A reading/viewing example of white supremacy

There are, to my mind, two kinds of white supremacy.
There is the definition everyone thinks of, in which white people believe they are superior to other people who are Black, brown, yellow, etc.
This is what I always thought of.

But then there is white supremacy in which whiteness is the dominant color that society thinks about as being "the main."
Reading "White Fragility" helped inform this other meaning.

Because supremacy doesn't just mean superior.
It also means dominant, influence, or advantage.

I caught myself having an experience of white supremacy last night when D and I watched the first two episodes of HBO's His Dark Materials, a trilogy based on the novels of Philip Pullman.

This series of fantasy books has long been a favorite of mine, but I decided I needed to reread it.
And so I started reading it to my kids this summer before bed.
The 16-year-old even participated in the listening.

Now, I have always, in my mind, visualized the characters as white.
Was this because Pullman is white?
Maybe.
Is this because I was influenced by the 2007 film version of The Golden Compass?
Maybe.
Is this because I am white?
Maybe.

So watching the new HBO series, in which the master of Jordan College is played by a black actor, and John Faa is played by a black actor, and Boreal is played by a black actor, it struck me how sneaky and subtle supremacy is. It informs your thoughts even if you aren't aware that it informs your thoughts.

It was a bit of a wake-up for me, an awareness of how unaware I am all the time.

The whole point of Boyhood is that it was boring

This past weekend we watched "Boyhood."

At 2.5 hours in length, chances were pretty good that I wouldn't sit all the way through it.  I rarely sit through a film that long.

Much to husband's dismay and the cat's delight, I sat still and watched the movie in its entirety plus the 20 minute extra feature on the making of it.

There were many things I liked about the film.

I liked that the transitions from one stage of boyhood to another were so seamless that I had to zone in on the boy's haircut to understand that a transition had taken place.

I like that the film showed the physical transition of the adults, which were in some ways as astounding as the boy's.  I appreciated that the film also showed how adults, depending on their personalities, can change/mature over time (the dad) or stay perpetually stuck in dysfunctional choices (the mom).

Of course, I loved the music.  The Black Keys and Flaming Lips in one movie=my kind of awesome.

After it was over I felt a sadness that lingered into the following morning.

It wasn't a sadness like what I get after watching "On The Beach" or "Melancholia," which is sadness and irrational fear bound into a tight bundle.  It was a sadness for something that I know without a doubt is coming---my children growing up.  But as with all things parenthood-related, that sadness is interlaced with joy at knowing that my children are supposed to grow up and create their own lives beyond me.

"Boyhood" reminded me that maybe I should stop worrying about making every moment count with my children.  Every moment doesn't count.

"Boyhood" reminded me that 98% of life is the in-between stages, not the milestones.  Not the big deal events, but the little forgettable moments.  The things that we don't remember anyway.

We are left with a feeling, a sense of who we are, where we're from, why we matter.  The nuts and bolts of that feeling, that sense, are long gone by the time we start to really try to get a handle on ourselves and where we are in the world.

I liked that the film gave me a ray of hope that my two boys, who talk about their penises all day long and really get way too much enjoyment from "Uncle Grandpa," may turn into pretty cool dudes when they mature.

I liked the movie's reminder that as a parent, you do the best you can with what you have, and the kids will probably turn out ok.  

Waiting for Superman--some thoughts

I have been watching Waiting for Superman piecemeal...every weekend while walking 30 minutes on the treadmill.  Anyone who has spent any time in a public school classroom won't find it eye-opening because they see the truths of this documentary on a daily basis.

The film spoke to the problem of tenure and teacher unions, and I tend to agree with them.  I generally think what works in the private sector, such as pay for performance and at-will employment, are good things.  Of course, I then have to recognize that teachers are held to grossly unfair standards (as this excellent essay attests) and are scapegoats for everything terrible about public education, even when it is not their fault.

Charter schools were discussed in the film, and I don't have a problem with charters in theory.  I think an awful lot of people think they are a magic pill that will solve problems that they will not solve.  

