As we increase our use of the internet, opening up a new world of information for all, I am deeply disturbed by a growing trend. The title of this blog entry uses the word "literacy" to describe the state of our education (or lack therof) in two particular areas: geography and grammar. I am beginning to wonder if, in these days of meeting the mark through standardized testing in our schools, we are losing some basic skills along the way. In this fast moving world of i-phones and apps, i-pads and laptops, I wonder why we are not becoming more literate instead of going in the other direction.
My first pet peeve regards geography. As a D.C. native, I grew up learning how the city was laid out using a logical grid system. The Capitol is the center of everything, with the city divided into four quadrants. The streets radiate out from the Capitol either alphabetically or numerically. The only thing that throws a monkey-wrench into all of this order is the layout of the avenues, which run diagonally. I think this is pretty logical. And what I tell visitors to this capital city is that if they get lost, find an intersection of a number street and an alphabetical street, and they should be able to guage where they are in the city.
I wonder how many people know the difference between the words "Capitol" and "capital". Since this is about literacy, I actually went online and looked up both to make sure that I had it right. For those who don't remember the difference, the Capitol is reserved for the actual building. Its synonym encompasses all of the other definitions of the word.
My real pet peeve comes when I have to provide my address to a live telephone operator, like when you are ordering something by mail order or even something as important as ordering checks. I happen to live on an alphabetical street, "S" street. For those of you who know Washington, you know that our alphabetical system starts with the letters of the alphabet and then moves on to two-syllable names, three-syllable, names, and then flower streets. Of course, there are a few exceptions thrown in. For example, there is no "Z" street and there are some anomolies such as Park Road or, of course, the avenues, which are named after states.
When I give my address, I specifically state that the street name is the letter "S". Invariably, the phone operator will read it back to me as "South" street. Sometimes I am gentle, and other times I am annoyed when I indicate that I did not say South, that I said the letter "S". It became even more vexing when it came to ordering checks. Apparently, the check company's computers will automatically convert my street name to the abbreviation for South, an "S" with a period after it. So, I am forced to talk with a live operator every time I order checks, instead of being able to use an automated system. What a pain!
You may ask why this really matters in the big scheme of things. For one, there actually is a South Street in Washington. I have never been on it, but it exists somewhere in Georgetown. What is even more puzzling is that the people who program the computers won't acknowledge this. Instead of changing the program to NOT put a period after the letter, thus turning my street name into an abbreviation, I am forced to function as an exception to the rule. I assume that those who live on N, W, or E Street also have this problem. We are a pretty good-size city. I don't understand, as the nation's capital, why we can't get the respect that we deserve and why we have this seemingly universal problem in the 21st century.
When I was in school, geography was one of our required courses. Not only did we learn about our own city, we learned about cities, states, the nation, and other countries. In my household, we subscribed to National Geographic magazine. It brought the world's geography alive in fascinating articles and spectacular photography. I still have the National Geographic globe that my father gave me when I was 9 years old. I know it is now out of date, and that the world has changed significantly. I wonder how many children now have globes. Even more troubling is that most of us as adults, myself included, don't seem to have a good way of keeping up with the ever-changing shift in world politics and new countries that have emerged. I know I could not name all of the current countries in Africa. And I would probably be hard-pressed to point out exactly where Uzbekistan is on the map. If you asked the average American some basic questions about geography, my bet is that most would draw a blank.
Grammar is another pet peeve. I recently gave up my daily subscription to the Washinton Post. Most of this was due to delivery issues, but I also was disturbed to see more and more grammatical errors. For example, I remember reading a headline that used the word "clambering" when they really meant "clamoring". How can an editor miss such a blatant error in a headline? I have also read run-on sentences, and sentences without verbs. As an avid reader, there is something wrong if I have to go back and re-read a paragraph or a sentence to understand what the author is saying. I am not a journalist, but I assume that most journalists have an extensive education in English. You can't write a good story unless you are literate. This should be a basic requirement.
