#but teaching to curriculum literally means i teach the exact same way as every other teacher jn the same way with the same method

[gandalf-theslay]

I cant believe I gave up the best relationship I ever had, for this

What the fuck was I thinking??

[yikesharringrove]

how do u feel abt doing smth like a modern au where billy is like , all this punk rock and teen angst and leather nd jean jackets kinda of thing and steve is the exact opposite of him with fluffy skirts and soft polos nd just really soft and they two have seen eachother but dont actually talk to one another until they have a school project and they just. fall in love overtime? basically , femme steve + punk rock billy falling in love.

(pt. 2) also!! happy 21st birthday 💓💕💗💖💕

The university had a strict core curriculum, meaning that Steve was ten minutes late for his Philosophy of the Modern Era class.

He couldn’t find the room, was wandering around in this basement with his schedule written on the back of his hand. He was peering at room numbers and muttering to himself 067 067 067.

“You looking for that philosophy class?” Steve turned around at the voice.

The guy was stomping down the hallway in big leather boots. His jeans were ripped and shredded, and he was wearing a black t-shirt with pink font reading Dog Park Dissidents. His denim jacket was covered in pins and patches and sharpie drawings. He had Silence = Death written on one of the pockets, Being nice IS punk rock was scrawled down one arm.

“Yeah, that modern era one?” The guy smiled and nodded, reaching forward to shake Steve’s hand. His eyes were a startling blue, lined with a thin smudge on black. His hair was wild and curly, shaved on each side into this beachy looking mohawk. He had his nose and his eyebrow pierced, along with several in his ears.

“Billy Hargrove.”

“Steve Harrington.” Steve could feel the tips of his ears go red as Billy looked him up and down. He was wearing something cute for the first day of class, a chunky white cardigan over a soft pink peasant dress. He had gotten up early to do his makeup well, and was late to class anyway because this stupid building was a fucking maze.

They set off down the hall together, looking at each door they passed by.

“Oh shit. Pretty Boy, I think I got it.” Steve flushed slightly at being called pretty, still not used to being able to dress like this in public. Billy wrenched open the door, and stomped in, not a care in the world for being twenty minutes late.

The professor raised his eyebrow.

“And what were you two doing out in the hall?”

“I’m sorry, we couldn’t find the room.” Steve’s cheeks were hot as he was standing at the front of the class.

“That’s okay. you have missed class introductions, to please say your names, pronouns and majors.”

“Billy Hargrove, he/him, double majoring in literature and social work.”

“Steve Harrington, he/they. I’m also a double major in education and early childhood development.” The professor made a note on his role sheet.

“Thank you, you may sit down.” Steve went for the back of the room, flopping into the first empty seat he could find, ducking his head as he quietly got his laptop out. Billy had stomped into the seat next to him, had gotten out a notebook and proceeded to doodle in it for the rest of class.

He sat next to Billy every Monday Wednesday and Friday from 9:20-10:35 and and outside of their ten minute search for the classroom, they had yet to say anything to one another.

It certainly didn’t help that Steve was harboring a little crush on the guy. He would watch him in class, the way he would doodle little sunflowers in the margins of his notes, smiling softly at them.

“So, for the rest of the semester you will be working in pairs. I want you to go through the readings we have completely and work together with the philosophers we have discussed to create your own system for the modern era. How do you believe society exists now?” Billy turned to Steve, grinning at him.

“You wanna be my partner?” Steve gave a sheepish smile, his heart racing.

“I, um. Yes. Yeah, I’ll be your partner.” Steve dug his phone out of the tight pocket of his skirt, trading with Billy. He put his number under Steve Harrington - Modern Era Philosphy.

“You wanna get coffee after class, start working through our beliefs?”

“Um, sure. I don’t have class until, like, 3:30 today.” Billy grinned again and fucking winked at Steve. He needed to calm the fuck down.

“So basically, a lot of my beliefs are based on the punk message.” Billy was sipping at his black coffee, had laughed and said should’ve fucking known when Steve ordered a large mocha with extra chocolate syrup, and whipped cream. “I’m a very live and let live person, but I believe everyone should live and let live. If someone is trying to dictate how others should exist, they’re fucking garbage.”

“Okay, I actually really agree with that.”

“That’s because you’re punk rock.” Steve laughed, but Billy’s eyes were serious. “No seriously, there’s nothing more punk rock than being unapologetically yourself.”

“When did you get into punk philosophy?”

“When I was in high school. My dad was a real prick, and I was angry, and a lot of punk is loud and pissed off and it helped, but then I started going to shows, and talking to people, and it’s not what you’d expect. Everyone at a show is like a weird family for a night. If someone comes in and tries to fuck with someone, the family deals. I can’t tell you how many fights I saw that broke out because someone was perving on a girl, and these other guys started protecting her. And that only grew as I started getting into queercore.”

Steve was listening to Billy, eyes wide as he described stories from shows, how he had jumped in on fights to defend the family, how he would walk girls home or to their cars parked a ways down the street, how he knew everyone would do the same for him.

“God, I wish I had a community like that. I didn’t really have anyone growing up. You know, token queer in a small town kinda vibe.” Billy smiled at him sympathetically.

“That why you came out to San Fransisco?”

“Oh yeah. Wanted to come somewhere where, this, didn’t matter.” He gestured to himself. “I just don’t get why it bothers people. I just do it because it makes me happy. I don’t know why it concerns anyone else.” Billy was nodding vigorously.

“Exactly. That’s the whole truth about being queer. People hate you for something that has nothing to do with them. It’s completely wack. Like if I’m with someone in whatever capacity, we’re both consenting adults. It literally doesn’t matter.”

“Do you think we could expand upon this enough for our project? Talk about how we feel the world should just stop caring about what other people do if it has nothing to do with them.” Billy grinned.

“I think we could make something happen.”

They began getting coffee after each class, taking through their project, finding resources to back up the ideas they had discussed. The more time they spent together, the more Steve liked Billy, liked how sweet he was, how positive. They talked about having terrible parents, how Billy’s dad had kicked him out at sixteen for being gay, how he had lived with friends, saving up to get himself through college. They talked about how Steve’s dad had found his stash of makeup and threw it all away, making sure it was ruined and broken. How disappointed his father was that he was studying to become a teacher.

There was one Friday they had met up and stayed all day in the coffee shop stayed until the 5 pm closing.

“You wanna come over? I have a single room. We can keep working.” Billy grinned at Steve like he always did, showing off all his white teeth. So they walked side by side to Steve’s room.

Steve kept his room neat, a habit left over from overbearing parents who would shame him into cleaning his room.

Steve’s room was exactly how Billy imagined.

He had soft white lights, a full length mirror on one wall. His bed was covered in pillows, duvets, and even a few stuffed animals. The wall above the bed was covered in pictures of Steve back home, several with a group of younger kids, and a lot with a blonde girl.

“This your girlfriend?” Steve snorted.

“No, that’s Robin. She and I are just really close friends.”

“What’s with the kids?” Steve blushed.

“I babysat all through high school, and those kids kinda adopted me as their pseudo parent. It was a lot of driving them all over town.”

“That’s cute. That why you wanna teach?”

“Yeah, I’m good with kids.” Steve had plopped himself on the made bed. He watched as Billy took off his heavy boots, placing them neatly by the door before stepping onto Steve’s plush grey rug. His socks were thick wool and had little cartoon dogs on them. Steve was in love.

Billy sat with Steve on the bed. He was taking a closer look at the photos.

“I could see that for you. You’re a caring type.” Steve looked down as his feet, could feel his face getting hot.

“Why did you pick social work?”

“When I was a kid, CPS would be called to our place like, once every few months. My dad was a real good schmoozer, so I would always just be left with him. I wanna be able to help kids get out of bad situations.”

“God, and you call me a caring type. You’re gonna save the world.” Billy laughed.

“The children are the future. I’ll save ‘em, you teach ‘em.” When Steve looked up, Billy was leaning closer into Steve’s space. He had a soft smile on his face. His eyes were bright and beautiful and so fucking blue. “Can I kiss you?”

“Can you, what?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Why?” Billy still hadn’t leaned back.

“‘Cause I have a big dumb crush on you, and I think you have one on me.” Steve’s face was pink.

“I, uh, yeah. Go, go for it.” Billy laughed, taking Steve’s face in both hands. He leaned in, just gently pressing their lips together.

“So, was I right?”

“Yes. Very much so.” Billy laughed again, loud and sweet, pressing another kiss to Steve’s lips.

“You wanna go on a date? A real one? Not just us getting coffee and pretending we both weren’t totally into each other.” Steve snorted again.

“Yeah, I would really like that.”

[whirlybirbs]

☄     -----    MOONRISE RADIO. 

summary: you’re hawkins high’s new science teacher, faculty advisor for the newly reinstated hawkins av club, and crazy townie who overhears a russian comminucae on a broken ham radio. chief jim hopper is into it. joyce is a good wing-woman and the kids just want to listen the the buggles.  pairing: jim hopper x reader, murphy as a placeholder surname. rating: t, some swears. word count: 3.8k a/n: this is a season three au! here’s the set up for all the drabbles i am going to end up writing for hopper bc he literally owns my whole ass, thanks, enjoy ;)

Hawkins, Indiana is a small town.

For this exact reason, Chief of Police Jim Hopper knows everyone.

... Seriously.

Everyone.

Hawkins is kind of like Saturn: try to leave its orbit and you’ll get caught in the rings -- literally. Y’know, high school sweethearts marry one another, settling down, and boom! Hopper winds up at their end-of-the-cul-de-sacs on domestic dispute calls and reunites with that shithead co-captain of Hawkins basketball team who keyed his car Sophomore year.

Life in Hawkins is a never-ending cycle of existence that renders everyone in the small town a familiar face. Everyone knows everyone’s business. Everyone knows everyone. 

And everyone certainly knows Jim Hopper.

So, imagine his surprise when after her first day of high school, over a ravoli dinner, El nudges a crumbled pink piece of paper his way with an excited look on her face. The paper is well-loved paper and home to her new class schedule, a point of interest -- she’s marked what classes she has with the boys and Max.

“I like science,” she says with a full mouth, “Fun.”

El points to her sixth period.

Imagine Chief of Police Jim Hopper’s surprise when he sees an unfamiliar name. Someone he doesn’t know.

And she teaches science.

Summer fades with a wave of heat and full moons.

The last week of August creeps up on you and before you even realize it, you’re moving into the cleared out room of a retired Mrs. Gomez and hanging your own name up on the door along with three planetary mobiles, a periodic table and a big exo terra tank for the freshmen class pet on the back windowsill. 

One period turns into six, and a week turns into three.

Your life begins again, Hawkins style.

“Miss Murphy!”

You’re wiping down the chalkboard, smearing drawings of ionic bonds into dust when the stampede begins.

Typical Friday.

You like Mike and Will and Lucas and Dustin and El and Maxine. The little squadron of hellions had managed to win you over easily within the first three weeks of school -- between the abundant D&D references and constant “curiosity voyages”, you’d seemingly become their go-to with questions, gossip, and over-all mentor-ship. 

The whole bunch of them sat together in your sixth period class, and the whole bunch of them were really the only ones excited about Dash, that aforementioned freshmen class pet that you’d scooped up behind the school and saved from being roadkill.

El immediately wanders to the tank and makes sure the heat lamp is on.

You can’t help but smile. These are good students. You like them. They like you.

Maybe it’s because when you were younger, you were just like them.

It’s like a sixth sense. They just... know. 

“We have a question.”

“Is it about reptiles again?” you chirp, wiping your hands, “I don’t know, like, anything about komodo dragons, Dustin, I told you --”

“No!” Dustin waves his hands, hopping up onto the edge of your desk, “No, this is about the AV Club.”

“AV Club?”

Mike rolls his eyes. “The AV Club!”

You blink. All six of them are looking at you expectantly. You deadpan.

“You lost me.”

“She’s new here, guys,” Will sighs, gently nudging Lucas who makes an O with his mouth, “Remember?”

“Right, right, right,” Dustin sighs, waving his hands with a charismatic no-front-teeth smile, “Sorry, Murph, my excitement precedes me --”

You shoot Dustin a look. No nicknames. He knows the rule.

“Make it quick,” you groan, waving an apologetic Dustin off your desk as you begin to collect papers from the previous period, “I have the open house tonight and I gotta get some grading done before -- you’ve got fifteen to catch me up on this AV Club thing.”

