Last night, I finally broke down and watched The Hunger Games on Netflix streaming. Despite yawning and losing interest at several points, I stuck with it because I've heard so many friends and students talk about how amazing the books and movies are. My take? Meh. I've seen this story before - post-apocalyptic fiction? Mad Max (movie), Equilibrium (movie), A Clockwork Orange (movie), and Fahrenheit 451 (book and movie) for starters - all with stronger storylines, more interesting and well-developed characters, and less predictability. Also fun to watch.
A couple of people asked me if I've read the Hunger Games books. And the answer is no. Just as I haven't read Harry Potter or Twilight. I admit that I am a reading snob of sorts - that I don't find simplistic storytelling in any way fun or even worth my time. But, I also understand that I have lots of smart friends, students, and colleagues who enjoy these stories as brain candy - an escape - a slightly elevated and more fanciful version of reality TV - stories that require no thought, no real time investment, and certainly no memory (as they are ultimately forgettable the moment you finish them).
My question for you: Why do we constantly make the distinction between "fun" and "not fun" reading? When we do this, we drive people away from amazing stories that are well worth the thought and time investment. Why are stories that are beautifully written with skillful language play, complex characters and situations, and a level of unpredictability in outcomes considered "not fun"? I have never understood this and it honestly drives me batty when I hear people say that - because to me, good storytelling with all of those qualities I listed IS fun. I read the way I watch TV - I don't watch reality TV, I don't watch vapid sitcoms, and I get bored with programming that offers me nothing. I will turn the TV off and play Scrabble on my Kindle Fire or read if I run through all of the channels and see nothing of interest - and that is happening more frequently now.
As a college professor, I see the results of allowing kids to just read simple stories for fun - when they get to college and are asked to read more complex material (fiction or nonfiction), they can't do it - they don't understand. Because their brains have been trained for simplicity - ease of understanding. Kids who read simple stories will never consider complexity "fun" - and that is a shame because the quality of stories available is broad and deep - and they will miss out. Take Louise Erdrich's The Round House - a YA novel that won a National Book Award - I wonder how many parents will choose this brilliantly constructed, truthful, dramatic, poignant, (and yes, humor-filled) story for their YA this summer? My guess is none. Not only is it a Native American writer writing about an all-too-frequent problem on reservations - rape - it is also complex and thought-provoking - and has a lot of ambiguity - no clear-cut answer. And that's uncomfortable, right?
Has our society been on a downward slide away from complexity and ambiguity since the 60s? WWII? The European invasion? I'm not sure when we started to slide, but we really ought to make an effort to stop.
Mark Bauerlein (The Dumbest Generation) talks about Harry Potter being more "social happening than a reading trend" because "kids read Harry Potter not because they like reading, but because other kids read it" (43). Even more bothersome is the lack of attention to other books: "If only we could spread that enthusiasm to other books. Unfortunately, once most young readers finished Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, they didn't read a book with the same zeal until the next Potter volume appeared three years later" (44). Reading simple stories because other people are reading them and then not finding anything else to read because those other stories are too hard, too complex, and most importantly, not Harry Potter (or insert any favorite vapid character here)...this is a problem.
Adults who pick up these books are adults - they've been through school, they're looking for a little brain candy and a little escape from daily BS....I get that, I really do. I just can't get into it. I blame my degree for that - and a lifetime of reading more and more complex stories and finding absolute joy in feeling something when I read. This is also how I approach stories when advising students or teaching stories to students.
When I was at Auburn University, I had the opportunity to teach contemporary World Lit - my students ended the semester by reading Song for Night by Nigerian writer Chris Abani. To a student, it was their favorite reading of the entire semester...and also the hardest, most troubling, most complex, most disturbing, and most beautiful. Maybe as a society we've gotten dangerously away from expecting anything of our kids - of demanding that they challenge themselves intellectually - and expecting them to find joy and pleasure in the discoveries and feelings that result from that challenge.
