On Single Mothers, Sex, and Making Choices

For four years I taught an introductory course called “Women’s Literature and Issues” at an independent high school in Augusta, Georgia.  The type of school and location is important.  Being independent, this school allows teachers to create courses, get them approved, and then, pending student enrollment of eight or more students, teach the course. Augusta, Georgia is worth noting because this is a conservative state and community.  Not just conservative politics.  To wit, there is a wildly popular program called “Social” here.  Starting in sixth grade, parents enroll their children to learn manners and various ballroom dancing throughout the next five years.  If you are among the elite, you will be selected to be in Cotillion – that is, you will be a student-teacher and then at the spring formal that is held yearly in the convention center, the girl will wear a white bridal type dress and present the best dances with her carefully selected be-tuxed partner.  Probably a partner her mother lined up for her back when she was in third grade; that’s when a mother approached me asking if my eldest would be her daughter’s social partner in middle school.  Because of the educational opportunities afforded by my school and in spite of the socially conservative traditions of the community at-large, I had a strong enrollment in a course that reviewed women in history and literature, as well as discussed the issues of women in the Middle East and across the world.  When I accepted an administrative position, something had to give – it was this class.  Well, evidently, I need to get back at it.  Too many comments and articles have crossed my screen recently about single mothers and feminism for me to stay silent.

Item One:  A New York Times Article: “Single Mothers With Family Values” http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/27/opinion/sunday/single-mothers-with-family-values.html?_r=0

The thrust of the article is that family values are found primarily in Christian and Republican tradition. Not so.  Any single mother who is caring for herself and her children values her family, regardless of religion and politics.  To be fair the article notes a couple of democrats, a libertarian, and a Hindu.  However, the article centers on women who have embraced Christian and conservative ideals as a path to success.  The article notes, “Ms. Maggio credits God, not government assistance, with helping her climb out of poverty.”  Say what? This woman reportedly went from welfare to a six-figure banking career, and she is unwilling to give a nod to the assistance that helped keep her off the street?  Even more disturbing:  she doesn’t take any credit for her own, presumably, hard work or business acumen in the rise. 

Okay, so one can argue that if a person wants to credit God with their success, she is entitled to do so.  Granted.  However, her refusal to give any credit to assistance or herself can incriminate women who do take credit for pulling themselves up by their bootstraps.  Women who are smart and hard-working are being discredited by women who refuse to take credit for their accomplishments.  The implication is:  tithe, credit God, and it will all be okay.  Oh, let me mention that she is now married – that’s another perk of this self-effacing paradigm. Work hard, use government assistance, take and give no credit to anyone except God, and then you’ll have riches and a husband. 

I’m getting a little queasy.

Item Two:  Another New York Times Article:  “Sex on Campus: She Can Play that Game, Too.”  http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/14/fashion/sex-on-campus-she-can-play-that-game-too.html

Women are hooking up on campus with no intention of finding Mr. Right or even pursuing a relationship.  Women want to do their own thing and have some uncommitted sex in their free time.  Dandy.  Men have been doing this for millennia.  However, there is a woman, Susan Patton who “wrote a letter to The Daily Princetonian urging female undergraduates not to squander the chance to hunt for a husband on campus, say that de-emphasizing relationships in college works against women.”  To be specific, Mrs. Patton suggests that, “For most of you, the cornerstone of your future and happiness will be inextricably linked to the man you marry, and you will never again have this concentration of men who are worthy of you.” 

Oh, dear.  Well, luckily Princeton is not handing out MRS degrees.  Certainly, many of us meet future partners in our college years.  We might debate whether or not that is a good thing.  However, the suggestion that it is incumbent upon young women to find a husband in college in order to secure the “cornerstone of …happiness” is ridiculous.  Many women do not want to marry.  Of those that do, a great many will divorce.  Furthermore, why is the advice to snag a smart wife not being given to men?  It would seem that the suggestion is that men can be successful on their own while women need a smart husband in order to succeed. Why, oh why, is a successful business woman (who, incidentally did not follow this advice in her youth), foisting such a load on younger women?  People  – regardless of gender - need to be educated and mentored to make informed decisions about marriage and relationships.  And, they need to know that they can be successful without a partner.  Marriage is not required.  Mrs. Patton – sit down.

I definitely feel nauseous.

Item Three:  The stay-at-home mom vs. working mom debate that has been aired nationally on television and in print media.

“What do you do all day?”

“Your children will be drug dealers and prostitutes unless you are home with them.”

“Must be nice to have the whole day to yourself.”

“If you give up your job, you’ll regret it forever.”

“If you stay at your job, you’ll regret it forever.”

The dialogue can go on and on.  The more it goes on, the more vitriolic it becomes.  I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for a grand total of ten months, plus summers when I was a classroom teacher.  The rest of my career, I have been a working mother.  I had my first child in the first five months of my first job. 

Web MD reports, “In a 2005 study, the U.S. Census Bureau reported an estimated 5.6 million stay-at-home moms. That is a 22% increase from 1994.  ‘It used to be more popular and widely accepted for moms to work,’ says Cara Gardenswartz, PhD, a clinical psychologist in independent practice in Beverly Hills, Calif. ‘There's been a backlash, because right now, there's actually more status to not be a working mom.’”  I take issue with Dr. Gardenswartz’s assertion.  I think the prestige of being a stay at home mother is highly dependent upon the area of the country one lives in and the profession in question.  Here in the South, there is a definite wealthier class perception that if the mom works there is something wrong with the family.  This is not something that I encountered when I lived in the suburbs of Chicago. 

One of the original points of the women’s movement was to validate and open up opportunities for women to have careers.  This point continues in the current-day conversation of salary equality and glass ceilings.  But, stay at home moms and working mothers have taken each other on in a battle that vilifies everyone.  Isn’t the point here for women to have choices in a wide variety?  But women have too long tried to prescribe ways of living for other women rather than encouraging each other in our different pursuits.

