Helicopter Parents and Hothouse Flowers

For a while now, I’v e been threatening to write about the state of education in America.  Well, I’m geared up and actually have some time.  But before I start writing about the schools, I have to say something about the people the schools service: parents and children.  And from the title of this blog, you can probably tell I don’t have great things to say.

For those who haven’t heard the terms, these are the new descriptors for today’s parents and children.  Helicopter parents are parents who hover around their children, and in the process cushion every blow, ward off every potentially painful situation.  Helicopter parents are the ones who are up at 2AM “helping” their kids with school projects, helping being code for doing the kids’ projects.

Hothouse flowers are the kids who result from helicopter parents.  They are beautiful, pampered and do just fine in the rarefied, protective environment of their hothouses.  But once they are exposed to the harsh realities of life, once they meet any kind of hardship, they give up—they fall apart under pressure.  When I was a kid this kind of kid was called a brat who was spoiled rotten, but there are so many of them now they have a less “damaging” moniker.

Before I get too far into this, I do want to say that not all parents and kids fall into these categories.  In my experience, I find on many levels these roles are class markers.  My students in NYC community colleges are pretty uniformly free of helicopter parents and most are not hothouse flowers.  Their parents tend to be working far too many hours to have time to hover—these kids are more likely to be latchkey kids who’ve been working for years before they get to college, even if they are still only 18.  As a result of this, I find this group much easier to teach.  Sure, they have terrible study skills and know nothing about how to succeed in college, but that can be learned more quickly than learning to lose a sense of entitlement.

As a college professor, I get to avoid parents for the most part.  Once a kid is over 18 it doesn’t matter who’s footing the bill.  The kid is an adult in the eyes of the law, and I’m not allowed to discuss certain topics with parents.  And it’s usually only in cases of extreme emergency that I ever really deal with parents on classroom issues—when a student is in the hospital, parents will call to tell me, but that’s it.  I love talking to parents at school events like plays and sports games, but that’s strictly social chit chat.

But friends who teach at higher ranked private schools than I do have horror stories to share.  At one school, the rule about plagiarism (stealing the intellectual property of someone else and claiming it as one’s own) are clear.  If your teacher catches it, there’s a mandatory meeting between the student, the teacher and the dean.  A friend called one student on the carpet and before the meeting got a call from the dean.  The student’s parents and their lawyer were demanding to attend the meeting.  Now I don’t know about you, but if my son told me he was in trouble for plagiarizing in school, my response would not to be to bring in the lawyer.  It would be to metaphorically (if not physically) hit said kid upside the head.  How dare he cheat!  But not these parents (who sadly are not the only ones).  No, these parents are teaching their kid if you break a rule and get caught, make sure you bring in help to bail you out.

The subtext of that lesson is: it’s okay to cheat as long as you don’t get caught.

Now really, the first time a kid gets caught plagiarizing, the penalty is a slap on the wrist—a scary meeting with the school authority to throw a little reality into the seriousness of what they are doing and that’s it!  Helicopter parents don’t want their kids to face consequences that might hurt them down the road, but that means the kids aren’t learning the lessons they need to learn.  But the lessons these parents are teaching are much worse.

The bottom line is if you don’t let your kids fail when the stakes are low, how will they handle failure when the stakes are much higher?

And schools are feeling the pressure from these parents.  All of my syllabi are very clear on plagiarism.  If you do it in my class, you will fail.  Depending on the level of offense, you will fail either the assignment or the class.  Well, two students were caught cheating on their midterm.  My first response was the throw them out of the class permanently, but I rethought that and decided that both would get a Zero grade on the exam.  I thought that was more than fair considering I had repeated my warnings against cheating right up to the moment of the test being given.

I mean, really? Do I have to tell someone that it is wrong to cheat on a test?

Well, the head of my program, the one who has to take the flak from parents and higher ups, “recommended” that I just deduct 20-30 points from their exam grade because a zero would be rather harsh.  So I did.  Both failed the exam by a few points, but a grade in the 50s doesn’t quite damage a final grade as nicely as a big fat zero will.  In another school, I was talking to my dean about failing a student who was totally unprepared for the level of work we were doing in class.  I was told that I could not fail that student.  End of story.  That student was to pass.

And people wonder why I am disgusted with my life’s work.

