Archive for the ‘Reflection’ Category
#52) The Illusion of Multi-Tasking
One day, I had a couple of hours of one on one time with my then two year-old daughter. My intentions were to maximize that time as quality daddy-daughter time. Ironically, while my intentions were to play with my daughter, I found myself texting friends by phone and occasionally glancing at updates on Sportscenter. Our quality daddy-daughter time was diminished due to my inability to be fully engaged with my daughter. While being drawn to Sportscenter, I did not notice her walk towards me until I felt her little hands on my face. My two-year old was doing what I failed to do myself, fully placing my attention upon her. A two-year old had to remind me of what I should have known all along – that this was our time and that I needed to be fully attentive to her.
In his book, Coming to Our Senses, Jon Kabat-Zinn refers to the illusion of multi-tasking as the infidelity of inattention. How can we actually experience the beauty, the lessons, and the opportunities provided by one thing when we are only partially paying attention to several things? How can I truly say I spent time with my daughter? If I quantified or made a pie chart of that time span – some time texting, some time television watching, some time transferring my attention from one item to the next, and some time playing the game with my two-year old – how much time did I actually spend with her?
I once believed there was value in multi-tasking. I believed I could simultaneously work on reports and have conversations with people in my office. I believed that could spend time with my children even if I brought them to my work place. I erroneously placed value on driving, talking on one phone, and texting with another phone. In those instances and more, I was wrong.
The individual tasks were not wrong. The error was attempting multiple tasks at once. Just because my children accompanied me as I supervised the youth ministry does not mean I spent time with them. Just because I called my mother during my daily commute while texting my co-workers, does not mean I was fully engaged in our conversation or that my texts were coherent. I mistakenly assumed that busy equaled productive. I had actively embraced the illusion of multi-tasking.
Thankfully, nothing tragic had to happen for me to begin to recognize the illusion. In fact, the understanding came during a lunch conversation with a friend. She wanted to know about my company and my book. She is a self-professed career woman who feels woefully inadequate when not accompanied by her Blackberry. We exchanged initial pleasantries while being seated and she placed her Blackberry on the table. While I was talking, she held up one finger for me to pause and she answered her phone. She apologized and told me to resume because she really wanted to hear how things were going. As I began to explain how things were going, the finger came back and she responded to a text. A little bothered and speaking with greater reservation, I eventually started talking about the process of writing my book. My reservation stemmed from not wanting to be interrupted; however, after resuming our talk, she received an email and I got that finger again. Needless to say that while we were both physically present, we were unable to share much.
While I had heard of the concept, the illusion of multi-tasking began to be more apparent to me after that day. I learned the difference between being fully present and sharing distracted attention. I learned that despite the multiple avenues for people to stay connected, many of us are less “connected” than we recognize. When we engage in multiple tasks at once, we actually do a disservice to each of those tasks. In essence, by attempting so much, we accomplish so little.
#50) A Dream Deferred
One of the beautiful things about poetry is that meaning and interpretation is left to the reader. I doubt that Langston Hughes had Detroit in mind when composing “A Dream Deferred”, but his words provoke profound feelings about my hometown:
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over–
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
The deferred dream of which I question is the unfulfilled leadership of Kwame Kilpatrick. I am not a Kilpatrick supporter, nor am I a Kilpatrick detractor. I also choose not to heap additional negativity atop of the challenges he is facing. However, the deferred dream of which I mourn directly stems from the void created and the momentum lost due to his choices.
Another entity that represents Detroit provides an example of a void created by poor choices – the Detroit Pistons. A few years back, the Detroit Pistons were perennial participants in the NBA Eastern conference finals. Their team was a cohesive, doggedly determined unit that featured no super-stars but highlighted the efforts of talented players working together to make a super team. While they were on top, they held the second pick of the 2003 NBA draft. The performance of their team permitted a window of development for whomever the team selected with that pick. The 2003 NBA draft was well-stocked with future all-stars and potential hall of famers. With their selection Darko Milicic as the tipping point, the Pistons began their downward descent into missing the playoffs and unentertaining basketball. Had they made another choice, the franchise would still be competitive and they would have remained playoff contenders. The underperformance of that choice or as an investor would say, the lack of return from that choice, has propelled the franchise in a downward spiral of which they have yet to recover.
How does professional basketball relate to the potential of a politician?
Darko Milicic
Kwame Kilpatrick
Just as the flameout of Darko created a void for the Pistons, the crash and burn of Kilpatrick’s mayorship has created a void for Detroit.
