Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

At The King's English Bookshop, one of my favorite spots in the world. 

I've spent just about every free moment of the past five months writing, writing, writing, so my husband put his foot down and insisted that we get out of Dodge before school starts up next week. I waved my hand in the air and said, "whatever," so here we are, in Utah, visiting my husband's family. We used to live here, so our visits are a wonderful blur of social visits and meals with Tim's parents. I really do love SLC, but these days, I find it really hard to concentrate on anything other than my November first deadline and all of the details that have to get checked off before I can hit "send" on my manuscript. Tim is a thoughtful guy, so he carved out some time for me to write amidst our busy social schedule, and my equally thoughtful parents-in-law scheduled a massage for me. I however, was not thoughtful at all, for my suitcase was packed with a few pieces of clothing and a lot of books, research files, and Post-it flags.

As we landed, and I turned on my phone, I found one more way to ruin my husband's carefully laid vacation plans. I had the opportunity to chat with two of the more smart and talented people I know, radio host Celeste Headlee and cognitive psychologist Scott Barry Kaufman (author of Ungifted: Intelligence Redefined). Celeste wanted to talk about my Atlantic piece "The Perils of Giving Kids IQ Tests" and Scott's research in neuroscience and education during her week guest hosting NPR's Tell Me More. The lovely people at KUER in Salt Lake City were willing to play host for my end of the segment, so really, how could I refuse?

To their credit, Tim, my boys, and my in-laws have been tolerant of my intermittent attention to the world around me, mostly because my mother-in-law is a writer herself, and Tim was hard at work on his own piece for the Atlantic on "The Strange Phenomenon of Pentecostals Who Deny HIV Treatment." The boys were the lucky recipients of their grandparents' largesse where bookstores are concerned, and could have cared less what we were up to as long as we left them alone to read. Ben devoured the entire John Green oeuvre and Finnegan burned through a couple of books in Michael Scott's Alchemyst series. 

Our version of a vacation might not look quiet like your version of a vacation, but this week has been pretty near perfect for this family of readers and writers. I hope these last weeks of summer are the same for you. 

If you would like to hear how things went on NPR, click here. 

Out of the Red

I can be very, very stubborn. I am sure my parents, husband, sister, sons, friends, in-laws...pretty much anyone who knows me well can attest to this. When something or someone I love is criticized, my first instinct is to suit up for battle, stare the enemy down until he or she bends to my will while I bash them into submission with my keyboard. 

So when my beloved red ink, the ink of choice for teachers everywhere, was implicated as a weapon of teacher cruelty and cause of students' suffering, I dug in my heels. 

So much so that when one of my former students was given her first full-time post as a teacher this year, I searched and searched for the perfect fountain pen, and then, to complete the gift, provided a couple of bottles of lovely red ink. 

She sent a lovely thank you note - in red ink, of course - because she has to use all of that ink somewhere. It won't, she reported, be used at school, because teachers at her new school are not allowed to correct student work in red ink. 

I had no idea. Despite my love of researching and reading all things educational, I'd somehow managed to miss this entire controversy.

I looked around, and asked some teacher tweeps and Facebook friends about the situation, and yes, it's a thing. Apparently, the red ink controversy rears its head every decade or so. 

My first reaction was to mock the entire “controversy.” I know, I know -hello haters, I see your ire rising - but many of the early comments I got back from teachers and psychologists egged me on. 

From a middle school teacher: "Gosh, heaven forbid we express any sort of disapproval!!"

From an adolescent psychologist: "That is nuts. How much should we coddle kids?"

From a writer and teacher: "Why.... because it hurts kids' feeeeeelings? Pardon me while I barf."

From an education writer: “Oh. God. No. I remember sitting through a PD about this and how dispiriting it supposedly was for students to get papers back marked up with red ink. We read a piece about a group of teachers receiving training in this, which concluded with the newly enlightened and chastened teachers dropping their red pens in the trash as they marched out the door. Gag me.”

From a professor: “… boy can I tell which students have never seen red ink before. They also happen to be the same ones who have a nervous breakdown or have their parents call me when they get anything less than an A. One of them actually told me, ‘I don't like it that you give edits in red ink. It makes me feel like I'm not perfect.’"

And again, from that same professor: "Two years ago, one of my students told me he preferred red-ink edits. He said it made him pay attention, and it made him see those edits as corrections and learning moments rather than just notes that he might've perceived as optional or not important."

As you can see, the overwhelming reaction to the complaints about red ink was a strangled, gagging sound.

But then, a teaching miracle occurred. One of my former students offered up evidence. Actual, real, live evidence. This is sheer heaven for for me, particularly because this former student has become a teacher himself. It turns out that NPR, among other news outfits, covered the red ink controversy a while back. Guy Raz interviewed Abraham Rutchcick on All Things Considered about an article Rutchick published on the subject in the European Journal of Social Psychology.

