When is it appropriate to boo the President of the United States?

Let me back up and ask when is it appropriate to boo anyone?

The purpose of catcalls such as boos is to convey contempt or disapproval punctuated by an exclamation point.  In other words, when we want to make it unambiguously clear that we don’t like someone or don’t approve of their actions, we boo.

We are most accustomed to this type of heckling at sporting events.  Crowds boo the opposing team or game officials when they disagree with a call — even if the call was accurate — that goes against their team.

We teach our children not to boo at youth sporting events.  We tend to discourage heckling at the high school level, too.  But, fans who pay significant sums of money for event tickets feel little or no compunction about sharing their negative feelings with the world.  Indeed, sporting event jeers are socially acceptable.

Why do we find heckling professional athletes acceptable but not other professionals?  The gallery seldom boos a lawyer making her closing arguments.  Hecklers are not allowed in the operating room when doctors do surgery.  College students may whisper disapproval but rarely yell catcalls at a professor delivering a lecture.

Clearly a sporting event is a different environment than court, surgery or school.  The outcome of a sporting event doesn’t matter in the end because it is just a game.   These venues are one place we can all let our hair down and cheer… or jeer.

I was in Allen Field House in Lawrence, Kansas watching my beloved Jayhawks easily defeat their instate rival Kansas State Wildcats.  It was a night of cheers.  It was senior night.  Fan favorite Sherron Collins was playing his last game in front of the home faithful.

During one of the lengthy television time outs, an MTV-style video featuring Sherron was broadcast on the giant screen hanging above center court.  The video featured pop up trivia about Sherron’s life and interests.  The crowd celebrated each bit of new information.

Midway through the video a pop-up flashed on the screen that read: “Who is the one person Sherron would like to trade places with?”  A picture of President Obama appeared on the screen with the words, “Fellow Chicagoan President Barack Obama.”

The cheers stopped.  The crowd reflexively boo’d the President.  Hisses were audible in my section.  The video moved on to new tidbits and the celebratory mood resumed.

I’m not surprised that President Obama lacks popularity in Kansas — even in a relatively liberal college town.  President Obama’s popularity is flagging everywhere.  I was mildly surprised by the visceral response of emphatic disapproval expressed by a crowd otherwise in an extremely good mood.

The momentary chorus of jeers led me to my question.  When is it okay to boo the President of the United States?  Is it more appropriate at a sporting event — a venue where heckling those you don’t like is considered to be socially acceptable behavior?  Or, does the office of the President deserve respect under any condition?

I live in Boulder County, Colorado.  The residents of southwest Boulder county — Boulder proper — are about as liberal as any group of people in the country.  Few people who call the city of Boulder home hold affection for former President George W. Bush.

I have observed, since the 2000 Election, abhorrent bumper stickers on people’s cars protesting our 43rd President.  I believe in free speech.  I don’t appreciate having to explain to my young children slogans that turn the names of President Bush and Vice President Cheney into crude sexual vulgarities.  Each time I saw those bumper stickers I felt my own visceral reaction: Show the office of President respect; I don’t care how much you despise the current office holder.

Now the political tables are turned.  Republicans are no longer in power.  Democrats are.  The jeering once denounced by supporters of President Bush is being returned in full force directed at President Obama.  One side can’t claim behavioral superiority over the other.  Jeering our elected leaders is now just as socially acceptable as booing officials at a sporting event.

The degree to which we shout each other down is a relatively new development in public life.  There always has been venomous speech in politics.  But, bitter speech tended to be at the margins rather than a staple of conversation.  At least, that’s what I witnessed in the 1970s, 1980s and early 1990s.

Perhaps the shift toward crude speech is correlated to politics becoming more entertainment than substance.  Our political leaders now parade on cable television as if they are panelists on the Jerry Springer Show.  They gather in twos or fours (always important to be balanced) and bicker with each other in ways we would never tolerate at our own dinner tables.  If it is okay for political leaders to trash talk each other why shouldn’t we trash talk them?

Crude speech is not the greatest challenge we face in our society.  But, the tenor of our discourse is both a measure of past success and an indicator of future potential to get things done.  The more we shout each other down the less likely we will agree on plans for action.

There is a need for tough conversations in public life.  It is important to preserve room for people to criticize policies and actions they do not support.  It also is important to preserve respect for the office people hold even when we don’t respect the person who holds the office.  We can start this effort with thoughtful consideration of the question:  When is it appropriate to boo the President of the United States?

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John Creighton can be found on Twitter @johncr8on and on Facebook.

