Only a Memory

My grandmother died recently. She lived a good long life and passed away at almost 96 years of age. I was lucky enough to have a grandparent for a very long time.

Recently my mother gave me some old photos that my grandmother had displayed in her house. Though I might be a bit of a nostalgic person, I'd never classify myself as sentimental. I'm not one for keepsakes and when I had opportunities to take some mementos that had belonged to my grandparents, I politely declined. On one hand some old pair of glasses seemed like a poor substitute for the person who wore them. I also felt selfish for even considering such a thing. I'd had a grandparent up until I was thirty seven years old. Growing up, I had friends who never even had grandparents into our teens!?! Here I was a grown man, married with children fortunate enough to have GREAT grandparents. How could you want more than that?

Looking at the photo posted above, though, really struck me the other day. In it are my grandparents standing in front of their house. You can see the beautiful flowers my grandmother was so proud of. You can see the yard that my grandfather toiled over when they'd first moved in, hoeing out rocks, and digging out trees and vines and other bramble so that thick green grass could grow. There is my grandmother in vibrant pink pants. She favored pinks and purples in much of her clothing. They're both smiling, my Pop Pop's arm around her shoulder. It captures so many of my memories of who they were. Of all the old photos I got, this is the one that recalls so much for me. The pictures of them in their youth may be great historical heirlooms, but this one shows the people I knew, in the time I knew them.

But staring at it a few days ago, I realized that it's all gone. The people in the picture are both dead now. The house is gone, torn down by a real estate developer. The flowers are gone. The yard is different now, having been changed for new lots. Everything in that picture is just a memory. In a sense, it's like it never happened. Physically, I can't even prove that it did. If you took the photo away, in a way I actually couldn't.

That's what struck me. I wasn't sad or grieving for the loss or even necessarily reflecting on all the times I spent with the people in that picture and in the place that it captured. It was just strange to realize the nature of this life. We're here. We live. We die. And in the big scheme of things, it's really not that much time. How can it be that we die? How can it be that some people walk this earth and lead such powerful lives, even if they're meaningful to just a few people, like my grandparents were, and then they disappear? Forever. No trace of them left behind. Of course I realize that love goes on and memories remain, but it's just strange that nothing else does. All of life is just a memory. When there's nothing left when it's all over, how can you even prove your worth when you lived?

Don't take this as some suicidal endnote. I'm not getting all existential either in pondering the meaninglessness of life. Sometimes things happen that make us look at the world in ways we had never previously considered. I'm just thinking out loud here.

Sometimes Once Is Just Not Enough

For many years, I had dreamed of going to Paris. It was just one of those places, more than any other place in the world, that I just wanted to see. I knew I would like it. I knew I would enjoy all of the culture and the history. I couldn't wait to see the world famous museums with the world famous collections. I couldn't wait to eat the legendary food. I was thrilled at the chance to walk the streets that so many legends had walked, including Hemingway and Picasso. Almost two years ago, I got that chance and Paris was everything I had hoped it would be. It was, without question, the greatest thing I have ever done alone.

What I find interesting about my trip is that I can't stop thinking about it. It's been a long time now, but I'm surprised at how often I find my mind in a foreign city. And when I do think about it, I'm battered by all of my sensory memories of that time. As vivid as that all is, sometimes it's almost too much.

I just can't believe how much I want to go back. I would've thought that going one time would've kind of checked Paris off my list of life goals, but instead all it did was tell me, "Yes, it's just as great as you dreamed" and now all I want to do is go back. I want to take my family there. Shoot... I want to live there! I want to get a job teaching at an embassy or a military base, just so that I can be a Parisian resident for a time. I just can't seem to get over it at all, and acknowledging it here doesn't seem to make it any better.

Why I Hate Some People

This past weekend I went to see an art exhibit at a local gallery. The show was called "Regime Change Starts at Home" and included the work of Shepard Fairey, who I wrote about in a previous post, and the fascinating sculptures of Al Farrow.