Two of the most challenging novels I read for fun when I was 12 - 13 years old were The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara and Watership Down by Richard Adams. These books impacted me then and stayed with me, subtly influencing how I see the world, the way that any memorable, substantive story can. Ability with language is enhanced by reading more complex stories - and by authors who use language expertly and lyrically to construct their stories. We fear complexity in language too much - this directly relates to students at college not understanding basic words like ubiquitous.
Stories that get into your head, churn things up, make you think, question, and wonder, and then stay with you - this is the hallmark of "not fun" reading...and that is a travesty. This is the type of fiction we should all be reading, but especially the younger set. We should expect more of the younger generation and encourage them to run toward complexity and learn to love it instead of shrinking from it. I really do see the connection between embracing complex, hard, difficult stories at a young age and the ability to grasp, understand, and solve complex, hard, and difficult situations as an adult.
Our experiences don't exist in a vacuum and the last thing you want is for your kid to say to her professor that she's one of the only people who ever expected anything great from her - that she was never challenged until now and appreciates the opportunity to rise to the occasion and greater expectation. This happens more frequently that you might imagine - and one of the solutions is what I suggest - start by expecting younger people to read and enjoy more complex stories - treat them as fun, because they are - and that sets the stage for a lifetime of deep and meaningful reading enjoyment and so much more.
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
A (New?) 21st Century Malady: "Close Enough" Syndrome
Last week, one of my childhood friends posted a conversation to her Facebook status that went something like this:
Cashier: Oooh, are you making sconces? I made some lemon sconces last week and they were delicious!
Friend: Yes, and I find the flavor of the lighting fixture to be delightful, but the texture tends to be challenging.
Two weeks ago, another friend told me that a fellow PhD student (who has not yet taken his doctoral exams and is, therefore, not even ABD - all but dissertation - much less having written said dissertation), landed a coveted POST-DOCTORAL fellowship with the Kinsey Institute simply because he "discovered" a gene that he theorizes makes women slutty and then went on the Today Show and other stellar barometers of an individual's worth and made people go "oooh" and "aaahh" over his evident brilliance (despite the fact that the science is, in fact, deeply flawed and inconsistent with reality).
This past weekend, my boyfriend drove his boat across Delaware Bay despite the fact that the deck was unattached - it was in and flat, but not screwed in yet because we still have some work to do.
In all of these situations, the people in question were "close enough." Now I warrant that driving a boat with an unattached deck is infinitely less problematic than an individual who doesn't know the difference between a lighting fixture and a delicious pastry OR someone who, in a recession, can land a job for which he is distinctly UN-qualified simply because he's proven to be a media whore, but the problem is the same: "Close Enough" syndrome. And it is running rampant in 21st century America. We've all done it. We're all prone to its siren song of convenience.
"Close enough" is a familiar concept and has been with us for awhile, but usually in reference to very broad situations or as a joke: "That's close enough for government work" or "close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades." But when exactly did we lose our impulse, desire, and expectation for precision? My friend surely did not alert the cashier of her ignorance and correct her; my other friend and his adviser have not made a media stink over this PhD student's lack of qualifications for the job; my boyfriend's boat suffered no ill effects from being driven 12 nautical miles on water with an unsecured deck. Have we lost our motivation for precision because it just doesn't matter?
Let's apply this syndrome to teachers and see what happens with Johnny's final grade (pay attention students, these conversations really do occur!):
Prof Smith: I don't know what to do about Johnny's final grade. He completed all the work, but only earned Cs and Ds, and he rarely came to class. When he WAS there, he was either sleeping or not paying attention. So his participation grade is a zero. That drags his overall grade into the D zone.
Prof Jones: And the problem is...??
Prof Smith: Well, he did an unbelievable job on the final project and presentation. Earned an A. I wish he would have applied that level of attention and concentration to the rest of the semester's work! The problem is this A still leaves him with a 69 overall. I'm debating whether to bump him up to a C even though that wouldn't be fair to the other students who consistently earned a C all semester.
