Education

   I was just reading an article citing a new bill in California meant to stop schools from putting students into classes in which nothing is actually taught. Basically, the real life equivalent to what young Lauryn Hill called a "bird course" in the 1993 class, Sister Act 2. My issue is with the public's shock and awe that such classes exist. Hey! I experienced that in classes that were SUPPOSED to be curriculum-based! I had to bring my dad into my high school and "threaten" the superintendent and counselor in order to remove myself from a horrible teacher my junior year who could barely find time to teach between her bouts of sobbing as she walked to the office and screaming at students when she thought that today would finally be the day that she would teach. This isn't abnormal. In fact, if we look at the United States educational system, we'd probably find it's most normal.
   Let me preface this post with, I recognize that I am lucky to have received the education I did. I had a lot of good teachers. I also know that, because I grew up in the Midwest, I received a better education than most. I had more one-on-one time with teachers, I had a school that was (mostly) well-funded for academics, and a lot of teachers who actually cared about the students and helping them learn. I don't look at all teachers and condemn them. My father is an educator, my aunt is, my mom went to school to be a teacher, and my stepmother teaches as well. I recognize that teachers don't just work a forty-hour work week. They take work home, they invest in their own supplies, and they put up with other people's children for eight hours a day, five days a week. For that alone they should be paid better than any studio executive in Hollywood. Education cannot be blamed on teachers alone. It takes a village, and America, the village is failing.
   Let's be real, kids' behavior is different now than it was in the 1950s and 1960s. All those rebels who championed the peace movement went on to have kids and they didn't want to raise their children the way they had been raised-stifled by the patriarchy. So, those kids didn't understand rules. Then those kids had kids and they thought, "My parents were too distant, they weren't involved enough," so they raised their children trying to be friends instead of authority figures. These mistakes have led us to today. Teaching is hard, especially when you're trying to manage 20-30 (sometimes more) wiggly little balls of energy who have never had to listen at home. Couple that with parents who believe their child can do no wrong and you have an incendiary situation. Authority is intangible. It is not something one can possess until he or she gives it up. If a child is put into a classroom and their parent signals that the teacher does not know all, is not someone the child should trust or respect, the kid won't. It's doesn't have to be as blatant as saying, "Don't listen to Teacher, they don't know anything," kids are incredibly insightful. They can see and feel the vibes people give off. Education isn't just dropping your kid off at the door to the classroom and parenting is done: education starts and ends at home. Teaching, schooling, is all about teamwork. If you don't want that responsibility, don't have kids. Straight up.
   Parental involvement saved me when I was in school. I'm conceited. I know it. I think I'm smarter than everybody and, as my dad pointed out, I want everyone to know it. Thankfully, I had my parents to know some sense into me. They were always on my side, but it was never assumed I was in the right. My dad coming to school to support my choice to skip that horrible junior class was because I had outlined how horribly my sophomore one went. I tried to have one of my high school teachers fired because we were an entire semester in to school and had only done three assignments and not even talked about the election, during an election year. When my dad found out how vocal I had been, he called to speak to said teacher and wanted to know if I needed to be put in my place. It's all about balance. And this experience, the fact that I tried to have this teacher fired and not only are they still at my old high school, but they're just as ineffective, highlights to me a hugely important issue in American schooling. We complain about problem teachers, but we do very little to fix those problems. Testing is not the answer. Judging a teacher based on how their students do on a standardized test is not the way to go about it, You can walk in to a class and tell when students are engaged. You can see when a group of people are getting what's being taught. And, with a little bit of involvement, parents and administrators can really see when teachers are bad. But it takes time and commitment and that's something that very few people seem to have at the moment.
   So, no, I'm not as offended that students are being shuttled into classes that aren't meant to teach them anything. I'm more offended by what we pass off as education in some classes that are meant to teach. I'm more offended by parents who will bend any ear in the vicinity about the horrible excuses we have for teachers, but who won't make their student do his/her homework. I'm offended that our solution to making sure students learn more is to test them to death. I'm offended that parents expect teachers to teach as well as babysit (and let's be real, sometimes raise the kids) in the eight hours they have during the day. I'm offended that we as a country don't seem bothered enough to do anything about the fact that our students have fallen way behind international students. I'm offended that more people know about the Armenian genocide because of the Kardashians than because of history books. And that's not because of "this generation" that's because of culture. Our society has decided that education is a privilege, not a right, and we put our focus on celebrity instead of hard work. We don't get to choose the problems that are given to us, but we get to decide how to fix them. And so far, apathy hasn't worked.    