Hothouse flowers are funny to have in class though.  They provide cynics like me with endless hours of entertainment.  Students who miss deadlines expect me to accept their work no questions asked.  When they receive grades they deem unacceptable, they demand the right to do it over.  When they fail quizzes because they did not do the required reading, they want “extra credit” work so that they get a good grade in the class.  Ah, the laughs I get from these demands.  My favorite is when they are failing through sheer laziness, so they drop the course.  That way they don’t hurt their GPAs.

Grades are also a bone of contention with hothouse flowers.  They are above average in every way, so they deserve above average grades.  In fact, I have yet to find a student who considers him or herself average in any way.  In fact, while I’ve been away, Americans have become a country of extremes—above average students (according to my students, a B- is a bad grade) or failures.  A C grade means average work.  There are no averages, no C students, any more.  Well, I actually give students C grades.  As a result, I am known as a “really hard grader” (that’s the kindest way to put it).  Often it’s not put that nicely.

Oh, on a whole, we teachers do give C grades.  But while C used to be the biggest grade group in a class, it’s now a much smaller percentage. (Remember the old bell curve grading standard?)  I would say the B grade has become the “new average” with more and more teachers trying to give a B- instead of a C+.

Grade inflation is something that academics have discussed since I’ve been a teacher, 21 years now.  Even top schools recognize that an A today is not what an A was 30 years ago when I started college.  An A grade is still hard to earn from me, but they are easier than they were years ago.  The most movement comes in the B-C-D range.  I know that papers that would have earned a C- from me when I was a newbie (still using the standards of grading that had been used on me) are now earning a B-.  I’m not proud of that, but departments try very hard to use grading norms so that the departments’, and in fact the college’s, grades are on a par.

Recently I gave a senior in my class a C on a paper.  I thought the C was a little high because there were not seven sentences in the entire three page paper that did not have some kind of major grammatical or spelling error.  I really thought that was unacceptable for a college level paper, and part of me wanted to make the student do it over, but I decided to let it go.  See? Standards really are dropping.

The student was enraged.  Couldn’t understand the C.  Had never gotten a C in college level work before!  When I pointed out the reason for the C and mentioned that I had originally wanted to fail the paper, the student really blew.  Who did I think I was? (Somewhere along the line many students have started treating professors like staff.  That doesn’t sit well with me.  At all.)  I was hated for the rest of the semester, and I’m probably still hated to this day.  Such is life.  All the other professors had also let it go, but even worse, had given much higher marks.

scariest part of this story, though?  This student was an education major and has just completed a first year of teaching at a public school.  And the student teaches English.

Next time: what’s up with America’s teachers?

If a Job’s Worth Doing…

When I was a child, my mother drummed this saying into my head: “If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well.”

I was reminded of that today when I was writing for my other blog, Patchouli Haze, a place where I post affirmations and words of wisdom, among other things.  I’m going to do a little cross pollination and lift some of today’s post there for here.

If I gotta do what I gotta do, I’m gonna do it well with style and joy.

I don’t know if this is really an affirmation or more a rule to live by.  When I was growing up, I wanted to be a medical doctor.  My mother taught me that I would never make a good doctor if I couldn’t mop a floor well.

Her point was that if some jobs are beneath me, then all jobs are above me.  Job satisfaction comes not from having a great job, but from doing any job well.  If I do my job well, I can take pride in it and from that comes joy.

I was also taught: there are no small roles, only small actors.  This is an old chestnut for theater people which was a way of saying that people’s dignity comes not from their job titles, but from how well they do their jobs.  So not only was I never to look down on any job as “beneath me,” neither was I ever to look down on someone because of his or her job.  That was a total contradiction of every value in our home.  So a nice double-whammy of a lesson.

As I was writing this, I couldn’t help but think of the American society I’ve come home to.  What has happened to Americans’ work ethic?  I’ve written about this before in this column, but it’s something that bothers me more and more as time goes on.

Last summer I was looking for an apartment here in New York City, and I was amazed, no flabbergasted is a better word, at the level of “service” I received from people in “service” jobs.  Inept was the kindest thing I could say.  Rude and surly and downright mean spirited would be closer to the truth.

This was all the sadder to me as I had just read Horatio Alger’s Ragged Dick with group of grad students doing a course on American Optimism.  We’ve all heard the phrase “a real Horatio Alger story,” but most of us these days have never read any of his books.  Alger wrote about poor boys who worked hard, worked well, remained cheerful and were ultimately rewarded, not with vast riches, but with a comfortable middle class life with warm water, warm beds, plentiful food and rewarding work.

