Clownmommy

The husband tapped me on the shoulder and gently let me know it was 6:30 am.

“Shit!”  I lept out of bed.

“I’m supposed to be at 59th street at seven!

I pulled on my running clothes and grabbed a hat and water belt.  I pulled my cell phone out of the charger and dug my credit card and subway card out of my purse.  I wasted five precious minutes looking for the belt that holds my phone before jamming it into the too small pocket on the water belt and I was out the door.

But the gods were with me.  The designated meeting time was on the A line and I didn’t have to wait long for a train.  And, as it happened the smiting time was really 7:15 for a 7:30 run.  A six mile loop in Central Park.

I bought 2 bananas a cup of coffee from the stand and made some of the other runners laugh when I loaded the banana’s pistol style into the elastic bands of my water belt.  The Galloway runners are not elite.  We run slowly and we carry luggage.  I don’t look anything like that skinny woman who passed us nearly naked in her matching lululemon bra and shorts.  I’m running the New York Marathon because I’m turning 50 in November.  No matter how much I work out, I can never look like that.  We have to be inspired by something else.  Today’s running partner has done two New York Marathons and is going again this year.  She said,

“You will be so inspired by all the people in the race.  When you see a man in a wheelchair pushing himself backwards the entire route you will know you have to finish.”

There was a bike race this morning, a blur of circles and lines and helmets.

We passed the mile long line of readers and talkers camped out and hoping for one of the free tickets to today’s closing night Shakespeare in the Park production of of As You Like It. Years ago I waited in that line with my daughter in her stroller.  We hadn’t lived in the city long and I didn’t have anything better to do with my day.  I scored a ticket at the last minute and The Husband arrived to take way the toddler who cried,

“I want to see the pup-eeettt show!”

 

 

This morning The Husband was on the way to work.  I was on my way to an appointment.  My Kid was on here way to school to pick up her report card.

We were getting coffee at Provisions on Fulton.

There was a woman in last November’s ING Marathon finisher t-shirt.

I felt a little insecure.

But that was then.  This is now.

So the fundraising page is live and I posted a link to it it on my Facebook page. I’m going to run the 2012 New York City Marathon and I’m raising money for the McBurney Y Strong Kids Campaign!

A wave of fear washed over me as I stood in line at the grocery store thinking about getting up at 4:00am tomorrow to take the subway from Brooklyn all the way up to Riverside Drive and West 91st Street by 6:00am and then run for 13 miles with the Galloway group.

Once upon a time, when I was working as a clown at a Dutch theme park in Japan, I saw on TV a cartoon about a little blonde girl and a roll of toilet paper and a bar of chocolate and a piece of candy and a green pepper and they were all friends and I don’t know why…so I relate to this story…and I am also reminded of SpongeBob SquarePants who lives in a pineapple under the sea…

 

My daughter is in the 6th grade, so she didn’t have to choose the right answers about the the now infamous pineapple and hare story on the New York State 8th Grade ELA (English Language Assessment).

Here are the test questions in question:

6. Beginning with paragraph 4

   in what order are the events

   in the story told?

   A Switching back and forth

     between places

   B In the order in which events

     happen

   C Switching back and forth

     between the past and the present

   D In the order in which the

     hare tells the events to another animal

7. The animals ate the

   pineapple most

   likely because they were

   A hungry

   B excited

   C annoyed

   D amused

8. Which animal spoke the wisest words?

   A The hare

   B The moose

   C The crow

   D The owl

9. Before the race, how did the

   animals feel toward the pineapple?

   A Suspicious

   B Kindly

   C Sympathetic

   D Envious

10. What would have happened

    if the animals had decided to

    cheer for the hare?

    A The pineapple would have won

      the race

    B They would have been mad at

      the hare for winning.

    C The hare would have just sat

      there and not moved

    D They would have been happy

      to have cheered for a winner

11. When the moose said that

    the pineapple has some trick

    up its sleeve, he means that

    the pineapple

   A is wearing a disguise

   B wants to show the animals a trick

   C has a plan to fool the animals

   D is going to pull something out of it's sleeve

 

WTF???

For all I know, My Kid was given an excerpt from the play Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett and instructed to choose the one correct answer to questions like this:

What are the men waiting for?

A. Godot.

B. Absolute absurdity of existence in lack of intrinsic purpose

C. The Second Coming of Christ.

D. The light to change.

This is crazy.  This is silly.  This could be so much fun.  But, it’s not because this is a high-stakes test!  Wipe that smile off your face.  Place your hands on the desk and both feet on the floor.  Listen carefully to the instructions. Using a #2 pencil carefully shade in the bubble on the scan sheet that corresponds to the correct answer in the exam booklet.  Do not begin until instructed.  This test is being timed.

What English is not my first language?  What if I’m dyslexic?  What if I have test anxiety?

No wonder so many New York students drop out of school before they graduate.

No wonder most teachers don’t stay in the profession for more than five years.

