In my pre-teen years, I would go roller skating almost every weekend. Roller rinks were the last bastions of disco, and I remember that song "The Last Dance" was played over and over. The implication was that the dance was just the beginning -- or the emblem -- of what would be a steamy night to follow. The last dance of Brooklyn Comprehensive is far less passionate, but almost as cheap. Last night, my students were treated to a 45 minute graduation ceremony in which the microphones weren't working and at which a band played that called itself the "Bar Sinisters." (That WAS their name. They are named after the character "Simon Bar Sinister" in the Underdog cartoon. Yup.) As their name would imply, they were over-aged, predominantly white, and dressed like The Blues Brothers. If you've ever wondered what "Pomp and Circumstance" sounds like being picked out on an electric guitar by an amateur musician, I can tell you that it's disgraceful.
Would that the music was the only faux pas of the evening's affair.
For 15 years, our graduations have included representations of African culture. They have also been decorated with balloons and flowers. Our principal always addressed the students directly with inspirational ideas. She would put aside the microphone and just talk to them. She usually told a story about an eagle who was raised to think he was a chicken, until one day an anthropologist who visited the farm lifted him up and said, "You are not a chicken. You are an eagle, king of all birds. Spread your wings and fly." On the third try, the eagle did fly. The parallel to our students was obvious, but it always took their breathe away. After years of being told they couldn't do anything useful and that it was taking too long for them to graduate, someone told them that they were capable of greatness.
On our 16th year, our NEW principal defined the word, "Difficult" as the cornerstone of her speech. In our 17th, she told the students that she loved turtles because they "stick their necks out." I suppose she really admires giraffes.
At my high school graduation, a nobel prize winner spoke. Now, I graduated from the city's premiere science high school. I have never believed however, that the academic quality of the school should dictate the nature of the graduation. And our school has always treasured its graduations because of the tremendous struggles that our students have overcome. Our motto is "To the stars despite the difficulties" -- "Ad Astra Per Aspera." We have Frederick Douglass' famous "If there is no struggle, there is no progress" printed on the backs of our programs. Every year, we give out Frederick Douglass awards to the students with the greatest difficulties. We also have raised money among ourselves for a small scholarship fund.
Not this year. This year there were no awards. There was no celebration. Short speeches which could not be heard were made quickly. Then there was cake and the principal and assistant principal dancing cheek to cheek to the kind of blues music you can hear performed at your neighborhood bar by men with day jobs who imagine themselves eternal boys.
Our program, by the way, did not list the names of the teachers and little mention of us was made throughout the evening. It was as if we were all guests at the funeral of distant cousins, when actually, we were at our own wakes.
In the din of all this, a school and a dream were being softly crushed. One teacher called it a slow suffocation.
The students who graduated last night deserved respect. They deserved music, a working sound system and a principal who believed in them. Someone willing to stick her own neck out to try to save their school, and if not, to make sure that they and their parents didn't come all the way to school to get 45 minutes of muffled noise and cake.
One postscript. Among the graduates was a student who was nearly turned away by this principal when she was an assistant principal. Apparently, there was a mistake on her records which said she needed supportive services which we do not provide -- and which the student said she had never had. The assistant principal turned her away anyway, telling her there was "Nothing I can do. My hands are tied." A day later the student came back and spoke with our principal. Our principal told the young woman that she would call herformer school to confirm that she had NEVER had these services, and assuming it was true, she could begin classes on Monday. The school told her that the student was telling the truth and that they believed that the mistake occurred because she had a similar name to a student who did receive them. Our former principal CALLED THE STUDENT immediately to make sure she would come on Monday. And, as I said, that student graduated yesterday and will go on to college in the fall.
When you take an extra minute, you can save a life. That's what BCNHS was about.
31 January, 2007
30 January, 2007
Framing a Guilty Man (with a changed conclusion)
I just finished watching the Frontline documentary "The O.J. Verdict" on the O.J. Simpson trial. In this documentary, a law student, discussing the case almost ten years later, states, "I think any jury would have come to the same conclusion. The LAPD framed a guilty man."
To some degree, I think that's what happens when schools close. We make bad stories look worse. But, without a jury to stop us from convicting, we close the school rather than realizing what we are doing -- that we are exaggerating the situation in order to make our decisions easier.
I dare any politician --Chancellor Klein, Mike Bloomberg, and the various liberals who have also ignored education in our city from Hillary Clinton to Jonathan Tasini (whom I wrote to in the hopes of enlisting his interest) to Bush -- to come into a bad school and not find one classroom which IS working. I also dare them to walk into a good school and not find a class which is not working.
Nothing is as easy as we make it out to be, and instead of trying to give more room for what works, we are throwing out everything at once. Why are we doing this? The best answer I could get from our FORMER superintendent, JC Brizard, is that it's cheaper and easier. Remember: I am part of an old car.
Readers of this blog know I prefer old cars. I'm about to get a ten year old Volvo which has been maintained and works perfectly. I'd take that over just about anything else brand new.
I'm not charmed by novelty and I'm also not enchanted by media blitzes. I watched the O.J. documentary more to see what Frontline would do with the story. I was at Stony Brook during the trial working on my MFA and I remember being surrounded by a sea of largely African-American students who were exalted when O.J. was found not guilty. I didn't care then, and I don't now. I did consider that, had O.J. been found guilty, it would have demoralized many people and, in hindsight, it probably would have lent more credibility to the LAPD than they had rightfully earned.
Maybe some young man at Rikers Island has actually been helped by the shadow of the doubt extended O.J. But no one is helped by the absolute closing of schools. If you go to
www.bcnhs.org you will find a link to student essays, one of which, by Tashaliqua Turner, a current student, detailing her experience at both the school once run by the now fired superintendent and a NEW SMALL SCHOOL similar to the one replacing us.
To some degree, I think that's what happens when schools close. We make bad stories look worse. But, without a jury to stop us from convicting, we close the school rather than realizing what we are doing -- that we are exaggerating the situation in order to make our decisions easier.
I dare any politician --Chancellor Klein, Mike Bloomberg, and the various liberals who have also ignored education in our city from Hillary Clinton to Jonathan Tasini (whom I wrote to in the hopes of enlisting his interest) to Bush -- to come into a bad school and not find one classroom which IS working. I also dare them to walk into a good school and not find a class which is not working.
Nothing is as easy as we make it out to be, and instead of trying to give more room for what works, we are throwing out everything at once. Why are we doing this? The best answer I could get from our FORMER superintendent, JC Brizard, is that it's cheaper and easier. Remember: I am part of an old car.
Readers of this blog know I prefer old cars. I'm about to get a ten year old Volvo which has been maintained and works perfectly. I'd take that over just about anything else brand new.
I'm not charmed by novelty and I'm also not enchanted by media blitzes. I watched the O.J. documentary more to see what Frontline would do with the story. I was at Stony Brook during the trial working on my MFA and I remember being surrounded by a sea of largely African-American students who were exalted when O.J. was found not guilty. I didn't care then, and I don't now. I did consider that, had O.J. been found guilty, it would have demoralized many people and, in hindsight, it probably would have lent more credibility to the LAPD than they had rightfully earned.
Maybe some young man at Rikers Island has actually been helped by the shadow of the doubt extended O.J. But no one is helped by the absolute closing of schools. If you go to
www.bcnhs.org you will find a link to student essays, one of which, by Tashaliqua Turner, a current student, detailing her experience at both the school once run by the now fired superintendent and a NEW SMALL SCHOOL similar to the one replacing us.
29 January, 2007
It's not OK
Tomorrow is graduation. The second to last at Brooklyn Comprehensive Night High School.
We will "graduate" 44 18-21 years olds. Where will they go next?
Where will the students who don't graduate in June go?
These are students who are seriously disadvantaged. Some have mental illness. Some are barely literate. Most have more responsibilities than they can handle. Few of them can navigate the world without assistance.
We are talking about just over a hundred young people -- but those are the ones who bothered to reach out for help. What about the others?
Mr. Klein, it's not OK. We are setting young people up for lives in prisons, low paying jobs or homelessness.
We will "graduate" 44 18-21 years olds. Where will they go next?
Where will the students who don't graduate in June go?
These are students who are seriously disadvantaged. Some have mental illness. Some are barely literate. Most have more responsibilities than they can handle. Few of them can navigate the world without assistance.
We are talking about just over a hundred young people -- but those are the ones who bothered to reach out for help. What about the others?
Mr. Klein, it's not OK. We are setting young people up for lives in prisons, low paying jobs or homelessness.
What does it feel like?
Imagine you know that tomorrow, you are unemployed. You'll still get paid, you'll still come in to work. What you will do when you get there is anybody's guess. Will you cover classes? Will you be sent to another school? Will you have nothing to do?
Will you be sent into an uncontrollable situation without warning?
Will you be sent into an uncontrollable situation without warning?
26 January, 2007
The Speech I'll Never Get to Give
Please Note: A colleague corrected me -- the school is 17 years old.
Bluntly: My principal HATES ME. She doesn't have to like me. But, this means I will never again give a speech at graduation.
So, here's what I would like to say:
17 years ago a terrific group of teachers lead by a new principal decided to found a school which would try to do one thing: reach the kids who have not yet been reached. That group and those who followed decided to do whatever it took to do this. As smart, experienced teachers they knew this meant making sure that classes were small, students had a lot of close attention and that teaching needed to be done well. The latter was especially complicated because the students we took in had many obstacles in their lives which were still interfering with their education. Though we have all tried, most of the time we could not change the world of the students' lives.
So they and later, we changed the world of the school. At BCNHS, we have taught classes tailored to the kids we saw -- and we focused courses around the most essential items in our curricula. We were what students tend to call "real" -- honest and were caring. You can probably all can remember many times in which one or several of us looked you in the eye and said, "Listen, you NEED to do this. And you need to take more care of yourself and your future."
We worked oblivious to praise and criticism and we got both. What we decided to do was to believe in our students and to believe that we could help them to succeed. That meant being patient -- many of you know that it took a while for you to get where you needed to be. We could have given up on you or we could have lied to you and passed you when you weren't ready. Your Brooklyn Comprehensive Diploma means something because of this. Our students have studied at schools from Oxford to Brooklyn College because of this. Maybe they didn't go directly to Oxford, but like one student, got there after transfering from a two year college to a four year school which had an agreement with Oxford and other schools. But a student who graduates from Brooklyn Comprehensive has taken the belief we placed in him or her and become someone with potential for greatness.
