Posts by Ashley:
- I didn’t want a diamond. It felt like something I was supposed to want, but didn’t.
- I didn’t change my name when we got married. It felt like giving up a part of myself I wasn’t willing to part with.
- I wasn’t sure I wanted a church wedding, although we ended up doing it for our families, a decision I’m still unsure of.
- I don’t feel a yearning in my loins to bear children. I’m not even sure I like children.
Well. This shook me up this morning.
September 28th, 2011So, I’m driving to school today, and I’m on the highway, in the middle of three lanes. Some idiot next to me on the right is behind a truck, and he wants to get over, so he starts to inch over. I’m right next to him. Not in his blind spot. Not just far enough in front of him that he’ll scoot in just after I pass. Literally right next to him. He’s actually looking at me, so I know he sees me. I honk my horn, and he stays where he is, partly in my lane and partly behind the truck. I push the pedal to the metal and speed up to get away from this guy because it seems like he’s trying to kill me. He gets in the lane behind me, then when we’ve both passed the truck, he gets back in the right lane, pulls up right next to me, and stares at me out the window, smiling and waving. He stays like that for a good 30 seconds until I hit my breaks letting him get far enough ahead of me so I don’t have to look at him anymore.
I’ve had similar things happen before, but I’ve never had some guy get so close to my car I was pretty sure I’d get in an accident. What was he seriously thinking? He obviously saw me there, so it wasn’t a mistake. Did he think I’m just this little girl next to him, so if he pushed me over, I’d switch lanes and make room for him?
Honestly, I was a little freaked out and a lot disgusted. What a way to start a gloomy Wednesday.
“Husband” and “Wife”: Symbols of Archaic Times?
September 27th, 2011
Tim's sister, Tim, and me at a bridal shower. The aprons are from his sister. 🙂
I came across an interesting post at A Practical Wedding the other day about whether or not a woman should call her husband “husband”:
It feels archaic. It feels symbolic of a role he doesn’t play and like a counterpart to a role I don’t play. I’ve yet to find much joy in many of the stops along the traditional marriage life path.
I don’t call him “husband” and he rarely calls me “wife.” Those words feel like what our grandparents used to describe the roles they led. My grandmother, for example, made dinner every night decked out in pearls. My grandfather, on the other hand, sat at the dinner table expecting meat and potatoes and maybe a deliciously neon Jello cup for dessert. Did he help with dinner? No. Did he help clean up? No.
These are the people I think about when I think of an example husband and wife. And these people are not me. Or my husband.
I think this is a really interesting thing to consider, especially because I debated the diamond (but have one), didn’t change my name, didn’t have a church wedding, and don’t really feel the need to have children. I’ve never had a problem with the word “husband.” I mean, it took me almost a full year to get used to calling Tim my husband, but I never had a problem with the term. I saw being able to call Tim “husband” as a term of endearment, sort of like “hon” or “babe” – two terms I also use frequently. Sometimes, I’ll even just call him “husband,” like, “Husband, can you please get me a glass of water?” It seems funny, charming, and cute.
I did, however, have a serious problem with the term “wife.” Not with him using it, per se, but with the term in general. “Wife” has the connotation of a cooking, cleaning, nagging, child-bearing, tied-down woman, and I wanted none of that. It definitely didn’t seem like the term of endearment that “husband” was.
I wonder if this has to do with my preconceived gender notions of how people are supposed to act in a heterosexual marriage. I wonder if seeing so many nagging wives on television or real life friends who got married and gave up the things that they loved, but seeing so many men continue on with their lives like nothing had changed is what made me jaded toward the term.
I have, however, grown to love being a wife, especially a feminist wife, and I think my writing her has really helped with that. I feel like I’ve almost appropriated the term; I’ve made “wife” into what I want it to be, not what others expect. And that actually makes me feel really good.
What do you think about the terms “husband” and “wife?” Do you use them?
Wangari Maathai, First African Woman to Win Nobel Peace Prize, Dies
September 27th, 2011Today, I’m over at Gender Across Borders talking about Wangari Maathai, the first African Woman to Win the Nobel Peace Prize.
In the course of history, there comes a time when humanity is called to shift to a new level of consciousness,” she said, “to reach a higher moral ground. A time when we have to shed our fear and give hope to each other. That time is now.
Wangari Maathai, the first African woman to win the Nobel Peace Prize in 2004, has died of ovarian cancer at the age of 71 in Nairobi, Kenya yesterday. Dr. Maathai’s work began as an environmentalist in Kenya who had a mission to reforest her country. She did so by paying poor women a little money to plant trees, and went on to found the organization The Green Belt in 1977. The Green Belt Movement succeeded in planting more than 30 million trees in Africa, helping to reduce erosion. The mission of the Green Belt Movement was not only to plant trees in Kenya, but also to create jobs for women; reportedly, the organization helped almost 900,000 women in Africa. In this way, Dr. Maathai was not only an environmentalist, but a feminist and human rights advocate as well.
Go check out the whole article!
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Why, hello there.
September 25th, 2011Yea, so I haven’t been posting here so much this week. Why? Well, honestly, I haven’t really felt like it? I’m trying to compose an anniversary post about Tim and my anniversary – since that is what this whole blog is basically about anyway – and I find myself without words for it. Which is really frustrating because, you know, it’s my job to have the words.
Plus, I’ve been working on other projects that I plan on announcing here pretty soon, and I’m pretty stoked about all of them.
