Our Ancestors Were Immigrants. Live Up To Them.
Mamacita says: Oh please, society, let us learn from the past, just a little bit? Because those in charge of those in charge of the education of our children are doing it all wrong. Real education has nothing to do with money, and everything to do with honor.
“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.
Kids Who Read, Succeed. In Spite of School.
Mamacita says: I hated elementary school, and by “hated” what I really mean is, well, HATED.
I learned to read when I was really little, but I have never read as most other people do. When I read, I look at a page and immediately, that page is affixed inside my head. I can later “bring it back,” inside my head, glance at it and know what it says again. If I had to, I could read it back word for word in my head, but that is not how I read. I look at the whole page and just “know.” From the time I was very young, I could do this. It’s really handy on planes, for I can re-read entire books by just closing my eyes, concentrating on a particular book, and seeing it page after page in my head.
Now, try to imagine explaining that to an elementary school teacher. I do not mean to disparage my former teachers, but only one of them ever even TRIED to understand what I was telling her about how I read. The others just kept telling me to slow down, because I was making the other kids feel bad. All through grade school, to “reward” me for being fast, I was sent out into the hall to tutor slow kids.
I still have nightmares about sitting out in the hall trying desperately to get some slow little boy who was exactly my age to understand words like “lamb” and “cereal.” I can still hear my teachers telling me, in that slow, patient voice they used when they were actually really pissed but couldn’t show it, to “slow DOWN” and making me write list after list of little baby words when they KNEW I already knew them. WHY? When I was reading “Gone with the Wind” in fourth grade, my teacher made me check out a little baby book from the library and do a report on it “so the other students will be able to read it, too.” Sometimes, the school librarian would forbid me to check out a book because the “age disclaimer” on it didn’t have my current age listed.
In first grade, I used to keep a stack of library books on the floor under my desk – they wouldn’t fit inside the desk – so I would have SOMETHING to do when the silly little word lists and baby readings and insulting little history paragraphs, etc, were finished, so my teacher, when she glanced my way, would see that I was still reading and wouldn’t make me go out in the hall and do her job for her. One day, she bent over, picked up my stack of books, made a comment to the class about how Janie must think she needed a foot rest, and took them away from me. She told me she was taking recess away from me because of my disrespectful attitude. I was a little kid and didn’t know enough to keep a straight face, and when she saw that I was positively ECSTATIC – I hated recess! – she changed her mind and made me go outside. Sigh.
I’ve been obsessed with astronomy since I was very young, but I soon learned not to do any more reports about it. I was also very interested in phosphorescence in nature; after a few accusations of copying, I gave up being myself and started doing stupid projects and paragraphs about stuff like “Which will rust: pebbles or nails?” like everybody else in the class was doing.
Listen, I was no genius child. I was just a reading child. Kids who read know tons more than 
kids who don’t read. We know ideas and themes and learn early on how to connect all of that to the real world. Readers are unfazed by political incorrectness or correctness – we UNDERSTAND, because we know about context, even if we’re young. As for vocabulary. . . I can’t discuss it rationally, even still. Being forced to write list after list of one-syllable beginning reading and spelling words when I was already reading “Gone with the Wind” was so insulting that I used to wipe tears of indignation off my face as I wrote. I can remember thinking, “Why do they make me come here? Do they wish I was slow? Do they WANT me to go backwards instead of forwards? Why do my teachers help everybody but me?”
I still wonder, because from where I sit, most of our public schools could not possibly care less
about the fast kids, or the gifted kids, or the reading kids, because everything – curriculum, money, attention – everything seems to be aimed at the lowest possible common denominator.
This is very, very wrong.
Cream rises to the top, it is true, but if nothing is done with it, the cream goes bad. Worse still, if the cream is forced back down and mixed into the rest of the milk, pretty soon it disappears altogether. Oh, the milk is better off, but the cream isn’t. Doesn’t anybody care about the cream any more?
Education in this country seems to be intent on making everybody equal at the expense of those who are already advanced. Beating the smart kids back down into the rest of the crowd isn’t merely a bad idea, it is an evil idea. It’s EVIL to force the brightest kids back down into the masses of average and below average kids. The whole idea of education is to allow people to ADVANCE, not to deliberately hold them back. Self-esteem be damned; if a kid can do it, let him/her do it! If a kid can’t do it, keep him/her back until he/she can. DO NOT hold back a bright kid if he/she’s proven over and over again that the curriculum is far too simple. And holy scheisse on a popsickle stick, do NOT send a bright kid out into the hall with the slow kids day after day and rationalize it away by calling it “compassion curriculum” or any other made-up name that really means “we don’t have any place for kids this fast and bright and since we have to do SOMETHING with them, it’s a lot easier for everyone concerned to just turn them into unpaid teachers and send them out with Billy and Johnny, who still can’t get it. It’ll teach them all to get along. After all, they’re going to be associating closely with each other out 
in the real world, and. . . .” Oh, are they? Of COURSE they are. Sigh.
Please don’t yell at me in the comments and tell me how cruel and impatient and uncaring I must be to advocate for the bright kids. I honestly believe that there should be a place for every category of kid. Unfortunately, since every child is a unique individual, it’s not possible to do EXACTLY that, but most schools do their best, unless the child is extra bright, and then the assumption is made that smart kids should count their lucky starts that they’re smart, and that a bright kid can adapt to anything so we don’t have to accommodate them.
