Matthew Robinson

I was first introduced to Ron Clark while watching an episode of Oprah.  One of my teacher teammates at the high school I was teaching at called me and said to turn it on and watch “this corny white guy who you seem a lot like.” He had just won Disney’s Teacher of the Year, an honor to which I aspired and had on my list of life goals since I was about 5.

I fell in love with Mr. Clark immediately.  His Essential 55 has served as one of the required course texts I’ve used to teach from in a few different education classes I’ve instructed, and while I don’t agree with 100% of his methods, his processes, justifications, and rationales fall firmly in line with my views on classroom management and being an effective teacher.

Ron Clark’s known for motivating students so that they take ownership of their own learning.  His techniques are bizarre to some, but highly effective for me and many others.  I’ve sung and danced along with my students before, having lost all shame long ago, in an attempt to help my students connect with material (yes, even in math!) When one of my former college students sent me this link yesterday (I actually talked to three of my former students who are now teaching yesterday, each who called to check in from a different state in this country) I knew I’d come across my favorite video of this hectic election season.

I appreciate teachers who give a damn, and who settle at nothing less than their very best for their students.

They are, after all, in fact, worth it and so much more.

Enjoy:

There was a frost warning in Tallahassee last night.  And brrrr…it’s cold out there…there must be some D-Rays in the atmosphere…

During my days at the college, the first true cold front of the season means two things: (1) students are more apt to be on time, even early, for class as the time spent dilly-dallying in courtyards, breezeways, and just outside in general is moved into the confines of heated classrooms, and (2) most people become just a little bit more attractive.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I’m a Florida boy and I love the sun and the summer, but I hate the heat.  And I’ve never understood the lack of clothing many wear (females in particular) during the summer months.  There’s just something about warm slacks, comfy sweaters, and unfrizzed hair that brings about a new level of head turns and general attractiveness to everyone once the cold weather has set in.  Maybe it’s because there’s more mystery (there truly is less “hanging out” all on the campus right now.)  I don’t know if I’m in the silent majority of men here or not, but I’ll be the one who says it…the beauty God granted some individuals is on its finest display, in my opinion, and is more apparent during the cold season.

I’ll also be the one who says the following…and I must…for your sake, for their sake, and for my sake…

• Just because the noon day temperature is 68, you don’t have to wear your Ugg boots.  They don’t look good on you with a mini skirt or a halter top.  It’s not cold out, yet.
• Just because the noon day temperate is 48, you don’t have to wear your Ugg boots.  They weren’t made for every girl.  Ask your friend.  If she hesitates, don’t buy them.  Don’t wear them.  And don’t prance around the Union acting like you’re hot stuff.  Because on this state university college campus, there are 27,000 other stuffs walking around trying to be hot with the same pair.
• You are distracting.  There.  I said it.  And how in the world can the spandex whatever they are (pants? stockings? leg paint?) you have on be keeping you warm?  They show every part of your lower body.  I mean every part.  I can’t help but notice.  Help me out.  Help US out.  Have a little give to what you wear below the waist.  I get that you can tuck all of this in to your Ugg boot.  But you’re shivering.  And I’m afraid your leg can’t breath.  It’s pretty bad when I thought “if my daughter ever…”
• If you can’t shoot it, don’t wear it.  We live in Florida.  Faux fur is a faux paux.  It doesn’t look cute lining your designer hoody.  I’ve got friends who will sit in a tree stand with you if you want the real thing.  But by God, come on.  It must itch your neck so bad.
• Pajama pants keep you warm in bed.  Not walking across campus.  These should only we worn when the level of light outside is most conducive to sleeping.  We all roll our eyes as you walk by on campus in your Old Navy, Pink, or Sponge Bob drawstring ladden night apparel looking like you just rolled out of bed.
• And dude…no one thinks you’re cool for making a statement by wearing shorts and sandals and short sleeves when the morning low is 32.  And you sound like a moron when you say you’ll dress like this every day just because you can.  And your nose is running.  Get a jacket!  Wear some pants!  Put some socks on!  Just don’t buy a pair of Ugg boots.
• And to the idiot who came on campus yesterday in a ski mask.  No, it’s not that cold, either.  And I hope you get tazed.  And expelled.  If you ever truly thought that was appropriate, you shouldn’t even bother with an attempt at some higher education.