So, here is your obligation. In your life, you are bound to meet someone or something or some school which others have given up on. Be the person for that someone or that organization who says: I believe in you. I will teach you. I will not give up on you.
If you do that, then Brooklyn Comprehensive can never be closed.
Bluntly: My principal HATES ME. She doesn't have to like me. But, this means I will never again give a speech at graduation.
So, here's what I would like to say:
17 years ago a terrific group of teachers lead by a new principal decided to found a school which would try to do one thing: reach the kids who have not yet been reached. That group and those who followed decided to do whatever it took to do this. As smart, experienced teachers they knew this meant making sure that classes were small, students had a lot of close attention and that teaching needed to be done well. The latter was especially complicated because the students we took in had many obstacles in their lives which were still interfering with their education. Though we have all tried, most of the time we could not change the world of the students' lives.
So they and later, we changed the world of the school. At BCNHS, we have taught classes tailored to the kids we saw -- and we focused courses around the most essential items in our curricula. We were what students tend to call "real" -- honest and were caring. You can probably all can remember many times in which one or several of us looked you in the eye and said, "Listen, you NEED to do this. And you need to take more care of yourself and your future."
We worked oblivious to praise and criticism and we got both. What we decided to do was to believe in our students and to believe that we could help them to succeed. That meant being patient -- many of you know that it took a while for you to get where you needed to be. We could have given up on you or we could have lied to you and passed you when you weren't ready. Your Brooklyn Comprehensive Diploma means something because of this. Our students have studied at schools from Oxford to Brooklyn College because of this. Maybe they didn't go directly to Oxford, but like one student, got there after transfering from a two year college to a four year school which had an agreement with Oxford and other schools. But a student who graduates from Brooklyn Comprehensive has taken the belief we placed in him or her and become someone with potential for greatness.
So, here is your obligation. In your life, you are bound to meet someone or something or some school which others have given up on. Be the person for that someone or that organization who says: I believe in you. I will teach you. I will not give up on you.
If you do that, then Brooklyn Comprehensive can never be closed.
25 January, 2007
False hopes, false messiahs, false impressions
1) One of the new schools opening in place of those being closed is being run by THE MOTHER of the man who decides which new schools open....2) The New Visions organization which is opening another of those schools has a HIGH STAFF TURNOVER RATE3) I couldn't go to the horrible meeting in which all of this was announced because it was clear that the Dept of Ed had come to talk, but not listen. I sat there for a few minutes, but after the man who's mother is opening a school boasted that the schools which would be opening come from an organization which gets 80% graduation rates -- of what kind of students and where he did not say -- I left. You know, if you want an 80% graduation rate, you can get it. You just have to graduate the students. It's not the same as wanting to educate the kids...
23 January, 2007
22 January, 2007
Anthem
for those of us in various kinds of limbo -- a message from Stephen Sondheim. The article is from Sondheim.com Lyrics and references to the song, "I'm still here."
« Features
by June Abernathy
“I'm Still Here” is more than just a showstopping number in Stephen Sondheim's Follies. It is a cultural roadmap of the American fads, media darlings, politics, and excess of the last century.
Carlotta Campion has been through it all, and she has been brought to life by such great ladies of the stage as Yvonne De Carlo, Nancy Walker, Carol Burnett, Shirley MacLaine, and Ann Miller. Told by a character who has "seen it all", and sung by an Actress whose actual life adds reality and resonance, if it has been cast well, this song strikes a chord with every audience member.
Those who have "been there" a bit themselves can identify, full of the knowledge that they, too, are "still here". Those who are too young to have gone through the mill themselves can still admire the guts and determination of someone who has, and has lived to tell about it - to sing about it - with electrifying passion. Unfortunately, as time marches on, there are less and less people who understand the references in the lyrics - it has become a bit of a trivia game to get them all.
Yet understanding them gives the listener added depth and context that make it worth the hunt. So, to help out, I've assembled a breakdown of the sometimes obscure references in “I'm Still Here”:
Good times and bum times,I’ve seen them all and, my dear,I’m still here.
Plush velvet sometimes,Sometimes just pretzels and beer,But I’m here.
I’ve stuffed the Dailies in my shoes,
Dailies – Daily newspapers, to replace the soles in worn out shoes.
Strummed Ukuleles,
"Ukuleles" - A Hawaiian instument which became a popular fad on the mainland in the 1920’s.
Sung the Blues,Seen all my dreams disappear,But I’m here.
I’ve slept in shanties,Guest of the W.P.A.,
"W.P.A." - Work Projects Administration (1935–43). U.S. government agency during the New Deal. The WPA undertook extensive building and improvement projects to provide work for the unemployed.
But I’m here.
...
I’ve been through Gandhi,
"Gandhi" - Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (a.k.a. Mahatma) (1869-1948) Indian nationalist and spiritual Leader who developed the practice of nonviolent disobedience that forced Great Britain to grant independence to India in 1947. His philosophy was embraced by civil rights activists in the U.S. during the 1960’s.
Windsor and Wally’s affair,
"Windsor and Wally’s affair" – a reference to an affair between King Edward VII, reigning King of England in 1936, and Wallis Warfield Simpson, an American divorcee. He abdicated the throne in order to marry her in 1937, and was granted the title of Duke of Windsor.
And I’m here.
Amos ‘n Andy,
"Amos ‘n Andy" - A popular show about the comic lives of two hapless black men which began on the radio in 1929 (with white actors), was made into a TV show in 1949 (with black actors), and finally pulled off the air in 1965 due to protests about the show’s stereotypical depiction of blacks.
Mahjongg and Platinum hair,
"Mahjongg" - A chinese tile game which became very popular in the suburban US in the 1920’s.
And I’m here.
I got through "Abie’s Irish Rose
"Abie’s Irish Rose" - A play which opened in 1922 and ran for a then unheard of 2,532 performances.
Five Dionne Babies,
"Five Dionne Babies" - The Dionne Quintuplets, a multiple birth that made headlines in 1934.
Major Bowes,
"Major Bowes" - Produced and hosted a popular Amateur Hour on radio.
Had Heebie-JeebiesFor Beebe’s Bathysphere
"Beebe’s Bathysphere" - William Beebe invented the Bathysphere, a reinforced steel deep Water diving chamber which he took down to record depths in 1934.
I got through Brenda Frazier,
"Brenda Frazier" - Popular debutante and spoiled rich girl who regularly made the papers for a variety of romps which illustrated how well some segments of society were living while others starved.
(Alternative lyric:)I've lived through Shirley Temple,
"Shirley Temple" - Child actress who attained monumental fame and adoration during the depression. (This line was changed as of the 1987 London revival of Follies, as a better known reference- particularly to non-Americans).
And I'm here.
I’ve gotten through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover,
"Herbert (Hoover)" - President of the US from 1928 to 1934. Blamed by many For the Depression. (No relation to J. Edgar Hoover).
"J. Edgar Hoover" - Head of the FBI from 1921 until his death in 1972. Known for fighting gangsters during Prohibition, although the reference here is probably more for his anti-Communist campaign after WWII, which led to unfortunate blacklisting, the "red scare", and, to a certain extent, the US involvement in the conflicts in Korea and Vietnam. Since his death, evidence of cross dressing and possible homosexuality have made the reference all the more ironic.
...
I’ve been through Reno,
"Reno" - Reno, Nevada. Known as a place to obtain a quick and easy divorce.
I’ve been through Beverly Hills, And I’m here.
Reefers and Vino,.
"Reefers" – Marijuana cigarettes
"Vino" - Wine
Rest cures, religion and pills,But I’m here.
Been called a pinkoCommie tool,
"Pinko Commie tool" - Reference to the "red scare" of the early 1950's. Senator Joseph McCarthy formed a "House UnAmerican Activities Committee", and accused various Government officials, entertainers, and detractors of being Communists out to destroy the US. He was discredited and censured by congress in 1954 after destroying a number of lives and careers.
...
Black sable one day,Next day it goes into hock,
"hock" - Sold to a pawnbroker for cash
But I’m here.
Top billing Monday,
"Top billing" - The first name listed in the credits of a show. The Star.
Tuesday you’re touring in stock,
"stock" - Summer Stock, or more generally, theatre outside of NYC.
But I’m here.
...
I’ve run the gamut,A to Z. Three cheers and dammit,C’est La Vie.
"C’est La Vie" - French for "that’s life". Indicative of a carefree lifestyle.
I got through all of last year, And I’m here.
Lord knows, at least I’ve been there, And I’m here! Look who’s here! I’m still here!
“I'm Still Here”© 1971 Rilting MusicAll rights administered by WB Music Corp.
« Features
by June Abernathy
“I'm Still Here” is more than just a showstopping number in Stephen Sondheim's Follies. It is a cultural roadmap of the American fads, media darlings, politics, and excess of the last century.
Carlotta Campion has been through it all, and she has been brought to life by such great ladies of the stage as Yvonne De Carlo, Nancy Walker, Carol Burnett, Shirley MacLaine, and Ann Miller. Told by a character who has "seen it all", and sung by an Actress whose actual life adds reality and resonance, if it has been cast well, this song strikes a chord with every audience member.
Those who have "been there" a bit themselves can identify, full of the knowledge that they, too, are "still here". Those who are too young to have gone through the mill themselves can still admire the guts and determination of someone who has, and has lived to tell about it - to sing about it - with electrifying passion. Unfortunately, as time marches on, there are less and less people who understand the references in the lyrics - it has become a bit of a trivia game to get them all.
Yet understanding them gives the listener added depth and context that make it worth the hunt. So, to help out, I've assembled a breakdown of the sometimes obscure references in “I'm Still Here”:
Good times and bum times,I’ve seen them all and, my dear,I’m still here.
Plush velvet sometimes,Sometimes just pretzels and beer,But I’m here.
I’ve stuffed the Dailies in my shoes,
Dailies – Daily newspapers, to replace the soles in worn out shoes.
Strummed Ukuleles,
"Ukuleles" - A Hawaiian instument which became a popular fad on the mainland in the 1920’s.
Sung the Blues,Seen all my dreams disappear,But I’m here.
I’ve slept in shanties,Guest of the W.P.A.,
"W.P.A." - Work Projects Administration (1935–43). U.S. government agency during the New Deal. The WPA undertook extensive building and improvement projects to provide work for the unemployed.
But I’m here.
...
I’ve been through Gandhi,
"Gandhi" - Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi (a.k.a. Mahatma) (1869-1948) Indian nationalist and spiritual Leader who developed the practice of nonviolent disobedience that forced Great Britain to grant independence to India in 1947. His philosophy was embraced by civil rights activists in the U.S. during the 1960’s.
