A Place at the Table

Ten years ago I was sitting around the table with my fellow PTA Board members discussing the lack of communication between parents and children. Someone brought up a piece of research on the correlation between family dinner time and student success. One mother of three agreed that she thought family meals were important, but bemoaned the complications of working around the schedules of her kids. “I think I’m going to buy a Winnebago," she said. "I’ll just load up the crockpot, and we can have family dinner in back in between soccer practice, ballet, or scouts or wherever the next child has to be.” I thought she was being facetious, but it appears that she was just a woman ahead of her times.

Annie Gowen writes in The Washington Post:

Thirteen-year-old Danielle Mangrum loves her new room. It has two TV screens, so she can watch the Disney Channel while her 9-year-old sister, Diamond, watches a DVD on the other. It has an elaborate stereo system, new leather furnishings and a table where she can hunker down and do her homework. It also gets 20 miles to a gallon.

Good for Danielle, she’s doing her homework! And if you read the whole article, it’s clear that these parents, just like my PTA friend, are trying hard to give their children the best of all worlds. Most of them worry about finding a balance in a fast-paced lifestyle where both parents have careers and their high-achieving children supplement heavy school loads with lots of enrichment activities. These parents are cognizant of how much time their kids spend in the car and the "quality" of that time. Attentive auto manufacturers have identified that concern and are marketing to it by producing new vehicles with “homelike features.” And that's the way we like it -- plenty of choices. I picked my current car for its sunroof, seat warmers, audio system, sturdy cupholders and storage space. I wanted it to be comfortable even though I'm not burdened with a long commute or afternoons of carpooling these days.

But many Americans do spend an awful lot of time in the car. Here where I live, outside the nation's capital, the average commute is more than half an hour. Grown-ups can make that travel choice for themselves, but children don't have much say in the matter, and too many are spending way too much time in the car. My younger colleagues occasionally verbalize their concern about strapping their children into the backseat at 6:30 a.m. for the 30-minute drive to day care. Yes, the car seat is safe, but they wonder about the long term effect when a two-year old spends an hour a day in total body restraint in the backseat.

What understanding does a child construct from this and other regimented daily travel schedules? We look (and drive) long and hard for the best dance studio or the most challenging soccer league for our older children. But in our effort to provide them with the “best” opportunities, do we strip them of all their unstructured time? Is possible that they would get the same benefit from parks and rec teams and other activities that may be less advanced but closer to home?

Perhaps what worries me even more is how children spend car time and “wait time.” It seems they have become almost totally dependent on electronic entertainment. Auto manufacturers market “quality family transportation" in the car that provides each child with a personal video player/game station in the back while the adults listen to their own musical selections or cell phone conversation up front. Together, but alone, they proceed down the highway of life, encapsulated in virtual bubbles. What happened to looking out the windows and talking to each other?

(Warning: old fogey commentary ahead.) The quality of car time has changed. Back in the day, my carpool sang songs together. When they were little, it was Old McDonald; in middle school, we sang with the radio. We played games. “A: My Name is Alice, I come from Alabama, my husband’s name is Alvin, and we sell atrocious alligators.” There was the Geography Game where the next player had to name a geographical location that began with the last letter of the preceding location. (Just so you know, there are more places that end with "A" than begin with "A".) We played Twenty Questions -- like "I’m Thinking of an Animal,” starting with doggy and kitty cat in preschool and advancing to obscure species such as pangolins, tapirs, lemurs, and the naked mole rat by middle school.

In Technology's Impact on Child Growth and Development, David Elkind says:

The high-tech culture has also changed children’s social relationships. Before the digital culture predominated, there was a language and lore of childhood that was orally passed down from generation to generation. They consisted of games, riddles, rhymes, jibes and so on that were adapted to the child’s immediate environment. This traditional culture of childhood is fast disappearing. In the past two decades alone, according to several studies, children have lost 12 hours of free time a week, and eight of those lost hours were once spent in unstructured play and outdoor pastimes. In part, that is a function of the digital culture, which provides so many adult-created toys, games and amusements. Game Boys and other electronic games are so addictive they dissuade children from enjoying the traditional games. Yet spontaneous play allows children to use their imaginations, make and break rules, and socialize with each other to a greater extent than when they play digital games.

