From Left Field

I wouldn't want to work for Michelle Rhee, superintendent of the D.C. schools, but I heard one quote from her that really got me thinking. After teaching in Baltimore City schools for a year she said that it couldn't be expected that a person could teach for a lifetime in some situations. At sixty hours+ a week and more hurdles than the Olympics, that sounds like a pretty true statement to me. On the other hand, it doesn't seem fair to put already at risk kids and families in a revolving door of new teachers.

Here's my crazy idea, that is sure to not catch on. What if a county decided to be innovative and convinced all the stakeholders to pool together into one school district including both urban and suburban schools? What if the purpose of this move was to share resources both of the human sort and the monetary? What if teachers could, or were even required to, take a turn of a year or two in the city school and then rotate out to a suburban district? What if that meant the teacher could keep her seniority, but have a chance to work in what is now a different district? What if at different sites with a large at risk population, teachers were expected to work longer hours in exchange for more pay than at other sites? What if it was all just more fluid?

I know, it's a fantasy, but a girl can dream can't she?

Innocence

This thought has been bugging me for several years. Back when Philip Pullman, author of the His Dark Materials trilogy, was a hot and controversial author, I read an interview with him in which he talked about how he thinks people are too tied up in revering innocence. It's probably a stretch to lay the blame for connecting innocence solely to childhood at his feet, but he does do it. He feels people's tendency to over sentimentalize childhood means that people are afraid of sexuality and adulthood. And in fact, in his trilogy he restores balance to the world by the sexual awakening of his main character. It annoyed me immensely. (BTW, right up until that ending I thought they were brilliant books, even if the world view made me a bit sad.) ANYWAY! That's not even my main point.

Yesterday I was watching Abby dance on a little stretch of green in a gas station parking lot because she just wasn't ready to get back into the van yet. As she twirled around and let her arms float where they wanted, of course she was the picture of innocence and AGAIN I thought of Philip Pullman and was annoyed. Her innocence stems from how safe she feels, not her lack of sexual knowledge/experience. She does not fear, really, any hurt or judgment. She acts out of her own desire, with no need to please an audience. No one has rejected her and she has done nothing really to make her want to reject herself. She is free to just Be.

I believe that is the innocence that we, adults, all have a longing for. We long for the safety we felt before we knew how life hurts, how we are capable of causing great hurt, how the world itself just hurts sometimes. I absolutely do NOT believe that most adults are longing for that time of life before they were sexual beings. That's just crazy talk.

I am not Most People

You might already know that I put that title for my status on Facebook earlier today. Lots of people commented, agreeing with that sentiment in one way or the other. Several people even threw in some version of, "Duh!" It was all pretty entertaining.

What's even more entertaining to me is that most of the time I actually think I AM Most People. I'm so shocked to find out that I'm the only person who thinks something, or would say some weird thing or who approach the situation in that way. I generally have it in my head that most people are more or less like me.

Because of that, I'm usually either confused or insulted when I read or hear "Most People," do or think some crazy thing. I think either, "That data has to be completely off base because I would never do or think that," or "How dare they accuse me of such outrageous behavior!"

I always think that I'm the person that They are talking about. I guess this either means I'm outrageously self-centered and I think the whole world is all about me, or I'm very generous and I think Most People are just as wonderful as me. It's so hard to decide.

Packing

I sat on the futon with piles of boys clothes around me and my Sharpie in hand. Even though JD usually packs for himself, I guess because every item needs to be labeled, I was packing his gear for overnight camp. Five days equals 5 pairs of shorts/pants, 5 t-shirts, one sweatshirt, 5 pairs of socks, 8 pairs of underwear, 2 swimsuits and two towels, one bar of soap. And it was at either at the fifth pair of socks, the eight pair of underwear, or most likely the bar of soap that I started to chuckle to myself. Why was I packing all this stuff? I mean, really, no one is going to make him change his clothes the entire week if he doesn't want to. I could probably get by with two of everything, and then only in case of rain. And the soap? Never gonna happen.

None the less, I packed all the above items, plus sunscreen, shampoo and conditioner, and as I packed them I faced the cold, hard truth of why I was going to so much trouble. I was packing them because no self-respecting mother would send her kid off to camp with just a change of clothes. Even though all these clothes will be returned to me unworn, but still reeking, I was packing them up anyhow. Who did I think was going to judge me? My son? Not in a million, he'd think it was hilarious. His counselor, an under 25 year old male? As if. Some other parent? How would that even be possible? No really, there was no one to judge me but the ever vague, They.

As I packed and thought about being judged by Them I realized I've made more then a few parenting decisions based on, "What would people say?!" Mostly that works out to my kids' benefit. I hold my tongue and don't yell at them in public for instance, but still, whenever it happens, it feels a little dishonest. I really want to be the same person inside and out, at home and away. But I'm not always, so maybe, it's a tiny defiant act of honesty that has me refusing to pack a comb.