Loud Fart No Remorse: Ebook Excerpt

State testing has given new meaning to the term “artificial intelligence.” When I started working in the public schools in the early 90’s I had almost free rein to do groups, counsel individual students and facilitate a large variety of classroom team building experiences. Schools had what now seem to be quaint and archaic offerings like band and FASCE (family and consumer science education---we used to call this home-ec). Some students might be caught welding or tearing apart an internal combustion engine in a shop class. Those days are gone now. Students sit inside now, grim faced and silent, numbed into submission in an endless flood of math and science classes. Even civics has mostly given way to the last gasp of the industrial revolution. The left brain dominates. Right brain thinkers have been marginalized. Creativity and contemplation seem quaint and viewed through eyes of historical wistfulness with fondness but the dominant thinkers have dictated that these soft arts have no place in the society of the future.

“We need more scientists and mathematicians” proclaim the new captains of industry. Everybody must go to college. We don’t have enough mathematicians and scientists and engineers. This is the mantra we all hear constantly.

“Hmmmm….scientists….aren’t those guys who brought us Hiroshima and Super Fund cleanup sites?” asks one longhaired skeptic. Granted, scientists also brought us solar energy and life saving medical equipment but we must look clearly at the whole picture……………………

I have known Leonard for nearly 5 years. He is one of those kids that constantly gets referred to group. He displays a decided lack of interest in most of what the school has decided to offer him. He falls asleep in English class. In one of his three math classed he sits numbly while the teacher draws charts and graphs on her “smart board” with her digital pen. That doesn’t impress him either. Often he is tired from staying up far too late the night before playing video games. That’s what interests him.

Somebody decided quite some time ago what “school” would consist of.  At one time that included art, music, shop, PE and consumer education. Those days are gone. Even recess is under scrutiny. The architects of the new world view all that aimless running around, jumping and shrieks of laughter with suspicion. What could the children possibly be learning during that free time? What a waste of human effort. We need to have them inside learning! These conversations actually occur. Education engineers and analysts put the entire school day under a microscope and determine with bizarre formulas that shaving three or four minutes off of recess could bump up their test scores seven to ten points! With Machiavelli as their inspiration……….

Leonard can play almost anything on a piano after listening to it just once. Sometimes he has listen to it twice because he didn’t catch my off tune out of key humming. Anything I play on my iPod he can duplicate almost immediately. He has most of the popular tunes of the last 40 years memorized and can play the entire song with little or no effort. Jesse is a musical genius. Leonard's school has no music program.

Fun suckers.

That’s what Nolan called them. Fun suckers are those joyless people who seem determined to suck all the fun out of life. And for this round in the great march forward of public education, the fun suckers have won. Fun suckers look at others playing and having fun suspiciously. That is nonproductive time. Fun is waste with noise. A child just sitting on a bench contemplating the nature of existence or the cosmos or the meaning of life has no place in the world of the future. After all, how are you going to test that, measure that, quantify that? Gone are the social and emotional skills classes. Juniors and seniors don’t even PE anymore. This in some strange way must prepare them for a future as a workaholic.

Work all your life and save your money until you die.

I don’t think so.

I don’t think so is the first though of the warrior and the anarchist. Looking out upon a soul less machine driven world, the warrior poet and the anarchist has a different vision.

The Beechnut Boys and the Wenatchee Youth Circus

Sometime in the 1970's, when I attended Orchard Junior High I belonged to an extracurricular non school affiliated boys only organization of misfits, neer do wells, underachievers, cowboys, trouble makers and unrecognized geniuses. We called ourselves the Beechnut Boys because our common connection was that we all chewed tobacco. Although several boys had already graduated to the "hard stuff" like Copenhagen and Skoal we had all begun our addiction with pouch tobacco like Beechnut.

Before and after school and during lunch time we gathered outside the building in the unmonitored areas and chewed and spit and told lies. It was a glorious time made more glorious by the fact that we were largely ignorant of and oblivious to the health hazards of chewing tobacco. Another crowd gathered in the alley on the other side of the school and smoked. We had great disdain for the smokers for reasons now obscured through the foggy lenses of time and selective memory.

As our addiction and boldness progressed in tandem we took to "taking a pinch" in the bathroom during longer class breaks. We were just foolish enough to think that six or seven boys going into the bathroom and not emerging would escape the vigilant and watchful authority figures. Ralph Pederson was the vice principal and Paul Pugh was the principal. Ralph was a thin tense man with spectacles and a nervous gait. Paul was a burly man with a shock of thick gray curly hair that older men would love to have.

