China Girl, China Mom

Last night I received an e-mail from a father who was going to talk seriously with his daughter, again, about whether she wanted to continue with piano lessons.  She had been putting up a fight at practice time, he reported, and he was tired of trying to force the issue.  If she didn't want to do the work, he declared, he certainly couldn't force her to.

Later that evening, on the recommendation of a very different father, I read this in the Wall Street Journal:

What Chinese parents understand is that nothing is fun until you're good at it. To get good at anything you have to work, and children on their own never want to work, which is why it is crucial to override their preferences. This often requires fortitude on the part of the parents because the child will resist; things are always hardest at the beginning, which is where Western parents tend to give up.

[later:]

Western parents worry a lot about their children's self-esteem. But as a parent, one of the worst things you can do for your child's self-esteem is to let them give up. On the flip side, there's nothing better for building confidence than learning you can do something you thought you couldn't.

That excerpt is probably the least controversial part of the article.  The author also claims that her daughters were "never" allowed to watch television or attend sleepovers and gives a horrifying account of a piano practice session that nearly tore the family apart but ended, unfathomably, in cuddles and laughter.  I certainly can't endorse the full gamut of her technique, which I think depends on a forceful personality and the cultural underpinnings that support and accompany it.  But I have to say, I admire the (courage?  foolishness?) it took to air those beliefs in a forum that has already crucified her for them, 3000+ negative comments strong.

I Wished to Live Deliberately

One of my friends is trying to quit smoking.  He was successful for about six weeks, until work stresses convinced him to have one after a tough day.  Then he got a coupon in the mail for a free pack.  A free pack?!

"And now," he said, between drags a couple of days ago, "Here I am again."

It's an old story, the story of addiction.  In a way, it's foreign to me; I haven't had turns with cigarettes or alcohol the way "real" addicts have.  But in another way, I do understand.  I have known the grip of a desire that overtakes reason and routine, transcending even itself to become a monster that gobbles up time, money and energy, leaving disappointment and emptiness in its wake.  In fact, I see it almost as a foible that my own weaknessess have never spiralled into something I couldn't control after a bit of a struggle.  If I were addicted, I mean really addicted, I'd be able to get help.  As it is, I'm able to convince myself on a regular basis that things aren't that bad.

Take technology, for instance.  I just read this inspiring article about a group of Oregonian high school students who, led by their teacher, embarked on a weeklong technology fast:

On the third day, the 20 students in one period shared varying responses to the assignment.

"I feel really anxious because I don't know if I'm missing something important," Amanda Schenberger said. "I keep thinking, 'I can't wait for this to end because I need to check my e-mail.' How many Facebook notifications am I going to have after this?"

But others reported benefits. Ashley Marcy talked about driving with the radio off.

"I've driven the route to school a million times, but I noticed so much more," she said.

Robert Paige said when his parents aren't home, he usually turns on the TV and all the lights for comfort. This week, he had to find other things to do.

"I just kind of sat and thought," he said. "I was thinking a lot about where we're going with the world ... about technology and what impact it has on society."

What an idea, to sit and think.  I do it probably more than most people my age, but not nearly enough for myself.  I sense it in the panicky, crushing feeling that builds throughout the work week, while I'm bouncing from class to activity to assignment.  By Friday I am snapping at students, answering colleagues and clients through clenched teeth.  When I have time to think, I can re-order my priorities, recall my passions (both the good and bad sort) and live deliberately, the way Thoreau wanted to: "I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."  The "it" was the woods, for him, but for me it is simply the task in front of me.  To sit and think.

But thoughtful living is not possible if I can't keep myself from the screens that surround and seduce me, moment by moment, every hour of the day.  As I said, it's not an addiction, not exactly, but it is . . . disordered.  As my time slips away into oblivion, and in the face of a plethora of others' opinions and experiences, my own fears and insecurities grow.  I hope that Sharon's new challenge, both glib and inspiring in its ambition, will help turn me back into a thinking person, a patient person.  Or, alternatively, that it fails so miserably I have to actually seek help.

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1.03.01

Is Smoking Sinful?

Talk about a loaded question.  It's one about which I've often wondered, being a lifelong Christian and an occasional smoker.

Yes, it's bad for you.  So is eating at McDonald's.  And if done in moderation, it's probably even less bad for you than McDonald's, especially if you're smoking anything other than unfiltered tobacco cigarettes.

Society has certainly demonized it, and as a borderline libertarian (who voted for Obama -- hey, at this point I might as well alienate all of my readers) I tend to come down hard on the other side.  I think secondhand smoke is largely a myth.  I certainly think bars, restaurants and other private businesses should be able to decide for themselves whether to allow smoking on the premises. But that's all politics and personal freedom, and the Church doesn't care much for either.

My good friend Pastor Toby Sumpter recently posted about this issue, and I have to say, it's one of the most thoughtful and balanced perspectives I've ever read on the subject.  He primarily addresses the students of his parish and school, but then broadens his argument to include all of us:

If 9 out of 10 of your elders, pastors, and teachers would frown at it, why do it? Aren't we called to love? And love not only covers multitudes of sins, it looks for ways to die for others. Ordinarily, in our culture, cigarettes are self-serving and the only other people thankful for your indulgence are your friends who also know deep down (or not so deep down) that dad would really not be pleased with this. Is that love?

I'm still not sure what I think.  But it's a pretty compelling argument: Christianity is about sacrificing for others, not doing what we want and forcing them into acceptance.  St. Paul, in 1 Corinthians: "But take heed lest by any means this liberty of yours become a stumbling-block to them that are weak." (8:9)  Just as interesting is the question of whether it's morally wrong for a non-Christian to smoke for similar reasons -- his own autonomy versus the pain and distress inflicted on those he loves.  Some people quit lifelong habits out of deference to their parents or spouses, and I'd like to think it's not just because the nagging wore them down.

