Archive for June, 2009

This Above All

Wednesday, June 10th, 2009

They may be sixteen and too cool for words, but they still love to do art projects.  Construction paper, glue, glitter, the whole bit.  So, to get them thinking about college, I assign them each a letter in the phrase THINK ABOUT COLLEGE and ask them to come up with a college-related concept: C for Campus, T for Technology, etc.  We’re working on the decorative directive in class, and they’re having a great time.

One group approaches me.  (They have to have their concept approved.)  “We have H, and we were thinking we’d do Husbands.”

I grin at them.  “Very funny.  Come on, you only have about half an hour left to decorate it.”

Their faces tell me they are not joking.  I stop smiling, too.  “Are you serious?  You’re going to college to get an education, not to get married!”  One girl gets sullen.  “Well, I’m going to college to find a husband.”  Her partner jabs her in the ribs.  “A hot husband.”  They giggle at their clever alliteration, but I am not amused.  “I’m serious, you guys.  You have to know that’s not what college is about.”

Now we’re attracting attention; other students are starting to listen and nod.  Another student speaks up.  “I’m going to college to find a husband, too.”  More nods.  Slowly, I walk to the front of the classroom.  “How many of you think that college is the place to find someone to marry?”  All hands up, just about.  Good God.  “Isn’t education more important?  Don’t you want to learn, to be smart?”  One girl rolled her eyes.  “Of course.  I want to be smart so I can talk to my husband and his friends when they come over for dinner.”

I do work in a “very traditional” school, but I had not foreseen this.  I was too shocked to say much of anything beyond “You’re all nuts,” which was probably not the most mature response.   Since then, however, I’ve tried to help my students see the importance of both traditional and progressive goals.

Look, I think marriage is a great thing; I love being married even more than I thought I would.  But I never would have met Rob if I hadn’t moved to New York, burned out on architecture and life, and taken some time off to work for a firm.  We never would have dated if I hadn’t spent a summer in Greece, piquing his interest and starting a conversation that continues to this day.  What makes a person attractive?  It’s confidence, intelligence, interest in a variety of things and the desire to think and talk about them.  I’ve seen people (men and women) desperate to get married, and the more desperate they are, the less attractive they become.  People who are needy, bent on securing domestic stability at the expense of all else, are kind of scary.

The ironic thing is that the attitude of these students is considered such heresy today.  I don’t subscribe to the belief that girls “don’t need” boyfriends or shouldn’t date until they’ve “found themselves;” that kind of attitude only leads to empty relationships based on hormones.  I think they should date, and wanting to get married is honorable and right.  But be true to thine own self, first.  If you don’t have goals, if you don’t have ideals, your husband or wife will have nothing to learn about, nothing to love.

The Oracle at Delphi has two phrases chiseled on opposite sides of the seat: “Know Thyself” and “All Things in Moderation.”  Both need to be applied here.

(Post was re-written after WordPress inexplicably deleted it two days ago.  Meg’s comment was lost.  Sorry, Meg!  Please re-comment!)

The Definition of Irony

Monday, June 8th, 2009

Saturday marked my twelfth student recital, which means I’ve been teaching piano for six years.  Yikes!  It was also the first time all of the students in my studio (currently 15) were able to attend.  Everyone performed well, and I enjoyed listening to and cheering for them in addition to meeting the “other side” of the families — the ones who don’t come to lessons.  One boy brought, I believe, nine guests!

For this recital, I decided to move from a free venue to a non-free, but nicer, venue: a church with a huge, airy sanctuary and a well-tuned Baldwin grand.  The facility charge was one dollar per person, so I put out a basket and asked for donations, and everyone happily complied.  (It helped that I had two giant plates of Monster Cookies next to the donation basket.  Woo-hoo!  Monster Cookies!)

As I was helping my students get settled (I ask them to arrive early to “try out” the piano, which helps calm their nerves and ensures they will be on time — a good policy to have) an older woman approached me, concerned.  “I understand you’re using the room across the hall?”  Yes, I told her, we were just going to have cookies and punch there after the recital.  “Well, we’re supposed to have that room at 2:00,” she said.  “I guess no one told you.”  No, no one had.  I assured her we would be out by 2:00, and told her if she needed to set anything up now, she was welcome to do so.

When I entered the room after the recital, I found myself regretting those words.  She had set up a large circle of chairs in the center of the room, so that no one could cross the room directly to access the food, and every available surface — chairs, couches, tables — was covered with stacks of handouts, pamphlets and brochures.

I deliberated for a moment before deciding that if I didn’t move everything, my students and their families would, and they would not be as careful.  So I began piling up papers into a stack, trying to separate by color and size, and moving the chairs to more strategic locations at the perimeter of the room.  Trying not to be annoyed with the woman, I wondered who in the world would have a meeting that required this much paperwork at 2 PM on a Saturday?

I looked down at the brochure in my hand.  Oh.

Clutterers Anonymous.

Plus ca change . . .

Sunday, June 7th, 2009

Plus c’est la meme chose.

I’m putting together a little quiz of frequently-used French phrases for something to do on the plane this week.  But I’m also finding ways to waste time on the Internet.  (Who knew you could do that?)

As funny as these are, they’re also depressing.  Graphic designers, soyez originale!

I knew there was a reason I liked both of these shows . . .

I knew there was a reason I liked both of these shows . . .

Disney, stop skimping on the animators!

Disney, stop skimping on the animators!

