Two Women

Today in the lobby of the theater, I eavesdropped on two men with all the answers to the problems of public education.  For twenty minutes they went on about the way America’s children were actually being “retarded” by their teachers.  They’ve seen the research to prove that public school teachers not only don’t know how to teach, they don’t know the subjects they are supposed to teach.  I watched while I listened.  They never once looked at their own children, who began to amuse themselves as children do when  nothing else presents itself – by arguing, pushing, fighting for fun.  One of their wives followed the group of kids from water fountain to stairs to theater doors while these two men single- handedly analyzed the failures they could so clearly see.  The mother did her best to put an end to the children’s fighting, but she was always one step behind them, always reacting to situations that were already a reality while the two men were unwilling, perhaps unable, to acknowledge any of it.  I debated whether to approach the men and defend what I believe to be a more accurate picture of public education.  But, truthfully, I was more curious to know what that mother had to say, how she sees the problems that affect children and discipline and management and organization and delivery.  I wonder if she has the time to contemplate those challenges in the daily struggle to do what she can in the face of realities which other people either don’t want to see or are truly unable to see. I suppose that is the more accurate picture of the problems facing public education today.  Without some direct experience in meeting the realities which our children face, we cannot comprehend the totality and complexities of the problems.  We cannot isolate one problem as “the problem.”  We cannot rely solely on our understanding of our own school careers or those of our own children to provide either enough experience or the diversity of experience required to comprehend the ranges of abilities, needs, and possibilities schools must now meet.  And we can’t claim to have any possible answers at all without becoming involved it their application.  We can’t stand aside and speak with authority about the weight of the facts while someone else shoulders the burden.  We need to develop multiple solutions and be willing to risk using them, to test them, to evaluate their possibilities, and to assimilate whatever we’ve learned into building a dynamic system of education.  We all need to be involved, as teachers, as parents, as community members, and as Americans, but, most of all, as active learners ourselves who are willing to risk turning needs into challenges and realities into opportunities.  

Duck Tales

Yackey was our pet male duck – actually rather soft-spoken when compared to his mate. I always believed that he was henpecked. For years, I took my triumphs and my troubles to him because he didn’t mind being stroked and talked to - didn’t even mind tears dropping his back on my childhood’s darkest days. He and Fluffy stayed in the creek or rummaged in the neighbors’ yards until we came to feed them.

One morning at school the principal called my name over the intercom with no explanation – just “Come to the Office.” I walked down those long tiled halls past the library and restrooms and lunchroom. There were never any lights on in the hall. I walked into the foyer to find Mr. Cravey standing beside his plants, the ones we never dared to touch. Without a word, he led me out the front door and there was Yackey, padding back and forth with that soft w-a-ack, w-a-ack of his, waiting to be admitted or to be acknowledged or perhaps even waiting to be educated as so many of us inside were waiting. Cravey said, “Is he yours? Make him go home.”

“I can’t sir – I’ll have to take him home.”

“Take him and come back” and Cravey was gone – no need for a parent dismissal, no phone calls for permission.

Yackey must have been relieved to find me, because he willingly followed. My dad delighted in saying that we only lived a block from the elementary school, but it was an endless block that day – me, in front, head hanging down, feeling ashamed for someone else’s actions; Yackey, behind me, asking quiet questions all the way home.

I suppose it was my first experience with parenting, poor parenting. Suddenly this dependent creature who shared in the daily events of my life had shamed me by pulling me into his own event, had made me accountable for his actions, and yet still trusted me enough to follow me even though I simply wanted to be rid of him and the embarrassment he had caused me. He continued to trust me in innocent ignorance of the fact that my unspoken, unrealistic expectations had been violated.

I thought of that walk last year when I wrote:

I’m not a very good parent tonight –
I keep wishing there was someone to call who had no idea
I even was a parent.
I hurt and tonight I’m overwhelmed with hurt –
I’m disappointed –
All that glittered didn’t turn out to be gold.

I’m ashamed
That I didn’t do better in the first place
That I screamed
That I got angry
And that I don’t know how to get to the real problem.