The three pieces by Farrow, which he calls "Reliquaries," were absolutely fascinating. The artist takes gun parts and fashions them into models of religious buildings. I saw a synagogue whose floor was constructed on the metal tops of shotgun shells, whose walls were formed from thousands of beebees, and whose dome was made with bullets. On another piece, the tower of a cathedral was fashioned from pistols whose barrels pointed upwards towards a golden cross. The detail in the models was incredible. The intricate swirl of their designs, all made with artillery parts, were so interesting to look at.

Besides the execution of the construction of the models themselves, I was really amazed by Farrow's concept. Marrying religious images with violent objects is really quite brilliant. It's so inventive. Me... I'd draw a church or make it out of toothpicks and sugar cubes. Maybe you'd think, "Good model," if you saw it and I got the dimensions right. Farrow's sculptures make you do much more than that. They are equally impressive and disturbing at the same time, all because of the materials he chose to construct them out of.

I'm always a bit envious of creative minds like Al Farrow's. There have been so many times that I've seen a piece of art and thought, "Damn. I wish I could've thought of that." Just today I saw something in the newspaper about an artist who paints portraits on suitcases. I once saw a cocktail dress made out of rubber surgical gloves. It was amazing! The people who come up with these things... well, I don't really hate them, but I'm definitely envious.

Below is a link to Al Farrow's work. Check it out and celebrate those who think outside of the box!

http://alfarrow.com/pages/listing_al.php?catlist=Reliquaries

A Witness to History

Love or hate Barack Obama, it was pretty amazing to wake up this morning and realize that history had just been made. I have always admired those who are old enough to have witnessed some of the great moments in American society. I have a feeling that I will remember watching the results of last night's election and looking at the front page of today's paper for a long time.

Things I like... Things You Should Like

I recently read a wonderful new book by Brian Selznick called The Invention of Hugo Cabret. It is part young adult novel, part comic book, part graphic novel, and part flip book. It's one of the more inventive stories I've come across in a while.

The novel takes place in Paris in the early 1900's and follows a young orphaned boy who secretly lives alone in the long-abandoned back offices of a train station. There he meticulously maintains the clocks of the station, an important job once held by his deceased uncle, but Hugo must continue his work in order to avoid being discovered and taken to an orphanage. He survives by his street smarts, stealing food and other necessities that he finds at the local vendor carts that populate the station. And while survival without detection seems to be Hugo's primary goal, shortly into the book you realize that the has another secret mission.

In Hugo's possession is an automaton, a mechanical man built with old clock parts. The book goes on to say that automatons were once made and used by magicians in the late 1800's and thrilled audiences with their many abilities. The one that Hugo has is holding a pen in its hand. It was apparently built with the intention of writing something. The question is... what will it write? And since Hugo's father was working on repairing the automaton at the time of his death, Hugo thinks that fixing it will deliver some long-lost message from father to son from beyond the grave. Along the way, Hugo meets an elderly toy-maker, who may or may not be a link to the strange automaton. Can the old man help Hugo receive his father's last words?

I don't want to give too much away, but The Invention of Hugo Cabret is a thoroughly enjoyable read. The touching story of a boy longing for his lost father and of a mysterious old man searching for relevance in the world was a great page-turner for my sons and I. We read it every night, pouring over its pages and many illustrations. The book won the 2008 Caldecott Medal for best artwork and its pictures are unique in that they actually tell parts of the story themselves, as opposed to serving as arty decorations for the narrative. The 500+ page book actually has 284 pages of illustrations in it, and they are wonderfully and warmly drawn by the author. A real gem of a book and something my boys and I will remember for a long time.

For more information and for a sneak peak at the opening sequence of artwork, check out the link below. Click on "intro and slideshow."


http://www.theinventionofhugocabret.com/about_hugo_intro.htm

Bob Dylan: Still Relevant... most of the time

Bob Dylan is easily the most influential writer of his generation. I don't mean song-writer either, but in terms of a person putting words down on paper that get into the atmosphere and alter the way that people view the world. When my students ask me who the greatest American poets are, I always say Robert Frost, Langston Hughes, and Bob Dylan.

