Post is written from Bitchie Lou’s own point of view, which everyone in the class came to know well because she ranted about it every Tuesday night that semester.  Seriously, every one of us knew her ways so well, we could have ordered for her in any restaurant, and while I do, on occasion, take my students to a restaurant, I didn’t dare for this group lest I one of us poison her food just to shut her up.

I swear, Bitchie Lou was some kind of agent for NCLB, because her philosophies sure sounded a lot like some of the babbling idiocrities philosophies that came regularly from my old public school administration.

Bitchie Lou is enshrined in my memory not merely because she was such a whining hag, but also because I was able to witness the greatest incident of peer pressure-to-the-rescue in my entire career.  Thanks again, “that class,” for rising to the occasion and letting Bitchie Lou know, in no uncertain and in many awesome terms, that you didn’t have any intention of putting up with her crap.  I still smile when I think about her expression when you all rose up and told her off.  Sometimes, when I think of it, I still laugh out loud.

Peer pressure:  it ain’t all bad.

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Why Is There So Much Discussion In A College Classroom?

I did not come here for discussion.
I came here to be taught what the textbook has in it.

The opinions and input of other students can’t possibly be of any importance to me.
What could they know that I don’t already know?

I resent the time taken up by discussion.
I want facts.
Facts.

There won’t be 100% agreement in any discussion.
It’s a waste of my time.
I really don’t care what my classmates have to say.
I want facts.

What if we don’t finish the textbook?
What if all this discussion means we don’t have the time to finish the book?
I don’t think I can deal with that possibility.
I want facts. I want closure.

Every class, so far, has had far too much discussion.
I don’t like it.
It makes me nervous.
I feel as though we’re wasting time.
MY time.
My valuable, expensive time.

Learning to listen to what other people have to say is not important to me.
Only facts, and saving time and money, are important.
Aren’t they what makes the world go around?
Other people’s thoughts make me angry.

Sometimes, what somebody else says makes me question my own values.  
This must not happen!
I was taught that MY values are the important values.

College is for FACTS!

My classmates are trying to make me turn from my values!
The professor is wasting my time.
Sometimes, he joins in with his own opinions.
Why would he do this,
Unless it was to try to change me?

It’s almost as though the professor was trying to get people to talk ON PURPOSE!
I know, though, that he’s just wasting everybody’s time
With nonsense.

All my life, I’ve been made to listen to other people.
They talk about things I’m not interested in.
In a college classroom, shouldn’t there be some respite from that?

I don’t want to talk in here, either.
I just want to plow through the textbook and do worksheets.
Isn’t that what we’re all here for?

I don’t CARE what my classmates THINK about anything.
Sure, the textbooks at this level seem to point us toward discussion.
Sometimes, the topic almost BEGS discussion.
That doesn’t mean we should discuss it.
It’s just the way the examples and sentences are put together.
I do not believe this book really wants us to discuss points that are on almost every page.
They’re just trying to make a dull subject more interesting for us.
I’m interested in the subject matter, not discussion.
I paid for subject matter, not discussion.
I wish everyone would just shut up.
SHUT UP, classmates!
Let me plod through our book and learn from it.
You’re distracting me.
My already-made-up-mind resents your discussion.
I don’t like distractions.
I don’t like your opinions.
I don’t care about your thoughts.
I only care about myself, and MY opinions.

My opinion is
That all of you should be quiet
And let the professor guide us through our very expensive textbook
Without any discussion
Without any opinions
Without any talking

Because I, personally, don’t like it.
I DON’T LIKE IT.

It’s almost as though you all were trying to. . . .

Make me think.

And that’s just too hard.

I’d rather be led.

Since I stand firmly with Albert Einstein’s “Imagination is more important than knowledge,” this Saturday’s theme is “imagination.”

Take the word apart.  Do you see it?  IMAGE.  People with imagination can take their whims, dreams, and fancies and turn them into images.  I know that there are people who have no imagination.  I used to pity them, and I still do to some extent, but really, such people are an awful inconvenience, and are responsible for a lot of injustice, and these days, when I consider unimaginative people, I’m mostly just disgusted.

Unimaginative people are the ones who tell a daydreaming child to stop wasting time, thus interrupting the cure for cancer and rocket fuel made of sewage.

I know people who wouldn’t care if they never learned another new thing. I pity them, because when learning stops, stagnation begins. Those stinky little ponds all over southern Indiana, covered with scum and mosquitoes? They stopped moving, and now they are dead and dead things stink. When people stop learning, they might as well be buried and get it over with, for they are as good as dead. I consider a person who is content to allow his/her head to be stuffed full of other people’s opinions as good as dead, also. Echoes have no imagination.

Thinking can be hard. Some people just aren’t willing to put forth the effort. Besides, thinking sometimes makes us question our choices, values, and beliefs. Can’t have that. Many so-called “religions” encourage people to stifle their imaginations. I find this horrific beyond words. Then again, genuinely imaginative, creative, and intelligent people aren’t easy to stifle. Sheep are easy to boss around, but imaginative people aren’t so easily led. Even as a small child, I assumed a lot of churchy people were dumb as a sheep, because so many of them accepted whatever the preacher or rule book said, without a single comment, question, or raised eyebrow.