So, I will be back soon. I promise. In my absence, enjoy this post from Teaching Tolerance about online hate. What do you do? Unfriend the person, or speak up?
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Quick Hit: Gen X Women Succeed at Work, Have Fewer Kids
September 19th, 2011Thanks to my pal, Veronica, I saw this article about how women who are now between the ages of 33 and 46 (Generation X) are working harder and having fewer children. In an interview about the study with Sylvia Ann Hewlett, the founding president of the Center for Work Life Policy and author of “Winning the War for Talent in Emerging Markets: Why Woman are the Solution,” we find out a whole lot of things we might not have known about this generation. Like this gem (emphasis mine):
The data show that at age 40, college-educated women in this generation do not have children, and that’s obviously towards the end of the childbearing years. I call it a ‘creeping non-choice’ because it’s nuanced: You don’t wake up one day and say, ‘I’m not going to have kids.’ It’s a decision that falls out of other circumstances. Other important factors and opportunities crowd out the possibility of having children.
36 percent of Gen X men also don’t have children by age 40, but women are paying a more permanent price because guys can have children when they’re 55.
Well, thanks for those sweeping generalizations, Ms. Hewlett, and I hate to bust your over-generalized bubble, but some women actually do wake up wone day and say, ‘I’m not going to have kids.’ Or, at least, it’s a decision that is made in the same way that the decision to have kids is made. You think about it, talk it over with your partner, and you make the choice that’s best for you.
Also, can we discuss the rhetoric she’s using here? “Women are paying a more permanent price” for not having children? Right, because we’re all going to get to the end of our childbearing years and regret the decisions we made to have a fulfilling career and a wonderful romantic partnership. Obviously, those who are childfree at 45 will wish they hadn’t, you know, done other things.
The whole article is filled with gems like this one, and I could go on and on, but go ahead and read it for yourself and let me know what you think.
Clothing Cleanse
September 18th, 2011
Image by Michael Davie via Flickr
I have a problem with holding on to old clothing. I’m not sure why this is the case. Maybe it’s because I remember special occasions on which I wore these clothes, or maybe it’s because I bought them on vacations, or maybe it’s just because I actually think I will wear them again at some point. Whatever the reason, I have closets and drawers stuffed with clothes, half of which I hardly ever wear. When I moved out after college, when I moved home two years later, and again when I moved in with Tim just over a year ago, I did go through all of my clothes as I was packing and pared down the collection, but, because I do shop kind of a lot, I just end up with more clothes.
I wouldn’t say that it’s a problem, but I do have a habit of pulling out clothes from when I was student teaching over six years ago and become extremely discouraged when they don’t fit. Now, I’m about the same weight as I was six years ago (ok, ok, I’ve gained a little bit), but my weight has definitely redistributed and, well, I don’t know anyone who can say that their bodies look exactly the same now as they did six years ago. I know this. I am acutely aware of this with all of the reading I do about body image issues. I support my friends and tell them this when they are trying on old clothes that don’t fit anymore. So why can I not tell myself this when I do the same thing?
Today, I decided enough was enough. It’s been consistently colder, so I decided to switch out my spring/summer clothes for my fall/winter ones and, in the process of doing that, I started making a pile of clothes that I knew didn’t fit anymore or that I hadn’t worn in a long time. As I said earlier, I’ve done this kind of a clothing cleanse before, but usually I keep clothes that just don’t fit because I feel like I might eventually be able to fit in them again. This time, however, if I knew the article of clothing didn’t make me feel good when I put it on, I put it in the pile.
At the end of my cleanse, I not only had totally organized drawers and closet spaces, but I also had two garbage bags worth of clothes that Tim just took to Goodwill to donate. I also have an added piece of mind that someone in need will receive those items, and that I can pull anything out of my closet, put it on, and feel good about how it fits.
Why didn’t I do this sooner? I guess it’s easier to talk about how women shouldn’t be ashamed of their bodies than it is to practice what you preach.
Have you ever had an experience like this with your clothing? How did you handle it?
Positive Images of Independent, Married Women in Pop Culture
September 15th, 2011I set out to write a post a few days back about positive images of independent, married women in pop culture, and I ran into a problem. I couldn’t think of any.
The closest I could come was Mad About You, but, as that show was on when I was very young, I don’t remember most of it. I’m currently waiting for Netflix to deliver the first two discs of season 1, and then I’ll let you know what I find. The second thought (OK, it wasn’t my thought, but I should have thought of it myself 🙂 ) I had was the Bartlets in The West Wing, but even that image of marriage had its issues. When the president went public about his MS, his wife, Abbey, came under scrutiny because she was a doctor and she helped cover it up in the first place. And then she voluntarily suspended her medical license. To save her husband’s job. The only saving grace here is how totally pissed off she was about it.
However, when I asked on Facebook and Twitter for some positive images of marriages, I got lots of responses along the lines of According to Jim, The George Lopez Show, and Friday Night Lights. Now, I may be biased because I hate every single family sitcom out there, but it shocks me to see that people think that A) these women are independent and B) these are good marriages. In almost every single Everybody Loves Raymond-esque sitcom, the wife doesn’t work and drives her husband up a wall on a daily basis by criticizing his every move. I hate to even have to say this, but this is not a positive image of marriage.