Windsor and Wally’s affair,
"Windsor and Wally’s affair" – a reference to an affair between King Edward VII, reigning King of England in 1936, and Wallis Warfield Simpson, an American divorcee. He abdicated the throne in order to marry her in 1937, and was granted the title of Duke of Windsor.
And I’m here.
Amos ‘n Andy,
"Amos ‘n Andy" - A popular show about the comic lives of two hapless black men which began on the radio in 1929 (with white actors), was made into a TV show in 1949 (with black actors), and finally pulled off the air in 1965 due to protests about the show’s stereotypical depiction of blacks.
Mahjongg and Platinum hair,
"Mahjongg" - A chinese tile game which became very popular in the suburban US in the 1920’s.
And I’m here.
I got through "Abie’s Irish Rose
"Abie’s Irish Rose" - A play which opened in 1922 and ran for a then unheard of 2,532 performances.
Five Dionne Babies,
"Five Dionne Babies" - The Dionne Quintuplets, a multiple birth that made headlines in 1934.
Major Bowes,
"Major Bowes" - Produced and hosted a popular Amateur Hour on radio.
Had Heebie-JeebiesFor Beebe’s Bathysphere
"Beebe’s Bathysphere" - William Beebe invented the Bathysphere, a reinforced steel deep Water diving chamber which he took down to record depths in 1934.
I got through Brenda Frazier,
"Brenda Frazier" - Popular debutante and spoiled rich girl who regularly made the papers for a variety of romps which illustrated how well some segments of society were living while others starved.
(Alternative lyric:)I've lived through Shirley Temple,
"Shirley Temple" - Child actress who attained monumental fame and adoration during the depression. (This line was changed as of the 1987 London revival of Follies, as a better known reference- particularly to non-Americans).
And I'm here.
I’ve gotten through Herbert and J. Edgar Hoover,
"Herbert (Hoover)" - President of the US from 1928 to 1934. Blamed by many For the Depression. (No relation to J. Edgar Hoover).
"J. Edgar Hoover" - Head of the FBI from 1921 until his death in 1972. Known for fighting gangsters during Prohibition, although the reference here is probably more for his anti-Communist campaign after WWII, which led to unfortunate blacklisting, the "red scare", and, to a certain extent, the US involvement in the conflicts in Korea and Vietnam. Since his death, evidence of cross dressing and possible homosexuality have made the reference all the more ironic.
...
I’ve been through Reno,
"Reno" - Reno, Nevada. Known as a place to obtain a quick and easy divorce.
I’ve been through Beverly Hills, And I’m here.
Reefers and Vino,.
"Reefers" – Marijuana cigarettes
"Vino" - Wine
Rest cures, religion and pills,But I’m here.
Been called a pinkoCommie tool,
"Pinko Commie tool" - Reference to the "red scare" of the early 1950's. Senator Joseph McCarthy formed a "House UnAmerican Activities Committee", and accused various Government officials, entertainers, and detractors of being Communists out to destroy the US. He was discredited and censured by congress in 1954 after destroying a number of lives and careers.
...
Black sable one day,Next day it goes into hock,
"hock" - Sold to a pawnbroker for cash
But I’m here.
Top billing Monday,
"Top billing" - The first name listed in the credits of a show. The Star.
Tuesday you’re touring in stock,
"stock" - Summer Stock, or more generally, theatre outside of NYC.
But I’m here.
...
I’ve run the gamut,A to Z. Three cheers and dammit,C’est La Vie.
"C’est La Vie" - French for "that’s life". Indicative of a carefree lifestyle.
I got through all of last year, And I’m here.
Lord knows, at least I’ve been there, And I’m here! Look who’s here! I’m still here!
“I'm Still Here”© 1971 Rilting MusicAll rights administered by WB Music Corp.
Limbo
About a thousand NYC teachers will be in limbo this year. They will be working as ATR's -- long term substitutes. Most of these individuals will have ten or more years of experience.
A good friend of mine used to say, whenever he graded his college students' papers, that we should "fire all the teachers". I would look at him and say, "Even me?" He would respond, "No, of course, not." Well, it finally is me.
Instead of just placing all of the blame on teachers in the merry-go-round of listless underachievement that is our educational system, they are now actually placing the teachers in a kind of vegetative state. Our union contract prevents us from being fired. So, instead, we are being humiliated. We will substitute for younger, less experienced teachers. If we are feeling generous, we will coach them.
Some of the teachers will be Teaching Fellows. On average, these bright young people who are recruited and then trained to become teachers, last about TWO YEARS. This is anecdotal -- it may be possible that the Teaching Fellows last even less time. Overall, whether recruited or not, most teachers quit in their first five years. That's been born out by study after study.
Indeed, many of the most famous stories -- the woman who taught the class of "Dangerous Minds" for example -- are about teachers WHO ONLY LASTED A YEAR. The thing about a miracle is that it is often momentary.
Maybe we don't care about sustaining teachers. Maybe teaching is a job for young people to do for two years or so until they go on to their REAL PROFESSION. The system can just leach onto their energies and suffer from their lack of experience. Maybe the advantages will outweigh the disadvantages.
Is that what most people want for their kids: attendance at schools supplied by young teachers who are constantly changing? Maybe that's a good idea. I really don't know.
What I do know is that now I am a scapegoat. And I don't like it.
What saddens me is that I think, my friend's opinion is still the same, regardless, and that I have many friends who feel this way.
A good friend of mine used to say, whenever he graded his college students' papers, that we should "fire all the teachers". I would look at him and say, "Even me?" He would respond, "No, of course, not." Well, it finally is me.
Instead of just placing all of the blame on teachers in the merry-go-round of listless underachievement that is our educational system, they are now actually placing the teachers in a kind of vegetative state. Our union contract prevents us from being fired. So, instead, we are being humiliated. We will substitute for younger, less experienced teachers. If we are feeling generous, we will coach them.
Some of the teachers will be Teaching Fellows. On average, these bright young people who are recruited and then trained to become teachers, last about TWO YEARS. This is anecdotal -- it may be possible that the Teaching Fellows last even less time. Overall, whether recruited or not, most teachers quit in their first five years. That's been born out by study after study.
Indeed, many of the most famous stories -- the woman who taught the class of "Dangerous Minds" for example -- are about teachers WHO ONLY LASTED A YEAR. The thing about a miracle is that it is often momentary.
Maybe we don't care about sustaining teachers. Maybe teaching is a job for young people to do for two years or so until they go on to their REAL PROFESSION. The system can just leach onto their energies and suffer from their lack of experience. Maybe the advantages will outweigh the disadvantages.
Is that what most people want for their kids: attendance at schools supplied by young teachers who are constantly changing? Maybe that's a good idea. I really don't know.
What I do know is that now I am a scapegoat. And I don't like it.
What saddens me is that I think, my friend's opinion is still the same, regardless, and that I have many friends who feel this way.
Pictures at home
Henry, with me behind him. Henry and Larry going to sleep and Henry and Larry when I arrived home last night, a bit late. Note Larry's slightly peeved expression.
New cars
The superintendent and all of his minions who told us that it was "cheaper to buy an old car than fix a new one" was just FIRED.
Sorry, man. We traded up.
They're still closing our school, though.
Sorry, man. We traded up.
They're still closing our school, though.
Smell
I haven't really laughed for a while, except for a few moments during "Will and Grace." ( I watch the show in re-runs.) Grace walks in with a puppy she has surprised Will with, and he says, "Is that him?" She says, "No, it's veteran character actor Charles Durning." I read a really good article which said that "Will and Grace" makes fun of everything and implied that it has torn at what is sacred. I believe it is a bitter show and that it has a conservative bent. I hate the lesbian jokes. At the same time, it makes me laugh. I am similarly underutilizing my education and I see in "Will and Grace" a reflection of my acceptance of my own meaninglessness.
A few days ago, we had another plumbing calamity and mildew set in on a good percentage of my small wardrobe. (I mean it: I've paired down to five pairs of pants, a few shirts, two sweaters.) So, I went to K-Mart and bought more sweatshop cheap clothes. Much of my life these days is about chasing my own smell -- trying to shower when the heat is strong enough, and hoping my jacket airs out enough to be re-worn. Most of the time, I just barely make it. I carry around enough anti-this and that to be able to cover peat moss just in case.
I don't know if this is true in other parts of the world, but NYC public school children are particularly sensitive to smell. If you've sweat a little, they will cover their noses with their shirts as you talk to them. They will complain loudly about any scent other than flowers. They will remark about your body odor to your face. I don't mean just little kids -- any student in this system can't stand anything that remotely smells. My students bathe themselves in cocoa butter and various perfumes and colognes. Some of them smell like marijuana anyway, but they are always carrying around lotion so that, at the very least, their skin doesn't feel "ashy". My skin is very, very dry and always has been, but it would have never occurred to me to pull out a bottle of noxzema or baby oil to moisten it.
My students will stop a lesson IN WHICH THEY ARE PARTICIPATING to ask for body lotion.
Why?
Maybe it's just something they can do -- a luxury they can afford. But, why afford it? Why not carry around a dictionary. If you added up the money spent on lotion, would it equal the cost of several books? I don't know because I've never bought lotion. I have one vial of exfoliate and I have had it since last year. It was eight dollars and the thought of buying one such container on a regular basis makes me feel paralyzed. There's no justification for such vanity. Skin comes off when you wash, soap is fairly cheap. My dandruff shampoo (I SAID I was DRY skinned) costs something like thirteen dollars a bottle and I try to be sparing with it. What if I were to lose my job -- I don't want to expect to be able to afford to spend a regular sum of money on things which just make me feel better about walking around, when I can walk around just fine.
My students, on the other hand, wouldn't exchange their vanity for their education. Most people wouldn't, I'll bet. My uncle is a meticulous dresser, my colleagues buy jewels. I take too many cabs, but that is partially out of depression and more out of being very out of shape. I have a baseball cap fetish, but even that I don't take all that seriously. I buy about three books a month, as cheaply as I can. I remember my uncle thinking that I probably bought three books a year -- he postulated this when I was in tears because the post office had sent back the books I ordered which I could not get to pick up in time. He suggested that I pay for a more expensive postage method, since I didn't "do that every day." No, just every week or so.
But, I am reaching a point where I want to give away all of my books -- clear my apartment for me, the bed, the desk, the technical devices and the cats. I'll still buy books, but give them away.
