We signed LB up. She is officially a 6%er having gotten into her new school by lottery. It's a small community charter dual language school (they offer Spanish and Portuguese tracks, and she will be in the Spanish track). Our little unicorn baby. I feel cautiously optimistic about our choice, but I can also see the messed up ways that our current distressed system of public education structured our choices. I like our neighborhood school a lot. It offers some things that the charter does not: gym every day, a gym that can be used for indoor recesses, a big (if seriously rundown) facility, a stage, a community of people who live nearby. But the way the system is structured, we can only choose the charter now. And if it doesn't work out, we can go back to our neighborhood school, but we can't move the other way. So LB will start out as a unicorn.
And the class and race dynamics: the school LB got into is a school White People Want (WPW). As a district 80% of kids in Providence Public Schools are classified as low-income, and 91% are kids of color-although in terms of total population, Providence is slightly less than half white people. Latinos make up the majority of kids in the district. Our neighborhood school has long been both the blackest and whitest elementary school in the city, but lately has been drawing fewer white kids (although there are still plenty of white kids in the neighborhood) and more latino kids. At least in Elementary, Providence schools work on an 80/20 formula. To register your child, you go to the office in South Providence, take a number, sit in a spartan room full of rows of chairs, with a big sign that says "do not form a line, wait for your number to be called." When you go back into the office, you submit say yes or no to the lottery for the public (not charter) dual language option, and then you submit 3 ranked choices. Your zoned school is established by your address, and zoned schools draw 80% of their students from their zone and 20% from out of zone. As our zoned school has become less popular, the zoned spots don't usually fill. It is all very complicated. And schools don't seem to do a very good job of outreach (and clearly don't have resources to do a good job of outreach).
The result: the most desirable school among people we know is the other Eastside elementary that is out of our zone, and it's 40% white (likely the whitest public school in Providence). Our neighborhood school is about 20% white, and I believe African American students make up the largest single racial demographic group-and I can't help but think that a rising percentage of African American students correlates with the school becoming less popular among white parents, although white parents don't say so. LB's new school will be both highly diverse (majority latino, 25% white kids, 10% black kids, slightly majority low-income kids) and unrepresentative of the district.
Providence loses wealthy white families (WWF) (and I'd lump me and LB in that category even though the feds say we qualify as a low-mod family) at every point. Demographically whites in the city skew older than other groups, so more elderly whites and more young latino families, white families move out to the suburbs to afford more house, to avoid city taxes, and to send their kids to suburban schools, the city has a strong culture of independent schools-so there are 5 independents and at least 3 religious schools within walking distance of my home. Charters like LB's are among the most racially balanced schools in the city, but they take more than their share of white kids and not-poor kids.
So here we are in a district with big, old, crumbling schools, full of poor kids, kids who are learning English, kids who have experienced trauma and dislocation (at my own work, I hear about life in wartime, refugee camps, families separated, from our high schoolers). And the kids have problems, but the problem is not the kids. For reasons I still don't understand, the state pays RI cities less per pupil than it does in the suburbs. And the money follows the student here, so charters pull more money away from urban schools with their fixed and expensive crumbling physical plants.
So what is diversity in a school system where most of the kids are low income and most are kids of color? What moral responsibility do WWF have to stay in the system? And what special sauce do WWF bring to the system?
I can see the ways that diversity benefits the high schoolers I know in Providence. That diversity does not necessarily include WWF kids. Instead kids who came here from the DR a few years ago, get really into KPOP and start learning Korean on the internet. These kids are cosmopolitan in a way I certainly never was.
I don't like the cultural arguments that tell us in more or less veiled language that poor kids of color need to learn with white kids of privilege so that they can learn the cultural habits of whiteness and wealth, so they can get respectable, so that the rising tide will lift their boats. But there are ways that being in proximity to wealth and power help people glean wealth and power (and by glean I do mean, collect the leftover bits after the harvest).
A school with more WWFs likely have more people who have easy access to lawyers, politicians, and high-level administrators. When they complain about unequal funding formulas and rundown schools, their voices are amplified. In the best case, access to power benefits all the kids in the system. In reality, it often means more resources for the schools and programs used by WWFs, but even then perhaps there is a marginal benefit for all. But if WWF bring resources, they are also remarkably good at segregating those resources for themselves and people like them. The whitest and wealthiest school in our district is a neighborhood school-because it takes most of its students from the wealthiest and whitest neighborhood. Other schools consolidate WWFs in "gifted programs" which are based on tests that measure a child's relative advantage in life. And we have an exam high school, which is the last in the city to hold onto WWFs.
Without those opportunities to segregate resources, even fewer WWFs would stay in the system, and likely the system would be in even worse shape (and when WWFs leave for the suburbs they take their tax payments with them, and the district's per child money is for kids who enroll, so when kids go to independents, the public school system has to deal with its heavy sunk costs with even fewer dollars).
And the issue of public schools and individual morality: I don't think WWFs should be too quick to claim the high moral ground for choosing publics. Most of us who do have a decent public option, as well as kids who are able to function within that option. And I don't think moral responsibility requires us to keep our kids in a situation that is miserable. I definitely judge parents who call out public schools as crap, rough, failing...without ever visiting those schools-and I think many of those judgements are based on evaluations of the race/class makeup of the school, and of WWF peer pressure.
But even as I have sympathy for parents who choose charters (that includes me) or independents or "better" publics, it troubles me to make the comparison between opting out of public schools and residential white flight in the 1950s through the 1970s. When white people fled to the suburbs, some of them did so because they didn't want to have black neighbors, others feared the loss of value in their properties, some were moving for other reasons-to get a shiny new house, to be close to family. But in the end it didn't really matter whether WWFs moved because of racist motivations, mixed motivations, or motivations unrelated to race, what mattered was that most of the white families left and they took everything of value that they could carry, and that loss of white wealth massively destabilized american cities.
And also helped created our underfunded urban schools (my school historian friend tells me that before the 1960s, urban schools were the best and best funded in the nation). When we act as individuals, we are also acting as a group. That collective action has power beyond our seemingly individual act. Even if our individual action is based on motivations other than race, if the collective result of our individual actions perpetuates and increases the inequality in a society structured by racial inequality, then the effect of our individual action is to perpetuate racism.
Showing posts with label city life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label city life. Show all posts
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Or does it explode
My facebook feed has been full of two streams: anxious anticipation of the Supreme Court's hearing of a challenge to state bans on gay marriage. This morning brings two and half hours of oral argument. The best place to follow the action is always SCOTUS blog, and they have helpfully included some "in plain English" coverage. Check it out here.http://www.scotusblog.com/
The other stream is the Baltimore protests/riots/uprising/as well as some kids being kids. While I don't think of the Baltimore Sun as the best newspaper around, their coverage of present events includes important details not covered in national outlets. The Sun has made all of their coverage freely available and it also includes timelines of the death of Freddie Gray and investigative coverage of the 5.7 million dollars the Baltimore Police Department has quietly paid out since 2011 for beating and otherwise brutalizing the citizenry of Baltimore. And if you want to know what that brutality looks like on the ground, check out Conor Friederdorf's article in the Atlantic, "The Brutality of Police Culture in Baltimore."
If you're looking for some analysis, Ta-Nehisi Coates does it again with his article "Nonviolence as Compliance." If you are watching coverage of the Baltimore protests on CNN and you're horrified and you are telling the tv "you're doing it wrong!" "why are you destroying your own city!" (I'm not even going to touch the "they are all animals!" commentary) then this article is a must read.
If like me, you feel like you're trapped in the way back machine, you can check out the Kerner Report, commissioned by LBJ in 1967 to explore the causes of riots (Watts, Newark, etc.) it was released shortly before the massive nationwide riots after the murder of Martin Luther King, Jr. The famous quote from the report is "Our Nation is moving toward two societies-one black, one white-seperate and unequal." There is a lot of video of the 1968 riots available online-the most interesting thing about these videos is, once you get past seeing armed troops on the streets of an American city, they are boring. Most of what happens is people standing in the street. This video does illustrate the role the 1968 Baltimore riot played in the mass incarceration of black men that now decimates cities like Baltimore. If you look at arrest rates by race historically, 1968 shows a huge bump that just keeps rising over the following decades. Here's some NPR coverage from 2008 on the 1968 riots and their aftermath.