I began watching Friday Night Lights on Monday because I had never seen it and was intrigued by the number of people telling me the marriage between the coach and his wife was an awesome example of marriage in popular culture. While it is a fantastic show so far (I have literally cried at every single of the first 9 episodes), and while the coach and his wife do work together very well and work out whatever problem they have, she is far from independent. She doesn’t have a job when the season begins, and when she does get a job, he’s upset about it. Granted, she keeps the job and does what she has to do, but outside of work, she continually plays the role of his beautiful wife, hosting parties and smiling while hanging on his arm at events at his beck and call.
Now, you might argue that this is art imitating life, but I disagree. There are a lot of strong, independent women out there who are married and who don’t exist solely to be arm candy or host parties or complain about their husbands. But where are those images on television? Or in movies? The lack of these images of positive wife role models leaves would-be free thinking women in the dust when it comes to how to have a great marriage and maintain independence and a sense of self. I know part of the reason I had such a hard time during my first year of marriage is that I was trying to negotiate the images I have seen in popular culture (I grew up with Home Improvement, Full House, and then my entire high school was obsessed with Everybody Loves Raymond, Friends, and Sex in the City.) that tell me not only that if I got married, the fun would be over, but also that wives should take care of their husbands, care for children, criticize everything their husbands do wrong, not work, etc.
So I ask you, readers, where are the positive images of wives in pop culture? And how are we – the newly married, independent, free thinking women of society – supposed to turn for an example of how to make it work?
Is Working on a Kinder Marriage Woman’s Work?
September 14th, 2011Commenter kb left an interesting comment on my post, Working on a Kinder Marriage a few days ago, and I wanted to address it in a post rather than a comment reply because I think it is such an interesting question, and I’m sort of surprised none of my regular readers brought it up before. The comment read:
I came from Feministe, and, without wanting to criticize your marriage or decisions-how do you deal with the fact that it’s always [women] that are supposed to do this? That women are supposed to sacrifice for the relationship?
While I definitely do think it is a clear societal norm that women are supposed to be the ones that “keep the family together,” and it is also a societal norm that women are supposed to be the “gentler” of the sexes, I definitely did not mean to imply that I thought it was the job of the woman to be kinder and gentler to her husband in order to make a marriage work.
In my relationship, personally, it’s almost always me who flies off the handle at seemingly inane things. They don’t seem inane when I’m yelling at Tim about them, but once I back off and take a breath, I do realize that not pushing the chair in or not hanging up your towels like a grownup or not putting the dishes in the dishwasher is not really a punishable offense. My life will, in fact, go on like normal if the dishes aren’t done or if the chair isn’t in the right spot. And, instead of start yelling at him about OMG YOU NEVER PUSH THE CHAIR IN WHY CAN’T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT OMG OMG, I could just as easily calmly say, “Hey, dude. You forgot to push the chair in. Could you do that, please? And try to remember next time?” In fact, I think the latter is more effective as evidenced by my experience teaching. Start yelling, you’ll get someone to either shut down or yell back, neither of which is very productive.
However, this is not just the job of the woman. It just so happens that, in my relationship, I’m usually the yeller. Tim doesn’t really yell unless he’s being yelled at. In fact, he rarely even complains about any of my more annoying habits, like leaving half-empty water glasses all over the apartment. (Seriously, it’s like an Easter egg hunt every morning.) He usually just brings out a glass from whever it was and puts it in the dishwasher and says, “I’ll give you two guesses where I found this. You’ll only need one.” This usually just makes me laugh and say, “Oops, sorry,” and try to remember next time to put my water glasses away.
If Tim ever did start yelling at me the way I yell at him, though, my feminist self would flip out becuase that’s just not an appropriate way to treat an equal partner. So why is it OK when I do it to him? The answer is, it’s not. And that’s why I wrote the post on having a kinder marriage.
I do wonder, though, why it seems the woman’s tendency to get upset, criticize, and yell. All of the posts I’ve seen on this topic, and all of the comments I’ve received about it, are from women. As much as I hate to even ask it, is Deborah from Everybody Loves Raymond, who comes off as over-critical and whiney in literally every episode, really that close to the mark? I shudder at the thought. Yet, still, I wonder.
What do you all think about this?
Many Viewpoints on Single-Sex Classrooms
September 13th, 2011I’m over at Gender Across Borders today, talking about US and global viewpoints of single-sex classrooms:
Picture this: A 120-pound, 5’5″, white, 23-year-old teacher stands in front of a classroom of 30 juniors in high school who are mostly Black or Latino, mostly twice her size, and all male.
This might be every first year teacher’s worst nightmare when, in fact, this was the reality of my first year of teaching at my second job. I stood there, looking at them looking at me, and my first thought was: How am I going to do this? My second thought was: I am really in trouble when they realize that there are more of them than there are of me. And they’re all twice my size.
The year turned out to be one of the best years of teaching I’ve ever had. While I left each day completely exhausted by the constant movement 17-year-0ld boys need to keep them from getting themselves in trouble and wondering what I’d come up with to keep them moving and attentive the next day, I felt like I was actually getting through to them because my teaching style could match the style of learning they all needed.
When I described my teaching experience that year, I was asked many times, “What kind of all boys tech school did you get yourself into?!” In fact, I taught (and still teach) at a public, co-ed high school in the south suburbs of Chicago that separates their students into career academies. I was placed in what was called the Engineering and Industrial Technology Academy (now called STEM), which is where all of the boys interested in wood shop, welding, and auto were placed. As you can imagine, there weren’t many girls who opted into that academy, and those who did were so much like the boys in their attention span and energy level that it didn’t really change my teaching strategy when I got a renegade female student.
