Bird Droppings June 12, 2026

Why would someone rather send a photo than write? I tend to do both; that solves the problem.

“Experience is not what happens to a man; it is what a man does with what happens to him.” Aldus Huxley

1965, I was introduced to this author in a tenth-grade English Class. The book we were reading was Brave New World, written in 1932. You would think that a book thirty years old at that time would not have been that controversial. However, our English teacher was fired because of the reading list we had. What amuses me is how these books we read imparted more than just the words contained between the covers; they were catalysts for the development of thinking. In my last several days of a new-teacher orientation for the millionth time, I was pleasantly surprised that the illustrations and quotes were not politically censored.

Today, in 2026, with a new school year in a month or two, depending on your location, about to start, English teachers use the books my tenth-grade teacher was fired for as part of their reading list, as do many high schools nationwide. These were 1984, Anthem, and Brave New World, which were so controversial in their time nearly sixty years ago. Still today, these same words can inspire students and adults to think and ponder. I fear the undercurrent in politics in some areas of the country towards education may again squelch such reading.

“To write is to make oneself the echo of what cannot cease speaking — and since it cannot, to become its echo, I have, in a way, to silence it. I bring to this incessant speech the decisiveness, the authority of my own silence.” Maurice Blanchot

“Writing is an adventure. To begin with, it is a toy and a source of amusement. Then it becomes a mistress; then a master; then a tyrant. The last phase is that just as you are about to be reconciled to your servitude, you kill the monster and fling him to the public.” Sir Winston Churchill

Each morning, as I sit down and wonder whether the ideas may or may not flow, I try to find a spark, a starting point for the day. It is sort of a kick-start to my day, revitalizing my cerebral cortex. I thought of the experience as a start earlier, but within the word’s semantics, there are so many limits to the concept of experience. I was seeing a teacher, and most, as I read, were seeing experience as a limit; coming back to a note the other day, I used the idea of a container, as per students yesterday, talking with future teachers. That was until I read this line from Huxley. I correspond with quite a few former students and teachers from days gone by. Yesterday, I received a text message from a dear friend of nearly twenty years. A number of years back, he was in a very serious car accident and suffered severe brain injury. He had graduated from college and was working at the time. After extensive therapy, he has gone back to school and is getting certified to teach special education, of all things, starting next fall. He is writing a paper on teaching brain-injured children and sent me this note. My youngest brother John was born with brain damage and, when two years old, got encephalitis and more damage. He never spoke or was potty trained but was a significant part of our family for his entire life.  This note hit me hard and I could relate to his thoughts.

“I had a traumatic brain injury which affected my left frontal and parietal lobes, the same ones Bauby’s stroke affected. I have had a long, although essentially full, recovery, but I do not want to act like my journey is the same as Bauby’s. I never lost the ability to speak, but I did have to learn to listen and process and even read and write all over again. I am not sure if it gave me a chip on my shoulder per se or if I was just addicted to the therapeutic aspects, but I love to read, write, and play music more than ever before.

Ultimately, it has given me a unique perspective that many educators and even some clinicians may never fully develop. One of the most frightening aspects of severe brain injury is that other people often see what you cannot do, while you still experience yourself as the same person inside. This is something I share with other survivors. I know exactly what it’s like to have your brain, not your character, not your intelligence, but your brain, suddenly stop cooperating.

As a teacher, it is a powerful source of empathy because I personally understand (from experience, not a textbook) that communication difficulty is not the same thing as a lack of intelligence, recovery can be frustratingly slow and even invisible to outsiders, people may underestimate someone simply because they struggle to express themselves; but reading, writing, speaking and repetition can literally help rebuild neural pathways after injury. Neurologists often talk about neuroplasticity, the brain’s ability to reorganize itself after injury. After years of studying history, writing papers, preparing lessons, playing music, learning new songs, and discussing philosophies, they are not merely hobbies. They are cognitively demanding activities that repeatedly exercise language, memory, attention, and executive functioning; they are therapeutic.” (A former visitor to my high school room on an almost hourly schedule, borrowing books, holding snakes, and just discussing)

So my day started teary-eyed over a note from a friend, and I started to write. Over the past few days, numerous emails from former high school classmates, perhaps prompted by nostalgia and finding a few on Facebook, have reminded me fondly of a nearly forgotten tenth-grade class, yet one that truly started a process of thinking that has continued for me nearly sixty years later. But the direction changes as I look; we convey so much through writers and writing.

“To write what is worth publishing, to find honest people to publish it, and get sensible people to read it, are the three great difficulties in being an author.” Charles Caleb Colton

“I never know what I think about something until I read what I’ve written on it.” William Faulkner

Each day, I walk outside and look at the sky on clear mornings. On most days, I will go out driving, chasing the sunrise and looking for deer and other creatures. Today, a slight mist and cloud cover greeted me. For some, the stars and constellations provide direction. As the seasons pass, the constellations change, indicating the time of day and their positions in the sky, and often, as I go out, I am greeted by a new or slightly different sky before my front door. If by chance I am writing at home and not at school as I have for a few months now, I can go out into the backyard surrounded by pine, pecan, black walnut, persimmon, and oak trees; depending on where I stand, much will be obscured and I see only a shrouded sky laced with the branches.

As I read Faulkner’s note so often, this is true: we do not think about something till we read what we have written. I will often return to a piece week and months later and find a new meaning or understanding of what I was thinking at the time. I wrote a philosophy of teaching paper, and until it was returned with comments, I wasn’t sure what my philosophy was. A journey begins in reading, then in experience, and moves through writing, for it does take the written word to read.

“You must often make erasures if you mean to write what is worthy of being read a second time, and don’t labor for the admiration of the crowd but be content with a few choice readers.” Horace

“The greatest part of a writer’s time is spent in reading to write; a man will turn over half a library to make one book.” Samuel Johnson

It is as true as I write each morning, glancing through previous writings and reviewing articles, emails, and any books handy, looking for and pondering where and how I will direct my thoughts. Often, my morning consists of reading more than writing words on paper or a computer screen. So many times, a search for an idea or thought has eluded me.

“If written directions alone would suffice, libraries wouldn’t need to have the rest of the universities attached.” Judith Martin

“Although most of us know Vincent van Gogh in Arles and Paul Gauguin in Tahiti as if they were neighbors — somewhat disreputable but endlessly fascinating — none of us can name two French generals or department store owners of that period. I take enormous pride in considering myself an artist, one of the necessaries.” James A. Michener

What comes so easily for some, it has been said, may not be for others. I sit each morning, writing two or three pages, reading numerous articles and emails, and then go to class and ask students to write 500 words about what they learned this year. Most will say nothing since that makes it so much easier to write. As I think about where that student comes from, maybe they never read Brave New World. It could be because somewhere, somehow, or someone did not give them the opportunity.
In my room, it is often because someone or somewhere did not teach them to read effectively or to think beyond just surviving day to day. It might have been that was the only alternative. I was reminded in an email of Dr. Laura Nolte’s famous poster, “Children learn what they live.” As I spell-checked, I made an error: I had typed, “Children learn what they love.” As I thought a bit, you know what? That is just as true, too. So, how do we help children love learning and love reading? I wish it could be an easy answer. Perhaps we can start with ourselves. Let us set an example today, keep all in harm’s way on our minds and in our hearts, and always give thanks. Namaste.

My family and friends, I do not say this lightly.

Mitakuye Oyasin

(We are all related)

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