I was recently asked to write the foreword to a newly published book titled Chicken Soup for the Soul: Teacher Tales. I was a bit reluctant to write the foreword because I have not used my blog Road Diaries to discuss some of the many wonderful books I have read about the art and beauty of teaching. My fellow bloggers on this page do a wonderful job reviewing such books and writing about the many challenging and complex issues facing educators. I am given the less strenuous task of describing what I see and feel as I travel the country. But when I was told that the book would be written by and for teachers, I felt compelled to visit the book's editor. I agreed to write the foreword under one condition: my fellow 2009 state teachers of the year would have a story included in the book. This was a bold request because the book had received over 3000 submissions from authors seeking to be published in a Chicken Soup for the Soul book. If the editor agreed to my request, more than half of the 101 stories would be written by my friends and colleagues, teachers who are actively teaching in classrooms. The editor agreed to my request and now I was faced with a new challenge: what should I write about in the foreword? Why is this particular book important to teachers? And then I thought about a teacher I had met in Mississippi. This lovely and compassionate woman had been teaching for almost forty years and now wanted to...

Foreword to Chicken Soup for the Soul: Teacher Tales.

Living in a fast paced world flooded with technology has taken something away from the essential human desire to enjoy a story. The 101 stories in this inspirational book will provide the reader much time to relax and enjoy a good tale.

Thank you, America's teachers, for sharing your stories.

And thank you for helping us get dressed in the morning.

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Kent State University

It was over in just thirteen seconds. An unlucky number that would leave four students dead and nine others wounded at Kent State University. I am standing on the crest of a small hill, overlooking the parking lot where the Ohio National Guard herded protesting students. Over 2000 students had gathered to protest President Nixon's decision to invade Cambodia and a few agitators began to throw rocks at the soldiers. The National Guard responded by firing tear gas canisters at the students, but a brisk wind blew the gas away from the crowd. A few students probably believed the wind favored their side; none of the students understood that a warm spring day could kill.

I walk down a grassy slope and now stand in the parking lot. I look back at the spot where the National Guard stood in line. The militia held the high ground but had their retreat blocked by a large building. The students had no desire to retreat because student protests had become a national pastime for the young and this particular protest was quickly becoming the best show in town.

The defining moment when a crowd becomes a mob is not easy to calculate, and therein lies the tragedy of much human misery. Eyewitnesses interpret the events of May 4, 1970 through human eyes, a lens often tainted by time or trauma, but one incontrovertible fact remains clear: shortly after noon the Ohio National Guard aimed their rifles at the college students and fired between 61 and 67 bullets in thirteen seconds toward the parking lot. American soldiers had killed American citizens. The words Kent State forever entered the lexicon of the turbulent counterculture of the 1960s and early 1970s and shocked a nation's conscious.

I now stand at a place midway between where the guard and students clashed almost forty years ago. I glance at the crest of the small hill and at the parking lot. I see the faces of guardsmen and the faces of college students. Both groups are restless and frightened. But the most striking similarity is age. The guardsmen and college students are the same ages, mostly 18-and 19-year-old teenagers. Where are the adults? Why weren't adults standing where I am standing now? This "no man's land" of real estate could have been the perfect place for responsible adults to yell, "STOP!"

Sadly, no such interdiction occurred. A generation of young people was left to settle a nation's conflicted soul on the soil of a Midwest college campus. The village elders and faculty arrived after the killings, and did a good job preventing more bloodshed. But they arrived too late.

In the aftermath of the Kent State shootings sides quickly formed; the younger generation mostly blamed the National Guard and the older generation mostly blamed the protesters. Guardsmen were labeled "murderers" and students labeled "anarchists." The dead and wounded became martyrs to a generation that believed revolution could transform society's ills and make the world a peaceable kingdom.

If only adults had acted as the peacemakers.

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I sometimes wonder if memory is a blessing or a curse sent by vindictive gods.

I am reading the local newspaper and staring at a picture of a smiling high school senior. The picture was taken over a year ago; before Stephanie headed off to college and decided to join a fraternity that helps feed the world's poor and hungry. A time before Stephanie decided to exchange a winter break in Florida for a soup kitchen in Haiti. A time before the earth would crack open and crumble her Third World hotel.

It has been 11 days since Stephanie was last seen by classmates. The scent of the dead and the dying foul the moist Caribbean air and the words miracle and hope begin to slip away.

The photograph in front of me was taken for the Somers High School yearbook and it captures Stephanie's beauty and optimism; a precious moment frozen in time when a young lady was shedding her teenage years and no longer resembled the young girl I watched play in her backyard pool.

I think about Stephanie's parents, Lynn and Lenny, and her brothers Michael and Nicholas; they no longer need a vision of hell. And I think about what I should say to this close and lovely family.

I do not know what to say; I simply do not know what to say.

Do any of my colleagues know a good prayer for the dead and the dying?

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London, England

I am sitting in front of British Prime Minister Gordon Brown. The political leader of the United Kingdom has just finished speaking to the Learning and Technology World Forum at the Queen Elizabeth II Conference Centre and soon it would be my turn to address the over 1000 education ministers and high-ranking education officials in attendance. I am tired,very tired. I had spent the last three days at JFK Airport, trying desperately to get a flight from NYC to London. Bad weather had closed Heathrow Airport and crippled London's transportation network, and hoards of people are fighting each other for passage to the UK. The effects of sleep deprivation and jet lag are making the words on my prepared speech seem blurry. I'm not sure if I may be hallucinating but the prime minister's head seems to be inflating.