The experience has me thinking in interesting ways about single-sex classrooms and the pros and cons of having a student in a classroom with only boys or only girls. As a teacher, it was actually a really great experience because I didn’t really have to worry about different learning styles. As a student, though, I wonder if those boys ever truly learned how to interact with female students their own age. For example, when a girl would come in with a pass for someone, the boys would whistle and hoot at her. When I reprimanded them for that behavior, they insisted that “she liked it.” As a feminist, I know the dangers of single-sex classrooms for LGBTQ students. Separating students into two genders doesn’t work when a student may identify as another gender than his or her outward appearance may suggest. Furthermore, using gender norms to inform your teaching and learning experience just solidifies these roles and even further alienates anyone who might not conform.
Head over to GAB to check out the rest of the article and share your view! What do you think of single-sex classrooms?
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A Year of Anniversaries
September 10th, 2011They say that the worst thing after a big life event, whether positive or negative, is the year that follows. It’s a year of anniversaries, because you remember how different life was a year ago before the big event.
I think that has been the worst thing about the post-wedding era. I can’t help but think that a year ago, we were tasting food, tweaking vows, stuffing invitations, getting RSVPs, planning the seating arrangement, talking about what music we wanted to hear, having our final dance lessons, doing hair and makeup trials, having showers and parties, sitting at my desk at school thinking Only one more month…
It’s not so much that I miss doing these things. I was so busy during the last month before the wedding that I didn’t know which way was up. But I think the hardest part is thinking about how excited I was for the big day, and knowing that I may not feel that sort of anticipation again for a long time.
The anticipation leading up to a big, positive life change is sort of addicting. Personally, I was running on adrenaline and sparkling cherry wine (Which my favorite winery doesn’t even make anymore! Sadface.) up until the big day. I see now why thrill seekers travel the world for the most dangerous and adrenaline-pumping adventures they can find; that sort of energy is incomparable to anything else in the world. And now, I’m sitting here just remembering the feeling rather than feeling it.
This weekend also marks the 10th anniversary of the September 11th attacks. My students, 15 and 16 years old, don’t even remember anything about that day except a vague recollection of watching the news in school. I remember all of it. I remember sitting in AP Biology (which I dropped shortly after that because, well, it was really hard and I didn’t need it to be an English major) and our teacher came out of the lab room talking about planes hitting a building in New York. We went to our next class, and our next class, and finally I got to a television in the band room of all places. I saw the towers fall. I called my dad, who was in Pennsylvania on business. I went through the rest of the day not quite sure what to do next. The gravity of what had actually happened didn’t hit me until the next day, when I saw the cover of the the Chicago Tribune and there was a huge, full color picture of the towers and people jumping out of them. I told my students yesterday, in a discussion about Fahrenheit 451 and whether or not ignorance really is bliss, that I wish I had never seen those pictures and if someone burned all of them, I don’t know if I’d be that upset. I said, “Think of the families whose loved ones jumped from those buildings. Should they have to see those pictures again every year?” And one of my students replied, “Yea, but think of the other scenario. I don’t remember 9/11. I don’t remember seeing pictures of people jumping out of buildings. But I saw them today when we were watching a video about it. And now I, like you, fully realize what happened that day. I think it’s important that we never forget.” (Yea, I have really awesome students.)
I spent some time thinking back to 9/11/2001 this week, just like I’ve spent some time thinking back to 10/9/2010. These are two events that have changed me deeply. One changed how I defined the world, one changed how I defined family.
We grow with each event we experience, both good and bad. Some events, like 9/11 and a wedding, are monumental; some are much, much smaller. No matter the event, though, it’s important to keep remembering. Even if it’s painful or bittersweet.
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Review: The Taste of Salt
September 9th, 2011
The Taste of Salt by Martha Southgate
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
My friend, Amanda, gave me an advance copy of The Tast of Salt a little while back, and I picked it up shortly thereafter because the cover looked pretty and I didn’t have anything else to read. I am so glad I did. In this novel, Martha Southgate has woven an incredible tale of addiction and romance, family and friendship. She deals with issues of race and gender and relationships in a way that strikes true at the heart.
Josie Henderson is the only black scientist working with marine mammals in Woods Hole, Mass. She and her husband, David, a white man, work there at the same institution. Quickly after beginning her story, we get the sense that she is running from a dark family secret. Born and raised in Cleveland, we find that she has both a father and a brother that suffer from alcoholism. In Woods Hole, however, she has run so far from these issues that she rarely speaks of them to anyone, including her husband.
Woods Hole hires another black scientist, Ben, shortly after Josie makes a visit home to see her brother, who has just been released from rehab for the second time. Upon meeting Ben, Josie feels an instant connection, and decides she can trust him with her family’s secrets. As you can imagine, this causes quite a divide between her and David. Soon, her brother comes to live with her because he can’t seem to stay clean, and tragedy strikes. We watch as everything Josie knew to be true slowly and steadily unravels, changing her view of the world.
Martha Southgate has the unique ability to weave a story so bold and beautiful that it is impossible to put down. The story of Josie’s family swells and recedes just like the tide of the ocean Josie holds so dear. The story is so delicately crafted that you find yourself excited and devastated with Josie at every turn, and you close the book after the last page truly changed.
I would highly recommend The Taste of Salt. The tentative release date is 9/13/2011, so pick up your copy soon.
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Having a Kinder Marriage is a Lot of WORK!
