Manners: A Lost Art?

It has been said that people show their true colors in a crisis. I decided today that this old assumption is not entirely accurate. I believe that people actually reveal themselves in a very common, ordinary situation. I believe that people show their truest colors in the parking lot.



I came to this conclusion during the four hours I spent directing traffic in a church parking lot today. I'm not quite certain as to how I wrangled myself into the events of my day, but we'll boil it down to this: I am driven and motivated by guilt. I once read something to the tune of: the challenges of life aren't really good versus evil--life is hardly so epic--most days the battle we fight is doing good versus doing nothing. And because this struck a chord with me (and is apparently still striking), I seem to volunteer for things I really do not want to do. Alice, who seriously cannot and will not ever say NO, tends to make this happen on an even more frequent basis. For me, it is especially likely that I jump in when I'm quite positive that no one else is all that willing to do it. That cliche little angel on my shoulder always pipes in with her annoying voice, pleading, "It needs to be done and if you don't do it, then who will?"

And so, when the relief society president of my ward informed us that her dad needed help with "ushering" at the Draper Temple open house because the members of his stake (the stake called to this responsibility) were so over volunteering after a few months (understandable), Alice and I raised our hands and told her we would help out.

Alice is a social worker and I am a teacher, self-described do-gooders, over-educated (with the student loan debt to prove it) and underpaid. Apparently self-punishment and penance run deeply in our DNA--we were wired incorrectly from the get go, I believe. (Becoming best friends and roommates has only resulted in a multiplication of self-punishment and penance episodes.) Basically, we're very stupid gluttons for punishment.

Anyway, back to the story, so "ushering" in my best Sunday clothes quickly morphed into me still wearing my best Sunday clothes covered by an almost incandescent orange vest with reflector strips. And that whole "ushering at the temple" gig transitioned into the reality: locating empty parking places in an overcrowded church parking lot for the arriving tourists. Oh, and making sure people didn't park in the partitioned off sections of the lot where the shuttle bus carrying these same tourists needed to turn wide on its journey up to the temple.

But the day was sunny and I kept telling myself this was important work, WWJD, I'm from Pioneer Stock and can handle this even if these new shoes will probably give me blisters, etc. So we helped the crowds as they arrived (as best we could). And did I mention it was sunny?

Lucky for us, the vast majority in the steady stream of tourists were patient with the limited parking availability. They were polite. They entered on the "entry" side of the parking lot. They waited for more spaces to become available. They teasingly commented on my orange vest and treated me with human decency, knowing that I had no control over the parked cars. Knowing that I was just a girl trying to do the right thing, sacrificing the middle of her Saturday to help out. Recognizing that, in spite of the orange vest, I was quite powerless. Because as reasonable, rational people, the vast majority of temple tourists understood that there is no such thing as a supreme being of the parking lot with a talent for swiping cars out of their way. So patience and politeness are probably their best option. And, really, circling around the lot a time or two wouldn't hurt until that time when more busses arrived filled with leaving tourists in leaving vehicles.

And then there were the Others. Wait, before I explain these Others, let me first put this as nicely as possible: we all are in a hurry sometimes and in that hurry everything seems to go wrong. We all let our behavior slip into the impatient. We all get a little frustrated. These are natural and understandable reactions. But, you would think that while going to tour a temple on a sunny, unhurried Saturday (here, in Utah, where the majority of the population touring the LDS temple are, well, probably LDS and the majority of these LDS individuals probably believe in the sacred nature of temples, etc.), well, you would think that you might put some of those negative feelings aside for a few hours and just submit to going with the flow and enjoying the spirit of the event. You would think that this would be the case, but my friends, it was not.

Let me tell you, these others (oh, these others!) showed a side of humanity that is disappointing to see. Social Darwinism, that whole philosophy of every man for himself and dog eat dog and survival of the fittest, must infuse the lives of far too many in this world. Because these others followed with exact precision the selfish rules of Social Darwinism.

