Sunday, March 13, 2016

Success Shamers Aren't Cool! Hard Workers Are Cool!

Here's one for you:

My kid comes home from school and informs me that a group of kids at his school have decided they should not play with him because he is a bookworm. They tell him he reads at "like a sixth-grade level," and, in short, he has no business on a basketball court.

Well, my kid happens to love reading (though he is nowhere near a sixth-grade reading level--he's just a kindergartner) and basketball--equally!

My kid shrugs his shoulders and goes to the other court to continue playing.

He comes home from school and asks me,
"Mommy, is it bad to be a bookworm?" 
I flip out retorting,
"Of course not. Who told you that being a bookworm was bad? Being a bookworm pays for your college education, it makes school easier, it opens your mind, and it makes you think! Reading is a good thing."
My son's reply was simple. "Good, because I like reading, and I like basketball." He then looks at me innocently, figuring out the maliciousness of the kids' comment, and starts to cry.
"Is it okay to be a bookworm?" 
I hug my smart little man and reply,
"Of course. I am a bookworm too. Bookworms are cool!" 
He runs off with a big smile, and here I sit typing away about my frustrations with society.

I have taught school for eight years. I have gotten two college degrees. I have loved reading since I learned at the age of five. I don't remember a day where I didn't do some kind of reading or writing. Classmates have asked me for help over the years, and, on the other hand, classmates have mocked my reading and writing ability.

Truth be told: being able to read and write is a human right. We are all born with the ability to learn to read and to write--maybe not the same way, but accommodations and modifications make it possible for anyone with determination.

My little guy learned to speak 100 words before his first birthday, he could retell stories and say his alphabet by age two, he could count to 20 by age three, and he knew all of the sounds and could write the letters of the alphabet and could do simple arithmetic by four, and by five he was able to read three- and four-letter words and could solve basic word problems. He also knew many sight words. By December of his kindergarten year, he was reading a year ahead in school and is now (in quarter three of kindergarten) working on multiplication facts at home. Every day and every night since he was born he was taught something new. My husband and I speak to him and play with him and give him educational experiences to build his vocabulary.

All of the above things would not have happened if my husband and I didn't value education. We choose to give all of our children a life where they are constantly learning new things. We place education first. We value it.

Professional athletes work every day to improve at their sport. They practice hard and work hard; they dedicate their every effort to being successful. Are they criticized? Are they bullied in school?

No. These people are celebrated for their talents. They are admired. Yes, they are envied, but not in a hateful way.

Athletic kids are celebrated. Smart kids and hard-working kids are shamed.

Athletic people are given incredible amounts of money to display this talent with the world. Smart people, on the other hand, are told to be quiet--no one cares what you think, to quit being stuck up--you think you are so much better than everyone else, to not try so hard because you are making everyone else look bad, to quit being so "liberal" or "progressive." People who attend college are shamed because they are "spoiled brats." People who try to go above and beyond what is asked try too hard.

Well, here is my point of view.

I worked for every ounce of my education. I worked hard to get good grades. I sacrificed doing the "popular" thing to do my homework on time so I could achieve good grades for a scholarship, to read books so I could pass my courses when I got to college, to research and visit colleges so I could pick one that would give me the best degree for a good job, to work throughout school to save money so I could attend college. I worked my butt off.

I went to college and did the same thing. Sure, I had fun too, but I got my work done, and I paid for my schooling--not quite the "spoiled brat" I have heard about in the media lately.

After finishing my bachelor's degree, I married my high school sweetheart (who also finished his bachelor's degree). Then, my new husband and I both got decent-paying jobs with those college degrees. We paid for our student loans, and we decided to start a family.

All of this was a dream we both worked hard to achieve. We bought our first home, and then we had our first child. I decided to get my master's degree, and I worked on that degree while chasing the first child and carrying the second. By the time the third child rolled around, I decided I needed to get yet a second master's degree to pay for the third.

All the while, bearing in mind that education is important to success. Along the way, I didn't shame people who chose a different path than mine. However, you better bet that I heard and saw the shaming written and said about people like me.

My life has not been easy. I have been put through hell by ignorant people who truly believe that tearing down another person makes you a better person. I haven't been handed an easy life; I worked to have a better one.

School didn't come easy, as you might assume. I chose to work at it. I have read things I didn't understand, and I have reread them and reread them and reread them until I did understand something from them. I have lost years of sleep by reading or studying.

School doesn't come easy for my son either.

Some days he gets home from school, and he finishes assignments that he couldn't finish there. Some days he has to redo assignments that he forgot parts of because his mind got ahead of his pen. Some days he comes home disappointed in himself because he let his teacher down because he wasn't on task. Some days he comes home knowing that he will be in trouble because he got bored at school and did some silly thing to get in trouble and knows his mom and dad will be disappointed in his behavior. Some days my son comes home and tells me that the kids at school give him a hard time because he is too smart to hang out with them.

What if...what if my son were to tell your kid that he/she was too dumb to play with him?

This argument would be entirely different then.

What if I were to tell you on social media that I thought that you were ignorant because you can't write a simple Facebook post without a grammar error in it? What if I were to tell you that your writing on social media reveals that your reading level is probably around a fifth-grade level? What if I told you that hatred reveals ignorance?

I know exactly what would happen.

I would be a "stuck-up ***** who thinks her **** doesn't stink."

Well, I am not.

I am classy.

I keep my opinions to myself. I have walked away from many people who have made me feel small.
I have held my tongue when I wished I could have said what I really felt.

I teach my children to work for everything they have.
I teach my children that being smart and working hard will take them places.

I teach my children that money isn't everything; it doesn't buy friends, class, education, freedom.
Money teaches you responsibility and hard work.

