Galatians 6:9

Well, it’s 4:55 a.m. I walked this morning with a warm feeling enveloping me. It wasn’t because the sun had bathed me in its rays, although I felt I was being sun-baked in the pre-dawn darkness. It was not really because of the steamy humidity that made my body feel as if I had been blanched. My warmth was an inner glow emanating from an unexpected message I had received the other day. Coming out of the blue from a student whom I’ll call Joel, it made me think today of tomorrow. Tomorrow. Sounds like a singing Little Orphan Annie, doesn’t it. It’s a good word to include in my Dictionary of Good Teaching for Kenny, but today I’ll refer to another book. This is why.

“You probably don’t remember me, but I remember. I always remember,” read the opening line of Joel’s message. “You helped me help me to save my tomorrows and the tomorrows of my daughter. Thank you!” read his second sentence. “I remember you used to always say as I screwed up in class you can’t climb mountains if you only practice on mole hills. Guess what. I literally did just that. I have climbed and road marched for miles and miles over mountains with about 75 lbs on my back, a promask strap to my leg, kevlar, LCE, and a M16 A2 rifle.” Then, he sent his Jewish guy scrambling to a copy of the New Testament when he wrote, “I came across Galatians 6:9 in my Bible one night and said to myself, ‘That’s Schmier. I want to be that too.'”

That passage reads: “Be not weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not.” Now, I’m no Bible thumper, but what a heck of a guiding passage for any teacher!

“….in due season we shall reap if we faint not.”

There is no end to invigorating beauty for the teacher to discover each day who is aware. On the streets this morning, at the end of my walk, focusing on Joel’s words, my senses noticed the cracks in the asphalt street. I got down on my haunches, leaned over, and gently touched them. At first glance they seem so ugly. Unwanted imperfections. At first touch they seemed so rough. Undesirable faults. Yet, if we had the artist’s eye, we’d see something extraordinary in the supposed faulty mundane, something far from unsightly and untouchable. If we had the artist’s eye and were to take snapshots of those cracks and blow up the photographs, we’d realize that the street’s supposed ugly spider veins are geometric patterns of amazing beauty and that we walk on unnoticed elegance, grandness, and splendor every day.

“….in due season we shall reap if we faint not.”

We teachers should never forget that; we should always think about that, be aware of that, be sensitive to that. It means that each today we are what I’ll call “tomorrow-ers.” It means each student is a tomorrow of this country. It means we surely do not know today what the tomorrows before us hold. It means we don’t know today who holds the tomorrows! It means that the choices we make today make the changes and affect the transformations that create the tomorrows for both ourselves and others. It means the choices we make and live today make the changes and transformations that create the tomorrows. It means if we get our act together each today, if don’t squander today’s opportunities, if we keep on working, if we keep on believing, tomorrow will bring wonders. It means, then, today we hold tomorrow in our hands, we hold hands with each tomorrow, and we had best tend that responsibility very, very carefully.

“You were right to get in my face. What you said was mostly right on. Boy, you threw some hard questions at me about me,” he went on to write. “I didn’t want to hear them at the time. But, you were right. You do have to sweat. You’ve got to give all you’ve got. You’ve got to leave it all on the playing field or the battlefield, everywhere. Hard and challenging is what makes anything important you told me over and over again. I’ve thought about that during all my training and have learned that it’s when you struggle that you get stronger to reach your potential and accomplished impossible things. Gosh, so many of your words for the day are coming back. Like there’s a difference between hard and impossible or impossible things are done everyday or don’t try, just do or keep your eye on the doughnut and not on the hole. Now I’m going to climb the most challenging mountain when I get custody of my daughter and am responsible for her tomorrows and it’s my turn to teach her like you taught me by living what Paul wrote.”

“….in due season we shall reap if we faint not.”

I vaguely remember Joel. I don’t really remember our conversations in detail. It has been a long time and many students ago. I do know this. It would have been so easy to have thrown away this tomorrow. It would have been easy to say that it wasn’t my job to deal with issues other than the subject material that were affecting his performance inside and outside class. It doesn’t take any time or energy or effort to let someone go unloved by ignoring him or her, to make someone feel unworthy by not noticing him or her, to make someone feel unwanted by not caring about him or her.

“….in due season we shall reap if we faint not.”

Joel has reminded me if we don’t reach out to touch a student every today, if we don’t struggle to help a student transform, we’re guaranteed of throwing away a bunch of tomorrows. Sure, that takes a lot of sweat-time. Sure, there will be the aches and pains. Sure, challenges will arise. Sure, problems will appear. Sure, there’ll be resistance. Sure, there won’t always be success. Sure, we’ll make mistakes. Sure, there’ll be rejections. Sure, we’ll get dejected. Sure, there’ll be the naysayers. Sure, there’ll be detractors. Sure, there’ll be lies and cheating. Sure, fear will nip at our heels. Sure, we’ll get tired. Sure, we’ll get disappointed. Sure, you may not be appreciated. Sure, you’ll get frustrated. Sure, we’ll get upset. Sure, there are no guarantees things are going to go the way we planned and hoped. Sure, there are all these challenges and risks, but, then again, there are all those Joels out there, all those tomorrows whose sun is waiting and wanting to rise, who make it all worthwhile.