I'm too exhausted most of the time to even reach the library and besides, I don't take good care of my books. Academic sloppyness is my vanity.
It's cheaper than lotion, still.
A few days ago, we had another plumbing calamity and mildew set in on a good percentage of my small wardrobe. (I mean it: I've paired down to five pairs of pants, a few shirts, two sweaters.) So, I went to K-Mart and bought more sweatshop cheap clothes. Much of my life these days is about chasing my own smell -- trying to shower when the heat is strong enough, and hoping my jacket airs out enough to be re-worn. Most of the time, I just barely make it. I carry around enough anti-this and that to be able to cover peat moss just in case.
I don't know if this is true in other parts of the world, but NYC public school children are particularly sensitive to smell. If you've sweat a little, they will cover their noses with their shirts as you talk to them. They will complain loudly about any scent other than flowers. They will remark about your body odor to your face. I don't mean just little kids -- any student in this system can't stand anything that remotely smells. My students bathe themselves in cocoa butter and various perfumes and colognes. Some of them smell like marijuana anyway, but they are always carrying around lotion so that, at the very least, their skin doesn't feel "ashy". My skin is very, very dry and always has been, but it would have never occurred to me to pull out a bottle of noxzema or baby oil to moisten it.
My students will stop a lesson IN WHICH THEY ARE PARTICIPATING to ask for body lotion.
Why?
Maybe it's just something they can do -- a luxury they can afford. But, why afford it? Why not carry around a dictionary. If you added up the money spent on lotion, would it equal the cost of several books? I don't know because I've never bought lotion. I have one vial of exfoliate and I have had it since last year. It was eight dollars and the thought of buying one such container on a regular basis makes me feel paralyzed. There's no justification for such vanity. Skin comes off when you wash, soap is fairly cheap. My dandruff shampoo (I SAID I was DRY skinned) costs something like thirteen dollars a bottle and I try to be sparing with it. What if I were to lose my job -- I don't want to expect to be able to afford to spend a regular sum of money on things which just make me feel better about walking around, when I can walk around just fine.
My students, on the other hand, wouldn't exchange their vanity for their education. Most people wouldn't, I'll bet. My uncle is a meticulous dresser, my colleagues buy jewels. I take too many cabs, but that is partially out of depression and more out of being very out of shape. I have a baseball cap fetish, but even that I don't take all that seriously. I buy about three books a month, as cheaply as I can. I remember my uncle thinking that I probably bought three books a year -- he postulated this when I was in tears because the post office had sent back the books I ordered which I could not get to pick up in time. He suggested that I pay for a more expensive postage method, since I didn't "do that every day." No, just every week or so.
But, I am reaching a point where I want to give away all of my books -- clear my apartment for me, the bed, the desk, the technical devices and the cats. I'll still buy books, but give them away.
I'm too exhausted most of the time to even reach the library and besides, I don't take good care of my books. Academic sloppyness is my vanity.
It's cheaper than lotion, still.
Sleeping and Dreaming
I'm afraid.
There. I've said it. I'm afraid of:
1) Not having a real job.
2) Not being able to complete the basic tasks of the day.
3) The exhaustion I constantly feel.
4) Silence.
Tomorrow may be the last day that I ever teach in my own classroom. There will be no fanfare and I am already tired at the thought.
My friend Sharon Pearce told me that a very high percentage of people who are homeless were once unadopted children. My family has always felt illegitimate. Maybe that's why, at the end of every day of work, I always say, "I want to go home. But, there is no home." I feel home in Henry and Larry and I did with Karen. She said I made her feel like she had a home. She always said, "Let's go home." I have always thought I would end up homeless. But, for the cats, I would be, I'm sure.
There. I've said it. I'm afraid of:
1) Not having a real job.
2) Not being able to complete the basic tasks of the day.
3) The exhaustion I constantly feel.
4) Silence.
Tomorrow may be the last day that I ever teach in my own classroom. There will be no fanfare and I am already tired at the thought.
My friend Sharon Pearce told me that a very high percentage of people who are homeless were once unadopted children. My family has always felt illegitimate. Maybe that's why, at the end of every day of work, I always say, "I want to go home. But, there is no home." I feel home in Henry and Larry and I did with Karen. She said I made her feel like she had a home. She always said, "Let's go home." I have always thought I would end up homeless. But, for the cats, I would be, I'm sure.
21 January, 2007
No bananas
Cars are hard for me to remember. They're a lot of plastic to me and I've spent a lot of time sleeping in them. I like the feel of the wind against my face as we drive along highways. It's like a quiet airplane overhead, drifting at high speed.
The trunk of my father's 1968 Buick is the only thing I remember about it. We were constantly looking through it for toys, jackets, boxes and the spare tire. I carried things out of it to the house and then hid in my room until my aunt emerged mysteriously from out of the oven with dinner. To me, she seemed nine feet tall and she unfurled from out of the broiler with the steak she had cooked to medium rare. I couldn't even see my father's face, but I remember his hair was frizzy and his voice soft as a bubble. My aunt seemed to want something from me -- like to be neat, or something. Whatever it was, I couldn't do it.
"You're just like your mother." That's all I remember her saying to me across the Baked Ziti which I forked through softly. I didn't know what I had done and mostly I kept my focus to within the first foot around me on those rare weekends when my father picked me up for visitation rights. I didn't really want to see him. I don't know if he wanted to see me.
He died five years ago. I used one of those 10 dollar internet searches and found his phone number. He was living with my aunt in Florida. They lived together all of their lives and she hadn't had it in her to take his name off of the phone directory. She said he thought it was better for me to live with my mother. I guess it was.
The trunk of my father's 1968 Buick is the only thing I remember about it. We were constantly looking through it for toys, jackets, boxes and the spare tire. I carried things out of it to the house and then hid in my room until my aunt emerged mysteriously from out of the oven with dinner. To me, she seemed nine feet tall and she unfurled from out of the broiler with the steak she had cooked to medium rare. I couldn't even see my father's face, but I remember his hair was frizzy and his voice soft as a bubble. My aunt seemed to want something from me -- like to be neat, or something. Whatever it was, I couldn't do it.
"You're just like your mother." That's all I remember her saying to me across the Baked Ziti which I forked through softly. I didn't know what I had done and mostly I kept my focus to within the first foot around me on those rare weekends when my father picked me up for visitation rights. I didn't really want to see him. I don't know if he wanted to see me.
He died five years ago. I used one of those 10 dollar internet searches and found his phone number. He was living with my aunt in Florida. They lived together all of their lives and she hadn't had it in her to take his name off of the phone directory. She said he thought it was better for me to live with my mother. I guess it was.
19 January, 2007
The Hennybee
Henry has been biting at my watch and pushing off of me with his back feet. He gets stronger every day.
Last night, he just pounced onto the bed, WALKED OVER ME and went to the window. Later, when I couldn't find my phone, he clawed the bathroom door. I had left it in there. He then walked me over to where LARRY had thrown up the food he was NOT supposed to eat. It's my fault, I've been letting him. We all know better. Larry slept softly afterwards.
Larry "Boo-Boo" Kitty and The Hennybee.
Last night, he just pounced onto the bed, WALKED OVER ME and went to the window. Later, when I couldn't find my phone, he clawed the bathroom door. I had left it in there. He then walked me over to where LARRY had thrown up the food he was NOT supposed to eat. It's my fault, I've been letting him. We all know better. Larry slept softly afterwards.
Larry "Boo-Boo" Kitty and The Hennybee.
18 January, 2007
My last to-do list as a BCNHS English teacher
1. Write a college recommendation for Jimmy.
2. Get a copy of Happy Baby for Greta and Memoirs of a Geisha for Patrina.
3. Print Literary Device list for Michaela.
4. Call Ernst to see if he will come to school for Regents Prep.
5. Print poems up -- "Mother to Son" and "Stll I Rise" for Regents Prep.
6.Clean my desk completely.
7. Water my plant and put it in Pearce's room as I won't have a room and Henry and Larry will eat it, if I bring it home.
2. Get a copy of Happy Baby for Greta and Memoirs of a Geisha for Patrina.
3. Print Literary Device list for Michaela.
4. Call Ernst to see if he will come to school for Regents Prep.
5. Print poems up -- "Mother to Son" and "Stll I Rise" for Regents Prep.
6.Clean my desk completely.
7. Water my plant and put it in Pearce's room as I won't have a room and Henry and Larry will eat it, if I bring it home.
17 January, 2007
Loss
Lots of people have lost more than I have. I'm very lucky.
But I keenly miss
My little boy Fred
My baby Queequeg
Karen, oh, Karen. Karen "my seven year old." "I'm ten, you're seven." Always.
The belief that I would never lose those I so dearly loved.
But I keenly miss
My little boy Fred
My baby Queequeg
Karen, oh, Karen. Karen "my seven year old." "I'm ten, you're seven." Always.
The belief that I would never lose those I so dearly loved.
"Some people become part of this culture..."
Polyester pants, plastic shoes and a rainstorm. That's what I remember of my first months of teaching. I could barely keep myself covered and I had no money at all. It took six weeks for me to get a paycheck, so I worked as a telemarketer at night, selling magazine subscriptions. If I missed dinner in the Ladies Christian Union Residence which I was lucky to be living in, I split a quarter pound of cream cheese with my best friend and we each bought a bagel. Whenever I'm broke, I'm ravenous, so I devoured the bagel and usually added up nickels and dimes for junk food. My friend's mother used to send her soups, and I must've eaten two a day.
Bryant Avenue in the early 1990's was lined with abandoned buildings and houses. My students loved to talk about the bodies in each of them, as if they were ghost stories and we were at some maccabre camping trip. We might as well have been, as very little studying was going on. A teenaged seventh grader told me he wanted to dissect me. Another kid sprayed me in the eye with cologne. I smelled awful almost every day because I was depressed and my clothes were either too tight or too worn. It was a substitute teaching job and I was grateful when it was over. I was offered a job teaching prisoners at Rikers Island and that sounded like heaven.
Before I left, one of the guidance counselors looked at me with contempt and said, "Some people become part of this culture instead of changing it." I was friendly with the students and I wanted to know everything about them. I wanted a way in to work with them, but I also wanted a way in to somehow understand this carnival of violence that hovered on the edges of my world. The Residence I lived in was in the heart of Greenwhich Village on a tree lined street with several landmark brownstones. Just across from me, however, was the house in which a little girl had been killed by her parents. My students' world was the tangible evidence of that darkness, that corruption -- that same absence of love and compassion. The counselor was right. I did want to be part of it. I'd taken a German friend to visit the street in which I taught and she said, loudly, "Is that an abandoned building?" But, I wasn't interested in voyeurism. I wanted to travel to the subculture of my students the way some people want to move away from home. Among at-risk adolescents, I have always blended in -- my oddnesses and fears make sense in the fun house mirror that defines their world. No one expects you to be sane or respectable -- they share my suspicions of the mainstream world, even if they do not share my distaste for fashion.