We spent a great deal of time both eluding and annoying these two stock characters of authority. We had unspoken agreements between the authority figures and our clan. When we made a big mess with our foul vile habit they would pull the reins on---kind of like cops who tolerate a certain amount of drug dealing and crack down when it becomes noticeable. Occasionally our chewing got out of control and we would throw the big wads of spent tobacco on the wall to try and make it stick. To our surprise this angered both Ralph and Paul!

They must have waited until just every single Beechnut Boy was gathered in the boy's bathroom. They burst in like DEA agents on a bust and after checking each of us for chew, marched us up to the office for a long series of "hacks." A hack meant being paddled with a thin wooden board and although such discipline is illegal now it was the norm in those days.

They paddled us one by one. The unspoken code among us boys was that you could not cry even if it hurt like hell. We never gave them that satisfaction. If it did hurt enough to make you cry you waited until you were well out of their sight. Emerging tearless and barely suppressing a smile meant you had endured.

Paul Pugh was also the director of the Wenatchee Youth Circus. The drum for this group sat in a place of pride in his office. When you got a hack in his office you had to bend over, grab your ankles and look at the Wenatchee Youth Circus drum. I never did like that circus or circus kids much after that.

to be continued

Changing the Message: Book Excerpt

TRUST SEQUENCE

"Trust is an egg. If we break it, we can put it back together again but only with considerable effort. It's much easier to design a system that will keep it intact indefinitely. What? No Cody we can't just hardboil our egg."

I only begin trust when the group is ready. Are they skilled at cooperation? Are there no putdowns? Does the group treat each other equally? Are conflicts handled openly and with respect for all concerned?  These and many more questions need to be asked before beginning the trust sequence. I frontload heavily with the group and remind them of the fragile nature of trust. We talk about the different kinds of trust and how trust takes risk. I usually end the discussion by stating it will be difficult if not impossible to go any further unless we work on trust. What follows is a sequence that seems to work for me.


I only begin trust when the group is ready. Are they skilled at cooperation? Are there no putdowns? Does the group treat each other equally? Are conflicts handled openly and with respect for all concerned?  These and many more questions need to be asked before beginning the trust sequence. I frontload heavily with the group and remind them of the fragile nature of trust. We talk about the different kinds of trust and how trust takes risk. I usually end the discussion by stating it will be difficult if not impossible to go any further unless we work on trust. What follows is a sequence that seems to work for me.

BLINDFOLD RUBBER CHICKEN TAG
PROPS NEEDED:
 One rubber chicken, boundary markers, and enough blindfolds for every participant

This is essentially a tag game with a few notable differences:
PROCEDURE
1) One partner is blindfolded. The other is sighted. The sighted partner gives verbal directions but cannot touch their partner unless there is a safety concern.
2) Fast walking only for obvious safety concerns………..
3) The person holding the chicken is "it". Their task is to tag the another blindfolded person
4) Have clear physical boundaries. If a person steps out of the boundaries, that person is "it".
5) After a reasonable period of time, switch partners.

Questions
1) What sort of directions were helpful?
2) Can fun be a part of trust? Is trust a serious thing?
3) Did we stay safe during this activity?
MIRRORING
Pair off in a creative way. Partners face each other. One partner begins making any sort of movements and gestures. The other partner mimics every move. This usually generates some laughs. After a short period, switch. The purpose of this activity is to pay complete attention to another person. It is an invaluable skill for spotting and safety awareness.

Boys Coyotes and other Wild Things: Dealing with Authority Figures

Last Weekend Yoga Calm hosted a ground breaking workshop called "Boys, Coyotes and other Wild Things." As a co-facilitator I taught participants activities that empower boys. But even though I was teaching the class started a trip down memory lane and my own experiences in America's public schools. I will be sharing some of my more memorable experiences and numerous encounters with authority figures.

Lenny Cummings and I sat in the enormous chairs sobbing with fear and anxiety. We were both in kindergarten and this was our first trip to the principal's office. The fifth and sixth grade boys had been sure to fill our heads with tales of terror. They told us the principal would spank us so hard we wouldn't be able to sit down for days. (Although in retrospect we never sat for long at that age). They told us he would call our parents and then most likely our parents would spank us too. This was all too much to comprehend for two five year olds so we did what five year old boys do: We cried.

