Reflections on Red for Ed

Up to two weeks ago, I began to watch on social media as fellow parents and teachers geared up for Red for Ed Day that happened on Tuesday this week. I read all the posts and listened. My heart swelled at the love and support I was witnessing. However, I found myself having a nagging feeling that I could not formulate into words until today.

I love most and respect all of the teachers I had in my life, and I feel the same way about my kids’ teachers today. I do feel like they deserve better support and a better system. This, I can get on board with 100%, and I understand that this is largely why so many people chose to speak up during those weeks. That is easy. I know many people wore red on Tuesday, and many even wore it to Indianapolis to stand in the cold (which is less easy). I fully understand the fight for changing the weight of standardized testing and other intense benchmarks, too. There is too much pressure to teach to a test. This, I fully understand and appreciate because I can feel those effects at home, too.

What nags at me is this: when all these people (parents and teachers alike) go back home to their respective school districts (or that were so vocal on social media and wore red at home), are they going to pay attention to for whom they are voting when it comes to electing school board members in their local districts? Are they going to choose a candidate because they recognize a name instead of investigating the candidate’s qualifications—like whether or not the candidate would make decisions that are in the best interest of students and teachers? Are they even going to vote at all? Are they going to question things when their schools have more administrators than needed (or administrators who are grossly unqualified for their positions because they got their jobs because they know someone)? Are they going to question things when the teachers and students are not receiving textbooks and other basic supporting materials when textbook/classroom fees have been billed and collected? Are they going to speak up when they experience poorly managed technology in the hands of students? (I may be projecting on some of these.)

The reason Indiana started to “fix” education years back is because too many schools were having too many local-level administrators making big bad decisions (like building fancy auditoriums and gyms instead of paying teachers more, and adding assistants to the assistants because buddies needed jobs, too), and the spending got out of control. (I am paraphrasing an interview I remember reading with Mitch Daniels, here.) We can ask (or demand) them to give money to public education again, sure (and it would be great if they did—that I can agree on, too), but once they do, we’d better be good stewards of that funding, and make sure we are all watching where it goes. Can you look at your school district administrations right now and feel comfortable about how the money is being allocated? Do you even know how to find out where the money is going? If you don’t, isn’t that unsettling? It should be. How many administrators does your district have? How many are actually needed? Where are the "Office Space" Bobs that come in and ask these people what they actually do? 

This is more complicated than just pleading to the Indiana government for more funding and more relaxed standards. Everyone knows (and, I think, understands) this. However, It has to be addressed at the district level, too. This is an important step that cannot be forgotten, and I have not seen anyone say anything about it (except, it was mentioned in a poorly written NWI Times editorial that honked everyone off, which was understandable, since they neglected the importance of the rest of the fight that was more than just government funding). 

The fact that it has not come up at all scares me. It scares me because people have no problem getting mad and standing up for what is right when the demons are state legislators (which I can fully appreciate and support. I am not decrying that), but when a large part of the problem happens to be people they know (and like, even) in their own districts who are part of the problem, fear and/or apathy sets in. This is not unique to your own district. It is everywhere. It is still rampant. The funding was removed to stop this behavior at the administrator level (again, paraphrasing), but it has not stopped it. So, the problem is just worse, now. Less funding, same corruption = dollars not being spent on students or teachers.

Government funding cannot fix it all. Fight for it and all those changes for standardized testing and other state-wide policies, yes. Absolutely. (Because funding for public schools should be better than it is in Indiana, and the standards and benchmarks are too plentiful.) But, please, please, please fight the fight at home, too. Have ongoing conversations between parents and teachers and even potential candidates for school board, if you can, offline to try to understand what is really going on (teachers cannot and will not talk on social media or email about school district issues—there is too much risk). Watch some school board meetings online if you can't attend (if your school district does that). 

I would argue the fight at home would be more productive in the short term. It is important to get good local school board candidates and administrators in place, and that takes so much time because of terms, elections, and contracts. Once all of that is settled, when the long-term (funding and changed standards) kicks in, it should be a smooth transition into excellence. If the funding and changes never come, at least you can feel like you have tried hard and helped put the right people in place that are going to do the best that they can with what they have available. That's still worth it.

It will take time, though. It is going to require years of everyone paying attention; having open, honest, and hard conversations; and focusing the rage to all of the proper parties. Vote for your state government officials, too. Don’t forget to show up (but study first!) for that.