Teaching at Rikers Island was a fast track to that end. The students themselves gave me quick shorthand lessons in the rules of their neighborhoods and in how they'd come to prison -- which was itself a set of keys into the disintegration of our schools and our city. But, I disintegrated with it.
Teaching requires a certain amount of clinical distance. A colleague of mine takes on the persona of Mr. Rogers on amphetamines. I don't think he ever looks the students in the eye. He takes his lessons off of the internet -- there are lots of good lessons to be had, so this is no crime. While his ego is mammoth, he is not personally invested in anything he does. At the moment, I envy him. He has picked several short tasks which are meaningful, a few short stories and a novel, which work well. Like a physical therapist who doesn't make small talk, he takes the students through these exercises, works of literature, etc. The work is engaging and simple. Useful, if not always ambitious. He will survive the loss of the school and move on. He was never really here.
So many schools I interview with now talk about commitments to the community, but I wonder how necessary that really is -- indeed, one school talked to me as much about the methods they use to teach (which was to hand teachers a set of lessons they were to follow rigidly). Maybe we are missionaries. The gospels we teach are there own places.
I began working as a teacher because of the opportunity to engage with language. I've never taught the lessons I imagined in which we would splice and re-splice interpretations of poems, plays, novels. A lot of the time has been spent listening to stories and helping my students to write them. That's another way to understand words, I suppose.
For this moment, however, I know that I have lost a lot of the pure energy that is required just to maintain oneself in the classroom. Like that haggard substitute, I feel surrounded by my school and not an active part of it. I let a lot of opportunities to teach fall by the wayside because I couldn't fight the despair of the school itself. In becoming part of the culture, I've lost a lot of the ability to resist it and to change it.
Bryant Avenue in the early 1990's was lined with abandoned buildings and houses. My students loved to talk about the bodies in each of them, as if they were ghost stories and we were at some maccabre camping trip. We might as well have been, as very little studying was going on. A teenaged seventh grader told me he wanted to dissect me. Another kid sprayed me in the eye with cologne. I smelled awful almost every day because I was depressed and my clothes were either too tight or too worn. It was a substitute teaching job and I was grateful when it was over. I was offered a job teaching prisoners at Rikers Island and that sounded like heaven.
Before I left, one of the guidance counselors looked at me with contempt and said, "Some people become part of this culture instead of changing it." I was friendly with the students and I wanted to know everything about them. I wanted a way in to work with them, but I also wanted a way in to somehow understand this carnival of violence that hovered on the edges of my world. The Residence I lived in was in the heart of Greenwhich Village on a tree lined street with several landmark brownstones. Just across from me, however, was the house in which a little girl had been killed by her parents. My students' world was the tangible evidence of that darkness, that corruption -- that same absence of love and compassion. The counselor was right. I did want to be part of it. I'd taken a German friend to visit the street in which I taught and she said, loudly, "Is that an abandoned building?" But, I wasn't interested in voyeurism. I wanted to travel to the subculture of my students the way some people want to move away from home. Among at-risk adolescents, I have always blended in -- my oddnesses and fears make sense in the fun house mirror that defines their world. No one expects you to be sane or respectable -- they share my suspicions of the mainstream world, even if they do not share my distaste for fashion.
Teaching at Rikers Island was a fast track to that end. The students themselves gave me quick shorthand lessons in the rules of their neighborhoods and in how they'd come to prison -- which was itself a set of keys into the disintegration of our schools and our city. But, I disintegrated with it.
Teaching requires a certain amount of clinical distance. A colleague of mine takes on the persona of Mr. Rogers on amphetamines. I don't think he ever looks the students in the eye. He takes his lessons off of the internet -- there are lots of good lessons to be had, so this is no crime. While his ego is mammoth, he is not personally invested in anything he does. At the moment, I envy him. He has picked several short tasks which are meaningful, a few short stories and a novel, which work well. Like a physical therapist who doesn't make small talk, he takes the students through these exercises, works of literature, etc. The work is engaging and simple. Useful, if not always ambitious. He will survive the loss of the school and move on. He was never really here.
So many schools I interview with now talk about commitments to the community, but I wonder how necessary that really is -- indeed, one school talked to me as much about the methods they use to teach (which was to hand teachers a set of lessons they were to follow rigidly). Maybe we are missionaries. The gospels we teach are there own places.
I began working as a teacher because of the opportunity to engage with language. I've never taught the lessons I imagined in which we would splice and re-splice interpretations of poems, plays, novels. A lot of the time has been spent listening to stories and helping my students to write them. That's another way to understand words, I suppose.
For this moment, however, I know that I have lost a lot of the pure energy that is required just to maintain oneself in the classroom. Like that haggard substitute, I feel surrounded by my school and not an active part of it. I let a lot of opportunities to teach fall by the wayside because I couldn't fight the despair of the school itself. In becoming part of the culture, I've lost a lot of the ability to resist it and to change it.
Sixteen years and now I am "excessed".
When I first started teaching, there was a hiring freeze. I remember almost literally hiding under the table at work. A group of teachers were let go -- "excessed". It meant they would be reassigned. Another young teacher and I were taken off the payroll, then mysteriously re-placed on it. We should have been excessed, but we weren't. We were simply "re-hired". Somehow I never missed a paycheck. (I think my principal said she told the then "Board of Education" that we were hired and had been working unpaid with the understanding we would get paid as soon as the freeze was over. She didn't even cover up what she had done.) I learned then the magic a principal can engage in if s/he is powerful enough. Sixteen years later (thirteen years of which I spent teaching), I've been excessed. I've been told that I will be placed AT MY SCHOOL. What that means is, I will no longer have a full schedule, but will be paid by the Dept. of Education (at full salary) to BE A SUBSTITUTE. That is, until they can place me somewhere else in a full time job. That status of limbo could last for years except that my school itself is closing in June. So, they will have to place us all eventually.
What is the LOGIC of paying me TO DO LESS? Punishment. My school didn't meet its projected numbers of students. Part of the reason we didn't meet our numbers is that we HAVE BEEN CUTTING STUDENTS from our rosters. We've been encouraged to do this BECAUSE the Dept. of Education has been planning on closing us. Why this encouragement to purge our rosters of students as often as possible wasn't a clear sign to all of us to do something, I don't know. Maybe we didn't believe there was hope, but I think we just didn't take in that someone would really CLOSE us. Move us, hide us, make it impossible to find us -- all of that, sure. Meanwhile, it was a fait accomplis.
Now what happenst to me and three other teachers, all of them quite good: They lose the money to pay me, but the Dept. of Ed. pays me to substitute. If nobody's absent, I still get paid.
How does this relate to my earlier experience? I guess I wonder if our principal had wanted to change things and could have done so. When those teachers were excessed back at that first school, it was clear that the principal didn't mind losing them. I know politics at what Mr. Bloomberg re-named the "Dept. of Education" have changed, but I still wonder.
Your thoughts are always welcome.
What is the LOGIC of paying me TO DO LESS? Punishment. My school didn't meet its projected numbers of students. Part of the reason we didn't meet our numbers is that we HAVE BEEN CUTTING STUDENTS from our rosters. We've been encouraged to do this BECAUSE the Dept. of Education has been planning on closing us. Why this encouragement to purge our rosters of students as often as possible wasn't a clear sign to all of us to do something, I don't know. Maybe we didn't believe there was hope, but I think we just didn't take in that someone would really CLOSE us. Move us, hide us, make it impossible to find us -- all of that, sure. Meanwhile, it was a fait accomplis.
Now what happenst to me and three other teachers, all of them quite good: They lose the money to pay me, but the Dept. of Ed. pays me to substitute. If nobody's absent, I still get paid.
How does this relate to my earlier experience? I guess I wonder if our principal had wanted to change things and could have done so. When those teachers were excessed back at that first school, it was clear that the principal didn't mind losing them. I know politics at what Mr. Bloomberg re-named the "Dept. of Education" have changed, but I still wonder.
Your thoughts are always welcome.
16 January, 2007
Henry speaks out on being poked by the vet tech
It was Martin Luther King day and my mommy was watching CNN, my doctor was giving another cat a big massage he calls an "echocardiogram" and I was being poked in the leg for the second time in two weeks. And again, they found my blood is fine. No matter how much medicine I take, I can handle it. I'm a big, tough guy.
This morning, as a reward, my mother brought us roast chicken which we liked a lot. Why do I have to be sick to get roast chicken? (Note: Good point, Henry.)
Next time, please note: Mommy gets blood taken, Henry watches CNN. Henry and Larry still get roast chicken. Mommy's a vegetarian anyway.
This morning, as a reward, my mother brought us roast chicken which we liked a lot. Why do I have to be sick to get roast chicken? (Note: Good point, Henry.)
Next time, please note: Mommy gets blood taken, Henry watches CNN. Henry and Larry still get roast chicken. Mommy's a vegetarian anyway.
Swing Low
It was Martin Luther King Day, and I sat in the veterinarian's office watching CNN. As the vet tech gently coaxed Henry into letting her take a little blood (he's fine, by the way), a red suited Atlanta mayor leafed through the papers of Martin Luther King. Then a smaller story came up about how the "I Have a Dream" speech almost had a different title. Passages were shown to us in a similar vein -- apparently King was reading several books at the time. It all seemed interesting in an "Edutainment" sense. I'm academic in sensibility, so I enjoyed the footnote. But, what did it tell me? That Martin Luther King Jr. had influences -- that his speeches had sources! Is this supposed to be news because we expected his words to come out of the ether, like those of an angel.
Still later, a friend sent me an email intimating that King may have forged part of his dissertation. I respect the friend enormously. I don't believe this, however, and I am willing to forgive it if it is true. Martin Luther King's greatest achievement was not his dissertation or his ability to cite his sources. It was his ability to apply what he knew to the world in front of him and to take useful action. All great writers are great thieves. Martin Luther King was 26 years old when he began his major work as a civil rights leader. He was a young man looking for the right thing to do to help end centuries of injustice. I don't care if he quoted Aristotle or misquoted him. I care that he understood him.