This idea is illustrated well in this clip from the movie Mona Lisa Smile that I used to show in my women’s lit class.  Joan (in white) has been grappling with wanting to go to Yale Law and wanting to be married.  Her art history instructor, Miss Watson, has spent the semester encouraging the girls in her class to make their own choices (so she believes):

Several important points rise to the top here:

1.       Ladies, if you are a single mother, you deserve a lot of credit.  Take it.  Take a bow.

2.      Men and women, you do not have to get married.  Unlike in the board game Life, it is not a requirement.  Having a partner is an option.

3.       There is a myriad of choices available to everyone – explore them. Take charge of your choices.  Don’t coast through marriage and family decisions on some kind of default setting.

4.      Rather than telling others to marry or not to have sex or to join a church, help others think through how they want to live.

I feel better now.

A True Friend

It is rare to find a real friend. The cliché is that a real friend will do anything for you.  I disagree.  There are all kinds of real friends. And, it has precious little to do with the number listed on your Face Book page.  (I have 1013 friends, according to Face Book - I beg to differ.)

And, I got to thinking:  what kind of friends are there?  I don’t believe in fair weather friends.  If a friend is only there for fair weather, he is no friend at all.  I took stock, and I have a few friend “types” based on my own experiences that may speak to your experiences, as well.  This is not meant to be all-inclusive, but rather a sampling that may inspire you to appreciate your friend groups as much as I do mine.

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Case #1:

The friend who will stay at your hospital bedside when you are both four hours from home. He has a wife who is wondering why he isn’t getting home from chaperoning a school trip, but he stays there with you while he comforts your 9^th grade son, who is worried out of his mind, and talks your husband into actually traveling because you are about to have emergency surgery.  This friend stays there and then borrows a car and drives your son home, both of them amped up on energy drinks, and he comforts your kid the whole four hours. 

We can also add that despite what seem like dire circumstances to you, this friend has the presence of mind to take a hilarious picture that lives on despite the fact that you were dying in the moment. 

(Yeah, that’s me in the bed.)

Case #2

This is the friend who was there in college.  You were both there and are both here now.  Perhaps one or both of you remembers more of college than the other, but you have a common history that is undeniable.  Perhaps that history has more than one narrative of unpleasant fraternity mixers and desperate study sessions.  Maybe you also have had a game or two of racquetball during which you both needed to blow off steam.  The kind of steam that can only be blown off if one yells the “secret” word to one’s sorority really loudly, really late at night in a really deserted athletic center. 

The cool thing about this friend is that she shows up years later.  And then even more years later.  And, in fact, you realize that she has been a strength and support even though you thought she was invisible.  It has actually been a mutual support.

Case #3

There is a friend who you never really thought was a friend, at least not in high school.  You were doing your thing and she was doing her thing.  And never the two did cross.  Except maybe in advanced English class or world psychology or some other esoteric subject whose teacher fancied himself rather fancy.  This is one of those friendships that takes up and puts down and keeps an even keel.  It’s fun.  It’s clever.  It finds common ground in adulthood.  It is as real as one that has been there all along.  In fact, it has been there – you just didn’t realize it.  Maybe she didn’t either.  But, no matter – it’s there now. 

Case #4

This is the friend who has always been there.  Through thick and thin.  Sure, you’ve let each other down, but you can pick up tonight even with a six month silence sitting there between you.  She talks.  Then you drink.  You listen.  Then you drink. Then you switch.  Then you drink some more.  This is the tried and true friend.  Perhaps since high school.  Perhaps since college.  Maybe since last year.  You know. She forgives.  She knows.  You forgive.  You have history.  it’s all there. 

Case #5

There is a friendship sprang from professional endeavors; we work together.  We have common interests in (choose one or more):  politics, children, spouses, social agendas, social interests, books, music, movies, TV shows.  We have drinks when we can.  We text.  We chat.  Sometimes we compare parenting notes, but often we are on different pages there.  Sometimes we have different books.  Still, we respect each other’s approaches and ideas on family life.   

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I appreciate each of my friends – as individuals, as types in a category, as just plain friends.  In Russian there are many words to designate “friend” – it all depends on the person’s relationship and perceived relationship to the speaker.  Of course in any language, there are as many “types” of friends as there are days in a year.  But, no matter what categories you use – or, if you give everyone their own category, it’s the time of year to take stock.  In the end, it is the friends and the relationships that make our lives. 

Listen Up, People!

I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. 
Most people never listen.  

 (Ernest Hemingway)

An alarming trend is evident among the American populace.  People are repeating themselves.  Over and over and over.  You get the idea.  For example, today I had a conversation with my next door neighbor.  She repeated the exact same information four times to me.  I responded every time in an appropriate manner using reflective language and answering her question.  Four times. 

I do not know why she felt the need to repeat her concern.  I do know that I notice such repetition a great deal in all forms of communication.  Perhaps the key lies in that word “communication.”  Are we so communicatively overexposed that we can’t let an idea concern or complaint go until we are sure someone has not only heard us, but also commented on our status and liked it and shared it?  Tweet and retweet. 

This week (it’s only Tuesday, mind you), I have gotten two telephone calls and one email from a parent regarding the exact same issue.  I have responded in a prompt and consistent manner to each correspondence.  Why must this parent ask me the same thing in three different ways?  Does she believe I will invent a new answer for her amusement each time? 

As an English teacher, daily writer, and avid reader, I do contemplate individuals’ ability to concentrate long enough to really listen and respond authentically.  I probably do blame test messaging and Facebook and other social media for the decline in attention spans.  But, also as a teacher, I have immense faith in human beings’ desire and ability to connect with our fellow beings.  Why, though, must people repeat their ideas?  This has been the age old lament of any teacher who has ever attended a faculty meeting. 

