Month: March 2024

We hear a great deal about Boeing Aircraft of late and most of it is not so good. There was a time when Boeing was known as the epitome of care and craftsmanship in their products, but a merger with MacDonald Douglas led to a business model based less on quality control and more on profits and streamlined production. While such a focus might work well in some companies, it is imperative that makers of planes should seek quality and safety first. So too it is with the ridiculous idea of using production and profit models for all kinds of organizations that require a different kind of measurement to determine success. 

I will never forget a time when my eldest daughter celebrated her first birthday without even making an attempt to walk. As the weeks and then months passed and people began to bombard me with advice regarding her unwillingness to stand upright and take steps. They made me quite anxious with their insistence that something had to be wrong or she would certainly be toddling about. I lay awake at night worrying and wondering if I had somehow done something or neglected to do something that had impeded her movements. 

When she was about fourteen months old I was constantly anxious that she was still unwilling to walk, but I showed a confident face to my critics. I watched them shake their heads and wag their tongues when they saw my child still crawling around in the grass when we went outside to play each day. I tried not to let them see the panic that was growing inside and then something remarkable happened. One day my little girl and I were watching a group of older children toss a rubber ball back and forth. At one point one of the little ones dropped the orb and it rolled in our direction. To my amazement my daughter quickly stood up and literally ran to retrieve the ball before someone else did. From that point forward she not only walked but ran with ease. 

I had always been taught that we humans develop at different rates. There is no ironclad rule that determines when any of us will master any skill. I took heart from my experience with my own child whenever I encountered students who progressed rather slowly in learning different mathematical processes. I often saw some of my pupils soaring with success after only one lesson and others who took many iterations of instruction before finally demonstrating understanding. In fact, in one of my earliest experiences teaching long division I found myself becoming discouraged with the lack of progress with several of my charges when we worked on long division. 

When I expressed my concerns to a teacher who was nearing her retirement she assured me that with patience and motivation all of my students would ultimately master the concepts that seemed to elude them. In fact, she reminded me once again that we each learn at a different pace and as long as we do not give up on the child who is struggling success will eventually blossom. 

My experiences have shown me that anyone can learn, but the rate and timing of learning may differ vastly. Sadly both students and teachers are all too often tested, not to determine where the youngsters fall along the continuum of progress, but to rank them as though there is some magical moment when all humans should be capable of doing certain things or be deemed failures. Society has turned learning into a competition measured by production and high scores on tests. 

What we have witnessed is that much like Boeing when quantity of learning is more valued than taking time to improve the quality things fall apart. Lives are hurt. Both children and their teachers are damaged. The oft heard expression, “I’m no good at that!,” usually results from pushing an individual to master something too soon. It ignores the truth that we all learn different things at different rates. 

I am always wary of any push to adopt a one size fits all methodology in any circumstance. it is almost always a mistake to gage progress or quality on some numerical formula that does not take differences and quality into account. Instead we should celebrate situations that take effort, improvement, and attention to detail into account. We destroy the morale of people when they realize that their value is little more than a set of statistics. People become unmotivated when nobody takes time to notice what they have done right rather than only focusing on what they have done wrong. That applies to any human endeavor. 

How many times have we heard of people who failed many times before ultimately doing remarkable things? My little girl who took fourteen months to perform the act of walking eventually became a beautiful dancer. She choreographed incredible routines and was the lead dancer in a number of school musicals. Nobody asked her how old she was when she first stood upright to take the steps into her future, so why are we in such a hurry in so many situations?

We humans are amazing in our ability to learn and create and produce. It should not always matter how quickly we are able to do such things. Taking time to do things right should be our goal. Celebrating success no matter how long it takes to get there, should be par for the course. Think of how much more we might actually accomplish if we were to focus on a natural progression according to each person’s needs. Soon we would all be running with delight.  