This is the problem with the public schools in general. They expect a kind of fussy allegiance to paperwork and don't engage with the larger principles behind it. Some of our toughest high schools work their students to death just because they feel that WORKING THEM is itself the goal. We weigh our students' work rather than read it. Why?
Teaching students how to think is almost impossible. Teaching students to work is very easy. Most of my classes YEARN to work. Labor feels like it will yield something, although it doesn't always. That's why so many students are shocked when they fail anyway. "But I did all the work?"
The work towards what?
For that matter, what do you think is the goal of our contemporary public schools? What would you like them to teach?
A lot of people will answer:
1) Schools should teach our students to be good citizens
How does one do this? My uncle is an excellent citizen. He votes, takes care of his family, never steals. But, he votes Republican which usually means against social programs and many private liberties. He idealizes people who make fun of cripples (Rush Limbaugh) and do phoney reporting (Bill O'Riley). He has an eerie certainty that they're right. Angela Davis, in a recent speech in New Orleans and aired on Democracy Now, suggested that certainty in some situations is the new cloak of racism. She gave the example of the certainty that a bellhop had that a Nigerian writer did not belong in his hotel. The employee couldn't say "Why?" He was just certain. I think my uncle is grasping for another kind of certainty -- a trust that he has peers with similar education who can make good judgements. The trouble is that he has no idea that these men are not his peers. What might shake him up is if he were to go to a hotel wearing his Jewish star and casually bump into O'Riley or Limbaugh. But, he's a good citizen. What misguides him is a desire to find someone who will understand him.
I vote Democrat. I'm often broke. I live on borrowed money (often from the aforementioned uncle). I am excellently informed and I spend all of my free moments listening to Air America, Democracy Now, Nova and Head on Radio Networks. Most of the people I idolize don't have a lot of money either. I love my family, my cats and am fairly good to my students above and beyond the call of duty. I'm a good citizen who misguidedly believed that brains without bucks was enough to get by.
None of this had much to do with schooling -- frighteningly, my uncle's and my schooling was somewhat the same, down to high schools.
Except -- we both like to "cut to the chase" and we try not to be untruthful or to waste anyone's time. That we definitely got from schooling.
Maybe that's why we can both, at least, live in mostly the manner we choose (not economic, but personal).
Isn't that what, Martin Luther King wanted for everyone? Didn't he fight for everyone to have that basic freedom and to be able to make choices? That's an amazing principle to stand up for and one which we've been trying to, as a people, understand and embody for over two hundred years now. So, maybe his aim wasn't to have an original idea, but to get all of us to COMMIT to those American ideals we all hold so dear.
Still later, a friend sent me an email intimating that King may have forged part of his dissertation. I respect the friend enormously. I don't believe this, however, and I am willing to forgive it if it is true. Martin Luther King's greatest achievement was not his dissertation or his ability to cite his sources. It was his ability to apply what he knew to the world in front of him and to take useful action. All great writers are great thieves. Martin Luther King was 26 years old when he began his major work as a civil rights leader. He was a young man looking for the right thing to do to help end centuries of injustice. I don't care if he quoted Aristotle or misquoted him. I care that he understood him.
This is the problem with the public schools in general. They expect a kind of fussy allegiance to paperwork and don't engage with the larger principles behind it. Some of our toughest high schools work their students to death just because they feel that WORKING THEM is itself the goal. We weigh our students' work rather than read it. Why?
Teaching students how to think is almost impossible. Teaching students to work is very easy. Most of my classes YEARN to work. Labor feels like it will yield something, although it doesn't always. That's why so many students are shocked when they fail anyway. "But I did all the work?"
The work towards what?
For that matter, what do you think is the goal of our contemporary public schools? What would you like them to teach?
A lot of people will answer:
1) Schools should teach our students to be good citizens
How does one do this? My uncle is an excellent citizen. He votes, takes care of his family, never steals. But, he votes Republican which usually means against social programs and many private liberties. He idealizes people who make fun of cripples (Rush Limbaugh) and do phoney reporting (Bill O'Riley). He has an eerie certainty that they're right. Angela Davis, in a recent speech in New Orleans and aired on Democracy Now, suggested that certainty in some situations is the new cloak of racism. She gave the example of the certainty that a bellhop had that a Nigerian writer did not belong in his hotel. The employee couldn't say "Why?" He was just certain. I think my uncle is grasping for another kind of certainty -- a trust that he has peers with similar education who can make good judgements. The trouble is that he has no idea that these men are not his peers. What might shake him up is if he were to go to a hotel wearing his Jewish star and casually bump into O'Riley or Limbaugh. But, he's a good citizen. What misguides him is a desire to find someone who will understand him.
I vote Democrat. I'm often broke. I live on borrowed money (often from the aforementioned uncle). I am excellently informed and I spend all of my free moments listening to Air America, Democracy Now, Nova and Head on Radio Networks. Most of the people I idolize don't have a lot of money either. I love my family, my cats and am fairly good to my students above and beyond the call of duty. I'm a good citizen who misguidedly believed that brains without bucks was enough to get by.
None of this had much to do with schooling -- frighteningly, my uncle's and my schooling was somewhat the same, down to high schools.
Except -- we both like to "cut to the chase" and we try not to be untruthful or to waste anyone's time. That we definitely got from schooling.
Maybe that's why we can both, at least, live in mostly the manner we choose (not economic, but personal).
Isn't that what, Martin Luther King wanted for everyone? Didn't he fight for everyone to have that basic freedom and to be able to make choices? That's an amazing principle to stand up for and one which we've been trying to, as a people, understand and embody for over two hundred years now. So, maybe his aim wasn't to have an original idea, but to get all of us to COMMIT to those American ideals we all hold so dear.
13 January, 2007
The sinking of the Titanic
In a world in which you can "trade up" from one school you don't like to a better one, it is important to acknowledge that the car you are in is...about to be traded ...while you are preparing for the big move.
I know, I know. The orchestra played on while the Titanic sank. But, I want a lifeboat. I feel like I am watching the school sink in slow motion. Oddly, in my Regents Prep class today, the students were asked to read an article about treasure hunting. It was eerie.
My school is closing. Staff cuts will also be made even before it does.
This is no longer fair to the students. Those who have no chance of graduating before we close should be placed. Anyone who can graduate should be given a clear outline of what he/she needs to do.
And, the staff should focus on getting those who can to graduate. We should meet and talk about which students they are, what they need and how we can best help them. We should troubleshoot. We should give them their best chance to graduate.
But, we are just running in place.
Maybe, we just can't face the water.
I know, I know. The orchestra played on while the Titanic sank. But, I want a lifeboat. I feel like I am watching the school sink in slow motion. Oddly, in my Regents Prep class today, the students were asked to read an article about treasure hunting. It was eerie.
My school is closing. Staff cuts will also be made even before it does.
This is no longer fair to the students. Those who have no chance of graduating before we close should be placed. Anyone who can graduate should be given a clear outline of what he/she needs to do.
And, the staff should focus on getting those who can to graduate. We should meet and talk about which students they are, what they need and how we can best help them. We should troubleshoot. We should give them their best chance to graduate.
But, we are just running in place.
Maybe, we just can't face the water.
12 January, 2007
Ice cream, Dayquil, Advil and Benadryl
That's been my diet for the past three days. I have bronchitis, but I don't have time to go to the doctor. We have to work six day weeks this month for Regents prep. So, I eat a pint of ice cream, take the aforementioned meds and just keep chugging. About every four hours, I load up on more Dayquil.
Don't try that at home, folks. My abuse of over-the-counter medication is not something other people should try or that I recommend.
My principal has asked to meet with me because I have been excessively absent. It's been a rough term.
1) On Thanksgiving, my sink exploded, more or less. Then the flies came.
2) The ceiling in my hallway leaks periodically causing disasters of various kinds.
3) I'm more physically run down than ever. I don't doubt that ALL OF THE MOLD in this apartment and its walls have caused me a lot of trouble.
4) Just before Christmas, Henry got very sick. He required a lot of close care. He's doing much better because of that care.
So, I missed ten days of work and I'm not proud of it, but it was all unavoidable. I accept whatever punishment is due to me. I want the strength to just say that
I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped. I hope this next term will be better.
What more can I say?
Any thoughts?
Don't try that at home, folks. My abuse of over-the-counter medication is not something other people should try or that I recommend.
My principal has asked to meet with me because I have been excessively absent. It's been a rough term.
1) On Thanksgiving, my sink exploded, more or less. Then the flies came.
2) The ceiling in my hallway leaks periodically causing disasters of various kinds.
3) I'm more physically run down than ever. I don't doubt that ALL OF THE MOLD in this apartment and its walls have caused me a lot of trouble.
4) Just before Christmas, Henry got very sick. He required a lot of close care. He's doing much better because of that care.
So, I missed ten days of work and I'm not proud of it, but it was all unavoidable. I accept whatever punishment is due to me. I want the strength to just say that
I'm sorry. It couldn't be helped. I hope this next term will be better.
What more can I say?
Any thoughts?
11 January, 2007
Where have all the classrooms gone
Yesterday, a student of mine came by to show me that he has an A- average in college.
How do I get that feeling back?
When I first met that student, I was full of purpose. Now I feel purposeless.
How do I get that feeling back?
When I first met that student, I was full of purpose. Now I feel purposeless.
09 January, 2007
Henry and Larry discuss recent events
Larry: I've put on some weight, I'll have to admit.
Henry: Never seen you eat so much.
Larry: Never seen you eat so little.
Henry: My appetite is coming back slowly. It's hard to eat when you are always thirsty and hard to drink when you are always tired.
Larry: Don't worry, Henry. You're looking better and better.
Henry: Since Dr. Boileau and mommy agreed that I don't need so much medicine as I did when I was really sick, I feel a lot better. That medicine was really harsh.
Larry: You did well, though.
Henry: I know.
Larry: It's not fair that you get to eat whatever you want.
Henry: When you eat my food, YOU GET SICK. How many times--
Larry: I know. Lately, I haven't been thinking as much. Nothing is following what it's supposed to.
Henry: It'll be okay.
Larry: It already is because you're much better.
Henry: Hugs to you and everyone who wished me well. Now, do you think I can get mommy to open another can of food?
Larry: In about a half hour. She just washed your plate ten minutes ago, after all.
Henry: Never seen you eat so much.
Larry: Never seen you eat so little.
Henry: My appetite is coming back slowly. It's hard to eat when you are always thirsty and hard to drink when you are always tired.