Dylan's early work is absolutely poetry put to music. I could teach a multitude of literary devices using "Mr. Tambourine Man" alone. In recent years, I think that Dylan's lyrics have become more introspective and observant about life itself, and less about the unique mixing of words that his songs used to rely more upon. In a way, to me his lyrics are more powerful than ever and I admire him more for his blunt wisdom than just about anyone else I've read.

A new Dylan collection, "Tell Tale Signs," was recently released. Among the songs is one of my favorites, "Most of the Time." One thing I think that has been overlooked or under-rated over the years are Dylan's love songs. His romantic tunes like "The Girl From the North Country" or "If Not For You" are simply beautiful. As a matter of fact, I've sent several of his lyrics to my wife, never telling her who the author was, just for the sheer romantic grace of the sentiment. And Dylan's lost-love songs, like "Tangled Up in Blue," "Ballad in Plain D," or "Love Sick" cut so accurately the pain of a broken heart, you almost internally hurt when considering them. A song from this later category is "Most of the Time." I'll reprint the lyrics below.

Most of the time

I'm clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the sign
Stay right with it when the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don't even notice she's gone
Most of the time.

Most of the time it's well understood
Most of the time I wouldn't
change it if I could
I can make it all match up
I can hold my own
I can deal with the situation
right down to the bone
I can survive and I can endure
And I don't even think about her
Most of the time.

Most of the time my head is on straight
Most of the time I'm strong enough not to hate
I don't build up illusion 'til it makes me sick
I ain't afraid of confusion no matter how thick
I can smile in the face of mankind
Don't even remember what her
lips felt like on mine
Most of the time.

Most of the time she ain't even in my mind
I wouldn't know her if I saw her
She's that far behind
Most of the time I can even be sure
If she was ever with me
Or if I was ever with her

Most of the time I'm halfway content
Most of the time I know exactly where it went
I don't cheat on myself I don't run and hide
Hide from the feelings that are buried inside
I don't compromise and I don't pretend
I don't even care if I ever see her again
Most of the time.

What I love so much about this song is the angry "fuck you" of a lot of the lyrics, that is then subdued with "most of the time." He says things like "Most of time she ain't even on my mind. I wouldn't know if I saw her. She's that far behind." Those are angry words. There's a major "eat shit and die" kind of feeling for the broken-hearted in them, which he later follows up with "I don't even care if I ever see her again... most of the time." It's that wonderful turning of that last phrase, which sounds more defiant when it leads off the lines, but is totally fragile when it ends them, that I find to be so brilliant. You know the speaker here, who's shooting off so much verbal venom, would take this girl back if she gave him the chance. We'd ALL do that. We've ALL been there. And it's that painfully (literally!) accurate take on love and relationships that I think is such evidence of Bob Dylan's abilities as a writer and as a chronicler of the human experience. It's not so much poetry any more. It's just dead-on observation and emotion.

So next chance you get, give "Most of the Time" a listen. The song can be found originally on the album "Oh Mercy" and more recently, in different form, on "Tell Tale Signs."

Things I Like... Things You Should Like

Yesterday I got Supply and Demand: The Art of Shepard Fairey. It's an incredible book that documents the rise of one of today's most popular propaganda artists. The "Obey Giant" logo I posted above is the product of Shepard's interest in subliminal advertising and iconography. His story of how one little sticker he created eventually took over the world is an amazing testament to what one person can do to change his environment.

A lot of his work was influenced by old propaganda posters from the Soviet Union and Germany, as well as our own "Buy War Bonds" art of WWII America. I love that kind of stuff... the big, bold colors and letters. The simplicity of the art is so affecting. There will be an exhibit of his work in DC later this month. Can't wait to go.

Here's to Mr. Prolific !