As Albert Einstein said, “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as if nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

I recently saw this quote in an opinion piece by Anne Lamott in The Washington Post. Her assessment of the world as she sees it now that she takes the time to look with an open mind was just the sort of optimism and incredible writing that I needed at the moment. I have to admit that I worry about the constant focus on what is wrong with the world as opposed to what is right. I long for points of view that acknowledge the miracles that abound in the everyday experiences of life. Of late I have had to stave off a feeling that societies across the globe have forgotten how to see and rejoice in the  universal goodness of people that all too often is shrouded by a cacophony of complaints. 

On the same day that I read the hopeful piece by Ms. Lamonte I smiled at the photos that one of my cousins had posted on Facebook. They featured her toddler decked out in hockey gear learning to keep his balance on the ice. I laughed and cried at the same time while gazing at the image of the innocent little boy learning how to stay upright on the ice and shouting out his unbridled joy. 

I knew the story behind the happiness and love that literally leaped from the page. This little boy had suddenly lost his father one night when he was still just a baby. The unexpected death of a young man who seemed to have a lifetime of happiness ahead with his beautiful wife and tiny little boy seemed so unfair but a quiet miracle was about to evolve. 

The little boy’s family rose to the challenge of embracing him with a continuous stream of love. His mother devoted herself to his well being. His grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins made sure that he felt safe. They joined together to fill the void left by his father as best they could. The miracle of hope bloomed in the toddler’s heart. 

I was moved by the power and beauty of family as I scanned the photos and listened to the unfiltered joy of the child. I saw the courage of his mother and the compassion of all of the people who had so obviously built his confidence. With patience and determination they had assured the little boy that he would never be alone. The beauty of it all overwhelmed my heart. 

It sometimes feels as though there is a kind of disconnect between the longings of ordinary people and the stances of governments across the globe. My guess is that few of us actually want the discord that the power brokers hawk in their quest to stay in charge. Most of us only desire the kind of quiet miracles that give a little boy the certainty that he is loved.

I often wonder how it is that we seem to constantly battle one another over issues that should not be troublesome at all. Then I realize the manipulations that are imposed on us by people pretending to care for us the way the little boy’s family cares for him. The difference between the two situations is that love is always the foundation of what is good, not revenge or fear. The everyday miracles happen because of our goodness and willingness to embrace our beautiful world and its people with joy and appreciation for the smallest of wonders. 

Anne Lamott challenges us to quiet the noise in our hearts so that we will be able to listen for the beauty that abounds. If we change our focus from never seeing miracles to noticing how bountiful they are, our entire outlook on life will change. Discovering miracles opens our hearts and our minds. If we allow ourselves to find the beauty in everyday moments the joy from seeing them will multiply exponentially and drown out the ignorance that spawns distrust and anger. 

Our time on this earth is limited. We can choose to never see the miracles or we can find the comfort of watching them unfold in every moment of the day. Look around with your eyes wide open. When you see the beauty that surrounds you the direction of your life will forever change. Embrace the miracles and change your point of view.

Now and again I stumble upon a story that fascinates me because it involves an aspect of history that I have never before encountered. So it was when I read a little blurb about a man named William Sidis, a child prodigy who gained widespread fame as the youngest person to enter Harvard University during his times. 

William Sidis was born in 1898 to brilliant parents. His mother was a medical doctor and his father was a renowned psychologist. Both of his parents had fled political persecution in Russia. When their son William was born they both believed that focusing on early learning experiences would enhance their son’s intellect. They read to their infant and spoke to him in different languages. They exposed him to mathematics and topics often thought to be the realm of adults. William seemingly thrived while his parents wrote articles and books touting his genius and their child rearing methods. 

While there are no official records of William taking an IQ test, his parents claimed that he may have scored in the 200 to 250 range which would have made him among the most brilliant persons in history. As a matter of fact William was indeed versed in high level mathematics while he was still a very young child. He also spoke a number of languages and wrote poetry. He appeared to be exceptional in any subject that he studied. 

