An Enchanted Place, Part 2: In Which We Say Goodbye

Photo: Galleons Lap by zenitpetersburg

So despite the impending bell, the rush to the bus, the administrative fart in the Church of Wonder with that daily detention announcement over the intercom just when we’d arrived, in our Story, at the Enchanted Place - despite all of that, the children agreed to stay to the end. Even the half-gone girls, who had somehow already learned that it’s really Not Cool to listen to stories, to like teachers, to sit on the floor and steal a moment’s magic - to Do Nothing - even they agreed to stay. For One Last Story.

That clock, servant of the bell, was, as usual, doing it to me. I strangled the unborn question, “What do you think the Enchanted Place looks like?”, and pushed ahead with the story.

I read to them of Galleons Lap, where the number of trees in the circle at the Forest’s top were sometimes 63, and sometimes 64, no matter who counted, or how carefully. (Why did I want tell them to remember these trees when, years later, in high school physics, they’d study Heisenberg, Uncertainty, Wave-Particle Duality, and the wonderfully more-than-one-answer-is-right world of quantum mechanics? No matter. There was no time.)

They heard how, “[b]eing enchanted,” the ground of Galleons Lap

was not like the floor the Forest, gorse and bracken and heather, but close-set grass, quiet and smooth and green. It was the only place in the Forest where you could sit down carelessly, without getting up again almost at once and looking for some where else.

“Don’t you love that?” I asked. “You know how, whenever you sit in the woods, there’s always a rock, or a pine cone, or a root, or thorns, or something that hurts your butt and makes you have to get up to find a better place?”

“I’ve never sat in the woods before,” said the Piece of Magic in front.

“You haven’t?”

“Neither have I.” “Or me.” “Or me.” “Me neither.”

“Who here has sat in the woods?”

Not one hand went up, or voice said “me.”

I pointed out the window. “What’s that green stuff on the on the other side of the valley?”

“Trees.”

“Right. Forest. Woods! Our school is in the middle of woods too. All of Korea is tree-topped ridges with narrow valleys. And you’ve never sat in the woods?”

“They’re dirty.”

“And my mother says they have germs.”

“And we go to school nights and weekends.”

“Already? I know my high school students do that, but you do too? You’re only ten years old!”

“If we don’t,” they explained, “we won’t get into a good university.”

“My oh my oh my,” I said. “Well here’s what you’re missing by not sitting in Galleons Lap:

Sitting there they could see the whole world spread out until it reached the sky, and whatever there was all the world over was with them in Galleons Lap.

“Now listen to this next part, and tell me what Christopher Robin is talking about:

Suddenly Christopher Robin began to tell Pooh about some of the things: People called Kings and Queens and something called Factors, and a place called Europe, and an island in the middle of the sea where no ships came, and how you make a Suction Pump (if you want to), and when Knights were Knighted, and what comes from Brazil.

One of the half-gone girls was quick to answer, without raising her hand, with an irony belonging to a voice twice her age: “School.”

They heard how impressed Pooh was that Christopher Robin knew these Things, and how he wished he had a Real Brain so he could know them too, and how, “by-and-bye,

Christopher Robin came to an end of the things, and was silent, and he sat there looking out over the world, and wishing it wouldn’t stop.

And we all watched as Pooh confused Knights with Afternoons, and as Christopher Robin, in one of the most perfect scenes in children’s literature, knighted Pooh with a stick, after which Pooh “sat down and said ‘Thank you,’ which is a proper thing to say when you have been made a knight.” And we listened to Pooh’s quiet alarm as

he began to think of all the things Christopher Robin would want to tell him when he came back from wherever he was going to, and how muddling it would be for a Bear of Very Little Brain to try and get them right in his mind. “So, perhaps,” he said sadly to himself, “Christopher Robin won’t tell me any more,” and he wondered if being a Faithful Knight meant that you just went on being faithful without being told things.

“Do you see what’s happening?” I asked. “Do you understand now where Christopher Robin is going?”

