I was sitting in a meeting last week, planning a major teacher
leadership initiative with some smart colleagues, when I had one of those
moments in which the correct word--the word I needed--got stuck in the murky
recesses of my (admittedly aging) brain. I wanted to describe the process of
distributing work...dispersing work...a starts-with- "d" word... in
which tasks are dispensed, doled out, delivered, or disseminated to others. Duh.
*&^@#! What was the word?

Kathy, sitting next to me: "Delegate?" Bingo! And then she suggested that the reason I
couldn't retrieve the word immediately is because it's not part of my habitual thinking
process, not a word I value or use constantly. "Language is truth, you
know" she said, shooting me a Meaningful Glance.

Well. I've been brooding about this for a couple of days
now, trying to recall other tip-of-tongue words that have eluded me lately. The
only example I could remember was talking with my husband about burnished
language used to obscure less-positive meanings-- pre-owned vehicles,
red-shirted kindergartners, not-yet-proficient--that sort of thing. The word
refused to pop into my mind...it starts with an "e"...  Right. Euphemism.

There are actually terms used to delineate this impaired word-retrieval
phenomenon. Dysnomia--or dysnomia's more
serious cousin, anomia--or (my
personal favorite) lethologica. Psychologists
refer to it as "Tip of the Tongue Syndrome" (TOT). And Kathy was
right--it does have something to do with one's shovel-ready vocabulary versus words
and ideas used infrequently. Perhaps I am not particularly good at delegating--or
willing to put a good verbal face on an objectionable concept.

In education, it's hard to draw a bright line between the
specific language of professional practice, sloganeering, genuine words of
inspiration, and loose, habituated-in-lazy-thinking speech. I was reminded of
this in a recent conversation with an amazing young teacher, working in one of the
poorest schools in Alabama. While she was pursuing an undergraduate degree in
education, several of her friends whose majors were in other fields were
applying for highly selective "teaching fellows" programs. Some of them
are teaching in at-risk schools now, and feeling underprepared and overwhelmed
(a condition mitigated by the appealing prospect of a full ride in grad school).
 "What makes me different?" she
asked. "Aren't I 'teaching for America,' too--even though I don't get
scholarship money or prestige?" A poignant question.

Language matters--especially the things we say without
thinking, the concepts that embed themselves in our brains via the readily
accessible words, idioms and metaphors that shape our collective judgments and
beliefs.

Race to the Top.

Relentless Pursuit.

In the Trenches.

Widgets. Outliers. The Surge. Core Knowledge. Bolder and Broader.

 And now we're
being asked to rethink the branding and glossary of No Child Left Behind, a kind of corporate flush to rid us of the
unpleasant whiff of whole cities full of left-behind children, scientifically
based curriculum kickbacks, and yearly progress that isn't even close to
adequate. Most teachers I know think this is the ultimate pig-in-lipstick PR
blah-blah. (Although it will be a
relief when they take down the insulting, plastic-y red NCLB Schoolhouse--which
looks like someone grafted a Bob Evans restaurant on the great, gray Department
of Education building.) Still, language matters. And so does change.

Retrieving the right words for the new name may be
tricky. We are out of practice in using the vocabulary of empowerment and
developing human capital. Building Capacity. The Audacity of Thinking We Can Do
Ed Policy Better. I'm still working on my suggestion, but the word that keeps
popping into my head is: Investment. Nations whose systemic education results are
uniformly impressive invest continuously in people. And we should, too. No
euphemisms, and lots of hard work.

I need some time to think about it. I'll be hiking the
Appalachian Trail.

Images: Linearsix and OhioNewsHound