Harsh? Sure. But it’s how I roll. One of the many things I despise about most of our public schools is the fact that they pretty much beat the curiosity and imagination out of our children. Often, children are punished for wanting to know MORE and refusing to stop once ONE answer or solution is reached. Of course, as Professor Umbridge says, the important thing about school is taking tests, and tests are concerned only with predetermined answers, not curiosity. “Next year, Billy,” a teacher might promise. But when next year comes, Billy soon learns that the new year is just like the old year: day after day of sitting and waiting for other kids to catch up, with never anything for the kids who already know, and detention or worse for the child who dared experiment with his lunch or the ink in his pen or the clay or a poem or story or the paints in the art room. Sigh.

Curiosity. Imagination. Dreams. Let’s encourage them in our children, for the curious thinkers and scientists and writers and dreamers are the hope of the universe.

As for unimaginative and uncurious adults. . . . I should be a lot sorrier for them than I am, but it’s their own fault. Life is full of choices, and there’s more than one kind of Easy Street.

1.  Logic will get you from A to B.  Imagination will take you everywhere.  — Albert Einstein

2. The key to life is imagination. If you don’t have that, no mater what you have, it’s meaningless. If you do have imagination… you can make feast of straw. — Jane Stanton Hitchcock

3. A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral. — Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

4. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. — Edgar Allan Poe

5. Trust that little voice in your head that says “Wouldn’t it be interesting if…” And then do it. — Duane Michals,

6. Perhaps imagination is only intelligence having fun. — George Scialabba

7. The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. He to whom the emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause and stand wrapped in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed. — Albert Einstein

8. Anyone who can be replaced by a machine deserves to be. — Dennis Gunton

9. I remembered a story of how Bach was approached by a young admirer one day and asked, “But Papa Bach, how do you manage to think of all these new tunes?” “My dear fellow,” Bach is said to have answered, according to my version, “I have no need to think of them. I have the greatest difficulty not to step on them when I get out of bed in the morning and start moving around my room.” — Laurens Van der Post

10. Discovery consists of seeing what everybody has seen and thinking what nobody has thought. — Albert Szent-Györgyi

11. I doubt that the imagination can be suppressed. If you truly eradicated it in a child, he would grow up to be an eggplant. — Ursula K. Le Guin

12. If everyone is thinking alike, then somebody isn’t thinking. — George S. Patton

13. So you see, imagination needs moodling – long, inefficient, happy idling, dawdling and puttering. — Brenda Ueland

14. Most technological achievements were preceded by people writing and imagining them. I’m rather proud of the fact that I know several astronauts who became astronauts through reading my books. — Arthur C. Clarke

15. He who has imagination without learning has wings and no feet. — Joseph Joubert

16. As great scientists have said and as all children know, it is above all by the imagination that we achieve perception, and compassion, and hope. — Ursula K. Le Guin

17. We especially need imagination in science. It is not all mathematics, nor all logic, but it is somewhat beauty and poetry. — Maria Mitchell

18. One of the virtues of the very young is that you don’t let facts get in the way of your imagination. — Sam Levinson

19. The soul without imagination is what an observatory would be without a telescope.– Henry Ward Beecher

20. When in doubt, make a fool of yourself. There is a microspically thin line between being brilliantly creative and acting like the most gigantic idiot on earth. So what the hell, leap.– Cynthia Heimel

21. There are no rules of architecture for a castle in the clouds. — Gilbert Keith Chesterton

22. It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see. — Henry Thoreau

23. I like nonsense — it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living. It’s a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope… and that enables you to laugh at all of life’s realities. — Dr. Seuss

24. If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder without any such gift from the fairies, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement, and mystery of the world we live in. — Rachel Carson

25. Anyone who thinks the sky is the limit, has limited imagination. — Unknown

26. The true sign of intelligence is not knowledge but imagination. — Albert Einstein

27. A man, as a general rule, owes very little to what he is born with – a man is what he makes of himself. — Alexander Graham Bell

28. Reality can be beaten with enough imagination. — Unknown

29. Let your mind alone, and see what happens. — Virgil Thomson

30. Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up. — Pablo Picasso

31. Every great advance in science has issued from a new audacity of imagination. — John Dewey

32. It is possible to store the mind with a million facts and still be entirely uneducated. –Alec Bourne

33. Reporting facts is the refuge of those who have no imagination. -–Marquis de Vauvenargues

34. No course of life is so weak and foolish as that which is carried out according to rules and discipline. -–Montaigne

35. Why not go out on a limb? Isn’t that where the fruit is? -–Frank Scully

36. Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten. -–G.K. Chesterton

37. The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed. -–Albert Einstein

38. What we need is more people who specialize in the impossible. -–Theodore Roethke

39. There are many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts being broken by love, but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream – whatever that dream might be. -– Pearl S. Buck