Baltimore's the only city where I've felt so freaked out walking that I turned around and went back. And that was after years spent traversing the South Side of Chicago. Baltimore just has such a high percentage of busted/broken/non-functional compared to the parts that do work. Despite that I've spent a good amount of time in parts of Baltimore where white ladies don't usually go, and, as is my usual experience, people have always been good to me. Shortly before I left Baltimore for good, I was walking a group of my students through a historic old black neighborhood in Baltimore, telling the history through the architecture. Looking at abandoned buildings, an open middle school with its huge windows thrown open and no screens, the few limping businesses. A neighborhood still filled with apple and cherry blossoms. Wondering what the Dean would say if anything bad happened. Nothing happened.
My Baltimore was filled with love and threat and suffering. Filled with the friendly and loving people, who could not fix the crumbling infastructure, the massive disinvestment. Baltimore is a colonial outpost where the wealthy extract what they can-the University studies the local population, where strong young men go to prison to work for free. Baltimore is the most civic-minded place I have ever lived, where local people know that if you want something done you have to get your neighbors together and do it, because the city will never show up to help. My Baltimore was one of compassion fatigue, where every educator, health care worker, law enforcement officer created a hard shell to survive in the face of so much suffering-and so did I.
B and I were once driving through some shitty neighborhood in East Baltimore-not the one that looks like London after the Blitz, a different one, with people. I was in the passenger seat fiddling with the ipod as B pulled up to a light. I looked out the car window and a young Black man caught my eye. As he looked a me, he moved toward the car reaching. I looked at him and my arm moved to hit the lock on the car door. He drew his hand back and laughed, and I laughed. We had both played our parts pitch perfect, the way we were born to do.
Violence isn't the answer, but neither is peace. When I see the young people of Baltimore throwing rocks, I see Palestinian children, I see the children of northern Ireland. When you've got nothing, when you'll never have anything, when your only recourse is to gather the gleanings of the wealthy and powerful, you pick up a rock.
We are all bound together in this world. I hope for a Supreme Court ruling that will be LGBTQ people closer to equality-closer to fundamental protections for our families and our bodies. But even as we get more, we must remember that we are still "the least of these." Our strength as LGBTQ people is that we are a cross section of everyone. We are rich and poor, people of all races and religions, of all genders, of all political orientations. Our shared oppression, throughout history and in the present, can have meaning if it makes us more empathetic and compassionate to the suffering of others. We are all bound together and our victories only have meaning if they make the world more just, more equal for all people.
The other stream is the Baltimore protests/riots/uprising/as well as some kids being kids. While I don't think of the Baltimore Sun as the best newspaper around, their coverage of present events includes important details not covered in national outlets. The Sun has made all of their coverage freely available and it also includes timelines of the death of Freddie Gray and investigative coverage of the 5.7 million dollars the Baltimore Police Department has quietly paid out since 2011 for beating and otherwise brutalizing the citizenry of Baltimore. And if you want to know what that brutality looks like on the ground, check out Conor Friederdorf's article in the Atlantic, "The Brutality of Police Culture in Baltimore."
If you're looking for some analysis, Ta-Nehisi Coates does it again with his article "Nonviolence as Compliance." If you are watching coverage of the Baltimore protests on CNN and you're horrified and you are telling the tv "you're doing it wrong!" "why are you destroying your own city!" (I'm not even going to touch the "they are all animals!" commentary) then this article is a must read.
If like me, you feel like you're trapped in the way back machine, you can check out the Kerner Report, commissioned by LBJ in 1967 to explore the causes of riots (Watts, Newark, etc.) it was released shortly before the massive nationwide riots after the murder of Martin Luther King, Jr. The famous quote from the report is "Our Nation is moving toward two societies-one black, one white-seperate and unequal." There is a lot of video of the 1968 riots available online-the most interesting thing about these videos is, once you get past seeing armed troops on the streets of an American city, they are boring. Most of what happens is people standing in the street. This video does illustrate the role the 1968 Baltimore riot played in the mass incarceration of black men that now decimates cities like Baltimore. If you look at arrest rates by race historically, 1968 shows a huge bump that just keeps rising over the following decades. Here's some NPR coverage from 2008 on the 1968 riots and their aftermath.
Baltimore's the only city where I've felt so freaked out walking that I turned around and went back. And that was after years spent traversing the South Side of Chicago. Baltimore just has such a high percentage of busted/broken/non-functional compared to the parts that do work. Despite that I've spent a good amount of time in parts of Baltimore where white ladies don't usually go, and, as is my usual experience, people have always been good to me. Shortly before I left Baltimore for good, I was walking a group of my students through a historic old black neighborhood in Baltimore, telling the history through the architecture. Looking at abandoned buildings, an open middle school with its huge windows thrown open and no screens, the few limping businesses. A neighborhood still filled with apple and cherry blossoms. Wondering what the Dean would say if anything bad happened. Nothing happened.
My Baltimore was filled with love and threat and suffering. Filled with the friendly and loving people, who could not fix the crumbling infastructure, the massive disinvestment. Baltimore is a colonial outpost where the wealthy extract what they can-the University studies the local population, where strong young men go to prison to work for free. Baltimore is the most civic-minded place I have ever lived, where local people know that if you want something done you have to get your neighbors together and do it, because the city will never show up to help. My Baltimore was one of compassion fatigue, where every educator, health care worker, law enforcement officer created a hard shell to survive in the face of so much suffering-and so did I.
B and I were once driving through some shitty neighborhood in East Baltimore-not the one that looks like London after the Blitz, a different one, with people. I was in the passenger seat fiddling with the ipod as B pulled up to a light. I looked out the car window and a young Black man caught my eye. As he looked a me, he moved toward the car reaching. I looked at him and my arm moved to hit the lock on the car door. He drew his hand back and laughed, and I laughed. We had both played our parts pitch perfect, the way we were born to do.
Violence isn't the answer, but neither is peace. When I see the young people of Baltimore throwing rocks, I see Palestinian children, I see the children of northern Ireland. When you've got nothing, when you'll never have anything, when your only recourse is to gather the gleanings of the wealthy and powerful, you pick up a rock.
We are all bound together in this world. I hope for a Supreme Court ruling that will be LGBTQ people closer to equality-closer to fundamental protections for our families and our bodies. But even as we get more, we must remember that we are still "the least of these." Our strength as LGBTQ people is that we are a cross section of everyone. We are rich and poor, people of all races and religions, of all genders, of all political orientations. Our shared oppression, throughout history and in the present, can have meaning if it makes us more empathetic and compassionate to the suffering of others. We are all bound together and our victories only have meaning if they make the world more just, more equal for all people.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Misery and Kindness
Finally, I got a picture of my little girl in the big snow! Blurry and shadowed, but I just wanted a New England picture for posterity. But she hates to put her feet on snow. Today was mild enough that we took the bus home from the Aurora Kiddo Dance Party (you should check it out if you live anywhere near Providence), and LB even walked a bit.
This winter has been a misery of cancelled plans and wet feet, and broken hips, collapsed roofs, and hypothermia. This story that's been making the rounds on Boston social media is a good example of the everyday suffering of trying to function in the endless cold and snow.
In the piece Barbara Howard discusses stopping in her car to pick up and mom and child waiting late a night at a snowy bus stop. The other side of our current suffering is our increased kindness. Each day along my bus route, riders work to get the lady with the walker and the guy with the cane safely on and off the bus. From the bus, I watched an older man collapse in a slippery crosswalk on a busy street at dusk. Two drivers immediately used their cars to block him from traffic and then carried him to the sidewalk. So many "you want to hold my arm?" to unsteady crossers, and a "at least take that guy on crutches!" to the driver of an overfull bus.
It's never easy to get around as a person with mobility issues, or as a parent with a young child and multiple bags. But those needs are so often invisible. Barbara Howard must have driven by moms with kids at bus stops on other late nights, but this was the night she stopped. Because our own suffering has made us more aware of the suffering of others and more sympathetic to them. It's a beautiful thing in this world.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
New Apartment
I just signed a lease on a new apartment for March 1. A nice, plain two bedroom in a sunny 2nd floor unit. It's $50 a month cheaper than the kind of weird attic space with the laundry and parking issues. It has a very sensible layout, with a bedroom on the north side for LB (nice and dark) and a bedroom on the south side for me. The kitchen is south facing, which was a major selling point for me. It's a smallish eat in kitchen, with standard low-budget white stove and wood laminate counters (wish they'd kept the old cabinets). Most of the rooms have nicely redone wood floors, and the whole building seems clean and well-maintained (unlike the death trap attic space).