Another example is how people will use the preposition "on" with the words "today", "yesterday", or "tomorrow". I find this particularly annoying. The word "mine" has suddenly sprouted an "s" on the end of it, in some people's vocabulary. I recently was listening to someone giving city council testimony. This was a person with a master's degree. His major grammatical faux pas was to say "drug through the mud" as opposed to "dragged". He also confused objective and subjective personal pronouns. I know this is a common mistake. I sometimes have to stop myself and break down the sentence to remember whether I need to use "I" or "me". Apparently, many people have never learned this simple trick. It says a lot about the state of our education if someone with an advanced degree does not know these things.
Maybe I am a snob, having been a product of a superior education. I don't mean to be. I think that every American should learn these things in school. In the world that now relies so heavily on the computer, maybe someone should think up some computer games that kids would play that teach them geography and grammar. If they were fun to play, maybe kids would actually use them. I also wonder how we compare to other countries in the world. Are other citizens just as lacking?
Several years ago, I read a book on Ebonics. It not only described this emerging language among African American youth, it also described a phenomenom that showed that students actually wanted to appear less intelligent so as to be more popular. This stretched across economic lines and included more affluent and educated African American students. Our educators and our education policymakers need to take a step back and look at what we really are, or are not, teaching our children. Literacy goes far beyond what is taught to secure good test results. We need to make sure we are giving our young people the tools to enjoy learning and to understand that there is no shame in being literate. Learning is a lifelong process that doesn't always occur in the classroom.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Free Love in the 1970s
It is my second blog entry and I am already going to break my rule of not being too personal. I have gone back and forth about this all weekend long. But, in the end, I know what I will say will resonate with some of my readers. And writing about this will help quell my need to tell a story about the invincibility of our youth and to remember someone who was very near and dear to me. I will still try to show a little restraint, but in typical fashion, I will be my straightforward direct self.
Step back in time to the mid-1970s in Montreal. We were at the tail end of the civil rights movement and past Vietnam protests. Woodstock had already happened. And, in some ways, as a culture, we still held on to the best of the hippie movement. We were past hot pants and serious afros. But Frye boots were in. Tye-died was out, but mini skirts were still standard. Stevie Wonder, Bob Dylan, and disco music were hot. It was a time to experiment...with all kinds of things. Almost every woman I knew took birth control pills, which gave everyone the freedom to do what they wanted to with whoever they wanted to do it with.
In my first year of college, I lived in a coed dorm. It was interesting. My floor was truly coed, all the way down to sharing the bathroom. This didn't take too long to get used to. We started out with a sign on the shower room door, indicating whether male(s) or female(s) were occupying one of the three shower stalls. It didn't take us long to discover that if you were late for class and you wanted to shower before you went, then it really didn't matter too much who was in the other shower. All of the stalls had curtains. And it wasn't like you were going to go in there and whip the curtain open on someone. So, the sign came down and the shower room became coed, too.
We also had a brand new sauna in the basement of our dorm. It was all male 2 nights a week, all female 2 nights, and coed the other 3. Everyone used the sauna pretty much au naturel, except for a handful of very prudish women who would go on the all female nights and still wrap up in one---sometimes two!---towels. We did, however, have an unwritten rule that if you were attracted to someone that you met in the sauna, you had to find another environment to act on it. The sauna was sacred so that all could enjoy it without that extra edge. It was a great experience in being free, but respectful at the same time. And I can honestly say that I remember it more for the lively discussions we would have, or for rolling in the snow, than I do for the fact that we were skin-to-skin. But I am digressing a little...
The men in my life fit into different categories: boyfriends (monogamous relationship), lovers (not necessarily monogamous), best friends (definitely platonic), and friends. Any guy who didn't fit into one of those categories was pretty much unmemorable, in my book. These were some of my favorite years in my life, when I made lifelong friends. This freedom to experiment...to play... was part of the maturation process. It helped me to learn who I really was as a person, what was important in relationships, and sometimes, how to laugh and just have fun.
