Idioms Tell Volumes About Us

Idioms Tell Volumes About Us

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Whether we call them idioms, colloquialisms, or odd expressions, they load the English language with terms that confound teachers and learners alike.  The more they are repeated and used publicly, the more idioms are likely to take root in our psyche and become a shortcut for deceptive meanings.  

Simply defined, an idiom is a phrase whose meaning is hard to predict from its parts. It cannot be taken literally.  Say you are an English language learner and I tell you I am sick as a dog.  This phrase comes from the 17^th century, but as a “newbie” to English, you might wonder why this is so bad.  Actually, dogs are known for vomiting frequently.  If I tell you this means being under the weather, meanings grow even more confusing.  Maybe I am just trying to escape bad weather because it is raining cats and dogs.  Or maybe I could be cured by some hair of the dog, also known as alcohol.  

Where do we find idioms?  Largely in everyday or colloquial conversations.  Their mates are slang, contractions, and profanity.  Despite never taking Latin in school (wish I had), and failing dismally at crossword puzzles, I really enjoy idioms.  Recently I made a list of those I use frequently.  I kept a cell phone recorder nearby because they disappear into “thin air” (yet another idiom). 

A review of the list surprised me.  Animal references are favorites.  My summer is filled with dog days, often I am dog tired, perhaps because I get up at sparrow’s fart (really early, thanks to the British).  Doggonit, I will always believe in puppy love, and I find it is never too late to teach an old dog new tricks.

 Efforts like this make me sweat like a stuck pig.  Still, I sleep as snug as a bug in a rug and never let bed bugs bite.   I regard despicable people as lower than whale waste.  I prefer to avoid those whose mouths run like a whippoorwill’s butt, preferring not to meet them in a dog’s age.  Lately, when I wash my hands of problems, I am likely to utter under my breath, “Not my circus, not my monkeys”. Sometimes caught between a rock and a hard place, or not seeing the forest through the trees, I decide there is more than one way to skin a cat.  

Living here in western New York, I belabor the weather.  Favorite idioms come from my dad who was an inveterate coastal fisherman.  Good weather could be predicted from the sailor’s delight of a red sky at night. However, the same in the morning always meant that sailors should take warning.  And “mackerel sky, not long wet nor yet long dry” predicts changeable conditions, which can include fog “thick a blue dungeon.”

Two of the more colorful expressions cemented into my memory come my Air Force experience teaching English in Vietnam. A Louisiana bunk mate used to crack me up when he complained, “That is harder than stuffing a pad of butter up a wildcat’s butt with a hot knitting needle.” On another occasion our commanding officer drove our jeep barely under the landing gear of an incoming C-123.  As we breathed a sign of relief, he turned and said, “Well, no guts no glory.”  I still use that idiom in hairy situations.

I fall back on language from the Bible all the time, thanks to my dad’s religious upbringing.  I find myself advising:  ask and ye shall receive; as ye sew so shall ye reap; there but for the grace of God go I.; and let he who is without sin cast the first stone.

Certain life style expressions have become idioms of choice in my household.  Included are:  persistence always triumphs; what goes around comes around; first paint the target, then shoot the arrow; cutting off one’s nose to spite one’s face; the horse is out of the barn; and if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. And when something really puzzles us, for some reason we say, “No kidding Dick Tracy!” 

Our idioms tell volumes about our origins, what we read or see on tv, and the people who have influenced us.  I suggest you draw up a list and share it with your relatives and friends.  You might find yourself moon struck or gob smacked at the end of the day.    

Adventures on the Country Roads of Italy

Adventures on the Country Roads of Italy  

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

One of the best ways to learn when traveling is to make comparisons.  It gives us firsthand knowledge.   We can learn about other places and civilizations by exercising all of our senses.  Because our own lives are a reference point, we can learn a tremendous amount about ourselves at the same time.  If we stay open-minded, feel safe, and avoid political opinions, international travel can be vitalizing and fun.  A recent bus tour of both city and country locations in Italy certainly gave my wife Hillary and me a unique appreciation of its deep history and sheer beauty.    

Our jaunt included 35 adventurous seniors from several countries.   Jackie, our tour director, is bilingual and passionate about all things Italian.  The bus ride alone was a continuous listening and learning experience.  We also enjoyed local guides who enriched our days with unique historical descriptions and anecdotes.  We hiked over miles of cobblestones and up and down stairs.  In the evening, after a couple of eight-course dinners lubricated by local wines, our tour group bonded over vintage rock and roll music.  

 My purpose here is to make a few simple comparisons with our home country.  First, consider the landscape.  It seems hard to believe that forests cover about one third of both the United States and Italy.  Our impression was that every available acre of Italian country is planted with olive and fruit trees, wheat and maize, and endless rows of grape vines. Volcanic soil is perfect for agriculture.

