This epic piece would be part of the reading comprehension test bank that I am offering at a fraction of the cost Pearson PLC is citing. And if they want to pay more, I’ll bring in Steve Martin to play the banjo. . .or the pineapple. It’s your state’s money. I’ll just use it to buy more books.

The song should be sung to the Charlie Daniels Band’s “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Be sure to drop in the appropriate musical interludes for additional fun.

Please answer the questions at the end. Show your work.

I wrote this parody in twenty minutes using the actual passage from the Pearson test. There could be errors. . .on both the count of both parties. But I am handsome and charming. . .and this goes a long way in the parody business. . .

A pineapple went to New York

He was lookin’ to have some fun

Which was a real hoot, because he was just a fruit

But lookin’ to run a marathon

When he came across March hare

Just sitting on its white tail hump.

The pineapple perched on a maple stump

And said, “Hare, watch me make you jump! ”

I’ll bet you didn’t know it,

cause I’m just a tropical fruit,

but if you dare, my fine-haired.  .  .hare

I’ll make a bet with youts” (a Brooklyn pineapple might be funny. Work with me here)

“Now you’re a pretty good runner hare,

or at least that what I told,

but I’ve got the backing of Dole against your soul

‘Cos I think I’m faster than you”

The hare said, “My name’s Bunny;

and you must think you’re pretty sly

But, I’ll race you fruit–you’re gonna get juiced,

and we’ll be sipping Mai Tais” (to which the Moose, the Owl, and the Monkey all giggled)

Oh, March hare lace up your Pumas and watch those slippery leaves,

’cause a talkin’ pineapple ain’t natural; he must gots a-somepin’ up his sleeves.

And if you win you get the whole afternoon to gloooooooat

and the animals all get pineapple boats. . .

Well the Mare looked up to Owl and said

“Now you guys all cheer for me;

if I hear one brute root for this fruit,

I’ll set fire to this tree

And then rabbit took off with the speed of light—

a most expeditious dude—

and a hip band of rabbits started to play

A musical interlude: (And it sounded something like this)

(This would be a good place for that Jive Bunny and the Master Mixer’s track, “Swing the Mood”)

When the March hare finished running,

he thought he’d run a personal best,

but that pineapple was just sitting there

and he said, “Hare, this was just a test!” He sang:

(SPONGEBOB THEME SONG BREAKDOWN HERE)(BRING BANJOS)

Oh, who lives in a pineapple under the sea?  

(Of course the audience will jump in here—go ahead and let them)

Absorbant and yellow and porous is he.

If nautical nonsense be something you wish,

then drop on the deck and flop like a fish.

The March hare licked his chops,

‘Cause that pineapple sure looked sweet,

and he skinned that pineapple bare right there,

exposing it’s tropical treat.

Monkey said, “Pineapple, come on back

if you ever wanna run again,

‘cause we’ve got a blender and Moose is on a bender

and Owl’s got a fifth of gin”

He played, “‘Lime in the Coconut’, run, fruit, run!

Pineapple’s gonna blister in the sun.

Pearson’s into testing picking up dough

New York does it make sense? No, friends, no.”

Question #1:

What was Jive Bunny and the Mix Masters follow up hit to “Swing the Mood?”

Question #2:

Name any drink that can be made with pineapple and gin.

Question #3:

How many “Pineapple Boats” can be made from a standard pineapple? Can the four animals in the story be served equally from the antagonist in this story?

Question #4:

What cereal company gave us Fruit Brute in the 1970’s?

Question #5:

What 1980’s alt-punk band provides the allusion, “blister in the sun” in Monkey’s refrain?

Question #6:

Why are you not adequately prepared to answer these questions?

Daniel Coleman (of the Common Core State Standards), Glen Mereno (Chairman of Pearson), met in an undisclosed location recently. You’re not supposed to know where as to know would mean unlocking all of the secrets of educational reform.

Okay. It was in Hawaii. But, that is all I can tell you.

Okay. It was at a Holiday Inn Express on Honolulu. Wow. You readers are really good at pressing writers into telling all they know. But all of this is important to the story. And setting the story in Honolulu will make it very easy to build in a pineapple when the moment calls for it.

It seems that Coleman and Moreno had been meeting like this for some time. It might be an I-HOP this week, a Golden Corral the next, but always someplace where they knew they could get fried cheese and drinks with a souvenir cup. Coleman seemed to favor the rocket cup, but a bad experience with chili cheese fries during an earlier meeting scratched Denny’s off the meeting places.

But I digress.

Stories like the one I am spinning for you this morning do require some set up. I hope that you will indulge me just a bit.

So, this pineapple is being laid out upon a cutting board to be made into Mai Tais for the retired couple at Table #14 (he of the independent hardware business for forty years, she made crocheted pot holders for the local mushroom festival each spring), when Daniel calls out to the bartender, “Barkeep, would it be okay if we spoke to that pineapple for just a moment?”

The bartender looked up with an expression that seemed to say, “Great. Saturday afternoon.” The pineapple sat with virtually no expression whatsoever (in keeping with a sense of reality that might be expected from readers here–we can build in some anthropomorphism a little later in the story, but I don’t want you to think I’ve gone all Fruit of the Loom on you this early in the story). So the pineapple sat there. On the board. Crown up. Motionless.

The bartender brought the pineapple to the table and sat it down between Coleman and Moreno. Coleman broke the ice while Moreno crossed his fingers in a sort of “pineapple upsets my stomach” kind of quiet sentiment.

“I’ll bet you’ll want to know why we called you over here, Mr. Pineapple.”

“Peter;” the pineapple thought to himself, “my friends call me Peter” (building slowly into the moment wherein the pineapple might actually speak–interior monologue is a nice way to ease you into this talking piece of fruit which will undoubtedly fuel your nightmares brought on by the typical Elmo’s World installment).

“We’re designing a test, Mr. Pineapple. A test that will gauge whether or not students are learning. And ultimately whether teachers are teaching. And when I saw you sitting regally upon that cutting board behind the bar, I knew you were the man we wanted to bring on board.”

The pineapple now spoke.

“Wow. That’s great. This will be my crowning achievement as a pineapple. Wait until the other pineapples hear about this.” (I hope you are still with us now that the pineapple is talking. I cannot promise that the dialogue will get any better as I am trying to build a sense of MY DINNER WITH ENT-ANDRE here, friends).

“Yes,” Coleman said, “You’ll be the conversation around dinner tables as children talk about your inclusion within our new test banks. Why, you’ll literally be on the tips of the tongues of a whole nation.”

Moreno looked through narrow eyes at Coleman as if to say that the fruit jokes might be going a little much. Even for an extended metaphor.

Coleman continued, “Yes. About that crown. It will look great on the cover of the test booklets. We’ve gotten a lot of mileage from a cousin of yours who appears in one of our better tests right now. Your cousin has created a sense of confusion that is rattling young people to the core (clears throat) and causing them to question their own ability to think critically. Now if you don’t mind we would like your lovely green crown to appear above the title page of our new testing booklet.”

It was then that Moreno drew a large knife from under the booth and deftly cut off the top of Peter, holding the green crown in a scene reminiscent of the end of Conan the Barbarian where Arnold holds the head of James Earl Jones high above the crowd gathered at the temple (go rent this. . .it’s a beautiful Hero’s Journey type story and Jones turns into a snake at one point).

“Wowza!” exclaimed Peter. “That was really unexpected. I’m not sure I want to hang about with you fellows anymore. I don’t care what you are promising.”

“But wait, Peter,” interrupted Coleman, putting his large hands around the pineapple to keep it from falling off of the table (which would look like a type of escape, but I am not sure how much of this you would really believe if the pineapple just started to slowly slink away from this gathering). “Let’s talk about this skin of yours. So rough. So spiky. Why, Peter; you’re simply rigorous. You’re just what we are looking for, friend. Please stay.”

