Why American Students Are Not Leading the Way in Tech

Imagine, if you will, a world where Americans don't teach our children math in elementary school.  Imagine that children no longer learn addition in first-grade, subtraction in second, multiplication in third or division in fourth.  Imagine instead that children make it all the way through high school without having any formal presentation of mathematical concepts.  Now imagine that a student is observant enough to realize that adults who have a firm grasp on mathematics have much better problem-solving life skills and financial opportunities than adults who don't. If that student is curious enough to enroll in an undergraduate math class, imagine how frustrating it would be to have the whole of arithmetic, algebra, and statistics thrown at you in your very first term.  Wouldn't it feel overwhelming?  Wouldn't you be discouraged...especially if you noticed that several people in the class already seemed to understand the stuff fluently? Wouldn't it be difficult to perceive the subject as one where you have talent?

This hypothetical may seem ridiculous, but the truth is that a similar situation is being played out in America today with the subject of computer science.  For many, computer science isn't even introduced to them at a k-12 level and their first exposure comes in an undergraduate classroom, where they're forced to absorb all of the basic building blocks of computational thinking at lightening speed before they can begin to fathom the concept of programming, design or engineering.  To add further blows, a handful of students (mostly boys) *will* actually have skills in these areas, making the newcomers feel deficient, awkward and behind.

How can we rectify this frustrating situation?  It could be as easy as giving formal language to computational thinking concepts beginning in elementary school.  Students don't have to be given computers as toddlers in order to start creating a technological foundation.  It's not as if we currently go looking for grants to put graphing calculators in the hands of kindergarteners. We start with age appropriate tools, preferably tactile examples, then associate the formal language of math to the skills they're learning.  We show them how to count two groups of objects, then have them count the total and call that "addition".  Why can't we have them step through sorting blocks from smallest to largest and call that an "algorithm"?  Why can't we have them find a solution that works for two different types of problems and call that "abstraction"?

I acknowledge that it's more than the fear of calling curriculum "computer science" that holds us back.  Teachers are overwhelmed with the number of subjects that they already have to squeeze into a day.  After all, mathematics is required in educational assessments and computer science is not. My challenge to you is to think of the world that our students will be working in, and ask yourself whether we should be preparing our children only for assessments, or if we should be preparing them for life-long success.  Computational thinking gives students the skills required to solve problems even when they have never explicitly been taught the answers.  It encourages them to think of things in different ways and helps them navigate complex situations by breaking them up into manageable pieces.  Don't those skills seem fundamental to a successful adult?  Isn't it possible that skills like those could help a student raise their scores on required assessments?  I invite educators everywhere to take a challenge of numbers.  Feed your kids computer science for one year, with or without machines, and look at the scores that they produce on required exams.  Post your results here and we'll have a healthy, hearty discussion.

Those Who Can, Do. Those Who Can't, Google It!

There are few things in my life that I will readily admit I can't do.  I can't sing, and I can't lick either of my own elbows. Oh, wait. It appears that I can (don't try to picture it...it wasn't pretty.)

I've never been the type of girl who crumbles at a challenge, or murmurs "I dunno" when asked how something is supposed to be done.  It's not that I have to be the best at everything, only that I need to give it a try.  Failure sucks, but it's not as bad as wishing I had given something a go in the first place.  That's why I'm completely baffled when I see young girls who would rather admit defeat from the beginning than give something an honest try.  Is it lack of self-confidence? Laziness? Fear of criticism?  What's the cause and how can we erase it?

In my classes, I've taken to not always answering my students' questions directly.  When I was young, my dad always told me to "look it up."  Back then, he meant the encyclopedia or the dictionary (do you know how frustrating it is to have to look-up how to spell a word in the dictionary?  You don't know how it's spelled!   How are you supposed to look it up??) Now days, I do the equivalent with Google.  I wish Webster would have had cross-references like, "Do you mean BOLOGNA?"  But I digress. 