Prof Jones: A 69? A 69 is a D, my friend. If it was a 69.8, I might agree with you that a bump makes sense, but if the final calculation is a 69, then that's a D.
If Prof Smith suffers from "Close Enough" syndrome because of a desire to be liked better by students, or out of fear of a negative student evaluation or a libelous RateMyProfessors comment, he will GIVE Johnny a grade that the student did not earn simply because it is easier and more convenient than potentially fighting and arguing his reasoning if he gives Johnny the earned D.
Let's consider another situation: the DMV. This past weekend, my boyfriend and I were standing in line at a New Jersey DMV office to get his renewed boat registration and next to us in a different line was a man trying to pay for his car registration. The conversation went something like this:
Clerk: That'll be $27.46.
Man (Looking down dolefully at his wallet): Oh wow. $27? Really? I only have $20.
Clerk (steady gaze and tone): You can use your debit card or a credit card.
Man: I don't have those. (Looking at her now as though he expects $20 to be close enough for his $27.46 registration fee)
Clerk: I can hold this for you if you want to run to your bank.
Man: Oh, um, I don't...well...
You get the point. This gentleman suffers from "Close Enough" syndrome, thinking that $20 cash would be close enough to cover a more expensive registration fee, thus indicating his general lack of preparedness and reliance on the ignorance or kindness of others to accommodate his foolishness.
When you visit the islands, a street fair, or country where merchants expect you to haggle, that's different because then haggling and being "close enough" becomes part of a valued cultural dance. However, here in America, our retail stores post sales and print coupons which means "close enough" doesn't cut it. If bras are on sale two for $30 and you walk in with $25, guess what?! You aren't walking out with the bras unless you steal them.
But with language, job qualifications, boat safety, final grade calculation, and registration payments (among other things), many of us expect that being "close enough" will suffice. Is this a new malady that is getting worse in the 21st century, or am I imagining a romantic, nostalgic past where people knew proper terms and grades were earned and nobody expected to walk into any store or office and pay less than the value for an item unless it was on sale?
Does "Close Enough" syndrome reflect our general growing apathy for anything that requires precision? Or is the idea of precision a romantic notion that never really existed?
Cashier: Oooh, are you making sconces? I made some lemon sconces last week and they were delicious!
Friend: Yes, and I find the flavor of the lighting fixture to be delightful, but the texture tends to be challenging.
Two weeks ago, another friend told me that a fellow PhD student (who has not yet taken his doctoral exams and is, therefore, not even ABD - all but dissertation - much less having written said dissertation), landed a coveted POST-DOCTORAL fellowship with the Kinsey Institute simply because he "discovered" a gene that he theorizes makes women slutty and then went on the Today Show and other stellar barometers of an individual's worth and made people go "oooh" and "aaahh" over his evident brilliance (despite the fact that the science is, in fact, deeply flawed and inconsistent with reality).
This past weekend, my boyfriend drove his boat across Delaware Bay despite the fact that the deck was unattached - it was in and flat, but not screwed in yet because we still have some work to do.
In all of these situations, the people in question were "close enough." Now I warrant that driving a boat with an unattached deck is infinitely less problematic than an individual who doesn't know the difference between a lighting fixture and a delicious pastry OR someone who, in a recession, can land a job for which he is distinctly UN-qualified simply because he's proven to be a media whore, but the problem is the same: "Close Enough" syndrome. And it is running rampant in 21st century America. We've all done it. We're all prone to its siren song of convenience.
"Close enough" is a familiar concept and has been with us for awhile, but usually in reference to very broad situations or as a joke: "That's close enough for government work" or "close enough for horseshoes and hand grenades." But when exactly did we lose our impulse, desire, and expectation for precision? My friend surely did not alert the cashier of her ignorance and correct her; my other friend and his adviser have not made a media stink over this PhD student's lack of qualifications for the job; my boyfriend's boat suffered no ill effects from being driven 12 nautical miles on water with an unsecured deck. Have we lost our motivation for precision because it just doesn't matter?