The parents in the film all really seemed to highly value education, supported their children in their educational endeavors and seemed to keep hitting brick walls.  I really, truly felt for them.

The public school problem is complex.  It is that some teachers suck, some schools need much more funding, some kids take tests poorly even though they are exceptional students, some parents don't support education, some kids don't fit into the mold of public education as it is in their school.

From my limited experience as both a teacher and a parent, I think there are certain non-negotiable things a parent has to do to ensure your child gets a good education.  If I were able to stand in front of a group of parents, this is what I would say:

1. Read every single solitary day (two or more times a day) to your child from the time he/she is an infant and continuing to do it until your child is a teenager.  And at that point you should check out the same book your child is reading so you can read it and discuss it with your child.

2. Make your child go to school every single day, including preschool, unless he/she is running a fever or puking.  You set a precedent early on that school comes first.  And if the child doesn't go to school, he/she doesn't do anything fun like play outside with friends or go to the mall.  

3. Stay in contact with the child's teacher.  Email, drop in unannounced to the classroom, attend conferences.  Essentially, a teacher works for you and your child.  Stay on top of what is being done at school.  Ask questions.  Offer to help however you can.  Read the core content.  Know what your child is supposed to be learning.  

4. Make your home as consistent, scheduled, normal as possible.  Regular bedtime.  Regular waking time.  Regular meals.  Regular naps.  Boring----yes.  Necessary----yes.  Once you have a child, your life is not about you for a good long time.  Get over it.

5. You think you know your child, and you do, but only to a certain extent.  Unless you are a fly on the wall, you do not know what your child is doing or not doing, what the teacher is doing or not doing, in the classroom.  You don't have to believe everything the teacher tells you, but you also shouldn't believe everything your child tells you.  You have to use detective skills to figure out what is really going on sometimes.

I had a student who told me he was friends with a professional basketball player (whose name escapes me now).  I said something like, "Oh sure."  The kid kept insisting he knew this famous player, but I wouldn't bite.  I soon received a letter from the mom telling me her son was not lying and their family is friends with this famous player, blah, blah, blah.  By the tone, I could tell she was highly insulted that I wouldn't believe her precious little boy.  I sent a letter home, explaining that I was sorry her son was upset that I didn't believe him but that I would be a fool to believe every single thing students tell me.  I didn't mean him any disrespect, but that is just the nature of teaching.

A short time later, this mom did a long-term sub job at our school.  Her attitude about believing what students told her changed very quickly.

6. If your gut tells you something is not right about what administration tells you, keep asking.  Keep calling.  Go as high up as you have to go.  Be civil, be extremely polite, but keep asking.  Under no circumstances should you get up on your mighty high horse because you might unknowingly be contributing to whatever problems your child is having.  

I cannot tell the number of parents who claimed they wanted to do "right" by their kids but ended up hurting them worse by their efforts.  Parents who didn't provide as much consistency as the child needed or when they tried to "help" ended up doing the hard work for the child.  Parents who didn't want to hurt their child by taking away something the child loved until the grades and behavior improved.  Parents who were so wrapped up in their own affairs that they didn't focus on what the child really required.  

Waiting for Superman was a good reminder of what can go wrong and right in education, but I believe it only told part of the story.  

Jane Eyre (and Edward Rochester)--how I love thee.....

D and I have begun watching the latest film adaptation of Jane Eyre, a book that I have adored since I was in high school.

I had no interest in the book at the time I first read it.  Had to force myself to read it for Mrs. Daub's class in time to take the test.  I was scrambling, to say the least.  It is a slow read until the orchard scene.  A slow, sometimes painful, burn.

But oh, how that one scene changed it all.  Now I had to force myself to stop reading to satisfy nature's calls to eat and urinate and sleep.

After the test, Mrs. Daub showed our class the 1946 film version, starring Orson Welles as Edward Rochester.  Oh heavens---was I in love.  You can imagine the strange looks I got when I said I thought Orson Welles was a sexy romantic hero.

As a teen, I adored Jane Eyre for its love story.

I reread the book in my twenties, and while the love story was still good, I was more focused on Jane as a feminist.  I read more closely the descriptions of her as elfin and bird-like.

