Amy’s Thoughts

The thing is, I tend to avoid political “debates” among my colleagues, friends and family.  Everyone who knows me realizes that I’m pretty freaking far-out liberal.  A few of my very close friends however are not what I would call liberal by any shape of the imagination, so I tend to avoid political conversations when in their company.  Otherwise, the gathering can become entirely too heated, leaving me feeling like my head was just pounded against a brick wall.  Repeatedly.  What is it about some conservatives that make them so bloody close-minded? 

This being the case (the sheer stubbornness of many of our fellow citizens), I usually avoid it entirely.  I vote of course, but beyond that I rarely involve myself in the process.  So why then am I so angry at the debacle my country has become?    I suppose it’s because, though I vote, nine times out of ten, my vote doesn’t really count.  The sheer plague of living in a red state, surrounded by the conservative right.  Whatever happened to election reform?

Lately though I’ve been seeing perhaps a small inkling of light at the end of a vastly dark tunnel.  In some ways, people are talking more today than they ever have in the past, for the issues I think for many of my neighbors and friends are no longer as clear-cut as they once were.  My red state may be gaining a slight tint of orange.

I have a colleague and a friend who is pretty much my twin when it comes to politics, religion and this on-going presidential battle for supremacy.  She and I have endless text and Facebook rantings and ravings, debating who said what.  Pretty much we vent about the same things and we celebrate the same things, so ultimately, we’re just preaching to the choir.  It’s gotten to the point where I feel that I have to speak out because strangely enough, despite all the evidence piling up that McCain shouldn’t even be an option for any rational-thinking voter, there are still some of those die-hard Republicans out there (and I know quite a few of them) who will vote the party simply because they can’t stand to see another liberal hippy bastard Democrat in the White House (or even worse, because they can’t stand to see a minority make it there).

To them I say, get over it already and grow a conscience while you’re at it.  Look at the record and understand that a vote for McCain is a vote for the status quo and big business.  A vote for Obama, on the other hand, is a vote for change, and more importantly, is a vote that will support our disenfranchised and lost, not just the veterans (who appear to be the only marginalized population McCain can relate to), but also the disabled, the weak, the elderly, the working lower-class and middle-class families, the homeless, the children of our inner cities, the families without medical insurance, the teachers, the police officers, the social workers and all the other civil servants who struggle every day to make a difference in the lives of the people they serve.

I not only watched the presidential debates, but I read the entire transcript of them, and I researched some hotly contested items between McCain and Obama.  Reading the words on paper with enough time to consider points as they were made, to research my own questions about issues I was not as well-versed in, to seek answers for questions where the two candidates argued over facts, really helped to put the entire debate into perspective, and gave a much clearer picture of where this country is headed if it elects McCain versus Obama.

I highly recommend reading the transcript yourself, and looking up anything you’re not certain of.  It can be quite illuminating.  The transcript can be found at the University of Mississippi’s website:  http://www.olemiss.edu/debate/debate_news/details.php?id=58

And since I brought up the debates, let’s talk about them for a moment.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a politician, nor would I ever want to be one, but I don’t understand the claim that if you sit down to talk with someone whose principles you fundamentally disagree with, you are somehow legitimizing their beliefs. What the hell?  So, instead the plan is to just ignore their asinine beliefs and statements in the hopes that they will simply go away?  The plan is to never try diplomacy or attempt to negotiate for peace, simply because they won’t do everything your way?  What, are we in kindergarten here?  “I hate you, so I’m not talking to you. La-la-la-la-la-la-la. I can’t hear you! La-la-la-la-la-la.”

Well, no damn wonder we’re always invading somewhere or supporting someone else’s invasion of a place we freaking hate.   Our political system is stuck back in elementary school.  Please.  I teach second graders all day, I don’t need to be subjected to their philosophies regarding problem-solving when listening to the future president of my country.  When I hear statements like this, I truly fear for us all.

Personally, even if I weren’t an Obama supporter, even if I weren’t already as liberal as they come, there were two statements in this debate that would have decided things for me, most resolutely.  The first was McCain’s earlier mentioned statement that we should not sit down to speak with our enemies (and in sharp contrast, Obama’s forward-thinking willingness to do so).  The other statement that would have placed me firmly in Obama’s camp was his statement about our perception the world over.  He said, “It is important for us to understand that the way we are perceived in the world is going to make a difference, in terms of our capacity to get cooperation and root out terrorism.” 