Please bear in mind that I have taught in three different states, six different school systems.  And, this, my friends, is a typical faculty meeting scenario:  one teacher will make a suggestion, and at least three others will offer the exact same suggestion with slightly varying verbiage.  One more teacher will pose the same idea as some sort of perverted rhetorical question.  Such redundancy has been the bane of my existence since the start of my education career, and a primary reason why I drink.  Teachers are the worst at sitting still, listening, and responding meaningfully.  It is disconcertingly ironic.

But now, this trend has seeped under the faculty room door and out into the real world.

Distressingly, I am the president of our HOA.  (As a sidebar, let me just say that if you ever get the idea to be the president of your HOA, do yourself a favor and strike your own wrist over and over with a hammer until you snap out of it.)  Each meeting we have is like the movie Groundhog Day.  The same people; the same complaints; the same emails are sent; the same neighbors ignore the same emails. 

Perhaps, though, I shouldn’t point a finger at the speakers.  Maybe the finger should be pointed at the listeners.  As many times as I have encountered repeaters I have also met the unlisteners (sounds like a Dr. Who villain).  These are the people who ask you a question and fail or refuse to listen to the answer.  After you have responded to their inquiry, these people then plaintively say, “What?”  They fully expect you to repeat your answer rather than having required themselves to listen to the answer the first time around. 

So a few old-new guidelines of speaking and listening etiquette:  If you have something worth saying – say it.  Meaningfully.  To someone who needs to hear it.  Or to someone whom you want to hear it.  Then leave it alone.  Something worth saying needs to be said only once.  Say it well and be gone.  When a colleague or neighbor makes a good suggestion or has a nice idea, commend them on it – do not repeat the idea.  If you ask a question, actually engage yourself to hear the answer and retain said answer.  Who knows, you might find you like listening as much as Hemingway did.  Or, you might find yourself talking to someone as interesting as Hemingway.  If not, you can always have a drink.  Cheers!

Read Between the Lines

I remember the days when my three boys took turns (unwittingly) telling me:

a) how beautiful I am

b) how wonderful I am

c) how they will buy me a mansion and diamonds when they get older and they will go to work and I can stay home and watch cartoons all day

d) how I am the best mommy in the world

e) all of the above

Today was not that day.  Yesterday wasn’t either.  In fact, those days are long gone. 

Today is a new day. 

Here is a sampling of what I’ve had today:

Key:      AJ = son #1  (age: 20)

            CD = son #2  (age: 18)

            NG = son #3  (age: 12)

To be fair:  these are all approximations of sentences or exchanges that happened today unless noted with quotation marks.  These are in no particular order.

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AJ:  Did you know there’s a psychological disorder that you can develop when you have one awesome parent and one loser parent?

NG:  (when I asked why my hip was hurting):  “You are old.”

CD:  My friends worry if you will be in a good mood at school.  (Note:  I am always in a good mood at school as far as anyone knows!)

CD:  Do we have to have a Russian test tomorrow? 

CD: Who won the donuts any way?

NG:  I have a social studies quiz tomorrow.

NG:  (when asked about studying for above quiz):  There’s no quiz.  Who told you that?

AJ:  Massage school and bartending school sound good.

CD:  I am Don Quixote.

NG:  You don’t really know English, do you, Mom? (disbelieving look from me)  Well, I mean, not middle school English.

AJ:  I think a Jack Keroauc kind of traveling around thing would be cool.  (As long as it’s not Chris McCandless, ok.)

CD:  I totally have a good shot at Cornell.

CD:  I’m never getting into Cornell; just sign me up for community college now.

NG:  You don’t know Spanish, Mom.

CD:  What?

CD:  Good just exploit me; I don’t care.

AJ:  Volunteering around the world would be cool.

NG:  I was sad…and perturbed.

CD:  (when told his aunt broke her toe)  Hee hee. Swift.  No, seriously, is she ok?

NG:  I am special.

CD: (in a Snape voice) "Since you’re not doing anything productive (as I type this blog), can you quiz me on this?" (handing me anatomy notes)

NG:  But that’s not what inquisitive means.

AJ:  I hope not.

NG:  I did wash my hair.

CD:  I am magical.  Like a unicorn.

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I think if you read between the lines you can still see the original phrases, hidden here and there, having taken on a bit of a different shape.  The boys are communicating in their own ways.  People tell you things.  Weird things.  Unrelated things.  Incomprehensible things. At unexpected times.

It’s all important.  Listen.  It's all magical.

Parenting, Punishment, and Protesting

Did you know that in the great state of Georgia it is possible for a parent to bloody a child's lip and chip his teeth with closed-hand blow to the mouth, and the police will decide that because the child was talking back to the parent, the blow is an acceptable form of punishment?  Did you also realize that in the great state of Georgia if that same child attempts to fight back or strikes the adult, it can be decided that the child is the one committing the crime?  Never mind that the child is cornered by an adult twice his size with the adult grabbing and twisting the child's arms to "get him to settle down."  Never mind that the adult in question is the child's parent.  Never mind that it is the nature of pre-teens and teens to talk back as they stretch their wet wings, getting ready for the flight into adulthood.  Never mind that parents should have a host of tools in their arsenal for dealing with the host of issues that arise.  Oh, and in this case, let us throw in that the disagreement that led to the argument that led to the blows that led to the cornering began with the child sharing some opinions that the parent simply didn't like.  

