Just Be Yourself

Growing up I would often receive advice from various sources, mostly adults who had crossed their own bridges and trodden their own paths. They thought that because I was younger and less experienced, they were authorized to tell me how to live my life. Granted, I knew they were, for the most part, wiser and more knowledgeable about the ways of the world, but I was still a stubborn teenager.

As I matured, and accepted (or blatantly ignored) the advice given, I frequently found myself in situations and circumstances—some academic, others social—outside my comfort zone, and I found myself insecure and nervous. And looking back, I believe the most frequent advice I was given in these situations was probably, “Be yourself.” Everything works out fine if you just act like yourself, right? We’ve all heard it. Sometimes it works out well, but what if you have a problem like I did? I didn’t know who I was; my “self” was impossible to define.

Despite arguments regarding the different psychological identities/selves that human beings portray in different situations(especially teenagers), despite the masks that I still hide behind or wear to rise to an occasion, I can’t just be myself. Why? Because, as AWOL Nation sings, “All of ‘these things’ make me who I am.” I am a little bit of each and every individual I have come to know. Every single soul that has weaved itself into and out of my life has had some type of impact, given me something to hold onto. Even ex-girlfriends and ugly break-ups, bullies, bad bosses, and Class A jerks are a part of me, no matter how hard I repress the memories. Then again, friends, colleagues, teachers, family—their influences fashion a greater, more positive portion of my existence.

Where I come from also determines part of my identity. As a military brat, I often felt I was a mutt, growing up all over the world, without a place to truly call home. “Where are you from?” was the worst question in the world to ask me because it didn’t have a definitively simple answer. However, in retrospect, the multicultural influences I accumulated—tattered scraps of custom and habit and knowledge—comprise the quilted patchwork of who I am, regardless of how poorly the knots are tied together. My eating mannerisms supply one example: when I use a bowl, I hold it up to my mouth like the Japanese instead of risking backsplash; I use a fork and knife like a European; and when I eat and drive, I do it like the most competent multi-tasking American teenager. When I cook for others, my Southern redneck prepares to feed a battalion even if it’s just my brother coming over. It’s all part of who I am.

To be myself is to be everything that I am, a composite of everyone and everything that comprises my being. So I think that to truly be myself means to simply be true. To merge my experiences, my travels, my relationships, my accumulated wisdom (however little that may be) and just be. Yes, I guess you could call this synthesis of my experiences my “self,” but it is nothing without everything else. True self is found in perception and action based upon that perception. We can all try to emulate others that we may perceive, but only when we have confidence in our own lives and souls that we can be who we choose and not merely a cheap knock-off of another human being made in Taiwan (no offense to the Taiwanese).

Being myself means being the best of everything, or at least the selected parts of everything else.

Villainous Comparisons

For part of a unit on identity, I have my 9th graders write a plethora of short writing assignments about themselves; hence some of the recent pieces I have shared recently. For this, which I call "Views of You," each student comes up with a metaphor and follows this pattern:

If (insert your name) were a (insert a metaphor/topic), he/she would be a/an (insert the completed metaphor) because (explain the metaphor).

Example:    If Helga were a car, she’d be a red Porsche because she’s sleek and gorgeous.

They then go survey a few dozen people, decide which are their four favorite and write them up neatly. The next step is for each student to use the same metaphor about herself. This exercise, although initially appearing to the students to be arbitrary and unrelated, causes a majority of them to earnestly think about how others view them (via the data they gather) and how they view themselves using a seemingly simple metaphor.

This year I had my 2nd period assign me a topic. Here is what I came up with:

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Jafar from Aladdin because he has an extensive vocabulary, along with the ability to scheme and hatch evil plots. (Travis Peterson)

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Sykes from Oliver and Company because he's crafty, has skills, and makes sure things go his way...or else. (Kris Holley)

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Ursula from The Little Mermaid because he’s larger than life, a little round, and offers a great deal. (Mark Davis)

If Mr. Anson were a Disney villain, he would be Scar from The Lion King because just like Scar came up with an evil plan to take over the kingdom, Mr. Anson tends to come up with his own evil plans to get students to become better writers. Oh, and Mr. Anson doesn't do cute, so he would not like the cute, cuddly lion cub, nor all the fun singing he does. (Katrina Davenport)

If I were a Disney villain, I would be Hades from Hercules because I am literary, somewhat subtly witty, and tolerant of morons even though they bug the crap out of me and ruin the best of days.

Another Biopoem

A fairly common exercise in language arts classrooms is the biopoem. It allows the reader to see a little of the self-image of the writer, and it comes in many forms. Here is one that I did alongside my students this week. Thanks to all those who helped me with my adjectival troubles.