I’ve been saying this for years, that the way we are perceived around the globe is of our own making and we have to make sincere concerted efforts to change that perception because in the eyes of much of the world, we are arrogant and immature.  To put it in the context of the school playground, we are the bully who stomps around demanding that one child give him their candy bar, another child be his best friend and the third child, well that child he simply beats to a pulp when the teacher’s not looking.  WE are this nation’s teachers, ALL of us.  ARE WE LOOKING?

If the average United States citizen would spend one hour on the Internet, researching United States’ foreign policy with regard to dictatorships around the world, particularly those in third world countries, the light might just begin to dawn as to why 9/11 ever happened in the first place.  Do we ever ask why we are so reviled the world over?  Do we even stop and think?  Has anyone begun to notice the hypocrisy with which our leaders govern our nation?  Or do we simply wallow in our arrogance, confident that we’re ”the greatest nation in the world” without ever noticing that this great nation has not only lost its ethics, but it may never have had them in the first place.

In case you’re interested in learning the truth about our nation and its policies, but aren’t really sure where to begin the search, here are a few matters of public record that I suggest every U.S. citizen look up, if they haven’t already:

• The United States support of Jonas Savimbi in Angola, contributing to their devastating 26-year civil war
• The arguably more tragic Latin American September 11, which occurred in Chile in 1973, when the United States helped the Chilean military overthrow their democratically elected president, Salvador Allende.  The result? A U.S.-financed 17-year regime of terror under Augusto Pinochet, during which more than 3,000 were murdered and thousands more were tortured and detained
• The United States support of (and probable participation in) Operation Condor, a conspiracy among South American dictatorships to hunt down and assassinate known opponents of their governments
• The United States endless support of dictatorships in third world countries, turning a blind eye to (or maybe even participating in) the capture of countless innocents, who were tortured and/or “disappeared”
• The United States interference in presidential elections around the globe, to the point of supporting one presidential candidate over another candidate, including allegations of its interference in Nicaragua’s most recent 2006 election

I could continue to cite instances of U.S. interference in internal politics and conflicts of sovereign nations around the world all afternoon, but I suppose I should allow the citizens who actually wish to be informed of their nation’s history to discover the truth of their nation and its legacy for themselves.  I can only hope that I do not expect too much of my fellow citizens.  Are we a well-informed populace or are we simply puppets of our elitist government? 

ARE YOU LOOKING?

A fourth grade teacher shared some of the issues she’s been dealing with lately in her classroom.  There seems to be a racial war that begins in elementary schools long before people even recognize that racial tension exists among children.  There is in the primary grades a sense of them and us:  those who speak Spanish and those who don’t, those who have color and those who don’t, those who have parents and those who don’t, those who have a home and those who don’t.

Some of these issues are the planting of the seed that ultimately develops into a deeply-felt sense of racism and prejudice and injustice.  And there is a cultural war going on as well.  In order to truly understand the conflicts that are occurring, you have to understand the root cultures at play. 

At the younger grades, the weapon of choice among the Hispanic population is the use of words, particularly as they acclimate to the school culture of the United States.  These are the children who have been acclimating to a foreign culture for years.  These are the ones who are learning to play the game, who are learning how to find the words in English, how to follow the rules, how to just make it by.  I love these students.  They are fighting against a system that is prejudiced against them from the beginning, that tells them their language has no value, their culture has no value, their citizenship is in jeopardy and their future in this country is in doubt.  These are the students who fight for everything we would deny them as a culture and as a race.  They stand up and they find their way despite the many obstacles we present them, including an education that would deny them their identity.

Then there are my African-American students who fight so desperately for anyone to even notice their existence.  I adore these students too.  They are the ones fighting against a system that has been built to keep them down since the days of slavery.  These are the students who will fight that system for the rest of their lives, trying desperately to gain those things the rest of us take for granted, by virtue of our whiteness.  These are the students many claim are destined for prison or death:  born in the inner city, stricken by poverty, held under the thumb of a system that provides a lower-quality education (by virtue of inadequate funding and inequitable resources) and a systematic prejudice that will not be defeated through any of our best efforts.  These are the students who come to school day by day with heartbreak in their eyes, hope in their trembling smiles, and defeat in the slump of their shoulders.  Already.  At age 7. 

