Just One Thing

It’s that time of year: graduation season.  I see former students moving from Middle to Upper/High School, from K-12 to college, from college to life or graduate school – many, many photos of graduation gowns and parties, comments about how much they’ll miss the people with whom they’ve made whatever journey they’ve made, and some trepidation about What’s Next.

At many of the official celebrations, there will be Recognition Time.  Honor students might have an additional cowl, or gold tassel, or some other signifier.  Departmental or athletic honors may be read out.  There may be readings or performances by those at the top of their discipline.  I’ve often thought about the process by which we on the faculty go through to determine who gets which and why.

At one school I worked at, a Quaker institution, the Testimony of Equality led to the belief that no one should be singled out for an achievement – GPA wasn’t important, for example.  I appreciated this, having attended high school during the 70s, at a time in Emma Willard’s life when teachers determined whether a class was A-F or Pass/Fail, thus making GPAs very difficult to calculate (Dance? A-F.  Economics? Pass/Fail.).  Instead of a valedictorian, we voted on one classmate to speak for us.  Friends Seminary didn’t quite do that, but the feeling was the same: we celebrate everyone’s achievement, not single out an individual.

My next school, PCS, did give out awards.  The Middle School was particularly difficult: for years, every member of the 8th grade class got an award (as there were never more than 20 in the class, it was a little easier to arrange than if there had been many, many more).  One year the only boy in the class got the “Most Easygoing” award because we just couldn’t think of anything else.  Needless to say, no one really felt a sense of accomplishment when they were given their awards.

The problem is that everyone wants to be remembered for Just One Thing.  It may be their academic record, or a particular piece of work they are really, really proud of.  It may be an athletic achievement.  Or an artistic one.  It may be that they want to be remembered for their kooky fashion sense, or their ability to always find a parking spot near the door.   Rarely are the various student-voted-on Wills/Testaments or Best Lists what people really want to be remembered by (in public school, I remember the Best Couple breaking up shortly before their Official Photo – imagine looking back at that photo at the end of the school year, much less as an adult!).  Yet we rarely give the students, or ourselves, the opportunity to celebrate their Just One Thing.

The other problem is the ephemeral nature of that One Thing.  Records may be broken.  Memories fade.  Goalposts move (my mother got 1600 on her SAT, a perfect score in the 1950s but today that number gets a “well, there’s always community college” look).  People change.  Do I really want to be remembered as my high school self? Does anyone?

Despite that, I’d love to see schools move away from GPAs and Honor Societies and Best Junior Writing Awards and more towards letting the students choose their award.  Why not list “[name] read every book in the Discworld series this year” or “[name] finally learned to play Chopsticks (as well as eat with them!”? It might surprise everyone how we see ourselves.

Snob Appeal

Many years ago, I worked at Theatre Communications Group.  For those that have never heard of it, TCG is a clearing house for the Off-Broadway theatre community (and by “Off-Broadway”, I mean St. Louis, LA, Seattle, etc.).  They also publish American Theatre magazine and ARTsearch, a job posting bulletin that led me to my first post-college job.

When I was there, the younger staff would often eat lunch together and look over the various flyers and information from member theatres – what was going on in Louisville?  would Arena Stage’s season be successful?  etc..   I enjoy theatre and have been very fortunate to see some wonderful productions over the years.  What separated me from the others was that I wasn’t a theatre snob.  What do I mean?  Back then, the sense around the lunch table was that if you didn’t think that Mabou Mines, Wooster Group, PS 122 and La Mama were the pinnacle of theatre and enjoyed seeing more commercial works, there was something wrong with you.  A few years earlier, I’d seen CATS in London (pre-Broadway opening) and, well, it was a great spectacle.  Not great theatre, mind you, but a great spectacle.  If I had children, that is exactly what I would take them to as a way to get them interested in going to theatre (today it’d probably be The Lion King).  But to my erstwhile colleagues, enjoying shows like this was somehow wrong.  If it wasn’t challenging or experimental, it wasn’t worth seeing (didn’t stop them from grabbing free tickets to previews, but that was work, not enjoyment).

