Nelson Mandela

I developed an avid interest in Africa and in South Africa and apartheid, specifically, during high school in the 80s.  My high school hosted the International Baccalaureate Program, and one of the perks for those of us who pursued the IB Diploma was an exchange trip to the Armand Hammer World College in New Mexico, where we had the opportunity to meet students from across the globe and then host international peers in our own homes.  It was through this opportunity that I befriended two South African young men whose stories fascinated and horrified me--one of them had witnessed his activist father's shooting death at a checkpoint near Durban.  I wrote one of my college essays on the inspiration provided by my relationship with these fellow students, and my plans to continue learning about Africa.  I devoured such books as Cry, the Beloved Country and The Power of One.

The summer between my junior and senior years of high school, I attended a pre-college program at Barnard in New York City.  There I discovered gay artist Keith Haring, whose simple graphics depicted powerful political images.  I frequented his Pop Shop and came home with a nearly wall-sized anti-apartheid poster. 

As I applied to college and planned to enroll at Yale, I knew there had been a student movement to demand Yale's divestment from South Africa.  Apartheid, to us in America, was at once unthinkable and arcane, and yet South Africa continued its tradition of oppression and Mandela remained imprisoned.  I look back now and recognize that my college years marked the fall of the Berlin Wall, the end of apartheid, and the rise of awareness of AIDS.  Mandela distinguishes himself as a hero of my generation. 

Today Nelson Mandela is in hospital in critical condition.  Last week the United States Supreme Court declared the Defense of Marriage Act unconstitutional, paving the way for gay marriage across our country.  It seems possible that the arcane and unthinkable, as represented in law, grows increasingly rare. 

There's hope.  The kind of hope embodied in a man who spent 27 years of his life in prison for the cause of his people, and people everywhere.

Thank you, Mr. Mandela. 

Oops, Green Monster Does It Again

I often remind the girls in my care--my high schoolers, my daughters--that feelings like anger, insecurity, and envy spawn bad kinds of behavior.  Particularly between women.

I point out that while they often come from very dark places, those emotions are normal.  It becomes, however, our responsibility to identify when we're feeling them, determine their origins, and work through our anger, insecurity, or envy.  Or Think Very Hard before acting upon them.

Most hurtful emails; most damaging Facebook and Twitter posts; most passive-aggressive and petty acts stem from that Green Monster Envy or her cousins Jealousy, Covetousness, and Insecurity.  Most spontaneous bitchy behavior, in fact, can be traced back to those demons. 

And while none of us is immune, the hope is that we've learned to manage the monsters sometime between middle school and middle age. 

And yet, we've got the Real Housewives reality TV series to demonstrate that adult women can behave like sixth graders. 

Oh, and there's Paula Broadwell.

See, it wasn't exposure of her extramarital affair that brought her down.  It was that she had to go and send anonymous "harassing" emails to a woman she perceived as competition, asserting, in effect, "You'd better back off my (ex-)man."  And because they were "anonymous," an investigation ensued. 

Let the wincing commence. 

We do dumb and hurtful stuff when we're infatuated and obsessed (like have an affair), but we often do forehead-smackingly lunatic stuff when we're jealous and insecure (like write "anonymous" emails from multiple fake accounts).  Paula needed a friend to talk her down from the keyboard, at the very least. 

Nevertheless, I think many of us could own up to some ugly behavior birthed by envy. 

Okay, I will start.

It was sixth grade.  I had a hopeless crush on a guy who paid me no mind except when he was making fun of me and my friends in a way only middle school boys can (and I and my friends endured the mistreatment in a way only middle school girls can).  I knew deep down that this was destined to be unrequited love, but I was reassured by the fact that though he wasn't "going out" with me, he wasn't "going out" with anyone else I knew either. 

But then came Sixth Grade Camp.  Sixth Grade Camp is a rite of passage in our parts.  It involves spending a school week in the mountains with sixth grade peers from your school and Another School.  The "Another School" in question back in 1982 brought a girl who within a day purported to be hot for my love interest.  And I knew this because girls from both schools slept in a huge room of bunkbeds together, and my friends told me they heard her friends say that she liked him. 

I clearly remember the moment when a pack of my buddies approached me with this news, pointing out the girl in question, over yonder, and awaiting my response. 

A mild but territorial outrage tinged with green envy crept over me.  But I also felt safe among my "supportive" peeps, and emboldened by the independence of being at sleepaway camp.

"She's kind of a dog,"  I offered. 

And then the next part happened.  Either one of my friends told her or one of her friends the gist of what I said, or one of her friends overheard me.  All I know is that soon enough, I was surrounded by a group of her peeps, who were accusing me of calling their girl a "rag." 

"I did NOT call her a 'rag'," I asserted confidently, while sheathed in a cold sweat, relieved that one factual lapse saved me from lying, at least. 

"She wants to fight you," they added.

"Well...I didn't call her a rag..." I repeated, weakly, and walked away, in search of my friends. 

And that was that, as far as I recall.  I have vague memories of sanding a piece of Manzanita wood and being freaked out by counselors' ghost stories.  But mostly I remember that I spent most of Sixth Grade Camp living down that I acted like a mean girl and got called out. 

So, that was a low point.  In retrospect, I am so very glad I couldn't text or tweet or post my thoughts about that girl.  Because I might have. 

And though the scandal in Washington (and Virginia and Florida and North Carolina) is a hot, hot mess (the latest:  emails with shirtless photos from an FBI agent??  That poor choice is inspired by another kind of age-old monster...), there's something we should all recognize, amidst the snickering and judging: 

You can be valedictorian AND homecoming queen AND fitness champ AND Harvard grad AND bestselling author AND...Still.  Feel.  Insecure.

Whatever it takes for us to love ourselves a little more, or enough, it sure isn't having an affair with a four-star general.

It's an elusive elixir, and I hope Holly Petraeus has quarts of it in stock. 

List: Election Musings

1.  Heading to bed knowing who our next President is. 
2.  Heading to bed wondering if Proposition 30 will pass, and if we'll lose another two weeks of school for our kids. Shame on you, state.
3.  Heading to bed suspecting that we will continue to exercise the death penalty in California, despite my vote to the contrary.
4.  Heading to bed unsure if GMOs are bad or good or a little of both.
5.  Heading to bed wishing I'd taken government class in high school and trying to remember how that requirement was waived.
6.  Heading to bed sympathizing for the "only one person" in Little Sis's class who voted for Mitt Romney in her 1st grade class election.  Tough to stand alone.
7.  Heading to bed cringing at my Facebook feed.
8.  Heading to bed wincing at Big Sis's soccer teammate's comment as we walked to the car after practice, about Mitt Romney hating Mexicans, and reminding myself that people's perceptions are their realities.
9.  Heading to bed celebrating more states valuing individuals' rights to marry regardless of gender. 
10.  Heading to bed hoping that things will get better, better, BETTER for human beings over the next four years:  locally, nationally, globally. 

A Fourth Grader's Bullet Notes on the Presidential Debate

(The first 30 minutes, anyway...we didn't make it to bayonets):

• Foreign affairs
• 47%-47% "Dead Heat"
• Trade deficits
• Debate is in Florida
• 2 minutes to answer questions
• Obama being very reasonable 
• Attack on embacy
• 2 weeks in Irac
• both had good answers
• Mitt Romney has a better answer about terrorism
• They shouldn't be worried
• Obama is right about they shouldn't have troups in Irac
• I think they should let them deal with it to keep ourselves safe but help them by doing something else besides fighting
• I agree with Mitt in that we shouldn't put our troups in Syria
• Should talk things out so we don't have so many wars and so many people dying
• I agree with Obama in that women need freedom and education
• Fights in the Middle East
• We need a strong military and allies
• I agree with Romney in that we should help the world
• We need to get our economy going
• We need to stand for our allies
• I agree with Obama in that we should have good education
• We should have clean energy
• We need better jobs

And then Big Sis needed to go to bed.