"Google it."  I'll say.  Yes, I'm the teacher and I'm supposed to be teaching -- but the way I see it, I'm teaching something far more powerful than Python and JavaScript.  I'm teaching them how to fish. I'm trying to feed them for a lifetime...and not just with Python. When Python becomes Go and Go becomes Clojure, they'll know how to translate, look up samples and eventually learn the complete syntax. There's definitely a lot of guidance yet to be given and someone has to steer the boat while the students focus on the sport of it.  In the end, I don't care whether they think I taught it to them or that they learned it themselves.  I only care that they have learned it and believe in themselves enough to do it again.

Wreck This Life ( Wabi-Sabi and the Perfection of Imperfection)

If you're a loyal reader (and you must be, since you're back after my multi-month hiatus) then you already know that I've been working diligently to embrace the beauty of serendipity and be more open to the wonderful opportunities that hide inside of ruined plans.  You can see a tiny example of this in the image to the left.  My friend, Cheri, took this photo.  It was intended to be a reminder of our irreverent evening out at Jameson's in Eugene.  I had tamed my hair perfectly, posed sweetly and had the most genuine smile on my face...but none of that came through.  Instead, we ended up with a side-lit image that just barely highlights my dimple as a random guy photo-bombs us with drunken excitement.  In a way, this random mash of elements is a much more accurate depiction of how the night went, even though the original subject was hijacked by ill-positioned lights and well-positioned strangers.

A "ruined" picture isn't that big of a deal anymore, is it? With the rapid-fire digital cameras that we all carry with us now days, we can just keep snapping until we get what we want.  It's a much bigger risk to ruin something else...like a drawing, a carpet, or a brand new book.  That's where Wreck This Journal comes in. I ran across a copy of it at Borders the other day and it only took a few pages to anchor itself to my heart. As someone who will buy a blank pad of paper and leave it sitting on my nightstand, terrified to make a mistake on such a pristine medium, I was utterly transformed by the message of WTJ.  The journal not only encourages you, it practically *begs* you, to do something wrong with it.  It wants you to fold it, tear it and get it dirty. It wants you to drip and rip and crease with reckless abandon.  It wants you to try things that you've not had the courage to try before and let go of the fear that you will do something incorrect.  It wants you to have your way with it -- have A HUNDRED different ways with it -- then stand back and realize that what you've done has given it a level of beauty that is impossible to reach when you walk a line of perfection.  In short, it asks you to do with your journal what I'm trying to do with my life!

These concepts aren't new.  In fact, the Japanese call the phenomenon wabi-sabi.  It's basically the belief that "nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect."  It's the idea that something can be flawed and still be beautiful. It is permission to stop looking at your body with criticism and start embracing it as uniquely gorgeous. It's the ability to forgive mistakes as they are elements of your unique life experience.  It's the valve that releases the pressure to get everything right each step of the way. It's the knowledge that wrecking something doesn't always ruin it.

That said, it's important to realize that the idea of seeing the beauty in a wreck requires that there's something left.  I don't want anyone to get the idea that a wasted life is equally acceptable to me.  I wouldn't drop it in the trash or throw it in the fire, I just need to stop protecting it so diligently from the wear and tear that gives it purpose and character.  I don't want it stolen or kidnapped, but I would be happy to welcome a photo-bomber every now and again :D

What is Regret?

What is regret?  If someone asked me what my biggest regret was, I'd be tempted to say that I have none; Afterall, my life has been exactly what I've made of it. In its most simple form, however, regret just means "having a sense of sadness over something previously done".  Certainly I must feel that for something, mustn't I?

Truth be told, I have many little regrets:  not stopping to assist some ducks across the road, telling my first-grade teacher that I could count to 100 when I really could have counted ad infinitum, and not buying those shoes when they were on sale. 

My biggest regret is much more difficult to define.  Since we now know that I have at least one, I must have a "biggest regret."  That big regret has to be something larger than missing a great value on footwear.  In actuality, knowing myself, my biggest regret would have to be something to do with love.

Unfortunately, my most miserable experiences have brought me my most wonderful joys, so it's impossible for me to regret any of the bumps on the path that led to happiness.  Taken item for item, I wouldn't have traded any of the sucky moments knowing what they have brought me.  That's horribly depressing, because it means that my biggest regret actually *is* something like buying shoes at full price.  Gosh, now that I've said that, my biggest regret may be *not* having a big enough regret...I better work on that!

