Thankful - I Really Do Have a Great View to Work From During This Homestay. Happy Mother's Day

As I wrote yesterday, I now have a monitor on my bedroom desk, and it cycles through a different set of photographs than my laptop. Yesterday, when I came up from my 7 a.m. coffee to begin writing and working, the two monitors were synched perfectly.

I said, "Now isn't this a Mother's Day surprise. Mom's going to have two blogs dedicated to her in one week."

I love this image for a variety of reasons, first and foremost that we're all stranded from one another, but united here - at this moment. Next to the screen is a #1 Teacher mug given to me by a 5th grader in Louisville who couldn't read. I spent a summer working with her and by the end of the summer, not only was she reading, but she was voraciously reading. That mug means a lot to me.

Then there are the boys and I at Short Beach. It seems like yesterday, but the twins were still in college and Chitunga was just out of high school going to Housatonic Community College (he is, this week, finished with a Masters).

Then there is a classic photo of Butch and Sue on the 2nd floor of Amalfi Drive. Butch is swallowing a pill, likely one he forgot to take and he scolded my mom, "Would you get off my case?" He's also wearing the Superpower of Hope t-shirt from CWP-Fairfield last summer, showing he remains a Superman, even as he learns how to watch television entirely in Spanish without a clue. He's never take a Spanish class in his life and has no idea what they are saying.

And then, Mom. Of course, Mom. I'm sure she's saying something snarky to him, "Butch, why are you watching Spanish soap operas? Butch, didn't you already take your pills? Butch, I told you already I took the money out of the checking account."

I look at that photo and think she might turn her head to start talking to me, Abu, Lossine, and Chitunga. "What are you up to, today? Do you want to have a picnic out back or are you going to stay at the beach? It's Mother's Day, and it would be great for you to join us."

And all of us wish we could. We'd love to join her.

It was wonderful to walk into my house and see all of them together, side by side, doing as they do - my Clay home and my Stratford one, united for a moment once again.

My flowers for her arrived last week. I also shouted out to my mom for being a great teacher. But this, this is the better Mother's Day gift (even if it is only on screen).

This, to me, is pure happiness. Family, with the matriarch and the Superman.

This is My Office View from My Office, But in my Home Office from Home - Covid Reality

Like the majority of academics right now, I'm glued to my chair, my desk, my screens, and my files trying to wrap up a crazy semester and grade final projects that need to be graded. After a week of not being able to get to the work, I started this morning...

...Alas, I learned that the building where CWP is will be refurbished this summer, so we are given until next week to get what we needed before they box everything up and take it away (Good Lord. I feel back for the person who gets the CWP office - it is a whare-house of books, school supplies, t-shirts, hats, awards, beach pails, and paraphernalia used for workshops, events, festivals, and professional development. I went in to rescue the monitor but realized the CWP wouldn't fit the Apple Mac Pro's fittings, so I snuck into my office to grab the external monitor there. I brought it home (it was pouring, mind you) and began grading once again.

I love how the monitor changes photos every minute and when this one came up with the view from my office window, I simply looked out my window and said, "Well, isn't this surreal?"

I miss my frog. I miss my office view, too. I have memorized the everything from the 2nd floor of my house, where I look out from home as I work. Yes, I remain in sweats from the waist down, and occasionally dress-up from the waist up. But other than when I'm running, this pretty much sums up my view and what I'm doing.

And I will be doing it again today. It's Saturday, it will be cold, but I need to tackle the grades for my other classes. It will be a long, drawn-out day with little to no funk or pizazz. Such is the weekend life, as it blurs in with all the other days.

At least the monitor sparked me to clean up the home desk a little. Since I also brought home a few more bags of books, I also brought a book case from the garage that was going to be sent away back into the house. I thought getting rid of a book case would keep me from holding books, but when I came home with books I wanted from the CWP office for summer, I realized I needed a space to store them.

Ah...CWP...how I am neglecting you throughout all of this. It's time to to bring you to the forefront.

TGIF & Thankful to the Great Whatever for the Best Teachers #thankateacher #WriteNow #NWP

So, it's Friday, and this work-a-holic was tripped up by the other work-a-holic on Thursday at 5:30. He came to my bedroom and started talking - the heavy and good stuff - and then I said, "Let's just take it outside, wanna?"