My book club is reading Jane Eyre for our December discussion, and I am interested to see what themes of the book I will focus on this time, as a mother, as a woman nearing her forties, as a woman who has suffered from a mental disorder for some years now.  I wonder if I may pay attention closely to Bertha, if I will feel more sympathetic to her character who in the past has not grabbed my attention too much.

Unfortunately a giant crack on the Netflix dvd has thwarted our attempt to finish the movie this weekend, but I know from what we have seen that Michael Fassbender might just kick Orson Welles out as top Mr. Rochester in my book.

I think I may have actually been holding my breath in the scene where Jane saves Mr. Rochester from the fire in his room and he takes her hand as she is leaving.  Be still my heart.

Who needs porn when you have this!

Gone, Baby, Gone brought some PPD OCD memories back

This weekend D and I watched the film Gone, Baby, Gone based on the Dennis Lehane book of the same name.  I cannot stress enough what an excellent film it is.  Two days later I am still thinking of its themes as I wash the dishes or straighten up around the house.  The only Lehane book I have read is Mystic River (saw the movie too), but after reading up on him and learning that Shutter Island (another awesome film) is one of his novels, I think I may have to read a lot more of his stuff.

I liked Gone, Baby, Gone's complexities, the fact that it didn't make a right or wrong statement necessarily but left the audience to wallow in the grey area.  About parenting.  About pedophilia.  About kidnapping.  About murder.  About what love really means and what love can tolerate.    

The part of the film in which Patrick Kenzie encounters a pedophile brought back my memories of some highly unpleasant intrusive thoughts that I first experienced when N was a baby and that still sometimes make a brief resurgence.  Fortunately, my medication, my past reading about PPD OCD and my therapy all help me manage these thoughts when they pop up now.

At one time, though, these thoughts were paralyzing because I thought having the thoughts meant I wanted to act on whatever I envisioned in the thoughts.  And the thoughts, let alone the idea of acting on them, were revolting, repulsive, horrifying.  I would feel full-blown panic set in whenever an intrusive thought would pass through my brain.  

Because of these thoughts (that were of a sexual nature and centered around my child(ren)), I couldn't help but wonder what pedophiles think and feel, and watching this movie brought that question back up.  Is my horrifying intrusive thought over which I have no control similar to what they think?  Are they horrified by an idea that pops in their heads but feel powerless not to act on it?  Or is the idea that pops in their head exciting to them?  Or is the idea not something that pops into their head as an accident or weird brain spasm but a desired idea that they created?  

And if the thought that pops into their head is horrifying to them but an overwhelming urge makes them act on it, is this mental illness or evil?  Or both?  And does this mean that in addition to feeling sickened by what they do to children, is it possible to also feel some compassion because their thoughts might be something beyond their control?

Like Patrick in the movie, the only answer I have is, "I don't know."

Even though I know that my intrusive thoughts were some of my worst fears flashing before my eyes, to this day I have to remind myself of this fact again and again.  Or I might begin to doubt again what kind of person I am.  

How I Am Love got my panties in a twist

Maybe I am too darn practical for my own good, but whenever I feel that my life is not as dazzling as it might be, I remember some handy phrases:

1. The devil you know is better than the devil you don't know.
2. Life is full of peaks and valleys.
3. A person is about as happy as he or she makes up his/her mind to be.

This weekend D and I watched the film I Am Love starring Tilda Swinton, and while I liked it, I couldn't believe what she did at the end.  I was so disappointed in her.  I even watched the interviews to see if I had missed a major theme or something.

But I hadn't.

I got that she was an alien in the Milanese culture.
I got that perhaps her marriage wasn't zesty and lusty and as emotionally satisfying as it could be.
I got that perhaps her grief at the end of the film made her say, "To hell with being not quite as satisfied with my life as I might be."

Still, it really bothered me that her affair with a man is what initially made her recognize her need for something more from her marriage.  Made her realize the culture in which she had been living for 20+ years was not as near and dear to her as she had thought.  It bothers me that it was a man that brought her into the life she realized she didn't want only because another man f*cking her made her realize it.  Is this supposed to be romantic, and I'm just dense?  It seems to fly in the face of her finding her true female power to stand on her own if she doesn't actually stand on her own.