I put great thought into the quality of cupholders during my minivan period of life, a guilty acknowledgement that, too often, I fed our kids fast food on the road. But I also cherished the laughter and silliness of car games and the long philosophical discussions on road trips. Today’s parents are shopping for the backseat tray tables and the DVD players with individual audio ports, and it is quite possible to drive cross- country with potty stops being the only interaction with the other occupants of the car. I suppose it is unrealistic to try to turn back the clock, but I wonder: Have we given new meaning to providing our children with a "moveable feast" -- or have we, with the best of intentions, fed our children into the belly of a "movable beast"?

Posted by Susan Graham at 12:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Al Kamen wasn’t writing about education in his column in The Washington Post last Wednesday. The topic was climate change and its impact on fossil fuel and alternative energy policy. Interesting, if not riveting, but Kamen got my undivided attention with this quote from Energy Alert, a newsletter distributed to petroleum industry clients by their lobbying firm:

“Remember, if you're not at the table, you're on the menu."

If you're thanking your lucky stars that as a teacher you are immune from this kind predatory policy powerplay, wake up and smell the coffee or you just might be the bacon!

Every education decision begins as a policy decision. And every policy decision begins as a political decision. But when education is on the table, teachers too often discover they are not sitting with the stakeholders—they find they've been relegated to the little seats at the children’s table.

In fact, about the only time teachers get invited to the table with the big boys and girls is when they are guests of honor at awards ceremonies. After a chicken breast dinner, a beefy elected official or corporate sponsor will make a moving speech about how teachers make all other careers possible. Finally (and I do mean finally), the honored teachers will be announced, receive a plaque, and have a grip-and-grin photo op with the officials or corporate representative.

It warms a teacher’s heart to feel appreciated, and if you get recognized by the right group, it can warm a teacher’s pocket as well. But after the party’s over, the teachers will go back to their classrooms while the elected officials and corporate executives will sit around the table discussing what needs to be changed in public education and making decisions about how those changes can be achieved. When it comes to policy, teachers rarely get an invitation.

The truth is that Teachers of the Year, Disney Teachers, Milken Educators and all the other honored teachers are, to a certain extent, prize pigs—cleaned up, put on display, and then sent back to the farm.

Do not misunderstand me: I am not denigrating teacher awards. Mine hang prominently in my office. I am honored that the organizations that gave me those awards recognized my efforts. And while I was proud to represent my profession, I was embarrassed that I was singled out. Awards only ripple the surface of the deep pool of deserving educators, but they can serve a purpose by focusing public attention on the importance of education and putting a face on the contribution of the many thousands of dedicated teachers who touch the lives of children daily.

However, it is naive to assume that those who recognize teachers are completely altruistic. The presenter of the blue ribbon often gets the floor longer than the recipient -- and he usually has a more carefully crafted message.

I’d like to offer my fellow "recognized teacher" prize pigs and wanna-be prize pigs a few lessons learned from some of the giants of pig literature.

Learn to talk: Wilber lived to see another day because Charlotte pointed out that if a pig speaks up, he just might avoid the unfortunate and unintended outcome of being a blue ribbon winner on the path to being a blue ribbon special.

Overcome fear: Piglet , a timid little pig, regularly says, “Oh my!” but he faces his fear and summons up the courage to explore the 100 Acre Wood with Pooh.

Make new friends: Babe stayed off the menu and found acceptance and success by networking in a less than optimal environment and by building alliances with all the stakeholders -- the dogs, the sheep and the farmer.

Remember who you are: Napoleon forgot his porcine origins--walking upright, wearing clothes and moving into the farmer’s house (or centrally located office). He betrayed Old Major’s vision of Animalism and became what he abhorred—an animal who viewed himself “more equal than others.”

Stick together: Three Little Pigs who watched out for each other outsmarted the wolf at their door.

Some idealist teachers refuse awards on principle because they consider them demeaning and manipulative beauty contests. These little piggies stay home. Some teachers are disillusioned and hurt when they realize that their recognition served as a platform to promote the sponsor’s agenda. These little piggies cry we-we-we, (which, unfortunately, tends to be interpreted by others as as me-me-me). Some courageous teachers realize recognition for what it is, an opportunity to make a difference. These little piggies prefer to have roast beef and want a seat at the table.

