Vibrancy

Life just the way I want to live it
even if it means
shooting out words
that no one else would say
because I’m me
and

I am wild
like the lions on the savannah
searching for food
that truly the cheetahs
have killed
but I’ll take it
if it means surviving

Life just the way I want to live it
even if it means
shooting out words
that everyone else wants to say
but won’t
I will because

I am wild
and no one can tame
the fire in my soul,
no one can bury this burden
of yearning that I hold,
so I must dig it out myself,
I must be myself.

Revolution (Revelation)

Sometimes I wonder what has become of parents and their kids. I feel constantly surrounded by families who seem to think that their children, and their needs, come before everyone else around them. It’s not just the parents of the students I teach—in fact, this is rarely the case. I see it in the parents of kids who are the same age as my daughters. And the more exposure I have to it, the more it burns me up.

It begins with the questioning of authority. Teachers in particular. These parents seem to think that they should be running the classroom, and in effect letting their kids have no consequences for their actions. And if the teacher thinks for one moment he’s going to punish his students for their behavior, he’s got another thing coming. Those parents will go straight to the principal rather than taking the time to set up a meeting with the teacher.

What I would like to see is this: a teacher going into an office of one of these parents. Maybe he wants to read one of the reports they wrote. And when the report doesn’t satisfy him, he won’t make suggestions for editing and revising. He’ll mark it up in red and go straight to the parent’s boss, complaining about what a shoddy employee he hired.

It’s a perfect analogy, really. Is that the way to deal with a problem? To take your angst behind the “perpetrator’s” back and try to get that person disciplined? And what message does this send to our kids? That’s the part that’s beyond fucked up.

Scenario:

“Mama, Mr. Jones won’t let us have our holiday party because he said we misbehaved.”

“Did you?”

“Well, it was half my fault, but the other kids were being naughtier.”

“I don’t agree with that at all. You’re in first grade, and I don’t think it’s fair to cancel the holiday party because of a few rotten kids. I’m going to speak to the principal in the morning. Mr. Jones shouldn’t do that.”

Thoughts in the child’s mind: I don’t have to listen to Mr. Jones. He’s going to get in trouble. We didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who’s wrong.

So the next time Mr. Jones asks this child to behave, will he? To do homework, will he? To show respect for authority, will he? Why? What is his motivation? The parents have stripped all authority and respect from the teacher, and their message to their children is loud and clear: your desires, no matter how petty, are more important than the teacher’s rules.

It doesn’t stop there. The parents lavish these children with every possible gift imaginable and birthday parties that cost upwards of $500. They invite every student in the class, expecting gifts (some invitations even specify which type of gifts!!) from all of them of course, and then don’t send out thank-you cards. (There are always exceptions, but they’re rare). And they do this for their kids every year so that the kids come to expect it. It’s no wonder these kids misbehave in the classroom setting (and other settings): they are the center of the world, the selfish, gluttonous world they’ve been raised in.

What is a parent to do? How can I raise my daughters to understand that they won’t have a giant birthday party every year, that when their teacher sends them home with a note that the class was naughty, they’re damn well going to write a letter of apology, that the world does not revolve around them even though their classmates seem to have this impression?

In this consumer-driven, corporate-sponsored society we’ve created for ourselves, we seem to have overlooked some important details about humanity: mainly, that our lives shouldn’t revolve around silly parties filled with cheap pieces of plastic, nonstop gifts, and a total disregard for what is most important—human relationships. The same parents who go over the teachers’ heads to complain to the principal are those who are spoiling their kids in every way imaginable. And while they complain, while they shop, they are missing out on what I value most about being a parent: spending quality time with my children as a family, showing them that giving to those in need is better than receiving, that respect is a part of going to school, and it begins at the classroom door, with the teacher.

In the end, how will they turn out? What kind of adults will they become? Only time will allow this revelation. But at least I can go to bed every night without the guilty conscious of a parent of an over-indulged, disrespectful child. And no matter how hard I have to fight this battle as my children witness this disrespect and indulgence among their peers, I know that in the end they will be better for it, that in the end, we will win the war. Because once they enter the real world, they will already know that it doesn’t revolve around them.

Reach for What is Right

Your happiness reaches through the screen
and pulls at my heart
three thousand miles away,
popping tears (first of joy)
(then of anguish) into my eyes.

You stand behind him
at his Aruban birthday meal,
matching grins and goatees,
your hands intertwined,
two boys as happy as
lonely children granted
a whole day to spend with mom,
two lovers granted
their wish of a life together.