Maps and Moms

   For Mother's Day, I generously offered to take my mother with me when I went to see comedian Chris Hardwick. I had made my ticket purchase back in November when I found out that he would be in Milwaukee because I want to make him mine. I thought, I will be a big girl, I'll venture into the city-yes, I know, it's Milwaukee, but anything bigger than 1000 people is a city to me-and I'll have a nice little weekend to myself. Skip to a few months later when I realize that's Mother's Day weekend and I have nothing to give Connie. So, after much consideration, I picked up the phone, called the Condog and asked if she'd want to go. She answered with an enthusiastic, "Yeah, sure, I can go." Because, you know, she had to make sure that I knew she was giving up a weekend full of plans of falling asleep in her recliner, watching Law and Order: Criminal Intent, and texting my brother who lives in North Carolina with weather updates for the East Coast.
   We decided that she would drive to my place on Friday and I would drive her car to Milwaukee since it would be during the day and there would be traffic and Connie considers Cedar Rapids a white knuckle driving experience. My brain also does this thing where it conveniently forgets that my mother is just a smidge anal retentive. So, she had mapped out seven different ways for us to drive to Milwaukee, discussed each route with at least two of her coworkers or family members, researched the weather for the weekend and any construction delays we may come in contact with. I, on the other hand, wasn't even sure which way to drive out of my driveway. Normally, I would have plugged my GPS in from the beginning and followed whatever it said.
   Now, while running the risk of sounding like I'm patting myself on the back, I am a GREAT navigator. When you grow up with someone who is a little high strung, you learn how to be seven steps ahead so that you can soothe any fears before they come. Had I been navigating to Milwaukee, I would have been aware of how long we were going to be on a certain road, which exits we were looking for, any potential turns, and, thanks to someone's constant nagging, I also would have always known the position of other cars on the roadway. My mother is a little out of practice with navigating. Not to mention, she is very much a product of her generation and she had printed out two different versions of maps from Mapquest, it took her fifteen minutes (NO EXAGGERATION) to program the GPS with the hotel's address, and she repeatedly said to me, "You know, I meant to buy an Atlas. I just like to have one around." "Connie!" I would exasperatedly reply, "You have an Atlas on your phone!" "I know," she'd replied, just as exasperated, "I can't figure out how to use it." After twenty-eight years of living with my mom, I should know by now to let that slide. Instead, I go, "You're a computer programmer! You work with technology every day!" "Well, that doesn't mean anything!" she screeches. End scene.
   Connie is a genius-true, she's the only one in our family without a master's degree-and she can figure out how to code a computer, but watching her try to program the GPS was like watching a monkey with a wind up toy. She kept inspecting it and it would make noise and startle her when she least expected it. Those were the most peaceful fifteen minutes of the road trip. After that, I had to pull out my earphones so I could listen to my podcasts and drive in semi-peace. There was a slight hiccup when I explained to Connie that my earphones cancelled out a lot of noise, so she needed to get my attention if the GPS was making any announcements. She wanted to tell me a story, so I pulled out one side of the earphones and she continued to yell the story while I told her, repeatedly, she didn't need to yell because I had a free ear. It's moments like those that I think, "I'm putting her in a home." I just worry that in the next few years, the world's going to become a bit too much for her to handle and I'll either have to pack her up to live with my brother or put her in a home where she can pretend it's still 1980. There was another slight hiccup when Connie forgot to warn me that my exit was coming up and I was not only in the wrong lane, but past the exit before she realized that's where we needed to go.
   But, we survived. We made it to Milwaukee. We had a great time at the comedy show and then shopping and exploring the next day. I really enjoy being an adult and having this relationship with my mom. Yes, she's the reason I'm in therapy and will be for years to come, but she and I also have a LOT of fun together. I never laugh as hard as I do when I'm with my family. I love to just film my mom when she's unaware and then play it back for her so she gets just a taste of what it's like watching her on this side. Did we have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn so we could be on the road at 7:00 am because Connie was convinced there would be bad weather and she wanted to be home before it hit? Yes. Did I make her drive home so I could sleep? Yes. Did I have to use the paper maps that she printed off? No, no I did not. I let the GPS lead, I let my mom drive, and I drifted reveling in my weekend. I gave Connie a pretty good Mother's Day gift. I gave her more stories to share and memories to relive. That's better than some darn flowers.        