40. Nobody succeeds beyond his or her wildest expectations unless he or she begins with some wild expectations. -– Ralph Charell

41. I learned that there were two ways I could live my life: following my dreams or doing something else. Dreams aren’t a matter of chance, but a matter of choice. When I dream, I believe I am rehearsing my future. -– David Copperfield

42. In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities. -–Janos Arany

43. Dreams come in a size too big so that we may grow into them. -–Josie Bisset

44. Without leaps of imagination, or dreaming, we lose the excitement of possibilities. Dreaming, after all, is a form of planning. -–Gloria Steinem

45. Every great dream begins with a dreamer. Always remember, you have within you the strength, the patience, and the passion to reach for the stars to change the world. -– Harriet Tubman

46. Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails Explore. Dream. Discover. -– Mark Twain

47. It is a miracle that curiosity survives formal education. — Einstein

48. Curiosity is the very basis of education and if you tell me that curiosity killed the cat, I say only the cat died nobly. — Arnold Edinborough

49. I think, at a child’s birth, if a mother could ask a fairy godmother to endow it with the most useful gift, that gift should be curiosity. — Eleanor Roosevelt

50. Children are remarkable for their intelligence and ardor, for their curiosity, their intolerance of shams, the clarity and ruthlessness of their vision. — Aldous Huxley

Imagination should be encouraged, not discouraged.  Everything in the universe is fodder for the imagination, and any teacher who doesn’t know this, and doesn’t try like mad to make sure he/she encourages dreaming in all students, is a. . . well, you know.  Paging Auntie Em.  Of course, there are, sadly, always people who aren’t interested and whose life goal seems to be to prevent everyone else from dreaming and reaping gold from any lesson.  More sadly still, our schools often cater to this lowest common denominator instead of showering the imaginative and eager learners with opportunities.  sigh.

“Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings” has become “Every time a bell rings, a child has to force himself/herself NOT to think about yet another subject that should rightly be fascinating but which has been edited and censored and otherwise beaten down to fit inside that little box lest it inspire someone to greatness.” (Whilst trying to ignore and dodge the antics, bullying, disruptions, hands, tantrums, etc, of the uninspired kid in the next seat over. . . .) (and likewise trying not to draw attention to himself lest he be told to take Butch and Woim out in the hall to help them with their spelling.)

Because we can’t have any individual greatness, you know; it’s not fair to the OTHER students who wouldn’t recognize greatness if it bit them on the ass and called them by name.

I might dare to remind whoever crosses my path – and aren’t y’all LUCKY – that, in the words of Madeleine L’Engle (see, you’re getting your famous quotation after all – “Like” and “equal” are not the same thing!!!!!

I might also dare to remind you that the entire universe is a big game of “Six Degrees of Separation” and that those who don’t know enough to make any connections are losing.

The answer isn’t really “Kevin Bacon,” you know.

The answer is “42.”  And if you don’t know why, be afraid.  Be very afraid.

This isn’t funny; it’s unforgiveable.

The more words we know, the better able we are to communicate with others and to understand others.  Literate people have three vocabularies, as I tell my students each semester.  One is relatively small; one is medium-sized, and one is quite large.  Think “The Three Bears.”

Our smallest vocabulary is our speaking vocabulary.  The middle-sized vocabulary is our writing vocabulary.  Our largest vocabulary is – or at least, is supposed to be – our reading vocabulary.

That is, our reading vocabulary is large unless the dumbing-down PC police have stuck their white-out pens into other peoples’ business.

The only person who has the right to change a piece of writing is the writer.  Period.  If you are so over-sensitive and culturally illiterate that you are offended because back in a certain period of history, people spoke and acted in a particular way, and you don’t want anybody to know about it because it hurts your feelings even though it was quite ordinary for the times, and you’re unable, due to your low brain cell count, to create a valuable lesson with such facts, you’re batshit stupid.  I pity your poor children.  I hope you’re not a teacher.

And if you belong to the school of thought that still thinks that “soporific” is a word that small children can’t handle and you want it removed from Beatrix Potter’s “The Tale of Peter Rabbit,” there are no words in any thesaurus to adequately describe your ignorance.

I despise you.

* As for the title, it’s absolutely true, and such people’s brains aren’t the only small body part they’re sporting.  This is, of course, an opinion, but I firmly believe that people who advocate censorship are considerably unendowed in every other area, as well.

Censorship comes in all kinds of guises, all of them disgusting.  Equally disgusting is our population’s growing lack of cultural literacy.

Surprisingly, no.

It’s a short story because it has only one main plotline and set of characters.

However, most short stories are pretty short.  One of my college professors told us that one should be able to begin and finish a really good short story while sitting on the toilet. I think I agree. Sometimes there’s a fine line between a novella and a few paragraphs, but the right length of a proper short story is somewhere in between: just the right length for a beginning, middle, and ending, giving you plenty of time to finish your business without getting hemorhoids from sitting too long. We keep a lot of our books in the big bathroom and many of them are collections of short stories.

