Bird Droppings September 26, 2026
A morning meander looking for a sunrise while the moon is still glowing orange.
Last night, as I was so tired, I never looked up at the night sky. I honestly wasn’t sure whether the moon was glowing for several days; clouds had blocked visibility. I drove over to the reservoir after seeing the moon was setting as I went out this morning. The moon was bright orange. I was searching for a sunrise and found a moon setting almost as spectacular, if not more gorgeous.
This morning, the first thing I did was read a comment on a post on my Kine project I submitted a few weeks back about my culture.
Thank you for trusting us with this. What I appreciate most is that you didn’t present culture as a category you belong to. You presented it as something you’ve been assembling your whole life out of stories, relationships, and place: Pennsylvania Dutch and coal mines, the Green Corn Dance and Black Elk Speaks, a backyard day camp, a publishing career, a ministry, a classroom. That’s the version of culture I want to carry into my own room, because the other version flattens kids into demographics before they ever open their mouths. Your “Culture Is Community” slide named it plainly: different rooms, same work, and the thread was always people. That landed for me as a fourth-grade teacher. The storytellers in your family handed you an inheritance long before you set foot in a classroom, and I’d bet my students walk in carrying the same kind of inheritance I just don’t always know how to ask about it, or I treat it as extra instead of as material. “Alone unopened” in 1974 and “we are all related” in 2026 is the whole arc of becoming in two lines. I’ll be sitting with that one for a while.
I had several old emails from my doctoral and graduate cohort friends, and nearly all have now defended their dissertations and officially completed the program. In another set of emails, based on an article on teaching memory that several teachers reviewed, several comments noted that these readings provided insight into the program’s successful educational adaptation. I enjoyed the reading, and it reminded me of a teaching principle I learned from my father, who applied it in the steel industry many years ago. I was taught this concept in a Red Cross course for instructors in 1968. It is called the FIDO principle, hence Frequency, Intensity, Duration, and Over Again. If you repeat something often enough, it will sink in. Granted, in today’s educational system, we might be using FIDO a bit too much.
“I believe that education, therefore, is a process of living and not a preparation for future living.” John Dewey, My Pedagogic Creed
I look at John Dewey’s ideas from nearly a hundred years ago and how we still refer to those ideas as progressive education; it amazes me. With all the educational materials now available, many are only a few years old. They still feel traditional compared to Dewey. One of our topics was comparing performance and social support. I am, of course, leaning towards the social support direction, as this is an integral part of my day when I am teaching, even with general education students. This is how I see kids and how I deal with them. I return to the idea I read about earlier today, which is to move away from the swing of the pendulum and instead go in the direction of a pulse; no swing either way, but a steady beat or energy.
We should try to steer away from the concept of right or left swing and focus on what is best for the child, not always for society. I have worked with many children from a nearby low-income housing area. Many are very bright, and all are very poor. The sixteen-hour syndrome, as I call it, is alive and well in that area. As I go by several times a day between my mother’s house and my own, I see kids I have had and often new ones, but always similarities.
Looking back on my years teaching EBD students, I see I have had more students from that one spot in the county than from any other specific location. Sadly, many are marrying within that small community. More kids are being born in that environment. Many are on the fringe of society. Many of the kids are anarchists, punks, suffering from divergent behaviors, drug addicts, and alcoholics, and few, if any, have jobs. I wondered as I drove by, thinking of kids from this enclave in the past. Several face serious hardships; some have escaped and moved away, and many will attend our newest high school down the road next year. I wonder whether anyone in that community was approached about participating in the greater good.
Interesting, as I am having a difficult time getting started this morning, wandering off a bit as if I had just driven by that community. I am always trying to keep up with my youngest son. Thinking back, I recall a day he decided to do a Godzilla marathon of the old Godzilla movies. I did not make it through the first one. When I got up the next morning, the video was still on, and he had crashed somewhere after five this morning, watching the twenty-eighth movie featuring the man in a monster suit. He’d just found the latest installment, which features every other major monster and a walk-on by the computer-generated Godzilla. I often wonder if Godzilla has a hidden meaning: the powerful beast that always has a weakness in the end. Sort of the David and Goliath of nature and humanity, and my youngest, of course, came to the rescue, offering that the original concept of the monster was an anti-nuclear effort.
“The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach.” Laurens Van der Post
For many years, I have been intrigued by this man, whom I hadn’t heard of until I found a quote several years ago. Yet, he has written hundreds of books and articles on Africa and numerous other countries. An African Bushman woman raised him and taught him their ways and philosophy of life. His writings are permeated with nature and the thoughts and aspirations of these primitive people. Van der Post was knighted by the Queen many years ago and is the Godfather to Prince William. He is the only non-royal to have ever been given that honor.
“It’s easier to go down a hill than up it, but the view is much better at the top.” Arnold Bennett
As I sit this morning, conversations and yesterday’s events often drive my thoughts and inspire me as I write. Yesterday, I talked with some friends about where they had been and where they were going; adversity was a good word as we spoke. It is about looking at a lion in the face and walking away, knowing you have survived. Only a few days ago, I was talking with a former student. She graduated from a respected associate’s program and was floored at one point by her rejection from a four-year school. She attended the two-year program on a full athletic scholarship and struggled academically to play on a nationally ranked junior college team. As graduation time approached, she had to quit softball and forfeit her scholarship to raise her grades and devote more time to studying. She had conquered her adversary and was now trying to move on. After graduating with a four-year degree in business, she was still working as a waitress. However, just a few days prior to our talk, she had been interviewed and landed a job she had been dreaming about.
“Turn your face to the sun, and the shadows fall behind you.” Māori Proverb:
Overcoming adversity begins with action: taking a step forward, realizing shadows are cast by light, and knowing growth comes from effort. It is difficult to cross a stream if you never take the first step. Borrowing from the Zen teachings, “You can never cross a stream the same way twice.” I was sitting here remembering old stories and thoughts from the past. We would hike up a stream in North Georgia, the Toccoa Creek, and during that hike, traverse about 500 feet uphill over rocks and boulders, climbing up the creek. In the process, of course, water is continually flowing against you, and depending on the rainfall, it could be quite substantial. Cracks and crevices abound, and more than several times, you swim in rock channels ten feet deep and eighteen inches wide all uphill, but at the top is a waterfall.
“The view at the top is always worth the climb,” Sir Edmond Hillary
Keep all in harm’s way on your mind and in your hearts, and always give thanks. Namaste.
My family and friends, I do not say this lightly,
Mitakuye Oyasin
(We are all related)
docbird
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