Bragging Rights

Spoiler Alert: I do a little bit of bragging in this blog entry, and if that may be eyeroll-inducing for you, I suggest you come back another day. Don’t worry, as a teacher, I am pretty sure a frustrating, or humbling drubbing is due any hour now.

Anyway, this last week there was a special luncheon here at KA to celebrate those students who, in our first six months of operation, had accrued zero MOPs. What is a MOP, you may ask? It is a clever acronym for Missed Obligation Points—a demerit system that is so all-purpose it is awe-inspiring. If you think about it, almost anything in a school setting is an obligation—from dress code, to punctuality, to respectful attitudes on the playing fields to behavior in the dining hall, or attentive work on homework—the mind reels from the many obligations one faces in a school.

In the beginning of the year as our Dean of Student Life announced her canny system, she stated that all the students who earned zero MOPs would enjoy a special dinner at some time. Back in the days of “Scratch,” one seriously wondered if there might be any student who could sustain the clean slate of MOPs. Some teachers handed them out like droll criticisms, hewing closely to those models of drill sergeants.

About a month ago, a student asked the Dean when this special dinner would take place (he obviously had not forgotten her pledge for a special meal!)—and the Dean decided February 18 would be the day to celebrate those students (I could use the military expression, “the few, the proud” as well). About two weeks ago the Dean announced in a school meeting the names of those students who would be so honored, and there were 30 names! So in the first six months of school, truly, 30 students out of 108 managed to attain the status of “Zero MOPs.” The Dean also announced that each student would receive an invitation to bestow upon an adult mentor on campus. The invitation read as follows:

Dear Mentor,
You are cordially invited to attend the ZERO MOPS luncheon with me on February 18 at 12:30 p.m. in the side dining room.

The luncheon is in my honor and I would like to share this moment with you, as you have been a teacher, mentor and guide to me in my first semester. I have chosen you to attend the luncheon with me because you have believed in me, helped me to be a better student and challenged me in many positive ways.

This is a small way for me to acknowledge your impact on my life and to thank you for supporting me as I find my way here at KA. Thank you,


I got invited to the luncheon! In fact, I received seven of these invitations from among the students who had remained MOP-less. It may sound silly, but it was very meaningful over the next couple days, as these students signed his/her name to this invitation and offered it to me in various stages of earnestness and giggles. Let me tell you about these seven students who kindly chose me as their luncheon partner:

Adel—Before the certificates had all been given out, Adel came over and said, “You will probably get a lot of these but I want to be the first one to invite you.” Adel is a special guy—he looks like a mini-businessman at 15, and lives on my floor as well as enlivens my classroom. Adel is among the most courteous young people you will meet—a dozen times a day offering salutations and smiles, and making sure I don’t need any more Pepsi or snacks. On his desk in his dorm room is a great photo of him with His Majesty, taken last year when the King came to a luncheon to greet the newly admitted students. Adel has a proud, honest air about him, and while he would never disobey a rule, if the dorm hall is being communally punished for filth or something, he is always the first to jump in and start cleaning. A team player and a soulful young man.

Rashed—Somewhere in the last month or so he must have seen a movie with an African-American church choir in it, because he has taken to shouting “Amen” every time he is happy. I’ll see him in the dorm hallway and he will bellow, “Class was great today, Mr. John! Amen, Mr. John!” When I read his homework assignments he wants to help my over-40 eyes, and he will capitalize and underline the points or facts he is most proud of. He has a smile and zest for learning that make him utterly delightful.

Farah—If you remember the blog entry just after my birthday, I mentioned a student who worried I might be a little homesick on my first birthday in Jordan, and so she wrote me a comforting and thoughtful card. I don’t think a week has gone by where she hasn’t thanked me for coming to Jordan—she said, “I needed to learn to think. It is hard, but worth it.” She knows all the names of my family members in the US and asks about them often.

Jude—This enthusiastic dynamo is from Cyprus, and has endeared herself to everyone in these first few months. When schedules got shifted around a month or so ago, I almost lost her to another history teacher, and I realized how attached I am to this kind soul.

Ghaida—When I watch her in class, she practically quivers with excitement! Just this morning we were working on an essay, and she wanted to find the right noun to express what she wanted to say. We looked in the dictionary, we tried out several words, and she didn’t rest until she felt satisfied. Then she said, “I’m not sure if that is right yet. I’m going to do what you said the other day—I am going to ruminate about it!”

Thaer—Here is a young man who just a few months ago fretted about every single grade (or mark, as they call them) that graced a quiz, homework, or test. Finally we had a heart-to-heart, and I told him he was “banned” from asking about grades for two months. He could ask me how I thought his learning was going, but no talk about grades allowed. He complied, and his work sharpened, his grades rose, and last week when I showed him his ‘A’ semester grade (in a private meeting) his eyes welled with tears. I guess his learning is going okay!

Hamzah—This is the young man whose skills and virtues I extolled in a blog entry in November. He is more full of wonder about learning that anybody ought to be allowed to be. The joy in his eyes as we discuss a Renaissance painting, or as he understands a document is not to be overstated.

These seven invited me—we had our own table at the luncheon on Monday. Our table enjoyed the status of being one group together as we enjoyed a hearty Lebanese Mixed Grill. I hoped that they did not feel cheated—simply because everyone else was one teacher and one student, and here I was with a grand showcase of wondrous youth.

A week or so ago the Dean came to me and said, “Okay, since the most students asked you to the luncheon, I guess you get to be the one to make a speech!” Maybe she thought it was a pseudo-punishment, but I am Mary Martha’s son after all! I agreed, and hoped to express my appreciation at these stunning students.

One of the things I learned from my mother about giving speeches—work hard on the writing of it, go over it and polish it, and then deliver it from the heart, as if it is extemporaneous. She perfected that skill. I just try to follow in those footsteps.

Here is what I delivered at our luncheon:


I am sure I speak for all of the adults in the room, when I say we are honored to be among you today. We are honored not just because you have accrued zero mops—it is what that “zero mops” means to us that is so striking.

By earning no mops, you made choices. You chose to be punctual, you chose to be respectful and kind, you chose to set the kinds of goals we imagined our students might set.

And that is not an accident—you did not simply happen to earn zero mops—you made the kind of courageous choices that define you as students with integrity.

This week in my history class we are studying what it meant to be regarded a “well-educated man” circa 1300 in China, in Timbuktu, and in France. In each of the schools and academies we looked at, there were rules. Their rules bear an intriguing parallel to our rules at King’s Academy—they had their student handbooks, and we have ours. One of the teachers in China wrote that student rules were designed to develop patterns of behavior that would contribute to students’ future success. A teacher in France developed the word ‘integrity’ in an essay, so that he could explain what he hoped to cultivate in his students. The word integrity, as he explained it meant, “wholeness, soundness, perfection.” Each of these teachers had high hopes for what their students might achieve.

You bought into those same hopes here at King’s Academy. Like those schools in the past, we believe that school is not just a place to pass a test, but to practice making choices.

In my opinion, this integrity, this good character, is even more important than scholastic achievement, in that some of those academic skills and potentials may be innate, but good character represents the kinds of courageous choices you have made, and the kinds of goals you have set for yourselves.

In these historic first six months at King’s Academy, you have set a cornerstone for your future successes and we are honored to know you.