This week, I have happened upon, accidentally, at least three “conversations” on today’s educational structure/systems.  The theme has overwhelmingly been one of a need for change and rethinking how we educate our youth and the expectation we have of them.

On KQED, I came across Gabriel Gangoso’s perspective (It’s a Big Deal) on the pressures put on today’s youth to meet the grade in preparation for their future and the sacrifices that must be made in order for them to do so.

Then, on Facebook, I came across a youtube posting by one student of another student who was “telling off the teacher” for not enthusing the students; inspiring them to want to learn.   I am not certain whether I would say he is wrong; I don’t know the full story.  But, his request does not seem unreasonable, “. . . You have to make them [students] excited . . . You got to take this job serious.”  So, I commend his constructive disobedience.  Maybe . . . maybe . . . his approach was not appropriate and can be seen as a certain amount of disrespect but, I just can’t see a student getting to this level of frustration without push and the teacher’s seemingly nonchalant attitude would piss me off too.  I hope he had an adult to come to champion his cause.

Then, again on Facebook, I came across a youtube video, by spoken word artist Suli Breezy (new to me),  supporting a disdain for school but, clearly not for education as a whole.  This is such a truly powerful message.

This is screaming to me and when something is screaming  to me, I have to speak to you.

There is value in education and being educated but is the method of reaching that end the same as that of our parents’ or our parents’ parents’ day?  It is a different age/time with new influences, technologies, avenues to obtaining and even sharing information.  It used to be a dictionary, thesaurus, encyclopedia at the “homework” table and/or a trip to the library.  Now, the library can come to you at the click of a button or the touch of a screen and messages/information take only seconds to reach millions.

Where are the teachers, like my grandmother, that stayed to help and truly invested in the overall child? And where is the support of those teachers such that the anomaly once again becomes the norm; teachers with a vested interest and passion for what is taught.  Where are the parents that get involved, not to blame the teachers or the system or the administration or the other kid because it is not their fault and not their perfect child’s fault or responsibility for self, but to work WITH the teachers in the best interest of the child and WITH the administration in support of the teachers and school community, which further supports the interest of the child?  Is being a straight A student really the ultimate goal?

Sadly, we have come to a point where the test results carry so much weight that the scale is unfavorably tilted towards those that conform to a general standard.  Only this standard leaves too many out in the cold.

There is not ONE box into which we all fit. And I am moving toward or actually have almost completely come to a point where the goal does not have to be and is not so narrowly focused.  College is an important choice but, it is one of many.  It is valued and encouraged but not as the end-all/all-you-need/just-for-the-sake-of-a-degree goal.

I want, for mine, a well-rounded education that plants and waters the seeds of curiosity allowing the growth of various branches of intellect (social and emotional included) with only occasional slight pruning in order that the foundation laid is that which was driven by the individual and not by the need for a specific result on a specific test.

We are given a responsibility to our children first and foremost. We do them a grand disservice by teaching them the importance of a grade over the significance of curiosity, experimentation, artistic expression, reading for understanding and not memorization for the test that is half the grade and tomorrow.  Because tomorrow you might not actually need to know the pythagorean theory.  It just might be more important to have the courage to formulate an idea that you are willing to put to test.

Watch the video. I happened upon it when I couldn’t get to sleep last night/this morning.

What do you think?

I Will Not Let An Exam Result Decide My Fate

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Old Navy Shirt $3.99

Old Navy Pencil Skirt $9.99

Belt $1.00 at Earth Day Sale at Buffalo Exchange in San Francisco

Leggings and black boots (Closet staple)

I just about never buy something for myself.  I would like to blame it on having two in college and one in a private school and it just being me that has to make things happen . . . things like rent and food and gas and after care and books and clothes and swim lessons and music and birthdays and everything.  But, the reality is that it is not completely just me since the older ones both contribute to their own expenses and I do receive a bit of support for the Boy.

So, there is no excuse for me not investing in myself.  Even if it is just a couple of dollars.  Maybe my responsibilities keep me from going out and splurging on expensive designer anything.  (I never have done that anyway.) Maybe I am a bit more careful with my spending than my single friends or dual income household friends but, there really is no excuse for me ignoring that the clothes in my closet don’t fit and I just about loathe most things that I wear these days.

I need my flyness back.  I need to feel it.  Fit.  Sexy.  Fly.

I am going to work on it.  Starting with allowing myself an occasional “splurge” even if it is only at Old Navy.  I am going to buy something . . . take the tags off . . . and wear it right away so that I am not tempted to take it back after getting home and thinking about all of the bills/responsibilities I have.

