The Truth about Real Life

"Real life is not college. Real life is not high school. Here is a secret no one has told you: Real life is junior high."
-Tom Brokaw, in a graduation address at Emory University

I came across this gem as I was reading the latest issue (June 2008) of the Funny Times, a paper dedicated to "humor, politics, and fun." And it's so true. Think about it.

You don't have to go far before encountering a real life example of Brokaw's maxim. Case in point, AOL's sports news yesterday(and it's not the first time they've broached the subject) featured a photo gallery of "The Hottest Olympians" -- with over 80 photographs. Good thing we're paying attention to what really matters in sports, eh? Okay, I admit that I had a teenage crush on Greg Louganis (the diver) and Mitch Gaylord (parallel bars) when they appeared on the Olympic scene, but since when have athletes' looks trumped their skills and abilities when it comes to newsworthy media coverage?

Real life is junior high (or middle school for the younger generation). Take the ever-increasing popularity of social websites like MySpace and Facebook. I haven't actually taken the step of joining such a site yet, so my understanding may be somewhat limited. But I've heard stories about people who become obsessed with how many "friends" they have on their list and how many people have "friend-ed" them lately. (Yes, I believe it's officially become a verb now.) It's a bit too close to the popularity contests that beset my junior high days. I found it easier to revel in being a brainy orchestra nerd...

Real life is junior high, and if you don't believe it, check out a website like Rate My Teacher.com or juicy campus (the college campus gossip site recently featured on a Dateline report). At the former, students gripe about (or rarely praise) their teachers publicly; at the latter, students make the private lives of their peers public (including a girl's rape and the outing of homosexuals). It's middle school behavior, and I know that, most recently, from several years of teaching eighth grade. I had long ago erased the viciousness of middle schoolers from my mind, so I was shocked by the degree of nastiness with which my students treated their fellow classmates.

Real life is junior high, and if you're still not convinced, just look at the coverage of the current presidential election. In yesterday morning's headlines, Obama took on members of the Tennessee Republican party, who went after Obama's wife for a comment that, taken out of context, they consider "unpatriotic." Celebrity endorsements take on the weight of gospel truths, as people wait with baited breath to find out who their favorite star will support. (Are there really people out there who will vote for Obama just because Oprah's on his side or for McCain because Bush is on his?). Candidates make SNL appearances chock full of self-deprecating humor, which as we all know, makes him or her seem more human, more relatable (who really uses this word in real life?), and thus -- sadly -- more electable. (How else do you think W. got to the oval office?) It's all a bit too similar, in my opinion, to the student government elections in junior high and high school where the most popular kids --rather than the most qualified -- were the ones elected, nine times out of ten.

The irony of Brokaw's comment is, of course, that most people surveyed wouldn't want to relive their junior high or middle school years if you paid them. The adolescent insecurities, the changing allegiances of friends, the awkwardness of puberty, the struggle for popularity...who would willingly go there again? And yet, somehow, that seems to be the kind of life we've created for ourselves in the "real world."

Thoughts on Closing the Gap...

Disclaimer: what follows is an as yet unpolished rant

"'No one, on a large scale, has figured out how to solve the achievement gap,' Pensis said. 'Everybody's looking for that answer.'"

-Foch "Tut" Pensis, Superintendent
Coachella Valley Unified School District
from "School Districts to Face NCLB Sanctions"
Teacher Magazine, The Associated Press

Perhaps the reason we haven't found the answer to the problem, and perhaps it makes me a bleeding heart liberal or even a socialist to even suggest this, is that we are relying too heavily on our public school system to make up for inequalities that are rooted deep within our society.

Sure, education is supposed to be the great leveller in a democracy where, in theory, you can move up the socioeconomic ladder if you just work hard....and having taught in the classroom for 12 years, I am a big believer in the power of a good education.

However, any teacher who has worked with students who live in poverty will tell you that the solution to the achievement gap lies beyond the scope of a school's powers. Remember that saying, "It takes a village..."? (Note: it doesn't say "It takes a school...") So where is the rest of the village???

The villagers who can afford it have fled for the hills, put their children in private schools that cost (at least in the DC area) upwards of $15,000 a year (and that was ten years ago when I was teaching at a private school in Potomac, MD). The leaders of the village, led by the articulate George W. himself, are pointing fingers, blaming inadequate teachers for setting standards that are too low and thus failing our children, particularly those of the African-American or Latino variety. Their solution was to make a law (NCLB) saying that every student would be able to read by grade level by the year 2014 just because they said so; and if it doesn't happen, heads will roll (but not theirs, of course).

There is much research to suggest that the achievement gap begins even before children reach the hallowed halls of our public institutions of learning. Children who grow up in literate-rich environments start with an advantage over their peers from literate-poor environments. The gap exists before teachers even get into the picture. And yet, somehow, teachers are held responsible for making miracles happen -- like closing that gap by teaching literate-poor children to read proficiently in classes of thirty or more -- in the 6 hours a day (or fewer in middle and high school) that they work with them.