Let's apply this syndrome to teachers and see what happens with Johnny's final grade (pay attention students, these conversations really do occur!):
Prof Smith: I don't know what to do about Johnny's final grade. He completed all the work, but only earned Cs and Ds, and he rarely came to class. When he WAS there, he was either sleeping or not paying attention. So his participation grade is a zero. That drags his overall grade into the D zone.
Prof Jones: And the problem is...??
Prof Smith: Well, he did an unbelievable job on the final project and presentation. Earned an A. I wish he would have applied that level of attention and concentration to the rest of the semester's work! The problem is this A still leaves him with a 69 overall. I'm debating whether to bump him up to a C even though that wouldn't be fair to the other students who consistently earned a C all semester.
Prof Jones: A 69? A 69 is a D, my friend. If it was a 69.8, I might agree with you that a bump makes sense, but if the final calculation is a 69, then that's a D.
If Prof Smith suffers from "Close Enough" syndrome because of a desire to be liked better by students, or out of fear of a negative student evaluation or a libelous RateMyProfessors comment, he will GIVE Johnny a grade that the student did not earn simply because it is easier and more convenient than potentially fighting and arguing his reasoning if he gives Johnny the earned D.
Let's consider another situation: the DMV. This past weekend, my boyfriend and I were standing in line at a New Jersey DMV office to get his renewed boat registration and next to us in a different line was a man trying to pay for his car registration. The conversation went something like this:
Clerk: That'll be $27.46.
Man (Looking down dolefully at his wallet): Oh wow. $27? Really? I only have $20.
Clerk (steady gaze and tone): You can use your debit card or a credit card.
Man: I don't have those. (Looking at her now as though he expects $20 to be close enough for his $27.46 registration fee)
Clerk: I can hold this for you if you want to run to your bank.
Man: Oh, um, I don't...well...
You get the point. This gentleman suffers from "Close Enough" syndrome, thinking that $20 cash would be close enough to cover a more expensive registration fee, thus indicating his general lack of preparedness and reliance on the ignorance or kindness of others to accommodate his foolishness.
When you visit the islands, a street fair, or country where merchants expect you to haggle, that's different because then haggling and being "close enough" becomes part of a valued cultural dance. However, here in America, our retail stores post sales and print coupons which means "close enough" doesn't cut it. If bras are on sale two for $30 and you walk in with $25, guess what?! You aren't walking out with the bras unless you steal them.
But with language, job qualifications, boat safety, final grade calculation, and registration payments (among other things), many of us expect that being "close enough" will suffice. Is this a new malady that is getting worse in the 21st century, or am I imagining a romantic, nostalgic past where people knew proper terms and grades were earned and nobody expected to walk into any store or office and pay less than the value for an item unless it was on sale?
Does "Close Enough" syndrome reflect our general growing apathy for anything that requires precision? Or is the idea of precision a romantic notion that never really existed?
Monday, June 16, 2008
The power and volatility of language
Funny thing about language. Once you say something, it’s out there. It can’t be taken back or reversed. The direct or indirect implications of a statement can’t be fixed or corrected or even amended. Once a thought, spoken with words, is verbalized, it becomes powerful and potentially volatile.
Consider a situation in which a person you are dating tells you they love you. For most people, this is a pivotal moment in the relationship, loaded with all sorts of emotional, spiritual, intellectual, and physical implications. And usually, it is a joyous moment.
My experience as a writer, a writing teacher, and an analytic engager with culture, has taught me that a person’s language and spoken utterances should be weighed and considered carefully. Therefore, it takes me awhile to process something that was said – I consider how the statement was said, when it was said, in what context it was spoken, and why that statement might have seemed appropriate to the other person at that time. I also weigh my own reaction to that statement – how and why I reacted a certain way externally and internally, whether my reaction was rational or extreme.
