The Nazis were evil, but this Disney film is insane

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It's impossible to understand what it was like to live through World War II unless you were there, so casting judgment on the time or the decisions made is always precarious.

The scope of the conflict alone is unimaginable by today's standards. 

Still, this 1943 propaganda film "Education for Death: The Making of the Nazi" is not to be believed. It is simultaneously baffling and hilarious and frightening. I was mesmerized by every second of the thing. 

Bad decision by this teacher, but not for the reasons you might suspect.

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From TIME magazine:

Students at Skyview High School in Billings, Montana, might get out of their world history finals this year — if they can somehow get Taylor Swift to call their teacher.

A student named Ike Stoner came up with the deal — and the instructor, Colter Pierce, agreed to it. If Stoner could use the Internet to get Swift to give Pierce a call, then the students would be exempt from their exams.

This is a terrible idea.

It's not terrible because there is no room for fun in a classroom. I would argue that classrooms absent of any fun are a mistake. Years ago I attempted to have the word "fun" included in my school's mission statement. I take fun very seriously when it comes to education.

And it's not because I am opposed to cancelling an exam. Good teachers often have more than enough data to assess a student's learning by the end of a semester without having to administer an exam on the cusp of summer vacation.

And it's not because it's a poor use of class time or a ridiculous and silly idea or has nothing to do with history.

There's one word that explains my disapproval of Colter Pierce's decision: Optics.

The teaching profession is constantly under fire from all corners of the political spectrum. Teacher are told that they are paid too much. They don't work enough hours. They fail to educate students adequately for the global marketplace. They lack professionalism. They don't challenge students enough. They challenge students too much. They assign too much homework. They assign too little homework.

The list is endless.  

The teaching profession is under constant assault.

Stunts like Pierce's are not the kind of images of teaching that we need in the public eye. These are exactly the kinds of images that make it more difficult for advocates to defend the professionalism and integrity of teachers.

And remember: I believe in fun. Ask my students and they will tell you that I am unorthodox in many, many ways. I make decisions not dissimilar to Pierce's decision. I make decision even more unorthodox and questionable on a daily basis. But the difference is clear:

When I do something unorthodox in my classroom, it's done within a community of students and parents who already know and respect me. It's presented to students who know that I care about them and parents who know that I care about their children. It's seen by people who know that I work tirelessly on behalf of kids. 

Pierce's unorthodox decision was placed squarely in the realm of social media. He knew that the image of the contract with his students would be posted to Twitter, Facebook, and more. He agreed to interviews with a variety of media outlets. He knew that the sole purpose of this stunt was to get the attention of a celebrity via social media.

He presented an image of a teacher absent any context. He placed himself in the public eye in a way that could be misinterpreted and twisted and used to hurt teachers. 

I suspect that Colter Pierce is an outstanding educator. I suspect that he is beloved by students, patents, and colleagues. I think we would probably be friends if we worked together. I would love to have him teach my children someday. I am certain that he does not need a final exam to accurately assess his students' performance. 

But the optics of this stunt are not good. The cancelling of requirements or expectations based upon a celebrity's phone call does not happen in other professions. Attorneys and engineers and bankers and programmers and doctors and sales people do not engage in stunts like these in order to mitigate or eliminate work for themselves or others. I am sure that behind closed doors, even bankers and lawyers can get silly, but they know enough to keep the doors closed.

More importantly, their professions are not under constant fire by forces who want to redefine their work, reduce their salaries, expand their responsibilities, and question their judgment at every turn.

I'm not suggesting that teachers act like straight arrows. Colleagues and students who know me well will tell you that my decision making leans much closer to unorthodox than normal. Some might find my criticism of Colter Pierce to be somewhat hypocritical given the things that I have been known to do. 

But I don't splash my less-than-conventional teaching style on social media. I am cognizant of the image that I project to people who do not know me. I am always thinking about my colleagues and the image of my profession when I speak to the media or write about my career.

It's simply a question of optics.

Have fun. Be unorthodox and unconventional. Be silly. Do things that no student has ever seen before. But do these things within a community of students and parents and fellow teachers who know you, understand you, and respect you. . Do these things with people who have context and know where your heart is.

The world lost an elementary school custodian yesterday, and a better man than most.