My man Ryan Adams is at it again. A new disc, "Cardinology," is due at the end of the month! And like I said in a previous post, the guy can churn out a new album in the time it takes me to put my contacts in. Can't beat that kind of production.

Rest Easy, Butch Cassidy

Hollywood lost one of its old guard yesterday when Paul Newman died at 83. He had a career that spanned generations, a real rarity on the silver screen. My mother had a school-girl crush on him even into her 40's, my dad introduced me to Cool Hand Luke when I was a teenager, and my own boys heard Mr. Newman's craggly voice as Doc Hudson in the Pixar movie "Cars."

It's always sad when somebody dies. When we're talking about someone famous, most of us don't know these people in the least, but we still feel some sense of loss at their passing. Paul Newman reminds me of my childhood. When I hear his name, I think of my mom wearing a tee-shirt with his picture ironed on to it. I think of watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" with my brother on channel 20's "Saturday Morning Classics." I'm saddest, though, because Paul Newman seemed like a really good guy, and those kind of people are the greatest loss of all.

In this age when the press seems to glorify all that's bad in the world, Newman was someone who seemed to personify all of its good. He was happily married to the same woman, Joanne Woodward, for over fifty years. A great quote of his came when asked if he was ever tempted to stray on his wife and he replied, "Why would I go out for hamburger when I've got steak at home?" How great is that? Every time I read of another Hollywood break-up, I always wished the same report would tell me how long Newman and Woodward had been married for. We don't celebrate that kind of commitment and success enough these days.

Paul Newman was also an incredible philanthropist. By the time he died, he had given away nearly $200 million dollars!?! That's incredible. He gave away 100% of the profits from his food line "Newman's Own." 100%! Here's some information I found online about some of Paul Newman's other charitable acts.

"Paul Newman is more than just an actor. He is a well-known philanthropist, having given over $175 million dollars to charity from the profits on his Newman's Own food products and he is at it again.

ABC News reports that Mr. Newman and his wife, actress Joanne Woodward, are giving $10 million to Kenyon College in Ohio, which is Newman's alma mater. The money will be used to help start a scholarship fund.

Mr. Newman, 82, who graduated from the private liberal arts school in 1949 with a degree in drama and economics, had this to say about Kenyon. "My days there were among the happiest and most formative of my life. I believe strongly that we should be doing whatever we can to make all higher education opportunities available to deserving students. I hope others will support Kenyon in this manner."

The Newman's Own line was started in 1987 with the intent of it being a small, boutique type operation. Instead it spread like wildfire and is now on grocery store shelves nationwide. The line includes popcorn, salsa, salad dressing, lemonade, steak sauce, and marinades. The expected profit of the business was $1200 a year. In the last 20 years the company's profit has been over $175 million dollars.

In 1988 Mr. Newman donated the funding to create the "Hole in the Wall Gang" camps for children with cancer and other life threatening illnesses. The first camp was opened in Ashford, CT, and there are now 8 camps- five in the United States and 1 each in Ireland, United Kingdom, and France, with more scheduled to be opened in the future. 13,000 children attend the camps each year, free of charge; thanks to the profits from the Newman's Own food products." (courtesy of Associated Content)

This article actually fails to mention another $250,000 that Newman and his wife donated to Kosovo refugees in 1999.

In the end, Paul Newman probably lived as full and as fulfilling of a life as a person can live. He showed the importance of giving time and time again. It's a lesson for us all to think about.

Rest easy, Butch Cassidy.

The Great Race

I did a triathlon earlier this month. I told a friend about it when I signed up, not so much so that he would sign up too but because he was an experienced runner and I thought I might go to him with any questions I had about training, conditioning, workouts, etc. Coincidentally, he had been considering doing a triathlon himself and my involvement ended up presenting him with a great opportunity.