Photo Credit: Lucy Boynton (Flickr) ]]> http://johncr8on.com/dispatches/boo-who/feed/ 0 http://johncr8on.com/photo-per-day/sleepover-x-3/ http://johncr8on.com/photo-per-day/sleepover-x-3/#comments Sun, 07 Mar 2010 17:35:54 +0000 John Creighton http://johncr8on.com/?p=497

Emma, Joe and Ada Grace all had sleepovers.  Lots of waffles to cook.

Our nephew came to visit today with his mom and sisters.  Eighteen months is a great age.

I introduced keynote speaker Bill Millett at the Education Foundation of the St. Vrain Valley luncheon.  Mr. Millet made the case for early childhood education in a global economy.  A Times Call story can be found here.

How do we enable children to gain a sense of ownership in groups and organizations of which they are part?  One way is to let them use community spaces as they see fit.

I always felt that the United Methodist Church in Atwood, Kansas was MY church.  It was much more than the place I went on Sunday mornings.  It was like a second home.

One reason I felt so comfortable at the Methodist Church is that I participated in a wide range of activities.  I sang in the youth choir.  I was a regular at Sunday School.  I was an enthusiastic member of MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship).  I was a huge fan of church potlucks (except for the time I took rhubarb pie by mistake thinking it was cherry).  It was a place where I spent many hours.

It was weekday afternoon hide-and-seek games that made the church seem much than just a place to go.  Our hide-and-seek games were not church sanctioned activities.  To this day, I’m unsure of whether adults were aware or not.  We never advertised our games to parents or other adults.  We didn’t really hide what we were doing, either.  That would have been impossible given the loud nature of our games.

The Atwood grade and junior high schools were located directly across the street from the Methodist Church.  It was a perfect place for young boys to stop and blow off steam after being cooped up for hours in a classroom.  We could usually round up at least four or five boys for our version of hide-and-seek better described as hide, chase and tackle.  A player wasn’t “found” until he was unambiguously tagged, which usually meant dropping the fugitive to the ground.

The church was never locked — at least, not all the doors were locked.  We tried to avoid the entrance by the pastor’s office.  Again, we weren’t necessarily trying to hide what we were doing.  We just figured fewer questions is always better than more.

The church building was, in fact, a group of buildings tied together by a convoluted series of halls and staircases.  We liked to enter down a long staircase into the old church basement which served as a fellowship hall for many years.  The basement was like an old gym complete with stage on one side and a large kitchen on the other.  The original sanctuary was up two flights of stairs.  Behind the old sanctuary, was an area where families gathered before funerals and the choir before Sunday service.

The new sanctuary sat to the north and extended to the east of the original building.  This portion included a balcony overlooking the sanctuary and to the side, an adult classroom, the pastor’s offices and an entrance hall for the choir behind the church alter.  The basement addition contained six to ten classrooms and a large nursery.

The combination of rooms with multiple exits, staircases and hallways was a better than any labyrinth.  We used all the space the church had to offer, including on occasion the bathtub designed for baptisms buried in the basement stage and the large air ducts in the older parts of the building.

My favorite hiding place was the old sanctuary.  It had the most favorable escape routes to evade pursuers.  I could exit toward the back, down the stairs to the fellowship hall, across the basement “gym” and through the kitchen to the new addition classrooms.

The more thrilling route was out the front of the old sanctuary through a series of up and down staircases followed by a long narrow hall.  I would lead my pursuer through this maze and up to the balcony overlooking the new sanctuary.  I would let my advisory believe he had me cornered.  Then, I turned and leaped from the balcony to the wide aisle dividing the two sections of sanctuary pews.

That’s were the pursuit would end.  Unless, I was being chased by a veteran who practiced the balcony tactic, too.  In that case, I hoped not to stumble when I hit the floor so I could make it to he choir hall behind the alter before being tackled from behind.

The Methodist Church became a second home because we had free reign.  One might question the appropriateness of our game — especially in a sanctuary.  Yet, the silent conspiracy between knowing adults (there must have been some) and energetic youth allowed our games to flourish for many years with little or no damage done.  The result was we young people felt a deep sense of affection for our place of worship.

Giving children free reign is a powerful gift.  My experience is that it builds confidence in children as well as a sense of ownership in the places we adults want them to be.

I’m must admit I don’t give my children the latitude to run free as I did as a child.  I tell myself it’s because the town we live in is bigger, the times are different, public buildings are used by more people.  The truth is I need to do a better job to adapt.  Their need for free reign is no different from mine thirty years ago.

What community spaces exist in your community?  How can you help children use these spaces as they see fit rather than only as adults prescribe?

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John Creighton can be found on Twitter @johncr8on and onFacebook.

