A Challenge to Mend

I’m going to share something with you I’ve told very few people.  I called my grandmother GaGa.  That’s right, even as an adult, I called her GaGa.

She was born in 1922 in Winfield, AL, a small farm town outside of Jasper.  A product of the Depression, she had this built-in compulsion to make do with what she had.  Instead of buying new things, she made new things.  She didn’t have money for store bought toys or clothes, but she did have the ingenuity and resourcefulness to create something from scraps.  This gave rise to a gifted seamstress.

As far as family legend goes, she sewed multiple ornaments, curtains, pillows, dolls, blankets, quilts, and countless number of scarves, socks, gloves...  This is not including all the clothes she made.  And she sewed a lot of clothes: all of her own clothes, her children’s, grandkids, even the high-school cheerleader uniforms.  My mom tells me she received a new dress every week or two, and she gives GaGa all the credit for being voted “best dressed” nearly every year at school. 

Although my sister was never voted best dressed, she could have made the same claim.  Every holiday break Vicki was scheduled for her annual wardrobe extravaganza.   First, GaGa and Vicki would go window shopping- my sister would pick out all the clothes she wanted.  Then back to the house where without as much as a photograph, GaGa created newspaper patterns from scratch.  This was followed by Vicki standing statue still as GaGa pinned, pleated and pressed rolls of fabric around her. Experienced, nimble, thimble tough fingers were her only guide.  I can still see my hummingbird of a grandmother flying from scissors to machine to pin cushion humming all the while.  After three days of working, she finished.  Hanging on the kitchen hutch, amongst a pile of cloth, were a half of a dozen dresses made to order, just like the ones in the window display.  Maybe a little better.

As time wore on though, GaGa’s fingers lost their dexterity and exactitude and she stopped making new clothes. But she didn’t stop sewing.  She mended anything she could get her hands on as though she could somehow hold together her unraveling mind and breaking body.  I think she found comfort in the chore. 

Since my grandmother’s death five years ago, I have found comfort in mending.  I have come to relish the moments when I sit down and, somewhat clumsily, repair a torn shirt or reattach a button.  I love the touch of the needle in my hand and how it pops through the fabric.  I love the inexact art of weaving and the final threaded scar.  The calm I feel from mending clearly exceeds the mere rescue of a piece of clothing.  It is a communion with my roots.  But, it is also a time to pause and quit running around trying to make figurative ends meet; it is a chance to sew actual pieces together.  I can't stop a world of fighting, or reverse global warming, but I can mend things at hand.  There is something about it that’s healing.  Mending doesn't say, "This never happened."  Instead it says, "Something or someone was surely broken here, but a saving grace offered it new life."

There are so many things that need mending:  my old socks, the fence around the garden, the friendship torn by misunderstanding, a country being ripped apart by greed and social inequity.  Some are easier to mend than others.  A few of weeks ago I challenged the students here at Lipscomb Academy to find something to mend.  To sew a button or patch a broken friendship.  This Thanksgiving break I extend the challenge to our families.  Take the time to turn off the TV and stitch together a real, face-to-face conversation.  Hug your kids.  Hug your neighbor.  Hug your least favorite relative.  Say your sorry and mean it.  When we mend, I believe we realize that we're better together than apart, and perhaps even stronger for the rip and the repair.

Jonathan Sheahen
Elementary Principal

A Month's Worth of Smiles

We just couldn't pass up the opportunity to share only a few of the October happenings at Lipscomb Academy. The month has come and gone, but by the looks of these faces, the memories are here to stay. Come and see what the smiling is all about!

First Grade Goes to Walden Farm

It might have been a cold day, but a sunny one no less!  And you couldn't keep our first graders from enjoying it all... pumpkins, hayrides, farm animals, corn mazes - discovery at its best!   Check out Mrs. Woodard's class and see, first-hand, the joy of learning!

Star or Hero?

Star or Hero?

Do you want your child to be a star? Or is being a hero what matters most? Between the two, I choose hero. If my boys become stars, that’s fine, too. But that is not my ultimate goal for them. Here at Lipscomb Academy we understand that not everyone can be a star, but we want all of our students to become heroes; and there is plenty of opportunity for everyone to be heroic. As a part of this effort, weekly we recognize students who have displayed Christ-like Character. Christ-like character is defined in the acrostic below:

Over the past two weeks:

A second grade student was recognized for his Service. This boy worked around his grandfather’s house to earn money to give to Paola, a Honduran child whom his class is sponsoring.

A third grade girl was honored for showing Perseverance. Her teacher said, “She always gives her best in all that she does.”

A first grade boy was applauded for being a great Friend. He graciously helped a hurt classmate on the playground. He stopped what he was doing to check on the child and help him up.

A fourth grade student was acknowledged for her Responsibility. This student consistently brings her materials to class and is prepared daily to learn.

These students are recognized not as a side note, but as a main note. Character is essential for student success. In the most recent This American Life episode, (474: Back to School), Ira Glass asks Paul Tough, author of How Children to Succeed, “Why do some children succeed while others fail?” The conventional answer usually focuses on intelligence: success comes to those who score highest on tests, from preschool admissions to SATs. But Tough argues that the qualities that matter most have more to do with character: skills like perseverance, curiosity, conscientiousness, optimism, and self control; and he uses science and current research to back it all up.