Overall analysis the next day:  "I agreed with Romney, but it seems like Obama is still being pretty reasonable."

 

What Should Matter in This Election (and Always)

Human dignity.

I'd like to propose that supporting human dignity serves as a guiding principle in prioritizing policies and spending in our society.

And then, because we are not the only living beings relying on the resources of our planet, I suggest we consider the health and welfare of local and global ecosystems as well.  The dignity of my children and their children's children depends on it.

In education we often plan curriculum by envisioning the desired outcome first and then planning "backwards":  designing a map of the journey to achievement from a beginning.  Imagining that our society's goal is to produce and sustain dignified, self-sufficient, healthy and contributing individuals, we can also imagine what our society needs in place to promote such citizens.

Supporting human dignity starts with our youngest citizens, infants.  Or, perhaps, it starts with our citizens who are pregnant or potentially pregnant.

It's a huge responsibility to feed, grow, nurture a human.  Understanding that there may be No Greater Responsibility (nor greater influence than parenting on the fellow humans with whom we occupy space), supports for parents and the potential parents among us is a priority.

The more unplanned, unhealthy pregnancies there are, particularly if choices to discontinue unwanted pregnancies are limited, the more Big Government we need.  Babies born to unprepared, unhealthy people or families invariably need assistance or interventions  Adoptions require regulation and management.  Children awaiting adoption or whose parents are temporarily deemed unfit need foster care.  Foster families and adopted children often benefit from additional resources.  Government provides these services.

First, let's acknowledge and dignify human sexuality and promote healthy, safe options for both expressing sexuality and preventing pregnancy.  Education dignifies.  We should continue look for more ways to promote healthy bodies and minds.  Let's nurture young people to respect their own and others' bodies and see themselves as beautiful inside and out.

Speaking of education, I think we should acknowledge that educating our citizenry is only second to parenting in Great Responsibilities, and it deserves being treated as such in terms of attention and resource allocation.  The path to dignified, independent, self-sufficient, and healthy adulthood runs right through classrooms.  With the goal of fostering independence, critical thinking, and ingenuity, schools should continue to develop programs that assist young people in determining how to both sustain themselves and contribute to a functioning society.  Whether or not graduating high school students plan on post-secondary education or work, we ought to be laying the foundations from preschool on, increasing the number of courses and pathways designed to match student interests and talents with the jobs and careers relevant to a changing society.  That means more partnerships and internships with industries and opportunities for young people to be actively involved in their communities while in school.

We had a long summer, the kids and I.  Cuts to education in the form of furloughs mean shorter school years for all of us.  I traveled and camped with them, took them to museums and beaches.  But as I signed my girls up for summer camps, swiping my credit card and signing checks for enriching experiences at the zoo, park, and pool during weeks when I worked, I couldn't help but think of families with fewer resources, whose children were likely stuck at home with parents either working or not working in this flailing economy, languishing in the heat, hanging around the block and buying soda and chips from the corner store.  I began to think that long summers aren't so healthy for all families and children. 

We need more affordable programs and childcare so the families we implore to get off welfare and get a job have an incentive:  earnings that exceed the cost of babysitters and camps.  On the flip side, opportunities offered for children to exercise and maintain math, literacy, and critical thinking skills.  Opportunities to build things and be creative.   Opportunities to be productive, independent, and proud. 

Coincidentally, look what a bunch of kids in Minnesota did at a creative summer YMCA camp:  an homage to Hot Cheetos and professionals collaborating with kids to encourage creative expression, group projects, and culture.  More of this, please. 

Let's keep working to make college affordable and meaningful.  Let's invest more in community colleges and career/technical/vocational programs which result in job placements.  Let's do our best to make healthcare affordable and accessible for all. 

Let's dignify the struggles of those working to overcome addictions, mental illness, and homelessness with programs that foster safety, independence, and self-sufficiency.

Let's dignify the relationships of adults who love each other and recognize their marriages. 

Let's dignify aging citizens by providing resources for them and the families who support them. 

Let's reach across party lines and agree on some key things that matter (I think it's possible!).

While I fear months of vitriolic campaign ahead, I am remaining hopeful. 

As I've written before, "I recognize my sense of well being as highly affected by the well being of those around me." 

Call me selfish, but I'm going to vote with that in mind. 

Trolls Under Every Bridge

I once wrote about street artists on this blog, and about a former student who was inspired by them.  And then this fall, Shepard Fairey participated in the "Viva la Revolucion" show at the Museum of Contemporary Art, and painted an incredible mural in the neighborhood adjacent to ours.  (Read here about one of Fairey's San Diego murals which was vandalized during the exhibit). 

So I was excited to see this article about another former student in today's paper.  Kyle has transformed himself from an angry, disconnected, and illegal tagger, and he is channeling his talent productively.  While his tagging didn't appear to have had political messages or the aim of raising social awareness, there's something fascinating about the public attention-getting that inspired it.  Certainly taggers and "legitimate" street artists have that in common. 

What I was not excited to see were the comments left by readers after the article, many of them mean and dismissive.  Most of them don't know this young man and his journey, struggles, and true character.  The commenters who know him signed under screen names.  I am more and more dismayed by the audacity of readers operating behind the mask of anonymity, or the likelihood of never seeing their target again. 

At least the Westboro Baptist Church stands behind its vitriol. 

Goodness, people, have your opinions!  Please, have your opinions; the world is richer with opinionated people.  But consider the vehicle you put them in and how you drive it.  It's okay to leave that Hummer in the garage sometimes. 

Speaking of driving, yesterday I made a rather bold left turn into parking lot traffic at Ikea, inspiring a man to snarl, "Nice driving!" at me as he passed my minivan.  I had to explain to my daughters that it wasn't my smartest nor safest move (although, in my defense I'd say it's a stretch to suggest I cut anyone off or caused more than a tap of brakes).  Honestly, that guy kind of bummed me out; I'm not so good at shrugging off negative commentary.  It's not that I don't have my own internal growling at fellow drivers running in my head.  I just think in your head is a good place to keep it.  I'm guessing the woman who gestured angrily at me in an intersection several years ago wishes she had kept her frustration to herself--after she realized I was her daughter's teacher.

I once left a comment about my experience with professional development after an article about the International Baccalaureate Program in our local paper.  When someone personally attacked me and my benign response, I identified that "someone" as a woman from another state with a website and mission to "reveal the true facts" about IB.  Though I happen to be a fan of the IB curriculum, I am interested in hearing why others are not.  But when "dialogue" opens with a detractor making broad assumptions about me and my livelihood and motives, I quickly lose interest in discourse.  Even being defensive isn't fun when you're caught in an endless loop of reprisals; I just pack up my bat and ball and go home.   It isn't even ironic that the anti-IB website has a page dedicated to bemoaning the hateful responses in defense of IB that the site has inspired. 

The Internet has provided us with an immediate outlet for our strong opinions and proclivities for spiteful backlash.  We no longer have to type, print, lick and affix stamp (steps which provide opportunity for reconsidering one's thoughts), mail our commentary, and wait to see if it's published.  We can watch the drama unfold minute by minute as we react and our responses spawn retorts.  I try to imagine the "trolls," the anonymous and often irrational Internet instigators, in their homes, at their computers.  Who are these people?  Do I work with them?  What would they say to my face?  Collectively, I suppose they represent the pettiest, meanest, nit-pickiest, and most biased and judgmental parts of ourselves. 

I have to wonder what happened to wondering.  To inquiry.  To thoughtful probing, followed by listening.   Reasonable and respectful expression of thoughts and opinions ought to beget similarly rational responses.