The Learning and Technology World Forum is an internationally recognized leadership forum for exchanging best practices in education and sharing ideas and experiences on strategies and policies that can be used to support and improve the quality of education and learning skills globally. It is one of the largest gatherings of education ministers in the world and is organized by Becta (the British government's lead agency on supportive technology in education and skills), and this year over 80% of the world's population was represented by ministers of education from more than 100 countries. Representatives from the United States are notably absent among the world's education ministers. Thank goodness a few dedicated educators from the Council of Chief State School Officers are here to appear on behalf of my country.

A confusion of voices floods my ears. I see exotic faces and smell roasted coffee. The heat inside the conference centre makes me feel sleepy and I think about lying on the white linen covered table in front of the prime minister.

The education minister from Morocco taps my left shoulder.

"You are the teacher from the United States?" she asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"We are all interested to hear from the United States," she adds politely. "Many people will speak at this conference, but very few are teachers."

The minister is wearing a Western business suit. She is a medium sized woman but the solid azure suit makes her appear longer and leaner. I wondered why she was not wearing a colorful and beautifully embroidered takshita, the type of dress I remember from Rick's Café in Casablanca. My ignorance of other cultures is a product of spending too many Saturday mornings watching television as a child.

"We do not have a teacher from Morocco who speaks on behalf of teachers and children," the minister said. "It is a good thing to listen to teachers-they speak from the heart and know what is best for children."

"Who speaks on behalf of children and teachers in Morocco?" I asked.

"Government officials," she said with a frown.

An education minister from East Africa joins the conversation. "We, too, do not have a teacher who speaks for teachers and children," he said. "This would be a good thing for my country."

I imagine a world in which teachers are the primary spokespeople for children and the teaching profession. A global league of teachers dedicated to promoting the teaching profession and advocating for the right of every child to receive a quality education. I am drifting into sleep as I watch the British prime minister fold a white cloth napkin and place it on the linen covered table. Why does he tempt me with such a pillow?

"You will speak about technology in the classroom?" a minister from the Middle East asked.

The Learning and Technology World Forum is, after all, a conference about how to best use technology in the classroom. It is also the only forum that brings together the collective wisdom and experience of the world's national education and technology leaders. My trip to London was sponsored by Smart Technologies, the creators of the SMART Board interactive white board, but the company's founders, Nancy Knowlton and Dave Martin, do not want me to use my lecture time to promote their product. These two humble and philanthropic people would prefer that I talk about the value of teachers. I was planning to speak about how the SMART Board has radically transformed my classroom and engaged my emotionally disabled students, but Nancy and Dave would much prefer that I put a face on the children we teach.

I close my eyes for a moment and slip into a memory.

Spanish Harlem is full of life on summer nights, but this young lady wanted to die. The crowd of onlookers pointed fingers at a teenage girl standing atop a fire escape rail, dangling her body over the rusty rail and throwing pieces of jewelry to the street below.

I sometimes see her face in the faces of the students that I teach today. I got my wish to teach and mentor troubled teenagers. My students suffer from depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder and psychosis. Some are lonely, some are sad, some are angry, and some are frightened. But all risk falling down unless we are there to catch them.

I awaken to find myself at the podium staring at the large audience. Bright lights hurt my eyes and I turn to face the prime minister. His head is no longer inflating and the babbling voices no longer flood my ears. All is serene. I talk about the teenage girl who wanted to end her life. And I tell the crowd that I became a teacher to be involved in the lives of troubled teenagers before they foolishly decide to leap to their deaths. I remind the education ministers that teachers do much more than teach content knowledge-we save lives in our own unique ways.

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I am a fly on the wall sitting at a table. Seated at a round table are three state governors, one state senator, a Harvard professor and author, and a strange little man who assumes the role of group moderator. The strange little man asks the group to talk about their experiences at the education conference. The ex governor from the South begins to talk about how the traditional school model is not working and the problem of too many teachers who do not understand what they teach. Teachers, he complains, are not prepared to teach in 21st century classrooms because they possess, in his words, "only 20th century skills." He does not provide specific examples or elaborate upon his theory but the other guests at the table nod their heads in agreement.

A governor from the Midwest first pays homage to the governor from the South. He tells us that his "good friend "is "right on target" about teachers not prepared to teach in 21st century classrooms. The governor from the Midwest thanks the governor from the South for presenting "the best talk at the conference." Not to be undone, the governor from the South responds by telling the governor from the Midwest that he "presented the best talk at the conference." When both men are done patting each other's backs, the Midwest governor complains that teachers, particularly math teachers, don't know their subject materials. Again, the other guests at the table nod their heads in agreement. All is civil.

The third governor hails from a cold northern state but his words have a scorching tone. "The problem with schools, "he says, "is a lack of accountability. Schools need to be guided by specific core curriculum standards and data-driven assessment." The governor continues his diatribe. "I don't understand why schools are not managed more like businesses." This time the guests nod their heads vigorously, not unlike those small bobble head dolls seen on car dashboards.