The cheerfulness in the books was occasionally a little too relentless even for me, an eternal optimist, but Alger was trying to show his audience, working class boys and girls, and even the “street urchins” of his time, how hard work and dedication do pay off in this country.  They are part and parcel of the “American Dream”.

My students today tell me that the American Dream is dead.  There are no longer any opportunities for people no matter what they do.  I disagree.  Vehemently.  Every day I meet students who will succeed, who have succeeded against all odds.  The homeless shelter kids who are pulling straight A’s in my classes.  The war refugees flourishing in college while working “menial” jobs.

And pretty much I can tell you long before graduation who will make it and who won’t.  It’s not talent, not totally, nor is it family connections, really (though both help, of course).  It is attitude.  One of my amazingly successful graduates wasn’t the one who stood out academically in her class.  She was good, not great.  Now she’s a powerhouse in her chosen field, far out-succeeding some of her more academically successful classmates.  But she’s also one of the hardest workers I have ever met.  And she’s unfailingly positive in her outloook.

Those two qualities–hard work and positive attitude–are components of the American Dream that seem to be missing from too many of today’s youth.  Are they too spoilt by their parents?  Too dissillusioned?  I don’t know the answer.  All I know is that this rot is bringing down too many American kids.

And my outstanding student mentioned above? She’s an immigrant to these shores.  Is that why she still believes in the American Dream and follows it  for success?  I don’t know.  I don’t think so.  I’ve met a few, sadly disproportionately few, non-immigrant students who still have faith in the Dream.  They usually don’t articulate it , but through their actions I can tell they were brought up with it.

So I continue to carry a spark of hope with all my despair.  The inept workers I’m meeting day to day? They are shooting themselves in the foot, I’m sure.  They will be passed over for jobs for harder workers, people with better attitudes, but someday they might realize they can help themselves.  But the high proportion of people like them are a drain, and that’s what worries me.

A worried optimist–now that’s funny!

Proud to be an American? Perhaps

Today on Facebook, a friend posted the question: “So tell me, why are you proud to be an American?”

Because I’m either contrary or a precise user of words, I initially wrote this:

“I don’t take pride in being an American, because that would be like being proud of being white or a woman or Irish-American. I was born that way. BUT, I love my country fiercely because it is, in theory, a republic of virtue, striving to uphold the highest ideals of Western Humanism: freedom, liberty, responsibility, charity. We fail too many times because America is made of humans, but at least we’re trying. I’ve lived around the world and seen other countries. I know this country is hated, envied, feared and loved. I know my country has done things in the past of which I am not proud at all. But I continue to love my country because we are the great experiment. Sometimes we fail, but then we keep trying. And because I love my country, I hold it to the highest standards. Like many in America’s history, I am an idealist. We also have the best possible government humans can design, I think. Our administrations aren’t all that great far too many times, but the design is brilliant.

“And I wouldn’t NOT be an American ever. I’ve met lots of Americans in my time overseas who gave up their American citizenship. I would never ever do that. Maybe it’s how I use the word “proud”. I tend to be proud of accomplishments. I am proud that I am an active participant in the experiment that is America. Uh-oh, I’ve got too much to say on this to post here. I’m going to post on my blog.”

And so here I am.

I think it’s proud that I was reacting to.  But anyone who’s read me for a while knows I love America.  That’s one of the reasons I write.

Since I also teach American Cultural Studies in Sweden, I’m taking a short cut here and posting a lecture I did in Sweden.  So here it goes:

Many Europeans wags have said that there is no such thing as American culture, that it’s an oxymoron like military intelligence and plastic glasses. Or at the very most, it’s nothing but a conglomeration of pop culture – Barbie, Campbell’s Soup and the Brady Bunch. That always burns my biscuits, since America has a great cultural heritage. Yes, much of it was brought over from the Old World, but it melded with the New. The Constitution of the United States is a prime example. It blends the ideals of John Locke, the great British philosopher with the ideals and format of the Constitution of the Iroquois Nation, something that was in place and working even in pre-colonial times.

For an interesting look at the documents important to the culture of our government, and indeed, our culture, I recommend the page maintained by the University of Oklahoma’s College of Law. There you’ll find links to important documents from the Magna Carta to the 2009 Inaugural Address. And you’ll also find the documents that have blended in to create American culture.

There’s the rousing speech Patrick Henry gave in 1775, ending with the famous words, “Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!” There’s the Declaration of Independence, the writings of Ben Franklin and the Federalist Papers.

