Just Another Brick in the Wall

There is a hullaballoo in my home state this week – well, it’s actually been going on for some time.  A school district has adopted a Standards Based Grading (SBG) system, and parents are outraged.  In return, teachers are defensive.  Outraged + defensive = never good.  I have read some of the news articles, the summary of the SBG that the district has adopted, some tweets from both sides, and I have some suggestions for everyone when it comes to school district or teacher practices or student performance.  

First, my credentials:  twenty-one years in education in three states in suburban and urban schools, in public and independent education; a mother of three: one who was top ten percent of his class and whose homework I might have checked once in kindergarten; one who is a solid student who takes on way too much but does it all well by saving much until the last minute or forming study groups; and, one who is diagnosed ADHD and just this week has begun passing middle school math. 

Second, a guiding principle that I have used my whole career as both a teacher and a parent:  the teacher is the expert on the material and instruction and the parent is the expert on the child.  Together, we educate the child.

Third:  Slogans don't help anyone, and every education-related analogy breaks down quickly.

Whether you are a parent, teacher, or student, I implore you to consider these basic ideas when you have conversations with the other constituents in education.

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Sticking Point:  Parents demand changes to a classroom, building, or district policy.  Teachers want to tell parents to get out of their classrooms.

Parents:  You have been through school.  Going to school does not make you a teacher, just as going to a doctor’s office does not make you a doctor.  Communicate your concerns clearly and politely.  Then, listen to the teacher’s/principal’s/superintendent’s response.

Teachers:  You have been specifically trained to educate.  Your job is not just to teach the students, but you must also teach the parents and community about what you are doing in your classroom and why.  Communicate clearly, consistently, and continually with all of your constituents.

Students:  Tell the truth about what the teachers do and say.  Also, tell the truth about your own work ethic and attitude toward the class or school in general.  

Sticking Point:  Parents feel there are too few or too many opportunities to re-take a test or to turn in late homework without penalty.

Parents:  If there is an allowance for a re-take or a do-over, this does not mean your child will fail in the workplace and end up selling crack on the street.  Education is all about do-overs.  (Anyone ever re-take Calc II in college?  How about Organic Chem?  Think about it.)

Teachers:  Students should be allowed to do-over some but getting to do-over everything is unrealistic.  Let students earn back a certain percentage of points missed; let them show you what they know.  Remember, homework is practice and assessments are chances to allow your students to show you what they know.

Students:  Study. Try. Pay attention.  In many classes in many schools it takes real effort to fail. Get to work.  Go for help if you’re lost.  Start a study group. 

Sticking Point:  Teachers don’t like the district grading scale  - or – Parents don’t like a teacher’s grading scale.  Different people want an A-F scale, others want 100-0 scale, others want a 1-4 scale. 

Parents:  It does not matter what grading scale is used.  If the students know it from the outset of the class, they can rise or fall to the occasion.

Teachers:  Be fair and consistent in your grading.  Know your grading scale (wherever it came from).  Remember that everything you do must have a reason, including your grading rubrics. 

Students:  Don’t pretend you never read the syllabus.  Most teachers read it aloud to you and had you and your parents sign it.  If you are ever confused about the grading or you think something has been mismarked – go in after school, privately to talk to the teacher.  Do not try to haggle out your grade during class.

Sticking Point:  Parents are upset because some homework isn’t graded or weighted as they feel it should be.

Parents:  Some homework is practice of what was presented in class.  Sometimes such homework simply earns a “check.”  Just like in life – sometimes you just do the laundry because you have to, not because you are getting a reward for washing everyone’s dirty socks.

Teachers:  All homework, even the “check” homework, should be meaningful and geared towards mastery of the material at hand.  Explain from the outset of the class what kind of homework is just for a “check.”

Students:  Do all homework.

Sticking Point:  Teachers offer some, too much, or too little extra credit.  Parents are upset at whichever way that pendulum is swinging.

Parents:  Extra credit or bonus isn’t bad – it offers students a chance to go above and beyond the basics.  Do you leave an extra tip at a restaurant for a server who goes above and beyond?   Encourage your child to do extra credit.

Teachers:  Offer extra credit fairly and to everyone. Make sure it is asking for “above and beyond” knowledge or skills, not the basics that everyone should be learning. Don’t offer it too often or students will become dependent on it.

Students:  Do all extra credit.

Sticking Point:  Parents talk teachers down at home; students adopt a negative attitude toward the teacher or class. 