Squeaky Wheel

    I am really lucky in that I have always been able to get away with saying things that others either can't or won't. When I was a high school student, our class secretary came up to me and said that, in the space of one week, our class budget had dropped by $1000-1500. She and I went in to the office to speak with the superintendent about what had happened. I looked him in the eye and said, "I consider that money that you stole from us." He needed to know I meant business. I don't fully remember this instance, but Khara always tells me about a time in our African American literature class in which a class member explained that he understood how the protagonist of our novel felt because he too was part of a minority group. I simply asked him what minority group he was a part of....well, I asked, "You're a straight, blonde haired, blue eyed Nazi dream child, what minority group are you a part of?" He was (and presumably still is) a militant atheist. (Yeah, I don't consider that a minority group either, but, whatever). I wasn't saying that he was, in fact, a Nazi-though, I have my suspicions-I was just saying that he is very clearly a member of the majority, so how did he define himself as a minority. I once told a co-worker of mine who was wearing a jean skirt that she looked like a Duggar. She laughed, we bantered, and she walked off. (Another co-worker tried to make a similar statement, but they lacked my charisma and it backfired in a big way).
   I just don't believe in holding back. I don't ever want to hurt anyone's feelings. Well, okay, I didn't care if I hurt that one guy's feelings from graduate school-he was a tool. I just get tired that people are tip-toeing around the real issues. People are so afraid to state what they mean outright. I hate when you can't tell where you stand with people. You always know with me. You always know how I feel about things. I don't believe in flowery language when I write or when I speak. I often feel like people who say a lot are trying to hide the fact that they're not really saying anything at all. (Read anything by Nathaniel Hawthorne and you'll understand). I am also irritated when people in the workplace decry the lack of communication, but they won't tell management-or even their coworkers-when they have an issue. You can't complain about the lack of communication if you won't communicate. I know that I have overstepped my bounds A LOT, but I'd rather be disciplined for trying to fix a problem than contributing to it.
   That is why, when given the opportunity to speak with management or to give my opinion, I speak freely. I speak respectfully-I mean I was raised right-but I also don't sit on information that I think they either don't want to hear or won't pay attention to. Because, if I have said to management, "Look, we here see these issues," and nothing happens, then at least I know I've brought it to their attention. I did what I can do to try to fix something. I'm not complaining without trying to change things. The most recent example of this is when, as part of an advisory board, my group and I had planned to bring someone in to the workplace to put on a presentation for our coworkers. However, we learned that there was already going to be a presentation on the same information and decided to scrap ours and go in a different direction. Instead, our most senior manager told us that the presentation would go on and be a part of a lunchtime presentation that our group had already expressed we felt did not work. I suggested to the group leader that we go speak with our manager and explain why we felt that this was not a good idea. She disagreed and I fell in line. But, when we were asked to provide questions or a question and answer segment at our next advisory board meeting, I asked why our senior manager had wanted the presenter to provide the lunchtime presentation even though he would have a distracted audience and a much more limited time-frame.
   I would have rather have been able to go into a meeting with her and our group leader and say, "Look, I understand that you want this person to present, but it would be a waste of his time to put on a lunchtime presentation where people are eating and coming and going instead of listening to him and all the knowledge he holds." However, the leader felt that saying something would not help and that we should do what the senior manager wanted. Yet, I had the opportunity to go into a meeting with the senior manager and one other person (who introduced me like she wouldn't know who I was) and the first thing we talked about was my question and how she UNDERSTOOD MY POINT AND THAT IT WAS NOT THE BEST IDEA! That tells me two things: 1) she knows who I am and she remembers me and 2) I made her think. I didn't walk in and say, "This is stupid and you're an idiot and this will never work!" I was respectful and said, "Here's why I think this." Don't get me wrong, I have told people I think things are stupid (cough, logging telephone calls, cough), but as many people have told me, when you do that, it puts people on the defensive.
   As we talked more and more during the meeting, I saw where she envisioned our group going. She also suggested a newsletter that I might be interested in reading which I took her up on. There was a give and take. At one point, I could see that she and the other meeting person were tip-toeing around saying what we were all thinking so I said, "To be completely blunt, it's much easier to complain about things than to fix them." (Yeah, ponder that bit of wisdom). So, we then talked about the fact that, if you are going to raise an issue to management, you should also come with solutions. Because, even if those solutions aren't the greatest, it shows that you've thought it out. And you're not just complaining to complain. It was a really good experience. It was also a productive meeting. Because the senior manager was able to see that I wasn't hiding behind email to call her on something, I wasn't coming to her and saying "fix this" and I was able to listen and have a conversation with her, she can now see that I'm a rational, thinking person who wants to fix what's broken by also putting in the work. And all of that happened because I opened my big mouth. I have very rarely ever regretted something I said-again, because I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings or shame someone-but I have regretted NOT saying something. And I'll be darned if I leave this world without people remembering what I had to say.  