Moving on in history, the page includes links to the short but extremely moving Gettysburg Address.  What American can’t recite its opening lines, “”Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.”

And there are more documents – the Emancipation Proclamation, Martin Luther King’s stirring I Have a Dream speech, even things as seemingly mundane as the lyrics to Yankee Doodle Dandy and The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

One of the most moving documents I found there was President John F. Kennedy’s inaugural address. I highly recommend reading it, for it is as powerful and as timely today as it was on that January morning in 1961. I’m sure you know it by its famous line: “And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.

But it goes on:

“My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.

“Finally, whether you are citizens of America or citizens of the world, ask of us the same high standards of strength and sacrifice which we ask of you. With a good conscience our only sure reward, with history the final judge of our deeds, let us go forth to lead the land we love, asking His blessing and His help, but knowing that here on earth God’s work must truly be our own.”

Heady stuff, all of this. It’s wonderful, stirring rhetoric, and I recommend it. Perhaps it’s not always easy to read, but nothing worthwhile is easy, right?

I get back to the question: “Why am I who I am?”  I find that as a broad abroad, with a kid abroad, it’s something I ask more and more. What makes me the person I am? What cultural references inform the way I see the world?

Most Americans never read all this material, but it’s there in our subconscious. We got highlights in history class and can quote King, Kennedy, Jefferson and Franklin without even stopping to think about it. I didn’t read Ralph Waldo Emerson until I was in graduate school, but as soon as I read his essays on education I understood American schools.

Living abroad has changed my worldview. That was inevitable. But my core values haven’t been changed. I still believe in the same things I believed in when I lived in America.

This musing in turn leads me to America and the Great American Experiment. How have we managed to become such a unified country when for the past 227 years we’ve been swept by wave after wave of immigrants? Not only have we managed, we’ve done pretty well. It’s our immigrants that make us great, just as it’s something that weakens us. Not the immigrants, per se, but our reaction to them. Every time we as a nation do something racist or xenophobic towards our immigrants, we weaken America as a whole, the ideal that is America.

The American Dream: The term was first used by James Truslow Adams in his book The Epic of America which was written in 1931. He states: “The American Dream is “that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement. It is a difficult dream for the European upper classes to interpret adequately, and too many of us ourselves have grown weary and mistrustful of it. It is not a dream of motor cars and high wages merely, but a dream of social order in which each man and each woman shall be able to attain to the fullest stature of which they are innately capable, and be recognized by others for what they are, regardless of t he fortuitous circumstances of birth or position.”

Some say, that the American Dream has become the pursuit of material prosperity – that people work more hours to get bigger cars, fancier homes, the fruits of prosperity for their families – but have less time to enjoy their prosperity. Others say that the American Dream is beyond the grasp of the working poor who must work two jobs to insure their family’s survival. Yet others look toward a new American Dream with less focus on financial gain and more emphasis on living a simple, fulfilling life.

Thomas Wolfe said, “…to every man, regardless of his birth, his shining, golden opportunity ….the right to live, to work, to be himself, and to become whatever thing his manhood and his vision can combine to make him.”

http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/ndlpedu/lessons/97/dream/thedream.html

Core Values

I talk about American core values, but what do I mean by that phrase?  A core value is a value that is an integral part of a belief system.  A Christian core value is that Christ is the Messiah.

Americans themselves debate on our “core values,” but there are some that we all believe.  It’s the interpretations that vary.

Liberty is one.  This is so important to Americans that we have Lady Liberty at our border.

People visit this monument, and get choked up when they see it, not because it’s beautiful art.  But because we believe in what she stands for.

I was trying to list the others and was having trouble making it clear.  Then I found this on a blog (got to love the Net).

A while back, I saw a presentation by public opinion researcher John Russonello, who has advised many progressive organizations on messaging and framing.

Russonello lists only a few core values, and divides them into two tiers.

Primary values * individual responsibility * family security * honesty * fairness * freedom * work * spirituality

Secondary values * responsibility to help others * compassion * personal fulfillment * respect for authority * love of country (Jom Stalh’s Journal)

So for all these reasons I love America. I’m proud of America because it tries. It doesn’t always get it, but we strive, and that’s half the battle.

Note on this text: I am an inveterate recycler of my own writing.  I had forgotten that much of this lecture came from the post Multicultural Children, which is also on this site.  It you’re copying from yourself, is it still plagiarism?

New Yorkers Rock!

OK, so not the most original of titles, but I just have to say here and now: I’m proud to be a New Yorker because they are the greatest folks I’ve ever met.