Maybe this kind of thing is at the root of protesters at pride parades and festivals around the country. Maybe the protesters feel that the people who attend pride events are sharing something about themselves that the protesters don't like.  So, since they can't strike a physical blow to the mouth of the pride attendees, they attempt to strike a mental or emotional one.  Maybe the thought process goes something like this:

1.  Pride attendee:  I want to attend this event to have fun, be happy, and communicate who I am.

2.  Protester:  I don't like who this person is.

3.  Protester:  I want to hit this person because he is different from me.

4.  Protester:  I can't hit this person because I might go to jail.

5.  Protester:  I will protest with a vitriolic sign and shout mean slogans to try to harm this person.

I don't know.  I don't think like this.  I want to believe that people in general don't believe that literally or figuratively popping someone else in the mouth will make the injured party change their ways or agree with the attacker, but history proves me wrong.  Indeed, the root of the vast majority of local and global conflicts start with one group deciding that others should not be different.  

Here's the thing:  in the great state of Georgia a parent doesn't have to employ the fourth and fifth lines of the thought dialogue.  A parent can simply decide that he does not like the child's opinions. Then, if unsuccessful in changing the child through argument, the parent can hit the child in order to silence the child or attempt to force the child to the parent's way of thinking.  In doing this, the parent has not committed a crime.  Even though in the above thought dialogue, had the protester decided to hit the attendee, he would most likely be charged with a crime.

I am the mother of three boys.  Over the years they have told me thousands of wonderful, silly, witty, alarming, scary, tear-soaked, clever, mundane, sad, worrisome, joyous, pride-inducing, and just plain old fun things about themselves.  Never once in any scenario has my first thought been to strike them.  No matter how earth-shattering the announcement was (although it is incredibly hard to surprise me), have I ever thought, "I don't like that.  I'm going to hit you."  What kind of person does? 

The history of corporal punishment in Georgia schools is still being created because it is still legal.  In fact, corporal punishment is legal in 19 states nationwide.  In Poland corporal punishment in schools was outlawed in 1783.  Georgia state code has three sections that regulate corporal punishment in public schools.  Yes. These are laws about the proper situations, people, and settings in which corporal punishment should be administered in a public school setting.  If there are laws regulating who can strike the children in this state when they are at school, it may be no wonder that a bloodied lip and chipped teeth are seen as a perfectly fine form of parenting. 

Here’s the thing:  no matter their ages, our children will have enough bumps and bruises in their lives. The world will beat them up pretty good - it is not our parental duty to prime that pump. We don't need to inure them to the pain of the world.  No matter who a person is, he will get his lip bloodied in life.  More than once.  Parents need to love the kids when they are smelly and weird and silly, and even and especially when they tell us something we might not want to hear.   We should model how we wish the world would be:  accepting and wonderful and loving.  It is our job to teach children that the world is a wonderful, fascinating, wildly varied place where, yes, they will see a protester along the way, but where, ultimately, they can be their wonderful, fascinating, wildly varied selves. 

McJobs

Someone once said that everyone should work in food service for a year.  I don't know exactly why that someone made that pronouncement, but there's truth there.   Why?  What does working in food service do for a person?  Gives you insight into the human condition: greed, jealousy, fear, kindness, evil, sadness, joy, meanness.  You can see it all in one day if you work at least an hour.  Some hyperbole there - probably won't catch all of those states if you only work the hour prior to opening or after close.  Ok, still some hyperbole, but man, do you see a lot when you work in food service.

I attended a professional conference last week during which the presenter asked if any of us had ever had "McJobs."  I hadn't heard that term before.  I had, however, worked at McDonald's for two and a half years.  Add in two seasons at a food stand at the Iowa State Fair and about six months at Hardees, and I have done my time in food service.  Still, I had not heard the term "McJob."  A quick glance at Wikipedia tells me that "McJob (sometimes called joe job) is slang for a low-paying, low-prestige dead-end job that requires few skills and offers very little chance of intracompany advancement."

I am not going to say that I enjoyed working under the golden arches (or at any other of the above-mentioned places), but I am going to say that as a teenager in the 80s, I felt like I was paid okay; I made friends; and I wasn't looking for advancement.  I was looking for some money to go to the movies or buy ugly earrings and stone-washed jeans.  It wasn't fun.  Well, it was fun the one time we had a rat the size of a small terrier run through the mall store.  It was also fun the time I scared my friend Kathy when she thought she was alone breaking down the shake machine, and she almost wet herself.  That was fun.  I never considered myself degraded by working there. I had to be on time, cheerful, follow a script of service, but there are standards in every job.  Standards don't degrade people - they require a mode of behavior that hopefully one will learn from and rise above.

I learned how to serve food to all sorts of people, with a smile, and quickly.  I learned the ins and outs of keeping things clean, of staying busy (or looking busy).  I learned that there are people in the world who will buy and freeze McDonald's hamburgers and reheat them at home.  I learned that you don't mop the owner's shoes and tell him "Out of the way, Big Daddy," when he's in a foul mood.  I learned that you do, in fact, refill the lady's fries when she complains the packet isn't full even though you watched her eat nearly all of them and then come back up to the window.   I don't believe my self-esteem was brought down because of working in fast food.  At the time, I made friends of varying ages and varying interests; almost thirty years later, some of them are professionals, some of them are clergy, and one is a truck driver. 

Of course, upon reading further in Wikipedia, this term is being applied to adult individuals who are working in such jobs now.  The term "McJob" is even in the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), and there has been controversy surrounding it. McDonald's employees were asked to sign a petition asking OED to remove the word. Many of those employees felt that the term was so accurate that they refused to sign. Is it demeaning to those who work in fast food or restaurant settings?  Does McDonald's treat entry-level employees badly?  Is there little chance for advancement in that company?  Well, I don't know how it is now; I have only my own now outdated experience to go on.  But, I can tell you my what happened in the drive-through yesterday at McDonald's.