Lucas claps his hands. They all settle into the desks in-front of you.

You narrow your eyes.

Mike begins.

“So, there’s all this old radio station equipment in the top of the gym...”

You wring your hands.

You fiddle with the hem of your dress.

This is nerve-wracking.

For the first time in a while, you curse the fact you’ve got mostly freshmen in your classes -- with every new round of bright blue visitors stickers, parents are eager to pick your bones when you begin talking about your curriculum, expectations and the like. I mean, it’s good, you guess, that there’s parents who are engaged but... as a new teach at Hawkins, you can’t help but feel like you’re missing a part of the bit.

It’s nearing the end of the night now and you’ve noticed the parents don’t greet you like they do the other teachers. Like... like friends.

Maybe it’s because you’re new.

New to the town, too. Not just teaching high school science, you mean.

You wonder if all the news stories pouring out of that Hawkins Lab have anything to do with how cheap rent is in the area. The multi-family unit you’ve settled into is in a nicer suburb in town -- green lawns, a playground, neighborhood BBQs... You’d moved on the pretense of your hiring, excited at the chance to get out of the city for a while and live a quieter life.

You jump six feet in the air when someone knocks on the door-frame of your classroom.

“Oh my god --”

Your hand flies to your chest.

“Uh, sorry -- Sorry, is this... is this Miss Murphy’s room?”

The first thing you notice is the badge. It glints in the florescence.

The next thing you notice is... him. I mean, he’s tall -- tall and broad and intimidating but... soft. His eyes are tired and his voice is quiet and you’re staring, Jesus Christ, you’re staring --

Chief of Police Jim Hopper has never felt smaller.

You’re new -- definitely new. Hopper knows, in that moment, that you must be, He would remember someone like you. I mean, how could he not?

(Everyone knows he’s got a soft spot for beautiful women, but he’s damn near mush right now. Pudding. His knees are pudding. He is an idiot and his knees are pudding.)

He makes the doorway look tiny.

You sputter. “Y-yes! Yes, it is. Hi, I’m, uh, Miss Murphy.”

“I figured,” he chirps, lips quirking under his mustache. He waves the piece of paper in his hands, “Kinda... kinda said so on the schedule, y’know?”

“Jim!”

Immediately, someone shoulders his backside.

Right in the damn kidney.

“Christ, Joyce, ow --”

“Be nice!” she cries with a laugh, stepping around him.

The woman is comically smaller than the police officer before you. Joyce has a kind smile and sweet doe eyes and she excitedly rushes to shake both your hands in her own.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she gushes, “Will has said so many great things about you --”

Your eyes widen. “You’re Will’s mother? Will Byers?”

“Yes!” she nods, “Yes, and, uh, this is Hopper --”

Joyce nearly snorts when Jim just blinks. She elbows him. He jumps.

He was staring.

“Jim Hopper,” he clears his throat, trying to regain any semblance of composure. This really knocked him off his game -- you really knocked him off his game. He was fully expecting some nasty old widow to be teaching, not a young, brightly dressed woman who’s smiling at him, Christ almighty, smiling, “Chief of Police.”

He offers his hand. You shake it and your lips quirk. “Are you... here to investigate me, or...?”

“Oh!” his eyes widen, “No, no, uh -- El is my daughter. Adopted.”

“Ah, right. Miss El. Got it,” you laugh a little, nodding, “Groovy.”

“Groovy.”

(Joyce narrows her eyes, grinning between yourself and Hopper. Groovy indeed.)

“She was nice.”

Jim’s cigarette glows red in the evening September air. Joyce, beside him, has this horrible, conniving look on her face -- the same look she gave him when she convinced him to ask Jenny Gonzalez out Junior year -- and Jim immediately goes on the defense.

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Miss Murphy,” Joyce grins, “I saw you staring.”

“I was not.”

“C’mon, Jim,” she chirps, “She’s pretty --”

“Yeah, a pretty bad idea.”

Joyce rolls her eyes so hard Hopper can feel it.

“Listen,” Jim says, flicking his cigarette into the pavement, “With everything goin’ on, I don’t have time for something like that.”

“Jim, stuff like that doesn’t care if you’ve got time.”

Joyce watches him climb into his truck. He slams the door shut,

“If it’s meant to be, it happens anyways!”

He narrows his eyes.

Then, cranks the window down and raises one finger.

“Not on my watch.”

Famous last words, Jim Hopper. Famous last words.

Happy Monday.

“I’m joining AV Club.”

“...What?”

“AV Club. Science. Fun.”

Hopper just takes a looooooong sip from his morning coffee. Eleven stabs her eggos. She forks a hunk into her mouth and chews.

Hopper takes another sip.

“AV Club.”

“Yes. Radios.”

“Radios.”

“Yes.”

You’re sweating.

The storage space of Hawkins High’s gym is ninety degrees at least -- and here you are, brandishing a flashlight in the dark as the Mighty Hellions dig through the space and pull box after box from the makeshift sauna.

“Think this stuff still works, Murph?” Maxine asks.

You ignore the informal nickname and pull open a box to eye a bundle of cables. They’re in good shape. The mic, at the bottom, is too if not a little grimy.

“I don’t see why not.”

After a grueling hour and a half, they finally set up shop in the closet across the hall from your classroom. It’s usually where they keep glassware and Bunsen burners but... with a little begging and a dejected look from Dustin, you grant them their plea and help them set up the impromptu radio station with relative ease.

The desk in the center of the room -- Mrs. Gomez’s old one -- is a little wobbly, but it works.

“And now,” says Mike, “The moment of truth.”

El flicks the switch.

And nothing happens.

Not so Happy Monday.

"How was AV Club?”

“Sad.”

Hopper’s mouth is full.

“Sad...?”

“Radio is broken.”

“Oh,” Hop hums, “M’ sorry, kid.”

“It’s okay,” El says slowly, looking out the window on the ride home, “Miss Murphy buying us new wires.”

Hopper blinks. “Miss Murphy?”

“Yes. Nice.”

Very.

Joyce rings you out the next evening at Melvald’s.

“I’m surprised you didn’t try Starcourt.”

You laugh a little. “What, that super mall?”

“I heard they’ve got everything,” Joyce chirps, “Will and the kids go there nearly every weekend. Ice cream, movies... you name it. A great place for a date, I bet.”

You laugh and pull out your wallet. “Oh to be young and in love.”

“No kidding,” she grins, taking the cash, “Speaking of... are you...?”

“Young?” you laugh, propping your elbows up on the counter, “Or in love?”

“Either.”

You like Joyce. She’s funny. 

“No,” you sigh, “Nope. No, not right now. Neither. I spend my Tuesday nights with wine and a TV dinner.”

“Y’know,” Joyce hums, a knowing look in her eye as she bags the radio supplies, “I know someone who does the same exact thing.”

It’s Miller High Life, actually. And Tostitos. 

That’s besides the point, though, because while Joyce is still very much on his case about the new science teacher, Jim is very much focused on the fact none of the stations god damn radios are working.

He could really go for a beer right now.

Something is jamming the signal.

Actually, to clarify -- the same fucking song on repeat is jamming the signal.

For the last two hours, it’s just been Video Killed the Radio Star by The Buggles over and over and over and over again. And then again, just for good measure. On the fourth round of the song, Jim had unceremoniously lobbed his walkie across the station. On the tenth, he’d yanked the chord for the radio out of the wall.

If Hopper hears that fuckin’ oh oh sound one more time, he’s going to lose it.

Callahan just shrugs when, finally, the music stops and the booming voice of Dustin Henderson comes over every walkie in the room.

“GOOOOOOOOOOD EVENING, HAWKINS INDIANA!”

Hopper peels into the high school parking lot.

Long strides carry him through halls that he knows way too damn well -- halls that wind and turn and lead him right to room 305. Your name is scrawled across the door alongside a picture of a constellation and a beaker.

But, the classroom is empty.

And then he hears it.

“-- OH OH! VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR! --”

“I am so sorry, Chief Hopper -- I had no idea that was the PD’s frequency.”

You’re wringing your hands but you’re also two beats from laughing and Hopper is really trying to keep it together because... I mean, it’s funny. 

Jim pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels bad. He... well, he probably shouldn’t have slapped the broadcasting mic out of Dustin’s hands. He’s got a short wire now-a-days, blame the whole Hawkins Lab incident and the fact he’s essentially harboring a fugitive and allowing aforementioned fugitive to go to high school and jam radio channels with Today’s Top 40 in her free time.

“No, no -- I... It’s fine. It’s fine, really, just...”

Hopper drops his hand. You’re trying your best to hide a smile that’s threatening to sweep across your whole face. 

“Do not let Dustin play any more of The Buggles, okay?”

You chew your lip and lean closer, whispering. “... Did it really play for two hours straight?”

Hopper’s nostrils flare. He nods weakly. You note the missing walkie from his belt.

And then you burst into laughter.

You buy more cassettes at Melvald’s the next week.

“Oh,” Joyce grins, holding up a Madonna album before scanning it across check-out with a beep, “Nice stuff -- is this for AV Club?”

You laugh. “Let me guess, Chief Hopper told you about ‘The Incident’?”

Joyce's lips quirk and she tilts her head, eyeing you carefully as you bite back a smile and muscle out your wallet from your bag. “... No, he did not.”

“The kids were on the wrong frequency,” you gesture, a bit sheepish, “And, I mean, I had no idea until Chief Hopper had to come to the high school and let us know that he’d been listening to Video Killed the Radio Star for two hours straight.”

“Oh god.”

“Yeah,” you raise your brows, pull a face and mimic the catchy hook, “Oh oh god.”

Joyce snorts.

“It’s not working!”

“Boys,” you sigh heavily, “Just... Just let me look at it.”

There’s a scramble and the sea of bodies part. Max and El are posted by the door, watching with a dejected sort of disappointment. Your knees hit the floor and you ignore the fact your jeans are going to be covered in nasty dust from the underside of Mrs. Gomez desk. Your necklace jingles and you sigh, settling on your back and waving for Dustin to pass you the flashlight.

“Did Hopper break it?” it’s Mike, “If Hopper broke it, I swear to shit --”

“Language.”

“Sorry.”

You squint, pushing apart the mess of wires and sighing loudly when you find the problem.

It’s... weird. Like... Like some of the wires have been chewed clean through.

“Looks like one of the wires is frayed.”

“Frayed?!”

You take the main component home with you.

It’s sitting on your passenger side seat when you pull into Melvald’s.

In the spot in-front of the store sits a Hawkins Police Dept. truck with a CHIEF decal on the side.

“She’s funny and smart and came in here and talked about you --”

“Talked about me?” Jim’s leaned against the counter, coke in his hands, “Hold on, what? You didn’t tell me that.”

“Yeah,” Joyce’s voice lilts, “She, uh, was telling me about The Buggles incident.”

Jim groans. 

“Oh, yeah, when I nearly drove my fist through the kids’ new hobby?”

“-- Funny, she left that part out --”

“I made an ass of myself, Joyce.”

“Hey,” Joyce coos, throwing her hands, “Maybe she likes that about you... y’know... your uncanny ability to be a... uh, an ass?”

“Nice.”

“I’m kidding.”

The shop door dings and Chief of Police Jim Hopper chokes on his diet coke.

You stop short in the doorway. 

The store is mostly empty -- it’s almost closing time, anyways -- and you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on Hopper and Joyce’s conversation, especially when Hopper is cursing and wiping at the soda spilled down the front of him. 

Overhead, Movin’ Out by Billy Joel plays.

“-- Workin’ too hard can give you a heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack --”

“Miss Murphy!” Joyce grins, “Hi there!”

“Hi Joyce,” you smile, nearing the counter. You can’t help but hide a smirk as Hopper sighs and stands. He drops his hands to his side and you get a full view of the coke down the front of his uniform, “Chief.”

(A little part of him dies inside then.)

(Joyce sees it.)

“Evening, Miss Murphy.”

“Rough night?”

“Little bit,” he heaves, downing the rest of his soda and crushing the can. He lobs it into the trash can beside the register with ease, “Well, duty calls, ladies.”

“Duty calls?” Joyce asks, crossing her arms. Suspicion paints her features.

She’s trying to get him to stay -- trying to goad him into a conversation with you, just like she always does, but the problem is that Joyce is a great wing-woman and honestly? 

That kind of terrifies him. 