I listened to the NPR piece, then located the original article. According to Rutchick’s article, "The Pen is Mightier Than the Word: Object Priming of Evaluative Standards:"

Because red pens are closely associated with error-marking and poor performance, the use of red pens when correcting student work can activate these concepts. People using red pens to complete a word-stem task completed more words related to errors and poor performance than did people using black pens (Study 1), suggesting relatively greater accessibility of these concepts. Moreover, people using red pens to correct essays marked more errors (Study 2) and awarded lower grades (Study 3) than people using blue pens. Thus, despite teachers' efforts to free themselves from extraneous influences when grading, the very act of picking up a red pen can bias their evaluations.

I was torn. I love my red ink. I have a large bottle of it at school, all sorts of red pens in felt-tip, rollerball, ball-point, and some fancy artists' felt tips I bought for a small fortune in an art supply store in Paris a couple of years ago. I save those for extra-special editing. 

I can’t imagine parting with my lovely collection just because a few students might be a little irked by the color. Besides, I have this lovely letter from a former student, decorated with comments I'd written on her papers over the year I taught her, and it just makes me so happy when I look at it. She saved those papers, valued those comments, and used them to become a better writer. How bad could red ink really be?

To seal the deal, I offer up the concluding questions from the NPR interview: 

RAZ: Professor Rutchick, you are a psychology professor at Cal State Northridge, right?

Prof. RUTCHICK: I am.

RAZ: And when you grade papers, what color pen do you use?

Prof. RUTCHICK: I use a red pen, actually. It's - I have to override somehow my urge to be nice and kind.

See! Even the author of the study that reveals the catastrophic psychic harm red ink can do to students is keeping his red pens!

Just when I was determined to hold on to that red pen until someone pried it out of my cold, dead, fingers, a discussion heated up on my Facebook page:

From an editor at a major publishing house: "As an editor I was always taught to use pencil, not pen, because authors might balk at the permanence of pen (as if the edits were a mandate and not a suggestion). Now I use Track Changes! I do know of one editor who objected to using red (pen or pencil) for its even more dictatorial connotations--he didn't want an author flashing back to some horrible childhood experience. Also, I remember a teacher once writing "awkward" in the margin of a junior high writing assignment, and it took me years to get over!"

And from my always-logical mother-in-law, Kate, a writer and former law professor: "I had no trouble requesting "accommodations" from my students, but only when it made sense. Pissing people off over the color of ink I used just didn't seem worth it, either personally or pedagogically. [...] The red-ink phobia wasn't my imagination; I regularly heard students complain about teachers who 'bled all over their papers.' I'd rather have a student focus on the content of my comments than on the color of my ink."

There it was: “I'd rather have a student focus on the content of my comments than on the color of my ink.”

I may be stubborn, but I am also a sucker for a reasoned, evidence-based argument. And, as I have been engaged in my own "Classroom Happiness Project" thanks to Gretchen Rubin's book The Happiness Project and Happiness at Home, I had to recognize the possibility that I might be making my own students uncomfortable rather than sacrifice my precious red ink. Gretchen writes about how important it is to "acknowledge the reality of people's feelings" in The Happiness Project, so I am. 

This year, I will be correcting my students’ papers in...drumroll...forest green. It’s my favorite color, and if there’s any possibility that my comments will be more readily heard in green rather than red, I’m willing to retire the red ink.

So if anyone out there needs to dye some clothes or whip up a batch of fake blood for Halloween, I happen to know where you can get about a half-gallon of quality red ink, cheap.

P.S. My students asked me to return to red. Or at least some of them did. I switch it up - I have orange, green, turquoise - the new Sharpie pens are lovely - but my sentimental favorite is still red.  

Twitterpated

Finn, Twitterpated

Yesterday was a great day. Besides the obvious electoral happiness, I had the opportunity to quote Henry VI on Facebook before I went to bed, and that does not happen very often. I mean, I'm a dork, but I restrain myself for the appearance of normality. 

"Why ring not out the bells aloud throughout the town? Dauphin, command the citizens make bonfires And feast and banquet in the open streets To celebrate the joy that God hath given us."

I'm not a church-going sort of gal, but the sentiment felt right.

This morning, I woke up in a particularly exuberant mood and quoted John Adams on Facebook (shut up, that's what exuberant dorky people do on the morning after a great event), hoping someone would understand my happiness and relief.

"Wherever a general knowledge and sensibility have prevailed among the people, arbitrary government and every kind of oppression have lessened and disappeared in proportion."

This quote is from Adams' essays protesting the Stamp Act, and, yes, I am happy to report that two people recognized it.

Let me back up. While the general election was going on, a bunch of civic-minded 8th grade students took ownership of the electoral process, and spent hours to build a very elaborate polling booth with curtain, lockbox, and Latin phrases (e pluribus unum) painted on the outside. They convinced the every student of average courage to vote. They even dragged the lower school in when they had the opportunity, and I heard from my son Finnegan (9) that (and I quote), I GOT TO VOTE!!! He was rather twitterpated about the gravity of the event and delighted that he'd been asked for his opinion on electoral matters. See above picture for an approximation of his happiness. That's how I felt when I rushed out between classes yesterday to vote at Lyme Elementary School. Twitterpated and delighted to have been asked. 