“….in due season we shall reap if we faint not.”

I have discovered that I won’t throw away that tomorrow, especially those who are most in need unless I don’t have a vision or sense of purpose, or I lose sight of the vision I have, or I forget the purpose which I avow, or I ignore my credo, or I allow myself to get distracted, or I let myself get thrown off-course, or I submit to the pressure of naysayers, or I lose my passion, or I stop practicing compassion, or I stop loving, or I stop believing, or I lose hope, or I get my priorities confused, or I have a faint heart, or I tire in my effort, or I let disappointments and frustrations go to and control my head and heart.

“….in due season we shall reap if we faint not.”

It means it’s all me. It means it’s all my choosing. It means making “whenever possible” always possible. It means always seeing the beauty and sacredness and richness in each and every today to open tomorrow’s golden treasures. It means heeding the call, as Viktor Frankl might say, from each student of a potential meaningfulness waiting to be fulfilled. It mean hanging on. It means staying the course. It means never surrendering. It means weathering whatever inner or outer storms come up. It means screw pessimism, doubt, fatigue, fear, and routine. It means the hell with all those restricting, constricting, paralyzing negatives what swell up from inside and are hurled from outside. It means grabbing tightly on to belief, hope, faith, and love. It means never letting any of them go and letting them go to and control your head and heart.

“Be not weary in well doing, for in due season we shall reap if we faint not.”

Joel said he’s coming back to VSU this Fall. I invited him to break a doughnut with me.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

So, I Ask Myself

I know. It’s only been a couple of days since my last Random Thought, but this really got to me as I start getting into myself in preparation for getting into the Fall semester in three weeks. I’ll keep this short.

I was reading an article on espn.com by Darren Rovell about the Tour de France and Lance Armstrong. Rovell observed how Lance Armstrong lives in a world that is both in the limelight and obscurity. He has name power bar none. Yet, interest in cycling is less than that of arena football and horse racing. He will command only a minute fraction of the American audience during his grueling, 22-day trek on the Tour de France in quest of a record sixth yellow shirt. But, put him in an auditorium to speak or place his image on a billboard to sell a product and all eyes turn to him. His overcoming of incredible odds, his daunting win in the battle with cancer, his stunning recovery, his equally amazing come back in his sport, and his subsequent rise in the world of cycling is what legends are made of. But, his books say it all: “Every Second Counts” and “It’s Not About the Bike.” He is currently the most recognizable and influential athlete. He has transcended his sport because his saga, unlike the Michael Jordans and Shaquel O’Neals and Tiger Woods, he has more relevancy to people and touches more lives away from the very narrow confines of his sport.

Now, when it comes to education, to paraphrase Lance Armstrong, it’s not about the information, it’s about the individual student; it’s not about the curriculum on campus, it’s about life away from and after the campus. Before you lunge, please hear me out.

I am a firm believer that education should be concerned with informing and performing, but its focus must be on transforming. I am a firm believer in preparing the student for the daunting “rigors of the discipline,” but I am a firmer believer in preparing a student for the daunting journey through life. I am a firm believer that modern-day education should be concerned with helping a student learn what is necessary to earn a good living, but its focus must equally, if not more, be on helping a student learn to live the good life. I am a firm believer in striving for academic excellence, what good is such achievement if a student doesn’t learn of the need to strive to make the highest and best use of him/herself?

David Brooks in a recent editorial raised this same issue. He observed that students “are enveloped by uncertainty. What should I do with my life? What really matters?” So as the new semester approaches, I ask myself, as Brooks would ask of me, and in the spirit of Lance Armstrong, do I transcend what Brooks calls the “professionalized information-transmission system?” and the “guild system” that throws at students people whose only credential is that they’ve written a dissertation and have a doctorate or have researched and published? Am I enveloped by an aura of mission and purpose outside the quest for the academic limelight? What relevancy do I have away from the limits of my profession, the still narrower confines of my discipline, and the even more narrower alleys of my courses? How much of my sight truly reaches beyond the course material and the profession? How much more am I dedicated to each student than to the discipline? How many eyes turn to me outside the classroom and away from the campus? Is all this something important I should think about? David Brooks knows it is. Lance Armstrong knows it is. So do I.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Hobby: Another Word for my Dictionay of Good Teaching.