It’s been a minute and a half since he’s considered anything more than a one-night stand with someone. He’s been busy, y’know, saving this dimension and keeping a top-secret government facility secret. 

“Yeah,” he deadpans, not feeding into it, “Duty.”

“Duty.”

You blink between them both.

Jim’s out the door with the tinker of the overhead bell.

Ouch. You turn to Joyce.

“I don’t think he likes me very much.”

Famous last words.

“Testing, one, two, three --”

You groan, switch frequencies one more time, and throw your hands.

Maybe the whole Hawkins High Radio Station idea was never meant to come to fruition. It hurts to admit it and you know the kids are going to be so damn upset, but no amount of soldering and wire replacements seems to be getting this hunk of junk to give out any sort of signal. 

You take a long drink from your glass of wine and collapse back onto the couch.

Then, you hear it.

"I’ll be sure to let Chief Hopper know, Miss Murphy.”

“Listen, I... Is he here? I’m kinda in a rush and this is sort of important --”

You’re pushing past Florence, the nice secretary, before you even realize it.

You’d known Hawkins was a weird town. That much was pretty clear from the odd disappearances, government labs and toxic leaks. But this... this is more than just weird. This is borderline panic inducing.

Hopper has a cigarette between his lips and his hat on his desk when you barge in.

He jumps six feet in the air and spills his coffee.

“Jesus --”

“Listen, Chief, I know you’re a real busy guy, but --”

“I am so sorry, Jim,” it’s Florence, moving to put herself between you and the Chief, “Miss Murphy, please, if you can take a seat, Chief Hopper would love to hear all about your top secret Russian communicae when he’s done his coffee --”

When Jim’s eyes widen a mile, you realize he knows something you don’t.

Jim feels small in your living room.

It’s a nice place -- furnished with plants and art and your TV has a stack of sci-fi movies atop of it. In the middle of your rug, though, sits the ham radio surrounded by a winding mess of wires. It’s off, and when you near it, you wring your hands. You’re nervous, he can tell. You can hardly stand still.

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

Hopper blinks. He clears his throat. “What?”

“This... Hopper, I swear, I heard Russian --”

“No, I... I believe you,” he says slowly, narrowing his eyes, “Hawkins is a...”

“Weird town?”

“Weird town.”

You nod slowly then, crank the on switch, and the radio hums alive in a language neither of you know.

Hopper just sighs. 

“... What do you know about radios?”

“It’s close,” you say finally, blinking up from the manual, “It has to be -- I mean, this specefic model only broadcasts and receives up to fifteen miles. That’s... what? Like, all of Hawkins?”

“Just about,” Jim hums, hands on his chin, “and what about the channels?”

“I mean, it’s messy -- I hijacked your frequency. On accident.”

Hopper smothers a smirk with a drag of his cigarette. You grin. His office back at Hawkins PD falls quiet for a moment and you catch yourself staring again. Across from him, you squirm a bit in your seat and turn your attention back to the Olympia Radio booklet. 

“There’s no way of tracking the channels,” you sigh, “I... I dunno. I’m kinda out of my element here.”

“What is your element?”

“Chemistry,” you chirp, “And biology. And some physics.”

“Chemistry, huh?”

“Speaking of which, I know you don’t like me much but,” you rush, blinking up at him, “Thanks for believing me.”

The moment would have been sweet if Hopper hadn’t reeled backwards, like he’s been punched. His face screws up in confusion and he waves, cigarette smoke halo-ing around his head as his mustache twitches.

“Wait... hold on --”

“It’s okay,” you console, “Seriously, I... I’m new around here, I... I get it a lot. Folks don’t really trust the new girl next door. Especially with everything that’s been going on.”

“I... I never said --”

You serve him a look.

“Duty?”

“... I panicked.”

“Panicked?”

Hopper sighs. “You’re just as bad as Joyce.”

Your brows raise. “Are you and her...?”

“No!” he cries, “No, no, I... I am single, I am very single, and I am very busy, but despite that, I still would like to ask you out to dinner, and that is terrifying, okay --”

You blink. “You... what?”

Jim’s about to try and dig himself out of his metaphorical grave when the radio flares up again.

You scramble to grab the recorder and Jim turns the volume up -- quickly, you record the repetitive sentence and when the line finally goes silent again, you spare Hopper a look.

“How about dinner and Russian For Dummies?”

[yasbxxgie]

How One Man Is Using Hip-Hop to Diversify Architecture Armed with a master’s degree in architecture, decades of hip-hop fandom and rapper teachers, Mike Ford is quickly getting kids into building

On a recent Thursday, Grand Wizzard Theodore was busy DJing in his home borough of the Bronx. Theodore is widely acknowledged as the man who invented turntable scratching, so his presence behind the decks was not unusual. The venue, however, was unexpected: The Cornerstone Academy for Social Action – a middle school, where Theodore’s selections were soundtracking furious Lego-building.

While Theodore cued up hits, Mike Ford, founder and leader of Hip-Hop Architecture Camp, was guiding a group of sixth, seventh and eighth graders as they assembled Lego models based on rap lyrics. Students gathered around the table where one of their peers was working with lines from Grandmaster Flash & the Furious Five’s “The Message:” “Broken glass everywhere/ People pissin’ on the stairs, you know they just don’t care/ I can’t take the smell, can’t take the noise/ Got no money to move out, I guess I got no choice.”

This student created a literal representation of the song’s image: a staircase, a sprinkle of green pieces for “broken glass everywhere” and scattered yellow pieces for “people pissin’ on the stairs.” “Good start,” said Ford. But he gently pushed the student towards a more constructive response to “The Message.” “Could there be a building made from all the broken glass?” Ford wondered. “Let’s start to think about how we can make it so that nobody has to say those words in their song again.”

Ford sees his teaching as a way to counter the troubled history of urban planning in America. “We’ve decimated cities that were built by the hands of African Americans – like Black Bottom in Detroit, or here in the Bronx, when they built the Cross Bronx Expressway through a community of color,” he says. “Those decisions are made by people outside of those communities. There are a limited amount of people at the table to advocate for our communities.”

Hip-h[H]op Architecture Camp attempts to correct that representational imbalance, using rap as a hook to introduce young minority students to a field they may not otherwise encounter. “I have been on this planet for several decades, and I have moved in some pretty radical circles, but personally, I cannot recall meeting a melanated architect in my whole life,” says Chino XL, a veteran rapper who attended the camp in the Bronx. “Just for these children to know it’s a thing, that’s important.”

“I’m letting kids know we have a history of building spaces and places,” Ford adds.

For more than a year, Ford, a longtime hip-hop fan with a master’s degree in architecture, has led sessions like this around the country. (Ford has planned nearly 20 sessions nationwide this year.) The idea for the camp came from a simple insight made while Ford was in graduate school at the University of Detroit: “Less than three percent of architects in America are African American,” he explains. “We’ve spent a ton of money trying to diversity the profession, but it’s always from the same perspective: Come learn this western culture. Come learn about the Greeks and the Romans. It’s not making it relevant.” The tendency to emphasize the importance of certain models – Greek but not Egyptian, for example – means “we’ve experienced the world through a limited lens,” Ford says.

He is also interested in the aesthetic connections between hip-hop and architecture. “Music is saturated with references to architecture,” Ford says. “Not just critiquing your environment, but in the songs, [rappers] express what they wish architecture was. KRS-One talks about hip-hop artists buying property to build a hip-hop city.”

It’s not a coincidence for Ford that Kanye West recently expressed interest in architecture and community planning “for like the third time.” (“He also said a lot of other stuff that I don’t agree with,” Ford notes.) Ice Cube studied architecture before co-founding N.W.A, and Pharrell Williams included discussions of architecture in his 2012 book Places and Spaces I’ve Been.

Ford aimed to strengthen the relationship between the hip-hop and architecture communities with a summit he organized earlier this year. Architects attended the event along with the lyricists Chino XL, Lupe Fiasco and Nikki Jean. “They talked about city skylines, if they can write bars that fit within those lines to see how each city sounds,” Ford says. “Is there a hidden sonic experience within these environments?”

Anyone who can tell the difference between Golden Age New York hip-hop and Los Angeles gangster rap knows intuitively that there are connections between music and place. Then the question becomes, if space impacts rap, what happens when you change the space? “How do we make architecture so that people stop saying, ‘I want to hear another track like “The Message”‘?” Ford says. “I want to stop the cycle, and stop the environment that’s influencing some of these songs that are very challenging.”

During the five-day program held in New York in May, students used rap lyrics as a basis for Lego models, practice working with the three-dimensional design program Tinkercad, hone their own rap verses, often with help from professional MCs, and create a music video. Autodesk, the company behind Tinkercad, provides the software to Ford for free and helps fund the camps. “When you meet Mike and you hear what he’s doing, you can’t help but want to be involved,” Sarah O’Rourke, Autodesk’s youth audience strategist, tells Rolling Stone. “We’re looking to inspire kids, and what better way to do it than with music they’re already involved with?”

The Bronx students hunted for architectural connections in “The Message,” Nas’ “I Can” and Childish Gambino’s “This Is America.” They were focused, only breaking from their modeling efforts to perform an impromptu line-dance to Migos and Drake’s “Walk It Talk It” or to lobby the DJ: a sixth grader named Dirk politely asked Grand Wizzard Theodore to play a song from the rising Brooklyn rapper 6ix9ine. Theodore had misgivings about the track – “a lot of negativity in that record; our kids need better role models” – but he cued it up anyway.

Theodore started visiting schools in 2002 with his Scratch Academy before connecting with Ford’s architecture camp. “To be able to go to school and have some people talk to me about my life, I didn’t have anything like this,” he said. “I grew up in abandoned buildings, fires all over the place, people smokin’ dope and nodding in the corners. I want to be able to turn on the TV and see a kid from the Bronx – that grew up the same way I grew up – building buildings.”

Both Theodore and Ford hope that more hip-hop artists will participate in future Hip-Hop Architecture Camp sessions, raising the program’s profile and expanding its reach. “The artists that have the biggest voice ­– that these kids see on TV every day that they play their records on the radio every six minutes – those are the artists that should be doing these programs,” Theodore says.

“We need to have youth hear it right from the artist,” Ford adds. “[Artists] have been influenced by the environment. I want to give them the opportunity, in turn, to influence their environment.”

In addition to enlisting more rappers to participate in his camps, Ford ultimately hopes to train others to lead sessions so they can take place in multiple cities at once. “It’s cool to have Mike Ford going to every city,” Ford says. “But I ended my TED talk with, I want to create an army of architects that can right the wrongs of modernism in communities of color. It’s about the dissemination of this curriculum to as many people as possible.”

For now, Ford’s army remains small, but it’s growing. Chino XL’s visit to the Cornerstone Academy marked his first time participating in the camp. “I was overwhelmed at how many kids signed up for it on a Saturday and Sunday, and how completely focused they were on what the goal and the initiative was,” the rapper said.

Ford called his work “making advocates,” and many of his students in the Bronx quickly grasped his mission. Toward the end of the first day, Dirk, the sixth grader, presented a model he built based on a line from Slick Rick’s “Children’s Story”: “When laws were stern and justice stood.”

“When [Slick Rick] said, ‘when laws were stern … ,” I don’t really think that resonated with me,” Dirk told the class. “Now we’ve got a lot of people being arrested for no exact reason – like Kalief Browder, who the sixth grade is learning about now, who committed suicide because he went to Riker’s Island for three years for a crime he did not commit. He was given the opportunity to plead guilty, but he never did because he knew he didn’t do it.”

Dirk was imagining an alternative outcome. “This police station is supposed to represent a better future,” he said, “without false accusations.”

This episode drove home Ford’s words from earlier in the day. “These kids can have an immediate impact,” he asserted. “And they can create architecture we have not seen before.” [h/t]

Photograph:

The rapper Chino XL teaching students at Hip-Hop Architecture Camp (top)

[bdbdb]

Catch up on previous weeks here

Week 6 – POLICE PUPPIES!!!!!!! (I like the alliteration)

Before we get into what I learned this week I want to introduce you to Suzie, who is in charge of our class and probably a lot of other things at the police department.