To put such questions on on a test used to determine whether or not the student will be promoted from middle school to high school, whether or not the teacher of the student will receive a cash bonus or get fired and whether or not their school will be closed because of  low test scores is just cruel.  Even the most creative and good-natured children will close off access to their imaginations and fail to enjoy this learning opportunity.  They may even develop a hatred towards the author if they connect his name to that feeling of frustration and futility while trying to guess the right answer on such an important test (even though the text printed underneath his name no longer resembled his original work).  Reading this story is not enjoyable at all.  That’s sad and possibly criminal.  Daniel Pinkwaters’s original story as told to a child by a 111-year-old man riding a bus, came from a goofy children’s novel called Borgel, created to make children giggle.

Now the prolific children’s author, http://www.pinkwater.com/  who sold the rights to the text to Pearson’s test publishing company (the way that authors will do if they want to make a living as writers) finds himself in a very odd situation with eighth graders writing to him to ask about his ethics and if he smokes crack.  But Daniel Pinkwater wrote about this for the New York Daily News,  http://articles.nydailynews.com/2012-04-21/news/31380177_1_pineapple-tests-kids and in the process lobbed a little pineapple grenade at the high stakes testing industry:

    “Sometimes I get paid a hundred or two, and sometimes I’ve been able to jack them up to a couple thousand. It’s dirty money, but I didn’t see that any real harm was done, other than boring students. But that was before these tests became more than a way to try to find out what the kids were learning so they could be taught better.

Now, there are repercussions to these tests. A kid might not be advanced to the next grade, a teacher might not get a new contract, a school could lose funding, get shut down. There are things riding on these tests, and the money is dirtier. I hadn’t given this any thought . . . until now.

I was caught up in the brouhaha that arose from an excerpt from a book of mine, edited out of any resemblance to what I wrote, and included in what was described to me as a “high stakes” test administered to all the eighth-graders in New York. It’s a nonsense story, funny, that one character tells to another in my novel, “Borgel.”

On the test, the story makes even less sense, (less sense than nonsense? Yes! I wouldn’t have thought it was possible), and then . . . get ready . . . there are multiple choice questions the kids are supposed to answer.

Well, if a thing is absolutely illogical and meaningless, it’s not possible to ask questions like, “Which animal in the story was the most wise? Choose (a), (b), (c), (d), etc.” And, “Why did the animals eat the pineapple?”

According to the NYC DOE Chancellors Regulations: The decision to promote or retain a student may not be based on consideration of a sole criterion, except that a student must attain a score of at least Proficiency Level 2 on the ELA and Mathematics standardized tests in order to be promoted from Grades 3 through 7, and must attain a score of at least Proficiency Level 2 on the ELA and Mathematics standardized tests and achieve passing grades in core courses in Grade 8 in order to be promoted from Grade 8 to Grade 9 (unless otherwise deemed ready for promotion through the process set forth in Sections VI and IX)

 

In March of this year the New York City Department of Education released Teacher Data Reports to the press, which rate teachers according to value-added analysis which calculates a teachers effectiveness in improving student performance on standardized tests.

 

Last Month the New York City Department of Education Panel for Education Policy voted to close 24 low performing schools.

 

In 2010, the New York State Department of Education agreed to a 5 year, $32 million contract with Pearson Education to design tests for students in grades 4-8.

Again I say:

WTF???

James and JF were playing at The Tank, just off Times Square last night.  I went to see the show.  It was good.  First up, Emily and Ishah in their shiny silver costumes announcing the premise; they are the last two people on earth and this is their television channel.  They played well!  The second act was Uncalled For, an impressive sketch comedy trio from Montreal, befriended by James and JF when they toured the Canadian Fringe last summer with their show Channel One.

I was pleasantly surprised to run into three other women clown friends when I walked into the theatre.  We sat together in the second row of the audience enjoying our former cast-mates in their latest duo production.

In the bar afterwards there was much talk of work and not work.  Jobs lost and jobs found.  Grants and gigs applied for.  Upcoming auditions. Break a Leg.  Fingers crossed.

Because we are who we are there was also an intense discussion about education that could have been a New Yorker cartoon or a Portlandia sketch.  Finding a preschool program, applying too Kindergarten. I was there once worrying, obsessing about that for my 3-year-old, for my 5-year-old. Now I am worrying and obsessing about something else entirely for my tweenager.  Time passes.  Lives change.

I’m grateful for the many hours I spent on stage and in rehearsal with these fantastic women.

I am a white middle-aged soccer mom brought to tears by the idea of a Million Hoodie March in honor of the unnecessary/unexpected/unconscionable/unbelievable/unbearable death of Trayvon Williams.

I have a child of my own.

She is my only child.

She likes to wear hoodies.

She goes to the store by herself.

She likes to buy ice tea and candy.

