For the Children

My newest guilty pleasure is a brand new soap opera centered on ultra-concerned parents and their quest to fight the power of the local school board. It's an emotional and suspenseful tale of selfishness, prejudice, intrigue, and cry-baby tears.  You won't find it on telly, nor is it streaming on any of our devices.  It's a real-life, bona-fide drama happening in my own community.

My little suburb is a rapidly growing one, and as a result, schools are being rezoned in order to accommodate.  The reaction against the rezoning, with regard to the high schools in particular,  has been staggering, and the outrage surrounding it is nothing short of shocking. Bear in mind, gentle reader, that none of the ugliness comes from the high-school students affected by it  - the 'adults' are the ones sinking to new lows in order to 'express their dissatisfaction'.

I don't have children, so far be it from me to tell others what's what when it comes to child-rearing.  I do, however, have almost twenty years experience as an educator, consultant, and private tutor, so I feel fairly safe in proclaiming the following:

You people need to lighten up and pay attention to what really matters.

In four years or less your child will be out of high school, and this nonsense won't matter in your world anymore.  

Education is important, but not every child is academically inclined.  Where's the outcry over diminished art and music programs?  Why aren't you people  yelling over the fact that special needs students receive precious little to meet their special needs within the public school system?  And although we claim to celebrate the diversity of this fair city, why are you so bent out of shape at the possibility of your child attending a school with people 'not like him'?

But these are not the issues, surprisingly.  To be frank, the issues have been overshadowed by  general bad-behavior at recent meetings that would result in disciplinary action if you were a high school student.

So what's the solution?  I'm so glad I asked, for I've got an idea worth pondering.  I've no idea how to bring it to fruition - that's not my job.  I'm the idea gal, so you figure it out. But wouldn't it be interesting if....

All freshman attend the same school in order to get their basic courses (Language Arts/Math/History/Science/The Arts) and then...

transfer to one of the following (in no particular order):

School A:  The Math and Engineering Academy

School B:  The Science and Medical Academy

School C:  The Fine/Applied Arts Academy

School D: The Technology Academy

School E:  The Trade Academy (consisting of but not limited to:  auto-repair, cosmetology, welding, and old school 'shop' because let's face it, the world always needs these folks)

School F:  The Business/Law Academy

School G:  The I'm Not Sure Academy, where they'd be introduced to a little of everything and then move on to one of the above.

*Once a student enters any of the academies, parents are not allowed to communicate with teachers or administrators, unless it's Christmas and they have a substantial gift card to drop off.  

*Each academy will offer athletic programs for those inclined to participate.  Personally, I can't wait for 'The Fightin' Future Docs' vs. 'The Indestructable Interior Design Hopefuls'.

Let's also...

1. Eliminate standardized testing

2.  Hire teachers with real world experience pertinent to a particular academy

3.  Make our annual fund-raisers and auctions centered on the special needs children within our community.

But let's mainly...

Be nice to one another, accept differences, set an excellent example for our children, and remember what 'community' really means.

  

Teach 'Em What They Don't Know How

Sitting in a meeting with high school educators and community leaders the other day, the topic of life skills arose.  On one side, we had several who expressed dissatisfaction because too many young people, according to them, didn’t have any.  Some blamed the system, while others blamed parents.  I kept my mouth shut, for I really didn’t have a dog in this fight, and it was getting close to 5pm.  On a Monday.  Following a nice long weekend at the beach.  Remind me never to schedule a work thing the day I return from a vacation.  Anyway, getting back to the point of pointing fingers, I silently played for both teams on the issue.

As someone who’s worked in education now for almost twenty years (egad!), I’ve noticed a slight downward movement within classrooms.  There’s an awful lot of apathy amongst many educators, for myriad reasons, I’m sure:  the pressure of teaching to standardized tests, the fear of calling a kid out on bad behavior for fear of a lawsuit, the anxiety that comes with underfunded schools that have cut the arts in order to beef up security.  It’s a long list, and I empathize with the good teachers who are still out there swinging, trying to make a difference.  I say good teachers, because there are an awful lot of bad ones simply making time.  You’d think that the hoops one must jump through in order to land a job teaching would cut out the riff raff, but they don’t. 

