Shucking is a shellfish act

Oysters don't make a lot of decisions, but they do make some. While still larvae the oysters can walk, and do. They can see (well, tell dark from light, anyway). A baby oyster ("spat") finds a spot it likes, ideally snuggled on top of another oyster, then stakes its claim.

Still not impressed?

If the spat doesn't like its new home, it can change its mind, at least for a few days. It detaches and moves.

Soon after it finds its home, the spat loses its foot and its eye, and life becomes much less complicated. Either open the shell and feed, or clam up.

A few years ago, some spats settled on our local jetty. Saturday I gathered a couple dozen grown-up oysters (and a few crabs and mussels as well), shucked them, and ate them. (A tiny, assertive crab no larger than my thumbnail was returned alive to the sea by Leslie.)

My left hand is a bit chewed up from the sharp shells. I bled a bit on the jetty, and a little bit more when shucking them. A couple of the tiny lacerations are slightly inflamed--my white cells will take care of the invaders.

The more I learn about oysters, the harder they are to eat, and the more delicious they become. We have both evolved from common ancestors. We both need oxygen. We both need to eat in order to live.

This oyster connection gets complicated, too complicated to understand. We both are here (well, were here) together. I will join the critters that were in less than a lifetime.

This morning I returned the shells to the bay--a few still held remnants of the sweet (though now rotting) flesh of my meal. That flesh has already been consumed, maybe by a crab, maybe by a lethargic striper just off the beach.

No way to know the particulars. 14 billion years ago something happened. It's still happening.

I don't know why I am part of it, and science won't (can't) tell me. Still, I'm happy to be part of it.

Slurping down live creatures is an abomination in a civilized world, but it makes me feel more alive.

My hope as a science teacher is to get a child as passionate about anything alive as I am about oysters, alive but not human. We think we are special, and we are.

But so is the oyster.

Photo by Leslie, who sees things I can't.

Science can fix anything, and other fantasies

Uh-oh.

Mission: Scientifically literate students possess the knowledge and understanding of scientific concepts and processes required for personal decision making, participation in civic and cultural affairs, and economic productivity.

NJ DOE's 2009 Standards Revision Project

The state board of education believes that "a quality science education fosters a population that applies scientific knowledge, and skills to increase economic productivity." (The sentence is not grammatically stable--the comma is theirs, not mine. Committees love commas. )

At least it says as much in the Vision Statement for our proposed state curriculum standards.

I can understand the concern panic. Wall Street needs help, the state's staring down an economic abyss, and, well, if science can put a man on the moon, then this should be easy. We have a knowledge-based economy, science advances knowledge, bada-bing, bada-boom.

Houston, we have a problem.

Let me toss out two premises for discussion:


1) Our economy is not a knowledge-based economy.

So long as we are mammals, our economy remains tied to the land. Getting filthy rich might require knowledge-based data-mining skills, but the overall economy still depends on Earth's blessings.

Food. Water. Fiber. Fuel.
Wheat, rice, corn, pork bellies, cotton, hemp, wool, alpacas, coal, sunlight, oil, wind.

I'd be the first to concede that growing wheat, raising sheep, digging a well, and harnessing wind all involve intricate knowledge, but I doubt that's what is meant by a "knowledge-based economy." A look at the particulars of the curriculum confirm this.

2) A "growing economy" based on exponential extraction of natural resources cannot last.

The United States agriculture depends on extraction--we put as many calories into farming as we get out of it. Our food is cheap because oil is still cheap. It is also finite.

Capitalism as currently practiced (Adam Smith wouldn't recognize it) depends on economic growth; economic growth depends on increasingly efficient methods of exploiting limited resources.

Exponential growth is unsustainable. Humans, like any other critter borrowing water and oxygen from this land, have a finite carrying capacity.

Acknowledging these premises does not make me a Marxist, but might mark me as a science teacher. It puts a dent in my ability to foist the state's agenda on my kids.

I hope someone at the state level sees the inconsistencies in the proposed standards.
If nothing else, could someone in Trenton be kind enough to fix the grammar?

Weighing in

I love teaching physical science. I have three classes of freshmen euphemistically called "Level 1 College Preparatory Physical Science." If a course name has more than a dozen syllables, chances are its geared towards what we used to call the low level students.

Kids end up down here for a variety of reasons, but lack of intelligence is rarely the primary reason. (I am not going to harp on the pedagogical nonsense that all children are capable of being above average. A few kids indeed lack the innate tools to survive the higher level courses.)

I don't exactly teach physics lite, but I do try to minimize the math. We discuss scenarios after reviewing concepts.

The past two days we have been chatting about gravity. Most already knew that you weigh less on the moon--I think that's now culturally ingrained. Democracy is good, America rocks, and you weigh less on the moon.

I then warned the class I was going to ask college level questions (while avoiding the math):

Do you weigh the same on top of Mount Everest
as you do in Bloomfield?

The kids surprised me--a good chunk of them figured out that we actually weigh less on top of Everest, and a couple of them excitedly explained to their neighbors why they thought this was so.