He did. We have been pulling materials together for a fire, so we decided to start one. He has one more final - cheated out of a Masters degree celebration, and I have a shit-load of items to grade. But, he wanted a father-son night, so that's what we had. We burned all the wood we could find, talked for real, for real, and acknowledged the distraction is probably a good thing for both of us.

I know for a fact that he doesn't let loose enough; I know that's been the critique of me throughout my entire life.

Edem came out to join us, and Debbie, our teaching-neighbor asked if she could join, and the next thing I knew we were 6 feet apart and loving the pit. Debbie's dog, Bucky, and Glamis had a field day. We sat outside until the embers faded away.

It's interesting, too. The amaryllis Chitunga and I got when we were renting on Nichols Avenue never bloomed until the day before we moved into Mt. Pleasant. When Chitunga was home, it bloomed every year on the anniversary when we bought the house. When he went to Syracuse for school, it stopped blooming, but I kept watering, because I have a lot of plants. Lo and behold, he's home again, earlier than expected because of Covid-19, and look what I noticed when I went inside to replenish our beers. Another blooming...two flowers to represent home.

And mom's Mother's Day flowers arrived, which she loves. I never sent such flowers because I think it is a waste of money, but in desperate times, you do what you can (and should). Of course, the product that arrived to her is not nearly as close to what I ordered, but there was a vague resemblance - the vase was purple, for instance, and there were flowers.

I griped a bit about the cost (Jesus) and she said, "I don't care how much you spent. I've always loved getting flowers."

That's what matters most.

I'm glad she got Mother's Day flowers and I'm touched that the amaryllis decided to bloom again on Mt. Pleasant on a night when Chitunga successfully distracted me from working. We also knew that this weekend is a wash, so a good fire was perfect  - a great distraction for the dampness and wetness to come.

And, I'm proud to say, today marks the first day in a long time where I don't have back-to-back ZOOM calls scheduled. I'm rejoicing every second of this fact.

Yep, National Teacher Appreciation Week, and I don't appreciate anything as much as what I learn from kids...including my own. Everything was put into perspective over a couple of beers, flame, and good company.

A Letter to My Teacher(s) - You Got This. #thankateacher #WriteNow #NWP Happy Thursday Y'All.

Dear Teachers, 2020,

This letter was inspired by NWP Write Now, and a blog written by Lester Laminack and Susan James - a call for all of us to write letters. It is also a nod to Deborah Hopkinson who graciously gave permission for A Letter to My Teacher to be read in celebration of National Teacher Appreciation week.

Somewhere in 2006 I found this Rockwell painting called Tired Sales Girl on Christmas Eve and I collaged it in a writer's notebook with pens, pencils, chalk, and papers to grade. I put a box over the head and drew xx's for the eyes and a frown with a tongue hanging out for the mouth. It was a satirical art piece and I told my 11th and 12th graders, "You're doing this to me."

Next thing I knew, a kid made my Rockwell image into a t-shirt for a punk band. "It's so ##%#% cool, Crandall. My boyfriend's band wants it to be their album cover."

See. What we do inspires punk rockers. I don't think that band ever went anywhere, except making loud noises in a basement of some home in Kentucky or Indiana where parents were likely upstairs telling one another, "I wish school could be 24/7," "He's not my kid," and "If only that vasectomy worked."

I imagine parents are feeling overwhelmed right now, too, as they are coming to witness more about their kids and learning. I know they are likely seeing that teachers are working tirelessly to find a way to reach students, no matter the obstacle, in these strange times. Teachers make it work. Teachers  always have. Teachers always do. Teachers always will.  Even so, there's little credit, they're often ignored, and too frequently they're silenced and sidelined on issues of educational policy and on thinking for what is best for kids. Administrators make whacky decisions, test companies lick their lips on ways to sell districts products, and academics, like me, publish in scholarly journals about what teachers need to improve learning. Yet, no one knows the truth more about the phenomenon of teaching than teachers who are in the classroom, doing the work, and maintaining the integrity of the profession.

I can be an essentialist. A few administrators are just as passionate and dedicated to young people and schools as their teachers. I wish there were more of them. Kids can't excel unless their teachers can excel, which only results when administrators trust and support them both.  I have not met a testing company executive who has struck me as wise, or with the best interest of students in mind. Instead, they are carnival barkers who talk in circles...the language of gibberish that politicians understand.

