Das Pie-Eating Skandal

Hearing the recent news about Volkswagen admitting that it systematically cheated to make its cars appear to produce lower emissions made me recall a scandalous pie-eating contest I competed in as a child.

This memory came rushing back to me. I was walking to the train to commute downtown. I was listening to NPR on my headphones, and the report detailed how the giant carmaker equipped 11 million of its vehicles worldwide with “defeat devices.”

This clever software could detect when the car was being tested for harmful emissions, mask the actual results and produce “cleaner” results that not coincidentally corresponded with its “low emission cars” marketing campaign.

As the reporter described the scope of the scandal, my first reaction was – “Surprise, surprise…another big company breaking the rules in the interest of profits…” but then my pie-eating-contest memory surged into my head.

I was 7 years old, attending a summer carnival or “field day” event run by the local park district. The air smelled like cotton candy and fresh-cut grass. I was sweaty from running races. When someone announced the start of a pie-eating contest, I really had little interest, but I happened to be standing by the picnic table where the event was to take place, so I sat down.

Before I knew it, my rivals were seated around me. We stared each other down while a jovial park district official placed a white paper plate in front of each of us. On the plate was a rectangular Dolly Madison single-serving cherry pie.  We were instructed to hold our hands behind our backs, use only our mouths and on the count of “3, 2, 1….Go!!” begin devouring the pie.

Adrenaline kicked in. I was a competitive kid. I figured, what the hell? I could do this, just like I’d gotten honorable mention in the baseball throw and second place in the 50-yard dash in my age group, nosed out by a lanky Hugh Stallberg.

I was making solid progress consuming the pie. My nose and cheeks were covered in red pie filling. My chin was caked with the sweet, flakey crust. But just then, a hand snuck into my view, grabbed a chunk of my pie and tossed it away.

It was my friend Kevin – a boy at my school with a “devil may care” approach to life. He was a rebel. He had a mini-bike, occasionally used swear words and would tell me about girls he’d “made out” with. 

No one seemed to see him, despite the crush of adults and kids surrounding the picnic table. They were all screaming, cheering for us all to eat faster, eat the pie, to win!

I kept eating. Kevin grabbed another chunk, throwing it into the tall grass. I gobbled up the final piece, and just then the judge came up behind me, grabbed my wrist and thrust it up over my head.

My first reaction was that I’d been caught. Busted. The cheater had been exposed. I was prepared to blame it on Kevin, but I knew he’d smartly scurry away in the crowd, leaving me to take the heat. I knew though, I was just as guilty.

But instead, the barrel-bellied park district man yelled, “The Winner!”  The crowd erupted, chapping, smiling at me. I stood up – scraps of crushed pie bits stuck to my face. I managed a weak smile, ashamed, knowing that I didn’t deserve it. I was a cheater.

I glanced at Kevin – his stringy, shoulder-length blond hair covering one of his slightly reptilian eyes. He subtly smiled then winked at me – celebrating our winning “team effort” – as the blustery park district contest official pumped my hand in congratulations and thrust a pale blue “honorable mention” ribbon into my other hand (apparently they’d run out of “First Place” ribbons).

To this day, I still have the ribbon. It’s in my scrapbook. For some reason I kept it. Really, until now, I’ve kept this a secret – a deep, dark secret from the world. 

As I boarded the commuter train to ride downtown, I suppose I wondered about this pie-contest. While no one else other than Kevin knew the truth, I certainly did. And I’ve been carrying it around ever since.

It makes me wonder about Volkswagen. I wonder would would have happened if the EPA had not detected this smart software – this “defeat device” devised to trick emission-testing systems. What then?

Volkswagen car sales would continue to rise. The company’s low emissions marketing campaign would be a rousing global success. No one would know, except a few clever, tight-lipped engineers and the company’s top brass.

At the annual Sales Record Award Ceremony, the team of conspirators would covertly wink at each other, smile subtly and celebrate their “success.” They would be rewarded with praise, accolades, plaques and monetary bonuses. In truth, they cheated but just had not been caught.