Indeed there are people working hard to curtail the damage, plug the gushing hole, and keep the mighty ship from sinking. I salute and commend their efforts, because without them Detroit would already be fully capsized and sunken. But we cannot ignore the lost momentum and collateral damage that stem from Kilpatrick’s choices. How many potential leaders would have been developed under his watch? Now their potential has been either thwarted or aborted. What would Detroit’s national position be with an accomplished Democratic mayor working with a benevolent Democratic president? Could jobs have be saved or new ones created? Would the city’s budget be closer to the black rather than wallowing in the red? Maybe the city’s culture would have been nursed from an industrial mindset into the technological age? Could? Would? Maybe? Damn.
The facts remain the Detroit faces some possibly indomitable obstacles: high unemployment, a dysfunctional school system, too much debt, too little revenue, and much, much more. But the hope, the ambitions, and the trust of the city were attached to a dynamic young man who like Darko, wowed the scouts with pre-draft workouts (2001 mayoral campaign), dominated in another less-demanding league (Michigan House of Representatives), and merited all the aspirations and confidence that prompted their selection; just like Darko, the choices of Kilpatrick will haunt the city for years to come. But hopefully the dream of Detroit’s revival will not fester like a sore, stink like rotten meat, or sag a heavy load. I pray that the dream of Detroit’s renaissance will not be deferred for much longer, because if it is, Detroit may just explode.
#47) Coming Together about Real Issues
The anticipation of the NBA Finals has me more excited than a child on the last day of school. The Celtics vs. the Lakers (of which I am picking the Celtics in seven) is perhaps the most ideal match-up of the post-season, a post-season some are seeking to fast-forward in anticipation of the pending free agent signing period. Although I believe Coach Phil Jackson to be the most important free-agent-to-be, most NBA fans are anxious about the destinations of LeBron James, Dwayne Wade and others.
Apparently, the free-agents-to-be have convened a meeting of sorts. Allegedly, they have come together to share ideas, explore possibilities, and possibly formulate strategies for their future employment.
It isn’t a crime to ponder strategies that result in the best compensation for one’s work. What earnest hard-working person hasn’t? However, this “summit” reflects a remarkable chasm away from the solidarity displayed at a previous summit of Black sports stars.
Bill Russell, Muhammad Ali, Jim Brown, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and others
Amazing how the tributes and accolades flow about the Muhammad Ali we see today. Today’s Muhammad Ali is not the lightening rod of controversy as was the Muhammad Ali of the 1960s. His allegiance with Islam, his discarding of Olympic gold, and moreover, his refusal to comply with draft guidelines rendered him a pariah to many, a villain to many more, and a hero to others. Given his position of celebrity, his defiance could not be overlooked. His morally grounded, religion-supported position garnered an intense, publicly scrutinizing spotlight. Under such perusal, he could have found himself alone. But he didn’t and he wasn’t.
The summit of sports stars that means the most to me is the show of supportive solidarity exhibited by Jim Brown, Bill Russell, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Cleveland Mayor Carl Stokes, Walter Beach, Bobby Mitchell, Sid Williams, Curtis McClinton, Willie Davis, Jim Shorter, and John Wooten. If only today’s significantly more exposed, tremendously more affluent, Black professional athletes took such a substantive position, wow! The possibilities would be amazing. Would it end poverty? No. Would it deter crime? Hmmmmm. Would it plug the oil spill and end war in the Middle East? No and no, again. So what purpose would it serve?
Potentially many.
But here are a few.
The decades that have passed since the civil rights movement have witnessed the rise and now on-going dissolution of the Black Middle Class. The socioeconomic diversity within African-American culture is expansive and renders a plethora of varying everyday realities for individuals of the same race. Yet, amid our assorted life challenges – racism exists. Even more profoundly ugly than racism, economic classism exists.
The prospect of a collection of African-American millionaires coming together to support a cause, to draw attention to an issue, or even idealistically to invest their energies in a far-reaching, uplifting purpose … the prospect of such a dream … well, the thought is beautiful.
The free-agents-to-be are entitled to invest their resources in whichever way they choose. Under no circumstance would I endorse otherwise. Just as they are entitled to their choices, I am entitled to mine. My ambitious dream of choice is a collection of socially conscious, well-intended, community-grounded brothers and sisters coming together to compose and implement strategies that support and benefit others. Perhaps a strategy could be funding ventures that make higher education obtainable for the marginalized. Another strategy could be using some of their collective resources to jump-start minority businesses. Publicly displaying brotherhood (off the court that is) that counters the self-hatred that is the core of Black on Black crime is another possible strategy. Perhaps even developing an investment arm that ensures that athlete millionaires of yesterday will not become the financially destitute of tomorrow would fit my ambitious dream.