What I wrote under “additional comments” is a pretty typical smart-alec-y comment for me, but don’t let that make you think it’s not 100% true. (Suzie is the same Suzie I made a cryptic mention of in Week 4’s post as the “Mom” of the Explorers, which makes perfect sense if you’ve ever met her.) I’ve mentioned a few times how the unstructured parts of the curriculum are sometimes the most interesting and how just ‘chatting’ with some of the officers is my favorite part. Well that holds true for Suzie, except times a jillion. Suzie keeps the class on track, (even the officers) never tells me how annoying I am, (which is a perfectly valid response to spending time with me) and is always ready with some tidbit about law enforcement in general, the SMPD in particular, or just some random fascinating factoid. (About the windows in the dispatch center, training an officer, etc…) It’s the exact stuff that makes the class not just interesting, but fun.

Suzie really could teach the class all by herself. And it’s awfully nice of her to let the officers play. I stand by my comment.

The first part of class was devoted to learning about the department’s scruffiest officers. I don’t mean the kind who overslept and didn’t have time to shave before work, I’m talking about the K-9 variety. Santa Monica PD has 3 police dogs: Felix, Boris, and Rambo. (We’ll talk more about them later.) All three dogs come from the Czech Republic and “speak” Czeck. SMPD gets them from a vendor, Alderhorst Police K-9, who gets them over in Europe and provides dogs to most of the law enforcement agencies around here. Dog shows are different in Europe, instead of breeding for looks they are bred for skill, and dog shows are where they shine. All of SMPD’s K-9 officers are “titled.” (Which makes them sound like Dukes or Earls or something, and now I want an all dog version of Downton Abbey to exist.)

All 3 police dogs are Belgian Malinois. (Similar to German Sheperds.)

Dogs used for searching (a bad guy, drugs, bombs etc…)

The same dog can’t be trained on narcotics and explosives.

All police officers want to be (human) K-9 officers, it’s the best assignment. (According to the human K-9 officers at least.)

Narcotics dogs are trained to find Cocaine, Meth, Heroin, and Marijuana.

Detection training is all playtime, no discipline.

The dogs never “think” for themselves when they are working, the human officer indicates to the dog when it’s time to act.

Like with elite athletes, muscle sprains and other injuries are common.

“We’re all dog guys here, we’re a little nutty” <– I’m calling B.S. on this. Anyone who isn’t a ‘dog person’ is a little nutty.

A dog’s nose is still more accurate than anything technology can provide.

SMPD is getting a 4th dog sometime this summer.

Usually more tenured officers are selected to be a K-9 officer’s human partner.

Cadaver dog is its own specialty

Between 10-12 grand for a dog, around $30,000 after training.

Belgian Malinois have a longer lifespan than a German shepherd.

If you are a human K-9 officer the city will build you a kennel at your house. The police department will pay for dog food. Your K-9 partner is always with you, on duty and off.

A K-9 police car is the same in the front but the backseat is a kennel.

All 3 of SMPD’s dogs are male. Females cost twice as much.

Human K-9 officers carry their weapons differently than their co-workers, and have different gear on their belts.

Human K-9 officers carry something that looks like a pager. The display tells them what the temperature is in the car and alerts them if it gets too hot. If the button is pressed the car door will open and the dog will spring into action.

Can’t put dog in a situation they’ve never been in before.

Dogs are trained to bite and hold. If a suspect has multiple dog bites it means they were fighting the dog, pulling it off etc…

Aggressive alert vs passive alert (stare intently)

A special toy is used to tell them it is time to sniff

Now I would like to introduce you to my 3 favorite Santa Monica Police Officers (no disrespect to any of the other cops I’ve met, but c’mon, they’re police puppies!!! Other officers never stood a chance with me.)

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Boris, Rambo, and Felix are all total sweethearts. I know they mean business and I’m sure they are scary when they need to be, but they were all such love bugs that it’s hard to picture them being anything but affectionate. I fawned all over them (as did the whole class I think) but Boris stole my heart. Felix tried to bite my ring off my finger which made me laugh because, well, if I could get away with biting jewelry off people I would. Rambo seemed totally chill, just eating up the attention. Boris was my special buddy though, we formed a real connection. He likes leaning on things (I was told) and I like cuddles. He gave me kisses without slobbering all over me. Basically, he’s the perfect boyfriend.

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Now it’s time for survey results… Of the officers I interacted with this week a sort of group answer was reached. The closest movies and tv have come to the reality of law enforcement is Southland and Cops. Both answers I have heard before. Hmm…

I gave myself a patrol car. Sorta.

Next up was Forensics. It’s exactly what you think it is, but maybe not in the way you think. I was told that CSI comes pretty close to reality, except one person doesn’t do everything, and things happen a lot slower than on TV.

Forensics is made up of all civilian employees

Main functions of forensics: crime scene investigations, evidence processing, fingerprint comparison, and courtroom testimony.

The average day varies, but it’s mostly fingerprint comparison and report writing.

Documentation takes the form of photos, sketches of the crime scene, and notes. Photos are overall, mid-range, and close up. The sketches are done in a computer program called Scene PD.

Tools in a forensics kit include a fingerprint kit, DNA swabs, an electrostatic duster, a print lifter, Luminol, blood/body fluid testing equipment, and other things I didn’t write down. (Sorry!)

They only need 12 skin cells to get DNA.

The minimum to get hired is a Bachelor’s in Bio or Chem but it’s a really competitive field so you really need your Master’s.

ACE-V = Analysis Comparison Evaluation + Verification.

If you are trying to identify a suspect through fingerprints you can only search in a criminal database. If you’re trying to identify a victim you can search every database. (In class it was brought up that the criminal database includes everyone who was ever arrested, so guilt or innocence doesn’t affect anything, just being arrested means you’re in the database. So much for ‘innocent until proven guilty.’ I don’t get why they can’t search every database for either thing, anyone know?)

Time at a crime scene can run 1-3 hours for a burglary and days for a murder, it just depends. The evidence that is collected can take months to process.

Luminol shows the location of blood diluted over a kazillion times, so even if you think you cleaned a crime scene really well they’re going to figure it out. (“A kazillion times” is literally what I wrote in my notebook.)

Fingerprints can be left through surgical gloves

If you’re trying to burn off your fingerprints, you need to burn off your whole palm to remove the pattern.

But that’s probably not going to help much because scars tend to be really distinctive.

And you need to seriously reevaluate you life choices because whoa…

We were taken to the forensics lab where there was no photography, but a whole lot of really cool stuff. We were shown examples of different things but here’s where things took a bit of a turn (dun dun dun!) It was already a bad pain day for me, but this is when my asshole of a right arm decided to stop cooperating. A working forensics lab is a very bad place for someone who cant control her arm so I just kind of loitered around outside the door and snooped in their closet. (Male and female mannequins and a box labelled ‘Halloween decorations.’ So a pretty typical work closet.)

Instead of a palm tree pic, we are going to end this week’s post a little differently. Go ahead and read the text in the photo below…

If you are anywhere near Santa Monica on Wednesday, April 12th between 10am and 2pm please consider stopping by to join the registry. They’ll give you free ice cream, and you could help save someone’s life. If you’re not free that day or if you live nowhere near Santa Monica, you can go here to look up times/places that work for you, or just register online. If medical stuff is “icky” or you just prefer to show your support with your wallet, that’s okay too. Click anywhere on the image above and you’ll be taken to Maria’s GoFundMe page. Please also consider posting on social media. This isn’t something overwhelming like ending world hunger, all it takes is one person, a match, seeing this information. I posted on Facebook here and Twitter here if you want to share/retweet my post. It’s so easy, and it could save someone’s life.

I promise more pictures of palm trees next week, because I just cant let go of a running joke…

Week 6 - @SantaMonicaPD Community Academy Catch up on previous weeks here Week 6 - POLICE PUPPIES!!!!!!! (I like the alliteration) Before we get into what I learned this week I want to introduce you to Suzie, who is in charge of our class and probably a lot of other things at the police department.

[brajeshupadhyay]

Ian Desmond won’t play in the upcoming MLB season, citing racism and coronavirus concerns

Desmond, an 11-year MLB veteran, has played the past three seasons with the Rockies after signing a five-year, $70 million contract.

“I’m immensely grateful for my career, and for all people who influenced it,” he said. “But when I reflect on it, I find myself seeing those same boxes. The golden rules of baseball — don’t have fun, don’t pimp home runs, don’t play with character. Those are white rules. Don’t do anything fancy. Take it down a notch. Keep it all in the box.”

He’s overheard racist, homophobic and sexist jokes in clubhouses. There are very few Black managers, he said, and a low percentage of players are Black. It’s a problem in the league that Desmond said he’s seen no concerted effort to fix.

By opting out, Desmond forgoes his salary for the season because he’s not considered a “high-risk” player, MLB.com’s Thomas Harding reported.

The Rockies haven’t publicly commented on Desmond’s decision. CNN has reached out to the team and MLB for comment and is waiting to hear back.

Desmond will still spend the season on a baseball field — just a Little League diamond in Sarasota, Florida, where he grew up. He’ll work to get the town’s youth baseball league “back on track,” he said.

“With a pregnant wife and four young children who have lots of questions about what’s going on in the world, home is where I need to be right now,” he said. “Home for my wife, Chelsey. Home to help. Home to guide. Home to answer my older three boys’ questions about Coronavirus and Civil Rights and life. Home to be their Dad.”

Other players opt out of MLB season

Major League Baseball’s rescheduled season will resume on July 23 or 24, league commissioner Rob Manfred said last week. The 2020 regular season never started because of the pandemic, and spring training was cut short.

Now, players are expected to report for training this week, on July 1.

But a few players have opted out of the season, citing health concerns.

Washington Nationals infielder Ryan Zimmerman and pitcher Joe Ross will not play, the team confirmed on Monday. Neither will Arizona Diamondbacks right-handed pitcher Mike Leake, according to a statement from his agent. Zimmerman and Leake both said family factored into their decisions.

Read Desmond’s statement in full:

“A few weeks ago, I told the social media world a little bit about me that I never talk about. I started it by saying why that was: I don’t like sadness and anger. I’d found an even keel allowed me to move through my days with more ease than emotion did. So, I kept it inside. But that comes at an internal cost, and I could no longer keep a lid on what I was feeling. The image of officer Derek Chauvin’s knee on the neck of George Floyd, the gruesome murder of a Black man in the street at the hands of a police officer, broke my coping mechanism. Suppressing my emotions became impossible.

In the days since I began sharing my thoughts and experiences as a biracial man in America, I’ve received many requests to elaborate. But, it’s hard to know where to begin. And, in truth, there’s a lot on my mind. Here’s some of it.

Recently, I took a drive to the Little League fields I was basically raised on here in Sarasota.

They’re not in great shape. They look run down. Neglected. When I saw a Cal Ripken Little League schedule tacked on a bulletin board, I walked over to check it out, and it was from 2015. The only thing shiny and new, to my eye, was a USSSA banner. Travel ball. Showcases. So, not so much baseball for all anymore… as much as baseball for all who can afford it.

I walked around those fields, deserted at the time, and my mind raced. I stopped at a memorial for a man named Dick Lee; Coast Federal Head Coach and manager, Sarasota Little League, 1973-1985. There was a quote from him on the plaque:

‘Many men have cherished some of their greatest moments in life while stopping and taking time to reflect back on the young men they have helped develop, from childhood into manhood, with the ability to carry on in life. In no other activity has man been able to see this growth better than he has in the heart and character of this nation.

‘To see our youth grow and develop in the knowledge and skills to play baseball is a reward that only one who has been involved with would know. Baseball not only develops the physical skills of our youth, but develops a person with a knowledge of fair play while always stressing a desire to win.

‘That great moment comes when you look at the final product and realize the job done. There’s nothing more satisfying when watching these young men than hearing that familiar voice call out “Hi, coach!” transcending that special spirit of pride.’

I know it sounds simple to say, as a Major League Baseball player, that these fields were important in shaping my life. But I don’t mean my career.

I read Dick Lee’s words, and I stood there and I thought about when I was 10, and my stepfather dropped me off for a baseball tryout. He never came back to get me. Later, as I sobbed alone at the top of the bleachers, a kind stranger offered me a chance to make a phone call to alert my mom.

I thought about the moment, not too long after that, when my coach, John Howard, seeing I was upset about an out or something, wrapped me in an embrace so strong that I can still remember how his arms felt around me. How it felt to be hugged like that; embraced by a man who cared about the way I was feeling.

Then, another memory hit me: my high school teammates chanting ‘White Power!’ before games. We would say the Lord’s prayer and put our hands in the middle so all the white kids could yell it. Two Black kids on the whole team sitting in a stunned silence the white players didn’t seem to notice. I started to walk the fields a bit, and that’s when I thought of Antwuan.