September 7th, 2011So. I was all ready to start working on a kinder marriage the other day. And the first time I was tested, I was a major fail.
Tim’s training for the marathon, right? So he runs after school three days a week. Those days, it’s my job to take Penny out for a walk, and on nice days like today (It finally feels like fall!!), I like to take her on about 3.5-mile walks to tire her out because otherwise she has so much energy and is totally annoying all night. Lucky for us active-types, there are 20-something miles of path that start just outside of our apartment building, so Tim and I run and walk, respectively, on that path when the weather permits.
You can imagine that when I take Penny out after school and he runs after school, sometimes we run into each other. Literally.
Now, Penny loves me. I know she does. She loves nothing better than to cuddle with me when she gets tired at night. She loves our long walks and she loves it when I sit there and pet her. But she LOVES Tim. I’ve never seen anything like it. When she sees him, she bolts towards him and there’s no stopping her. Lots of times, if she’s on the leash, she can detach herself from it or overpower me enough to get to him. This only happens when I say something like “That’s Tim!” and he sees her and gets all excited, too. Otherwise, she’ll sniff him and usually take a second look as he runs past, but it’s almost like she never saw him.
Today, we were both on opposite sides of the very busy street we have to cross to get to the pretty part of the path that goes through the forest preserve. By “very busy street,” I mean five lanes of traffic meeting five lanes of traffic at one intersection. We’re both waiting to cross, coming at each other from opposite directions, and I wave. He waves, and then he crouches down and gets an excited look on his face and shouts, “Hi, Penny!”
Guess what she did.
Thank goodness I saw it coming, because I was able to take her leash near her collar and hold her in place until I could lead her across the street before she was able to break away or run at him or overpower me. I glared at him as we crossed the street, then struggled with her for thirty extra minutes because she refused to keep walking with me after she saw him.
So what did I do when he walked in the door 30 minutes after I did? Did I ignore the fact that he did that? Did I calmly talk with him about how that may not have been the most responsible choice he could have made at that moment? Did I take a deep breath and let him know how worried I was about Penny at that moment?
No. I did not.
I yelled. I yelled about how that was the stupidest thing I had ever seen him do and what if she had gotten off her leash and ran out in front of a bunch of cars and got hit and OMG HOW ARE WE EVER SUPPOSED TO HAVE CHILDREN IF HE IS GOING TO JUST ENDANGER THEIR LIVES?! (Which is how you know I lost it completely, because I don’t even really want children at this point, but I use them as leverage when I’m yelling at Tim for some reason…) And you know what’s even worse than losing it over this incident? The fact that I seethed about it for a good hour before he came in, and still thought yelling was the best course of action to take.
So, OK, I have some work to do. Even though I think what he did was wrong, and he clearly didn’t think about the implications before he did it, seething and yelling was definitely not the right course of action in order to fix the situation. Even though he apologized profusely about the whole thing and is now making dinner to allow me to write this post, it’s not really a “Yay! Tim is making dinner!” It’s more of a “Damn right he’s making dinner, the jerk,” and that isn’t the best way to spend a beautiful, fall evening together.
So, I’m going to muster up all my strength, apologize like I mean it, and eat the best tuna salad sandwich I’ve ever tasted. After that, I’m going to make a cup of tea and relax on the couch with my husband, who will understand why I got angry, and accept my apology.
It’s not perfect, and I have a lot of work to do, but it’s a start, right?
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An Elite Education
September 6th, 2011Apparently, an elite education has its disadvantages.
Yet it is precisely that opportunity that an elite education takes away. How can I be a schoolteacher—wouldn’t that be a waste of my expensive education? Wouldn’t I be squandering the opportunities my parents worked so hard to provide? What will my friends think? How will I face my classmates at our 20th reunion, when they’re all rich lawyers or important people in New York? And the question that lies behind all these: Isn’t it beneath me? So a whole universe of possibility closes, and you miss your true calling.
This is not to say that students from elite colleges never pursue a riskier or less lucrative course after graduation, but even when they do, they tend to give up more quickly than others. (Let’s not even talk about the possibility of kids from privileged backgrounds not going to college at all, or delaying matriculation for several years, because however appropriate such choices might sometimes be, our rigid educational mentality places them outside the universe of possibility—the reason so many kids go sleepwalking off to college with no idea what they’re doing there.) This doesn’t seem to make sense, especially since students from elite schools tend to graduate with less debt and are more likely to be able to float by on family money for a while. (Read the whole article here.)
I didn’t go to Harvard or Yale or Princeton, but I did attend a small, expensive private school in Illinois that called itself “the Harvard of the Midwest.” I went there wanting to become a teacher, and I left with a teaching job. And I’m still a teacher. And I will probably be a teacher for the foreseeable future. Sure, I could have gone to the state school down the street that was known for its teaching program and cost less than half what my family and I paid for my university education, but I wanted to go to a liberal arts college. I wanted a degree in English, not English education. I wanted to learn how to think more than I wanted to learn how to teach because, let’s face it, no one can really teach you how to teach, but they can encourage you to open your mind and find new ways of doing things and solving problems, and that’s what a liberal arts education provides. There have been times when I’ve felt some guilt for spending so much money on my education, but I wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything, and I’m glad I was fortunate enough to be able to have it.
I resent the implication in this article that student with money who attend expensive, private schools find it beneath them to become lowly schoolteachers. I realize the article is pointing out that this is an attitude that graduates of elite schools shouldn’t have, but I resent the implication that they do in the first place. I don’t think it’s true, necessarily, and I think that making broad generalizations like this is a mistake.