Censorship

   I'm about to get really real, here. I am much more comfortable writing things down than I am actually speaking to people. I'm a good Midwestern girl and we were raised to believe conflict is bad and no one should ever be mad at us. My best friend and I have never fought. We've known when the other person is mad at us, but we have never sat down and had a real fight. There was one time when she said something that hit a nerve and I knew it was more my issue than anything that she had done and I got off the phone abruptly. I've done the same with many of my friends/coworkers. I would rather sit and stew and talk myself down than confront someone over what they said or did that made me angry or hurt. Then, I generally push down those feelings, let things simmer, and then, when someone says something that should not bother me too much, I'll either explode or become incredibly passive aggressive. It's not really a great way to be a friend. I'm working on it. 

  The older I get, the less I care about what people think about me. I used to process anything I took as criticism as a personal attack. I'm learning, as a twenty eight year old, that we all have filters. How many times have I said something to a person and then had to explain what I said and how I meant it because they had taken it another way? I do the same in reverse! Someone can say to me, "Have a nice day," and if I choose, I can hear that as a sarcastic comment or a sincere well-wishing. But, I need to work on handling what I believe is someone censoring my behavior. My reaction is generally like this: It's MY behavior. Just relax. If you don't like it, then don't do it. You don't have to tell me not to. There's stuff that you do that I don't enjoy, but I just roll my eyes internally and move on (unless you're my mom, then I make a comment because I love getting your goat). 

  I love to tell stories and I love being the center of attention. I have also never cared about class and professional boundaries. I'm me. I act the way that I act whether you're my CEO or my custodian. I want people to see me as a person first. I don't ever want to be promoted because I wore the right clothes or attended the right events or kissed the right butt. I want to be promoted because I work hard and I deserve it. I went to an outing once with some coworkers and higher ups in the company as a way to cope with a horrible project. Yes, it was a work outing, but it was not on work-time. Everyone had a couple of drinks and we were telling war stories and I started telling mine like I would if I was around anyone. Loud, with accents, a little off color, and one involved saying the word "underwear". One of my coworkers, I felt, was giving me looks of censure and making comments about being afraid of where my stories would go. And it bothered me so much because I felt that she didn't realize that I was reading the people I was talking to. I was looking at their reactions and their faces and seeing whether they thought I had gone too far. That's my survival instinct. That's my strength. I know when people want me to continue or to shut up. And I was killing it!