Today I did just that.  I wore my $15.00-plus-tax-simple-work-cute outfit like it cost a million bucks.

I felt fit, sexy, and fly.

She’s 15.

He’s 5.

She can swim.

He can’t.

So, he’s yelling and telling her how he would play if she would play a game that he could play but she is not and that is not fair and you don’t want to play with me and that is not nice and i am upset because you don’t want to play with me and now I don’t want to play with you because you are not playing a game I can play and that is not nice . . .

Me: ça suffit (this is the second time I have told him it’s enough but he is not listening because he is ranting. )
He kept yelling until I called him out of the pool and over to me.
Me: quand je dis ça suffit, ne parle pas plus.
He started trying to tell me why he was yelling.
Him: but, mom, she . . .
Me: (emphatically. In my don’t f with momma voice) Quand je dis ça suffit, ne parle pas plus.
Him: (as he drops is head) d’accord.

I love French and how beautiful it sounds when I am fussing at him. I love his understanding that when mom speaks French she is serious and he had better pay attention.

My parents used my full name to signify they meant business. I wonder what would happen if I used French AND his full name.

What did your parents do or say that yielded instant correction or redirection?

Definitely symbolic for me as I struggle/scramble to figure out the extent of the sacrifices that I must make to keep all of mine where they need to be educationally. There is an easier road but easy does not always equate to right or most beneficial.

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CHANGE

Okay. I could photograph some coins but how creative is that? Well, can be very if done right but it reminds me too much of my cousin’s son who didn’t understand why the word problem asked, “If 1/5th of the 35 horses are brown then how many horses are brown?” Duh . . . 1/5th.

Okay so, no coins. But what? How do I represent a change in me with a photo of something that is not me?

Then, a friend sent me a text:
“The spring is a time of new beginnings . . .”

There it was and suddenly I noticed change everywhere.

At the lake on my lunchtime walk where the tree’s flowers are slowly returning.

At the ski resort that was full of snow and families and skiers and snowboarders only three weeks ago.

In my friend’s garden where the ground is giving way to a new life.

This spring a change is coming for me. I can feel it in my bones.

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Back at the ski resort, we first started sledding at the bottom of one of the ski runs but that was slow and boring. Behind us was an empty run. Only how were we going to get to the top without a lift.

First my niece and the Boy conquered that hill on foot. Awesome. He was such a trooper. Then, after much begging, he went a second and third time with me. By our third time, another family had joined us on the perfect sledding hill.

Halfway up they stopped to rest on a stump and take a picture. Mom was taking a photo of dad and daughter. I asked if they wanted me to take the shot so they could all be in it. They did. Then I made a deal with them. I would take their picture and they would take ours. Only my camera was at the bottom of the run with my niece so she could film us flying down the hill on the sled. (I needed proof). They would have to take our photo with their camera phone and text it to me. They agreed, happily.

As we sat to take the picture, the Boy leans in to me and asks, as quietly as a loud five-year-old could be (not at all), “do you know those people?”

The mother, hearing him, smiled at me. I smiled back and turned to the Boy.

“No. They are just nice people having fun like us. “

There is a fine line between teaching trust and guarding against stranger danger. The Boy is leery of everything and everyone. A bit of trust by an adult of another adult was beautifully modeled for him. I did not miss the photo opportunity or the teaching moment.

I have always loved the black and white photos with just a bit of color showing through. I have done this before but, wasn’t really sure how it was supposed to be done. Taking the color out one at a time effects too many parts of the photo and doesn’t always give me the look I want.

It had been a long time since I really PLAYED with Photoshop and when I just sat with it for a moment, I found the simplest way to do it. I know, you Photoshop wizards are probably thinking . . . DUH! Excuse me, though, because I am just getting back to my photography after about a five year hiatus from serious shooting.

Here it is. Add a layer, make it black and white, erase the area that needs to show the color through. SO SIMPLE.

Even with just a spot of color, I like the effect. It helps that yellow is one of my favorite colors.

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He wants to be a snowboard instructor. He had never been to the snow. He has never felt the cold, the pain of the below zero wind chill factors of my youth. He has never sloshed through a foot of snow to get to school . . . up hill both ways . . . having to shovel his own path. He has never seen snow storms or ice storms. He has never been on a sled on Art Hill where falling off is usually the best option, or only option, when the pond at the bottom is fast approaching and the sled refuses to stop.

He doesn’t know frozen toes and frozen noses and frozen everything on the bus stop where just thinking about being warm really doesn’t work, grandma. Imagine it and it will be . . . your imagination, GRANDMA.

Snow boots are a novelty to him. Snow bibs, gloves, snow goggles are exciting. He wants to be a snowboard instructor and today, for the first time, he went to the snow and he went skiing.