Cities like Rome and Florence have been built on the accretions of previous inhabitants over thousands of years.  In Tuscany and Umbria, hill towns built on volcanic tuff perch above high walls that may conceal caves and parts of ancient neighborhoods.  Pompeii, an entire city frozen in 79 AD by volcanic ash from Mt. Vesuvius, has no American equivalent.       

 Italy is geographically narrow and long while the U.S. sprawls in every direction.  Old and permanent, Italian landmarks are built from bricks covered with mortar.  Perhaps this is because the Romans, borrowing from their predecessors, invented bricks, made narrow walkways from basalt (volcanic rock) that lasts forever, and clustered their towns to protect against historical enemies.  Related factors may be the centralizing feature of cathedrals as well as the communal style of life around piazzas. The splendor of Christianity is enshrined in architectural masterpieces.

 By way of contrast, American towns and homes seem much newer given our short history, use of flammable wood as building material, huge land mass, and our restless mobility.  Americans and Italians are marvelous architects, but ancient Romans mastered the mechanics in ways we still copy.  Prompted partly by the need to move and house large armies, the Romans constructed straight roads, aqueducts, and municipal buildings with extraordinary efficiency.     

Trying to compare Italians and Americans based on a tourist view is a challenge. We certainly noticed that Italian service folks were patient, courteous, and spoke basic English.  When they do speak Italian, their words seem to roll out like an animated avalanche, typically punctuated by hand gestures.  As for style, Italians have a distinctive flair.  They cherish colorful traditions, stylish garb, and superb craftsmanship. 

 Italian road vehicles and driving habits contrast with ours, not so much on their “strada principali” but on city streets and on winding country roads.  Tiny compact cars and motorbikes weave down narrow roads, overlook traffic laws, and cram into every available parking space.  Busses seem to fit easily around tight corners because of wheels that turn at right angles.   Our bus driver Enzo adeptly navigated torturous roads clinging to sea cliffs so we chipped in and purchased a Ferrari driving experience for him when we visited the factory and museum.  

 We found Italian food delightfully fresh and varied, not spicy at all, supplied by nearby farm markets.  Multi-course dinners included antipasti, a typical first course of pasta, then vegetables and meats.  Pizza is sort of a gesture for tourists. The best desserts are found at corner gelato nooks.  We were told that real Italian gelato contains no fat, is not inflated with air, and is made from wholly organic ingredients.  Thus I gained some pounds, while also learning to appreciate abundant wines which are intended to be consumed with food.  

Many of our misconceptions disappeared as we traveled.  For instance, Venetian canals are mostly fresh and clean.  The Verona balcony where Romeo and Juliet allegedly declared their vows may be a tourist attraction, but Shakespeare invented it.  And the white that we saw on distant mountains is not snow, but rather carrara marble quarried today in Tuscany as it was in the days of Michelangelo.

Finally, something called “campanilismo” is probably the most vital ingredient of Italian life.  Remember, for most of its history Italy was anything but unified, so a positive provincialism still thrives.  An American parallel might be the traditional small town that deeply appreciates its heritage.  In Italian communities, you can feel it in well preserved city centers, old cafes, nearby churches, clean streets, and the friendly rhythms of life around the municipal bell towers.

 Throughout our trip, we realized that each separate region of the country rivals the art, history, and civilization of entire nations elsewhere.  No other country in the world has 53 world heritage sites.  Now we know why.  We want to return.    

 

Research Should Be A Tool For Thinking Clearly

Research Should Be A Tool For Thinking Clearly

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Students are typically told that research should come before drawing conclusions.  However, life experience prompts us to jump to conclusions, and then backfill selectively to justify them.    

What is wrong about this?  It seems quite natural to look harder for justifications than for contradictions.  But there are pitfalls lying in the weeds.  Most obvious are suspicions about so-called fake news.  As a result, we may close our minds to opposing viewpoints spawned by the internet or the media.  When conclusions rely on bias and emotions, the truth acts like a candle in the wind.   

Having spent a lifetime conducting research for many different purposes, I have a few suggestions regarding ways to make it a better tool for thinking clearly.

First, carefully define potential misconceptions, and then ask why.  For instance, if I eat a lot of peanut butter, does this make me more intelligent?  Or do I eat more of it because I am more intelligent?  Cause and effect is a two-way street, so it always makes sense to balance correlational research with common sense.  Along with this we should rule out questionable causes – like whether chunky or smooth peanut butter makes a difference – and realize that relationships are not necessarily a matter of cause and effect.  Things may just vary together by coincidence.

Another fallibility is called herd instinct.  Unless we analyze an issue to form our own opinions, we may be tempted to “go with the flow” and embrace what others tell us is a popular choice.  Herds could be a matter of survival, as when a crowd gallops toward an exit because of fire.  Or it might occur simply because an overhead sprinkler has malfunctioned.  