(Cue the Vincent Price-like maniacal laugh sound effect….cut to a photo of 7-year-old Terry, face covered in the remnants of a Dolly Madison Cherry Pie, trying actively to suppress the shame amidst the spirited applause from the crowd around the picnic table.)

Learning and Paddle Boarding

I had never considered paddle boarding until this past week. During a visit to southern California, a friend asked me if I wanted to go.

I said yes. Why not? It sounded like fun. I don’t always say “yes” to new things, but I try to. As time has passed, I suppose I’ve been trying fewer new things than I used to. I’m not exactly sure why.

So, we took to the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Malibu, and the experience I had taught me two valuable lessons. (1) It’s important and interesting to notice how it feels to learn something for the very first time. (2) I really love paddle boarding!

Learning has been the primary focus of my professional career. My 25-year serpentine path has had learning as a steady theme. I’ve created learning experiences of all kinds for audiences ranging from children to adults.

What I value most about working in learning is the unique and amazing moment when someone realizes that he or she has changed. It might be understanding something previously not understood or connecting something that previously was disconnected.

Whatever it is, something clicks. The proverbial light bulb glows above their head. In learning lingo, we like to call this the “Aha Moment.”

What I love about these moments is the discovery and intrigue they bring. I love the confidence and excitement that comes with these moments. I love the idea that people realize that they are becoming more of the person they hope to be – in whatever small or big ways.

I love the buzz we all get when something suddenly becomes possible or clear. There is a distinct thrill to this. I also appreciate the courage and will that it takes for people to be open to learning something new.

Children are great at this. Maybe it’s become for them it’s instinctive and they don’t know the word “fail.” They just soak up new knowledge.  We adults are more complicated. Sometimes we think our “learning days” are over or that we know quite enough about everything, thank you very much. What’s the point of learning something new?

Paddle Boarding

As someone who had never paddle boarded, I ran through a range of thoughts and emotions as my friend and I drove to the beach. I felt excitement and curiosity. I had a bit of anxiety and some doubt. What would it be like? Would I be able to do it? Was I up for this? Why was I doing this? Would it be fun? Would I do it again?

At the start of my experience, there was a lot going on in my head. I don’t think this is uncommon for people who are doing something for the first time. 

I think of any profession and reflect on the reality that each must have had a flurry of thoughts and emotions the very first time they took on a key task – a lawyer’s first court appearance, a surgeon’s first surgery, a pilot’s first flight, a dancer’s first leading role, a salesman’s first sale.

I was fortunate. My friend was an experienced paddle boarder. He gave me tips – how to enter the water, how to kneel first, how to stand, where to look, how to hold my arms when I paddled.

Once I was actually in the water and standing on the board, my learning brain was in full gear. I wanted to do it right. I listened intently to his instructions. I watched my friend as he stood and paddled. It looked effortless for him, but for me it wasn’t.

My legs shook. The swells in the water caused me to constantly adjust my balance, shift my weight and change direction. I was getting tired.  I was getting it, and fairly soon my confidence grew. I was learning and it felt spectacular.

Now, it wasn’t flawless. Learning never is. It’s messy at times. I fell – twice. I fell once out in the water and another time trying to bring the paddle board to shore.  My landing featured a frantic paddle near the beach and then a clumsy tumble as I attempted to outrun a fast-approaching wave.

But I learned what I did wrong. There’s no other way.

Lesson Learned

The better we as educators can appreciate the swirl of thoughts and emotions that learners experience when something is new, the better we can design and the better we can teach.

I am always so deflated when I take part in a class that does not require that I take any risks or contribute any thoughts or ideas. Still, alarmingly, we call these “educational” classes. They’re generally a waste of time and, quite often, money.

The only way to learn is by doing. This is nothing new, but for me it’s a valuable reminder that for us to grow – to gain any type of new skill or improve a specific capability – the right conditions need to exist. 

The right conditions are never an accident. They’re intentional.

My conditions were a beautiful beach in Malibu on a calm, sunny 70-degree Saturday morning. They were ideal. Plus, my teacher was patient and knowledgeable. He offered clear instruction. He let me practice – and fail. He gave me informed and supportive feedback. I was motivated and kept trying.