William’s parents decided to send their incredible son to Harvard University at the age of nine but the school wisely refused to accept someone so young. However two years later the school agreed to give William a try at the age of eleven. There William excelled in academics but struggled to adapt to the older students who sometimes made fun of him with his short knickers and high button shoes that marked him as a child among his trouser wearing classmates. 

It should have become apparent to everyone that William was struggling with his social development but instead he became a sensation partly due to his parents who continued to insist that they had uncovered methods for tapping into a child’s intellect without bounds. William was suffering under the scrutiny of being famous. When he graduated at the age of sixteen he noted that the perfect life would be one of solitude but his parent’s had other ideas. They acquired a teaching post for him at Rice Institute in Houston, Texas where he taught undergraduate mathematics classes. The then seventeen year old struggled to connect with the students who were older than he was and after only a year the school he was asked to leave. 

Things began to fall apart for William after that. He was arrested during a protest in which he attacked a police officer. He was found guilty of assault and sentenced to jail but his parents once again interceded on his behalf and agreed to send him to a sanitarium where his father worked. He received treatment there for a year and then went to another facility for an additional year. When he was finally released he essentially went under the radar for the remainder of his life taking low level jobs that did not require much education. He was careful to hide his true abilities lest he be hounded by the press once again. 

William moved from place to place in relative obscurity. He seemed to find a certain kind of happiness in being unknown. He wrote several books under pseudonyms that included topics on thermodynamics and a history of Native Americans in the United States. At one point a writer from The New Yorker tracked him down, befriended him and then wrote an article about him that painted a picture that was unflattering. William sued and won a nice settlement but died from a cerebral hemorrhage in the same year. He was only forty six years old. 

Today we hear of Tiger Moms who strictly guide the activities and directions of their children’s lives. We debate whether or not such close monitoring is good or bad. We talk about letting children be free range inventors of their own destinies versus products of the careful planning of their parents. Perhaps the story of William Sidis might give us pause in structuring the life of a child without consideration of all aspects of development.

A genius should indeed be challenged and offered opportunities to learn at a deep level but if we neglect their socio/emotional needs we run the risk of creating an adult who is unable or even unwilling to interact with society. The good parent understands the need to allow a child to explore and interact with all facets of being human. That means providing their offspring with moments to run and play and live in the world of children where we all learn how to adapt to the most human aspects of our personalities. 

As an educator I never met a William Sidis who was so obviously more brilliant than his peers, but I did encounter very bright youngsters who were chomping at the bit to move more quickly through the curriculum. In most cases the schools were able to accommodate their needs without pushing them into a situation for which they were not yet emotionally ready. I think that perhaps the story of William Sidis might serve as a warning to parents that nurturing a child’s talents has to include age appropriate advancements. 

We have seen so many times that pushing a highly talented athlete into adult situations too soon can destroy their futures. The same is true of child actors or musicians So many prodigies in any field of endeavor crash and burn because they never got to just be children. Fame enveloped them all too soon and they were psychologically unprepared to to cope. Furthermore those of us expecting great things from them only add to the pressures that they are not yet ready to endure.  

Being a child should be a joyful experience. With balance we can help our youth to find their talents and guide them into greatness while also allowing them to make the choices about who they one day wish to be. It isn’t about rocket science. It’s about love. Our children are not extensions of ourselves. Their glory is not ours. If we remember that very important aspect of parenting they will ultimately find their way into lives that fulfill their dreams and make them happy as well. 

We can learn from the story of William Sidis. Some say that when he finally broke free from the domination of his parents and a society that turned him into a person he did not want to be that he was actually a quite content person. The true fact is that geniuses are not made by brute force. They simply become. 

I love movies. They have always been part of my life. The first movie I recall seeing was Godzilla. I went with my mother and father before I was even old enough for school. I can’t recall the storyline of the film but I do remember being terrified and later hearing my parents discussing whether or not it had been appropriate to take me to see something so obviously scary. I suppose it did not have too much impact on my psyche because I enjoy thrilling and frightening movies to this very day. 