The next education expert to speak is the professor from Harvard. He gives a mini lesson about the role of chaos theory in education. His new order of thinking-or New Age way of thinking- argues that seemingly unrelated events occurring in the classroom (the boy coughing, the girl raising her hand, and the teacher writing on the board) when taken together form a pattern of continuity and purpose rather than chaotic or random events. The 21st century teacher must be able to recognize these events as purposeful moments in time and space because education is connected to the rest of the universe. Wow. I will forever wonder if I did something to upset a time and space continuum the next time I admonish a student for not covering his mouth while coughing. Teachers do recognize that order and disorder exist in classrooms and that educating children is often an uncertain endeavor, but we do not have time to reflect on such esoteric thoughts when breaking up a spit ball fight.

The strange little man tries to fuse all the promulgated ideas together and asks the group to consider the following question: "Where do we take education from here?"

The state senator from the West is asked to go first. She is a diminutive lady and pauses to reflect upon the question. "I think we need to consider the role of teachers in the classroom," she replies in a soft voice. "We are headed toward a teacherless classroom and must be guided by this fact." A teacherless classroom? I look around the table and hope one of the esteemed guests will ask her to clarify or possibly expand upon her statement. Instead, the guests just nod their heads in agreement.

The strange little man interrupts. "I agree. Technology is making the traditional classroom teacher less relevant-possibly obsolete. Soon students will be learning at home from online classes on their laptops." I silently question who will be teaching the online classes.

The senator continues her line of reasoning, asserting how the rapid infusion of technology in classrooms is better understood by students than teachers. Teachers are best suited to facilitate the dissemination of knowledge through interactive technology rather than try to teach ideas and concepts using traditional methods. A Brave New World suddenly enters the discussion and the senator's vision of a utopian classroom is greeted with comments such as "indeed" and "without question."

The Harvard professor tugs at his chin with his right thumb and index finger and compliments the senator. "In the future," he says, "students will be learning at home using their computers. School buildings and classrooms will not be the primary learning environment." Really? Could any sane person envision millions of school children staying home and learning a full curriculum online? I foresee a stay-at-home mom or dad spending most of the day trying to keep their children away from Facebook.

The senator from the West is very pleased that her comment about technology replacing teachers is embraced by the people seated at the table. So far I have not been asked to speak or comment. I remain a fly on the wall at the table. How weird and familiar it feels to be an invisible teacher listening to politicians and academics speak about teachers and the teaching profession. I try not to move lest they notice me.

The governor from the South changes the direction of the conversation and boasts about how he personally raised test scores in his state by challenging the "status quo of education." He forgot to mention that he lowered the passing grades for state assessment tests- a status quo practiced by quite a few states.

The strange little man grabs a large strawberry from a fruit dish and gnaws at it. I have never seen a person eat a strawberry with two hands. "I think we all agree that changes are needed, "he declares to the group.

"That's why we are here," the senator replied.

The politicians and academics enjoy a dessert of pastries and fruit. I can't keep my eyes off the strange little man nibbling on the strawberry like some backyard squirrel. The group discusses the need to drastically modify classroom management and teaching practices. They talk about curricula and how children learn best when they are provided meaningful activities. We are reminded by the governor from the South that teachers must be proficient in content knowledge.

Once again the strange little man grabs the reigns of the discussion and now alerts the group of my presence. He deposits the strawberry's calyx on a plate. I am no longer a fly on the wall at a table as the others look upon me.

"What do you think?" the senator asked.

Where do I begin? I spent the last thirty minutes listening to a group of arrogant and condescending non educators disrespect my colleagues and profession. I listened to a group of disingenuous people whose own self-interests guide their policies rather than the interests of children. I listened to a cabal of people who sit on national education committees that will have a profound impact on classroom teaching practices. And I heard nothing of value.

"I'm thinking about the current health care debate, "I said. "And I am wondering if I will be asked to sit on a national committee charged with the task of creating a core curriculum of medical procedures to be used in hospital emergency rooms."

The strange little man cocks his head and, suddenly, the fly on the wall has everyone's attention.

"I realize that most people would think I am unqualified to sit on such a committee because I am not a doctor, I have never worked in an emergency room, and I have never treated a single patient. So what? Today I have listened to people who are not teachers, have never worked in a classroom, and have never taught a single student tell me how to teach."

An uneasy silence cloaks the table. The governor from the South looks at his watch, the governor from the North bows his head, the governor from the Midwest stirs his coffee, the diminutive senator stares at me, and the strange little man grabs another strawberry. One by one the lunch guests leave the table.

I return to being a fly on a wall at a table.

I wonder how many other teachers have been treated in such a manner.

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I watched the large chicken jump and down on the cold sidewalk, flapping its wings at passing motorists. A few cars stopped to snap photographs of the large hen and one teenage boy yelled "Get a real job!"

The fast food restaurant was getting ready to close when the chicken came inside. The bird sat opposite me at an empty table and I felt a little self-conscious eating a roasted chicken leg. The chicken sat slouched at the table, its head weighing forward. The person inside the costume was obviously exhausted from standing and flapping its flightless wings all day. A teenage waiter emerged from behind the counter and placed a large cup of soda in front of the worn out bird.

"I need a long straw," the chicken asked.

"Just take your stupid chicken head off," the waiter replied.

The chicken paused for a moment and looked around the small dining area. I assume the hen was checking to make sure no young children were still in the restaurant before unmasking. The beak was pointed in my direction.