The neighborhood is close to where we are now, and very close to daycare. Ten years ago it used to be pretty rough around there, but I've been in the area a lot and there doesn't seem to be anything sketchy going on now. There's a pretty big park across the street and a corner store on the other corner.
Feels good.
And then there's the bad:
https://lbbreadandroses.wordpress.com/2015/02/05/crazytown/
The neighborhood is close to where we are now, and very close to daycare. Ten years ago it used to be pretty rough around there, but I've been in the area a lot and there doesn't seem to be anything sketchy going on now. There's a pretty big park across the street and a corner store on the other corner.
Feels good.
And then there's the bad:
https://lbbreadandroses.wordpress.com/2015/02/05/crazytown/
Monday, January 26, 2015
Blizzard
The snow started slow this afternoon, but now it's really starting to blow out there. And it's my first blizzard alone in ten years-mostly alone, I do have my Ladybug tucked into bed upstairs. B and I share a love of extreme weather, and we've been through blizzards, hurricanes, and on derecho together. Two years ago I hitched a ride from BWI with a complete stranger after my flight got cancelled, because I couldn't imagine sitting alone in Baltimore while B and LB were in the blizzard zone. My first bloodwork when we were trying for LB involved careening through the unplowed streets of Baltimore to get to our early morning appointment. Overall, I feel like I'm doing well. I've been really honest with my friends about the state of things, and they all seem to think I'm doing pretty well. But this hurts.
I've also started looking at apartments. So far I've looked at a super cheap, super rundown "loft." It would be great for 3 youths, but I was worried about filling all that space, and the heating bill, and the 2nd egress which was a trap door in the front room. Apt 2 has more potential. It's more than I wanted to spend, but includes all utilities, which is a big savings in New England and I'd never have to worry about getting a huge heating bill. It's a weird attic space with lots of little rooms, but it has potential for a lot of retro cuteness, and plenty of room for me and LB and visitors. There some weird laundry situation I didn't understand about having to pay out the first floor tenant for use of the washer, and uncertainty about the parking (for visitors because you can't park overnight on the street in Providence without a permit). We would be close to daycare, library, bus, shops (although not a grocery store), and parks. It's a nice, safe area, which I guess should be a big sell, but I was actually hoping to move into an adjacent neighborhood that would be a little more income and race diverse.
And then I started looking on craigslist and saw that there are actually a decent number of places in my price range-like also because this is a weird time of year to rent a place-so that's good. But I'm trying decide whether I should take a place for March 1 now (and basically pay an extra month) or wait and rent something for April 1 and scramble to get out of our current place. Option 1 would probably be much better for LB's transition, but I also don't want to throw away a month of rent (a month in which B and I could be renting 4! places). Decisions, decisions.
Stay warm and shovel safe!
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Want a Valentine's Card? And Miscellany
After the success of project Christmas paper chain, and upon realizing the excessive amount of art supplies building in our closet, and in pursuit of cheerfulness, LB and I are going to be making a bunch of Valentine's card. If you'd like one and you haven't recently sent me your mailing address to chronicladybug at gmail.com.
Today I told myself that I'd run if the temperature went over 20, and of course when I looked at my phone it was 21. That kind of sucked.
On my run I stopped by our local fancy kitchen shop and ordered the present I'm giving myself for my move into a new place for LB and me-that should happen in a couple/few months.
PW protected rants likely incoming, but for now I'll just share that there was someone VAPING on the bus. Who does that? It was bad enough that a woman who was actually smoking sat down next to me in bus shelter-but it is Rhode Island and so I expect that kind of thing. And she did look like she need that smoke more than I need to breathe. But really, vaping on the bus?
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Fun with Children
Just to keep it real, LB is intermittently shrieking as I write this post.
It was a good LB weekend. It didn't start that well when B rolled in at 11:30am from where evs'* after planning that we would have family breakfast and get an early start for the pumpkin patch. But we saw it through and did our duty to our child, and ate some New York System hot wieners for our troubles.
We went to PRONK, which was great! I think last year, LB wouldn't have been into it-too loud and weird. But this year she didn't want to leave and we even got to march for a bit. Next year we'll follow the parade downtown and watch some of the performances.
LB has been playing a game I call in my head "Ebola Clinic." It involves patients with tummy aches who are moved by cart to a hospital made from a converted shed and then locked inside. When Fisher Price comes out with their own Ebola Clinic, don't say I didn't warn you.
And of course there was the obligatory pumpkin patch. Amazingly we have pumpkin patch pictures for every year beginning when LB was in utero. This year's trip was a good one. LB ran around like a real child. She scavenged animal feed off the ground, and had strangers sharing with her, and then tried to convince the strangers to feed the llamas. We bought her an ice cream cone filled with animal feed and she actually fed it to a goat, and it was amazing.
LB still has her shrieking, screaming, annoying times, but we've been getting along so well. Maybe I can only handle one source of angst in my life at a time, and right now it's not LB. It's also easier now that she can talk more and tell me what's wrong (even if it's totally irrational). Good times.
*In this phase of our separation she is free to spend her nights as she pleases....not going to rant....about anything...
It was a good LB weekend. It didn't start that well when B rolled in at 11:30am from where evs'* after planning that we would have family breakfast and get an early start for the pumpkin patch. But we saw it through and did our duty to our child, and ate some New York System hot wieners for our troubles.
We went to PRONK, which was great! I think last year, LB wouldn't have been into it-too loud and weird. But this year she didn't want to leave and we even got to march for a bit. Next year we'll follow the parade downtown and watch some of the performances.
LB has been playing a game I call in my head "Ebola Clinic." It involves patients with tummy aches who are moved by cart to a hospital made from a converted shed and then locked inside. When Fisher Price comes out with their own Ebola Clinic, don't say I didn't warn you.
And of course there was the obligatory pumpkin patch. Amazingly we have pumpkin patch pictures for every year beginning when LB was in utero. This year's trip was a good one. LB ran around like a real child. She scavenged animal feed off the ground, and had strangers sharing with her, and then tried to convince the strangers to feed the llamas. We bought her an ice cream cone filled with animal feed and she actually fed it to a goat, and it was amazing.
LB still has her shrieking, screaming, annoying times, but we've been getting along so well. Maybe I can only handle one source of angst in my life at a time, and right now it's not LB. It's also easier now that she can talk more and tell me what's wrong (even if it's totally irrational). Good times.
*In this phase of our separation she is free to spend her nights as she pleases....not going to rant....about anything...
Sunday, August 31, 2014
"We will sing and play and have a good day!"
- That's the new morning song in the preschool 2 class. LB is moving on up on Tuesday, thankfully with her classmates. And her new teacher is warm and kind and sensible like her old teacher. And she has already learned the new morning circle song (see title). But she's still struggling with the transition back to school after vacation weeks ago. It's so hard to hear her say "is it stay home day. I want stay home day."
- LB: eating huge amounts, lots of screaming and whining, and has at least three big falls in the last week-we are thinking growth spurt. I went and got LB early on Friday so we could get an ice cream treat and go to the library and go to the park. All was well. We stopped to watch some kids swimming in the fountain, and then as LB ran toward the park she took an unintentional flying leap and landed on her head and knees. I was afraid she was bleeding from her mouth, but it was just remnants of strawberry ice cream. But her knees were really bad. We left a Baltimore style blood trail before a nice stranger ran and got us some bandaids from his first aid kit.
- I love Labor Day. Who can object to someone who says "Have a great Labor Day!"
- Yesterday we went on a family heritage food tour of Fall River, MA. We hit Hartley's Pork Pies and Patty's Pierogis. Both were great, but next time we will eat in at Patty's and then get pies to go at Hartley's (we ate Hartley's in our car because they have not seating and then go some cold pierogis to fry at home). Patti's seemed cute and friendly, and definitely worth eating in. We also looked longingly at the several Coney Island hotdog purveyors on Main Street. Next time we'll have to research the best one and stop there.
- I've become such a downtown (downcity) Providence booster. Providence is a great little city. Amazing Gilded Era architecture (just don't look at City Hall for too long-you might go blind because it is the ugliest 2nd Empire building ever built). Good coffee shops, good restaurants, good hotels (I so want to stay at the Dean), good bars, some real live book stores, parks, pop-up shops, and a mall with a movie theatre right downtown if you need a break from all the hipness. Everyone should spend a weekend here. And all super walkable.
