A recent monologue from Mr. P: "Mom? In your next school, um, when you go to school again, or in your next job or what you do? Just try not to get a D-minus, OK? 'Cause that's the worst grade. That's really bad."
Sounds like he'd probably forgive me, though, huh?
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So, I graduated. And now I feel really strange. Strangely strange in enough ways that I could write quite a lot of angsty self-involved rubbish, but I really don't want to.
But one thing I've come to see with alarming clarity over the past year and a half — the one thing I want to talk about today — is that being in school has a very real impact on my mental state. Mostly not a good one.
I know that's not what I'm supposed to say right now. And I don't mean to say that I regret having gone back or that I don't think it was worthwhile. I've learned a lot about computer science (and relearned a lot that I'd forgotten), I now have a credential that might be useful someday and gives me a bit more confidence, in any case. And I've learned a lot about myself, and I've learned a lot about other people and academic culture and, dare I say, human society in general.
Here's the thing, though. After being a stay-at-home mom for several years and being out of school for much longer, I went back to school fired up about learning, ready to take on the challenge as my own person, the person that I felt I had become in the intervening years away from grades and tests and constant measuring up. A person who believed in being brave and not worrying about asking dumb questions and not caring about the grade or whether anyone thought I was smart, just caring about learning the most I could. All too quickly, though, I felt myself pulling back. Getting protective, not wanting to look stupid, abandoning my initial "It is a victory and a privilege simply to be here! It will be a victory simply to graduate!" and moving uncomfortably close to the old clawing whispers, "What if they find out I don't fully understand X? That I never took Y? That I haven't heard of Z?" or, most simply, "I'm not perfect at this or even the best at this... why am I here?"
I was stunned at how quickly the structure and culture of being in school brought back that kind of miserable, destructive attitude. An attitude which I detest and yet still could not fully free myself from. Although at least this time, with more life experience behind me, I could see it for what it was.
It's been particularly unnerving to be observing this in myself at the same time as Mr. P was going through his first year of public school. Watching him learn to read and write has been amazing (though I continue to feel it would have been a lot less painful and just as amazing, although a bit later, if it wasn't pushed so hard). Watching him beginning to internalize conformity to "the right" way of doing things has been disheartening. Hearing him refuse to practice his handwriting because "I'm not good at this!" or tearfully say things like "I'm the worst in the class!" (because he had not yet had a turn to be "Star of the Week", an "honor" which is actually randomly assigned; it took some real effort to convince him of that) has been quite hard.
I don't know if the answer is to give up on school, though I sympathize with many of those arguments. I do know school desperately needs to be something quite different than what it is now (and has been for generations).
(Final note, just because it's interesting: The automatically suggested links that my blogging engince pops up as I type a post have gone through quite a strange progression while I wrote this, with especially disappointing suggestions as soon as typed "stay-at-home mom".)
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My last semester is officially underway. Depending on how the wait list works out, I will either be struggling with more algorithmic complexity proofs or struggling with the fine points of an old Linux kernel. Which one am I hoping for? Who am I kidding, it's obvious, right?
No actual work assigned yet, so I'm luxuriating in a little more Xcode time. Will I have a binary to submit before the semester ends????
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It's possible you've picked up on my distaste for the rules of correct coloring in Mr. Pants's kindergarten. I've tried to keep it in check here, resisting the urge to write post after post railing against the fascist conformity of it all. It seemed better to ponder my reaction and try to figure out what was at the core of it before spewing too many words.
But now I've gotten to the point where I've got some thoughts that I feel like sharing.
First, the three coloring rules are not unique to my child's classroom. I found a blog post about "three star" coloring with a very similar poster by a kindergarten teacher who says, "I decided to teach it because I was so tired of seeing purple suns and rainbow trees."
Mrrrmm.
(That's me, resisting the urge to get sidetracked. Moving along...)
To recap, the three rules of coloring are:
What is the noble intention behind these rules, you might ask? I would ask. I did, in fact ask. I asked Google and I, as tactfully as I could, asked the teacher.