Photo Credit: Rawlins County Square Deal

Phil Priebe and I witnessed KU beat K-State to clinch the Big 12 conference title outright.  It’s hard to top a night in Allen Field House.

I had the opportunity to read to Ada Grace’s class today to celebrate Read Across America and Dr. Seuss’ birthday.  We chose Sneetches to read.  It’s our favorite.

Emma and I started a new book.  The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  We also chose a new reading time.  We read over breakfast.  First day it worked great.

Have you ever experienced a loss?  The death of a loved one?  A divorce, perhaps?  Maybe a close friend or a child moved to another town?  What did that feel like?  How productive were you during this time?

Both my parents died after long battles with disease.  The last weeks of their lives were grueling—both for them and those of us who loved them.  I did my best to work during that time.  I went to the office.  I took work home.  I got done what needed to be done.  But I wasn’t on top of my game.  I was distracted.  I tried to keep my mind on work.  Mostly, though, it was with my parents.

It took awhile to return to good working form after their deaths, too.  Some people are skilled at compartmentalizing their lives.  They’ve learned how to block out personal strife and get things done.  I’d give myself a grade of okay, not great.

I simply wasn’t as productive as usual in the weeks before and after my parents’ deaths.  I don’t know what this cost my business in a monetary sense.  But, it wasn’t insignificant.  The burden my distraction placed on my colleagues to carry an extra load was not insignificant, either.

If you’ve ever experienced a significant loss, think about how it affected your ability to focus and get things done.  Hold that thought.  Now, consider this story.

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I went to my daughter’s third-grade “author share.”  She and her classmates read essays titled, “The Day I Remember Most.”

The readings began as you might expect from group of third-grade Colorado authors.  My daughter wrote about a long weekend at her grandparents’ mountain cabin (she interpreted “day” loosely).  One of her classmates wrote about learning to ski.  Another read to her audience the joys of riding horses.  The essays continued, unique but similar, student after student.

One boy sat on his hands, his essay in his lap.  He fidgeted, but not in the ordinary third-grade boy sort of way.  He was clearly nervous.

His teacher gave him a look after every few readings.  He’d shake his head “no” without making a sound.  The teacher would nod, a knowing and understanding look in her eyes.

Only a few students remained.  The teacher looked at the boy again.  This time he rose to his feet, hesitantly.  He walked slowly to the front, shoulders hunched as if trying to hide behind his own shadow.

He stood before the audience of 20 parents and 20-plus classmates.  He looked at the crowd and down again at the paper as he began in a soft voice (I can only paraphrase now):

“My teacher said I was brave to write this,” he said, perhaps trying to prepare his audience for what we were about to hear.  But, we really had no clue.

“The Day I Remember Most.

“I went to bed like I usually do.  My brother told me a story.

“It was really dark.  I heard some loud noises.

“My brother and I ran downstairs.  The cops put my mom in handcuffs and took her out the door.

“A lady told my brother and me we had to go with her.

“The day they took my mom away is the day I’ll remember most.”

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Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs is, from bottom to top: food and water; shelter and security; family and friends; respect; and self-actualization.

A friend and teacher wrote on Twitter just the other day: “Sometimes kids have bigger fish to fry than homework.  Sometimes there’s not much I can do to help.  When Maslow’s bottom rungs are lacking for a child, teaching doesn’t really feel like an art.”

Many—but certainly not all—of the education reform debates we’re having in this country are useful.  We need to figure out ways to modernize our century-plus old model of education.

As we talk, even argue, about what’s best for kids, we need to keep some perspective about what’s possible to accomplish some days in school.  It’s hard to be productive when your mind is distracted by a loss.

We need to keep in mind that some days “kids have bigger fish to fry” than what is happening in their classrooms.  And, some days, teaching is less an art and more just getting through the day.

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John Creighton writes on community life and public leadership at johncr8on.com.  He can be found on Twitter @johncr8on and on Facebook.

Photo Credit:  woodleywonderworks (Flickr) ]]> http://johncr8on.com/dispatches/some-days-school-is-harder-than-others/feed/ 0 http://johncr8on.com/dispatches/narratives-can-create-or-destroy/ http://johncr8on.com/dispatches/narratives-can-create-or-destroy/#comments Tue, 23 Feb 2010 19:41:40 +0000 John Creighton http://johncr8on.com/?p=460 Narratives are powerful.  The stories we tell ourselves and others don’t just explain the past and present.  They shape our future.  Indeed, our stories can literally pave the roads we travel not just predicting but creating our life experiences.

The movie What the Bleep Do We Know documents scientific theory behind the power of narratives.  The person who develops an internal narrative that he is a klutz creates a self-fulfilling prophecy.  He imagines in his subconscious that we will, for instance, spill a drink at a dinner party and inevitably he does.