I remember sitting in the chair and being highly aware of how far my feet were from the ground. Both Lenny and I had to climb into thoseforbidding adult chairs and wait. The waiting made it worse and for some reason the chairs amplified the experience. Everything seemed big, just big. The desk was monolithic. The principal's chair seemed like the command center from Star Trek. We cried and looked at each other from time to time. We knew the end was near.


After three million years had passed (in kindergarden time) the principal strode in and sat behind his desk. He was big too. He looked over the top of his glasses and asked in a kind slow patient voice why we were so upset. Why were we crying? We recounted our fears. We told him we didn't want to be spanked by him or our parents and we cried. He laughed in a kind manner and said we were not going to get spanked. He asked who had told us we were going to be spanked but the code was already in us. We would never tell. He knew that of course but he had to try anyway.


Our crime against society? We had crowded in front of several classmates at the water fountain. Of course this was not our first such indiscretion. During story time Lenny and I would sneak closer and closer to the wooden trucks at the back of the classroom. As soon as the story was over we would leap on the....big....trucks and zoom around the classroom. We didn't pay much attention to who or what was in our way. I cannot to this day recall a thing about those stories (visual/kinesthetic learner that I am) but I remember well the joy of...big...wooden trucks.


The principal let us off with a gentle warning to be more considerate in lines and in the classroom and sent us on our way. This was only the first of many trips in several schools to commune with authority figures. I reflect on this and other experiences when I watch the boys in the schools I work in grapple with a baffling system......to be continued

Changing The Message: Excerpt

From my first book: "Changing the Message: A Handbook for Experiential Prevention"

CREATING SHIFT---THE HIGH ROPES COURSE

"The four characteristics of the wasicu (greedy ones) world are fear, anger, jealousy and confusion. When you see these things you will need patience, endurance, alertness and awareness." Wallace Black Elk

For years I have sat and listened to elders talk about how tough the old people were, how they used to eat natural food, walk everywhere and jump in icy rivers year round. I try to emulate those examples as much as possible while still living in the modern world. This year, for reasons still slowly becoming revealed to me, I decided to start my own private polar bear club. Each day on the way home from work I would jump in glacial fed Canyon Creek or the Klickitat River. On weekends I would go in Bowman Creek which is just up the road from my house. During September it was easy. The days were still hot and it was quite refreshing. As time went on, I noticed some changes in my attitudes and perceptions about my daily dip. Initially I would pause and work up the courage to jump in. My mind would work on me a little bit. After a while, I decided to quit being silly. I had made a commitment. A life principle I follow is that when I make a commitment, whether it's publicly or privately, I follow through no matter what.

 At a recent conference of highly creative adventurous types I encouraged people there to join me in my morning dip. I had no takers. These are people who facilitate and run high ropes courses for a living. This was something new and they weren't quite ready or perhaps they just did not want to. On the second morning, one man accompanied me just to see what it was like. He wanted to know why I felt a need to jump in. I explained commitment and he understood that. I had to really think though about the core issue. What I came to was that my daily dip was all about my fear. Initially I went through a fear breakthrough process. There are some reasonable fears. Hypothermia is an obvious concern. More than anything , though, I was afraid of temporary discomfort. As in many things that stretch us beyond perceived limits I have received quite a few payoffs. When the flu was raging around this winter, I experienced a few brief sniffles and it moved right through me. After a day of counseling, the icy dip also seems to wash off the residue of human pain. Now I really look forward to it. It has given me a new confidence. I have stretched myself just a little. As a counselor, facilitator and teacher I have to be willing to keep stretching. This somehow gives permission those around me to keep stretching too.

What is Resilience?

INTRO TO "NEXT TO NOTHING"

Childhood as I choose to remember it.

"There are two types of kitties; inside kitties and outside kitties. You're an outside kitty." Tammy Hosaka

My brother Herb sat at the kitchen crying. At first he was crying quietly to himself. Then his tears and pain became visible. Mom and Dad were puzzled. My sister Jan and I were puzzled. Even Herb was puzzled although he didn't know why. Pain always brings the question "why?" My brother was crying because his hand wouldn't "work." Somehow in the remote village of Disautel, Washington, we were having a dinner of fresh crabs complete with mom's homemade dip of ketchup, mayonnaise and tarter powder. (Years later I would puzzle over the difference between the tarter in sauce and the tartar my dentist so valiantly struggled against.) My brother was struggling with the tool used to break the shells. Because his was thumb was broken, he just couldn't figure out how to get that delicious crabmeat. That's when he started crying. Now by this time you're wondering how did Herb break his arm and what does it have to do with this book and why does Jeff Albin have to start everything with all these weird stories?