With that kind of pressure, it’s no wonder teachers can’t schedule a lesson or two on good manners.  You know, to reinforce what’s being taught at home?

Oh, yeah, that’s right – so little of it is taught at home these days, according to others attending the meeting. I agreed with them on several – not all – points.

We have, unfortunately lost the art of thank you notes.  Looking an adult in the eye and speaking to her is long gone, too, as is the good old-fashioned handshake.  Sure, every young person I know can show me how to close the apps on my phone properly, but ask them to set the table and they’re lost.   They can communicate up a storm via text, but try to talk to them one-on-one and see where that might get you.

Other complaints from the meeting included the following:

Give a kid $20 for a $12.99 item, and he can’t make change without a calculator (neither can I, I thought)

They’re too busy looking at their phones to interact with anyone (I do that on occasion, but only when surrounded by idiots and thumping bores)

They can’t eyeball measurements for recipes (that’s why God gave us measuring cups, lady).

They can’t figure the circumference of a room (Mister, is this really keeping you awake at night? Really?)

Their music is too loud (my parents voiced the same complaint against me in the 80’s …this is a generational thing, and had absolutely nothing to do with the topic at hand.  This was merely some yahoo desperate to throw in, unaware that I had a pile of laundry and a glass of wine to get home to.  Jerk.)

Sure, I’d like to see young people better behaved, and I’m happy to report that I personally know a number of young people who do understand the importance of saying and doing the right thing. They may not know how to make change or convert measurements, but those sorts of things don’t matter in my world.  Sure, their mannerly efforts may not be implemented with the greatest finesse, but at least they’re trying.  Some of them have fantastic support from their homes and their schools, while others do not.  I truly believe it’s a crapshoot as to who will make it and who won’t.  The ones who are making it seem to share a couple of common traits, though:   the right attitude and the desire to succeed. 

Perhaps if we recognized them a little more, and turned a blind eye to the others, things might actually turn out okay for us all.  Additionally, if we offered better examples of courtesy and how to host snazzy, classy parties, we might not have to say to them, “This is how you do it.”  They’re smart, these young people, and incredibly savvy.  They’d figure it out, eventually, I’m sure.

On a Roll

“The problem, Mrs. A, is that your children, to put it bluntly, are lazy.”

I blurted this out recently, stunning a mother and her two children into silence (a major coup, as they are incredible chatterboxes -loud, boorish windbags, quite frankly).

“And disrespectful,” I added, even though that really wasn’t the topic at hand.  I had a captive audience, so I figured I might as well go for it.

For those of you who don’t know, I spend a few hours a week tutoring children.  I’ve worked with Mrs. A’s children (a girl, aged 17 and a boy, aged 10) for a couple of years now.  They’re a nice enough family, although my time with them proves to be a bit much on occassion.  I don’t mind the tutoring aspect of it (when it actually occurs), but dealing with these children and their ingrained sense of entitlement wearies me, to say the least.  Plus, they consider themselves cute and funny.  They’re not.

The conversation began when Mrs. A informed me in a rather harsh tone that her daughter’s grades have been slipping over the last few months.  The girl is quite capable of understanding and applying advanced concepts, but knowing her as well as I do, I could easily figure out what’s been going on.  She’s simply an unmotivated teen who spends a great deal of time lamenting about the stupidity of school and teachers.

