Just got home from Waiting for Superman. Great film. I am reminded that the recipe for academic success still lies with the individual.
When I first saw the trailer, Sherman Alexie’s essay, “Superman and Me” came to mind. After viewing the film, a connection emerged. Where Waiting for Superman reminds us that an overwhelming majority of children are “not accepted” to successful public schools and leaves our hope dashed, “Superman and Me” picks up the pieces reminding us that the system cannot stop the individual from picking up a book and doing the work of developing a Habit of Being.
This movie brilliantly reminds us that reform within the public system is happening in pockets all over our nation and leaves me grateful for those reformers. But it also leaves me with an image of all the children who will shrivel because they do not have Bingo Ball 78 glowing in the palm of their little hand.
The reality is that there are wide-open plains outside of the system waiting for Lewis and Clark—perhaps the sequel?
Reform Lewis and Clark style.
A voyage of discovery.
As an educator, I for one realized a long time ago I couldn’t wait for Superman any longer. I encourage my students to slip on the Superman suit before they begin each day, reminding them Alexie style: “The suit will save your life!” Geoffrey Canada’s mother may be right, Superman is not real, but every child has talents equal to Superman’s power—the gift of numbers, the gift of humor, the gift of words, the gift of song, the gift of compassion… an endless list.
“Art is never finished, only abandoned,” according to the Renaissance sage Leonardo da Vinci
So what has art to do with a movie about the state of education in America?
Absolutely everything.
One thing this film fails to examine is the need to move beyond the workforce preparation model of education by addressing the deeper individual needs that are ignored in mass education. How can we provide opportunities for our children to develop Critical Creative Thinking if we starve individuality?
Leonardo da Vinci left us tremendous insight into his work habits. He knew first hand that, “it is easier to resist at the beginning than at the end,” still he painstakingly collected thousands of his ideas in sketchbooks, most of which would never be fully realized. But I will venture to say there is not one who would dare call him a slacker. There are academic skills that do not fall under the Three Rs umbrella—think rigor, resourcefulness, responsibility.
When my daughter Hannah was 10 she began working at Debussy’s Doctor Gradus ad Parnassum on the piano. One afternoon while I was scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen, listening as she delicately worked through each new section, I called out, “Is that the Debussy?”
“No this is mine.”
I dropped the pot back into sudsy water, quickly wiped my hands, and walked to the piano, “Your piece?”
“Yes.”
“Play it for me…” and she did, jubilantly, without hesitation. Hannah was composing.
When Hannah turned 13 things began to change. She began to depend on notes more than her ear. Simultaneous to her sight-reading ability moving into the bilingual realm, she became insecure with her creative voice. No amount of coaxing would console the teenage composer to come out of hiding. She wanted to create, but in her mind her ideas never sounded just right. Hannah became paralyzed by perfectionism.
Over the course of the next few years I presented opportunities and encouraged her to engage in the process of creating. I reminded her that creating something happens with little steps that begin with an idea, “Remember Da Vinci…’Art is never finished only abandoned’.”
Fast forward, two years ago an 18-year-old Hannah composed a piece for piano and charanga that involved more conversation, more tears, and more hugs than hands on the keys and pencil to staff paper. The fact that the project was to be submitted for a competition made the work real but ultimately Hannah’s prize was persevering through the process of developing an idea even if the idea failed.
I will never forget her beaming smile the day we played back the final mixed recording of Empty Halls. The composition did not win a prize in the competition that year, but did receive encouraging notes back from the adjudicators. The notes were more valuable to Hannah than a cash prize. Empty Halls whispers in Hannah’s ear to this day: “Keep working at your craft. You ARE a composer.”
A year later one of Hannah’s poet friends was collaborating with my son, Taylor, on a film they were to submit to a competition and asked Hannah permission to use Empty Halls as the music for the film. She granted permission. The film won regional recognition from the Scholastic Arts and Writing Awards competition.
This past year, Hannah composed a film score for a competition sponsored by the Music Teacher’s Association of California. There were a few bumpy tear-filled stretches, but she persevered through the creative process with very little coaching. Hannah’s film score won first place in her division.
Yesterday my 20-year-old daughter came home from a day of practicing music and handed me her phone, “I started a new composition.”
“An abandoned idea?”
“Yes. Tear free.”
I think this might be what Sherman Alexie means when he locks arms with Superman.
Waiting for Superman begins with a challenge to “take a leap of faith” and ends with the charge to muster the “fortitude to make different decisions” for our children. Perhaps its time to walk with mere mortals, time to learn from Lewis and Clark that the journey has to be made on foot.
– Kim