life according to me

Category: Education

Road Trips and Empty Nests

It’s that odd time of year when the heaviness of gloomy June skies have given up the fight and succumbed to summer. In a few short weeks, all the weather you might attribute to the most southern corner of California has graced us with its seemingly relieved presence: blue skies clear enough for skywriters to appear, warm dry Santa Ana winds, damp nights when the sea air only begrudgingly wafts through open windows, and this morning, fog.

The RTR is on summer break and for the first time in his life since beginning school at the age of three, he’s home alone for nearly the entire 10 weeks. No camp, no classes, no arranged visits with relatives, and absolutely no agenda. Since I’ve been back to work for a couple of months now, he’s here each day most likely lost in a world that is unique to him — one more and more filled with what it appears to be his choice of direction in life. He draws and paints, develops fierce mechanical robot images and plays interactive video games at his computer. He wants to study game design.

I’d like to say that the past few years that I’ve been at home, I’ve had a positive influence on his quiet life, and at this point hope that whatever did come from our time together — more than we’ve spent together in his life — is far more lasting than what I’d originally intended: to keep an eye and ear out for him with respect to school and responsibility in general.

Yes, I actually said that. But I’ve learned quite a bit with this youngest of mine, and although we’re quite a long way from finding out whether he’s truly the strongest of us all, or whether he’s the absent-minded gentle boy I’ve always thought him to be, I suspect he’s a little of both, and we’ve barely a year left to send him on his way to find out for himself.

We’ve had little time or money for an elaborate vacation this year, and so we seized the opportunity to fly to San Francisco to tour the school he wants to attend. The plan was to spend a day in the city, take the tour the next morning, and then rent a car and drive up to Mendocino, a town I’ve wanted to visit forever.

Outside of my coming down with the strangest flu of sorts and being completely out for the count for two solid days, we made it to San Francisco just fine. I wouldn’t have missed the tour of this school for anything because I honestly have many hopes attached to it like I suppose most parents are inclined to, even if the circumstances surrounding that desire aren’t the best.

When the RTR was a freshman or sophomore, a visitor came to speak at his art class and the person made such an impression that the RTR made an effort to tell me about it without my routine inquiry about his day. I’ll never forget listening to him tell me about it because the focus of his interest was that he only needed a high school diploma to get in. No SAT scores. No AP credit. Just. Graduate.

It has been quite the journey since that day, and we’ve watched him do quite well in all of his classes each Fall semester, and then fall completely apart in the Spring. We’ve planned with him, discussed options for Plan B or C when Plan A clearly wasn’t working, we’ve tried to motivate and outright bribed him. We’ve threatened with images of our version of the real world although we weren’t completely convinced we wanted to be the part of that option we might have to be.

Deciding to save my breath and his ears this year has been a definite giving in. Yet again, I’ve caved to the strength of the passive genes my boys all clearly have. It’s amazing. But the school was amazing, and while on that tour, I found myself envious, pushing away the what ifs and if onlys that kept rising up in me. It’s an urban campus with buildings spread out all over the city with a timed shuttle that carries students to and from their classes and dorms. I watched as a student here and there walked by, laptop bags slung over shoulders, ears wired to iPods, Starbucks in hand. I imagined my son there and saw him fitting in at least from an external appearance — minus the coffee.

The million dollar question — no, make that almost $30,000 since that’s what will come out of our pockets to pay for this each year — is whether being in that environment where he won’t have to deal with calculus, or arcane subjects that aren’t directly related to his focus of study, where he’ll be able to take studio classes right away instead of having to wait until general ed requirements are satisfied will help him understand that life requires us all to complete basic tasks we don’t necessarily want to, nor enjoy. That sometimes, they are painfully challenging, but we have to do them anyway. That in spite of our angst, we often grow the most and admit to learning the best from those lessons that seem only to be hurdles in our path. Like parenthood at times. Like being the parent of children who quietly meander in a direction only they seem to understand at a pace that I swear is intended to make me crazy.

