So, Rod Paige, the Secy of Education under President Bush, is handing in his resignation.
He struck me as a decent man.
Heard him speak many times. Barely hid his contempt for the ed establishment.
I believe he cared deeply for kids and wanted to remove some of the burden of insane "practices" from the backs of teachers.
Mr. Paige reminded me of several black friends I've had over the years.
Elegant and wise in the ways of African kings.
Knowing much about suffering and endurance, but burdening neither himself nor his listeners with stories he already knew and which they wouldn't understand.
Choosing instead to live a life of dignity and work for the good.
Anthropos agathos kai aristos. Good man, and best, if I got it right.
Some progressive (establishment) deaducators and their supporters [kakomehkhanos = contriving evil] were ecstatic when they heard the news.
Thinking that No Child Left Behind and Reading First (and then math first and science first) would be dead [nekros] with Mr. Paige gone, and they could go back to biz as usual--i.e., piffle and pageantry--with no fear [phobos] of exposure.
Is that a life? Of cowardice? [kakia] Afraid--perhaps because unable--to argue against critics (anti-establishment) who accuse them of destroying the future of our most vulnerable children? How could they defend themselves. Can they show that when teachers DON'T teach (but instead "facilitate") poor kids learn a whole lot? How DO they explain that although kids k-2 may look fine on qualitative whole language "assessments" (which measure guessing and memorization, not reading), they somehow can no longer read in the higher grades? [Maybe it's ''cause there arent any pictures cues any more.]
Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
[From Tennyson's The Lotus Eaters]
I wish him well....
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me–
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads–you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.