My son started high school this year. He's a freshman. He loves it and is doing very well. I have mentioned in the past that he was a member of the leadership team at his middle school and is on the board at his temple's religious school (don't ask). My kid is awesome.
On the way to school this morning he told me he was getting out early today because there is an assembly or rally and there was a permission slip that needed to be turned in and he neglected to do it. He took full responsibility for not having turned it in yesterday when it was due. We parents aren't informed of things that come home, so it is entirely up to the students to get this kind of thing done.
The permission slip is not really a permission slip. The fact that my son considers it a permission slip is itself interesting; it speaks to his naivety and to the school's actual basis for requiring the "permission slip."
I have it right next to me, and it is called a Student Activities Contract. What? It talks about requirements students must meet in order to attend certain functions. It is a copy of something we all had to sign in the beginning of the year. And it is non-binding, because these children don't have any standing to sign contracts. But that's a whole other issue.
The contract talks about maintaining a 1.5 GPA or higher (really?), no suspensions, and an attendance record "deemed passable by the Dean of Attendance." So, the requirements are inherently unclear if one is decided in the vacuum of the Dean's head.
Why would a school demand that students sign a contract promising to be students? I'll tell you why.
It's to keep out the riffraff. If you make participation in activities contingent upon parent signatures --the signatures themselves contingent upon a teenager remembering to have mommy sign the silly thing-- then you are precluding many kids from participating, especially in a Title 1 district, like the one my son attends. Why? Inner city families often have more difficult work hours, or lack of interest, or who knows what that might prevent them from getting a silly form signed just so their kid can go to the school their tax dollars pay for.
It also precludes great, interested, competent, well-prepared kids from coming if they forget to get the stupid thing signed.
It's like giving someone a contract that says they will be human, and if they don't sign it, then, well, what? You're no longer human? These students are being asked to sign a contract that says they will be students. Why this stupid thing has to be turned in in order to attend the school and functions at the school is nonsense, and it's a ploy to limit attendance to the "good" kids.
The kids that need the adults the most are the ones who are precluded, as are the ones who are a good example to other kids, like my son, who don't get to go because they forgot to turn in what is a useless and manipulative form designed without him in mind (or, with only kids like him in mind--the point is to limit attendance).
This kind of policy invented by school administrators is what gives public schools a bad name.
It's calling everyone guilty before they even show up. It basically says, We know your fucked up kids who do drugs and are violent and get shitty grades, and if you bring that shit here, well, we won't let you in, fuckers!
It's like Nancy Reagan when she told everyone to just say no. It's easy when you're a coddled millionaire, isn't it? Not so easy when you are surrounded by it and it is the economy your hood runs on.
Students are not treated with the respect they deserve. As kids, they react poorly and act out. Think about that the next time you as principal decide to call everyone into question by making them sign some shit that makes them promise not to be drug-addled killers.
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label son. Show all posts
10/28/11
1/30/11
Wine Country Is Lovely
I have an app that silents my phone, unless you are a privileged caller and then you can ring through. Of course The Frustrated Son has these privileges, as do his mother, my mother, and a couple other important people.
Friday my son went on a weekend retreat with his Temple group, called Midrasha. It is for Jewish Bay Area high schoolers, so there were about 150 teens up there, along with a bunch of staff. These are all good kids, the cream of the crop, I like to think. It is the reason I am okay with my son getting all Jewy.
So, late Friday night the kids were in their cabins being idiots. They were playing a game called condom. The idea is to wrap yourself in your sleeping bag as if you were a penis in a condom and you try to beat the crap out of your condomized friends. WTF?! So, some kid smashed his head into my kid's mouth, knocking one of his front teeth a bit, making it bleed and causing the medic there to call me. The calls came at about 1:30am, while I was snoring on the couch, my cell phone on silent, and the medic calling me from the phone at the camp--he couldn't get through.
So, at 4 in the morning, once I wake up enough to listen to the voice mail, I find out all the above. The voice mail is from The Frustrated Son, who is laughing because his friends didn't think he has the 'guts' (I should probably say 'balls' here) to tell me the name of the game, but he did. It was apparently hilarious because all I could hear for the next few seconds was laughing. I knew then my son was fine(ish).
I was a camp director, so this kind of thing does not freak me out, especially since the kids were laughing. I know medical staff at camp always play it safe, wisely.
Finally, at 9:30 in the morning Saturday, about 9 hours after the injury, they got in touch with me. They said the medical types who were there think the kid needs to be seen by a dentist. They called one who agreed. The camp is about 50 miles away from my house.
At 9:30 I got in the car and headed up. I was there by about 11am. I got the kid, and all his stuff and we headed home because our appointment wasn't until 3pm, about 30 miles away--in the opposite direction--from the house. I figured he was done for the weekend.