Honestly, I didn’t really want my buddy to do it. I had my own personal reasons for signing up. This was going to be a great mid-life challenge and a chance to reinvent myself. I really didn’t want to worry about anyone else. I didn’t want to compete against anyone but myself… MY will. My desire to quit or go on. My conditioning. It wasn’t that I was concerned that he would beat me. Of course he would beat me. The guy can go out and run six miles at a moment’s notice! I just wanted this to be about me. I wanted to complete the race because I was pushing myself, not being pushed by what I thought someone else was doing. In the end, it was probably a pretty selfish concept. I even dissuaded my brother-in-law from signing up, but that was the way I felt.

My buddy ended up signing up any way. In the beginning, he was kind of a jerk about it. He’d ask our friends who they thought would win between us. It kind of pissed me off, but I kept it to myself. I’m totally down with trash-talking and macho swagger, but his over-competitiveness just irked me. He was making it about US, which is exactly what I never wanted it to be.

In the end it all worked out though. My friend simmered down and we talked all summer long about how we were progressing. Whereas I was weak at running, his forte, he wasn’t so strong at swimming, my best sport of the event. Via email we’d kind of boost each other’s spirits. He’d write about how impressed he was with my running times. When he told me about how far he was swimming, I kept telling him how happy he should be with what he was accomplishing. All of the he-man bs was gone. We were just two guys encouraging one another. Not one time over the summer did “you vs me” ever come up. It was really cool and I ended up being really happy that this was something we could talk about and share.

When the race came, we ended up being ranked according to our swimming time. By virtue of that being my strength, I was fifty spots ahead of him going into the pool, which meant that he started probably eight minutes or so after I did. As we were getting ready, I joked, “Just don’t pass me at any point,” since him doing that after I had such a lead would be pretty funny. We laughed, wished each other luck, and got going.

The final leg of the race, the run, was an up and back trail, so technically you could see someone coming who was just starting out as you were finishing. I won’t say that I didn’t wonder where my friend was, but honestly I just was concerned about finishing without stopping and crossing the finish line. Not long after I made the halfway-point turnaround, I ended up seeing him coming the other way down the path. He looked at me and said, “Keep it going, baby.” I knew he was close. I knew his running pace was much much faster than mine and that he might catch me, but again, I didn’t really care what he was doing. I cared that I was about to finish a triathlon, and I was pretty happy about that.

As I made the last turn, I saw the straightaway to the finish. I could hear people cheering. I saw the finish line in front of me. All of a sudden, right as I came to the end, I felt a hand on my back and heard, “After you, my friend.” I saw that my buddy was there beside me, graciously NOT beating me in the end when he easily could have. He later told me, “We kind of went through this whole thing together. I thought in the end that we should finish it together too.”

It’s been nearly a month since the race. I still marvel at what I accomplished. I basically got off the couch after ten years and became a runner. I started out not being able to run half a mile. I ended up being able to do over four. I ended up being able to run a 5k AFTER I had swam a ¼ mile and biked over twelve. I’m so proud of proving to myself that you can do anything that you set your mind to. But even though so much of this was FOR me and ABOUT me, the thing I keep coming back to is the grace and humility of my friend. Competition these days seems to be filled with so much negativity. We watch professional athletes taunt each other. We watch them pose and glorify themselves after making a single play. We watch them selfishly destroy the thrill of competition and the cohesive beauty that is sportsmanship and athletic camaraderie. It’s easy to forget how positive sports really can be.

Though I know I’ll remember my first triathlon experience for a long time, I’ll also never forget the actions of a true friend and a real athlete. I’m sure there were competitors that day whose physical accomplishments should be celebrated, but the character my friend showed that day eclipses all of them.

Thanks, Ryan.

The Secret

Recently, someone suggested that I watch the self-help documentary “The Secret.” I didn’t know anything about it, hadn’t heard anything about it on tv, hadn’t read the book while browsing through the books in Costco. All this person told me was, “It’s amazing. It’ll change your life.” That was about two or three months ago.