If every class – every learning experience – followed this simple pattern, then light bulbs and “Ahas” would abound.

A Quarterback Born Again; A Kentucky Clerk’s Jailhouse Rock

At first look, Tom Brady and Kim Davis don’t appear to have much in common. I would suggest, though, they’re actually quite similar.

Brady is a millionaire superstar NFL quarterback in New England who was recently exonerated by a federal judge for his alleged role in a football-related scandal. Davis pulls in a government wage as the clerk in Rowan County, Kentucky (population 23,527) who was recently jailed by a federal judge for refusing to allow same-sex couples to receive marriage licenses.

Obviously, differences abound.

Brady has all-American good looks, sports four Super Bowl rings and is married to a Brazilian super model.  Davis is a dour, bespectacled born-again Christian who speaks about as plainly as she looks and is married to a man named Joe.

Two factors unite Brady and Davis, however: First, they are both equally divisive figures – drawing strong choruses of boos and cheers from legions of detractors and supporters. Second, they both have staunchly stood up for what they believe is right and are currently living in the aftermath of their respective actions.

“Tom Terrific”?

Before the “Deflategate” scandal broke earlier this year, there were no lack of Tom Brady haters. Why? The best I can tell, “Tom Terrific,” as fans call him, just got to be too successful. He kept winning, kept being handsome, kept being rich, kept being married to super hot model Gisele Bundchen and kept showing up on TV shows like Entourage and The Simpsons.

But in May 2015, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell suspended Brady for four games, claiming he and his Super Bowl champion New England Patriots had under-inflated footballs during the January 18, 2015 playoff game with the Indianapolis Colts.

Brady-haters rejoiced. See, they said, he’s a cheater – filling footballs with less air than allowed by meticulous NFL rules so they’re easier for him to grip.  What a turd. People hate cheaters – especially rich, good-looking, athletic ones who seem to “have it all.”

Brady has his loyal supporters a well, though. His fans simply point to his record and continued prowess on the football field. Brady was drafted in the 6^th round in 2000 (specifically the 199^th pick) and he’s gone on to win four Super Bowl rings, set numerous passing records, secured his spot in the NFL Hall of Fame and become one of the sport’s top players of all time.  

They balk at the Deflategate scandal, calling it a bunch of hooey – a cheap pot shot at the winning Patriots, their legendary coach Bill Belichik and their superstar quarterback.

Kim Davis – “Superstar” or Criminal?

The 49-year-old Davis has risen to superstar status of her own among religious conservatives everywhere.  They see her as a hero because she’s standing up for her belief that God does not condone marriage between same-sex couples.

People have been waving signs outside the Kentucky courtroom telling her to stay strong and that they stand with her. Financial donations have been pouring in, and Republican presidential candidate Mike Huckabee is capitalizing on all the publicity and is planning to visit her in jail for a photo op.

Davis was jailed this week by U.S. District Judge David Bunning (son of Jim Bunning, a former Major League Baseball pitching great and Kentucky U.S. Senator) when she refused to promise she would not interfere with the issuing of marriage licenses to same-sex couples.

She had told Bunning in court before she was taken away, "God's moral law conflicts with my job duties. You can't be separated from something that's in your heart and in your soul."

While Davis has arisen to now become the hero of many for her God-fearing values, she is simultaneously being vilified by others who see her homophobic, anti-equality, anti-gay and a flat-out scofflaw.

To the gay community worldwide, Davis is now the glaring example of intolerance and a reminder that a change in the law does not legislate people’s views – much like civil rights laws in the 1960s sought to eliminate racial discrimination, but did nothing to eliminate the deep-seated racial prejudice in people’s minds.

Making a Stand

Davis, a Democrat, says she’s following God’s law. She’s refusing to enforce the U.S. Supreme Court’s June 2015 ruling that made same-sex law legal.  Her husband, Joe, says she’ll never resign from her clerk job and never yield in her belief that what she’s doing is right.