- We signed up for service with Munroe Dairy and now I can have not only local milk, but both Hoodsie Cups and Autocrat syrup delivered to my door. That's Rhode Island. Sadly the HCs don't come with the little wooden spoon, which is an essential element to full experience.
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
"Then the lights go out and it's just the three of us / You me and all that stuff we're so scared of"
What haven't we done in Portland? This city deserves a summer list all it's own. Highlights include:
Oregon Brewers' Fest (you can tell the non-douchebags in the crowd because they're taking notes)
our first post-NICU night away from LB (in a hotel!)
food carts: we had Brunch Box, and need to go back for poached chicken at Nong's
swimming in the pool: a lot, LB has begged to spend hours in the pool, but is in one of her tentative phases where she just wants to cling to us like a limpet
dinners cooked by my FIL (shrimp, salmon, and tonight we're having smoked brisket)
a variety of non-Fest beers at a variety of places
Barista coffee (the nice young man gave us coffee even though they weren't open yet)
Courier coffee (love: they have a turn table on the bar and were playing the breeders while we drank our coffee. I wanted to take a selfie, but couldn't bear to in front of the hip barista.)
Powell's (of course, I got some nice picture books for LB, which are actually book for children that are for me. I love being able to actually browse the physical books.)
Blue Collar Bakery (we started sharing a scone as we walked out, and by the time we got down the block we turned around for another)
A trip to the coast
A swim in the Pacific (me only, and it was more flinging myself under the water and dashing back out so that I could say I swam in the Pacific)
Lunch at Mo's with lots of shrimp
A trip to Bushwacker's Cider Bar (1st all cider bar in the US)
LB got to go to the zoo (highlights: rainbow dippin' dots)
And I've gone running every day, which is pretty strange for me.
Oregon Brewers' Fest (you can tell the non-douchebags in the crowd because they're taking notes)
our first post-NICU night away from LB (in a hotel!)
food carts: we had Brunch Box, and need to go back for poached chicken at Nong's
swimming in the pool: a lot, LB has begged to spend hours in the pool, but is in one of her tentative phases where she just wants to cling to us like a limpet
dinners cooked by my FIL (shrimp, salmon, and tonight we're having smoked brisket)
a variety of non-Fest beers at a variety of places
Barista coffee (the nice young man gave us coffee even though they weren't open yet)
Courier coffee (love: they have a turn table on the bar and were playing the breeders while we drank our coffee. I wanted to take a selfie, but couldn't bear to in front of the hip barista.)
Powell's (of course, I got some nice picture books for LB, which are actually book for children that are for me. I love being able to actually browse the physical books.)
Blue Collar Bakery (we started sharing a scone as we walked out, and by the time we got down the block we turned around for another)
A trip to the coast
 |
| pic by B |
A swim in the Pacific (me only, and it was more flinging myself under the water and dashing back out so that I could say I swam in the Pacific)
Lunch at Mo's with lots of shrimp
A trip to Bushwacker's Cider Bar (1st all cider bar in the US)
LB got to go to the zoo (highlights: rainbow dippin' dots)
And I've gone running every day, which is pretty strange for me.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
"Let's forget about the tongue-tied lightning/Let's undress just like cross-eyed strangers"
This summer has proven surprisingly complicated. And those complications have shifted my vision of a good summer.
Family stuff done
more Maine
beach time
visit with friends
go to the local splash park
go swimming
lots of time on our back porch
lots of music
fireworks at home!
ice cream for dinner
sparklers (with only one injury)
signed up for milk delivery
family time at a hipster wine bar downtown
LB's first dentist appointment in on Monday
My stuff done
swimming in the ocean
a fitness class (and if you know me, you know how much it sucks)
regular jogging and stretching
3 pairs of shoes
a lot of clothes
a haircut
my first time getting my eyebrows threaded
appointments scheduled for all of the dental work I need
weekly dinner at Ken's Ramen
lots of music
a significant amount of alcohol
Complicated.
Family stuff done
more Maine
beach time
visit with friends
go to the local splash park
 |
| Nothing says summer fun like cowering on a bench at the splash park! |
lots of time on our back porch
lots of music
fireworks at home!
ice cream for dinner
sparklers (with only one injury)
signed up for milk delivery
family time at a hipster wine bar downtown
LB's first dentist appointment in on Monday
My stuff done
swimming in the ocean
a fitness class (and if you know me, you know how much it sucks)
regular jogging and stretching
3 pairs of shoes
a lot of clothes
a haircut
my first time getting my eyebrows threaded
appointments scheduled for all of the dental work I need
weekly dinner at Ken's Ramen
lots of music
a significant amount of alcohol
Complicated.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
5 unexpected things I saw in Maine
See how I did that? Aren't you excited to read stuff in list form? Don't you wish I was including gifs?
1. My first "open carry" event: I'll start with this one because it was the most shocking. There I was walking down a mostly empty side street in Portland on a mostly dead Sunday evening, and I came up upon a grill, a table of condiments, and a crew of burly men in jungle fatigues with no military insignia holding very, very large guns. And I kept my head down and walked quickly by, because that's what a couple decade of city living has taught me to do when confronted with men with weapons. In the scheme of unsettling things, this event was less unsettling that participating in a small anti-War on Terror protest in Chicago while surrounded by five times our number of police in full riot gear, but more unsettling than seeing a lone guy with a gun running down the street in Chicago.
2. A street preacher with a small cadre of supporters who looked like they were straight out of Let Us Now Praise Famous Men (I would say The Hills Have Eyes if I was being snarky). White guy, black suit, leather Bible, small speaker: I have certainly never seen anything like it in Maine.
3. LB frolicking on the beach and in the ocean. I had hoped this day would come, but I was trying to practice radical detachment. With the help of a slightly older young role model, LB did amazing and had a great time. And I went swimming in the ocean (temp: somewhere around 60 degrees F) and it was glorious.
4. Extreme and annoying crowds: I know this is the summer story in some parts of Maine, but my Maine just off Portland has always been pretty sleepy. Now it seems to be all rampaging golf carts, drunken daytrippers, and just about everyone ever if you happen to walk down Commercial Ave. in Portland. It made me cranky. Even though those people pay the bills and I'm mostly a summer person, I've seen my Maine in hurricanes, during the Storm of the Century, on the 6:15am ferry, and I want some GD peace and quiet.
5. A young black man (of Kenyan heritage) on our bus headed back to University of Maine at Machias (in far northern Maine). He had an ass-long trip ahead of him. Some 25 years ago, my boss was dating "the only black plumber in Maine," and a respected regional children's author told me "Well dear, at least the white people still have Maine." Things have changed for the better, I think, although often slowly and painfully. And, I suppose, better isn't much of a measure against that latter comment. But, Machias. I cannot imagine what it's like to be a black man in Machias (in 2013 there were about 7,000 white undergrads at the school and 173 black undergrads or .5% by my calculation. In Maine as a whole, 1.3% of the pop identified as black or African American in 2012).
And while I'm on the topic of being black in Maine, Black Girl in Maine is a great blog.
1. My first "open carry" event: I'll start with this one because it was the most shocking. There I was walking down a mostly empty side street in Portland on a mostly dead Sunday evening, and I came up upon a grill, a table of condiments, and a crew of burly men in jungle fatigues with no military insignia holding very, very large guns. And I kept my head down and walked quickly by, because that's what a couple decade of city living has taught me to do when confronted with men with weapons. In the scheme of unsettling things, this event was less unsettling that participating in a small anti-War on Terror protest in Chicago while surrounded by five times our number of police in full riot gear, but more unsettling than seeing a lone guy with a gun running down the street in Chicago.
2. A street preacher with a small cadre of supporters who looked like they were straight out of Let Us Now Praise Famous Men (I would say The Hills Have Eyes if I was being snarky). White guy, black suit, leather Bible, small speaker: I have certainly never seen anything like it in Maine.
3. LB frolicking on the beach and in the ocean. I had hoped this day would come, but I was trying to practice radical detachment. With the help of a slightly older young role model, LB did amazing and had a great time. And I went swimming in the ocean (temp: somewhere around 60 degrees F) and it was glorious.