I’m convinced now that I’m down to my last year and facing empty nest syndrome square in the face, that I’m the one who has learned the most. I’ve learned that if I had it to do all over again, very few things would change. But I would wonder about the strangeness of life’s plan and our response to it. To whom it carries along and to those it mystifies.

I will also hold my breath this last year and continue to wonder why, why, why, why if all he needed was a high school diploma to get into that art school, he would seemingly intentionally fail a semester of English. He told me he just didn’t do the work. That he waited, and then it was too late.

Yes, life’s like that. It’s like that all the time.

July 20, 2009
Sex Ed and Politics
Yesterday morning after I returned from dropping the MoH off at work, I had the dubious pleasure of listening to NPR report on local attitudes about sex education for 5th graders. Obviously, there’s been quite a bit of talk on the subject since McCain was forced by the GOP bigdogs to chose Sarah Palin as his running mate.

In the sound byte, a woman squealed in a key that would rival that of a soprano, that her son was “toooooooooooooooooooooo young for that!”

That.

“That” would be learning about his body. Learning to understand how it works and feels and how not to feel strange or guilty over any of it.

I believe that parents should talk to their kids about hormonally charged bodily functions, puberty, and sex — preferrably before a teacher does. In today’s world, that means before the age of 12 in many schools. But I know absolutely that many parents don’t.

It doesn’t seem to be a conscientious decision on their part not to as much as one influenced by discomfort, although those quoted on the radio had definite opinions about it:
- 5th graders are too young to hear about “that stuff”
- “it” will make them uncomfortable about their bodies
- “it” will make them wonder about it, thereby increasing the likelihood that they’ll become sexually active sooner than they may have had they not heard about it.
- blah, blah, blah
- yadda, yadda, yadda
Give me a break. I’m thinking that digging a hole in the backyard just big enough for one’s head may help with ignorance of this magnitude.

Then there’s the other side: if you don’t speak to your kids about sex, they’ll hear about it elsewhere.

Okay, so unfortunately, there is some truth to that. I used to be amazed by what kids brought to school. Whether it was from their parents, older brothers and sisters, observation, watching television, movies, or surfing the Internet, they knew about “it.”

When the time for “SEX ED” rolled around each year, I winced and groused about why the P.E. or Science teachers weren’t given the responsibility of teaching the subject matter instead of myself, an English teacher. After all, I’d have looked forward to eating glass more than yet again having to instruct a room full of snickering adolescents from a giant penis displayed from the overhead projector.

Kids would peer through the window first thing each morning to see what topic was on the agenda for the day, just waiting to sit down and write their private questions to be put in the box and drawn out to be addressed during open discussion. I had to censor a few from time to time because I was surprised about what some of my 11-year-olds already knew, and there were distinct limits to what the coursework entailed: physiology, function, reproduction, and disease. Absolutely nothing about birth control and definitely nothing about sex.

At our house, the RTR learned about the birds and the bees first through informal questions and natural curiousity. Then, when he was in the 4th grade, he learned what the school described as “human physiology” and was required to give a comprehensive report to the MoH and myself to get credit for his learning.

The philosophy for why the kids were taught so young was because they wouldn’t deal with the information in a way that was goofy, or silly. That because they hadn’t reached puberty yet, they wouldn’t be squirmy about the information and would handle it like all the other information they were learning.

I thought at the time, fine. And the RTR did stand in front of the two of us with composure and confidence while the two of us squirmed a bit with discomfort about our then 9-year-old talking about penises and breasts, testicles, and vaginas complete with labeled diagrams all tucked nicely in his project folder.

But I also know that kids can behave in a particular way depending on how something is handled at home. If something isn’t discussed, or treated as if it’s inappropriate to think about, or worse, joked about, then guess what? That’s how they often act when it comes up at school. Big surprise, right?

When it comes right down to it, even if kids are taught the ins and outs of sex (sorry, I couldn’t resist…)by their parents, at school, or from the now questionable sources I was subjected to when I was fourteen, they’ll do what they want when the time comes — and it won’t have anything to do with any politician that I can think of.