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I lost a friend yesterday.

John was a custodian at my school. We both started working at Wolcott Elementary School 17 years ago. More than a custodian, John was an important person in the lives of many children. He offered high fives to students as they headed off to their buses. He was on duty during concerts, Boy Scout meetings, after-school daycare, school plays, and more. He knew the names of more students in our school than many of our teachers, myself included.  

Almost every one of my memories of every event at my school over the past 17 years has John standing somewhere in the background, watching and waiting to help whenever possible.

  • He made sure that the dunk tank was filled with warm water before I climbed aboard the hot seat.
  • He cleaned up after my students' overly ambitious science fair projects. 
  • He stood in the doorway to my classroom, watching my students perform in their annual Shakespearean production.
  • He often arrived to work early on Friday to watch our students read and sing and act in our weekly Town Meeting. 

John was a good man. The best of men. 

John was in a car accident on his way to work yesterday. He died in the accident. No surprise that John was on his way to school. For the past 15 years, he has had perfect attendance. 

I have many stories about John from over the years. Here is one of my favorites:

In my second year of teaching, when I was still dumb as a rock, a colleague and I thought it would be amusing to empty the thousands - if not millions - of tiny paper punch-outs from the binding machine into the classroom of one of our teammates. By the time we were finished, it looked as though it had snowed in the classroom. Tiny paper rectangles were everywhere.

It was a stupid and thoughtless prank. While our colleague was shocked by the appearance of her classroom, I put no thought into who would ultimately clean up the mess. This was especially egregious because I was just a year away from managing a McDonald's restaurant, and I was all too aware of the thoughtlessness of people who assume that service workers are available to clean up their mess at all times.

In my mind, these millions of tiny rectangles were someone else's mess  

 John's mess.

John was upset by the enormous amount of work that we had created, but he didn't say a word to anyone. He simply took out his vacuum and cleaned up the mess. Another colleague, much wiser and better than me, took me aside and pointed out my thoughtlessness.

I felt like such a fool. 

The next day I came to work with my vacuum and told John that I would clean the rugs in my wing of the school for a week. I apologized and told him how awful I felt.  

John refused my offer.

I refused his refusal.

In the end, I spent a week vacuuming the classrooms in my wing with John, side by side. I got to know John well during that week, including a new found appreciation for his job.

John forgave me for my thoughtlessness instantly. He never made me feel stupid or insensitive for what was stupid and insensitive. He never brought up the incident again. 

He was a much better man than me.  

My heart broke upon hearing about his death. John has been a fixture in my life for almost two decades. He was often the last person who I spoke to before leaving work each day. We often parted company laughing about something that we found mutually amusing. 

Today was the first day in 15 years that John was not in my classroom at the end of the day. I can't believe that he is gone. I find myself struggling to recall our last conversation, wanting to hold onto it forever. It was something about my wife's search for a new job and how much I wish she would return to our school and teach in her old classroom again.  

I remember telling John how much I still miss her during the school day. 

Now I will miss him, too.

His name was John Emsholff, and I still can't believe he is gone. He was loved by many. He made a difference in the lives of children. The world is a darker place today without him. 

Want to be funny? Want to make people laugh? Tell a story. In the right sort of venue. With the right number of people.

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One of the most surprising things about storytelling, at least for me, is how often and easily storytelling audiences laugh. 

I remember telling my first story at a Moth StorySLAM back in 2011 and being astounded by how much the audience laughed.

That story is coincidentally featured on The Moth's Radio Hour this week

Though I knew there were moments of humor in the story, the amount of laughter, and the audience's willingness to laugh at things I only found mildly amusing, stunned me.  

Four years and almost 35 StorySLAMs and 10 GrandSLAMs later, I am still astounded. I was telling a story at a GrandSLAM recently t:hat I told the Moth producer had "no funny whatsoever." 

Turns out I was wrong. The audience laughed. They laughed a lot. Even my wife couldn't believe it. 

Over the years, I've attributed this willingness to laugh to the audience's desire for a storyteller to succeed. Unlike a stand-up comedian, who professes to be a professional entertainer and is expected to make you laugh, a storyteller is, at least in theory, an ordinary person, just one step away from sitting in the audience themselves. They are not professional entertainers. No one has paid them to be funny. And storytellers are telling true stories, They are oftentimes baring their souls and admitting to flaws and acts of stupidity and shame. As a result, audiences want storytellers to succeed because they see themselves in the storytellers. 