May the Force Be With Ye

Borrowed from HowStrange.com

I'm pretty sure I've seen all of the Star Wars movies at some point during my life (afterall, what kind of geek would I be if I hadn't) but I don't really remember them very well.  With my boys so deeply entrenched in all things Skywalker, I've decided that now is as good of a time as any to introduce them to the saga.

Like a good Gen-Xer, I decided to introduce the episodes in order of original release, meaning that we enjoyed "A New Hope" as our first family introduction to the Lucas franchise.  I loved watching my sons as they stared in awe at the screen.  My youngest, a six-year-old, cuddled up in the crook of my arm, hid his eyes at suspenseful times and constantly asked "Is he going to die?", "Why did he just kill that guy?" and "How are they going to escape?"

I learned a lot about my kids from watching them watch Star Wars, but I also learned a lot about myself.  In fact, maybe I should have called this blog "Everything I Learned About My Taste in Men, I Learned from Watching Epic Blockbusters."  Take for example Luke Skywalker; soooooo not my type.  The little blond pretty-boy thing doesn't work for me and neither does that false bravado hiding childish-naivete.  He does what's right because he's programmed to do so, not with any sort of passionate lightening spark.  Skywalker is a simple man with a farm-boy mindset and that just doesn't work for me. 

Han Solo, on the other hand, is much more appealing.  He's strong, confident and owns his own ship.  He appears to be aloof, but it doesn't actually take him very long to bond with the others despite an exterior attitude of callousness.  He doesn't live his life based on what he "should" do, but in the end he can be counted on. Still, he's in debt to some pretty bad people, doesn't have a lot of respect for women and lives his life as a selfish man-boy.  Three strikes.  Sorry, Solo.

Ya know who else is confident, aloof and owns his own ship?  That's right.  CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow.  Yes, he too is a disrespectful, selfish man-boy who's in debt to some *really* bad...er...people?...but with his quick wit, sexy accent and flair for acrobatics, I still kind of wonder what it would be like to wrestle his kraken.  I can tell you right now, I'd choose him over Will Turner in a heartbeat.

Will is very similar to Skywalker in my mind. He's outwardly brave, but a child-like innocent inside.  He has very little Joie de vivre, but somehow makes it through a lot of very dangerous situations with the help of a crew and one powerful woman.

Would you like to know who really floats my boat?  No, not Barbossa, you smart-ass; Admiral James Norrington.  Yes, Norrington, a brave and lawful man* who cherished his love once he found her and treated her always with respect and kindness.  When Elizabeth broke his heart by choosing Will, James ultimately wished them well as long as Elizabeth was happy.  Norrington was an intelligent and thoughtful man who knew his way around both a ship and a sword.  This is why he's my choice for Epic Movie Husband.  That's also why -- when everyone else is all aflutter on Friday watching "On Stranger Tides", I'll be mourning the death of a beloved character and sobbing into my popcorn.


*Granted, he became a bit less lawful as the sequels wore on, but when it came time to sacrifice his life for the good of others, he didn't have to be handcuffed to the ship by a woman who lured him there with sex.

Too Soon

My first boyfriend was Daniel Self.  It was the first grade and we were about seven.  He was a towheaded blond boy with an infectious smile and a much larger brain than many of the other kids in our class.  We played soccer on the same team and his age was constantly called into question by the opposing coach, due to his towering height.  At recess, we would either play house on the Tower of Trouble (a tall wooden play-structure) or spend the time chatting, hand-in-hand, curled up inside large cement cylinders watching the rest of the kids play dodge ball.  He bought me gifts and drew me pictures.  He was one of my best friends. 

Then one day, a new girl came to the school.  Her name was Gretchen.  She wore make-up and off-the-shoulder shirts.  She'd wink at Daniel as she sat sideways at the cafeteria table.  My first true taste of jealously. Then, the rumors came.  Toward the end of the first-grade, rumors started going around that Daniel had kissed Gretchen.  He hadn't even kissed *me* so I was very disturbed.  At recess that day, I asked him about it and he wouldn't answer me.  I was so frustrated with him that I picked up a handful of rocks and shoved them into his mouth.  We didn't speak again until college.

