Breaking With the Past

As some of you know, I have been struggling to find the meaning of a weird coincidence.  Every piece of jewelery I have touched in the last month has broken in my hands.  I don't mean just one piece - but really everything from rings to necklaces.

During each instance, the broken jewelery broke in my hands.  It did not fall off, was not not broken before putting it on, but if felt as if it was sand falling through my fingers.  You know the feeling when you dig your hands deep into the sand at the beach and watch as the millions grains of sand slip through your fingers.  It is both a tactile soft and dynamic experience. 

This broken jewelery is not expensive, but frequent pieces that I wear and like quite a bit.  This was not the pile of ambivalent jewelery that I have kept because the person who gave it to me is somebody I love deeply, but would never wear.

It could be an exercise in futility to think about this for too long, but I like to find patterns and possible deeper insights in experiences that may be emblematic of other meanings. 

So I asked myself what could the overarching theme be from all this broken jewelery, besides just a pile of broken jewelry?  Could it be the symbolism that I am actually breaking with my past?  Could it be a coincidence that all the jewelery given to me by somebody I knew very well, but don't see or talk with any longer, is now broken?

Another important factor in the theory of breaking with the past, is that this has happened since I moved into my new place.  It id not happen in the home I lived in for 11 year, nor the childhood home that I moved into for 6 months.  But everything has broken since I have re-settled into my new place, new address, new stage of my life.  That is what brought me to the breaking with the past explanation.

Funny that this is not lost on others.  My son has shared with me that his experiences with the changes in our family is no longer sad or devastating to him.  In fact he has said how happy he is now that he now we are still a family, but in a different configuration.  He has be forced to break with his past and embrace a new way of being. His break with the past is ongoing, just as mine.

And that is why my jewelery keeps breaking.

Or for those who want a different feel  .  .  .




Either way, they say the same thing.

And the beat goes on . . .

We are gearing up for another year of school.  Binders, folders, spirals, pencils, rulers, hole punch, lunch box, water bottle, and zip stick.  While these are the "things" we need.  There is very little talk of what we want.

I hope that we want an educated populous who can question ideas,  beliefs, and values.  I want my child to understand that going to a public school means that he should be expected to learn, engage, dialogue, question, experiment--all in the 6 hours per day, 5 days per week, 9 of 12 months of the year.  I also want him to find friends who will have his back, practice his violin, and discover something new that rocks his world.

There is so much chatter about teachers, placements, homework, and standards.  Yes, we need to come to a common agreement about what children should learn, and when, but when standards drive the creativity and experimentation that used to exist in the classroom, we have completely lost what it means to learn something.

Working together, deconstructing knowledge, making mistakes, and risk-taking are completely absent in the current public school model.  Yet, when was the last time you learned something new, didn't make a mistake, explained it in written form, and then judged by what you knew?

Unfortunately the teachers are represented by a union whose model is grossly out of date and lacks any creative young energy (sorry Harvey) when advocating about compromise, concessions, and compliance.

We have a district who grossly overpays their top administrators and steals the life and dedication to educate from their teachers, custodians, resource teachers, school nurses and psychologists.

I live in a city that builds "vanity schools" which carry the names of "important" people, or schools that can be written up by some educational researcher about a model that was started by some overworked teacher, or schools whose budgets are decimated because the 1000+ kids in South Central--who have at least one parent in the jail system--can't get counseling when they bring used syringes to school to play with on the yard.

My child is fortunate, I am his advocate in all aspects of his education.  I speak English, I am informed, and I am knowledgeable about the public school system.  I have had the extreme pleasure of working with caring and exceptionally talented teachers and administrators on his behalf.

But what about the countless other children who attend the same public school district whose parents are not native English speakers, or who work 12-15 hours a day--seven days a week, or the parent with a physical or mental illness, or just the parent who has given up?

What happens to this child?  Who is their guard dog?  Who goes to bed at night worried about their education?  Did they understand the classroom instruction?  Was the lesson coherent?  Did the child stop worrying about their parent at some point during the class so they could take in the material?  Were they teased because their clothes were not "cool" enough?  Did they feel alone, confused, silenced by a chaotic life?  Did they worry that their friends would find out they live in their car?  On the street?  In a shelter?

I guess I want to know  . . . who gets them ready for another year of public school?

Selected Headlines from 2010 about LAUSD.

LAUSD lost almost $10 million due to inefficient inventory system, audit finds.

The $75.5 million Carson-Gore Academy of Environmental Sciences will open September 13th for 675 students.

The Robert F. Kennedy Community Schools cluster, scheduled to open this fall on the site of the former Ambassador Hotel, was built at a cost of $578 million, or nearly $140,000 per student seat.  It is the most expensive public school ever built in the LAUSD, and may be the most expensive public school in the country. 

Controversies surround LAUSD's new hire, John Deasy, and the L.A. Times reported that LAUSD board gave Deasy an annual salary of $275,00 -- $25,000 more than his boss Ramon Cortines.

For the Food Network's Easy After School Snacks - click here.

 

The ways of the Buddha according to a 12-year old

It is not a frequent occurrence in my daily life when my tween stops talking.  Usually, I say to myself, "what is going to happen next?"  But the other night a very strange thing happened.  He stopped talking to keep calm, to keep his composure, and to change a unhealthy cycle of anger and rage.

All I can say is the insight into a productive and mature response blindsided me and was cause for celebration (albeit a silent one).  When asked where this new technique came from, the young man replied, "the way of the Buddha."  "I learned that Buddha remained calm in difficult situations and I wanted to use that when I did not want to come inside and stop playing."  Now I am no scholar or expert in the history and techniques of Buddha or Buddhism, but I will take this as the gospel truth.

I had only one question for the wise sage of 12 years old who was sitting next to me, "it took you this long to use the technique after months of rage, anger, and confrontation?"  Clearly, that was not asked, it was not the time, nor the place, for a mother's critique.  When Siddhartha was 12 years old, he did not have a mother who "asks too many questions", because like this child, he lost a mother when he was an infant as well.

When I looked at him, starring straight ahead, silent, focused, in command of himself, I am seeing a young man.  When I hear his very deep voice speaking to me, I hear a young man, and when I feel his hand rub my arm just before he doses off to sleep, I feel a young man.  I am in awe that every 24 hours he is still with me and by my side, but he is increasing his stride into a young man.  The interesting parallel is that Siddhartha was reminded of a childhood memory where he attained a concentrated and focused state that was blissful and refreshing.

Later on that evening, after notes were passed to each other about a bowl of ice cream, the silenced thawed and the child-man went to sleep having mastered his own emotional landscape.  He sowed the seeds of enlightenment--may they be cared for, watered, and fed so they can grow with such beauty as the child-man.

स्मृति
mindfulness awaits  . . .