I am soaring. Beautiful Jacqueline Danielle Schmier arrived on the morning of Friday, July 16, at 10:16 am: 7 lbs. 12 oz., 20 3/4″, ten fingers and ten toes. In some ways and for very personal reasons that reach deep into my soul, she’s a very special arrival. I’ll just say that she has transform a curse I shouted out at the top of my lungs in anger years ago into a tearful, whispered, and humble “thank you.”

Not even a message from a professor at an oversea university could bring me down from my high however he tried.

“You’re soupy. You talk of teaching as if it’s little for than fun hobby to you,” he accused me.

“You bet it is,” I answered with a nolo contendere plea as we engaged in a running conversation that spanned a continent and an ocean. “And, best of all, I get paid for it. Aren’t I lucky.”

“Then,” thinking he caught me, “you admit that you are an unprofessional dabbler.”

“A dabbler? Unprofessional? Me? Hell, no! I answered. “I admit that I am an ‘enthusiast!’ Do I have to go into a garage or a basement or a workshop or a garden or onto a golf course or tennis court to discover life’s little pleasures when they’re there in front of me in a classroom? Why can’t teaching be both serious and fun? Why can’t it be both professional and hobby? Is there something unprofessional about having fun”

That started a series of staccato, one sentence messages bouncing back and forth.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Sure I am.”

“You’re dealing with the cold facts of your discipline.”

“Can’t I warm up them, me, and each student?”

“Nonsense. A hobby is a retreat from the drudgery of work.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Why Why can’t our teaching be a retreat? Why can’t a hobby be a part of your work rather than always apart from it? Why can’t our teaching be work and hobby? Then, teaching is never boring. It’s always interesting. It always gives you a sense of being productive.”

“That’s silly.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, I’m grateful.”

“Why?”

“Because the word “silly” derives from the Greek “selig” meaning “blessed, happy, fun.” So, I guess there’s something sacred in being able to be silly.”

“It’s ridiculous to behave as if something so serious and so professional is so recreational.”

“Al Unser, Jr., one of the most successful drivers in that highly professional and dangerous sport of car racing, announced his retirement by saying that the passion for driving has gone and that he was no longer having fun on the race track. You know, I’ve been teaching for nearly forty years. People ask me when am I going to retire. My answer is always like Al Unser’s, ‘When it stops being fun and I’ve lost the passion for each student.” Passion! Fun! You’re building backwards. What if we reversed it?

“Reverse what?”

“Maybe there something innately “unprofessional” about NOT having fun and being passionate about teaching? Maybe there is something innately superfluous about NOT feeling good when you go into and come out from a classroom. Maybe there is something wrong if you aren’t enveloped by an authentic happiness.”

And on we went.

What did I mean? Well, a hobby to most people like this professor, is something that we don’t take as serious as our work. Yet, so many of us get greater joy, fulfillment, accomplishment, and satisfaction from our hobby than our work. That’s crazy. That’s sad. So, why is it silly or superfluous if I say I am getting the same feelings working in the classroom as I have working in my garden or having the same feeling being with students as I have with dancing among the flowers? Why is it unprofessional to glow in a classroom as I do in my garden? Why is it silly for the classroom to be no less a spiritual spa where I get my soul massaged as is my garden? Why can’t I take my “hobby-ing” to and from campus, to and from home, to and from the garden? Why can’t I have my rewarding “aaaahs” in both places?

You know, in my youth I was an avid HO model railroader. Now, I am an equally if not more avid gardener. Have you ever met a hobbyist who uses the word “dull,” “drudgery,” “burnt out,” “rut” when referring to his/her hobby? I haven’t. Have you ever seen a true hobbyist who doesn’t smile and laugh, who doesn’t have happy written all over his or her face? I haven’t. Have you ever seen or heard a sincere hobbyist who doesn’t light up when he or she talks about his or her hobby? I haven’t. Instead, you’ll hear from his or her lips and read in his or her body language: “fun,” “fulfilling,” “passion,” “satisfying,” “enjoyable,” “relaxing,” “love to do,” “interesting.” How many of us can say the same things about what we do in the classroom? What if we worked our teaching with the attitude of a hobby? That’s what I do. My most avid hobby is my teaching. Why are teaching and pleasure antonyms? For me, teaching is not a “get away from life;” it’s a getting into life; it’s a way of life. No, it’s a love of life. For me hobby and teaching, then, are synonyms.

That was brought home Friday night. At VSU, we have been invaded by a horde of Governor Honors Program students, what we call “GHPers.” In our University statement we say that this creme-de-la-creme of high school students, the “intellectually gifted” and “artistically talented” will spend six weeks engaged in what we describe as “challenging and enriching educational opportunities not usually available during the regular school year.” About twenty or thirty of them, mostly non-Jewish, have been attending Friday night services at the synagogue to learn something about Judaism. Not being on campus this summer, it’s the only time I have to chat with them. This past Friday, after services, I was asking them, as the program was about to come to an end, how they felt about it. One student’s comment floored me.