All of this careful consideration of spoken language has a purpose – to help me grow as a person, understand more about human nature and myself, and to guarantee that I don’t make snap judgments about people and situations. This tactic has served me well over the past decade, protected me from questionable situations, and helped me give good people more of a chance to enter and become part of my life.
Back to “I love you.” The timing of this particularly loaded phrase is crucial to its success or failure. For example, after dating for several months, and developing a progressively stronger bond with someone that begins to transcend physical desire, one person feels comfortable enough to utter this pivotal phrase, thus exposing the rawest and most vulnerable part of themselves to scrutiny (and worse, rejection); the response from the other party is telling. If the other person instantly responds sincerely with “I love you, too,” then much rejoicing results and the relationship enters a new and glorious phase. If, however, the response is silence, or confusion, or “How could you love me, you don’t really know me,” then the negative and volatile impact of that single utterance becomes a barrier to progress. Because now imbalance and the awareness of that imbalance takes center stage and can become an insurmountable obstacle.
Now consider what might happen if, for example, the man tells the woman he loves her and is sure of it…on the second date. (I’ll wait for you to stop hyperventilating.)…..
And starts talking about marriage and moving in and the future during the first week of dating….
This is the situation I recently found myself in. So while some women might run screaming in the other direction, I paused for thought. I verbally (and gently) rebuffed, directly established my boundaries and comfort zone, and gave him a chance to live in the moment and not bring it up again.
He did bring it up again – differently, but obviously. So I thought some more and re-established my boundaries and reiterated my aversion to implied references to the future. And to every verbal exchange, he would agree, and then proceed to bring it up again and again in direct and indirect ways that became so persistent that I realized his emotional attachment to me was unhealthily strong for being such a new relationship (three weeks). What to do, what to do.
I looked it up…in a book. Of course. Books have provided so much guidance to me that I have come to rely on them for answers or help with thinking through problems. And it turns out, this intense and fast emotional attachment is a psychological condition that has been studied – it’s called Anxious Romantic Attachment. And the 33 question test for it (in a scholarly psychological book, not on some web site) revealed to me almost everything this very nice and well-meaning guy had done to a very high level…within three weeks. A high score on this test indicates or reinforces that the person has a “tendency toward anxious romantic attachments.” And every scrap of affection given reinforces the person’s already elevated sense of attachment…and they are very hard to dissuade.
Armed with my own discomfort and this information, I thought some more and reflected on this man’s words and actions over the past three weeks, in hopes that I would discover a point of misunderstanding – meaning, perhaps I misunderstood something or misinterpreted a statement or situation. But the more I thought and considered, the more I realized that this wasn’t a scenario I wanted to participate in.
Language in relationships is so important, reinforced by actions. So I’m not really a believer in that old stand-by phrase, “Actions speak louder than words.” Very often, I find that words scream a mouthful of intention that can’t be ignored or corrected by the sweetest actions. Sometimes when someone you care about says something at the wrong time, in the wrong context, even with the most honorable and honest intentions, the power of language renders the situation irredeemable, completely cut short of its potential had those words not been uttered.
Consider a situation in which a person you are dating tells you they love you. For most people, this is a pivotal moment in the relationship, loaded with all sorts of emotional, spiritual, intellectual, and physical implications. And usually, it is a joyous moment.
My experience as a writer, a writing teacher, and an analytic engager with culture, has taught me that a person’s language and spoken utterances should be weighed and considered carefully. Therefore, it takes me awhile to process something that was said – I consider how the statement was said, when it was said, in what context it was spoken, and why that statement might have seemed appropriate to the other person at that time. I also weigh my own reaction to that statement – how and why I reacted a certain way externally and internally, whether my reaction was rational or extreme.
