If you fail to plan...

The episode yesterday regarding my decision to quit a group project because of complete and utter disconnect, disrespect and discouragement between one of my teammates and me (plus the fact that no one else had done any work on the project), prompted me to think about how I think about teamwork and executing group projects. It's called metacognition; i.e. thinking deeply about thinking.  I just learned that in grad school. (Sidebar: My 9 year old came home last week and told me I wouldn't be able to read his "metacognition" because he was going to read it to me at the parent-teacher conference. Huh?? )

So thinking about it, the caption above pretty much captures what I know to be true: "If you fail to plan, you plan to fail." I assumed a grad student would know that. Idiot me for assuming that in the first place.

Something else I know:  if you plan on being random, i.e. "I'll get it done whenever," your execution will pretty much tank. In the toilet. Suckeroo. But I guess they don't teach that to some undergrads.

Got me thinking about an old, old argument against minority quotas and college entrances on the base of color, creed or sports ability rather than merit.  It's really a form of discrimination that race and ethnicity specific tracks for admission even exist in this country, but they still do. They work in favor of those with lesser abilities and as a suppressive measure to those with merit. It's unfortunate that this incident got me thinking that they only way this young woman has made it this far is due to a favorable quota situation. Her attitude, work skills, ability to collaborate are anything but the high standard of her cohorts, as exhibited by her class participation throughout the semester and in particular, as a project team member.

And one last thing I know: never drag your colleagues or teammates down. Being part of a team is about helping those around you rise, together. It's about support, active listening, collegiality, comaraderie.

So I've learned my lesson: count me out of any team that fails to plan and plans to fail.

I was Bullied for Being An "Old" Student!

Well, at 53, I am an "old" student. But to actually have my age be thrown in my face by a fellow student was a real eye-opener. I guess it had to happen, right? Grad school. Boy. And to think, tonight's class had to do with Anti-Bullying rules and practices!

So it all started when I signed up for a group project on the topic of Instruction in Multilingual Classrooms. Something I know a little about -- well, the instruction in multi-lingual settings, at least, is what I've been doing most of my career. I was excited at the prospect of working in a group with Teach For America Corps members (which all but one other classmate besides me was) and was looking forward to their first-hand accounts of teaching for the past year in urban settings. At first, no one else signed up for this topic, so I figured I would end up doing a research project on a subject of lesser interest to me. Then, just when it looked like the topic was a "dead"one, two members of the class signed up.

The first time we sat together, in the following week's class, I noticed the "death to white women who don't understand Latinos" attitude on the other. My red buzzer was screaming in my ear. "Bad idea!!" it shouted. "Change teams," it urged me, yet I didn't. I thought perhaps my gut was wrong and I was just overreacting.

Trust the gut.

Sadly, it was correct. But it took me six weeks, two no-shows to group meetings, countless emails unanswered, no comments, suggestions or re-writes on numerous drafts of topic points, refusal to work on a timeline or commit to doing research to understand that this girl and I were not in the same league. Not on the same team. Not even in the same time zone (philosophically speaking). So when she told me this evening, ten days before a presentation and thorough research paper were due, as I asked her if she had her section done (as she had committed to having it done by this evening) that I was "freaking out" "too invested in the project" and "old, " I got pissed off. When she incredulously told me I was disrespecting her, I stared at her incredulously, ready to simply walk away. When she went on to say it was my "choice to have kids so maybe you shouldn't be doing this," I went ballistic. No one crosses that line. The good thing about being "old" is you can easily separate bullshit from reality.

I then did something I have never done: I quit the team. The professor offered me the ability to write up my own research paper, in lieu of doing the presentation, which is alright, although disappointing.

Then I realized my quitting was one of the first proactive acts of self-preservation I have committed in many, many years.

So "bully" to being old I say. (But if she dares use any of my material, I'll get her for plagerism!)

A Glimpse at Early Voting

I've not had a moment like this before, when, pulling up to the North Miami library, early voters were out by the crowd-ful, patiently waiting their turn in what was estimated to be a 2 to 3 hour wait. This was not your "typical" crowd to begin with. This was a predominantly Black and Haitian neighborhood, where you normally hear more Creole or Patois than English. What made this an incredible sight was that there were more people patiently waiting on line as it snaked around the block than I have seen at a Disney park. They were stationed like this on a workday at 2pm under the hot Miami sun in numbers that made a line at DisneyWorld look small. No complaints.The pride was palpable. Ladies in t-shirts from various church organizations sat on colorful chairs under umbrellas to stave of the sun while they gave advice to anyone with questions.

I was thinking back to other voting experiences I have had or witnessed. I could never imagine a New York crowd waiting two to three hours to cast their vote. Wouldn't happen. But NewYorkers do take pride in voting; although not in high numbers. Wouldn't it be transformative if they came out in numbers that correlated with those of these new Americans? I was thinking of voting in South Pasadena, California, where my fellow voters were mostly Korean or Chinese. A mix of older Americans and some newer citizens.  We lined up to vote in the driveway of a private home, designated an official voting site for that election -- something else I had never witnessed.

The North Miami voting line made me proud to be part of this mix. Americans all. It doesn't matter if your language is Creole, Patois, Spanish, Mandarin, Cantonese, Guarani, Korean or something else, you are encouraged to vote.  A great reminder that no matter what your native language or culture or political views, you're safe to vote and your voice does matter.  With more communities with people of mixed backgrounds, creeds, colors, religions, I can't help but think that, despite incredible bouts of intolerance, we are still the best place on Earth!