I Came to Live Out Loud

I caught a lot of heat a while back for an article I wrote for the Atlantic positing that introverted kids need to learn to speak up in school. As is often the case, I learned a lot from the criticism swirling around my article, particularly from the rebuttal article in the Atlantic by Susan Cain and another rebuttal in the Washington Post by Katherine Schultz, not the least of which is the distinction between "introverted" and "shy." As usual, the serious scholars/journalists on the topic of introverted and shy children - Ms. Cain and Ms. Schultz - were my most articulate critics and my most ardent defenders. As scholars and writers, they understood my points regarding the value of public debate, ongoing discussion, and continued scholarship on the subject of education as it applies to disparate personality types.

This time of year, I am aware that I push my students out of their comfort zone. It is graduation season, and every Crossroads Academy 8th grader must deliver a short speech at the graduation ceremony on something they have learned during their education. For some, it's what they have been looking forward to for years. For others, it's hell. The deepest, darkest, most horrific ninth circle of Dante's hell, the worst possible sentence, handed down by the mean ol' Mrs. Lahey.

But here's what all of those critics of my methods did not know when they wrote of my supposed anti-introvert power trip: I teach my students for three years in a row, three years in which they learn to trust me, to know I would never humiliate them, to know I would never allow them to make fools of themselves, never leave them to flap in the wind.

Today, after three weeks of writing and practice on graduations speeches, I took all of my 8th grade students down to the bridge over Hewes Brook, a lovely, loud spot on the edge of our campus, so they could practice their speeches over the roar of the water and the whine of the wind. A few of my students were so nervous, they trembled.

I drew a line in the dirt along the path toward the bridge. Their classmates had to stand behind the line in the dirt. Far enough away that the speaker would have to project above the sound of the water and the wind in order to be heard. I instructed their classmates, safe behind the line in the dirt, to raise their hands if they could not hear or understand the speaker.

Every year, some the kids freak out with worry. And every year, they get over it and their graduation speeches are better for it. They learn to project. To articulate. To enunciate.

In about a month, they will stand before their schoolmates, teachers, parents, and extended families to deliver their graduation speeches. I could allow them to cringe and worry and fret, but instead, I do what I can do help them work through that worry, battle that anxiety, and become the public speakers I know they can be.

I've watched Susan Cain - representative of introverts everywhere - speak to huge audiences, over the static of her introversion, and she kicks ass.

I know my students - introvert, extrovert, brave, shy - can do the same, and I do everything I can to help them reach that goal.

Learn, Good Soul

This has been a difficult and amazing couple of weeks. I went from a small audience of teachers, parents, and writers to a larger audience of the same, and while I'm happy about most of the thoughtful rebuttals I've received, some have cut deep. The pieces I compose late at night, after my kids are asleep, are precious to me. But I asked for it, and I have received. I dreamed of a dual career as teacher and writer, and here it is, spread out before me. 

That said, I was not prepared for the HUGE number of responses to the article I posted last week at The Atlantic that are based on either a topical reading of the title, or a surface reading of paragraphs one, four, or eight, and nothing in between. While I generally appreciate any responses to my midnight scribblings, many have been downright mean. Not thoughtful, not intelligent, just mean. Conversely, and interestingly, the most thoughtful rebuttals I've received this week are from the very smart authors who penned responses to my article in The Atlantic. Susan Cain and Katherine Schultz are class acts. Seriously. Amazing women and thinkers. Women who reach out rather than strike out. Writers who understand the difference between clear-eyed response and blind retaliation. Writers who understand that words have weight, no matter how many of them float out there, unedited and misdirected, in the ether of the internet. 

I love thoughtful argument; I even teach it. The Roman's word for 'argument' does not derive from anger or dissent, it signifies persuasion and open debate. That, I respect. That's the definition of argument I teach my students. Extroverts and introverts alike. 

I truly believe in my position regarding class participation and teaching self-advocacy, and Susan Cain and Katherine Schultz truly believe in theirs. And yet - shocker - they are open to discussion where so many of their devotees are not. So many want to hurl insults while the women who lead the charge of the introverts/shy/social anxiety audience are the most open to dialogue. 

I am a teacher. I love what I do, and when I write, it is to open dialogue. I write to learn. I write to become a better teacher. I've read every comment to every post I've ever published, and I take most of them to heart. Some - the mean ones - I try to brush off, but even that is hard. A few of my nearest and dearest know I've shed tears over the most vitriolic comments and blog posts, and I've even lost sleep over the ones that have accused me of not respecting and my students with everything I am.

I've had great writing mentors who have instructed me not to read comments at all, to have someone I trust read and give percentages regarding positive and negative opinions, but as a teacher, I feel obligated to learn from what I write. I tell my students to be open to criticism, and therefore, I model the same. 

This week, I have a new article coming that will open new discussions, because that's why I do what I do. I write about the art of teaching and what makes for a good teacher. I have my dream job, and frankly, it would be much easier for me to keep my mouth shut and teach.

But if we are going to improve what we do, if we are going to become better educators, we need to talk publicly about our practices and find ways to learn from others.

And that's why I do what I do. So take your best shot. I'm here, and I'm listening.