Coffee Culture

The Anarchist participates in Operation Caffeination at
The Coffee Bean.  She is assisted by her trusty,
"chocolate milk, chocolate milk."

In my previous post, I discussed the intense academic training it is necessary for our children to undergo in preparation for our economic/handwriting war against China.  And while the entire Morton family is working hard to assure that our nation wins that war, there is another form of preparation going on, too.  Because the fact of the matter is that there is always the potential that the United States will not  fall to Chinese efficiency (I mean, they've got a way disproportionate population of rural old folk with which to contend, so it's possible, right?).  In this case, our subdivision would not turn into rice paddies, and things would continue as normal in Mid-American Suburbia.  Hence, our contingency plan:  Operation Caffeination.

Operation Caffeination refers to the socialization process by which the Dictator and Anarchist become familiar and comfortable living within the complexities of borgeouis culture.

Within middle-class suburban culture,
it is crucial to develop a conversational style
that appears intense and important while
remaining trivial.

The Anarchist works on her
"concerned about the state of humanity" look.

Looking pretentiously over-educated
is a crucial part of coffee shop culture.

The training begins early and occurs often.  The Dictator has already completed her initial course of cultural submersion.  The Anarchist is in the midst of hers.  This training consists of a daily trip to one of any number of local coffee shops.  Variety is key, as cultural mores shift subtly from franchise to franchise.

Here is the Anarchist at a Starbucks.
In this context, it is not necessary
to appear anti-establishment.  One can
happily bask in one's own conformity.

Currently, the Anarchist is undergoing courses in Elitist Facial Expressions and Masking Gossip as Intellectual Debate.  She has already successfully completed Responsible Tipping and Conversational Barista.  We plan to introduce Advanced Scone Identification and Wi-Fi and You this spring.

The Anarchist practices her skills
at a wide variety of coffee establishments.
Here she is in a cafe attached to a bookstore.
In this setting it is important to appear literate
while cramming your mouth full of cookie.

 While she is majoring in Cultural Coffee Studies, she plans to have minor concentrations in Chain Store Consumption and i-Phone Browsing.  We anticipate great success for her and hope that she will have occasion to live out her lifelong goals of either:  1)  Moving to Portland to engage in elitist hipster culture, or  2)  Becoming a suburbanite slob.  Best of luck to you, Anarchist!

Conversing about non-important issues as if they have far-reaching significance.

Handwriting, Homework and Hu: beating the Chinese one pencil stroke at a time.

Flashback to 1995:  A roomful of wide-eyed eighth graders is receiving a rousing lecture from the Superintendent of the school district on the importance of science and language in the curriculum.  “We need YOU to be able to compete globally.  It will be essential that each and every one of you take four years of Spanish computer programming and engineering in order for our country to continue to thrive!”  he says with a great deal of certainty.  My urbane, and way-more-cultured-than-the-rest-of-us friend looks up with a bemused grin, sets aside the legwarmer she is knitting (way ahead of the knitting trend), and asks how it is essential for ALL of us to learn these things, considering some of us might intend to go into the arts.  “Why do I need to learn Spanish and computer programming if I intend to pursue a career in dance?  And what about the importance of developing a greater cultural understanding and a base of creative citizens through encouraging a wider education in the liberal arts and humanities?”  The Superintendent looks at her with a look that says that the answer should be clear to everyone—and which also, I believe, proves how foreign the concepts of humanities and culture are to his business-consumed mind—and says, “To beat the Chinese of course!”*

Flash forward to 2011:  A classroom full of exhausted and confused kindergarteners is darting frantically from station to station, practicing handwriting, counting by 2s, 5s and 10s, memorizing sight words, and working diligently on fine motor development.  The little boys are bored, discouraged and antsy, as they would much prefer to fling blocks at each other.  The little girls are tired and dazed from trying so hard all day long.  No one gets play time; no one gets recess.  Watch out China…we’re catching up!

 

The Dictator traces the number "6" with agonizing
concentration.  All for the cause, my tiny compatriot,
all for the cause.

Kindergarten curriculum has come a long way since inflatable Letter People, singalongs, and sand tables.  Kindergarteners are expected to learn to read and write at a capacity their parents would not have reached until 3rd grade, at least.  And of course, there are only so many hours in a day, so this necessitates homework...for five-year-olds.  Never mind that the Dictator can't yet tie her shoes or understand the basic social mores involved in sharing toys; she is one more soldier in the fight for world dominance, and she will practice reading, math and handwriting with the passion befitting such a warrior.  

