The Common Hero

As I type this, there is a lawyer at JFK airport trying to free an Iraqi man, Hameed Darwish, who has worked with the American military in Iraq.  He is being detained on an executive order signed by President Trump and the lawyer cannot meet with the man.

I am thinking of that lawyer.  No doubt he is an extraordinarily, common man.  I don't know his name.  I bet he had to take a cab to the airport.  I bet he hasn't eaten well in the past twenty four hours.

As I type this, there is a reporter, no doubt poorly dressed, chasing down a lead on Trump's connections to Russia.  She probably has sore feet.  There is a very good chance her entire week will be dedicated to a part of a large story that may not make it into print.  We will never know.  She will wonder if any of it is worth it.

As I type this, there is a teacher, marking final exams.  She is looking at the essay question:  "In a clear and concise, logically constructed and textually supported essay, decide if Orwell's assertion that "Man is infinitely malleable" is true."  She is sitting at her kitchen table, coffee cup cooling as she begins to see if her students have mastered the critical ability to think.

Three common people.  Three people, any one of whom, you might walk your dog with or have a glass of wine with or who might be coaching your kid's hockey team.  You may even be one of them.

Robert Bolt in his masterpiece A Man For All Seasons, begins his play with "The sixteenth century, like all centuries, is the century of the Common Man."  In this young century, with the encouragement of technology and social media, we have begun to disparage the common men and women who do common work.  We question our doctor because we diagnosed ourselves on the Internet.  We question a need for a lawyer and make jokes at their expense.   We dismiss journalists as biased and we ridicule teachers as lazy.

Interestingly, we attack these common people in these professions while we assert our own uniqueness, our own individuality. We want special menus.  We want unique treatments.  We want elite programs for our children, we want our own music and we want it now. We, we argue, are unique.

When Bolt used the term "common" he didn't mean it in a derogatory way; he meant it as, that which we all share.  The common is what connects us; the common should be exalted.

Our teacher has refilled her coffee cup and is looking at the exams, all of which have been written by common people who she hopes will do uncommon things.  She is imagining one of them chasing down a story that will make our democracy safer and more vibrant.  She is thinking that one of them will rescue a stranger in a windowless room in a large airport, assuring rights apply to all.

Our teacher knows, that Bolt was right:  The twenty first century, like all centuries, is the century of the Common Man.

It's Time to do More than Talk

I've been teaching in the most typical of high schools in Ontario for nearly thirty years and if my experience of mental health is consistent with schools across the country, then folks, we have a serious problem.  I want to start with the macro and move to the micro.

 Here are the statistics, taken from the Ontario College of Teachers:

• Half of all lifetime cases of diagnosable mental illness begin before age 14, and three-quarters begin before age 24. 
• Suicide is the second leading cause of death among young people age 15 to 24. 
• Ninety per cent of those who commit suicide have a diagnosable mental illness.
• 10 per cent of boys and 11 per cent of girls age four to 11 have symptoms of depression. 
• Mental-health problems in children are expected to increase by 50 per cent by 2020. 
• Seventy per cent of childhood mental-health problems can be solved through prevention, early diagnosis and intervention.

Anecdotally, I can tell you that:

• We've lost a number of students to suicide.
• We've lost a teacher to suicide.
• We have a small epidemic of anxiety in both our students and our teachers.
• Some in our school suffer from mental illnesses ranging from depression to personality and bipolar disorders. 

I think the Ontario education system contributes to this epidemic.  We work everyone too hard, we keep students and teachers inside (in my case, without a window), we limit physical activity, we emphasize results at the expense of process and we don't get enough sleep.  Our language, our work places, our classrooms, our hallways, sometimes encourage competition over cooperation.  We don't give anyone enough time to talk, and think, and decompress.

Finally and perhaps most importantly, we provide little help to those who feel unwell in such a system.

I'm  a teacher and I don't pretend to be trained in psychology but I have seen a few people over the past thirty years and I think I've learned what can keep them happy and healthy:

• Let's build schools that are made for people.  Let's have open windows, buildings that provide natural light and invite nature in.
• Let's give elementary teachers the training and ability to screen for mental health issues and then give families and students the supports they need. 
• Let's provide supports for teachers who far too often are left to struggle with their own mental health while still trying to be effective teachers.
• Let's screen teacher candidates, much like pilots, for mental health issues and either provide them support or discourage their entry into this profession that demands the most stable of psyches.

The mental health of our children and those who care for them is the most serious issue we currently face in education.  Let's do more than talk.  

A Day in the Life of a High School Basketball Coach

It starts with a 7am shooting practice to prepare for the 4:45pm game at another school that afternoon.  His team is sluggish after the weekend tournament; two students are late to practice.  Most of the kids have colds. He sends them off to class after 45 minutes, with one player staying behind to talk to him about a family issue that has arisen.  He will be late for his home room class.