4. Extreme and annoying crowds: I know this is the summer story in some parts of Maine, but my Maine just off Portland has always been pretty sleepy. Now it seems to be all rampaging golf carts, drunken daytrippers, and just about everyone ever if you happen to walk down Commercial Ave. in Portland. It made me cranky. Even though those people pay the bills and I'm mostly a summer person, I've seen my Maine in hurricanes, during the Storm of the Century, on the 6:15am ferry, and I want some GD peace and quiet.
5. A young black man (of Kenyan heritage) on our bus headed back to University of Maine at Machias (in far northern Maine). He had an ass-long trip ahead of him. Some 25 years ago, my boss was dating "the only black plumber in Maine," and a respected regional children's author told me "Well dear, at least the white people still have Maine." Things have changed for the better, I think, although often slowly and painfully. And, I suppose, better isn't much of a measure against that latter comment. But, Machias. I cannot imagine what it's like to be a black man in Machias (in 2013 there were about 7,000 white undergrads at the school and 173 black undergrads or .5% by my calculation. In Maine as a whole, 1.3% of the pop identified as black or African American in 2012).
And while I'm on the topic of being black in Maine, Black Girl in Maine is a great blog.
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
Live Through This
This list has been making the rounds on the internets, re: dangers faced by children of the 1970s. Aside from the Jarts, yeah, this was pretty much my childhood. Except that goat would have been inside a VW bus (true story). And once my parents stuck me in the back of a VW bug with a burlap sack containing two full grown, and very angry, geese. Thus, one of my earliest memories is standing of the bag seat of that bug, pressed up against the window, screaming, while the geese thrashed and hissed at me. Also, my mom read an article in a ladies magazine about a family that died in a fiery car crash, all accept one small child who had not been belted in and was thrown free of the car landing safely in a field. Due to that article, we were strongly discouraged from wearing seatbelts.
My mom tells another story about a time when I was a baby and had a very bad cold. The doctor prescribed a cough medicine with codeine, so my mom drove with me to the pharmacy, left me in the car, and went to fill the prescription. But the pharmacist thought she looked like a drug-seeking hippie and refused to give her the medicine. My mom was furious that her character was being attacked, and she was correct that even though she and my dad looked like hippies they were really total straight arrows. So she spent so amount of time arguing and explaining that the medicine was for her SICK BABY WHO WAS WAITING IN THE CAR. In my mother's telling, the point of this story is that some people are judgmental jerks, and the baby alone in the car is a non-issue.
I thought about that story the other day as I was getting ready to take LB to daycare. I had her in the stroller on our front walk, strapped in and ready to go. Then she realized she didn't have her special blanket and it needed to be gotten before we left. I briefly considered leaving her there on the front walk. We live on a very quiet street that meets up with a very busy street, but LB can't undo the big clip on the stroller harness, so she wouldn't be going anywhere. And it would likely take me less than a minute to grab the blanket. But I didn't leave her. I unclipped her, and hoisted some close-to-30lbs, and brought her into the house, found the blanket, back out the door, and then she climbed slowly, slowly back into the stroller and slowly, slowly clipped herself in, and we left.
I didn't leave her partly because I live in a world of paranoia, where the 1 minute in which you leave your child outside one block from a busy street is the 1 minute in which she magically learns to unclip the sticky clip on the stroller harness, partly because years of urban living have taught me that ne're-do-wells probably won't harm your small child but they might steal your expensive stroller (which is not to say that city people steal more than rural or suburban people, but that city people are more aware that they may be stolen from), and largely because I didn't want to end up like this woman or this woman.
The 1970s, when I swam alone on empty beaches without life guards, I can't imagine that I will ever experience that again.
My mom tells another story about a time when I was a baby and had a very bad cold. The doctor prescribed a cough medicine with codeine, so my mom drove with me to the pharmacy, left me in the car, and went to fill the prescription. But the pharmacist thought she looked like a drug-seeking hippie and refused to give her the medicine. My mom was furious that her character was being attacked, and she was correct that even though she and my dad looked like hippies they were really total straight arrows. So she spent so amount of time arguing and explaining that the medicine was for her SICK BABY WHO WAS WAITING IN THE CAR. In my mother's telling, the point of this story is that some people are judgmental jerks, and the baby alone in the car is a non-issue.
I thought about that story the other day as I was getting ready to take LB to daycare. I had her in the stroller on our front walk, strapped in and ready to go. Then she realized she didn't have her special blanket and it needed to be gotten before we left. I briefly considered leaving her there on the front walk. We live on a very quiet street that meets up with a very busy street, but LB can't undo the big clip on the stroller harness, so she wouldn't be going anywhere. And it would likely take me less than a minute to grab the blanket. But I didn't leave her. I unclipped her, and hoisted some close-to-30lbs, and brought her into the house, found the blanket, back out the door, and then she climbed slowly, slowly back into the stroller and slowly, slowly clipped herself in, and we left.
I didn't leave her partly because I live in a world of paranoia, where the 1 minute in which you leave your child outside one block from a busy street is the 1 minute in which she magically learns to unclip the sticky clip on the stroller harness, partly because years of urban living have taught me that ne're-do-wells probably won't harm your small child but they might steal your expensive stroller (which is not to say that city people steal more than rural or suburban people, but that city people are more aware that they may be stolen from), and largely because I didn't want to end up like this woman or this woman.
The 1970s, when I swam alone on empty beaches without life guards, I can't imagine that I will ever experience that again.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
"Tight t-shirt on a real sweet girl"
Rhode Island has an inferiority complex, apparently we came in last in a poll of state residents who rate their state THE BEST place to live. Maybe RI isn't the best place to live, particularly for those of us who aren't perched in a Newport mansion, but I still have a little crush on RI.
My childhood New England rests somewhere between The Beans of Egypt Maine and a Wyeth painting, with a dose of Emerson and some Necco Wafers. I wish Providence had bakeries like Portland, ME, a Northampton juice bar, some Vermont rusticness, and a closer ocean. But, even without that stuff, Providence is a good town. It's cute and artsy and has good food and drink.
RI is a cultural junction between northerly New England and New York. The working class New Hampshire (you don't even have to specify white, because everyone was) accent I grew up with is mostly missing. Instead you get a little uppercrust northerly New England, mixed with a lot of New York with hints of the DR, Guatemala, Mexico, Liberia, and wherever.
My childhood New England rests somewhere between The Beans of Egypt Maine and a Wyeth painting, with a dose of Emerson and some Necco Wafers. I wish Providence had bakeries like Portland, ME, a Northampton juice bar, some Vermont rusticness, and a closer ocean. But, even without that stuff, Providence is a good town. It's cute and artsy and has good food and drink.
RI is a cultural junction between northerly New England and New York. The working class New Hampshire (you don't even have to specify white, because everyone was) accent I grew up with is mostly missing. Instead you get a little uppercrust northerly New England, mixed with a lot of New York with hints of the DR, Guatemala, Mexico, Liberia, and wherever.
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Problems: Urban Schools/Urban School Reform Edition
We've got problems.
This morning brings news that yet another friend (a parent and a teacher) is fleeing city schools, in this case the whole family is leaving the US.
Demographically, maybe this is just a blip in the big data story of post-WWII white flight. But though the flight may be the same, I'd like to think that we are different from our forefathers. Although many of the people I know in this situation are white, class and educational background, rather than race seem to be the key factor. When our grandparents fled to the suburbs, they (well everyone except my grandparents) were on a economic upswing. Our generation is made up of non-profit workers, educators, freelancers, artists, lower level professionals. We are the struggling middle class, worried about our benefits, not saving enough for retirement, chastising ourselves for buying that fancy cheese at Whole Foods. What we are not-people who can afford private school tuition. And we are also people who believe in a shared public good, people who went to public schools and believe in public education.
And increasingly, from what I'm hearing and what I'm experiencing, I believe that families like mine have not only been abandoned by public school systems, we are being actively rejected. There is so much going on in public education that it's easy to get distracted. For me the debate over Common Core is just a distraction. I know a bit more about CC than your average non-educator parent, having built a teacher training class that was aligned to CC standards. The standards themselves were good, more in line with the way I expected students to think when I was an instructor at elite colleges than what was expected of me as a public school student. In the hands of a talented teacher, given time to learn how to teach to these new standards and resources to execute those lessons, CC could encourage teachers to do really interesting work with students. The downside, CC has too many standards and is overly detailed and fussy. As an educator, I tried to keep my objectives clear and simple for each lesson and focus on one key theme and topic and one key skill. Trying to do too much (being pushed to develop lesson plan that show you are doing too much) confuses and frustrates students. It also takes time for teachers to learn to teach in a new way and for students to learn to learn in a new way. I taught some of the best prepared college students in the country, and trying to teach them to do a thorough textual analysis was arduous for all parties.