“We’re doing serious stuff, but it’s interesting and exciting. It’s not like that feeling of being hobbled and stressed out that we have in regular school,” she said with an insight I’m not sure she was aware of. “It’s more like fun and having a hobby of learning! It’s got me thinking why regular school can’t be like this.”

Wow! Double wow!! Out from the mouths of babes. She just summed up what education should be for each and every student and teacher: “Hobble-ing” of learning transformed into a “hobby-ing” of learning.

So, what do I mean about a need to unhobble education by “hobby-ing” it? I certainly don’t mean to make it a mere passing pastime. I am not talking about “dumbing down” or “watering down” or making things easier. I don’t mean relaxing, leisurely, amateurish. And I don’t mean empty pleasure. What I am talking about is something more complex than it sounds. I’m talking about a truly powerful and positive force. I’m talking about work that is not work. When I say we need to “hobby” education, I mean transforming education into a favorite pursuit, something done with fun and joy. I mean converting slaving away into a labor of love. I mean well-being. I mean being loose rather than tighter. I mean being up rather than down. I mean being in the mood rather than moody. I mean being inspired rather than expired. I mean transforming from a tense, tied down “hobble-ing” “fear of learning” and “fear of teaching” into an enjoyable, tension free, unstressed “hobby-ing” “love of learning” and “love of teaching.”

Too many of us academic don’t understand that people–and that includes each of us–are not motivated unless they are interested in what they are doing, enjoy what they are doing, have fun at what they are doing, see a purpose in what they’re doing, have a sense of adventure, have a sense of exploring new ideas and new approaches, are respected, are off autopilot, are fascinated, are not on the treadmill, when they feel free, are initiators, are encouraged to be original, feel what they’re doing is meaningful, and have time to do what they’re doing.

These attitudes, I assure you from experience, are vital. Being “hobby-ed” instead of “hobbled” is the ultimate fuel for informing, performing, and especially transforming.

I’ve got to write Kenny about this new word in our dictionary.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

“I Don’t Like Camelias”

Can you believe it. Here I am, sitting on pins and needles waiting for the arrival of Jaqueline Danielle, our third grand-daughter, and I’m thinking about the forlorn, neglected camillias in the front yard. It’s one of those time you just don’t ask. I never think of my camillias, except when I have less than nice thoughts about cutting them down or “accidentally” killing them. Maybe it’s the remnants of conversations about some attitudes towards disadvantaged students I had with some neat people during that workshop on learning communities that I presented a workshop this past Monday in Miami. Anyway, about the camillias. It wasn’t that I chose to plant the camellias. I had no choice except what to do with them. When we moved into the house thirty some odd years ago, they were just there in the front yard. Two flanking the entrance to the house; four acting as an eastern border to our property.

As I developed my green thumb, it didn’t extend to the camillias. I “grrrrrred” at them. I don’t know why. I just wasn’t grabbed by them and I didn’t allow myself to grab them. “I don’t like camellias” meant “I won’t accept them into my garden.” It translated into “I won’t do what it takes to nurture them.” It meant “I’m not going out of my way for them.” Every time I saw them, I would do everything I could to ignore them. My hands would clench into fists of frustration. For me, they were a blight on the beauty that I was creating. I’ve had interesting discussions with my defending, Green Party Susan about cutting them down. And, I’ve lost every one of them.

You know blinding, deafening, and paralyzing a “grrrrrr” and clenched fist can be? A grimacing “grrrrrrr” won’t let you smile. A clenched fist won’t allow you to offer or accept an open, helping hand? Did you know that love measures our stature? The more we love, the bigger our heart, the bigger we are. Someone once said that there is no smaller package in all the world than that of a person wrapped up in him/herself. Boy, when it came to camillias was I wrapped up in myself. It was more about me than them. I didn’t bother to prune them as they should have been pruned. I didn’t bother to spray the leaves with an oil to protect them against fungus or spray a chewing tobbacco concoction against white flies. And, when the leave got spotted, “white flyish,” cankered, brown, or wilt, I say to my environmentist Susan with a pointing finger of blame, “See, those camillas are dirty, ugly things, ugh. They’ve got to go.” Didn’t work.

Then, this morning I imagined myself as a camellia. Mysterious. “What if I could see me?” I asked myself. “If camellias could have eyes, how would I look? What would I see?” So, I looked sharply. Not a pretty picture: ugly, uncaring, unsmiling, combative, unloving, unappreciating, disrespectful, distant, and cold. It’s startling how I looked to me when I looked at me with the frightened, disregarded eyes of a camillia.

