That which does not kill you...

...frustrates the hell out of you.

THE MOVIE -- the 23 minute piece of "art" we've been working on for our BIG EVENT next week with our 5th grade girls -- died a slow and painful death today.

We learned, painfully, the limits of IMovie. Our script and scenes were rich and textured and therefore too much information for even our most expensive computer to handle. After an hour of trying to make it work, we threw up our hands in resignation and frustration.

And like any good teacher would do, we quickly brainstormed how to salvage the movie section of the BIG EVENT.

In the end, we're creating a sort of Performance Art Piece where the girls will perform their "movie parts" live while we synchronize a slideshow/movie behind them choreographing our selection of music throughout it all.

The girls were at first, crestfallen -- "You ruined my acting debut?" one girl moaned -- but once we explained the "new plan" they were excited to begin final rehearsals on Monday and Tuesday and then "go on stage" Tuesday night. Cross your fingers.

At the end of the day, this is what I wish they could learn from this frustrating, exhausting experience:

That sometimes, not always, but sometimes when you hit a wall, if you problem-solve, strategize, contemplate, breathe, activate some other section of your brain that was once focused soley in one direction ... the wall you so painfully crashed into will seem like a gift because what you've envisioned after the crash is often times more enlightened and meaningful than what you planned before the crash.

In the past few months, the faculty at our school has grappled with trying to rewrite our Mission Statement, which is long, jam-packed with catch phrases, and all stated in one (extremely complicated) sentence. When we look at our Mission Statement and try to live up to it each and every day, we often find ourselves walking away as failures because we all know we're trying to do too much all at once.

And too much, no matter how well-intentioned always ends up being too much.

After this week's MOVIE experience, I think the Mission Statement should simply read... "We empower girls to think beyond walls."

It's a HUGE life lesson and perhaps one of the keys to happiness and success (however one might define that). If you see the wall as a block, as an unavoidable stopping point, as a moment of giving up, it's hard to be happy or successful because life is full of walls.

But if you can see the wall as a gift, as a way to exercise your brain to get you beyond the wall in a different way, well then happiness and success have a glimmer of a chance in your life.

It sounds hokey, I know, and kind of like a Hallmark Card (Don't let the turkeys get you down...?), but as educators we're constantly struggling with WHAT TO TEACH and in WHAT ORDER and frankly, I don't think it matters what we teach. I think what matters is that we throw walls up in front of your students again and again and then say, "Okay, how are you going to get past this? What are some ways you can envision that move you beyond your stuck-ness and into a better place?"

The other day I was working with a kid on some math problems...fractions, to be exact. She is perhaps our lowest-skilled kid in terms of math, but funny, creative, and competent in the rest of her life. Math is her wall.

I am not the math teacher, per se, but my teaching partner and I pretty much tag team all areas during the day. So, here I am with V (the student) trying to explain how to find 12/5 on a number line between 0 and 2. After a half hour of grappling with the problem, I decided to ask her where 1/2 would be...thinking she'd surely get that it was between 0 and 1.

Nope, she points to the 1 because, in her mind, it's "half way" or 1/2 between 0 and 2. Makes sense in one way, but clearly V had a wall up and was unable to see beyond it.

So we make two points in the classroom. And I tell her point A is Seattle and point B is Portland. Then I make her walk between the two points. At halfway I tell her to stop and look behind her and ahead of her and tell me what she sees. She says, "I'm not in Portland yet, but I'm not home either."

Me: Great, how far are you?

V: (With a painful look of consternation that turns into a spark of light and a devilish grin)...Well, I'm half way, aren't I?

Me: Why, yes you are. So now think of Seattle as the 0 and Portland as the 1. Where is 1/2?

V marches to her paper and makes the correct placement for 1/2 on her number line.

It went on like this for another half hour as we tried to cover all those quirky componets of fractions (1.5 is the same as 1 1/2; 12/5 is the same as saying 12 divided by 5; and if that ain't enough, fractions can be written as percents.)

She didn't get much past Portland in our discussion, but she exercised her brain around the wall a number of times that afternoon.

I, of course, exercised my own brain trying to think of ways to explain it all with A)never having formal math training (except for my own twisted attempt at it years ago) and B)a limited vocabulary on what exactly 12/5ths represents...it just is, isn't it?

Is she better at math? A smidge though nothing that will register on the richter scale. Did she think beyond the wall? In fits and starts, but she did think and wrestle and twist and push and I think that will benefit her later in life when she gets stuck metaphorically between Seattle and Portland. Does she still hate math? Yes, but she's willing to keep at it and she knows it won't kill her...

...it will just frustrate the hell out of her and, hopefully in the end, make her stronger, wiser, and perhaps a bit more creative than she already is.