Peter thought to himself, “Why my skin is golden and tight. And it is quite spiky. I am quite the specimen among the pineapple set.”

It was then that Moreno quickly–as if with months of training playing Fruit Ninja–skinned Peter leaving four slabs of skin lying like sickeningly-sweet scabs upon the table. A nearby fly looked on with interest. Moreno drew the blade across his bottom lip following it with his tongue to capture any stray juices.

Peter sensed real trouble now, but what could he do. Being a pineapple and all. The capability of free thought and intelligent speech were not enough to afford escape, so he sat, naked. . .exposed. . .fruit and all.

It was then that Coleman spoke most ominously. “Now, Peter. Let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”

And with a few quick slices, Moreno had Peter fleshed-out into four neat pineapple boats, leaving nothing but a core behind on the table.

“Beautiful,” whispered Coleman. “It’s simply beautiful. Have you ever seen a core like this? Glen. Stripped of its own sense of prowess and achievement, removed from its glossy outer coverings that might read like some kind of natural accolade, and it’s fruit only given to softness and sweetness and nurture. Ahhh. . .the core.”

It was uncomfortable for Moreno and the pineapple to hear Coleman speaking this way, but probably more so for the pineapple, having been through the Mereno Mouli.

Peter, resolved to all that had happened to him in the past few minutes, was still hopeful about the opportunity to work with powerful men like Coleman and Moreno. He quietly asked Coleman (avoiding any kind of contact with Moreno–as much as one might avoid contact will sitting perfectly still). He quietly asked, “I’ve given all I can give here, fellas, but I would still like to be a part of your test. I’ll do whatever I can. All I ask is that we would be splitting the benefits evenly. . .right? Fellas? Right?”

“Oh, but Peter,” Coleman said,”What should we pay you for simply sitting still and doing nothing really but sitting upon the page, an obscure character in some story that wouldn’t make sense to anyone but those sitting right here at this table? I cannot think of any reason to “cut” (giggle) you into our deal.”

“But isn’t that what you do? Mr. Coleman? Mr. Moreno? Simply sit there watching the crowning achievements the wonderful educators ripped away along with the tough, rigid resolve of educators to educate students, moving on to slice through the very fruit of excellent instruction that happens every day in learning communities across the country, leaving them nothing but some hard, starchy core that looks, feels, and smell a lot like me?”

It was a very thoughtful question. For a pineapple. Given his current condition.

“Mr. Pineapple,” Coleman glared. “There will be no deal between us other than the one that has been laid out before us (giggle and wink). You see? That is the difference between you and people like Mr. Moreno and me.”

Moreno left the table, walking toward the bartender, motioning behind the bar for a small box.

“And that is?” asked Peter.

“Well, you see, Mr. Pineapple,” said Coleman condescendingly, “We are architects.”

Moreno returned with a small box of little red and blue plastic swords.
“And you, Mr. Pineapple. . .” Coleman continued.

“Are simply artifact.”

A blender whirred in the background as the feast began.

The smell of pineapple lingered about the bar.

This morning, I posted this article regarding the resignation of Republic Superintendent, Vern Minor (you’ll remember that is was under Minor’s leadership that books like Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak, Sarah Ockler’s Twenty Boy Summer, and Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five were removed from classrooms sparking a controversy and the beginnings of the #SpeakLoudly initiative at Twitter). Facebook friend, John Francis, of the Moreno Valley Unified School District, sent me a link to a letter–dated November 1973–from Kurt Vonnegut to Drake School Board after hearing that several copies of his novel, Slaughterhouse Five, had been ordered to be thrown into the school furnace.

The letter appears here–in its entirety–courtesy of Letters of Note (Italics and Bolding mine):

Dear Mr. McCarthy:

 I am writing to you in your capacity as chairman of the Drake School Board. I am among those American writers whose books have been destroyed in the now famous furnace of your school.

Certain members of your community have suggested that my work is evil. This is extraordinarily insulting to me. The news from Drake indicates to me that books and writers are very unreal to you people. I am writing this letter to let you know how real I am.

I want you to know, too, that my publisher and I have done absolutely nothing to exploit the disgusting news from Drake. We are not clapping each other on the back, crowing about all the books we will sell because of the news. We have declined to go on television, have written no fiery letters to editorial pages, have granted no lengthy interviews. We are angered and sickened and saddened. And no copies of this letter have been sent to anybody else. You now hold the only copy in your hands. It is a strictly private letter from me to the people of Drake, who have done so much to damage my reputation in the eyes of their children and then in the eyes of the world. Do you have the courage and ordinary decency to show this letter to the people, or will it, too, be consigned to the fires of your furnace?

I gather from what I read in the papers and hear on television that you imagine me, and some other writers, too, as being sort of ratlike people who enjoy making money from poisoning the minds of young people. I am in fact a large, strong person, fifty-one years old, who did a lot of farm work as a boy, who is good with tools. I have raised six children, three my own and three adopted. They have all turned out well. Two of them are farmers. I am a combat infantry veteran from World War II, and hold a Purple Heart. I have earned whatever I own by hard work. I have never been arrested or sued for anything. I am so much trusted with young people and by young people that I have served on the faculties of the University of Iowa, Harvard, and the City College of New York. Every year I receive at least a dozen invitations to be commencement speaker at colleges and high schools. My books are probably more widely used in schools than those of any other living American fiction writer.

If you were to bother to read my books, to behave as educated persons would, you would learn that they are not sexy, and do not argue in favor of wildness of any kind. They beg that people be kinder and more responsible than they often are. It is true that some of the characters speak coarsely. That is because people speak coarsely in real life. Especially soldiers and hardworking men speak coarsely, and even our most sheltered children know that. And we all know, too, that those words really don’t damage children much. They didn’t damage us when we were young. It was evil deeds and lying that hurt us.

After I have said all this, I am sure you are still ready to respond, in effect, “Yes, yes–but it still remains our right and our responsibility to decide what books our children are going to be made to read in our community.” This is surely so. But it is also true that if you exercise that right and fulfill that responsibility in an ignorant, harsh, un-American manner, then people are entitled to call you bad citizens and fools. Even your own children are entitled to call you that.

I read in the newspaper that your community is mystified by the outcry from all over the country about what you have done. Well, you have discovered that Drake is a part of American civilization, and your fellow Americans can’t stand it that you have behaved in such an uncivilized way. Perhaps you will learn from this that books are sacred to free men for very good reasons, and that wars have been fought against nations which hate books and burn them. If you are an American, you must allow all ideas to circulate freely in your community, not merely your own.

If you and your board are now determined to show that you in fact have wisdom and maturity when you exercise your powers over the eduction of your young, then you should acknowledge that it was a rotten lesson you taught young people in a free society when you denounced and then burned books–books you hadn’t even read. You should also resolve to expose your children to all sorts of opinions and information, in order that they will be better equipped to make decisions and to survive.

Again: you have insulted me, and I am a good citizen, and I am very real.

Kurt Vonnegut

In honor of the first day of National Poetry Month 2012, here is a poem I “found” within Kurt Vonnegut’s letter:

“The Book Keepers” A Found Poem

 I am

among

those members

of your community.

I am.

I want you to know,

too,

I have

done nothing not

clapping,

crowing.

It is private.

I gather from

what I read.

You imagine me.

If you were

to bother

to read books.

People speak—

coarsely—

in real life—

soldiers

and

hardworking men—

speak coarsely.

Young,

it was

evil deeds

 and

lying

that hurt.

I have said this.

I am sure you are

still ready to respond.

I read

part of

American civilization

from books—

sacred,

free,

good.

Ideas circulate freely,

determined to show

wisdom and maturity

in a free society.

Books read

expose your children

to all sorts

of opinions

and

information.

They will be better equipped

to make decisions

and

to survive.

I am

 a good citizen,

 and

I am

very

real.