 

What if…

My baby is not in danger because she is a young Black man.  But, she is in danger because she is a woman.  I felt the fear when Rush Limbaugh unleashed his vitriol on Sandra Fluke who dared to testify before a Congressional Committee in support of insurance plans including of coverage birth control pills.  Her carefully crafted testimony made reference only to medically necessary non-birthcontrol uses for this particular proven effective and readily available medical hormone treatment.  And yet a major media personality felt free to call her a whore and a prostitute and demand public videos showings of her sexual exploits.

Granted that is not a death threat.  It’s not nearly as dangerous as “Walking While Black”.  But still, for many women, rape may as well be death.

So I can relate to the fear of young black men walking…well…anywhere…

I felt threatened a couple of days after Rush Limbaugh’s big tirade, when I walked through a gauntlet of men in suits with banners and drums making their stand on the street corner next to Brooklyn Bourough Hall.  Encouraged by Rick Santorum and Rush Limbaugh these men had come from another state, Pennsylvania, and were literally beating drums and shouting slogans to promote male dominance in the name of the Catholic Church and I was frightened enough to make a call from my cellphone to my parish church a couple of blocks away.   What should I do?  The church secreatary transfered me to l priest who told me that we all live together in the United States and everyone is entitled to free speech and I shouldn’t try to engage or talk to them.  I shouldn’t do anything.  I should just walk away.

Yeah, well that’s what Treyvon Martin was trying to do and look how well that worked out for him.  He’s dead!

Once upon a time,  when I was a seasonal employee at a National Park in Alaska, we recieved formal training on how to avoid bears.  It went like this: Don’t be an idiot. Don’t get between a mother an her cubs.  Don’t fry bacon in your tent.  If you see a bear on the trail turn around and walk the other way.  Whatever.  No big deal…  I can live with that.  In my mind there was not much difference between the avoiding bears and avoiding potential rapists on campus or walking home from work.  For example: “You can take the shorcut through the park during daylight but never ever after dark!”  Make sure that you walk all the way around the outside edge so that you are always on the sidewalk underneath the street lights and closer to the houses so someone will hear you in case you have to scream.

When I went camping with friends in Alaska, I it occurred to me that the guys were geniuinely terrified of bears and also this was a new experience for them.  The fear that  someone or something might attack you randomly for no reason was not something they were used to.  By the time I was a college student working as a summer seasonal in Alaska I’d been living with the possibility of random attack for no reason over 10 years.  It occurred to me to wonder what I could have accomplished if I hadn’t been living with that fear.

We all live in this culture.  We are all victims.

As a 40-something mother, I look at the photo of Trayvon Martin and I see the face of a child.  I think it is unbearably sweet that this boy found time to talk to his girlfriend by phone durning the NBA All-Star Game !!!  I know he was innocent because when he went out to a convenience store for refreshments during halftime, (How many beer commercials can they possibly show?) and the purchases that Treyvon Martin was returning home with were candy and iced tea.

He was a baby and he never got the chance to live his life.  That is a crime.

The seeds had planted for Trayvon Martin to become an ideal employee/husband/father/uncle/grandfather/boss…

He probably would have gone to college.  He probably would have blessed his parents with beautiful grandbabies.

He would have become a man.

Maybe he would have become as amazing as Barack Obama.  Maybe he would simply have held job, loved his children and paid his bills.  We will never know the potential of Trayvon Martin because he was assasinated by a vigalante who was allowed to think that if he saw a black man he was allowed to shoot.

WTF!!!

As they sang in High School Musical:  “We’re All in This Together!”

My almost-Irish-twin-brother’s name is Martin.  This past weekend my little baby girl looked cute and vulnerable and fierce with her FIRST hoodie pulled over her head at the citywide robotics tournament at the Jacob Javits Convention Center in Manhattan.

Trayvon Martin could have been my brother or my daughter.  He could have been my child.

There is a march this evening from Union Square at 6:00 in honor of Trayvon Martin.  It is the Million Hoodie March.  I plan to be there in support of Trayvon’s mom, because I am a mom.

The telemarketer didn’t know who I was.

Not that I’d ever expect anyone to know who I am, despite my stellar career as a blogging mommy and stage clown.

She told me: “Who you know is more important than what you know.”

She offered me the opportunity to pay $2500.00 to be a phone-in guest on blogtalkradio shows …for the exposure!

The  company will be going public in ten days  …on the New York Stock Exchange!

“People would hear you talk right on the show!”

“You’d have us behind you as a media giant!”

“All our hosts are very much professional!”

But wait, there’s more!

A plaque of accomplishment and two airline vouchers to any one of 35 destinations and a stay at a participating hotel are part of the package.

They could do a large build and get me an interview as soon as the second week in February.  A standard industry coded press release would be sent out over the internet and picked up by search engines.

“What would I talk about?”

I asked her this question, taking into consideration my blogging hiatus, my unfinished writing project, and the fact that I don’t have a new show opening this month.

“What is your business?” she countered.

“I’m confused.”  I said.

“There is nothing to be confused about.”

“Are you offering to pay me or are you asking me to pay you?”

Boy did she get off the phone fast.

She was calling from a Long Island area code.