Stupid Rules

Yondolla over at Thoughts from a Foster Family (the first blog I ever really read by they way) has been talking about having to enforce rules that she thinks are, well, stupid. While I can only imagine the frustration of having to enforces the Stupid Rules in your home, I have plenty of experience with them in my professional life.

Ya see, before returning to school, I worked at a social service agency handeling TANF cases. The goverment is the absolute supreme creator of stupid rules and a HUGE part of my job seemed to be the unwitting human sent out to enforce them. It was terrible. Absolutely awful really. Many times my job with the rule police left me feeling like the worst human being on the planet and that in the course of doing my job I was undoing all the good work I actually was doing. I made people cry, scream, and yell. I have been called a witch with a capital "B" more times than most. And frankly I don't blame any of those people. I would have done the same thing in their positions. Heck, I was miserable there; I probably was being a b*tch

I have now returned to the land of Ivory Towers and intellectual rigor, oh and yes of course, of Stupid Rules. Most of these rules seem strangely to be waved for me when I flash my postgrad id in someone's face (I get that this is not always true in the States) but my undergraduate students, most of whom I have grown quite fond of, do not have this luxury. Most of the time, I can help. I can solve the problem by flashing my magical card and making it all go away. But, every now and again I am force to me the face of the Faceless Machine once again. I still feel sh*tty doing it but I have gotten better at it. Most of the time, I let the victim know that I think this is stupid too. This is poor comfort but it makes me feel better. And, itsn't that what matters most?

Only I....

could move into the one student housing unit in the whole world most likely that does not have the internet! Incredible really. Now, it appeared to me that this little problem had been solved quite easily. A group of us all got together and got the internet on our own. But it is the most unreliable network and has gone out twice in the time I have lived there (just short of a week and a half). I am at the Student Computer Center now, but it is just not the same! I want to sit in my PJs and do the stuff I want to do without feeling like I HAVE to be working (though that might be a good thing). Welll.......

My Mother the Teacher

My mother is a teacher. This fact has shaped every aspect of my life . A vague, shadowy memory from early childhood harolds my mother's re-entry into the workplace after having left for nearly five years through two pregnancies. The moment of my mother's return to the classroom is one of those convient childhood memories that actually marks an important moment in one's life (I don't know about the rest of you, but most of my pre-sixth birthday memories are of mundane and frankly unmemorable occurances). From that day forward, I was "the teacher's daughter".

Since my mother taught in the arts and taught locally, nearly every child in our community had class at one point or another with Mama. This was a nightmare for a terribly nerdy little girl who was already different enough without her mother's help. Moreover, I think that at some level it served to awkwardly highlight the socio-cultural differences between my family and our neighbors. In the working class community where I grew up, my parents were the only parents who had gone to college (and grad school as well). Often this fact was used by those around us to explain just about everything about my family. Why my sister wore all black, even in the heat of summer, why I won the school's geography bee but only had on friend, why our lawn contained the sole "Clinton" sign in a sea of "Dole". So as whispers of elitism whirled about us (and by the way this could not have been further from the truth, but that is a different post), Mama sat and taught the gossips children opera. Thanks, there Mama dearest!

But all that is only half, no a quater, of the story about my mother being a teacher. I stand now on the brink of an "academic" career (whatever that means). Soon I will attempt to find employment in a field that really asks two principle activites from its participants: research and teaching. My love of research speaks to the shy, nerdy(I didn't have a date to the prom!) girl I have always been and I imagine I will always be. But I cannot think of teaching without thinking of my mother, thought our disiplines and students could not be further apart. Mama in the classroom was a sight to behold. She was effective, organized, and tender. While she was a wonderful mother, she was not any of these things at home. When I watched my mother teacher, I saw the best parts of her emerge. The parts of her that where natural and real. The parts that had not been formed neither in rebellion against strict, traditional parents nor in response to an overwhelming pressure to conform and be a "good wife and mother". She moved with grace and power. She radiated fun and knowledge. My feminism was born more in watching my mother teach than in listening to her endless lectures on the subject. When my mother taught, I knew that women could be strong, powerful, nuturing, brave, tender, and loving all at the same time. Her students adored her and came to love her subject matter, no matter how elitist it was. My first teacher was often many of her students best teacher.

And so Mama dear, if you are reading this (which I hope you aren't) know that while there are many times I glance in the mirror and see you or comfort a friend and hear you, it is when I am doing what you love to do best that I hope I am most like you.

Hello World!

I have abandoned an earlier attempt at a blog and come here, because I have come to realize that I would use this blog more often and more productively if I could use it in realitive anonymity. Now, I am not going to try to keep some super secret identity and I hope that the character who develops on this blog is basically me, but just to be on the safe side I am now going to introduce a series of clever pseudonyms and move on from there:
Places
Undergraduate University (UU)- The large urban university were I was an undergrad
Doctoral University (DU)- The university were I am a PhD student
HomeTown- the metropolitan area where I grew up, where I lived between undergrad and grad school, and where most of my family still is.
CostalCity-The metropolitan area where I was an undergrad
EuropeanCaptial-my current location.
People You Might Meet Here
TheSexyClassicist- Me a twentysomething PhD candidate who loves cooking, traveling, and so much more.
Mama- my mother, Greek mother hippie combo who never ceases to provide entertainment
Daddy- my father
Uncle Neroutic-my mother's older brother. He is also my godfather and has been one of my favorite people forever. Every girl needs a gay uncle.
BFF- My absolute best friend in the world. A bartender and nursing student who can make me laugh and cry like no one else. Every girl needs a gay bestfriend
Papoo-My mother's father and my only surviving grandparent
DramaQueen-My sister who works in movies
Dracula-My sister's husband
Dr. E- my primary adviser
and last but not least.......ComputerGuy- the new boyfriend whom I just started seeing.
Okay folks let's see how this works out....and if I can get anyone to read this!