These fields are where I learned a game that I’ve played 1,478 times at the Major League level. It started when I was 10, 11, 12 years old — exactly how old Antwuan was (12) when I met him at the Nationals Youth Baseball Academy in D.C.

He couldn’t read. He could barely say his ABCs. One morning, when his mom was shuffling Antwuan and his siblings off to their aunt’s house at 4 a.m. so she could get to work, they opened their door to a man stabbed to death on the ground. So, no sleep, traumatized by murder literally outside their door, eating who knows what for lunch, they head off to school. And they’re expected to perform in a classroom?

Meanwhile, my kids fly all over the country watching their dad play. They attend private schools, and get extra curriculum from learning centers. They have safe places to learn, grow, develop. But… the only thing dividing us from Antwuan is money.

It just doesn’t make any sense. Why isn’t society’s No. 1 priority giving all kids the best education possible? If we seriously want to see change, isn’t education where it all starts? Give all kids a safe place to go for eight hours a day. Where their teachers or coaches are happy to see them. Where they feel supported and loved.

I went back to those Little League fields because I wanted to figure out why they were thriving the way I remembered. What I came away with was more confusion.

I had the most heartbreak and the most fulfillment right there on those fields — in the same exact place. I felt the hurt of racism, the loneliness of abandonment, and so many other emotions. But I also felt the triumph of success. The love of others. The support of a group of men pulling for each other and picking one another up as a team.

I got to experience that because it was a place where baseball could be played by any kid who wanted. It was there, it was affordable, and it was staffed by people who cared.

But if we don’t have these parks, academies, teachers, coaches, religious institutions — if we don’t have communities investing in people’s lives — what happens to the kids who are just heartbroken and never get that moment of fulfillment?

If what Dick Lee knew to be true remains so — that baseball is about passing on what we’ve learned to those who come after us in hopes of bettering the future for others — then it seems to me that America’s pastime is failing to do what it could, just like the country it entertains.

Think about it: right now in baseball we’ve got a labor war. We’ve got rampant individualism on the field. In clubhouses we’ve got racist, sexist, homophobic jokes or flat-out problems. We’ve got cheating. We’ve got a minority issue from the top down. One African American GM. Two African American managers. Less than 8% Black players. No Black majority team owners.

Perhaps most disheartening of all is a puzzling lack of focus on understanding how to change those numbers. A lack of focus on making baseball accessible and possible for all kids, not just those who are privileged enough to afford it.

If baseball is America’s pastime, maybe it’s never been a more fitting one than now.

Antwuan was 12 years old when he started going to the Nationals Youth Baseball Academy — because that’s when it started existing in his universe as a resource. We got him a tutor, he got into other programs, and he learned to read. He was on the right track.

He died when he was 18, shot 31 times in D.C. A 16-year-old kid was just arrested for his murder.

It’s almost safe to say that the best years of his life came from that Academy… and yet the staff running it have to beg people to invest money and time.

How can that be? Why isn’t there an academy like that in every single community? Why does Major League Baseball have to have a specific youth baseball affiliate with RBI? Why can’t we support teaching the game to all kids — but especially those in underprivileged communities? Why aren’t accessible, affordable youth sports viewed as an essential opportunity to affect kids’ development, as opposed to money-making propositions and recruiting chances? It’s hard to wrap your head around it.

I won’t tell you that I look around at the world today — baseball or otherwise — and feel like I have the answers. I don’t. I’m not a perfect person. I kept my emotions inside for so long because it seemed easier to numb myself than to embrace the why behind my feelings.

Doesn’t it seem easier to just block it out when you walk down the street and see women clutch their purse at the sight of you? To push it behind you when you find out your grade school had to hold a meeting for all the students to let them know you and your sister — two Black kids — were about to enroll? To slough it off when someone makes a racist joke, or suggests you must be an athlete because how else could you have such a nice house? It forced me into a box.

And, in a lot of ways, I feel like everything in my life has been about boxes.

I remember, as a biracial kid, I dreaded filling out paperwork. I feared those boxes: white, Black, other. The biracial seat is a completely unique experience, and there are so many times you feel like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once. I knew I wasn’t walking around with the privilege of having white skin, but being raised by a white mother (an incredible mother), I never fully felt immersed in Black culture.

I almost always checked Black. Because I felt the prejudices. That’s what being Black meant to me: do you feel the hurt? Do you experience racism? Do you feel like you’re at a slight disadvantage?

Even in baseball. I’m immensely grateful for my career, and for all people who influenced it. But when I reflect on it, I find myself seeing those same boxes. The golden rules of baseball — don’t have fun, don’t pimp home runs, don’t play with character. Those are white rules. Don’t do anything fancy. Take it down a notch. Keep it all in the box.

It’s no coincidence that some of my best years came when I played under Davey Johnson, whose No. 1 line to me was: ‘Desi, go out there and express yourself.’ If, in other years, I’d just allowed myself to be who I was — to play free and the way I was born to play, would I have been better?

If we didn’t force Black Americans into white America’s box, think of how much we could thrive.

The COVID-19 pandemic has made this baseball season one that is a risk I am not comfortable taking. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving baseball behind for the year. I’ll be right here, at my old Little League, and I’m working with everyone involved to make sure we get Sarasota Youth Baseball back on track. It’s what I can do, in the scheme of so much. So, I am.

With a pregnant wife and four young children who have lots of questions about what’s going on in the world, home is where I need to be right now. Home for my wife, Chelsey. Home to help. Home to guide. Home to answer my older three boys’ questions about Coronavirus and Civil Rights and life. Home to be their Dad.

Ian Desmond”

The post Ian Desmond won’t play in the upcoming MLB season, citing racism and coronavirus concerns appeared first on Sansaar Times.

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[careergrowthblog]

From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith.

In my work I regularly have the opportunity to talk to groups of teachers and leaders about ideas from research and research processes themselves. It’s a continual source of surprise to me how different the levels of engagement and awareness can be from one audience to another.  In some places, there’s a high level of awareness of recent books, discussions and concepts emerging from research studies, cognitive science and the wider world of sharing across the teacher community. Other places feel isolated and I’m the one telling most of the people, for the first time, about Hattie, Willingham or Rosenshine or Nuthall.  Usually people have heard of Carol Dweck – but not always, and quite often they’re not aware of the debates around growth mindset interventions. Very often most people have heard of Dylan Wiliam – but it’s not always the case that they know what he’s said beyond something about ���AfL’ – whatever they think that might mean.

Given the gaps in knowledge and practice I see quite regularly, it’s also a source of frustration that out in the edu-sphere people are busily dismissing or demonising excellent ideas about teaching, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there are classrooms all over the place where these same ideas would be a Godsend to the students and teachers muddling their way through a relatively bad experience.

If good ideas are going to find their way into the classrooms that need them, then we might need to be more conscious of all the potential barriers.  Here’s a list:

No Engagement.

There’s research?  Lots of teachers remain oblivious to the range and nature of the studies that are undertaken into the effectiveness of the things they do every day.   There’s a long way to go here just to get people into the discussion.

Managed well enough with out it.  This is true of lots of great teachers… it’s only a problem when this turns into… ‘therefore, research can’t be important’.

Not looking for it.  It can be that a school’s circumstances are so challenging or so comfortable that people just don’t look up and see what’s going on around them. They run entirely on recycling institutional knowledge, sometimes to good effect; sometimes not.

Not had time.  It’s so common to find teachers hungry to learn but where their workload or CPD systems just don’t support serious research engagement.

Resistance

But it’s nothing new…. Some people get wound up by anyone promoting ideas they already know about because it feels they’re saying the ideas are new (even if no-one is saying they’re new).   So what! Old ideas can be new to many… what’s the problem?

But there’s a lot more to it.  This can become a holier-than-thou spiral: claims of superior understanding and appeals to more subtle thinking. Learning is complex; we study elements of it and promote ideas around them.  But if someone decides to focus on anything specific it allows people so say we’re missing the big picture: eg “retrieval practice is not just about learning isolated facts”. Nobody thinks it is!

But whatabout….: What about relationships; what about my particular EAL students; what about drama; what about early years?  Do we need a global caveat? : Not all ideas apply equally to all students in all subjects in any given discussion. There are some generally useful ideas but who is claiming universality? And nobody is leaving you out by just talking about what’s relevant to them.

But that doesn’t apply to my subject. Why would it? Year 8 art; Y11 chemistry; Y3 creative writing….are poles apart. Can we not apply our filters without roadblocking the discussion with obvious false comparisons?

But it’s all driven by ideology. There are people who resist anything supported by political figures they oppose. Some even literally think promoting good instructional methods is tantamount to supporting indoctrination; people who carefully separate instruction (bad) from “education” (good). As if this isn’t its own bizarre ideology.

But you can find a study to tell you anything.. The ‘anything goes’ brigade. Research can be conflicting but not at the level where we sweep all research aside and do what we feel like.

But, I once knew a student who… Exceptions! My son didn’t need X; I knew a girl once who learned by doing Y; some do perfectly well without Z. If we’re looking for good bets to improve outcomes for the many, our counter-example exception anecdotes don’t add up to much. We need to do better. At the same time, it’s pretty weird when people refuse to accept that exceptions do exist.

But, in my experience …. Let me stop you there. Teachers aren’t researchers. Let’s share our experiences for what they are. Some insights are powerful but let’s not extrapolate too far. Your story of how well a class performed could say more about what they already knew than about anything you did. Caveats abound.

The Punk/Maverick/Liberator delusion: The tedious idea that some folk just operate on a different plane where they are the true educators outside the establishment machine.

Problematic Engagement.

Sometimes it’s not resistance that’s a problem; it’s the way ideas are promoted.

Time lag discovery: Someone comes late to the party, promoting an idea unaware that there’s been a huge discussion about it already, refining or even debunking it. (Eg 2018 event introducing people to learning styles. Eg Finland/Singapore = Utopia)

Ideological tunnel vision: there are people out there (eg Epiphany Learning) promoting student-centred learning as deep versus teacher-centred learning as shallow. Conversely others are determined that students should never work in groups or make choices.

Hero worship: Hattie said it; Sir Ken Robinson said it; Dweck said it; Willingham said it…… Even great people change their minds or refine their thinking. Their work isn’t gospel.

Vested interest. If your company or twitter handle is called Flight Paths, Visible Learning UK or Mindsets Inc, it’s going to be hard to hear opposing voices.

Surface reading. The Rosenshine graphic is laminated and on the classroom wall next to your ‘The Power of Yet’ poster. You’ve not read Rosenshine or Dweck – but reckon you’ve got the gist of it and you do most of it already anyway.

Data literal: Hattie says X has an average effect size of 0.65 and Y has 0.43. This means when I do X it will have more impact than if I do Y; in fact we should all do X instead of Y. (Yup, I’ve heard this exact case being made).

Checklist Killer. Rosenshine is ace. Here’s your readymade 10-point lesson observation checklist feeding into your annual review.

Presenting ‘did no harm’ as ‘it works for me’. Teachers do not usually undertake systematic evaluations of their strategies. We do something we like or something we’re biased in favour of; kids do well … q.e.d. “It works for me”. Truth is often that there is not nearly enough evidence to support a cause-effect claim. ‘Do what works for you’ is basically a license to live evidence free and promote all ideas regardless.

Presenting ‘it’s an engaging enrichment activity that people like doing’ as ‘its an effective general teaching method’. There all kinds of experiences that are rewarding and lead to learning – at least for some. They can be high on the ‘feel good factor’. But this doesn’t mean they are a good bet in general. They are icing on the cake; they have their place. But they are not cake. It’s folly to pitch icing vs cake. Eg, yes, in a Y5 class some kids can successfully teach themselves something by reading about it for a project activity ; most will need to be taught directly to fully understand it. Role-play might add a dimension to an area of learning – but it’s unlikely to go very far in exploring a whole curriculum.

  None of this means we just bow to the Research Gods. We should discuss, debate and evaluate. Let’s do that with some open-mindedness and some readiness to address the complexity and nuance. But let’s also remember the classrooms where basic things aren’t going so well and they need simple, effective and actionable tools. Let’s not get in the way of those ideas getting through.

  From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith. published first on https://medium.com/@KDUUniversityCollege

[marcusssanderson]

50 Inspirational Neil Degrasse Tyson Quotes About Endless Life

Looking for the best Neil deGrasse Tyson quotes?