Larry: Don't worry, Henry. You're looking better and better.
Henry: Since Dr. Boileau and mommy agreed that I don't need so much medicine as I did when I was really sick, I feel a lot better. That medicine was really harsh.
Larry: You did well, though.
Henry: I know.
Larry: It's not fair that you get to eat whatever you want.
Henry: When you eat my food, YOU GET SICK. How many times--
Larry: I know. Lately, I haven't been thinking as much. Nothing is following what it's supposed to.
Henry: It'll be okay.
Larry: It already is because you're much better.
Henry: Hugs to you and everyone who wished me well. Now, do you think I can get mommy to open another can of food?
Larry: In about a half hour. She just washed your plate ten minutes ago, after all.
07 January, 2007
Nursing school, fever
I'm really sick. Fever, sore throat.
I got into nursing school.
Henry seems a little better. He improves daily.
I got into nursing school.
Henry seems a little better. He improves daily.
06 January, 2007
Life as a car
The use of a car as a metaphor for a lifestyle or a relationship or a period of time has become cliché. Fortunately for me, my superintendent has invented a new comparison to the automobile – the life of a school compared with the life of the car. He said: “It’s cheaper to buy a new car than to fix an old one.” Throughout yesterday and today, I have been traveling with this metaphor in mind. (I know, I know – I am towing this idea too far, perhaps.)
So, what is it like, to be part of a car? When he was continuing the metaphor, the superintendent referred to “old pistons” and “batteries” and how hard it is to figure out what is wrong with a car. It occurred to me much later – because I was still REELING from the comparison to an inanimate object now mostly made in Japan – that all of this depends on how good your mechanic is. Wouldn’t the mark of a good mechanic be her or his ability to identify the problem quickly? Wouldn’t a good mechanic be able to save you money, in the long run, as well?
So what my superintendent is really saying is that he DOES NOT WANT TO PAY FOR LABOR when he can pay for a whole new item, altogether. But, what is teaching or a school without labor? Just a building – pipes, heating systems, windows, etc. Good teaching is a lot more like good craftsmanship. It requires close, personalized attention and detailed work.
The teacher is much more like the mechanic than the car because the teacher is constantly adapting things to fit the student and to help the student understand the continuously changing standards of education and of living. If we are thought of as cars, then perhaps our superintendent thinks of us as like books, more than teachers. Fonts of information perhaps specially selected for each student. It is still going to take labor to convert all of this mass into energy – to open the book, for example.
I will have to confess here that I don’t own a car or drive. That said, one reason I don’t is that I don’t want to buy a cheap car which will break down in a year or two. The thought of spending a few thousand dollars for a year’s use of a car upsets me on some Dickensian level. I have always coveted the kind of car which would last five to ten years or so. A car that is safe, tasteful and fairly efficient. A Volvo, for example. Now, people who have Volvos tend to drive them for a while --- about ten years. Until recently, the basic design had not changed much at all, I think to accommodate that kind of customer.
At one time I considered leasing a car – so that I would not have to have the car when it was no longer good. I could just get a new one every few years. In fact, the superintendent had said that, “If the new school doesn’t work, we’ll close it down.” So, true to his low interest in paying a mechanic, he’s just going to keep “trading up” for new schools.
Putting aside the feelings of those of us in the car traded in, how does this lack of continuity work for the students. Will they quickly adapt to the new trend? Just keep shifting gears. If they do not, will he have to bring in a counseling/transition team to help them adjust. Not mechanics, but salespeople – helping to sell the students on the new reality.
What message does this send to our students? Well, perhaps we can understand why the US no longer leads the auto industry. It is making cars which are meant to be disposable in a world in which people actually do still want some return on their initial investment. And in which, they do not choose their cars or their schools by trends, but bydoing research and by using their commitment to their students to help foster a school and community which will both outlive a Volvo.
So, what is it like, to be part of a car? When he was continuing the metaphor, the superintendent referred to “old pistons” and “batteries” and how hard it is to figure out what is wrong with a car. It occurred to me much later – because I was still REELING from the comparison to an inanimate object now mostly made in Japan – that all of this depends on how good your mechanic is. Wouldn’t the mark of a good mechanic be her or his ability to identify the problem quickly? Wouldn’t a good mechanic be able to save you money, in the long run, as well?
So what my superintendent is really saying is that he DOES NOT WANT TO PAY FOR LABOR when he can pay for a whole new item, altogether. But, what is teaching or a school without labor? Just a building – pipes, heating systems, windows, etc. Good teaching is a lot more like good craftsmanship. It requires close, personalized attention and detailed work.
The teacher is much more like the mechanic than the car because the teacher is constantly adapting things to fit the student and to help the student understand the continuously changing standards of education and of living. If we are thought of as cars, then perhaps our superintendent thinks of us as like books, more than teachers. Fonts of information perhaps specially selected for each student. It is still going to take labor to convert all of this mass into energy – to open the book, for example.
I will have to confess here that I don’t own a car or drive. That said, one reason I don’t is that I don’t want to buy a cheap car which will break down in a year or two. The thought of spending a few thousand dollars for a year’s use of a car upsets me on some Dickensian level. I have always coveted the kind of car which would last five to ten years or so. A car that is safe, tasteful and fairly efficient. A Volvo, for example. Now, people who have Volvos tend to drive them for a while --- about ten years. Until recently, the basic design had not changed much at all, I think to accommodate that kind of customer.
At one time I considered leasing a car – so that I would not have to have the car when it was no longer good. I could just get a new one every few years. In fact, the superintendent had said that, “If the new school doesn’t work, we’ll close it down.” So, true to his low interest in paying a mechanic, he’s just going to keep “trading up” for new schools.
Putting aside the feelings of those of us in the car traded in, how does this lack of continuity work for the students. Will they quickly adapt to the new trend? Just keep shifting gears. If they do not, will he have to bring in a counseling/transition team to help them adjust. Not mechanics, but salespeople – helping to sell the students on the new reality.
What message does this send to our students? Well, perhaps we can understand why the US no longer leads the auto industry. It is making cars which are meant to be disposable in a world in which people actually do still want some return on their initial investment. And in which, they do not choose their cars or their schools by trends, but bydoing research and by using their commitment to their students to help foster a school and community which will both outlive a Volvo.
05 January, 2007
Should I stay or should I go?
Today:
The superintendent came to visit our faculty. He said: "It's cheaper to buy a new car than fix an old one." This analogy was meant to communicate that our school was an "old car." Apparently, this man would rather drive a new Dodge than fix and old Volvo, but I digress.
He also said that the plan is to open a transfer school DURING THE DAY which will take the 18-21 year olds we teach AND English Language Learners AND severe Special Education students. I told him that what will happen is that
1) The ELL kids will come because they need to learn English
2) The Special Ed kids will come because they need the services they are getting to have survival skills
3) The students we teach will stay home or be at work. But that won't matter because, as only a tiny percentage of the population, their absence or attendance won't hurt the school's statistics. (They won't be a third as the other populations are larger, overall.) So, our kids will be lost. He said he didn't think that would happen. He also indicated the new school will have more counselors and generally more services than we do and perhaps, even a bus for students. I told him we had asked for those things, but they were never funded. Since he's new, he said he can't really speak to why that is.
I have enough money to go to school full time to study nursing and pay my bills. Assuming I can get a job after I finish, I am thinking of
1) Resigning from the Dept. of Education -- meaning I'm NEVER teaching in a NYC public school again.
2) Taking an extended leave of absence for "Medical Health Restoration."
or
3) Just toughing it out, finding a new job an then getting the RN part time.
I know the third choice is the safest, the second, also pretty safe. What appeals about the first choice is I can JUST GO. No one has to approve whether I leave or not. I just leave and I'm done.
Anyone who wants to weigh in, please do so. I'm exhausted. I need to find out how soon I can start classes. Assuming I can start in the spring, my heart wants to leave and never come back.
Any thoughts?
04 January, 2007
Anybody want to buy me an ice cream?
Today:
1) I went to work. My best friend was absent. She's really very sick. She never gets a chance to get better because we work in an environment where people start sniffing for a corpse if you're absent more than once. So she goes to work sick the next day.
2) I get to work late. Henry needs me to give him a little more water because he's not yet used to how much he needs to drink. No problem. It makes us both happy.
3) Once I get to work, things are almost okay. I didn't have time to stop to get lunch because of the lunacy of my job. I was ten minutes late. I am very hungry throughout the day, but the school lunch person gives me apples. So far, so good. The apples would have been thrown away anyway -- they're extra from last night. We get new ones every day. What we can't give away gets trashed eventually. So, I'm not stealing these apples and if I get a sandwich I PAY FOR IT. I would have bought a sandwich, but some Einstein decided not to order PB and J. All the kids like PB and J. Who would cancel PB and J?
4) The day goes mostly okay until 4th period. I come out of my room to bring in the kids (I pretend to fish and reel them in. It's corny, but they let me.) And I come face to face with my principal. She moves quickly away.
5) 5th period is my free period. I catch the attention of one of the security guards.
"What was __________ doing outside my room?" I figure she was snooping on me.
6) Surprise, surprise: She wasn't snooping on me. She was cursing at one of my colleagues. Apparently there is a rumor going around that our school will close before June 2007.
7) In that same mood, the principal called security and asked for MORE OFFICERS. For what? She can't see any officers on the floor. She did this while standing next to an officer....she was flustered, I guess.
8) Back to the rumor: an unamed individual who WOULD KNOW told one of my colleagues that WE ARE NOT ASSURED that we will be open until June. She told someone, and so on and so on.
9) Actually, I DIDN'T HEAR A THING. I was busy, I don't know...teaching.
10) Then our lovely union representative and another colleague TOLD THE PRINCIPAL that the FIRST COLLEAGUE WAS SPREADING AN UNFOUNDED RUMOR.
11) So as not to get the individual WHO WOULD DEFINITELY KNOW in trouble, my colleague said she must have misunderstood what she was told and that she was sorry. Later, that individual thanked her.
12) All of this happened AROUND ME. For once, I had nothing to do with the problem.
13) Moral of the story: stop playing fisherwoman with the students. If I had stayed in my room, I could have been in complete ignorance. Now I know something I am not supposed to know and that my principal is actively trying to cover up.
14) CODA: As she left, the principal was still cursing a blue streak, talking to MY UNION REP about people having "no connection with reality." I guess...No, I'll stop there. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.
1) I went to work. My best friend was absent. She's really very sick. She never gets a chance to get better because we work in an environment where people start sniffing for a corpse if you're absent more than once. So she goes to work sick the next day.