Middle School (and Beyond) Friendships

The transition of our eldest child to middle school this year has not been gentle. We knew it would not be. Middle school is . . . middle school. It is the closest to purgatory a person can get during this life (for both the middle-schooler and the parents). The game plan is to brace for it, keep your head down, and keep truckin’. But, it’s hard. It’s even a little scary sometimes. (Girl will come home and be like, “Some kid scratched me in the hall today,” or, “My teachers have zero patience,” or, “Some kid called me a B---- today, and he doesn’t even know me,” or, “Some jerk boys tripped me on the bus and laughed.”)

Watching our only daughter go through this has revived many long-forgotten struggles of my middle school (and life ever after) experience. For awhile, I didn’t think she and I were that much alike. However, after seeing her navigate the strangeness that is middle school friendships, it occurred to me that she is so much more like me than I ever realized. The fascinating part of her revelations, though, is that she is self-aware enough to recognize her feelings and the reality of what is happening (and is aware of her own awkwardness—and owns it). I didn’t quite have that going for me (even though I thought, and was told sometimes, that I was pretty intuitive). One day (and this blew me away), she said, “I feel like I’m figuring out who I am all over again.”

She has made some comments that have stung me for her because I remember exactly how I felt when those things happened to me. She’ll say a lot of, “People just don’t see me,” or, “I’ll talk to girls at school, and they will just look at me with a blank stare and ignore me,” or, “I seem to make better friends with boys right now than girls,” and, the one that hit home the most because of freaking “twin day” in middle school (which I am still WTCing about), was the, “I am not anyone’s #1 friend.”

This whole thing woke up some deep, sad memories (some old and some new) for me, and somehow, it stings so much worse when it is happening to her than when it happened to me. For some reason, and I don’t know if this is a gender thing or not, we are predisposed to assume that everyone has or should have a best friend. Why is that? My husband and I were talking about this, and he did not have the same predisposition that I did. I think it is possible that I struggle with it for the same reason Nora does: it seemed to elude me (until about 7^th grade for me).

I have been thinking on this and praying about it, and here is the conclusion that has found me: perhaps it is better to not have a claim on a best friend and vice versa. Throughout life, I’ve made lots of friends. Some of these friends, I have felt more of an intense bond with than others, but most of the time, I have recognized that the same intensity isn’t returned (and, I am sure I have done the same to others). I’ll realize it when they don’t think of me when they tag something in a Facebook post (with a group of friends that I thought I was a part of), or I’ll realize it when I hear about an event that a group attended, and they just didn’t think of inviting me (because why would they think of inviting me? I’m just tangential). It’s happened with not only friends, but it’s also happened with family and coworkers. After seeing it and feeling it over and over again (and telling myself to just suck it up and get over it), I’ve realized that the best way to be is to be someone who loves and includes everyone with their affections and friendship. When a person talks about “their best friend(s),” or “their squad,” or “their crew,” or “their circle,” there are people on the outside looking in at that who are indirectly (and, usually, accidentally) hurt by not being included. (It always makes me cringe when I see a group friendship post on social media, and I see a person, clearly hurt, who says, “Where was my invite?” It hurts me, and it isn’t even about me! What the heck!?) I know how this feels because I have been that person so many times. (Although, I have never, ever posted on something like this and accused, “Where was my invite?”)

Incidentally, this is why we never host social parties. I’d have to invite everyone I know, and I just cannot. The thought of hurting anyone’s feelings by exclusion just tears me apart. Our wedding (nearly 15 years ago) about killed me. (To our church family, who loves them some small groups, this may help clear up any assumptions/confusion about why we’re so reluctant to do small groups, etc. It’s because we’re weird. There. I'm glad that's out, now.) This is also why I can’t ever send Christmas cards. I can design a card all day long, but when I look at the mailing list, it’s a “nope.” If I had a million dollars set aside for postage, sure. Game on.

Watching all this happen to my daughter, now, it is forcing me to verbalize that it is truly a better, healthier, happier way to live if you go through life with low expectations of friendships. Yes, be a good friend. Yes, be open to friendship. Have fun! Be welcoming to everyone. Be kind to everyone. Make that U instead of a circle—like Amy Weatherly said. Sometimes, you might feel close to people, and sometimes, good friendships fall apart (because maybe they got too close for healthy boundaries, or maybe you suck at calling people because you hate the phone). It’s best to not put that “best friend” label on it because that will hurt someone somewhere, and it puts a lot of pressure on the friendship. It also implies that there are no more invitations for new friendships available for distribution. You might find yourself part of a group, and that’s all well and good (I’ve tangentially been a part of several). Just make sure that it’s not exclusive, and try to keep your chin up if you’re not tagged in their social media posts (look at it as, “Hey. At least I’m not part of this incidental exclusion”).