Let's go back to acknowledging no one is right all of the time, that being right doesn't matter all of the time, that we're all busy trying to figure it all out, anyway.  Muddling through. 

As my grandfather loved to quote, "I never make mistakes.  I thought I did once, but I was wrong." 

A little humility, I think, is what we need.

Feel free to disagree.

A Part of the Main

Big Sis came home on Monday talking about heroes, just in time for the commemoration of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday next week.  Her class is researching heroes for group reports, and her trio of second graders chose Florence Nightingale.  She mentioned other heroes they're learning about, including Marian Anderson, the Wright Brothers, Cesar Chavez, and Rosa Parks.  Tonight, with Obama's speech at the Arizona memorial audible in the background, Big Sis expounded on Ms. Parks, exclaiming, eyes wide, about how "rude" the people were who commanded her to get up out of her seat on the bus.  We talked about the segregated drinking fountains and restrooms of Jim Crow.  She shook her head.  "Those are the dumbest ideas I ever heard of."

We were reminded this week that dumb ideas aren't dead sixty years later, though fewer of them are written into law in our country.

Our high school's production of the play The Laramie Project enters its second weekend this Friday.  The play depicts the reactions of the townspeople of Laramie, Wyoming following the 1998 beating and subsequent death of gay college student Matthew Shepard.  Since its debut ten years ago, the play has sparked dialogue where it is produced, and at times, controversy.  It's an ambitious endeavor for high school theater.  Ours is the only high school in a relatively small, conservative community with a population about the same size as Laramie's.  There are mature themes and language in the play, and our actors explained the script and their experiences reading and rehearsing it at an information forum for parents and community members prior to the play's opening. Its messages of healing and hope have inspired the players--who represent the high school, alternative school, and middle school--as well audiences who attended showings last weekend.  Our student body viewed the first act during assemblies on Monday and sat rapt.  The Laramie Project is a timely and appropriate centerpiece for ongoing dialogue on our campus about bullying, harassment, and discrimination. 

The shootings of a Congresswoman and a score of others in Arizona on Saturday morning provided a grim reminder that hate and extremism in America continue to claim victims.  The accounts of heroism and hope which quickly emerged from the tragedy wove a thread of immediate relevance connecting our production to events in Arizona.

And then the Westboro Baptist Church formally linked us as targets of their hateful, irrational, and deeply offensive demonstrations.  They are calling on followers to picket our Saturday evening performance of The Laramie Project, following their protest at the funeral of nine-year-old Arizona shooting victim Christina Green on Friday afternoon.  Westboro Church founder Fred Phelps picketed Matthew Shepard's funeral, and he is portrayed in the play; he has a history of picketing its performances.  Despite rationale provided by Westboro Baptist Church on their website, the picketing of an innocent little girl's memorial remains incomprehensible.

We learn that hatred begets tragedy and that tragedy often begets hope and healing, even art and enlightenment.  When hatred turns and nips at the heels of tragedy, seeking to undermine hope and healing, we are confounded.

The news that Westboro Church members would protest our play triggered swift and strong reactions from a variety of our students, all interested in standing down hatred.  The threat of detractors has galvanized students to organize peaceful counter protests.   We are watching groups of students and individuals uniting to support one another and their rights and to represent values of respect, acceptance, and love.  The community is rallying in kind; we have received messages of support from parents, former students, community leaders, the Anti-Defamation League. 

Presenting a profound contrast with the "church" followers planning to condemn us, members of our own city's Council of Churches sent a letter of support to our school district.  They are inviting the community to stand with them against "unmitigated hatred" and members of their congregations to attend Saturday's performance "as a sign of solidarity with the students involved" in the play. 

Local media outlets are reporting on the potential protest and counter demonstrations, interviewing and quoting our students: "They want one of two things from us--a reaction, and for us to get mad and in their faces. Or for us to do nothing and make them feel like they won, and we're not going to give them either."

Whether or not Westboro representatives materialize on Saturday, our students remain at the center of a powerful learning opportunity.   Beyond the critical examination they may be giving their own beliefs, thoughts, and biases, they are exploring the First Amendment and researching city ordinances.  They will balance expressing offense and outrage with tempering their passions.  They are walking a path cleared by the likes of Rosa Parks.  

Concerned for our students' safety, our principal sent a message to parents this week: "While we believe that an act of solidarity would be a powerful exercise, we are asking for your support in reinforcing the difference between peaceful demonstrations and engaging and interacting with others as they exercise their rights...we  balance protecting our students' rights with demonstrating our respect for the rights of citizens of our country."

Appropriately, President Obama urged us in his speech at the Arizona memorial tonight:   

...at a time when our discourse has become so sharply polarized--at a time when we are far too eager to lay the blame for all that ails the world at the feet of those who happen to think differently than we do–it’s important for us to pause for a moment and make sure that we're talking with each other in a way that heals, not a way that wounds.

Our production of The Laramie Project--the attention it has garnered, dialogue it has inspired, and our community's embrace and support of our students' courage--represents a crucible of discussion and events occurring across our nation.  At the core of the play, and of the shootings of innocent citizens by an angry young man in Arizona, are questions about how we treat one another, about how we prevent violence borne of ignorance and hatred.  Our students, our community, and our nation are called by President Obama to "use this occasion to expand our moral imaginations, to listen to each other more carefully, to sharpen our instincts for empathy, and remind ourselves of all the ways that our hopes and dreams are bound together."

How appropriate that the weekend before we honor the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr., our students stand poised to demonstrate that "darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that."

The Heart of a Soldier

In my 12th grade English class, our AP Literature teacher taught a unit on Conrad's Heart of Darkness and the film Apocalypse Now. There are a number of lessons in high school which stuck with me--which struck me--but I distinctly recall my scalp prickling as my brain opened wide with that awesome ohmygoodnessIneverthoughtaboutitthatwaybefore epiphany as I watched Kurtz from Apocalypse Now demonstrate the contradictions inherent in being a good soldier.

When I taught AP Literature years later (and alongside my former teacher), I included that unit in my syllabus. My last year teaching English before becoming vice principal five years ago, I had a 6th-period 12th grade English class that was nearly all boys (except for two girls). Teaching seniors in the last period of the day was challenge enough; keeping these boys engaged through graduation was my ultimate aim. We read The Stranger before tackling Conrad and Coppola; when the movie Jarhead was released that year and the film's main Marine ("Swofford," played by Jake Gyllenhaal) carried a copy of Camus's existential novel, I gave them extra credit for explaining why that was apt.

Three years later I received an email from one of my students:

I really had an epiphany the other day when I was watching the movie FullMetal Jacket, because I realized that the character "Joker" is the epitome ofthe anti-hero that you tried so hard to get me and all the other thick skulled kids in the class to learn. I was in love with this dude's character. He had such an honest and caring way about him but with this kind of rebellious attitude. I remember your lecture returned to me when he sarcastically said to the interviewer "I wanted to see exotic Vietnam... the crown jewel of Southeast Asia. I wanted to meet interesting and stimulating people of an ancient culture... and kill them. I wanted to be the first kid on my block to get a confirmed kill!" I sat there and felt kind of dumb that I am just now grasping the concept of your lecture.

As this graduate wrote his email, several of his classmates from 6th period were deployed abroad, and since then, more have enlisted.

Heart of Darkness is not an easy novella to read, despite its relative brevity. The descriptions are thick and rich, and grow even more so as Marlow delves deeper into the Congo. Conrad was vilified for writing this racist work, for depicting colonized Africans as dehumanized "shapes." I viewed his novella as if it were a photograph, taken through the lens of the colonizer. The nature of the colonist's mission, of his role--subjugating others--requires that he views natives as lesser beings. Conrad's portrayal mocks the assumptions and vanities of Europeans as they set out to exploit the resources and peoples of "exotic" lands.