There.  I said it…

I’m going to go button my black male pea coat and put my gloves on.  I have to walk across campus for my first class.

Fascinating video someone sent me today: Did You Know?

(Here’s another link for my friends on macs)

Dean preached on racism last night.

My Pastor made me proud.  He felt led to tackle this touchy subject.  And he did so with finesse.  I’d heard about this sermon off and on for the last few months as parts of it came together, and the whole thing blew me away.  This is not the kind of sermon I’ve ever heard in church.  But it was the kind of sermon that we so desperately need to hear.

The bigger picture of it all though (in addition to racism being a sin issue and not one of “culture”) is that the conversation has to continue.  If it doesn’t, then we all missed the point.

I grew up in a household where differences weren’t frowned upon.  I’ve said before that Rudy Huxtible was my first childhood crush.  I may have been the only 9 year white suburban kid with a glossy 8 by 10 of her up in his room.  Every summer we’d take a trip up to Atlanta over the Fourth of July and watch Braves games and see the fireworks an Lenox Mall.  On one return trip home, my sister’s lifelong dream (at that point in time) was realized when we stopped at the Cabbage Patch Factory.  It may not have been called a factory, but it was the breading ground of all of these stuffed babies.  I remember thinking it was so terribly corny (even at a young age) but Heather ate it up.

My parents gifted her with the pick of whatever doll in the ENTIRE store she chose.  We’re talking hundreds of babies here.

And Heather, God bless her, choose one of the only three black dolls there were.  A little boy she named Peanut.

I remember some of my parents friend’s making comments about this.  And I remember them defending her, the doll and all it represented, and many more things after that day and as we grew up.

It wasn’t until I started teaching that I realized, for children, how much the parents’ openness for dialogue and acceptance affects a student’s racial mindset.

I went, from kindergarten through twelfth grade, to inner city schools.  I grew up in an educational setting where people who looked like me were the minority.  I didn’t think anything of it then.

But “welcome to North Florida” occurred when I started teaching middle and then high school.  I didn’t understand how an 11 or 12 year old could hate (verbally, physically, and emotionally) another person.  I get that an 11 or 12 year old deals with sin.  But I also know that they don’t have the full mental capacity to rationalize all of their own thoughts.  They pick up on what’s around them at home.  And what was around many of them at home was a mixture of disgust and ignorance.

That’s not to say that teaching hasn’t given me hope.  The high school I taught at was a lab school as such that the racial makeup matched that of the entire state of Florida.  The school was incredibly diverse.  I didn’t realize until I started observing beginning and interning teachers how lucky I was to teach in such an environment.  A look at their classrooms and their schools showed me just how segregated things really still are.

As I spent a few years teaching high school, it was remarkable to me how accepting many of these students were.  Indivudals from different cultures, races, backgrounds, etc. were great friends with (and many in relationships with) someone who on paper was their polar oppsotie, despite what many in the world around them (including mom and dad) thought.

I’m reminded of these issues every day.  And I’ve found that many college students are willing (and want to) have a controlled discussion on the subject.  I now teach at Tallahassee Community College where 40% of the students are black, with another 17% of students classified as “of color”.  Compare this with a total of just 20% minority students at FSU combined.  And in my department with 22 mathematicians, only 9 of us are white.  There is some progress being made…

Every day I’m provided an opportunity, whether direct or subtle, to engage my students with me and each other regarding these issues.

And the openness in a college classroom never seems to amaze me.

I wonder what that same openness in a church would look like.