News flash. It isn't brain science. Listen to teachers.

Correction. Listen to students and teachers. Let Lily Tomlin, Dolly Parton and Jane Fonda run the business...redesign the whole shebang, and when all of this is over, let's not return to normal. Let's return to better.

This is year 24 for me in schools, first as a graduate student, then as a teacher, followed by researcher, and now as a professional developer, National Writing Project Director, and associate professor. I continue to tell administrators in every school that the best way to improve a school is to listen to the kids and let the teachers, through them, make the decisions. They put so many hours into the institution, face to face, on the floor, and with the impossible, all while countless stimuli comes at them. It is a profession where individuals have their feet tied together, their hands wrapped behind their back, and their mouths duct taped, only to be thrown into an Olympic-size pool where they must swim in record time. Yet they do it. They try. Why? Because teachers will do anything to help their students learn....swim...stay afloat.

I want to applaud kindergarten teachers, those who teach in elementary schools, middle-level educators (what I call mental school), and all who are doing classroom work at the high school. I see you. I know you. I respect you. You're a breed who, like nurses, medical workers, clergy, fire-fighters, military personnel, officers, doctors, and modern day grocery-store clerks, who remains willing to put yourself on the frontlines for a better cause (the humanity of all of us together). You put the personal on the back burner with faith in the public --- for the good of the world.

Those who are teaching right now, and who have kids at home, while taking care of elders and worrying about neighbors and fretting about relatives...I see you, too. I'm in awe. It's a lot. I know you are the Tired Sales Girl (and boys) that Rockwell captured on Christmas Eve --- the look of every Friday throughout a 180-day school year.

(cough cough: parents - if you have 2 -3 kids at home...heck, even 8-11 children at home...and very fruitful loins...that is still 19 less young people in your care typical for teachers every day, hour to hour, morning until afternoon)

(cough cough: now, parents...imagine having administrators hovering over you telling you what to do, hiring experts to come and tell you how they would do it better, all while a state system is around the corner to measure how you're doing with judgements published on State websites, in National Reports, and in new articles. Imagine if your credibility as a parent was measured by a single test designed by a company that your child has to to take....to measure your work...your worth).

(cough cough: That is teaching. And whether others care to listen or not, teachers know what they're doing. If they didn't, they wouldn't have clamored online as quick as they did to create a sense of normalcy while administrators and politicians bumbled their expertise without a plan. Teachers went to work. Teachers called one another. Teachers dug into their resources. Teachers drove books to homes. Teachers made deliveries. Teachers called every house. Teachers reached out on the Internet. Teachers taught. Teachers worried. Teachers problem-solved. Teachers guided one another. And teachers maintained the integrity of the profession).

Teachers will continue to teach, because that's what they do (and yes, I know there are those that don't ...and those that hate kids...and others that will never find their way to a letter such as this...BUT THEY ARE NOT THE NORM.

It's May 7th, and I've been teaching online since March 16th. I gave up spring break so I could be on a task force of educators to help other educators transition at the University to online spaces. I then went on a task force to help K-12 teachers to move online, too. Why...

...because that is what educators do. And I now need to grade. Projects and papers have arrived and these grades are due...while more and more ZOOM meetings are scheduled and more and more reporting, paperwork, and spread sheets are being sent to me (us) by the powers that be with a note that says, "Can you get this to me by this afternoon?" Teaching is spinning plates blindfolded while balancing on a unicycle, where kids and administrators are constantly throwing things at you.

This year is harder than usual. But it's also beautiful. Look at how we balance the unicycle from  home, with dogs licking our ankles, cats leaping at plates, and laundry needing to be folded.

I'm absolutely amazed at the ingenuity, creativity, and hope that teachers are accomplishing in tremendous ways, especially during a hard time. Teachers are the hope (I love / to believe / in hope - Brendan Kennelly)(HOPE NATION - Rose Brock). When you want to get things done...look to the teachers...look to the nurses and doctors on the front lines. And look to those who are serving the American population right now, including Hans the young man who checks out my groceries, and not

...those ranting and babbling on Facebook and news programs right now...

Look to those who are doing....

....have always been doing...

...who will continue to do....

Actions speak louder than words. 

See who is acting. Teachers are acting. We got this.

