How Can We Fix It- If We Don't Understand Why it's Broken? (125)

Wrapped in Plastic

How can we fix something that's broken? Something so deeply flawed, we can't even find the corners to grasp on to, in order to remove the film. We are fumbling with flat surfaces, we can't seem to open, in order to create a vent, before we start the microwave.

The film of separation. The thick plastic coverings, that once adorned our grandparents furniture. Once felt protective, yet only prevented comfort and relaxation. The soft, fabric was visible, it lured us in, but always kept us at bay. This furniture, weighted down by the safeguard against children.

That sofa, you know the one- is a clear memory- 1970's green and brown. In today's standard ugly and dated, but back then it was the most beautiful thing, like the forbidden fruit, it lured me to take my seat many times. But I got burned by the pliable clear canvas of resistance. The same one I got stuck to, on warm summer day. The one that left a mark on the back of my legs.

Education sometimes feels like that sofa. Both nostalgic and guarded. Trying to appear welcoming and luxurious- but shrouded in a layer of preservation. But in fact, it needs to be stripped of its seemingly stable armor. We need to feel the heft of the cotton, the firmness of the cushions and lean back. Make a crease, leave a stain. Make the couch lived in and cherished.

We need to work from a place where something doesn't work, towards a place where something will. The pursuit of will. Not the acceptance of did. We know that plastic sheet, may have kept the fibers fresh, but it removed any sense of personal well-being. We had to sit on the edge, in constant fear we would be caught, or trapped.

Cherry Pie and a Cup of Joe

Twin peaks, one tree covered, tall and isolated. The other, welcoming, with gardens of possibility, entice the average hiker. They feel comfortable with the ascent. The incline of the other is too steep, too densely populated with oaks of yonder. Most of us make the climb we know we can do in an afternoon. For after our hike, we can enjoy our cherry pie and cup of joe, in a diner, next to Snoqualmie Falls.

The ice is slowly melting. The quarantine is creeping into a slow return to some hope of connection. Branches waking up, no longer dropping their leaves to conserve energy. Doors and windows are a little more open, allowing for the outside world, to blow away some of the cobwebs and dust. The frost is replaced by enthusiasm.

We can start to make education better only if we have boots on the ground. Only if we accept the system is broken. Let it out, let it in- the realization that things need to be fixed. We have been shuffling through a routine, meant for the many, not the few. Designed for the masses not for individuals. This doesn't work. We know unequivocally, it doesn't work.

"Passion is the fire you make when you rub two sticks together" We are all passionate, we all want what is best for our students- for every child who is learning and growing. We just need to pick up the sticks and start building the pyre of change. Every stick matters.

Previously on....

There was a fear of making decisions. Because if we did we would have to take something apart and examine its flaws. If we did, we would notice how truly overwhelming an overhaul would be. Huge endeavors take a lot of planning and lists, and painful conversations. All the little pieces are scary. Some get lost.

It's like looking at a room of plastic covered furniture. Shades, hues and shapes. Some love seats, some lounge chairs, others sectionals. Some have leather, while others fabric. Some have arms to rest yours upon, others are more like benches. Yet, covered with a thick barrier- we are hesitant to sit on any of them.

They seem forbidden. They appear to be just for show. But, education as we know- isn't for show. Its for progress. Its the construction, fortification, problem-solving, critical thinking, social emotional, collaboration, respect and responsibility of future generations. It is the room of sofa's. But a room in desperate need of "opening up for the summer" the removal of the sheets and coverings of winter.

The airing out of the must and dank, of elder seasons. The surfacing of the coziness, pleasure and above all else, the rising of creativity. New designs, merging of styles, solid colors and patterns, high backs and curved arm rests. A blending of what works and what doesn't. Improving and tweaking both are required for lasting change.

Breaking the Seal

We know what needs to change. But, before any of that can happen- we have to pull off the facade. The binding, plastic cloak we allowed ourselves to leave in place, because we were told to. We are the boots on the ground. We hear the battle cry of 'will' and the distant echo of 'did.'

So lets, start peeling back the overlay and sit directly on the furniture.

Feel the grooves, the sag. Smell the life that was experienced, while lying on it. Notice every thread barren edge, identify every blemish, blotch and smudge.

But rather than trying to erase them- embrace them.

Accept them as the beginning of something new, a reminder of our flaws in the system. This way it becomes less about fashion and exterior and more about durability and purpose.

Its a sofa, its a generational platform for the future and it is meant to be sat on. It will be spilled on and used as a place to watch television, read a book and learn stuff. We need to enjoy the couch- listen to it, it has a story to tell.

We need to break the seal. Unwrap the standards. Collaborate, anticipate and make the small changes within our grasp and join the cause- sit on every sofa you can. Make a dent. Leave an impression. Sit up straight or slouch, but pay attention- cause things are going to happen, watch and see.

How Can We Fix It- If We Don't Understand Why it's Broken? We are educators, that's what we do best. Tackle problems. So lets do this. Lets choose to have the painful, uncomfortable conversations. Lets take responsibility for the failure. Lets put our voices together into one large battle cry and scream- "Will, not did." It takes a village- and ours is huge.