   I once had a phone call with a company and I took it in front of a couple of my friends. I was telling the woman on the phone that I had two different banks: because I was living in Arizona and I kept my Iowa bank and then opened a national bank account as well. I made a joke to the phone agent that having two bank accounts made me sound like a drug dealer and my friends were horrified. The phone agent thought it was hilarious! She and I giggled and then I completed my call and everything was fine. Again, I could tell she was someone that could take the joke. She didn't automatically write me up and call the FBI or IRS to investigate whether I was laundering money. And, if she had, they weren't going to find anything. Just like when I opt not to take my credit card receipt at a restaurant or gas station and I tell the attendant, "You can steal my information, but you won't get very far." That way they know, girl's got money issues, steal someone else's identity. I'm not saying anything because I'm a criminal, I'm being a real human having a real human conversation. 

   I also get very obsessive about different things: books, tv shows, movies, actors. I had one friend tell me that she was tired of hearing about my current boy crush. Well, that's okay, I get sick of hearing about stuff you talk about, too, but I just let you go on because, if you're talking about it, you must need to. My obsessions last for a couple of months and then they go away. Just ride it out. That's what I do. When you tell me that you're tired of hearing about what I'm interested in, then, to me, that often tells me that you're not interested in me. I don't talk about my job-the work I do-I'll tell stories about the people I work with. I talk about what I'm obsessed with at the moment. Or articles I've read. Or what my counselors told me I need to work on. Those are all aspects of me. My mom and best friend both tell me a lot of stories about their work and what's involved, and I listen (or, if I'm having a bad day, I'll at least pretend to listen) because they want me to be involved in their lives and, a lot of the time, they're talking it through in order to process it. My obsessions are the way I process the world. I don't drink a lot and act out in an alcohol-induced haze. I don't use drugs. Those are things to censor. Instead, I make jokes and tell stories and talk about things because that's how I process the world.  

   I get so irritated when other people act like I'm doing something wrong. Just because you wouldn't say it doesn't mean it's not okay for me to say. As long as I'm not screaming racial epithets, threatening to harm/kill anyone, or bullying anyone, what I have to say is fine. Why do I have to conform to your standards of communication? Why do I have to tamp down my personality because you wouldn't say what I do? This is who I am. I'm recognizing, however, that there are two things that can change here. Either everyone in the world can stop trying to control or contain my behavior or I can just stop letting instances like these bother me. I'm not a complete fool, I know that, especially in our social media society, people are always going to have something to say about the way that I speak or act. Because, in the same way that I feel so strongly about how it's okay for me to be me, they feel that the way they are is the way everyone should be. I need to look at me and ask why it bothers me so much that someone else doesn't like what I do or say. If I don't have a problem with it, that's all that matters. I can't point fingers outside of me and say, "You don't like when I talk about my obsessions and that's all your fault!" I have to look at me and say, "What about that bothers me and is that something that I can bring up calmly and explain my feelings? Or is it something that doesn't even need to be said because it's my issue?" 

  So, I guess, in the end, this blog post is a request to anyone who gets sick of listening to my obsessions: hearing about my celebrity boyfriends, my baby bear, my favorite tv shows-will you please bear with me? Because, when you tell me that hearing about my obsessions doesn't matter to you, I feel like, since they are so intertwined with me, that you are telling me that I don't matter to you. I also make a promise to become a better listener and to try to support you in your obsessions. And, if ever I make a comment or tell a story or act a fool in your presence, can you just say, "That's Meleah," and know that any consequences that may come from my actions, I will deal with? I'm just me. I don't know how to be any different.  

   

Dichotomy

                 I grew up knowing that there was something intrinsically wrong with me. I felt weird. I was awkward. I didn't quite click with people my own age. I was a liberal in rural Iowa. A feminist in a place where getting married before you’re thirty is still a goal. A sore thumb on a hand full of fingers that all worked in tandem while I clumsily tried to catch up.  I never felt a part of my school class. From kindergarten through senior year, I was always outside the circle. If the tiers of social involvement were actually ripples in a pond, I was the fly on the other side of the pond who  finally received information from the biggest ripple. Some of that was self-imposed. I spent high school fairly oblivious to my surroundings. I was angry for the first two years: my parents were newly divorced, I felt like my step-family had been forced on me, and I didn't feel like there was any place for me at home or at school. No place where I could be and being me was enough.  The other reason I was so disconnected was because I spent high school primarily taking classes with the kids who graduated a year before me. I hated school and I viewed it as a job. From kindergarten I knew that I wasn't cool, I wasn't pretty, I wasn't the one everyone wanted to take care of, and I wasn't funny in a way that my classmates understood. But, I was smart. That was made apparent to me and I clung to that with my whole heart. Maybe I didn't understand how these people worked and maybe I didn't have lots of friends, but I was smart and that was my role.