Joseph

sagacious, calm, steady, bibliophilic

father of five incredible circus monkeys; husband to my perfect compliment

lover of words, grilled mammal flesh, and sports

who feels hungry, exhausted, and overwhelmed

who needs fries with that, extra napkins, and to go beyond the recipe

who fears apathy, complacency, and failure

who gives hope, feedback, and opportunity

who would like to see the rethinking of education, the demise of cheaters, and the end of the designated hitter

resident of Earth

Anson

A Little of What's Been on My Mind Lately

Don’t worry, I’m not going to preach to you today, but this post is somewhat philosophical. But it does have videos and links, so get your finger off that back button. Be ye warned, however, that I ramble.

In honor of one of the biggest flops on my blog—I point you to my endeavor of imparting vocabulary knowledge in December of December 2014—I’d like to start by defining a word:

ekphrasis: (noun) a literary commentary or description or reaction to a visual work of art

Mrs. Nielsen loves to have her students write ekphrastic poems after they have meandered through the art museum.

Despite purists who might debate my laxness in my expansion of this definition, I say that an ekphrastic work merely uses another’s medium as an influence, or a starting point, if you will. It can be the same medium, or it can be derived from a different type of art. And I am going to do just that. I’ve had bits and pieces of a few thoughts percolating in my head since April when I was reading Jennifer A. Nielsen’s concluding volume of her Ascendance Trilogy: The Shadow Throne.

See, Mumford and Sons had released a new single from their latest album Wilder Mind: “Believe” (March 2015), and it had started gaining airplay on Pandora and local radio stations quite rapidly. Its catchy, repetitive chorus hooked me, but as I soaked in the lyrics, I saw how they permeated everything I was reading with Jaron in The Shadow Throne. Not to divulge many spoilers, but the events of his young, tortured life—lost love, lost country, betrayal, broken promises—came to life for me as the lyrics cracked through my car speakers:

“I had the strangest feeling

Your world's not all it seems.

So tired of misconceiving,

What else this could've been?

“I don't even know if I believe [x3]

Everything you're trying to say to me.

“So open up my eyes.

Tell me I'm alive.

This is never gonna go our way

If I'm gonna have to guess what's on your mind.”

These lyrics and Jaron’s thoughts (and actions) became one resounding message about life: intentional and unintentional misdirection and deception may create many marvelous plot twists in this story, as they do throughout the series (See also Megan Whalen Turner’s Attolia [The Queen's Thief] series), but they really screw up real life. Miscommunication creates questions of loyalty, love, life, self-doubt, self-awareness, and the (un)fairness of life. So much turmoil and strife and uncertainty could be simplified with veritable communication. Why is it so hard to be honest? To speak truth? I wish I had tangible answers to share.

The music video for this song actually reminds me of a time when I was 15 and wandered aimlessly around London with some friends. Looking back, I wasn’t really sure where I fit into the grand scheme of life, or what I even stood for. It brought me back to that confusing, crazy, introspective time in my life—my own Bildungsroman, if you will. I was looking for truth. 

I could go on about the changes in tempo and volume and other symbolism about driving and maturing and such, but I’ll refrain from geeking out too much here.

After I finished that book, I picked up Walter Dean Myers’s Invasion, a story of a U.S. soldier about to land on Omaha Beach on D-Day. If you’ve read some of Myers’s other war stories, i.e., Fallen Angels or Sunrise over Fallujah, etc., you see similar coming-of-age themes. Josiah starts to question basic tenets of his life: his relationship with his family, a girl back home, and his platoon. The value of life and death, racism, and even the purpose behind the war itself begin to blur as the troops storm the beaches, cross mine fields, and encounter enemy resistance. Just like Mumford (and Sons), he doesn’t know if he believes everything people have tried to say to him in the past, in the present. The book weighs heavy with some of the aforementioned themes and places them on the same playing field as the inner turmoil Josiah has about the need to swear and act “like a man.”

Internal conflict, the essence of good, relatable characters (at least, for me) in fiction and in real life, helps define who we are. One of my all-time favorite novels, ChoosingUp Sides by John H. Ritter pits a preacher’s son against the beliefs his father preaches, his uncle’s life philosophies, what the star athlete and the cutest girl in school have said, and what he feels in his heart about good and evil, right and wrong, baseball, and life. This conflict is good, if we can deal with it, move on, and grow from the struggle as we redefine ourselves and our beliefs.

Sometime in May, the song came on the radio—it had hit the airplay saturation point by this time—and my innocent eight-year-old growled out loud (and punched the car door, much to her chagrin). “Rrrrrrrrrrggggh! I hate this song! I mean, how can you not know what you believe?”