In fact, I know a lot of adults who behave in the same fashion, and it’s the direct result of NOT thinking with one’s brain.

"Sarah Palin is trying to seduce independent voters. But she comes across like a whip-wielding mistress who wants to discipline a naughty America" (Slate)
September 9, 2008
School Underway and All Systems Go…so far.

With the first week of school under our belt, life should settle into a comfortable, but relentless pace. Sounds dramatic, even if it isn’t wholly accurate. Suffice it to say it should be relentless for the RTR and I, who are most comfortable in our house potato state.

We prefer to characterize ourselves as easily entertained. Simply entertained? Okay, how about low maintenance in the entertainment department.

The junior year in high school blew in for my youngest this past week, and with it the expectations of a cool 150 pages of U.S. History and exam each week, and a studio art class that will, by the end of the year, allow him to produce a portfolio that is quite the humdinger. There’s a project due every Friday and with the supplies and studio fee, the MoH’s plastic is about $375 heavier. Unbelievable.

The decision to take Statistics instead of Calculus seems to be working — sure there’s homework every night, too, but it’s the “easy” class and he gets that done first. Physics fits in here somewhere, but I haven’t figured that out yet. The English teacher seems to be nowhere in sight. AGAIN. I know that this recurring theme is some perverse punishment meant solely for me — dedicated English teacher and passionate writing teacher that I once was.

The English teacher is the only one of his teachers that didn’t send home a syllabus. I’ve never figured out how that’s even ethical… Okay, so, here’s my kid for a year. Teach him, but I don’t need to know anything about any of your plans because I’m just supposed to trust that you’re a professional, because you know, all teachers are professionals and have the exact same practices, right? And that when my kid begins to show signs of faltering, and he will, trust me, that we will have absolutely nothing to go on to pitch in and support him like we know you expect us to, or we’ll be forever known as slacker parents, which wouldn’t be true, but you’d think it anyways.

You can tell I’m pretty much over school right?

Between my own education, my career, my boys education…I dunno. I think I gave at the office. But I think I’m going to enjoy my job as Chief Buttress in the History and Art departments this year.

Ah, yep.

September 6, 2008
Back to School: Ho Hum

The long Labor Day weekend always marks the official end of summer here, with people heading to the beach one last time. And just like that, it’s over.

The three days yawned on for what seemed like five with the three of us taking it easy. Other than spending Saturday at the horse races with the RTR and a cousin (who decided that picking horses is a lot more challenging than playing Texas Hold’em), we made like house potatoes. I put off the perfunctory school shopping until yesterday when we hit the sales Macy’s advertises so well, and then doubt if we actually picked up anything on sale. Funny how that works, isn’t it? The total time to choose and try on four shirts and three pairs of shorts was less than waiting in line to pay for those school clothes. Nice. Well, the wait time — not so much the price tag.

Yes, summer is definitely over.

There’s more traffic in the morning going past our house and with us in it, the school carpool started up again. Same kids, new clothes, different school year. Talk of how it feels on the first day, the first class, and how by the second day, it’s all old news. By the time we pulled up to the curb, they were talking about when the first three-day weekend would be, then the week off for Thanksgiving. Then the Christmas break.

It was pretty funny, actually, because I know that some teachers were most likely feeling the same way. In fact, during my second student teaching assignment, on the first day of school, I overheard a teacher in the bathroom stall next to mine, talking to a colleague about how many days were left until Veteran’s Day.

So in celebration of the first day of school, I’ll pass along to you something I was sent in an email yesterday. Although when I read it, I knew there could be no way it was true (see this at Snopes), I know from experience that the feeling behind it can, for some who work in schools, definitely be true. Seriously. Let’s face it — kids have to go to school, kids have parents, and those parents aren’t always delightful humans to work with. Although I have some interesting stories of my own about working with parents, the stories I have about working with teachers are just as interesting.