Coppola ingeniously connects the Vietnam War with the colonization of Africa and its inherent evils in Apocalypse Now, suggesting there is a "heart of darkness" at work in each episode in our history. Both Conrad and Coppola shrewdly recognize that the intriguing conflict here transcends the killing or the abuse required of colonization and war. The conflict they exploit is the one which arises from attempting to reconcile these "necessary" aspects of the institutions with attempts at civility and maintenance of "normal" life. Conrad ridicules the Company's accountant, who appears superficially preoccupied with immaculate and elegant dress. An unforgettable scene from Apocalypse Now is of troops surfing waves amidst defensive napalm blasts. The viewers are meant to question the appropriateness of each. Our discomfort lies between our desire for those following the directions of higher-ups to get their due, and the discordant setting. Why shouldn't the Accountant wear what he would back home? Why shouldn't the soldiers surf? Every working stiff deserves a break. And yet, in the background are naked folks, dying people.

My "aha" moment was this, an important reality check for a high-school senior who once spent hours punching studs into her sweatshirt in a peace-sign design and puff-painting the quote, "What if they held a war and no one came?" on the sleeve: All is not fair in love and war.

We're asking a lot of our service people.

We're expecting them to be prepared to kill, but not to massacre, or torture.

We're expecting them to recognize the "enemy," and distinguish who is not.

We're expecting them to put their lives on the line for their comrades, and for us, appropriately.

We're expecting them to believe in their mission, and represent it faithfully.

Meanwhile, they have time off on deployment, but it's not private, and they're held to higher standards than you and I: they're accountable for over indulgences and infidelities.

Both Conrad's and Coppola's works feature men who struggled with the line--the boundary--between appropriate and absurd, expected and unacceptable.

In the 12th grade I began to understand there were many shades of grey between purple hearts and dishonorable discharges, and that humans occupied that zone.

The heart of a soldier is heavy, I began to understand. What we need from those who serve on our behalves is so big and so unfathomable it inspires art, film, fiction. Most manage it with grace, and a courage and determination to return to us no worse for wear.

As Kate wrote so succinctly today, "I am oblivious." But not so oblivious to know that judging is dangerous. We, who so comfortably flip others off from the comfort of our cars, ought to wonder at what happens when the enemy we so easily vilify from afar is met by our young neighbors, my former students from down the block, overseas.

Hate that we have war; don't hate the soldier.

I am in awe, veterans. I have respect for all you are willing to face, all you have surmounted, and have yet to tackle.

I fear for a generation of vets whose wounds may not be visible. We ought not to ask what these young men and women have done for our country; ask instead what we must do for them. And for their families.

Peter, Paul, and Precincts

Last night, I attended a Peter, Paul, and (memory of) Mary concert at Birch Aquarium. The stage was set outside on the aquarium's tide pool deck overlooking the Pacific, where I was in the company of a colleague known for blaring folk music from her Mercedes, a bunch of mellow Baby Boomers, and a delegation of anti-gravity shoes. It seemed fitting on September 11, 2010 to listen to anthems from the Civil Rights movement and the musings of two men who've seen a lot in their day.

The song that caught my ear and stayed with me was "Jail for Justice": "Laws are made by people/And people can be wrong...The more you study history/The less you can deny it/A rotten law stays on the books/‘til folks with guts defy it!"

I can think of at least one rotten law on the books. As the song reminds me, though, "Once unions were against the law/But slavery was fine/Women were denied the vote/While children worked the mine," so there's hope that this injustice, too, will take its place in distant memory.

Tonight, as I prepared to walk precincts for the first time on behalf of a ballot initiative, I thought about my record of political action, about the fact that I've never been "jailed for justice." I've attended rallies and speeches and marches, but I haven't walked a picket line or participated in a sit-in.

I won't lie; my knees knocked at the mere prospect of ringing doorbells to confront my neighbors. It was dinner time on a Sunday evening. I would be That Guy on your doorstep with the clipboard, the one you pretend you're not home for. Proposing that we raise your taxes. After factoring in the Creepy House and Big Dog potentials, I found myself whimpering, "We're going out there alone? Without a partner?"

Geez, I berated myself. Where is your courage, Fer? What are you made of?

I can remember reading Gone With the Wind in my youth, and wondering what I would have done as the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner. When I read Stones from the River (one of my all-time favorite books) as an adult, I imagined I would have emulated the character of Trudi, caring for her Jewish neighbors during the Holocaust.

What would I have done as a young man during the Vietnam War draft? What if I were a white South African during apartheid?

The answers, my friends, are blowin' in the wind.

How about, what if I were myself, living in my own time? I mean, we've got a war on and institutionalized discrimination and hurricane victims and injustices, and I haven't been jailed for justice. I could enumerate some reasons I haven't taken my convictions to the wall: priorities, lifestyle choices, career considerations.

But I've also come to understand that while there are few limits to my righteous indignation and sense of moral outrage, my guts have boundaries, starting near your front door and ending at the county jail.

Perhaps we each chart our own propensity to take action where "Know Thyself" intersects with "Do Your Part."

Walking precincts was admittedly outside my comfort zone; marching and writing letters feel a little less personal. But as a public school employee, mother of a student in a school of which I am immensely proud, and resident of a state cutting funds for education, I knew the right thing for me to do was walk confidently up the block, clear my throat, and find out where people stand on a proposal for a parcel tax to help our city's schools.

And I quickly discovered that besides getting to peek inside some cool houses I've jogged past and admired, a benefit of walking precincts and talking to my fellow voters was feeling very...American.

Only one man visibly ignored me at the door as he sat on the couch and watched TV. My neighbors who were home took time to talk with me. I heard a few enthusiastic endorsements of the proposition. I directed the undecideds to sources of more information. I spoke with twentysomethings, couples, agemates, and senior citizens.

I gained the most, however, from the dissenters I met.

I heard from a small business owner, longtime resident, and product of neighborhood private schools that this economy almost lost him his house. He had to take in a roommate to pay his bills. My neighbor politely but firmly informed me that he resented public employees for their pensions and time off as he struggled to make ends meet. He was a man, by all appearances, who should be looking forward to retirement, and who was working harder than ever.

Another woman vowed not to vote for any spending measure until Sacramento got its act together, and no amount of my explaining that parcel tax funds would remain local was going to change her mind. We agreed to disagree. I admired her flower beds; she wished me well.

I walked down her steps thankful I am a citizen of a country where I am safe to knock on strangers' doors (Hey, look at me! Not so scary after all!), where I am free to engage those strangers in political discussion, and where I am treated kindly and respectfully (at least, regarding this issue...).

But while I believe in the importance of supporting our schools from our own pockets in this time of budget shortfall and believe it behooves all of us to have great schools and well-educated children in our neighborhoods, I understand and appreciate the views of those with seemingly little to gain from spending more. I understand and appreciate that I have chosen a career with long vacations, strong union support, and a healthy retirement plan.

I also understand there are a lot of things broken, and there's a lot that needs fixing, and there are a lot of people buried under broken pieces. Proposition J is only one local solution to one problem, and we need to do much, much more.

So perhaps tonight it was less important that I believed more in my cause, and more important that I engaged more with my neighbors and believed more in this political process we're part of, as convoluted and backwards and frustrating as it may seem. We can, as the song says, make laws and defy them. We can propose to fix the broken parts, bit by bit, and urge our neighbors to get on board.

Or we can simply answer the door when our neighbors knock, and agree to disagree. If this land is your land, after all, then we are required to have a supermajority vote in agreement to tax your parcel.

The rest of this land is made for you and me.

Buoyancy

It is our first day of school with our teachers; students come on Wednesday. I am thinking about all the new teachers opening classroom doors and greeting students for the first time. My sister-in-law is one of them! I am thinking about how our state's budget crisis is affecting how we all do our jobs, and about how the pressure of accountability and student achievement increases nonetheless.