They cheated: sneaking in through the exit to steal spots from waiting cars. They broke the rules, parking in clearly partitioned off spots. They acted nasty when I said they couldn't park there (until I kindly, saccharinely informed them they could remain if they didn't mind the bus taking out their back seat). Some simply ignored (read: nearly plowed down) the person checking tickets at the entry. A few littered their unwanted items in the lot (because I guess that finding trash receptacles must be impossible, what with the enormous blue dumpster you've driven past multiple times staring at you in the face). Several simply rolled down their windows and demanded I direct them where to park "in this mess." Others, opting to park on the road, had to be told to clear their cars from blocking the driveways of the church house's neighbors. And, upon their return on the bus, the same individuals filled with complaint two hours earlier, lazed and laughed in the same overcrowded parking lot still encircled with patient, creeping vehicles waiting for their spot. Rather than scuttle off to clear the way for more tourists, they decided on dinner plans and waited while someone powdered their nose; they cleaned the car out, changed from suit and tie into street clothes. One group with multiple vehicles even held a picnic.

And I, representing a church with a doctrine and message I believe in fully, had to smilingly show patience and kindness and a tightly controlled lip with every last one of them, in spite of their selfish inconsideration.

And then, near the end of my shift, came the icing on my Disappointed in the Human Race Cake. Not only did her husband originally pull into the exit and flat out LIE to me about it (politely, at least), but she had the audacity to, in an uppity tone like I've never heard uppity before, inform me that "THIS has been organized VERY poorly" when said husband dropped her and their children at the door. And I, biting my bleeding tongue, smiled like I didn't quite hear her, and turned to stare into the sky as if admiring the day. She stomped into the building and I started formulating the following blog post in my mind. It read:

Dear Temperamental Temple Tourist,

Listen, lady, I know waiting really throws you for a loop. Clearly. But I'm just trying to do the right thing here even though, frankly, it really, really sucks. I'm not the god of the lot. I can't just pick up cars so that you and your yuppy spawn who happen to be honor roll students at Bryant Middle School (don't worry, those FIVE bumper stickers you posted on your status-mobile announcing this fact were not missed--by anyone) can get right in to watch the movie and tour the temple. Sometimes parking is scarce. Sometimes we have to wait. Get over it. Grow some manners. Your kids are watching you and learning to do everything you do.

P.S. If you'd like, I'll turn this orange vest over and you see about organizing the entire event that has been going on for over a month with thousands of visitors daily and thus far they haven't lost a single one.
P.P.S. I spoke too soon. Scratch that. Casualties: 1.

Eventually we were relieved of our posts, Alice and I, with battle stories to share: she nearly getting hit by cars, me hearing the wrath of the impatient. We drove away, leaving an empty spot in the lot that was, I'm sure, quickly filled. All in all, in spite of our wounds, it really wasn't a bad day. Like I said, most of the visitors were polite and decent. But those Others got me thinking--we've lost something in our culture. Is it manners? Goodness? Patience? Self-sacrifice? All those democratic ideals, all those altruistic characteristics and personality traits we say attract us to others? We've lost something, clearly--the intricate workings of our economy surely cannot be blamed singlehandedly on the government.

I think the events of my day pointed to my guilty truth, once again. It doesn't take a crisis to show our true selves. It just takes the ordinary. We show who we are day after day, one small action after another. What I read is true: our daily battle is doing good versus doing nothing. We are either being selfish, or we are not. And in order for society to run smoothly, someone needs to do good. Who will raise their hand?

As Nancy Reagan Says, Just Say No

While driving home from work today I saw the following license plate frame:

"I SEE IT, I LIKE IT, I WANT IT, I GET IT."

and I thought to myself, isn't this how we got in this (now global) financial mess in the first place?

Now, I'll be honest, I have debt (see my last post and you'll see how my debt has grown recently). Frankly, I think most of us can't survive without a little bit of manageable debt. And I fully agree that there is a huge difference between an investment (such as student loans) and debt. But as I read this ominous message today, I couldn't help but shudder. What has happened to us? Since when does want equate entitlement? Why have we as a nation become so greedy?