P.S.  The line of the night for me has to be “dude, chill–you’re from Orlando” when Dean mentioned frat guys getting hell bent over their rebel flags becuase of “heritage”.

I’ve been gone. And this has been on my to do list. And good God almighty it’s time again to write.

Savannah was an adventure. And every one of my planned expectations were surpassed. We made it, but barely. On the way up the Carola got eaten by a Brontosaurs (aka “Tina Trailer” who proceeded to chain smoke for two and a half hours after the accident) and the car is still in Jacksonville.

$16,000 dollars in repairs later, the 2009 chick magnet is going to undergo repairs rather than be totaled. In the meantime, I’m sporting a rented Chevy Cobalt. Ladies???? I’ve got a sun roof. And heated leather seats. And XM. You know you love it…

The rest of the trip was fantastic.  The college students connected. Lunch at Paula Dean’s was phenomenal.

And a four hour trip to Starbucks and a Greek restaurant for dinner with new friends completed a little R&R that was so desperately needed.

And then I got sick.  I mean sick like my body has never felt ever before.  And yes, I puked.  A few times.  And I called in to work for the first time in the six years of my professional life.  Better now, but not fun.  I wanted my momma more than anything else in the word.

Something that’s been on my mind:
I have a new friend who wont text until we become better friends.  “It’s too easy,” she says.  “It removes a certain getting-to-know-you element.”  A novel idea I’ve been struggling with, especially considering my aforementioned textually active self.  But it’s forcing communication in other ways.  I haven’t realized how much I depend on the text.  Kind of like not realizing how much you swallow until you have a sore throat.

Something you should buy the one you love for Christmas: Table Topics

Best Table Topics question I was asked and answer I offered last night:
Q – If you could indulge in a vice, without negative consequences, what would you choose?
A – I just wanna eat, do drugs, and be a whore! (Remember…no negative consequences!)

Worth looking forward to:
The new couch-chair on Sunday night.  That segment’s finally arrived.  And I’m going to feel a bit like an awkward Oprah or Ellen for a minute.  But it’s so cool.

Funniest joke I told in class today, that took people a second to get:
A blond suspects that her boyfriend is cheating on her, so she goes out and buys a gun. She goes to his apartment that same day, with the gun in hand. Sure enough, when she opens the door, she finds her boyfriend in the arms of a redhead. She points the gun at her boyfriend and stares him down for a moment. Then, suddenly, she’s overcome with grief, so she puts the gun up to the side her head. Her boyfriend screams, “Honey, don’t do it…The blond yells back, “Shut up! You’re next!”

Best Dean-ism I’ve heard that didn’t make it into the sermon:
“Your belief matches your behavior.”  I’m still thinking about all that that one means for me…

Thing I’m thankful for tonight:
Two of our college students at the Well cooking Dean, Krissie and I dinner “just to do something nice for us.”  I love me a Westminster Academy alumn!

My favorite picture of the last 7 days:

Trip I’m looking forward to taking this weekend:
The Perry/Taylor County Forest Festival.  Enough said. Wow, what a weekend it’s going to be.

Random Acts of Kindness:
One of my favorite things to do in the Union at FSU or TCC, when I see a student of mine in line behind me, is pay for their lunch while I’m paying for mine.  It was able to happen again today.  And the follow up and crossing of paths doesnt always happen immediately, but today it did, and one of those that I believe in flashed the greatstest of smiles when they came in to class.  So worth it.  Pass it on!

Best quote I’ve read on a facebook wall this week:
“Every day you may make progress. Every step may be fruitful. Yet there will stretch out before you an ever-lengthening, ever-ascending, ever-improving path. You know you will never get to the end of the journey. But this, so far from discouraging, only adds to the joy and glory of the climb.” -Sir Winston Churchill

And game two:
Go Ray’s.  And even though my momma did express ship me a World Series shirt to wear on casual Friday tomorrow that has an M on the hangy tag but a 2XL on the inside label…maybe back in 11th grade that would have fit…I’ll still be rooting for the D-Rays in my own special way.

