i realize that this mostly is generational. but jeez! what is going on with spelling these days? i see posts from people, generally under the age of about 25, where they take poetic license with spelling, and not just because they are abbreviating, either. i completely understand that in the age of texting, people are shortening words as much as possible in order to expedite the communication of the message.
but reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeallllly now?
there’s a whole school of thought behind satirical misspellings; but there’s something different about these misspellings — they seem to happen just because. it started for me with prince. i think he started a ball rolling with his creative titling ability, like LOtUSFLOW3R, Rave Un2 The Joy Fantastic, and so on. (maybe having your own symbol has something to do with it?)
and now? as a result of creative urban misspellings (dawg, anyone?), the world is littered with messages like:
lucy is myyyyy besssssssssst frendddd, my BFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF! i looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee her!
lord. if i see BC typing away like that, i may lose my mind. spelling is something she could work on, and i don’t think a trend that simply adds and subtracts letters wherever one pleases is going to help her later in life.
do youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu?
(and yes. i realize this is all being stated by a woman who refuses to capitalize much.)
they pump bach into their bellies while they’re pregnant, hoping it will boost junior’s math scores. they start teaching their child to read before he’s a year old. potty training? done by 18 months. and by age 5, junior’s expected to tackle Dostoevsky. oh, and he’s also a contender for the next olympics in gymnastics, too.
oh, their child is gifted, oh so bloody gifted. let me tell you something: i was a freak of nature back in the day, tested with a college reading level in the 2nd grade. i know a thing or two about getting that label slapped onto your file. i was (and AM!) very fortunate to have parents who never pushed me one way or another. i was permitted to just be me, which isn’t always the easiest thing to be, you know.
i remember a time when i was 9 years old. i was at the OLD ocean county library (not the big beautiful one that stands now in the middle of town). backtracking: my mother may never join a 12-step program for library addicts, but she pretty much wrote the book on how to visit a million different libraries every week. consequently, i believe that in the 1970s and into the 1980s, she knew every librarian in ocean county. the happy consequence of this is that Middlebro and i have always loved to read. (BTD, not so much, though i hear tell he now reads… voluntarily…) anyway, i brought my books up to dennis, the long-haired librarian, to check them out. elaine, he called to my mom, are you sure you want to let your daughter take these out? and before her, my mom saw my selections du jour: romeo and juliet by shakespeare, god bless you, mr, rosewater by kurt vonnegut, and war and peace.
i’m sure my mother wanted to burst out laughing, but with a straight face, she turned to me and said: are you going to read all of these?
and earnestly, i replied, yes, mom.
it’s so important to let your child’s personal freak flag fly. besides, it can provide hours of amusement.
in short, i have no patience for parents who are pushing their kids to be la creme de la creme. i’m not entirely sure what drives this, but i suspect something went kerflooey in someone’s childhood, and he or she is trying to make it right by foisting this heavy weight onto his or her child’s psyche. sure, it’s great to expose children to all sorts of experiences; and if your child shows an early extra interest in math, or reading, or whatever, then by all means, let him pursue that as long as he enjoys it. but don’t push so hard.
this isn’t a science experiment; this is your child.
let him be a child. he will learn to read, he will learn to compute mathematical equations, he will learn to do all the things he is supposed to do. but right now, stop pushing him into some sort of mold of what you think he ought to be. instead, why not sit back and watch this person unfold into a unique individual. let him be himself. and love him, warts and all.
if you want to put that much effort into making someone change, work on yourself first.
we have become a nation of people who believe that rules are there for other people to observe. somehow, other poor schmucks should be reading and following the words on a sign or face severe penalties. lines are there to control crowds, make order out of chaos, and keep people from going where they oughtn’t. the rules of lines are clearly outlined in kindergarten: someone is in front, then everyone else is behind him or her. and we wait until we get our chance to be wherever it is we wish to be.
but not you, my friend. for you are special.
you do not need no stinkin’ line. lines are for suckers. so you trample my kids at the Costco checkout like an elephant on speed and push in front of us because you’re bigger. (mommy needs a moment to get herself together and not bark at the other grownup, i found myself saying to jools when he started marveling at what happened. what i really needed was a mojito and perhaps a water pistol. but i digress.) you ignore the mile-long line of ladies waiting desperately to pee at the concert. you let your kids push in front of all the other kids at the moonbounce.
