Review: Waiting for Superman

I know you're not going to believe me when I say this because y'all know I'm a reluctant Oprah disciple about certain things. But Oprah DID NOT make me do it. Loverpants, however, did. He hyped me up about the new documentary "Waiting for Superman" and then it was all I could do not to watch Oprah sounding her trumpet GO SEE THIS MOOVEHHHHH and try to find a way to see it before we had to queue it up via Netflix. Since Nana Red obliged us with her nanariffic presence this holiday weekend, hubalove and I scampered out to the mooobies on Saturday night and sat, like, next to each other? While watching this movie? And didn't even have to fold diaper laundry or Febreze a mattress after someone woke up in a puddle of tinkle? Epic fun. All I can say is that the article on Slate was totally right. The movie - produced by the same dude as Al Gore's guy for Inconvenient Truth - is heartbreaking, but it's really only the beginning of the conversation about Fixing America's Schools. It scratches the surface, it brings tears to your tear ducts, but it really does not (and cannot?) address all the forces at work in determining whether or not a child in a public school system receives a worthy education.

I appreciated that the documentary lasered in on the parents of the students and the decisions they had to make to ensure their children succeeded. The macro decisions (To which school will we send our children?) and the micro decisions (Should I request a parent-teacher conference about this?) are all laid out and you can see the anguish in these parents' eyes, knowing that the simple factor of geography can determine so much for their children's futures. The mosaic of scenes where families are waiting for the school lottery easily rivals any great suspense-filled film based on fiction, only this is reality for thousands if not millions of students.

What I do dispute about this film is the whole "Schools fail children" tag line. We always hear administrators and pundits use this. Our schools are failing children. While I appreciate the term "failing factory" for its clever alliteration, I do not think it is fair or sensible to blame an actual institution for children's failure to learn and/or progress. I do not blame the Catholic Church for molesting choirboys. I do not blame the Boston Police Department for not protecting me from crime at all times. Institutions are not capable of doing such things. They simply foster environments in which people - individual men and women- can use their abilities for good or for bad. There are a thousand reasons children may or may not learn, but rarely, I would argue, is it one singular force. A bad teacher, a poor home life, an undiagnosed learning disability, shoddy resources, sickness, depression, lack of motivation. The list goes on. Schools can only do so much, and when the winning combination is at play (support from home, good health, rich resources, excellence in teaching), it's clear to me (as an educator), there is no reason a child cannot succeed.

I also think it's cheap to throw America in the ring with other developed nations with homogeneous populations and much different federal tax bases. Of course Korea and Denmark are going to win out over the diverse population of the U.S. where the primary language spoken is not the first language of many of its citizens. I was also interested that no mention was made of the wars we've been waging overseas for the better part of the last decade.

Now I've attended all of one full year of kindergarten in a public school and the rest of my formal schooling was in private schools, most of which were parochial. I have always loved being a student, my parents always supported me, and other than some rather serious bouts with depression, I can't say that much has impeded my education. I say that I'm grateful for this gift, but I certainly need to be reminded that all those books? Those letters next to my name? They were all gift. I worked hard, but those teachers, my parents--they were all working harder.

Encourage you to see this film. Penny for your thoughts when you do.

4 month marker

Four months marked the time in which Baby Girl ceased observing the nightly witching hour from 7-9 p.m. "Okay, you bumbling parents," said she, "You seem to have suffered enough. I will decline your bribes of hot pink Vespas, but will concede to this early evening siesta of which you speak so highly." Imagine the ecstasy that Loverpants and I enjoyed as newbie parents. Watching the sleeping cherub doze while we ate macaroni dinner that had not taken on the consistency of something you would buy in the $.25 vending machine at KMart, but which was still PIPING HOT! In a queer twist of fate, Little Man, who has, up until now, slept in intervals of 5 and 6 hours at night, has passed the 4 month mark and has decreed that he will now wake up every 2-3 hours with a voracious hunger and a diaper that feels like a frat boy's wifebeater after a day of sand volleyball in the sun. This has resulted in his mother being so beatdown that even the magic of Mary Kay cosmetics cannot touch these puffy undereye bags full of soot and ash. Seriously.

But who am I, this blithe, whiny parent? I'm only a combined total of 33 months deep into the throes of parenthood. What about in twelve years when my kids bring home friends that ask why our house is so small, and what it's like to have a Chinese dad. What about when my kids give me their essays to proofread and I write whole new essays in the margin because I am my father's daughter? And then the alliance of Little Man/Baby Girl will inevitably join forces with Lovey Loverpants -- who will still look like he is in undergrad when both of our children are taking driver's ed -- and the triumvirate will spend whole weekends doing awesome things that I am not invited to do, because I have to take the mini-van for a tune-up and probably re-write their essays on Great British Imperialism for which they will resent me, wholeheartedly.

Yeah, so anyway, did I tell you that while my children are still portable and not full of vitriol toward me, we went to an awesome farm with splendid pumpkins and playgrounds and possibly CIDER DONUTS???

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Ashevillia!

There are 23920852 things I should be doing right now, but these pictures from our trip to Asheville, NC bring me so much unbridled joy that I have to upload them so that I may look at them 23920852 times in the next week... Putting on my makeup at airport foodcourt tables. That's how I do.

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In the parking lot of the Waffle House. If she were president, she'd be Baberham Lincoln.

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Biltmore Village.

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(Amphibious) prince among men.

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If you didn't ride a wild hog, are you really sure you went on vacation?

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She was selling root beer, obviously.

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Asheville is all about the art deco. I only have a small sense of what that means. I majored in Journalism and Medieval Renaissance Studies. I am very useful and highly marketable.

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This was the most adorable sabbath school I've ever attended. The teacher was an absolute muffin.

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Just look at that piece of fine creation. Of course I am referring to the Blue Ridge Mountains.

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There was a lot on her mind that morning. I think she thought she was the one getting married.

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Here we are at Ellie's wedding; I am checking Little Man's pulse; he is about to throw a sucker punch my way.

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Baby Girl lines up her groomsmen.

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Ellie! Oh my lands was she an adorable bride.

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I love Baby Girl loving the troubadour loving his guitar....

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