I was welcomed by the sound of the microphone clicking on.  A pause.  Then, a terse, "Well?"  I placed a small, unspecific order, to wit:  a cheeseburger and a small diet Coke.  I was told the total and the microphone clicked off.  I pulled around (there wasn't anyone in front of me, so I had no wait time), and was greeted by a sign that read, "Thank you for having your payment ready."  It wasn't.  But, I fished out the two dollars and change and paid.  No words were exchanged between the cashier and me.  I smiled and pulled forward, having now resolved not to speak first but to see if the food delivery window person would speak.  She handed me my Coke and turned her back on me, resting her butt on the edge of the drive-through window.  She chatted with a co-worker as I waited. I should have had my payment ready within two seconds, but I was now to wait with a rear-view for company.  The wait was short, perhaps two minutes total.  She handed me the little bag with my cheeseburger, and I was off.  No words.  No thank yous.  No have a nice days.  No come agains. 

I do realize that working part-time as a teen is different than full-time as an adult. I do not want to go down Back-In-My-Day Lane; however, it seems to me that no matter what one's job, one can "mcjob" it if one wants to.  One can refuse common courtesy; one can demand speedy payment and provide unspeedy service; one can put one's rear-end on the windowsill of any job. In each job I have had - from newspaper route to McDonald's to classroom teaching - I have learned skills and been able to apply them in the next job.  Regardless of the actual setting, McJobs might be many fewer if employees take their rear-ends off the drive-through windows and get to work. And, that might even apply to our lawmakers right about now.

Killing Time

See what is happening?  As I hung up the phone at 4:10, that is exactly what happened on my office wall clock.  Time fast-forwarded for exactly 24 hours and the clock was then "reset."  I didn't make this happen; I looked up and it was spinning.  I have two witnesses lest any of you think I was drinking or hallucinating on the job.

My youngest announced, as only a burgeoning middle-school nerd can, that it was a paradox.  "You know, Mom, when The Doctor crosses his own timeline."  Right.  "And, anyway Mom, you know time isn't linear." Right.

Well, son, time feels pretty linear on  many days.  Many parents at my school will say in awe and with a little bit of regret that they can't believe their child is in whatever grade he is in.  My stock response for them is, "Isn't amazing how young people age but we stay the same?"  This remark is usually met with a polite chuckle.  But, really, what can you say?  How about: "I can't believe it either, and with every year, we are all a year closer to the grave."  Doesn't seem quite the right response, does it?   Perhaps, "Well, children grow and mature and we get old and die and they take our place."  A little grim again.  We all have days when we feel older than we are. Hopefully, those are outweighed by days that we feel younger or just right.

I have always had trouble remembering how old my friends are.  I may know their birthdays, their life stories, their most intimate secrets - I can remember all of those, but age?  Who cares?  I don't pay attention to that. If you have ever told me your age, chances are you are still that age in my book.  If I've never known your age, chances are good I will put you right around my age.  When I was a little girl, I once knew that my grandmother was 57.  She is still fifty-seven, a full two decades after her death. My mom is fifty-five, and no, it doesn't matter that I'm 46.  Of course, I can do the math and figure out people's chronologies; I'm not that dense.  Time does pass, and people do age.  I just don't keep track of it very well.  A blessing or a curse? I'm not sure. Just this morning I was asked when I met my dear friend, Kathy.  In Mr. Drish's physical science class in 9th grade - when I was fourteen.  Whoa.  Kathy and I have been friends for...um...thirty-two years?  How is that possible?  I don't feel old enough to have known someone for that long.  The thing is, there is truth in my son's statement.

When I was in the classroom full-time I did read alouds to my classes.  Nearly every day started with a couple of pages from a book that took most all of the semester to read.  One of my favorites to read aloud was Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom.  The chapters were just right to kick off a class, and often Morrie's ideas paralleled discussions that we were having in class.  One of those ideas was that although we are all a certain age at any given moment, we are also all of the ages we have been up to that point.

That's a great lesson for teens who often feel the fun of their childhood has slipped away and what they have to look forward to is years of slaving.  It's okay to not be mature all the time.  Go play in the yard; ride a bike; fly a kite; make mud pies.  It's an even greater lesson for mortgage-paying-car-repairing-child-rearing-supper-making adults. You have all of the ages you have already been inside of you.  Time passed isn't lost; it is stored within us.

Pride and Prejudice

"So, I'm going to drop all my classes except one and work full time."

Huh?

Over the many years I have been a teacher and counselor, I have heard and seen it all.  Well, let me tell you "it all" has a new tenor and shape and color when you hear it from your own child.  Granted, he's not a child, but when I heard that opening sentence - or some approximation of it - from my eldest son I stayed composed.  I listened.  He talked.  I asked a few questions.  Then, I engaged in a wrestling match.

Pride.  Mine - not his - reared its ugly head. And, after a few minutes, the wrestling began.   My son -  who went to college 15 hours away from home; having applied only to that college; having earned four scholarships to help pay for that college; having joined ROTC to continue paying for the out-of-state tuition; for whom I had taken (and am still paying) a parent loan to be at that college - was changing his plan to include much more working than studying.  This kid, for whom I worked in private school for ten years so I could afford tuition so he could get a good education (not always easy to do in Georgia) so he could go to college so he could for all intents and purposes drop out of college?  No.  In my mind you go to college, you get a degree, you get a job, you then...um...work?, then you maybe one day retire in order to enjoy life?  Wow, that fizzled out fast.

In my opening remarks to high school freshmen and their parents, I actually say some version of the fact that high school is not a means to an end.  It is to be enjoyed for its own merits, as is college because if one thing leads to another leads to another and then another, where are we?  We are dead.  Life should be enjoyed.  I enjoyed all seven years of undergraduate and graduate school.  He is not. 

