Do normal people re-watch Terms of Endearment, like, for fun? Well, at any rate I do. And it really is the gift that keeps on giving. Exhibit A:
Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Saturday, May 2, 2015
Monday, July 28, 2014
Our TV, Ourselves
In the season one Family Ties episode unfortunately titled "Oops," Mallory's friend Cindy finds out she's pregnant and struggles with telling her mother. First, they confide in Mallory's mother, Elyse.
"I'm so confused," Cindy says. "I don't know whether to have an abortion or put the baby up for adoption or keep it."
It was December 22, 1982, only one month away exactly from the tenth anniversary of the Roe v. Wade ruling, and the extent to which this decision had become an established fact in American lives seems reflected in the structure of Cindy's sentence; she lists abortion alongside adoption and becoming a mother as a possible choice. It's X or Y or Z, each possibility given equal weight.
We don't learn what Cindy chooses to do - the main point of the episode is about establishing open communication with her mother - but even that unresolved ending feels different from how this same subject matter would be handled on later television and film, where the point often feels like an avoided abortion - whether that's avoided through miscarriage, as on Party of Five in the 1990s or adoption, as in Juno in 2007. The prevalence of these alternatives makes stories where a character actually has an abortion, as on Friday Night Lights or The Obvious Child, rarities and news. And not knowing the outcome of a pregnancy, as in the case of Cindy? Other than the 1996 film Citizen Ruth, I can't think of another example off the top of my head, although I'm sure there are more. Still, the dearth of such examples seems telling: in most mainstream TV and film, women's bodies need to be resolved.
Before Cindy comes over to the Keaton house, 10 year-old Jennifer sits down on the couch with the copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves that she's taken from Mallory's room. Alex, the conservative teenager, objects to "a book like that being in this house," but Elyse sets him straight: "There's nothing wrong with this, Alex," she says. "It's just a health and sex manual for women."
This scene, and much of this episode, amazes me and makes me a little sad, too. I love that it's "just" a manual, just another day for this family, but it makes me sad that their ordinary day, 30 years later, feels more than a little extraordinary now.
"I'm so confused," Cindy says. "I don't know whether to have an abortion or put the baby up for adoption or keep it."
It was December 22, 1982, only one month away exactly from the tenth anniversary of the Roe v. Wade ruling, and the extent to which this decision had become an established fact in American lives seems reflected in the structure of Cindy's sentence; she lists abortion alongside adoption and becoming a mother as a possible choice. It's X or Y or Z, each possibility given equal weight.
We don't learn what Cindy chooses to do - the main point of the episode is about establishing open communication with her mother - but even that unresolved ending feels different from how this same subject matter would be handled on later television and film, where the point often feels like an avoided abortion - whether that's avoided through miscarriage, as on Party of Five in the 1990s or adoption, as in Juno in 2007. The prevalence of these alternatives makes stories where a character actually has an abortion, as on Friday Night Lights or The Obvious Child, rarities and news. And not knowing the outcome of a pregnancy, as in the case of Cindy? Other than the 1996 film Citizen Ruth, I can't think of another example off the top of my head, although I'm sure there are more. Still, the dearth of such examples seems telling: in most mainstream TV and film, women's bodies need to be resolved.
 |
| "Did I really look like that when I was born?" Jennifer wants to know. |
Before Cindy comes over to the Keaton house, 10 year-old Jennifer sits down on the couch with the copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves that she's taken from Mallory's room. Alex, the conservative teenager, objects to "a book like that being in this house," but Elyse sets him straight: "There's nothing wrong with this, Alex," she says. "It's just a health and sex manual for women."
This scene, and much of this episode, amazes me and makes me a little sad, too. I love that it's "just" a manual, just another day for this family, but it makes me sad that their ordinary day, 30 years later, feels more than a little extraordinary now.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
A Sunday Run
There are two churches within three blocks of my apartment, and running by the congregants who are filing in wearing their Sunday best makes me feel like Leslie from Bridge to Terabithia, if she had lived.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Childhood Amnesia: an Update from the Archives
Three years ago I wrote about the phenomenon of children I'd spent hours with in childcare settings forgetting who I was, and I wondered if there was a name for this - and there is! This evening I heard this story on NPR about childhood amnesia, or children's inability to remember events from the first three or four years of their lives. While this phenomenon doesn't entirely overlap with my experience - some of the kids whom I knew were older, eight year olds who forgot me by 13 - it does provide a satisfying piece to the puzzle.