Today's post is the text of a keynote address I delivered several years ago--while I was still teaching--to a group of teachers concluding their beginning teacher induction program. It's about accountability for one's own success, and the power of reflective practice.

When I was a young child living on the East Coast my parents would take my brother and me to Tanglewood in Massachusetts for outdoor symphony concerts under the stars. I remember watching the famous Arthur Fiedler conducting the Pops. I was mystified by conductors. It seemed to me that they controlled a hundred musicians with a baton. I thought that it was the waving of that baton that inspired the actual notes and melody. I longed to be a conductor, to see what kind of music would result from the command of my amateur hands.

On the first day of school, on my first day of teaching, I felt like a conductor, for when I asked my students to sit and please listen to me, they did. I was astonished at their distracted obedience and was tempted to ask them to stand, and sit, over and over again. They were giving me power I hadn’t earned yet. Teaching is one of those jobs that constantly asks you to assess the fine line between power and utter powerlessness. It would not be long before I remembered wistfully the day my students sat when I asked them to.

I am here to talk with you about reflective practice and the value of looking critically at your students, yourselves, and what you do. So I thought about you, “graduating” from “beginning-teacher-hood” and moving on to “you should know perfectly well what you’re doing now,” and I thought about myself in my first year of teaching. It was 1993. I taught middle school science in inner-city Washington, D.C. through the Teach for America program, and therefore without the benefit of a teaching credential or any long-term formalized training.

I am quite sure that I was advised by someone in those early days and months to keep a teaching journal, so I could record triumphs as well as frustrations and learn from my mistakes. Of course, that didn’t happen. All I could muster in terms of reflection and record-keeping was a gridded teacher’s plan book. In one column I would write the plan for each day of the week, and in the next columns, I would jot quick notes about what we’d managed to cover in each period, because it was never the same from class to class. I pulled out that plan book to prepare for my talk today because I remembered that as the students would leave class, I used to draw a face for each period—smiley if class went well, frowny if things had gone awry, with notes about which parents to call. There were a lot of frown faces in those days. And in retrospect, I realize that this was my first form of data collection.


I’d like to share with you a couple of the anecdotes:

Wednesday, September 15, 8th period: “They talked, I yelled.”
Monday, September 27, 8th period: “Had to treat them like babies again.”
Wednesday, September 29, 1st period: “Like a cliché. Paper flying across the room. Something needs to change.”
Tuesday, October 5, 8th period: Frown face with hair spiking out: “Nightmare. Tears popped out.”
Tuesday, November 2, 7th period: “Detention for the whole class.”
Tuesday, November 9, 8th period: “I lost it, everyone fighting with each other, Tonya shoved me.”
Wednesday, November 17, 8th period: “The usual hell.”
My favorites: Monday, December 6, while I was at a meeting and had a sub for 2nd period: “Lollipops stolen. Gradebook erased.”
Then Tuesday’s entry: “Discover grades erased off computer, too.”
Wednesday, January 26, 8th period: “Total chaos.”
Tuesday, February 15th, 8th period: “Ricky threatened my life, and my nonexistent car.”
Tuesday, March 1, 2nd period: “gave teary, impassioned speech about humility.”

And the inevitable, “I hate my job” in mid-March.

I laughed as I read those entries from long ago, and marveled at the fact that I am still a teacher. What I haven't read to you, though, and what are also included in that plan book, are the small successes, like “Armando tried today—he really tried!” and, “Had a good talk with Terika,” and, “Successful lab; kids excited to learn more about buoyancy.” There’s a definite trend toward more smiley faces by the end of the year.

The thing is, only I and those students really know what happened in that classroom that year. I am certain they learned something about science, as well as about kindness and optimism and hope, which we all demonstrated by showing up at that school day after day. But I have no proof of this. We are isolated as teachers, believing in what we do and thinking we know what’s good to teach and what really works with kids. Unfortunately, though, that’s not good enough. We need to prove that what we do and that how we do it produces results. For our job is not to entertain children or to control them. Nor is it to make them believe what we believe. We must demonstrate that our students have developed, progressed, and grown in skills, knowledge, and the ability to think critically while under our tutelage. This is what we’re paid for. Data collection and reflection are ways for us to own our curriculum and instructional strategies—for us to show that what we do is making a difference.

You are often being studied and assessed and your students’ data analyzed without anyone truly observing or understanding what happens in your classroom. And if we are not careful, this data, in the form of grades, SAT-9 results and reading scores, will be all that is used to judge us and our students. We know that those numbers do not represent a complete picture. So as teachers, we need to increasingly stand behind our own numbers. This means choosing data to study in your own classroom.


For example, I suspect that students in my AP Literature class became more avid independent readers this year. In order to show this, I have asked my 12th graders to list the outside reading they’ve done which was inspired by required reading for class or recommendations made by me or other students. I can then compare this to the ways in which students characterized themselves as readers at the beginning of the year.

Data collection takes many forms. When you give a quiz, do you analyze the items to determine which questions are most frequently missed? What could you do with this information? Will you reteach something? What is this quiz really about or for, anyway?

Often we teach concepts without knowing if it’s necessary to do so. Getting together with other teachers and analyzing students’ papers for trends can often be informative. You might find that students have mastered the use of semicolons. You might find they’re not capitalizing properly. You may find that they are consistently missing the more complicated fractions problems. The point is, your teaching is then informed by data. And when you compare later outcomes to that first set of papers, you can prove that something happened.

We all have favorite lessons or units that our students love and we think “work.” But we need to examine the benefit of these lessons—how can we defend them with measurable outcomes? That term, measurable outcome, is one we’re growing to resent when it is applied from the outside. As consumers, though, we expect it, when we pay for the Weight Watcher’s program, or hire a plumber or stockbroker. And our students’ parents expect measurable outcomes from us.

Data collection allows us to reflect on what we do. And even if you are not in the habit of analyzing data, you are forced to reflect, because students represent a gigantic mirror—in them we find our flaws, our triumphs, pimples we hadn’t noticed yet, etc. I remember, from that fateful first year, when Tonya, particularly frustrated with me and my class, walked out in the middle. But before she left, she turned on her heel and told me, “Miss Moore, you are a chicken-legged bitch.” My students were horrified, agape. Angry students had called me a bitch before, but never “chicken-legged.” Meanwhile, I was seeing myself in a whole new light: I’ll take chicken legs, I thought. Much better than thunder thighs!

Teaching is a give-and-take, a dance, as I mentioned before, between power and powerlessness. But reflection involves abdicating some power. Because absolute power means essentially that you are always right, and the students, if they don’t do well, are the ones who are wrong. The truth lies somewhere in the middle. You must be willing to examine the effect you have on students—qualitative and quantitative—to truly improve as a teacher. Last year for my teacher research group I planned to study editing and revision practices in my Creative Writing class for seniors. It was to be purely scientific. I would study the students’ writing behavior and look for ways to challenge them. It became clear, however, that in my first year teaching at the high school level, I had some behaviors of my own worth examining—strategies and assumptions and attitudes that were not working with older students. Last year was a crucial year for me to study myself qualitatively as a human working with other humans.

Reflection—whether it’s done in a teaching journal, in a group of other teachers, or actively in your own head--means celebrating your and your students’ successes, and from the failures, looking for new ways to succeed. You can tell by the look on a student’s face when you’ve hurt his feelings with something you said; reflecting is thinking about the ways in which you respond to students. You know when your students have all performed poorly on an assessment; reflection is considering why, and what you can do about it.

Leaving the clutches of an induction program means you are pretty much left to your own devices to be good teachers. I would admonish you to humble yourselves. Never assume you have it all figured out. And if you do, have the data to prove it. Model reflection for your students as you ask them, too, to consider their strengths and weaknesses. The classroom is a place of learning for both students and teachers. And as I ultimately learned, conductors may wield the baton, but they need a cooperative orchestra to make beautiful music.