“Leadership develops daily, not in a day” (21).

 This sand “castle,” built at Patoka Lake last summer during a summer day trip with the  children is a good example of the law of process. The page on the left was a dragon in      the making and the facing page reads “Once upon a time.” This was made entirely by hand with details carved out by a small sharp stick I had found in the beach sand (keeping it from jabbing another beachcomber).

This “book” started as a pile of sand. Unremarkable. But, as the idea developed, this pile of sand began to take shape over the course of the afternoon, I was delighted when children would walk by, stop, take in the project underway, and exclaim, “Look, Mommy! It’s a book! It’s a book!” Even later in the day, as the sun prepared to go down, it was fun to watch from a distance the people who would stop, look, and point.

Books and stories. . .they just seem to resonate with people, in whatever form they take. We could easily build a story from what is here. We have all of the elements. . .time, place, and an invitation to consider that moment known to storytellers and their audiences around the world: Once upon a time.

We return to John C. Maxwell’s book, The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership, to consider the third law, The Law of Process. This is the third installment in this 21 week consideration of Maxwell’s work and how it might lend to our deeper understanding of literacy leadership.

So, once upon a time, I wanted to think about literacy leadership. And I committed to discussing this topic for 21 weeks. And this brings us back to Maxwell’s introduction, “Leadership Develops Daily, Not in a Day.”

ONCE you have started to consider yourself a literacy leader, it’s time to put together your ideas and see what is there.

UPON these beliefs you must be most confident. You own your experiences–the utter failures and the great successes.

A literacy leader is born over the course of these experiences and revels in the gift of reflection.

TIME makes a literacy leader. Not tricks. Not the trade. Not a trial period or a notion.

So, if literacy leadership is a process–step by step–being cognizant of the laws and adhering to them by way of practice, then success would be on the other side, yes? Discovered after some time?

Maxwell cites his good friend, Tag Short, who says, “The secret of our success is found in our daily agenda” (23).

Our daily agenda.

This really made me stop and think about my own daily agenda. Where do I see literacy leadership in my daily agenda. What am I doing within the learning community that communicates that a part of my daily agenda is to introduce and promote literacy? A lesson? An invitation? A reminder to adhere to the school’s appointed reading time?

And outside of the learning community? Where do I see my daily agenda of literacy leadership here?  What do others think about my daily agenda? Do others see “literacy leadership” as part of my daily practice and presentation?

These are the questions that I wrestle with on a daily basis. And over time, I have come to believe that literacy leadership–seen through the lens of the third law–is a process.

Practice and Reflection. Repeat.

John C. Maxwell offers a list of facets associated with leadership. I thought it would be good to share those here if only to demonstrate literacy leadership as a process: respect, experience, emotional strength, people skills, discipline, vision, momentum, and timing. This is a list to which we could certainly add our own facets based upon each of those offered by Maxwell. Part of the process must be proposing where we stand–right now.

Okay. For me. . .discipline is probably the biggest of the facets that I must contend with right now. This post was supposed to have been done on Sunday. That was my commitment to the series. And yet, I am typing this up on Monday afternoon. No good reason. Two weeks of adherence that is followed by a postponement of ideas. I am taking my own gold star off of the wall for this, but emotional strength says, keep on with this week’s post. We’re three weeks in and this speaks to momentum.

When I am given a list, I can see what needs attention and focus and which facets compliment the others. Do I get respect because of my experience or is it because of people skills? Is this the right time to declare a vision in the midst of some other items that might need collaborative attention right now? What Maxwell offers by way of this list is a process checklist.

But my absolute favorite part of the Law of Process is found in John C. Maxwell’s Four Phases of Leadership Growth. I’d like to spend some time on these if you have not read the book.

Phase One: I Don’t Know What I Don’t Know:

Maxwell shares here that many young people do not sign up for elective courses in leadership because they do not see themselves as leaders. That leadership is a quality reserved for a few (24).

How many times have I felt this way, myself? With the number of truly gifted and talented writers that I follow at Facebook and Twitter. People with books with their name upon them? Those seemingly naturally born literacy leaders? I remember well driving back to Indiana from the Louisville International Airport with Penny Kittle. Penny, from the passenger seat of my truck, asked when I was going to put my own thoughts into a book. I told her that I had thought that the best material regarding reading and writing was already being done by her and a host of other people I hold in deep regard that I was able to cite like a Who’s Who in the World of Literacy Leadership.

And that’s when Penny got very quiet and looked right at me.

I was looking at the highway in front of us. But I could feel that look.

“That’s very dangerous thinking, Paul,” she said, “to think that your voice doesn’t matter in this conversation.”

I’ll never forget this moment. It was a moment wherein I was living Phase One: I Don’t Know What I Don’t Know.

John C. Maxwell writes, “As long as a person doesn’t know what they don’t know, he doesn’t grow” (24).

Phase Two: I Know What I Don’t Know:

Here, Maxwell cites Benjamin Disraeli who says, “To be conscious that you are ignorant of the facts is a great step toward knowledge” (25).

This is where I would cite literacy leaders like good friend, Donalyn Miller. I am continually impressed by her ability to pull snippets from research studies and apply them to something we are talking about at that time. Well read in the research regarding reading and writing, Donalyn is an example of knowing what she knows while I am working–as part of a process–to stop being awe-stricken by her ability and to put some of this research into my thinking and sharing box for myself and for those with whom I may have some influence.

I started to think about those students–okay, even peers–who might feel the need to tear down the gifts of another peer because the words they use are “too big,” lamenting (albeit somewhat shortsighted and perhaps a little ironic) that they will “never be as smart as _________” But, this is what Phase Two is all about and how timely that we would consider knowing what we don’t know as part of a process that leads to becoming a literacy leader.

Phase Three: I Grow and Know and It Starts to Show: 

I’ve had colleagues–in my first year of teaching–remind me of my neophyte status, mainly by juxtaposing their experience with my own. The veteran teacher with a number of years of experience can–with a degree of comfort–use the number of years they have been in a building comparatively as leverage, but what happens when that new teacher stays. . .and begins to collect experience. The gap remains the same. Time will never make us equals as time is not a competitive entity (I’m being tongue and cheek here, but take a look at other facets of our lives wherein we have tried to compete with time. As I write this, I am awaiting the delivery people who are bringing a new treadmill to our house).

But as I look back over the past eight years–to interviews, to podcasts, to articles written, to presentations delivered, to PLN’s built and maintained, I am starting to see some growth.

Phase Four: I Simply Go Because of What I Know:

When one gets to phase four, Maxwell writes, “your ability to lead becomes almost automatic. And that is when the payoff is larger than life. But the only way to get there is to obey the Law of Process and pay the price” (27).

The Law of Process is a good one to consider early on in this visitation of the Irrefutable Laws of Leadership and–in turn–the Laws of Literacy Leadership. It’s a good time to look at our daily agenda. Look for those places where literacy leadership presents itself.

Before you know it, a pile of sand becomes a work of art. By way of process. And practice. Carving out the vision to reveal the story that had been inside all along. Before you know it, you’ll have excited on-lookers who will want to share with others what you are working upon.

Next week we will consider THE LAW OF NAVIGATION: Anyone Can Steer the Ship, But it Takes a Leader to Chart the Course.

As a former sailor, I think I will really enjoy this next Law. I may have to dig out my dictionary of nautical terms.

The true measure of leadership is influence–nothing more, nothing less.

Last week, we talked about THE LAW OF THE LID. We made some comments about the placement of that said lid, and the impact that a lid has on every person who finds themselves under that lid. We were also encouraged by the fact that there are some steps a leader can take to raise the lid. And one of those steps is being aware of THE LAW OF INFLUENCE.

John C. Maxwell goes back to the summer of 1997 to talk about two losses in that year that had a profound impact upon the world, each loss carrying its own response groups, its own level of tragedy, and its own sense of irreplaceable loss in the hearts and minds of all of the people the two figures had influenced.