Rolf Dobelli, head of a decision science lab at Harvard, describes a fascinating collection of misconceptions that can best be corrected by self-awareness and a bit of research.  He points out that we jump to conclusions using whatever information is handy (availability bias).  We hold onto a house that has become a money pit when logic and research tell us it is time to sell (sunk cost fallacy).  Another potential warp, called “story bias”, leads us to turn truths into fairy tales for purposes of consistency or to hide something.  After all, stories are usually more interesting and exciting than time-consuming research.

Often we invent reasons to short circuit research.  Most popular is the knowing-doing gap.  By investigating an issue into near oblivion, we can delay doing anything about it.  Instead, research might reasonably convince us to act and then make adjustments afterward.       

Research and the internet go together.  For this reason, digital literacy should be a necessity for all of us.  Reading habits have changed drastically in recent years, especially for young people.   A new study reports that just 16 percent of our high school seniors read a book, magazine, or newspaper every day.  In contrast, eight of every 10 spend vast periods of time staring at computer screens.   A helpful step toward research literacy could be Google Scholar.  Via this computer application students can be guided to ask well-worded questions, investigate real-world problems, share their work, and to compare and refine documented references.

Simply collecting information is hardly enough.  Thinking should be clarified beforehand.  Misconceptions should be anticipated.  The internet may be a worldwide data treasure, but mining it calls for integrity and a systematic approach.  Valid and reliable research takes time, effort, and open-mindedness.  It can be used to test hypotheses, for advocacy or to tell a story, but in every instance, research should be respected as a feature of daily life.     

Seeking Simplicity is Only Human

Seeking Simplicity Is Only Human

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Simplicity can be a complex matter.  This sounds like a contradiction, but when we stop to think about the interwoven choices that surround our daily lives, it is no wonder that finding simplicity amid the din is something like discovering silence at a rock concert.

When the term simplicity is googled, lists of advice appear to tell us how to clear out living quarters, pare down wardrobes, and change our diets.  Unfortunately, not much is available to show us how simply being human can be a very natural way to enhance simplicity.

Today’s avalanche of technology provides an excellent example.  Not long ago our refrigerator died after weeks of ticking ominously.  Disappointed that it had lasted only nine years, but delighted that we had a 25-year-old substitute fridge to store things temporarily, we hastened to the local appliance store and complained to a sympathetic saleswoman about planned obsolescence.

 She said she was truly sorry.  She explained that years ago refrigerators seldom died because their compressors were built to last.  Today’s regulatory and safety mandates doom appliances to a much shorter life span. She could have added that computerized features have made many appliances easier to throw out rather than repair. 

This savvy saleswoman simplified our lives.  We realized an extended warranty would hardly protect us from malfunctions that were inevitable.  Our bias in support of the good old days was reinforced.  And given her apparent knowledge and emotional sensitivity at a time of stress, we were grateful to make a quick, simple choice based on her recommendation. 

A more dramatic example of why simplicity often wins dates back 40 years ago.  At the time I subscribed to a science magazine in which one of the feature articles was about the pros and cons of jet fighters.  Today’s stealth aircraft were foreshadowed with a stark warning:  they were precariously designed to stay in the air only as long as instantaneous and constant computer adjustments to the controls were operating.  When these experimental jets were flown into simulated dog fights with old jets using simplified technology controlled largely by humans, the Wright brothers would have cheered.  You know who won.   

Why was this?  For one thing, the technology back then was undependable.  Second, human judgment and skill spelled the difference.  Without a doubt, artificial intelligence and amazing electronic communications have changed our game, but we should never sell human judgment and simple thinking short.

 Even in a world of mystifying change, simplicity can be achieved.  I think one good way is to slow down, focus on just one or two goals at a time, and forgive ourselves for being human.  Another is to leave multi-tasking to others who may be much better at it than we are.  When we limit choices deliberately, this reduces the possibility of getting paralyzed by information overload. It helps to start by getting started even when the outcome may not be clear, and some data are lacking.  Adjustments can be made afterward.

Simplicity thrives on the present moment.  Spending too much time regretting the past, or trying to predict the future, can complicate life and immobilize us.  By learning to live our days one by one, a simpler life can be achieved.  

Finally, the abundance of simplicity in our natural world should be preserved.  When you see a photo or a painting of nature, most appealing is nearly always the impression of simplicity in the scene.  I try to use this as a guide for every photo I take.  It also serves as a satisfying guide to being human.        

Figuring Out What Belongs in the Dumpster

Figuring Out What Belongs In the Dumpster

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Once in awhile we rent a one-ton dumpster and clear out our accumulating material possessions.  We don’t think of this as unloading junk because most of it is still in good condition, having been well cared for and maintained in its previous life.  There just isn’t enough room for it any longer.  When culling the stuff, we frequently benchmark our decisions by asking, “Would our grown kids or grandchildren want it?”  However, a knot in our decisions, if not our throats, appears when we think about whether our kids would look at something we decided to keep and exclaim, “Are you serious?” or “What the heck did they want or ever use this for?” and promptly throw it out – all this as they clean the house just before or after we pass on.