On top of all that good stuff, I got to spent last evening tweeting the election for Edutopia and the New YorkTimes' Learning Network at #EduElection. I am fortunate enough to write for The New York Times' Learning Network so I had an entree into the occasion, but I greatly admire the two writers from Edutopia who had the wherewithall to organize the Twitter hashtag for students on election night. Sarah Mulhern Gross and JonathanOlsen deserve some serious kudos. 

I was all about #EduElection last night for almost five hours...except the moments when I got confused and tweeted to the nonexistent hashtag #EduEducation. I actually got to tweet some [insanely ineloquent and inane] answers to wonderful student questions like this:

(brace yourself, I warned you, I use the word poll three times in 140 characters)

And, I'm not proud to say, this:

But finally, when the news came in that the election was being called for Obama, I called it a night on Twitter, peeled my flattened and sore butt off of our kitchen couch, and went to check on my boys. 

No, I did not resist the urge to wake and inform them of the election results despite the [very] late hour. Benjamin (14) remembers my intrusion around 11:30. He says, "I remember because I was upset that you woke me up" but Finnegan does not. He was snuggling with Rotta the Huttlet (Jabba's son; long story, he looks a like a booger in the guise of a plush toy) and rolled over when I whispered the election results in his ear. 

I don't care so much if he remembers the precise moment of Obama's victory; just that he understands the historial significance of my nocturnal annoyance. I gently whispered in his ear that Obama had won a second term, and, of equal importance, in his home state of New Hampshire, women won all. He rolled over and went back to sleep, but I know he understood. His waking hours are full of strong women who will never forget to remind him to celebrate the joy that God hath given us. 

Spoiler Alert

One of the fun parts about having a middle school student under our roof (and some would argue that there aren't a heck of a lot of fun parts) is that all of a sudden, I can share some of the more mature aspects of adult culture and entertainment with my son. We listen to NPR in the car, and he actually requests certain programs. We watch The Daily Show together over pancakes, and he laughs out loud. I get to pimp him out to the New York Times, and he plays along. He helps me with my Algebra homework.

All those times I turned to Tim and said, "You know, when Ben gets older, he'd love this..." Well, he's older, and it's time.

Ben has always loved reading, so we fell all over ourselves to fill Ben's bookshelves with all of our favorites. A Prayer for Owen Meany? Loved it. Catch-22? Ditto. A Walk in the Woods? Yep. We love to talk about them all over dinner. And now that his tastebuds have matured, that dinner table is laden as often as possible with magical adult fare such as the hot-cooling juju of Szechuan Gourmet (on 21 W 39th St, between 5th and 6th, you must try the dumplings in sweet chili soy, dan dan noodles, braised whole bass in chili soy, and spicy cucumber salad...but I digress).

Recently, his interests turned to film, and we were intrigued.

But whose list to check off? AFI? Rotten Tomatoes? Oscars? In the end, we've compiled our own, and it's been a blast. We started with Godfather I (two enthusiastic thumbs up) and off we went.

Tonight, however, our entertainment loves have collided in a way I would have never predicted. Ben loves a good twist ending, so I queued up The Sixth Sense for tonight as Tim is away at a conference. I put Finnegan to bed, so it was just the two of us (and the snoring dog) for movie night. I pulled the Netflix envelope out with a flourish and a "Ta-DAH!" and...nothing. Blank stare.

Ben scowled.

"But I know how that ends, remember? They gave away the ending on Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me."

No...they'd wouldn't. My close personal friend Peter Sagal would never...okay, fine. I've never met the man, but I read his columns in Runner's World, I adored The Book of Vice, I listen to Wait, Wait podcast faithfully every week while I weed the garden or stack wood, and when we drive anywhere, the last thing Ben asks as we leave the house is, "Do we have all the new Wait Wait...Don't Tell Me on the iPod?"

So I defended. I went to bat. My running and radio friend Peter Sagal? He'd never.

"No, Ben, they'd never do that. I mean, I remember when the film came out, everyone kept the secret. Really? No, they wouldn't have."

"No, they did. Remember? They were talking about how badly NBC messed up during the Olympics and gave away all the spoilers about who won the events, and they said it was like at the end of the movie Sixth Sense, when...[...]"

Nope. I can't do it. I won't quote it here, I won't even link to the podcast's URL, and if you have been reading me for any time at all, you know I love a good hyperlink. Sorry. It's just that sort of negligence that ruined movie night with my son. Heck, I spent an entire afternoon gluing together two specific pages of my student's copies of Great Expectations when I realized that the introduction's list of characters gives away important plot points. Don't mess with me when it comes to spoilers.

So here we are. I loved you once, Peter Sagal and the crew of Wait Wait, but boo. Booo to you and your spoilers. A new generation is listening, and take my word for it:  The adolescents, they will rise up and punish you.

I'm a middle school teacher. I know.