She is standing up for what she believes in – whether people see that as right or wrong – and she’s going to jail for it. Is she a fool? A bigot? A criminal? A martyr-like religious savior?

Personally – I happen to disagree with her entirely. I think people should be able to marry who they want to marry and the government should recognize the marriage. I also believe that a country that doesn’t separate church and state is in big trouble.

For Davis, if you have a job in government, do the job and enforce the rules of that government. If you don’t want to have to worry about your religious beliefs conflicting with the law, then get a job at Applebee’s waiting tables – something that frankly is a lot more challenging that being a paper-pushing county clerk.

Brady’s battle against the NFL has been equally zealous. He’s staunchly maintained his innocence throughout, fighting the league at every turn. He and Patriots owner Robert Kraft played hardball and ultimately prevailed this week when Judge Richard M. Berman vacated Goodell's four-game suspension of Brady, stating that "...the requisites of fairness and due process" were missing from the process leading to the settlement.

So is Brady innocent? The judge didn’t comment about that, but made it clear that the process the NFL used was not sufficient or fair to suit Brady’s suspension.

Do I think he had a deliberate hand in deflating the footballs? Of course he did. Do you think a guy as detail-oriented, competitive and intense as Tom Brady would not pay attention to how the footballs he’s throwing in a win-or-go-home playoff game are inflated? Um, yes he would.

Where Does This Leave Us?

Well, Davis is safe in her jail cell at the moment, firm in her view that she’s doing God’s work by not giving marriage licenses to gay couples.

Brady is likely in his mansion, receiving a shoulder massage from his super model wife as he meticulously reviews Pittsburgh Steeler video to prepare for his September 10 season opener.

What will happen next? Could a Hail Mary legal maneuver save Kim Davis? Will bass guitar-playing Mike Huckabee play “Jailhouse Rock” when he calls on her in the slammer?

And for Brady – could the Old Testament-like wrath of NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell and his recent legal appeal spoil Brady’s vindicating fairy-tale like season debut? 

Somehow, I think that only God knows these answers.

The Case of the Chronically Tardy Teacher

Apparently punctuality is not an important job requirement to teach public school in New Jersey these days.  As proof of this, we have Mr. Arnold Anderson.

Over the past two years, Mr. Anderson was late to his job 111 times – 46 last school year and another 65 the prior year. Anderson, who teaches at Roosevelt Elementary School in New Brunswick, NJ, is paid a handsome $90,000 a year.

This sum, however, appears to be not enough to get him out of bed and to work in the same timely fashion you’d expect of, say, the school’s students.

Losing Track of Time

Mr. Anderson blamed his consistent and chronic tardiness on eating breakfast in the morning and losing track of time. He called his morning routine a "bad habit" but defended his recording saying he was often just a minute or two late to school, but still was prepared and made it to class on time. 

The school tried to fire Mr. Anderson. At face value, I would say this appears to be a reasonable course of action. However, an arbiter, appointed to oversee this situation between the school district and teacher’s union, ruled on August 19 not to fire Mr. Anderson. Instead, the arbiter decided to suspend him without pay until January.

The arbiter found that school officials did not provide Mr. Anderson with due process by giving him formal notice of his inefficiency and did not give him 90 days to correct the issue before seeking to terminate him.

It appears from news accounts (including this article in the UK’s Daily Mail, proving that news travels fast) that Mr. Anderson argued that the quality of his teaching outweighed his tardiness. The arbiter wasn’t buying this and criticized his claim. 

Due Process

So, three cheers for due process, I guess, right? I certainly don’t know all the facts here. Of course, any situation in which someone might lose his or her job, it’s important to get the facts right.

But can you honestly think of any job you can be late to for over 100 times in two years and NOT get shown the door? How about 50 times? Heck, how about 25?

Apparently the only job you can pull off this kind of behavior -- at least in this case -- is teaching.

Showing Up

I have worked in education for over 20 years. I have taught school at many different levels and in both school and corporate settings. There is a simple truth about teaching that I’ve observed. You need to show up.

By “show up” I mean that it’s essential to bring energy, enthusiasm and a positive mindset to teaching. If you fail to do this, students know right away. In almost every case, they check out.