They did.

“And why is Pooh worried?”

This time one of the girls who got it wrong so right in our opening questions got this one right too: “Because Christopher Robin won’t bring Pooh.”

“That’s so sad,” said one of the half-gone girls.

I told them when I read this in the Army, on that mountain-top base-camp in Serbia, I almost cried at this part:

Then, suddenly again, Christopher Robin, who was Still looking at the world with his chin in his hands, called out, “Pooh!”

“Yes?” said Pooh.

“When I’m–when– Pooh!”

“Yes, Christopher Robin?”

“I’m not going to do Nothing any more.”

(And I swear to Goodness, my voice was shaking as I read this, and I had to stop and look up at them all.)

“Never again?”

“Well, not so much. They don’t let you.”

Pooh waited for him to go on, but he was silent again.

“Yes, Christopher Robin?” said Pooh helpfully.

“Pooh, when I’m–you know–when I’m not doing Nothing, will you come up here sometimes?”

“Just Me?”

“Yes, Pooh.”

“Will you be here too?”

“Yes, Pooh, I will be really. I promise I will be, Pooh.”

“That’s good,” said Pooh.

“Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”

Pooh thought for a little.

“How old shall I be then?”

“Ninety-nine.”

Pooh nodded.

“I promise,” he said.

Still with his eyes on the world Christopher Robin put out a hand and felt for Pooh’s paw.

“Pooh,” said Christopher Robin earnestly, “if I–if I’m not quite” he stopped and tried again –”. Pooh, whatever happens, you will understand, won’t you?”

“Understand what?”

“Oh, nothing.” He laughed and jumped to his feet. “Come on!”

“Where?” said Pooh.

“Anywhere,” said Christopher Robin.

We’re almost finished, I said, and then finished:

So they went off together. But wherever they go, and whatever happens to them on the way, in that enchanted place on the top of the Forest a little boy and his Bear will always be playing.

“And that’s the story I wanted to give you.”

I told them that every story in the two books was as good, and that I’ve carried those books with me around the world as an adult - which means constant packing and unpacking, paying for extra freight, on and on - and that I’ll carry them with me til I die. And that I hoped one day they would read them too.

And several asked if they were in the library, and I hope some of them made the time to forget bells and clocks and buses and night schools to go check them out and find a quiet place to read them.

And their teacher told them to thank me, and they clapped and obliged. And I said “Thank you,” which was a proper thing to say when somebody has let you read a story to them, and they have listened and stayed with you the whole time.

* * * *

So how, as I so grandly claimed at the end of Part One of this story, did this experience “quite literally change my life”?

It has something to do with the walk back from their elementary building to my high school building; something to do with the high school students in the detention room sitting, by regulation, Doing Nothing for an hour as punishment for Doing Something Wrong during the day.

It had something to do with entering my empty classroom, where a few hours earlier my seniors had had a quiz on Kerouac’s On the Road, and noticing a printout of Cliff’s Notes on the novel atop one of the empty desks.

And how did all of that change my life, as opposed to merely changing my mood?

It helped me decide to take a risk, and put my money where my mouth was when I wrote this line back in December:

I’m not sure how much longer I want to work for schools. I’d so much rather teach.

So I didn’t renew my contract. I’m going to continue (or is it, “finally start”?) teaching, but on my terms. More on that as it unfolds.

28 Comments

At June 9, 2008, Terry Shay wrote:

Clay,

I read a lot of blogs and none of them touch me the way yours does. You write with such an honest and emotional voice. I have been looking forward to the second part and now I am a little sad….Although you will continue to teach, the classroom world has lost a bright and shining star. All kids deserve to have a teacher who can be emotionally honest and caring. Keep teaching, even if not in a classroom. The world and the kids need your voice.

I want to leave with my favorite quote, which is so meaningful to me.

“Piglet sidled up to Pooh from behind. “Pooh,” he whispered.