You rarely "see yourself" in a stand-up comedian. You don't expect a stand-up to be honest at all times. You understand that the comedian is creating constructs in order to generate laughs. Stand-up audiences are watching professionals, and as a result, they have certain expectations.

Storytellers do not. Storytelling audiences laugh because they want the storyteller to succeed, and as a result, they open their minds and hearts to the storyteller. They prime themselves to be entertained.   

I still believe that this is one of the reasons for the unexpected humor.

I've also come to believe that some people are simply funny and some are not. I've worked with storytellers who desperately want to be funny, but no amount of coaching will help them. They can be taught to deliver a line humorously, but they will never be able to do so without practice and coaching. Oftentimes the same sentence will generate a laugh when said by one storyteller but won't even receive a chuckle when said by another. 

Some people are just funny - unintentionally and effortlessly at times - and others are not.

Surprised by an audience's laughter? You're probably a naturally funny person. 

But it turns out that there is a third factor at work here. In a recent TED Talk on laughter, Cognitive neuroscientist Sophie Scott explains that people are 30 times more likely to laugh when in the company of others, and that the larger the group, the greater the chances of laughter. Researchers have also found that laughter is contagious and will spread similar to a virus throughout an audience.

If you're a storyteller or a person who wants to be funny, it's worth watching. 

A story that you practice for a friend prior to taking the stage might not strike you or the friend as particularly funny, but in front of an audience of 300 people, your chances for a laugh increase dramatically. And many storytelling venues are primed for laughter, with people packed in and standing almost against one another.

Pack in the people - as The Moth and many other storytelling shows do - and you have a much greater chance of being funny.  

This isn't more true than when I am teaching a storytelling class. I have told stories at The Moth or Speak Up that have had the audience in fits of laughter, but the following week, when I tell that same story to a group of eight or ten people in one of my storytelling workshops, I often receive little more than smiles and an occasional chuckle. My workshop students will later tell me that the story was funny, but they won't actually laugh during the story because the audience isn't large enough and the setting isn't conducive to laughter.

I have often said that if you can tell a story in my workshop, you can tell it anywhere. 

Want to be a funny person? Tell your stories to larger groups of people. Gather your friends, jam them into a small space, and say potentially funny things. You will be at least 30 times more likely to make people laugh, and as long as that equation isn't 30 x 0, you've got a shot.   

My position on gossip is potentially divisive and possibly offensive, except that I guess it's not. Huzzah!

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Recently I was sitting with friends, chatting and eating, when one of them said to me, "You'll want to either block your ears or leave the room for a minute."

Since I was in the company of all women, I assumed that she was going to discuss some female body issue. But having worked for 17 years in an elementary school and prior to that attended an all women's college, there are few female matters that have not been discussed in my presence.

Just last week, I was sitting with women who were discussing the impact of nursing on their nipples. 

But no, this had nothing to do with breasts or vaginas or any other lady parts. My friend said, "I'm about to gossip about someone, and I know you don't like that."

Here's the thing: She wasn't annoyed. She didn't speak to me condescendingly. She didn't roll her eyes. She was friendly and matter-of-fact.

I was so happy.

It's true. I don't like gossip. I try my best not to engage in it whenever possible. This does not mean that I never speak about others behind their backs. If someone is having trouble with a friend or colleague and wants help, I am the first to listen and engage in conversation. And if I need advice about my relationship with a person, I may seek it, which requires me to talk about that person behind his or her back, too. 

I avoid gossip when it is mean, petty, and unnecessary. I try to avoid engaging in it, and I often step out of the room when I find myself in its midst. I don't admonish anyone to stop. I don't roll my eyes. I am friendly and matter-of-fact about my position.

I was happy about my friend's remarks for two reasons:

  1. After much effort, I have carved out a space in life as a person who will not participate in gossip. It's a space I am proud to occupy and thrilled that it is recognized by others (or at least this one person).
  2. My position was treated with respect. It would be easy to view my opposition to gossip as an attempt to assume the moral high ground. It would be easy to feel like I am judging my friends for engaging in gossip. I am doing neither, and my friend understood this and respected it. 