Her frustrations have a point…if you have never stopped to question what you believe. I assert that each soul that dwells on this earth needs to come to know what he or she believes, and then live it. However, there comes a point when too much questioning hinders instead of refines one’s thoughts. Not to share any sensitive details, lets just say that I’ve seen too many associates (close and otherwise) lose their faith, their jobs, their families over vacillating too long over minutia attached to philosophies, practices, or doctrines. Dieter F. Uchtdorf, a wise ecclesiastical leader, recently pleaded, borrowing from F.F. Bosworth’s Christ the Healer, “Please, first doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith.”

To missionaries who are about to leave their families for two years to proselytize and share the gospel of Jesus Christ, I advise them to lose themselves in the work but to never lose themselves. Sometimes, though, we need to stop and step outside ourselves in order to find who we really are. Questioning what we really believe, or have been brought up to believe, helps to understand if we really believe and have the faith enough to do something about it.

Introspection and self-analysis are good common practice, as long as you wind up in a better place in the end. Recently, I attended an educational conference with a team from my school. The first keynote speaker was Diane Ravitch, an educator who had worked in Washington and promoted standardized testing and the like, but realized that what she believed about educational practices and what was working for students wasn’t true; she immediately went to work on the other side of the issue, saying that the evidence didn’t really turn out how she and several other experts predicted. Yong Zhao, another presenter, also presented the need for a major change in the way we look at education and the needs of students and society need to be reexamined. After listening to these two, I spent the next breakout session in a semi-comfortable overstuffed lobby chair making lists of my educational beliefs and what I needed to do to change my practice to fit my philosophies.

Needless to say, I also bought both their books. No, I haven’t finished them or become zealous disciples of their ways—I’m not ready to join the commune—but I found what they have to say intriguing. A big push in schools is for students to engage in critical thinking. I also deem it necessary for society to do the same when it comes to educational reform. There are many opinions and ideas floating out there—some more solidly grounded than others. And the more informed you are, the better decision you can make. Sometimes, it’s not a bad idea for teachers and administrators (and everyone) to reexamine their professional practices. I come back to the adage that you can teach for twenty-five years, or you can teach one year twenty-five times. Blech! I can’t do that. I get bored teaching the same thing a handful of times the same day. I change what I teach and how I teach depending on the needs of my current students.

I have always had different philosophies about testing and standards and what is best for students than what seems to be trending in the district or the nation. People who will remain nameless stopped inviting me to certain meetings after they found out where I stood and how I run my classroom. I also never drink the Kool-Aid. I don’t think that what I am doing is rebellious, impetuous, or crooked in any way. I just haven’t followed the sheep; I have stayed my own course—true to what I believe.

Even though our personalities and mannerisms are fairly different, I find myself in the same thought camp as Kelly Gallagher, who said (paraphrased, with my added slant) at a presentation he made a few years ago at BYU, that if you can take a student, and accept her with her abilities wherever they are when she walks in your classroom, and you give her the strategies and opportunities to read well, think well, and write well, she will do fine on standardized tests, or anything else that may arise from the legislature. Where some of my colleagues across the country bang their heads on black, metal filing cabinets or artificial wooden teacher desktops about testing scores, I do absolutely zero direct test prep and consistently have students who score at or above the average scores of the school, the district, and the state.

And so what started as an ekphrastic commentary about how Mumford and Sons connected with what I had been reading led me to question my own teaching philosophies and practices. As I stand on a precipice between two educational worlds: the public schools and upper academia, I also question what I believe. My doctoral work has forced me to look at myself through different theoretical frameworks as I approach my own research. Maybe I’ll share some of those findings one day (if anyone cares).

If you want a fun exercise for thought clarification, try NPR’s “This I Believe” segment. It can work with any age group and helps to clarify your beliefs about a particular subject. Maybe I’ll give it a try in the near future. But knowing me, I’ll probably write about my beliefs regarding bacon, haiku, or something obnoxious that nobody else cares about.

I don’t do things quite like I’m supposed to. That’s why I’ve moved on to X Ambassadors’ “Renegades.” 

Yeah, right.

Elevator Greetings

As many of you know, I was born in Japan. We live off-base for a while, but when I was not quite a year old we moved into a tower apartment on Yokota AFB. We lived on the sixth floor. I have no real recollection of this, but my mom likes to tell a story about me when we lived in the tower when I was not quite two.

Apparently I was not a shy toddler. Any time we ascended or descended in the elevator, no matter how many floors we traveled between stops, I would greet the other riders. However, I differentiated depending on who rode with us. Any American that rode with us got a “hi, there” or a hearty “hello.” However, if a person of Japanese descent got on the lift, I would bow deeply and say “konnichiwa.”

As part of a writing assignment I am doing along with my 9th graders, I asked my mom to share a story that I had no recollection of. This was it. In the past I've pushed memory and mining for them. Sometimes there is nothing you can do but ask for help.