As the school year ends, it’s time to evaluate how we did leading into the “technological utopia” of online learning.

After all, numerous tech companies pitch educational institutions every year with the “solution” to all of education’s woes. Just throw more technology at kids. Specifically, theirs.

Well, this year was a time to see how well that worked out.

It would be unfair to fully evaluate its merit based on the environmental conditions; mainly, the entire world locked down in a global pandemic where everyone’s stress level was through the roof. That and no infrastructure to initially support it (even Google had to rapidly develop features to deal with the needs of schools).

However, it became the perfect backdrop to actually test whether online learning works. After all, everyone needed to participate.

First, the good:

• Some students really thrived in this environment. They weren’t distracted by their peers, could work at their own pace, take breaks as needed, move around while lessons were happening and didn’t feel anxiety about being in a school building
• Classroom management issues were at a minimum
• A lot of us became comfortable with pushing technological tools to their limit and learned how to leverage it
• Levels of empathy and understanding were at an all time high

Now, the negative:

• See above about the infrastructure not being in place, involving teams of people trying to build this plane as they were flying
• From an educator’s point of view, you logged in and stared at icons for hours on end as students didn’t have their webcams on. To give a semblance of what this is like, video call someone and have them turn off their camera and not respond to anything you say. Do this every day for months on end.
• To piggyback on the above, visual cues that you normally get in social interactions are lost
• In many instances, so were audio cues (I would conference one-on-one with students and many were more comfortable with their mics/cameras on in those situations)
• Many districts moved to an accelerated timeline and everyone felt rushed
• Policy makers felt that an online environment should merely be a reflection of an in-class one and instituted parameters to make it so… unfortunately, it doesn’t translate well… or at all
• Plagiarism: students weren’t even hiding it by the end
• We threw this on them expecting them to act like adults throughout the process. We projected our own ideals and what we would do without fully understanding the psychology of a young person. A young person whose brain isn’t fully developed.
• In their own feedback, they wonder why no one ever asked them what they thought of school closures and the pivoting back and forth, why people spoke for them and didn’t value their opinions.

All this to say, this year was a mess.

A fully online environment does work for some, but like everything, it wasn’t for everyone. In this case, it wasn’t for the majority who were forced to participate in it.

From my perspective, every wrong decision you could make in its implementation was done. Perhaps with time and better understanding of what we learned, it could be better… but it’s going to be really hard to get young people on board. They’ve done it and it’s left a bad taste.

This isn’t a slam against using technology in the classroom. Leveraged correctly, it’s a huge benefit… as a tool. Not an end of itself.

I, for one, am glad this online year is done. While I’ve had the pleasure of teaching some incredible young people, people who have thankfully really enjoyed my classes, I’ll be really glad to see them in person next year.

Hopefully.

With 34 years of data now, I can confidently say that I have never once lost my temper and afterwards said, “I’m so glad I did that.” A corollary to this: I don’t recall the last time I spent time on social media and felt better after either. A corollary to this corollary: I regret almost every time I have expressed an opinion on social media. I don’t necessarily regret the opinion, I regret the lapse in self-control that culminated with me shouting into the void. 

Ryan Holiday (Link to original post)

There was much to take in Ryan’s recent post, but that part really hit home.

As a second generation Italian growing up to immigrant parents, I can tell you with certainty that Italians are very passionate people. This leads us to flare up a lot.

Some days, we’ll scream if the sky is blue.

Learning how to regulate my emotions and ease up on my temper has been an ongoing battle. Sometimes, I think I’ll have a victory in one area of my life, only to have it come up somewhere else—the car being the prime candidate.

This past year, I’ve had to try harder than ever to keep my emotions in check. All it took was one of my kids to spill something (which, they’re kids, of course they’re going to spill stuff) or one more request from someone (not thinking I could just say no) for the bubble to pop.

And it’s always for nothing.