~Bryan

This Is My Story of Three Sues: Sudy, Sue, and Susie Q - How Blessed Can an Educator Be? #thankateacher #WriteNow #NWP

Ladies and Gentleman,

It is Teacher Appreciation Week and I'm dedicating my blog this morning to shouting out to educators who deserve a round of applause. I'd like you to meet my parents. Susan Marilyn, Sudy, Crandall and her husband Butch. I'm a son of a Butch and Sue. We often jump into teacher appreciation week gravitating for K-12 teachers, even college, professors who have had an impact on us, but I have to say that all my learning begins with these two.

"Bryan, go get me a beer," my dad said every night of his life as he came up the stairs for dinner.

"But you just came from there," I'd say. "Why didn't you get one yourself?"

"You heard what I said," he'd reply and I'd run down the stairs and get him a beer.

Then there's mom...she and I have talked throughout our lives about books (she has always been a reader, and although I hated her reading to me every morning from Reader's Digest, I've appreciated her animation, enthusiasm and zest for words - it's just that I'm miserable in the morning, and hate anyone talking, let alone reading, to me). In my adult life, mom has become my number one fan, although she much prefers Matt de la Peña over me, but that's another - Days of Our Lives - fantasy story. She cherishes his books. I am thankful to have this Susan in my life - she gave me life. She's the reason for life.

Susan #2. What would I be without this sage? Age 23, this woman comes to me in the Beargrass Creek Nature Preserve and says I heard you might be interested in student teaching with me. "Huh?" - turns out that a kid in one of my nature programs had a mom who taught at a school in Louisville and had connections to the incredible Sue McV. Long story short, Sue took me on as a student teacher and has been my life coach ever since. Her devotion, investment, guidance, and support have been irreplaceable. She, together with my mom, Sue, helped me to find a platform where I've been able to grow. I tell everyone I know that Sue McV is the greatest educator I've ever known. I mean this. Everyone deserves a Sue McV in their life and I wish I could share wisdom, guidance, thoughtfulness, and heart her with everyone. But I can't. I need to be selfish with her, although. Everything I do as a K-12 educator is because of her investments in me. What has been extra special is that Mommy Sue, and Louisville Mom Susan, are friends (and can talk smack about me behind my back on Words with Friends). There is nothing like a walk-n-talk with this brilliant human being. My sage for life.

Then came Susan #3. I owe this one to Bickmore's Young Adult Literature conference in Baton Rouge where she and I ate breakfast and lunch together daily, and lo- and behold, became instant friends (we just added water - actually, the beautiful, pelican-laced beaches of Pensacola). As I told my father, I finally found the red-headed Susie Q you've always wanted to find for yourself (Dad has always had something for redheads).

So, Susie-Q and I became friends: whacky, over-the-top, tireless, passionate teaching friends who shouldn't have so much energy because it is not fair to others. Anyway, academia is a total freak show and those of us who come to it from K-12 experiences need one another to survive. In our terms, "We just get it," in ways that so many do not. And we vent, and we vent, and we vent.

For several years, Susie-Q has been my critical friend, confidante, co-conspirator, and National Writing Project mentee. In fact, hosting a weeklong National Writing Campaign to celebrate teachers was totally her idea - and I'm loving it. I am sure, like many in Florida, she's the educator they're naming as most influential. She is the epitome of Hope's superpower.

So, I'm entering this hump day a blessed man, spoiled and enriched by almost 5 decades of Susans in my life. It must be the name because my Aunt Susan is just as awesome. My recommendation is to find a Sue, and see what they might do for you. Teaching is love. It's relationships. Fortunate for me, they've give me both.

Get out there and find those who love you most, who are willing to build a relationship with you and who will make you a better human being.

See, Dad.  You have always been onto something with these Susan-people. Son of a Butch, you're right.

Day 2 of National Teacher Appreciation Week - This Time, a Shout-Out to Student and Cooperating Teachers (and their Supervisors)

I'm excited to be part of a National Writing Project initiative led by Dr. Susan James, in which a request is made of everyone (in and out of school) to think about their favorite teachers and to reach out to them). With Deborah Hopkinson's permission, the book is being read online with the hopes it inspires others (that is why I began thinking about Alfred Tatum, Kelly Gallagher, and Nic Stone yesterday).