But, my pride suggested that my children should follow the path that I foresaw for them.  A path that I myself trod years ago.  Furthermore, pride suggested that I would look bad if my son didn't stay in college, graduate in four years, and become a productive member of adult society.  I counsel parents whose children want to take a gap year or transfer colleges or take a semester off that, "Everyone has his own path."  I am right.  I am right even and especially when that someone who is creating his own path is my son.  I am right even though I am a college counselor whose job it is to help students find a group of good colleges, apply to them, be accepted to them, and matriculate to them.  Everyone has his own path.

Not "everyone has his own path that his mother needs to approve."  Not "everyone has his own path that should match everyone else's path."  Not "everyone has his own path that is constantly clear and understandable to others."  Everyone has his own path. Period.

If I believe that for the students and families I work with, I have to believe it for my own children as well. I am right.  Life is meant to lived and enjoyed, not suffered through. There is a problem here though: as much as I want him to live and enjoy life, I also want him to be productive.  I want him to have a career or job that he can parlay into a way of living that he wants.  Part of the American parent's dream is that our children have even better jobs and better lives than we have.  We tend to forget that if we really want this, our children may not follow our paths.  They may need to forge into woods with a machete, a muddled transcript, and their own ideas.  They may need to create their own paths without regard for parental pridefulness or prejudice.

My mother used to say, "We don't care what you grow up to be.  If you're going to be a garbage man, just be the best garbage man you can be."  Excel in whatever you do.  My son has embraced the ideas of living, going to college (or not), working, creating his life on his own terms.  I know him.  He will also excel.  On his own terms. 

We all want our children to be happy and successful, but many of us have assigned our own definition of happiness and success to our children. Things are not the same today as they were in 1987 when I was twenty years old.  My son is not me.  Might my pride want him to stay in school full-time and tough things out?  Yes.  But, is that what's best?  Not necessarily.  He is working.  He is taking one class (I think).  He is paying his own bills.  He has an idea of how to move forward on his own terms.  He seems more relaxed and pleased to be making conscious decisions about his own path. If I can't be proud of that, then perhaps it is I who should rethink a few things.

"We're so busy watching out for what's just ahead of us

 that we don't take time to enjoy where we are."

 (credit: Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson)

On Unessentials and Parenting

It might be time for me to tap out.  Mainly because, well, I’m tapped out. 

“I would give up the unessential; I would give my money, I would give my life for my children; but I wouldn’t give myself.  I can’t make it more clear…”  With these words, Kate Chopin’s Edna in The Awakening articulates my approach to motherhood.  And, it is precisely this attitude a led a now ex-husband to tell my then fourth-grader that, “Your mama should’ve never had children.”  I never believed that becoming a mother meant I had to give up my interests or my brains, and the men I married seemed to feel that I should have done so.  I know women who have given up their identities and time and friends and sexuality and preferences - almost everything - in order to mother their offspring.  I have not.  I have adjusted some activities and interests over the years to accommodate children, but I have not abdicated myself in order to parent.

About eight years ago I met a man who was on the verge of getting married.  He and his wonderful wife have become good friends over the course of the years.  When I met them, my children were 4, 10, and 12.  I was home.  A lot.  I liked being home and making suppers and watching cartoons and going to the playground.  They liked going out and having a drink (or three) and hanging out until late at night.  Now, the roles are reversed.  My children have grown and theirs have been born.  They have a kindergartener, a preschooler, and an infant.  They like staying home and making suppers and watching cartoons and going to the playground.  I would like to go out and have a drink (or three) and stay up sort of late.  It is an interesting reversal.  I like them particularly because I am reminded of the happinesses of young children, but  my house has the happinesses of  [mostly] young adults and teens.

Here’s the thing:  if you did the word problem above, you have figured out that my children are 20, 18, and 12 now.  I am past the fun of picking out tonight’s healthful supper or the weekend’s playground activity.  After working all day, I don’t mind coming home, having a piece of cheese, a cracker and a grape.  All well and good, but not for a twelve year-old.  So, I am still forced to ponder “what to have for supper.”  And, the fact of the matter is: I don’t care anymore.  I have aged out of being the mom who plans supper, does laundry for everyone, or checks all your homework. 

I don’t care because I have spent nearly 21 years earning the money for, buying and making or procuring healthful dinners, packing lunches, arranging play dates, checking homework, brokering friendships, doing laundry, having meaningful conversations after school, tucking into bed, saying prayers, shuttling to soccer practice. I am inordinately happy that my youngest son (just started middle school) does not bring home weekly artwork or requests for empty milk jugs for a class project.  I’m kind of tired of being a mom for those who need such things.

I am, however, totally on board to be the mom who gives relationship advice, college major guidance, suggestions on where to find good car insurance, and acceptance to friends and lovers of all different persuasions.  I’m not happy that I have to hound middle school son to get his homework done, but I’d rather do that than be required to attend one more birthday party for Dr. Seuss at son’s elementary school. I am also totally happy to be a support to my friends with younger children.  I love them; I love their children.  And then, I can go home and my kids aren’t that young.  And I love that.  I just don’t want to be the responsible mom anymore.  Eat crackers and squeeze cheese and Gatorade for supper – I don’t want to care.  But, I still do.  It feels like a weight.

This past year on spring break, all the boys were gone.  I was alone.  I was sad for about half an hour.  And then I wrote.  I painted my bedroom.  I forgot to eat meals.  I played with the dogs.  I watched too much “Sex in the City.”  I forgot to eat again and had chocolate milk instead.  I was at home.  I was okay.  Not blissfully happy – who is?  Not depressed and lamenting the days when they were really young and really needy – was that really fun? But, I was okay.  I only had to do my laundry. 