Something sorrowful stalks us when the dumpster lands in our yard for a week, despite the fact that my wife actually experiences intense pleasure from methodically clearing the decks, regardless of whether what falls overboard is technically hers or mine.  She thrives on orderliness.  Everything has its place.  I agree especially when I cannot locate something and fixate on finding it.  But when it comes to mass disposal, it pains me to realize what I paid for so thoughtfully and with such financial commitment just a few years ago is now essentially worthless except to me.

Studies show people routinely overestimate the value of what they already own and are surprisingly reluctant to part with it.  Think about those reality TV shows where crusty geezers refuse to sell rusty car parts they have stored in musty sheds decades.  The same studies show people underestimate the value of other’s possessions.  After all the effort of putting price tags on items, two different worlds of value collide amidst bargaining at flea markets and yard sales.  Charities have to be choosy too, given space constraints and client needs, so instead of selling or donating, the easiest route might be the dumpster.  Ah, but it’s not.

Take, for example, my substantial collection of suits and ties.  New ones were always a shopping reward especially if they were a bargain.  I could never wear them out, so after I retired, they just hung there like a museum display. To make matters worse, as I reluctantly gained girth and lost height, these nearly new suits no longer fit.  After years of debate, I donated all of them to the Salvation Army.  But I kept the ties as a collection of nearly one thousand memories.  Periodically I visit the closet to admire my own good taste.      

The saddest part of “dumpstering” is my having to say goodbye to such a full-blown, rich collection of memories all at once.  Each object evokes a certain memory or association, a time and place one can no longer recapture except when looking at or actually using some object now due to sit in a dumpster out in the rain and in the dark.   From time to time, this painful image prompts me to regard estate auctioneers as carrion eaters.

I suppose we have to remind ourselves that material possessions of any kind have no intrinsic value other than what we credit to them.  If we all agreed gold and diamonds are utterly worthless, so they would become. Yet for those who remember the look in their loved one’s eyes when gifted with gold pendants or diamond rings, the memory is cherished.  Infused with such lasting symbolic value, our gifts literally turn into valuables.  

What is the bottom line for the dumpster squatting in the yard or driveway?  I guess it is that finding, keeping, losing and even weeping about value is a hefty part of life.  Whether we are incorrigible hoarders or dedicated purgers, the truth is we spend much of our lives sorting through values and figuring out what is worth keeping and what really belongs in the dumpster.  Just as a reminder, don’t leave your best values in storage until a dumpster arrives.  The best way to preserve and renew them is to use them!       

                       

A Trip Into the Swamp

A TRIP INTO THE SWAMP

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

I stood in my back yard

And pondered the pine forest.

It looked calm, still, inviting.

As I walked in, pungent pine needles cushioned my feet.

Patches of bright sunlight and

Blankets of quiet shade created peacefulness.

The terrain levelled out.

Gradually, almost Imperceptibly,

The ground started to shift.

My feet began to squish.

I stumbled a bit as swampy water

Curled around my boots.

There were more mosquitoes who wanted my blood,

Persistently seeking patches of skin to exploit.

Soon I sank to my calves.

And then to my knees.

Reedy little islands beckoned.

I pushed toward one but could not reach it.

With each step I sank in further.

No longer could I move anywhere.

The swamp made sucking sounds.

Crickets answered and small frogs

Croaked as dusk approached.

Then dimly I spotted a man watching me.

Leaning against a scrawny tree on more solid ground,

He stared at my helpless situation

And seemed to smirk.

Then I heard him say,

Relax, you are SO safe,

In fact, you are in the best place ever.

Count my helping you get out.

But what have you got to give me back?

I like leverage and loyalty.

Can you give me that?

Compassion?  Forget it.

Give me your soul instead.

I gasped, could hardly breathe.

I said, OMG, are you the devil or something?

Why have I have been trapped by this mess.

How did my beautiful pine forest turn into a swamp?

He smiled quite gleefully and said,

Credit me. I did this, all me.

I have a real talent for it.

 You see, it is easy to trap people into getting what I want,

I make sure they have no choice.

Desperately, I grasped at surrounding swamp grass.

It just tore loose.

Then I noticed a noxious smell of methane gas and saw bubbles rising to the oily top.

I swore at this strange, alien figure,

But he just stood and smiled at me.

What can I do, I furiously yelled, as I swatted buzzing insects.

And by the way, how the hell did YOU get here?

Oh that was simple he replied:

I promised everyone I would make them great again.

I made sure those who opposed me got hated more.

All I needed was to be elected, to become the chosen one.

Then I built a swamp.  It works. I win. All the rest is fake news.

No one works together to get themselves out of this swamp.