“Yes, Piglet?”

“Nothing,” said Piglet, taking Pooh’s paw, “I just wanted to be sure of you.””

Terry Shays last blog post..GarageBand - The Great Motivator
At June 9, 2008, Bill Ferriter wrote:

Hey Clay,

First, great post—you had me from beginning to end. Your writing is nothing short of engaging.

Second, as long as you’re writing, you’ll always be teaching because I’ll always be reading and learning.

Amazing, isn’t it? I’m a thousand miles away and I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing you in person. The most I’ve seen of you is the great UStream wedding of 2008.

But you’ve made an impact on the way that I think about teaching and learning.

Very, very cool indeed.

Rock right on,

Bill

Bill Ferriters last blog post..Wiki Roles for Student Projects
At June 9, 2008, diane wrote:

We can return to Enchanted Places, but they’re never again the same. They still exist, though, and we can introduce others to them.

That’s what real teachers do.

dianes last blog post..Most Hateful of All Things: Adult Bullying
At June 9, 2008, vejraska wrote:

Your post made me cry, for more than one reason. Another outstanding force in the arena of formal teaching leaves, and may I say that the educational system will blink and move on, while many kids will miss out on something so special. Sadness…will change ever come??

vejraskas last blog post..What I Want From NECC
At June 9, 2008, Wade Hopkin wrote:

Galleons Lap 2.0

Perhaps you, in the making of your blog here, have shown the rest of us a new Enchanted Place, full of magic, and ideas. Keep exploring:) Sometimes it’s 63 and sometimes it’s 64.
At June 9, 2008, Harold Jarche wrote:

From several thousand miles away; thank you

Harold Jarches last blog post..Five Years
At June 9, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

Thanks to all of you too.

@Terry, your words are kind and your Piglet quote wonderful. Milne is such magic, though the story of Christopher Robin as he aged into adulthood - and came to resent his father for the books - is sadly parallel to the feelings students have for teachers due to the system that perverts our relations with grades and bells and prescription curriculum and sanctioned (in both senses of the word) intelligences.

As for being a “shining star” as a teacher - I’m not sure that’s how my students would see it. In this system, with too many students to ever know well, and too little time to know even fewer well, and competing mountains of obligation from other homework, test-prep schools, and so forth, I’m not a great schoolteacher (and I really can’t see how anybody can be in these circumstances - the best we can hope for is occasionally okay, by my definition of great teaching).

But for a few students with whom I’ve connected (many not even in this school or country), learning happens together. It’s pleasant.

@Bill, it is cool. And I think the future of learning is already happening, and is beyond school, whenever a student reads a post and leaves a comment, or writes a post on Students 2.0 or other places. It’s pull-learning, not push-teaching.

@Diane, which points to what you said. Students read this blog more and more, and comment (or tell me they read this or that post, but didn’t comment, the shy buggers). They get that for free. And many get my comments for free on their blogs, because they care about writing and learning. As you say, we can introduce without being forced into the grading at the sound of the bell role.

@vejraska The students will blink and move on too. And the loss is not great - I work at the most expensive school in Korea, for the very privileged only, so it’s not like I was playing a noble role as a life-saver for the needy, the way public schoolteachers do.

I like your phrasing, though, of the loss being to “formal education.” It made me latch onto the opposite - informal education - as a decent working title for what education has always been when it was good, and before grades came onto the scene 125 years ago and ruined everything.

Informal education - “Let’s talk about your writing.” “Let’s talk about history.” “What do you think about This or That? Why?” Socratic. Mentoring. Apprenticing. Talking. Trying this and that. Playing. No bells, no grades. Knowing each other for more than 9-month terms - because so much is only ready to be learned when the class comes to an end.

On and on.