Students of all ages read their teachers. They take their cues from them. A teacher who does not show up provides the students with explicit permission to not show up themselves. It’s pretty simple.

In Mr. Anderson’s case, a 15-year teaching veteran, his not “showing up” is at an entirely different level. He literally did not show up on time. Inexplicably, he can’t motivate himself to be on time to teach elementary age students. What message does that send them?

I personally know plenty of people who would love Mr. Anderson’s job and his more than ample salary. The only thing worse than Mr. Anderson’s track record, his apparent lackluster attitude and feeble excuse for his tardiness is the fact that we have a system that makes is so hard to actually do the right thing and fire someone for this kind of clearly irresponsible and idiotic behavior.

Elvis Presley, Pete Rose and Hiroshima/Nagasaki

Sunday August 16 marks the 38^th anniversary of Elvis Presley’s death. I realize that his influence on music was monumental, but I don’t really have any strong feelings or poignant memories specifically about Elvis.

The one exception, though, is the day he died in 1977. Each year when this date comes, it sparks a very specific memory for me.

Credit: www.albumartexchange.com

I was 12 years old. That day, my two brothers and I drove with our parents to Wisconsin to watch a Milwaukee Brewers baseball game. I recall being in the backseat of my father’s car – likely in the middle given my birth order – when the news report of Elvis’ death came on the radio.

The Brewers game was over. They lost as I recall. We were driving along slowly through heavy traffic outside County Stadium when the announcer said Elvis died that afternoon. He was found unresponsive in the bathroom of his home in Memphis, Tennessee.

He was 42 years old. The King was dead.

I remember my parents talking about this in the front seat. My brothers and I rode in silence, each of them slouched against the windows, me slumped back against the seat during the 90-minute drive home watching the white highway lights and green road signs float past.

In spite of the Elvis news, it had been a great day.  At that age, baseball was my life. My Dad’s brother was the head of marketing for the Milwaukee Brewers, and he regularly got us tickets.  Two years earlier – on July 15, 1975 – we attended the All-Star Game at County Stadium courtesy of Uncle Dick. This entire experience was literally the highlight of my childhood.

We sat just rows behind the first base dugout where I was able to see all of my heroes up close – Joe Morgan, Vida Blue, Johnny Bench, Steve Garvey, Rollie Fingers, Rod Carew, Reggie Jackson, Carl Yastrzemski, Catfish Hunter and others.

They were all there, along with Chicago Cubs third baseman Bill Madlock, the eventual co-MVP of the game, which the National League won 6-3, aided by Madlock’s key two-run single.

A Rose By Any Other Name

Last fall I was able to revisit this baseball memory for a few moments by meeting someone who not only attended the game, but also played in it – Pete Rose.

I was at McCarran International Airport in Las Vegas returning from a work trip. I strolled through the crowded waiting area by the gate looking for a seat before my flight home to Chicago.

As I sat down in those classically uncomfortable, thinly padded waiting area seats, I looked up to see Rose directly across from me. He was dressed in a funky Reds cap, gold-framed snazzy glasses, a plush hip-hop style warm-up suit and alligator skin cowboy boots. He was stylin’.

Credit: Daniel Case, 2008

Instinctively, within two seconds I blurted, “Mr. Rose.” I was part star-struck and part arrested by the visuals of his clothing ensemble. I was also tumbling backward to being a 10-year-old baseball fan.

The now 74-year-old Rose nodded to me subtly and for the next 30 minutes we talked, discussing in random fashion the blizzard hitting the East Coast, his work in Las Vegas and his trip to a sports memorabilia show in Chicago.

I didn’t bring up gambling, the Hall of Fame or Bud Selig (who hired my Uncle Dick back in 1972) – figuring these topics would shut down our nice chat pretty quickly. I didn’t ask Rose for an autograph or ask him for a picture. I figured this could easily start a flood of interest from others in the waiting area and generate a lot of unwanted attention. It would have ended our conversation.

At one point, I asked him about the 1975 All-Star game.

“Where was it?” he asked.