They just argue about it and

Disagree over what part of the swamp they come from.

Don’t you remember?

You did this to yourself.

Let me know when you start swimming in your own juices.

Then you can count on me to give you another promise.

6/20/18

In The Boathouse

In The Boathouse

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

The deck of the old Chris Craft shimmered,

At rest in the shadows,

Silhouetted by the slits of sun

Around the doorway of the old boathouse.

The wood frame walls

Had been cured by the decades.

The walls were dark, smelled tinder dry

As if nothing had changed since 1920.

This was a dwelling place of memories.

I peered down into the clean clear water,

Saw rippling sands,

And in them my dad’s face was smiling.

The lake scent promised his fisherman’s paradise.

I kneeled in silence

On the boathouse deck.

Images of a young life drifted by,

Weaving together the boat, the lakes,

My dad and me.

I climbed down the deck ladder

And felt the cool water surround my waist.

The air hung still and warm

With the sweet feeling of summer.

As the water lapped around me

I could almost hear his voice.

Time disappeared for just a few moments.

But soon the inboard would awaken

And loosen our harbored tether.

The gentle burble of her engine

Would leave our reverie behind.

As her bow cruised into the path of sunlight,

A distant scent of Borkum Riff would linger.

FATHER’S DAY JUNE 17, 2018

Cars Carry A Cargo of Memories

Cars Carry A Cargo of Memories

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

 Among classic songs about cars is one by Chuck Berry about a seat belt that refused to unfasten at a romantic moment.  “All the way home,” the rock and roll legend croons, “I held a grudge for the safety belt that wouldn’t budge.”  I predated seat belts, so this never happened to me, but I must confess to enjoying an electrifying moment when the girl beside me whispered in my ear, “You’re the driver.”  Without question, cars invoke strong emotions while delivering unbelievable adventures. 

 For many of us, cars are hitching posts for significant events in our past.   Whether it is about technical features or social relationships, each car tells a story.  Here are just a few based on the dozen or so cars I have owned or encountered since the 1950s.      

I learned to drive in a 1956 Oldsmobile two-toned aqua and white hardtop.  Its technical features fascinated me because in those days cars rarely had power-driven radio antennas and channel switching, as well as six-way power seats.  None of this saved me from my father’s wrath when I nearly drove into a ditch trying to avoid a squirrel. 

In the mid 60’s I got a car of my own for the first time.  My 1957 Chevy was a hefty gift from my dad so I could get back and forth to college.  He felt its tonnage would protect me in case of mishap if a careless squirrel crossed my path. The front grill was   a piece of muscular sculpture as big and heavy as many of today’s compacts.  The imposing diameter of the steering wheel nearly forced me to peer under it when driving.   Unfortunately, before the days of undercoating, salty winter roads shortened the life of my classic gem.  Today I sigh at the high-priced restorations I see on television.  

Skip ahead to my 1965 Ford Galaxy sedan, our first car as newlyweds. This beautiful vehicle had a nearly fatal flaw.  It loved to drift, with suspension and power steering that felt like jelly.  We crashed on the New Jersey turnpike without injury, but shaken up.  I will never forget the horrified expression of the state trooper who opened our rear door and found 10 escaped pet gerbils peering at him from under our piles of clothing. He slammed that door quickly! 

In the early 1970s, upon returning from service in Vietnam, I ordered a Volvo sedan on an overseas delivery plan.  We were convinced it would be reliable.  Wrong.  Its dual manual Btitish-built carburetors were persnickety beyond belief and virtually unrepairable.  Especially in the hot California climate, our Swedish beauty balked at every stop sign, apparently demanding a frigid climate. 

Years later, with young kids to transport, my wife and I bought one of the early mini-vans, an underpowered four-speed Plymouth Voyager.  Speeding was impossible, thankfully because our kids learned to drive in it. The mileage was decent but downshifting nearly everywhere uphill was tedious.  Even more so was removing the third-row seat, which required leveraging, lifting, and sweating like a wrestler.  

Much more recently I purchased a year 2000 Corvette that drove like an unruly truck.  We called this one the beast because it acted that way and reminded us of Batman’s black cruiser.  True to the traditions of the Corvette nation, I brought the beast out only if the sun was shining and conscientiously flashed my lights to greet every oncoming Vette.  I discovered people just have to tailgate these eye-candy babies to see what is going on.  In a land of pick-up trucks where drivers often have to show me they can go faster, I have always felt just a little strange.

 Most memorable was a state policeman who stopped me, and, after inspecting the beast’s rakish front hood, said, “Where is your front license plate?”  I stammered, “Well, there isn’t any place to attach it, so it’s under my front seat.”  He warned me that state law requires plates on both front and back.  After some hasty research, I discovered that the preferred solution is just to pay the fine and forget it.  An interesting alternative is to install an expensive gimmick that strategically makes the front plate flip down and disappear under the bumper at the push of a button.  