All of this careful consideration of spoken language has a purpose – to help me grow as a person, understand more about human nature and myself, and to guarantee that I don’t make snap judgments about people and situations. This tactic has served me well over the past decade, protected me from questionable situations, and helped me give good people more of a chance to enter and become part of my life.
Back to “I love you.” The timing of this particularly loaded phrase is crucial to its success or failure. For example, after dating for several months, and developing a progressively stronger bond with someone that begins to transcend physical desire, one person feels comfortable enough to utter this pivotal phrase, thus exposing the rawest and most vulnerable part of themselves to scrutiny (and worse, rejection); the response from the other party is telling. If the other person instantly responds sincerely with “I love you, too,” then much rejoicing results and the relationship enters a new and glorious phase. If, however, the response is silence, or confusion, or “How could you love me, you don’t really know me,” then the negative and volatile impact of that single utterance becomes a barrier to progress. Because now imbalance and the awareness of that imbalance takes center stage and can become an insurmountable obstacle.
Now consider what might happen if, for example, the man tells the woman he loves her and is sure of it…on the second date. (I’ll wait for you to stop hyperventilating.)…..
And starts talking about marriage and moving in and the future during the first week of dating….
This is the situation I recently found myself in. So while some women might run screaming in the other direction, I paused for thought. I verbally (and gently) rebuffed, directly established my boundaries and comfort zone, and gave him a chance to live in the moment and not bring it up again.
He did bring it up again – differently, but obviously. So I thought some more and re-established my boundaries and reiterated my aversion to implied references to the future. And to every verbal exchange, he would agree, and then proceed to bring it up again and again in direct and indirect ways that became so persistent that I realized his emotional attachment to me was unhealthily strong for being such a new relationship (three weeks). What to do, what to do.
I looked it up…in a book. Of course. Books have provided so much guidance to me that I have come to rely on them for answers or help with thinking through problems. And it turns out, this intense and fast emotional attachment is a psychological condition that has been studied – it’s called Anxious Romantic Attachment. And the 33 question test for it (in a scholarly psychological book, not on some web site) revealed to me almost everything this very nice and well-meaning guy had done to a very high level…within three weeks. A high score on this test indicates or reinforces that the person has a “tendency toward anxious romantic attachments.” And every scrap of affection given reinforces the person’s already elevated sense of attachment…and they are very hard to dissuade.
Armed with my own discomfort and this information, I thought some more and reflected on this man’s words and actions over the past three weeks, in hopes that I would discover a point of misunderstanding – meaning, perhaps I misunderstood something or misinterpreted a statement or situation. But the more I thought and considered, the more I realized that this wasn’t a scenario I wanted to participate in.
Language in relationships is so important, reinforced by actions. So I’m not really a believer in that old stand-by phrase, “Actions speak louder than words.” Very often, I find that words scream a mouthful of intention that can’t be ignored or corrected by the sweetest actions. Sometimes when someone you care about says something at the wrong time, in the wrong context, even with the most honorable and honest intentions, the power of language renders the situation irredeemable, completely cut short of its potential had those words not been uttered.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Daydreamer
Trying to write a blog while being a PhD student sometimes seems an exercise in futility, as evidenced by the fact that my last post was June 2007. And yet here I am again because I can’t not write. Yes, that’s right. An English PhD candidate just used a double-negative…correctly, might I add, and absolutely intentionally. I work within parameters but I love breaking the rules, especially if the desired outcome can still be achieved. Pushing the boundaries of what makes an acceptable and appropriate writing teacher is one of my current projects. So what inspired this return to the blog? A book. No surprise, really. Books have always helped me to think through problems, issues, social and family situations, personal demons. And this is no different.
The book is Mike Rose’s Lives on the Boundary and I’m reading it in service of my comprehensive exams, upcoming at the end of August (if I get my way with scheduling). Although we come from very different backgrounds, I found my own experiences mirrored somehow in his recollections of literacy, language, and education as a youngster. One phrase in particular struck me: “the abyss of paradise”…what a fabulous evocative phrase – the text so far is littered with gems like this. (I’m only on page 131) Another gem from the introduction also resonates with me: “the resilience of the imagination.” Words to live by. At least for me…and I want to find a way to help my students understand the vital importance of imagination in reading and writing and education.