The bigger problem with CC is that it is expected to be a silver bullet for our education woes without any resources to address the structural inequality that, I would say, is the major underlying factor in low educational achievement. I worked in a series of Chicago public schools as a tutor, schools that ranged from functional racially and economically diverse schools to dysfunctional segregated schools. In the worst school, bathrooms did not have toilet paper, and obviously traumatized children were not only not given any services-they were also re-traumatized by harsh discipline, and there was no recess and no school nurse. Because there was no school nurse and 1/3 of the children lived in homeless shelters that were closed during the day, very sick and feverish children were laid on makeshift pallets at the back of the classroom to wait for the end of the day when the shelter reopened. I will never forget seeing an administrator who had been brought in as the enforcer for an out-of-control class scream in the face of a little boy because she thought he was giving her "a hard look" during her lecture. Actually he was terrified. I had gleaned that he had seen his father do terrible things to his mother, things for which the father was in jail. The little boy was physically defensive and hated yelling. As the administrator got in his face, I could see him completely shut down. That's our America.
As a college instructor, would I expect a student who had just seen his uncle shot and killed, or a student whose mom had just gone to jail to function? No, I would say-take the incomplete, get some counseling, come back when you're ready. Poor, little children don't get that luxury.
After surveying my small sample, I would say decisively that middle-class parents bring resources to schools, and as long as they aren't allowed to segregate their children in gifted academies within the school, those resources benefit all children. So, you might think that administrators who oversee urban schools would be working to get more middle class families. B and I want to be those parents, most of our friends want to be those parents, and we don't have to send our child to a perfect school. If the school is a little run down, if we have to send in supplies, if it's a little more regimented than we would like-we could live with all that. But no educator can think it's acceptable to scream in a child's face. There must be toilet paper and recess and a library. There should be a school nurse.
What I'm hearing from parents, what we felt in LB's IEP experience, is accept or get out. The system doesn't want middle-class parents with our critiques and standards and demands. In the public sphere dissatisfied middle class parents are broadly painted as whiny, spoiled racists, which I find infuriating. From my vantage point, urban school administrators have decided that reform will be easier if they get rid of all the parents like me, so they can conduct their grand experiment without interference-or at least without interference by those who have resources.
Why are middle class parents leaving urban public schools. It's not because those school serve children of color and poor children, it's a much more personal experience of the failure of schools to respect children and their parents. Friends have told me stories of preschool-aged children isolated in the classroom each day because they could not meet the developmental expectations of silence and hands-to-self. And, the parent of a five-year-old in Chicago who brought her child to school after a Dr's appointment and was not allowed to walk her child to the classroom-distubing both from the child's point of view-having to navigate a huge, barely-familiar school building alone and from the parent's point of view-don't we have a right to enter and observe our child's public education on public property? No attempt was made to address the concerns of these families, certainly no effort was made to keep them in the school. Instead the clear message was: plenty of people want these spots-either accept or get out.
For committed and talented educators things are just as bad. I know too many good teachers who are leaving because they don't want to teach from a script, because they don't want spend each year learning whatever new curriculum that the admins think will be the quick fix, because they get no resources to do the work that might actually make children ready to learn. It's like when I worked at a certain coffee company and corporate told us that it was non-negotiable that we must have at least two workers in the store at all times, but the computer scheduler wouldn't allow (or pay for) more than one person to open and close. Talented people don't want to be trapped in a low-paying, high-stress, dystopian environment where the standards are impossibly high and the resources incredibly low.
I work for an organization that serves low-income public school students-which in urban Rhode Island means that they are mostly people of color. They are smart, good young people, I would be happy to send my own child to school with them. I have dreams of helping LB's teachers develop lesson plans in African American history, of writing grants for her schools. But seemingly, highly-educated and doting parents like us are just clogging up the machine of urban education reform.
What is my dream school: a public school where all children have access to resources that support their physical (food, health care, recess), emotional (counseling, social skill training), and intellectual (books, art, math, science, social studies) development. A school were all employees like children and believe that children can succeed. A school that sees parents, not a customers, but as partners. A school that believes children are individuals and treats them accordingly. A school where educators are empowered to solve problems. A school where administrators, educators, support staff, and students feel respected. That's all I want.
This morning brings news that yet another friend (a parent and a teacher) is fleeing city schools, in this case the whole family is leaving the US.
Demographically, maybe this is just a blip in the big data story of post-WWII white flight. But though the flight may be the same, I'd like to think that we are different from our forefathers. Although many of the people I know in this situation are white, class and educational background, rather than race seem to be the key factor. When our grandparents fled to the suburbs, they (well everyone except my grandparents) were on a economic upswing. Our generation is made up of non-profit workers, educators, freelancers, artists, lower level professionals. We are the struggling middle class, worried about our benefits, not saving enough for retirement, chastising ourselves for buying that fancy cheese at Whole Foods. What we are not-people who can afford private school tuition. And we are also people who believe in a shared public good, people who went to public schools and believe in public education.
And increasingly, from what I'm hearing and what I'm experiencing, I believe that families like mine have not only been abandoned by public school systems, we are being actively rejected. There is so much going on in public education that it's easy to get distracted. For me the debate over Common Core is just a distraction. I know a bit more about CC than your average non-educator parent, having built a teacher training class that was aligned to CC standards. The standards themselves were good, more in line with the way I expected students to think when I was an instructor at elite colleges than what was expected of me as a public school student. In the hands of a talented teacher, given time to learn how to teach to these new standards and resources to execute those lessons, CC could encourage teachers to do really interesting work with students. The downside, CC has too many standards and is overly detailed and fussy. As an educator, I tried to keep my objectives clear and simple for each lesson and focus on one key theme and topic and one key skill. Trying to do too much (being pushed to develop lesson plan that show you are doing too much) confuses and frustrates students. It also takes time for teachers to learn to teach in a new way and for students to learn to learn in a new way. I taught some of the best prepared college students in the country, and trying to teach them to do a thorough textual analysis was arduous for all parties.
The bigger problem with CC is that it is expected to be a silver bullet for our education woes without any resources to address the structural inequality that, I would say, is the major underlying factor in low educational achievement. I worked in a series of Chicago public schools as a tutor, schools that ranged from functional racially and economically diverse schools to dysfunctional segregated schools. In the worst school, bathrooms did not have toilet paper, and obviously traumatized children were not only not given any services-they were also re-traumatized by harsh discipline, and there was no recess and no school nurse. Because there was no school nurse and 1/3 of the children lived in homeless shelters that were closed during the day, very sick and feverish children were laid on makeshift pallets at the back of the classroom to wait for the end of the day when the shelter reopened. I will never forget seeing an administrator who had been brought in as the enforcer for an out-of-control class scream in the face of a little boy because she thought he was giving her "a hard look" during her lecture. Actually he was terrified. I had gleaned that he had seen his father do terrible things to his mother, things for which the father was in jail. The little boy was physically defensive and hated yelling. As the administrator got in his face, I could see him completely shut down. That's our America.
As a college instructor, would I expect a student who had just seen his uncle shot and killed, or a student whose mom had just gone to jail to function? No, I would say-take the incomplete, get some counseling, come back when you're ready. Poor, little children don't get that luxury.
After surveying my small sample, I would say decisively that middle-class parents bring resources to schools, and as long as they aren't allowed to segregate their children in gifted academies within the school, those resources benefit all children. So, you might think that administrators who oversee urban schools would be working to get more middle class families. B and I want to be those parents, most of our friends want to be those parents, and we don't have to send our child to a perfect school. If the school is a little run down, if we have to send in supplies, if it's a little more regimented than we would like-we could live with all that. But no educator can think it's acceptable to scream in a child's face. There must be toilet paper and recess and a library. There should be a school nurse.
What I'm hearing from parents, what we felt in LB's IEP experience, is accept or get out. The system doesn't want middle-class parents with our critiques and standards and demands. In the public sphere dissatisfied middle class parents are broadly painted as whiny, spoiled racists, which I find infuriating. From my vantage point, urban school administrators have decided that reform will be easier if they get rid of all the parents like me, so they can conduct their grand experiment without interference-or at least without interference by those who have resources.