People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones…

SCHOOL ANSWERING MACHINE

This is hilarious – no wonder some people were offended! This is the message that the Pacific Palisades High School California staff voted unanimously to record on their school telephone answering machine.

This is the actual answering machine message for the school. This came about because they implemented a policy requiring students and parents to be responsible for their children’s absences and missing homework.

The school and teachers are being sued by parents who want their children’s failing grades changed to passing grades – even though those children were absent 15-30 times during the semester and did not complete enough school work to pass their classes.

The outgoing message:

Hello! You have reached the automated answering service of your school. In order to assist you in connecting to the right staff member, please listen to all the options before making a selection:

To lie about why your child is absent – Press 1

To make excuses for why your child did not do his work -Press 2

To complain about what we do – Press 3

To swear at staff members – Press 4

To ask why you didn’t get information that was already enclosed in your newsletter and several flyers mailed to you – Press 5

If you want us to raise your child – Press 6

If you want to reach out and touch, slap or hit someone – Press 7

To request another teacher, for the third time this year – Press 8

To complain about bus transportation – Press 9

To complain about school lunches – Press 0

If you realize this is the real world and your child must be accountable and responsible for his/her own behavior, class work, homework and that it’s not the teachers’ fault for your child’s lack of effort: Hang up and have a nice day!

If you want this in Spanish, move to a country that speaks it.

(The last line wasn’t in the piece I linked from Snopes, so someone must have added it as it made its way through the email highway. I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t get political today, so I’ll just leave it there like an elephant in the livingroom.)

Ah, yes. Happy Back to School.

September 2, 2008
You, Too, Can Organize and Decorate with Teens

The Resident Teen Rocker turned 16 while we were in Italy last month. Other than giving him a card that had our family’s required elements of butts, farting, or both, and singing Happy Birthday as horribly as we pridefully aim to, he didn’t have a candle to blow out. Now that I think of it, that’s kind of rude, but I’ll make it up before school begins.

Speaking of school and rudeness, the enormous registration packet came in the mail yesterday, and since he’s the one who retrieves the mail from our box each day, the look on his face told all. You’d have thought he had a bite of a bad frozen burrito. I mentioned that I wasn’t looking forward to him going back to school, either, and pondered the possibilities of running away from home with him to avoid the inevitable. Instead, I told him to get his calendar marked up so he could enjoy what was left of his summer, and start hitting the sack sometime before dawn, or at least make a half-assed attempt. I still can’t figure out how in hell I raised a kid who dislikes school as intensely as he does. Not that there isn’t much to dislike, mind you.

Every other summer of his life, the RTR has had an agenda. It hasn’t kept him hopping as much as the MoH would have liked, but that’s because it was organized primarily to keep him occupied while we were at work. A variety of YMCA Camps, San Diego Zoo Camp, Balboa Park, ID Tech Camp at UCSD, Camp Gramma, you name it, he’s been there.

But not last year. Summer school was supposed to happen but mysteriously never did, so I gave the RTR some projects I thought he might enjoy, and learn from. I know. Deadly. Ironically, he was assigned a project in his art class last semester that required a bit of research and wonder of all wonders! He remembered the summer work he’d done and was able to make use of it for his presentation. Amazingly resourceful when he wants to be.

Like this past weekend. We finally made it to Ikea to purchase the finishing touches for his bedroom. Not too long ago, we painted his room with colors he chose, the MoH changed all the dull switch plates, and I put up some new shades. (Of course, the shade pulls are already hanging in shreds leaving one shade unworkable, but it was swell while it lasted.)

After cruising through the showroom maze at Ikea, the RTR chose a double bed, a larger work table, and a chair that looks way too comfortable for the homework that he will definitely have with the schedule he chose (Statistics, Physics, AP American History, AP Studio Art, American Lit, and Woodshop. Yes, that’s right. Woodshop.) He is soooooooo having homework. I’m wincing just thinking about it.