One weekend, I managed to finagle an invitation from my boyfriend's best friend to visit Toronto for the first time. I had a blast and discovered, in the process, that my host was gay. His circle of friends was mixed and we spent the weekend hanging out in straight clubs and gay clubs all over Toronto. One of the friends in the circle ignited a little spark inside of me. I wasn't ready to pursue it because I was already in a relationship. But several months later, when I was then a free woman, I went back to see if I could turn the spark into a flame.
The flame turned into a bonfire. He was the best lover, to this day, that I have ever had. He was handsome, he was intoxicating, he was intense. But it was complicated by one very important factor...he was bi-sexual. It forced me to confront, for myself, feelings about homosexuality and bi-sexuality, for that matter. I never could understand how he could flip a switch so readily. He was an outgoing person and was loved (literally and figuratively) by many. He could take you on the wildest adventures. But at the same time, visits to his parents and his childhood home in the Eastern Townships were some of the most special family times I have had. His parents didn't quite know what to do with the crazy set of friends their son had. But they loved us all, each and everyone one of us. Meals with them were particularly memorable. His father, who raised pheasants, would take care of the main course. His mother would cook a meal fit for a holiday, including her infamous raspberry pie.
He moved on to Hollywood to become an actor and I left Montreal for Philadelphia. However, we stayed in contact over the years, until the early 80s. I remember my last conversation with him. He had joined a religious cult of some sort. He was made to believe that he had sinned terribly and would pay for those sins. It was a disturbing call. I followed up with a conversation with his parents, who confirmed what I was feeling. But I could sense that they felt helpless and on some level, even felt that it was OK. I had a realization then that I never followed up on, until this past weekend.
Now that we can surf the web for almost anything, I typed in his name. I really wasn't expecting to find anything. But to my surprise, a couple of the movie sites list the movies he has been in. I finally found a short bio, and my realization was confirmed. He died in the mid-1980s of an AIDS-related illness. Now I understand the remorse, the absolution of sins, the religious fervor. He knew his days were numbered and, like many of us, he was seeking redemption and a way to make the passage. It is sad to me that in order to do so, he was made to believe that he was a bad person. That was definitely far from the truth.
My generation that engaged in "free love" was probably the last one that had that experience. AIDS changed everything. I have lost many friends to this insidious disease. In the late 70s, people were getting sick and some were dying, but we didn't know yet that it was AIDS, nor did we know that it was communicable. In this particular case, I can count myself blessed that I was not one of the victims. It hurts to know that this free spirit, who believed in sharing all that he was, succumbed before he reached 30. Dangerously addictive as he was to the body and to the soul, I am so happy that he is someone who touched my life.
I can honestly say, at this venerable age (well maybe not venerable yet), I have no serious regrets. I am so happy that I had a chance to experince free love. I can honestly say that I don't think there's anything that I wanted to try that I didn't. Since history tends to repeat itself after a while, maybe there is a future generation that will be able to experience this same freedom, AIDS-free, one day, should they wish to. I hope so.
Step back in time to the mid-1970s in Montreal. We were at the tail end of the civil rights movement and past Vietnam protests. Woodstock had already happened. And, in some ways, as a culture, we still held on to the best of the hippie movement. We were past hot pants and serious afros. But Frye boots were in. Tye-died was out, but mini skirts were still standard. Stevie Wonder, Bob Dylan, and disco music were hot. It was a time to experiment...with all kinds of things. Almost every woman I knew took birth control pills, which gave everyone the freedom to do what they wanted to with whoever they wanted to do it with.
In my first year of college, I lived in a coed dorm. It was interesting. My floor was truly coed, all the way down to sharing the bathroom. This didn't take too long to get used to. We started out with a sign on the shower room door, indicating whether male(s) or female(s) were occupying one of the three shower stalls. It didn't take us long to discover that if you were late for class and you wanted to shower before you went, then it really didn't matter too much who was in the other shower. All of the stalls had curtains. And it wasn't like you were going to go in there and whip the curtain open on someone. So, the sign came down and the shower room became coed, too.