When I was younger, I was frequently told NO by my parents. They told me NO because they just didn't have the money. They told me NO to protect me. They told me NO even when I begged and wouldn't let up. They told me NO because they saw what a miserable outcome their YES could cause. And it is true, NO sucked for a minute, but then I was on to the next thing and clearly I survived the rejection.

As I look at the greediness that seems to plague our society, I keep thinking that maybe we need to tell ourselves NO a little more. No, you don't need another pair of funky gold earrings. No, you should make last year's coat last through this year too. No, you can rent a movie instead this weekend.

You might notice this is all directed at me and my unnecessary purchases. And so I'm putting it out there in the blogosphere. I'm going to tell myself NO just a little bit more. I'm going to start weighing the difference between want and need. I may see it and like it and even want it, but that doesn't mean that I get it.

Hukeb oN fonix, Communication, and Other Thursday Night Musings

Recently I tested my 9th & 10th grade students for grade level reading skills... Wait, perhaps, I should go back further...

Reading. All my life I have heard that reading matters. For me, always-the-reader, this message from educators and NBC service announcements was a white noise preaching to my lone little alto choir. I didn't need someone to sell me the benefits of reading. I enjoyed reading. I consumed books as a Fahrenheit 451 fire. But clearly, my story is not everybody's story. And certainly, reading doesn't even fit into the life stories of my students.


So how did Ms. Rookie's students perform on their reading placement tests, you ask? Low. Lower than they should have. Some are in the third grade still. Let me say that again: I have students who have made it into their sophomore year of high school reading at a third grade level. Their vocabulary is lost in a wasteland. Their comprehension isn't just failing to mention the elephant in the room, NOPE, my students, when reading, don't notice the part about the elephant even being in the room.

Now, this isn't everybody, a token few are even at a post high school level, but the majority of my students are reading below grade level. And I'm disheartened and angry and hysterical and disappointed and overwhelmed and frustrated and ill about this fact. You see, I teach Language Arts, the skills of reading and writing and recognizing the art and nuance of language, to people who are essentially illiterate.

Why are they illiterate? For some, English is not their native language. Some do not have a single book, excluding religious texts, in their homes. Some have learning disabilities. Some have never been to the public library. Some were never read to when they were little. And some just do not like to read. And Mom or Dad don't like/value reading. Or Mom and Dad or Great Aunt Ruth buy them books, encourage them to read, but their kid just won't do it. Their eyes scan the text, but their minds drift to other worlds like HALO or the skate park or Jessica Alba.

And it all makes me sick. You want my honest opinion? I believe we are becoming illiterate as a nation. Oh, we may be literate, even sophisticated in technology. Our minds may consume information at a rate so rapid we're left feeling drained by nightfall. But we are becoming a nation who cannot communicate effectively. And when communication fizzles, how do we express ourselves?

Listening to the candidates debate, drifting over blogs in the blogosphere, perusing the words my students write, I am weary. Our ability for communication seems to be waning into an abysmal future. Call me a language snob. Call me full of crap. Call me Ishmael. Call me Jonah. I don't care. I am worried about the diminishing face of literacy in our culture and society.

I write and I read because I want to connect with the essence of humanity. What does it mean to be human? What is the secret landscape of the mind? Effective communication turns the deepest fruit of who we are inside out, leaving the shining membrane of us as evidence: I feel, I think, I am. Language is what separates us from the animals, and somewhere over the past few decades, we've thrown that ability aside piece by piece.

And our next generation is worse off. Text messaging lingo consists of a rudimentary abbreviated vocabulary. What are we? Cave people?

I meet u
k
Time?
IDK
Ugh


I know, I know, I'm ranting and I'm raving and my soap box is groaning under the weight of my intensity. My linguistic-guru brother might even tell me "Dear Rookie, language is always in flux, this is natural." But I am uncertain how to make up for years of illiteracy. I worry that without the language available to express the thought fully, the thoughts themselves might die away too. I worry that, when it comes to language, this generation gap is too wide. I worry that one day I will start talking, expressing the inside of myself, and no one will understand what I am saying.

