This morning, as I was flying home from Chicago, where I spoke to the Modern Language Association about Common Core, the blog registered more than 9 million page views. The blog started in late April 2012.

Thank you for reading, thank you for tweeting, thank you for sharing with friends, thank you for commenting and joining the conversation.

How to account for the interest in the blog? I attribute it to the amazing energy of readers who share stories (with links) from their hometown newspaper and who come here for solace, support, inspiration, collegiality, and an open discussion about issues that matter to them. I attribute it to the fact that the blog has a point of view–I support the preservation and real reform of public schools, and I respect the men and women who work every day to educate the nation’s children. I attribute it to the fact that the blog welcomes dissent, so long as it remains within the bounds of civility.

The blog has become a clearinghouse for parents and educators seeking support and allies as they oppose privatization and punitive legislation and mandates. Readers have kept me informed about big events in different states and cities, and I, in turn, share what I learn from you.

As regular readers know, I write the blog without any assistants. There is no paid staff. Just me. When there are spelling or grammatical errors, they are mine, and they are usually the result of either haste or auto-correct. Just yesterday, the words “out in” appeared as “Putin.” I am grateful to readers for pointing out my mistakes.

A friend asked me the other day what I was doing to “monetize” the blog. I said “nothing.” I don’t want advertising or subscriptions. This is what I want to do. Nothing more or less.

Over these past months, I have blocked a small number of people for violating the simple rules of the blog.

They are:

1. No cursing, although an occasional “damn” or “hell” is tolerable. I have deleted comments that exceeded the bounds of civil behavior as defined by me.

2. Argue and disagree all you want, but no malicious accusations or vitriol. Some might slip through but if it is habitual, go elsewhere.

3. To sum up, my blog is my virtual living room. You are welcome. I expect you to say your piece, however you choose, but in a civil tone.

Now let’s go for 10 million!

As you may know, I was born and raised in Houston, Texas.

I am third of eight children.

My parents were both Jewish, as am I.

Yet every year we celebrated Christmas.

Is this puzzling? It wasn’t at all puzzling to me and my siblings.

Every Christmas, the family bought a Christmas tree, and we all joined in decorating it with lights, ornaments, and tinsel.

Every Christmas morning, we woke up like a noisy tribe about five a.m. and rushed to discover that we all had presents under the tree.

Why did our Jewish family celebrate Christmas?

To begin with, my parents had been born into observant Jewish families. My father was born in Savannah, Georgia, where he was the youngest of nine children and the only boy. He was spoiled rotten, left high school without graduating, and tried (but failed) to make it in vaudeville as a hoofer and comedian. My mother was born in Bessarabia and came to America at the end of World War 1 as a nine-year-old girl with her mother and little sister. They traveled on a ship (the “Savoie”) loaded with returning American soldiers, then made their way to Houston to meet my grandfather, who was a tailor and had come to America before the war broke out.

What my parents wanted most was to be seen as “real Americans.” My mother was especially zealous about wanting to speak perfect English (she arrived speaking only Yiddish). She was very proud that she earned a high school diploma from the Houston public schools. In her eyes, real Americans celebrated Christmas. So, of course, we had a tree, and we believed that Santa Claus brought the presents. There was no religious content to our tree and our gifting.

We went to public school, where we learned all the Christmas songs. We went to assemblies and sang “Silent Night,” “Joy to the World,” “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” and all the other traditional songs. I knew I was Jewish, and I usually hummed certain words instead of saying them, but nonetheless I loved the songs and I love them still. I was never offended by singing Christmas songs at public school. It was what we did.

Of course, my siblings and I went to Sunday School at the synagogue, and my brothers were bar mitzvah. I was “confirmed,” which was a ceremony that occurred at the end of tenth grade, when we read from the prayer book as a group.

I should add that we started every day in public school with a short reading from the Bible, over the loudspeaker, followed by a prayer and the recitation of the Pledge of Allegiance.

I was okay with the Bible reading, the prayers, the Christmas songs. I was also okay with our family putting up a Christmas tree while belonging to a synagogue and practicing our Jewish rituals and holy days.

I committed one major faux pas as a result of my upbringing in two religious traditions. On one occasion, when I was about 12, the rabbi at my reform temple invited me to join him on the altar and say a prayer. I said “The Lord’s Prayer,” the one that begins, “Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name” prayer, and there was some awkwardness afterwards. I had no idea that I was saying a Christian prayer, drawn from the Gospel of Matthew, in the synagogue! I had heard it hundreds of times in school. I think I was forgiven my error. After that, the rabbi was careful to propose a specific prayer from the prayer book for children who were invited to speak from the altar.

Many things have changed, and I understand that. But when I go with my partner to midnight Mass on Christmas Eve at the Oratory of St. Boniface in Brooklyn, I am glad I know the words to the songs. I learned them in public school in Houston. I look around and am not surprised to see a fairly large number of other Jews from the neighborhood, also joining in singing the songs with the choir. It is Christmas. It is a time to celebrate peace and joy and goodwill towards all. We can all share those hopes.

In a post this morning, I said I was doing a book talk at PS 15 in Red Hook, Brooklyn.

I gave the wrong date!

It will be December 11, NOT December 9.

I should have said:

I will be holding a book talk at P.S. 15 at 71Sullivan Street in Red Hook, Brooklyn, on December 11 from 5-7. No lecture, just conversation. Read the book first. If you live in New York City or anywhere nearby, you are welcome to attend.