Parents:  Do not disparage the teachers or district or school in front of your child.  If you have a concern about a teacher or classroom, take it to the teacher or classroom.  This is especially important if your children are in elementary school.  Your attitude towards your child’s school will largely determine her attitude toward her school.  If you slip up and criticize in front of your student, walk the student through your thought process.  Something like this:  “Well, I don’t see why Mrs. Jones grades that way; it’s ridiculous.” (student hears this)  “But, I’m not sure I know all the facts, and I’m not a teacher.  I do want to understand what is happening here.  I need to learn more.”  Then go learn more and get back with the student.

Teachers:  Teach.  Teach the materials.  Be prepared.  Know what you are doing. Always care - even on the days when you are utterly exhausted. Make your copies the day before you need them.  Teach. Guide the students in learning the material.  Prepare, teach, talk, and grade above reproach.

Students:  Learn.  Try.  It might be hard.  It might not be your favorite thing, but your job is to learn.  All the subjects.

Sticking Point:  “Colleges won’t like it if our teacher/school/district does this!”

Parents:  Colleges don’t like or dislike anything (except grade inflation, but they can spot that a mile away.)  Colleges simply need to be informed – they do not and should not hold sway over what should be done in secondary education.

Teachers:  This is especially for high school teachers:  remember that it all counts for your students.  Whether students are going to college or into a training program or into the work force, your job is to help them be the best prepared they can be.  And, their grades should always reflect that.

Students:  School can be dumb, boring, and ridiculous.  School can also be interesting, challenging, and mind-blowing.  A lot of it is your attitude.  We usually find what we are looking for whether at school or not.

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Finally, remember that oftentimes conversations about education can feel awfully personal.  If a parent complains about a teacher, most often it isn’t personal against the teacher -  it is personal that the parent is worrying about the child.  If a teacher complains about a parent, it is not personal against the parent – it is personal about the achievement of the student.  If a student complains about a parent or a teacher, it is because the student likely has not developed the discernment to see all angles of what is happening.  (That’s a nice way of saying students are self-centered.)  Because so many precious people are involved these education conversations feel personal. 

It is one of life's great ironies that the profession and setting - the one that affects us individually and societally - seems so incredibly personal.  People - adults and students alike - make so much more out of educational conflict than is needed.  So, parents, teachers, students, when you have a problem with something at school: step back, take a breath, count to ten, and really articulate the issue and address it.  It’s really not personal – it’s education.

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)

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.

How was your summer?

“How was your summer?” has been reverberating in the hallways of high schools and across college campuses for the past few weeks.  The traditional “What I did on Summer Vacation” essays will have been read, graded, and revised within the next two weeks.   So, how was your summer?  How was your summer?  How was your summer? 

My summer wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either.  Like hundreds of thousands of people across the nation, my summer began with the end of school.  I finished my 24^th year in high school on June first.  For sixteen of those years, I was a classroom teacher.  So, a few days, a couple of meetings, and one well-intentioned but always ill-conceived end of the year luncheon after graduation, summer began. Not being a classroom teacher now, though, I work through the summer (like the vast majority of Americans).  The hallways are quieter, but the work continues: testing statistics, best practice research, cleaning out last year’s publications to make room for the next year.  We have things to do over the summer. 

Everybody does:

Vacations.

Cook outs.

Baseball games.

Beach trips.

Family reunions.

We all have things to do over the summer whether or not we work full time during these three precious months.  And, now here we all are at the end, ready to go back and report on how we spent our time.  Perhaps we share some common ground.

I revisited the city where I spent five college years.  I went to two weekend conferences there, and I still agree with myself: this is a great city to live in.  My son, who is a junior there, disagrees and argues that the tenor of the town changes when the undergrads are drunk in the streets.  Yep, I remember.  But, I wouldn’t be a part of that scene if I lived there as an adult.  Still a great place: cultural, gastronomical, athletic, literary opportunities abound.  In between those two weekends, I visited my parents in the town and home where I spent my formative years.  I hung out with a high school friend, a college friend, and a friend of my sister’s.  More traffic there.  I still mostly know my way around there despite an absence of thirteen years.  I feel like I could, indeed, go home again and be quite comfortable. 

Then, I spent some time alone.  Not by design, but due to the fact that eldest son was in summer school, middle son was on a beach trip with friends and then at summer language camp, and youngest son was with his dad.  I found out I can, pretty comfortably, not talk to anyone for hours on end.  A good thing?  I think so.  Middle son was worried that I became anti-social during this time.  Not so.  Also during this time, I was privileged to help a friend who was recovering from surgery.  Yes, I was alone, but I didn’t curl up or wither up.  I did the things that about fifteen years ago I would have lamented never having time to do:  read the whole newspaper, watch the movies I wanted to see, go to the bathroom alone, make exactly what I wanted for supper and then eat it while I read my favorite book.