Lessons in the Arbitrary

My sister, who shall remain nameless as I have many sisters, recently took her adolescent daughter and her daughter's friend to the theater to enjoy a chick flick. The advertisements for this particular film did not indicate the sexually explicit innuendo that was a near constant in the dialogue nor did it mention the questionable "props" that were featured in the film. And so, two hours later, she exited the theater with these two 13-year-olds asking questions she was not prepared to answer, most of which she shouldn't have to answer.

Was this trailer false advertising? Possibly so--but aren't they all. Could she have walked out? Yes. But how many of us have actually walked out on of a theater that we felt a little bit uncomfortable in? I can count two times that I've done this in my life and half of these early-exits were with this particular sister. And both times I didn't have the guts to ask for a refund because I figured it was up to me as the consumer to research the films/plays I watch and make a decision based on that research. Knowing that I paid good money for a movie, my cheap side insists I stay while my angelic side (yes, I have one)says "sunk cost, sister, get the heck outta here!" My cheap side, as you can tell by my two early-exits record, typically wins out. But I digress.

My question is, as a consumer, shouldn't I have some sort of quick-guide which tells me the appropriateness of a film? Oh wait, there is one: enter the MPAA Film Ratings System. This ratings system, as many of you know, places a film in four categories: G (General Audience), PG (Parental Guidance), PG-13 (Parental Guidance for children 13 and older), and R (Restricted Audience). Now, there is an NC--17 rating, but this particular rating doesn't register on my radar and I'm assuming the same of my readership, so I'm not going include it in my discussion here. We'll just say that I rely on these four little categories to determine which films I will see and which films I will most likely skip. But, I think there is a fault or two in this system. No offense to the board who is, in all actuality, trying to provide a needed service. But the truth is that your little system ain't working so well.

Did you know that the ratings of films are selected by vote. Yes, the board of Los Angeles-based parents votes on the rating after viewing and holding a discussion. So if the majority says PG-13, and a few say R, PG-13 wins out. Bada-bing: you take your 13 year old to the movie they've been harrassing you about for the past month "because it's only PG-13, Ma!" and regret caving in within the first half hour. All the while knowing, that if you, as a parent, would have cast your vote that baby would have been a solid R. No discussion needed.

Now, if you research a little more you will discover why a film received the rating that it did with little warnings like: Rated PG-13 for "drug usage" or "partial nudity" or "strong language" or "adult content." Now, I know what drug usage is, but how much drug usage is going to take place in this particular film? And does it convey that drug usage in a positive or negative light because that makes a difference for me. And that strong language, are we talking I stubbed my toe in the dark and maybe slipped a curse out or are we talking about the kind of language I hear in the halls at the public high school I teach at? And adult content, what the heck is adult content? And we all know the nudity in Schindler's List isn't the same as the nudity in some films. You see, for me, their additional guidelines don't guide me all that much, rather, these guidelines serve to confuse me even more.

So, here I am, little old consumer, left dumbfounded, uncertain, and pretty sure I don't even want to go to the movie for fear of what my eyes or ears might be accosted with when I thought I was going to watch a kid's film with "mild violence". But I am not here to merely complain. I also want to offer a solution.

Film-makers, here's the thing: You have got to start making more appropriate movies for general audiences. While I'm not one to say "censor, censor, censor," especially when it comes to one's art, I'm one who thinks "selling sex" isn't an art form. And please do tell me how most major blockbusters should be considered "art" because last I checked it was more about plots, special effects, and big name-actors than being artistic. (As an unnecessary side note: strangely, many of the "artsy" indy-films I've been to aren't as prone to accost my senses.)