I look as ugly to the camillas as they look to me. I saw an inner wilt that was expressed in my disdain. My attitude toward camellias boomeranged right back to me. And yet, I always say that each flower is unique. When we compare a rose with an autumn rudbekia or an echinecea or a camillia in terms of more or less beautiful, we’re messing with Mother Nature’s agenda. For in that comparison, there are the “winners” and the “losers,” the tended and the discarded, the noticed and the ignored, the “beautiful” and the “not so beautiful” or the “not beautiful.” Yet, each flower is a vehicle for awakening. We should treat each carefully as such.

The next time, starting todya, I start to complain about camellias, I won’t listen to me. “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrs” will be replaced by “aaaaaahs,” fists with handshakes. I’ll not plant those pessimistic seeds in me and nurture them into strangling vines. It’s easy to be critical of those camillias and make them feel unwanted. Anyone can do it. It doesn’t take a drop of sweat or an ounce of energy. What does take effort, time, and skill is nurturing them. I should have known better. The exuberance of life, any and all life, is manifested in the decision to plant and nurture, to work and create, to rejoice and dance. It changes the person into an “entheos,” that is, someone inhabited by Nature’s excitement. Nothing great and truly creative is ever achieved without such a powerful influence. The next time I feel a whine coming on I’ll have to concede that it’s all about me and nothing about the camellias.

As a gardener, I can tell you that sometimes you have to rake through a lot of winter’s mulch to find that sprout in Spring. Each sprout is good. Each is great. Each discovered seedling should be welcomed, for each is a messenger of hope. And, each day in the garden is both good and great. Each flower can help you acquire a pure awareness and a bold alertness. You have to feel as if you are an adjunct of each flower’s presence as if each flower was speaking on your behalf with Mother Nature. I’m reminded of something Rumi wrote. To play on his words, a garden is never quiet, with all the messages coming through. It’s merely a matter of being aware what messages of hope are springing up from each and every individual flower in the garden all around you. If you walk through a garden, not noticing all the hopeful sounds in the garden, for you, at best, the message is incomplete. If you ignore all the hopeful sounds, it is a dead place.

There’s a lesson here for all of us teachers. Teaching, like gardening that draws us in to look deeply at ourselves and others is spiritual. Such gardening, like such teaching, accepts all the pests and diseases and wilting. With time and effort, with love, with faith and hope and belief the teacher, like the gardener, transforms each and every flower of a student into affirmations of beauty, and discovers that each is no less than greatness.

My camellias just helped me help myself in the continuance of my awakening. Starting today, they’ll bring life into what was otherwise an unadmitted dead spot. It’s a lesson that spills over onto my campus, for it’s not any different with each and every student.

Telephone just rang. Got more to say, but Jaqueline is on her way. Susan’s grabbing at me. Gotta run to the hospital with my camera!

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

“Sumus Ergo Sum”

Good morning. And, it is an especially good morning! Doctor gave me a “you can do anything you want” clean bill of health a couple of days ago. A pre-dawn mile this morning! It may not sound like much, but after seven weeks on the door stoop stooped by that blasted hernia operation and unexpected weeks of recuperation, I feel I’m on my way back. I feel me taking the first steps to get emotionally, spiritually, and physically back in balance. It’ll take me a couple of months to get to back to my full distance, but I took the first step today. And, I’m a patient, silver-lining guy.

Actually, I didn’t walk. I swam. It was “Row, row, row you boat, gently down the street….” Yep, down the street. 4:55 a.m. 73 degrees. 100% humidity. The mosquitos and I were sculling against each other on my whole one mile route as if we were Harvard and Yale. We’ve been water logged for what seems like a biblical forty days and forty nights. We’re having a heat wave, and a tidal water wave, and a humidity wave. The storms have been thirty percenting, scattering, forty percenting, occasionaling, isolating, or sixty percenting over my house all month long for what seems like the biblical forty days and night. It has been an interesting June. Plenty of clouds: a slow gathering of scattered, cotton puff balls, quietly drifting during the bright, hot, clammy, and sunny days in the afternoon or early evening gathering into carpets of flashing, dark, billowy, thunderous, racing thunderhead, dumping their watery contents on all below, and then dissipating to reveal the blue or starry sky above.

We have had downpours of rain in the late afternoons and evenings and up-pour of stifling humidity during the day. Because of the cycle of these daily down and up pours, we’ve had clouds and silver linings: my flower garden is lush with color; everything else is green from mildew; the water table is high; my backyard is sloshy; the grass is growing like kudzu; the weeds are growing like super-kudzu; the koi pond is filled with clean water; the koi pond is spilling over its banks; the mosquitos are wearing life preservers as they row about; the cockroaches are coming inside to dry off and get cool; the screen door is swollen and won’t close; the outdoor deck is slimy slippery. The supersaturated air is so hot, thick, heavy, and sticky. I’m thinking of throwing some seasoning, onions, carrots, and celery into the air and having soup for dinner.