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Feeling a Little Zapped
A friend of mine teaches high school English, and when I saw her the other day she told me that her school is considering moving to a no zero policy - students wouldn't be given zeros for missed homework but instead would have to stay after school or arrive before school to make up missed work. The idea, my friend explained, is that students will be more motivated by the infringement on their time than they will be by a bad grade. Also, some administrators argue that a zero is too punitive, too discouraging for struggling students, and that it mathematically skews a student's GPA to boot - every other letter grade, A-D, runs on a 10-point scale, but an F plunges a student into a difficult - and numerically misleading - abyss. Giving a 50 instead - or, in the case of some schools, an even higher minimum - will still mean giving a failing grade but won't disrupt the scale nearly as much as a zero.
My friend works hard, has 150 students, and is naturally exhausted. "My principal says that the research supports it," she said of the no zero policy. "Will you read 'the research' for me and sum it up?" she half-joked, half-seriously asked. "Because I don't have time to."
So (procrastinating on my own work, naturally!) I did do a little research of my own. Despite various differences, there's a unified name for these programs - Zeros Aren't Permitted, or ZAP. A quick Google search reveals that some have been around for years, and you can find them across the country. I also checked out the education database ERIC and found several articles on minimum grading, including a 2012 Educational Researcher article that reports on a seven-year study of a high school. "Statistical analyses revealed no evidence that minimum grading was inducing either grade inflation or social promotion," the authors write.
Artificially high grades and passing students into the next grade level before they're academically prepared - those are genuine concerns, and it's good to know that minimum grading doesn't seem to add to those problems. But what about other objections? For example, do these policies effectively tell a middle or high school student that no work or late, incomplete, or otherwise lacking work will still result in no less than 50 points - that nothing will always equal something? Or that they'll never have the choice or freedom to just not do something? Or that their time will never truly be their own - that "lunch" can always become a "working lunch"? Or that, I don't know, learning and working aren't ever enough to be their own reward?
And what about teachers? If you're supposedly autonomous in your classroom but nonetheless "strongly discouraged" from giving zeros, as discussed in this recent piece about the Virginia Beach school district, what do you do?
I believe wholeheartedly in equal opportunities in education, in helping students who need it, and study halls, tutoring sessions, and other services can and do help. I've taught classes where I've accepted late work in part because I recognize that all students sometimes have bad days or need a little extra time. But I don't accept late work for full credit, and no work = zero. I'm part of the college system that many of these ZAP youth will be entering. But honestly, I'm less concerned that the students won't be prepared for college than that colleges will change too, and one day no one will remember what was funny and painful about Power Points with sentences like this: "The vision of the ZAP program is to: Create a school climate which fosters academic success for those students not turning in homework."
My friend works hard, has 150 students, and is naturally exhausted. "My principal says that the research supports it," she said of the no zero policy. "Will you read 'the research' for me and sum it up?" she half-joked, half-seriously asked. "Because I don't have time to."
So (procrastinating on my own work, naturally!) I did do a little research of my own. Despite various differences, there's a unified name for these programs - Zeros Aren't Permitted, or ZAP. A quick Google search reveals that some have been around for years, and you can find them across the country. I also checked out the education database ERIC and found several articles on minimum grading, including a 2012 Educational Researcher article that reports on a seven-year study of a high school. "Statistical analyses revealed no evidence that minimum grading was inducing either grade inflation or social promotion," the authors write.
Artificially high grades and passing students into the next grade level before they're academically prepared - those are genuine concerns, and it's good to know that minimum grading doesn't seem to add to those problems. But what about other objections? For example, do these policies effectively tell a middle or high school student that no work or late, incomplete, or otherwise lacking work will still result in no less than 50 points - that nothing will always equal something? Or that they'll never have the choice or freedom to just not do something? Or that their time will never truly be their own - that "lunch" can always become a "working lunch"? Or that, I don't know, learning and working aren't ever enough to be their own reward?
And what about teachers? If you're supposedly autonomous in your classroom but nonetheless "strongly discouraged" from giving zeros, as discussed in this recent piece about the Virginia Beach school district, what do you do?
I believe wholeheartedly in equal opportunities in education, in helping students who need it, and study halls, tutoring sessions, and other services can and do help. I've taught classes where I've accepted late work in part because I recognize that all students sometimes have bad days or need a little extra time. But I don't accept late work for full credit, and no work = zero. I'm part of the college system that many of these ZAP youth will be entering. But honestly, I'm less concerned that the students won't be prepared for college than that colleges will change too, and one day no one will remember what was funny and painful about Power Points with sentences like this: "The vision of the ZAP program is to: Create a school climate which fosters academic success for those students not turning in homework."