When I got the dvd, I have to admit that as far as the production goes, it’s pretty corny. There are a lot of people talking about the power of The Secret. Some dread-locked minister. Some quasi-philosoper. Even the author of Chicken Soup for the Soul chimes in. And as they’re speaking, some weird animations are going on in the background. Then a quote from Emerson or Beethoven comes across the screen. It’s all a little much, but I couldn’t escape the message.

The gist of The Secret is the power of positive thinking. The “experts” on the show discuss the laws of attraction and say that thinking positively will make positive things come into your life. A meta-physicist on the show even gives a scientific explanation for this idea, saying that your thoughts are emitted as energy waves. When those waves are negative, other negative energy adheres itself to them and is brought back to you. So if you think good things, good things will happen to you. End of story.

A lot of people will find this concept to be ridiculous. The video suggests that if you think about acquiring wealth, you’ll get richer! If you think about being healthy, you won’t get sick! The show has a woman who was diagnosed with cancer and instead of going home and thinking, “Oh my God. This is so horrible. What am I going to do?” she went home and thought, “I can’t believe I got over that cancer.” She told her husband to rent a bunch of comedies to watch so that she could just laugh all the time. She never once gave into or accepted the idea that she had a life-threatening disease. And do you know what happened? The malignant mass in her breast completely disappeared. 100% cured without an ounce of chemo or any other medical treatment. Amazing, yes! Possible? I think so.

The effectiveness of placebos is well-documented. There have been many cases where patients with similar medical conditions were given two different kinds of treatments: proven drugs and fake drugs. The people who took the fake drugs, also known as placebos, not only showed similar results to the people who underwent legitimate treatment, but in many cases showed more significant reactions to the “medication.” How is this possible? Is it because they believed they were getting drugs to help them out and that non-physical belief triggered a very real reaction in their bodies? How else might you explain that?

Since watching the video, I have really tried to alter my way of thinking. I’ve always believed in the power of considering things from a positive angle, but now instead of thinking, “I hope I don’t get sick,” I say, “Wow! I’m unbelievably healthy right now!” It may sound silly, but I can tell you this: Early this year, in the midst of flu season, my youngest son had a fever of up to 103 for six days. My other son got a cold and my wife just “wasn’t herself” health-wise for a long time. In the past, I might have worried and almost waited for the viruses to come my way. This year, I just kept thinking “I am well. I am well.” Even when all of my co-workers and students started missing time, I refused to give in. And sure enough, here I am almost in April, and I had the healthiest winter I’ve had in years. Good luck or just good thoughts?

The person who told me about the video is a typically-broke college student. After watching the show, she said she walked around saying, “I need money. I need money.” Sure enough, her mom came up to her and said she had found an un-cashed check from months before that was given as graduation gift. The check had been folded up and lost inside a coat pocket. I decided to give it a try and started walking around thinking, “I could use some more money.” That was on a Sunday night. On Monday, I got a tax refund in the mail for $500, a tax credit given to every Virginia resident, but one I wasn’t expecting. On Tuesday, I found out that a tutoring job that was going to make me a decent bit of extra money in the first place had quadrupled in terms of what I was going to bring home. Then two days later, my credit card bill came and was about 20% less than what my wife and I had anticipated. Again, is it all coincidence? I have no idea, but I believe that it’s not and that’s all that matters for me.

Certainly there are limits to this, right? I mean… I can’t will my disappearing hair back. I can’t suddenly have 20/20 vision again just because I believe that it’s possible to reclaim it. But maybe I can. Each one of those statements started with the words “I can’t.” Anyone who has ever achieved anything in this world never started a line like that.

Things I like... Things You Should Like

Last night I watched “December Boys,” a sweet little film about one wonderful summer in the lives of four orphaned boys. By virtue of a little good luck, they’re able to spend some time on the Australian coast, away from the barren Outback wasteland where their orphanage is. The movie is a little summer romance and a little coming-of-age all in one.