Some folks thrive on refurbishing and showing off so-called “resto-mods”.   I remember too many of these gas-guzzling muscle cars from the 1960s as pure junk.  Even so, I say more power to them.  I settle for keeping mine washed.  I think we should protest the accelerating disappearance of standard shifts and cozy bench seats.  Remember when your girl actually sat close to you?  Today’s wonderful gadgetry is convenient and satisfying, but nothing beats my cargo of memories.         

Does Everyone Deserve A Second Chance?

DOES EVERYONE DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE?

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

   

   Every day I encounter second chances.  If I burn the breakfast toast, miss my plane flight, or encounter a salesperson who ignores me, is there another chance to correct the situation?  I hope so, but it depends on the circumstance.  The toast can be replaced easily.  A missed flight may be rescheduled with a transaction fee.   I may give a negligent salesperson a second chance, but I also have the choices of complaining to the manager or finding another store.      

     

    Do all these daily choices shape our views about second chances?  Very definitely, because the freedoms of American life enrich us with so many options.  However, do we honestly believe everyone deserves a second chance?  Answers reveal our national character.      

As a lifelong educator, I have found that second chances produce cognitive dissonance in our schools.  We struggle to hold contradictory ideas at the same time.  One-time on-demand tests are a traditional way of measuring what has been learned.  Standardized testing is built on this approach, and it works well as a way to sort and select students.  In contrast is mastery learning where teachers use multiple informal assessments to gauge progress toward learning goals, as they coach, correct mistakes and give feedback along the way.         

   

    On a much broader scale, second chance dissonance extends across the landscape of national policy. Incarceration highlights the issues.  We imprison our population at an awesome rate.  Our penal population is well over two million, and we house 25 percent of the world’s prisoners.  Our incarceration rate is currently three times higher than at any time in the last century.  We act on the belief that imprisoning perpetrators for breaking the law is a legitimate punishment, and that threat of it will prevent lawlessness. Ultimately, a release from prison is supposed to have taught a lesson that improves the odds for second chances.  It is startling that about two-thirds of released prisoners are rearrested within three years.

   

    More promising, according to Prison Policy Initiatives, are recent enactments by 23 states to reduce barriers faced by those with criminal records in the workplace and elsewhere.  Mostly this involves sealing or expunging records.  Hopes for rehabilitation and second chances are certainly enhanced by pardons, probation, mentoring, mental health counseling, additional education and skill training while still in prison.

   

    Marriage, divorce, and remarriage provide a very different perspective on second chances.  According to Pew surveys, about half of Americans over 18 were married in 2016.  Foregoing marriage has increased among the young, while divorce rates have risen among older Americans.  Relative to second chances, about four of every 10 marriages these days involve remarriage, and half of those involve both spouses.  As of 2013, an almost unbelievable 23 percent of the married had been married before.  Interestingly, men seem much more interested this second chance than women.     

  

     Whether we are considering prison pardons or remarriage, a lot of forgiveness is necessary.  Psychologists strongly recommend it because this gives us a strong sense of well-being, happiness, and even redemption.  By forgiving often, we save emotional energy and demonstrate the belief that people can learn from their mistakes.   

    

    Strong opinions about second chances are institutionalized in our American value systems.  For me, second chances should never be wasted.  They should not become excuses to sluff off, but rather should be opportunities to learn and improve.  I believe that we are all fallible and prone to mistakes.  Given a second chance combined with sufficient inspiration and guidance, lives can be turned around.  Ultimately, the second chance is up to us. 

JMB

4/21/1028 

The Search for Happiness

  The Search for Happiness

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

We have become obsessive about finding happiness.  In the last decade, books of relevant advice have ballooned into thousands.   Across the country, innumerable life coaches have found a new career niche.   College courses about finding life’s sweet spot are multiplying fast.  

 

The inalienable right of pursuing happiness given by our Declaration of Independence is certainly being put to the test.  National trends are misleading.   The real thing is much more of an individual matter.  For example, certain people simply choose to be happy no matter what.   Somehow it lives in their genes.     

Since the majority of us are not born with sunny dispositions, we hope for a positive outlook in things we can possess.  Yet happiness is a feeling that grows within ourselves.  No one just gives it to us.  Emotional responses to very specific associations can release it, say from a shot of dopamine, or a dog or cat sleeping peacefully in your lap, a superb dessert, or even finding a bathroom when getting desperate.   My personal favorites include making photos look like paintings and  listening to music that makes me want to dance.    

 When we think beyond emotional glee, a deeper kind of happiness stems from living a personally meaningful and purposeful life.  Linked to self-perception and values, this is a journey rather than a destination.  The journey begins at an impressionable age.