Saturday, May 21, 2011
What's in a Religious Name?
I attend University Unitarian Church and have been doing so since 2002. I was not raised UU, and my comfort with labeling myself a UU has varied over the years. One of UU's guiding principles is the "free and responsible search for truth and meaning," and, well, sometimes it seems like my search is free, responsible, and endless.
In the latest issue of our church newsletter, there's an article by the Youth Program Coordinator about upcoming program changes. One section in particular stands out for me:
In spite of being raised all their lives in the church, the high school youth I work with struggle in talking about their faith and they are jealous of their Christian and Jewish counterparts who have seemingly easy religious answers. Unfortunately, our ambivalence about religion keeps us from giving our kids what they want and need. My fear is that if we don't meet this need, we will lose them to other faiths or, worse, to no faith at all.
For those who aren't familiar with Unitarian Universalism, it is a non-creedal religion that is incredibly welcoming. Like I mentioned above, we have guiding principles - not doctrines. Indeed, the "About Unitarian Universalism" page of UUC's website acknowledges a spectrum of belief: "Some UUs consider themselves Christian. Many UUs would also describe themselves as Buddhist or Jewish. Other members are attuned to earth-centered spirituality and religion. UUs may also use the terms humanist or atheist to describe themselves."
But when you invite so many different beliefs under the same tent, there are bound to be tensions. Can we name ourselves any way we wish as long as we come to church? If, like the newsletter article says, it's "worse" to have "no faith," are Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, Pagan or Humanist-UUs all better than Atheist-UUs?
And about those teenagers. I have volunteered in one way or another with UU youth since 2004, and I have seen the kind of children a UU church (and its "ambivalence") raises: compassionate, curious, joyful, humorous, intelligent ones with a wide range of personal beliefs. Could we practice more unified beliefs and traditions so that any UU, of any age, would "struggle" less when discussing the UU faith? Yes...but how do you go about choosing among the strands? "We seek wisdom from all sources" - again, the "About UU" page
" - contemporary and ancient poets, the Bible, Buddhist texts, Native American religion, and many other practices and faiths."
Of course some of the high school students are "jealous" of "seemingly easy answers" - it is difficult to concisely explain UU's plurality, especially in a sound bite-loving age. And if the answers we speak of aren't to questions like, "What is UU?" but instead, "What happens when we die?" then this jealousy is all the more understandable; injustice and loss and simply being a thinking person are hard work. But easy answers are often untrue, and the UU youth are smart and know that.
Last fall I attended a meeting at which one of our ministers asked someone, "If you don't identify as a UU, why are you here?" It might sound obvious when written, but it was jarring to hear. I'm here because this is my community, and I thought I was welcomed on my search for truth and meaning. I didn't know that the labels in my mind would be policed as I explored.
In my congregation, it sometimes feels like we are politely at war over our direction. We should always keep in mind principle # 5, "The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregation and in society at large." Whichever ways we go, we have to trust our youth - even when they choose no faith at all.
In the latest issue of our church newsletter, there's an article by the Youth Program Coordinator about upcoming program changes. One section in particular stands out for me:
In spite of being raised all their lives in the church, the high school youth I work with struggle in talking about their faith and they are jealous of their Christian and Jewish counterparts who have seemingly easy religious answers. Unfortunately, our ambivalence about religion keeps us from giving our kids what they want and need. My fear is that if we don't meet this need, we will lose them to other faiths or, worse, to no faith at all.
For those who aren't familiar with Unitarian Universalism, it is a non-creedal religion that is incredibly welcoming. Like I mentioned above, we have guiding principles - not doctrines. Indeed, the "About Unitarian Universalism" page of UUC's website acknowledges a spectrum of belief: "Some UUs consider themselves Christian. Many UUs would also describe themselves as Buddhist or Jewish. Other members are attuned to earth-centered spirituality and religion. UUs may also use the terms humanist or atheist to describe themselves."
But when you invite so many different beliefs under the same tent, there are bound to be tensions. Can we name ourselves any way we wish as long as we come to church? If, like the newsletter article says, it's "worse" to have "no faith," are Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, Pagan or Humanist-UUs all better than Atheist-UUs?