“County Stadium,” I replied quickly, adding rapid-fire details about Henry Kissinger being there, how the National League won 6-3 and that the Cubs’ Bill Madlock and New York Mets pitcher Jon Matlack were co-MVPs.

Rose smiled and nodded. “I remember,” he said.

Clearly he didn’t remember quite as well as me, I thought. For me that day is burned in my brain. For Rose, I have to imagine, it was just one of his 3,562 games he played in over a 23-year career.

Charlie Hustle

As we spoke, I searched his face for that intense competitor that earned him the nickname “Charlie Hustle,” that hard-charging player who lowered his shoulder and bowled over Cleveland Indians catcher Ray Fosse on the final play of the 1970 All-Star Game. The collision injured Fosse and many believe shortened his career, but Rose’s play won what was an exhibition game at the time for the National League.

I could see that fiery guy – especially when he bristled watching dozens of people stand up and surge forward as the gate announcer began boarding those passengers blessed with airline status. “There’s no way all these people are in first class,” he muttered to me in an annoyed, mildly competitive tone.

The Half-Life of Gambling on Baseball

This year I watched the All-Star game and saw Rose step out onto the field of the Great American Ball Park in Cincinnati and receive a huge ovation from his hometown crowd. Seeing this made me wonder how long his ban from baseball will last. For 26 years, Rose has been toxic to baseball because he gambled on the outcome of games.

Is he less radioactive now? Is it possible that the nuclear winter around Pete Rose is starting to thaw particularly under a new Commissioner of Baseball? Is it possible that Rose – as baseball’s all-time leader in total hits with 4,256 – will make it to Major League Baseball’s Hall of Fame before he dies?

In baseball, I don’t know what the half-life is for gambling on games. I don’t know if it’s less or more than the half-life of using steroids or other performance enhancing drugs.

It does make me ponder broader questions like – how long do grudges last? How long do we hold onto certain events from the past, which have created both lasting memories and accompanying attitudes for us?

Asking these questions makes me think of other recent big anniversaries – the 70^th anniversary of the U.S. bombing of Hiroshima (August 6, 1945) and Nagasaki (August 9, 1945). In dropping those two nuclear bombs, between 129,000 and 246,000 people were killed. The world was never the same.

Back in 1945, Pete Rose was 4 years old. Elvis Presley was 10 years old– the same age I was when I sat in Milwaukee watching in awe that memorable All-Star game.

I have to figure that Elvis remembered those bombs dropping, just like so many millions of others did. It’s possible he carried the images of those two mushroom clouds and ensuing human carnage with him the rest of his life. Certainly others did as well.

Memories are tricky that way. Some, like mine, you crave to remember. An annual date or a random encounter with someone sparks the memory back to life and it plays out in your mind like it was yesterday.

Other memories linger in a much less desirable way.  They hang around and  – despite our best efforts to rid our minds of them – we are never actually able to forget.

From "Let It Go" to "Let Her Code"

 If you’re like me and have 1 or more daughters under the age of 10, it’s highly probable that any of the following are true:

• Despite not actually trying, you’ve committed the lyrics of the smash hit song “Let it Go” from the movie Frozen to memory and find yourself at odd times during the day humming it without realizing what you’re doing

• You’ve yielded to your daughter’s plea to either throw a “Frozen-themed” party or, despite harboring doubts, went ahead and purchased her an Elsa costume complete with a golden-braided wig

Well, fellow parents of young daughters, I have a challenge for you. Give your daughters a Frozen gift that will last a lot longer than their Frozen pajamas or the plastic Frozen cups and dishware that are bound to melt when you mistakenly put them on the bottom rack of the dishwasher.

“Move Forward by 200 pixels…”

Have your daughter create a program that lets Elsa skate.

The lesson is part of Code.org’s Code Studio where anyone can learn how to create a simple computer program. Started in 2013, Code.org is a non-profit dedicated to expanding access to computer science, and increasing participation by women and underrepresented students of color.

On their site, after a catchy introduction to programming featuring Lyndsey – who is, yes, both a fashion model and a programmer – students can jump in and start creating instructions that help Elsa skate up a storm before their very eyes.