I’m reminded of the scene in “The Big Chill” wherein Jeff Goldblum laments that most of his writing is read on the toilet, and when someone comments that one can read “War and Peace” on the toilet, Goldblum counters with “Yes, but you can’t finish it.”

But with a short story, you can.

Stop laughing. Where else, and when else, in our busy lives do we have a few minutes to ourselves?

Occasionally, I come across a short story that haunts me, makes me obsessed, changes me, affects me, and not always in a positive way. When I say, ‘not positive’ I don’t mean ‘negative.’ I really don’t know how to explain what I mean, either. That doesn’t mean I don’t know, it just means there are no words for it. I don’t count short stories that were poorly written or that I personally just simply disliked for whatever reason. I mean, a well-written short story that knocked me flat on the ground. Right flat, on my back gazing up at the ceiling with a look of dumbstruck amazement, or joy, or sadness, or whatever as long as it was well-thought-out and beautifully written.

Arthur C. Clarke’s short story “The Star” is one that knocked me flat and wouldn’t let me back up again for a long, long time.

How long? I’m still on the ground from it.

I first read it when I was in the fifth grade and it fascinated me, and frightened me, and made me ask questions that were not always appreciated by my elders, but isn’t that what a good story is supposed to do to us? I came to the conclusion back then, and I still hold to it, that elders who are suspicious of, and do not encourage, sincere questions about any subject, are themselves not secure in their beliefs and are, on some occasions, downright ignorant.

This story absolutely blew me away. I adore it. I am afraid of it. I always approach the ending with trepidation, hoping somehow that it has changed from the last time I read it. It never does.

It will make you think. It will make you question. It will make you glad to be alive. It will make you wonder about the future, and about the past.

Many pastors have forbidden their congregations to read it. It’s been removed from most textbooks for fear of offending someone. But it still exists. And since most bloggers are intelligent, open-minded, and not easily offended, please click on the link below and read this short story.  It’s the right time of year for wondering and pondering.

See what you think.

Arthur C. Clarke’s “The Star.”

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Mamacita says:  Grammar.  I love grammar.  It’s such a fantastic segue to. . . well, pretty much anything.

A student once asked me if it was true that a person could go to hell for saying “shit.”  (Not as a noun; as a statement of emotion.)

(It’s an interjection, set off by a comma or an exclamation point, so he really wasn’t too much off topic, and apparently it was on his mind.)

He said that his preacher had told him that he was going to hell because he said ’shit.’ I was more than a little bit flabbergasted, for a variety of reasons.

One, I’m still not used to adult students who say ’shit’ a lot and I don’t have to give them detention or pretend to be shocked.

Two, someone in a position of authority in this kid’s life has scared the shit OUT of him, for saying shit. So much so that this quiet well-behaved kid (who apparently has a potty mouth in church) asked his college instructor if it were true.

I have no desire to enter into any kind of debate with this boy’s preacher. I already dislike the guy too much.  Neither is it my place to talk religious doctrine to my students.

But I do know a lot about shit. I had two babies, remember? And I taught in the public school system for a long, long time. I’m not really sure which of the two had the worst shit. I think probably the schools.  When it comes to shit, the non-organic kind is always worse; it sticks to your heart for a long, long time, whereas we can scrape the organic kind off the bottoms of our shoes.  Or walk it off; it depends on where you already are and where you’re going.  The organic kind can be removed; the non-organic kind can’t.

So I explained to him that some people believed that being profane was a sin, but even so, ’shit’ is not a profanity, it’s an obscenity, so going to hell isn’t part of the package. The commandments are about profanity, not obscenity.

He was really relieved. He’ll probably also continue to say shit in the preacher’s presence.  If my preacher was that stupid, I probably would, too.

I mean, honestly, a minister should know the difference between obscenity and profanity. They are not the same thing. Not a bit. Get a clue, preach. Then maybe he would refer to you as his “minister” instead of as a ‘preacher.’ There’s a big difference between THOSE two words, too.

We also discussed the word “condemn,” its presence in the chapter today being perfection on a stick, and going right along with the student’s question, because to condemn someone is also a profanity. We’ve watered down the word, but its point of origin was pithy and terrible.

I wanted to tackle “awesome” and “awful,” but we ran out of time.  Next week, dear students.  Mark your calendars; it’ll be awesome.

When I finally got home tonight, I was too tired to do any cleaning; this devastated me as those of you who know me can attest.  The cats were sitting in my chair, as I discovered when I sat on them and they scratched me.  Well, who could blame them?  Talk about intruding on an already-claimed space.

It hurt. I might have said ’shit,’ too. I had no witnesses, so you’ll never know.

This term also refers to the fact that back in ancient times, a worker who was hired at the eleventh hour of a twelve-hour workday was paid the same as those who had worked all twelve hours.

After World War II, Armistice Day was changed to Veterans’ Day.  Many people do not realize that this is an international holiday, observed by many other nations as well as by the United States.