As I was walking or swimming, I was starting to prepare myself for a workshop I offering in Miami next week, and I was thinking that it’s the beginning of July. It’s about six weeks before Fall Semester begins. Like our past few rainy weeks, I can see clouds or silver linings. It’s my choice. Like I said, I’m a silver lining, upbeat, cockeyed optimist kind of guy. But, I don’t stand outside when it’s thundering and lightning. I’m not out of touch with the cloudy goings-on of our campus. I prefer to focus on the silver linings of our new learning community program for majors in A & S and our “I Caught You Caring” program because you can’t improve things with negatives. But, I also see the threat of darkening clouds of crunch time on our campus. With each advising and orientation session of new students, it’s getting crunchier; it’s getting seemingly more herdier, more helter-skelter, more frustrating. As nerves get more frayed, the danger of more uncaring impatience increases and it’s getting more important to be consciously even more caring and patient. It has been that way for some time in more ways than one. We’re straining and are stretched. Our budget is looking more and more like a lush plum shriveling into a dried prune. On the other hand, our enrollment is growing like a succuleat Georgia peach on a branch in Spring. The conflicting decrease and increase of the numbers game has been putting an ever increasing pressure on our facilities, course offerings, and our administrative and staff and academic personnel. That’s why our newly established “I Caught You Caring,” I think, is so critical and shouldn’t be dismissed, as a colleague told me the other day, as “bunch of hokey nonsense.”

I sensed that my friend wasn’t so much cynical as he felt an impotence that couldn’t be cured by Cialis or self-help books. Somehow we have to help people like him, who is regrettably is not an endangered specie, free themselves from the thought traps helplessness and aloneness in which they are caught; we must support the herculean efforts of some–be they administrators, faculty or staff–to establish a caring, learning community on campus. We can’t allow him, any son or daughter, husband or wife, be transformed, flattened, and reduced into empty names on a class role, nameless faces, faceless names, class schedules, ID numbers, cohorts, or units.

I think we should never forget that the way we behave towards ourselves, each and every student, as well as other members of the campus community, holds up a mirror that it is an expression of our values and character. We should treat ourselves and others with caring and with respect not because of something written by Jefferson in the Declaration of Independence or compiled by Madison in the Bill of Rights, not because others act the way we demand or want or expect, not because they have earned it or deserve it, not because we want to attain and retain a certain number of students, not because we want to enhance the reputation of our institution, not because we want to increase the size of both our budget and endowment, not because we want to enhance our own professional reputation, not because we want laudatory evaluations, not because we want to have an “I caught you caring” card filled out. We should treat ourselves and others reverently because it’s the right thing to do even though it may not be the easier thing to do, because by doing anything otherwise would be morally and ethical indefensible, because we would be taking the low road and diminishing ourselves if we did anything less, because by not serving we do ourselves and others a disservice, because we have a duty to do unto others the way we want them to do unto us.

To drive home that point, I wish we would banish such impersonal, dehumanizing, life-sucking, segregating, hierarchical labels like “student,” “department,” “college,” “administration,” “staff,” “faculty,” “unit,” and “cohort.” I wish we would see that the gathering of people on any campus and in any classroom is less simple and more complicated, less a level playing field and more an uneven sandlot, less stereotypical and more complex, less a standardized unit and more a human individual, less an abstraction and more a real bundle of unique and precious and unrepeatable talents and potentials, less orderly and more disarrayed, less in need of selectivity and more in need of inclusiveness, less in need of weeding and more in need of nurturing, less of a herded crowd and more of what I call “a gathering of sacred ones,” less an illusory ideal and more a human reality, far less perfect and much more imperfect and frail, less intellectual and logical and more emotional and spiritual, less exercising authority over them and information transmission and more people transformation.

I wish we each could understand that how webbish we are and is our campus. There is no isolation, separation, or disconnection. It’s all intercourse, interaction, interreaction, interconnection, interrelation, interaction, interbeing, interfeeling, interpower. In the end, there is only communication. Everything is organic; nothing is atomistic. No man is an island. No one is self-made. No one is a separate strand. No one is an independent focus of action. It’s all a web of community. Think about it. Subtract all communication and community, we’d have no identity, no purpose, no meaning, no vision. There wouldn’t be any campus, college, school, department, administrator, staff, professor, student. No, we are all bonded to each other, dependent on, ecologically inseparable from each other. That can be both humbling and exhilarating. If I remember my Latin, as a play on Decartes, “Sumus ergo sum.” “We are; therefore I am.”