I’d left my ‘nice way of putting things’ hat at home, and ended up unleashing like I’ve never unleashed before when dealing with parents and their children.  Once upon a time, Mrs. Newman proceeded with caution in these scenarios, but that Mrs. Newman, like Elvis, has left the building.  I no longer have the energy to put up with foolishness and have taken the ‘call it as I see it’ practice to a new level.  You want me to give them homework, Mrs. A?  Sure thing, although we’ve tried it before and they didn’t do it, remember?  At this, the boy burst into tears and ran to the bathroom.  He’s pulled this stunt before:  when he’s tired, when he’s hungry, when he doesn’t have a pencil, so I paid his little outburst no notice.  I felt this ‘just us gals’ moment with Mrs. A and her daughter was meant to be.

‘My dear,’ I began, looking the daughter straight in the eye, ‘there is absolutely no reason for your grades to slip.  You’re not working as you should in school.  You have no respect for education.’

‘THAT’S RIGHT!’  yelled Mrs. A, who suddenly realized that I might actually know what I’m talking about.  I believe her original intent was to blame me for her kid’s poor grades.

‘And, ‘I continued, ‘if you complain as much in class as you do during our sessions together, of course your teacher will think you’re not up for the job.”  At this, the daughter began to cry, but at least had the decency to sit there and listen.

‘YES!’ proclaimed the mother, ‘SHE HAS A TERRIBLE ATTITUDE!! BOTH OF MY KIDS HAVE ROTTEN ATTITUDES.  I DON’T KNOW WHERE THEY GET IT!!!’

‘Quite frankly, Mrs. A, I feel as if my coming here is a waste of my time and your money.  Which reminds me-’

“Oh, yes,’ said Mrs. A in a much calmer tone, ‘I still owe you for the month.’

‘Actually, you owe me for last month as well.’

‘Um....I didn’t make it to the ATM.’ Big-eyed and flustered, she spoke in a soft voice now, one that I’d never heard her use before.  Mrs. A likes to yell, in case you haven’t figured that out, and she’ll yell at anyone:  me, her children, her husband, her in-laws, the neighbors, stray cats, and poor, unsuspecting UPS delivery men.

‘That’s okay.  I’ll take a check this time.’  I smiled, and even though I desperately wanted to go home, I’d be darned if I'd leave without some sort of compensation.  She obliged and grabbed her purse.  Awkward silence enveloped the room as she wrote the check.  Normally, I’d say something in order to break the tension, but since I was the cause of the tension, I figured I’d just let it ride.   

‘If I may be so bold as to mention this, you must know, too,  that  both of your children are easily distracted and will find any excuse to not focus on their work.’  I could have shared many examples had she asked for one, but the one I had in mind concerned her mother-in-law, who bangs pots and pans around in the kitchen during our tutoring sessions, preparing meals for her grandchildren that go uneaten because they only want the fake fast food from around the corner.  Based on the smell coming from the kitchen, I can’t say that I blame them.  I wanted to tell her, too, that her house was too dark and stuffy, and her bathroom sink could do with a good scrubbing.  ‘I go home every Monday night reeking of cumin and frustration,’ I wanted to say, but I didn’t, for fear of sounding impolite.

As she handed me the check, she asked if I had any additional days during the week in order to work with her children.  ‘You’re honest with them.  They listen to you.  They don’t listen to me,’ she said.   These kids don’t listen to anyone, but I couldn't help but feel touched by the sentiment just the same.

 ‘I can fit them in on Wednesday afternoon,’ I told her.

‘Oh, no, that won’t work.  How about Sunday?’

‘I (pretend to) go to church on Sunday,’ I replied, ‘but if something else opens up later in the week, I’ll let you know.

We hugged, the three of us, and I as left I could hear the boy still boo-hooing in the bathroom. Quite a show, indeed! I don’t feel as if boys shouldn’t cry, but I sincerely believe they should get a handle on it at some point, or at least learn to sob silently behind closed doors.  That’s my method and it’s served me well for years.

As I drove home that night, I thought about Mrs. A. She’s loud.  She’s gruff.  I do like her, though.  Given her disposition, she’s probably not accustomed to people being completely honest with her.  I’m happy I gave it to her straight, and I think she respects me for it.  Most people simply want the truth.  I’m not one of those people, but that shouldn’t stop me from telling it from time to time.