Today, I am thinking about the 31 student teachers who, halfway through their student teaching placement, were suddenly moved online to (a) teach, (b) be coached to teach, (c) be coached to teach in an environment very few new how to teach in, and (d) teach at a time where the unknowns were more plentiful than student excuses for not having their homework done. We needed to applause them, their cooperating teachers, their school districts, and our supervisors. We welcomed the Keynote address of Bellinger Leadership Award Recipient, Dane Brown. We finger-snapped the words of seminar instructors. We patted colleagues on the back.
And we were patient with the fact that after weeks and weeks of ZOOM meetings and classes, my system decided to freeze and take the audio out.

I was the host. Eeks.

So many cheers for Emily Smith and Ryan Colwell stepping in to make it go smooth. I was frustrated. Still, I was able to move my slides and they could present without me emceeing. I just couldn't give my final remarks, which were a blend of Jason Reynolds, goldfish, starfish, and feathers. Alas, that was to lead to A Letter to My Teacher, and an invitation to join the National Writing Project effort. Those remarks needed to come via email.

We just never know.

But I am proud of my colleagues and this cohort for all that they accomplished. We're in this together and our lives have not stopped with quarantines and stay-at-home directives. In some ways, we've worked harder than ever before.

That is the nature of teaching. It's what we do, and I'm proud of it --- proud of them --- proud of us.

Kicking Off National Teacher Appreciation Week with a Shout-out to @getnicced @AlfredTatum and @KellyGToGo

Today is Monday, May 4th, and later today I will be ZOOM Master for Fairfield University’s Celebration for Teachers and Teaching. This is the 8^th year I get to be emcee and  finger snap student and cooperating teachers, our faculty, and our University supervisors. It is always a reflective location, and this morning I’m reflecting a little more.

Why? Great Whatever. Serendipity. Magic. A text message.

In 2018, with knowledge that Nic Stone was coming to the Saugatuck StoryFest, I added Dear Martin to a course on Developmental Reading in the Middle and Secondary School. Since its inception, my students have always done textual lineages (Tatum, 2005, 2007, 2014), but I didn’t start featuring choice texts until around 2015. Why? Because my students came to me with the same gripes that Gallagher (2009) names in Readicide. They did the perfunctory tasks of reading in school to get grades (usually cheating the system), but they fell out of a love for reading in high school. Because of this, I began to promote young adult literature in all my classes – if anything, I wanted my students to find joy in reading again.

Back to Nic Stone. It is customary for me to do an art project with every class, where I give students pieces of a puzzle, and they must respond with a visual representation of their thinking. Usually I ask, “Why read?” and ask them to represent their thinking in artistic form. In 2018, however, I did something different. My students were given MLK quotes to write about, as well as to read Dear Martin for class. Their homework was to bring a copy of their reflection on the activities of MLK and Dear Martin and then take their shape and trace it over their favorite lines from what they wrote. 

They think I’m crazy. I am. That’s okay.

What they didn’t know is the shapes I gave them was in the pattern of Nic Stone’s Dear Martin, and that I intended to gift the art piece to the writer when she came to Saugatuck (which I did). My Assistant Dean and a couple of GSEAP graduate students helped to add water color and to put the puzzle back together. We framed it, and it came out well.

What Nic Stone never saw, however, is the writing from students that they traced before it was painted. I learned that the writer rearranged her office space and Wola! Look what was there. Phew. I’m inspired, and I post this blog to thank her, but also in celebration of teachers everywhere. This is also for Dr. Alfred Tatum and Kelly Gallagher. I am, because of them (and I never took a class with either - I just read what they write). 

Here are highlights from what they had to say that semester: I’m two years behind myself. 