I repeat myself: You have GOT to start making more appropriate movies for general audiences. Movies that aren't pushing envelopes. Movies that entertain. Movies that don't just drop the f-bomb because they can do it and still receive a PG-13 rating. You, Hollywood, are forgetting your audience is a human audience with a variety of values and standards. We go to these blockbuster kinds of movies for two glorious hours of suspended reality and sheer entertainment. We don't go for the sexually graphic material. Some of us actually cringe when it comes to violence. And I can stop my students from dropping the f-bomb, sure, but you just shout it out willy-nilly and there ain't much I can do about it but shake my head in disappointment.

Film makers, did you know that I get a little worry knot in my stomach when I say, "Let's catch a movie"? Some weekends I have my choice of either the one sole G-rated film with talking pandas (every 27-year-old single female's dream) or 12-16 R-rated violence-filled, sexually-laden, language-defiling films at my local mega-plex. Surely you can do better than that. Because, at this rate, I, the movie-lover among movie-lovers, am just not going to show up anymore.

Harvard-Schmarvard

I have a student. Okay, let me rephrase that, I have several students. But I have a particular student that will be my example for this particular post. Said student is brilliant and talented: 3.9 GPA, multiple AP classes under his belt, outstanding SAT and ACT test scores, and he's only a junior. And what adds to his brilliance is that he came to the United States a short five years ago with no knowledge of the English language. One other thing: said student is dead set on heading to Stanford after graduation for an eventual MD. He wants to be a surgeon.

I think it is admirable that he is so accomplished and has set such a high standard for himself. You hear "Stanford" and, without fail, whispered oooh's and ahhh's will follow. And Stanford is, of course, impressive. And Stanford is, of course, expensive. And because of this Stanford is, of course, tough to get into. The competition is fierce, so I hear.

So Alice heard about this kid (because she hears all about my student concerns...no names mentioned, of course) when I was helping this particular student with his application process to a summer institute held at Stanford. And when she heard about this kid, and my concerns that his heart was so set on this school and what if he just didn't get in?, we got to talking about disappointment and and decisions and college and student loan debt and brand names and learning. We like conversations like this, Alice and me.

And so here I am, thinking about seventeen year olds and major decisions like choosing a college, career and future. Big, life-altering decisions. And it all has me thinking about the lies we tell kids. Lies like "Harvard is one of the best colleges in the United States" or "if you don't take at least X amount of AP classes or participate in X number of extracurricular activities, you can kiss college goodbye." Lies that, if you think about it, just aren't true.

Now, is Harvard a good school. I'm sure it is. It is well-reputed, has impressive law and business schools and a beautiful campus. But the question at hand remains: is it the best school for this particular student? Is it affordable? Are the class sizes too small, too big? What is the student population like and will this kid find a niche there? And will this kid be paying back tuition plus interest on student loans until their 80th birthday? And, while colleges expect a certain level of academic ability, is it realistic to believe that if one bombs one's AP US History exam then one is automatically doomed for life? And is there anything all that wrong with going local?

I guess I'm asking all of this because I think that at 17 or 18, with no real exposure to the college experience, we're using some pretty nasty scare tactics on some very vulnerable victims. I'm sayin' it like it is and the emperor is nekked, people. I say that maybe, just maybe, parents and guidance counselors and schools are pushing kids in this direction because it, dare I say it...it makes THEM look good. Not because it is best for that student. Not because it is the best fit for that individual, but because we all believe that Harvard is impressive and the State school is, well, average to mediocre. And if I taught/guided/raised a Harvard student than that says something about me. Yes, yes, I'm so happy for them, but look what I did!

Lies like these kind of tick me off. On the other side of these lies we tell, there are kids. Impressionable, overworked, and overtired children. Yes, they're adolescents who lean toward the obnoxious at times. But they are children, nonetheless. And on the other side of these lies are high school kids who walk through life like zombies. They lack social lives (unless it involves an activity that looks good on a resume). They lack sleep. They lack family time. They lack balance. Life is a thing lived to get oneself into a "good" college in order to live the "good" life. And I don't think many of them are all that happy. And I'm not sure if this kind of pressure is healthy for anyone.