Several years later, I saw him crossing the campus at U of O and we stopped to talk.  We were both all smiles, but time had passed and we realized that we really didn't know each other at all.  He went his way and I went mine, pleased that we had caught up a bit, but certain that we would lose touch again.

A decade later, Facebook entered our lives.  As the rest of our graduating class started to link via friendships, Dan and I made that connection again.  It was a tad bit superficial, but a connection none the less.  My guilt over my immature behavior (Hey, I was seven) had sat with me for a long time, so 25 years after the fact, I finally messaged him an apology.  I told him how often I had thought about that day and that I wished I had handled it differently.  He told me to forget about it, saying that he didn't even remember that it ever happened.  He may not have cared, but I did and I'm glad that I got the chance to talk to him about it.  That was nearly two years ago.

Last night, I found out that Daniel killed himself. 

His Facebook page never advertised any sadness in his life.  In fact, it's full of quotes like "I'm gonna have more fun than you." and "You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough."  He ran a skydiving school and went by the name "Dive-Out Dan."  He was -- at least outwardly -- a very ambitious young man who was full of energy and life. 

Dan and I have obviously not been close in recent years, but he was still a very formative part of my past.  Dan was smart and fresh and cheerful and had a world that was equally bright in front of him and in his rear-view mirror.  Having a rare inside peek from additional sources that I've encountered in my work life, I learned of some issues that may have been weighing heavily in the back of his mind, but no one would have ever had any clue that they were there.  According to friends, he never asked for help.

Some people don't ever ask for help.

I'm writing this today not as a plea for you to observe your buddies...that's far too much burden to put on loving friends who often bring out the best in people who feel dark when they're alone.  I am, instead, writing to plant a seed in your brain.  You most-likely aren't currently planning suicide.  At least, I hope that you aren't.  But, if the idea ever comes to your head, traditional help is probably not the first place you will go.  Suppose you're not constructive enough to call a help line.  Suppose that you don't have a religion or other fear of the hereafter which looks down on suicide.  Suppose you don't care that your family and friends will suffer with the pain of loss for as long as they live. This seed is here to put some sort of hesitancy in your mind, nonetheless...just enough that you will hopefully delay long enough to get your zeal back. 

The seed is this:
Some day, someone will need your help.  It may be a child who can't find her mother.  It may be a pedestrian who doesn't see that bus.  It may be a neighbor who has a heart-attack in his front yard.  Some one *will* need you.  If you aren't there, it affects other people's family and friends, too.  You will cause a ripple of heartache that could have been avoided if you had just spent a little more time on this earth. 

Now, some more traditional info.

If you're currently contemplating suicide, please talk to some one.  You could have an actual chemical imbalance that's making life feel far worse than it is.  Here are some resources:

Suicide Prevention Hotline:  1-800-273-TALK (1-800-273-8255)
Read This First
The Samaritans


And finally, some facts to inspire:


Life can get better...look at JK Rowling
Rags to Riches
Paula Deen
Extraordinary Comebacks


Please remember, the world needs you.  Love needs you.  I need you. 

It's Alarming

Yesterday was one of the most important days of my life as an entrepreneur.  I had a big presentation in front of lots of very, very rich people.  Pitches started at 6 pm and somewhere around 6:08, someone's alarm went off.

That evening, while enjoying a drink with my colleagues my business partner asks, "Who sets their alarm for 6:08 anyway?"  I said, "I do, but.." and then (as if on cue) my other partner and I say in perfect synchronization, "for me it would have to be 6:07."

As it turns out, we both have a preference for setting our alarms to odd times - not including 5 min after...because that's still too divisible.  Are we weird?  Is this a unique phenomenon?  Well, there's a Facebook group for it already, if that makes any difference.

I've searched the web to see what might possibly be inspiring us to do this.  As it turns out, there are several others who claim to prefer odd times, but no scientific (or even acceptable) explanation as to why.  I have some theories, but I know it's not something I do with good reason...just something I do.  Anybody else?