Finally, it was road trip time.  Ten days up to New York state and back, including lots of points in between with middle son.  It is good to change your surroundings occasionally – from rearranging furniture to just seeing something new outside of the car window – this can refresh your approach to life.  And so it did for me.  We also did some planning for the future; he is a high school senior, and the future looms, inviting him to new places and marking changes for me.

We didn’t go to the beach and, blessedly, I only had to watch one baseball game.  For me this summer was about looking back when we were in Iowa; reviewing the past and the places where I come from.  It was also about discovering peace in the present.  Where I thought there might be panic or fear, I found that I enjoy my own company, and I have dear friends to spend time with.  Finally, in the college visit road trip, I have begun to embrace the future fact that two-thirds of my family will be gone next year at this time. 

Maybe you watched a lot of baseball; maybe you spent weeks at beach or did the family reunion thing.  Perhaps you had an illness to contend with or a wedding that launched you into a new life.  As a teacher and parent, September first has always been more of a New Year than the one in January.  As we enter this New Year, my hope for you is that you embrace what you have learned from the past, you have peace in your present, and some really great plans for the future.  How was your summer?

On Yogurt, Moose, and Giving Back

Last month my middle son and I embarked on a 10-day, 14-college road trip in the Northeast, Mid-Atlantic and Southeast.  Three pounds of Twizzlers, twelve Dasani, nine cool local cafés, half a pound of peanut butter pretzels, seven “Bear Crossing” signs, five rolls of Spree, two iPods, eleven states, six Perriers, one pound of almonds, one unsatisfying café on the Erie Canal, and innumerable tanks of gas, we were home again.  I learned a lot about the colleges we visited.  I also learned that in Vermont they “take their speed limits very seriously,” and the trooper is happy to regale you with the tale of the hit-and-run moose death while he stands precariously on the side of a mountainous road.  (speed limit: 50).  Lots of learning. 

One of the things we learned is that mid-level hotel breakfast bars are about the same nationwide – at least east of the Mississippi.  Let me just confess now that I am not a yogurt fan.  I foisted it on all three of my sons in their formative years, and they all enjoy it greatly.  I tried kefir when I lived in Moscow.  Gelatinous milk product just doesn't do it for me.  I know that it’s good for me – watch any daytime TV, and Jamie Lee Curtis will smile and have you believe that her life is worth living due to a certain brand of this dairy product.  Still, in the past year, a colleague encouraged me to try Greek yogurt, and I have come to tolerate it, if not occasionally enjoy it.  So, imagine my delighted surprise when the third hotel morning into the trip, there were not only the requisite muffins, but also Greek yogurt.  The next day, however, we were back to the standard yogurts.  I commented to my son that I wished there were Greek yogurt at each hotel.  His response?  An askew glance and a good-natured but chiding, “Some people have don’t even have food, Mom.  First world probs.”

Yes, he is right:  the UN estimated that there were 870 million undernourished people worldwide in 2012.  Of these, 16 million live in developed countries.  All my life I have seen commercials about sponsoring suffering children, as well as heard half-jokes about cleaning your plate because someone is starving somewhere in the world.  However, I cannot see the connection between my off-handed wish for Greek yogurt and world hunger.  Just as a little girl sitting in Iowa, being forced to clean her plate does not alleviate a hunger problem in a village in Africa; my hope of yogurt does not instantly cause life-giving grains and water to be denied to someone on the other side of the planet. 

I am not belittling the world hunger problem at all.  My observation is this: there seems to be a proliferation of the ill-conceived thought that because there are problems in the world, those of us who live decently must not voice any desires for that which we do not have.  I guess the thought is that since we (not sure where the socio-economic stratus starts and ends here) have so much, we dare not complain, wish for more, or fail to drop a few dollars in the red pots at Christmas time.  I think this way of thinking is a problem.  Simply put:  because there are problems in the world does not mean I am not allowed to enjoy my life or wish for Greek yogurt on a rainy upstate morning.

Of course, I am aware of how offendingly elitist the previous paragraph may sound.  But, really, the thing is that there are groups of people (teens, like my dear son, are heavily represented in such groups) who feel that until the entire world has food and water, those of us who have shouldn't complain about anything and we should donate to everything.  It’s a bit overwhelming. 