Honestly, when someone handed the dvd to me, I really didn’t feel like watching it. It stars Daniel Radcliffe in his first non-Harry Potter role. For that reason alone I thought “novelty,” even though I’ve enjoyed those little movies about the boy wizard. So I reluctantly put it in and sat back to sort of force myself to watch it. It turned out to be a real treat.

One of the best parts about the movie is the scenery and cinematography. Filmed along a tiny cove, there are these wonderful sweeping shots of the Australian coastline. There are rolling hills, tall cliffs with extraordinary views, and gorgeous images of the blue sea. Watching it in the cold February of our North American winter, I found myself longing for warmer climates. Honestly, the movie could’ve been terrible… you could’ve muted it practically and the setting alone was enough to enjoy it all. Luckily, there’s a little more to it than that.

I’ve read some customer reviews that slammed the movie for being cliché and corny. Without a doubt, it is absolutely those things at times. Without question, this movie is nothing you haven’t already seen before. It certainly has its forgettable moments. It’s forced in places, and even tries to shove some goofy symbolism your way at other times. But all in all, it was a movie about relationships. The tangible bond between the four orphaned boys. The powerful love between a man and his ailing wife. The marital struggles of another couple who deal with the sometimes painful space between dreams and reality. The summer fling for a young kid and his first time. Yes, it’s all been done before, but what hasn’t? To some degree, everything’s been done before, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t find something in it that’s appealing.

So rent “December Boys.” It’s a sweet, warm sense of escapism that’s bound to make you smile at least once. And since when is that a bad thing?

It's Evolution, Baby !

I’ve been a high school English teacher for nearly thirteen years now. In that time, teaching a course that every student must take, I’ve seen the full range of adolescent ability. I’ve read some student work that made me so jealous of their natural gift for words. I’ve read other work that made me wonder if the kid had actually ever written or read words before. Such is the life on an English teacher. Reading and writing are two of the hardest things to teach, but recently I’ve begun thinking of a different approach.

I’d say that one of the biggest obstacles to the improvement of young writers is simply the fact that many of them barely read anymore. It’s certainly not for a lack of materials. I imagine that there are more books published and in print today than ever before. It’s the competition for one’s time that takes away the joy of reading. Simply put, it takes too much time to finish a book. We live in a very fast age now. Everything is instantaneous. We can reach just about anyone at anytime via cell phones. Don’t know something? Get online and you’ll know in a matter of seconds. Everything we do now is about doing it faster. Reading even a great book takes a lot of time and is not a very fast practice. It really goes against much of what society is doing today. And while I’m thankful every day for people like JK Rowling and Oprah Winfrey for revitalizing the book world, the archaic form of entertainment that is literature is probably losing ground to more technologically-savvy things like video games, the internet, etc. So how can we expect young people to read or write well when they don’t know what good writing is? They just don’t really see it too much anymore.

I’ve always believed that reading and writing went hand in hand. Every student I’ve ever had who was a good writer was also an avid reader, at least at some point in their lives. They know about good grammar, because all books are written that way. They know about sentence variety, because most good writers employ such techniques. They have a good vocabulary, because reading thousands of pages has taught them that. The other key to good writing is practicing it, and herein lies what I consider to be our greatest problem.

Look at younger people today and tell me what kind of writing they do. They text-message friends on their cell phones, IM them via the internet, or send emails to one another. Take a good look at those three mediums. Do any of them promote any of the virtues of good writing that I listed in the previous paragraph? Technological writing, as I’ll call it, has no rules. It’s about getting your point across quickly and in the fewest words, or in many cases symbols or characters, possible. If this is the primary form of writing that many young people are doing, how can we possibly expect them to write differently in class?

I’ve had many foreign-born students before who struggle with English. When their foreign-born parents ask me how their kids can learn to read, write, or speak better, I always paint this scenario for them. If I’ve got a Korean student, he probably goes home and speaks Korean almost exclusively in the house. He probably has a Korean newspaper to look at and through the virtue of cable can probably watch Korean TV too. Later, his family uses a Korean bank, a Korean dry-cleaners, eats at Korean restaurants, shops at a Korean grocery store, and attends a Korean church. In school, his friends are almost all Korean and in lunch they sit together and speak to one another in their native tongue. How is that kid ever going to get any better with English? He never, ever practices it.