Bud Hunt, an educator I admire, reminded me in his latest blog post that the stories we tell about and to our children can shape their behavior.  His example is the narrative he and his wife have developed for their daughters.  They tell their girls they are responsible enough to help care for their newborn sister and the girls fulfill this narrative.  If Bud and his wife chose instead to tell their daughters, “You can’t handle the responsibility,” they would likely fulfill that narrative, too.  As Bud writes, “Funny how that works.”

Bud’s post is good food for thought for all parents and adults who work with children.  To what extent do our stories empower, inspire, encourage and support the children in our lives?  To what extent do our stories deflate or undermine their aspirations?  To what extent do our stories instill confidence or fear?  Important questions.

I spent time last night with a friend and music therapist who owns the business Creation Songs.  We discussed the physics of resonance.  My friend uses instruments known as singing bowls to amplify and sustain musical frequencies.  The physics behind amplifying and sustaining sound apply to stories, too.

When we adopt a narrative to explain how the world works we have a tendency to look only for evidence that reinforces the existing story.  We often ignore data and experiences that are contradictory to the story we’ve come to believe is true.  The prevailing narrative gains strength, it amplifies, as we add evidence to reinforce the story.  The narrative, as its power grows, begins to drive our expectations, our choices and perceptions of results.  The self-fulfilling prophecy takes shape.

Social narratives have a similar power as personal narratives.  Consider this common narrative:  Government doesn’t work.  How many of us would feel comfortable at a dinner party proclaiming to the group, “I think government works really well.”  What do you imagine would be the reaction of others sitting at the table?  Asserting that government works is so counter to the prevailing narrative that anyone who makes such a claim risks being seen as not “mainstream.”  Most of us like to be mainstream.  That’s why it’s called mainstream.

I can find evidence that government doesn’t work well.  I could tell you about an experience I had with the Colorado Department of Labor in which it took state employees nearly 18 months to straighten out a lost tax payment because their computer system did not report the same data to all departments.  The experience was frustrating and time consuming.  But, that’s really the only negative experience I’ve had with government.

I could tell other stories about government, too.  My trash has been picked up reliably for all of the fifteen years my wife and I have owned a home.  Our water and electricity are reliable, too.  We had a neighborhood disturbance recently.  My neighbors and I called 911.  The dispatcher was competent and a few minutes later the police arrived.  I feel safe where I live.

I feel safe when I travel, too.  And, I’m confident that I’ll receive help when I need it.  I slid off an icy road a few winters ago.  The highway patrol arrived soon to make sure I was safe.  I always feel safe when I travel by plane.  Yes, I find the security process to be annoying.  But, I’m confident the plane I’m on won’t collide with others planes because my friends and neighbors who work for Air Traffic Control here in Longmont, Colorado are watching the skies.

I could continue with more examples.  For instance, I received an excellent education from a state university that continues to serve me well.  And, my hometown of Atwood, Kansas has received many grants to build infrastructure – sewer systems and airport runways – that would otherwise be unaffordable for a small community.  You get the idea.

We don’t often tell the story that government works.  Instead, we tell and retell the story that government doesn’t work.  That becomes our expectation.  And, inevitably, our expectations are fulfilled.

Our state and federal legislatives bodies are currently dysfunctional.  We have no expectations that our legislators will find ways to work together, make tough decisions or make progress on the challenges we face as states or nations.  There is no accountability for legislators to do anything except to fight with each other and take no action.  That’s what we expect them to do.  Indeed, one could argue that our legislative bodies are highly successful.  They fulfill the prophecy of the prevailing narrative.

As my friend said last night, if we keep saying government doesn’t work.  It won’t.

Imagine if a different narrative took hold.  Imagine a narrative in which we tell stories of how government supports our aspirations for our communities, states and country.  What does that narrative sound like?  How might legislators strive to live up to this story?  How might regular citizens like you and me rise to the occasion to reinforce a “government works” narrative?

We need stories to explain the world.  The stories we tell can inspire and instruct.  They can rally communities to work together and help us avoid danger.  Narratives also can destroy.  They can give us permission to ignore real problems and throw up our hands in despair.  Our stories can cultivate hope and action or hopelessness and defeat.

Storytelling is one of the most important things we do and yet is something we give very little thought.  We would all be well served to take stock of our narratives to explain our lives and our world.  Are we telling the stories we want to tell?  Are we paving the roads we want to pave?

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John Creighton can be found on Twitter @johncr8on and on Facebook.

Photo Credit: umjanedoan (Flickr)