So what to do? If we are serious about closing the achievement gap, we may first have to tackle some of the social inequalities that have been woven into the American fabric over the last several centuries. Or we can just keep pointing fingers at our hard-working teachers, who struggle to contribute enough to make up for the rest of the village.

Mom Sweet Mom

They say that men become more and more like their fathers and women more and more like their mothers as they grow older. I know some people who resist this truth with every fiber of their being, but I'd have to say there are far worse things that could happen to me.

If the saying is true, here are a few of the things I can expect in the coming years:

1) I will develop a love of the color red. My mother has always had a penchant for all things red, as evidenced by the many items of that color in her wardrobe (including shoes, coats, and handbags) as well as the shiny VW Passat she drives. Signs of this tendency are already arising in my own life -- my new laptop, for one, which is a vibrant shade of garnet red, as opposed to the usual black, white, or titanium hues of most laptops.

2) I will become an uber-volunteer and supporter of the arts. My mother remains an active docent at both the Wexner Center and the Columbus Museum of Art, and has also been a volunteer for the symphony and opera at various times over the past several decades. It does not require a great stretch of the imagination to see where this one fits into my life either. An amateur violinist and avid music fan, I play with community groups and support the local symphony orchestra (even if only by being a subscriber at the moment), and I learned great appreciation for the visual arts at my mother's side as we visited the museums and galleries of every city and town we ever went to on a family vacation.

3) I will become ever more strong-headed in my opinions and desires (some may choose to call it stubborn, others outspoken, and still others flat out bossy; I prefer to call it discriminating and independent). Mom knows what she thinks and does not hesitate to share those thoughts with those who are closest to her. She is not one to sugarcoat the truth, which can occasionally result in some hurt feelings, but she generally means well and just wants the best for all involved. I've had an independent streak since my childhood -- my brother and sister love to tell stories about how I would boss them around, parroting my mother's instructions, and my aunt loves to tell stories about how I would insist that I could do everything myself, even at an early age. Guess that's never gonna change...

4) I will be able to make a mean streusel pie, potato salad, and rouladin, not to mention meatballs of both the Italian and Swedish varieties. My mother kept us well fed with home cooked meals; nights out were special occasions in our house and ordering takeout was virtually unheard of. After years of practice, I have mastered the streusel and the meatballs, but I am still working on getting the flavoring of the potato salad just right, and have not yet dared to try rouladin on my own. Oh, and I'll also be able to make delicious gravies to accompany any meal -- with no lumps!

5) I will have friends in just about every corner of the world, or at least in a great variety of places where my husband/family and I will be able to go and visit in our travels. Mom and Dad have stayed with friends and relatives all over Germany, as well as Grenada, Mallorca, and Montreal, just to name a few. Not sure how this one will happen with me, as I've lost touch with the friends I made during my junior year abroad in England, though I do have good friends all over the U.S. Perhaps I'll make future contacts through my writing...

6) I will take great pride in the traditions of my upbringing...including real candles on the Christmas tree (much to my husband's dismay). I am only now beginning to appreciate the way my mother's German culture seeped into many aspects of our upbringing even though we grew up in suburban Ohio, the "heart of it all" as they claim. A slice of average American life. And yet, we grew up with an appreciation of other cultures that sticks with us today. My husband also comes from German roots, so perhaps we will be able to pass on similar values and traditions to our own children.

I only hope that I will inherit half of my mother's passion and zest for life. In her seventies (sorry, mom, if you didn't want that published), she is still going strong, touring at the museum, travelling widely, visiting her grandchildren often, and squeezing as much joy as she can out of her day-to-day experiences.

Yes, mom, if I become more and more like you as I grow up, I think I'll turn out just fine!

The Simple Life

I like Real Simple. I'm a big fan. Love their ideas about double duty household items and their tips for how to get things clean and organized. I'm just not so sure how simple Real Simple is anymore.

I was browsing through the April issue when I came upon a special feature in their style section about colorful handbags, subheaded: "12 vivid purses to light up your life." I scanned the pictures first. Colorful indeed -- there were purses in every color of the rainbow, and one in hot pink to boot. They came in all shapes and sizes, in designs fit for formal and informal occasions.

There was one on the last page of the spread that I really liked -- a cute little green one that would match the color of my Beetle -- until I took a peek at the price. It was a Marina Rinaldi and came in at a cool $620.00. Okay, so it's "beautifully crafted of ostrich-embossed leather" and made by a designer whose name sounds Italian (translation: expensive). I should have known.

And while the kelly green shoulder bag was the most expensive on its page, it was not the most expensive in the four-page spread. No, that distinction belonged to a bright turquoise blue Miu Miu (not to be confused with the oversized colorful house dresses of a similar name), made of "luxurious Italian leather." Sure, the blurb acknowledged that it was a "splurge," but I can't say I understand just what makes this bag "supremely special," besides the fact that it costs more than most major kitchen appliances.

As I kept looking, I discovered that $50.00 would land me a "seriously spacious" patent-leather carry-all in lipstick red (the cheapest on their list), and after that I could get a matching Banana Republic clutch in shiny red patent-leather big enough to hold my keys and driver's license for just under $100.00. Another real bargain! (Not!)