Last month, I wrote about sending my two daughters, ages 7 and 9, to an ID Tech Introduction to Robotics camp for a week. The good news is they loved it. I had written about my not-so-secret motivation of wanting to pique their interest in technology and programming given this is where the future jobs and money will be.  

Open, High-Paying Jobs

According to Code.org, by 2020 the U.S. job market will have 1.4 million computing-related jobs and only 400,000 computer science majors. Also, while 57% of bachelor degrees are earned by women, a mere 12% of all college computer science graduates are women.

Not only are technology jobs going to be both abundant and unfilled in the future, but they already are well-represented among the highest-paying jobs on the market. According to Glassdoor’s inaugural 25Highest Playing Jobs In Demand report, 14 are tech jobs, including Software Architect ($131,099 average base salary), Software Development Manager ($123,747), Solutions Architect ($121,522), Analytics Manager ($115,725) and IT Manager ($115,642).

The kicker is that most schools don’t have computer science classes. How weird is that? Per Code.org, computer science classes cannot count toward high school math or science graduation requirements in 26 of our 50 states. This seems so incredibly unwise and ridiculous, I think I could vomit.

Let Her Teach Herself

So, what to do? Parents, this is where you can jump in. Find a timely moment to interrupt your daughter’s play with her Elsa doll, sit her down in front of the computer (Elsa  gown and wig optional, of course) and let her teach herself how to code. After she masters the Elsa skating program (and she will), here are some other things to try:

• Code.org – Through the site’s Code Studio there are also 20 1-hour classes on computer basics. There are also links to local classes as well.

Scratch

• Scratch – This is a free program created at the MIT Media lab targeted for 8-16 year olds. Anyone can use it though. Scratch lets you program interactive stories, games and animations.

• Codecademy – An online education company that teaches students how to code. It boasts that it’s helped millions to date. Take a minute to listen to their stories. They are pretty compelling. 

• Harvard’s CS50 Course – This is a free course delivered via edX that, according to the course description is, an “introduction to the intellectual enterprises of computer science and the art of programming for majors and non-majors alike, with or without prior programming experience. An entry-level course taught by David J. Malan, CS50 teaches students how to think algorithmically and solve problems efficiently.”

Codin Games

• Play Coding Games – People like games. Kids love them. Games also can be a great way to learn programming skills as they offer very real-time feedback and rewards. Sites like Codin Games and CodeCombat are great for both boys and girls.

“Let Her Code…Let Her Code”

So, give those a shot. I will note that this fall, my wife and I are taking our daughters to Disney World. It will be a first for all four of us. As we stroll through all the wonder that is Disney, I am quite sure I’ll be thinking about a dozen years in the future when, perhaps, my post-college daughters are programming the next version of Disney’s mobile app or devising a new mobile e-payment system.

Perhaps even as a way to coax that vision into reality I’ll start to hum and then even sing out loud, “Let her code…let her code…” Maybe that won’t be as catchy, but the delayed payoff makes up for it.

By the way, mark your calendars -- Frozen 2 in 2018. #LetHerCode

Franklin at 47: The Inspiring Integration of Peanuts

Birthdays are special. Having just hit the dubious milestone of 50 last month, the feeling is fresh for me.  But on July 31, Franklin turned 47 years old and it’s cause not only to celebrate, but to recall how he came to be in the first place.

Franklin is the African-American boy that Charles M. Schulz introduced to his famous Peanuts comic strip in 1968. It’s fair to say Franklin has aged well. Or, well, not at all.

But the story of how young Franklin came to be in Schulz’s world famous comic strip alongside the likes of Charlie Brown, Linus, Snoopy and Lucy is not one I knew before reading an article in the Washington Post last week.  The author, Post columnist and cartoonist Michael Cavna, did a spectacular job.

“I Needed to Do Something”

In the article, Cavna tells the story of how Franklin was born from the political upheaval and strained race relations of the 1960s. He was the idea of a retired teacher living in Los Angeles named Harriet Glickman.