Sometimes I meet people who work in libraries that are literary snobs.  I worked with one librarian who insisted that I didn’t really read because I wasn’t reading Great Works, important tomes lauded in places like the New York Times Book Review.  Reading Middle Grade or Young Adult books?  Why would I ever do that? (let’s forget that I was working in a K-12 school!)  In two schools, the fiction collection was in need of updating because the librarians didn’t read those types of books (or, I guess, look at SLJ or Booklist reviews) – so when the administration claimed “students don’t read” they were reporting truth.  Students will read books that are interesting, but they have to be on the shelves, right?

The same holds true in public libraries.  My local public library has a very – extremely – limited collection, and much of what I get is via ILL from other libraries in the system.  But what’s on the shelves there reflects the tastes of the community, and that’s what’s important.  Even better, when I pick up or drop off my books, the librarians are either aware of the books I’m reading or ask about them.

That’s what I’ve always done when I’m “on desk”: interact with the readers.  Ask about their books, if I don’t know them (one of my favorite tricks with kids who ask me if I’ve read a book I haven’t?  I’ll say “not yet – why don’t you tell me all about it when you’re done?”), or comment on it if I have already read it (“oooh – I loved [character/scene/setting] – let me know what you think!”).  My goal is to never let the reader think that what they like isn’t somehow worthy or cool.

Sadly, I see far too many who don’t do that.  They only read “important” books, books with snob appeal.  If it’s an obscure author, a work in translation, something that you would only hear about via NYBR or another like-publication, they’re all for it.  Meeting a mass-market author, reading a bestseller?  Not for them, unless they absolutely must.  I’ll admit that I take a certain amount of pride when I read a book (and even review it) before it gets an award or is chosen as an Oprah book, but that doesn’t mean I won’t read them after.  For some, that’s too popular.

Unless you’re working in a library filled with literary snobs, shouldn’t it be a job requirement that you read what your patrons read?  Perhaps not every book (who has the time?!), but enough to be able to appreciate what they’re enjoying and looking for?   Or am I somehow missing the point of being a librarian working with readers?

Thank yous

Yesterday was National Teacher Appreciation Day. Did you thank a teacher?

As the child of two former teachers (one taught young’uns how to read and write, the other taught college level physics and electronics), I’ve always been aware of teachers and their importance in our lives.   However… not every teacher has been great or even memorable.  I barely remember any teacher before sixth grade, and a handful in my last few years of public school.  I do remember almost every teacher I had in prep school and college, but memorable isn’t always the equivalent of inspiring, learned or any of those other things we want our teachers to be.  Some were memorable because they were so bad or uninspiring!

One of the things people ask of those “celebrating” Teacher Appreciation Day is to write to those teachers who did inspire… or help… or elevate you while you were in their class.  Sadly for librarians, students don’t always think of us as teachers – yet I’ve had my share of thank yous, for which I am grateful (favorite former student comment? a girl having a bad day at 15 found me on Facebook years later and apologized, also thanking me for being so fair to her that day!)

But what about those accidental teachers?  The supervisor who “teaches” you how to do your job, or to behave professionally?  The ballet teacher who made you feel graceful at a time when you were all clumsy limbs and feet?  The teaching assistant who helped you revise a paper or essay for the most difficult class you took in school?

Let’s extend the thank yous to anyone, anywhere, who reached out and taught you.  Don’t they deserve to hear those two words, too?

Don’t let me be misunderstood

I’ve been reading a book set in the future – it’s not quite a dystopia, but there was a Big Quake in LA and the government (I think) has pushed the idea of Digital School.  Our Heroine is anti-DS; actually, she’s anti-digital in general.  There’s a great scene where she and some friends are going in to the Hot! Hip! Club and it’s a digital club.  Patrons pay a cover charge to go in, sit in a chair and put on digital glasses and a Mind Reader and, well, “interact” with each other.  She misses face-to-face interactions, conversations where you can really see and hear someone without a screen or an avatar mediating the experience.