Anyone want to jump in with their two cents?  You thought I'd never ask?

Becoming Transparent

Two weeks ago I made a list of all the non-Lenten food in our fridge, freezer and pantry: meat, fish, cheese, eggs, cream.  Then I turned the list into menus: bacon-wrapped turkey breast, stuffed with wild mushrooms; creamy, spicy, delicious, awful Buffalo chicken dip (ditch the chicken crackers and go for Fritos -- trust me); Puttanesca with fresh Parmesan and salty anchovies; and Rob's died-and-gone-to-heaven favorite, homemade macaroni and cheese.  As we ticked off the days during our long vacation (which continues now into tomorrow, due to yet another impending storm) I spent even more time than usual thinking about food -- which, for those of you who know me personally, is quite an accomplishment.

The thing is, it started to get old.  The period between the Advent and Lenten fasts is short; shorter this year than I can ever remember, in fact.  So we habitually cram in dinners and parties from Christmas until Clean Monday.  I think we took the cake (pun very much intended) with a party that ended just before Forgiveness Vespers last night, when we welcomed twenty friends for champagne, chocolate tarts, blini with caviar and lox and artichoke dip.  It was a perfect afternoon to cap a season of feasting.  But as much as I love to think and talk about recipes and ingredients (even a great book or movie takes a distant back seat to a great meal, especially one enjoyed in the company of family and friends) I saw the balance tipping in favor of self-indulgence.  I was itching for some boundaries to keep me honest.

It might be an American thing, the tendency to overdo it and the desire to reign sovereign over many options, but I think it's more plainly a human thing.  Thoreau wrote, "We do not ride the railroad; it rides upon us."  He said it in 1854, but today, when we have so much at our fingertips, we are even more fooled into believing we actually control it all.

So today it was actually a great relief to not eat except a very little -- a salad, a piece of fruit -- and to spend time thinking, praying, bringing my body back into submission.  Even the thought of seven whole weeks without animal products seemed comforting, a journey of simplicity marked by the occasional dinner out (Southeast Asian, probably) or a much-appreciated glass of wine on a Sunday afternoon.  We are scaling back with our bodies as we throw the weight of our souls into the struggle -- held up by prayers, confessions, the most beautiful hymns and the communal supper, the Eucharist, which we share with all creation.  Fr. George Calciu once told our congregation that fasting makes us transparent.  Not necessarily thinner (it's not a diet) but lighter, clearer, more focused.  Our faults are laid bare, but so are our strengths; so is the beauty of the image of God within each of us.

This will be my thirteenth Lent, and I'm only starting to realize what a blessing this time of abstinence is.  May it be fruitful for all of us.

The PC Bandwagon

I promised more, so here it is:

I'm a practical person, and I'm also pretty old-fashioned when it comes to teaching.  As a student, I demand a lot of myself.  My grades have always been high.  As a teacher, I demand a lot of my students.  I don't like excuses.  I don't like whining.  And I really don't like entitlement.

The first night of class, my professor told us she thought teachers shouldn't be required to take tests to be certified.  ("Some people don't do well on tests.")  I asked, how would she recommend we determine whether a teacher is fit for a teaching job?  She mentioned Problem-Based Learning, which, once explained, sounded an awful lot like a test under a different name.

Another time, she told us we should never require a student to read aloud.  ("Only choose the ones who volunteer.  Some students can't read aloud, and it embarrasses them to try.")  How, I asked, were they ever going to learn how if they didn't practice?  Easy: I was supposed to tutor them outside of class, call their parents, lobby for an IEP and oversee the whole thing during, you know, my free time.

Even after these two experiences, I was unprepared for the Crowning Jewel of Political Correctness: ELL / ESL students.  These are immigrant children who don't speak English well.  Here are some of the tips we received during class:

• Learn a little bit of the students' native languages so you can converse with them.


• Allow the students to answer during class in their native language.


• Add the works of artists, writers and scientists from their native cultures to your curriculum.


• If they stop participating in your class, don't push them.  Allow them to integrate at their own rate.


• Put flashcards around the room with vocabulary words in English and their native languages.


• Allow students to be assessed in their native languages, or to select assessments in their strongest area.

As I typed the notes, I could feel my color rising.  One thought came back to me repeatedly: ELLs are going to be the next Prize Disability.  Already, parents are rushing to get their children diagnosed with ADD so they can have preferential treatment on tests and in class.  (And yes, it absolutely is preferential: they are seated in the front of the room, checked up on with regularity, and generally coddled by the administration, who knows their parents will protest if the concessions cease. God help these children when they go to their first board meeting and declare their need for a Notes Buddy!)  The students who really do suffer from learning disabilities are done a disservice, too: cynical teachers (myself included) and resentful students make life difficult for them, and in many cases, such as a private school like mine, we simply don't have the resources to give them the help they need.  It's a real mess.

And now we have another oppressed minority to handle with kid gloves.  I'm sure all those suggestions are great ones, but they amount to tutoring, not teaching.  It is preposterous to expect a teacher to learn another language for the benefit of a handful of students, and it is equally preposterous to allow the student to dictate the terms of his own education.  Like I said, I'm old-fashioned.  Let the teachers teach.  Let the students learn.  Abraham Lincoln taught himself to read by candlelight.  Joe Louis proved a black man could be an American icon.  Barriers will fall only if we face them without fear and without whining.

Okay, tell me I'm an insensitive jerk.  Seriously.  Am I wrong?