Presidential visit!

Obama is coming to Madison! As much as I wanted him to visit our school, I couldn't be happier with his choice of schools at which to speak. My previous "little sister" went to Wright, and I'm so glad he chose to go there.

I'm interested in what he has to say. I haven't decided yet what I think of Arne Duncan and the Obama approach to education. My first impression is that their policies will work great in a vacuum (charter schools, "race to the top" funding criteria, national standards etc.) but I'd like to hear how such things will work in a school like Wright, with its 86% poverty level. (or my school, with its 66% level.)

Mostly, I want to hear the President not only *say* that education is important, but put some federal dollars behind his words. States and counties are struggling to get tax dollars to support education. There has got to be a better way.

Books and more books

I made it out to the Wisconsin Book Festival last night.

I went to hear Lorrie Moore speak. I just finished "Gate at the Stairs" and really liked it. We timed it so that we would arrive just as she came on stage, and not have to listen to some guy I'd never heard of before who was speaking before her on some strange book that he'd written about chickens.

I was underwhelmed by Ms. Moore. She wasn't feeling well, and she spent most of her time making sure that we understood that she wrote FICTION, dammit. If we were not sophisticated enough to realize that a novel was an art and it WASN'T TRUE than we just didn't deserve to read her books.

She is adored by the NYTimes. They gush:
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/28/books/28book.html

She is not so much adored in Madison. Not much gushing:
http://www.thedailypage.com/isthmus/article.php?article=26812

Perhaps it is because despite all of her protests otherwise, people think she writes about Madison. (And really, anyone who has lived here for even a month knows that 'Troy' is no fictional city. It's Madison!) And she writes with a bit of disdain. Or truth. Depending on how you see it.

I think she is a brilliant writer and I don't care what she writes about - I'll read it.

But of course, the highlight of the evening turned out to be Michael Perry - the guy I'd never heard of before who wrote a book about chickens. The one I was trying to avoid. He was an amazing speaker. I laughed. I cried. And I can't wait to read his book, Coop, which I now know is about way more than chickens.

Any other book recommendations out there?

Realization

I write a lot about how my kids go to a low-income, diverse school. And I'd be lying if I didn't admit that once in a while, a scary thought sneaks into my head, a "Could they be getting a better education at (insert private school here) or (insert white suburban school here)?" thought.

This year, I am no longer PTA President, which is a very good thing. I love, love, love the school, but one can only run things for so long. And the two men (yes, men) who have replaced me are a thousand times more qualified and competent than I ever was.

They are brilliant and caring and have started doing "listening sessions" in the different neighborhoods of our school. Last night was the one for Spanish-speakers. Tomorrow night is the one for Hmong speakers. Those of us who sadly only speak English, can listen through the translators.

I was holding back tears last night when I heard, for the first time, the thoughts and dreams of our Spanish-speaking parent population. Guess what? Same as mine. We all want to have kids who enjoy school, behave for their teachers and learn to love learning.

The tears almost came when one of the fathers apologized to us through the translator. He wanted to make sure that we understood that if he didn't engage us (the native English speakers) in conversation at school, that it was only because English wasn't his first language and he wasn't always comfortable initiating conversations. He said this after delivering one of the most moving monologues about our school (again, through the translator) that I have ever heard. I really wish I could speak Spanish, because I'm sure something was probably lost in translation.

I was struck with an overwhelming feeling of how absolutely lucky my kids are - and how lucky I am - to be able to interact with families like his. And to go to a school like ours, that has this amazing community of committed teachers and families.

We lost 3-4 more families this year, they all transferred to the higher-income, whiter schools, so I've been feeling a bit blue. It's hard not to take it personally when we lose families. The schools we lose families to don't have any non-English speakers. (Hence, the test scores are higher.)

But I realized last night that wisdom can be found in unexpected places. And I think my kids are the luckiest kids in the world to go to a school with classmates who have origins from all over the world.

And I also realized that I really want to learn Spanish again. I want to be able to speak to the parents without a translator. My four years of high school Spanish aren't cutting it.

I've spent most of the the last few months feeling stressed about losing the families we have lost. But tonight, for one brief moment, I'm feeling sorry for them. They may be surrounded with higher test scores, but I suspect we might have something that matters more than test scores: community. Granted, we are a community of various skin colors, income levels, and languages...but I suspect that people aren't holding back tears at the private school PTA meeting.

Perspective

So, I went back and deleted the angry post about how everyone who is fleeing our school is a racist. I don't really believe that. Individually, people are leaving for very specific situations and are simply trying to do the best for their kids. They aren't racists. I do know that.

Collectively, however, we still end up with a group of white, rich, country club members leaving a brown school to go to a white school. Those are the facts. I will try to simply state facts.