At Lipscomb Academy we believe that the social curriculum is as important as the academic curriculum. We recognize that social, emotional, and intellectual growth are very much intertwined and mutually reinforcing. Our teachers pay close attention to each child’s well being in all these areas to enable them to reach their full potential. True traction in math, language arts, or Spanish can only take place when children trust their community and feel free to take social and academic risks—share a poem with the class, collaborate on a project with a student who is not a friend, stand up for someone who is being called names, or choose a more difficult essay question.

So back to the original question: Do you want your child to be a star or a hero? Ed Hallowell did a good job of answering this question in his book Connect when he referenced the following “hero” story told to him by Rick Lavoie, the head of Riverview School:

One day I was sitting at a counter at a downtown Greenwich pizza parlor. I was splitting a small pepperoni pizza with my five-year-old son, Christian. As we sat there, I could not help but overhear the conversation among three teenage boys who were sitting in the booth directly behind us. They were dressed in tennis white and had obviously just returned from a morning at their fancy local tennis club. Two of the boys were discussing the faults and foibles of another boy, who was not in attendance. They criticized his tennis play, his mode of dress, and every aspect of his personality. The boy obviously suffered tremendous social isolation and rejection. They laughed as they regaled each other with stories of his various faults and failures.

At one point, one of the boys turned to the third boy, who had been silent during the discussion, and said, “None of us ever want to play with Mike. He’s such a nerd. But whenever the coach asks us to choose a partner for doubles, you always choose to play with Mike. Nobody likes Mike. Nobody will play with Mike. Why do you play with him?”

The third boy responded quietly, “That’s why I play with him.”

I looked over my shoulder at that courageous young man, and then I looked at my own son. My fondest hope at that moment was that my son would develop the strength of character and courage that that boy possessed. I hope that young man’s father knows how proud he should be of his son.

This story gets me every time I read it. My fondest hope is that all students at Lipscomb Academy learn to exercise the character of Christ in their daily lives, on the playground, in the cafeteria, on the ball field and even at home, so that they may become truly successful children of God.

Jonathan Sheahen ~ Elementary School Principal

Learning from a Slinky

If you've played with a Slinky for more than five minutes, you've probably mastered all the classic moves. But it turns out those humble coils have a surprise up their sleeves. Do this:

1) Dangle a Slinky above the ground as though you were holding a fish by the tip of its tail.
2) Let it extend to its full length.
3) Let go.

If you don't have a Slinky, do this:

1) Watch the first video.
2) Make a prediction.
3) Watch the second video.



Did you see it?  If not, try it again and this time keep your eye on the bottom of the Slinky.



Did you notice that as the top of the Slinky starts to fall, the bottom doesn't drop?  It just hangs in the air, levitating, as if it had its own magic carpet. It will stay there, hovering quietly, until a wave, or signal, passing through the Slinky finally reaches it. Apparently, the bottom doesn't know it's supposed to fall, so it sits there, seeming to defy gravity, until the very end.  (For a more detailed explanation check out http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2011/09/modeling-a-falling-slinky/.)

This isn’t a magic trick.  It is a physics principle that can be proven by using words like equilibrium, gravity, and compression wave and by applying Hooke's law in conjunction with Newton's second law.  Plus lots of math.  The basic explanation is that the bottom coil will not twist and fall until it receives a signal the coil directly above it.  In other words, each coil doesn’t “know” it is supposed to fall until it is “told” by the coil above it.

This idea, that information has to pass through an object for the whole thing to know what to do, applies not just to Slinkys, but to ballpoint pens, arrows, baseball and, yes, even to learning.

I believe that too often children are rushed through the learning process.  That students are not given enough time to process information, or room to make mistakes, or even a moment to sit still and reflect.  Take math, for example.  Traditionally, math has been limited to algorithms and arithmetic, promoting such beliefs as speed and accuracy are more important than understanding; there is one right way to solve any problem; and math is mostly memorization.  My 7th grade math teacher, Mr. Sammons, certainly believed this. 

Mr. Sammons’ approach was simple: introduce an abstract concept such as multiplying fractions or dividing decimals by showing the class an efficient procedure, and never ever answer the question, “Why does this work?”.  I quickly learned that math didn’t have to make sense, it was nonsensical magic.  This jump from the top of the Slinky (mathematical concept) to the bottom (abstract generalization), skips all of the necessary connections in between.

Nearly thirty years of research has proven that skipping students to the abstract and rushing them through the learning process hinders students’ understanding.  Memorizing rules for moving symbols around on paper may be the filing of facts, but it is not the learning of mathematics; much like memorizing names and dates is not learning history.  Understanding a subject means getting inside it and seeing how things work, how things are related to each other, and why they work like the do.

Instead of focusing on algorithms and shortcuts, the teachers at Lipscomb Academy build understanding over a period of time; first through informal exploration moving to representational activities, using manipulatives, games and other tools.  This developmental method allows children to personally construct meaning and prepares them for the abstract.  For instance, in second grade, students are asked to solve multi-digit subtraction problems.  They might solve such problems by counting up from the smaller to the larger number, or by using tools such as a number grid.  Once a student has had successfully explored a variety of valid approaches, algorithms are introduced.  Allowing children to go through this process validates their intuitive methods and reinforces the fact that math makes sense and can be used to make sense of the world.  It can even explain why a Slinky seems to hover in mid air after being dropped.

Jonathan Sheahen
Elementary School Principal
Lipscomb Academy