·      This class has officially performed Reading CPR on me. The chest compressions began with Dear Martin. That book had me lost in it. It made me feel a rollercoaster of emotions and I found myself reading every chance I got. For the first time I finished the book before it was assigned to be finished. I found myself asking all my English teacher colleagues to read the book, so I would have someone to talk to about it. And I’m a MATH TEACHER. They also loved the book. The next compression was the textual lineages. Not so much mine, but the rest of the class’.
·      There’s a question that I keep coming back to, ever since beginning my reading of Dear Martin for our second class. It seemed to me, at first, a silly one, unworthy of the time and attention that Stone’s loftier themes demand. It’s a question of craft, the kind of thing that creative writers will nit-pick about but that often go largely unexplored in high-school curricula. But it keeps coming back, and I know from experience that it will continue to do so until I make some attempt at working it out so I’d like to use this space to do so. The question is simple; the answer, I’d imagine, is not. Why does Stone shift to a screenplay format for her depictions of Doc Dray’s classroom discussion?
·      Dear Martin is a harrowing book. It drags you through not only the tremendous pain and suffering of its characters, but through the tremendous pain and suffering of the world at large in which it exists. It is a lot to ask a reader to endure, let alone to grapple with, and yet it succeeds at both. I would argue that a part of that success is due to Stone’s mastery of the fundamental question driving any story: “and then what happened?” Part of that success lies in surprise moments of some really beautiful language, such as “Even from a distance, Jus can tell Jared’s eyes are haunted. Like the floor has opened up beneath him and there’s no bottom to his agony.” Part of that is philosophical truth. And I would argue that my ability to appreciate any of the above started far back when I was free to explore stories in any form. The force of any readerly moment I experience builds upon the forces of all those that preceded it, and I’ve been lucky to have so many. 
·      Which brings me to Dear Martin. In your response to my last think piece, you payed me a very nice and much appreciated compliment for not being lit-snobby and dismissing YA lit as somehow “less-than.” But honestly, how could I? Look at her bundling of complex ideas; look at her plotting! There’s rarely a “good breaking point” at which to put down the book. Oh good, Justyce and SJ won the debate and it looks like they are totally going to hook up and that would be the perfect place to stop reading for the night. NOPE! Now I don’t just want to know, I need to know why SJ turned away. Look at the end of nearly any chapter and you can see Stone raising the big, burning question that will drive you through the next. Even putting aside the resonant “Bang. / Bang. / Bang.” that separates the books two halves, we can point to the visit with Quan that leaves justice in possession of a phone number for Martel and the Black Jihad, or the strategic use of news segments and newspaper excerpts that leave you needing to check in with these characters and see their reactions. 
·      Dear Martin would be a challenging a book to teach. The injustices perpetrated versus American black men by police are not only very topical and real but sad and disgraceful. And that’s exactly what Dear Martin attempts to illuminate, even if it falls short in some aspects because the characters are rendered stereotypical, contrived and often strain credibility.
·      How did you expect us to stop reading after Manny is killed? I finished the book in one afternoon . I couldn’t stop. I would apologize, but I achieved a flow. I also found myself crying and reading next to a number of swim moms at the Wilton YMCA. I think just being there made me cry harder.
·      For example, in Dear Martin, Justyce is able to accomplish similar healing powers through his letters to Dr. Martin Luther King. Although not a painting or drawing that we usually associate with art, Dear Martin uses letters to “supply an ideal platform for youth to notice differences, think critically, consider alternate positions, and make more informed, ethical choices” (33). For Justyce, these letters allowed him to reflect upon his own social issues and injustices and express his feelings and concerns through the art form of writing letters.
·      Art is another way to supplement readings and is an interesting way to build interdisciplinary connections. In my use of art in Social Studies, students usually gravitate towards the visuals and it often makes a great companion to a primary source; as a class, we can see how the reading and the artwork connect to themes or build on our historical knowledge.
·      Perhaps most incredible were the white teenagers who joyfully appropriate urban black culture, claiming they’re not racist, while they downplay minstrel-style lawn jockeys and presume to tell black people that There Is No More Racial Injustice And Everything Is Peachy Keen. Jared, Blake and the others might as well be tobacco-chewing, overall-wearing Dixie whistlers. Stone really tests our suspension of disbelief. Would a black, Yale-bound student dress “gangsta” and go to a party with these same white kids wearing racist garb, even as a tongue-in-cheek joke? Unlikely.
·      So what WOULD Martin Luther King do? Well for one thing, he wouldn’t stay silent. He would have the conversation with as many people who would listen. But sometimes I wish I could do even more. How do we accelerate progress without creating more divisiveness and violence? I wish I knew.
·      It’s creating the relationship and dynamics of a classroom in which the children are comfortable with to share themselves, the good, the bad, the frustrating, the happy.  It’s where the teacher can create a bond if only within those four walls, where they know they won’t be judged, but they will be listened to and respected.  

     Here’s to teachers everywhere. And Alfred Tatum and Kelly Gallagher...phew! There is not enough

      appreciation in the world for the contributions you've made to reading and English Education.  Shoes and elephants, Nic Stone. Thank you for teaching us, too.