Once upon a time, there was a fearsome dandelion fighter. Every week, he rode a 20 horsepower mower across an immaculate lawn... a lawn manicured so carefully that when the neighborhood association whipped out its Home Depot measuring tape, no matter where they measured, his grass was exactly 1 1/2 inches tall. At the end of each weekly battle, the warrior strutted across his lawn with a hoe in hand and grubbed out each dandelion green that his weed and feed fertilizer had not killed.
Now next door to the lawnmower knight, there lived a young girl. Her favorite past time was to lay in the tall grass and weave dandelion crowns for Gracie, her dog, and Eddie Spaghetti, her marmalade cat. Every evening after the knight had retired to his suburban castle, she picked fluffy white dandelion heads and gently blew them across the knight's lawn. Then she closed her eyes and dreamed about a yellow sea of dandelions and all the beautiful crowns, necklaces and bracelets she would create for the neighborhood strays. It was an act of Gentle Rebellion.
Last Friday, I was lucky enough to attend a free professional development day at the Detroit Institute of Art. I had just spent three mind-numbing, soul-sucking weeks of teaching, grading, planning building professional development, attending leadership meetings, and teaching a weekly night class at a local university. Add parent-teacher conferences and some health challenges, and it was the perfect storm. I thought about not going. I wasn't feeling well. I could easily stay home. I was past exhaustion, but I went. The conference was on creativity, and I had been looking forward to it for weeks.
I arrived at the Detroit Institute of Art and was given a free copy of Say Something by Peter H. Reynolds, a free copy of Start with a Dot, also by Reynolds, a number of free art posters for my classroom, and a little museum notebook for note-taking. I nestled down into the lecture hall and mourned the cup of coffee I had left in my car. When Reynolds walked out onto the stage, one of the first things he said was, "Education needs gentle rebels. Lean outside the box without getting fired."
I forgot about my coffee.
He told his story. The one about doodling all throughout his school career...the one about his boundless energy, and the math teacher who changed everything for him. The math teacher who asked him if he had ever thought about illustrating math concepts. The math teacher who suggested he make an animated movie, and then helped him do it.
By the time Peter H. Reynolds was done speaking, I felt two things I hadn't felt in a while...alive and valued. I know I sound like I'm spewing sentimental drivel, but he reminded me of something I had forgotten. Once again, I had forgotten to take care of myself, and I had overlooked my impact on my colleagues and students.
His keynote was the start of a fabulous learning day. We learned how to use visible thinking strategies and art in order to teach empathy . We were given the opportunity to engage in deep conversations about art. We learned about creative exploration and used junk and stamp pads to create our own works of art, and then discussed ways we could use the same thinking and creating processes in our classrooms. 
We painted and drew, all the while brainstorming ways to incorporate creativity into our every day classroom lives.
The art institute filled our bellies with amazing food (no boxed lunches here), and we were given time to talk and think with the colleagues around us.
And throughout it all, Peter H. Reynolds sat with us, painted with us, talked with us, ate with us, and quite frankly, held up a mirror for us to remember our own worth and power. It was an amazing day.
When Peter talked about gentle rebels, I pictured the hundreds of dandelion seeds that float delicately from my yard into my neighbor's yard. Often times in education, initiatives are rolled out (like a steamroller), ideas are brainstormed (always makes me think of barnstorming), concepts are scripted and managed like a lawn cut so short that noone wants to walk on it because it's uncomfortably prickly. I was relieved when reminded that it only takes one whispering seed of creativity and belief to float into the fertile young minds in my classroom. I'll have a new crop of dandelions before I know it.
P.S. If you ever get a chance to hear and see Peter H. Reynolds present, do it. You won't be sorry. While you're at it, buy his books. All of them.
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