Curiousity & talent are a powerful combination

I've been teaching over a decade now and have seen a lot of students.

Some show up, some don't. Some do the work, some don't. I know the game, having been a student myself for the better part of my life. I've had the pleasure of meeting and teaching some great ones, students who have gone on to solid careers and success. I've also met my share of challenges.

Occasionally, I run across a student that pulls my attention away from the centre mass of the group. One that pulls me in a way I did not expect. One that has talent, but that's not enough. I've had many talented students, gifted to solve problems. To them, answers come easy and solutions are apparent.

But every now and again, a curious student pops up. Ah, that sweet fresh air of curiosity that blows in like a spring breeze. A curious student brushes away all the mild frustrations of those who are just going through the motions. They reignite a slow burning fire to do more. And normally they show themselves with a question.

'I'm sorry to bother you, but I have a question."

They are humble. You see, curiosity doesn't have space for ego; realizing that there is more to learn and asking questions removes all the space needed to hold onto the notion that you might know it all.

I have one such student right now, every week asking deep, well constructed questions outside of the public eye of the class. Asking me to dig a little deeper and provide a well thought out answer to topics not covered by the curriculum. Because a course outline isn't why they are here. It's the quest, the hunger to dig deeper. To ask questions because, well, there are questions to be asked.

Suffice it to say that when someone apologizes for asking for more knowledge, not only is it my job to step forward and engage; it is my pleasure. I too am a student. I too am curious and you have opened up a new lesson for us to challenge.

Thank you.

Caritas Day & an invitation to guest blog

Last year, I experienced my first Caritas Day here at Mount Saint Vincent University. It is a day when classes are set aside and the spirit of giving selflessly is embraced. My thoughts are that first experience were captured in the post 'When the Sisters schooled the Prof'

I am honoured this year to have been invited by Dr. Ramona Lumpkin, President of Mount Saint Vincent University, to write a guest blog for 'A View from the Mount' about Caritas Day and the importance of being socially engaged with your community.

Please take a minute to connect through and read about our traditions. Don't forget to leave a comment too!

New Holiday Traditions

Christmas time is full of traditions. If you celebrate the holidays, you likely have your own.

Growing up in my house, we always put the tree up the weekend after my birthday. That was the rule; I’m a December baby & never wanted the two celebrations to overlap. Wrapped presents slowly found their way under the tree. Christmas Eve became the family’s twice annual pilgrimage to church, if only to listen to the choral service. Before bed we were always allowed to open one gift; my mother would use her Jedi-elf skills to magically find those new pyjamas hidden under the tree for each of her three boys. Unwrapped Santa presents waited the next morning for the kids as Mom put together a full breakfast before the full-contact sport of present opening began. It was joyously the same every year. Our family traditions.

Traditions like these give the season a sense of ceremony, and families bond with shared history and stories. But this story isn’t about my traditions; it’s about when I discovered some new ones.

Christmas 1992

The Tree

In 1991, my girlfriend Andrea and I both attended Carleton University in Ottawa, Ontario. Early that spring, we had decided to move in together, sharing our living space and our lives. That year for the holidays, we returned to our respective family homes in Toronto and celebrated apart. We quickly realized that didn’t work for us. So the next year, we committed to being together. After negotiations, our first Christmas together would be at her family’s home.

Between late fall exams and busy work schedules, we didn’t arrive in Toronto until early Christmas Eve. The first thing I noticed was that there was no tree. I was quickly informed that the tree went up later that afternoon. The tree was already here, of course, waiting in the backyard.

All right, I thought – this is different.

Andrea’s father went out to the backyard with saw in hand, made a fresh cut on the bottom of the tree, popped it in its stand and it was carried into the living room to warm up. You have to let the branches drop, I was told. Have to let it get comfortable.

Over the next hour, the scent of spruce filled the house. Boxes were dug out of their storage homes and laid out on the dining room table, boxes full of family ornaments and tree decorations. When the tree was ‘ready’, the lights were strung and garland wrapped around the tree.

Then it began. Wine & egg nog were poured. Slowly, people started selecting decorations, holding them up and telling stories. “I remember this one – I made it when I was seven.” “Didn’t you make this one for our presents six years ago? Or was it seven?” Over the next hour, the tree filled up with history and glass balls, homemade beaded hangings and memories.

There was no rush, no hurry. Just time together. It was the commencement of the celebration.

Bing. You’re Asleep.

Later that evening, I was presented with my very own stocking. You see, everyone in the family has a stocking made by Andrea’s Mum. Tradition. And not those tight, felty ones either, but crocheted; the stretchy kind that looks just like a sock but is easily manipulated into any shape so as to accommodate an overflow of stocking presents.

I was touched at receiving it. It was a symbol of acceptance. Perhaps moving in with their only daughter was ok, I thought. Needless to say, I was a tad concerned that soon after I had received such a wonderful gift, it had disappeared. When I asked quietly if someone had seen my stocking, I was introduced to a new family saying.