Chocolate for Everyone!!!

It's official: No one can control who eats chocolate, and when, or even why. Yummy for California!

Turns out, getting in the business of other people's chocolate is unconstitutional.

Duh, we knew that.

On Strip Searches and Torture

This week, both Barack Obama and the Supreme Court have grappled with the issue of individual rights and the safety of the greater community.

Obama approved the release of memos detailing the legal justification for interrogation techniques used by the CIA under the Bush Administration. The Supreme Court is hearing arguments on a case regarding a woman who, as a 13-year-old girl, was strip searched by school staff when it was suspected she was concealing prescription-strength Ibuprofen meant for distribution.

Because I am a Vice Principal and the latter situation involves the search of a teenager at a public school, some of my buddies have asked for my thoughts. And I've been thinking.

Tonight on my way home from work I heard an NPR interview with Col. Steven Kleinman, an Air Force reservist/intelligence expert. Kleinman was responsible for halting some interrogations he witnessed and became a controversial figure in Iraq among his peers.

He made a few key points that struck me. As Col. Kleinman began to investigate and question the interrogation techniques used in Iraq during his tenure there, a common rationale offered by military personnel included that if they themselves were captured by the enemy, they would expect similar treatment. Kleinman's response was that our adversary's standards shouldn't determine our own, nor lower our standards. Our standards, ostensibly, are why we are there in the first place.

Our values, he noted--the ones of which we are so proud as Americans, the freedoms and liberties--are precisely what our armed forces are overseas to protect.

It's the temptation to justify a relativism of rights that's so hard for society, and individuals, to grapple with.

A vice principal, for the record, should not be lightly compared to a soldier. However, in my position I do view myself as a protector of the rights of our students. On most days, that job has me protecting the right of students to their education, the right they so often appear to squander as they meander across the quad, late to class.

But on some days it's vital to remember that ALL our students are our constituents--the ones breaking the rules as well as the victims. And unlike how criminal cases are handled in the courts, individual administrators often serve simultaneously as prosecutor, defense attorney, and judge.

That's a delicate balance to preserve--ensuring the protection of each individual's rights and that policies are consistently followed. It requires having respect, compassion, and understanding for the children in our care, both innocent and guilty.

So I imagine myself the parent of the student who claims to have procured her extra-strength Ibuprofen from another; I imagine myself the parent of the accused. I concern myself with both the potential danger posed by a student distributing drugs on campus and the gravity of accusing a child of that act.

Schools have certain broad liberties to search; we do not need probable cause or warrants, only "reasonable suspicion." Even the Court agrees that "reasonable suspicion" is fairly vague.

But there are certain places we haven't gone nor do I imagine myself comfortable venturing. So much of this job requires building trust and relationships: a far better strategy for ensuring the safety of students on our campus, in my view. That often means drawing lines, sometimes acknowledging there will be no answer, once in a while understanding there will be no neatly-tied-up investigation nor consequences.

So we muddle through, using our best instincts and our humanity and caring for kids.

Fortunately, I have never been in the position of feeling the responsibility for imminent safety of people in my care as dependent upon my gaining a key piece of information or evidence, as our military investigators do, I imagine. I have the luxury of working with children and not insurgents. Our students are a relatively free but captive constituency. We generally have time to work with them, and we trust that serious talks in an administrator's office can be preventive measures.

But we have something in common, I would suggest, American soldiers and vice principals: our actions and interactions represent our stations, our institutions, and the culture of our communities. There's a lot at stake.

Which is why the Federal Government is concerned about the liberties it grants both of us.

Kindergarten: Not for Babies

The other night our five-year-old came home with a workbook from Starfall, which is a new curriculum I understand is being incorporated into her kindergarten class. First we had to staple together a little story about a rat named Zac (who encountered some ants, incidentally). Next she read the story aloud to me, and then she was to complete some exercises in her workbook.

One of the assignments was to examine a picture and circle the objects with short vowel sounds. Now, my husband and I have had to learn the distinction between short and long vowel sounds, since it's obviously not intuitive (Me: "Honey, long vowel sounds SOUND long, you know, like treeeeeeeeeeeeee." Him: "Huh? What about baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?" We've since surmised that long vowels say their name, a helpful way for at least the parents to remember). I watched our daughter circle ants and the rat and a bag and grass in the illustration. Then she put a circle on part of the tree.

"'Tree' has a long vowel sound, honey," I offered helpfully.

"I know, Mom," she concurred, circling the flag and a mat.

"And 'leaf' has a long vowel sound, too, right?"

"Yep," she agreed. "But that's a braaaaaaaaaaanch, Mom. Branch. Short vowel for branch."

Duh. Thanks, kiddo.

The last activity was to write a narrative based on a picture related to the little stapled story starring hapless Zac. The workbook helpfully provided a Word Bank (I had never heard of one until I became a teacher) for this writing venture so that one didn't need to worry so much about spelling and could also practice writing and using all those words with short vowel sounds.

But of course, my daughter didn't want to write about flags and mats and ants and bags and grass. So she ignored the Word Bank and used her own invented spelling to write about the playground and swings--which, to be fair, were present in the picture, so who can blame her? Off she went writing whatever the heck she wanted, basically, and I didn't feel like stifling her long-vowel narrative. And when she wanted to write the word "were," she sounded it out: "w," "e," "r"...pause. "Oh yeah," she nodded. "There's a silent 'e' at the end of it." Her tongue popped out of the side of her mouth as she added that "e" on to the end of "wer."

Meanwhile, I was shaking my head like a dog does when it's about to shake water from its entire body. Like, "Silent WHAT?"

So my daughter knows what "Silent E"s are and the difference between Short Vowels and Long Ones. What the heck are they teaching in kindergarten these days, anyway? It turns out I don't even know what my kid knows. I don't know what she knows, and I don't know what she knows, if you know what I mean. It's crazy. I'm pretty sure this kindergarten is not my kindergarten. It's both heartbreaking and reassuring.

Here's what's reassuring: all this focus on No Child Left Behind means someone has to be paying attention to every child's ability to learn. Conceivably, gone are the days when nice children who try hard can slip through the cracks and make it through 12th grade without knowing or showing much. According to NCLB tenets, each child will be achieving at grade level standards by 2013, or ELSE. Educators all over our state are working hard to make this happen. Children are learning about things and using terminology invented since our grade-school years. What's more: they're learning about their learning. It's impressive.

But it's heartbreaking. As a school administrator, I have sat in many meetings about Accountability and Achievement and Mastery of Skills, and the theme is always We Must Get Every Kid There. It sounds really noble but also simple: We Can Do This! However, any ONE of us who has sat with ONE kindergartener at the kitchen table doing homework for ONE evening has to wonder how ONE kindergarten teacher gets 20 kids through ONE activity successfully in ONE day, while identifying who needs extra help and then providing it. And here we are the fortunate parents of a well-prepared kindergartener with no special needs. She is well prepared because we have books and read to her but also because she is just That Kind of Kid who wakes up in the morning and wants to go write stuff.

Frankly, she's the kind of kid who delights so much in the structure of school that she almost needs breaks from it. Which is not to say that the children who struggle with the structure of school--or for whom structure is a foreign concept in and of itself--don't need those breaks too. I worry that No Child Left Behind makes assumptions based on every child's ability to learn that are spot-on and important--but that don't account for the magic and beauty of a child's spirit, which can get lost somewhere in that shuffle of standards and vowel sounds. A spirited teacher can help make sense of standards, and put them in their place. Our daughter is fortunate to have such a teacher.