So yes, after the three of us removed the boxes we’d wedged into my mother’s borrowed Escape, we schlepped them into the livingroom to sit. I told the RT it was his job and that if he needed help, he knew where his dad was. I, on the other hand, went to the grocery store.

Bear in mind that for the RT to approach any aspect of this gargantuan task, he had to clean his room. Pigs would fly first. But he’s very creative and found a way to move things around so he could work. You know, have a bit of elbow room and squeeze space allowance for toilet use?

When I returned from the store, he’d made quite a bit of progress and was just beginning to take the big red bunk bed he’s had since his fifth birthday apart. I could get all misty-eyed right now, but won’t.

I heard him call from upstairs, “Mom. There’s a funny looking flat screw thing that has a hole in it with edges…”

Now, I knew this would get his attention, and called up to him about whether he knew where the allen wrenches were tucked in his dad’s trusty tool box. No he couldn’t find them, and yes, I walked up the stairs to show him where they were. I also stayed long enough to gently ask him whether starting with a screw at the bottom of the bed was a good idea, and whether there might be some unexpected happenings as a result of that decision.

“Oh. Heh,” he smiled and chose a top corner screw instead.

The only time he asked for help was when he noticed a screw was stripped. A whack of the hammer from the MoH fixed it, and that cute bed that has so many memories attached to it is now in parts leaning against a wall in the garage waiting for a “Free to the first Caller” Craigslist ad.

Monday morning, the RT and I moved his tiny desk down the stairs — or tried. It fell apart from the stress on an edge while we were resting, and unfortunately, my ankles we on the receiving end of the boards that fell. Hurt doesn’t quite cover it, but we did get the desk to a resting spot.

He put his new desk together, and the chair.

I figure if he wants me to put up the very cool tiny work light with the jointed neck, and the shelves for his army of thousands, he’s going to have to clean up the mess.

But I’ve been reorganizing the cupboards in the kitchen, so between the two of us, it’s anyone’s guess whether we’ll ever see the floor or counters in our house again.

Bets?

August 6, 2008
Teenagers, school, and grey hair.

How do we get to Friday so quickly now when it used to seem as if it was forever hovering in the distance of my pseudo nine-to-five work week? It’s amazing, and I’m left feeling yet again that I need some kind of a drive through where I can order a few more hours each day with a super-sized box of salty hot fries.

And I’m pensive. But that shouldn’t stop my Friday Follies, because I’ll indulge in a bit of Peaflock egocentrism instead of worrying about the economy, or whether I’m being green enough. About whether the RTR will persist in his subtle efforts to resist all half-assed attempts at parental pressure to become a neurotic type-A studentisto at some point in the future. Smart young man.

So how is my almost 16-year-old last birdie in my nest doing these days? I thought you’d never ask. Outside of continuing to be the gentle and respectful, scruffy around the edges, but hugging type person that he’s always been, I’d like to say he’s seen the light and has become an organizational sensation with a sparkling bedroom. A notebook that one might be able to detect some semblance of order. A backpack whose lumpy contents I don’t have to wonder about.

He hasn’t.

But his bathroom is cleaner than ours now, because The Gramster is sharing it with him. It looks like a real bathroom now with a mirror you can actually see your reflection in. And he’s loving the guitar, the lessons, and even his cool guitar teacher. I keep asking him when he’s going to get House of the Rising Sun down so I can sing, and you know, I think he’s working on it. I’ll let you know if I actually get a gig on YouTube so you can spit your cereal milk or coffee all over your keyboard.

But school? Well, let’s just say we’re gently reminding him that if there’s not a solid “C” in Spanish and Algebra II, then the MoH has decreed that when we get back from Italy this summer, he’s getting a J.O.B.

So I’m still trying to figure out exactly whose consequence that is since the RTR doesn’t have a driver’s license, and since I remain challenged to completely understand which higher plane of existence he spends most of waking moments on, I’m not comfortable with the idea of him being behind the wheel of any vehicle. Too. Scary. That means that I would become the J.O.B. taxi.