Then there are my white students who tremble in our school doorways, timidly approaching their education with fear in their hearts.  And yes, I adore these children too.  They are the ones completely forgotten and ignored by society.  Society does not acknowledge the white child attempting to make it in the inner city schools.  They do not exist.  They cannot exist because they have been given something the others just don’t have — white skin.  That they too suffer under the umbrella of poverty is of no consequence.  Why do they not live up to the promise of their skin?  Because they too have been abandoned, the unfortunate casualties of the war waged against the weak. 

 And so society turns its back on the children of its inner cities and leaves their future to the will of the beast.  And the beast is poverty.

There was a fight on the playground among the 4th graders.  A Hispanic child called a black child a nigger.  The black child laid out the Hispanic child with one punch.  Who do you think was suspended?  Who do you think got off with a lecture and nothing more?  The black child was suspended for fighting.  The Hispanic child received no true consequences from the office.  Which of those children is in more danger today of not surviving their upbringing?  The Hispanic child who has not been taught the consequences of shouting a racial slur on the playground or the black child who defended his entire race against that slur?

These two children’s teacher had a sit-down session with her entire class and discussed with them the unacceptability of using such racial slurs against anyone. 

 One student raised his hand and said, “yeah, but I don’t like it when they call me African-American either.”

His teacher asked, “Well, what do you want people to call you?”

“I just want them to call me a boy,” the ten-year-old replied. 

 How utterly and singularly profound.  “Just call me a boy.”

Went skating this evening for the second time in my adulthood.  I think that brings me to perhaps a total of 5 times in my lifetime.  Needless to say, I am not very good at this whole skating thing.  I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that my sense of balance is never very good, even when not attempting to travel with wheels attached to my shoes.  Who came up with this bizarre pasttime anyway?

The truth is I had a great time.  Of course, I went skating with my nieces, which pretty much assured me of having a good time.  I adore them both and take great delight in spending time with them.  I should be grateful that neither of my nieces are experts in the skating rink either, and therefore do not leave me in their dust like many of the other munchkins on the rink’s floor.

T.S. in particular likes for me to skate with her.  So, over and over, we maneuvered our way around the rink, with the wall as our prop and savior.  A.J. had a bear in her arms for half the night, after receiving it from an older child who won it in a raffle and wished to pass it on.  Therefore she skated with one arm waving for balance and the other arm clutching that bear, as if the bear was her prop.  If I had had a stuffed bear at the skating rink, I think I would have wanted it strapped to my ass for additional padding (not that there’s not plenty of padding already there), but that’s just me.

At some point during the evening, I had to go to the restroom, so I left the two girls skating together (A.J. made a face at my command, but then appeared to have fun with her sister despite her reluctance — isn’t that the way of siblings everywhere?) and headed for the facilities.  I now believe that Skate City’s bathrooms were designed by some kind of torture enthusiast.  Upon entering the women’s restroom, I was appalled to realize there were no pads on the floor.  Of course, this realization came a little too late as I flew in the doorway, leaving the carpeted hallway behind and hurtling at breakneck speed across the tile floor toward a stall door.  All I could think is “god I hope no one’s in that stall, because I’m going to land in her lap!”

Luckily the stall was empty.  I slammed into the door and managed to catch myself on the top of the door, which was so short that I gave myself whiplash as my head bounced forward over the top of the stall door and back.  I think those stall doors were designed for midgets.  Did they not consider the fact that adults might also be idiot enough to don roller skates and come flying through their restroom doors?

After entering the stall, I was appalled to realize that the toilet was only about a foot off the ground.  On roller skates, I somehow managed to lower myself four feet where I took care of business with my knees in my face (when my feet weren’t flying out from under me of course).  The worst part was trying to extricate myself and stand back up.  It required a sense of balance (see above), inhuman strength (not one of my assets) and wheelchair bars (which were not in evidence at all).  With my feet scrambling for purchase, I used the bottom of the stall to haul myself forward and up.  Thank god the restroom was empty and no one heard my growls and curses as I attempted to lift my carcass from that damn toilet. 

Note to self:  NEVER ATTEMPT TO USE THE RESTROOM WHILE ON ROLLER SKATES AGAIN.