"Relax," I told the chicken. "It's just the three of us in here."

The face of a young man with curly blond hair and high check bones appeared from behind the mask. He looked to be in his midtwenties but it's hard to judge the age of a person covered in feathers. I did not expect to see a young adult performing the type of minimum wage work best suited for teenagers or college students. I thought about President Obama's address to the Joint Session of Congress on February 24th, 2009.

"In a global economy where the most valuable skill you can sell is your knowledge, a good education is no longer just a pathway to opportunity - it is a pre-requisite.
Right now, three-quarters of the fastest-growing occupations require more than a high school diploma. And yet, just over half of our citizens have that level of education. We have one of the highest high school dropout rates of any industrialized nation. And half of the students who begin college never finish"

I promised myself that I would relax and enjoy my one week break from traveling and not ruminate about the present state of American public education. But then the chicken came into my life.

"In a global economy where the most valuable skill you can sell is your knowledge..."

What skills or knowledge could this young man sell in a global economy? I didn't know anything about him, but any adult willing to wear a chicken costume in public had to be either courageous or intoxicated.

"How long have you been working as a chicken?" I asked.

"Only a few days," the young man answered.

"Enjoy the work?"

"Not really. But I need the money."

The life-sized chicken was honest and hard-working, but sadness glossed his eyes. I learned that he had been working full-time in a supermarket until being fired. Getting fired from the local A&P is a euphemism for failing a drug or alcohol test. He never finished high school or completed a GED.

"Right now, three-quarters of the fastest-growing occupations require more than a high school diploma."

The young man, according to President Obama, was ineligible for 3 out of 4 jobs. He was also ineligible for most of the remaining jobs that required at least a high school education. A lack of education and no marketable job skills helped tailor his chicken costume.

"We have one of the highest high school dropout rates of any industrialized nation"

The president is only partially correct. If we include such industrialized nations as the Republic of Tajikistan, the United States is doing well. But a large percentage of girls are not permitted to attend school in Tajikistan and I question the validity of their dropout statistics. The United States has the worse dropout record of comparable industrialized nations.

"...the most valuable skill you can sell is your knowledge."

The president's words are a death knell for this young man. He has neither a secondary or post-secondary education and therefore can't compete in a local job market let alone a global marketplace for jobs. I continue my conversation with the chicken. The young man is twenty-four years old and lives at home with his mother. The teenage waiter is his younger brother. I learn that he once enjoyed playing high school football and would like to be a Navy SEAL. He could be a poster child for the typical American dropout and help demystify some common misconceptions about school dropouts.

Contrary to popular belief the typical high school dropout is not poor or a minority. The majority of the one million dropouts leaving our schools each year resemble the face of the young man sitting before me. The ratio of poverty to leaving school is not as highly correlated as the ratio of race to dropping out, and African-American and Hispanic males still comprise a disproportionate number of America's dropouts, but the typical high school dropout is a non minority who is not poor.

Bias and perception help influence public policy and maybe it's time for the Ad Council to start airing the type of television commercials that could provoke public outcry and motivate government officials to aggressively attack the greatest challenge facing our education system. States in the South and Southwest have some of the highest dropout rates in the nation and, coincidently, some of the best high school football teams in the nation. How about creating a public service commercial to be aired during the Super Bowl? The image of a championship high school football team losing one player every thirty seconds-the same rate as the national dropout rate- might outrage a nation of rabid armchair quarterbacks. Removing the image of the star quarterback or running back would be a bonus and possibly provoke a national revolt.

"...a good education is no longer just a pathway to opportunity - it is a pre-requisite."

The chicken is growing restless and asked his brother for a ride home.

"I'm going to the mall," the brother protested.

"I know," the chicken replied, "but I don't want to wear this chicken suit on the way home."

"Okay. Just don't wear your chicken head while sitting in the passenger seat."

I take my cue and leave the restaurant. The chicken and the teenager enter a late model Malibu and leave the parking lot. The chicken head is tossed in the back seat.

I first thought it strange to see a large chicken encourage people to eat chicken. The bizarre situation did not seem odd to the many people who drove past the restaurant, probably because colorful animal costumes brighten winter days and bring a little novelty to our lives. The faces and stories behind the masks remain unseen and the image is not spoiled. The young man inside the chicken costume has joined the legion of over one million young people who fail to graduate high school every year. It often takes a period of time to see the negative impact a dropout has on the rest of us, but eventually all chickens come home to roost.

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The air is stale inside the visitor waiting room at Manson Correctional Facility. The room is filled with mostly women and young children and I notice a few drops of dried blood on the floor. One young boy keeps pressing the buttons on a candy vending machine. The women seem to know each other and talk about the weather outside the prison windows. The rolling hills and tall evergreen tress that surround the level 4 high-security facility are covered with an early Christmas snow. The landscape is a picturesque place more suited for the inside of a snow globe rather than the site of a prison. A correction officer enters the room and informs us that the men's bathroom is out of service. He admonishes an anonymous previous visitor who stuffed too much paper in the toilet.

The officer resembles an aging Charlie Brown and carries a set of large keys. "You can't go inside with a hooded sweat jacket," he says, pointing to me.

"What should I do with my jacket?"

"You can place the jacket in one of the wall lockers," he replies. "Go to the registration desk and ask for a key."