The potential and possibilities are endless! Although there is some value of brothers coming together, I’d like to think the value would be dramatically multiplied if Jim Brown, Bill Russell, or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar were invited. Yeah, that’s a dream all right … a dream that Dr. King could envy.
#46) Unceasing Value
I talk with my mother by phone, roughly once a week. We share a few laughs, exchange updates, and most certainly she imparts some motherly wisdom that is always as timely as it is valuable. It’s different listening to mom nowadays. Within one conversation, we can move from friendly adult banter, to mother-to-son encouragement, to son-to-mother technological tips, and much more. Although there are times when I feel I’m just too busy, I erroneously assume to see, to hear, to hug, and to talk with her again.
Seriously, who doesn’t feel that way?
About two weeks ago, I would say that my best friend, Jason, felt that way. Perhaps, even with the hospital visit on Mother’s Day, there was no warning, no precursor for the emptiness that he feels today. We are never prepared for our mothers to no longer be with us. It is never a good time to be without our mothers, but eventually our time may come.
Although our mothers may depart from us physically, we must understand that they are always within our souls. We may even find ourselves uttering their colloquialisms, as I often do:
“The race is not given to the swift nor the strong but they that endureth to the end”
“Don’t make no hasty moves”
“If it don’t get ya in the wash, it’s gonna get ya in the rinse”
“Every shut eye ain’t sleep and every good-bye ain’t gone”
However, wisdom imparted is not restricted to our birth mothers. Our OTHER mothers provide valuable guidance along the way.
A few months ago, I took my daughters bowling. Because of their young age, they were permitted to bowl in the bumper lanes. These bumper lanes are equipped with bumpers on both sides, so that the ball doesn’t go into the gutter. My youngest with all her fierce determination, bowls a mighty slow ball. Her ball rolls and bumps, and bumps, and bumps along those bumpers as it proceeds toward the pins. In life, I was a ball bowled by my parents. As I proceeded ever so slowly, I had some bumps along the way. But due to my age, I was being bowled in the bumper lanes. Bumper lanes equipped with bumpers named Mama Stephani and Aunt N’Jeri, that bumped me back toward my goals with sound wisdom, encouragement, awesome “sin-sational” desserts, and occasional-but-loving-threats. Their love and concern provided bumpers to keep me and our other friends out of the gutter. The evidence shows that our bumper lanes guided us toward lives of responsibility, happiness, and manhood. We are prepared to go forward in life without bumpers, but that damn sure doesn’t mean we look forward to it. Our arrival at the pins of manhood does not diminish the value and love we have for our bumpers; however, our lives are a testimony to their effectiveness and purpose.
Without Mama Stephani, we proceed along the bumper-less lanes of life. But we are better, more focused, wholly prepared, responsible young men because of her guidance … and that has a value that will never cease.
Jason & his mother, Stephani Cain
R.I.P. STEPHANI CAIN
WE ARE THE MEN WE’VE BECOME BECAUSE OF YOU.
WE LOVE YOU.
#45) Why God, Why?
Too often, we are inundated with grim statistics and morbid stories about young Black men. Too familiar are the stories about their educational under-performance, the likelihood of their incarceration, or their alleged lack of respect or responsibility. Too painful to describe, capture or measure, a mother’s immense pain due to the loss of a son. Too complicated to convey an understanding to a little brother who has suddenly and tragically witnessed the murder of his big brother. Too sad is the occasion that prompts this writing…
It takes a young man like Avondre to dispel those grim statistics. It takes a young man like Avondre to give us hope that the future of young Black men is promising, that things are changing for the better. It takes a young man like Avondre to remind us that the love and direction of a committed mother, the nurturance and support of a church community, the inner fire for achievement, and a willingness to listen, all come together to empower an exceptional young man with a bright future.
Today without Avondre, the brightness of his future has been dimmed. Our hopes for his success have been dashed. Our ambitions for his promise have been crushed. Our faith has been shaken and our despondence multiplied. And all we are left with is “Why?”
Why does fate deal such a tragic devastating hand to a mother who has worked so hard?
Why have we become desensitized to the violence destroying our communities?
Why does a young man with so much to learn, so much to share, why do the blades of misfortune hack him down before he blooms?
