His point is that the explosion of social networking and technology has led to a generation obsessed with their social lives and ignoring intellectual pursuits.

Bauerlein, with his new book, The Dumbest Generation, kicks off a debate and interesting discussion here.  Be sure to scroll down to the comment section.

“. . . shoulda’ been my name

‘Cause you can look right through me,

Walk right by me,

And never know I’m there . . .”

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask me a question. Inside I’m thinking, ‘Can’t you see I’m on the phone?’ Obviously, not.

No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I’m invisible. The invisible Mom. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, ‘What time is it?’ I’m a satellite guide to answer, ‘What number is the Disney Channel?’ I’m a car to order, ‘Right around 5:30, please.’

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated sum a cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She’s going; she’s going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England… Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, ‘I brought you this.’

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: ‘To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.’

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, ‘Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.’ And the workman replied, ‘Because God sees.’

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, ‘I see you. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.’

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, ‘My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.’ That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, ‘you’re gonna love it there.’

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right.

And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Great Job, MOM! Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know…*I just did.*

Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough as it sometimes does. We never know what our finished products will turn out to be because of our perseverance.

Of course this raises all kinds of concerns.  But I like it.  Not so much because of the reward (I actually very much dislike the extrinsic reward–can you say bribe?).  Talk about throwing money at a problem.

But maybe this program will get people talking about the real challenges related to motivating students.

The discussion centers around these five premises:

1. The definition of success is elusive.
2. How do you measure the validity of grades?
3. Most middle schools and high schools put so much emphasis on homework versus actual understanding that they are measuring behavior and compliance far more than what has been learned.
4. Creativity and creative people tend to mess up metrics at each level.
5. Any research I could find was done at some university which tended to bias results using university metrics of success.

Its a good discussion with some smart participants. Some of it makes me bristle a bit, but I guess that’s healthy. I particularly enjoyed this quote:

If you look at those who have commonly advanced our thinking, our abilities, our technologies, and our economy (through business sense), many did poorly in schools, yet they persisted. The persistence may have been the critical element, and it would have perhaps been lost had they been encouraged more.

So does this mean we need more of those mediocre middle school and high school teachers acting as the forge to both create the worker bees we need, as well as the best [and most successful] by trying to destroy them?

The brains of adults and 12- and 13-year-olds are more strongly activated by negative feedback, but the brains of eight- and nine-year-olds barely registered it and instead were triggered much more strongly by positive feedback.

Scientists conducting the study were surprised at the results.  “We had expected that the brains of eight-year-olds would function in exactly the same way as the brains of twelve-year-olds, but maybe not quite so well.  Children learn the whole time, so this new knowledge can have major consequences for people wanting to teach children: how can you best relay instructions to eight- and twelve-year-olds?”

And now it’s happened again? What’s the deal with some teachers and tape? You know, there are other, less potentially emotionally enraging and media exciting, ways to control a classroom.

Being creative requires using different lenses and breaking through static or ingrained thought patterns. On a number of different levels, this video exemplifies how to turn obstacles into opportunities. It’s about a 7 minute video, and a little slow (with intro material) in the beginning, but hang in there and prepare to be wowed.

MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

Wienies are extra.

Wienies are what you give the audience after they think they’re already satisfied.

Wienies are what you add when what you have is good - but not good enough.

No boss will demand that you add a wienie. In fact, your boss would prefer that you don’t waste your time with wienies.

A wienie is something you add for the sheer joy of it–not for any extrinsic reward or result or expectation. A wienie is what takes a project from good to great–a lesson or unit from beneficial to memorable.

This story coming out of South Carolina reminded me of that–and reinforced my own reasons for not doing field trips like this either.

Every spring we take our 8th graders on a two day field trip to Madison, our state capital. It’s about a 5-hour bus ride from here so we book rooms and get volunteer parents to help chaperon. It’s a good experience. The kids have fun touring the capital, visiting some shops on State Street, and strolling through museums. These are educational experiences we can not duplicate in St. Croix Falls.