I teach my children that kindness matters.
I teach my children to walk away from the fight, instead of starting it.
I teach my children to include everyone, not to exclude others.
I teach my children that it isn't the name brand on the shirt or the shoes that matters . . .

It is the size of the .

I teach my children that sometimes we think things that we cannot say out loud.
I teach my children to be the bigger person and just walk away,
                                                           just like my son did with those boys on the playground.


So here is a solution:

Instead of allowing this shaming of intelligence, why can't we teach children that success is an amazing accomplishment that comes in various forms?

An athlete can be celebrated.
A bright kid can be celebrated.
A beautiful child can be celebrated.
A talented tactile child can be celebrated.
All children can be celebrated at the same time for a multitude of reasons.

Each person is given a gift at birth.
For some, that gift is beauty.
For others, it is wealth or talent.
For some, it is being intelligent or being outgoing.
For others, it is being shy and quiet or outspoken and funny.

People have a uniqueness about them that sets them apart from all other human beings on Earth.

Instead of tearing each other down,
We can teach our children to be loving of all differences
And accepting and kind to all people
Because People are People.

People have gifts that can be shared.
In fact, the only smart person in the room is the room.
The athlete only shines with a good team.
A society only grows more successful when success is celebrated, not shamed.

Making a change in society has to start with children.

Children learn differences; they don't seem them.
Children see uniqueness, and they accept it.
They are fascinated by it, and then they question it.
They are taught to hate it; they aren't born hating it.

Friday, December 12, 2014

It's the First One

Friday afternoon, I was miserable. I remember as well as my TimeHop status that posted just the other day. I thought for sure I was in labor. In fact, I got a hospital stay out of it because the midwife thought I was starting labor too. Nope. False alarm. An Ambien pill to rest and then I was sent on my way.

Sunday night was miserable all the way into Monday morning.

Then, it all REALLY began December 14th morning, promptly at 6am. We gathered our things and ventured to the hospital in a beautiful, crazy snowstorm in the freezing cold weather. Little did I know what I was in for--my little man would not make his appearance until 4:15pm after 15 minutes of pushing.

Little did I also know that this labor would by far be easier than the ones ahead in my life.

Flash forward.

30 months later...

It was May 28th, my due date. I ventured to the hospital in hopes my midwife would say, "You've suffered enough. Let's get this little guy out of there."

Yep. No such luck. I hadn't dilated, and my cervix hadn't softened.

On June 5th, some 8 hot, terrible, miserable days later, I finally lost my darn mucus plug. It was 6am. I truly felt fine, so I just went back to bed.

At 7am, my husband had just gotten home from third shift, and I thought I would just be spending the day taking care of our 30 month old son. Yep, nope.

Finally at 9am and by this point, I was completely miserable and contracting every 3-5 minutes, I made the call to the doctor's office.

"M'am, is this your first child."

"No. It is my second and I am 8 days past my due date."

"M'am, can you come straight to labor and delivery."

"Ugghhhh. My husband just got home from work and I was going to let him sleep for a while longer."

"M'am, this baby could come at any minute. You need to be here now."

"Okay. I will get him up."   Boy, who was I kidding? Getting my hubby out of bed after a third-shift night was like pulling teeth.

"Greg, get up. I am in labor. We have to go to the hospital."

"Katie, it will be another day before that baby comes. Go back to sleep."

"Greg, really. I need to go now. I called the doctor."

"Katie, just five more minutes. Leave me alone."

By this point, I am in extreme pain and have reserved myself to the fact that I may indeed be delivering at home, in the car, or just plain without my husband, who had now settled himself back into a Pooh Winter-like slumber.

"Come on, Colli. Let's go to the car." I gathered up my overnight bag and my 2 1/2 year old's overnight bag and between contractions swiftly loaded him into the car. In the meantime, I told my husband I would be making the trip to the hospital with or without him.

"Kate, I have to drop my squad car off for an oil change before we go to the hospital. If you are having this baby, I need to be sure this gets done. Can you drive yourself and meet me at the shop, so I can drop off the squad?"

In my head, I am seriously contemplating slaughtering this man, the father of my children and my supposed beloved husband.

"Sure."

So, I start off down the road, timing my contractions, which by the way are now 2-3 minutes apart. I drive to my in-law's house and have decided I can do this, I just won't think about it. It won't hurt that bad, right. Epidural. Yeah, there probably isn't enough time for that, so I can just convince myself it doesn't hurt. Millions of women have given birth without an epidural.

Holy crap, this hurts sooooo bad.

"Hi, Sara. "

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, it's 'Oh My GOD!' Katie!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. I am in 'OH MY GOD!' labor! Can you talk to me so I don't wreck my car."

"Where is Greg?"

"He is driving behind me."

"What the hell? Why?"

"Oil 'Oh MY GOD!' change."

"Was that another one?"

"Yes. Oh here comes another 'OH MY GOD!'"

Yes, the conversation carried on this way until we made it to the shop and Greg jumped into the passenger side. Yes, you read that right. The man was not in his right mind, and, at that point, I decided I didn't care if I lived or died. I just wanted this baby out and I wanted to be in the hospital NOW!

By this point, I told Greg that we would be divorcing after the baby was delivered. And yes, I hated him and I was soooo pissed. If I didn't get an epidural, this marriage was OVER!

The poor man took a beating with my words, but when we finally made it to the hospital, I was only dilated to a 3; however, for me, this was a lot of progress. I was almost to a 4, and yes, I could still have an epidural. By this point, it was almost noon.

Once I got the epidural, the rest I hardly remember. My water broke, and it was time to push.

10 minutes of pushing, and Connor was out by 5:10. Yep, we made it...but I swore he was it. No more babies for me.

Until...