With their deaths coming no fewer than seven days apart, the world had lost two individuals who demonstrated the law of influence: Mother Teresa and Princess Diana.

I remember watching Saturday Night Live and still being awake on what would be early Sunday morning when the breaking news of Princess Diana’s death was announced. Without the flood of information that is two thriving social networks and multiple news channels with running twenty-four hour feeds, I got this information from the local NBC affiliate.

And, while we post this blog, the world has been impacted again–on a Saturday no less–with the news of Whitney Houston’s passing. In fifteen years, we might put all of these names together because of one quality each of the figures possessed while still alive: influence. Mother Teresa was revered for her work with the world’s poor and Diana was able–as a civilian–to impact policy regarding weapons being used at the time. Houston stirred the emotions of millions with her rendition of the National Anthem.

Icons. Each. For their influence.

General Colin Powell–quoted in John C. Maxwell’s book–says that you know that you have achieved a level of success as a leader when people will follow you everywhere if only out of curiosity (13).

A small, unimposing woman photographed with the needy.

A woman with no distinct political ties or claim to the crown whose fairy tale wedding captured the attention of the world with over one million worldwide viewers.

And a songstress that made it all look so effortless, we all wanted to be like her or to be around her.

John C. Maxwell offers that many times we assume that management and leadership are the same. Or that if a person is placed within a managerial status that they are in fact the leader. But Maxwell writes, “true leadership cannot be awarded, appointed, or assigned. It comes only from influence” (14).

And in The Law of Influence, Maxwell breaks down five common myths regarding leadership. I would like to offer these two you, looking at each under the lens of literacy leadership:

1). The management myth.

Leadership and management are not the same. Maxwell writes, “leadership is about influencing people to follow, while management focuses on maintaining  systems and processes” (14).

And while the term, “lead learner” is very popular these days as a means of perhaps getting away from the negative connotations of being a “teacher” (by the way, I am most proud to claim both). At least two or three times this week, I have been invited to be a part of an on-going conversation about reading management programs. Without tying up a large portion of this post to provide a summary of these discussion threads, can we immediately begin to see that complete and total reliance upon any program to manage reading does not bode well under the Law of Influence?

And here, I really like what Maxwell has to say about ascertaining whether or not a manager can be a leader. Maxwell offers this test: ask that person to create positive change.

In any given system there are ideas, approaches, and strategies that could be considered and implemented. Who is quietly considering these? Who is spending the extra time to keep up with the professional reading? Who can cite the work of those who influence literacy as a practice? And who is presenting these people and their ideas to the members of that system?

These are your leaders. Some of them are just coming into their new-found roles.

Give them time.

Which leads us to the next myth.

2). The entrepreneur myth.

Generally seen in infomercials and doorstop sales pitch delivery, we might assume that the person who blows onto the scene with a new idea, full of personality, vim, and vigor may be a leader. In the book, Maxwell cites Ron Popeil, who at the time of the book’s release, was worth over 300 million dollars in sales from the products he pitched to a national audience.

The only way to measure the influence of these people is the luxury of time. We might buy what they are selling, but who is following. One of my favorite quotes from John C. Maxwell goes something like this: “If you are leading and no one is following, you are simply taking a walk.”

Look within yourself, your building, your district–who’s book talking with their students? Who is writing alongside of them? Who is demonstrating reading voice and pacing, those little moves within writing that become a part of one’s writing craft? Who is peppering their instruction with the names of thought leaders within the industry that creates a continual sense of  a larger connectivity beyond the classroom?

3). The knowledge myth.

Maxwell writes, “You can visit any major university and meet brilliant research scientists and philosophers whose ability to think is so high that it is off the charts, but whose ability to lead is so low that it doesn’t even register on the charts” (15).

This would fall right in line with last week’s idea of the Law of the Lid. Attentiveness, dedication, and passion for one’s subject area is admirable–and these do much to drive the X axis from last week’s grid–but without influence, that lid stays firmly attached on a lower level overall.

I’m learning every day, aren’t you? I can think of two professional texts on their way to the house right now that I cannot wait to get to as well as ideas from the past week’s reading that will be implemented before the end of this school year. To know is to grow, and with knowing and growing, the whole group can get going.

4). The pioneer myth. 

John C. Maxwell says another misconception is that any one who is out front of the crowd is the leader. Maxwell cites Sir Edmund Hillary as the first man to reach the summit of Mount Everest. And yet, since 1953, many people have followed in successfully reaching this peak. But, Maxwell offers, Hillary was not the leader of that first group, a man named John Hunt was.

There is something important in this particular myth for me. I want to wary of the brand until I see the people who are out there using it. This week, I talked about Junior Great Books out there with some friends from Twitter. When I saw the people using this particular program with students, the program was afforded some credibility, not because of the company that created and sold it–or even for any attribute attached to the program itself–but for those people that I follow and trust who were able to communicate what the program does for their readers.

5). The position myth.

Maxwell offers this quote from Stanley Huffty, “it is not the position that makes the leader; it is the leader that makes the position” (16).

How many times do we see this myth play itself out in the area of classroom management? A licensed teacher is at the front of the room, but there is chaos in that room. One of the tenets of influence is that leadership without influence is like walking about one’s neighborhood telling other people’s dogs to sit.

For the rest of this chapter, Maxwell shares a wonderful anecdote about Abraham Lincoln, whose military leadership was so befuddled that he once had a group disassemble and reassemble on the other side of a gate because Lincoln did not know the proper marching commands to move the regiment through it.

And isn’t this what daily literacy leadership looks like in the classroom? We have thirty–sometimes more–learners in the room awaiting our suggested movements as they develop into readers and writers. And while this weeks post doesn’t suggest any tips for how to get to a place of influence, it does promise this:

We will begin talking about how to develop influence next Sunday with The Law of Process which suggests that “leadership develops daily, not in a day” (21).

Tomorrow is Monday.

It’s a day.

A new day ripe with opportunity.

It’s the first day of the learning week. Can you read the expectancy of the faces of the learners in the room?

I wish you well.

I wish you continued resources and connectivity.

And above all, I wish for you the influence to create positive change where it is needed.

“Leadership Ability Determine a Person’s Level of Effectiveness” (1).

Welcome to the first installment of the 21 Irrefutable Laws of Literacy Leadership. While putting this together this week, those voices kept a continual harassment maintaining a consistent message of “impostor syndrome” sentiments.

Those voices kept telling me, “Paul, you don’t have a book to lean back upon. You don’t present at national conferences. You’ve published what? Two? Three articles, tops? And in what forums? Further, what kind of job are you doing within your own building, let alone your own district, never minding the lack of influence you have projected within your own community. You’re a fraud, Paul. And you need to know this before you even type that first blog post.”

I have some nasty voices, don’t I? And when students ask where I get the voices for characters as we read aloud in Room 407, I half-jokingly tell them, “I assign the ones that are already in my head a part and that keeps them busy for a while.” And this is what I am going to do here. Because these voices are not only my own, though they come from no where else but inside my own head, and I would assume that there may be many a reader/potential thought leader who is hearing–and perhaps listening–to the very same voices.

And this is where we have to start with Law of Literacy Leadership #1: THE LAW OF THE LID

In using John Maxwell’s language from the original The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership, we want to keep the subtext as well. Here is how The Law of the Lid reads:

Leadership Ability Determines a Person’s Level of Effectiveness (Maxwell 1).

Not what you have accomplished.

Not what you have presented.

Not what you have published.

You are a literacy leader.

What this law is really about is your literacy leadership ability. Your potential. Your purposeful movement in a direction that will guide your instruction, edify the literacy of your learners, and ultimately enhance your overall practice. Maxwell writes, “Leadership ability is the lid that determines a person’s level of effectiveness” (1).