Google tells me that coloring inside the lines develops the muscle control needed for writing.
Mr. Pants's teacher tells me that the three coloring rules give the kids a standard for what it means to "do their best work". We want them to take pride in doing their work well.
I could quibble with these things and I could complain about all three of the rules, but I've realized in mulling it over that the core of my anger is in the "use colors that make sense" rule. And it's not just that it seems controlling and creativity-squashing.
Or, maybe that is it, in short, but I have more to say about it. The way I see it, kids have three possibilities when they sit down to color in a picture.
1. They can color colors that make sense to them in the moment but don't bear any relation to anyone else's experience of the physical world. Maybe this is a serious act of self-expression (did Picasso always paint with "colors that make sense"?) or maybe it's just acting on a whim. I hardly think it matters. The point is that there is an experience of some autonomy, some independent individual choice and action. I am kindergarterner! Hear me choose BLUE!
2. They can look closely at the world around them and record what they see. If you want to be an artist, or a scientist for that matter, the first thing you have to realize is that the world is what it is and not what we assume (or wish) it to be.
3. They can use the colors that they are certain their teacher will approve of. If those colors conflict with what the child himself wants (see 1) or what the child herself sees with her own eyes (see 2), then the child is learning to discount her own wishes and ideas or his own observations of the world around him in favor of the arbitrary notions of an authority figure.
What color is the sun? Mr. Pants tells me quite seriously the sun is yellow. It's right there on the three star chart in his classroom — good suns, suns deserving of smiley faces, are yellow. But is the sun yellow? I have seen the sun white. I have seen the sun dark orange. I have seen the sun red, pink, even lavender. And, in photos of a solar eclipse, I have seen the sun as that most un-sun-like, frowny-face-deserving color — black. In paintings I am certain I have seen a turquoise sun.
Instead of trying to drive the purple suns out of every child's mind before they turn 6, what about asking, "You colored the sun purple! What were you thinking about when you decided on purple?" What about following up with something like "When might the sun look purple?"
Backpacks this time of year are full of leaves cut from brown, orange, red, and yellow paper. But could leaves in the fall still be green? Could they have hints of pink? Or purple? Could they be, for real, more amazing than any crayola color you can hold for long in your mind?
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Behold, our "family turkey"! We had some fun, truth be told (pro tip: mini pompoms soaked in glue act as a good interface between smooth things like foam, paper, or googley eyes and rough hard things like pinecones). But did it have to be for a "grade"?
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It's been quite the election year for me, reading Little House on the Prairie (celebrating, as it does, extreme rugged pioneering independence, but also making so clear how much the Ingalls family depended on the unexploited natural resources on the frontier which the government gifted them (after stealing them from others), how they would have died of malaria if it were not for a lucky visiting doctor, how they and others would have starved to death in the winter of 1880 if it weren't for the bravery, kindness, and anti-profiteering mindset of their neighbors) and discovering that my son attends a school that thinks it's OK to reward with extra recess the children of those who can afford a $25 donation and watching the annual "once-in-a-lifetime" super storm disrupt things for lots of people but of course if you have a lot of money, you can buy yourself out of a lot of danger and discomfort in those kinds of situations, and then that trip to the hospital with Shmoogie, which was plenty expensive despite our health insurance and I can never help imagining myself in a different life where I'm hesitating to call the ambulance because of the cost or I'm sitting in the ER sick with worry over my child and equally sick with worry over the bills piling up in just three short hours there and maybe I'm losing money just being there because I work for hourly wage and maybe I'm afraid this hiccup is going to cost me my job entirely or maybe I don't have a car and I get a call that my child is in the hospital and I have to figure out how to get there and it takes an age to either get a ride from someone who cares or take a series of busses that don't run often in the middle of the day and take me in a round-about crazy route or take a taxi for more money I don't have, if there even is a taxi...
And that was a terrible run-on sentence and I don't even care because I've had a fever for three days and I had a phone interview this morning and the election is tomorrow and I've already voted and I just want it all to end because I've had way too much emotional distress over the whole stupid thing even though I've tried really hard to wall myself off from it.