As I sat outside Applebee’s last night waiting for my friend, Jessica, I ruminated on what I’d read of Rose’s text thus far. Here are some thoughts I wrote down on the back of an envelope containing a thank you card and a $10 gift certificate to Books a Million (for my participation in some friends’ graduate research project during spring 2008):
Ability and skill with language for me meant escape, acceptance, and a way to harness and use my imagination in ways that gained me recognition, which, in turn, fueled my confidence and self-esteem when more traditional sources of these failed or frustrated me (friends, parents, standard academic subjects and classroom experiences).
Important book – Mirror, Mirror – self-acceptance; Brave New World and The Third Wave – reinforced my concern about the future
Important classes – Shakespeare and Science Fiction – love of difficult language and concepts, made me feel smart and part of a community
Important phrase – “carpe diem” – at 16 gave me a motto for life that I have strived to live up to ever since
So what on earth do these shorthand ramblings mean? Well, they are very personal remembrances of literacy moments in my past; moments that somehow helped to shape who I am, how I think and relate to others, and even my very ideas about right ways of being in the world.
Take Mirror, Mirror. I don’t remember the author, but I do remember the story – about a girl struggling with weight and self-image and self-acceptance issues - read when I was 12 and at the height of physical self-esteem issues. A constant phrase in my household directed at me was, “You’d be so much prettier if you lost weight.” And permutations of the like. I read this book at the height of my despair – bought with my own babysitting money, not pre-digested by Mom – I saw the cover and read the blurb and instantly knew I wanted to read this girl’s story. It helped me understand that I not only had the right to accept myself for who I was, but that I shouldn’t allow others to tear my psychological fabric (obviously, not the words I had at the time!)…I had been a competitive swimmer from age 6 to 12, but suddenly I was a developing young woman with breasts and hips and no longer a slight, boyish figure. I also had a thing for candy. But looking back at pictures of myself, I try so hard to be objective and not see a fat little girl – the image foisted so regularly upon me by my family. If I’m being really honest and as objective as I can, I see a girl whose body is changing, who is trying so hard to be happy and positive but is unsure and worried about friends, boys, parents, school. Especially school. Those damn tests.
I was always bad at taking tests. And I have always been horrible at math. In second grade, my teacher called my folks in for a parent-teacher meeting. She walked them over to my desk and opened the lid, revealing all of my second grade math homework for that section, unfinished. My parents were not pleased, but to their credit, they came up with a creative solution to figure out if I was capable of math or not – their suspicion was that I WAS capable, just uninterested. (How prescient that prediction turned out to be.) My dad, an artist, made me a Valentine’s Day card that year with a long addition and subtraction problem gracing the entire length of the inside page. The deal? If I could figure out the problem (no calculator) on my own and get the right answer, they would give me that much in money to spend on candy at the corner store.
I got it right on the first try. This daydreamer, creative thinker, imaginative spirit just wasn’t interested in math.
Thus began a lifelong hatred of all things math – except when it relates to money. I’m very good with money. But ask me to enter the realm of abstraction and equations unrelated to anything tangible and I shut down – uninterested and annoyed. But language? What a vast difference…I thrive on language. Language, as I wrote on that envelope, provided me a method of escaping critical parents, mean classmates, my own sadness and loneliness in the dozens of books I read every summer in the library’s competition. I regularly finished 40 – 50 books well above my grade level every summer and always earned a certificate and some free ice cream at Baskin Robbins.
Mike Rose’s book reminded me of all these childhood experiences with language and literacy – and what language really means to me. And here I thought I was just reading a book for my comprehensive exams. You just never know what’s going to resonate.
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