Little back story: this week I was walking and texting, not the smartest move, but there it is.  I didn’t know a bike lane had been installed on 8th Ave in Manhattan.  I knew, but I’d forgotten.  Not looking where I was going, I bumped into the curb for the bike lane and sprawled across it, face first.  Dainty, I know.

A nice young man helped me up and walked me to the sidewalk, where I realized that my nose was bleeding.  Started digging in my purse for a tissue when he said, I’m pretty sure it’s not just your nose.

There was a lovely gash in my forehead–have no idea what I hit it on–and if you know anything about head wounds, they bleed at lot.  So there I was, dripping blood from my forehead and nose, most likely looking quite the sight.

And New Yorkers came through!  People stopped to help.  I didn’t want to go into the Starbucks on the corner because I figured I looked unappetizing, but also, I don’t like Starbucks.  Didn’t want to be a hypocrite!  So I stood out of the flow of traffic trying to stop the bleeding.

One nice young man went into three or four stores to find me a first aid kit, a number of people asked if they should call an ambulance.  People offered phones, tissues, advice and sympathy.   The woman who works in Starbucks came out to bring me into their bathroom! If I wasn’t so flustered, I would have really enjoyed it.

Finally staunched the flow in the bathroom and washed the blood off my face and hands.  When I got out, the nice young man of the first aid kit search had left a bandaid and alcohol wipes with a woman outside the bathroom.  He’d left, and I never knew his name, and I never properly thanked him.  So this is for him, and for all the other people who stopped and cared.

And the people who stopped were all colors, all ages, just like I would expect from a New York cross section.  Some of the people had accents–both foreign and heavy New Yorkese–but all showed sympathy and caring.

People like to call New York a cold city.  It can be sometimes, I admit.  But I didn’t see that the other day. I saw the warmth and caring that is part of our make-up.  Lest the rest of Americans say, “Hey! What about us?” I want to add that this is an American trait, for sure.  But outsiders don’t expect it from New Yorkers.

Everyone knows that New Yorkers, and all Americans, pull together when facing a crisis–from bombings to natural disasters, we’re there for one another. (God knows our government too often isn’t, but it’s also part of the American tradition–rely on yourselves first.)  But we’re also there for the little things: a clumsy woman falling on the sidewalk, a lost child, a lost tourist.  We really do like to help one another on some level.

And it’s not just days like the one I had that make me love New Yorkers.  Every day people connect with one another–perhaps it’s not deeply, but we talk to one another.  Conversations between strangers happen in New York all the time.  We complain, offer advice, give opinions, just pass the time of day.  Anywhere a group of New Yorkers is waiting, there will be spontaneous conversations.  Some of my most interesting conversations happen on the subway.

Not all New Yorkers are talkers, but if I address a stranger, no one immediately thinks I’m crazy.  And all New Yorkers know, it’s in the approach, as well.  We do know the difference between friendly and crazy!

In general this applies to Americans, but even we have our differences.  Just last weekend I had a former student from Massachusetts crashing on my couch for a night.  He said what he likes about New York is that no one thinks you’re crazy if you make polite conversation.  He was brought up in New England, and even he finds the people there cold.  Of course, Swedes I know think even New Englanders are overly friendly, so it’s all in the perspective!

I do know that American friendliness can cause intercultural communication problems.  Being friendly doesn’t make us friends.  I know this confuses many Asian immigrants and visitors who often mention to me how Americans are hypocrites with their friendliness.  I try to explain that it’s not hypocrisy–it’s the grease that keeps the wheels of our society turning as smoothly as they do–but cultures are hard things to understand sometimes.

No real point today–just a celebration of New Yorkers. I am prejudiced, I know, but I don’t think it’s because I’m from here–a third generation New Yorker–that I can say quite honestly, there’s no other city like it in the world.

Weighty Matters

One thing that has bothered me about American culture for years is its obsession with bodies. We attack celebrities for being too heavy or too thin. Who is just right?

Since I’ve come back, I swear it’s gotten worse.

Women’s magazines inevitably have a diet featured on the front cover. Just looking at some magazines in my room I see: “Lose up to 14 pounds!” and “Have a Bikini-Ready Body by June!” and “Better than Gastric Bypass! Lose 9 lbs a Week”.

But those same magazines also have stories on easy treats–Boston Cream Cupcakes, chocolate chip cookies and “fun party cakes”.