What would happen to you if we could magically
attach a second Earth directly over Bloomfield,
about 20 feet above the ground?

Again, the kids shone. Faces wiggled as neurons fired. Some were exasperated (and frustrated), but a few of them realized that the net force from the double Earth would be zero, and they could bounce from one Earth to the other by pushing off the ground.

And then the dreaded, wonderful question that the teacher cannot answer--what would you actually feel if your body was simultaneously pulled by two Earths only 20 feet apart? Would you feel anything at all? Would you feel like you were being stretched?

I know I'd have about 200 pounds of force pulling me in opposite directions, but if this force is evenly distributed over my mass, just what would I feel?

Any takers?

Blue oyster cultch

Organizations love mottoes and mission statements and other sorts of committee-speak that expend lots of time and energy that might actually be used for, say, teaching.

Committees drink lots of coffee, committees fill appointment calendars, committees eventually compromise on some pablum. I never expect committees to spew anything resembling wisdom.

I teach at Bloomfield High. I live in Bloomfield. I grow vegetables in Bloomfield. I scan its skies through the urban glow to see miracles above me. We don't have a ton of money, but we have stoops and more than a few stay at home parents. Many of our children here will work in the family business whatever that may be--painting, masonry, landscaping, plumbing.

While the glorified among us search for bodies to fill the elite skilled positions in life, towns like Bloomfield continue to provide a sturdy class of citizens ready to roll up their sleeves, lend a hand, make a community work. We've got real bakeries, real pizza, real craftsmen (and craftswomen) and real stoops.

The motto for our school district reflects committee-speak:

Educating the Leaders of Tomorrow

Few folks buy it. While Bloomfield has produced a few leaders, even our town's namesake, General Joseph Bloomfield, did not actually live here.

Still, we're not a town of followers either. Connie Francis lived here, Tony Soprano died here, and Sarah Vaughn is buried here. We're Norman Rockwellville with an edge. It's a great place to rear edgy children.

The town supports its schools.

Let me say that again. Bloomfield, a decent but not particularly wealthy town, supports its schools. We pay taxes. We go to the school plays, the games, the art shows. Most of our local taxes go to support our schools, and most adults in town do not have kids in school.

We are not unique that way.

Our high school, however, has its own motto. I'm not sure it's the official town creed, but it's how we live.

So, Mr. Arne Duncan, let me toss my high school's motto your way, a motto painted boldly on a wall next to our arts atrium on the second floor, a wall painted by students on a weekend.

In three words it captures our town, and I think most of the nation not warped by the Wall Street madness that infects so much of our public life today.

Learn to live!

It's right up there, big as day. It's not "Learn to work!" or "Learn to follow!" or "Learn to do Algebra 2! or "Learn to kick India's ass!"

Learn to live.

***

Next week is the HSPA testing. This week the state (again) changed its mind on the curriculum. I can't really blame them--they're trying to train students for corporate jobs that don't yet exist.

When I left school today, a few dozen students were going through our musical's dress rehearsal. A dozen more young women played basketball in front of a hundred or so locals watching our kids in our gymnasium, paid for by us.

A dozen more kids were selling pretzels and candy for the Key Club, money ultimately donated to several local causes involving local people.

Here's a list of companies and foundations not giving us money:

Gates Foundation.

Walton Foundation.

Bruhn-Morris Family Foundation.

Capital One

Cartier

City First Bank

Comcast Cable

Donatelli & Klein

Graham Fund

Hattie M. Strong Foundation

Marpat Foundation

National Geographic

National Home Library Foundation

Payless ShoeSource Foundation

Radio One

The Sallie Mae Fund

Susan W. Agger Family Fund of The Community Foundation for the National Capital Region

Target Stores

The Washington Post Educational Foundation

Learn to live.

***

If I wasn't under the NCLB gun to get my kids through the HSPA, here's a lesson I might teach my lambs--the history of oystering in the United States.

We all have property rights independent of whatever patch of land the few of us might be lucky enough to own.

We all own a piece of public land, the commons. We all have a stake in the "public trust doctrine"--we, as citizens, have rights allowing us to gain access to water and land that we do not individually own.

I can gather oysters on the Delaware Bay without interference (beyond applying for a license and spitting out $12). Without the public trust doctrine, I am nothing more than a pirate (which would be way cool, of course).

I have this right because a few folks braver than me fought on the Mullica River back in 1907. Two hundred or so oystermen fought against the few who were among the privileged.

You won't read about this in any high school history textbook. You won't read much about the coal wars fought by miners, or Tom the Tinkerer (Whiskey Rebellion). Kids learn about the Boston Tea Party without grasping its anti-corporate thrust.

A child can go through school in Jersey without learning a thing about how to get an oyster just a few miles away from her classroom while being forced to learn the quadratic equation if she wants to earn a diploma.

Oystering melds biology and history and craftsmanship and industrial arts and nutrition and, perhaps most important, citizenship. The story reminds us how we, as American citizens, serve as the foundation of the Great Experiment.