Thanks again, all. I’m excited to try teaching for real, unadministered. When your students (or their parents) can fire you for unsatisfactory work, think of the improved service you’ll give. And double that, when you think of being able to choose your students, and fire them for similar breach of learning. Awesome prospects.
At June 9, 2008, minh wrote:

…

“and the answers either sixpence

or a hundred inches long

and I know they”ll call me silly

if I get the answer wrong”

or put me in detention

and make me sit quite still

and keep me from the woods

upon the enchanted hill
At June 9, 2008, erin wrote:

I read that post way back in December and completely understood. How very brave of you to take the leap into the unknown! Following intuition is a fantastic experience. I don’t think people listen to themselves as much as they should, especially in our extremely busy and noisy modern existence.

To minimize disruption (whether it be bells or politics) to the learning in my classroom, I’ve followed my mother’s advice. She was magical with young children and ever the advocate for what was best for her students. Mom told me that one of her secrets was to close the door and teach. She taught me so many things about teaching, but that simple statement about closing the door, combined with the importance of ensuring that the children dictate the curriculum (instead of placing the curriculum first) are two of the most important. Best of luck finding a place where you can simply close the door and enjoy the art of teaching.
At June 9, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

@Harold, Hmm. Seems you made a similar decision “Five Years” ago?

@Wade, thanks for that and good luck on the inside.

@Erin, I love that advice. I have to say, I’m looking at ways to teach and learn with younger ages, but in true Elvis fashion, “my way.”
At June 9, 2008, Tim Bray wrote:

Clay, very well written and powerful. It reminds me of some conversations I had in Turkey with several of my students at ACI. The same disease infects this place — a lack of free time. Students need to be kids; they need to explore and discover and grow on their own. How many students fall through the cracks and actually learn to love learning? How many squares do we make with the “correct” length and “proper” size, but no soul? I cry sometimes when I stand on my property in Montana and look out at the beauty of the lake and the mountains reflected in the lake and know that many people never learn to enjoy living, let alone learning itself. I want to tear down the walls and make a real school; but I’m not yet ready, nor as brave as you are, yet.

Take care and I hope to work with you again someday,

Tim

Tim Brays last blog post..Poetry Reading
At June 9, 2008, robertogreco wrote:

Great story, Clay. Congratulations on your decision to step out. I did something similar (but not nearly as gracefully and poetically) a year ago and it has made all the difference. When you wrote that line in December I thought about commenting, but figured you’d come to the same conclusion without any prodding. So, again, congrats and best wishes.

PS: I’ve been meaning to chat with you on Skype - feel free to ring me when you have a chance.
At June 9, 2008, M. Walker wrote:

Clay,

A year ago, after 21 years teaching in the same district, I made a leap, though not quite as courageous as yours, to a new job.

Because of that, I had to immerse myself in Web 2.0 and look for the good ideas out there regarding education, and more importantly, learning!

I’m glad I stumbled upon “schooliness” and your blog. I look forward to watching where your journey takes you!

You’re a great writer. This 2 parter deserves “Post of the Year” consideration!

M. Walkers last blog post..Revenge of the Right Brainers: Daniel Pink at the U of M
At June 9, 2008, An Enchanted Place | Beyond School wrote:

[...] I’ve got to prep for a trip to the embassy and immigration office tomorrow. [UPDATE 9 JUN 08: Part 2, “In Which We Say Goodbye,” is [...]
At June 9, 2008, Zorro wrote:

It is interesting to have degrees in other areas, yet when you become a “teacher” those areas are supposed to disappear. You become a reflection of the school, the administration, and the dozens of “requirements”. Yet that is not who we are. It is not what brought us to teach but yet we are supposed to forget this “other person” and success with our students will happen instantaneously because we are doing what we are supposed to do.

I happened to Google “teaching blog leaving” this evening and discovered your blog. The pieces contributed by all are the true reflection of the quandary caused when an excellent teacher contemplates leaving the profession. The students enjoy the class. You enjoy when you are truly allowed to teach and connect with your students. Changing administrations might be the answer rather than leaving the classroom. I have often contemplated it. My students say they learn more about me from conversations I think I am having with myself. They have determined that to save me and them, I must simply move with them each year and we will be happy. (We have a common enemy: boredom.) We fight it with a zest for experiences and learning that often make the administration frown and teachers wonder why my students reluctantly “share” me with each other.