It would help if parents sent the likes of my colleague, or anyone with whom their son and daughter come into contact, a “please care” letter, accompanied by family albums of pictures or a video. I wish the letter and photos and movies would say, “This is my son/daughter, ………. I hope you get to know him/her. He/she is worth knowing. I ask of you only that you welcome and embrace him/her, that you care about him/her, that you act towards him/her caringly, and treat him/her personally and kindly and respectfully as a worthwhile person as you would want someone to treat you and your son or daughter.” And, I wish each of us would sincerely take this plea to heart. And, as a passing thought, wouldn’t it be neat if I, my colleague, we each did the same thing with each other. Just wishful thinking.

It may be wishful thinking. Nevertheless, since we are the sum total of our choices, if we care about, live that care caringly, are respectful, have faith in, have hope for, believe in, love, see the beauty within, and serve the interest of each and every person’s unique potential, it is amazing what we each can accomplish. They are powerful and wonderful driving forces, for to be animated by the sacredness of each individual is to live in a meaningful and purposeful world charged with grandeur and awe.

I will struggle to help my resigned colleague and others like him see that his power, purpose, and meaning resides in his conviction that his idiosyncratic talents, abilities, gifts are an integral part of his institution; that he is not a “unit,” but a valuable bundle of potentials, of buds unfolding, of stories yet to be told; he, like each other, is a unique, unrepeatable, precious life filled with energy, creativity, imagination yet to be fully brought forth; that to be empowered, freed, encouraged to bring himself to fruition, he must free, empower, and encourage others to actualize their gift in order to bring their being to fullness. That is, as we delight in each student we become even more delighted and delightful. I find that love, not disdain or resignation, turns us into ever-stronger silver lining people better able to weather any storms. I find how much richer we can become if we’re willing to engage in the back-breaking work of panning for those golden nuggets of hidden discoveries, hidden futures, hidden gifts, hidden talents, hidden potentials, hidden possibilities. And if we are, we’ll find the biggest nugget of them all: our caring heart filled with inner joy, an inner pride, an inner sense of goodness, an inner sense of fulfillment, an inner happiness. I find that the moment we hold ourselves or anyone as a sacred human being everything changes, is turned upside down and inside out, is redefined, is revalued. It changes our identity not just the other person’s. I find that as we behold the beauty that exists in each student, as we rejoice in each student, as we believe in the unique potential in each student, we see more beauty and our hearts are filled with more joy, and our souls are with permeated more fulfillment. You’ll be able to look in the mirror and see reflected a congratulating nod of a head, an acknowledging wink of an eye, and a rewarding tip of the hat. And, I assure you, your accomplishments, sense of fulfillment and satisfaction will be so much deeper and so much more meaningful. Hokey? No. A blessing. That is a blessing that has few equals. Trust me. It’s like experiencing an unending number of eighth days of creation.

“Sumus ergo sum.”

Make it a good day.

–Louis–

Be A Spider

Do you know what is the most spiritual thing anyone can do on a college campus? No, it’s not lighting incense candles, or humming while sitting in a yoga position, or meditating, or having a formal religious gathering. It’s simplier than that. It’s being a spider. It’s weaving a strong web of connections with others. Caring is the practice of making those connections with everyone, all the time, everywhere. And, mindfulness, awareness, attention, and respect for each person are critical ingredients for caring. Like a spider web, any time or place or person is a good starting point for being aware, for respecting, for caring, for connecting. Like a spider web every place, every action, every person, every time is so related to every one and every thing else. Each is an essential strand in the web; each is nourished and supported and reinforced and influenced by the other. We have to decompartmentalize everything that is so fractured, compartmentalized, separated, and distanced on our campuses: schools, colleges, departments, walks of people. We have to practice to watch for the moments and places and activities where separation exists and then weave connecting strands to bring them together.

On our campus we’re starting a new, spidery program called, “I Caught You Caring.” It’s a strand in the web. For my taste it’s too passive; it’s too “employee” restricted, and it’s too little faculty oriented. I am nervous about it because it seems to be one of the many well-intentioned, unnoticed, even dismissed programs nestled in the hidden nook of the Office of Training and Development. I truly hope I am wrong. Whether asked or not, I will personally work to make sure I’m wrong. I think it is that important.

You know if I was to write an attractive and alluring brochure for our campus, I would write a simple statement: “We care! We just don’t say. We live it!” No pretty fountains. No manicured lawns and gardens. No immaculate laboratories. No Morris Agency co-eds. No spit and polished athletes. Just those burning words: “We care! We just don’t say. We live it!”

By “we,” I mean every person, every member of the college community, and I mean everywhere, every time. And then, I’d enlist everyone help to make sure we each would make good on that statement. I’d make it a public theme with fanfare worthy of a triumphant parade. I’d shout it from every rooftop. I’d have it emblazoned in every hall of every building. I’d have eye-catching posters papering the campus in every conceivable place; I’d put flyers in everyone’s mailbox; I’d send out constant urgings and reminders on e-mail; I’d have a “I Caught You Caring Fest;” I’d broadcast a “I Caught You Caring” program on the campus radio and television station; I’d take ads out in the campus newspaper; I’d have banners furling in the breeze; I’d have training programs; I’d have 76 trombones; I’d have recognition ceremonies. It is that important.