We went to the dentist appointment and the kid basically needed a root canal. In an hour his tooth was reamed, filled, and anchored to his other teeth with a strip of mesh glued across his top few teeth. It was 4:45 by the time we left. The dentist and his assistant were absolutely awesome. In every way. If you need a dentist in Orinda, get in touch with me.
At 4:45pm we headed back to the retreat. He was back by 6:30, before dinner had ended. I was looked upon by the staff as possibly the best father that ever lived. They would be correct.
I then got back in my fucking car to make the hour and a half trip back home.
I put about 360 miles in yesterday--mostly through Napa's wine country. It's lovely out there. I got home at about 8pm and collapsed on the couch. I woke up at about 3 in the morning this morning.
What a day.
And that's why I didn't blog yesterday.
8/29/10
The Bar Mitzvah
Well, the Frustrated Son is no longer able to place all responsibility for his foibles onto me; he is responsible for his own foibles now. What a relief!
He was incredibly poised up there on the bima. Cool as a cucumber.
At bar mitzvahs it is customary for a senior member of the congregation to take the bima and present a gift from the congregation to the bar mitzvah. The dude whose responsibility it was mentioned to those present that as he sat down next to my son, prior to his presentation, he told my son who he was and why he was there. He then told us that my son's response was, "Wicked! Cool tie." Now if that ain't confidence, I don't know what is.
There are many opportunities for family members to get confused because many of them are in the actual service, but most of them never got a chance to practice. It's like a play, and the rabbi is the director, quietly and subtly moving people to the right spot, signaling when someone needs to go back to their seat, and so-on. Well, my son took on most of that. He was very, very impressive, and I am so proud of him.
It was a very nice service (if you're into that kind of thing) full of singing, clapping, little kids being cute, and proud parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends filled with pride.
The Frustrated Son's mom, who is a chef and restaurateur, made most of the food, which was frickin' delicious. She made the lox creamed cheese for crying out loud! At the restaurant this morning, where we all met before a couple trips to the airport to deliver those flying home, my best friend, who came up for the celebration, noticed that on the "specials" board there were a couple items that included "smoked salmon cream cheese." She made more than we needed.
I will resume a more regular blogging schedule later today, or in the morning, after I am finished beaming.
He was incredibly poised up there on the bima. Cool as a cucumber.
At bar mitzvahs it is customary for a senior member of the congregation to take the bima and present a gift from the congregation to the bar mitzvah. The dude whose responsibility it was mentioned to those present that as he sat down next to my son, prior to his presentation, he told my son who he was and why he was there. He then told us that my son's response was, "Wicked! Cool tie." Now if that ain't confidence, I don't know what is.
There are many opportunities for family members to get confused because many of them are in the actual service, but most of them never got a chance to practice. It's like a play, and the rabbi is the director, quietly and subtly moving people to the right spot, signaling when someone needs to go back to their seat, and so-on. Well, my son took on most of that. He was very, very impressive, and I am so proud of him.
It was a very nice service (if you're into that kind of thing) full of singing, clapping, little kids being cute, and proud parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends filled with pride.
The Frustrated Son's mom, who is a chef and restaurateur, made most of the food, which was frickin' delicious. She made the lox creamed cheese for crying out loud! At the restaurant this morning, where we all met before a couple trips to the airport to deliver those flying home, my best friend, who came up for the celebration, noticed that on the "specials" board there were a couple items that included "smoked salmon cream cheese." She made more than we needed.
I will resume a more regular blogging schedule later today, or in the morning, after I am finished beaming.
8/28/10
Light Posting For The Next Week
The bar mitzvah is getting close, and there has been much to do. <!--25d74b0c420b4df8a923513a74a91588-->
I spread wood chips (5 trips worth-100's of gallons, in 3 big buckets. I think gas alone may have cost more than buying wood chips and having them delivered!) all over the dirt so our festivities would be less dusty.
I wrote the "program," laid it out, checked it 4000 times and had it run off so those attending the bar mitzvah and regular Saturday services will know who is who when they go up to the bima.
I also put in the program a remembrance of my father and brother (a common practice), both of whom are dead, but would have been proud of the son. Writing it brought tears to my eyes, even though I thought I was sort of over that kind of reaction. Nope. I suppose things like this will always bring up the sadness and loss. Cancer took my dad about 10 years ago, and sadness caused my brother to take his own life in 2007. But we live on, tasked with remembering those who are gone.
So, one house is finished--the house where the party will be.
Now all I need to do is clean up my place (the bachelor pad--it's just the son and me) to make it presentable in case folks end up here for a bit over the weekend. How do you clean a toilet?
I had to buy the Frustrated Son a suit. It was too fucking expensive, especially given he will wear it once. I could have bought a cheaper suit, but he would have looked cheap. Priorities.
I will resume a more regular blogging schedule in a week. For now there are archives, and the occasional post.