I do as I am told and trade my driver's license for a small key attached to a large metal ring. I locate my assigned locker and stuff my jacket inside.

"You can't go inside with a wallet or keys, either," the officer adds.

I feel uncomfortable leaving my wallet and car keys in a locker that could be easily pried open. I look around the room and gauge the faces of my fellow visitors. Most of the women seem to have honest faces but I'm not too sure about the heavyset man who is staring at me. He has tattoos around his fleshy neck and is wearing a stained sweatshirt. I feel he could be comfortable on either side of the prison's walls. He is staring in my direction as I place my wallet and car keys in the locker. I walk away and notice that he is still looking intently in the direction of my locker. And then I become aware of the true object of his attention- the candy machine next to my locker. I feel relief.

I am waiting to visit a former student who will be spending Christmas in an eight by six prison cell. He has been incarcerated since July and is serving an 18 month sentence for mostly assault related offenses. The judge called my ex student "a maniac" and then sent him to the state's toughest youth prison. The judge was only half correct. Mania and depression swing back and forth in people suffering from bipolar disorder, and I believe my ex student's behavior is rooted in this illness. I last visited Kaz during October and he seemed to be adjusting well to the monotony and boredom of prison life. He was growing a beard and considering getting a "prison tattoo" on his left arm. I told him about the risk of contracting hepatitis from a dirty ink needle and that his beard looked ridiculous. I could not blame him for trying to age quickly in a place that preyed on youth.

I glance outside the window and let streaks of sun warm my face. I think about snow, icicles, sleigh riding, and Christmas morning. A Christmas Carol suddenly enters my mind and returns my musing to Kaz. Charles Dickens divided life into three parts-past, present and future- and understood both the worldly and spiritual value of time. The past is but images and shadows of things gone by, the present but a time that appears in our grasp until inevitably let go, and the future but a consequence of what went before and the present day. I am familiar with the past and present tenses of my student's life but worry about his future.

On any given day, about one in every 10 young male high school dropouts is in jail or juvenile detention, compared with one in 35 young male high school graduates, according to a new study released by researchers at Northeastern University. "The dropout rate is driving the nation's increasing prison population, and it's a drag on America's economic competitiveness," said Marc H. Morial, the former New Orleans mayor who is president of the National Urban League, one of the groups in the coalition that commissioned the report. Additionally, a 2007 study by Teachers College, Princeton and City University of New York researchers estimated that society could save $209,000 in prison and other costs for every potential dropout who could be helped to complete high school. The United States incarcerates more of its youth than any other country in the world, a reflection of the larger trends in incarceration practices in the United States. What to do with juvenile criminals has been a source of controversy for centuries, but we haven't made much progress dealing with this issue. Prisons are filled with some young people who need to stay behind bars, but the majority of youthful offenders are dropouts afflicted with substance abuse problems or mental illness.

Our nation spends an estimated $60 billion each year on corrections. While cost varies from state to state, in 2005, the average cost of incarceration per prisoner in the United States was $23,876. The cost to incarcerate prisoners under the age of 21 is often over $40,000. Now consider the cost to educate a child. The average cost to educate a student in the United States, in 2005, was $8,486.

Ebenezer Scrooge feared most the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come because the miser was good at counting, and the sum of his past and present deeds did not portend a happy ending. The ghost does not show its face or speak a single word but it possessed the supernatural ability to reveal things to come. Images of loneliness, misery, and death are revealed to a man seeking redemption. Ebenezer's fate is shared by the many inmates housed in this awful place.

The correction officer returns to the waiting area and instructs us to proceed to a security check point. One by one we walk through a metal detector and then are herded inside a small chamber. We are cramped together but careful not to push and shove each other. The correction officer enters the chamber last and locks the door. "Go to the cubicle assigned to your inmate," he says.

I see Kaz on the other side of a Plexiglas barrier; we talk with each other using a set of phones. I am happy to see that he shaved his beard and did not get a prison tattoo. He no longer spends 22 hours each day confined to his prison cell since earning the privilege to be part of a work crew. Kaz always enjoyed physical labor and he enjoyed spending the last few days shoveling snow. He is not looking forward to Christmas Day because all prisoners will be in "lock down" for 24 hours. My Christmas gift to him is news about friends and school.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is the most frightening yet benevolent of the three spirits. The spirit behind the dark robe offers Ebenezer a second chance to change his ways and re-enter the world of humanity. The inmates housed at Manson Correctional facility could benefit from a visit by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

I wish all my readers a joyous holiday season and look forward to a future filled with redemption for all students.
Tony

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I am gazing at an image of a Japan long gone. The Temple of the Golden Pavilion was built in 1397 for Shogun Ashikaga Yoshimitsu as part of a great estate he used for a retreat and later as a retirement villa. The temple is coated with gold leaf and is placed picturesquely in a garden at the edge of a large pond. The pavilion extends partly over the pond and is brilliantly reflected in the calm water. The gold leaf reflects the autumn sun and the warm mood of the many tourists who flock to Kyoto to see this iconic site. I take a few photographs and marvel at the pristine condition of a temple built 100 years before Columbus sailed to the Americas.

An elderly Japanese man politely offers to photograph me with the temple in the background.

"I can't believe this temple is over six hundred years old," I remarked.