Every so often, we've got to back off Zac the Rat and the Word Bank and just laugh at how silly is his picnic at the playground. We've got to search for the meaning--and the joy--in short and long vowel sounds. We've got to continue to challenge children, showing them and ourselves just how much is possible, but we also must allow them to show us what is relevant. Every child can learn; every child can achieve at standard. We are banking on that. But I am not sure every child's talents and gifts will properly emerge and fluorish in this institution of schooling as it is currently designed.

We all know people who sucked at school and who thrive at life.

The question is, are we properly prepared to listen and respond to the Children Left Silenced?

Dear Mr. President

Dear Barack Obama,

On the first day of your presidency, I send you my plea.

It's your inauguration day. The buzz in the air, the giddiness--the palpable relief, too...it's unprecedented in my lifetime--which is not a super-long lifetime, I admit--but still. I believe you've delivered on your promise of hope. Or the voters delivered it to one another. Because there's some fierce hope out there. Even the naysayers, the staunchest Republicans must feel this hope.

Your inauguration and presidency are not unlike a wedding and marriage. Today, of course, is the amazing day, the celebration. The outpouring of pride and accomplishment. The acknowledgment of just how far we've come and the hard work and sacrifice that got our country to this moment. The Finally, the At Last. Today is not only for you; it's for the history books; it's for all the people who paved the path and who longed for a reflection of themselves in The White House.

But once you're sworn into office and have declared your vows to the American people, the real work begins. If we're high-fiving in two years, it won't be because we have an African-American president. It will be because you are our president.

I believe the truly exciting things you bring to Washington transcend race. You offer a combination of qualities newer and more unique than the color of your skin. You are smart, straightforward, kind, humble and real. You lack the Hollywood gloss of Reagan and the political glibness of Clinton. I trust that you have stronger personal integrity than Kennedy. And though I supported Hillary Clinton in the primaries, I am certain that she couldn't approximate the Obama Effect. Since the election you've smiled and emanated a baggage-free calm. You kill me with that consistently cool demeanor and your confident (but not arrogant!) stride. I have a ton of faith in you.

Boy do you have a huge responsibility. And even though I know you'll always treat us better than we treat you, I feel a little protective of your fans. Suddenly these are my peeps! I have never felt so close to my fellow American citizens as I do know--much more so than after 9/11, I daresay--because the energy is pure and positive. This country has a new game face. And you're the coach to take us to the Super Bowl.

But I won't expect too much. I'm not going to place Iraq and The Economy and National Security and The Environment squarely on your shoulders; you just try your very best for us. Heck, I am only a vice principal and I am awed by the responsibility. I still have a pit in my stomach from my last email from an angry mother. And you've got a lot of angry moms out there. As well as hungry and homeless people, soldiers, high school dropouts, orphans, and bankrupt and health-care-deficient humans to worry about. I don't know how you'll sleep. That you stepped up, smiling that wide grin, and took this country on and maintained your hope thus far is worthy of our respect and admiration.

But you've got to come through on a few things. They may not seem much to ask, but unfortunately they have been too much to ask: We need you honest and straightforward. We need you smiling but true. We need you to feel us and show it. You could cry and that would be okay with me. Probably it would be reassuring. We need you to listen, not just to us but to citizens of the world. We need you to work your tail off but to go home at night and rest and be a dad and a husband. We need you to learn along the way and alter your course when there's a straighter, truer path. Without compromising who you are. Please don't compromise your integrity, your loyalty, your faith, your friends, and your family.

Just keeping being that guy.

I'm not putting you on a pedestal; if America has put you there now, you worked your way up onto that dais. And I don't think you're some kind of god--I believe you don't think you're a god, and that's refreshing. We're not expecting miracles, just reasons to sustain that hope you offer. But if you realize a few of our dreams along the way, that would be awesome.

You're the first president to make me listen with my humblest heart: you can call me to action, call me to serve, call me to better myself, and I will try my best for us, too.

If, Mr. Obama, "the mightiest word" is, indeed, love, I am confident that our United States will be a much more perfect union with you as our president.

Your faithful citizen,

Fer

Red+Blue=Purple

Our country appears to be leaning blue, at 7:45 PM PST (do some of you go to bed on the East Coast with our nation somewhere on the spectrum between lilac and magenta?).

But before I sound a "barbaric yawp" of celebration...

This morning, all I knew was that Change was a Sure Thang, and I was in charge of providing Snack for our Staff Snack Club. We take our snacking seriously. Sometimes it's the highlight of Tuesday.

Below, find my "recipe" for Bipartisan Snack, as well as our high school's Snack Club Manifesto (it's goofy, I know--written by me The English Teacher, several years ago, when CLEARLY I had tons of essays to grade).

Bipartisan Snack

· Blue Corn Chips with Red Salsa and Black Bean Dip

· Red Peppers and Tomatoes with Blue Cheese Dressing

· Blueberries and Red Raspberries and Strawberries with (Majority or Minority) Whip Cream

· Lollipops: Red and Blue (But they’re all Dum Dums)

Served on Purple Battleground State Plates

The Snack Club Manifesto

Snack Club Time shall consist of:
a) converging upon the Library
b) on Tuesdays
c) during the period of our High School’s “Nutrition Break”
d) to eat Snack.

Membership of Snack Club is to be determined by one or more of the following:
a) consistently loitering in the general area,
b) being of age older than 18
c) contributing Snack (by rotation, on the calendar)

Leadership and Procedures:
The leadership of Snack Club generally resides in the hands of the bossiest, most controlling member.

Conditions of Snack Club Membership

Snack Club members must adhere to the following rules (or see consequences below):
a) consistently show up for Snack, asking who made it and what is it
b) provide Snack at appropriate date and time
c) participate in Baby-Jesus-Cake-Epiphany Event (Your chances of getting the Baby Jesus increase exponentially if you don’t show up on time that day in January…we’ll save you a piece of cake!)
d) eat Snack.

Nature of Snack
Snack must have the following characteristics:
a) be food-like in appearance
b) be abundant in quantity
c) be homemade, store-bought, salvaged or borrowed
d) be sweet or savory or both
e) be healthy or unhealthy; fat-laden or fat-free***
f) be delicious or not-quite-so; we’ve even been known to eat just-plain-not-so-good.
Note: Snack need not be holiday-, season-, or time-of-day-appropriate.

If You Wish to Remain in Snack Club, Please Refrain from the Following:
a) forgetting Snack when it is your turn
b) unilaterally canceling Snack Club Time(s)
c) insulting Snack Provider
d) failing to appear at Snack

Consequences of Infractions

Failure to appear at designated Snack Time, to provide Snack, or any of the above, will result in:
a) First infraction: disdainful talk about you in your absence, jokes at your expense (if in your presence, it is appropriate to place blame elsewhere or otherwise manufacture a scapegoat for your oversight)****
b) Second infraction: Snack Probation. We are not sure what this means. It is marked mainly by heightened disdainful talk, more jokes.
c) Third infraction: It is our experience that members of Snack who go this far to distance themselves from Snack opt out of the Club voluntarily, which is wise, due to the potential for mob mentality and security concerns.*****

*day of week and time of Snack subject to change according to needs of membership and unforeseen schedule changes.
***Perhaps not our first choice.
****It is not OUR fault YOU forgot Snack! Quit sniveling about the abuse you’ve suffered as a consequence and resolve to do better next time! Or else!
*****Once you are in Snack Club, it is VERY HARD to get out without being subjected to deprogramming procedures.

An Indecent Proposition

I live in California, where each election seems beleaguered by a variety of confusing propositions. I've known people to host Proposition Parties for the purpose of sharing research on the facts and feelings associated with these ballot initiatives, as figuring it all out individually can be daunting.

The first thing a California voter might do in order to gain clarity on the issues is replace in her head the blandness of proposition numbers or letters with the true flavor of what these potential laws aim to do. For example, in our city an initiative to issue bonds for school repair and safety is Proposition S, or in my mind, "Slam dunk."