Then there’s the time on social media. I no longer look at it as the tool of communication I hoped it would be. Every time I would login, it would only take a few minutes before I could feel my blood pressure rise. Sometimes I would lash out and other times, I would carry that with me. It would come out in some other way.

Again, all for nothing.

I don’t regret my passion, but I do regret my temper.

It just took a long time to figure out the two could be separated.

Confucius is attributed to saying we have two lives and the second one begins when realize there’s only one.

The problem with entering into this ‘second’ life is we still want to bring the baggage of the first life with us. The triumphs, pains, sorrows, regrets, attitudes, connections… all trying to root themselves in a place you don’t want them.

Guilt creeps in.
The mind uses the sunk-cost fallacy logic against you.
Your memories take on a rose-coloured tint.

But deep down, the truth is apparent:

You must leave it all behind.

Board games are a common sight in my house and date nights wouldn’t be complete without them. Better than fighting over what to watch, sitting down to challenge each other in a battle of wits is a satisfying past time.

The problem is my wife is very competitive and hates losing.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m also a very competitive person. However, I’ve learned over the years to take a loss and move on. My lovely, better half?

She’ll smile and go, “Oh, you won this time! Let’s play again.”

Which is code for we’re going to play again so I can win and even when I do, I’m still going to be mad at you for winning one.

However, I have to give her credit because she plays all things until she wins and learns very quickly why she loses. Once she’s mastered a game, my only recourse is to keep distracting her with more wine until I can eek out a victory. Even then, it’s still a gamble and she catches on quickly.

In some instances, she’ll play the long game.

Hmmmm… I notice my husband doesn’t eat enough vegetables, but will eat them first to get to the meat. I’m going to slowly increase the amount of vegetables on his plate and shrink the amount of meat.

Within a year, I suddenly notice I have more of an appetite and taste for veggies and less for other foods.

She doesn’t like to lose and it’s taught me two important lessons:

1. How to take a loss and learn from it
2. How to find a way to win

It’s hard not to respond to the latest news story of a Muslim family killed in a hate crime, as it happened in my hometown. The place I was born and raised.

I know that city very well and I often joke the rule of the city is that when you grow up there… you leave it.

It’s a tongue and cheek commentary on the bubble the city creates as, economically, it has a lot going for it:
a University, a College, an Ivey Business School, Law School, medical research, insurance giants, government offices, an RCMP office, a growing IT sector, several shopping centres and geographically, you’re located a short distance from many cottage areas, the US border and Toronto.

It was also the place where insulin was developed and the birthplace of many professional athletes, artists and researchers.

Yes, there’s a lot to like about the place.

Unfortunately, I grew up at a time where a stigma was attached to people who grew up on my end of the city. At my elementary school, I am thankful to have had some of the most amazing teachers who sparked my love of reading, writing and curiosity about the world. Then there was the grade four teacher who said directly to a parent, “There’s no point in challenging these kids. They won’t be anything more than construction workers or housewives.”

Much has changed since then, but anyone who’s lived in that city long enough will tell you the amount of noise being raised about its deep-seated racism and bigotry is nothing new.

It was a refuge for Confederates and KKK members after the civil war.
It held a white pride march less than ten years ago.
There was this article, written about five years ago, that illustrates its campus/downtown life.
And it reeks of classism as a booming area actually voted down a resolution to get grant money to build a transit line.

It saddens me because many people in the city want it to change, and are actively working towards it, but it still feels like the city itself does not. For all the flack they give people from Toronto for moving in, the influx is at least forcing the city to accommodate new horizons.

So there’s a lot of noise, country wide, being shouted about this horrendous crime and it’s casting a nasty light on what anybody who grew up there innately knows. I love the place, but I fear all that’s going to happen is the powers that be will just wait until the noise dies down… and then it’s back to status-quo.

I was standing outside of my daughter’s daycare, waiting for the providers to bring her out. Next to me was another dad, patiently waiting for his daughter as well.

In typical dad fashion, we give each other the nod—the universal sign of acknowledgment that we understand each other’s lives. It’s also the only acceptable opening for conversation.