How can a kid learn to write better and more properly if they never practice that form? Is it becoming an unrealistic expectation of teachers to demand such?

Language is evolving. Usually evolution is slow and takes place over a long period of time. No one can see it happening. But now, however, we can see English changing right before our eyes, all as a result of the computer and technological explosion that has happened in only about the last ten or fifteen years.

Email has probably become the primary form of writing now. Think about some emails you’ve read or written lately. Did they have paragraphs? Were they indented? Was everything you wrote a proper sentence? Did you use any internet slang like LOL or type the omnipresent :) after you wrote something funny? I can’t get through an email myself without writing or seeing those things, and I’m an English teacher.

At one time people said “thou.” Then they said “you.” Now they write “u.”

At one time people said “Fare thee well.” Then they said “goodbye.” Now they write “L8R.”

Just recently the term “Google” was added to Webster’s Dictionary. It’s listed as a transitive verb and means “to search for information on the World Wide Web.”

The world of language is changing. Why are we fighting it?

Many people will call me a fool for even suggesting such a thing. Many of those people, however, are blind champions of the old ways who live in arrogant denial. To them, everything they did in their day was right. “That’s not the way I was taught,” some will say. While I am a traditionalist in many regards, it’s only when I’ve reasoned that it’s the smartest way to do something. I don’t do anything simply because “that’s the way it’s always been done.” To me, that’s a ludicrous and dangerous way of thinking. The old way is always better? Do we still drive old cars with their outdated machinery? Do we still follow ancient ways of medicine, or employ archaic materials and practices for building purposes, for forensic investigations, or anything else for that matter? Of course not. Times change, and we change with them. Why are we holding fast with language in the classroom?

Some people have told me “they don’t write like that in the business world.” Not yet they don’t. Who’s running businesses today? Older people. But every day you hear about younger and younger entrepreneurs and corporate leaders inventing and taking over every form of business out there. Children are the future, right? Their ideas will guide us tomorrow, and so will their language.

It’s evolution, baby !

To Die For

Today I watched the movie "Glory." Though I've seen it many times, the story of the first regiment of black soldiers from the Civil War always gets to me. It's a great movie about the development of courage, leadership, and human relationships in the face of adversity. It has wonderful performances from everyone from Denzel Washington to Morgan Freeman to Matthew Broderick. The soundtrack is fantastic too and has one of the most moving scores I've heard in a film. With all of these things, however, what always hits me the hardest is seeing a bunch of people willing to die for a cause.

We've certainly seen and read about this many times, but when do any of us really have to face that? Most of us are fairly lucky in America, at least in comparison to much of the rest of world. And even though there are countless people facing adverse situations in the United States, when have they ever had to stand up for something and truly put their lives on the line to do so? Thankfully, I've never had to even consider such a choice, but I so admire the depth of those who have.

In the end of "Glory," the famed 54th regiment stages an assault on Fort Wagner. It's virtually a hopeless sacrifice for the black soldiers, as they have to approach the Confederate stronghold from an open beach with virtually no cover or protection whatsoever and march onto a fortress with infinitely more soldiers, guns, and cannons than they have. Every time I watch the troops line up on the beach, I just can't imagine doing it. I cannot imagine the fear that would grip me. I tear up every time I watch those men summon something from within themselves that is so powerful, fearless, and daring. I'd like to think that there exists in me some unknown source of strength and courage, and while I'm lucky to have never had to confirm that, I still wonder and marvel at the potential of all people to do something great. I guess the end result of most of those moments is that people die. But it's the fact that they were willing to die, and entered into that situation knowing that that was the most likely outcome, that still makes me shed a tear and think how amazing the human spirit really is.