 

 

April's Nutshell

Okay, okay, okay – I know!  I’ve been incredibly lax in musing elegantly on a consistent basis, but I promise, Sweeties, that I will get back on track.

As we bid April a fond farewell, I think it wise to review this past month to see just how elegant we’ve truly been.  I confess I’ve fallen short, so no need to beat yourselves up if you, too, haven’t behaved as elegantly as you should.  We’re only human after all, and in a world where elegance is hard to come by, it’s no wonder we slip from time to time.  So, here I go with my true confessions:

*As much as I enjoy writing, putting my words into songs is far more difficult than I imagined.  I’m going for Dolly Parton, but keep ending up with Weird Al Yankovic. I feel, however, that  A Busload Full of Angry Spaniards is destined to be a hit.  How do I know?  Because I lived it, and everyone knows that only authentic, heartfelt, sincere music gets attention (that’s sarcasm, for those of you who don’t know me well).

*I must practice patience with people who still have no idea what it is I do for a living.  I teach.  I wardrobe.  I write.  I fabulosticize.  I make up new words in order to suit my needs.  I do no sell products, nor have any desire to.  I do not preach sermons, though I’ve been accused of coming off a bit preachy from time to time, particularly in my writing efforts.  I am not a nutritionist, but I’m comfortable with what little I know about the subject to inform you that ten sodas a day is not a good idea.  I am not a counselor, a fashion designer, a seamstress, or a gynecologist.  Honestly, you’d be amazed by some of the inquiries I receive.

*A pumpkin patch may not have been the best idea for my small patio.

*I never thought I’d have to impersonate someone else in order to make a very important ‘cake deal’ go down, but I did.  If you happen to spot me inside a bakery, please refer to me as ‘Bonnie’.

*Passive-aggressiveness while climbing ladders might backfire, resulting in a mild back injury.  Simply ignore the one who’s commenting under her breath that you’re getting preferential treatment from her crush.  By the way, the crush is involved with Steve.  I can’t believe she doesn’t know that.  It’s not like he’s trying to hide it or anything.

*There really is no greater satisfaction for me than teaching a child, particularly one who’s struggling in a typical classroom setting.  He’s making progress.  Maybe when I grow up, I’ll go back to teaching full time.  I miss it.

So there you be with word from my little corner of the universe.  How’s it going in yours?

Bogus Self-Esteem

Did you hear the one about the child who received an award every year at school? It wasn’t necessarily won due to merit. The school’s policy dictated that every student must win one each year.

Or, how about the one whose parents placed their child smack-dab in the middle of their universe? Every party, every outing, and every activity at home centered on their child.

Are you aware of the twenty-something, so used to getting his way and receiving pats on the back just for walking into the room that he can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that he’s not landed a CEO gig, even though he is a college graduate (by two months, mind you).

My-oh-my. What a sense of entitlement.

I love children, and have devoted a number of years toward educating them, nurturing them, and enlightening them. I do not, however, condone pandering to them, nor do I think it’s a good idea for them to get the impression that the world revolves around them. It doesn’t, and the sooner they learn this lesson, the better off they will be.

When I was growing up, I had my share of ‘kid stuff’ in the form of birthday parties, sleepovers, and such. However, my parents lived their own lives, and I was dragged along on many adult-centered adventures. Most of our vacations took place in the quiet stillness of the mountains, rather than at amusement parks. My parents hosted parties while my sister and I played with Barbie dolls in our room. I knew my parents loved me, but I also learned quite early that they were more than ‘just parents’. They had their own friends and enjoyed their own kind of fun – the kind of fun that did not include children.

I did win a few awards in school, but believe me, I had to work hard for them.

I graduated from college and ended up working at a radio station full of men, some of whom had been in radio longer than I’d been alive. I didn’t expect to land prime air-time, and I certainly didn’t: I got my start working midnight-6am while only insomniacs and perverts listened. Did I complain? No. Did I beg for sweeter air-time? No. Did I get sweeter airtime when I proved myself capable of handling it? Yes.