The man smiled and told me to read the brochure in my hand. My awe-inspiring moment is deflated when I read the brochure and learn about the history of the Temple of the Golden Pavilion. On July 2, 1950, at 2:30 am, the original Golden Pavilion was burned downed by a monk named Hayashi Yoken. The pavilion I marvel at was built in 1955 and the coating of lacquer and gold-leaf veneer was completed in 1987. The ornate roof was restored in 2003.

I asked the Japanese gentleman why the young monk set fire to the temple.

"The monk's motive is not clear because he tried to commit suicide behind the building," he answered.

"Did the police investigate the arson?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied. "The police questioned the monk's mother and ask her to explain why her son would commit such a sacrilegious act".

"What did she say?"

The man took my photograph and then replied, "She committed suicide by jumping from a train."

I learned the monk later died in a mental institution and the police probably thought it wise not to question another Yoken family member. Why risk further decreasing the family clan?

I notice a tall bronze statue of a phoenix on the roof of the temple and realize how it symbolizes the most important lesson I have learned while visiting Japan: The Japanese people understand the importance of education more than any other country in the world because education is the phoenix of their nation.

The elderly Japanese man hands back my camera and I look at his face. I see warmth and wisdom in his eyes and possibly a window to the past.

"Do you remember World War Two?" I asked.

The man did not seem surprised by my off topic question, so I follow-up my lead-in question. I asked him how a nation decimated by war could literally rise from the ashes and become the world's second largest economy.

The old man is quick to answer. "We never lost our school system," he said. "During the war and after the war, children went to school. Japan lost much during the war, but we never abandoned our schools."

I believe the greatest institution of social change is the school and the greatest instrument of change is the teacher. No other true democracy designed by the hand of man has ever existed. And the Japanese people practiced my belief after World War II by displaying an indomitable desire to rebuild a country through its schools.

War often destroys much more than lives and buildings. Social and governmental institutions are shattered, infrastructure decimated, food and clean water scarce, and people grow weak with the laborious task of burying the dead. Defeated nations seldom arise from the cinders of battle with the physical or psychological strength necessary to survive, let alone prosper, and Japan is one of the few exceptions in recorded history in which a nation found a collective resolve to not allow a vanquished people to become a vanished people.

Foreign aid and investment helped rebuild the many cities destroyed by Allied bombs but the will to endure and to thrive in a post-war economy was instilled in children by teachers. A people turned to its education system to renew a nation and teachers and schools were there to answer the call. The so-called "Japanese Economic Miracle" could not have occurred without schools and teachers.

And this is the greatest and most profound lesson I learned during my visit to Japan.

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The young girl was left hanging from the tree. Everyone knew who she was but no one would step forward to cut the rope. She had few friends in life and fewer friends in death.

The suicide of this lonely and taunted 8th grade girl shocked a nation and exposed an epidemic of students being bullied in Japanese schools. The Education Minister received an anonymous letter form a schoolboy saying bullies were making his life a misery and he was going to kill himself. The minister's mailbox quickly filled with similar letters, each written by troubled young people complaining about the devastating effects of bullying. In fact, a survey conducted on about 6,400 high school students nationwide showed that 56% of males and 63% of females were victims of school bullying. More disconcerting is the claim by numerous parents that schools and government officials cover up cases to keep the statistics low.

A few days after receiving the first letter, the minister of education would be informed that a 17-yeaar-old girl jumped four floors at her school; a 12-year-old girl, teased for being small, jumped from the eight floor of her apartment building; a 14-year-old boy being forced to pay 20,000 yen to a bully hanged himself; and the following day another 14-year-old boy hanged himself because his classmates would not stop pulling down his pants.

A dishonest education bureaucrat responded to public outcry by stating that suicide by bullying is "becoming less frequent." He proudly boasted how suicide hotlines and public service announcements by celebrities are starting to prevent further suicides by young victims. But trying to reason how many lives are being saved is a questionable strategy. The headline of today's The Asahi Shimbun (Japan's leading national newspaper) reads:

According to the column, a record 972 students, from elementary school age through university level, took their lives in 2008. This is the highest number since the government began compiling data in 1978. The figure was an increase of 99 over the previous year. And what did the data support? Children victimized by bullies often committed suicide.

It's 3 AM and I am standing outside my hotel in Tokyo. The massive Shinagawa Train Station is directly across the street. I cannot sleep because my body clock tells me it is early afternoon in New York. I walk across the street and enter the train station. The warmth of the bright neon lights probably attracts the reptilian part of my brain, and I am hoping that a coffee shop may be open. The cavernous station is quiet. Earlier in the day, when tens of thousands of commuters filled the many halls and platforms, the station resembled a human beehive and testified to the efficiency of the Japanese public transportation system. Now only a few maintenance workers could be found scattered around the station, and all the coffee shops were closed. I would be meeting with the minister of education in a few hours but could not stop thinking about all the children who committed suicide because they could no longer face bullies.

Why do bullies exert so much power over children? The obvious answer is fear but this insidious problem has grown much more complex in the Internet Age. The classic bully of yesteryear threatened bodily harm if his or her demands were not met, but today's bully need not display physical prowess or be surrounded by a group of equally pernicious thugs. Cyberspace has found room for cyber bullies and many children are victimized in the once safe environment of home. Many Japanese students who committed suicide complained that they could no longer live with the harassment posted on popular websites. One teenage girl curled herself on a railroad track and ended her life under the steel wheels of an express train. She wrote a suicide letter complaining about all the people who joined a discussion board about her. She could not believe that so many people "hated her."