Neil deGrasse Tyson is a known American astrophysicist and science communicator who’s also the director of the Hayden Planetarium at the American Museum of Natural History in New York.

Tyson, who earned a bachelor’s degree from Harvard and a Ph.D. from Columbia,  is a popular TV science expert today with a fanbase of more than 12 million followers on Twitter. Over the years, he has written columns for popular magazines, published his own books, hosted podcasts and served in government commissions.

Tyson discovered his love for the stars at an early age and has made it his mission to encourage science and space exploration. In 2015, the U.S. National Academy of Sciences awarded the Public Welfare Medal for his “extraordinary role in exciting the public about the wonders of science”.

A cheerful and vibrant character who loves to share his knowledge and enthusiasm for astronomy, Tyson has clearly managed to tap into his Everyday Power. In that respect, here are some beautiful Neil deGrasse Tyson quotes that will inspire, entertain and teach at the same time.

  Inspirational neil degrasse tyson quotes about endless life

  1.) “The Universe is under no obligation to make sense to you.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  2.) “Curious that we spend more time congratulating people who have succeeded than encouraging people who have not.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  3.) “For me, I am driven by two main philosophies: know more today about the world than I knew yesterday and lessen the suffering of others. You’d be surprised how far that gets you.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  4.) “Rational thoughts never drive people’s creativity the way emotions do.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

    5.) “The only way you can invent tomorrow is if you break out of the enclosure that the school system has provided for you by the exams written by people who are trained in another generation.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  6.) “If you want to assert a truth, first make sure it’s not just an opinion that you desperately want to be true.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  7.) “No one is dumb who is curious. The people who don’t ask questions remain clueless throughout their lives.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  8.) “Passion is what gets you through the hardest times that might otherwise make strong men weak, or make you give up.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  9.) “Knowing how to think empowers you far beyond those who know only what to think.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  10.) “We are stardust brought to life, then empowered by the universe to figure itself out—and we have only just begun.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  Neil Degrasse Tyson quotes to inspire and motivate

  11.) “Where ignorance lurks, so too do the frontiers of discovery and imagination” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  12.) “There is no greater education than one that is self-driven.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

    13.) “During our brief stay on planet Earth, we owe ourselves and our descendants the opportunity to explore — in part because it’s fun to do. But there’s a far nobler reason. The day our knowledge of the cosmos ceases to expand, we risk regressing to the childish view that the universe figuratively and literally revolves around us.”  – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  14.) “It’s the inspired student that continues to learn on their own. That’s what separates the real achievers in the world from those who pedal along, finishing assignments.”  – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  15.) “Creativity is seeing what everyone else sees, but then thinking a new thought that has never been thought of before and expressing it somehow.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  16.) “The more I learn about the universe, the less convinced I am that there’s any sort of benevolent force that has anything to do with it, at all.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  17.) “Ignorance is a virus. Once it starts spreading, it can only be cured by reason. For the sake of humanity, we must be that cure.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  18.) “Even with all our technology and the inventions that make modern life so much easier than it once was, it takes just one big natural disaster to wipe all that away and remind us that, here on Earth, we’re still at the mercy of nature.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  19.) “Sometimes I wonder if we’d have flying cars by now had civilization spent a little less brain energy contemplating Football.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  20.) “Everyone should have their mind blown once a day.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  Neil Degrasse Tyson quotes about science and the universe

  21.) “The very nature of science is discoveries, and the best of those discoveries are the ones you don’t expect.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  22.) “Perhaps we’ve never been visited by aliens because they have looked upon Earth and decided there’s no sign of intelligent life.”  ― Neil deGrasse Tysonnature

  23.) “Science literacy is the artery through which the solutions of tomorrow’s problems flow.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  24.) “Math is the language of the universe. So the more equations you know, the more you can converse with the cosmos.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  25.) “Science is a cooperative enterprise, spanning the generations. It’s the passing of a torch from teacher, to student, to teacher. A community of minds reaching back to antiquity and forward to the stars.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  26.) “We are part of this universe; we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts, is that the universe is in us.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  27.) “I am trying to convince people — not only the public, but lawmakers and people in power — that investing in the frontier of science, however remote it may seem in its relevance to what you’re doing today, is a way of stockpiling the seed corns of future harvests of this nation.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  28.) “The good thing about science is that it’s true whether or not you believe in it.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

    29.) “We are all connected; To each other, biologically. To the earth, chemically. To the rest of the universe atomically.” ― Neil DeGrasse Tyson

  30.) “Whenever people have used religious documents to make accurate predictions about our base knowledge of the physical world, they have been famously wrong.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  Thought-provoking Neil Degrasse Tyson quotes that will make your day

  31.) “Principles of modern law assert that you’re innocent until proven guilty. Yet airport security is the exact opposite of this.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  32.) “If each dead person became a ghost, there’d be more than 100-billion of them haunting us all. Creepy, but cool.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  33.) “Geek e-mail signoff: No trees were killed to send this message, but a large number of electrons were terribly inconvenienced.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  34.) “Without physics there’d be no Fashion Channel — there’d be no TV. But w/o fashion, physicists might just be naked. Not good.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  35.) “Dreams about the future are always filled with gadgets.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

    36.) “I never want you to quote me citing my authority as a scientist for your knowing something. If that’s what you have to resort to I have failed as an educator.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  37.) “A bullet fired level from a gun will hit ground at same time as a bullet dropped from the same height. Do the Physics.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  38.) “Just an FYI: If scientists invented the legal system, eye witness testimony would be inadmissible evidence.” – Neil deGrasse Tyson

  39.) “We spend the first year of a child’s life teaching it to walk and talk and the rest of its life to shut up and sit down. There’s something wrong there.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  40.) “We all want to Make America Great Again. But that won’t happen until we first Make America Smart Again.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  Other inspirational Neil Degrasse Tyson quotes

  41.) “If the surviving miners are heroes (rather than victims) then what do you call the NASA & Chilean Engineers who saved them?” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  42.) “We think scientific literacy flows out of how many science facts can you recite rather than how was your brain wired for thinking. And it’s the brain wiring that I’m more interested in rather than the facts that come out of the curriculum or the lesson plan that’s been proposed.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

43.) “Not enough of us reflect on how modern civilization pivots on the discoveries of just a few intellectually restless people.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  44.) “Kids should be allowed to break stuff more often. That’s a consequence of exploration. Exploration is what you do when you don’t know what you’re doing.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  45.) “If your Personal Beliefs deny what’s objectively true about the world, then they’re more accurately called Personal Delusions.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  46.) “When students cheat on exams it’s because our school system values grades more than students value learning.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  47.) “Things you might say if you never took Physics: ‘I’m overweight even though I don’t overeat.'” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

    48.) “Every living thing is a masterpiece, written by nature and edited by evolution.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  49.) “Science needs the light of free expression to flourish. It depends on the fearless questioning of authority, and the open exchange of ideas.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  50.) “Just because you can’t figure out how ancient civilizations built stuff, doesn’t mean they got help from Aliens.” ― Neil deGrasse Tyson

  Which of these Neil deGrasse Tyson quotes was your favorite?

Tyson remains one of America’s best-known scientists. He has amassed a huge following thanks to his extraordinary ability to present complex cosmic concepts into ideas the layman understands and finds entertaining.

Known for his love of the universe and his cheerful and vibrant character, Tyson has spent much of his career sharing his knowledge with others. Hopefully, you have enjoyed reading and gained some interesting insights from these quotes just as much as we have.

Did you enjoy these Neil deGrasse Tyson quotes? Which of the quotes was your favorite? Tell us in the comment section below.

The post 50 Inspirational Neil Degrasse Tyson Quotes About Endless Life appeared first on Everyday Power Blog.

[angelinaneblinawebsite-blog]

falling out of love with fashion

In the fourth grade, I made a single Microsoft Powerpoint slide featuring a low-res photograph of racks of colorful clothing with a gold gradient oval overlay that read “F.I.T.” in a classic Microsoft Office script font. My teacher had directed us to make a slideshow about our futures as an end-of-the-year project. Naturally, I dedicated all of the allotted time to making a single perfect slide to reflect where I belonged: the Fashion Institute of Technology. I had already taken the virtual tour, this was my big break. I did everything in my power to secure my place in the world of fashion. I took advanced art classes, pre-college courses, and doodled constantly. Then, in my sophomore year of high school, I found myself in a slump.

Art is deeply personal, and its quality is entirely subjective. I felt that my work wasn’t very strong, and I was losing my passion for creating it. My justification for wanting to design clothing had been that I didn’t see fashion that reflected my style, so I wanted to change that. This wasn’t a misguided thought: Mohandas Gandhi said himself that you should be the change you wish to see in the world. There was a flaw in my reasoning, though: my idea of appealing fashion existed, I just needed to make it more popular. This launched my interest into the realm of marketing and business.

Towards the end of my reflective sophomore year, a guidance counselor stopped by my English class to discuss course selection for the following year. As I began to flip through the guide given to us, I stumbled across a page dedicated to the programs available through a partnership with a vocational school in my county. My eyes darted directly to the words “Fashion Design & Merchandising”.

Was this real life? Was there actually a program tailored exactly to my needs? My hand shot up into the air.

“What is it?” the guidance counselor said, looking slightly annoyed at my enthusiasm. It must have been a long day.

“What is this program?” I asked, pointing fervently to what I had found.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a technical career program, talk to your guidance counselor about it if you’re interested.” She didn’t seem too impressed.

As soon as the bell rang, I ran downstairs to do exactly that. During my conversation with my counselor, I began to see why her co worker wasn’t thrilled about my discovery. The kids who did this program had reputations for being unmotivated and in need of academic intervention. I was not one of these kids, and I didn’t care. In fact, I thought that it was unfair how a career training program was associated with laziness, considering the sheer amount of time and effort it takes to gain certifications in certain trades.

After visiting the school and meeting my prospective teacher, I applied for the program and was accepted. It began a few days before the rest of my class started their junior year. I had no free periods and only twenty minutes to eat my lunch/watch out for the bus that took me and roughly six or seven other students to what essentially became our second school.

Upon entering the school, I was greeted by a security guard with a thick Jamaican accent.

“How you doin’?” he’d say, holding the door open for me.

Initially, my teacher would be waiting for me at her desk because she taught the same class in the morning. That class was eventually dissolved because of low enrollment, and after a month or so, she would be late every day because she would come from a different school.

My teacher was a middle-aged Puerto Rican, Southeast Asian woman who had  kind eyes and a fake laugh. She had been a head designer for a men’s luxury athletic-wear company for two decades prior to the start of her teaching career. When I first visited, she said all the right things. My class was going to sew, create mood boards, cut patterns, design clothing lines, etc. I was going to be well versed in the fashion world in no time--or so I thought. Her kind eyes had nothing behind them.

Classmates trickled in over the next few weeks, each one bringing a bit of diversity to the group. Three of them were seniors completing the second half of the program in order to secure college credit and a certification to work in retail. There were ten of us in total from all over the county, I was the only one from my town. One young lady in particular took a liking to me and insisted that we work and sit together all the time.

The only reason I’m going to assign this character a name is because she was instrumental in my demise. Let’s call her Patricia.

Patricia was from a relatively upscale town in the county. Her skin was a a beautiful dark shade of brown, similar to that of Naomi Campbell, who I assume was one of her idols. She was too short to be a runway model, so she did commercial modelling. Her hair was short, and she wore over-the-knee boots often. Her mother was Belgian or French or something, and I believe French was her first language.

I put up with Patricia for a while. I wasn’t making any other friends. I bonded with one young lady over Nicki Minaj and our shared Aries-ness, but she dropped out of the class before the halfway point of the first quarter.

Gradually, I became impatient with Patricia and felt it best I work alone. In doing so, I missed the chance to open up to my peers and form connections. As the year went by, though, I realized that that was how it ought to have been.

There were about ten of us in the class, roughly four young men and six young women. Conversations often surrounded controversial topics, and my teacher had to address the class multiple times. I steered clear of these and abided by the rules on the “Professional Conduct” sheet posted above the whiteboard that I had made the design for myself. The rules were simple: Stay on task, avoid inappropriate conversations, and be diligent in your work. This was, after all, supposed to be treated like a workplace. They don’t call it career training for nothing.