She said she loved Antonio, but how could she?  They had had sex a few times.  She loved what he represented, but not him.

It really bothered me that she was willing to throw away so many years and so many relationships....not just the relationship between herself and her husband.  Because as the ending so clearly showed, there was a new beginning on its way, a new beginning that could include her but that she may or may not ever experience.

As much as I grouse about my kids and the drudgery of being a SAHM and how I'm gonna strangle my husband with all his cords, the truth is that I cannot imagine my life without any one of the dingdongs I share it with on a daily basis.  This is the life I chose and when I sometimes imagine what life might be otherwise, I see it with fear and emptiness.

Is that what it means to be content?
Did Tilda's character see her possible other life as so much better than what she had?
Or could she have had a more free life without sacrificing so much of her previous one?
Was she wrong not to try?
Is there something wrong with me because I can't understand her choice?

Thoughts on Knocked Up

Back in the day, when I still had brain cells that functioned properly, I would have written a blog post about Atonement or another classically elegant movie based on a piece of literature. I did see Atonement and really liked it, moreso than I did the book, but its weightiness is just too much for me right now. So my critical inquiry for the moment is limited to Judd Apatow films.

D and I watched Knocked Up over 2 evenings. I liked it. Won't make it to my favorite movies of all time list, but it was entertaining and actually made me think alot about domestic issues.

First, there is a very good reason people like watching hardbodies in porn movies. Because seeing Seth Rogen do a sex scene is not appetizing. I don't want to see someone who looks like me or my hubby or my neighbors doing it. Let's just leave the real human bodies in their real human bedrooms.

Secondly, I am glad I am not like the sister, Debbie. It's absurd that she was so angry that her hubby played fantasy baseball instead of having an affair. It's also absurd the way she got so pissy when he didn't fret over the sex predators in their neighborhood. I HATE sports, but I'd develop an interest in them if my spouse talked to me the way she did. I guess I'm lucky that D and I don't have that kind of mouthy, spit-fire argument style. I might think D is a stupid, dumb ass at times, but I certainly don't tell him to his face (primarily because I don't want to know when he's thinking I'm a stubborn, tightwad bitch).

Thirdly, I can understand a bit how women get miffed when their husbands or male partners need "time away," but that is simply the way men are. I might want time away or need time away, but being a mommy is inherently different from being a daddy. It's "momma bear syndrome." I know I have personally felt hurt when D has said the kids were driving him bananas or when he wanted to get away from them. It is irrational, but I think there is an instinctive, protective component to why women feel that way. But if I acted like D is a asshole jerk for thinking this way or saying this, then I have to lump him with every other "normal" guy who feels this way on a regular basis. And if the majority of men experience it, then it isn't one guy's problem. Women may feel the same but being a momma, in general, means an altogether different level of involvement with children.

For the record, Katherine Heigl did not lumber around as a pregnant woman does, especially in the sack. During that pregnant sex scene, her butt was way too quick to move around into different positions. Lifting my 22 week pregnant ass off the couch is an ordeal, so flipping over on a soft mattress is a feat that takes many minutes and some intense upper body work. And as a 1st time mom, she would be far more concerned about bleeding after intercourse than getting her groove on. And what is so bad about doggy style (or on your knees or rear entry), by the way? Just another example of women being presented as semantically prudish.

And the birth scene.....
I've done the natural thing, and the pain was so intense I was in another fucking world. I couldn't have strung 3 grunts together during transition (the hard part), let alone enough to say, "I don't want to do this. Give me an epidural now you fucking dicksucker."
And by the time you get to the pushing part, you actually feel better.
Also, is it just me, or did someone have a Brazilian wax before delivery? Or was it the blonde hair?
The birth scene in Jude the Obscure with Kate Winslet was better.

So there's my 2 cents about KU. Cute, funny. Totally not worth remembering. A good way to spend a weekend after going to soccer games, the pool and dealing with kids/work.