Schools do not teach students much about World War I, and I have never really understood why.  Most social studies classes, unless it’s a specialized elective, study the Civil War (Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn) and then make a giant leap over everything else so they can briefly mention World War II (Hitler was bad) and then leap again and remind students that JFK was assassinated (“I am the man who accompanied Jacqueline Kennedy to Paris”) (“I am a jelly doughnut!”)  all just in time for summer vacation.  I learned most of what I know about World War I from reading L.M. Montgomery’s Rilla of Ingleside, and yes, it’s another Anne book; this one is mostly about Anne and Gilbert’s daughter Rilla. I cry every time I read it, even though I know what’s going to happen.  You’ll cry, too.  This book was written eighteen years before Anne of Ingleside, which takes place when the children are very young and was was sort of “inserted” into the list of Anne books, but that’s all right.  I would imagine, though, that at the time the books were being written and published, that might have been confusing to readers.  Anne of Ingleside has an ominous vision in it, that comes true in Rilla of Ingleside.  I have not been able to re-read Anne of Ingleside ever since I realized this.

L.M. Montgomery is one of my favorite authors.

Which of her characters are you?  I’m, ironically, Jane of Lantern Hill, which is another of my favorite books.  If you aren’t familiar with these titles, my goodness, get yourself to the library right away.  This is unacceptable!  Anne might be Montgomery’s best-known heroine, but there are many others!  I think my ultimate favorite Montgomery heroine is Emily; her story is told in a lovely trilogy that thrills me to the core.

Ahem.  Sorry.  In any lesson, often the tangents are more interesting and teach us more than the actual lesson.

On this day, let us honor the men and women who keep us safe, both past and present.

I’m not a Clinton fan, neither him nor her, but I do like this quotation by him: “There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured by what is right with America.”

I also like this one by Calvin Coolidge:  “The issues of the world must be met and met squarely. The forces of evil do not distain preparation, they are always prepared and always preparing… The welfare of America, the cause of civilization will forever require the contribution, of some part of the life, of all our citizens, to the natural, the necessary, and the inevitable demand for the defense of the right and the truth.”

And I’ll end this post with this one, by FDR:  “When you see a rattlesnake poised to strike, you do not wait until he has struck before you crush him.”

God bless America.

Mamacita says: Oh please, society, let us learn from the past, just a little bit?

“Francie thought it was the most beautiful church in Brooklyn. It was made of old gray stone and had twin spires that rose cleanly into the sky, high above the tallest tenements. Inside, the high vaulted ceilings, narrow deepset stained-glass windows and elaborately carved altars made it a miniature cathedral.”

Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1943) p 390.

This is Most Holy Trinity Church in Brooklyn. Betty Smith used it in her novel and had her heroine, Francie Nolan, in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, love to look at it, and love knowing that her grandfather had carved the altar as part of his tithe. He had no money, so he donated his considerable talent. Francie’s grandfather was a horrible abusive man, but he honored his commitment to God.

Francie’s grandmother and all but two of her daughters were illiterate, but revered literacy. The grandmother did not at first understand that education was free to all in America, so her two older daughters didn’t go to school. Her two younger daughters, however, were sent to school and kept there as long as possible, until family circumstances required them to go to work. Such was life, back then. Formal education was honored above most other things, but it was also one of the first things to go when times got harder.

Two of my favorite books are A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith, and Everything But Money, by Sam Levinson. They are a great deal alike in that they are both about immigrant parents, the value of education, the great love of learning that is the source of pride to secure parents, and the sacrifices that good parents make so their children can have better lives.

Our immigrant ancestors came to this country pretty much knowing that there was no chance of them, personally, fulfilling very many of their own dreams and aspirations: all of their hopes and dreams and aspirations were for their children.

Our immigrant ancestors didn’t really move to this country for themselves; they were adults, and the time was long past for them to develop and use their talents in any official or professional capacity, especially in a new land that had customs and language that were both unfamiliar in every possible way . There were exceptions, of course, but the truth is, most of our immigrant ancestors put their own hopes and dreams and ambitions on the back burner so they could concentrate on the hopes and dreams and ambitions they held for their children.

Tenement houses were filled with mothers, grandmothers, maiden aunts, and shirttail relatives, singing in the kitchen that their children might some day sing in Carnegie Hall. Factories and stores were filled with fathers, grandfathers, uncles, and more shirttail relatives, singing at the assembly lines and behind the counters and down in the mines that their children might some day sing in synogogues and cathedrals. People with artistic talent displayed their art with beautiful pies, cakes that were a picture, carved altars in the church, rich embroidery on simple pillow slips, and tailoring that was a work of art. Ancestors who, today, might have organized businesses and found success on the stock market used their skills to make something out of nothing, that their children might have something to make something more out of when it was their turn.

Their children were being educated, and that was enough. Our ancestors looked ahead to the future; they had no time or energy or money to do much for themselves. It was all for the children, and for the future.