In deference to my friend's act of kindness and respect, I told her that I would remain in the room but thanked her for the offer. And it was true. The group them proceeded to engage in gossip that I would have normally avoided. Instead, I turned to my phone, read some emails, responded to one, and allowed the conversation to shift to something else before reengaging.  

Would I like there to be less gossip in the world? Yes. I think most of us would agree.

If you don't, remember this: There is a 100% chance that you have been the victim of less-than-polite gossip in the recent past, and there is a 100% chance that it will happen again. 

But I am not on an anti-gossip crusade. My crusades include getting people to wear whatever they think is comfortable, regardless of social expectation. Convincing the detractors of Mother's Day to shut the hell up. Bringing an end to the phrase "bio-break." Many more. 

Avoiding gossip is a personal crusade. It's an attempt to keep my life filled with positive, enriching experiences. It's an effort to be thoughtful and productive in my conversations.

The fact that my friend acknowledged and respected this personal crusade was both impressive and appreciated. 

It made my day.  

My minimalist hero and my possible desire to radically reduce my wardrobe

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Leo Widrich is my new hero. He is an advocate and practitioner of "one-bag living." In an effort to simplify and de-clutter his life, almost everything he owns fits inside one backpack:

  • 6 T-shirts
  • 2 sweaters, 2 hoodies
  • 1 coat
  • 2 pairs of dress-pant sweat-pants
  • 6 pairs of socks and boxer shorts
  • 1 backpack
  • An iPhone, a Kindle, 1 notepad and a MacBook Air (+ keyboard and mouse)
  • Gym shoes and gym shorts
  • Various toiletries like toothbrush, contact lenses, etc.

I am tempted to try something similar. Though the mere existence of my wife and children would prevent me from reducing my life down to the minimum requirements that Widrich has listed, I love the idea of reducing a wardrobe down to its basic needs and eliminating anything from my life that is not necessary.

And in some ways, I have perhaps already begun this process. For more than a year, I have essentially worn the same hoodie as my fall, winter, and spring coat. I have a much warmer, winterized coat that I wear for extended periods outdoors (Patriots games in December), but otherwise, I wore that hoodie, so often that one of my students took me aside and asked me if I needed help getting a winter coat.

I also wear one of two pairs of shoes everyday: A pair of cross training sneakers or a pair of shoes for when I am onstage or otherwise dressed up.

That's it.

Imagine the amount of time and money I have saved wearing just two pairs of shoes. Want to know how I manage to get so much done? Think of me every time you go shoe shopping or spend time trying to match shoes to an particular outfit.

I also don't own sunglasses. I don't own an umbrella. I don't wear scarves or neckties or jewelry of any kind. I own one belt. Other than shampoo, toothpaste, and soap, I apply no other products to my body. No lotions. No shaving cream. No cologne. No moisturizers. No conditioners. When I travel, my toiletry kit consists of a toothbrush and a razor. 

That's it.

Imagine the amount of time and money I save on health and beauty products alone.    

If I were to reduce my clothing to the essentials, as Widrich has done, my list would be admittedly longer (Widrich doesn't seem to have to deal with winter in any way, and he apparently doesn't own a hat or belt) and might look something like this:

  • 9 tee-shirts (including 3 tee-shirts for exercising)
  • 6 sweaters/sweat shirts
  • 1 hoodie
  • 1 waterproof rain jacket
  • 1 winter coat
  • 1 knit cap
  • 1 pair of gloves
  • 2 pairs of jeans
  • 2 pairs of dress pants
  • 2 pairs of pajama pants
  • 2 pairs of sweatpants
  • 2 pairs of shorts
  • 6 pairs of socks and underwear
  • 1 blazer
  • 1 belt
  • 3 pairs of gym shorts
  • 1 pair of sneakers
  • 1 pair of golf shoes
  • 1 pair of shoes  
  • 3 pairs of gym shorts
  • 2 baseball caps

There are other things that Widrich fails to address in his minimalism. I have a file cabinet, for example, full of tax and insurance documents, medical records, photo albums, and more. Would he propose that I eliminate all of this material, and if so, how?