Fast forward to my career as a classroom teacher.

I joined the staff of a very new middle school. At the end of the year, my principal informed me that every child in my homeroom was to receive an award. “Just make something up, if you have to,” she said. So I did. I think about the little stinker who received “Improvement in Communication” merely because he’d stopped swearing so much.

I fell to my knees in gratitude when the school came to the profound conclusion that every child winning an award might not be in the best interest of the child or of the school. “What if,” an administrator said, “we gave awards based on merit only?” Gasps flew throughout our little school community, and you can bet we were all taken to task by crying children and their angry parents afterwards. Most of them finally got used to the new policy; others, not so much….

I will never forget Mr. Motivation, whose son was in my 8th grade homeroom. I refer to him as Mr. Motivation because he fancied himself as a motivational speaker, author, and self-esteem guru. Junior Motivation was a nice kid, but not a stellar student. He missed a lot of school for various reasons (headache, lactose intolerance, paper cut, Grandma took him shopping – I’m not making these up). He didn’t participate in any extracurricular activities. He claimed to be on the tennis team, but rarely showed up for practice. Anyway, Junior wasn’t acknowledged during the awards ceremony, something his father could not fathom.

Mr. Motivation stormed into my classroom, demanding to know why Junior wasn’t recognized. I pulled out the guidelines set forth by the school that stated, in great detail, the requirements for receiving awards.

“But he’s such a good kid!” Mr. Motivation proclaimed.

“Yes, he certainly is,” I agreed.

“This has irrevocably damaged his self-esteem! I hope you can live with yourself!” and with that, Mr. Motivation stomped out of my room, his face red, fists clenched, seemingly on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Self-esteem.

We don’t get it with a constant barrage of atta-boys. In his seminars, education specialist Nathan Levy refers to the Bogus Self-Esteem movement that’s overtaken our parenting techniques and school systems. I’ve seen it first-hand throughout the years. Sure, we want our kids to be rewarded and recognized, but we’ve lost sight of the fact that they must actually put forth a little effort in order to truly succeed.

When I began my consulting practice, a young woman approached me in need of help. She’d just graduated from college and was working in retail. She couldn’t understand why some major corporation didn’t snatch her up and pay her six figures right off the bat. I had to take a tough-love approach and point out the following to her:

1. She was on the verge of being fired from the retail job due to tardiness and insubordination.

2. Her flip-flops and crop top didn’t necessarily scream President of the Company

3. She didn’t know how to shake my hand, nor could she make eye contact with me during our first few meetings

4. She had difficulty expressing herself verbally, her speech peppered with ‘uh, oh, um’

I discovered that she had received a great deal of recognition in school, as did her classmates. He parents split up after she left home because they shared nothing in common anymore (“They really did dote on me,” she revealed). I also learned that this young woman was incredibly bright, possessed an awful lot of potential, but had never acquired the tools in order to truly succeed in the world.

I worked with this young woman for a while, and am happy to report that she did eventually get it all together. She’s not a CEO, but seems pretty happy in her mid-level-management position. Had she learned the value of hard work, responsibility, accountability, and good manners while growing up, she could have tackled it all much sooner.

As adults, it’s our duty to provide our children with the proper tools to help them get though life. We must show them that working hard will pay off in some sort of fashion. We must insist they get involved in the community. We must let them know early on that they won’t always be recognized for their good efforts. We must reveal to them that, while they are important to us, they don’t rule the world.

I ran into Mr. Motivation not too long ago. He grumbled a terse ‘hello’ and kept on walking. I’m tempted to write him and tell him his lack of acknowledgment ruined my self-esteem. I’m being facetious; my self-esteem is just fine, thank you very much. I don’t need Mr. Motivation’s accolades.

Beth Newman
Image Consultant/Life Coach
Newman Image
www.newmanimage.info
Look, feel, and LIVE your absolute best!

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