What I will say, though, that a relationship that is definitely worth putting the “best” label on is your life partner. Choose that one wisely with your heart, your prayers, your gut, and your mind (I don’t know what order it needs to be, but they all need to be consulted). You have to smell that person’s morning breath the rest of your life together, so you’d better make sure that is a solid choice. 

But, keep on . . . keep truckin’. Good stuff.

Reflections Upon Lent 2019

This year was the first time in my life that I gave up something for Lent. I didn't know I was going to do it until Ash Wednesday. It wasn't planned. It's like my gut (probably the Holy Spirit) said, "You should give up Facebook for Lent."

So, I did. Facebook is something I really enjoy. Facebook is also a bit of a problem/distraction in my life, and I know it. I had never taken a break from it since I joined back in 2004(!), and I felt like I was long overdue to step back and take a hard look at how I spend my time.

It was hard. I had to take it off my phone, and I had to block the website on my internet browsers because it was second-nature to just go there. I missed it. I felt like I missed a lot of things and important info (like, for example, I missed the announcement that Camp Lawrence is closed this summer—the kids were so looking forward to going again). I learned a few things, though. One thing is this:

Once you're on Facebook, there's really no going completely off of it. People develop the expectation to communicate with you there, so if you're off, you do fall out of touch with people—and that can be either good or bad. I'm not sure which of those is heavier. I think it depends on the day.

I did replace my Facebook time with a Bible study series (She Reads Truth), work, and an attempt to read real news sources (that was a horrible idea, BTW), for the most part. Our company (G.W. Berkheimer) hosts a trade show for select dealers every couple of years, and we had one on April 11 that we had to prep for. So, it was actually a really good thing Facebook wasn't even on my mind during that time. Also, this was the first time I ever successfully completed an entire Bible study during the Lenten season. A good chunk of it was the entire book of Job, which is always harsh.

This was also the first time that I have ever attended multiple Holy Week church services at our church (Portage First United Methodist), and we brought the kids with us (Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday on top of regular church services). The kids came out of it with a ton of questions, and it was incredible—Henry especially. The other two kids did, too, but they were marginally less intense with the rapid-fire questions. They were well-behaved throughout—even though I will tell you that Ev is right on the edge of really being able to handle it at age 7. (During the Maundy Thursday communion, he grabbed/dropped at least one other piece of the unleavened bread in the offered basket before settling on a piece that he deemed acceptable. I died. Sorry, Pastor Michael! I did not anticipate his pickiness. Luckily, we were in the last row!)

I was moved by those Holy Week services, by the way. I wish I could've made it to the mid-day ones that week, too (I almost made it to one, but I was just a little too late). Andrew said he went to the one on Good Friday that was from 2:30 to 3 p.m. (for his lunch break that day), and Pastor Michael talked about the hour of Jesus' death. He said it was really powerful, and I was sitting at my desk at home working all day. The Good Friday service that night did move me to tears a few times—especially when the whole church sat in silence. It's unbelievable how silence like that can allow the weight and the reality of everything to come crashing down on you. It's that feeling that transcends all need for physical and visual proof. It's real. He's real. It happened.

After all, I'm glad to be back on Facebook once more. I missed being in touch with the rest of the world. I hope I'm a little better about managing it in my life moving forward. I'm going to try, anyway. I'll leave you with some photo highlights of my Facebook/Lent hiatus.

This is Nora with Lil Falk after her school play, James and the Giant Peach.
She blew us away with her performance as Miss Spider.
And, I can't say enough about how much we love Lil Falk.

We went to the ODVFD's Annual St. Patrick's Dinner/Dance. The kids loved it.

My mom made a Scottish Highlands cow at the behest of Henry within, like,
48 hours while the kids were at the Farm for a visit over their Spring Break.

Andrew and I hiked Cowles Bog while the kids were out of town,
and we saw these rare beaver-geese and their destruction.
They were not pleased with my photo-taking and/or giggling.

We just discovered this area of Ogden Dunes we had never seen before.

Spa day kid 1. (I may get in trouble for posting these one day.)