I won’t comment on the quality of my classmates’ work because like I said: art is entirely subjective. I will, however, point out that my technique was more advanced, which was to be expected, considering I had an immense amount of experience in drawing fashion figures. Between my skill level and determination to follow the rules, I achieved the highest grade in the class and was nominated to be the “Student of the Quarter”, which meant I got to miss some of my class to attend a brunch. My parents were invited, too. I also earned a perfect attendance award.

My mental health was deteriorating, though. There were constant arguments in my classroom. I began to dread seeing the bus pull into the roundabout in front of my school. One argument in particular struck a chord with me.

Another key player in this story is a young man who we’ll call Randy.

Randy sounded like Drake and tried to act like him, too. He sagged his pants, though, and was a raging homophobe. Every day I would hear the phrase “that’s gay” come out of his mouth. I knew what he meant, but he didn’t say what he meant, and instead chose to use a word intended to be positive as an insult. He made the argument that gay people are raised to be homosexual, and that they’re not born that way. As a matter of fact, he’d seen a study that confirmed this belief.

At this point, I had been an active member of the New York Catholic Forensics League Student Congress, and was doing extensive research about everything from Sub Saharan African infrastructure to the American electoral college. I was hearing eloquent speeches that were cited accurately on a weekly basis, so when Randy made this highly uninformed argument, I was unimpressed and offended.

Where was my teacher, you may ask? Doing something more important, I suppose, and letting this hostile environment fester.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I snapped.

“Randy. Randy. Randy.” I said firmly, trying to get his attention. “Stop saying ‘gay’ as if it is an insult, because it’s not. If you mean to say ‘stupid’, say it. Oh, and as someone who has grown up with a gay sibling I can promise you that it is not because she was raised that way.”

He dismissed me and looked away, but everyone else’s eyes were glued to me. I hadn’t addressed anyone in weeks.

“See?” my teacher exclaimed from her desk. “I told you someone would be offended.”

Later that evening I received a direct message on Instagram from Patricia apologizing for Randy’s actions. I wonder where her remorse was when he was being blatantly homophobic. 

There were several instances of bigotry in that classroom, some too painful to recount. It got to the point where I would literally cry on the bus to and from the vocational school.

I loved the curriculum, everything about it. I felt like I was in my element when the main perpetrators weren’t present. When they were, though, I was often anxious and upset. My teacher eventually stopped intervening altogether.

Around May, I started listening more carefully to the subject matter of the boy chatter. They were always talking about how young women were “valid” or “thick”--that is, young women on Instagram and Snapchat. Other times, they would call young women “ugly” or “too skinny”. Another young man, similar to Randy, but mostly to-himself said “fag” or “faggot” in regards to other young men he was either friends with or knew of if they way they dressed or acted suggested something about their sexuality. I worked three feet away from where my teacher spent the majority of our classes, at her desk, and I wore headphones with music playing relatively loud. I heard everything these young men were saying loud and clear.

I recall the exact moment that I broke down. It was after Patricia, while looking for her commercial size on a pattern envelope (they’re typically five sizes larger than your retail size), gasped.

“Size SIXTEEN?!” she exclaimed, looking horrified. “That’s HUGE. That is SO BIG. OH MY GOD.”

I was a size sixteen in retail, and a size 26 in commercial. I was huge.

It took many years for me to feel comfortable in my skin as a “plus size” young woman. I was never encouraged to love myself for who I was, rather to slim down to look socially acceptable and to be able to wear certain types of clothing. My self-love came from me, and I wasn’t used to my peers being disgusted by me or my size. Her words were like knives.

I gave her the worst glare imaginable and promptly left to go to the bathroom. I sobbed for a good ten minutes, absolutely hating where I was. It never occurred to me that I could have a bad time doing what I loved, but that’s exactly what was happening. My teacher let all of these things happen without correction, and the environment was incredibly toxic.

Eventually, I returned to the classroom and continued my work. After some time, my teacher called three young women, including myself, over to her desk.

“You know, next year, you girls should sign up for the morning class,” she said in a low voice. “You’re all very quiet, and it would be more productive because there wouldn’t be so much chatter.”

This had to be a joke.

“Angelina, don’t you think so?” she addressed me. “Will you do that?”

There was no way I was returning the next year, but I nodded my head and left for the bathroom again. This was the second time I bawled my eyes out that day, and I knew I would be crying on the bus back, too. I called my mom, but I was crying too hard to get a clear word out.

I visited my guidance counselor for the vocational program a few days later and told her everything, holding back even more tears. She was heartbroken to hear that I wouldn’t be returning, and suggested I try another program. Fashion was it for me, though. I had no interest in Architecture or Commercial Art, and I didn’t particularly like the Commercial Art teacher either.

The director of the entire school, the guidance counselor for the program, and the social working  who was also in charge of enforcing the rules of DASA, or the Dignity for All Students Act that made bullying of most kinds punishable by law visited my classroom and spoke about how the derogatory language was unacceptable, especially in a room of young women. After they left, the young men in my class denied the accusations outright, and for the first time, my vocal female classmates acknowledged that they were always saying vulgar things. Somehow they caught wind that I was the one who had reported what was going on and they thanked me for saying something. It blew my mind how they were always saying gutsy things to these young men, but never once had the nerve to address their foul language.

We had a meeting with the principal, my guidance counselor at the vocational school, my parents, my teacher, and the school social worker.

When asked to elaborate on what had been going on in the classroom, I broke down, but managed to get one phrase out.

“I feel like...there’s a lot of hearing...but no listening,” I said.

What I meant was that my teacher had been telling my class to lower the noise level, but not actually addressing the subject matter of the conversations that were being held and putting an end to them.

“I don’t even hear it,” my teacher scoffed.

She didn’t even hear it.

My mother was furious, as was my father. The administrators, including the social worker who had previously been very friendly with my teacher, were appalled. I couldn’t blame them, it was simple: my teacher was not doing her job. It was her responsibility to intervene and prevent that behavior, and she failed me and every other young person in that classroom.

The month after that was relatively peaceful. A lot of the main perpetrators didn’t show up to school very often. My relationship with my teacher was fine.

On the last day of classes, I didn’t say goodbye to anyone. I left the building in tears of relief and cried the entire bus ride back to my actual school, where I thrived.

I maintained a satisfactory grade in Fashion Design & Merchandising, never falling below a 90. That was by my own accord. Don’t get me wrong, my teacher was an excellent seamstress and made impeccable art, but fell completely flat when it came to having some compassion for me and my classmates. Those young men could have benefited immensely from some discipline, and it was her job to enforce the law, but sexual bullying was occurring right under her nose, and it was ignored. I had to advocate for myself and my female peers who were just as uncomfortable as I was. Ironically, my teacher was editing a brochure for the Women’s March while the whole ordeal was unfolding. She was helping stand up for women all over the country, but not in her own classroom.

The administrators did their jobs, and helped make that place tolerable in my last month or so there. There was catcalling occurring in the hallways before classes started, and I was the only young woman present to witness it because my bus always arrived early, and the administration corrected that immediately.

This wouldn’t have escalated to the point that it did if it had been a real workplace. I learned the importance of professionalism and removing myself from stressful situations in the name of preserving my mental health.

I nearly lost my love for fashion. Just typing that makes my heart ache. It has been my life since I was little, but it became my personal hell as a sixteen/seventeen year old. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, though. Sometimes that has to be learned the hard way.

I’m still going to college for fashion merchandising. I won’t let this awful experience ruin what I’ve worked so hard for. I’m a member of the National Technical Honor Society, I earned that. My determination has been recognized and rewarded on multiple occasions, so I don’t feel unfulfilled in the least.I feel it necessary to share my story, though--not as a cautionary tale, because the other programs at this vocational school are lovely, but rather as inspiration to speak up. As my vice principal says: “Your voice matters”.

[brajeshupadhyay]