“Another day in paradise, right?” I ask.

He laughs.

“Yeah. Gotta enjoy it though, right?” he replies.
“You’re right. Especially now that we’re supposedly coming to an end.”
“I hope so.”

You have to enjoy it.

I’m often told the days are long, but the years are short. Before you know it, life will have gone by and all you’ll have is the memories of the time you spent together. You’ll have wished for more.

As tough as this past year has been, and it’s broken many of us… many times over… that comment couldn’t have come at a more opportune moment. My daughter emerged, looking down and sad.

I had some candy hidden in the car and gave it to her. She lit up. We went for pizza.

I’m never going to remember the days, but I’ll remember the moments. And they can only be remembered if they were enjoyed.

I’ve spent the past year interviewing some pretty incredible educators on The Unapologists Podcast and something finally occurred to me:

Everybody speaks of a broken system, but nobody has a clue on how to create a new one.

We can speak of methodologies, practices, equity, function, form, in-person, virtual, homeschooling, justice, passions based, skills based, knowledge based, classical and every other jargon word until we’re blue in the face. We can lament its shortcomings, scream about what’s wrong and showcase what’s great.

But…

We don’t have a vision.

What we do have is an upcoming generation of young people who are tired of being stuck in old paradigms, no matter how they’re dressed up, who will break it themselves.

It’s coming and we better be prepared for it.

Every time I meet a prostitute, she wants to talk about God. And every time I meet a priest, he wants to talk about sex.

Osho

I came across this quote this year and it’s stuck with me for a variety of reasons.

One of the earliest writings of this site was a compilation of what I could muster about all of us being broken people.

At the time, it was the furthest extension of my thoughts and capabilities of my writing. There was a lot more I could say about the subject, but I just didn’t know how to put it into words.

I also didn’t have the fullness, or clarity, of thought, which is mainly the reason I continue to write here. It allows me to see a progression of my own thought patterns and make connections from previous threads to now.

And at the moment, I am tired of ivory tower religious people who have planted themselves in the sands of time to make a stand against the world. They are not preserving tradition, they are harming it.

As someone who has a love of the Catholic Church, mainly for the amazing people I’ve met in there, I shake my head at the polarizing situation within it—mainly the self-righteousness. The origins of the Christian tradition was to reach out to the margins and invite everyone into the life of God, not just the elect few.

It was built on broken people seeking something greater.

Although the quote above is meant as a literal observation, I want to extrapolate it to a metaphorical context:

I would much rather be a church of prostitutes seeking God than a church of priests obsessed with sex.

Although I’ve abdicated the idea of doing formal book reviews, this particular book by David Deutsch has left me with so much to think about. Deutsch is a physicist that details how the Enlightenment period opened an unending sequence of knowledge creation.

At its core, it’s the most hopeful and inspiring book I’ve read. Dense in terminology, but if you take your time, you’re provoked through a wonderful hypothesis at the end:

If the knowledge of the universe is infinite, then we are not even close to what is possible.

I think of this in religious terms where people make the hypothesis of God as an infinite being, then relegate the idea of God to boxed criteria. Pardon me as I roll my eyes at the obvious hypocrisy

The quest for God and the quest for knowledge is an infinite one and given how long and far infinity is, the discovery of what we can even know has barely begun. To me, this is exciting.

It means there’s more to learn than we can even imagine.

That we shouldn’t be afraid to venture into unfamiliar areas and that the current explosion of knowledge will be looked at as no more than a foundation for future generations.

It gives… hope.

And hope is something we’ve forgotten.

We went for walks.
We waited patiently.
We had hope.

And now we can’t wait…

to give hugs,
handshakes,
kisses,
and fist bumps.

To have dinners,
lunches,
and get togethers…

with people.

All I hope is that we never forget that we did make bread, go for many walks and wish for the day we can see each other. That we understood life was more than the rat race and that most things didn’t matter.