And what about the cabinet full of medical and first aid supplies? What about things like scissors and tape and glue? What about my tools? My golf clubs? My basketball? My journals? My books?

Actually, my books might be able to go, too. If I've read a book and will never read it again, why is it still in my house? I own a couple signed first editions, and I have books that possess enormous sentimental value to me, and I have the various editions of my own books, but the rest should probably vamoose. They serve no real purpose. 

A summer project, perhaps. 

In many ways, I have been on the path towards minimalism and simplicity for a long time. I have always found great pleasure in the elimination of physical objects. I love the appearance of an uncluttered surface. I despise shopping and have never understood the desire to acquire more and more stuff. I have specifically asked for gifts that reward me in experiences, learning, or times saved. I eat the same things for breakfast and lunch almost every day.

Ever year, I am asked by parents at my school how I managed to land the largest classroom. and every year, I have to explain that it isn't the largest. It's exactly the same size as every other classroom.

It's just empty. I only keep the things I absolutely need, and I store them well.

Perhaps reducing my wardrobe is the next step. I could certainly eliminate items without much effort, but if I were to radically reduce my wardrobe to minimalist levels, it would only be for the purpose of gaining back valuable time by eliminating decisions from my morning routine.

It would mean wearing essentially the same thing every day.

Steve Jobs did it. Barack Obama, to a degree, does it. I have a friend who wears the same thing to work every single day.

Could I do it? Would I want to do it? Would my wife want me to do it?

Important questions.   

I wore jeans to a $25,000 a table gala and something surprising happened, as it often does when I am under-dressed.

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Last week I had the honor of performing at The Moth Ball, where I performed on the same stage as the great Louis CK. I also had the pleasure of meeting Andrew Solomon and spent about ten minutes with the world famous magician David Blaine.

It was quite a night.  

The theme of the night was Wham! Pow! Moth! Stories of Superheros. As a result, there was much discussion and decision about the attire for the evening.

  • hould I dress up as an actual superhero (as many attendees did)?
  • Should I wear a tuxedo (since I own several as a wedding DJ)? 
  • Should I wear a suit (as I knew many men would)?
  • Should I wear my standard storytelling outfit of jeans, tee shirt, and baseball cap (since I would be performing)?

I ultimately decided upon a Superman tee shirt, a jacket, and a pair of jeans. As I made the final decision to wear jeans before leaving for the event, I asked Elysha what she thought of my outfit.

"I think you'll be the only person in the room wearing jeans, but I think it's fine."

We took surprisingly few photos of ourselves that night, but you can see a little bit of me in this photo from New York Magazine:

A couple years ago we attended a large, formal wedding. I was willing to wear a suit to the affair, but I had given up on ties years ago. a tie. Once again I asked Elysha what she thought about me not wearing a tie.

"You'll probably be the only guy not wearing a tie, but whatever makes you happy."

She was right on both accounts. I was the only man not wearing a tie that night, and I was happy. 

One man did approach me and ask how I managed to avoid wearing a tie. 

"I didn't put it on," I said. 

"My wife would never let me get away with that," he replied.

I wanted to tell him that he married the wrong woman, but it didn't seem like the time or place for a comment like that. 

But here's the more important thing about that night: No one remembers that I wasn't wearing a tie.

Yes, it's true that I didn't wear a tie, and it's true that every other man did, but two years later (and probably two hours later), no one remembered a thing about what I was wearing, for three reasons:

  1. Half of the people at the wedding never noticed in the first place, despite our omnipotent and utterly false belief that people are actually paying attention to what we wear and what we look like. They're not.      
  2. Maya Angelou was right when she said that people won't remember what you said or what you did, but they will always remember how you made them feel. No one recalls what I wore that night because it didn't matter. If I was kind and made them laugh, they might recall me for those reasons but nothing else. Clothing does not make the man.
  3. About half of the people of the world have left the concerns and cares of high school behind them long ago. Judging someone based upon clothing was something they may have done when they were children but no more. Admittedly at least half of all people still make snide, behind-the-back, cruel remarks about a people's choice of clothing, but they suck. I don't care what they think.  

Oh, and as for my choice of attire for The Moth Ball... I saw at least one other man wearing jeans that night, so Elysha was incorrect on that score.