So, let’s take an inventory of our collective ability, assuming that you have let me off the hook for the whole, “voices in my head” introduction to this post. Remember as lids have different properties, these questions may vary by the scope and scale of your practice, but consider these:

What are you reading–right now?

How will what you are reading right now lend itself to Literacy Leadership?

What are your students reading–right now?

How does what your students are reading reflect the Literacy Leadership of their lead learner?

What is the last book that you self-selected for the purpose of professional development?

To which professional organizations do faculty members and administration belong?

Which of of these professional organizations have the words, “literacy,” “reading,” or “English” within their titles?

Do you participate in any on-line forums that affirm as well as challenge your thinking in regard to literacy and leadership?

Have you ever considered submitting an article to a subscription site or to a journal?

Where might others put your lid in regard to Literacy Leadership?

And, for the purpose of full-disclosure, these are questions that I ask of myself as well. I have come to a point in my reading life that just about any title I pick up has some sort of connection back to my practice. Even “guilty pleasure” reading will find its way back to a reference or a connection or perhaps end up being a simple share with a friend at facebook or Twitter.

Maxwell goes on to say, “A person’s impact is only a fraction of what it could be with good leadership. The higher you want to climb, the more you need leadership” (6). In the book, Maxwell offers a simple graph with an X and Y axis. The X-axis is labeled, SUCCESS DEDICATION. The Y-Axis is labeled LEADERSHIP ABILITY.

And this simple graph is really the heart of the first law. For leadership and for Literacy Leadership. Take for instance the person who reads each and every day. Perhaps they share within a small circle or an on-line forum. But the sharing never reaches those learners in the room. Or to colleagues within the building. Or to the media specialists. Or to administration. We might consider this particular reader–with the very best intentions of being a literacy leader, with a leadership ability of +1.

And there is the lid.

Because what we measure when we measure literacy leadership is “effectiveness.” John C. Maxwell has this clearly indicated on the graph from the first chapter of his book. And maybe we should have a clear sense of where that gray bar of effectiveness exists on our own graph.

Maxwell offers a number of anecdotes that demonstrate this particular law: The McDonald Brothers who sold their company to a travelling milkshake mixer salesman who took a liking to their company and bought it when the brothers could not see the potential that franchising the company might bring (1-5).

Maxwell also cites the relationship between Steve Wozniak (a probable 1 or 2 on the leadership effectiveness scale) and Steve Jobs (off the grid) that in time would demonstrate what happens when SUCCESS AND DETERMINATION meet LEADERSHIP ABILITY.

Maxwell suggests that there is a way to lift this lid. Having read his book as a younger man and many, many times sense, I have come to believe that I have not always done well in the necessary steps to raise that lid as a literacy leader.

But this is why we write. . .right?

To come to terms with what we were thinking at that very moment? Perhaps that moment is a fleeting thought that was just passing through, or it could have been a week-long rumination on issues regarding literacy leadership that leads to an idea such as the one we will be sharing here for the next few months as we explore what Maxwell says about leadership and what we say about literacy leadership.

Success? How do we communicate success within our learning communities? What kinds of celebrations related to literacy do we recognize within those small microcosms of our buildings that let each and every member know that what they have just done was something good? How do our learners know when they have done something related to literacy well?

Determination? How determined are we to ensure that communication within the room is based upon the best possible choice of words and messages?

Between SUCCESS AND DETERMINATION is how we begin to build that X-Axis of  effectiveness? How are we doing here? What strategies and approaches are we attempting and utilizing to begin to color in the units of Literacy Leadership effectiveness?

And when we answer this question, we look to the Y-Axis to determine: how are we sharing out what we are doing? What do the stakeholders within the learning communities have to say about their learning community?

Here’s the rub, friends. THE LAW OF THE LID says that whatever level that lid is set at is the lid of every single learner within that room. This is why I am careful to use the term “lead learner” when it comes to my own practice in Room 407. THE LAW OF THE LID says that if the leadership level of the room is a + 1 or a +2, that is the lid for the group.

This always gives me a reason to pause and to reflect.

I’ll say it again.

If the leadership of the learning community is a +1 or a +2 that is the lid for each and every member within that learning community. And we are talking about literacy here, friend.

John C. Maxwell shares an experience he had with the chairman of Global Hospitality Resources, Inc. . In their extended interactions, Don Stephenson shares that every time their company was called into a hotel that was floundering, their first step was to fire the leader. . .no questions asked (10). Stephenson said they never interviewed the leader; their belief was that if they were called in to help the organization than the leadership was the problem. Instead, they trained the support level staff to increase their leadership efforts by way of improved customer service and relations.

This should sound hauntingly familiar to those of us in the field of education.

As I write this post, I am thinking and reflecting. . .as I type. I’m reflecting now. You probably can see this and you are frustrated by it, wanting me to get to the next point. I’m getting there.

Reflection.

Look at the graph. Draw it for yourself in regard to Literacy Leadership. I’ll bet that X-Axis stretches far off to the right because I already know the person that you are if you have gotten to the end of this post. I know you already. You are earnest. You do good things within your learning community as the lead learner because of what you believe about yourself, literacy, and the potential within every learner within the community you have been called to lead.

Take some time this week to go back through the questions we asked earlier. I will too. Feel free to share with me here. Agree. Disagree. Agree to disagree. And in the meantime, I will be thinking about even more questions to add to the list

Next week: LAW OF LITERACY LEADERSHIP #2: “THE LAW OF INFLUENCE:  The True Measure of Leadership Is Influence–Nothing More, Nothing Less” (11).

Maxwell, John C. The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership. Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1998. Print.

The “21 Irrefutable Laws” from John Maxwell’s The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership are used by permission granted by the John Maxwell Group for the purposes of a leadership template to consider laws of literacy leadership. Citations are offered to protect the ideas presented by John C. Maxwell. 

“Sometimes it’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is to ask permission.”

This is not one of the laws, friends.

But this familiar anti-aphorism serves as a backdrop for a new idea I am launching this evening. I had meant to start this at the beginning of the year. . .well. . .more on that later. I’m here now. Wait. Maybe this is one of those opportunities for forgiveness.

One of my favorite books on leadership is by John C. Maxwell. As a young man coming out of the Navy, looking for that next step in the whatever my journey was to be, I discovered The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership when it released in 1998 (three years after I would leave Naval Air Station Lemoore and one year before I would move to Floyds Knobs, Indiana.

Since then, I have taught out of this book during my student teaching experience at Floyd Central High School. At the end of our readings, we went through the film, Hoosiers, and identified the laws, as we had learned them, as we witnessed them in this film that is pretty much mandatory viewing for Indiana residents.

I’ve added the recorded edition of the book and I have secured the videotape series thanks to an Ebay account and some creative financing (there is a reason I volunteer to do the laundry friends. Lab coats almost always avail what we might call “liquid assets.” I believe in the laws, and I am charmed to watch Maxwell present them with his distinctive mannerisms and his way of saying “laws” like it has five extra As and five extra Ws.

So, when I was thinking about doing a new blog series at the beginning of the year, I knew I wanted to do something with laws and literacy. I immediately thought of Maxwell’s work, but the idea was put on the back burner by things like. . .well. . .like. . .okay. Really. What do I know about literacy leadership?

But this is the point.

Maxwell maintains that all leaders are born, and he is still waiting to see one come into the world any other way (23), but they may not be born in the manner with which we are accustomed. And this is where we turn to Maxwell’s ideas.

What does it mean to be a literacy leader? What are the qualities of a literacy leader? How do literacy leaders become leaders and how are they developed over time? These are the questions I hope to find answers to (note I did not say answer, like Morrie Swartz from Tuesdays with Morrie, I like to approach such commitments with a firm resolve, “open to revision).