I also think it is an incredibly broad generalization that students graduating from expensive, private schools have less debt and can float by on family money. I absolutely have never “floated by” on family money. I moved out on my own at 22 and made next to nothing. Sure, I moved back in with my mom to help me pay for grad school (at another expensive, private institution), and she helped immensely, but I certainly did not “float by.”
I think this article just serves to perpetuate the tired, old notion that students who attend private institutions for undergrad are spoiled brats and lost souls who never fight to find their true calling in life because it would be a waste of their very expensive diploma. Most of the students I graduated with owed half a house in student loans and went on to pursue careers in writing, graduate work, or education with their English degrees rather than law school or public relations. The best thing my liberal arts education taught me was to do whatever it was that made me happy, regardless of the paycheck.
Granted, I was a Midwestern English major, which could make a difference here, but I think the rich-kid-without-a-true-purpose is a sad stereotype to keep perpetuating.
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Working On a Kinder Marriage
September 5th, 2011Tim and I have been fighting this week. If you read this blog regularly or know me even a little bit, you are probably not surprised. Why ever would we be fighting? Whatever could we have to fight about?
It was the first week where we were both back in school full time.
Yup, that’s right. This past week was the back-to-school-fighting week. It is similar in many ways to the first-week-of-summer-fighting week, where we pretty much yell about anything and everything. Well, I yell about pretty much anything and everything while he mutters snide comments that he thinks I can’t hear under his breath. (As my students will tell you, I hear everything. And if you think I didn’t hear you, it means I was ignoring you.) While the first-week-of-summer-fighting week is due to both of us being stir-crazy in a small living space and seeing too much of each other or constantly bumping in to each other or waking each other up or switching the channel on the television without permission, the back-to-school-fighting week is all about how we don’t see enough of each other or about how one of us (Tim) is always working while the other (me) is always cooking or cleaning and doesn’t have time to write like she wants to. It’s about, “Seriously, you can’t put your grading down for half an hour to talk to me about your day?!” And then, you know, once we renegotiate our schedules and get used to each other again, it’ll be time for the coaching-schedule-fighting week, where we’re both working late nights at extra curricular activities because our seasons line up to the day and we forget we’re even married for three months.
While I clearly think that having a good fight every once in a while is necessary to a good relationship, these fights are getting to be routine, and have been since well before we got married. We have a week of fighting when summer starts, then when school starts, then when coaching starts. Every. Single. Year. Seriously, it’s getting to the point where the fights aren’t even exciting and stimulating anymore. They just are.
If we keep going this way, eventually y’all will be able to set your watches by our fights.
In my reading this week, I caught on to this post from The Mama Bird Diaries about having a kinder, gentler marriage.
We have been so drained by the demanding needs of our four young children that there have been mornings we don’t even kiss goodbye. Or speak nicely. Or say I love you nearly enough.
So we decided to change it.
And this amazing thing happens when you start being kinder to someone. The edginess starts to disappear. They return the kindness. You stop resenting the person for finishing the last cup of coffee or leaving the dishes because he or she was too tired. You cut each other more slack. You laugh more. You’re more compassionate. You’re quicker to say I’m sorry. You run back into the house, even if it means the kids will be a few minutes late for school, to give that kiss goodbye.
Imagine my surprise when I read this. Shock and awe, people. It’s that easy to stop fighting in your marriage?! Of course it is. It’s the same principle I decided to use with my students this year: Don’t sweat the small stuff, don’t get angry with them when they’re angry with you, keep your cool, kill ’em with kindness, find a solution and execute it immediately. And guess how many troubles I’ve had with my students this year? Zero. (Well, one, but that was with a student I had last year who didn’t note my change in attitude.) This time last year? More than I can count, because I was frustrated, cranky, and didn’t have much follow-through because I had no time to do so.
Here’s the thing: I can kick and scream and throw a tantrum all I want about how I don’t have enough time to write or the dirty dishes have been sitting in the sink for, literally, DAYS. But when it comes down to it, whose fault is it that I don’t have time to write? Is it really because I had to take 10 minutes to walk the dog while Tim ran for his marathon training? Or is it because I’ve been exhausted this week because I’m still adjusting to a full-time schedule? Probably the latter. And am I probably using cleaning the dishes as an excuse not to write because I’m too intellectually exhausted to come up with anything to write about? Um, yes. Because, believe it or not, life will go on if the dishes are dirty in the sink for another day.
We have a decision to make when we find ourselves at these crossroads. We can fight it out, or we can cut each other – and, more importantly I think, ourselves – some slack and realize that molding young minds is exhausting work, and in the first 10 days of school, it’s probably normal to fall asleep on the couch by 8PM without having done half the things you said you were going to do.
These fights end up being about how we don’t support each other’s pursuits. But the truth of the matter is that we do, and blaming the other partner for not doing what we originally wanted to do is effectively creating a scapegoat and relieving ourselves of the guilt we feel for not meeting our goals the first week back at school.
Something’s gotta give when summer ends and school begins. 100% clean dishes? Yea, that can go. Dust-free surfaces? Sure, that can wait. A perfectly made bed? Puh-lease. I’m just getting back in it when I get home from work anyway. Doing something that fulfills you? No way. Spending quality time (read: not yelling) with the love of your life? Never.
But, you know, someone should probably remind me of this again next September.