On this same trip, we stayed one night in a bed and breakfast in New England.  A lovely place which was originally a lodging house, and, we found out later, was haunted in room 20.  (We stayed in room 27).  As a matter of convenience, the owners laid out small toiletries in the bathroom.  Please know that I almost always use such toiletries when on a road trip and if I don’t use them, I leave them in place.  I don’t hoard them, but if I use a portion of a lotion or shampoo, I bring it along with me to use later.  In short, I try not to be wasteful.   At this inn, however, near the basket of toiletries, was a request that we leave our partially used tubes there so that they could be donated to a local children’s charity.  Why is a tube of shampoo no longer than my middle finger, three quarters used being donated?  If the owners wish to donate to this cause, perhaps an annual donation is in order – but small, partially consumed tubes?  This has to be as annoying to the recipients as the request was off-putting to me.   

Well, on a 3700 mile trip one has time for a lot of Twizzlers, a lot of highly questionable music selections, and a lot of reflection.  Why is it that we seem to have polarized our society into those who donate half used lotions to charities vs. those who are above even mentioning what they want because they just go buy it without a second thought?  I fall somewhere in the middle.

I’m uncomfortable.  I’m squeezed.  I’m caring.  I’m annoyed.

I donate to our school’s various campaigns for umbrellas for the homeless, gently used books for our African sister school, and the eyeglass drive for the blind.  (And, I even refrain from the curiously cynical remark that comes to mind every year at that last event.)  However, why must the mentality of needing to always be ready to donate and not being allowed a wish for an additional comfort be confronted at every turn?  Has it become essential to think of less fortunate people every moment of every day?  If so, how, then is one expected to also “seize the moment” and “enjoy life”?  I suspect there exists a group of well-meaning but rather hard people who are working on a movement to ensure that those of us with even a small modicum of comfort in life are uncomfortable with our comfort until the world’s problems have all been eradicated.  The thing is:  that’s not realistic.

Some of you will think that there are political ramifications that I am missing here.  There are.  Others may think that I’m heartless.  I’m not.  I think I’m kind of normal.  I have a career.  I have kids.  I pay taxes.  I have pets.  I try to do good.  And, I am happy to help with causes.  I have learned it is good to donate and help.  Like you, though, I don’t want to always be asked to donate – at the bank, at the grocery store, at the bed and breakfast.  I have learned that I have it really good compared to most of the world.  I am grateful.  But, I think we are entitled to keep our half-used lotion for later in the day.  And, once in a while, I’d like to have a Greek yogurt on the breakfast bar.  I don’t need it.  It’d just be nice.

Graduation Poem: Or, AJ's elegy.

This is graduation weekend at our school.  Like any parent, I'm a bit misty.  Part of our school's tradition is a senior breakfast whereat parents can rise and give a 1-2 minute speech (if you follow the guidelines) to honor their son or daughter.  The following was my contribution to this event.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Plump blueberries sift through moist fingers

as I search for stems.

All your life I’ve done this

a small discard pile on the side to

present you with a glistening bowl of fruit.

Now, being yours and your being mine means

picking through the stems.

I am content.

But I know it will not always be so.  You

will go and I imagine be glad.  I will

smile to send your ship to sea for it was

christened so long ago and has waited

in harbor.

The years you have been moored

have been lemony sweet,

sticky with the juices of baby

kisses.

The seed-pits we discarded well

you and I.

Amid playful antics you tested your rudder,

I sitting behind you dutiful,

sewing sails.

A tarnished clock speeds time as the

instinctual weavers hang

dew-laden cloth on the branch beyond our kitchen glass.

We have always homed together. There

was no question of place: hands touch just

after the shade of the day.

I know the sound of your breath in the night

velvet and when the owl screeches

in hunt, I have held you and peace returns.

You have been mine one season and many

are left to you.  You will

pick through your own berries sweet

hot mornings.

I will sew new threads, carve

paths and breathe. 

Each morning fresh blossoms --

I will remember and be content –

and  you are to go forward  --

Anything

"What are you going to do with your one wilde and precious life?" (Mary Oliver)

     It is the season of anticipation in the senior hallways of our nation's schools.  National notification date for letters of invitation or declination is April 1 - and, no, it's not a cruel joke.  A former student called the time period of February 1- April 1 the "cone of silence."  There's nothing an applicant can do to further their cause that now finds itself on the computer screens of admissions officers on campuses everywhere.  No matter what decisions come, I have seen students embrace the power of this moment.  There is inspiration and motivation when you are eighteen and look your future square in the face.  At what other time in your life did you feel more like you could do anything?  Opportunites are endless.  The moment you are accepted to a college seems to open up the future like nothing else can.  Being in academia, I have always had the sense of renewal in the fall, but spring is the traditional time of renewal - nature and a college acceptances bear witness to this. 