Truthfully, despite the crazy bathrooms, we had a great time, A.J., T.S. and I.  I am looking forward to the time with my nephew C.S. is in kindergarten and can join us on these school-sponsored events.  Yep, lots of fun flying into the walls with less-adventurous parents looking on.  

When I asked T.S. whether her parents skated with her when they brought her to these things, she said no.  I asked why I had to skate then and she said, “because you’re a nice aunt.”  I guess I cannot ask for a better reason than that.  The things we do for love.

Today, for the first time this school year, I had the opportunity to play with my students.  Yes, that’s right.  I actually stopped teaching and we just had fun.  It was even sanctioned fun, so I couldn’t get in trouble for it!

 The thing is, we’re an inner-city school, and more than that, we’re a Reading First inner-city school, which means that we got a big grant that requires a lot of hoop-jumping in an attempt to meet the combined requirements of the grant, the government and our school district.  The result this year has been an overscheduled nightmare of a day. 

I can honestly say that the only time I see every single one of the 23 students who were assigned to my classroom is during the first 15 minutes of every school day.  From that moment on, small numbers of my students are being pulled from my classroom for reading interventions.  

Despite their absence, I am expected to somehow manage to teach every child in my classroom the skills they need to arrive at grade-level outcomes by the end of the school year.  In order to accomplish this, every single moment spent in my classroom is accounted for.  There are no spare moments anywhere for frivolous activities that are not in some fashion attached to the achievement of a specific benchmark skill.

Remember those long-ago school days when a student came to school with cupcakes because it was their birthday?  Remember the building excitement as long-anticipated holiday celebrations approached?  Remember wearing costumes on Halloween? 

Maybe celebrations still happen in more affluent neighborhoods.  I don’t know.  What I do know is that any children planning to bring a special birthday treat to my classroom had better plan on passing it out exactly one minute before the bells rings signaling the end of the day, because that’s the only minute I can give them. 

We have standards to meet, people, benchmarks to teach, and children who must not be left behind. 

YOUR CHILD’S CUPCAKE COULD RESULT IN AN ENTIRE GENERATION’S FAILURE TO LEARN TO READ!!!! 

Oh yeah, and remember those days when we had a morning recess and an afternoon recess?  My god, we had no idea how lucky we were.  TWO recesses in ONE day?  UNHEARD OF! 

In my world, students get 15 minutes to eat, during which time, they are encouraged NOT to talk.  They then get their one recess of the day.  It’s an awesome opportunity for them to relax and talk and run and play (unless it’s bad weather of course, then they have to sit still and watch a cartoon in a tiny resource room, but let’s not talk about that).

Anyway, they get this recess every single day (aren’t they lucky) and it’s lasts an ENTIRE fifteen minutes.  (In case you’re wondering, they really are lucky because last year they only got ten minutes.) 

During these fifteen minutes, my students get their only real opportunity to play, to relax, to take a desperately needed brain break.  I should add they do get “special” time each day — 50 minutes of art, library, music, P.E. or technology.  I suppose these times might be considered a break, but I have serious doubts, given there are benchmarks to meet in each of these areas as well.

In any case, I was asked to cover recess duty today, and as a result, had the opportunity to play and interact with my students in a completely stress-free and relaxing fashion for the first time since school began back in August. 

As I watched the children running and playing and laughing, I had to wonder:  by the time these first and second graders reach middle school, will they even remember how to do any of this, how to play, how to kick balls, how to chase and play tag and jump rope and laugh with abandon? 

Or instead, by that time, will we have smothered the laughter right out of them in our crazed obsession with benchmarks and indicators?  Will we have leeched their joy away in our reckless zeal to achieve the desired outcomes within an acceptable time frame, no matter the child’s background, learning style or life circumstances that brought him or her to our classroom’s doorstep?

While trapped within an endless in-service meeting (we get two and a half hours a week to meet and be bored to death), I wrote these rambling observations:

I sit here and wander my eyes:

Bored.  OREOS.  munching.  headaches.  writing.  no smiles.  blah-blah-blah-blah.  more OREOS.

Norms.  rolling eyes. restless bodies.  bored faces.  unspoken words screaming through the room.  no eye contact.  OREOS, OREOS, OREOS, OREOS.

Eyes down.  glares focused.  table.  paper.  exploding heads.  expectations boiling through the room.  unrealistic.  demanding.  lost in the mire of NCLB.