Have an Engagement Ring? You Probaby Don’t Need a Job.
September 4th, 2011
Image via Wikipedia
Thanks to Amanda, I saw this article the other day that told me and every other woman with an engagement ring out there, When On An Interview, Leave The Bling At Home.
Apparently some jobseekers have damaged their chances for a job by wearing a big engagement ring, which some hiring managers and recruiters say could send the signal that “this person doesn’t need the job.”
In another instance, HuffPo writer Katherine Bindley says, a woman returning from maternity leave asked for a raise and was turned down because of the size of her engagement ring. (She’s now suing.)
“It’s obviously unfair,” Bindley says. “No one would ever ask a man how many carats the diamond ring he bought his wife is to determine what kind of job or salary he deserves — but the [evidence suggests] that it happens.”
Wow. Just wow. Thank goodness this was categorized on mediabistro.com as OMGWTF and the author of the article, Rachel Kaufman, denounced this practice. But SERIOUSLY?! Part of me absolutely cannot believe this is true, but then my more logical, feminist side takes over and I realize that yes, I can totally believe this is true because it is yet another example of men judging women based on their appearance.
While there are obvious sexist implications to the practice of not hiring a woman based on the size of her bling, I think this also points to another, equally problematic attitude in America – the attitude that we all work for money and nothing more. Of course, having money makes a lot of things much easier, but if we all worked jobs just to get paid and not because we felt a deeper calling to do this thing for the rest of our lives, we would all be totally miserable.
Sure, Tim bought me a nice engagement ring. Sure, he could probably provide for us alone if I lost or left my job. But, for as much as I complain about waking up and going back to work and dealing with people who sometimes don’t appreciate what you do, I know that now, if I were stuck in my house all day with nothing to do I would literally lose my mind. In fact, most summers I border on cabin fever and those first few days back at school in the fall quench the thirst in me to feel useful and fulfill a purpose. I teach because I want to, dare I say because I need to for my own sense of purpose, and because I enjoy our standard of living and would like to keep the income that provides for that. You could say that I have that opportunity to do something I love rather than something I need to pay the bills because my husband is employed, which could be true, but considering he’s a teacher, too, I think we’re about in the same boat here. I’m speaking from privilege, I know this. But I don’t think that changes the fact that if, given the option, everyone could choose a profession (or choose to stay at home) that fulfilled the same sense of purpose, they would.
But, you know, we can’t ever really convey that needing a job is about more than needing a paycheck when the prevailing attitude is that women who have husbands or fiancés don’t really need to do anything at all. Kind of like how pretty girls don’t need to do homework or know how to make coffee, eh?
Discussing Censorship in the Classroom
September 3rd, 2011We’re reading Anthem and Fahrenheit 451 in my College Prep and Honors classes respectively (all sophomores), and they all read The Hunger Games for their summer reading, and I’m using this infographic to discuss the modern implications of censorship and the dangers of governments that have too much power:
I think it’ll generate some interesting discussion! What do you think? Do any teachers out there have any other resources to discuss these issues that you like to use?
I’m going to teach like all that doesn’t matter.
August 31st, 2011I had a moment yesterday when I looked at my calendar of lesson plans, and only the second half of August is filled out. Because it isn’t even September yet. How is it not even September yet?!
I realize it is just barely still August, but something about this year already has me feeling like I’ve been doing this for months. In two weeks, I have learned all of my students’ names. (I knew them in three days. I have 130 students. This is a feat.) I know about most of their personalities and eccentricities. I’ve had some kind of in-depth conversation with almost all of them. I’ve graded am entire set of papers for every class. I’ve planned how I am going to teach two novels.
How is it not even September yet?!
For some reason, I have this strange notion that summer ends and fall begins the first day of school. Maybe it helps me leave the pool behind without much regret, telling myself summer is over. But imagine my surprise, then, when I leave the confines of my school building and it’s still 90 degrees and sunny. And imagine my surprise when I look at the calendar and realize we haven’t yet hit Labor Day.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt this in denial about September’s hold out. Last year, I wanted it to be here because September meant one month closer to October and our wedding, but this year, it was straight up denial as I was writing August 30, 2011 on the board. How is it not even September yet?!
Part of the reason I’m in such denial, I think, is because I hit the ground running and brought more energy to my classroom than I did even during my first year of teaching. My hair is on fire. I’m having discussions with my students about the definition of justice that made one girl say, “Miss, you’re making my head hurt.” (That was preceded by me: “What if someone is punished you for breaking a rule that was immoral in the first place?”) I’m reading and responding to Friday Journals, 1/2 page journals about whatever is on their mind where grammar and spelling don’t count, every Friday, and I’m remembering what’s going on with each of my students. One has diabetes, three broke up with their significant others, one is trying to come out to his parents. And they’re telling me these things. Because they need someone to tell, sure, but also because they feel they can trust me. Two weeks in. And I’m remembering these things and responding and asking them how it’s going because that’s how you build relationships and foster success.
This time last year, I’m not sure I knew all my students’ names.
How is it not even September yet?!
Today, I will be standing on a chair in the middle of an empty room, asking them their opinions on justice and making them physically stand on a side and defend their opinions. I’ll question their opinions, change their minds or firm their resolve. I’ll leave school today exhausted. And successful. And with something to think about that a student said that I never thought of before.