I am an 8th grade teacher. These are my students. But I never go with them.

I always feel a little pang of guilt when this roles around every year. I don’t have to go–so I don’t. In the past, I had a second job I just didn’t feel right about leaving during that time. I also have a family and responsibilities to attend to on that front.

But those aren’t the real reasons I don’t go.

From my perspective, this is strictly a control and exposure issue. And the risks are not worth the reward. Middle schoolers are hard enough to control in the classroom. Now put them in a bunch of hotel rooms with a little piece of tape on the door and try to get a little sleep yourself? Fuggetaboutit. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about 13-15 year-olds it’s this:

Stuff happens–and fast. I mean lightning fast.

I don’t care how good you are. I don’t care how prudent you are.

I’ll give you a quick example:

Earlier this spring I took our 8th graders to a National Park headquarters for a short presentation on the National St. Croix Riverway. It’s right downtown, so I was actually able to take 4 smallish (20-25 students) groups one at a time. There was a brief film to watch in an auditorium, a brief talk by a park ranger, and some time to browse a through a few interactive museum exhibits.

One of these exhibits was a clear cylinder filled with about 5 gallons of water and stuff that naturally falls into the river like grass, leaves, etc . . . This cylinder was on a pivot so you could turn it around and see this sort of tea like mixture float and sink to the bottom. The idea is that this stuff naturally decays and gives the water a unique blend of pigments and nutrients.

Anyway, I’m milling around talking to students when I notice it’s about time to wrap up and hop back on the bus. So I make an announcement to head back into the auditorium for a little wrap-up by the ranger when I turn and see one of my students spinning this cylinder like a toy on a playground. He wanted to see how fast he could get it spinning.

I didn’t even have enough time to shout his name before the top of the cylinder pops off spilling water and rotting vegetation all over the floor and himself. What a mess. I wanted to rip the kid’s head off. I was incredibly angry. I was incredibly embarrassed–and for the record, so was the kid.

Here’s what you need to know about this particular example and, really, almost anything dealing with this age group. This kid is not your straight A-model-student. This guy’s more like a B-type-of-easily-distracted-boy. Make no mistake, he’s no angel. But neither is he the type of kid that’s always getting in trouble–or even on your nerves. He’s just kind of average. Normal. He didn’t mean to make that mess. I made sure he apologized to the park rangers both in person when it happened and in a letter of apology (I mean what a great opportunity for a writing assignment, right?), and he did both without hesitation. And I believe he did both sincerely.

And then later in the day, he sought me out and apologized to me.

You should have seen his face when he turned around at that museum. He was completely soaked and stunk immediately of river rot. Sure I was livid. But nobody was more surprised, embarrassed or remorseful than this kid. And it happened about 1 second faster than I needed to prevent it. He just lost his mind. A momentary laps of reason. And he paid for it.

I was thankful that the authorities at the park were so understanding. Which brings me back to why I don’t do overnight field trips.

Check out this mom’s response (from the story linked to above) upon learning her 14-year-old had been suspended from school for having sex on a field trip:

. . . The 14-year-old says she and six of her classmates have been suspended for the remainder of the school year.

“That’s why I’m upset. My child gets punished for an action she made, but what actions are they taking against the chaperone?” the mom told WIS News 10.

According to the mom, the chaperones were in another room when the girls snuck out of their room.

I’m sorry, ” . . .what kind of actions are they taking against the chaperone?” Are you kidding me?

Now (according to this logic) your kid screws up (oops a pun) and the chaperone should get punished? I’m not even going to address the fact that many of these chaperones are volunteering their time to supervise your kid. How about taking a little responsibility.

This kind of attitude burns me up. But it’s reality. And I know it. Therefor I use my own brand of logic to deduce that, as a professional, if I’m going to be held responsible for things ultimately out of my control, the risks are too great. Bad things happen with this age group–and they happen way too fast.

Yeah, my students wonder why I don’t go to Madison with them, but when I read (or watch) stories like this (this time in video format), I’m pretty sure I’m making the right decision here.

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