I hate driving. Thoroughly.

Besides, I think our philosophy is losing credibility faster than you can yell, “Phony!” at me. If I haven’t raged enough about it before, or, if you were smart and skipped through the pretty pictures of those twenty or so posts, you know that I do have rather strong opinions about the general quality of public education. In spite of the two decades I spent working as an educator — a damn good one, thank you very much — I’ve always believed that what we do best is try to fit all children into the same sized hole. And because my pensiveness is about my son today, and not public education, I’ll leave it at this: If I truly believe that, then how, how, how do I continue to find myself veering toward that norm? It’s amazingly difficult to pull away from that force.

So how is the RTR winning this? About two months or so ago, his art teacher invited a spokesperson down from a school in San Francisco to speak. The funny thing about it is that each day when I pick him up at school, we have the same exchange:

Me: How was your day?

Him: Pretty good (although this fluctuates between other responses such as, fine, average, normal, okay…)

Me: Did anything new and exciting happen?

Him: No.

It’s one of those warm, fuzzy mother and son moments that we smile about. So it figures that the one day I forget to play the tape, he actually has something to say:

Him: Mom. You know how you always ask me about whether something new and exciting happens at school?

Me: Yah?

Him: Well today, a person came to our art class.

Me: What did he talk about?

Him: Well she was from this art school in San Francisco and it sounds really cool. You don’t have to have SAT scores.

Me: Really? *Oh. Swell.*

Him: Yep. And when she asked if anyone wanted information, I raised my hand.

Whoa. This is the part where I have to control myself and not act like I’m giddy that he is showing an interest in something that doesn’t resemble tiny military figurines or tanks, World War II and YouTube comedy segments. He’s spoken to someone from admissions on the phone twice.

Do you know how difficult it is to keep up with the whole, “It matters that you WORK hard in school, because in life you have to WORK hard if you want to find the right kind of WORK for yourself instead of just finding a job that pays well- blah-blah-blah-dee-dah-work-work-work…” diatribe when the school your son has decided he’s attending has this philosophy:

The Academy of Art University maintains a no-barrier admissions policy for all undergraduate programs. The Academy was built on the educational philosophy that all students interested in studying art and design deserve the opportunity to do so.

All he needs is a high school diploma. Period.

Okay, so… and parents who are willing to pay the tuition.

But it’s right up his alley of interests. So go figure.

Guess the MoH is going to have to whip out his checkbook. But the RTR is still taking the SAT next Saturday.

Just. Because.

And the next two years will fly by as we continue to pander to the great education god in the sky and resist temptations to walk the streets with signs that plead, “Will clean your bathroom for son’s GPA.” Okay, so maybe not.

He told me the school doesn’t recognize GPA, either.

Go figure that his non-plan looks like it’s going to work. Just think about all the grey hairs and wrinkles I could have saved worrying about that sweet kid.

May 30, 2008
A nice little Friday rant.

I’m supposed to be paying bills. I used to harass the MoH about not paying them on time and isn’t it amazing that I’m doing the exact same thing. It’s nice to know after so many years of bliss that I can learn about yet another of our common proclivities: procrastination. Misery does love company, doesn’t it?

I should also be cleaning my kitchen, but I don’t feel like it. If I really rolled up my sleeves and did what needed to be done (reorganize ALL the cupboards) I’d be in there all weekend, and I’d rather clean toilets. Well, not really, but it sounded good when my fingers typed it.

I really need to schedule our flights for our summer vacation, but I purchased a couple of travel books last week and after plowing through them with stickies and hi-glow yellow marker in hand, made a decision to sort of re-route the vacation, which of course, changes what we need to do with flights to and from there. So do I hop to it, and take care of the plans? No.

I have problems staying on track just writing from one day to the next. Can you imagine all the bright and sparkly things my brain is diverted by when making travel plans? It’s shameful and I’m completely entertained by it all.