     For those of us not expecting the thick envelope from the school of our dreams right now, we might pause and wonder just from where the moments of inspiration, motivation and empowerment come as we load the whites in for a hot cycle, clean the cat vomit from the carpet, check emails, and tell our children to turn off the television.  No, doing anything, having real chances to open up the future is not often on the radar screen for those of us knee-deep in adulthood.  Many of us feel like we can't do anything because we have to do everything.  This could take a middle-aged angstful turn right now, but let us try to avoid that and forge ahead.

    When a well-meaning parent, aunt or college counselor said to you, "You can do anything you want with your life," what did that person really mean?  There seems to an innate falsehood to this statement.  Even in my most athletic phase, I could not have been a professional football player or a starter for the '90-'91 Chicago Bulls.  So, no, I could not have been a Deion Sanders, a Michael Jordan, or even a Jay Cutler.  Naturally, the question arises: did you want to be those things.  Well, no.  Not really.  But, even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have.  So, where does all of this go?  Can a person truly be anything the want to be?

     How about the reverse?  Can you not be anything you don't want to be?  I never wanted to be a meth addict.  I'm not.  So, yes, it seems to work in reverse.  I did not want to be prime minister of Canada nor was I ever interested in being an astronaut.  Those ambitions have never plagued me, so I guess I'm doing pretty well.  But, wait, I never really wanted to be a high school English teacher.  As a person who has spent 22 years in high school as a student, teacher, and counselor, I have the opportunity to converse with young people about their ambitions.  In the course of such discussions, I am inevitably asked, "When did you know you wanted to be a teacher?"  The answer, as unglamorous and uninspiring as it is, is: "Never."  I never wanted to be a teacher.  Nope.  No higher calling to mold the next generation or to be an inspiration the youth of today or to ensure my own immortality through touching lives.  I became a teacher quite by default.

     I am sure that given a few moments of reflection, my sisters and mother might disagree.  I am the eldest of three girls, and I did my fair share of "playing school" with my sisters.  After a day of being told where to sit, how to walk, where to sit, what to think, and when to lay on your nap mat, it is relaxing to come home and boss your little sisters around for an hour and a half.  To be fair, they enjoyed it.  Mostly.  In fact, I even went so far as to organize a sort of pee-wee Brownie troupe for my youngest sister when she was too young to join the real Brownies.  We called it Nannie Troupe.  I think we did a few crafts and maybe even designed a t-shirt with the use of (gasp!) permanent markers.  When I started learning Russian, I foisted my knowledge on my youngest sister, as well.  Even my middle sister - who quickly found her own interests and didn't really "play school" for long - remembered a few phrases in Russian that I engrained despite her study of German and Arabic.  The point here:  I never wanted to become a teacher.  This was all child's play.  My sisters might argue that it was an advanced, slightly polished form of bullying. (Ha!  Perhaps that is all education truly is anyway.)  But, nevertheless, it was play.

     However, I did want to be a diplomat; why else would someone study Russian in 1987?  And, to that end I have two degrees in the fifth most widely spoken language in the world.  Right, it might be fifth, but I can tell you that a Russian degree is slightly more useful than a philosophy degree and slightly less useful than a degree in art history.  A one-eyed monkey can tell you that it would be hard to find a career as far away from a globe-trotting diplomat as teacher & college counselor in private school in Augusta, Georgia. 

     So, could we be wired to want what we can't have?  Probably not.  Think of all of the would-be professional athletes.  Think of all of the blinded-by-hope-for-instant-fame-and-fortune-auditioners for American Idol; a conservative estimate approximates 100,000 individuals auditioned for season eight.  Okay, so you might say that it doesn't matter what age you are - figure out what you want to do and do it.  Find a way to make it happen.  Of course, at my age, I have to take certain things into consideration:  kids, house, job, car, supper, dog, laundry, a washing machine that doesn't stay balanced....right, this list could go on.  The question remains:  Can we do anything we want to do? 