I continue my walk and stop at an overpass. Below me sets of parallel rails head north and south from Tokyo. I watch a high speed train head north and think about the young girl laying in a fetal position on the tracks. She could not withdraw from the pressures to conform to a homogenous society, so she withdrew from the world.

The pressures to perform well in school and in the workplace are a reality of life in Japan, and few options are available to students and young adults lacking the social and emotional skills necessary to survive in such a competitive arena. I spoke with a social worker and college professor assigned to the Tokyo school district, and she informed me that mental health services are not readily available to troubled young people. If a young person seeks mental health support, they are usually referred to a mental institution. In a country in which success and appearance are the priority of most families, a visit to a mental institution is not a viable or convenient option. Anti-depressants are not easily available or often prescribed, and mental health problems are viewed as a shameful weakness.

"So what happens to young people who need help?" I asked.

The college professor informed me that many young people enter a state of self-imposed exiled called "hikikomori." They retreat from school and society and stay inside their homes.

"Over 1 million young people -how do you say 'engage'?-in hikikomori," the professor added.

But it is hard for young people to stay idle for long- even if they are confined to the relative safety of a bedroom. Japan is one of the world's most wired countries and has a ratio of 1.5 mobile phones for every person. The Internet and instant messaging provide immediate electronic communication, and, in the case of fragile young people, a virtual realm to interact with nefarious strangers. Young people seeking the solace of a friend are often referred to Internet sites that provide detailed advice concerning efficient ways to commit suicide. Sometimes suffering teenagers and adults form suicide pacts over the Internet. They only leave the safety of hikikomori to meet and to kill themselves.

I cross the train track overpass and walk down a flight of stairs. The platform is bathed in an eerie hue of blue light. I first assume the low intensity lighting is a cost saving measure, but later learn that Japanese railway operators are installing special blue lights above station platforms to reduce suicides. Blue light is supposed to have a calming effect on people and, according to Shinji Hira, a psychology professor at Fukuyama University, "blue lights could make people pause and reflect." Shinning blue light on people suffering from the blues would be comical if it was not being used as a practical solution to deal with suicide-particularly teenage suicide. How about providing mental health services to young people before they stop to "pause and reflect" on a train platform? How about initiating tough anti-bullying laws in Japanese schools? Many of the young people who committed suicide complained about the futility of dealing with bullies, and few bullies are expelled or suspended from school.

It's now almost 4 AM and I start to walk back to my hotel. Business people are starting to enter the train station and another day will soon dawn. My thoughts return to the girl left hanging from a tree. The hangman's noose was designed to provide a more humane execution by snapping the neck quickly. It is a very intricate knot that requires a series of loops and ties not easily learned or mastered by the young. The girl who killed herself because she could no longer face the harassment of bullies most certainly did not know how to make a hangman's noose. She died a slow and painful death by suffocation.

Bullies are better at tying the knots that strangle our children than untying or cutting the ropes they weave. That is why no one stepped forward to cut the young girl's rope.

I return to my room and once again glance at the news headline reporting the record number of student suicides in 2008. The year 2008 was the Year of the Rat, a most appropriate animal for bullies that kill.

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I am sitting in the back seat of a polished black sedan accompanied by four Japanese men wearing copycat dark suits, white shirts, and navy blue ties. The chauffeur is a rough looking man and he is wearing a pair of white gloves. I am heading to a meeting with the governor of Chiba Prefecture but feel as though I am the unwilling passenger in some Japanese gangster movie. The car's trunk is large enough to accommodate my American body, and Tokyo Bay can be seen in the distance.

The man sitting in front of me is the governor's secretary- the person responsible for my timely passage to Governor Matsuzawa's office. He is a thin and pale man with a serious demeanor. He frequently snaps commands at the driver and then points to me.

The secretary turns around to face me. "I tell the driver that you must be at a meeting with the governor in 10 minutes. We cannot be late."

Japanese civil servants are punctual and efficient workers, and they strive to please their superiors. The governor's secretary is a very capable and loyal employee, and he is clearly frustrated with the congested traffic. The stress on the first vowel of every word makes the Japanese language sound abrupt and authoritative, and thus the secretary appears to be scolding the driver. The driver occasionally glances at me in the rearview mirror. He shows no emotion. My other driving companions stare blankly ahead, seemingly oblivious to the secretary's aggravation. I learn quickly that an alpha male emerges whenever two or more Japanese men meet in formal situations, and the governor's secretary assumed this role the moment we entered the car.

A half dozen people are waiting in front of the Chiba State Office Building. One takes my shoulder bag, another gives me a nametag, and a third directs me inside the building. As I enter the lobby more people are waiting and each bows politely. I return their bows, only to watch them bow again. I'm not sure if I am expected to bow again. The childhood game of "tag" enters my mind and I do not want to be "you're it!" when the bowing ends. I enter an elevator and quickly bow to the crowd before the door closes.

A Japanese news crew is waiting outside the governor's office and the governor's secretary informs me that my meeting with the governor will be televised on the nightly news. "You can watch at 6 PM," he tells me.