Fair enough. Earlier in the day, Herb had been bounced off of the "bucking barrel." He had landed so hard on the compacted earth that he had broken his thumb. A bucking barrel consisted of a 55 gallon steel drum suspended from four trees. Usually a used saddle was strapped on top. Once the rider was seated, people would vigorously shake the ropes. Few stayed on for long. Successful riders probably went on to the rodeo circuit. Herb had injured himself that morning. It wasn't until that evening that he became aware of his injury. Before you leap to risk assessments consider that Herb broke one arm twice, one arm three times, dislocated a shoulder, shredded his knee cartilage, broke an unknown number of ribs and perhaps an ankle during the course of growing up. My childhood was filled with calls from the emergency room but Herb survived and so did we.

The bucking barrel still stands strong in my mind as the height of low-cost, high fun rural adventure. First, it was cheap. Steel barrels can be found for free. Stout ropes and old logging cable could be scrounged anywhere. Generous cowboys full of heart and wisdom still live in rural America. It also required community. Adults had to put it up. You needed at least two people per rope and one brave rider to make it happen. There was also, believe it or not, an unofficial safety committee. And more than anything, it was a rite of passage. Riding the bucking barrel gained you at least some acceptance from the children of Disautel. Other than a few bumps and bruises, people didn't get hurt. My brother was the lone exception during our time there.

My brother's experience through my eyes confirmed his character for me. He was tough. In today's language, we would say resilient. He didn't feel his pain until it became a real obstacle. In a small way I liken this to the Japanese gymnast who completed his routine complete with aerial landing despite a broken leg in the 1988? Olympics.

Resiliency is a quality parents, counselors, teachers and youthworkers strive to build in children. One of the simplest ways is to build a sense of community and family in whatever environment you are working in. The activities in this short book are designed with the principles of the bucking barrel with a few changes..

1) Materials must be found in the found in the average school or free in the community..
2) There must be a sense of adventure and risk.
3) Any community member can run the activities.
4) You don't ride unless you want to.
5) You don't need elaborate techniques or confusing jargon.

Caution: New Genetically Modified Curriculum Just Around the Corner

The new curriculum is here at one school I work in. Along with it come new signs, slogans, catch phrases and educational techniques. These are slathered all over the counselor's office and in selected classrooms. In a well intentioned idea gone wild, several signs shaped as keys with power words such as Ownership!, Committment!, Failure leads to Success! actually resemble penises. A middle schooler pointed this out to me. I have seen too many such curriculums come and go over the years. In one school I used to work in, there was a sign on the inside of the door where many of the more cynical teachers ate lunch.

 

"Caution: You are entering the new thought zone. Any actions or words may be misconstrued and misinterpreted."

 

The sign told me that this particular group of seasoned teachers had been through numerous new curriculums, paradigm shifts and education reforms. They endured these patiently, gave them lip service and quietly did what they had always done.

 

The students often have a similar response to the jaded teachers. They endure it. Some take to the new jargon and integrate it a little into their lives. As a rule, however, they are unaffected and unimpressed.

 

At another school I work in there is a largish man named Antoine who functions as the school janitor, coach, playground supervisor. In his free time he plays on a semi-pro football team (he's that big). His arms are mostly covered with elaborate and vivid tattoos. Several times a year he grows his hair out. When it grows to nineteen inches he has it cut and donates it to "Locks of Love" which is a program that creates wigs for cancer patients.

 

Antoine and his wife have a large brood of children from previous marriages and "strays" they have taken in from other family members. Although some "professionals" might find Antoine a little heavy handed in his parenting style, the children know they are loved and accepted. The children call each brother and sister and fight like normal siblings over normal sibling stuff. They are family.

 

At recess Antoine plays football and catch with all of the children regardless of gender or ability. They flock to him like the proverbial pied piper. After some of my activities the other day we spontaneously decided to surround Antoine in a compliment circle. Each 3rd or 4th grader in turn gave Antoine a compliment and then when we are all done, they dogpiled him.

 

As I reflected on these two approaches to giving children the skills to deal with real life situations, I clearly had to choose Antoine over the new curriculum. It came down to a simple concept and one word: Authenticity.