I always hated the Colonel with his WEE beady eyes.

I always hated the Colonel with his WEE beady eyes.

I'd just like to say that I've been doing this since the first time I looked at a map.

I'd just like to say that I've been doing this since the first time I looked at a map.

Stage Fright

Saturday, June 6th, 2009

Last week I was staying after school to assemble the CraneMobile, and by the time I was finished, I couldn’t leave without losing my prime parking space: no small thing on the evening of the Baccalaureate, when people are forced to either park half a mile away and walk, or get blocked in and stay all night.  So I retired to the faculty lounge to iron my graduation robe.  (I’d like to have a word with whomever designed those monstrosities.  Ugly AND uncomfortable — a win-win combo!  And lots of fun to iron, with all those pleats and bizarrely twisted surfaces.)

Several other teachers were there, most of whom lived too far away to go home between school and an evening event.  They were chatting about, among other things, diamond mines and the finer points of numismatics, when one of them mentioned that he was nervous about presenting the awards for his department at the school assembly the next day.  He had tried to get out of it, he said, but the assistant principal told him that as department head, he had no choice.

“Oh, come on,” another teacher ribbed him.  “All you have to do is read names, hand over papers and shake some hands.”

“I know,” he said.  “It’s just — I don’t like being up in front of people.”

I almost fell over.  “What did you say?  Isn’t that pretty much your whole job?”  This guy has a Ph.D.  He’s worked for cryptologists overseas in conflict zones.  He taught for years at a prestigious university.  Afraid of public speaking?  Seriously?

He shrugged off my dig.  “It’s different when you’re a teacher,” he explained.  “You know you’re the smartest person in the room.  You know they don’t have your number; you’re in charge.  In a mixed group, who knows?  Someone brilliant could be watching.”

It was right about then that I should have started to get nervous for my own speech, which was a little more complex than just reading names.  But I didn’t.  I credit that partly to pure stupidity, partly to the supreme sense of self-confidence I inherited from my father, and partly to a childhood steeped in the Suzuki Method.  I performed a lot growing up, and eventually I just grew tired of getting nervous.  I didn’t always do well; sometimes I tanked.  But I didn’t fear tanking, especially once I had already done it and understood that life goes on.

I was thinking about this, and I remembered that one of my high school teachers once said the same thing: as much as she desperately wanted to teach, she was nervous about being up in front of a class.  I guess it’s a little like wanting to be a nurse, but fainting at the sight of blood.  You have to decide which is stronger: your fear or your ambition.  Or you can imitate my sister Abby, another teacher who dislikes the spotlight.  When she had to lead her whole school in openening exercises, she made herself a cape and a mask and became SuperAbby.  The kids loved it, and since SuperAbby doesn’t get nervous, neither did my sister.  Smart girl.

One Thousand Cranes

Friday, June 5th, 2009

Transcript of a speech I read at a school-wide assembly last week:

The crane’s ethereal beauty has inspired countless artists, poets and performers. Its dances are spectacular; the birds bow and bob, throw their heads back and trumpet, throw grass, stones and feathers into the air, leap up and parachute back down on their broad wings, seeming to jump for joy.  It flies in a V formation with its neck outstretched, blessing the world with the sight of its long, elegant body soaring through the air. Gregarious and social, it congregates whenever possible in large, noisy flocks.  Although it can be found on five different continents, it is increasingly rare today, as many of its habitats are under attack.  Cranes are also loyal; they mate for life, and when they lay eggs – usually two – both parents help to bring the chicks to adulthood.  Pliny the Elder wrote that cranes would appoint one of their number to stand guard while they slept. The sentry would hold a stone in its claw, so that if it fell asleep it would drop the stone and awaken.

In Japan, the crane is representative of longevity and luck, and also associated with the number one thousand, a number that often represents infinity.  Legend holds it that the crane’s lifespan is a thousand years.  Further, the bird is believed to be able to grant a wish to whomever amasses a thousand cranes folded according to the ancient art of origami.

(Here I asked my incredibly courageous friend, who was decked out in pink and sporting a wig that looked for all the world like her natural hair, to stand.  And at the same time, two of our students pulled this mobile from its box to gasps and a thunderous applause that lasted for several minutes before I could continue.)

Two students presenting the cranes to their teacher.

Two students presenting the cranes to their teacher.

Like the crane, you are rare and beautiful.  You fly at the front of the flock with your neck outstretched, embracing suffering without shame, blessing each one of us with your ability to bear trials that we all wish you did not have to bear.  You are a devoted teacher, wife and mother to your two – chicks – and you work tirelessly to ensure that each of them, along with each of the students in your extended “family,” have the most and best opportunities possible.

Although most of us have not been witness to your trumpeting dance, we know that you radiate joy with your love for life and thirst for knowledge.  And we know that you like to congregate in the large, noisy flocks of a different type of bird – the raven.*

Your students and colleagues have missed you so very much this year, and we wanted to do something to show you how often you are in our thoughts while you’re at home getting your strength back.  We don’t believe in legends, but we do believe in the healing power of Christ.  We believe that He watches over His children with a love which none of us can comprehend.  And we believe in the power of prayer to heal.  It is with this prayer that we present you with one thousand origami cranes, folded by many of the people gathered here today.  We love you and can’t wait to have you back here with us.

*This amazing woman’s only flaw may be that she’s a professional football fanatic.  Can you spot the Ravens-themed strand in the mobile?