I spread wood chips (5 trips worth-100's of gallons, in 3 big buckets. I think gas alone may have cost more than buying wood chips and having them delivered!) all over the dirt so our festivities would be less dusty.
I wrote the "program," laid it out, checked it 4000 times and had it run off so those attending the bar mitzvah and regular Saturday services will know who is who when they go up to the bima.
I also put in the program a remembrance of my father and brother (a common practice), both of whom are dead, but would have been proud of the son. Writing it brought tears to my eyes, even though I thought I was sort of over that kind of reaction. Nope. I suppose things like this will always bring up the sadness and loss. Cancer took my dad about 10 years ago, and sadness caused my brother to take his own life in 2007. But we live on, tasked with remembering those who are gone.
So, one house is finished--the house where the party will be.
Now all I need to do is clean up my place (the bachelor pad--it's just the son and me) to make it presentable in case folks end up here for a bit over the weekend. How do you clean a toilet?
I had to buy the Frustrated Son a suit. It was too fucking expensive, especially given he will wear it once. I could have bought a cheaper suit, but he would have looked cheap. Priorities.
I will resume a more regular blogging schedule in a week. For now there are archives, and the occasional post.
8/14/10
I've Been Busy
I know. I have been neglecting you, still. Look, my kid, the Frustrated Son (who isn't really frustrated at all) is preparing for his bar mitzvah on the 28th, so the Frustrated Parents, who, like over half of once-married Americans, are not married, must do some cleaning. Mom has the better house, so it will be there.
We spent the day weeding Mom's yard. It has never been done. Ever. And there are blackberry bushes, and other prickly things. But, being poor, we can't rent the ballroom at the St. Francis, so we need to have the shindig at Mom's house. We needed to cleanup because it was all overgrown--nowhere to sit or set up folding tables.
As the son watched me sweat, I ripped out about 60 gallons worth of foliage, dead and thorny, with only minor injuries. He watched his mom prune the overgrown tree and ivy that was covering the stairs down to the house. I am being unfair. He didn't just watch. He helped, then went inside to play guitar, then came out again, and then went in again. He had a great day!
I will finish the yard tomorrow and next weekend. I think I need to spread some wood-chips or something to cover what is now just dirt. It can be temporary. I have seen some wood-chips for free on Craigslist.
We have to buy ten pounds of cream cheese?! And because lox is so expensive, we will put it in the cream cheese. Maybe we need only 8 eight pounds of cream cheese--5 w/lox and 3 plain. We talked about cream cheese for a long time. It's the little things.
As long as we don't bring anything mammalian into the temple kitchen, we are good. It's a reform synagogue, so they can interpret the laws of Kashrut however they see fit.
My father used to tell me a story of his grandfather who was a rabbi (who really knows if the story is true, and I don't care) in a shtetl. Due to the fact that the community was poor, it often occurred that some form of food was available, but not necessarily kosher. Great-grandpa was willing to bless just about anything so his community wouldn't starve. My dad, a bacon eater like the son and me, said rabbi gramps would bless a pig if that's all there was to eat. Life is worth more than religion, or something.
I come by my atheism via bloodline, apparently.
So, for the next couple of weeks, I will be blogging a bit less.
We spent the day weeding Mom's yard. It has never been done. Ever. And there are blackberry bushes, and other prickly things. But, being poor, we can't rent the ballroom at the St. Francis, so we need to have the shindig at Mom's house. We needed to cleanup because it was all overgrown--nowhere to sit or set up folding tables.
As the son watched me sweat, I ripped out about 60 gallons worth of foliage, dead and thorny, with only minor injuries. He watched his mom prune the overgrown tree and ivy that was covering the stairs down to the house. I am being unfair. He didn't just watch. He helped, then went inside to play guitar, then came out again, and then went in again. He had a great day!
I will finish the yard tomorrow and next weekend. I think I need to spread some wood-chips or something to cover what is now just dirt. It can be temporary. I have seen some wood-chips for free on Craigslist.
We have to buy ten pounds of cream cheese?! And because lox is so expensive, we will put it in the cream cheese. Maybe we need only 8 eight pounds of cream cheese--5 w/lox and 3 plain. We talked about cream cheese for a long time. It's the little things.
As long as we don't bring anything mammalian into the temple kitchen, we are good. It's a reform synagogue, so they can interpret the laws of Kashrut however they see fit.
My father used to tell me a story of his grandfather who was a rabbi (who really knows if the story is true, and I don't care) in a shtetl. Due to the fact that the community was poor, it often occurred that some form of food was available, but not necessarily kosher. Great-grandpa was willing to bless just about anything so his community wouldn't starve. My dad, a bacon eater like the son and me, said rabbi gramps would bless a pig if that's all there was to eat. Life is worth more than religion, or something.
I come by my atheism via bloodline, apparently.
So, for the next couple of weeks, I will be blogging a bit less.
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