HSPA won't test this. It's not in the biology curriculum. It's not in the history curriculum. It's not in the industrial arts curriculum.

Still, it matters. And I teach in a town that still recognizes this.

***

Oysters live on oyster beds. They cannot live on bare sand or mud--they'd suffocate.

When I pull a few oysters off a bed, I just about always pull a few off that are too small too eat. Oysters wrap themselves around each other, and pulling one involves pulling several.

When I get a handful of oysters, I break off the small ones and toss them back to the bed. Oysters pile on top of oysters which pile on top of oysters.

The cultch is the pile of shells and debris that allow oysters to continue to reproduce. Oysters need hard surfaces, oysters need calcium. When I toss my tiny oysters back, I am helping the community to survive.

I cannot oyster on Sundays, but I usually return to the beds anyway, to toss back the shells of the oysters I ate the day before.

I could throw them in the garbage. A truck comes by every week to pick up most anything I want to throw away.

My oysters were alive Friday. I killed them Saturday. On Sunday, I return the shells to the bed. The flesh of the oysters is a true gift, unearned.

I was born in America yesterday. I reap the benefits today. I hope to give back to the children what I have enjoyed. Living in America, our America, is a true gift, unearned.

The least I can do is prepare the bed for future generations.

My bias is, obviously, oysters. The American story can be told by weavers, by farmers, by miners, by carpenters, told by soldiers.

Our story is local.
Our story is real.
Our story matters.

I do not recognize the American Diploma Project as citizens, despite the name; I do not recognize multinational corporations as American; I do not believe that CEOs of multinationals have my town's interests at heart.

I cannot think globally. No one can. It's a lie. I can imagine a village here, a city there, but imagining a global village is like imagining a million deaths--both become abstract piles of numbers . I can imagine, however, a single child dying. We all can. We're human.

Get your butt outside, get to know your neighbors. Get involved with your school district's curriculum.

I'll take care of the oyster cultch. You take care of what matters in your neighborhood.

And if you think your neighbor is worthy of teaching your children your local history, get involved in education.

ATT isn't going to take care of you when you're old or ill, but your neighbor will.

Photo by Leslie.

Oystering

This is what I like to do on Saturdays.
(It's illegal on Sundays.)

"Incent" incenses my senses

It's HSPA "blitz" month here in Bloomfield. The tests are looming, now less than two weeks away. Mr. Duncan wants to incent our kids to do well.

"Blitz" is short for blitzkrieg, a German word coined in 1939 that means "lightning war." It comes from the same kind of reasoning that produced "Shock and Awe," a grim reminder that warfare waged against civilians is now acceptable in Western civilization. In some ways, "blitz" is the perfect word for the intense prepping this month.

Teachers sometimes wonder why children cannot do this or cannot do that. We wonder why they insist on magical thinking, believing that if they wish for something hard enough, it will come true.

They learned from watching adults. A President who lies to launch a war. A superstar athlete who juices up to launch a baseball. Hedge fund traders who cook books to launch Ponzi schemes. Each considered the epitome of success.

Our newest Secretary of Education said recently:

"I think we are lying to children and families when we tell children that they are meeting standards and, in fact, they are woefully unprepared to be successful in high school and have almost no chance of going to a good university and being successful."

He testified to Congress in August, 2006:

"I am proud to announce that our elementary schools achieved The Power of 4! This year, four more students per classroom met state standards compared to last year. In reading, 60% of students are meeting standards, compared to 39% in 2001. In math, 65% of students are meeting standards, compared to 35% in 2001."

The reason the Chicago Miracle sounds too good to be true is because it is just that.

Dig beneath the headlines. Exploring Mr. Duncan's statistical manipulation might make for an interesting math lesson. No miracle, just manipulation.

***

I don't mind paying taxes to support democracy, to promote citizenship, to create a stronger town, a stronger country.

I do mind paying taxes to promote the interests of business over the well-being of our children.

From the Business Roundtable folks:

"To compete and succeed in an international marketplace for talent, U.S. workers need a 21st century approach to lifelong learning that enables them to develop and refresh the skills needed for high-skilled service and manufacturing jobs. Business Roundtable is calling for the development of a modernized, streamlined, and effective system that provides universal access to workforce training and adjustment assistance to maintain a nimble and productive workforce."

They were, of course, thrilled with Arne Duncan's appointment.

If we are going to let business leaders dictate educational policy primarily to fulfill their needs, if we're going to let businesses threaten a cornerstone of democracy, a free and public education for all, at least make them do it on their own dime.

A smart child in a good home fed a decent diet living under the guidance of loving adults who actually spend a few hours a day with the child will have no problem passing a national test.

If only the rest of the kids would go away....

Spearhead: just because....

I love teaching science.
I love Michael Franti and Spearhead.
I love love songs.
I love dancing.

And I especially love the message "The more I see, the less I know...."



Joy, joy, joy....
What's not to love?