Why, God, why …
As we search for answers and consolation, we are left with options that are few. However, there is one answer that will not bring Avondre back; but can begin to turn the tides of our communal misery. The answer that begins tipping the scale the other way lies in the answer to this question: now that Avondre (and countless others like him) is gone, what are you going to do about it?
This grief may never subside. I will adjust to it; carry it around like a broken, inoperable appendage. But I will not lay it down, because to lay it down would be to forsake the purpose of rebuilding our community. To lay it down would equate to forgetting the pain, the sacrifice, and the struggle for us to be here. To lay it down would be to diminish the brilliance of a life gone too soon.
In those moments of engaging with the youth of our church, the overriding goal was for us to provide lessons to them. But for me, a young man like Avondre became a lesson of what could be. As a father of daughters, what kind of young man would I like them interact and befriend? Would he be respectful? Avondre was. Would he be intelligent? Avondre was that, too. Would he embrace the love of Jesus and reflect the hopes of the community? Avondre indeed did those things and more. Would he live to fulfill his destiny? I wish I could answer that because it seems that Avondre had so much more to do.
Avondre (2nd from right) with Reverend Mike and friends
Yet, in being the young man that his mother shaped him to be, Avondre had done something for all of us. Simply, by being a promising young man and giving us hope that there are and will be other young Black men with whom we can envision a brighter future. If only that hope could dispel this pain.
Our prayers are with Avondre’s mother, brother, family and community. Our lives are better because he was …
#43) Closer than they Appear
This blog marks the one-year anniversary of blogging for Measurable Advancement. While our Forbes feature story lies somewhere in our future, during this past year we have chartered a course of steady progress and exceptional foundation building.
Whether it is called launching a business, building a brand, or transitioning your dreams into reality, these tasks are not for the faint-hearted. To peer into the unknown and fashion something tangible and successful requires blessings and courage. Yet, the most complicated, intimidating object blocking your success is looking back at you in the mirror.
Have you ever noticed the small message that appears on the bottom of the mirror of most cars?
OBJECTS IN THE MIRROR ARE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.
Well, that message doesn’t singularly ring true for drivers. It is applicable to dreamers, would-be risk-takers, and others standing on the brink of possibility. When looking in the mirrors of life, the objects or obstacles in your view are closer than they appear. The object blocking your growth, the obstacle to your success, the object obstructing your eventual happiness is you.
Micah was tyrannical. His mother warned me but I didn’t take heed. However, once he came bursting into our class on the first day of school, I knew it – he was the one. The one for whom I would renew my subscription to Grey Hair Gradually. The one of whom my dentist would warn, “you have to stop gritting your teeth.” The one of whom veteran teachers would say, “He helped you earn your stripes.”
That first day was a half-day of which while explaining classroom procedures, I had the fortune of introducing the time-out chair to the class with Micah in it. In fact, in the absence of students, I began to refer to him as that Darn Micah. Micah was only five. He was the baby boy of a hard-working mother who doubled as a full-time graduate student. It was her hope that I could be a positive role model for Micah. It was my hope that our district would temporarily re-instate corporal punishment.
Yet for all the anxiety he induced, Micah was not the problem. The problem, the obstacle, the object that was closer than it appeared was me, or more specifically, my perception of Micah. My perception of Micah was that he was a disruption, a spoiled anarchist whose purpose was to cause chaos and mayhem within my class. My perception is what prompted the shortness of breath each morning after his arrival. My perception is what led me to believe it was entirely his fault. My perception was erroneous and ironically shortsighted.
Simone was one of my favorites. In Simone, I saw attributes of a daughter I then hoped to one day have. It was also Simone who brought me face to face with the fallacy of my perception. Simone inquired, “Why hasn’t Micah been the Mastermind of the Day?”
I called my class, Masterminds, so that they could feel positively encouraged. The Mastermind of the Day was my strategy for awarding and reinforcing positive behaviors and was an opportunity for students to feel good about themselves. In my eyes / perception, Micah hadn’t earned the right to be the Mastermind of the Day. But in response to Simone’s inquiry, I improvised a blueprint for the transformation of my perception. I verbalized three things that Micah could do to become Mastermind of the Day.
In a true case of the students providing the lessons, Micah’s classmates rallied behind him the next day. At every instance of the day, they encouraged, prodded, and reminded Micah of what he must do to be the Mastermind of the Day. With each encouragement, I could feel a sledgehammer to my misperception. By the end of the day, with the full support of his classmates, Micah had earned the distinction of being Mastermind of the Day. His teacher learned that misperception distorts the ability to reach, to love, and to teach a child. When I looked in the mirror of my instruction, the object that was closer than it appeared, the obstacle to my success, the obstruction to my effectiveness was my own misperception of a student.