But Scholastic has it covered. This isn't about whether basic healthcare is something everyone needs in order to have a decent shot at contributing to society or something only a few people should be lucky enough or good enough to deserve. And it isn't about whether our future lies in clean energy or in the growing tarpit we are conjuring back up out of the age of the dinosaurs through our own ingenuity, hardwork, and shortsightedness. No, it's about one candidate who likes skiing, granola, and horsebackriding, and another who likes basketball, chili, and his dog.
Mr. Pants came home with this and with an "I voted!" sticker on his shirt. Remembering the 1984 election when all us kids got to cast "ballots" for our favorite candidate (and I was shocked by the outcome!), I was a little surprised when Mr. Pants told me proudly that he'd voted for "gummy Life-Savers".
Harmless, I guess, but would I have chosen to send kids the message that voting for president is akin to prefering one kind of candy over another?
Ironically, Mr. Pants later told me he would have prefered to vote for chocolate, but there were no chocolate candy choices on the ballot. So maybe there was more of a lesson in that ballot than I thought. My chocolate would probably be the Planet Money candidate. Especially if they add free universal preschool to the platform.
Happy voting tomorrow! May the force be with you!
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"...and a painting book in which I could make the grass, the trees, the sea and the animals any colour I pleased, and still the dazzling sky-blue sheep are grazing in the red field under the rainbow-billed and pea-green birds."
- Dylan Thomas, A Child's Christmas in Wales
I'm guessing Dylan Thomas and his classmates did not use crayons at school. In fact, I'm certain the kind of education he received is not what I would like for my child or any others. But that line came to mind as I read the weekly newsletter from school, inwardly groaning for the nth time at the constant reminder about homework, "We are working hard to stay in the lines, use colors that make sense, and fill in any white space."
To be fair, school went up in my regard last week, when Mr. Pants told me his favorite things about school were "math and recess." He shows no signs of liking to color carefully inside the lines and fill in all the white space, though, and I never tell him to.
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Yesterday, obviously, I was in no state to write a formal letter. I'm still probably not, but after lots of talking with some wonderful people, I'm feeling calmer. I still have a week or so to think on it before I exercise my inalienable right to the mighty power of the pen, so hopefully I'll be able to come up with something clear and firm, but not too brutal.
Because, as Mr. Right points out, this fundraiser is probably organized by parent volunteers who are trying to do a creative job of using a bunch of weird, unrelated donated stuff to raise needed money for the school. And isn't it great that they're focusing on (1) physical activity (this is a walkathon, remember) and (2) experiental rather than material prizes?
I just want to be clear, since I think I've gotten a lot more clear myself in the past 24 hours, as to what so thoroughly enraged me.
And for that, I think we'll have to have a little thought experiment. Indulge me, please?
Purchase or Prize?
What if the flyer that came home had listed exactly the same items, with exactly the same dollar figures, but it they were presented as items for "purchase" by the parents (the crazy high prices obviously in order to benefit the school) instead of as "prizes" to be "won" or "earned" by the students?
1. I would be irritated, probably very irritated, actually, but not speechless with fury (as long as the magic show party and the limo ride for ice cream were clearly going to occur after school or on the weekend, not during the school day... it generally reads like they're going to be during the school day right now, but it's not fully clear and I will be asking for clarification on that point)...
2. Except for the $25 "extra recess". That would seem extremely crass when posed as an item for parents of widely varying financial means to purchase for their children, who all have the same need for play. Yeah, I would spend a decent amount of time feeling pot-banging protest-chanting mad about that one.
Now, let's consider in what ways the thought experiment above differs from the reality of the actual fundraiser:
1. In the thought experiment, the kids are cast as passive recipients of gifts. In the actual fundraiser, the kids are cast as active earners of their prizes.