Louis CK showed up in jeans, too. I'd say I was in good company. 

My son is an overnight bully. Also, he apparently has superhuman strength.

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In the past six years of parenting, our children have slept in our bed for about a total of four nights.

Four nights over the course of six years and two kids isn't bad considering I have friends who have their children sleeping with them more often than not.

I have a friend who spent years sleeping in his children's beds so his kids could sleep in his.  

Still, as infrequently as it happens in our home, it's still annoying.

Last night our almost three year-old son woke up at 11:30 and was inconsolable. The combination of concern over what might be wrong (given this has never happened before) and his inability to calm down caused us to decide to bring him into our bed.

And it worked. Within a few minutes he was calm and sleeping again.

Over the course of the next five hours that I spent in bed, this little boy managed to pin me to the edge of the bed and twice topple me right out and onto the floor.

Have you ever fallen out of bed while you were fast asleep? It's terrifying. 

I have never fallen out of my bed before. My wife and I have spent the last twelve years sleeping side by side without ever infringing upon each other's space.  

Yet somehow this small boy, tiny in comparison to me, managed to manipulate me like a rag doll last night. He discarded me from the bed like a lumpy pillow or an unwanted pet. 

He's not nearly as cute as he looks.

 

Why was this second grader drinking a beer, and why did I allow it?

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When I entered teaching 17 years ago, I expected to the job to bring many benefits to my life:

Work that I loved. 
Stable employment.
Summer vacations.
A career that afforded me the opportunity to make a real difference in the world 

I taught second grade that first year. I had a class of 20 students. One of them was a little girl named Allison. She wore a purple Gap sweatshirt for most of the year. She was kind, shy, slightly under-confident, and liked to laugh. 

That's her, just to my left, smiling.

When I was moved to third grade the next year, Allison was assigned to my class again. She brought that same purple sweatshirt with her, along with a little less shyness and a little more confidence. 

On Sunday, that seven year-old was somehow standing beside me at her college graduation party, drinking a beer and talking to me about her upcoming trip to Europe. She's a 23 year-old woman now, and she's also in my house about once a week, babysitting my children, taking care of my pets, or stopping by to say hello. When we arrived at the party on Sunday, my children saw Allison standing in her backyard, screamed her name, and ran into her arms. 

That little second grader is now my friend and a member of our family. 

I had no idea that this would be one of the many benefits of teaching when I started my career.

And Allison is not the only former student in my life who has become my friend. My former students are constantly occupying spaces in my life. They attend my author talks. We chat via email and social media. They seek my advice. They visit with me after school, wandering through a classroom that looks microscopic to them today. They are my babysitters. They read the rough drafts of my novels. Two of them attended my wife's surprise birthday party earlier this year. 

Five years ago, as Allison's class was preparing to graduate high school, I took the stage to introduce my class's annual Shakespearean production and was greeted by six of my students from that first class, all sitting together, waiting to watch us perform Julius Caesar, a play they had performed ten years earlier as second graders.

It was one of those moments as a teacher that I will never forget. 

Job security is a wonderful thing. My summers are a treasure. The opportunity to do a job I love and that brings real difference to the world is more than anyone could ask for from a career.

But the friendships that I have developed with former students like Allison are an unexpected blessing that mean as much to me as any other benefit from teaching.  

5 Quick Productivity Tips

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One of the questions that I am asked most often relates to how I manage to be so productive. I have many, many answers (if you click on the productivity category on this blog, you will find many, many answers), but when I only have a moment and a person really wants an answer, here are the five suggestions that I make:

  1. Watch less television. The average American watches more than five hours of television per day. I watch less than one. Also, never watch live television. Turn every hour-long show into a 45 minute program and recapture the 15 minutes of commercials through the magic of fast forwarding.    
  2. Do not remain in bed after you are awake. Recapture those sleepless minutes spent lounging in your bed. They serve no useful purpose and will ultimately decrease your chances of falling asleep quickly. . 
  3. Spend less time eating. If you're not enjoying a meal with friends and family, eat meals that are quick to prepare and consume.  
  4. Exercise. Regular exercise will increase your energy levels and make you more productive during the day.  
  5. Sleep one hour less or, if that's not possible, go to bed and wake up one hour early. Time spent at the end of the day is often spent in front of the television. You are likely to be tired at the end of the day, and as a result, you are less productive. Shift that hour to the morning, when you are likely to be more productive.