I want to reach out and capture
the purity of your emotion,
the love that exudes from
a depth that They will never reach,
and show the world
just how right you are
(right for each other,
right to love the one
your heart tells you to love).

And as the tears creep into my eyes
every time I place your photo in my mind,
I know that I will continue to reach,
reach, reach for what I know is right
even as the anguished tears tell me
that They think I (you) (we) are wrong.

Lines

Definitions of shallow:
of little depth,
varying only slightly
from a horizontal line,
not capable of serious thought,
you.

You don’t agree?
With a click of a button
you eliminate all openness
from your life,
easily closing the door
on words that vary
only slightly
from your horizontal line.

I would try to pry you open,
but I am swimming
in the depths
of my own zig-zagging
serious thoughts,
unable to waste a breath
on lines that follow the
horizon into nowhere.

Cursing the Wind

I can’t curse the wind
it carries the seeds
that make the flowers
to decorate my view

I can’t curse the wind
it pushes me harder
to meet my ambition
that makes me stronger

I can’t curse the wind
it creates the change
that we all need with
a little airing out

I can’t curse the wind
no matter how much
it stings my skin, because
without it I am stagnant.

Wild Like Me

sometimes i think i should hold them in
and hide myself behind a wall of demureness
or feign politeness beneath a shadow of civility

i know they send shockwaves through crowds
and cause murmurs and looks among friends
and send shivers up my mother’s spine

sometimes i think i should hold them in
because what role am I modeling for my girls
who seem to have opinions growing from their mouths?

but then I think, holding them in would mean
holding in my strength, my courage, myself,
and isn’t that the person I want them to know?

sometimes I think I should hold them in
but my words are not reigns and people aren’t tame:
on the inside, they’re wild like me, I know it.

and my words (offensive or not) allow them
to see for one moment (could be an hour)
what it’s like on the other side of the fence.

What He Does

What he does if you need to know
(really? it’s been five years)
is wake up one morning girl
and two obstinately not-morning girls
arguing with them to
go to the bathroom, get dressed,
eat breakfast, brush teeth,
and get out the door
before most people have left for work.

Alone, because I have usually
left already to enjoy a bike ride to school
(something he allows me to do
every day if I want, without question)
and even if they don’t want to do
any of it, with his patient words,
his no-nonsense attitude,
he convinces them to obey.

What next? You’d be amazed.
Takes Mythili back and forth
to preschool, setting timers for
snack and show-and-tell reminders,
grocery shopping with Riona in tow,
plans a menu that is healthy
(and that they’ll all eat, and that
we can afford), cooks and does dishes,
sets out my morning coffee and oatmeal,
cleans the house top to bottom every Friday,
(have you ever seen Dad use a vacuum?)
budgets and pays all our bills,
takes the girls to the park,
the zoo, the museum,
sets up play dates
and manages homework.

All without one critical word,
with the sensitive nurturing
every child needs and deserves,
all so that our evenings are calm,
relaxed, child-filled (not errand-filled),
so that we have a home, not a house.

What does he do, you ask?
Have you not seen our spotless home,
tasted our delectable dinners,
thrived on his technological advice,
and witnessed firsthand those
small arms reaching out for Daddy?

Let me apologize.
Perhaps you have not been blinded by love,
or perhaps in your narrow world of
work, work, work,
you have forgotten (or never knew)
what a happy family,
a perfect husband,
looks like.

Soles (Souls)

I will remember when I complain
of my aching feet,
my seemingly disconnected joints,
those tiny porters
(miniature gods)
who didn’t have the money
to go to the fancy running store
and have their strides analyzed,
buying new sneakers
for $100 to relieve the
pounding of pavement on soles (souls)

I will remember when I complain
the three overstuffed backpacks
they each strapped to their narrow backs,
the recycled tires
that didn’t cover the exposed soles (souls)
on their small, Peruvian feet,
the cans of propane and three dozen eggs
they carried in each hand
as they raced up the mountain
in front of us tired tourists,
setting up twenty tents, hot tea, and cookies
before any of us could make
half a step up the million along the Inca trail.

I will remember when I complain
that this is easy,
that anyone could run a half marathon,
that the weight I carry will never match
the burden of poverty
that pushes them beyond human strength
to the top of the mountain,
to the ruins famous worldwide,
to the place where we should all be equal,
where history plus nature creates a masterpiece,
the place where our souls (soles) may rest.

