Who needs breakfast? I got math to do.

Last week, WBEZ's Schools on the Line with Jean-Claude Brizard had an unusual twist: the CEO of Chicago Public Schools would answer questions only from the kids. The Boy, The Girl, and I tuned in to hear what their peers would say. There were the expected parent-fed questions and complaints about the proposed longer school day, some awesome questions about selective enrollment high schools from current SEHS students themselves, and a particularly hairy question about the turnaround process from a Dyet student. Unfortunately for The Boy, they never got to his question on the line. 

I was genuinely surprised when The Boy said he wanted to call in. My kids generally groan when I mention any one of my pet causes, including the schools, education in general, their school, and various initiatives to benefit their school. The Boy told me his question before dialing in. And its content surprised me even more: why does his class have to have breakfast in the classroom (BIC)? 

When the BIC program launched at Disney II in the fall of 2009 (yes, it's always been a pioneer), The Boy was nonplussed by an extra breakfast/morning snack. I was irritated with CPS's paternalistic attitude and the stripping of what I feel is one of my parental rights: deciding what to feed my children. Fast forward a year when CPS rolled out BIC districtwide and the debate began anew in fall 2010. Both The Boy and The Girl were unbothered by BIC. Sometimes they ate it, sometimes they didn't, they said. They also reported that it was just another part of their day. And I let it go. 

Now, as it turns out, The Boy is annoyed for  BIC for reasons that have everything to do with learning. He told the WBEZ operator that he doesn't like BIC because it cuts into his math class.

I find this admission amazing for a number of reasons -- some to do with The Boy's personality and some to do with my own perceptions of what his school day is like. What I find most amazing is that a kid who spends 7.5 hours each day at school is so excited about learning that he wants to eliminate the minutiae to get to the learning faster. I mean this is a kid that I had to cleave off my leg every morning for the first six weeks of his kindergarten year. 

Certainly, this story that The Boy can be somewhat fickle in his opinions. He's not the only one--history is rife with such "flip-flops" to use modern political parlance. And I'm not suggesting that we should base policy or practice on the opinion of one child. (This is also why, in my opinion, we should not use student feedback or classroom performance in teacher evaluations.) However, that The Boy changed his mind on BIC (as he did on a 7.5-hour day) is progress for his own little person, about whom few would use the word "flexible."

Girls...

a.k.a. if it's this bad in 1st grade, how can I make it through the teen years?

No shrinking violet, The Girl is by turns, spunky, sweet, and incredibly perceptive. The competition she imagines that she has with her brothers is entirely unfounded. Because with her dimples, infectious laugh, and the fact that she generally enjoys the same activities as I do, she's my first choice companion for adventures and outings almost every time. 

But the girl relationship bullshit that begins (I've learned) at age 4 or 4 is the reason that I never wanted to parent a girl child. Tears erupt on the playground after school more often than not, and the list of casual slights, perceived insults, and overheard exclusions grows ever longer by the day. As any grown woman will tell you, there's nothing worse to the average girl than getting dropped like a hot potato by a good friend. Yes, you learn how to cope. Maybe you even end up stronger than you were when you went into it. But it sucks.

And it hurts. As a nearly 7-year-old child, The Girl is ill-equipped to handle it. As a 38-year-old mother, I'm not sure how to handle it, and my own childhood is rife with such incidents. The realist in me can see that Stacie, Susie, Bitsy, Edie, and Amy have vastly different interests than The Girl, who leans toward culturally creative and mathematically gifted pursuits. The Girl, like her parents, prefers comfort over style, has zero interest in becoming a veterinarian, and plays dolls and dress-up only when pressed. She is better suited to develop friendships with girls (and boys) who share her interests. 

But as the title of Mindy Kaling's book alludes, the fear of being left out is very real to many adult women, and our grade-school counterparts are unfortunately afflicted with this as well. After all, as Amy Lynch and Linda Ashford write in their book, How Can You Say That?: "When our daughters are little, we [mothers] get to decide who their friends will be." There is a clique of girls on the playground--and The Girl  is not in it. Are these girls the future alpha moms of their generation? It's possible that the exclusion is not mean-spirited, but to The Girl, it feels deliberate. Write Lynch and Ashford, "Even as they become more independent, [mothers] still have plenty of control over how much time [our school-age daughters] spend with whom." 

This struggle is undoubtedly one of the hardest parts of parenting. Obviously, this is not the path I'd choose for my daughter if I could avoid it. I'd love to see The Girl make friends with the girls (or boys) who better share her natural interests, but I'm not sure that I can really choose who her friends are (and I'm not sure that I should). I wish I could say that I have a neat little conclusion for this story, but at this point, I don't. At this point, all I can do is to encourage her to talk to me, provide her love and comfort, and hope that her voice remains authentic and strong.

Fathers and School

Last May, Grandma Texas came to visit during a school week. She came with me on a Thursday afternoon to pick up The Boy, The Girl and The Tot (Who Isn't) from school and her observation about life at the kids' urban elementary school struck me as odd: she was surprised to see so many fathers at school. She thought that this was perhaps a Chicago thing, but more recent news makes me think it's yet another sign of school success.

Perhaps it's because The Dad has worked from home since we moved to Chicago 9 years ago, or the acquaintance of a fair number of police officers and fire fighters (both male and female) and nurses, but a sizable population of involved fathers has never struck me as odd. And fathers at our school are involved. And more to the point, their involvement is visible and tangible, regardless of individual race, educational level, marital status, address, generation, age or socioeconomic status, fathers are very involved at our school. They drop off their kids, pick up their kids, attend parent-education events, lead fundraising, chaperone field trips, direct traffic, volunteer in class, read books, coach extracurricular sports and bring special activities (like the Pilot Light Chefs) to our school.

I've always taken this for granted, but it's actually anomalous in Chicago today. Per new CPS chief Jean-Claude Brizard, such involvement is so rare in some neighborhoods as to be bizarre. In some areas of the city, in fact, according to Brizard, census data show that there are some neighborhoods where there are no males between the ages of 18 and 35 living there. They are all either incarcerated or dead, he said.

Although my father was not intimately involved in my early elementary years in the early 80s, I feel fortunate that I cannot really imagine a world bereft of dads.  And I thank goodness that my kids--and their classmates--do not have to either.