Perry or bust…

Sunday Night

I was seven years old in 1989.  While I remember the song, I don’t quire recall who Manilli Vanilli was.  I’d obviously heard about the “scandal” .  And I knew it all had to do with lip syncing.  But when I first watched the video a few months back when Dean was discussing h

is upcoming sermon ideas, I knew we’d be able to have some creative fun for a few weeks with a series centered around James. Who knew that Sunday night would turn into what it did.

“In this room at Godby High School a church becomes a family.”

How true are those words that Dean prayed during his close..

And how true is that sentiment to recap the night.

Intense.  Emotional.  Raw.  Spirit-filled.  Supportive.

All of this is for real.  And if anyone’s doubting that, buckle up for a rude awakening and wild ride these next few weeks.  We’re no-holds-bar about this.  There’s an absolute

urgency to everything that’s going on.

The New Couch

Like many other things on the stage, I’ve known the time would come and I’d find the “perfect one”.  The couch we’ve been using belongs to Godby.  A high schoo

l.  With horny students.  And only God above knows what’s taken place on that sofa with it’s 1992 floral pattern.  It had been covered in black for aesthetics, but also to protect me and the guest of the week from Hepatitis C or whatever else might have been left over.

And yes, those pictures were real.  Cari, Chuck, and I carted that piece of furniture all around this town for its first photo shoot.  And with a perfect Coldplay intro, I’m looking forward to more conversations this next year on that couch.  Yes, it’s a little small, but it’s matching chair is on its way!

Six Cakes and 72 Pounds of Pasta

I’ve often said that if I wasn’t a teacher I’d be one of two things: a talk show host or a restauranter.  With 65 people at the house last night, our 246 College Dinner was a raging success.  The Well’s fellowship hall is soon going to need an expansion, but the food lasted, connections were made and conversations were had, and I’m more than happy with the state of college affairs that is taking place.

Savannah or Bust…

I’m not sure what I’m looking forward to more: Paula Dean’s restaurant, just getting away, or having time for extended conversation with new friends.  This dream from 4 months ago is on the doorstep, and with 50+ people going, the weekend is promising!

I’m rooting for the Rays…I was at the very first game ten years ago at Tropicanna Field, and hope that the current pride of my Tampa Bay pulls through with a World Series birth…

I have a confession.

My name is Matthew Charles Robinson.

And I did not send my first text message until I was 24 1/2 years old.

(Not the heavy drama you thought, huh? :)

An unknown student at the time, and now a close friend, the then Jessica Lyons now Glass, was a textaholic. She’s beat most I know in a speed racer game of T9Word. After after two or three months of paying 10 cents a message, I broke down and got a $5 a month package. Which led to a $10 a month package. A Blackberry and an iPhone later, let’s just say I’m on the more-than-unlimited plan.

If Jess carries the Women’s All Around World Heavyweight Texter medal, then the Very Reverend Thomas Dean Inserra holds down the fort (and blows the competition away) on the men’s side. He’s a maniac. Seriously. The man can single handedly send what seems to be a nine word message in under 9 milliseconds, and the velocity at which he process, transmits, and pecks away on his red 1999 Altell cell phone (yes, the Well, tithe an extra buck or two this week so we can please bring our Pastor’s phone into this century) should qualify him for some certificate or award. Or at the very least this shout out.

I’m a “nugget” guy. And Dean knows this. As I say to my students: “Chew on this. Let it marinate.”

And nearly once an hour, from the confines of the Catalyst conference in ATL, Dena’s sent me a charge. A challenge. An encouragement. A slap in the face. An awakening. A motivation.

Here’s a selection from the past 36 hours:

“When you take risks you are putting your pride on the line and will probably get embarrassed from time to time.”

“Your church is one risk away from a breakthrough.”

“Not is it excellent…but is it effective.”

