brings us back from our small groups to huddle back together in one large group.
“So, we could think of freedom not as freedom from, in this case government, but freedom to establish security through each person’s involvement in deciding rules for the common good,” she says. “Deciding together would require establishing trust in working with others, despite our differences. That’s the modern idea of democracy: government by the people, each person having a vote.”
“That sounds like the connection with others Chief was talking about this morning in first period,” one student says.
“So school should be a democracy?” another student asks.
“It has to be if we’re going to learn to make decisions for ourselves,” someone else says.
“I agree with you,” Ms. Jordan says. “We all act within the previously established rules, but those can be changed if people see the necessity to do so. For example, you are all taking required classes commonly accepted as providing a broad foundation of knowledge of our current world. But each of you see that field through a lens of your personal—not individual—interests.”
When nobody jumps in to say anything, she says, “Okay, what do we call government rules we must all go by?”
Various answers are called out: “laws,” “regulations,” “court rulings,” “what the president decides,” and “what adults tell kids they have to do.”
Whew. This class is going to be a challenge for me.
“What are the rules bigger than all the things said so far?” Ms. Jordan asks.
More answers flow forth: “religion,” “love,” “survival of the fittest,” “money,” “the Constitution.”
“Bingo,” Ms. Jordan says, and stops for a dramatic pause. “The United States Constitution. Examining the Constitution, we’ll see how those other values you mentioned are reflected.”
“What about other countries?” someone asks.
“Remember our Model UN work? There are treaties countries sign.”
“Also we have agreements directly with other countries, not through the UN, like trade agreements and military alliances,” a student says.
“So all this discussion is the foundation of government,” Ms. Jordan says. “Next I’d like to suggest we switch gears to illustrate what we’ve already said by talking about your personal politics, conducting an examination of your stand on current issues in the US. You don’t have to declare your stand publicly if you don’t want to. What’s important for our analysis is the range of views represented in the room, from ‘liberal’ to ‘conservative,’ in political terms. As we discuss issues during the year, we will want to make sure we include a wide range of views. That will increase understanding for all of us. And if we’re really going to focus and listen to each other, that means no cell phones on during class. If you have an emergency, you may go to the office or use your phone in the cafeteria. See? A good rule exists for a reason, and has necessary exceptions.”
Uh-oh. I have no practice in political conver
sations. My dad doesn’t like to discuss politics. When something comes up, he tends to rant about the government being involved way too much. As for me, I have no clue what I personally think about issues. But I bet Ms. Jordan is going to insist I figure out my views. In some ways, she sounds like a science teacher. They always quote Socrates, saying we have to walk around a problem, seeing the various perspectives, connections to other problems, doing things to reveal the complexity, until understanding emerges. I get science pretty well, so maybe I’ll just try to remember the circling-around-it method when things confuse me in government class.
At lunch, Sean comes to the FFA club group with Amelio and Jorge. Along with Will, we talk about the hurricane day, which some students want to know more about. Probably because Sean is so friendly and outgoing, the FFA students warm up to Amelio and Jorge, and vice versa.
At one point Jorge says to Sean, “Hey, man, I hear you’re running for Senior Class President. Why do you want to do that?”
“To make sure students are heard by the adults,” Sean says. “The four student class presidents meet with one teacher, one counselor, and one parent at least once a month. Everyone expects the group to surface issues not being dealt with and inform Chief. Then Chief farms the issue out to the appropriate working group, always made up of representatives of students, school staff, and community members, to decide needed changes.”
“Sounds like a lot of extra work,” Jorge says.
“I’ll make sure it’s fun, too,” Sean says.
“How will you be able to do that without me?” Jorge says, elbowing him.
Sean laughs. “I’ll survive somehow!”
We head to Spanish class after the meeting, and Sean tells me, “Amelio and Jorge will be working some this year as conversation leaders for a Spanish 2 class. So you can shine in ways other than just having fun, right Jorge?”
School Tales Page 25