Parents too weary from sweatshops and never-ending domestic drudgery didn’t have much time to “play” any more. These parents loved their children far too much to stop and indulge themselves; every nap meant pennies not earned. Parents were there for discipline and meals and clothing and love that was demonstrated by the laying aside of their own desires to focus entirely on the future of their children. NOW was never as important as TOMORROW. This forced their children to be inventive, creative, organized, resourceful, problem-solving, appreciative of things that today’s kids throw away, and hungry enough every night to eat whatever Mother put on the table. A child who asked for something else would have been laughed at.

Adults gave each other blessings that relied on the behavior of the children. “May your children bring you happiness,” “May your children make you proud,” “May your find joy in your children,” etc. Children who misbehaved in school or in public or right there in the house brought shame to their parents and disgrace to the family name. His siblings recoiled from a misbehaving kid, and his mother cried. Families used “shame” to help shape a character that knew what it meant and therefore stayed as far away from it as possible.

Adults have changed. A large percentage of adults put their own desires and urges and feelings and wants before the needs and wants of their children. Kids today don’t care if they bring shame and disgrace to their parents. It’s never their fault anyway; it’s that heartless teacher who doesn’t understand Buddy or Muffy and doesn’t appreciate the cute way he stomps his foot when he’s mad or the adorable way she twists and chews her hair when she’s deciding who to invite to her latest party. Adults get home from work far earlier (usually) than their great-grandparents did, yet adults today are too tired to go to PTA meetings or choir concerts or spelling bees, things their ancestors viewed with such honor (they were not available to peasants in the old country) that they wept and trembled with emotion as they bathed and put on their best clothing in order to show respect to the school and the teacher, and to watch their children represent the family in a scholarly event. (Surprisingly, many adults are not too tired to go to an athletic event.)

Many immigrants came here in the first place so their children could take advantage of the free public education. Illiterate parents pointed with pride to the row of schoolbooks on the kitchen shelf, and boasted that their children could READ THEM! They weren’t worried about new ideas; they encouraged the learning of new things. They did not worry that the new ideas would usurp the old ideas; they just honored all learning and assumed their kids were wise enough to blend the old and the new together and come out with a new “new.” Sam Levinson writes most eloquently and beautifully about his father’s pride in his many sons’ books and accomplishments, even those the old man knew nothing about and knew he never would.

A poorly behaved child brought great sadness and shame to his parents; usually, the sight of his father and mother’s grief, brought on by the child’s poor choices, was enough to straighten the kid out. If not, our ancestors weren’t afraid to use other means to demonstrate to a child that certain behaviors brought certain consequences. Shockingly, this didn’t result in a child quivering with sadness and with no ego or esteem left in his system; it usually resulted in a child who knew better than to try THAT again, by golly.

Modern parents are often so worried about causing their children emotional pain that they ignore or neglect all kinds of opportunities to demonstrate to their children that nice people are a lot more welcome in society than people who feel they have a right to do their own thing regardless of where they are or what the mean old rules might be. A child who is taught in no uncertain terms that one sits quietly at the table, be it at home or elsewhere, eats whatever might be on his plate – or at least tries to eat it – without complaining, and who knows, because he was taught, that one does not get up from the table without permission, and that “please,” “thank you,” and “excuse me” really are magic words. . . well, let us be euphemistic, even though I loathe euphemisms, and just say that nice people of all ages are more welcome and appreciated than are people whose manners and whose tolerance for poor manners need some adjustment. Think of the mall. Think of restaurants.

Our ancestors would be appalled at some of the attitudes and behaviors of their descendants. I know I am.

In many households, the kids are running the show, and the parental helicopter is hovering even over universities and workplaces, lest some “right” is denied and a kid’s self esteem is dealt a blow, deserved or not.

Self esteem.  You really don’t want to get me started.

P.S. Self esteem must be EARNED. It’s not a given. Nobody has a RIGHT to it. We’re not born with it. It can’t be presented as a gift. And kids know the difference even if some adults don’t. We have to deserve it. Otherwise, it’s all just a big joke, and the joke’s on the adults.

P.P.S.  I guess I got started on it.

Halloween has been and gone but it’s still THAT SEASON, which means many things, one of which is that I have a giant bowl half-filled with Tootsie Roll Pops and Hershey bars on my coffee table, and another of which is that I am once again compelled to obsess over my favorite cult film, “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.”

“I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey.”

Please remember that I am a sedate and typical possibly not-as-young-as-you-are woman, and the following information may or may not be true. Probably it’s not, because sedate and typical women, particularly mothers of innocent children, never do such things, and are in fact appalled at the very notion.

“Hot patootie, bless my soul! I really love that rock n’ roll!”

It may come as a bit of a surprise to some of you, or maybe not, that when I was a lot younger, My boyfriend and I might have gone to the midnight showing of this film at least once a month, and that rumor has it that he went as Riff Raff and I went as Magenta, the Domestic. It’s possible that I went with a deck of cards, a newspaper, a water gun, a baggie of rice, a party hat, a garter, and a noisemaker. Perhaps I even owned fishnet stockings. I still know every song by heart. I used to do the Time Warp. Maybe. In another time, and another space. Not to mention in a smaller body.

