Time keeps on tickin' (tickin', tickin') into the future.

I shouldn't be writing this - there's no time. I don't have time to keep a blog. There are dishes to wash, classes to prepare, papers to grade, kids to help, dogs to walk - the list is exhausting, the tasks the same. Writing takes time,  and making time takes more effort. Why should I make the time to do this?

I shouldn't make the time. I already stated that. Yet here I am, tapping away while my oldest son struggles through a spelling word search, my youngest son struggles against falling asleep, my wife struggles with my youngest son's aversion to falling asleep, and I tap away. I tap meaningless words on a meaningless screen and take meaningless steps towards a goal that seems beyond my reach. Futility incarnate. Tap, tippity-click tap, tap. I shouldn't be writing this, so I'll stop for now.

And then I'll pick it back up the next day. Still, on this new day, there are tasks to complete. Still, there are other endeavors I should pursue before the clock commands me to relocate, to eat, to sleep. So why am I wasting my time with writing? The clock does not command me to write; something else entirely is in charge with that particular of my personality. And there it is - my personality and the need (not the desire) to compose. How many metaphors could I include at this point about the fabric of my being, the water of life, the comfy blanket, the drug? I'll stay away from those to simply say this: for me, writing must happen.

Others see writing as akin to exfoliating with 30-grit sandpaper or taking a nap amidst bot-fly larvae. (If you don't know what a bot-fly is, be glad.) Still others equate writing with eating unsalted grits one grain at a time or raking leaves off the lawn with a plastic fork. I understand that. But writing must happen, for me.

All of us have that in us, that need to follow a path or to compose or to build. There exists no finite list of these endeavors, nor do these same require personal sacrifices. If I had to choose between being a proper family man and writing (a false choice, to which I alluded in the opening of this piece), I would without hesitation choose the former. But there is a way to pursue whatever it is we need to pursue and still find the time for everything else. We simply need to stand up to the clock, revolt against its hegemonic push-and-pull, and do what needs to be done. Like now - I'm finishing this post because there are other tasks to accomplish. Writing must happen, and indeed it just did.

Go chase it.

Fast Food Education – You want math with that?

At the risk of sounding snarky - and I suppose I should begin each of my postings in the same manner – education is not akin to fast food. Of course, there are some similarities, much like one can find between two “anythings” if one were to look hard enough. (At this point I’m going to lapse into a more informal tone and might even use the second person. This is a blog, after all, not an essay for an English teacher.) For example, both an education and a fast food meal cost money, but both public education and fast food meals are both quite inexpensive, when compared to the alternative forms of each (private education or higher education and a proper meal with multiple courses and an appropriate beverage accompaniment). Both an education and a fast food meal are satisfying to some degree – and in another line of thinking, both can make you sick when taken in improper quantities and with improper rapidity. I could go on, but I believe I’ve made my point.

The issue that I’d like to address in this post is the tendency of some students to approach their virtually free public education in the same way they approach ordering food from a microphoned plastic box while still seated in a vehicle. Picture this: You drive up to a plastic box and the microphone tells you to order when you’re ready. You quickly look over the options, and place your order. The voice tells you how much it will cost after, perhaps, asking you if you would like to make some alteration to your order (“Would you like that __________,” or “Would you like _________ or _________?”). You then drive around a corner of the building, or simply to the next window, and exchange money for food. You drive off and eat, and that’s the end of the transaction.

I’ve witnessed a few students take the same approach with education. They show up for class expecting to see a plastic box with their options clearly written, maybe with a picture or two. They can be listening to music and texting friends and essentially paying attention with a small part of their brains and still complete the order. They decide what they want and expect to move quickly on to the next window where they exchange something for their education – maybe it’s a PowerPoint presentation, maybe it’s a test, maybe it’s an essay – and they expect to drive off shortly thereafter with their “education” and enjoy it in all its greasy, juicy, flavorful splendor. It’s quick. It’s kind of dirty. And it’s they way the world works these days.

The problem is that education isn't a transaction. Sometimes, the options listed on the plastic box are complicated, and you might even need to choose more than one option at a time. The options take time to prepare, and they take time to “ingest.” Payment might require more than simple currency. It might take you more than a few seconds to decide exactly what you want, and that something might be offered only on Mondays and Thursdays from 2:30 – 4:00. You might not get the option of including (or NOT including for that matter) other elements of your order, hence the title "You want math with that?"

No, education is not fast food. To completely kill the extended metaphor, education is something to be savored and appreciated for its complexity of flavors. I fully understand and cherish that students have preferences and tastes. But even if you prefer chicken to beef, there are quite a few ways to prepare chicken. Let’s not rush into this school year – or any year of our lives for that matter, with formal schooling or without – by looking for the easiest route through our educational drive through. Get out of the car. Go into the kitchen. See how your education is being prepared. Ask questions about the preparation. Trust the skill of the chef. Then sit down and participate in the wonderful meal of learning.

There. The metaphor is dead. Now go study.