The average price of a purse in these four Real Simple pages? $375.50! Even without the unreasonable Miu Miu and the cheapest purse skewing the figures, the average remains above the $300.00 mark. Could the editors be suggesting that the simple life includes a $300.00+ purse?

So when I spend $19.00 on a designer (or no brand) handbag on the discount racks at TJ Maxx, am I committing a venial sin against rampant consumerism? Or am I just keeping it simple, for real?

The Poem Lady

Sorry I've been away, neglecting my bloggerly duties. It's not that I've given up hope on finding an audience or that I've decided that maintaining a blog AND a notebook are mutually exclusive, as some earlier entries may have implied. No, that's not what's kept me away. So where have I been?

I went back to school. Back to the high school I taught at for seven years, that is. But not as a full-time teacher. (I sent in my official resignation a few weeks ago.) For the past two weeks, I played the role of poet-in-residence at Montgomery Blair High School. April being National Poetry Month, it seemed a fitting thing to do.

Last spring, when I announced that I was leaving Blair to concentrate on my writing, one of the librarians approached me to ask if I would be at all interested in coming back to do a guest stint teaching poetry to students for two weeks in April. The poet who had done such a good job for the past two years (Carol Peck), would not be available, and they needed someone to take her place. Much to the librarian's surprise, I jumped at the chance. After all, I'd been telling everyone that my dream job would be doing creative writing with students without all of the grading that came with teaching it full time.

I'll admit I was more than a little nervous as the time drew near. The librarian sent me a class list that included everything from ESOL 4 to 12th grade Honors students. As I made my plans, two voices competed in my head: Poetry with high school students? What makes you think you can make them enjoy poetry? VS. You can do this in your sleep. Your creative writing students always loved what you did with poetry -- even the reluctant poets. I blocked them out as I planned four different activities to generate poems with the students, and I hoped for the best.

By the end of week one, I had worked with 10 different classes in 16 sessions, and I was more than satisfied with the quality of the poems the students were producing. The second week brought 10 new classes and 16 more sessions, which resulted in more than a few terrific poems. Even the class of 13 freshman boys and 1 girl -- the one I was most worried about -- seemed to be engaged. (I would post some of my favorites so you could see their creativity, but I have to get their permission first.)

I was pretty sure the students were enjoying our time together as much as I was, but it was something I overheard at lunchtime of week two that confirmed my suspicions. I was walking down the hall to return a stack of poems to one of the teachers, when I heard a student interrupt a conversation with his friend to say, "Hey, that's the poem lady!"

The poem lady!?! I could get used to that...

On Inspiration

From a Wired article about where certain people got their inspiration from...

#4 was J.K. Rowling on how she got the idea for her wildly successful series of Harry Potter books. She says it came to her as she was riding in a train car between Manchester and London.

It was extraordinary, because I had never planned to write for children. Harry came to me immediately, as did the school and a few of the other characters such as Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost whose head is not quite cut off. The train was delayed, and for hours I sat there thinking and thinking and thinking... The irony is I almost always have pen and paper; I write all the time. And on this one occasion when I had the idea of my life, I didn't have a pen. For four hours my head was buzzing. It was probably the best thing, because I ednded up working the whole thing out before I got off the train.

Crazy! But I really do believe that there are stories out there, floating somewhere in the energy of the universe -- that want to be written. And that if you can keep your channels open (as Georgia Heard says), one of them might find you and speak through you. Which is why it is so important to follow the advice of Julia Cameron (or was it Natalaie Goldberg -- sorry if I've got the wrong person) who says it is vital for writers to spend time each morning writing what she calls "Morning pages." Three pages (or was it three hours?) of writing every day about anything so long as you are putting words on the page.

I was doing it religiously last fall, until I got discouraged by people (mostly non-writers) who would ask, "So, what are you working on?" and when I didn't have a specific project to answer with, "Well, what's your genre then?" and wouldn't take "I'm just writing" for an answer. I know, it's a convenient excuse now that time is no longer an issue for me, and if it weren't that one, it would probably be another.

So it's time for me to get back to those morning pages in my notebook. To spend time each morning listening for those voices in the universe, the ones that want their stories to be told, the ones that want to be heard.

We Try...

I was reading the beginning of Julia Cameron's The Right to Write again this morning (thanks to my friend CF who reminded me that this book existed and that I already owned a copy of it), when I came across the following passage. Well, "came across" is putting it too lightly -- it was more like the words jumped off the page at me, waving white flags and shouting "hello" and "this means you" to get my attention. She writes:

...most of us try to write too carefully. We try to do it 'right.' We try to sound smart. We try, period. Writing goes much better when we don't work at it so much. When we give ourselves permission to just hang out on the page. (3)

It's what happens to me when I write entries for this blog vs. what happens when I write in the pages of my notebooks. Something happens and suddenly I'm trying too hard. Worrying about making sense and finding just the right word and whether to use a semicolon or a dash at a particular junction of thought instead of just letting the words and thoughts flow. Writing becomes work instead of play. Maybe I just need to try to impress less and "hang out" more in these entries.

Thank you, Julia, for helping me remember this!