A dance recital freak show, including marital discord, a gangrene foot, and a woman mistaking a children's dance recital for a dance party

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My daughter danced in her recital yesterday. She performed in three numbers plus the finale. Numbers 3, 35, 42, and 45. 

As you might imagine, there was a lot of time spent not watching my daughter onstage. 

When she was onstage, there was much dancing, along with waving at us, pointing at us, and a methodical deconstruction of her costume during one song.

My daughter is a joyous dancer, but she's not the most focused when it comes to choreography. 

At one point I excused myself to stretch my legs and stepped into the lobby. In the less than ten minutes I spent there, I witnessed the following:

A wife speaking on the phone to her husband, who had taken a nap, overslept, and missed all three of their daughter's dances, which apparently were all schedule during the first half of the show. She was clearly upset and warned her husband to lie to their daughter if asked if Daddy saw her performance.

A couple minutes later, the husband appeared, snatched the bouquet of flowers from his wife, and entered the auditorium like a petulant little boy with his wife in apologetic tow. 

I honestly wanted to stop the couple in their tracks and advise them to end things now and spare themselves a lifetime of unhappiness together. The man is clearly a douchebag (not to mention the kind of man who takes naps on a Saturday afternoon) and his wife, from all appearances, is a doormat. The relationship is doomed and rightfully so. Better to find a way to move on now than drag out the pain for months or years.  

I refrained from saying anything, but I wondered if there might be a career opportunity here.

Relationship evaluator? Marital coach? Professional breaker-upper?   

While this was going on, a doctor was standing near the stairs, taking a call from a patient. I heard him say, "I don't understand why you waited until now to tell someone that your foot is turning green. Is your primary care physician working today?"

A doctor's life is never as glamorous as I imagine. 

Then the doors to the auditorium burst open and a man came charging out, holding a six or seven year old boy in his arms like a load of firewood. The kid was screaming, "I'm not going outside! I'm not going outside!" The man countered with, "You're #$%!!* going outside so shut the hell up!"

Despite the poor behavior of the lad, this was probably not the best way to handle to situation. 

I couldn't believe the action taking place in the lobby in the span of a few minutes. I don't mind watching little kids dance, especially when they make hilarious mistakes, but the lobby provided more entertainment than any dance could (save my daughter's performances, of course).

Finally I re-entered the auditorium, only to see a middle aged woman at the back of the aisle dancing with more enthusiasm than the ten year-old girls on stage. The woman had apparently mistook this children's recital for a dance party and was doing her best to garner as much attention as possible.  

Being second in line when the doors opened, we had snagged seats in the third row. Little did I know how boring the recital would be so close to the stage. 

On a positive note, the recital was delightful. My daughter dances in a low-stakes dance company, so rather than cracking the whip and ensuring precision, children are allowed to make many hilarious mistakes and have fun.

It's always refreshing to see adults treating children like children. It doesn't happen enough in organized sports and similar activities these days. 

I was also pleased to see that her teachers did not perform during the recital. As a veteran of many dance recitals, I know that it's common to see the instructors perform onstage, oftentimes in the first or last dance of the show.

I have always found this to be pathetic and sad.  

This would be the equivalent of me performing a scene in my student's upcoming Shakespearean production or reading a poem during their graduation performances.

Clara's instructors were standing in the wings, just out of sight, pleading with the children to stop waving at their parents and dance a little. 

Just where they belonged/

My daughter got in trouble at school, and I'm so glad.

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Of course I'm disappointed in my daughter for the ticket that she received at school this week for failure to follow directions in wellness class (her school's version of physical education).

And I'm equally disappointed that this is not the first ticket that she has received this year for failing to comply to school rules.

Then there is a small (large) part of me that is happy that she has received these tickets. As a fifth grade teacher, I often have students in my class who have never been in any trouble during their first five years of school, and they come to my class legitimately afraid to ever get in trouble.

This may sound like a good thing, except that when they blunder or misstep or make a bad decision that might result in a consequence like our school's version of a ticket or a phone call home or the loss of a privilege, these students often fall apart. They become paralyzed. They weep. 