Before I meet with the governor certain protocols must be followed. I am first taken to a greeting room adjacent to the governor's office and served hot green tea by two young female staff members. The ladies bow as they enter and exit the room. I bow as they leave. I sip the green tea and wait for my interpreter to arrive. I am surprised to discover that very few Japanese speak English. Japanese students are taught English throughout primary and secondary school but, similar to their American counterparts who are taught Spanish for many years, few Japanese students apply new language skills outside the classroom.

A neatly dressed and courteous interpreter enters the room and apologizes for being late. Her name is Ayame and she tells me that I may call her Ayame. I tell her that my name is Tony and she may call me Tony.

"I will be your interpreter and hope to do a good job," she said.

I assured her that she would do an excellent job and extend my appreciation for her help. She appears nervous and I can't say that I blame her. Interpreting for the governor of Chiba must be an intimidating request. The culture of the office is male dominated and she has not been served any tea. I pass her one of the full cups of hot tea ignored by my male associates. She smiles and the men look at me askew.

The governor's secretary leaves for a moment and then returns. "The governor is ready to see you."

I am expected to enter the governor's officer first - a customary sign of respect for the "honored" guest. The governor has a warm smile and a firm hand shake. I am relieved that he did not bow. He is a handsome man who exhibits celebrity charm. I later learn that he lived in Maryland for a few years and worked in Washington, D.C.Three chairs have been arranged in front of the governor's desk and another tray of hot green tea is placed on a small table. The media crew proceeds to the far end of the room as the governor, interpreter and I sit in our assigned chairs.

I hear only the garbled sounds of a foreign language as the governor speaks to me.

" Kon-nee-dess O-genki-watashi- desu wah-tah-she kee-dess- so jaba Chiba so -meek jaba-cho solo ... ah jaka kor-ee to haa-jee-the-eh shee-moss-oh (pause) jaka kor-ee-to ah beb-hoy doh-zo ray-gah-too eh go-men-mah-sen United States eh deh-wah arh-ree-gah-toh (pause) desu-she-dess men-nah say toy-reh-wah dess-kah Japan chee-wah-kon oh-no-wah hah-jee-desu gen-kee-kah (governor points to pictures on the wall) ah she-dess-kon Chiba O
doh-moh men-nah-sih."

I glance at my interpreter.

"The governor says 'Good morning and welcome.'"

What? All those words had to mean more than just good morning and welcome.

"Is that all he said?" I asked.

"Yes," she answered proudly.

"Please let the governor know that I am much honored to be invited to visit Japan and to meet with him. I am eager to learn about the Japanese education system-particularly how special education students are taught and what dropout prevention strategies are applied. Please also let him know that I find Chiba to be a beautiful area of Japan. Please tell the governor that the only thing more beautiful than Chiba is the Japanese people."

The interpreter faced the governor and spoke softly. " Kon-nee-chee-wah."

The governor looked at me with a smile. "Kon-nee-chee-wah," he replied.

"What did the governor say?"

"Hello," the interpreter replied.

The three of us looked at each other; I assumed it was my turn to speak and decided to use a different strategy. If many words elicit a brief response, then maybe a few words would elicit a lengthy response.

I faced the governor and said, "Dropouts?"

My interpreter looked at me for clarification. I repeated my one word question and she translated.

The sound and cadence of certain foreign languages has a hypnotic effect on my brain, and I begin to feel comfortably sedated while listening to the governor's response.

" Geb-kee-day kah-dee-oh oh-nah-mah- dess-key? Gen-full-kah... wah-tah-no Chiba eh...no-dess shee-no nah-mah jee-meh-the- Doh-zo hah-meh-jee en Japan mosh-the gen zo-zo gen-kee men-mee-sen hah-jay (pause) too-say-chee oh-hah-go zig-mah-chee deh-reh-wah oh-ha-yo go-moss hah-nah she-sen-men (governor waves his right index finger) no-gen-key-say Chiba-eh-Tokyo soo-mee-mah kee-dess zo-doh-mah-seen... tah-kah-oh hah-nah see-nay-yah wah-kah-rey ah-boo! Oh-yah en soo-mee-ha oh mosh jee-meh-teh en Chiba."

Wow. That was an earful. The governor was very animated and talked about the growing problem of Japanese teenagers leaving school and doing nothing with their lives. In fact, this complaint will be repeated by education officials throughout my visit to Japan. The thought that Japanese students drop out of high school and spend their days playing video games or drawing anime cartoons surprised me. I brought with me a set of biased beliefs which included the conviction that all Japanese students graduate high school (with high grades) and go to college. My preconceived notions are largely the result of countless media articles touting the Japanese system of education.

I wonder what causative factors are contributing to the emerging problem of idle Japanese teenagers. The pressure to succeed, rigid classrooms, bullying, and a Western 1960s style of teenage rebellion are some of the reasons cited by Japanese education officials. The Japanese, it appears, are a people losing some of their cultural identity. A respected elderly education official lamented the erosion of the traditional Japanese nuclear family and the generation of "lost young people" left in its wake. Sound familiar?

Translation is a difficult task. Words do not always move parallel across a plane of mutual understanding or a linguist's tongue. Some words will always be lost in translation. But today whatever words are lost in translation are quickly replaced with a sincere concern for a nation's future. Japan still has one of the lowest dropout rates in the industrialized world, but I am told "the rate increases each year."

And it is not difficult to translate the implications of these words.

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