 No one experiences extremes of euphoria and depression quite like adolescents.  This is why a major study finding by psychologists at the University of San Diego is so intriguing.   Looking at a sharp decline in the happiness, self-esteem, and life satisfaction of more than a million young people since 2012, the researchers discovered a potent incubator:  social media via rapidly accelerating smart phone ownership.   Teens who limited their leisure use of communications technology to an hour daily, while devoting more time to seeing their friends in person and varying their contacts and activities, were definitely happier than teens who devoted significant daily time (up to five hours) to the internet, computer games, texting, video chat or watching TV. 

 Tech tools can become addictive.  They can isolate and alienate children and adults from one another.  The visual and textual content of messages shared among teenagers can depress self-esteem and assurance.   Parental monitoring, or adult counseling can pave the way to improved conditions for happiness.

 So in what tense – past, present, or future -- can we find happiness?  According to psychologist and bestselling author Daniel Gilbert, looking for it either in the past or the future is misguided.  Yet the present is suspect too!   In his entertaining analysis of “Stumbling on Happiness”, Gilbert targets pervasive gaps in our memory of events which we then fill in with inventions based on the here and now.  Also, when we try to imagine future events, we mispredict both what will happen and our emotional response quite badly.   As any futurist will tell you, the future is pretty much now.  Gaps in the past and future are readily filled in with today’s material.  We need better sources of happiness.

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The answer for Gilbert lies in what he calls surrogation.   As much as we resist thinking we are really very much like others, Gilbert insists that we are, and therefore we can predict the future or better understand the past by comparing what others think, do or have done – in other words by relying on a substitute for ourselves.   As the professor puts it, “Surrogation is a cheap and effective way to predict one’s future emotions,” but instead we are sorely tempted to fall back on our faulty imaginations.

An affirming treasure of insights about happiness can be found in a Harvard Grant Study which tracked a range of life factors over a phenomenal 75 years in a group of 268 graduates.   Stated simply, all the luxury and material wealth in the world meant very little without love.  The roots of love were found in human relationships, in connecting with others in personally meaningful ways.  The relationship may derive from a mother’s connection to her child, or from life in a community.  Most likely that community promotes a culture that values caring, kindness, mindfulness, and direct face-to-face communication with others of like mindedness.  

By comparing the routes  in the studies I have described, we can find some commonality.  No disastrous malignancy in our national psyche is curbing happiness. The bedrock for it lies within ourselves, in our individual relationships with others, in meetings anchored in the present moment, and in finding personal meaning and purpose.  Happiness cannot be bought, or captured by the past or the future, but it can be nurtured by the empathy and love of others within a community of concern.   

JMB/2/2/2018

  

Understanding Mediocrity

Understanding Mediocrity

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

The popular slogan “failure is not an option” suggests teachers’ courageous commitment to their students’ successful learning.  Yet we know that failure often happens.  Repeated failures usually trigger interventions and special programs in our schools.  At the other extreme, high achievers are motivated and reinforced by a system whose DNA makes academic accomplishments the prize.  But what about the students whose average performance seldom earns recognition?   Would we support the idea that their “mediocrity is not an option”?     

Even the dictionary doesn’t know what to do with the term “mediocrity”.   One meaning is adequate or ordinary, but another is poor or inferior.    Being mediocre offers a devious combination of justifications.  Its circumstances change depending on the stakes, the skills or activity we are looking at, who is being compared to whom, and whether the performance is adequate, marginal, or poor.   

Management consultant Mark Friedman says there are three ways to compare our performance -- to ourselves, to others, and to standards.  Each one offers a different viewpoint.

I really enjoy swimming.  When I swim laps in a pool, I keep track of my time.  When it improves, I reward myself with something sweet.  Mediocrity means nothing until I compare myself to others.   If I were to dive off the blocks in competition with Michael Phelps, I would choke on his wake.  Chances are I would finish the race eventually, not failing, which would probably mean drowning, but as an example of mediocrity.   Millions of others would share my fate.

Standards also define performance.  As a five-year-old, my son set the 50-yard freestyle record in his age group by thrashing up and down the pool at SUNY Albany. For his parents he was outstanding, but compared to any other age group’s standards, he was mediocre.  At least in sports, the benchmarks are essentially records.

 Not so in school, where teachers tend to set their own standards by subject, grade level, and track, although the use of descriptive rubrics and criterion-referenced exams has helped clarify matters.  Because there is no consensus on standards of mediocrity, a “C” grade can mean just about anything.  Regents exams and the SAT or ACT provide standard anchors, but they hardly predict the performance of average learners.      

Teamwork and group projects add another confounding link between accountability and mediocrity.  Either on the assembly line or in school, even when roles and goals are assigned, some individuals slough off.   If the project is completed and production targets are met, the phenomenon of mediocre engagement may frustrate the achievers, but unless separate ratings for each team member are included (wise teachers do this), the lesser performers slide by.

