Documentation of a Goofy Physics Teacher

Former students everywhere - recognize any of these Rideout-isms?

Going through my memorabilia (trying to organize it) and came across this gem.  I'm embarrassed to say I don't recall which student documented some of the things that came out of my mouth over the course of that particular year.

Some quotes are things I say every year.  Some I recognize as things my own physics professors said and some I have no recollection of whatsoever!

The Artist Within

"Why didn't you become a professional artist?" is a question I've been asked, never.

I don't often wonder why, but today I rediscovered this masterpiece from first grade:

A lot of unfortunate attention paid to detail here.  I love that I thought initials had the periods on the outside.  I kind of like that, actually.  I can kind of recall struggling with the flowers and being very proud of the tulip.

Sorry, art world, the physics was calling...

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Side note:  This is my only relic from my original elementary school (we moved across town in the middle of my first grade).  I remember one day the teacher got mad at the class and had the entire class line up and gave each one of us a spanking with a paddle.  I didn't even know what was going on but all the kids were crying - mostly out of shame and confusion.  I remember when my Dad picked me up that day he said "Hey Kenny - what's wrong?" and I said I must have been bad because I got a spanking - the whole class did.  When he asked me what I did wrong, I said (honestly) "I don't know."

In retrospect, I wonder if this had anything to do with my parents moving in the middle of the year.  I mean they were going to move anyway, but maybe this incident accelerated the timeline?

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Side side note:  One other negative memory from that half-year:  I got beat up by a girl during recess.  In my memory, I was waiting for a swing and this kid finally got up and left so I jumped on it and started to swing with joy.  All of a sudden this big girl (maybe a 3rd or 4th grader?) was up in my face and yelling at me.  "Why did you steal this swing from my brother?" I didn't even understand what was going on and when I said "But he left..." she proceeded to pull me off the swing and we rolled on the ground while she got some punches in and I honestly don't even know what I did.  This time when my Dad picked me up and he said "What's wrong Kenny?" I said "I got beat up by a girl".

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Side side side note:  My Dad once told me another sorrowful pick-up tale for which I have no recollection.  Apparently when I was in pre-K, my parents enrolled me in Head Start (a national program for impoverished families to ramp up on academic skills before kindergarten (both parents were in grad school in those days)). Apparently I was the only white kid in the program in Tuscaloosa, Alabama in 1974. One day my Dad was late picking me up and I was the last kid waiting.  I was moping around, kind of despondent and my Dad said "What's wrong Kenny?" and I apparently said "Why can't I have a black Daddy?"

My Dad never told me this story until I was in my late 20's but he remembered it vividly after all those years even if I don't...

Grandsons, Beer, and Being French

When I was a kid, my buddy Bill and I would ride out little dirt bikes all over the place.  The closest store was this relic of the past (if it was a relic in 1980 then it would be ancient by today’s standards I suppose) called  “Country Food Town”.  It was a mom & pop place that had a random assortment of stuff.  We would go to buy candy bars and a coke or something like that.  It was also the closest place to our house to buy beer so sometimes my dad would stop off there to grab a six pack on his way home and I would always go in with him.

 

When I was ten, my French grandfather came to stay with us for many months.  My grandmother had died the year before in a car accident and he was in need of a change of scenery.  American suburbia was not the place for this French guy who did not speak English though!  One time, when it was just the two of us in the house, he was like “Kenny, J’ai soif – tu sais ou ton pere achete son beire?”

 

Very proud I pipe up “Country Food Town.”  So he drives us both there in our trusty VW bug and, in the tiny parking lot, hands me a ten dollar bill and sends me in to get whatever my dad buys. Thinking nothing of it, I walk right into the back room, slide open the cooler, grab a six pack of Budweiser, walk to the front of the store, plonk the beer down, hold out the ten, and look at the old man who was probably the owner.  The man from whom I had been buying soda pop and moon pies from for years just looks at me with this shocked expression.  It takes me a second to understand what is going on.  After a long, weird pause during which he is too stunned to speak and I slowly come around, I say “Oh, Uh, Sorry.  It’s for my grandfather.  He’s in the car.  He’s French.  I’ll go get him.”  

 

I bolt from the store and go to the car and tell my grandfather they won’t let me buy him the beer because it’s America.  He says something along the lines of ‘Stupid country, what kind of country doesn’t let an old man send his grandson out to get him some beer?’.  He gets out of the car with a sigh and smiles and nods at the old man in the store.  The old man is most relieved, I’m pretty sure, that it was all explained by the fact that he was French.

Empathy, Friends, and Neuroscience

Have you ever met someone and, in just a short while, feel you have met a kindred spirit?

Often I will think "Hmm... I guess people are more similar than they are different!"  which is a positive take on it, I think.

However, how often have we had this experience and then nothing really comes of it?  Maybe, in the conversation, in the moment, there is a level of empathy and connection that is not actually real but simply the result of our mirror neurons.

Mirror neurons are a poorly understood system of neurons that fire in sympathy of an observed action.  It is thought that it help us learn and to have empathy for others.

It occurs to me that this natural neural reaction may lead us to feel that the other person really 'gets' us even if there really is no deep connection.  I think charismatic people are tapping into this biological mechanism to make us feel they are speaking to us in a special, individual way.

When you see someone smiling, you become happier.  Sometime I smile at people just to spread happiness.  Modeling the behavior you want to see is one of the best parenting (or teaching) techniques.

Tapping into those mirror neurons...

(image from https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/vitality/201407/the-neuroscience-vitality-tip-2-mirror-neurons )

Unseen but not Unknown

The next time you look up at the night sky, think about this:  For every star you see there are at least as many stars just as close to us that we can't see.  These red dwarfs are just so dim we can't see them with our eyes.  They are the stars with longest lives - many of them are older than our own star and will still be here long after it is gone.  Also, of the stars we can see with our eyes, most of them are actually two or three stars orbiting each other so tightly you can't tell them apart from so far away.

When I think about this, it makes me think about how we can't trust everything we see.  There's a lot out there that remains unseen, unspoken, but not unknown.

Graduating Remotely

All students (and teachers!) are having an anticlimactic end of the school year with the remote learning we've been forced into.  Students graduating from one building to another are especially missing out on end of year ceremonies and festivities.

Turns out that our two closest neighbors and our own house all have this happening.  The schools and the PTO came through with some nice yard signs though to make the students feel special:

Our Own Eighth Grader, high school bound!

Fifth grader across the street, middle school bound!

High School senior across the street, university bound!

Impact vs. Intent, Personal and Societal

Recently, I suffered a poignant and painful lesson from a friend on the old “Intent vs. Impact” dilemma.  Here’s the thing, your intent really doesn’t matter at all.  Your intent is part of an internal narrative that you have to make the facts fit a story in which you are the hero.  What matters is what happens out there in the real world because of what you say or do.  It’s sobering and hard to realize that you’ve done wrong when you didn’t intend it.  The thing is I have to learn and be better, not justify and equivocate (which is the instinctual thing to do: “But but but…”). 

We all could use a reminder of “Impact over Intent”, both in our personal lives and as we participate in the greater societal narrative.

When we express ourselves about demonstrations, violence, the Black Lives Matters movement, the police, the role of government and free speech in our democracy – we must apply this “Impact over Intent” metric.  Your Intent may be to express sympathy for the oppressed or to support the idea of free speech but what is the Impact of the actual words you use or actions you take?  

Or, more challenging, the lack of words you use or the lack of action?