Trust me be

Many don’t understand what’s the big deal with a bunch of guys kicking a leather ball. Well, I don't either if we're referring to American football. However, when it comes to football--I won't call it soccer round here or I'll get lynched by the masses-- then you have my full attention. Football is a religion in the Mediterranean. Obsessions are irrational, and football fans aren't immune to it. They go through emotional rollercoasters that often border the farcical and the grotesque. My obsession goes by the name of Internazionale also known as Pazza Inter (That's also the name of the team’s main anthem). And by the way, just in case you’re wondering: Inter’s not crazy in the cool way; Inter’s the let’s shoot ourselves in the foot kind of crazy. I’ve seen champions of the calibre of Bobo Vieri and Ronaldo throw the towel inexplicably when they were only 45 minutes away from winning a much awaited and agonized championship. That’s only one of the countless memorable debacles by my beloved team. Football fans are resilient, but Inter fans are in a league of their own. Inter fans are masochists.   

My buddies Daniel and Cost are masochists too. We’re comrades who have had to endure a lot. So it would only make sense that we’d fly all the way to Milan to experience it all live. And being the devoted fans we are, it also made sense to buy tickets with the Ultras in the Curva Nord, the most hardcore and masochist group of them all.

As soon as we entered the Curva, we were hyped. I was there supporting my team with my people. When we watch the games on TV, my buddies and I bring the house down, and now that we were at the Meazza, the home of Inter, I knew we could unleash it all. 

But as soon as the game started, the head Ultras came facing the crowd and demanded we all sing their chants and clap all together. Fair enough. But they did this through intimidation and pinpointed those who weren’t clapping and cheering enough. My friend Cost was one of those who got reprimanded by one of the middlemen. It wasn’t pretty. What a great way to spoil the fun.

What at first felt like the genuine need to cheer the team I’m so passionate about, soon became a constraint. I found myself cheering because I didn’t want to get into trouble with those guys, and suddenly I felt deprived of what had been until then the innate urge to shout for my boys. 

Corey says that transitions are crucial, so here’s my segway: taken at face value, football chanting and education have nothing to do with each other, especially since in a school community I find myself surrounded by great human beings.  Yet, that's the power of the metaphor.  A smart man once said that all you need to do to suppress the appetite of voracious eaters is to force-feed them. That’s what had happened to us at the Meazza; that’s what I also felt was happening to my kids back when I taught them Humanities. No matter how interesting the topic was, for many of my students the grades took precedence over everything else, stripping them from their drive to learn. I was their teacher and in many ways, I felt culpable because grades weren’t simply one of the many diagnostics we use to give students feedback; grades had become the spoon being shoved in kids’ throats. So rather than being intrinsic, motivation was for the most part extrinsic, hampering deeper learning.

I’m currently reading Free to Learn by Peter Gray. This book raises some important questions about education: should we, the adults, be in the driver’s seat of our children’s learning because of the general belief that they’re too young to make their own calls? Should education equate to obedience training? Are those students who are achieving straight A’s truly gaining deeper mastery or is their learning shallow? I personally, don’t have all the answers. The IA is a great program but it’s not flawless; in fact, I still haven’t encountered a model that is. But this much I know: iteration is key. I’m lucky enough to be at a school, that trusts me be, giving me the autonomy to explore ways of educating rather than schooling. Education should be all about facilitating a meaningful learning experience for our children, organic and tailored to each individual sitting in front of us. And in this sense, the growth shown by the kids in the IA is very encouraging. In the IA grades aren't what drive student learning. 

The biggest disservice we can do to our children is to simply embrace the status quo just because things have always been this way. We owe it to them to keep on questioning the system, and ultimately questioning our own practice.  In fact, I only question the things I love most, and education is up there in my list.

I could throw at you all sorts of literature that delves more into motivation. I'll rather end with this: if I'm watching an Inter game, trust me, I'm gonna scream my lungs out even if the team ends up losing to Torino in the 94th minute (Sunday's happy ending). You don't need to intimidate me. Instead be there for me and help me find my way. Don't assume I'm like everyone else, because I'm not. Be there for me by genuinely caring about my self-discovery.