i think what grinds my gears the most about this: what you are teaching your children… and mine. i get that there are emergencies at times, and i am most willing to give up my place in line to someone who needs it more for very serious reasons. but you are teaching your kids that other people do not matter as much as they do in all arenas of life. and for those of us who are trying to teach our children that lines are part of life, you are showing them that following the rules does not pay.
in short: you suck, and you are making your kids suck, too.
i have a special memory. we are in disneyworld, a land that makes me break out in hives inherently for so many, many reasons (some of which i have shared here. and here. and here. (among other places.) you may ask yourself why i continue to go to disney. i wish i had a good answer for you, but in short, i am often outvoted. and there are bright spots to it, of course, starting with the fact that i actually get to go ON A VACATION. a huge plus, and not something everyone gets to do these days. i wrote about it once, but i thought i’d end with this little bit.
we were waiting on line for the animal safari in animal kingdom — a neat place and a neat ride, incidentally. i like to use lines as a teachable lesson for my kids. you know, an exercise in patience and fairness? a woman and her two kids continually tried to push ahead of us, the family ahead of us, and the older couple on the motorized scooter in front of them. eventually, they succeeded, hitting their trifecta of triumph. what we didn’t know: the woman’s friend and the friend’s young son did not push ahead and remained behind us. why are you so far behind? miss pushypushy asked her friend. why don’t you come up here and join us?
in one of the rarest moments ever, BS and i said in unison, NO! we had had it. for 20 minutes, this woman kept on pushing, nearly trampling over people. i added, if you’d like to join your friends, you can move back and join them.
i noticed that the friend behind us suddenly had a few words with BS. i didn’t hear them at first, so i asked BS what the woman left behind had said.
he replied: she told me “have a nice day! hope you get sent to iraq!”
it’s like the bataan death march of forced writing. but writing is good. and as my cousin, a writer, told me when i was 13 years old, one must write daily to improve your craft.
well, not so sure that any of my blather this month will put me any steps closer to getting my novel published, but what fun trying! in previous years, i’ve had different themes (just remember to scroll down to start at the beginning of the month):
so i thought and i thought and i thought. sure, i could skewer music from the ’90s; who couldn’t? and maybe i will do that someday.
but it is election season. and i’m irked. cranky. annoyed. perterbed. and all the other words that the thesaurus might spit out at me if i were to look at it. so why not share my pet peeves?
and while i’m at it, would love to hear about yours. really.
i can’t be the only cranky chick around, right?
so break out the thorazine and join me as i tiptoe through the world of things that make you go AAAARRRRGGGHHH!
do you remember middle school? or junior high? or, as the town fathers called it in my hometown, intermediate school? that period of time that probably ought to be called the bataan death march through puberty? those years when you were sure that everyone noticed the pimple on your face, and you could tell by the whispers that it was the best topic ever amongst the other kids since john snapped jane’s bra in the cafeteria? those years when you were thrown together with kids from all over town, some of whom displayed manners which indicated that their parents apparently were attila the hun and mata hari?
well, now that BC is embroiled in the magical world of middle school, it is, as leo durocher once said, deja vu all over again.
it’s hard to look on to the scene without wanting to scream. or intervene. or just completely become dissembled. each day, i hear the stories: the locker partner who has taken over the locker and who won’t listen to reason. the mean girls at lunch. the teacher who doesn’t seem to care that you cannot see the board and who has no time to discuss the matter with you. and it goes on.
i have been trying to let the girl fight her own battles. i cannot step in forever, deus ex mama that i am. but i’m beginning to think that 6th grade isn’t the time for the girl to be on her own. i’ve told her that she needs to give it a try first, but if she gets no satisfaction or response, then she needs to tell me what’s going on so that i can join her chorus. but how can she talk to her teachers when there’s no time at class’s start or end and the teacher will not entertain questions during class time? how will she handle some of these girls, who mistakenly believe they are richer and prettier and better than she is?
so here’s my problem. i am now, ehhem, a 21 year old mom who doesn’t possess the same fears that i did when i was a girl of a certain age. my advice now probably is lacking a certain, oh, how do you say, subtlety. a seat was empty at the lunch table, and BC sat down at it. the Queen Bee of All Queen Bees made it a point to walk over from where she was and tell BC to get her ass up off the table and move — that was HER seat. BC, being a sensible little thang, told her that she wasn’t sitting there, so what was the problem? the problem, according to the bigger Miss Thang, was that it was where she would normally sit.