Back to the original idea. I wanted to do this right. I not only wanted to make a suggestion about literacy leadership, but I wanted my ideas grounded in a kind of template that I believed in that–I would hope–would make the best sense to my peers while at the same time solidifying my own ideas regarding literacy and leadership (after all, the student talking is the student learning, right?).

In order to do this right, I had to go to the source. I would go to the Maxwell Company and ask permissions to use the ideas presented in the original book and adapt them to talk about literacy. This is no easy feat when one considers the reach and influence that John C. Maxwell has, his ability to draw from the historical record along with his ability to draw from voices of leadership from all corners of the world. But then I thought, I have this same kind of reach, but the people I might extend my hand to may not be as well known as those in Maxwell’s sphere of influence and interaction. And this idea was born–we could showcase those people who exemplify each one of the laws and talk about what that law looks like when it comes to literacy leadership.

First things first though–permissions. Today, the Maxwell Company representatives have granted permissions to use language from The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership to draw correlations to and between the original ideas and the idea of literacy leadership. I was actually surprised at the informal nature of our email exchanges. Corresponding back and forth with Maxwell’s people felt as though I was already working with friends who would like to see this idea work. If this blog series leads readers back to John C. Maxwell’s original work, then I will feel as though something special has happened as a result of this idea.

One goal I might share with readers early on is that, with its historical and cultural references–along with endless invitations for cross-content reading passages–embedded within the individual laws, a book like The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Leadership could be adopted as a non-fiction text in an age of Common Core Standards.

But the ultimate goal of this series will be to explore literacy leadership using a reader-friendly template that I hope will make a connection with the readers of this blog series. Remember, this is a book I really believe in, and I am happy–well, proud–that the Maxwell people are meeting this idea with a degree of faith and confidence.

Each Sunday, I will showcase one of Maxwell’s Laws of Leadership and then break that law down for how it works within the scope of literacy leadership. While reading through the book again this evening, I have already pinpointed individuals who exemplify the law within the realm of literacy leadership. I cannot wait to start contacting these people for their vision, their input, for their leadership.

This post will serve as the introduction and it will allow me some time to contact my first example of how that law works out there in my sphere of influence and interaction.

Please join me right here–on February 5th–for the first installment of “The 21 Irrefutable Laws of Literacy Leadership” when I will be discussing the very first law presented by John C. Maxwell in regard to leadership: The Law of the Lid.

I’ve been sitting on this list all day. It’s hard to make a list. But I made one. And you know what? It’s MY list. . .so. . .I am bringing all of my +1s that I wanted to have on here. So each category now has eleven. And tomorrow there may be twelve. See? It’s not that hard. I am taking a Walt Whitman approach here. Do I contradict myself? Then I contradict myself. I contain multitudes (wink). Okay, Whitman may or may not have winked. It would have depended upon the venue and the audience, I’m sure. So. . .here are my +1s. . .

The end of the year means going back through the reading seasons of 2011. With some of the best titles read this year, I can picture in my mind what I was doing during that time, where I purchased that particular book, or where that book was read. In the case of Dude: Adventures with Dude and Betty, a picture book that makes this list, I remember passing this around the lobby with Franki Sibberson, Donalyn Miller, and Mary Lee Hahn (the owner of the book who just couldn’t wait to share). What a delight to share this title and this becomes a reading memory for 2011.

Perhaps the best part about getting Advanced Reader Copies of books is that at the end of the year you can finally talk about them within one’s reading community. It was with great excitement that I read Lauren Myracle’s Shine on the plane back from NCTE/ALAN 2010. I remember getting a very early ARC of Everybody Sees the Ants by A. S. King and how I spent a May evening in the backyard swing devouring each and every word. I remember how I read Americus, a graphic novel that appears here, online–in installments offered daily by the authors, when good friend, Teri Lesesne sent along an official copy.

When books go viral in spaces like Facebook (with The Centurions of 2011), or Twitter (with the newly-formed #nerdybookclub, or the various discussion forums, it’s easy to get excited for a book. And no book saw a mixture of excitement to read measured with a reflective pause after reading like Patrick Ness’ A Monster Calls.

By the end of the year, I will have read through over 650 books across age groups and genres. This is an attempt to cull from all of those titles that were released in 2011. Any similarities to other posted lists indicates either coincidence or a very, very good book. Enjoy my list. It will not tip the award-selection committees’ decisions nor sway public opinion, but it will at least give you a glimpse of the reading journey I embarked upon during 2011 and the titles I picked up and loved along the way. 

Oh, and to be sure, it was very, very, very difficult to not add titles that will release in 2012.

Oh, my lovelies. . .it’s shaping up to be another super, super reading year. Stay tuned.

And now the list. . .(the titles appear in no particular order).

Young Adult Fiction 

The Pull of Gravity by Gae Polisner

My Life, The Theater, and Other Tragedies by Allen Zadoff

Ashes by Ilsa J. Bick

Stick by Andrew Smith

Beauty Queens by Libba Bray

Illegal by Bettina Restrepo

Brooklyn, Burning by Steve Brezenoff

Everyone Sees the Ants by A. S. King

Shine by Lauren Myracle

Pearl by Jo Knowles

+1 Want to Go Private? by Sarah Darer Littmann

 Middle Grade Fiction

 A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness

Sparrow Road by Sheila O’Connor

Bigger Than a Breadbox by Laurel Snyder

Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu

Okay for Now by Gary D. Schmidt

Liesl and Po by Lauren Oliver

Horton Halfpott: (with subtitles) by Tom Angelberger

The Unwanteds by Lisa McMann

Inside Out and Back Again by Thanhha Lai

Under the Mesquite by Guadalupe Garcia McCall

+1 Hidden by Helen Frost

 Picture Books

Love Twelve Miles Long by Glenda Armand

Zombie in Love by Kelly DiPucchio Illustrated by Scott Campbell

Dude: Fun with Dude and Betty  by Lisa Pliscou Illustrated by Tom Dunne

Passing the Music Down by Sarah Sullivan Illustrated by Barry Root

The Scar by Charlotte Moundlic  Illustrated by Olivier Tallec

Brother Sun, Sister Moon: Saint Francis of Assisi’s Canticle of the Creatures by Katherine Paterson

Balloons over Broadway by Melissa Sweet

Heart and Soul by Kadir Nelson

Never Forgotten by Patricia McKissack Illustrated by Leo and Diane Dillon

A Storm Called Katrina by Myron Uhlberg

+1 The Three Little Aliens and the Big Bad Robot by Margaret McNamara

Poetry

Roots and Blues by Arnold Adoff  Illustrated/Paintings by R. Gregory Christie

Things to Say to a Dead Man by Jane Yolen

The Bippolo Seed by Dr. Seuss

B by Sarah Kay

Every Thing On It by Shel Silverstein

Lemonade: and Other Poems Squeezed from a Single Word Bob Raczka

It’s a Book by Lee Bennett Hopkins

Requiem: Poems of the Terezin Ghetto by Paul B. Janeczko

Planet Middle School by Nikki Grimes

BookSpeak!: Poems About Books by Laura Purdie Salas and Josee Bisaillon

+1 The Watch That Ends the Night by Allan Wolf

 Graphic Novels

Anya’s Ghost by Vera Brosgol

Page by Paige by Laura Lee Gutledge

Around the World by Matt Phelan

The Next Day by John Porcellino

Sidekicks by Dan Santat

Americus by MK Reed and Jonathan Hill

Empire State by Jason Shiga

Vordak Rules the School by Vordak the Incomprehensible

Cat Versus Human by Yasmine Surovec

The Last Dragon by Jane Yolen

 Non-Fiction

Monkey Boy to Lunch Lady: The Sketchbooks of Jarrett J. Krosoczka

Amelia Lost: The Life and Disappearance of Amelia Earhart by Candace Fleming

Over and Under the Snow by Kate Messner

Franklin and Winston: A Christmas That Changed the World Douglas Wood and Barry Moser

America Is Under Attack by Don Brown

Drawing from Memory by Allen Say

A Stolen Life: A Memoir by Jayce Dugard

For the Love of Music: The Remarkable Story of Anna Marie Mozart by Elizabeth Rusch

Me . . . Jane by Patrick McDonnell

The Case of the Vanishing Golden Frogs: A Scientific Mystery by Sandra Mark

+1 Flesh and Blood So Cheap: The Triangle Fire and It’s Legacy by Albert Marrin

We had a real editing challenge on Friday morning (December 9th) #nerdybookclub asks guests who post to keep their entries to 1000 words or fewer. Here is “Where the Lost Get Found (and stop getting pound. . .ed)” in its entirety. It helps to fill in some of the blanks of the shorter post and allows me some space to expound upon some of my thinking while drafting this piece. Please enjoy them both.