Why are middle class parents leaving urban public schools. It's not because those school serve children of color and poor children, it's a much more personal experience of the failure of schools to respect children and their parents. Friends have told me stories of preschool-aged children isolated in the classroom each day because they could not meet the developmental expectations of silence and hands-to-self. And, the parent of a five-year-old in Chicago who brought her child to school after a Dr's appointment and was not allowed to walk her child to the classroom-distubing both from the child's point of view-having to navigate a huge, barely-familiar school building alone and from the parent's point of view-don't we have a right to enter and observe our child's public education on public property? No attempt was made to address the concerns of these families, certainly no effort was made to keep them in the school. Instead the clear message was: plenty of people want these spots-either accept or get out.
For committed and talented educators things are just as bad. I know too many good teachers who are leaving because they don't want to teach from a script, because they don't want spend each year learning whatever new curriculum that the admins think will be the quick fix, because they get no resources to do the work that might actually make children ready to learn. It's like when I worked at a certain coffee company and corporate told us that it was non-negotiable that we must have at least two workers in the store at all times, but the computer scheduler wouldn't allow (or pay for) more than one person to open and close. Talented people don't want to be trapped in a low-paying, high-stress, dystopian environment where the standards are impossibly high and the resources incredibly low.
I work for an organization that serves low-income public school students-which in urban Rhode Island means that they are mostly people of color. They are smart, good young people, I would be happy to send my own child to school with them. I have dreams of helping LB's teachers develop lesson plans in African American history, of writing grants for her schools. But seemingly, highly-educated and doting parents like us are just clogging up the machine of urban education reform.
What is my dream school: a public school where all children have access to resources that support their physical (food, health care, recess), emotional (counseling, social skill training), and intellectual (books, art, math, science, social studies) development. A school were all employees like children and believe that children can succeed. A school that sees parents, not a customers, but as partners. A school that believes children are individuals and treats them accordingly. A school where educators are empowered to solve problems. A school where administrators, educators, support staff, and students feel respected. That's all I want.
Saturday, October 12, 2013
Services, Services, Services: The Update Edition
It's been a week of work, and vomiting, and meetings, with just a little bit of the rage virus added in for good measure. I finished my freelance job, and God willing, I will be paid some day. I'm excited to be back to blogging now that I have a minute or two of free time.
Hump day brought our IEP eligibility meeting. Not good my friends. I guess I've know for a long time that I find negativity highly motivating, but this meeting really brought it home. I can't remember the last time I was in a room with such a bunch of unprofessional hacks, and I'm not even going to qualify that with any excuses about how they must have hard jobs or how they have to work within a broken system. There is no excuse for what I saw in that room.
I'm taking the details straight to the ombsbudsperson for the school system. The short version is that they were about to formally deny LB services, when I pulled a bureaucratic maneuver that forced the school team to throw out all of their findings and start over. It was definitely a strange moment. [Insert warfare or card playing metaphor here.] Even though we kept them from getting what they wanted (a closed case), I left the building feeling dirty. I want to believe in public education, and it sucks to see in action those people who ruin it for everyone: certainly for students and their parents, but also for the good educators in the system, who have to see their efforts to actually educate children constantly thwarted by people who are there to play the game and collect a check.
It's going to be a long 16 years.
Hump day brought our IEP eligibility meeting. Not good my friends. I guess I've know for a long time that I find negativity highly motivating, but this meeting really brought it home. I can't remember the last time I was in a room with such a bunch of unprofessional hacks, and I'm not even going to qualify that with any excuses about how they must have hard jobs or how they have to work within a broken system. There is no excuse for what I saw in that room.
I'm taking the details straight to the ombsbudsperson for the school system. The short version is that they were about to formally deny LB services, when I pulled a bureaucratic maneuver that forced the school team to throw out all of their findings and start over. It was definitely a strange moment. [Insert warfare or card playing metaphor here.] Even though we kept them from getting what they wanted (a closed case), I left the building feeling dirty. I want to believe in public education, and it sucks to see in action those people who ruin it for everyone: certainly for students and their parents, but also for the good educators in the system, who have to see their efforts to actually educate children constantly thwarted by people who are there to play the game and collect a check.
It's going to be a long 16 years.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Providence, Oh Providence
I survived my first week at my new job. I week during which B was on the other side of the country for her job (which, from what I saw on facebook, seems to involve watching Dodgers games and eating fancy meals), and being woken up in the middle of Sunday night by a puking child. My new job is right in downtown Providence, and I got to walk around a bit to get my bearings and drink quite a bit of coffee in local shops.
I've lived in a few cities, and gone on interviews in many, many more. My specialization seems to be the small post industrial (aren't they all) city, with a good dose of Rust Belt. In each of these cities, I got a tour describing the place as a "city of neighborhoods"- aren't they all. Providence isn't post-industrial like Chicago or Pittsburgh, but it is certainly post-manufacturing, and you can see that written all over the city.
My morning commute brings me to Kennedy Plaza, the central bus transfer point for the system. The Plaza brings together all kinds of people, but overall it reflects the demographics of bus-riders who are poorer than the city as a whole, and described in one local NPR commentary as "the 3rd world" of Providence. They also blast classical music through the loudspeakers on the Plaza. I assume this choice was based on some broken windows theory that classical music keeps away the riffraff or generally classes up the place. In practice, I can say that it is very disconcerting to stride away from the Plaza to a soundtrack of "Flight of the Valkyries." My associations are either Apocalypse Now or Brown Shirts, and I'm assuming that neither of those was what the city fathers and mothers were going for.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
A City that Works
Providence, Rhode Island is one.
I came home yesterday with a shrieking LB, turned on the tap, and nothing happened. I left a message for B cursing several governmental systems and higher powers, and then I called the number on the Providence Water website. It was 6:00pm, and someone answered the damn phone. I couldn't believe that a real person picked up the phone after 4:47pm. And he was very nice and said he would send someone out to investigate. A half hour later, there was a water investigator banging on my door. He proceeded to fix the problem (involving the temporary water bypass system that was installed in our neighborhood and the hose to our house not been hooked up). I was shocked, happy shocked!
Let me just tell you that in Baltimore, the water people probably wouldn't even bother to lie to you and tell you someone would be right out, but if they did, "a half hour" would mean "lady, just stop whining about your goddamn water, nobody cares." (The only governmental efficiency I ever encountered in Baltimore was at the Board of Elections.) However, in Baltimore your ex-con neighbor would most definitely offer to run his garden hose through your kitchen window for the duration. In Baltimore, civic breakdown leads to communitarianism by necessity, in Providence I don't need neighbors, I've got the employees of the water department looking out for me.
In other excellent urban news, our daycare is becoming a CSA pickup site. How amazing is that?
I came home yesterday with a shrieking LB, turned on the tap, and nothing happened. I left a message for B cursing several governmental systems and higher powers, and then I called the number on the Providence Water website. It was 6:00pm, and someone answered the damn phone. I couldn't believe that a real person picked up the phone after 4:47pm. And he was very nice and said he would send someone out to investigate. A half hour later, there was a water investigator banging on my door. He proceeded to fix the problem (involving the temporary water bypass system that was installed in our neighborhood and the hose to our house not been hooked up). I was shocked, happy shocked!
Let me just tell you that in Baltimore, the water people probably wouldn't even bother to lie to you and tell you someone would be right out, but if they did, "a half hour" would mean "lady, just stop whining about your goddamn water, nobody cares." (The only governmental efficiency I ever encountered in Baltimore was at the Board of Elections.) However, in Baltimore your ex-con neighbor would most definitely offer to run his garden hose through your kitchen window for the duration. In Baltimore, civic breakdown leads to communitarianism by necessity, in Providence I don't need neighbors, I've got the employees of the water department looking out for me.
In other excellent urban news, our daycare is becoming a CSA pickup site. How amazing is that?
Monday, May 13, 2013
A Day Without Mothers
At some point on Sunday, B leaned over and said "should we feel guilty that we aren't spending Mothers' Day with our daughter?" and I said, "we spend every damn day with that child." And I meant that in the most non-mean and non-cynical way. I love "that child" dearly and I am so incredibly thankful that she is ours. Nevertheless, we spent this weekend galavanting around town while my parents spent time with (spoiled) LB.