Through Teacher Leaders Network, I have had the honor to sit at the table with blue ribbon teachers from all over the country. Because they are well informed, pragmatic, well spoken and gracious, they have parlayed their 15 minutes of fame into lasting policy influence at the local, state, and national level. They are not on the menu. Nor are they simply decorative centerpieces at the policy feast. They are finding seats at the table, and they are determined to be part of the conversation that takes place there.

Posted by Susan Graham at 11:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I popped the CD that my TLN friend and colleague, Nancy Flanagan, had sent me into the player in my car and the mellow a capella voices of Sweet Honey from the Rock began to sing “On Children”:

Your children are not your children,
They are the sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself.

The words took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes. As a mother of young adult children, I have experienced the difficulty of letting go. But at 57, I also accept that letting go is as it should be and that it is not unique to our generation. My grandmother was born in 1899 and missed living in three centuries by about eighteen months. She told me about the first time she rode in a car, listened to the radio, and saw an airplane. As a teenager I admired her ability to adapt to a world that had changed so drastically. Now my students view me as the same sort of ancient time traveler when I tell them that I was six when we got our first black and white TV. They struggle with the concept and the logistics of segregated schools--what about Amari from Pakistan or Juan from San Salvador? For them, the Age of Aquarius is as abstract as the Age of Reason. Many have never seen or operated a pay phone. They were born post-Internet.

In the comic strip Zits, 15 year old Jeremy rolls his eyes impatiently as he tries to deal with his digitally dysfunctional parents. I can identify with their ineptitude relating to ring tones, Wii, and Tivo. I’ve upgraded to a CD player in my car, but cool people have a dock for their iPod. I don’t even have an iPod. While I am pretty impressed that I blog, I have never posted anything on YouTube and am not sure I could figure out how. I use email extensively, but I don’t text message. And while I can be all atwitter, I don't Twitter, although it sounds like fun. Like my grandmother, I’ve tried to keep up and adapt, but no matter how hard I chase after my students, I know I am falling behind and moving toward obsolescence.

PBS Frontline: Growing Up Online is a look into the concerns and the possibilities of the future that lies ahead for adolescents. They live on the cusp of a new day in a new digital world that’s flattened and shrunk by technology. They are natives, but is our responsibility to prepare them to live in a culture that is foreign to most us as teachers. Can we possibly prepare them for a future where they will work with tools that have not yet been invented yet: At jobs that do not yet exist, producing goods and services that have not even been imagined at present? The song provides the answer.

You can give them your love, but not your thoughts. They have their own thoughts. They have their own thoughts. You can strive to be like them, but you cannot make them just like you.

The young people we meet in Growing Up Online hold great promise as they navigate their passage to adulthood. They struggle earnestly to define themselves even though they are bombarded with endless options. While their online existence concerns adults, it is completely natural to them. To their credit, they seem genuinely concerned -- if frustrated -- that their parents don’t get it and that this virtual aspect of their lives drives a wedge between the generations.

But their parents are immigrants to their digital world. Like most immigrant parents, while eager and proud to see their children adapt and conquer a new culture, those parents also struggle to keep up with and hold on to their children. Their pain and fear is palpable as they try to balance their need to understand the shifting perimeters of cyber society, respect their children’s privacy and independence, and keep their children safe. Is it understanding or acquiescence to support a 14-year old's creation of a MySpace cyber alter-ego (who posts soft porn photos of herself) because it gives their daughter a sense of acceptance she does not feel in her real world? Do responsible parents monitor their children's online social networking in an effort to avoid losing control at the price of losing communication with their son? Does a parent have a right to access a child's Facebook page? To what extent do parents allow their children to be their own person and at what point do they say, “This far, but no farther”?

You can house their bodies, but not their souls For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow That you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

The first time I heard this song it took my breath away. But then I realized that the lyrics were not new. On Children is from The Prophet, written by Khalil Gilbran (1883-1931), probably sometime around the time my grandmother was a teenager. Is the digital divide really that different from the technological divides of my grandmother's day? And here's a thought: Could it be that the same tools that seem to push us apart have the potential to bridge that gap?

Posted by Susan Graham at 10:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)