Harmony Part 2: A Beautiful Juxtaposition

Today, I woke up with an urge to visit a place from my childhood. The playground in Mellieha Bay is secluded behind the parish church and isn't that easy to find. I suppose one can see it overlooking the islands of Gozo and Comino driving up from the coast road, but the place doesn't stand out straight away. As I stood in front of the church, I didn’t quite know if I’d still find it there, but some places outlast the decades and this is one of them. Most of the equipment in the playground has been replaced-- there’s even a seesaw for disabled children now--but to my surprise, the old rocking horse is still there. The paint's wearing off but the children are still enthralled by its imposing structure. Seen through my toddler eyes, it seemed huge and indestructible. Seeing it now again after so many years, I reckon that my perception wasn’t that warped after all.   

It’s as if time pauses in this playground; one can hear the cars drive by on the coast road beneath, but the noise is quickly muffled by the peace up here. My parents used to bring me here on Sunday afternoons, and I’d spend ages immersed in my play. The place is only 20 Kilometers away from my hometown, yet it would take us at least 2 hours to get here, courtesy of the Maltese Public Transport Authority. But it didn't matter: as a kid I loved it because it felt like a legit traveling experience and made me appreciate this place even more.

Fast forward to 2015. As soon as I got here, I started to take pictures but didn’t really know what I was looking for. Was I simply going down memory lane? I knew I’d be writing a post about this place, but had no idea on what exactly. Most importantly, I kept asking myself what was it about this place that I still treasure so much. It’s in moments like these, that I realize how complex writing is: we become consumed by a feeling, an emotion, but how can we capture it in a word, a sentence or paragraph, especially when the memories date back to my early childhood? 

But then, suddenly, it all fell into place. Next to do playground there’s a tiny cemetery, and the two are separated by an old wall. Strangely enough the cemetery doesn’t feel eerie at all; instead it whispers cozy. I’m not a huge fan of burial myself, but I can understand why people bury their loved ones here. It's serene.

On the left hand side one can see the wall covered in plaques. 

And as I stood from a distance, I understood what made this place so special to me. From this vantage point, I could see the toddlers play only a few metres away from where the dead ones are resting. The same ones that not so long ago played there too. 

We usually don't associate playgrounds with cemeteries; we're either faced with the lightness of childhood or the heaviness of death. I came here thinking that what I missed was my childhood playground. It turns out that what I loved about this place is the beautiful juxtaposition between life and death. The 2 coexist peacefully here and strike that perfect balance. Life and death. This has been a leit motif in my recent posts but there again the more I think about these 2 combined, the more it all makes sense.  It’s the new that replaces the old. The cycle of life.  

I’ve now moved to the Seaview Snack Bar facing the playground. As I sip my cappuccino and type away, I take a glance at the lucky "heirs" who flutter around mindlessly. Who knows, maybe I'll bring an heir of my own here someday.  

Adulthood

This time last year, I read Joseph Conrad's Shadowline.  Conrad uses the metaphor of the captain who's out at sea facing the elements to capture the protagonist's transition from early youth to adulthood. In many ways, this novella was quite foreboding of the year that was to come.

2014 wasn't a very jolly year; it threw at me all kinds of curved balls in both my professional and personal life. I won't go into the details but trust me, it kicked me in the ass.

In the past, I would have repudiated this annus horribilis; I would have felt vindicated by the mere fact that 2014 was coming to a close and welcomed the new year with arms wide open. But then we grow up.

The fact is that at this time of my life, I find myself crossing that metaphorical shadowline.  This time is cast with treacherous storms that are still waiting to happen. This is adulthood. I've just stepped past that invisible line so I'm still figuring it all out. However, what I do know is that when I was confronted with what felt insurmountable, I was able to withstand it and grow. And it still wasn't anywhere close to the trials that people I know had to endure this year. This is only the beginning of this new period and I'm fully aware of it.

Wanderer above the sea of fog by Caspar David Friedrich

But most importantly, I know that all these hardships give me a deeper appreciation for life, because they're helping me get to know myself better. Pain can be excruciating but only by confronting it are we able to connect with our deeper, more spiritual self.

Yesterday, I spent New Year's Eve with my loved ones, but I ended up going home early because I wasn't feeling so well. Annus horribilis I'd be tempted to say. But as I laid in my bed all bundled up, listening to the ships' horns welcoming the new year from afar, I couldn't but feel grateful for 2014. It has been a tough teacher indeed but this is only the first of the many challenging years that lie ahead. 2014 has prepared the ground. Bring it on 2015.