We often went to drive in movie theaters when my brothers and I were young. My mother especially liked the bargain nights when a whole carload of people cost only the price of one adult. She would bring sandwiches and a big brown paper bag filled with popcorn. We sipped on sodas that she stowed inside a cooler in the back seat. She always brought pillows as well in case any of us grew weary and ready to sleep before both of the double features were over. 

My father enjoyed the experience of a grand theater. One of the last movies I saw with him was in San Francisco where we watched The Mountain with Spencer Tracy in technicolor on a huge screen. Daddy enjoyed any movie with Spencer Tracy and this one was quite exciting. I admit that I can’t recall every detail of the story but I knew that it was mostly about the relationship of a father and son who were often at odds. 

After my father died and I was a bit older Mamma dropped me and my brothers off at the Fun Club at the Santa Rosa Theater on Saturday mornings. This was great fun for me and my siblings and gave my mother time to run errands without three children tagging along. It was a win-win for everyone for a for small cost. She gave each of us fifty cents which covered the price of admission and a snack or two depending on what we chose from the concession stand. The movies themselves were geared toward kids and in between the films we played games and competed for prizes. I still smile inside at the thought of those glorious times. 

My love of movies has been constant. Once I married I found myself watching films that I might not have chosen on my own. My husband liked serious topics and movies that had historical themes. He was also a fan of intrigue. I learned to enjoy those films as much as the comedies and rom coms and musicals that had been my choices before I partnered with him. I’d still go see my movies of choice with my mother or with girl friends and eventually with my own daughters. 

I suppose I missed going to the movie theater during the pandemic more than almost anything else. Home streaming experiences are almost as good as the viewing of old but can’t hold a candle to the majestic feel of the cinematography and sound that comes from sitting in a darkened theater. It was with great joy that I began enthusiastically attending movies again this past year even thought the cost of doing was was outrageously higher than that fifty cents that I used for the Saturday Fun Club in the long ago. 

I literally saw almost every movie that was mentioned at the Oscars ceremony this past Sunday, I was wowed by Oppenheimer and most particularly by the incredible acting of Cillian Murphy and Robert Downing Jr. I dressed in pink and joined the joyful viewing of Barbie which turned out to have a much more meaningful and serious message than I had expected. I was awed by Killers of the Flower Moon and actually thought it was one of the very best movies of the year. Lilly Goldstone gave a perfect subtle and understated performance which was a master class in developing a character. I actually thought that Leonardo DiCaprio gave one of his best ever performances and should have been acknowledged for his craft. The movie itself held a personal meaning for me because my grandfather had often told us how the white men had taken advantage of the Osage Indians when he was working there in the early part of the twentieth century.

Eventually I viewed Zone of Influence and felt that it was an artistically perfect film. I was stunned by the story and the performances in Anatomy of A Fall. In Maestro I realized the genius of Bradley Cooper. Poor Things was a modern day Frankenstein perfectly acted by the entire cast, but most especially Emma Stone. American Fiction was particularly fun for me because it was about a writer. Two of my favorite actors outdid themselves in the wonderful film which was far deeper than I had expected. As a teacher I especially enjoyed The Holdovers, a delightful film about the human connection. The documentary 20 Days in Mariupol was riveting and I am still not able to stop thinking about what I saw and how much more dire the situation has become for the people of Ukraine since those early days when Putin invaded the country and this film was made. 

All in all it was a glorious year for movies. It was as though the industry had been saving the very best that they had for a kind of celebration of cinema in twenty twenty three after four years of a worldwide pandemic punctuated by wars. The craftsmanship and artistry was stunning and I can’t imagine how difficult it was to select a single winner for an Oscar in any of the categories. I watched that annual ceremony with a sense of awe and gratitude for the countless men and women who brightened my life and caused me to think with their work. As far as I am concerned everyone was a winner this year. My only hope is that the coming season of movies will touch my heart as much as they did this past year. 

