The White Space

It has been a couple of very busy, I would say saturated weeks here in the place where everything that matters happens.

I have a couple of really deep posts that I'm trying to sort out in my mind, before I put them in the blogosphere for eternity, so that should fill all two of my readers with anticipation.

This morning, I can't shake the nagging desire to shout out to the universe, meaning, America, and particularly the education system, that my children are not like every other child...and neither is every other child, like every other child.

Rosey is in seventh grade and it is a TOUGH year.  The curriculum isn't all that exciting, although she does love Social Studies.  She is very concerned with social issues, and I had to sign off for her to write a paper on the struggles of the LGBT Community for English Class.  She is interested in that whole "liberty and justice for all" thing that we all like to say we should be pledging, but many people only want that to apply to those who are exactly like them...a topic for another day...

I am trying to articulate the background for the thoughts that are swirling this morning, and I am probably doing poorly.
The Middle School that Rosey attends seems to have a difficult time holding on to teachers, or providing the teachers they do have with inspiration of any kind.  Rosey comes home daily with tales of the complaining of her homeroom/science teacher about his job, and his punitive methods of enforcing, and not imparting knowledge.  She used to love Science.

Second semester has been especially challenging because of Phys. Ed. requirements.
Rosey isn't at all athletic.  She is an adolescent girl, who is beautifully modest, but disturbingly self conscious when it comes to her body image.  Of course, in the wisdom of "fitness experts and education professionals" this is the perfect time to have the girls "dress out" in locker rooms, when they are learning to deal with menstruation and developing breasts.  Who wouldn't want to get stripped down in front of the bully who has been giving them shit for a few months?  Sounds like a plan.
Proceed to the choosing of teams when the girl with the glasses is left in the center of the gymnasium after not having been "picked" for a team, and the "coach" comes out and tells the leftover kids to be a team of their own.
Maybe a little while later, the "coach" can come over and point at the girl with the glasses and say to the other members of the leftover team..."she isn't doing anything" and then turn to the glasses girl and say "make a basket"...

This was yesterday.  I know, because in her self deprecating way, Rosey told the story of not being picked.

The semester was supposed to include the one class that brings Rosey true joy, and that is Art.
It is an elective, and she only has one semester to take the class.
The teacher stopped coming one day about three weeks into the semester. We received an excuse letter and were told that there would be a "long term substitute" because, you know, why would an Art teacher be required to teach art?
So I'll make my rant a little shorter than it is in my heart, and say, that the substitute made Rosey completely color in her "project" because there shouldn't be any white space.  No choices for you, young lady, do what we say.

Today, my little adolescent beauty with glasses and the most beautiful hair in the world is getting an early dismissal from school.  The reason, is because we said so.  As her parents, we decided that Rosey should get a few hours to prepare for opening night of Julius Caesar, for which she is an essential crew member.  She has been at rehearsal each night of tech week until 11:00 p.m. keeping things straight backstage  She works with her sister-in-law, her two older brothers, and a wonderful cast of people who acknowledge and appreciate her quirky, tippy-toe, walk, and her wry, sarcastic humor.  She will come home at lunchtime, and have something nutritious, and maybe a Starbucks, or a Sonic Route 44 drink for dessert.  She can come home and relax on the couch for a while and prepare to work as hard as any athlete or substitute art teacher as she gets a Theatre Production on the stage for an audience that appreciates people like her.  The weird ones, the shooting stars that understand the need for white space and big splashy explosions of Rock and Roll music and Shakespeare mashed up with fascist regimes and home-made blood packs.  I gave birth to four of those, and they stick together.

Maybe the school will ask for an explanation of why we took Rosey out early today that is more detailed than:

"Please excuse Rosey Pelicano at 12:30 p.m. today.
Thank you,
Cheryl Anne Pelicano"

If they do, I will share this link.

xxoo