No fear. No anxiety. No resistance. No clinging. He put on the skis, harnessed up and came down the learners’ hill with mommy running behind him, holding the lead, making sure that he didn’t get too far away.

And then . . . “Are you sure about this mommy,” . . . he came down that hill by himself.

After lunch, he was caught staring off into the crowd of skiers and snowboarders careening down the mountain at oh-lord-I’m-going-to-die and this-is-a-piece-of-cake and what-a-blast speeds. He was watching them . . . being him . . . in a year or two.

He wants to be a snowboard instructor and today I saw him seeing himself coming down that mountain and he made we want to join him on a run.

In the future.

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Well, my third is like a grand in that the age difference between him and his siblings is such that I hopefully have left most of the wound-too-tight approach to parenting that may have been some of what the older ones felt back in their day. I know because they are constantly telling me how I let their brother get away with anything. While not truly the case, they just can’t remember what they got away with, he does have different rules . . . only a bit.

This morning when he asked if he could have a popsicle for breakfast I had to pause before saying the automatic “no.” Why couldn’t he? We had made popsicles the night before with our healthy green drink leftovers. So, the popsicles were not your average, overloaded with sugar, fruit but no real fruit variety. Ours had kale and spinach and banana and strawberry and blueberry and almond/hazelnut/cashew milk and dates and almond butter. Our popsicles were 100% loaded with nutrients and the perfect breakfast choice. So why not . . . because popsicles are treats? Maybe that is what I thought 15 years ago but, today . . . Rubbish!

The Boy (excited): MOM! They are ready. Can I have one for breakfast?

Me: (pause) Of course. That is a good idea.

And this morning he had two eggs and veggies and fruit in the form of a popsicle.

Don’t throw your trash in my backyard, my backyard, my backyard. Don’t Throw your trash in my backyard. My backyard’s full!

I know. Crazy. But, I am stressed and get to find humor wherever I want. I claim my stress because it is and so I can get past my stress.

I am a single parent supporting two college age children and a child in private school who commutes an hour each way with me talking non-stop most of the time. Stress is my morning coffee, my lunch break and my midnight snack. We have come to know each other far too well over the years. Usually we can co-exist without too much problem because I can easy cope, through exercise/healthy eating/venting to friends/blogging/sitting, with the normal load that comes part and par with the territory of single-parenthood, teens, and work. But, every now and again an extra amount of stress tries to creep its way into my life and hang around for a while. It just jumps right in, unexpectedly, and tries to stack itself on top of the already too heavy burden.

It is at that point that I start to wonder if I really made the right choices in my life. That is, let me correct myself, have any of my choices been right? And if so, which ones? I start to travel backwards through time wondering which event was the one, single event, that made me veer off my designated path. What one thing did I do or not do that has firmly placed me in this world of mine?

Maybe my life would be different if I had not . . . . That’s the problem. If I had not what? Planned to have a baby? Fell in love? Met the Boy’s father? Moved to California? Decided to model? Gotten divorced?Had two kids? Gotten married? Moved to Atlanta? Gone away to college? Volunteered enough that I won the scholarship that helped me go away to college? Graduated from high school? . . . (What? Too far back. I know.)

That’s it, I don’t have any serious ONE thing. I have had a life; not one that I have always enjoyed but, one nonetheless. And every now and again I just want to be somewhere else doing something else with nothing else to worry about. Every once in a while, I get tired of fighting with my ex about whether I really loved him or just wanted a child as a “toy I could play with”. I mean, heaven forbid that I just go buy myself a cool electronic gadget to play with. Nope, it is so much more fun to just sucker someone into believing you love them, have their baby, make your life a living hell, have the sole day-to-day responsibility of raising a child. Riiiiiiiight! As my mother would say, and a thousand others stuck on cliché overuse, “if you buy that, I have a bridge I could sell you.”

These moments of pure mental, emotional, physical exhaustion bring forth the idea of where else I could be and what else I could be doing if only I had not . . . .

And, today, after telling my mother that I can’t really say definitively that I don’t regret my decisions as she insisted that she doesn’t regret any and that this moment will soon pass for me because they always do, I came across a picture a friend posted of her son on Facebook. He was standing at a point in the road on their hike where “two roads diverged” and of course, THAT reminded me of Robert Frost.

The Road Not Taken

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I chose this path and there is no going back to any point with the idea of going the other. I am who I am because of the way I went and, perhaps equally as significant, because of the way I did not go. (Still, I sometimes do want a do over. )

Not that you don’t enjoy your life but, where else do you think you might be if you had not taken THAT path?

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