You know, if you wish to kill a student’s appetite for learning, don’t care, don’t care about them, and don’t be caring. If you wish to silence a student, instill fear. If you wish to paralyze a student, pierce his or her heart with a sharp “You’re wrong!” or “You aren’t….!” or “You can’t!” or “You’ll never be!” If you wish to cower a student, show him or her that he or she is not worth your time and effort. If you wish to drive a student away, just show he or she is not wanted. Works all the time. I’ve never seen an instance where negative and uncaring people are motivating or inspiring. The true teachers are the true believers. They’re upbeat. They see the invisible and see the possibilities that are yet apparent–and live those possibilities.

I’ve said this to a number of people, but I think it bears repeating over and over and over again. Now some of you might think what I am about to say or have said are a bunch of platitudes. I think they’re in a way a bunch of beatitudes:

We have to have a care for, love for, a hope for, belief in, and a faith in each and every student. Each and every student has a unique potential, an inner greatness. We should not treat poor students as poor students, average students like average students, and honors students like honors students. We should treat all students like the noble and sacred human beings each is. I say patiently treat students as great people and they will show themselves to be great.

In journal entry after entry, in evaluation after evaluation, I find that what impresses students the most is that they feel someone truly cares about them and connects with them–and makes no embarrassed bones about it publically. That’s all any student wants, and many of them probably don’t even know it or admit it any more than we do. They want to feel wanted and worthy, just like each of us. They want us to care and be caring. They want someone to notice them, to respect them, and listen to them; they want someone who will help them inspire themselves; they want someone to influence them, support them, encourage them to be what they deep down desperately want to believe they can be.

That’s what I think our nascent “I Caught You Caring” program it all about. It says that we need spiders on our campus who will weave caring, connecting webs.

We desperately need spiders on our campuses who will throw out strong strands to touch the unnoticed, send out threads to wrap around the unwanted, spin a a filament to stick to the lonely. We need spiders who will knit a slivery lace that meshes together the otherwise separated and isolated, that overcomes the asocial or even anti-social way we line the students up in rows, that closes the distances between lonely seats, that turns heads to look in each other’s faces rather than at the napes of necks, that allows them to see others and makes them think others see them with more than their eyes, that denounce as blasphemy everything that allows each of them to stand apart from others in the classroom, that converts cut-throat competition for recognition and into supporting and encourages cooperation, that metamorphoses strangers into friends.

We need spiders our campus who will weave caring, connecting webs.

We need caring and connecting webs so that students will not feel mediocre or worthless, will not hide in silence or aloneness. I once said a long time ago that students who feel isolated, or isolate themselves, who feel unwanted perform at lower levels. Anything which promotes isolation and perpetuates loneliness is debilitating. Walls may protect, but they also restrict and imprison. Webs promote a sense of caring and supporting connectedness that can be releasing, exhilarating, supporting, encouraging, and in some cases healing.

We need spiders who will weave caring, connecting webs.

We need spiders who will send out those strong, silvery , silken strand of caring, respecting, trusting to create a classroom and campus-wide web that into which everyone is drawn and woven together; that proclaims to each student, “You are a part of us. I, we, want you in here. We need you as much as you need us. You belong here. And we care.”

We need spiders who will weave caring, connecting webs.

We need spiders who will contest anything that distances people from each other and keeps everyone at a hand’s length from each other. We need spiders who will applaud everything that establishes an mutuality between everyone in the classroom, creates supportive feelings for each other, and validates a linking among each other. Weave a web and say, “It’s OK to reach out. We’re here for you.”

We need spiders our campus who will weave caring, connecting webs.

We need spiders who will bring people together in a caring way that overcomes barriers, builds bridges and creates community. We need spiders who will weave a supporting and encouraging web that offers a sense of being comfortable around learning, of feeling supported, fed, nurtured, and informed by it; that offers a feeling of being charged, electrified; that instills a feeling of soaring freedom; that provides a feeling of being changed, enlarged, expanded, stretched, or happy; that bestows a feeling of being at home, warmed by the dancing flames of fulfillment, mesmerized by the crackling sparks of growth and development, and comforted by the glowing embers of just human thought in general. Be a spider, weave a web and you will see each student reaching much higher than they ever expected to be able to do alone.

We need spiders our campus who will weave caring, connecting webs.

Be a spider and you will find that such a simple idea as “community,” of caring and sharing, has powerful impact and a dramatic effect for so many. Then, again, there’s nothing stronger than the strand of a spider’s web.

Make it a good day.

–Louis–