That’s been resonating with me as I “chat” with friends online, either on Twitter, GChat or e-mail.  Words we mean in a humorous vein need to be modified with a LOL or “that was my sarcasm font” or some such notifier.  Simple statements of facts become “mean-spirited” or “harsh” rather than information.  Intentions can be lost – or misunderstood.  Worse is when we “reply all” when we really mean to say something privately! I’m sure I’m not alone in getting that sinking feeling when I see certain names in my inbox (or on a DM… my caller ID…) as I try to figure out what I did to deserve this nastygram.  I’m equally sure that others see my name/number and have the same feeling.

What about when it’s not me, but the institution for whom I work/represent?  Are the e-mailed overdue notices harsh to patron’s eyes, when all I want to do is convey information?  When I started one job, I saw notices posted all over the library that were filled with “DO NOT’  phrases and other like comments (including one that informed people that ripping articles out of magazines was a punishable offense and tantamount to theft!) – one of my first acts was to tear them all down. It was strongly recommended that no rules be posted, no matter how kindly phrased.

I also wonder about management style.  I’ve worked for great bosses, who know how to deliver bad news, criticism and corrections so well that you never felt like a child being scolded.  I’ve worked for others who in person were wonderful, but their official e-mails and letters verged on the nastygram side of writing.  And I’ve worked for some who never give praise, never smile, never even thank people for the job being done, either virtually or in person, let alone acknowledge their “inferiors”.  Guess which I try to emulate.

Still, recently I’ve wondered about my virtual style.  If a conversation is face-to-face, it’s easier to correct misunderstandings.  But virtually?  Even if you take time to respond, being thoughtful and writing with care, it’s all too easy to make things worse.

Lessons Unlearned

Like so many of us, I was shocked and horrified about the events in Boston last week – Monday, I worried about friends and family who might have run in/been supporting those running the Boston Marathon, and Friday I worried about all of them simply living in Boston and environs.  Having lived through Sept. 11, with good friends (and family) who worked near the World Trade Center, I was terrified.  That day, thanks to a friend in an Alabama militia and another in the Canadian Army, I was able to keep current via AOL Instant Messenger (the school didn’t have good tv reception, and the news websites were unable to keep up with the demand on their servers).  It became part of my job that day to relay information that was as accurate as possible to the students and my colleagues, all of whom were stunned and shocked.

Flash forward to this day of Twitter, Facebook and texting and the ease of sharing information, accurate or not.  As this BBC article points out, the citizen investigators “helping” the FBI got the photo ids wrong. Very wrong. (to its credit, Reddit has apologized for its role. damage is still done, though.)

It’s gone beyond sharing faked photos after Hurricane Sandy to potentially destroying a person’s life.  The 24-hour news channels don’t help, either.  The ratio of real news and information to speculation, outside “experts” (those nowhere near the actual events) and people-on-the-street interviews is increasing, all because the moment something like this happens we Must.Drop.Everything and watch.  Obsessively.

Compare that to this clip from ABS’s coverage of the 1981 assassination attempt on President Reagan.  It’s clear that this is raw footage, with nothing really known beyond the shooting and some people being injured.  They cut into programming for nearly 10 minutes, then signed off until they knew something more:

And CNN was actually being responsible in their reporting, not wanting to spread inaccurate information.

When we have events like what happened in Boston last week, what message are we sending our students when we obsessively narrate the coverage, asking all and sundry to comment, whether or not they know anything (like the doctors serving in Congress who did a long-distance diagnosis of Terri Schiavo)?  We spend time teaching about digital literacy, showing how to evaluate resources and find quality information.  But do we also take the time to say “just because [news channel/reporter] says something, doesn’t mean you can check your skepticism at the door”?

Imagine how proud I was when one of my students tweeted the following:

Twitter / JohnDemar: Thought I saw the September …

Ok, maybe some of his classes as a journalism student at Emory also had an effect, but still, I got to him first!  My hope is that more people question what they hear during these events, when information is so fluid and our knowledge of the people supplying the information is minimal

Let’s go back to the 1980s, where there still was some sense that important events needed fact-checking and gravitas, not non-stop talking heads.   The way we’re going, lynch mobs attacking innocent people based on false/erroneous information and guesses will become a common event.

What if the customer is wrong?