“Before you over-reach you must make sure you have the right people on the bus in every area.”

“You cant control much…but you can control WHO.”

Chew on this.

Let it marinate.

Back.  And running.

After accomplishing seven days worth of work in three-and-a-half, I embarked last Thursday on a treck up the east coast to visit friends in Princeton, New Jersey and in New York City.  I haven’t gotten and been away just purely for fun in such a long time, and a month ago planned trip provided the respite from Tallahassee that neither the end of summer nor the beginning of fall has offered.

Highlights:

• The plane I rode up and down on to make Tampa’s connection had 12 passenger seats.  No overhead compartments.  No tray tables.  And felt smaller, on the inside, than a mini van.  It was intense.  Up and down in 35 minutes.  At rocket speed.  Feeling every part of it.  The pilots left the barrier door open during the return connection flight and for the first time in my life I got to see, with fascinating insight, how it all happens.  I was riveted.  Best reality show around.  Best seat in the house.  3F.  All me, baby.
• Sarah and Alex and the other dog Sadie were welcomed company.  She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met and experiencing their new digs and life at an Ivy League grad school had me living through A Beautiful Mind.  A Vietnamese immigrant’s family journey and his rise in the FBI was one of the most riveting talks I’ve heard, and comparing the coeds on my state university’s campus to the women of high society and influence provided some comical people watching.
• I love New York.  Though we didn’t see a show, the day in the city was fulfilling.  Hanging out with Tracy made me miss Connie, but my favorite Union Station-er proved an awesome tour guide, was wonderful company, and did, for the record, kick my ass in a game of checkers (and tick-tack-toe) while enjoying a cup of hot chocolate in the lobby of the W hotel.  God, I wish I could leave all of this and live her dream.  I know I wouldn’t fit in with those Upper East Side-ers, but it would be fun, for maybe a month, trying.
• Graduate student parties at a state school are not much different than graduate student parties at an Ivy League school.  The food might be more classy, and the booze might be more expensive, but the idiots act the same way regardless of pedigree or distinction.

Work this past week has been non stop.  I told them I was staying.  And a project I’ve given two years of my life to suddenly changed directions over the course of an afternoon.  I’m behind in Matthew Robinson terms (only one day ahead, not four or five like I like to be) and I keep wishing there was so extra day off between now and Thanksgiving.  It will all get done.  It always does.  I just keep trying to convince myself of that.

Two Sunday’s ago we said goodbye to a women who, with her husband, had become a good friend over the course of the past few months.  Rachel had been interim from the beginning, but the excellence she provided during our search for the next worship leader at the Well made it difficult to say so-long.

And this past Sunday, due to my needed mini vacation, I took my first weekend off in over 9 months.  Let’s just say that was a difficult experience.  And it was hard to let go.  But the team pulled it off.  And I knew they would.  I was made fun of for my “substitute lesson plans” that I left, but Sarah and Cari and the crew made it happen.  It was a treat to roll in and experience the last 15 minutes of the service from the back without a radio in my ear, a mic on my cheek, and a thought about what was coming next.  Matt Long is the man.  And we’ve got him.  And it was wonderful to be led by him last night.

Just listened back to Dean’s sermon, and here’s my semi-regular installment of…

Dean-isms from last night:

“I pray for the ones who are comin’ tonight, and I pray for those who haven’t come yet.”

“if those things are deep…I want to be shallow.”

“I’ll be honest…this church is not for everyone.” (wow!)

My buddy James Parsons called me last night.  And told me he wanted to say something.  And he wanted to offer some analogy to explain the night.  Something about a hot girl who takes off her makeup and you realize she’s pretty ugly.  And about how I was that girl.  Or maybe the makeup.

Gotta love James.

And I got what he said.  And it was enough to keep me going.

My parting thought…it’s been weighing on my mind, and it was good to share it out loud with Matt Long this afternoon:

“It’s no longer about just putting it on.  It’s about people.”

Urgency.