Just a day or so ago I was rising from my slumbers before the sun rose over the horizon. I was filled with energy, accomplishing multiple tasks before anyone else in my home awoke from their slumbers. By way of Facebook I learned who were my fellow early morning compadres. We’d be communicating and planning out the course of our days with enthusiasm. All it took to deflate my work ethic was the semi-annual demand that we all artificially change our clocks by moving the time one hour ahead of where it might otherwise have been. In that one stroke of the clock I felt like a jet-lagged tourist attempting to get back into the swing of things after a glorious trip abroad. My brain was confused and so were the dogs I was watching when we arose in what the clocks announced was an hour later than usual. I was sluggish for the rest of the day and I resented losing that hour to some unknown corner of the universe. 

I’ve been grinching about the twice a year time change for as long as I can remember. It has never made sense to me to artificially disrupt our inner clocks over and over again. Statistics show that more people will be racing to emergency rooms on these days, often with heart attacks and other serious medical problems. There will be more wrecks and no doubt more misunderstandings between grouchy people whose bodies tell them that something is just not right. As a confirmed believer in routine adherence to daily practices I know that I will be out of sorts for several weeks before my body readjusts to the new timing of everything and I won’t be in peak condition until that happens. 

I suspect that if we had a national vote tomorrow the majority would want to pick one way of timing things and then staying there forevermore. Most seem to like Daylight Savings Time but I don’t care one way or another as long as I don’t have to shift gears again in the fall. Just choose one already and leave us all alone. This is a torture that is totally unnecessary. It was only invented during a time of war to provide more daylight for manufacturing. It does not give more sunshine for growing things. That is a matter of nature. There are the same hours of light and dark no matter which system we use, so I say that we should stop pretending that the rotation of timing is somehow imperative for our national good. 

I tend to prefer standard time for the sake of our children. I awaken in the fall and winter to the sound of the school bus arriving on the corner of my street. It comes at 6:30 just as the first light of day is illuminating the area. When we change to Daylight Savings Time the children are standing in the dark at 6:30 and it will be almost an hour before the sun begins to shine. I find it disturbing and unnatural to ask children to arise before dawn and then catch a bus in the dark. Some how the standard timing feels more conducive to meeting their needs, but it we must insist on having more sunshine at the end of the day rather than at the beginning then let’s go for it and get our bodies permanently in sync with it. Just stop the biannual insanity.

I know that I always whine about have to change all of my clocks back and forth. It is a task that annoys me because it should be unnecessary. I gripe due to my brain rebelling and making me cranky because it is unsure of why I am changing my habits. My heartburn surges on the days of time shifts and everything about me feels sluggish. I know that I am not alone because I hear the complaints of others and I see the dip in energy on the faces of the people that I encounter. At least schools have learned to schedule spring breaks to coincide with the changing of time. Otherwise teachers would be faced with classrooms full of listless students slumped on their desks trying to regain that stolen hour of sleep that comes each spring. 

I know that there are worse things to worry about. I should be chastised for spending time on an issue that doesn’t seem to matter as much as the real horrors in the world, but it seems to me that the very reason for ridding ourselves of this inane occurrence is that it does not make any kind of positive difference. If we simply decided to never change our clocks again I doubt that anyone would have cause to complain. Winter would have its shorter days and summer would bring us more sunshine regardless of what are clocks are telling us. We would all be perfectly adjusted to whatever became the standard for telling time and might even become more creative in tackling the real problems that face us all. 

I don’t know what we have to do to send a message to the powers that be that we don’t like this silly process of flipping and flopping between ways of telling time. Surely those who decide such things feel the same frustrations that we do. So why is this something that we keep alive even as most of us hate it? For some reason we humans have a tendency to try something out and then keep it forever even when it obviously does not work well for us. We simply need to admit that this practice has no reason to exist anymore and then dump it without regret. 

Spring is a busy time for me so I am hoping to find my mojo again before the end of this week. I wish everyone luck in adapting to the insanity of it all. As for me I’ll just allow myself a day or two of being a slug and hiding in my shell until my brain and the pups I am watching all figure out what time it really is. Tomorrow will be another day and hopefully it will feel more normal.