To Readers,

Thank you for your good wishes.

I am on the mend. As you may have noticed, I have not stopped blogging!

I am on blood thinners and blood pressure medication. I had a pulmonary embolism in 1998, and I am lucky that this time the blood clots in my legs did not turn into a pulmonary embolism, which is life-threatening.

My spirits are good. I will be holding a book talk at P.S. 15 at 71Sullivan Street in Red Hook, Brooklyn, on December 11 from 5-7. No lecture, just conversation. Read the book first. If you live in New York City or anywhere nearby, you are welcome to attend.

On January 11, I will be speaking at the Modern Language Association annual conference in Chicago about Common Core. It was supposed to be a debate with David Coleman, but he informed the MLA that he had to attend a meeting elsewhere that weekend.

On January 16, I will speak at Fox Lane School in Bedford, New York, at 7:30 pm, to superintendents, school board members, and the public about testing and Common Core and other issues.

On January 22, I will be speaking at the University of Florida in Gainesville.

On February 1, I will speak to the Kentucky School Boards Association.

On February 3, I will speak to the New York City Performance Standards Consortium

On February 11, I will be in Raleigh, North Carolina, to speak at the Emerging Issues Institute

On March 1, I speak in Indianapolis to AACTE. After I speak, I fly to Austin, where I will speak to the first national conference of the Network for Public Education in Austin. The conference will be held on March 1 and 2. I speak on March 2.

March 3, I speak at the SXSW in Austin about standardized testing.

Much more in store for the balance of the spring!

I intend to slow down, occasionally smell the roses, and try to stay healthy.

Let us be thankful for life and health.

Let us be thankful that we live in a free and democratic society.

Let us be thankful for the parents who love and cherish their children.

Let us be thankful for the children, filled with dreams and hopes and the joy of childhood, and let us pledge to protect them.

Let us be thankful for the educators who help children and young people grow, develop, learn, and come to love learning.

Let us be thankful for those who are able and willing to defend the rights of children to have a childhood.

Let us be thankful for those who defend the right of all people to live a life free from want, free from fear, free from insecurity.

Let us be thankful for the parents and educators who fearlessly defend the children in their care against those who want to experiment on them.

Happy Thanksgiving to all who read these words.

I accidentally hit the send button and posted a mysterious W

Think of it as a question: Why?

Last week, I invited the advisory committee of the Network for Public Education to hold its first face-to-face meeting at my home in New York City. After an all-day discussion, I invited everyone to do a walk-through of the house, which is a wonderful old brownstone in a landmark neighborhood.

In my fourth-floor office, I pointed out old family and professional photos. Julian Vasquez Heilig asked if he could take a picture of my second grade class at Montrose Elementary School in Houston. “Go ahead,” I said. Little did I know that Julian would turn the photo into a contest on his blog, asking readers if they could pick me out. So far, no one has.

As it happens, today is a big birthday for me. I am 75. I have never felt embarrassed about my age, whether I was too old or too young. I still have huge reserves of energy. I am passionate about the work in which we are all engaged, the task of protecting public education for future generations of children and preventing its privatization.

The great thing about reaching 75 is that I have no ambitions. I don’t want a job. I don’t want to be appointed to anything. I don’t care about prizes. I want to do the right thing. What I want is to live in harmony with my conscience. I want to know that I have done my best every day to advance the cause of better education for all children. I want to tell the truth as best I know how, without holding back. I want to be honest about my mistakes. I want to be quick to admit when I am wrong and quick to apologize.

I could be a better mother, a better grandmother, a better partner to my partner. I could be neater. I should exercise more. I can think of lots of ways I could be better as a person. But it seems to me that at this point, the die is cast. I am who I am. I am 75. I have a great life. I love what I do. I still have plenty of work ahead of me. And I plan to be around long enough to see the terrible scourge–high-stakes testing, teacher-bashing, top-down authoritarianism, profiteering, privatization– that is now afflicting American education come to an end. It will end, and I want to be with you to pop the cork and sip champagne when it does. Bad things don’t last forever. Stay around for the time when we will all celebrate together. It is starting to happen now. The public is getting wise. Everything the corporate reformers try or impose is failing. Soon even they will see what we see.

Every day, every month, every year brings us closer to the day when the status quo collapses, and we can focus on what matters most: children–each of whom is unique–and genuine education–which means far more than test scores.

My greatest birthday present is knowing that there are students, parents, teachers, principals, administrators, school board members, and tireless citizens across the nation who are taking a stand and making a difference.

If you want to do something for me to help celebrate my birthday, today and in the future, take action: join with others to insist on doing what you know is right; speak up; write a letter to the editor or the President; live in fidelity to your professional ethics or your commitment to the well-being of  your child; think of other people’s children as if they were your own, then act. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Do not do to others what you would not want for your own child.

As Vaclav Havel wrote long ago about another country, “live in truth.” Make our democracy work for all of us.

This poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins is one of my all-time favorites.

I first read it in college and decided to memorize it. When I was feeling down, I would take walks around Lake Waban and recite it out loud. I don’t know if it made me feel better, but it was my ritual.

This poem is about death and life, fear and hope. Is this “informational text”?

Spring & Fall: to a young child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What héart héard of, ghóst guéssed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.