I have recently contemplated their suggestion but fear that they will not grow as students. Somehow, they will not seize their education and make others know that they will be taught, they deserve to be taught, and they are teachable. As long as I am there advocating and arguing, they will not do for themselves.

So, the answer does become to search for a new place. There are always options to stay in education or cut your ties completely. By deciding not to renew your contract, you are simply cutting the rope binding you to the anchor that has held you in place not severing your ability to connect again. I am giving myself this summer to decide which direction I am going next having contemplated many of the things I read in your blog. In the end, I can not take the person I am out of what I do and just become a tool for the administration.

Good luck on your new endeavor and congratulations on giving yourself the freedom to explore other possibilities.
At June 9, 2008, Elizabeth Helfant wrote:

What a great post! Whatever you do, you will be a teacher, its just in you! (Please don’t grade the punctution of that last sentence.)Your best students might not be those directly in front of you. Don’t underestimate the lessons you have taught some of us who weren’t officially students.. we never got to live in the enchanted forest but you brought important elements of it to us. You changed my thinking is many ways and you impacted students who never darkened your classroom doors. THank you and I will continue to follow!

Elizabeth Helfants last blog post..Fantastic Summer Fun - Wanna Join Us?
At June 9, 2008, Lucia wrote:

Clay, I can’t add much to the conversation besides echoing the thank yous that have all ready been posted. I wish for you a mountain of success in your endeavor to teach on your own terms.
At June 10, 2008, Hannah wrote:

Much luck in whatever you decide to do (have you any ideas?).

Hannahs last blog post..Confirmation is…..uhh….what?
At June 10, 2008, Taking Back Teaching: A Forgotten History | Beyond School wrote:

[...] all connects to the decision I announced yesterday to “stop working for schools so I can teach.” Some of the comments I’ve received [...]
At June 10, 2008, Bill Farren wrote:

Clay: Great post. I’d like to echo Bill Ferriter’s words in the second comment. (Bill, thanks for saying that so well.)

I’ve learned a lot from your writing and I’m sure others have too.

I’ve also learned a lot from the community that surrounds your blog.

Even though in the future, some kids may not have the privilege to join you in a classroom, I’m sure meaningful, engaging, joyful, learning will continue to benefit those in contact with you.

All the best,

Bill

Bill Farrens last blog post..Information Deformation - Video
At June 10, 2008, Aardent Lore » lerking ’round the big boys blogs wrote:

[...] are my favorite reads. They are were I am. In the classroom. Or, at least they were until here and here. Downs is the hardest to digest. He’s overwhelming and often way over my head. But [...]
At June 10, 2008, Jeff Wasserman wrote:

Clay,

Great post, as always. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve almost done the same thing you’re about to do, but haven’t been brave or sure enough of myself to do so. I wish you all the best, as well as a hearty mazel tov on your decision.

Jeff Wassermans last blog post..edupunk?
At June 12, 2008, Carmen wrote:

Dear Clay,

Lovely post, ‘fluff’ suits you well, frees you to write from the heart, no? I may have mentioned I’ve reconnected (post-tenure) with figure-drawing? After several months of only intermittent successes with my sketches, I’ve found I’m at my freest when I turn away from the model and stop trying to reproduce what I see without. I suppose this must be what the professor means by ‘finding your core’. And yet while a certain power and freedom do seem to come from looking within, I suspect that without some formal training (schooling), such freedom would boil down to a kind of narcissism. So it’s a paradox, isn’t it? Does anyone really want to return to enchanted places, or just rediscover them through art? (Footnote: See “The Archaic Torso of Apollo” by R.M. Rilke).