Recently there was some twitter discussion about getting rid of library fines – I’m of two minds about that.  On the one hand, it’s less about the fine and more about responsibility; on the other, it doesn’t give people a warm fuzzy feeling about the library.  Just look at Twitter (search “library fines” and see what I mean).  When I tell patrons that they have a fine, there’s usually one of three responses: immediate payment, asking to delay payment, and “I never took out that book.”

It’s the last response that has me thinking.  There are times when you really can believe it, because knowing the person’s reading tastes and looking at the book title you just know that isn’t something they’d be reading.  It does lead to the question of whether they borrowed another book and the wrong one was checked out to their account, or whether another patron (perhaps with a similar name) has the book.  The only reason that matters is because having books appear to be on the shelves when they’re really checked out can disappoint other potential readers.

Finding Commons Ground

Is it an information commons or a knowledge commons or a learning commons?  That’s less a question than what one exactly is: does adding a makerspace to your library mean that you’re now a “commons”?  What about redesigning to include collaborative spaces?

The other week I attended a HVLA meeting where two librarians discussed what their schools are doing.  Sarah Couri is the new librarian at the new upper school division of Grace Church School, and Susan Harris is the librarian at Harvey School.  Sarah’s had some input into the design of the new space, and is growing the program as the division grows (right now they have only a 9th grade); Susan’s library is in a long-term (since the 70s) temporary space and her school is redesigning and rethinking the space and the program.  Both spoke about the challenges they’re facing, particularly vis-a-vis administrative insight into the idea of a [something] commons and how the technology department and library department interact.

Attention Deficit Disor – Hey! Is that a pony?

The other day I was chatting with two friends who were colleagues at a school.  This school has, over the past few years, undertaken a few really impressive initiatives, ones that really have a meaningful effect on the students there at the time, and an impact on the community around the school not to mention a potential impact on the world at large.  The sad thing is that none of those initiatives have stuck; a program would be done once, then dropped.  Both teachers expressed sorrow at this, and wondered about the newest set of initiative – would they become part of the larger world? would they last long enough to really change students, the alumni community, the outside community, etc. or would they, too, briefly blaze in the school’s life and then fizzle out?

Speaking Up

A couple of weeks ago, there was a huge uproar about a teacher’s decision to make every student in her class participate, regardless of whether they were an introvert or extrovert. SLJ has a good round-up of the various posts and thoughts. I’d been discussing this (in a way) in my class on instructional design, so I posted the link to see what others in my class thought.  This week, we’re talking about engagement and again, I’m pondering the question of how to ensure engagement across age groups and personality types.

The difference is that my class is focused on online instruction, where engagement and “speaking up” is an entirely different thing.  There’s a lot of evidence that those who don’t speak up during face-to-face classes will often be very engaged in an online situation – a time where they can really think and ponder their responses, choosing the exact words they want, ensuring that their message is not overwhelmed by the more extroverted in the class.

We need to do better

As I prepare for ALA’s Midwinter Meeting, I’ve been reading my e-mails and checking twitter links for documents and information I need to pay attention to in order to be an informed member of ALA.  Two proposals/petitions on the WeThePeople.gov site, promoted through various e-lists, have caught my attention.

One asks for a reexamination of how we are preparing people with the information literacy skills needed to succeed in today’s workforce.  A few months ago there was a huge flutter about how librarians were being left out of this conversation, and this petition doesn’t mention them at all.   In some ways, it makes sense: librarians should not be the only teachers/trainers involved with imparting information and digital literacy skills.  Just as it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to ensure that skills actually mean something and translate from the library to the classroom to the workplace. And can a reexamination of how we’re doing this be a bad thing?  The problem is more that this is too vague a request, filled with jargon.

The other petition is in many ways a rehash of Carl Harvey’s petition, this time asking for a mandate ensure every school has a librarian.  Carl’s petition got a very bland response, with the usual “oh, we love libraries and agree they’re important and we’re pushing to pass ESEA reforms” but nothing that said concretely that action would be taken. I don’t expect that the new petition will have any effect either – merely getting a response does not equal action on the part of the White House or the Department of Education.