I am totally happy with a weekend filled with books, a little yard work, and some poetry.  My twelve year-old would like to do things. Kid things.  Twelve is a hard age.  You’re a kid but you’re not.  You want to be left alone but you don’t.  Furthermore, eighteen year-olds still need to eat.  And study.  And sleep.  And eat.  And study.  And sleep.  So, I still feel the responsibility of having a house that has supper every night and pancakes on the weekends.  But, I am really not “feeling it,” as they say. 

This is not to suggest that I don’t want to do things with them.  I can get excited to go for laser tag with several middle school boys - once in a while. Middle son likes to eat out and go to movies; that’s fine.  Eldest is at college, so he’s out of the picture for most of the year.  When he comes home, he likes to eat and talk.  Okay.  I absolutely love hanging out with them, doing different things.  Just, please, dear god, do not make me decide what’s for supper or pack a lunch or do load of laundry or agree to babysit the class gerbil over the holidays.

So, the facts are:  middle son goes to college next year.  Eldest son is doing his thing.  But, youngest son and I have a solid seven more years together.  I need to find a way to spend time with my youngest that is meaningful for him (and for me.)  Perhaps we should take up a hobby together?  Karate?  Birding?  Dog training?  Painting?  But, the thing is:  he loves Dr. Who and Minecraft.  I love poetry and wine.  We will definitely need to meet in the middle. 

I am completely invested in where middle son goes to college – it’s a job requirement (I’m the college counselor at his school) and I’m his mom.  Another personal statement?  Sure.  How about a little anatomy quizzing?  Okay.   A rant about the ineffectiveness of student government?  Um, son, have you read the news this week?

I like talking to eldest son about his most recent incarnation of the college experience. If someone can come up with more ideas and not fully execute them, I would like to know who it is.  But, if you want a great sandwich a little debate on Middle Eastern politics and a really wonderful smile, may I suggest a visit to the Iowa City Which Wich?

If the dinosaurs and little green army men and Barney episodes of yesteryear weren’t really my thing, being a parent to older children is my thing.  My boys talk to me about many things, and I am not shocked or offended.  I am not a mom who is looking forward to all her children being gone, but I’m also not dreading it.  I have a lot to do, a lot that I want to do.  None of it involves growing old or being on parent boards at my kids’ colleges or planning weddings or waiting for grandchildren to materialize.

So, how does it all end?  It doesn’t.  It goes on – with different incarnations for different people.  It’s all a function of time, isn’t it?  As human beings we adjust gradually to different life circumstances.  If we don’t we will be miserable and lonely no matter what stage our children are in. Still, I’m tapping out of the young-parent stage and moving quite happily into the more-of-my-children-are-adults-than-not stage.  I really don’t care what anyone eats for supper, and everyone can do his own laundry.  I’m going to read and have a glass of wine.  Then, we can see about some laser tag and a movie.  

Volunteers or Victims?

(credit:  The Onion, September 30, 2013)

When was the last time you volunteered for something?  I have to say:  it’s been a while.  Many of the people by whom I am surrounded, however, spend a great number of hours volunteering.  They mentor children; they organize used eyeglass drives; they repair homes of the disadvantaged; they sing at nursing homes; they collect umbrellas for the homeless; they organize fun runs to benefit, well, to benefit anyone who needs benefiting.  I am talking about volunteerism among teenagers.  Around our school and others like it, volunteering is not a sign of altruism among the privileged or concerned young people of our nation.  I want to be able to tell you that the young generation that I work with on a daily basis is actively concerned with inequities and despair around them.  I cannot.  However, I can tell you that they are very concerned with their college applications and how they appear. 

The majority of the teens with whom I have interacted over the years have simply been interested in benefiting themselves through volunteering or creating various do-good endeavors.  When I ask a high-schooler about such an activity that appears on their activities list for college, I am often met with a blank stare.  I go on to say, “You know, the three charity drives you sponsored to raise money for homeless children’s school supplies?”  “Oh, right. Yeah, well, my mom kind of made me do that.” 

Say what?  While I might have thought that this is a local issue, a few years ago the College Board actually had a synthesis essay question that asked high school juniors in Advanced Placement Language and Composition to read six documents and formulate a coherent argument for or against required volunteering.  Required volunteering?  Like jumbo shrimp or efficient bureaucracy?  A paradox, surely. 

There is a question on more than one college application that asks, in all seriousness, “Does your school require service hours for graduation?”  Required volunteering.  Have we devolved so far that service and volunteering must be foisted upon young people, upon old people…upon anyone?  There seems to always be a contingent of people in the community for whom service is a calling.  They volunteer because they are so moved.  I suspect the argument is that young people won’t learn the value of such service without some kind of requirement.  Perhaps.

But, like any people, young people get so much more out of activities they enjoy.  Maybe their time is taken with three varsity sports a year.  Maybe they are on the main stage throughout the school year.  And, perhaps, they are the kind of student that really needs every minute to keep up in school.  But, there are those whose true calling service, and I believe that should be honored, not forced.  We don’t force students to perform on the stage; neither are students forced to go out for varsity sports, so why are we taking something that is intrinsically rewarding and assigning extrinsic value to it? 

Teachers and parents and motivational speakers tell our young people to follow their passions, and many of us strive to that same thing in our own lives.  I have an acquaintance for whom the local food bank is a focus of his free time.  It is not for me, but I’m happy to bring in some donations when our school does the food barrels.  I have a friend who sponsors a Girls on the Run group; I could not begin to run with a group of middle school girls, but I am happy to buy a treat or ticket to support the group.  Just as we adults find our own ways to contribute to our communities, perhaps we should encourage our students and children to do the same.