“Don’t ask silly questions at Christmas.”

All right, I thought – this is really different.

The evening was full of food, homemade chilli and fresh bread, and games around the table. There was lots of laughing and silliness with just enough competition to keep everyone on their toes. As the evening wrapped up, Andrea and I retired to the basement; it was agreed upon weeks prior that we would be allowed to share a room. Normal ‘sleep wells’ were passed around. The tree lights were turned out. The house settled down for the night.

As Andrea and I just were beginning to tuck in for our long winter’s rest, a knock came at our bedroom door. As it slowly opened, there stood her father looking quite serious. He starred at me for a long, silent beat. Then, he said the following words to me, words that I will never forget. He said,

“Bing. You’re asleep.”

Pardon, I thought. Looking over to Andrea for clarification, all I found was my girlfriend, head on pillow, eyes closed, it the position of sleep. Great, I thought. I’m going to close my eyes and Dad gets a little revenge.

Eyes closed. Head down. Waiting...

After just a few moments, our room door closed. I opened one eye. Safe. Then the other. All clear. Andrea was going about her bed routine as if nothing had happened. I, of course, noticed two VERY full stockings hung with care at the end our bed. I pointed and was about to ask about this appearance when I was quickly cut off.

“There’s nothing there.” Andrea said. And that was that.

Presents!

Before going to sleep, I asked Andrea, “What time do things start happening in the morning?” Without hesitation, she answered, “7”.

Seven? A.M.? There was no way a house full of adults were going to be up at 7 a.m. to start unwrapping. I let this pass. We’ll see what happens when everyone wakes up, I thought. Go with the flow.

Now I can tell you that I didn’t get woken up by any alarm the next day, but rather a strange, high speed vibration coming across the mattress. I opened my sleep-covered eyes to be greeted by my bedside clock that read 6:52 a.m. As I rolled over, I found Andrea curled up in a ball in the top corner of her bed, knees pulled into her chest, a pillow hugged tightly. She was shaking with pure childhood excitement about Christmas morning, physically quivering enough to send vibrations throughout the whole bed.

As her eyes moved over to me, she quietly whispered, “I was hoping not to wake you up!!”

Then she reached down to the foot of the bed, unclipped her stocking, and held it up in front of her at arm’s length. Looking right at me with the grin of a six year old, she exclaimed, “Presents!”

All right, I thought – the woman I’ve fallen in love with is crazy.

I unclipped my stocking. I held it out, nodding my head up and down in a coffee-deprived haze. “Presents” I said. Best to mimic the natives lest they turn on you, I thought.

At the strike of 7 a.m. she opened our door and we quietly crept up the basement stairs. We were returning to the land of logic, I thought. Her brother, whom I had known for over six years now, was practical and level headed; I’ll sit close to him, I thought. As we reached the top stair, the basement door opened. There, standing at the top of the stairs, arm stretched out with a full stocking in hand and a grin from ear to ear was her brother. “Presents!” he exclaimed. And we were quickly ushered into her parent’s room, everyone piling up on the bed, to start the day opening our stocking together.

I married that wonderfully crazy woman just a couple of years later. Over the years, we have blended our traditions, bringing together the best of both families.

On December 25^th, 2011, for the twentieth year in a row, my wife and I will be celebrating Christmas together. My in-laws will have the comfort of our guestroom in Halifax this year; my brother-in-law and his new bride will be here with us as well. At the crack of 7 in the morning, our two young sons will come running into our bedroom, their stocking, handmade by Granny and stuffed by Santa, held high. We will all pile onto our bed to start the day.

I will be holding my stocking, that same stocking from my first crazy Christmas twenty years earlier, at arm’s length. And with a grin, I will exclaim, “Presents!”

The Quiet Blog

Wow. It's been nearly a month since I last posted up my thoughts here. My schedule has been packed lately with teaching, presentations, travel, conferences and a few major writing projects.

Sometimes we fill our plate so full, we try to use all of our time 'doing' things, that we can forget to use our time properly. This has happened to me over the last couple months. So busy doing 101 different things that I've been pushing the truly important things off to one side.

My family has felt the brunt of this. I've been a distracted father, the one who'll be up to read a story just as soon as I finish writing my next thought, a distracted husband who has been busy every evening and weekend on one project or another.

My dissertation has also suffered as I have been gravitating to writing projects, including this blog, that have provided me with quick hits. Writing a doctoral thesis rarely provides instant gratification; it is a marathon project. Instead of putting in the work training for the marathon, I've enjoyed the successful burst of sprint writing.

To this end, I'm adjusting some priorities. I'll still write blog postings when I have a hot idea that I really need to share. However, I won't be hunting for topics for a while. I'll still take on presentations, but only those that either a) move my dissertation research forward or b) are directly related to my current 1-2 topical areas of interest.