We also had a brand new sauna in the basement of our dorm. It was all male 2 nights a week, all female 2 nights, and coed the other 3. Everyone used the sauna pretty much au naturel, except for a handful of very prudish women who would go on the all female nights and still wrap up in one---sometimes two!---towels. We did, however, have an unwritten rule that if you were attracted to someone that you met in the sauna, you had to find another environment to act on it. The sauna was sacred so that all could enjoy it without that extra edge. It was a great experience in being free, but respectful at the same time. And I can honestly say that I remember it more for the lively discussions we would have, or for rolling in the snow, than I do for the fact that we were skin-to-skin. But I am digressing a little...
The men in my life fit into different categories: boyfriends (monogamous relationship), lovers (not necessarily monogamous), best friends (definitely platonic), and friends. Any guy who didn't fit into one of those categories was pretty much unmemorable, in my book. These were some of my favorite years in my life, when I made lifelong friends. This freedom to experiment...to play... was part of the maturation process. It helped me to learn who I really was as a person, what was important in relationships, and sometimes, how to laugh and just have fun.
One weekend, I managed to finagle an invitation from my boyfriend's best friend to visit Toronto for the first time. I had a blast and discovered, in the process, that my host was gay. His circle of friends was mixed and we spent the weekend hanging out in straight clubs and gay clubs all over Toronto. One of the friends in the circle ignited a little spark inside of me. I wasn't ready to pursue it because I was already in a relationship. But several months later, when I was then a free woman, I went back to see if I could turn the spark into a flame.
The flame turned into a bonfire. He was the best lover, to this day, that I have ever had. He was handsome, he was intoxicating, he was intense. But it was complicated by one very important factor...he was bi-sexual. It forced me to confront, for myself, feelings about homosexuality and bi-sexuality, for that matter. I never could understand how he could flip a switch so readily. He was an outgoing person and was loved (literally and figuratively) by many. He could take you on the wildest adventures. But at the same time, visits to his parents and his childhood home in the Eastern Townships were some of the most special family times I have had. His parents didn't quite know what to do with the crazy set of friends their son had. But they loved us all, each and everyone one of us. Meals with them were particularly memorable. His father, who raised pheasants, would take care of the main course. His mother would cook a meal fit for a holiday, including her infamous raspberry pie.
He moved on to Hollywood to become an actor and I left Montreal for Philadelphia. However, we stayed in contact over the years, until the early 80s. I remember my last conversation with him. He had joined a religious cult of some sort. He was made to believe that he had sinned terribly and would pay for those sins. It was a disturbing call. I followed up with a conversation with his parents, who confirmed what I was feeling. But I could sense that they felt helpless and on some level, even felt that it was OK. I had a realization then that I never followed up on, until this past weekend.
Now that we can surf the web for almost anything, I typed in his name. I really wasn't expecting to find anything. But to my surprise, a couple of the movie sites list the movies he has been in. I finally found a short bio, and my realization was confirmed. He died in the mid-1980s of an AIDS-related illness. Now I understand the remorse, the absolution of sins, the religious fervor. He knew his days were numbered and, like many of us, he was seeking redemption and a way to make the passage. It is sad to me that in order to do so, he was made to believe that he was a bad person. That was definitely far from the truth.
My generation that engaged in "free love" was probably the last one that had that experience. AIDS changed everything. I have lost many friends to this insidious disease. In the late 70s, people were getting sick and some were dying, but we didn't know yet that it was AIDS, nor did we know that it was communicable. In this particular case, I can count myself blessed that I was not one of the victims. It hurts to know that this free spirit, who believed in sharing all that he was, succumbed before he reached 30. Dangerously addictive as he was to the body and to the soul, I am so happy that he is someone who touched my life.
I can honestly say, at this venerable age (well maybe not venerable yet), I have no serious regrets. I am so happy that I had a chance to experince free love. I can honestly say that I don't think there's anything that I wanted to try that I didn't. Since history tends to repeat itself after a while, maybe there is a future generation that will be able to experience this same freedom, AIDS-free, one day, should they wish to. I hope so.
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