The moral of the story? I’ve been seeing more and more news stories about contracts, teachers getting angry or receiving no support, states taking over schools, and all of the wonderful journalism that graces our presence at the beginning of every school year. And you know what I say to that? Those stories are true, to be sure, but they’re only part of the picture. For every frustrated teacher, there’s one like me who says, “I may not have a job next year because our funding could be cut or the state could take over or whatever. But this year, I’m going to teach like that doesn’t matter. And, because of that, I’m going to make a difference.”
Let a journalist come in to my classroom and see what’s going on in spite of it all and paint a full picture. Until then, I’m proud to be a positive voice for my profession. Two weeks in, at least.
Advice from a plan-everything-and-then-plan-a-back-up type of person.
August 30th, 2011Two years ago today, Tim proposed to me. He did it by taking me to the Arboretum (which totally faked me out because it was my idea to go there in the first place that day), getting down on one knee, presenting me with a ring, and saying, “Will you do me the honor of becoming Ms. Ashley Lauren S___?”
Spoiler alert: I said yes. And, sitting there at the Arboretum, looking at my beautiful new piece of jewelry and my wonderful new fiancé who wanted me to keep my last name, it was easy to dream about all of the things to come and how awesome and fun everything would be. It was easy not to think about money, family, friends, or anything else besides ourselves.
As you can imagine, that bliss lasted about a minute. And then we were confronted with the reality of How in the world are we going to do this?
I didn’t particularly like being engaged. It wasn’t exactly an enjoyable experience for me. I didn’t really like all the shopping, money spending, smiling at people who say things that totally offend me at bridal showers, sorting out guest lists, dealing with vendors who have an entirely different image of your day than you do and a timeline that doesn’t even come close to yours. However, I did enjoy the time with friends and family, especially my mom and bridesmaids, that all the shopping and parties allowed me to have, (and you’re kidding yourself if you think I didn’t enjoy getting all dolled up for every single event) and I wish I could have focused more on that than anything else. But, you know, it’s the everything else that gets in the way.
Looking back on it, if I had it to do over again, I’d worry less and have more fun. I’d joke around about more things instead of taking everything so seriously. I’d roll my eyes at some people rather than burst into tears. I would have spent more time focusing on the time I got to spend with people I loved and the time I was fortunate enough to have to get to know Tim even better rather than worrying how everything was going to turn out. But, I suppose hindsight is 20/20.
Honestly, though, I don’t regret doing it the way I did. I am who I am and, at this point, I’m not going to hide it. I’m a proud type-A, worry-wart, plan-everything-and-then-plan-a-back-up type of person. Had I tried to be any different during our engagement, I’d have ended up just being more stressed out that I couldn’t be the kind of person I was trying to be. However, while I may own my type A tendencies, I’m also the kind of person who burned myself out and got so fed up with wedding everything that I cut off all my hair a week after it was over, simply because I grew it out just for the wedding, and I wanted to be rid of it. And now, like I wish for a calmer version of myself during our engagement, I also wish for my long, flowing locks back.
So what advice can I give you, engaged folk reading this blog out there? Enjoy it. Live it up. Laugh. Roll your eyes. Realize every fight and every fabric swatch isn’t the end of the world. Of course some of it is going to suck. Of course there will be lots of drama and lots of things to worry about. OF COURSE you will be stressed out to the extreme. But you’ll make it, and at the end of it, you and your partner will be stronger, closer together, and – most importantly – you’ll be married.
Quick Hit: Women Find Jobs in Guide and Trekking Industries During Nepal’s Tourism Year
August 16th, 2011Today, I’m over at Gender Across Borders talking about women working in Nepal’s tourism industry.
Employing women as tour guides has so many wonderful implications for women, the economy, the tourism industry, and the tourists themselves. Women working in the tourism industry in Nepal will have steady jobs that give them money to be self-sufficient as well as money to put back into the economy. Also, and I think equally importantly, think of the different stories and histories tourists hear from a woman’s perspective rather than a man’s. When histories take a woman-centric view, people can learn so much more about a country than just about wars and architecture. By offering tourists a different perspective, they can learn about what it truly means to be a citizen of Nepal – something they probably wouldn’t find in textbooks or brochures.
Go check out the whole article!
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Quick Hit: Can the Aftermath of Disaster Be Beautiful?
August 13th, 2011This letter from a Sendai teacher gives me hope. My freshman year of high school, my English teacher refused to read Lord of the Flies with us because he couldn’t believe that, given the worst possible situation, humans would sink to the lowest in their behavior and be totally self-serving. With books like Hunger Games and The Road and looting and rioting going on around the world, it’s easy to believe we might just sink to the lowest of the low in the face of disaster. However, this teacher describes a “magnificent” community that survived last spring’s earthquake, and it truly is beautiful.
Here’s a little piece:
Things here in Sendai have been rather surreal. But I am very blessed to have wonderful friends who are helping me a lot. Since my shack is even more worthy of that name, I am now staying at a friend’s home. We share supplies like water, food and a kerosene heater. We sleep lined up in one room, eat by candlelight, share stories. It is warm, friendly, and beautiful.
During the day we help each other clean up the mess in our homes. People sit in their cars, looking at news on their navigation screens, or line up to get drinking water when a source is open. If someone has water running in their home, they put out sign so people can come to fill up their jugs and buckets.
Utterly amazingly where I am there has been no looting, no pushing in lines. People leave their front door open, as it is safer when an earthquake strikes. People keep saying, “Oh, this is how it used to be in the old days when everyone helped one another.
Read more here.