And about those teenagers. I have volunteered in one way or another with UU youth since 2004, and I have seen the kind of children a UU church (and its "ambivalence") raises: compassionate, curious, joyful, humorous, intelligent ones with a wide range of personal beliefs. Could we practice more unified beliefs and traditions so that any UU, of any age, would "struggle" less when discussing the UU faith? Yes...but how do you go about choosing among the strands? "We seek wisdom from all sources" - again, the "About UU" page
" - contemporary and ancient poets, the Bible, Buddhist texts, Native American religion, and many other practices and faiths."
Of course some of the high school students are "jealous" of "seemingly easy answers" - it is difficult to concisely explain UU's plurality, especially in a sound bite-loving age. And if the answers we speak of aren't to questions like, "What is UU?" but instead, "What happens when we die?" then this jealousy is all the more understandable; injustice and loss and simply being a thinking person are hard work. But easy answers are often untrue, and the UU youth are smart and know that.
Last fall I attended a meeting at which one of our ministers asked someone, "If you don't identify as a UU, why are you here?" It might sound obvious when written, but it was jarring to hear. I'm here because this is my community, and I thought I was welcomed on my search for truth and meaning. I didn't know that the labels in my mind would be policed as I explored.
In my congregation, it sometimes feels like we are politely at war over our direction. We should always keep in mind principle # 5, "The right of conscience and the use of the democratic process within our congregation and in society at large." Whichever ways we go, we have to trust our youth - even when they choose no faith at all.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Good Old 1995
My parents have been mailing me boxes of my stuff from high school and college on and off for almost a year now; they moved back to Connecticut in June 2010 and, though they now have a huge basement, still (understandably) would like me to take possession of that which is mine. So. Boxes.
I have unearthed some treasures: articles from Parade magazine on the "cyberspace" fight to save "My So-Called Life" from cancellation; a beloved cassette tape, "TV Hits Vol. II" from the Meadowbrook Pops Orchestra, featuring classic '80s shows (who doesn't want to listen to the theme song from "Murder, She Wrote" on demand?); and my first pair of glasses (huge frames!) But the overwhelming majority of space is filled with letters.
I attended the University of Virginia's Young Writers Workshop in Charlottesville in the summers of 1994 and 1995, and, in those early-email days, it was natural to write to new friends through the trusty U.S. Postal Service. I was 14 and 15 and prolific, and so were my friends from Pittsburgh; St. Petersburg, FL; Brookline, MA; Ridgewood, NJ; and beyond. We may have only spent 3 weeks together in the same space, but some of us wrote to one another for years.
I love those letters now, both for their often-quirky, handmade, collaged envelopes and for the high school obsessions detailed within, but it also makes me sad to read them. A lot hadn't happened yet in 1995, including the deaths of two close friends and three of my grandparents. I'm no longer in as frequent or meaningful of contact with any of those people: college, significant others, jobs and new friends intervened. And in many cases we've just grown apart.
I'm not sure what you call it when you keep lots of things, pages and pages, that you can't bear to look at for very long, but that's what I'm doing. I'm an archivist, and I want to be able to remember Bug and Chris and Emily and Dave and everyone else, as they were.
I have unearthed some treasures: articles from Parade magazine on the "cyberspace" fight to save "My So-Called Life" from cancellation; a beloved cassette tape, "TV Hits Vol. II" from the Meadowbrook Pops Orchestra, featuring classic '80s shows (who doesn't want to listen to the theme song from "Murder, She Wrote" on demand?); and my first pair of glasses (huge frames!) But the overwhelming majority of space is filled with letters.
I attended the University of Virginia's Young Writers Workshop in Charlottesville in the summers of 1994 and 1995, and, in those early-email days, it was natural to write to new friends through the trusty U.S. Postal Service. I was 14 and 15 and prolific, and so were my friends from Pittsburgh; St. Petersburg, FL; Brookline, MA; Ridgewood, NJ; and beyond. We may have only spent 3 weeks together in the same space, but some of us wrote to one another for years.
I love those letters now, both for their often-quirky, handmade, collaged envelopes and for the high school obsessions detailed within, but it also makes me sad to read them. A lot hadn't happened yet in 1995, including the deaths of two close friends and three of my grandparents. I'm no longer in as frequent or meaningful of contact with any of those people: college, significant others, jobs and new friends intervened. And in many cases we've just grown apart.
I'm not sure what you call it when you keep lots of things, pages and pages, that you can't bear to look at for very long, but that's what I'm doing. I'm an archivist, and I want to be able to remember Bug and Chris and Emily and Dave and everyone else, as they were.
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