The years absent of trouble cause trouble to become an unfathomable monster in their mind that they fear as much as anything else in their life.

I know adults who feel the same way about trouble. They can't imagine breaking or bending a rule because that might result in trouble, and trouble is equally unimaginable to them. These are the same adults who think that when their boss comments negatively on their job performance, they are "in trouble"

I want my daughter to behave well, but I want her to also understand that trouble is also a part of life. It's okay to take risks. It's alright to make a bad decision. Sometimes the intentional and deliberate breaking or bending of a rule in the pursuit of happiness or common sense is a good thing. The possible trouble that may result need not be feared.

Also, whenever my daughter gets in trouble, I feel a small amount of pride, too.  She's following in her father's footsteps.   

Sequel Protection Service: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom

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So many times in my life, I’ve wished that I had avoided one or more of the sequels to a book or movie. Spoiling the beauty of an original story with a disappointing or (even worse) destructive sequel is a tragedy that should befall no human being.

Thus behold:

Matthew Dicks’ Sequel Protection Service.

Having suffered through scores of horrendous and damaging sequels, I have thrust the mantle of Sequel Protection Champion upon myself in order to spare future consumers the pain that so many of us have experienced. 

I will tell you which sequels are worthy of reading or viewing and which should never be seen.

Today’s subject: Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

Warning: I will be spoiling this film with the expectation that you will never watch it.  

Part of the trouble with this film is that it comes on the heels of one of the greatest movies of all time: Raiders of the Lost Ark. It would seem impossible to successfully follow a film of this caliber, and yet the franchise manages an equally impressive film with its third installment: Indiana Jones and the Final Crusade. 

The Temple of Doom is a mess of a movie. I will outline three primary complaints, but there are more than enough for you to avoid this movie at all costs, even if these three reasons don't strike you as compelling.

1. The movie is unrealistically unrealistic. In fiction, it's said that you get one coincidence. One chance encounter. One unbelievably fortuitous (or disastrous) unlikelihood. This same rule applies to the magic in the Indiana Jones franchise.

You get one. 

In the first film, the moment of "magic" comes at the end, when the Ark of the Covenant is opened, revealing its power. 

In the third film, the magic also comes at the end in the form of the Holy Grail and the knight protecting it. In these two films, it's the magic that is sought, so the film is realistic until the quest is complete. 

The Temple of Doom is riddled with magic:

  • A potion that turns Jones into a bad guy (and children into zombie slaves).
  • The ability to remove the beating heart from a man's body and then seal the wound, all with an outstretched palm.
  • Magical stones that react to incantations and would allow the possessor to rule the world. 

The quest is not for a mythical or magical artifact. Instead, the movie centers on Indy's battle against the magic being used to enslave children. This makes it a very different, and in comparison to Raiders of the Lost Ark, a very silly film.

2. Indiana Jones is not the man we know and love in the first and third films.

In Raiders of the Lost Ark and Final Crusade, we meet an archaeologist who accepts a mission to preserve an ancient artifact and keep its powers out of the hands of evil men and women. In The Temple of Doom, Indy is initially motivated by greed. He desires the magical stones in the temple because he believes that they will bring him fame and glory.

This is not the Indiana Jones who we root for in the other two films. 

The Temple of Doom is also prequel to Raider of the Lost Ark, and all of the magic in this movie destroys the continuity of the franchise and undermines Indy's character as its presented in the first and third film. In Raiders of the Lost Ark, for example, Indy rejects the supernatural, calling it "all that supernatural hocus pocus." Yet this prequel clearly establishes Indy's exposure to magic and the supernatural in a profound way, making his hocus pocus dismissal ridiculous. 

3. The female lead in The Temple of Doom is weak, ineffective, and constantly screams for help.

The female lead in Raiders of the Lost Ark is nearly as tough as Indy. She takes action on her own accord, saves Indy's life more than once, and is a fairly well developed character.

In the third film, the female lead turns out to be a villain who is both brilliant and dangerous and complex.

In The Temple of Doom, we meet nightclub singer Willie Scott, who is primarily a damsel in distress throughout the film. She cries for help, screams in terror, and is generally a pathetic character.