Parents, perhaps you don’t know that in many states, G/T falls under the jurisdiction of Special Education. If your child is bright and isn’t being challenged at school, or is being taken advantage of, call your state dept. of education and find out if you need to get an IEP for your child.
Once armed with that, you can force the school to accommodate your child. Get all the parents of extra-bright kids together, and maybe you can bring justice for them to your local school.
Don’t expect it to be easy, because it won’t be. Schools are strapped for cash, and a program for kids who don’t seem to need any help with the state standards won’t seem like any kind of priority to many administrators.
Don’t take “no” for an answer. Your children are worth a battle or two. Or three. Four. Eighty-seven. Do not give up. Keep on. Threaten a lawsuit. DO it.
I never considered myself “gifted” or “talented,” but I was certainly not challenged in grade school, and I was certainly taken advantage of. Don’t let this keep on happening!
Our brightest kids are being neglected and forced BACK. What the bloody hell is wrong with us as a culture? ALL kids deserve encouragement, but the brightest kids are the ones who could do the MOST with even just a little bit!
Don’t allow that little bit to be more of the same, though. Our bright and/or gifted kids don’t need more, they need different. A “gifted” program that is the regular program plus more of the same stuff is not a gifted program. Far too many academic mindsets fall into the “If an average kid can do four worksheets, the gifted kids should be doing ten worksheets” category. No. A thousand times, no.
Kids who read know so much more than non-reading kids, it’s almost impossible to talk about. All to often, a teacher doesn’t read, either, and how can that kind of person help our reading children? And why would a non-reader be allowed in a classroom anywhere NEAR our children in a school? Atrocious!
Parents, if you suspect – or know for sure – that your child is gifted, or even just bright (they’re not the same thing!) monitor what’s happening in the classroom, and monitor it closely. Frustration is expressed not only by kids who don’t/can’t “get it;” frustration is also expressed by kids who “got it” long ago but are being required to review it instead of advance. Gifted kids can be quirky, which is off-putting to some teachers, especially the ones who are most comfortable in a box.
There are all kinds of bright and/or gifted kids, too. Not all of them are avid readers; just as many are avid builders, creators, inventors, artists, musicians, scientists, etc. All things that are not tested; therefore, all things not emphasized by most schools.
And now I’m rambling, and probably sounding like a misanthropist when I don’t mean to be. I think ALL of our children deserve the very, very best, and it’s just not fair that most schools aren’t even trying to give it to them.
As for those little age disclaimers inside the book jackets. . . . only the worst, stupidest librarians and teachers pay any attention to those. If a child wants to read a book, the good librarians and teachers allow it. The best ones ENCOURAGE it.
And if your child or student tries to explain to you that he/she reads in an unusual way, LISTEN. If your child tells you that a teacher or, for that matter, anyone in the school took his/her book away from him/her because he/she was “too young” for it, get in the car and drive to the school and go inside and let it be known that this will Never. Happen. Again.
My seven-year-old self thanks you.
Happy Easter 2014
Mamacita says:
Happy Easter, everyone.
What? Oh, oops. . . . .
Here. This is more like it. I do love those vintage Easter postcards. I hated growing up and finding out that those baby kittens were probably going to eat those baby chicks. I would also hate to have to tell you all how old I was before I realized that the bunnies weren’t really responsible for all those eggs. (In real life, those Disney owls would have devoured those baby birds, etc, too. Only in a Disney film is an owl a wise mentor, not a voracious carnivore.) But I digress. Or did I. . . .
Ultimately, however, this is Easter to me.
And isn’t it wonderful that so many of us, with so many different beliefs, can hang out here in the Blogosphere and get along great and love each other without having to constantly proselytize and try to sway each other to our own beliefs?
Oh, sure, those people are online too, but I don’t pay much attention to them. Not here; not anywhere. Well, maybe a little more this past week, but not usually.
It’s the people whose beliefs are quietly lived every day, the people who show me by example what their values are, who get my attention.
And who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor? If you don’t believe me, just look around for a minute or two. Think of your family.
And if you’re alone, look in the mirror.
See?
Happy Easter, dear internet people. Eat chocolate. Get together with family. Smile. Have some eggs. Rejoice over something.
It’s a good day for rejoicing. . . .
(Originally posted on Easter, 2005, but nothing’s changed since then.)
Oh, about that Easter Island head? It and its clone guard the entrance to the local city park. We carve limestone here.
Are you going to eat that Reese’s Egg?
P.S. “He is risen.” Please notice the participle form of “to rise” used after the linking verb “is.” Participle forms of verbs, used without a helping verb, are adjectives. If you want to say “He has risen,” you are using the third column past participle form of “to rise” and you are using it with a helping verb. Third column past participle verbs are never used without a helping verb. By that same token, never use a helping verb with a first or second column present or past tense verb. “He done rose” is not acceptable. (Future tense is an exception.) (He WILL rise.)
P.P.S. The above Easter grammar rant was brought to you by me, because I am forever behind a lectern, in reality and in my head, and can’t resist making a connection even if it involves bringing holy or sacred icons into the classroom. Or the Blogosphere. Why? Because I am not afraid nor do I hesitate to connect pretty much anything and everything and anyone and everyone to anything and everything and anyone and everyone else. In the universe. That is what education is.
P.P.P.S. Easter Island heads have bodies.