And to confirm that all I really am is a total nerd, what I was derailed by today was this article. It’s Friday, for gawdsakes. I should be out basking in the loveliness of the day, doing some spring cleaning which I actually enjoy and go figure that reorganizing the kitchen doesn’t fit into that category…

I should be not sitting here. But I am.

(more…)

March 7, 2008
Dear Bakersfield Board of Education Members…

NaBloPoMo: I’m on it with a little hop in my step and a “tally-ho” spirit, raring to go. Onward and upward, and all that sort of rot. To quote my sister when she was very young and we had suffered yet another family trip crammed in the back of the blue VW bug, “Are we there yet?” No, dear. Just keep writing…

November 8, 2007

Board of Education Members

Bakersfield City School District

Dear Elected Members of the Board:

I never cease to be amazed that those who choose to sit as members of a school board seem to be obsessed with the most repulsive sort of demagoguery. With respect to this latest example of proof, congratulations.

I do believe that the U.S. Constitution states that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof” and although you are most assuredly not members of the U.S. Congress, you are, as are we all, governed by that and all other amendments (even though judges enjoy the freedom to interpret them in their own way).

Additionally, the California Education Code, Section 220 states that, “No person shall be subjected to discrimination on the basis of sex, ethnic group identification, race, national origin, religion, color, mental or physical disability, or any actual or perceived characteristic…in any program or activity conducted by an education institution that receives, or benefits from, state financial assistance or enrolls pupils who receive state student financial aid.”

Therefore, your recent decision to place in 2,300 classrooms and other gathering places within your school district posters that read, “In God We Trust,” is inappropriate on several levels. The fact that you feel you’re “not going to accept the agenda of some radical leftists who want to expunge God from public dialogue,” Mr. Vegas, is beside the point.

The point is that not every one chooses to practice your religion, share in your beliefs, pray to the same god that you do, or pray at all. Perhaps they do not believe there is an entity to pray to. They are entitled to those beliefs just as you are, whether they are in the majority or not. Or should I say “accepted” majority?

Clearly you think them wrong. That they’re carrying the future of society and its children to hell in a hand basket. One that belongs to “radical leftists.” Perhaps the same “radical leftists” who pay taxes that end up in your school district’s coffers, and with whose funds will be used to pay for the “In God We Trust” posters you will purchase.

It’s a problem.

The kids won’t care because it’s just another adult pissing contest that is very “junior high” in its characteristics. The “in” clique got what they wanted, and in the process has engaged in name-calling of anyone who isn’t on their side. If you don’t think $12,000 worth of posters that will soon become faded wall paper should be in our schools, then you’re un-American.

Because we all know that our beliefs should be plastered on our bumpers, our homes, our classrooms, and on our sleeves. That we’re card-carrying members of the “I Believe” sect and anyone who doesn’t strut it is suspect.

It makes me sick to my stomach. How do these ridiculous humans get elected? Oh, that’s right. They get elected by other humans who aren’t satisfied wanting what they want for their own children; they want it for everyone else’s as well. Because our children must certainly be what’s wrong with society. Damn them heathens. Actually, what they want is to not have to pay for a private, religious based education. They want us to pay for it.

Ah, yes. America. The land of opportunity. You, too can have whatever you want, have someone else pay for it, and then complain about it or send it back after you decided you didn’t want it after all.

In conclusion, you may want to take a look at your district’s budget. This is the time of year when school administrators begin to organize their site finances for the next school year. Since it could be losing quite a bit of state and federal funding due to your self-serving actions, you’ll have quite a bit of adjusting to do to make ends meet. And if you don’t lose the money there, then it will most likely go to court costs when someone files suit over your recent edict. But hey! At least you’ll have pretty posters on your walls that no one will notice in a few months.

And just think As board members, you only set policy. The educators then have to scramble to clean up your mess.

Now that you’ve had your moment in the sun, perhaps you might focus on whether students are ready for college. Hmmm?

Sincerely,

An American tax-payer

Let Freedom Ring

November 8, 2007