(i know. the logic of 12 year old girls has always eluded me. even when i was 12, just 9 short years ago…)
so BC looked around, saw that two of her friends were sitting elsewhere, and got up and moved.
now, WWWD? (translation: what would wreke do?) if i had been a 12 year old with the mind of a more experienced me, i, of course, would have politely told the queen bee that she’d better leave me alone. pissing me off is not an option. if she wanted to pursue it further, well, i would gladly do so in a way that she would probably always remember. see, even in my imagined younger state, i am no longer intimidated by 12 year old girls, the likes of whom think they’re fierce just because they shop at Justice.
honey: fierce is a perimenopausal woman who hasn’t slept since 1998, who has not yet had her morning coffee, and who has just about lost her patience for the petty bullshit that passes for social intercourse among tweens.
fortunately, BC followed her own advice and not mine. i suspect by doing so, she will not be ostracized in the cafeteria, at least not this week.
in other news, you think i’m projecting my own delightful middle school experiences on the situation much? mmm, mebbe.
so my new goal: try to erase from my psyche those memories of social-climbing, back-stabbing, and nasty people who won’t listen to you and who treat you as if you are invisible. all the things that made intermediate school so very, very memorable. for no matter how you slice it, middle school is an awful holding pen for the angsty pubescent kids and the teachers who loathe them. ’tis a timeless situation. and it’s time for the girl to make her own memories out of her own fresh hell.
Recently, I was at elementary school, talking with our gym teacher about my son. I’ve noticed lately that the boy likes to stand on his head, flip around, and basically bounce. A lot. While team sports don’t seem to work well for him yet, some sort of physical activity would probably be beneficial for energetic little him, for me, and frankly, for the rest of the world. (You can thank me later.)
In short, I’m wondering whether gymnastics might be a way to go for him.
I hearkened back to my own gym experience. We had entire units on tumbling, on the rings, on the pommel horse. While I never did grow up to be Nadia Comăneci (and yes, I know I am dating myself, you Mary Lou Rettons out there), I enjoyed gymnastics — the weightlessness, even for just that second, before flying over the horse (and often into one of my less intelligent classmates who didn’t move away from it fast enough.) Leaping ever so carefully on the balance beam. What I would give to be able to perform those flips I once did without living in fear that I’d require traction and anti-inflammatories!
So I asked our gym teacher: when will my son’s class get to do a unit on gymnastics? His reply?
Not in this school.
Apparently, the threat of litigation has backburnered this pursuit in our public school. I was told that when a teacher spots a student, he or she may have to actually touch the child; and since movement is involved, there is too much fear that a teacher might accidentally be in contact with a child in an improper manner. And even if that contact is purely accidental, the fear of getting sued, losing your job, and having your reputation sullied beyond all recognition outweighs the possibility of teaching a child to discover this ancient athletic pursuit.
Obviously, my sympathies are ever-present with any child who has fallen victim to a predatory adult; and there’s no question that persons in power who are abusive ought to be severely punished. However, this situation makes me think about where we are going as a society. When teachers cannot teach to children because of a fear that they may touch a child and that the child, in turn, may cry foul (whether true or not), what is lost? There’s a certain communication that comes with physicality; and while I don’t advocate that teachers go out of their way to lay hands on their pupils, this scenario tells me that litigiousness has won the day. And how sad: for I remember fondly teachers patting me on the head, hugging me, and yes, spotting me in gymnastics. I know how I appreciated all of these gestures; and I mourn the fact that my children will likely have radically different educational experiences with their teachers. There will be little touching.
There is a beautifully sad story entitled Hands in Sherwood Anderson’s masterpiece Winesburg, Ohio that concerns a dedicated teacher named Wing Biddlebaum. Biddlebaum is estranged from society for decades because he has one “flaw”: he expresses himself with his hands. The story shares that in his younger years, Biddlebaum was a teacher who never touched any child inappropriately, but who caressed his students’ heads and shoulders in a supportive manner. Unfortunately, one day, a “half-witted boy” falsely alleged molestation, and Biddlebaum was driven from another town to Winesburg, where he lived alone on the outskirts, cut off because of his hands. He feared communicating with anyone ever again, all because of his fluttering, expressive hands.