                I always had friends. I should make that clear. I was never bullied-though whether it was because no one tried or because I was just oblivious, I don’t know. It’s not like my classmates treated me like a pariah. I just didn't quite fit. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was The Smart One.  I read really fast, the teachers always put me in charge when they left the room, and I thought school was beneath me.  I made sure everyone knew it, too. Maybe that’s what started what I refer to as the years that were meant to “Fix Meleah”.  I remember lectures about how people don’t like someone who never smiles. They don’t like someone who tells everyone that they’re smarter than they are. They don’t like someone who is opinionated. I should have more than just one friend (which I did!). I should care more about how I looked: this one was really about telling me to lose weight and stop cutting my hair like a boy. It all reinforced to me that there was something wrong with me. It didn't matter if I was smart if people didn't like me. It didn’t matter if I was smart if I wasn't pretty. It didn't matter unless I fit the mold. And I still don’t.

                My junior and senior years of high school, I let go of a lot of my anger. I assimilated. My senior year of high school, I just wanted to have fun. It was the first time I had study halls-ever-and I had class for only three periods during the day. I became this zany, loud, outgoing senior who became buddies with all the freshmen. I got kicked out of one study hall for being too unruly. I started partying with my classmates and drinking like I saw on TV. I had a humor column in the school newspaper and I wrote the dumbest things. I wanted to leave a legacy. I didn't want everyone to remember Angry Meleah Who Thinks She’s Smarter than Everyone. I wanted them to remember Fun Meleah Who Makes People Laugh. The dichotomy of my first half and second half of my high school career is represented in my senior yearbook. I was voted Most Likely to Succeed and Class Clown. I tried to get my government teacher fired, but I also wanted to do something worthy of being sent to the office. Neither worked. It was an odd duality that I walked.

                My friend and I were comparing high school experiences: she had graduated from a Dubuque high school with 350 classmates and I graduated one of 49. I was class president, National Honor Society president, and editor-in-chief of the school newspaper. My friend exclaimed, “I’ve never been friends with someone who was popular!” But, I wasn't. I just existed. I ran unopposed for class offices all four years of high school because, frankly, who else was going to do it? That was my role. I was class president even though my decision making skills were shaky at best. I was editor-in-chief because I’d been in the class the longest. I think the NHS advisor may have skewed the vote in my favor because I voted for the other candidate. Popular people were voted homecoming king and queen. I wasn't popular. But my role was to be the smart one. The leader. So that’s what I did.

                My counselor in college said to me, “You don’t seem to know how you feel about your hometown.” That is completely true. My dichotomy still exists. I really enjoyed parts of where I grew up. I hated others. I’m so thankful that I grew up there and had the freedom to just be a kid and roam outside and revel in the knowledge that I was safe. I just don’t want to go back. I don’t fit there at all anymore. I don’t have a connection there anymore.  I've come full circle. I’m once again outside of the ripples in the pond. It’s cliché, but that chapter of my book of life has closed. That doesn't mean that I don’t cherish it. I’m just not that Meleah anymore.

                When I went to college, I found people who got me. I found people who had read the books I had read, understood the concepts I threw out, and who hadn't known me from Kindergarten. I went from having 48 people who were possible friends to thousands. I spent my first two years of college trying to replicate what had worked my senior year: drinking and being zany. But, the more I met other people who seemed to enjoy me for me, the more I realized that I’m a really good friend, the more I realized that I’m a weirdo and that actually works for me, the less I felt the need to put on that exterior and the more I could just be me. I no longer had to have two personalities. I don’t know if I would have been friends with the same people had we gone to a larger high school. I doubt it. I don’t know if I would have had the same role in school had I gone to a larger high school. Probably not. What I know for sure is that the people I surround myself with now are the ones I've chosen from a large group of people and I don’t feel intrinsically wrong anymore. I feel happy. I feel loved. I belong.