I've been in bed all weekend with a probable ear infection, so I had a lot of time to read. I started and finished a book that everyone is raving about: The Help. It's a compelling story about life in Mississippi in the early 1960s. It's a quick read. But I don't understand all the 5-star reviews on Amazon. It's worth reading, but I finished it with the feeling that the author wrote it for the express purpose of giving middle-class white woman a substantive book to discuss at their book-club, while they sip wine and debate which preschool will best prepare little Johnny to get into Harvard.

I think we are supposed to put the book down and feel good at how much has changed since then. And it has. But not enough. Less than 50 years ago, we passed monumental laws to outlaw segregation. And yet, here I sit, living in a neighborhood in which many families go to great lengths to make sure their children are surrounded only by others who are white and middle-class.

We have a long way to go.

Alaska

OK, now I get it: The incredulous looks on knowledgeable faces when I admitted I had never been to Alaska, despite the fact my sister had lived there for over a decade. I get it now. All of you - you were right, I was missing out.

It is perhaps the most beautiful place I've ever been.

The kids were in heaven. It is perhaps a kid-vacation paradise. Tide pools, hiking, fishing, kayaking, mud, mud and more mud.

It made me realize just how sterilized our Lower-48 outdoor play space has become. We are a family who spends a lot of time outdoors - we bike, walk, run, swim, you name it. But much of our outdoor time is spent in a yard or at a park or a beach or on a well-traveled trail. Even canoeing on the lake involves maneuvering around motorboats.

In Alaska, there are vast expanses of wilderness. Here in Wisconsin, I've noticed that kids create their own wild spaces. They all congregate around the largest, farthest, most hidden tree at the park, and build forts and find sticks and rocks and cool leaves. Kids need wilderness. (exhibit A: Michael Chabon's article)

How does one bring more wilderness into an urban/suburban life?

As for us, we are already planning our next trip to Alaska.

Headed to Alaska

On Monday, we head out to Homer, Alaska to visit my favorite sister. She's been out there for over 10 years, but we have never visited. ( I know, I know, I'm the worst sister in the universe.)

In my defense, I've been busy popping out (and raising) these:










Two of them in fact - one XX and one XY.

Taking babies/toddlers/preschoolers to Alaska was just not my idea of fun. Frankly, getting to the grocery store in one piece during the baby/toddler stage was some days more than I could handle.

But now, they look like this:












And we've decided they can probably handle the 12+ hours of travel without kicking the seat in front of them or spitting up all over the person next to them. And so we are off for a big family adventure to lands far away.

Now if I could get the boy to stop repeating "I can see Russia from my house," we should be all set.

If I were in charge of Education

Lots of commentary in the last weeks about how to improve education for poor kids.  See: 11D, and David Brooks, and Half Changed World. 

I've got a simple, sure-fire solution to raising the test scores of poor children.

Here's my plan:

Everyone who has more than they need can join a mentoring program, get matched to a child who doesn't have enough.  You simply promise that child that you will do everything in your power to make sure he or she has clothing and food.

That's it, really.  clothing and food.

You see, once the shelter, clothing and food needs are met - amazing things can happen. (Ideally, you'd be able to promise the shelter too, but let's not bite off more than we can chew right away. clothing and food, and books, maybe.  I should add books.)

OK, so maybe it is more than that.  You see, once you experience the sheer magic of helping a child succeed when they face every single conceivable obstacle in life....something happens to you.  You start to care. 

So, now a child has food, clothing, books (possibly shelter) AND an adult who cares.  Voila - higher test scores.

I've had a rough couple of weeks with my current match situation. Unbloggable stuff. Stuff that has me reaching out to social workers and other professionals.  Stuff that has me curl up in the fetal position on my living room rug when I'm all alone and no one can see me crying.

One possible solution for the current "stuff" is to find other matches for some of the other younger kids in the family.  Right now, I'm the only match and there are 5 kids. The 8-year-old boy has been on the waiting list for two years.  TWO YEARS. TWO YEARS.  

It kinda breaks my heart. Turns out there are almost 300 kids on that waiting list.  Mostly boys.  Most have been on for years. This mentoring stuff works, (really, it works.) 

But no one wants to do it. 

The one silver lining:  I was on the phone with a local respite center talking about (unbloggable stuff) and reading about all the things they need on their website. My daughter, who absorbs way more than I think she does, gathered up every penny she has ever saved, and carried it out to me. She wanted me to give it to the respite center.  We are headed over there this week.  Just when I think I am doing just about everything possibly wrong that I can as a mother, she goes and does something like that to prove me wrong. 

I guess.  

Part of me wants to shield my own 9 year old from the ugly parts of  the life of my 10 year old match. I try the best I can. But let's be honest: I can't. We've opened our home and our life to this other child and I can't pretend that her life is just like ours. It isn't.

But her test scores?  Up.  Way up.  So we plug on...two steps forward, one step back.