If you notice gaps in my posts over the next number of months, this is the reason. I have a few big tasks to knock out of the ballpark and it's time to step up to the plate. I have a few family members that deserve far more attention and it's time to strike a better balance.

To repeat one of my earlier tweets today:
Pixar Wisdom (from 'UP'): "Thanks for the adventure. Now go have a new one. "

This too, in some way, is part of the education of a prof I guess. So, I'll still be around. Just a tad less here for a while. Thanks for understanding! I hope you'll stick with me as new things start happening.

The Power of "Thank You"

The other day I came home and found a card on my wife’s desk. Before you think that I was snooping, the corner of her desk is normally where she puts the family mail. When I looked to see who the card was from, I found that it was a thank you note from our new dentist. The office staff had all signed a card thanking my wife for recommending me to the clinic.

A little odd you might think. Isn’t it natural that when one person in a family finds a good service, the rest of the family uses that same service provider? Isn’t it...obvious?

No. It’s not obvious. I have the ability to choose for myself who to go do, and this dentist’s office understands that fact. If my wife and I end up in the same place, our kids will likely go there. If we are happy with the service, we’ll stay, talk about it, even recommend more people.

Our local dentist’s office understands the power of ‘thank you’, of moving away from an assumption of satisfaction, from an email or voice message. They took the time to sign a card and say it personally. They invested a little bit of themselves into the relationship.

Over the last three weeks, I’ve received a few hand-written cards of thanks. I keep each one and display time in my office like Christmas cards. To me, the senders of these cards understand the need to get back to the basics of human relationships. For that, I celebrate their actions and their tokens.

How do you like to be thanked? How important is this human touch in your world? Let me know in the comments. 

Sharing stories & expanding communities

Back in August, I started to engage in a few conversations about guest blogging.

Having a relatively short blogging history IMHO (under 40 blogs to date), the idea of contributing to another person's blog was exciting. I could think about the messages that I wanted to share in other places, the tone that I wanted to convey and work on different topics.

At the time that I wrote this post, I had been to Shakespeare by the Sea here in Halifax, Nova Scotia. They do a fantastic job putting on outdoor theatre and working with the audience that I was inspired to draw some links between live theatre and customer service (not a huge stretch, I know).

After I wrote and submitted it, I started to think about what it meant to share content on other blogs - taking my material to the home field of other people. It struck me that this type of sharing and engaging was exactly why I jumped into social media. To share my stories with others while I worked through them myself. To interact and engage with both like-minded and other-minded people. And to expand my community in the process. My new community now includes Daniel Sharkov, a 17 year old blogger that's expanded my education about blogging, sharing and the development of an online network.

Without a doubt, I'll be taking up more guest blogging opportunities. It was great fun. I guess I can also continue to be comfortable with my blog title "The Education of a Prof". I'm still learning.

Playtime: Get your creative groove on

At some point in our life, most of us shift towards the literal. Really literal.

Meanings and ideas become consistent. Things are easier to understand. We lose the ability or willingness to hold multiple meanings in our heads at the same point in time. Our interpretations become more static and our experimentation occurs less frequently.

We slowly slide away from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s ideal design when he said, “The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function.”

Remember when a butter knife was the best screwdriver in the kitchen? Many of us even had that perfect knife/tool at the back of our utensils drawer, the one with the tip that had snapped off. (We’d never put it on the table but it became an even better screwdriver!) Yet at some point, a subtle shift happens inside that compels us to search the entire house for the ‘right’ screwdriver because, for heaven’s sake, the butter knife is a ‘knife’.

Now I like to think of myself as a little creative, but still I find myself falling into this static thinking occasionally.  Luckily, I have a couple of rug rats here who do not suffer from any such debilitating issues of imagination.

In our house, Robin Hood is currently the story of choice. The books are read and the classic Disney animated film, with Robin Hood as a fox, is on high rotation. We even took the boys twice to see Robin Hood performed live by a local Halifax theatre troop.

Naturally, this leads to Robin Hood play from the boys. Imaginary arrows and battles erupt in their playroom. Costumes are donned and characters established. At the drop of a hat, they even break into song about their adventures!

This morning, the playroom was quieter than normal. Then I started to here clicks, followed by a small item bouncing across the floor. Click – tink tink... click – tink tink... Hmmm, time to investigate.

My two young ‘merry men’ had figured out that the car launcher from their Matchbox car racing track could be removed. They had also discovered that the tiny Yield signs from their city centre fit quite well inside the launcher. And they were both in full Robin Hood adventure costumes. Testing out their newly created projectile launcher.

Yes - they built a crossbow.

It was awkward and only pushed the projectile a foot or so. But it worked. And they were super pumped! Merry men indeed.

It’s on my desk right now. Letting them launch things at each other didn’t seem wise. They are off in their playroom building a new imaginary world out of pillows, a bouncy ball, a few fire engines and a monster truck.

I’m left amazed at their creativity. And also curious about why I didn’t think of it first. I guess I need to spend more time in the playroom.

How about you?