     Yes, we can.  With more patience and wisdom, we all adjust our life dreams.  We can look around today and find a way live and be and pursue our dreams.  Doing anything might not be realistic, but we can quit trying to everything and focus on a something that gives us inspiration and empowerment.  We may not be waiting for the thick envelope at the end of March, but we can be reminded that the warranty on hopes and dreams is a lifetime one.

Arts and Crafts: Or, Why Not to Go Greek

         People who know me now are infinitely surprised to learn that I was in a sorority in college.  Furthermore, when I go on to tell them that indeed, I was not only in a sorority, but was also pledge class president, scholarship chairman, ritual chairman, and chapter president, they nearly fall over in a faint.  Obviously, I do not have sororitiness to my present demeanor.  In fact, whenever an about-to-go-to-college-and-I’m-a-little-intimidated-about-leaving-home-and-high school friends-age person asks me for my thoughts on or recommendation for the Greek system, I have to say I discourage it with all my being.  However, it was an odd requirement of being in a Greek chapter that led to my actually being able to teach my mother something.

            In our sorority, we had family systems, as I suspect many sororities used to, and perhaps still do.  As a new pledge, you got a pledge mom.  Ostensibly, this person would show you the ropes, much like a professional mentor in the workplace.  Upon being initiated, which was after a semester of pledgedom, your mom had cross-stitched you a pledge pillow.  A remembrance, of sorts, of your childhood within the bonds of sisterhood.  After receiving your pledge pillow and full membership status, you were expected to adopt a child immediately or at the next rush, whichever came first.  I did, in fact, get a pledge daughter from the next fall rush and commenced to helping her navigate the intricacies of sorority life: 

            “Yeah, the party is Friday from 8-11.”

            “Umm, the kitchen quits serving breakfast before 2 pm.”

            In addition to such overwhelming complexities of living in a sorority, I had to figure out what cross-stitching was and find a way to make a pillow from it.  Now, one might think that someone who had taken some amount of Girl Scouts and 4-H in her earlier life, as well as having a mother who sewed and mended probably everything I wore in childhood, and who owned – well, I’m not sure, but more than three sewing machines – would have some kind of aptitude for such a mundane task as creating a token of sorority life.  Well, cross-stitching , it turned out, is not complex needlework.  Putting the pillow together properly, turning it inside out, stuffing it, and sewing the suture firmly shut actually required a PhD in civil engineering.  Nevertheless, Lisa received her pillow in due course.  I have the sense that it wasn’t until the following school year that she got it, but I can’t be sure.  I mean, between the parties, chapter meetings, schoolwork, and parties, who has time to sew?  Once I got it down, though, I realized there was potential here. 

            I stitched something for my mom for some holiday – I don’t know what it was or what holiday it commemorated.  I do know that she loved it.  (Since becoming a mother myself, I happen to know that loving any handmade craft from your child is part and parcel of the mom contract one signs upon giving birth – page three, paragraph 8.  “Mommy, I made this out of mud, dog poo, and grass – it’s sculpture of you!!”  “I love it!  I’m putting it on the kitchen window sill right next to the painted rock and remains of last year’s dandelion bouquet!”)   That I had discovered a craft that was beautiful, well, at least attractive, probably stunned my own mother.  I had never exhibited even the slightest artistic ability.  Well, I had taken ballet and performed adequately enough to garner an occasional solo at a showcase or two – but really, art and I are oil and watercolor.             

            Not long after this initial gifting, Mom asked me to show her how it was done.  Now, anyone who knows anything about crafting knows that basic cross-stitch can be done quite successfully by blind monkeys.  And, just now, I have realized that I am sure that my mother - who graduated high school at the age of 16 and went on to college, a teaching job and raising three daughters (the list could go on for pages) -  did not need my instruction in order to figure out how to cross-stitch.  Nevertheless, I showed my mom how it was done and – for the sake of my dignity -  I am going to maintain that I taught my mom how to cross-stitch. 

            I went on to make one more pledge daughter pillow, employing the help of a few engineering majors when it came to stuffing the cursed thing.  Mom, however, has gone on to create literal works of art with cross-stitch.  All seven of her grandchildren have an intricately woven framed picture commemorating the day of their birth.  I would venture to guess that anyone who knows my mother or whose mother or grandmother knows my mother has one of her works of art somewhere in their home.  I know I have at least ten of mom’s needle-art in my home. 

            So, it is with some pride that I take partial credit for the hundreds of pieces of art that my mom has created, as a result of my teaching Mom to cross-stitch.  And, if that’s too much of stretch for you, well, just remember – you can learn cross-stitch without joining the Greek system.  Just come see me.