And one  magazines that published recipes for an everyday meal totaling 1065 calories and 55 grams of fat, also carries ads for Hydroxycut, Super Dieter’s Hunger Control Slim Mix, Apatrim and Xenadrine RFA-1. In fact, there are only three other ads in the magazine, so that’s a pretty overwhelming message to readers: You’re too fat!

And we are.  According to the Centers for Disease Control, over 66% of Americans over 20 are considered either overweight or obese and 24% of them are obese.  That’s a frightening trend.

In an earlier blog entry, I mentioned that when I returned to America, the shapes of some Americans frightened me so much that I lost weight.  Luckily, that trend has continued.  I’ve lost 40 pounds since I’ve been back.  That’s not an amazing amount over two years, but at least I buck the national trend of gaining weight every year!

By no stretch of the imagination could I ever be considered not overweight, but there are days when I’m riding the subway in NYC, especially when I’m not in Manhattan, and I look around and think: “I’ve got the smallest butt in this car!”  That breaks my heart!  Seriously, it does.  When I see young people, male and female, severely overweight, it frightens me.  Once in the grocery store, I heard a little girl, no more than 10 years old, talking about her high cholesterol with her mother!

What’s going on? Part of the problem is the complete and utter junk that passes for food in the country.  There is also the portion distortion that we hear about in the news.  In an effort to lure in customers in these financially lean times, fast food restaurants are offering more and more grease and carbs for your money.

Even nicer places are doing the same.  My family went to a seafood restaurant, and my sister and I took home so much of our dinners that we each got two more lunches!

One thing I do find worrisome is how weight is such an accurate class marker, especially here in New York City.  Riding the subway in the Bronx, I can feel pretty good about myself.  Once I cross over into Manhattan, people are radically smaller and healthier looking.  It’s no surprise that more money means better nutrition as well as better education.  But being able to eat healthily should not be a privilege of wealth and education.   That’s just a national shame.

I have no solutions.  It’s just a scary trend I see now that I’m back in the States.  And since I have so much to say about so many things, I thought I’d start with some scary observations just to get them off my chest.

Soon is obviously a flexible term

Not being able to write here has been weighing heavily on my heart, but not as heavily as the thoughts I’ve been having. It’s now almost two full years since I moved back to America. It’s good to be back, really it is. But so much has changed, and sadly, much of that change is not for the better.

Over the next few weeks I shall be venting, I’m afraid, but not a pure vent. I will be adding some thoughts that have been on my mind. Health care, education, national character, all topics that have intrigued me.

When I first returned, I wrote a series of quick observations gleaned in the airport and on my bus trip from Tennessee to New York. Tomorrow’s dip back into writing will be a similar entry, short snippets of observations made over the past two years.

Until then, thanks for your patience! The Broad is, once again, back!

I’ll be back…

An accident and some carpal tunnel syndrome have slowed me down, and then there’s my teaching schedule. But I will be back soon.

Being an uninsured American after coming from a place with national health, well, my eyes have been opened. What a strange place this country can be. I have much to say, so soon.

It’s True–All You Need is Love

“Love, Love, Love” the Beatles sang all those years ago. An appropriate sentiment for the day, but it’s a topic I’ve had on my mind for a while now.  Today seems the most appropriate day to post it here.

Once upon a time, years ago, a writer friend of mine, Mark Goldblatt, wrote a newspaper column on the simple words “I love you.”  I’m relying on my memory here, but I’m pretty sure I’m paraphrasing him correctly.  He said he didn’t really say the words because they are overused.  People love potato chips and TV shows and Jimmy Choos, so the meaning of the word love has been cheapened. He had a point.

Whenever I find myself using the word love a lot, I think of Mark and wonder, am I overusing it?  Cheapening it? I love my family and friends.  I love my students.   I love most individuals.  Too much with the word?

No, and I think I know why.  I don’t love things.  I enjoy them.  I like them, but I don’t love them.  I love people–individuals and groups, but I love living beings.  (Okay, and I love animals, too, but again, living beings.) And frankly, I don’t think we can tell people we love them enough.

My problem is, I’m not comfortable saying the words, really.  So I have to try to let my actions speak for me.  But that’s all on one-to-one basis.  I try to use Love as my prime motivator, but how can Love be all we need?

I think what I mean by this was underscored in the Inaugural address this year.  I mentioned how I cried when President Obama quoted 1 Corinthians 13.  But this term I also taught the inaugural poem “Praise Song for the Day” in class, and what Elizabeth Alexander wrote there sums up what I feel.