A

“Where the Lost Get Found (and stop getting pound. . .ed)”

I remember the first time I heard this song on a local Christian music station. “It’s where the lost get found.” I think I have known this place since I was four years old.  I remember this place where the lost get found as distinctly as I remember Santa Claus coming one year. . .and not coming the next. I remember this place wherein hymns became “songs,” sermons became “talks,” and church became a “hall.” I remember this place and it really has nothing to do with some grand theological bordering upon an It’s a Wonderful Life kind of post.

The place I remember is books.

How inviting is it to a group of readers that the opening of what many refer to as “the good book (but I have yet to see it called the best book in the forums I frequent—must be some failing in marketing or the lack of an eye-popping trailer)” that it reads in the beginning was the word. As a reader, I’m sold. Right there. It gives me great comfort that words have been, words are, and words will be.

And when Santa stopped making house calls to our mobile home in Northern Michigan, my family and I, under the guidance of others in our congregation made door-to-door calls of our own. Perhaps you have met me in some other  time, in some other place, on some other porch. At the age of five, I could cite verses from Hebrew scripture as easily as I could unpack symbolism as found in the Revelation According to John.  I studied from Watchtower Society publications including The Watchtower, Awake, My Book of Bible Stories, and the introductory piece for all young Jehovah’s Witnesses, the gentle pink colored Listening to the Great Teacher.  In preparation for Sunday meetings, I would sit in my small room and prepare by reading the questions at the bottom of each page and dutifully “underlining” the correct responses I might volunteer to give when the time came (please note, this post is not an instruction piece on the rituals found within the Watchtower Society, but I think this demonstrates that this group had a leg up on Harvey Daniels in regard to reading, responding, reflecting, and reporting out as part of a small study group—these happened on Tuesday evenings in the homes of volunteer hosts).

When I entered Kindergarten—in compliance with man’s law, I looked for familiar books, but I couldn’t find anything that looked the friendly, smiling, bearded face of my Jesus. . .my Great Teacher. I found Ms. Luttman, who probably thought me to the great oddity as early on as October when I finished cutting an orange globe from construction paper and asking, “What do I do when I am done?” And after a tenuous meeting between my mother and my teacher, there was one perfect orange circle on the wall, a representation of the sun among the snaggle-toothed faces of Babylon the Great.

Monday through Friday I attended school. And I learned phonics, how to cut along the lines, the joyful taste of carefully prepared paste, the strategic play of “The Farmer and Dell (there are ways to avoid being the cheese as much as there are ways of completely dropping off the face of the earth), and the responsibility of making sure the milk cartons were delivered one to a person as the prescribed time.

But on Tuesday evenings, I studied the book assigned at the time by the Kingdom Hall. I listened to my father read, something he never did aloud at home. I thought my father was a slow reader. He had a hard time pronouncing words and I could feel the uncomfortable shiftings of the others in our circular group as he tried to get through the next section of reading. My father could not read. And to this day, he has great difficulty with the written and spoken word. All that was asked of him was that he “bark at the book” each week and underline the correct answer in response to the questions posed by the Watchtower Society authors (when I was a member of this faith, expounding upon the underlined response was frowned upon by the elders. Only elders were allowed to quantify a response found within the text provided).

My father could not read. But I could. And I read dutifully. And I continued to look for books that looked like the ones I had at home (having read them through a number of times, I was looking for more along the same lines). And the well-intended Ms. Luttman gave me books about hippos and books that offered half-handed explanations for why mosquitoes buzzed in peoples ears with absolutely no mention of Jehovah whatsoever. How misinformed. . .and seemingly this book won some kind of award. My reward was waiting for me because of my ability to see the error in the explanation. My attempts to communicate this to Ms. Luttman, somewhere about the time my Pilgrims looked like extras from Mission Impossible or outright ninjas of the Mayflower, we found ourselves once again in a meeting with my mother. And I looked for things to read.

At Christmas time of my Kindergarten year, when my attempt at yuletide expression looked like an over-sized air freshener among the glittery, off-kilter triangular offerings of my classmates, I thought that I would continue to be left out. I could not be in the room when Ms. Luttman read The Night Before Christmas. I had never seen the Grinch everyone else was talking about. The hallway became a club of one. One faithful boy. . .looking for something to read.

I was a favorite target of my bullying classmates and I often hid behind the cement cheese climber that stood like an orange post-it flag in the middle of the Ottawa Elementary playgroup. They were tired of my attempts to draw life lessons from the Hebrews who mishandled the manna provided, or why Jezebel’s launching from the upper window to dogs below was a justifiable decision that could only be made by the great I AM, or my take on eschatology. Nor did they really care that I was working on gesticulation that week for Thursday evening’s Theocratic Ministry school where young Witnesses are trained to prepare talks and to deliver them (I carried my talk notes in my pocket complete with notes in the margin for what I would do with my hands at that precise moment).

They beat me up. And they told me there was not one person at Ottawa Elementary that would help me because they all hated “Jehovahs.” I was alone. I was lost. But I had been warned about this kind of treatment by my peers in the weekly meetings. Stories told there were filled with examples of the persecuted. If I couldn’t take a little beating behind the cheese for Jehovah, I certainly wasn’t worthy of being a part of his Kingdom.

I found one way to keep the bullies from beating me up one day. I could make them laugh. I’d poke fun at myself, or I would recite some joke from Reader’s Digest (I began to seek out other reading materials and I had self-identified myself as a reader). My classmates, whose humor catalog was found lacking what with only dirty limericks and knock-knock jokes, were impressed with my ability to remember whole stories that would end in some unexpected punchline or incongruity.

I’m hardwired to abuse anything I like or find pleasurable. Hang around me long enough and you will begin to detect this right away. If it is good. I want more. Take a look at my classroom or writing room. I like books. So when I found humor as a mechanism for not being beat up, I sought out more and more books that would allow me to be funny, but allow me to be clean at the same time.

I read Tom Swifties. I read trivia books. I read funny books.

And then I found. . .Al Jaffee’s Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions.

And from that moment on, I became. . .baptized. . .in the snark that would seemingly become my trademark. . .or quite possibly my least-likable trait. I try to temper this, but I never know what the intentions of another person might be. There’s always someone out there that would like nothing more than to beat somebody up. I’m ready with a joke. . .like, “Cross this line if you want to fight. Wait a beat. There. . .now we’re on the same side.”

I hid MAD magazines inside of my Watchtower publications. I loved the parodies, the fold-ins, the Spy vs. Spy pieces, the sound effects that accompanied Don Martin’s drawings, and the little cartoons Sergio Aragones hid in the margins of the longer stories from the classic issues. I found a real release in the ability to imagine what kinds of names I would give the elders of my Kingdom Hall if I were to create that two-page spread collage of spot-on representations of familiar characters rendered by Jack Davis that marked the opening of every satirical piece MAD offered readers.