On Saturday, we had lunch at Farmstead, where you can either go meaty or cheesy. We went meaty, and now I'm a little sad. Next time, we have agreed that we will just get a huge cheese platter and beers. The meatiness was quite good, and we overindulged. I really like Farmstead, and we have always had enjoyable slow service, which we stretched out even more with dessert and coffee. After lunch, we wandered through Fox Point and College Hill and looked at all the historic houses, and I tried out my limited knowledge of historical architecture on B, "it's Federal!," "it's Second Empire!"
But, we didn't stop there, we went to the Cable Car and ate candy and saw a movie about ne're-do-well Scots and whiskey. Then we waited a long time for the bus, and finished up at the Ivy Tavern for beer and seafood chowder-and please believe me that I would not eat chowder in a bar unless it generally had really good food.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the child behaved perfectly, weeded the backyard like a pro, ate healthy food, and accomplished various other unbelievable feats.
So, Sunday we went out for more on the West Side of Providence. We started at Mr. Lemon for Italian ice, which is exceptionally soft and good. I don't know exactly where we were, but let me just say that a "bad neighborhood" in Providence doesn't have anything on a "bad neighborhood" in Baltimore. We got a little bit lost in the area around Providence College, and I saw the most heinous college slum I have ever seen: an entire neighborhood that was a debris field of red solo cups, shirtless white guys with lacrosse sticks, and rundown houses.
Next stop, New York System in Olneyville, home of the Hot Wiener. We got some hot wieners and a coffee milk. The fries were just okay, but everything else was excellent and it was a great old-school place. We finished up at LaSalle Bakery for a pizza strip (red sauce on pizza dough served a room temp, delicious) and a cupcake. We went home to a happy, tired child, and all was good.
On Saturday, we had lunch at Farmstead, where you can either go meaty or cheesy. We went meaty, and now I'm a little sad. Next time, we have agreed that we will just get a huge cheese platter and beers. The meatiness was quite good, and we overindulged. I really like Farmstead, and we have always had enjoyable slow service, which we stretched out even more with dessert and coffee. After lunch, we wandered through Fox Point and College Hill and looked at all the historic houses, and I tried out my limited knowledge of historical architecture on B, "it's Federal!," "it's Second Empire!"
But, we didn't stop there, we went to the Cable Car and ate candy and saw a movie about ne're-do-well Scots and whiskey. Then we waited a long time for the bus, and finished up at the Ivy Tavern for beer and seafood chowder-and please believe me that I would not eat chowder in a bar unless it generally had really good food.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, the child behaved perfectly, weeded the backyard like a pro, ate healthy food, and accomplished various other unbelievable feats.
So, Sunday we went out for more on the West Side of Providence. We started at Mr. Lemon for Italian ice, which is exceptionally soft and good. I don't know exactly where we were, but let me just say that a "bad neighborhood" in Providence doesn't have anything on a "bad neighborhood" in Baltimore. We got a little bit lost in the area around Providence College, and I saw the most heinous college slum I have ever seen: an entire neighborhood that was a debris field of red solo cups, shirtless white guys with lacrosse sticks, and rundown houses.
Next stop, New York System in Olneyville, home of the Hot Wiener. We got some hot wieners and a coffee milk. The fries were just okay, but everything else was excellent and it was a great old-school place. We finished up at LaSalle Bakery for a pizza strip (red sauce on pizza dough served a room temp, delicious) and a cupcake. We went home to a happy, tired child, and all was good.
Friday, April 19, 2013
City of Hate/ City of Love
Like everyone else I was horrified and freaked out and saddened by the bombing at the Boston Marathon. I'm also a bit mystified by the city that responded to that horror, a city, apparently, where people are helpful and kind and behave admirably in a crisis.
I moved to Boston in 1990 as an eighteen year old. My city was the city of hate. In 1990, 152 people were murdered in Boston, almost three times the number murdered in 2012. My Boston was violent, grubby, insular, and angry. It's strange to think back, because I don't really remember those years as bad times, but when I enumerate the "incidents," they were many. I was punched in the back of the head for no apparent reason, choked at a show, cursed out so many times-the most memorable time was being called numerous versions of "ugly white bitch" on a long, long trip on the Green Line. So many men exposed themselves to me-for me Red Sox will always mean gross men in dirty sweatpants. I was offered money for sex many more times than a mousey, bookish girl would really expect. In Boston, there were places I didn't go because my friends who had grown up there warned me that those were places where they would jump you for being an outsider and a freak.
The day we moved in to our first apartment, a guy came stumbling out of the nearby park bleeding from his stomach. Before cell phones, we ran to the frat house next door to try and find a phone. In my Boston, I looked out my window one night and saw white frat guys and Vietnamese kids fighting in the streets with baseball bat and pipes.
In my Boston, someone always seemed to bust out with a racial epithet. During the Clarence Thomas hearings, I rode the Green Line with a crowded car of BU students. One Black girl doggedly focused on her textbook in car filled with white boys making jokes about Black bitches.
My Boston taught me. It taught me to be safe in the city by becoming invisible. It showed me what never having enough does to people and spaces. Boston made me want to know the world in all its violent, horrible glory. In Boston, I learned that any stranger who speaks to you is probably a sociopath, and I've spent decades trying to unlearn that lesson.
Time, the economy has softened Boston, but it still has hard edges, and in hard times people put those edges to good use, love in the city of hate.
I moved to Boston in 1990 as an eighteen year old. My city was the city of hate. In 1990, 152 people were murdered in Boston, almost three times the number murdered in 2012. My Boston was violent, grubby, insular, and angry. It's strange to think back, because I don't really remember those years as bad times, but when I enumerate the "incidents," they were many. I was punched in the back of the head for no apparent reason, choked at a show, cursed out so many times-the most memorable time was being called numerous versions of "ugly white bitch" on a long, long trip on the Green Line. So many men exposed themselves to me-for me Red Sox will always mean gross men in dirty sweatpants. I was offered money for sex many more times than a mousey, bookish girl would really expect. In Boston, there were places I didn't go because my friends who had grown up there warned me that those were places where they would jump you for being an outsider and a freak.
The day we moved in to our first apartment, a guy came stumbling out of the nearby park bleeding from his stomach. Before cell phones, we ran to the frat house next door to try and find a phone. In my Boston, I looked out my window one night and saw white frat guys and Vietnamese kids fighting in the streets with baseball bat and pipes.
In my Boston, someone always seemed to bust out with a racial epithet. During the Clarence Thomas hearings, I rode the Green Line with a crowded car of BU students. One Black girl doggedly focused on her textbook in car filled with white boys making jokes about Black bitches.
My Boston taught me. It taught me to be safe in the city by becoming invisible. It showed me what never having enough does to people and spaces. Boston made me want to know the world in all its violent, horrible glory. In Boston, I learned that any stranger who speaks to you is probably a sociopath, and I've spent decades trying to unlearn that lesson.
Time, the economy has softened Boston, but it still has hard edges, and in hard times people put those edges to good use, love in the city of hate.
Waiting for KittyCat
LB's obsession with kittycats has reached a new high and she is fascinated by the skittish feral cats who live on our block. Recently her preferred activity is standing on the street looking at the bushes where the kittycats sometimes hide. Unfortunately this activity is usually proceeded by some period of screaming "kittycat! kittycat! kittycat hide! kittycat bushes in there!" followed by a period of negotiation: "mama doesn't really doesn't want to stand in the rain waiting for a kittycat that may or may not show up." But waiting for kittycat is better than listening to screaming, so we wait.
Providence is no Baltimore. In Baltimore, 5:00pm is prime time for friendly loitering. Our residential street was full of people young and old, filled with stories and complaints. If a kittycat was desired and not forthcoming, a sympathetic neighbor was sure to procure a mangy beast for a toddler's enjoyment. In contrast, our Providence street was quiet. We saw one fleeting kittycat, and someone smoking while wrapped in a blue surgical gown (we live near a hospital).
Hopefully as the weather gets warmer, others will join us on watch.
Providence is no Baltimore. In Baltimore, 5:00pm is prime time for friendly loitering. Our residential street was full of people young and old, filled with stories and complaints. If a kittycat was desired and not forthcoming, a sympathetic neighbor was sure to procure a mangy beast for a toddler's enjoyment. In contrast, our Providence street was quiet. We saw one fleeting kittycat, and someone smoking while wrapped in a blue surgical gown (we live near a hospital).
Hopefully as the weather gets warmer, others will join us on watch.
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