Towards the end of the poem, she writes these words:

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Brilliant lines, really.  First she looks at the basic operating guidelines of some major groups–Christians, humanists and pagans and Communists and Socialists.  But really, how different are those creeds?  They all can co-exist quite easily.  And then she asks the perfect question: “What if the mightiest word is love?”

She follows up with the specifics on what she means:

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

Love beyond what we usually have here on earth.  Love that casts a widening pool of light–what an image!  Can’t you just see the light of love widening from each person, enveloping one another in that healing, caring light–the light that drives out darkness?  As Dr. Martin Luther King tells us, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that; hate cannot drive out hatred, only love can do that.“

Love is the defining word of my life.  It’s been used by all the people I consider heroes and it’s the one guiding principle of my life. And as silly as it sounds, the Beatles played a large part in making me think of living a life of love.  I have said over and over that growing up listening to hippie songs warped my view of life, and there’s some seriousness under the joking.  One of the most powerful musical lines in the soundtrack that is my life comes courtesy of George Harrison: “With our love – We could save the world”.  I definitely believe that, and I think that’s what Alexander was talking about.

She ends the poem with these words:

In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,
praise song for walking forward in that light.

How beautiful!  If we, as a people, as a country, walk forward into the light of love instead of into the destructive dark of hatred, what a world we could have!  And while my brand of love tends to be Christianized, who can’t find some reason to love?

On many levels, I’m not saying anything too different from what my country has believed from its start.  As a nation, we were founded on precepts of Christian or Humanist brotherly love. And we don’t have to be Christians to agree that the definition of Love found in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 is a pretty useful one:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

If we could pull this off as individuals, as a country, that would be amazing.  And using this definition, all we really do need is love.  With this love, we could change the world.

I wish you love.  I wish my country love and my whole world love.  In the spirit of my pop music gurus, especially George Harrison, John Lennon, and Donovan, and with Elizabeth Alexander, I wish we all walk forward to the light of love and change our world.

End Note: Since I hear “All You Need is Love” while reading this, let me paste some of the lyrics here:

There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done.
Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game.
It’s easy.

Nothing you can make that can’t be made.
No one you can save that can’t be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time.
It’s easy.

Oh Happy Day! The Torture is ending!

Tuesdays events were historic, but today’s were almost as  important. President Obama signed executive orders to close Guantanamo Bay prison camp and to stop waterboarding along with other tortures. God bless the man!

America was a great country and will be great again, but for too many years now we’ve been behaving in a morally reprehensible manner.  Because this is my country and I love it fiercely, I hold it to a higher standard.  And if we say we are fighting the good fight, we have to behave properly.  Breaking the Geneva Conventions is wrong.  Torture is wrong.

I have no sympathy for terrorists.  As long as the spirits and accomplishments of  Mahatma Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr.  live, no one on earth can convince me of the need for terrorism.  Over the years, in many arguments, people have tried to tell me that oppressed people have no other choice.  That is just wrong.  Yes, I know that there are millions of politically wronged people on this earth, but I will never condone terrorism.  So contrary to my more radically conservative relatives’ claims, I’m not a “bleeding heart liberal”.  Really, I’m not.  I’m not against torture because it’s bad for the tortured.  I’m against it because it’s bad for the torturer.  When someone tortures a prisoner in the name of the United States, it weakens my country.

Finally, we have a president who understands that.

I know that torture works.  I’m quite aware of that fact, and knowing me, if I thought I could save a family member by torturing someone, I’d do it in a heart beat.  But I know I would dehumanize myself in the process.  Something in me would die, and I would be in the wrong.  Expedient, but wrong.

But I am an individual.  My actions are between me and my God.  The United States is a different case.  We can’t tell other countries not to torture, tell them to give prisoners due process of the law, and then turn around and break the same rules ourselves.

According to today’s story in CNN, “The president said he was issuing the order to close the facility in order to ‘restore the standards of due process and the core constitutional values that have made this country great even in the midst of war, even in dealing with terrorism.’”

About the order banning torture, Obama said, “This is me following through … on an understanding that dates back to our founding fathers, that we are willing to observe core standards of conduct not just when it’s easy but also when it’s hard.”

This is a hard decision, but it’s a great one.  Thank you, Mr. President.

History is made–Is that hope I feel?

“History was made” is a phrase that appears all too frequently in newscasts. But today, history was well and truly made when Barack Hussein Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America.