I read CRACKED as a companion piece to MAD and pre-dated Teri Lesesne’s “reading ladder” concept (just kidding, Teri. . .you’re the queen, but you should be honored, I tossed Harvey Daniels under in the opening to this piece that is going far too long already). I sang the song parodies aloud in my backyard trying to get my voice to sound as close to the original recording artist as possible to make the song more authentic as well as properly-skewered.

And since this is #nerdybookclub, I should say that I eventually found that the creators and editors of MAD magazine would often pull together features from the magazine. And if I could find these in the school library, they were mine. And I would devour them.

I found myself in humor. In the release from the seriousness of knowing each year the number leading up to 144,000 was slowly dwindling and I was only seven. . .and I hadn’t finished my quota of house calls in the past month let alone do the week’s underline. I had read from my New Translation of the Hebrew and Greek Scriptures that Jehovah would open up the earth and swallow folks for less (this is a good time to repeat. . .humor and reading humorous material helped me to escape this kind of thinking).In the skewering of the otherwise exclusionary and painful.

In holding something up to the light and finding out it’s not really windfall in that envelope at all.

It’s a pratfall.

We can laugh.

And this is how a lost kid got found in books. How many times do we say—fellow club members—that it is not what we find in the book, but what the book finds within us? These magazines and collections found within me the cleansing power of laughter. I could laugh when my Easter egg tacked to an April bulletin board looked as fresh as when it left the chute, a tribute to Mork from Ork among the multitudes of ovals with ill-planned zig-zag configurations.

Today, I find Chris Crutcher’s ability to find a chuckle inside of the chaos of the adolescent condition so reminiscent of my own , I have to wonder if he had been following me around my school, undetected by me being so fixated on the film-making genius of John Hughes. I think David Macinnis Gill is an absolute stitch. I secretly wish that Tom Angelberger and I grew up together. I wish David Lubar had been my fourth-grade teacher (I mean honestly, can’t you see this weinie man actually pulling lunch duty?). I think Lane Smith and Jon Scieszka  are delivering young readers from places they may or may not have even considered.  I think that Alan Sitomer has written middle grade’s Citizen Kane with his The Downside of Being Up. And excuse me for being a little sophomoric, but Don Calame’s Swim the Fly is like Porky’s meets Of Mice and Men.

And so that this love-fest of funny authors does not seem gender imbalanced, I think Lisa Yee, Lauren Myracle, and Carolyn Mackler are an absolute hoot. Have you ever had an interaction with Pamela Ross or Kristin Clark Venuti? And a tweet here and there from Libba Bray reminds me that are reasons to laugh in this world still. All of these authors are like my crazy uncles and aunts I’ve never had. And I love them all.

Because the prologue of every book they write seems to be written in invisible ink that only I can read. I can share with you how each reads now: “Dear Paul. . .pull my finger. And then turn the page.”

These books are the tools of deliverance. And they are a part of me as much as the Watchtower publications I read as a child. And this is why I can say with the highest degree of confidence that comedy must be part of any curriculum and we need to find it and include it within any proposed canon. David Macinnis Gill says that a book becomes part of the canon as soon as it is covered by one teacher with one group of students. It’s time to put some mirth the methods, my friends.

And we need to honor choice. Even when the kid brings in the new collection of Fold-Ins being released early this spring (I sense that Tom Angleberger and I will be tweeting out about these soon). Even when you know that the senior carrying around David Sedaris’s Squirrel Loves Chipmunk could use some reader advisory (by the way, if you call me, I will read stories from this book to you complete with animal voices).

And if nothing else, my early reading experiences taught me a reverence for literary tradition. Honestly, not many Biblical allusions get past the pasta strainer that is my brain. But humor was, is, and will probably always be the amazing grace that found me when I was lost and made me feel something other than dread and trepidation. . .and loneliness.

Pull my finger. It’s a kind of com-ic-union between two people who might share a giggle. It’s brought me this far.

B

By the way, if you were to fold this post so that A meets B, you would find a new parody written especially for #nerdybookclub. Well, not really. . .but wouldn’t that have been cool, Tom?

There Are Dark Places and Spaces Where We Can Still Talk About Them: A Poetic Response to “Darkness Too Visible.”

These companion pieces were written for good friend, Ellen Hopkins back in August of 2010. It felt appropriate in light of the recent Wall Street Journal article, “Darkness Too Visible” by Megan Cox Gurdon.

I’d like to re-dedicate these pieces to the authors cited in Gurdon’s article, the YA Community who has come out in support of #YASaves (Thanks Libba and Maureen) and to my Room 210 Readers.

“There Are Dark Places and Spaces Where We Can Still Talk about Them”: Part I

There

in the back of the house,

in the clothes closet, under the bed,

or maybe under cartoon-covered blankets,

are

elements more frightening—

terror existing, plundering under covers—

things far scarier than anything found between them—

dark

scraps and fragments of horror returning

those we would like to forget, at least deny

or tuck away deep, deep within

places

where they could be dismissed.

We could pretend they were never a part of us,

that they never settled into the places where we slept

and

dreamed. They never appeared in family photos

of some better place, waiting not only for us,

but for those who would come after—

spaces

where the sun might make itself known,

safe spaces for searching, for sharing,

for safety. A place for stories we might tell and hear

where

we could feel free to smash glasses  against stone walls,

where the turn of the cul-de-sac was not the end of the line,

where four letter words like hurt and heal could come together;

we

could stay up late into the nighttime and reclaim the dark

as a time, once again, for imagining the possibilities—

a time or re-imagining, for dreaming, remembering we

can

be larger than the elements that try to make us

feel small and helpless, building shelters from security blankets,

lifting the edges to take a peak underneath into morning

still

to find that we are still here, we are still alive,

and the sum of who we are is the sum of what we share

when we come out of silence ready to listen;

talk

about the tough stuff, baring our scars

to show where the new growth is like a new skin

proof of a battle waged when we were thrown

about

but found our bearing and straight path

the journey narrative, where we are the hero, the conquerer

and we no longer have to fear these things or anything like

them.

“There are Dark Spaces and Places Where We Can Still Talk About Them”:  Part II

There

standing in entrances and before closed doors,

standing at the ready with pens, not ball bats, to spin away

twists of yarn the stories that aren’t, knowing full-well the tales

are

those we need to tell, hear and share—how the prick of a finger

can lead to a punch in  the arm or a scratch running at arm’s length—

the progression of the unhealthy touch, in the light,

dark

or any other places the bad things find us, sometimes in the suitcases

of a relative we trusted or in a small plastic baggie with a twisty-tie

offered by the hand of a stranger  we’ve just met

places

where we should have never wandered,

but how could we have known beforehand what—who— could hurt, cut, and heal

were to be found just as well in the fluorescent lighting

and

tiled floors so carefully selected at a store specializing in making homes?

Now our shelters are like those blanket-crafted, make-shift tents,

and we live between the covers, the writing on the walls

spaces

white, messages clear as day when we are ready to receive them.

Don’t you know we are seeking guides not guardians;

we left our homes to seek the trusted keepers of the tomes?

where

are those awaiting who can help me to clarify my thinking?

Are there no answers in ancient scrolls or personal journals with answers?

And why are you clutching the scrolls so closely to your chests?

we

followed the examples of the bee and our low buzzing went unheard,

so we suppressed our song into a kind of hum,

all the while flapping our arms to no avail ; did you not see we had questions?

can

we agree that there are those who have been called to keep the stories?

we agree that there are stories that need to be carefully kept and told?

have we resolved ourselves to the two elements of story—the teller and the listener?

still

our hands are waving in the air and you mistake this

for some failed attempt to fly, so you categorized the steps

and standardized the act of taking wing in the guise of careful tutelage

talk

about what’s appropriate for each person,

look closer, you closed the door on the story and the hero both;

neither can find their way out from the trunk, the closet, the burn barrel, looking

about

for their release, out in the open where they can be heard;

there’s a journey to be taken within the words they would share

and all we need to do is to give them a place and to listen to

them.