On a humorous note – a few weeks later after my perception had changed, Micah’s transformation was not as monumental. After allegedly taking one of his classmate’s materials, I said, “Micah the two worst things you could be is a liar or a thief.” To which Micah responded, “I ain’t no thief!!” Hilarity ensued.
#37) Five Years … Make Them Count
Some years ago I read an educational article that stated a significant percentage of new teachers will have left the profession in five years.
Only five years?
I compose this blog with a unique sense of irony because as fate would have it, I was out of the classroom after five years. Although I moved into school administration, I am evidence that the five-year premise has validity.
The five-year premise has to be taken within the context of the times. Context shapers include:
- Unlike my parents’ generation, who valued getting a good job and staying with it until retirement, it has been predicted that members of my generation will switch jobs/ careers several times during our working years.
- The predicted “teacher shortage” of the new millennium did not occur as drastically as anticipated. Perhaps, the economy is so dire, not many can actually afford to retire. Or many of those who were to retire are so invested in their commitment, that retirement is not something for which they are counting down the days.
- There are less “neighborhood teachers” in this generation. Teachers, who knew the parents, attended the local church and coached the little league teams. Newer teachers may live outside of the community, which in itself is not a bad thing, but does present complications for the bond forging that happens when teachers live and work in the community that they serve.
Those are just a few very general context shapers, now I will share a few personal ones:
- During my first year of teaching, our local union and administration approved a new contract that provided great compensation (as it should have) for veteran staff and pennies for new staff. When I compared my earnings with my college peers, the “good feelings” only carried me so far as I was still leaning on my parents to assist in areas where my earnings were too short.
- My third year was my best. Personally, professionally, and spiritually, it was indeed a time when all variables were working in beautiful harmony.
- The pervasiveness of professional development expectations loomed large. In order to move from a provisional license to a professional license, I had to attend a designated number of professional development hours or complete 18 credit hours in a graduate program. At the moment, I figured why take 18 hours of things I already knew (I had earned my master’s before teaching); why not use the opportunity to learn something new? That something new was administration. Which could lead to more pay and the opportunity to continue working in schools. Once I made that choice, the perfect variables from my third year of teaching changed. They transformed into: do I want to be doing the same thing at age 28 that I was doing at age 23? How many more years in this contract before I see a significant pay bump? I have more gifts to share, so I was beginning to feel “contained” in the traditional classroom. Along with those thoughts, came the psychological break from working to be an extraordinary teacher to I can exercise the skills I already developed while working on new talents.
I share those thoughts with you not in the spirit of whether they were good or bad, right or wrong; but instead to show how even a committed educator gradually choose to leave the classroom after five years.
So is all lost? I answer with a resounding NO!! Yet in addition to that answer I must add, some of the variables I experienced as a novice teacher expedited my transition away from the classroom. The cold shoulders from a number of my colleagues and the shrinking numbers of new teacher peers made me feel as if I were on an island, left with the singular choice of doing what was best for me. I no longer felt a part of the family, a part of the district, and a part of something larger than myself. In hindsight, the mentorship provided by then-MEA President Julius Maddox was essential in maintaining the fire to teach during my third through fifth years. After Julius was no longer president, it seemed as if the “professional growth” aspect of teaching had died and I became overwhelmingly discouraged with thoughts of doing the same thing for the rest of my life.
So for administrators, mentor teachers and others, it is complicated to change the tenor of the times. Some of your new teachers will find new careers. But it doesn’t have to be all of them. While I do not prescribe to having the cure-all remedy, I do strongly advocate creating a sense of belonging, a sense of purpose and a sense that one’s effort contributes to something larger than themselves. If your team can create that climate mixed in with appreciation and support, then chances are greater that your best new teachers will belong to the family for longer than five years.
#13) Finding Your Voice
This blog entry will be featured in the upcoming book:
REFLECTIONS FROM THE FRONTLINE
(For ways to help your teachers develop their voice, click our T3 -Tailored Teacher Training link.)
Click photo to listen to my favorite Miles album
#10) Misaligned Values
This blog entry will be featured in the upcoming book:
REFLECTIONS FROM THE FRONTLINE
Please check back for more details on how you can purchase a copy!
#9) Now That They Are Gone ….
This blog entry will be featured in the upcoming book:
REFLECTIONS FROM THE FRONTLINE
Please check back for more details on how you can purchase a copy!