I may have used the decks of cards as frisbees; I really can’t remember that far back.

It might also be true that, long ago, I used to teach my study hall students to do the Time Warp, but then again, unless you were there, you’ll never know.

“Don’t dream it; be it.”

Speaking of sexy men (Oh, were we? Well, we are now.) I have this to say: Tim Curry. Then and now, but especially then. I know you all want desperately to see a picture of Tim Curry in drag. Well, I do, anyway. Like many of us, he used to be really hot. (Don’t look if you’re all prudey and pruney; fair warning.) (Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’ve already seen it on the movie poster!)

It’s a dreadful movie, really. Silly, soft-pornish, ridiculous, terrible acting, stilted dancing, camp at its best worst. . . . And yet, for some reason, it’s endeared itself to many people in spite of it all. I still love it.

“It’s not easy having a good time! Even smiling makes my face ache!”

These days, what I remember most is that my outfit was a size 5. In short, the domestic’s costume no longer fits, in more ways than one.

Memorize the entire movie? My goodness, that would be ridiculous for a woman my age! Why, I’m almost hyperventilating at the very thought!

“Your new playmate is loose and somewhere in the castle grounds.”

Rumors that I have a membership card in my wallet may or may not be true. I’m officially grown up now; why would I do that, now really? And why would I own one of the few copies of the soundtrack from the sequel? Shock Treatment? Or a Richard O’Brien cd?

And for you Star Trek fans out there, I’ve included a second video, proving that you can’t escape from the Time Warp, even in outer space. I might add, one would probably be even more apt to encounter a time warp in outer space. Well, it seems logical to me.
Enjoy.

“They” say that Peter Hinwood, who played Rocky, is so mortified by his participation in this movie that he can’t even talk about it.

I hope everybody noticed Barry Bostwick’s appearance in the Rocky Horror Glee episode. . . .You won’t see him in the Glee video, but believe me, he was there.

I’m a big Bostwick fan. I even remember that he was the original Danny in Grease.

“If only we were amongst friends… or sane persons!”

In context, the whole Rocky Horror thing is so absurd it’s, well, absurd. Taken out of context, some of the music is really good. This song, most of which was deleted from both the American and the British versions of the film, still has the power to make me pensive.

I’ve done a lot, God knows I’ve tried
To find the truth, I’ve even lied
But all I know is down inside
I’m bleeding.
And Super Heroes come to feast
To taste the flesh not yet deceased
And all I know is still the beast
is feeding.
And crawling on the planet’s face
Some insects called the human race
Lost in time, and lost in space
And meaning.

And, I’m really glad that whoever-was-responsible-for-such-things finally wised up and put “Superheroes” back in the movie. I love that song. I couldn’t find the actual video of it, but this is singing by the cast, even if it’s not the movie itself.

This is not a movie for children; perish the thought. But it’s a fun romp for adults. Learn to participate; it’s fun. Don’t forget the party hats.

Of course, if you don’t have time to watch an entire movie, you can always check out the bunnies.

Read at your own risk. And if you want to fight, bring it on.

==

Dear People-Whose-Own-Personal-Beliefs-Far-Outweigh-Anyone-Else’s:

There is a big difference between “celebrating” something and “having fun with” or simply “experiencing” it. Or maybe. . . LEARNING about something? Perish the thought.

Buy a dictionary, you pompous twits. If your belief system will allow one in your home. . . . there ARE some controversial words in dictionaries, you know. And I’m sure you DO know.

You can always mark them out with a black sharpie. And I’m sure you DO know how to do that. You’ve had plenty of practice with book censorship. You probably don’t have a thesaurus in your home because – oh NOOOOOO – that would teach your children that there are other ways to express themselves, other words to choose among, other ways to say things. Can’t have it. I mean to say, we just can’t HAVE that.

There is much, much more that I’d really like to say, but my own personal beliefs which far outweigh anyone else’s do not allow me to waste my time trying to deal with the likes of you.

I’m too busy feeling sorry for your children, who have to deal with you on a daily basis, in your humorless, cheerless, sterilized-of-all-fun, devoid-of-all-experiences-which-your-pastor’s-pizza delivery boy’s-grandmother’s-neighbor disapproves of, always-winter-and-never-Christmas, house. Also known as the Valentine-free zone. The “all-experiences outside of our frame of immediate knowledge” -free zone. The shamrock-free zone. The sparkler-free zone. The childhood’s fantasy-free zone. The charm-free zone. The turkey-free zone. The diversity-free zone. The other-people-free zone. The tradition-free zone. If you’ve ever thought or said something to the effect of “I don’t know the reason, but it’s just how we do things here” or “We’ve always done it this way” or “The pastor said so” or “It’s always been a rule here,” then I’m talking about you, Gormless.

I was going to work “twilight zone” in there somewhere but frankly, such households are not classy enough to be associated with that reference.