Again on the subject of enchanted places, how about having one’s own children? For a very brief while at least (parents out there, would you say the turning point is age 5? right around when we ship ‘em off to school?), the depth and sincerity of their cheer is completely infectious. But there again (thinking out loud) isn’t childhood is a mixed bag of euphoria and suffering? Birth would seem to be a fall from grace; is the womb a garden of Eden?

All best wishes, C

P.S. Please keep in touch, and good luck with your future adventures.
At June 12, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

@Carmen, You write: “And yet while a certain power and freedom do seem to come from looking within, I suspect that without some formal training (schooling), such freedom would boil down to a kind of narcissism. So it’s a paradox, isn’t it?”

Most great artists didn’t need formal schools in the current sense to escape narcissism. And most formal schools today are so irrelevant in their offerings, I’d counter-paradox by saying formal schooling actually drives the young to narcissism.

My notion of education and schooling extend beyond classrooms and teachers, and is thus more in line with big history, not the 2-century blip of prescription-filling that goes on in modern schools.

Anyway, enjoy your drawing and mothering and professoring
At June 12, 2008, Clay Burell wrote:

@minh For some odd reason, your verse comment got caught in my spam filter, instead of the beauty filter that should have caught it. It was lovely.

@Jeff, Bill, Hannah, Elizabeth, and everybody else who makes me feel like this needs being said: I’m not going anywhere but beyond school. I’ll still be teaching, and reflecting here on how teaching beyond school feels and looks, in my context. So this ain’t goodbye.

@Zorro, your comment was right on so many levels. Google brought you here, but I hope you come back and continue commenting.
At June 14, 2008, HaloScan.com - Comments wrote:

[...] “I
At June 14, 2008, Carmen wrote:

Dear Clay,

First, I couldn’t agree with you more about the shortcomings of our schools, which are the unfortunate byproduct of our societies, none of them willing or able to promote the kind of values one would hope to see radiating out of a solid and well-rounded education. With a teenager in public school, I’m constantly beating my head against the wall of local conformism: most parents, teachers, and administrators are content with a status quo that continues to promote, yes, narcissism, materialism, ’success’ measured in terms of the kind of productivity that leads to (earning) power.

When I spoke (parenthetically) of schooling I was referring to something entirely different, not a utopia or ideal like ‘beyond school’ (which I have no problem with, by the way; you may have noticed that I like to poke in on your blog now and again; you may remember, too, that I completely get the home schooling revolution, my mother took my little brothers out of public school for several years to home school… and that’s a completely different non-success story for another day). Rather I meant the kind of learning required to produce art, or literature, or anything else creative that doesn’t fall into the mainstream mould described above. Mozart had to be trained to play and write music; you hold a graduate degree in the humanities and invested countless hours learning how to compose elegant prose; I was enrolled in a course with a professional who alternated between teaching us technique and letting us fly free.

I hope you didn’t think I was accusing you of narcissism; my analogy between your writing and my drawing could have led to that misunderstanding and, if so, I do apologize. What I was trying to describe was the kind of ping-ponging I go through when I create something: is it satisfactory because of the fleeting epiphany I feel during a free moment, or is it ultimately fluff, to borrow your own self-deprecating term, imperfect, nothing more than a marker on the broader continuum of my overall progress, and if so, doesn’t that mean it’s time (for me anyway) to go back to the proverbial drawing board with the help of a little more technique? ‘Twasn’t a criticism of you at all.

Of true artists (as opposed to the amateur wanna-be’s like me!) and their narcissism, I know very little (well, that’s only partly true). I was only suggesting that one reason I turn to true art time and again (Milne is a great example here) is because it provides a magical release from my own narcissism!

All the best,

C
At June 16, 2008, Alana wrote:

Clay - I just signed up to follow both of you on twitter (its always nice to know how people find us isn’t it?). Also, put your blog on Google reader after a search on “transformational education.” I too am moving out of institutionalized education (higher ed in my case) and move to teaching. Thanks for writing all of who you are!

Alana