Spa day kid 2. The boys totally wanted to do this.

Spa day kid 3. I painted her toenails, too.

Hen's. I think.

Mine.

Ev's. I think.

Henry's biohazard egg.

Nora's Miss Spider or her egg.

Mine. Side 1.

Mine. Side 2.

Henry says this is his.

Ev's.

I think these last two are Nora's.

We attempted setting Nora's hair for Easter. It was a success!

She grew up over Lent, BTW. It hurts me.

That's a wrap! See you on Facebook. Did I miss anything that you can remember?

St. Paddy's Day

It's so close to being spring. So close. We heard (and saw!) Sandhill Cranes flying overhead today. That always means that spring is soon, but not quite yet.

This time of year, Willis gets the itch to grill, and sometimes, I can suck it up and sit outside with him. I couldn't do it today. I did it yesterday, but it's just a little chillier today. (We woke up, and there was fat snow falling and accumulation on the ground.)

But, sitting in here, looking at him through the (disgustingly dirty—we have kids and a gross dog, and my priorities don't involve constantly cleaning this) window, and seeing him out there reminded me of something. I like him. It sounds odd to say it out loud, but everyone knows you are supposed to love your spouse. You're called to love when you marry. It's biblical and stuff. I actually like him, though. A lot. Like, if I met him again right now and had never met him before, I'd still really like him. I'd be like, "That guy, Willis (or Andrew, or whatever his name would be that day)? I like him."

When I met him in college, there was something about him that made me think, "This guy is 20-going-on-40, and he's such a dork," and I loved it. I'm such a flake, something in me craved the order I knew this guy would provide naturally (not by rule of law or whatever), but he is also so fun-loving. I can't help but to truly believe in divine intervention with this match. I couldn't have planned it better, myself.

So many times, I pray that my kids will have this same connection and divine intervention. I know that things don't always happen they way we hope or want, but if connection happens, I hope it's like ours.

Why We Are Removing the Phrase "Play Date" from Our Lexicon

Recently, I have found myself battling with whether or not I need to or should explain this out loud, but I think we've finally hit critical mass. It needs to be put out there in the universe.

It's possible that this is going to be unpopular, but as of last fall, we, as a family, have decided to remove the phrase "Play Date" from our lexicon. For the record, I am definining a "Play Date" as the planned activity of a kid going to a house or a kid coming to (and into) our house—not necessarily the definition of families getting together in a party setting or gathering with kids. That's different. I'm not sure if that's the true definition of "Play Date," but that is what it has morphed into in our world. It's just the basic act of a kid being over at our house or our kid(s) being at someone else's house.

There are a multitude of reasons for this conclusion, but I will lay out the most important ones.

It's too hard to manage. It's too hard to be fair to each of our (three) kids about it (Henry seems to get the most play date requests around here). It's too hard to be equitable to the play date participants (balancing work, school schedules, and multiple friend sets from each kid).

I don't know if this is your experience at all, but we started to see a pattern that one play date didn't necessarily satiate any kid—it only intensified the need for more activity, more play dates, more things that we need to do and get on the schedule. The more we do, the more we are expected to do. Enough is not enough. It cannot be sustained.

We (my husband and I) realized awhile back in our experience that parenthood is basically just a careful management of expectations. This is just part of that puzzle. We do a variety of other lame-looking things to navigate this, but we're just talking about one particular thing, here.

Our kids are at an age, now, where they are capable of managing their friendships outside of our involvement. Furthermore, and I recognize (and appreciate that) we are really lucky here, we do live in a neighborhood where, when it is nice outside, our kids can roam and go to parks and meet up with their local friends there. This is more challenging during these intense winter months (and, during the school year, when it seems like everyone goes to a different school in our neighborhood), but on warmer days, they still try to make it happen. At least during this time of year, they have school friends that they are interacting with and developing relationships with (although, I do wish there was more social time/recess available to them at school, which is a whole other blog topic for another time), too.

My husband and I grew up in an age where everyone was disconnected from constant and immediate contact, and we were responsible for managing our social interactions. Was it boring sometimes? Yes. It turns out that it's good for you to be bored, though. We wish this type of personal growth (disguised as mysery) for our kids, too. They deserve that.

So, while we look like some weird, stand-offish jerks on the surface, we're actually just trying to cork the seals and ford this unpredictable stream. Hopefully, this mysery will have some company. Outside. At a park.