He teaches a full class load, including covering for other colleagues working on other extra curricular activities and eats his lunch at his desk as he organizes the school's home tournament scheduled for next month.  He's been working on the tournament since last May.  

That tournament is one of two this season that are out of town and requires him to book rental vans, and hotel rooms on his credit card and arrange for another chaperone to attend.  The board of education insists he fill out a package of forms that is over 12 pages long for those tournaments.  It doesn't matter if you are taking students to Oslo or Orillia, it's the same number of forms.   His team will play close to forty games this year, requiring two hours of practice a day, five days a week, to prepare and four to six tournament weekends.  You can't be competitive at this level without that minimum time commitment.

The phone rings.  It is one of the parents of a player on his team.  Dad wants to know why his son is not playing as much as the other players.  The parent is angry and he needs to explain that he is teaching the merits of hard work and discipline.  He suggests the parent speak to his son about his effort.  He hangs up realizing the parent is still angry and he is late for fourth period.

After the bell rings and before he leaves for the game, the Vice Principal stops by. The Vice Principal wonders if he could speak to a player about an incident in math class. The math teacher is having difficulty with the class and the Vice Principal would like the student to be a leader in the class.  He promises the Vice Principal he will.

He will, against the advice of his union, drive students to the game this afternoon in order to save money.  He will use his car, his gas.  One player has forgotten his away uniform but he always packs a spare one in the ball bag.  During the warm up, one of the students from the other school takes one of his basketballs.  He has to follow the student down the hall to retrieve it.  The referees are late.  As a result he will miss his own kids' bedtime.  

The game will end at 6:30 and he will drive two or three players home who do not have rides.  One young man needs to be dropped at work.  He obliges, recognizes the student hasn't had dinner and gives the student a few dollars so he can eat.

That night, after he has tried to spend a moment or two with his wife and having looked in on his own sleeping children, he lies in bed thinking about the team.  He thinks he could have been better.  He thinks he made some mistakes, he feels badly about the parent phone call.  He feels badly that not everyone can play.

He rolls over and questions why he does this, season after season, year after year.  He thinks of the players and their improvement.  He thinks of the bonds that have formed, the struggles faced, the love that has been shared.  He thinks about the opposing coach and takes comfort in their effort as much as his.  Those coaches become his life long friends.

He thinks about the sacrifices that so many teachers make for the "extra" curricular at the school; how kind and considerate and how hard working each is and he thinks most particularly about the fine men and women he has coached and is thankful for each one of them.

He's ready to do it again tomorrow.

The Danger of Echo Chambers

Ironically, you're in a wide open space, you fill your lungs with air and belt out your "Hellooo" and what bounces back from the far away hills is, of course, "Hellooo."  We find it amusing and comforting that we hear our own voices coming back to us.  But the U.S. election shows us just how dangerous an echo can be.  Hearing your own opinions, your own voice bouncing back to you through Facebook or Twitter or Instagram turns out to be a grave danger.

When we are forced out of our echo chambers, when our self indulgent peace is disturbed by the "other", whether it is on a streetcar or in an arena, and we hear racist words, weak arguments and illogical conclusions, we are almost shocked.  Did he just say that, we say to our partner. Did I actually hear her say that we whisper to our friend.

We haven't done much in education to stop this echoing.  Safe places and trigger warnings in schools and universities serve to mute people and when they are muted, the only voices we hear are our own.  Those of you firmly ensconced in my echo chamber may gasp right now.  "Is he arguing against safe spaces?" I can see your furrowed brow.

Schools need to be places where rigorous debate occurs.  A classroom can sometimes be no different than our Facebook feeds; only the chosen get to speak, only the worthy get to be acknowledged.  We can see now how important it is to have broad range of discussion.  We need to hear opposing views, even if sometimes they boarder on reprehensible.  The more reprehensible, the easier it is to expose and defeat.

I know that there is a danger that a young person listening to such a debate may feel harmed or threatened or anxious but this is the way a democracy functions.  And this is where the skill of a teacher is most needed.  It is in the moderation of an argument, in the careful and polite questioning of an idea where the teacher can illuminate the weaknesses of a poorly constructed argument and can affirm for students who may feel vulnerable that there is an order and a logic to public discussion.  All students will find comfort in a polite, controlled, thoughtful and considered discussion of an idea.

Debate clubs have disappeared from schools.  The formal debate, the preparation of an argument that you don't necessarily agree with needs to make a come back.  Being forced into a position you do not agree with, is important for the mind and begins to free us from the echos that social media reverberate.

Let's teach students to defend the ideas contrary to their own and by doing so, we begin to build the foundations of civilized, thoughtful debate, leading ultimately, to the adoption of good ideas.