Oh, and I take back the “turkey-free” zone comment. I bet you know why, too.

What a poor life for a little child, in a house cleansed of fantasy, play-acting, dress-up, dreams, fairies, anticipation, and traditions.

Poor, poor little children.

I suppose poor parents, too, but THEY’VE got a choice, while their children do not.

Not till they are old enough to move out, and start a nicer, smarter, far more interesting household of their own.

(Not judgmental much, am I. . . . .)

Yeah, well, bite me.

Very sincerely indeed,

Me

P.S.

When I try to remember my own elementary school years, the clearest memories are of red and pink construction paper valentine hearts, hand-tracing turkeys, a tree covered with little pieces of glitter-covered artwork (some of them MINE), shamrocks hanging from the ceiling, drawing names for a fifty-cent gift exchange, learning about Hannukah (which my family did not celebrate, but which I was fascinated to learn about; it was my first glimpse into other people’s culture, and MY parents were smart enough to appreciate that.) and sitting out in the hallway day after day tutoring kids who probably STILL can’t spell ‘cat.’

Some of those memories are better than others. Guess which.

Honestly, I think some people never grow out of the obsession to always get their own way in everything. Too bad so many of them have children.

P.P.S. It takes brains to have imagination, and it takes guts to branch out. That pretty much sums it up.

P.P.P.S. If you’re the sorry type who has never read Harry Potter but condemns and forbids it anyway because somebody else heard it was evil, I shall assume there is no Disney in your home, either. Otherwise, you’d be a hypocrite on top of everything else.

This post is a rerun, but before Banned Books Week becomes just a memory, I want to share with you again this memo from a college-educated man who was in charge of a building full of impressionable middle school students.

I firmly believe that any memo, letter, or piece of written information that is sent by an administrator, should contain no idiocy or errors.

I also believe that any memo, letter, or piece of written information that is sent by an administrator that DOES contain idiocy or errors should be posted publicly and that the general public should be allowed to mock it.

I suppose that my belief that administrators should be required to be intelligent and able to proofread would be thrown out by the PC police.

This is the letter a principal gave me several years ago, demanding requesting that I take down my bulletin board about Banned Books Week. I had used that same bulletin board for over ten years, and in those earlier years, he had actually praised it for being timely and creative. That was, of course, before he saw Waldo on there.

This is the same school system that had a virtual meltdown because I was bringing in speakers; the curriculum director didn’t want me to bring in people from the outside to talk about careers because, and I quote, “it might give the students ‘ideas.’” These people volunteered their time, and would have continued to volunteer their time, and it would have been of enormous benefit to the students, but no. Ideas are scary, and, to the ignorant, dangerous.

A few years later, the same man who denied permission for me to bring in speakers for free, spent nearly a million dollars of taxpayer money to take all the middle school students to town and have paid speakers talk to them about the same thing I could have done for free. By this time, you see, the Trend Wheel had spun back around, and it was now permissible to give the students ‘ideas.’

One of those speakers represented General Motors, and her speech was excellent, although it didn’t sit well with administration. She spoke about high school ‘graduates’ for whom a diploma was nothing but a piece of paper that connoted untruths. She spoke about how an employer should have the right to assume that a diploma pretty much guaranteed literacy and general competence. She spoke about all the money big corporations were having to shell into remedial programs for employees who had diplomas, pieces of paper that represented four years of showing up and not much else. She spoke about how businesses would really appreciate a diploma that told the truth: that if a student had been graduated out of respect for really trying, the diploma should say so, discretely of course, but in terms that the business world would be able to interpret. If the student was just going through the motions of graduation for self-esteem’s sake, the diploma should say so. And if the diploma was rightfully earned because the student had become fully literate and generally competent and had genuinely and individually and truthfully learned how to care for himself/herself in the world in general, the business world should be able to see that kind of diploma and interpret it for what it was: a real diploma.

Oohh, the remarks that were scattered throughout the auditorium. And when we returned to the individual buildings, there was much talk of blueberries and self-esteem.

My friends are mostly lawyers, musicians, various businesspeople, and other educators. Before the edict went out, I often had one of them come to my classroom and talk about what they did all day, and then the students would ask questions. Silly me, I really thought it was helpful.

Sure, they asked my lawyer friends about their individual rights and stuff, but. . . . .

Oh. I get it.

We certainly can’t have our students understanding their basic civil rights and those of their fellow citizens of any age, now can we.

What a narrow escape.

P.S. A few years later, I dared to submit a speaker proposal for my classroom again, and it was again turned down, but this time the reason was different. Apparently, it was unfair to other students if one group got to have a speaker and others didn’t. I suggested that other teachers could just as easily invite a speaker into their classroom, too, but nobody else cared to go to the trouble, so I couldn’t, either.

Are our schools in trouble? Darn right they are, and most of it isn’t coming from the students.

Censorship and book banning, indeed. If our society gets any more politically correct, it will be so boring and insipid and cowardly, it will be indistinguishable from an ant colony.