2) I get to work late. Henry needs me to give him a little more water because he's not yet used to how much he needs to drink. No problem. It makes us both happy.
3) Once I get to work, things are almost okay. I didn't have time to stop to get lunch because of the lunacy of my job. I was ten minutes late. I am very hungry throughout the day, but the school lunch person gives me apples. So far, so good. The apples would have been thrown away anyway -- they're extra from last night. We get new ones every day. What we can't give away gets trashed eventually. So, I'm not stealing these apples and if I get a sandwich I PAY FOR IT. I would have bought a sandwich, but some Einstein decided not to order PB and J. All the kids like PB and J. Who would cancel PB and J?
4) The day goes mostly okay until 4th period. I come out of my room to bring in the kids (I pretend to fish and reel them in. It's corny, but they let me.) And I come face to face with my principal. She moves quickly away.
5) 5th period is my free period. I catch the attention of one of the security guards.
"What was __________ doing outside my room?" I figure she was snooping on me.
6) Surprise, surprise: She wasn't snooping on me. She was cursing at one of my colleagues. Apparently there is a rumor going around that our school will close before June 2007.
7) In that same mood, the principal called security and asked for MORE OFFICERS. For what? She can't see any officers on the floor. She did this while standing next to an officer....she was flustered, I guess.
8) Back to the rumor: an unamed individual who WOULD KNOW told one of my colleagues that WE ARE NOT ASSURED that we will be open until June. She told someone, and so on and so on.
9) Actually, I DIDN'T HEAR A THING. I was busy, I don't know...teaching.
10) Then our lovely union representative and another colleague TOLD THE PRINCIPAL that the FIRST COLLEAGUE WAS SPREADING AN UNFOUNDED RUMOR.
11) So as not to get the individual WHO WOULD DEFINITELY KNOW in trouble, my colleague said she must have misunderstood what she was told and that she was sorry. Later, that individual thanked her.
12) All of this happened AROUND ME. For once, I had nothing to do with the problem.
13) Moral of the story: stop playing fisherwoman with the students. If I had stayed in my room, I could have been in complete ignorance. Now I know something I am not supposed to know and that my principal is actively trying to cover up.
14) CODA: As she left, the principal was still cursing a blue streak, talking to MY UNION REP about people having "no connection with reality." I guess...No, I'll stop there. I DON'T WANT TO KNOW.
01 January, 2007
The Democratic Party Closet
I woke up this morning with a question in my head: Why is my party hedging around the idea of impeachment out of fear of offending Republicans, while Mary Cheney and her partner are about to have a baby, flying in the face of the views of that very same party -- her father's party. This thought didn't just idle into my brain. Last night, I was reading interviews with the NY Post columnist -- the openly conservative Republican-- Michael Riedel, who was calling for more productions of, of all things, plays like those of Shaw and Chekhov. While he admitted he didn't want to see plays critical of Bush and suggested in his typically venomous way, that perhaps there should be a play celebrating the life of Jesse Helms, his point was that theater should be topical and political. He praised very liberal British playwright David Hare. Meanwhile, I know that hundreds of liberal artistic directors who are members of the Democratic party choose not to make statements with their seasons for fear of losing audience. The refusal of several companies to do the play My Name is Rachel Corrie about a young Jewish woman who dies trying to assist those in occupied Palestine comes immediately to mind.
Michael Riedel especially jarred my mind for another reason as well. Here is a man earning his living off of theatrical gossip, who openly declares that he does not travel in the same "circles of fag hags" as Bernadette Peters -- an unmarried man whom I knew in college to be very effeminate, mannered and very comfortable with and accepting of openly queerfolk like me-- and he also openly declares that he is a "conservative Republican." It's as if being a Republican gives him the freedom to live the life of what might otherwise seem the most abrasive queen one had ever met. Now, he may not be a "queen" in the full sense of the word. He may be a straight, conservative Republican who acts like a queen. Kelsey Grammar seems to be. But, Kelsey Grammar can be one, while David Hyde Pierce chooses not to talk about his sexuality. How many gay men and lesbians in all walks of life do everything NOT to behave in the flaming manner of Riedel and Grammar and vote Democratic?
(For the record, and this has nothing to do with his theatrical aesthetics which I don't know a lot about because I don't read his column and I haven't spoken to him in years, Riedel was one of the easiest people for me to be around in college, no matter how depressed I was while many of my more liberal theater friends were not. Again, there was very little fear of public opinion perhaps because of the same conservative veneer. I only knew him casually, but he was pleasant. I've always imagined that "W" is also pleasant and he came off that way in Nancy Pelosi's daughter's documentary. I'm sure that there were many pleasant Nazis, but my point is that seemingly flamboyant Republican men can be more comfortable with diversity than careful, but manly liberal ones. And isn't that Bush's point always -- he's not a racist or, apparently, anti-gay in his personal life. Just virulently so in his public one.)
So, recent scandals aside, is the reason that there are Log Cabin Republicans because joining the Republican club gives a person more license to be openly queer than being a Democrat?
Think about it. Many of us voted for Bill Clinton because we thought he was electable. What did we get out of this? No healthcare and a "Don't ask. Don't tell" policy in the military. Maybe we should have voted conservative Republican and then pranced around freely while in cover marriages. Isn't that what half of us are doing now anyway?
Of course, I am not advocating that people live in closets of any kind. I am asking my fellow liberals why we choose to KEEP ourselves in closets perhaps more so than our Republican peers. We are so afraid of offending "middle America" that we are more straightlaced and conservative than the actual Republicans we are pretending to be like. And think about it: our problem seems to be that we find candidates who are TOO STRAIGHT. Take Al Gore. People are upset about his attempts to show his manlines in a kiss with his wife and his INABILITY to be likeable -- to seem like he could throw a good party, for example. Meanwhile, WE SUPPOSEDLY ELECTED AN EX-CHEERLEADER!!! Do you think we would have nominated Bill Clinton if he had been a CHEERLEADER!
So, maybe the problem with the Democratic party is that we are not liberal enough in the way we live. For whatever reason, we are afraid to be ourselves. So, we are hypocritical in how much we suppress ourselves and the Republicans are in how much they do not. And they win. Both times.
Michael Riedel especially jarred my mind for another reason as well. Here is a man earning his living off of theatrical gossip, who openly declares that he does not travel in the same "circles of fag hags" as Bernadette Peters -- an unmarried man whom I knew in college to be very effeminate, mannered and very comfortable with and accepting of openly queerfolk like me-- and he also openly declares that he is a "conservative Republican." It's as if being a Republican gives him the freedom to live the life of what might otherwise seem the most abrasive queen one had ever met. Now, he may not be a "queen" in the full sense of the word. He may be a straight, conservative Republican who acts like a queen. Kelsey Grammar seems to be. But, Kelsey Grammar can be one, while David Hyde Pierce chooses not to talk about his sexuality. How many gay men and lesbians in all walks of life do everything NOT to behave in the flaming manner of Riedel and Grammar and vote Democratic?
(For the record, and this has nothing to do with his theatrical aesthetics which I don't know a lot about because I don't read his column and I haven't spoken to him in years, Riedel was one of the easiest people for me to be around in college, no matter how depressed I was while many of my more liberal theater friends were not. Again, there was very little fear of public opinion perhaps because of the same conservative veneer. I only knew him casually, but he was pleasant. I've always imagined that "W" is also pleasant and he came off that way in Nancy Pelosi's daughter's documentary. I'm sure that there were many pleasant Nazis, but my point is that seemingly flamboyant Republican men can be more comfortable with diversity than careful, but manly liberal ones. And isn't that Bush's point always -- he's not a racist or, apparently, anti-gay in his personal life. Just virulently so in his public one.)
So, recent scandals aside, is the reason that there are Log Cabin Republicans because joining the Republican club gives a person more license to be openly queer than being a Democrat?
Think about it. Many of us voted for Bill Clinton because we thought he was electable. What did we get out of this? No healthcare and a "Don't ask. Don't tell" policy in the military. Maybe we should have voted conservative Republican and then pranced around freely while in cover marriages. Isn't that what half of us are doing now anyway?
Of course, I am not advocating that people live in closets of any kind. I am asking my fellow liberals why we choose to KEEP ourselves in closets perhaps more so than our Republican peers. We are so afraid of offending "middle America" that we are more straightlaced and conservative than the actual Republicans we are pretending to be like. And think about it: our problem seems to be that we find candidates who are TOO STRAIGHT. Take Al Gore. People are upset about his attempts to show his manlines in a kiss with his wife and his INABILITY to be likeable -- to seem like he could throw a good party, for example. Meanwhile, WE SUPPOSEDLY ELECTED AN EX-CHEERLEADER!!! Do you think we would have nominated Bill Clinton if he had been a CHEERLEADER!
So, maybe the problem with the Democratic party is that we are not liberal enough in the way we live. For whatever reason, we are afraid to be ourselves. So, we are hypocritical in how much we suppress ourselves and the Republicans are in how much they do not. And they win. Both times.
So, it's 2007.
At nearly 2:00am, the firecrackers have faded and have been replaced by the ruffling of helicopters above me. I suppose Homeland Security is looking for terrorists among the old ladies in Bay Ridge. Good idea: if nothing else, the pasta will be worth the trip.
It's positively spring-like, the air is crisp, but not hard or "brick" as my students refer to extreme cold. Cars are drifting down my narrow street. People are still awake, and the sound of furniture shifting resonates like distant waves.
Henry is off scoping out the table, Larry is surfing along the underbelly of the heater. My boys have a love of heat, and it is never hot enough. They like to sniff the breeze, then return to the heaters. The also like to snuggle as close as possible.
Mostly, it's densely quiet. "Here's the baby." Short phrases come through the wall, but the room is very still with my anxiety. Like breath against a cold window -- but it's 55 degrees and I had a t-shirt on all day.
It's positively spring-like, the air is crisp, but not hard or "brick" as my students refer to extreme cold. Cars are drifting down my narrow street. People are still awake, and the sound of furniture shifting resonates like distant waves.
Henry is off scoping out the table, Larry is surfing along the underbelly of the heater. My boys have a love of heat, and it is never hot enough. They like to sniff the breeze, then return to the heaters. The also like to snuggle as close as possible.
Mostly, it's densely quiet. "Here's the baby." Short phrases come through the wall, but the room is very still with my anxiety. Like breath against a cold window -- but it's 55 degrees and I had a t-shirt on all day.
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