Desmond, an 11-year MLB veteran, has played the past three seasons with the Rockies after signing a five-year, $70 million contract. “I’m immensely grateful for my career, and for all people who influenced it,” he said. “But when I reflect on it, I find myself seeing those same boxes. The golden rules of baseball — don’t have fun, don’t pimp home runs, don’t play with character. Those are white rules. Don’t do anything fancy. Take it down a notch. Keep it all in the box.” He’s overheard racist, homophobic and sexist jokes in clubhouses. There are very few Black managers, he said, and a low percentage of players are Black. It’s a problem in the league that Desmond said he’s seen no concerted effort to fix. By opting out, Desmond forgoes his salary for the season because he’s not considered a “high-risk” player, MLB.com’s Thomas Harding reported. The Rockies haven’t publicly commented on Desmond’s decision. CNN has reached out to the team and MLB for comment and is waiting to hear back. Desmond will still spend the season on a baseball field — just a Little League diamond in Sarasota, Florida, where he grew up. He’ll work to get the town’s youth baseball league “back on track,” he said. “With a pregnant wife and four young children who have lots of questions about what’s going on in the world, home is where I need to be right now,” he said. “Home for my wife, Chelsey. Home to help. Home to guide. Home to answer my older three boys’ questions about Coronavirus and Civil Rights and life. Home to be their Dad.” Other players opt out of MLB season Major League Baseball’s rescheduled season will resume on July 23 or 24, league commissioner Rob Manfred said last week. The 2020 regular season never started because of the pandemic, and spring training was cut short. Now, players are expected to report for training this week, on July 1. But a few players have opted out of the season, citing health concerns. Washington Nationals infielder Ryan Zimmerman and pitcher Joe Ross will not play, the team confirmed on Monday. Neither will Arizona Diamondbacks right-handed pitcher Mike Leake, according to a statement from his agent. Zimmerman and Leake both said family factored into their decisions. Read Desmond’s statement in full: “A few weeks ago, I told the social media world a little bit about me that I never talk about. I started it by saying why that was: I don’t like sadness and anger. I’d found an even keel allowed me to move through my days with more ease than emotion did. So, I kept it inside. But that comes at an internal cost, and I could no longer keep a lid on what I was feeling. The image of officer Derek Chauvin’s knee on the neck of George Floyd, the gruesome murder of a Black man in the street at the hands of a police officer, broke my coping mechanism. Suppressing my emotions became impossible. In the days since I began sharing my thoughts and experiences as a biracial man in America, I’ve received many requests to elaborate. But, it’s hard to know where to begin. And, in truth, there’s a lot on my mind. Here’s some of it. Recently, I took a drive to the Little League fields I was basically raised on here in Sarasota. They’re not in great shape. They look run down. Neglected. When I saw a Cal Ripken Little League schedule tacked on a bulletin board, I walked over to check it out, and it was from 2015. The only thing shiny and new, to my eye, was a USSSA banner. Travel ball. Showcases. So, not so much baseball for all anymore… as much as baseball for all who can afford it. I walked around those fields, deserted at the time, and my mind raced. I stopped at a memorial for a man named Dick Lee; Coast Federal Head Coach and manager, Sarasota Little League, 1973-1985. There was a quote from him on the plaque: ‘Many men have cherished some of their greatest moments in life while stopping and taking time to reflect back on the young men they have helped develop, from childhood into manhood, with the ability to carry on in life. In no other activity has man been able to see this growth better than he has in the heart and character of this nation. ‘To see our youth grow and develop in the knowledge and skills to play baseball is a reward that only one who has been involved with would know. Baseball not only develops the physical skills of our youth, but develops a person with a knowledge of fair play while always stressing a desire to win. ‘That great moment comes when you look at the final product and realize the job done. There’s nothing more satisfying when watching these young men than hearing that familiar voice call out “Hi, coach!” transcending that special spirit of pride.’ I know it sounds simple to say, as a Major League Baseball player, that these fields were important in shaping my life. But I don’t mean my career. I read Dick Lee’s words, and I stood there and I thought about when I was 10, and my stepfather dropped me off for a baseball tryout. He never came back to get me. Later, as I sobbed alone at the top of the bleachers, a kind stranger offered me a chance to make a phone call to alert my mom. I thought about the moment, not too long after that, when my coach, John Howard, seeing I was upset about an out or something, wrapped me in an embrace so strong that I can still remember how his arms felt around me. How it felt to be hugged like that; embraced by a man who cared about the way I was feeling. Then, another memory hit me: my high school teammates chanting ‘White Power!’ before games. We would say the Lord’s prayer and put our hands in the middle so all the white kids could yell it. Two Black kids on the whole team sitting in a stunned silence the white players didn’t seem to notice. I started to walk the fields a bit, and that’s when I thought of Antwuan. These fields are where I learned a game that I’ve played 1,478 times at the Major League level. It started when I was 10, 11, 12 years old — exactly how old Antwuan was (12) when I met him at the Nationals Youth Baseball Academy in D.C. He couldn’t read. He could barely say his ABCs. One morning, when his mom was shuffling Antwuan and his siblings off to their aunt’s house at 4 a.m. so she could get to work, they opened their door to a man stabbed to death on the ground. So, no sleep, traumatized by murder literally outside their door, eating who knows what for lunch, they head off to school. And they’re expected to perform in a classroom? Meanwhile, my kids fly all over the country watching their dad play. They attend private schools, and get extra curriculum from learning centers. They have safe places to learn, grow, develop. But… the only thing dividing us from Antwuan is money. It just doesn’t make any sense. Why isn’t society’s No. 1 priority giving all kids the best education possible? If we seriously want to see change, isn’t education where it all starts? Give all kids a safe place to go for eight hours a day. Where their teachers or coaches are happy to see them. Where they feel supported and loved. I went back to those Little League fields because I wanted to figure out why they were thriving the way I remembered. What I came away with was more confusion. I had the most heartbreak and the most fulfillment right there on those fields — in the same exact place. I felt the hurt of racism, the loneliness of abandonment, and so many other emotions. But I also felt the triumph of success. The love of others. The support of a group of men pulling for each other and picking one another up as a team. I got to experience that because it was a place where baseball could be played by any kid who wanted. It was there, it was affordable, and it was staffed by people who cared. But if we don’t have these parks, academies, teachers, coaches, religious institutions — if we don’t have communities investing in people’s lives — what happens to the kids who are just heartbroken and never get that moment of fulfillment? If what Dick Lee knew to be true remains so — that baseball is about passing on what we’ve learned to those who come after us in hopes of bettering the future for others — then it seems to me that America’s pastime is failing to do what it could, just like the country it entertains. Think about it: right now in baseball we’ve got a labor war. We’ve got rampant individualism on the field. In clubhouses we’ve got racist, sexist, homophobic jokes or flat-out problems. We’ve got cheating. We’ve got a minority issue from the top down. One African American GM. Two African American managers. Less than 8% Black players. No Black majority team owners. Perhaps most disheartening of all is a puzzling lack of focus on understanding how to change those numbers. A lack of focus on making baseball accessible and possible for all kids, not just those who are privileged enough to afford it. If baseball is America’s pastime, maybe it’s never been a more fitting one than now. Antwuan was 12 years old when he started going to the Nationals Youth Baseball Academy — because that’s when it started existing in his universe as a resource. We got him a tutor, he got into other programs, and he learned to read. He was on the right track. He died when he was 18, shot 31 times in D.C. A 16-year-old kid was just arrested for his murder. It’s almost safe to say that the best years of his life came from that Academy… and yet the staff running it have to beg people to invest money and time. How can that be? Why isn’t there an academy like that in every single community? Why does Major League Baseball have to have a specific youth baseball affiliate with RBI? Why can’t we support teaching the game to all kids — but especially those in underprivileged communities? Why aren’t accessible, affordable youth sports viewed as an essential opportunity to affect kids’ development, as opposed to money-making propositions and recruiting chances? It’s hard to wrap your head around it. I won’t tell you that I look around at the world today — baseball or otherwise — and feel like I have the answers. I don’t. I’m not a perfect person. I kept my emotions inside for so long because it seemed easier to numb myself than to embrace the why behind my feelings. Doesn’t it seem easier to just block it out when you walk down the street and see women clutch their purse at the sight of you? To push it behind you when you find out your grade school had to hold a meeting for all the students to let them know you and your sister — two Black kids — were about to enroll? To slough it off when someone makes a racist joke, or suggests you must be an athlete because how else could you have such a nice house? It forced me into a box. And, in a lot of ways, I feel like everything in my life has been about boxes. I remember, as a biracial kid, I dreaded filling out paperwork. I feared those boxes: white, Black, other. The biracial seat is a completely unique experience, and there are so many times you feel like you belong everywhere and nowhere at once. I knew I wasn’t walking around with the privilege of having white skin, but being raised by a white mother (an incredible mother), I never fully felt immersed in Black culture. I almost always checked Black. Because I felt the prejudices. That’s what being Black meant to me: do you feel the hurt? Do you experience racism? Do you feel like you’re at a slight disadvantage? Even in baseball. I’m immensely grateful for my career, and for all people who influenced it. But when I reflect on it, I find myself seeing those same boxes. The golden rules of baseball — don’t have fun, don’t pimp home runs, don’t play with character. Those are white rules. Don’t do anything fancy. Take it down a notch. Keep it all in the box. It’s no coincidence that some of my best years came when I played under Davey Johnson, whose No. 1 line to me was: ‘Desi, go out there and express yourself.’ If, in other years, I’d just allowed myself to be who I was — to play free and the way I was born to play, would I have been better? If we didn’t force Black Americans into white America’s box, think of how much we could thrive. The COVID-19 pandemic has made this baseball season one that is a risk I am not comfortable taking. But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving baseball behind for the year. I’ll be right here, at my old Little League, and I’m working with everyone involved to make sure we get Sarasota Youth Baseball back on track. It’s what I can do, in the scheme of so much. So, I am. With a pregnant wife and four young children who have lots of questions about what’s going on in the world, home is where I need to be right now. Home for my wife, Chelsey. Home to help. Home to guide. Home to answer my older three boys’ questions about Coronavirus and Civil Rights and life. Home to be their Dad. Ian Desmond” The post Ian Desmond won’t play in the upcoming MLB season, citing racism and coronavirus concerns appeared first on Sansaar Times.

http://sansaartimes.blogspot.com/2020/07/ian-desmond-wont-play-in-upcoming-mlb.html

[careergrowthblog]

From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith.

In my work I regularly have the opportunity to talk to groups of teachers and leaders about ideas from research and research processes themselves. It’s a continual source of surprise to me how different the levels of engagement and awareness can be from one audience to another.  In some places, there’s a high level of awareness of recent books, discussions and concepts emerging from research studies, cognitive science and the wider world of sharing across the teacher community. Other places feel isolated and I’m the one telling most of the people, for the first time, about Hattie, Willingham or Rosenshine or Nuthall.  Usually people have heard of Carol Dweck – but not always, and quite often they’re not aware of the debates around growth mindset interventions. Very often most people have heard of Dylan Wiliam – but it’s not always the case that they know what he’s said beyond something about ‘AfL’ – whatever they think that might mean.

Given the gaps in knowledge and practice I see quite regularly, it’s also a source of frustration that out in the edu-sphere people are busily dismissing or demonising excellent ideas about teaching, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there are classrooms all over the place where these same ideas would be a Godsend to the students and teachers muddling their way through a relatively bad experience.

If good ideas are going to find their way into the classrooms that need them, then we might need to be more conscious of all the potential barriers.  Here’s a list:

No Engagement.

There’s research?  Lots of teachers remain oblivious to the range and nature of the studies that are undertaken into the effectiveness of the things they do every day.   There’s a long way to go here just to get people into the discussion.

Managed well enough with out it.  This is true of lots of great teachers… it’s only a problem when this turns into… ‘therefore, research can’t be important’.

Not looking for it.  It can be that a school’s circumstances are so challenging or so comfortable that people just don’t look up and see what’s going on around them. They run entirely on recycling institutional knowledge, sometimes to good effect; sometimes not.

Not had time.  It’s so common to find teachers hungry to learn but where their workload or CPD systems just don’t support serious research engagement.

Resistance

But it’s nothing new…. Some people get wound up by anyone promoting ideas they already know about because it feels they’re saying the ideas are new (even if no-one is saying they’re new).   So what! Old ideas can be new to many… what’s the problem?

But there’s a lot more to it.  This can become a holier-than-thou spiral: claims of superior understanding and appeals to more subtle thinking. Learning is complex; we study elements of it and promote ideas around them.  But if someone decides to focus on anything specific it allows people so say we’re missing the big picture: eg “retrieval practice is not just about learning isolated facts”. Nobody thinks it is!

But whatabout….: What about relationships; what about my particular EAL students; what about drama; what about early years?  Do we need a global caveat? : Not all ideas apply equally to all students in all subjects in any given discussion. There are some generally useful ideas but who is claiming universality? And nobody is leaving you out by just talking about what’s relevant to them.

But that doesn’t apply to my subject. Why would it? Year 8 art; Y11 chemistry; Y3 creative writing….are poles apart. Can we not apply our filters without roadblocking the discussion with obvious false comparisons?

But it’s all driven by ideology. There are people who resist anything supported by political figures they oppose. Some even literally think promoting good instructional methods is tantamount to supporting indoctrination; people who carefully separate instruction (bad) from “education” (good). As if this isn’t its own bizarre ideology.

But you can find a study to tell you anything.. The ‘anything goes’ brigade. Research can be conflicting but not at the level where we sweep all research aside and do what we feel like.

But, I once knew a student who… Exceptions! My son didn’t need X; I knew a girl once who learned by doing Y; some do perfectly well without Z. If we’re looking for good bets to improve outcomes for the many, our counter-example exception anecdotes don’t add up to much. We need to do better. At the same time, it’s pretty weird when people refuse to accept that exceptions do exist.

But, in my experience …. Let me stop you there. Teachers aren’t researchers. Let’s share our experiences for what they are. Some insights are powerful but let’s not extrapolate too far. Your story of how well a class performed could say more about what they already knew than about anything you did. Caveats abound.

The Punk/Maverick/Liberator delusion: The tedious idea that some folk just operate on a different plane where they are the true educators outside the establishment machine.

Problematic Engagement.

Sometimes it’s not resistance that’s a problem; it’s the way ideas are promoted.

Time lag discovery: Someone comes late to the party, promoting an idea unaware that there’s been a huge discussion about it already, refining or even debunking it. (Eg 2018 event introducing people to learning styles. Eg Finland/Singapore = Utopia)

Ideological tunnel vision: there are people out there (eg Epiphany Learning) promoting student-centred learning as deep versus teacher-centred learning as shallow. Conversely others are determined that students should never work in groups or make choices.

Hero worship: Hattie said it; Sir Ken Robinson said it; Dweck said it; Willingham said it…… Even great people change their minds or refine their thinking. Their work isn’t gospel.

Vested interest. If your company or twitter handle is called Flight Paths, Visible Learning UK or Mindsets Inc, it’s going to be hard to hear opposing voices.

Surface reading. The Rosenshine graphic is laminated and on the classroom wall next to your ‘The Power of Yet’ poster. You’ve not read Rosenshine or Dweck – but reckon you’ve got the gist of it and you do most of it already anyway.

Data literal: Hattie says X has an average effect size of 0.65 and Y has 0.43. This means when I do X it will have more impact than if I do Y; in fact we should all do X instead of Y. (Yup, I’ve heard this exact case being made).

Checklist Killer. Rosenshine is ace. Here’s your readymade 10-point lesson observation checklist feeding into your annual review.

Presenting ‘did no harm’ as ‘it works for me’. Teachers do not usually undertake systematic evaluations of their strategies. We do something we like or something we’re biased in favour of; kids do well … q.e.d. “It works for me”. Truth is often that there is not nearly enough evidence to support a cause-effect claim. ‘Do what works for you’ is basically a license to live evidence free and promote all ideas regardless.

Presenting ‘it’s an engaging enrichment activity that people like doing’ as ‘its an effective general teaching method’. There all kinds of experiences that are rewarding and lead to learning – at least for some. They can be high on the ‘feel good factor’. But this doesn’t mean they are a good bet in general. They are icing on the cake; they have their place. But they are not cake. It’s folly to pitch icing vs cake. Eg, yes, in a Y5 class some kids can successfully teach themselves something by reading about it for a project activity ; most will need to be taught directly to fully understand it. Role-play might add a dimension to an area of learning – but it’s unlikely to go very far in exploring a whole curriculum.

  None of this means we just bow to the Research Gods. We should discuss, debate and evaluate. Let’s do that with some open-mindedness and some readiness to address the complexity and nuance. But let’s also remember the classrooms where basic things aren’t going so well and they need simple, effective and actionable tools. Let’s not get in the way of those ideas getting through.

  From research to the classroom:  roadblocks, resistance and blind faith. published first on https://medium.com/@KDUUniversityCollege