And I could also rhyme Proposition 8 with HATE.

I feel strongly about this proposition against gay marriage, if for no other reason because I can't understand why Anyone would feel strongly about Someone Else's marriage to another consenting adult, particularly when that Anyone does not even know the Someone Else getting married.

To me, this initiative represents way TOO MUCH initiative, as well as time and money spent attempting--actually going out of one's way--to block people's rights to express love and commitment. More people loving and committing can only make the world better, right?

I am utterly perplexed by any single person's desire to claim ownership of the institution of marriage. I subscribe to this institution, knowing that each individual's and couple's approach to marriage may be something different, and looks and feels different, too.

An individual voting YES on Proposition 8 is in effect exercising a perceived right to decide for another individual the extent to which he or she can exercise free will to love and commit to a partner. A kind of free will that doesn't trample on anyone else's liberties.

The conundrum created by propositions is that they can pass by a voting populace even if they are inherently UNCONSTITUTIONAL. In the gap between a proposition becoming law and that law being declared unconstitutional by the courts, good people potentially lose their rights. One would hope that the public wouldn't allow this to happen.

The notion that the right of homosexuals to marry somehow diminishes the institution of marriage or one's own matrimony is just pure malarkey.

I love chocolate. I have a personal relationship with chocolate and a preference for the dark variety. Knowing that people I don't agree with love chocolate too--that they buy it or eat it or smear themselves with it--does not affect me. Other people eating chocolate has nothing to do with my chocolate.

I mean, I'm not going to invite just anyone over to have some with me, but I don't really care who enjoys chocolate as long as they don't eat mine without asking. I am not afraid that sharing a passion for chocolate with people who aren't exactly like me somehow reflects who I am.

Actually, it should. Because chocolate can be for everyone without hurting anyone.

I don't own the chocolate industry; I don't control chocolate. I don't desire to as long as I can get me some. I've got chocolate's back, but I don't think chocolate needs protection.

And I would not propose to give up chocolate for--nor hoard it nor ban it from--anyone.

Even supporters of Proposition 8.

My wish for all of us is: if we're going to put our money behind something--our energy and INITIATIVE, for Pete's sake--let it be something that helps, something that increases love and caring rather than diminishes it.

People I love want to officially commit to love the way I can. And people really want to stop them?

The Election Hinges on the Sea World Issue

Here is a transcript of the conversation between me and three girls, including my daughter (five years old), and two friends/sisters, ages five and seven, in the minivan on our way to soccer games this morning:

7yo: What is that sign in your front yard?

Me: Well, there are elections coming up...

5yo: What are 'lections?

Me: It's when people vote for leaders.

7yo: Who are you voting for for President?

Me: I am voting for Obama.

7yo: (nodding) Yep, that's who my family is voting for.

Daughter: Who's that other guy who is never going to be President?

Me: (laughing) Well, that other guy could be President, and his name is McCain.

7yo: He's going to do it just like President Bush.

5yo: I couldn't remember 'Bamo's name, so I was cheering for the white-haired guy, but then I remembered it, so I started cheering for the brown-haired guy.

7yo: The reason I don't like President Bush is he took out the bestest part of Sea World and put in the Elmo stuff.

Me: (laughing again, and trying hard to commit this dialogue to memory) So, President Bush is the reason they changed Sea World?

7yo: Yeah. He ruined it. But...if Oback Obamo is elected, he will put in some more parks.

The Reason I am an Amateur Blogger instead of a Professional Writer

is because I can't seem to express how I feel about Sarah Palin as accurately and confidently as Kathleen Deveny does in this Newsweek column.

At the end of the day, and at the end of this Election, I imagine we will agree with Deveny that "when there are enough women in our political life, maybe we will be able to judge them as individuals, rather than representatives of all things uterine."

About Bristol

I am going to admit here to a rather primal, spontaneous and emotional reaction to the news that Sarah Palin would be John McCain's running mate. It's going to happen, I realized. Women are going to make it to the White House.

Since then, of course, I have learned more about Palin's politics. We're not on the same wavelength on most Hot Topics. But there's a bottom line I can't ignore, and she has earned my admiration. She's a woman. She's a mom. She's working mom. She's a working mom of five. She's a leader. She's a governor. She has run marathons (okay, and she also hunts and stuff). The point is, all politics aside, she and I share some characteristics, and it's pretty apparent she has a lot more guts, and a greater willingness to sacrifice, not to mention a much greater ability in general to Manage It All.

I had already eaten a huge helping of humble pie after reading about Michelle Rhee in Newsweek, who is my age, and in my business. Her similar profile, yet strong convictions and resolve in the face of opposition, still have me questioning just what I am willing to do, and to give, and to stand up for.

And then along comes Sarah Palin. I read about her a few months ago after she gave birth to her youngest child, a son with Down Syndrome, while governor of Alaska. I became a Vice Principal when my youngest (of two, mind you) was five months old, and that pretty much threw me for a loop. So here, I remember thinking, is someone undaunted by being a mom (of a child with disabilities, no less) as well as a leader and a public servant. She can do it. So I should really just suck it up, myself. Can we work on that? Yes, let's.

But while my hat goes off to Sarah Palin and all she's accomplished, I have to hope she's not our next Vice President. It has something to do with the fact she's the Republican running mate, something to do with her stance on abortion and Intelligent Design (to name a few issues about which we don't agree), and also something to do with her daughter Bristol.

Here is a pregnant, unmarried 17-year-old girl under intense scrutiny. I would argue that her life would be a heck of a lot better if her mom weren't Vice President. If that doesn't seem fair--that is, to argue that we shouldn't elect Palin for the sake of her daughter--I would argue that this election shouldn't be about her daughter, then. And clearly, it already is. What Bristol does with her reproductive self and unborn child as well as her marital status shouldn't be a projection of her mother and her politics, in my view. But my views and those of the Republican party aren't exactly aligned when it comes to who should weigh in on a woman and her body. The smiling nods of approval at her apparent choices to keep her pregnancy, keep her baby, and marry the child's father suggest that if she were to opt otherwise, those would be wrong choices, not to mention reflect poorly on her mother.

I don't want to be cynical here, nor do I want to insinuate that politics have already trumped highly personal prerogatives, but I certainly hope Bristol has choices. I hope the father of her baby does as well. I hope there will be no "vetting" of her every move. I hope she and her baby won't be the examples put forth when there are national discussions of reproductive rights, marriage rights, childcare, daycare, and the Unwed Teenage Mother.

I hope she, and her mother, will be treated as separate, discrete, unique, thinking women, who can make up their own minds.

As for me, mine's made up.

I Know Something You Don't Know

Apparently Barack Obama has chosen his running mate.

BUT HE WON'T TELL US WHO IT IS YET.

Okay. Then don't tell us you know who it is already. Because, that's just...lame.

With our first daughter, at some point mid-gestation, we hinted that we had already chosen her name, but we were keeping it secret. This was mostly to ward off Opinions We Did Not Solicit on our unborn/unseen daughter's name. However, the reality that there was a Name Out There and our family members did not know it was, like, torture.

So with our second daughter, we pretty much lied. We said we had no idea what we were naming her every time someone asked. And it was a little true, since we left for the hospital without an established name. But we did have an Established List. And we didn't want opinions on that either, to be honest.

My point is, when you say, "I have no idea" when someone asks what you're naming your baby (or running mate), it's pretty much a conversation stopper. It's the nanny-nanny-boo-boo aspect of "I know, but I'm not telling" that makes you look like a...TOOL. Sorry, but it's true.

I know, I know! It's good political strategy. Everyone's wondering now. And TALKING ABOUT IT. And Begging for Information. Not to mention: The Speculation.

Please.

I already know it's not Hillary Clinton, so I am just pissed.