I'm not saying some pressure is a bad thing, but I worry that we have invented a generation of Super Students rather than Super Human Beings. And that, friends and brethren, bodes well for none of us. (Plus, I think it is bad paying back my student loans...there are worse things, folks, far worse!).

Them are me thoughts.

Signing out,
The Rookie (who happened to attend and graduate from a local state college and had a college experience she wouldn't trade for any ivy-infested leagues)

So a Screenwriter Walks Into a Bar...

Dear Screen Writers Guild of America,

Let me begin by saying that your cause was initially supported by individuals such as myself. At one time I thought--yes, yes, you SHOULD stand up for your rights. This strike of yours is justified and you deserve to be paid when someone exploits television shows that are your brainchild.

But let me just shoot it to you straight: I'm not so much on your side anymore. Which isn't to say I'm on the producers' side either. Thing is, I am sort of starting to wish you both the worst. It is true--I'm starting to sing out curses:

May we, a Joe Public now less addicted to unrealistically beautiful, uncomplicated characters and predictable plots, smarten up and forget your shows that sucked us in Thursday after Thursday. May your temper tantrum trigger a dominoing fall of Hollywood. May you resort to clipping coupons and cleaning your own houses like the rest of us. May your children attend public high schools and state universities. May actors be humbled down to two options: unemployment or VH1's "Celebreality". May people throughout America rediscover what it is like to contribute to their communities, bond with their families, read books, or discuss/worry about people they actually know.

Thing is, I saw how much you get paid for a single episode. Now, by Hollywood standards, you writers don't get your due, I suppose. I get it, you "created" this storyline, these characters. Their witty words and one-liners. You geniuses, you. Nevermind the fact that your plots have existed since Ancient Greece. (I won't say anything about how you don't see Euripides throwing a big stink). I get that YOU are the ideas and creativity that fuels Hollywood and it isn't fair that you don't get paid as much as what's-his-salary, yadda, yadda, yadda...

But let me tell you a little something about the rest of us, and by the rest of us I mean me, really. I happen to be a teacher. A teacher who Monday through Friday shows up to work with individuals that the rest of society avoids and considers a nuisance. These individuals also happen to be the people who will one day take your job, and my job, and all of our jobs. But right now, because they're teenagers, nobody can really stand them. Except people like me who are either gluttons for punishment or like to think that they are doing something noble and necessary for...oh, I don't know...the community, society, future. The rest of us (meaning me), is ecstatic because, as she filed taxes, she realized that she'd actually made it out from under that whole "poverty line" thing by the skin of her teeth this past year. The rest of us can't afford to throw a "life's not fair" temper tantrum and make faces at our bosses who make more money than we do. Because the rest of us, while quite possibly protected by a union, wouldn't be able to pay our rent if we went on strike. Oh, and without the rest of us (specifically teachers), about 15-20 years from now we wouldn't have much of a work force--but, on the bright side, "the future" would probably play a mean Guitar Hero with those extra hours of practice.

So, I hope you are still feeling really good and justified in your little fight. You have, after all, made your point: TV sucks without you. You severely impact Hollywood's revenue. It is really such a travesty. I'm not saying there haven't been perks to your little hissy fit. There was joy knowing that for once the Golden Globe winners wore pajamas like normal people do during the blessed event. It's been kind of entertaining (in a slow down and stare at car wrecks sort of way) to see just how lame the Ellen show can get. And my niece really enjoyed all the primetime holiday kids' specials that aired this last December.

I am just saying that when this "huffy-bike-parade" of all-ya'lls is over, don't be surprised if the rest of us have moved on. Don't be surprised when we've stopped caring about the dynamic between McDreamy and Meredith (c'mon--get therapy already! You are a well-educated, intelligent DOCTOR for crying out loud and you haven't recognized that you might just need professional help to get through your issues?!?).

Yes, Writer's Guild, you were good, but I am hoping the rest of us have figured out that you weren't that good.

The Rookie

P.S. Way to stick it to the man. Seriously. You've been so exploited. It's about time they got their due.