Statistics and social beliefs impinge on mediocrity.  Educators find the distribution of students in a classroom a natural fact of life represented by a bell-shaped curve.  Performance and talent are thought to be concentrated in the middle, while the top and bottom extremes number far fewer at the two ends of the curve.  Thereby we define ability grouping, tracking, and the like as a convenient but terribly inequitable means of organizing instruction.   

Nowhere is the impact of mediocrity more pronounced than in the use of A-F or numerical grades in our schools.  To get their work done, and to remain accountable to the system, teachers aim for the middle.  Despite efforts to differentiate instruction, and despite successful models like individual learning plans for children with disabilities, most teachers have to adjust lesson quality and rigor by giving the broadest support to the most students.  Accordingly, not only students, but teachers too, are blamed for being mediocre.  

Do we chafe against mediocrity?  Unsurprisingly, yes.  Often it carries a belittling connotation.  Our society celebrates accomplishments.  The deluge of worldwide news publicizes the extremes or the unusual.  Mediocrity is not newsworthy so it is often neglected.  

Public schools are wonderful starting points for reversing the negative effects of society’s mediocrity.  The meritocracy of schools can make middling or average performers feel lost in the crowd.  To counteract this, our teachers can use small-group instruction, cooperative learning, alternative or informal assessments, unique and progress-focused rewards and recognition, and projects that encourage individual curiosity and creativity.

 These days school districts recognize the importance of a culture of positive engagement.  Programs and activities encourage the interests and inspirations of the students.  Teachers committed to the success of all students can offer continuous, constructive feedback on academic work.  They can and should attend to diversity and social intelligence, while promoting a safe and supportive community environment.  When the groundwork is laid, mediocrity in school and in life afterward need not be an option. 

Curious Encounters Should Inspire Learning

CURIOUS ENCOUNTERS SHOULD INSPIRE LEARNING

By Jeffrey M. Bowen

Nearly every day we encounter things that just do not make sense.  We try to figure out an explanation and usually end up building our preconceptions into a rationale we can accept.  All seems to go well until a better explanation comes along, or perhaps disaster occurs, or perplexity hounds us enough to reinvestigate. 

Curious encounters can be witnessed face to face, but most often I read about them or find them jumping out of my tv or smart phone.  I enjoy these mysteries because they violate expectations, puzzle us, and lead to breakthroughs in learning.

For instance, not long ago at 36,000 feet, I found myself staring at a little screen showing the path of our jet flight from New York to Ireland.  Counterintuitively, the plane seemed to be headed directly north to Greenland via Canada. Later, as we looped back toward continental Europe, I remembered we live on a globe where the shortest distance between two points may be over the dome.   

On that same flight I was trying to make sense of Stephen Hawking’s “Briefer History of Time.”  My wife threatened to disown me if I tried to explain to her one more time why this book told me I would become much younger than she if I left earth on a spaceship traveling near the speed of light, and then returned while she had been sitting here on earth growing much older than me.  Einstein’s theories of relativity blow up many of my personal fallacies with regard to time, light, space and gravity. 

All around us are familiar beliefs that contradict the way we think the world should work.  When I asked for some illustrations from my facebook friends, they replied as follows:  If you want someone to do something, forbid them from doing it; love your enemies; the only thing to fear is fear itself; and the best way to control a skid is to turn in its direction and take your foot off the break. 

One respondent mentioned the destructive practice of planting misinformation.  Called “gaslighting,” a term derived from a 1944 film in which a man convinces his perfectly healthy wife that she is going insane by manipulating her beliefs.  Gaslighters plant doubts to make others question their own memory, perception, or sanity.

We love to construct truisms for convenience.  Often these are unproven.  For instance, we say that leaving the door unlocked will be fine because no one has ever robbed us.  Or we tell others they will catch a cold unless they bundle up.  Or we overestimate the risk of death by plane crash when compared to a drug overdose. 

Science is surprisingly ignored.  For example, the practice of injecting someone with a virus to protect against it still prompts some to reject vaccinations.  Nor do some consumers believe there is any good reason to heat up milk (pasteurization) when it is meant to be chilled for drinking.   

In his book “Science Blind”, Andrew Shtulman describes the ironies of science denial in an age when research particularly about health and climate is geometrically expanding our knowledge.  Ideological, religious, and obvious political motivations obscure reality.  A dramatic example is our current Presidential administration’s denial of climate warming which has turned the United States into an embarrassing worldwide minority of one.

Schtulman defines intuitive theories as our “untutored explanations for how the world works.”  These are best guesses which are better than no theories at all, but they frequently blind and bind us.  We refuse to give them up easily because we constantly overestimate the value of what we already own.   

Yet there is hope for stubborn doubters.  We can begin by ruthlessly deconstructing our biases. We can look beyond our senses and unproven intuitions, and then rebuild knowledge based on reasonable proof.  Today’s technology offers abundant data, opinions, and facts.  We should let our curious encounters stimulate challenging questions. Young children do this all the time, so why shouldn’t we?