2. The actual fundraiser's wording gives more justification for the kids (or their parents, or the kids propped up by their parents) to ask friends and relatives for cash (strangers are off the table because the school says the kids should not be going door to door — there goes hypothetical poor kid's best chance to industriously beat the system). It sounds better to call grandma and say, "Will you sponsor me for my school walkathon fundraiser?" than to call grandma and say, "I want a limo ride to the ice cream store and mom says she won't pay for the whole thing. Would you chip in $50?"
Otherwise, precious little difference between the two scenarios. (Let me know if you think I'm missing something, please!)
And please let me be clear that I think it is an excellent thing for kids to actively earn stuff. And that I think it is a not great thing for kids to just be given stuff for no reason.
What I think is extremely damaging to ALL of the children involved is to pretend that something the child had very little to no control over is actually something they are solely responsible for and deserve to be lavishly rewarded for.
All the kids will be walking a mile the day of the walkathon, whether they collected no money or collected the most in the school. But some kids will find that the mile they walked was worth a free promotional bag from a multinational corporation and some kids will find that the mile they walked was worth the free bag, a special coveted pencil, extra recess, a magic show, and a limo ride for icecream. And all the kids will know which kids' miles were worth which things because all of it is couched as a reward that the ice-cream-eating, limo-riding, extra-recess-having kids deserve for doing such a good job. These are prizes. It's a little ridiculous to think of handing out prizes discretely, isn't it?
Furthermore, the structure of this fundraiser is actually depriving all the kids of feeling they've contributed to a cause greater than themselves. The prizes are the focus of the promotional material and the prizes will certainly be the focus of the children's minds. Few elementary-aged children can have much understanding of why their school would need money or how their walking a mile relates to filling that need. (Maybe because it doesn't.) But without the distraction of prizes and with an adult-led shift in focus to some sense of group effort, they certainly can feel proud of themselves for contributing to something worthwhile and exciting.
Alternatives
What if the icecream trip went to the classroom that collectively got the most donations?
What if donations were made contingent on a certain percentage of the kids finishing the whole mile walk?
What if prizes went to the fastest walking kid, the most exuberantly walking kid, the funniest walking kid...?
What if the school had an art contest for holiday cards or wrapping paper and sold packs of the winning designs?
What if, as a lovely friend remembers her school doing, the school as a whole worked towards a specific dollar goal, at which point someone got to smash a pie in the principal's face, or the principal had to kiss a pig, or spend the day on the roof of the school, or any other thing that the kids would think was insanely exciting and hilarious, would cost almost nothing, and would do no one any harm?
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In a slightly different way each time, public school has me boiling over at least once a week! I'm trying to keep it cool, really, I am, but it's only the first month!! I do not have time in my favor!!!
Now there's a walk-a-thon fundraiser for the school. Industrious(ly parented) children can "earn" extra recess by begging $25 from their neighbors! EXTRA RECESS!!!!! I'm already disturbed by the lack of free play time in a six hour day for KINDERGARTENERS and...
Am I not the only one who sees how wrong this is??????
What are the chances the child of an upper class family will get all the way to the top prize (a freaking LIMO RIDE to the ice cream shop!!!), plus ALL the other prizes? What's the chance a kid with a single parent and, possibly, no fixed address, is going to even get a little extra recess??????
THIS IS WHAT IS WRONG WITH OUR SOCIETY.
I've cast my vote for November already, I hope you do soon.
Sorry for the ineloquent rant, I'm just shaking.
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Simulating Knitted Cloth at the Yarn Level J. Kaldor, D. James, S. Marschner. In Proceedings of SIGGRAPH 2008.
"The properties of knits come from the nonlinear, three-dimensional kinematics of long, inter-looping yarns, and despite significant advances in cloth animation we still do not know how to simulate knitted fabric faithfully.... We define a new computational model for knits in terms of the motion of yarns, rather than the motion of a sheet."
"While modeling yarn curves manually is too complicated for any practical purpose, automatically generating stitch patterns over a surface using modified texturing methods provides no topological guarantee that it will not unravel during simulation.... In this paper we address these challenges by proposing an efficient framework for modeling knitted clothing with realistic yarn-level details."
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