I am happy to report that by and large the cartoon from “The Onion” is hyperbole.  We see more of such swindling from our adult population, as in the Farmingdale man who solicited funds door-to-door for a fake MS charity this past summer, and last year when a couple plead not guilty to falsely claiming their daughter had cancer and raising funds for her fake medical care. Let our students be who they are:  the athlete, the artist, the mathematician, the fundraiser, the writer, and the performer.  Let’s not try to make everyone a little bit of everything.  We all have our strengths and interests; if we quit insisting that our young people be and do everything, we encourage authenticity for al,l and we might just feel a little better about ourselves along the way.

Public Speaking and Shoes

I went to a mini-conference today.  It was sponsored by a multi-national company and related to my job field.  The presenter removed his shoes repeatedly and inexplicably during the session he gave.  He also committed several deadly sins of professional public speaking, according to the commandments that I didn’t realize I have been creating over the years.

   This presenter removed articles of clothing during the talk.  Specifically, the aforementioned shoes.  I don’t mind if a man removes his suit jacket or a woman her sweater, assuming there are appropriate articles of clothing underneath.  While this presenter did have socks on, it was not appropriate to remove his footwear in this professional setting.  There may be professional settings where it would be appropriate:  a surfing convention, a podiatry talk, a pedicure training meeting…but, an educational testing talk?  Nope.

Laura’s Rule One:  clothing remains in place during professional talks. 

Violation of Rule One results in a loss of credibility.

     He clearly approached two of the female participants with nightclub-type intentions, intonations, and questions.  To wit, one of those women is a colleague of mine, and we were looking at senior pictures of her daughter prior to the start of the conference.  The presenter took a passing interest as he moved about the room, but then he came back.  He asked my co-worker if the girl in the picture was her sister.  He then gushed about the girl’s beauty.  Granted, both my colleague and her daughter are attractive women.  But, no.

Laura’s Rule Two: do not “hit on” or otherwise make lascivious remarks about or to anyone in a professional setting.

Violation of Rule Two results in loss of credibility and a possible quick search on the state sex offender registry.

    I really didn’t need a ten minute (no hyperbole) talk about the efficiency of this presenter’s sixth grade social studies teacher.  Now, an admission:  had this story played into an important point in the presentation, I would withhold judgment.  It did not.  I am not.  Also, I understand the idea of starting a presentation with a short, relevant personal story in order to create empathy.  But, then, it’s time to move on.  Professional presentations are about the subject matter NOT about the presenter.

Laura’s Rule Three:  do not add in extended personal stories or information just to extend the presentation or to try to ingratiate yourself to the audience. 

Violation of Rule Three results in loss of credibility and extreme annoyance and a constant checking of the wrist watch or cell phone to check the time.

   “Harvard had a twelve percent admission rate last year.”  Well, no, no it didn’t.  It was right about 6.2%.  I corrected him.  He smiled lamely and removed his shoes. 

Laura’s Rule Four:  Know your shit. 

Violation of Rule Four results in loss of credibility and a serious questioning of all other information presented thereafter.

    He really needed to present information in an organized manner and with real facts and figures.  Making stuff up does not impress anyone.  Also, just because you have a PowerPoint does not mean you are organized.  Pseudo-organization is no organization at all.

Laura’s Rule Five: be organized, stick to the plan, know your shit.  (Yes, that last one bears repeating.)

Violation of Rule Five results in loss of credibility and a chat among the participants at the break and the whole car ride home about how all of the information could have been presented in about 30 minutes, and then we could have gotten coffee before returning to school.

I am pretty sure I have more rules than this, but in the interest of brevity and organization, I will end the rules here.  For the moment. 

As a person who speaks publicly on a regular basis to my colleagues, students, their parents, and total strangers, and as a person who has spent decades of time presenting information in a classroom setting, think I have a pretty good handle on this.

Really, I suppose we could boil some of this down to an observation:  you don’t need fine clothes or a fancy hairstyle or the latest technology to present well.  You just need to keep your shoes on and know your shit.

What, Me?

Today everyone is worried.  At school, teachers are worried about the long stretch that is called midterm.  My seniors are worried about college application essays and deadlines and decisions and homework and majors and life and okay, well, the seniors overdo it a bit.  Falcons fans are worried that the Saints are now 4-0.  The country is worried that the government shut down.  Israel is worried that Iran is developing nuclear weapons.  Okay, well, maybe worried isn’t the right word for the Falcons fans, but you get the idea.  What are you worried about? 

I confess:  I rarely worry.  Okay, so I was a little worried when I got up this morning and realized I didn’t have a lesson plan for my 7 am Russian class. I thought about it in the shower, printed off a page before class, and reviewed grammar with students during class.  It was "all good."  No, I don't like that phrase, but it all worked out.  I also don’t like the phrase that people who express paragraphs of worry and end their verbal essays with:  “Oh well, it is what it is.”  Right.  So, why did you just spend your breath and my time to express everything that is pressing on your mind and heart simply to dismiss it?  It’s either important and let’s talk about it or it’s not. 

A number of years ago, I experienced panic attacks about everything and about nothing at the same time.  I would be in the grocery store, almost ready to check out, and boom!  I had to push the cart to the side and leave without a word to anyone.  Something was worrying me. To this day, I don’t know what it was.  Medication was overrated, and meditation did help.  But, now I just can’t seem to muster up the energy to worry. 

Clearly, I might have a future in government because few of those lawmakers seem worried about the immediate effects or the fallout that the governmental shut is having and will have.  The etymology of the verb “to worry” seems appropriate here:  there are several languages this word hails back to, and all of the meanings have to do with strangle or rope.  (About what we might be feeling towards both sides of the aisle in Washington right now.)  Still, I see little point in worrying actually.  Things have a way of working themselves out:  from college admissions to fifth grade spelling quizzes to governmental shut downs – what will worrying contribute? 

So, as you watch too much CNN or FOX or as you stare blankly at your computer screen that beckons you to write that essay or report, remember worry doesn’t help, but getting to work just might.  Now, if only our lawmakers could do the same.