For the Ring Master

everyone posted pics of Easter today
(some writing religious messages),
children in brightly colored dresses
or sweater vests searching for eggs
(me, too, the girls holding up candy
treasures and invading each other’s baskets)
some were bright-eyed babies, others
older kids who knew the game too well,
diving for eggs under trees or behind bushes,
their rainbow of baskets an afterthought in their palms.

but my favorites had to be my cousin
with his glaringly orange, silk-flowered,
feather-to-the-sky top hat, tinted orange glasses,
and his springy head-to-toe pink explosion of
daffodils, scarves, and feminine-beauty partner,
and their “gay meth lab,” (dyeing eggs that I
see hanging from a tree in the background)
for all the beauty of love, diversity of celebration,
for the “Ring Master of the gayest Easter on Earth!”
for a new rainbow of love on this holiday.

Keep the Best and Eliminate the Rest

They’ve all but hired a new superintendent for our school district. Googling her led me to her job-jumping status quo. First in Des Moines, then Tucson, but only in Tucson for two years. This is just like the last superintendent we had, who jumped from job to job, and he ran this district… well, into the ground, really. But that’s just my opinion. I must say I have never seen such an exorbitant amount of money spent on such ridiculous things. He spent it all on conferences, luncheons, unneeded administration, and mileage, then fled.

I found out about the new superintendent earlier today, right on the tails of me reading an article from the cover of Newsweek about education reform. They did a beautifully creative cover. In the background, written in chalk a hundred times, were the words, “Fire bad teachers.” Ouch. The article went on to explain that because of the unions, teachers have almost zero chance of termination after they acquire tenure. In fact, less than .02 percent!

I must say, having team taught for five years, I would have to somewhat agree with this article. It’s hard for me to accept that agreement, because I am a liberal, and of course I’m part of the teachers’ union. But at the same time, I’ve seen a couple—and I really mean just a couple—of teachers who really shouldn’t be teaching. If they don’t care about the kids’ education, how are the kids ever going to care? As a teacher of at-risk ELLs, this bothers me tremendously. I need my students to succeed more than I need for their white, middle-class counterparts to, because ELLs have a much higher likelihood of dropping out. So when teachers are ineffective, have poor management, and simply don’t invest care into what they do, it has a huge impact on students whose families might already be wary of the educational system (and teachers) as it is.

With our school district not only having to hire a new superintendent (who might not stick around!) to replace the one who fled, but also facing year four of drastic budget cuts, teachers and support staff are losing their jobs in every school. And who is leaving? Well, the new teachers, the probationary teachers, of course. Not a chance that anyone else would be considered to be put on the chopping block, though I know for a fact that I am not the only one who feels that there would be some different, weaker teachers in our school who should go instead of strong, new teachers whose only weakness are their hire dates.

So I will admit that the system has flaws. What began more than a hundred years ago as an attempt to improve salaries and benefits for teachers has now, in effect, backfired and hurt our children. Just as the Newsweek article pointed out, now that women have more choices about careers, most won’t choose teaching, and most public school districts pick teachers from lower-performing colleges. And so many teachers enter the career having minimal training in classroom management, which is the most important factor for student success.

But what are we supposed to do? Reform an entire system in an attempt to find and keep good teachers and fire bad ones? It is possible, but again I become discouraged by Newsweek’s, and other more conservative media’s, simple answer to this question: base teachers’ pay and rehiring on students’ test scores. This cannot be the determining factor, and here is where my liberal blood boils. Being an ELL teacher, I see how weak students’ scores are on standardized tests for the first several years that they are acquiring English. No teacher, no matter how effective, is going to be able to break down the linguistic barrier that hampers their success without years of language immersion and sheltered instruction. And with the percentage of ELLs increasing every year (this group, in fact, is the fastest growing population of students in U.S. schools), in every state, we need to use more data than test scores to evaluate teachers.

The truth is, there is no easy answer to the question of education reform. But it needs to happen. We need administrators, the U.S. Department of Education, and superintendents to stick with their school districts and to work with teachers (the ones in the trenches) to come up with solutions for reforming teacher evaluation techniques. If you ask effective teachers how they feel about ineffective ones, they are the first and most opinionated about calling out their weaknesses and admitting their need for removal, because those teachers’ ineffectiveness destroys what effective teachers are trying to do: educate our students to the highest level of expectation. And if we are all on board about what’s best for students (good teachers!) then we should all be able to work together to keep the best and eliminate the rest.