as a matter of fact, heidi klum has nothing to do with this selection.
september has started off really poorly. two friends of mine have lost parents, and i ache for them. my parents have lost a dear friend who has battled parkinsons for a long, long time. september 11 continues to remind us that there is still great division in our nation and in our world. and on the really micro level, BC had a fairly miserable first week as a middle schooler, drawing the lucky straw that put her in the one team that has no other girls from her elementary school. (there are three teams in her grade. every other girl from her school is in one of those two teams.) the principal, realizing the error, was willing to move the girl into one of the other teams; but by this time, different supplies are already bought, project assignments are made, lockers are already figured out. the girl has decided to stay put and make the best of things.
on the bright side, jools has been placed with a teacher about whom i have heard wonderful things, with two of his best girlfriends as classmates. i haven’t heard anything bad from school yet, so i am hopeful that this year will be a good one. also, our home renovation is complete, and so while i grumble steadily about the amount of work it is to put my home back in order, i am very grateful that we could accomplish this on time and on budget (and that BS and i remain married in spite of the stressful time.) and, most importantly, everyone in my family seems to be relatively healthy.
in short, i am trying to focus on the bright side of things. but it’s really, really difficult sometimes. yom kippur, the day of atonement, is coming soon, and so i am thinking about all the negative things i might have done during the past year. i am genuinely sorry about plenty of things.
it makes me want to cry.
but i also know that i oughtn’t. and hence, the selection of seal’s don’t cry.
i’m armed with my tissues. but i’m hoping i won’t need to use them.
my friend and former colleague gene steuerle lost his wife in the plane that hit that pentagon. in response, he started an organization , which has since merged with americans for informed democracy, an organization that empowers young people in the United States to address global challenges such as poverty, disease, climate change, and conflict through awareness and action. AIDemocracy promotes just and sustainable solutions at the campus, community, and national level.
yes, i know. this from the girl who isn’t a country fan.
i always get a bit wistful this time of year. part of it, of course, stems from the recognition that it’s the end of summer and my kids are off to school again… and i am not. part of it is due to the fact that it is the end of the jewish year and the start of the new one (rosh hashanah, for my non-red-sea pedestrian pals.) and the big unavoidable part, as you can gather, is from the fact that september 11 is not far behind.
9/11 is forever burned into my psyche. remember, we had a plane hit the pentagon here in arlington, a plane carrying a friend’s wife and so many, many others. i have written before about the day; it’s something that will never fully evaporate from my consciousness.
but it’s a lot of screaming about what is being sited near that hallowed ground where thousands of lives were lost that has me so sad right now. a lot of people in this nation are making a perilous leap of hate: they seem to think that the acts of a group of people should be blamed on all people of that religion. that a group of murderous zealots have managed to cause people to hate all muslims is sad. it’s wrong. and it’s unamerican. while i personally wonder whether building such a center so close to the site of the Twin Towers displays a certain insensitivity to some of the families of 9/11 victims, i believe that if they have followed the laws and have gone through the proper channels, the group is within their rights to do so.
but the issue has moved beyond the community center. this situation has highlighted the fact that some americans are broadbrushing all mosques and muslim endeavors as somehow dangerous; and this not only does a great disservice to the millions of our fellow peaceful muslim-americans, but i fear that it also helps to motivate religious zealots with bad intent and justifies their actions.
and i fear all religious zealots.
so yes, today, i selected a country song. if i can keep my mind open about all sorts of things, then maybe others can, too. see, i believe in love: love of my family, love of my friends, love of my nation, love for the people of the world — even those who would hate me for my gender, my religion, my political beliefs… whatever reason.
i have waxed pretty regularly about my contempt for most cover songs. so many attempts are lackluster imitations of a perfectly good song. and to cover a beatles song takes massive cojones. that, or completely narcissism, i suppose. the sheer perfection of some songs doesn’t stop people from giving it a go. (yesterday is the most covered song. ever.)
that being said, from time to time, someone gets it right. and that one in this case is stevie wonder, no small talent himself. i was reminded of the truly awesome nature of this cover during the gershwin awards program honoring macca last month. so many of the people singing mccartney’s songs fell flat. (the jonas brothers? REALLY?) but steveland? he rocked the house.
so here’s my end-of-summer present for you. get down; get funky. and get back up again.
(just remember your motrin if that latter bit is challenging for you.)