Courtesy Peanuts Worldwide

Glickman, who is alive and well at 88-years-old today, knew kids. In addition to teaching, she had three children of her own. She knew the power of comics to kids. She also knew that black and white kids didn’t necessarily visualize themselves as being in the same classroom.

In the article, she explained that after the April 4, 1968 assassination of Martin Luther King she felt shaken and overwhelmed. She felt like she had to do something.

She did.

On April 15, Glickman wrote to Charles Schulz and asked him to consider using the wide reach of his popular comic strip to introduce a black child and show to the world that we can all actually get along. She began her heartfelt, poignant letter as follows:

“Since the death of Martin Luther King, I’ve been asking myself what I can do to help change those conditions in our society which led to the assassination and which contribute to the vast sea of misunderstanding, fear, hate and violence.”

Her letter was kind, direct and respectful. She knew Schulz had no obligation to do anything, but she clearly hoped he would like the idea. And, in fact, he did.

On April 26 Schulz wrote Glickman back thanking her. He said it was a good idea, but he could not do it. He explained that he and other cartoonists would like to include a black character (“Negro” as he stated in his letter), but he feared that it would come across as patronizing to blacks. (To view images of the original letters between Glickman and Schulz, see the Washington Post story.)

He concluded his letter to Glickman writing, “I don’t know what the solution is.”

Fortunately, Glickman did. She wrote Schulz back telling him she planned to pass along his letter to African American friends of hers. She told her friends to write Schulz and share their views. They did. They urged Schulz to integrate Peanuts.

Peanuts Worldwide/UFS & Universal UClick

The letters persuaded Schulz. He got to work on Franklin and revealed his plans to United Features Syndicate, the company that distributed Peanuts to publications worldwide, reaching tens of millions of people. The company questioned Schulz’s decision, but according to Glickman, Schulz told them, “Either you run it the way I drew it or I quit.”

Franklin was born July 31, 1968, appearing on a summer beach with Charlie Brown. Glickman’s idea came to life. Her persistence paid off.

What’s in a Picture?

Peanuts Worldwide

Now, one might wonder, “How much progress in race relations in America can be attributed to including Franklin in Peanuts” True, it’s impossible to tell.

I will say this. It provided a generation of children – specifically my generation – a visual of how we can all get along. When I was a child, for example, I did not know any black children. My neighborhood north of Chicago was all white. My schools were all white.  I do remember seeing Franklin in the comic section. I noticed him. I am sure others did as well.

Detractors might suggest this was just window dressing. The visual presence of a black face amidst an otherwise white comic strip does nothing, they might say.  I would challenge this by suggesting that what we see around us does matter. Visuals do have an impact. They do mean something. They help us see differently, think differently and, perhaps, act differently.

As evidence I would reference another situation involving something visual – a flag.  I see the recent removal of the Confederate flag from flying atop the South Carolina Capitol buildings and also from the capitol grounds in Alabama as people acknowledging that visuals matter.

In this case, removing the Confederate from view acknowledges that we need to distance ourselves from our past of racial prejudice in this country.

The sad commonality between removing the confederate flag from our view in 2015 and Glickman’s letter to Charles Schulz in 1968 is that they both arose from tragedy. King’s death in Memphis, Tennessee spurred many changes, including Glickman's letter and the birth of Franklin. The racially-charged killing of 9 blacks in a South Carolina church led to lowering the Confederate flag and likely more changes.

Part of the legacy of those 9 people killed on June 17 at the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in downtown Charleston, South Carolina will forever be positive change. Some will say it’s what’s in people’s hearts that truly matters. That’s true. However, what people see matters too. For blacks everywhere, to see that Confederate flag all these years atop government buildings is an insult and a reminder of a violent, unjust and divided past.

I would argue that similar to how the arrival of Franklin has helped some people see a more integrated future, the absence of the visual image of a Confederate flag over the next 47 years will help more people visualize a better future – a future that people like Martin Luther King, Harriett Glickman and Rev. Clementa Pinckney were already able to see quite clearly.

(My thanks to Michael Cavna @comicriffs)