Thanks to a car accident over the weekend, at noon today I sat in a rental car, listening to the swearing in and the inaugural speech. I was happy when I arrived at my destination as I was crying and afraid to drive. I dashed into the body shop hoping the TV was on, and it was. There I sat in the waiting room of a car repair shop, watching the end of the speech.

Tears were rolling down my cheeks, and while I was embarrassed (I hate to be seen crying), I let it rip. I had actually planned on being in Washington for the inauguration, just so I could say I was there, but the car accident changed all plans.  At the end of the speech, I just looked at the men in the room–it was me and some men–and said, “I’m a girl; I can get away with this.”

President Obama–finally we can say that!  I feel such pride.  And, dare I say it? I feel hope.  The last inauguration that I watched was President Clinton’s in ‘92.  It was the last time I was in the US for one, and really, it was the last time I cared.  I was full of hope then, too, after 12 long years of Republican rule by presidents I could barely tolerate.  The “greed is good” 80s were an anathema to my view of life and wealth.  It didn’t take long for me to be disillusioned by the Clinton administration.  They were better than what went before, true, but “don’t ask, don’t tell” and the miserable failure of the Clinton health plan soured the hope for me.

But today, listening to the speech, I felt hope again.  I love words.  I love stirring rhetoric, and today’s speech was a good one.  It had echoes of Presidents Washington (not a man known for stirring rhetoric, of course), FDR and JFK.

The first section of speech that hit my heart was this:

We remain a young nation, but in the words of Scripture, the time has come to set aside childish things.  The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation:  the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness.

I actually had to pull off the street because I was crying too hard to drive.  It’s a quote from one of my favorite verses of Scripture: 1 Cor 13:11.  It comes after the famous definition of Love, but there is the hint that in the spirit of Love, we must go forth as a nation.  And because of that, we are all equal, all free, all deserving.  I cried because I believe that wholeheartedly, but also because for so many, especially so many of my students, that equality seems so far.

Then came this paragraph:

In reaffirming the greatness of our nation, we understand that greatness is never a given.  It must be earned.  Our journey has never been one of short-cuts or settling for less.  It has not been the path for the faint-hearted – for those who prefer leisure over work, or seek only the pleasures of riches and fame.

I could drive during this part.  In fact, I snorted.  Too many of us in this country have become lazy, looking for short cuts and the easy way.  No one knows this better than teachers.

After coming back from 12 years abroad, I have noticed a sense of entitlement that shocks me.  When I give C grades to students–by definition an average grade–students get angry at me and often demand an A grade, meaning excellent.  I often think the C is inflated, but there it is.  They actually handed something in, so it must be excellent.

Fox News reported on a study to that end last November, “Many Teens Overconfident; Have “Wildly” Unrealistic Expectations” which didn’t shock me in the least.  And of course, their parents are to blame, and that’s my generation.  I see too much laziness and corner cutting in my own generation as well.

So this is what scares me about the challenges America faces.  I’ve mentioned many times that President Obama and I are the same age.  Michelle Obama is three years younger than me.  I’m well educated, I admit, but compared to the Obamas, I’m a regular slacker.  I can tell myself that being a teacher is a noble profession, that I’ve touched the lives of thousands of kids.  Yeah, but I also tell myself that thousands of them don’t remember me at all, or if they do it’s with mild annoyance.

Am I ready and willing to pick up the challenge?  Frankly, I’m tired.  I feel like I’ve been fighting the good fight for the past 12 years.  I was fighting it before that as well.  I’ve never given up the dream of my 60s youth.

When I heard these words today:

What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility – a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task.

the tears began anew.  I believe these words with all of my heart.

Hopefully, the tired and ragged idealists among us will feel refreshed and be ready to soldier on.  And those who never really thought of the responsibility part of being an American will wake up and see the light.

I have hope.  One of my all time favorite pieces of advice to my students  is this quote by Edith Hamilton: “When the freedom they wished for most was freedom from responsibility, then Athens ceased to be free and was never free again.”  May we learn a hard lesson from history.

And at this junction, I can’t help but think of the Kennedy brothers: the hope they still engender.  My hero Bobby gives me a fitting ending for this essay:

“Let us dedicate ourselves to what the Greeks wrote so many years ago: to tame the savageness of man and make gentle the life of this world. Let us dedicate ourselves to that and say a prayer for our country and for our people.”

I would add say a prayer for our new president and his family.  Because we live in a savage world, he needs our prayers