A very special celebration for the students who
return their work on time.  A very special shaming
ceremony for those who do not. 

Wait...did I just say handwriting?  Obviously.  What better way to beat the Chinese and their dastardly Communist regime than by correct letter formation?  The Dictator frequently gets letters home urging us to drill her more diligently in this area.  It seems that correct letter formation is crucial to "competing globally" and showing Hu Jintao who's boss. In light of this, the Dictator has brought home more than one dense handwriting homework packet, in which she is expected to demonstrate "quality work."  

The goal of such rigorous training is twofold.  First, it weeds out the weak.  You can't sit still long enough to plow through 26 pages of drudgery because you're a six-year-old boy?  Can't quite grip that pencil correctly because your tiny, newly-hatched brain has yet to develop the necessary fine motor skills?  You would rather play with your dolls and take a much-needed nap than work on homework for two hours after school?  Weakling!  You fail!  The Communists will eat you alive!  Nothing like a little social Darwinism to up the academic ante, eh?

 Secondly, if for some reason, the United States does  fail to live up to its China-destroying goals (perhaps due to those ridiculous arts programs eating away at precious Spanish language and engineering class time), the next generation of American children might stand a fighting chance at surviving in our newly-colonized society.  After all, Chinese characters are even harder  to write.

So write on, little Dictator!  The nation applauds you.  And for all your self-sacrificing work we say, "Thank you."  I mean, "gracias."

The Dictator has her game face on. 
Take that, Hu!

The Anarchist gets a jumpstart
on handwriting practice.  Doing
her nation proud!

*At the time, I considered asking if it wouldn't be more useful to advocate courses in conversational Mandarin, rather than Spanish, if it was the Chinese we sought to "beat."  But the man clearly knew what he was talking about.  In retrospect it is obvious to me that Spanish and handwriting are the two most crucial tools in our arsenal if we are to maintain our dominance as a society.  I'm glad I didn't question him...it turns out he was a prophetic genius.

Why I Fail Kindergarten

The Anarchist's Reading Log, which
I have to remember to sign, comment on,
and return regularly.  I feel like it's a test of my
parenting aptitude.  And I fail.

I always did pretty well in school.  I followed the rules to the letter, was studious and curious, had a good memory, and caught on quickly.  The only real problem I ever had (besides the social issues that come with being a giant nerd) was my inability to remember to return permission slips, hand in field trip money, turn my assignments in by the stated due date, etc.  Having done equally well in college (there were less forms to turn in, thank goodness), I was feeling pretty good about myself.  Compared to discussing the complex and ultimately disjointed relationship between signifieds/signifiers, performing post-colonial analyses of various works of literature and wading slowly through Foucault, how hard could parenting a small child be?  Ah, the naivete of a young and childless 20-something!

Okay, so I was bad at the whole “baby” thing.  They don’t communicate with words, it turns out.  But I was excited for the school years.  After all, I do “school” well, right?  

This one is a long-term project that came home a month before it's even supposed to start.
I almost failed 6th Grade Social Studies--not because I couldn't remember the chief
exports of Brazil, but because I barely managed to turn in a single assignment on
time--and I'm supposed to remember to do this?!  I am in so  much trouble!

One of three or four reminder lists that came
home with the Dictator this month.  And I'm
still supposed to find time to feed and bathe her.

Only problem…being a parent is worlds different than being a student.  There are multiple, overlapping fundraisers in which to (not) participate, several homework assignments (both long-term and short-term), dress up days, days to bring gym shoes, days to remember snow pants, days to bring one-hundred tiny objects in a giant ziplock bag, days to bring in $2 for in-school field trips, days to bring $1 for two bags of popcorn (variant of the usual fundraisers), days to pack a stuffed animal for the “veterinary clinic,” days to return library books in the designated library-returning-to-school-bag, days to bring in something starting with the letter “S,” daily snacks, “wear pink” day (preschool), Valentine’s Day (with handmade cards, themed outfits and the whole nine yards), and days when we actually have to remember to cram in a bath because the  five-year-old has dreadlocks and the three year old is walking around in the midst of a visible cloud of dust and grime.  

 And of course, these are just tots.  I can’t hold them responsible for their own school projects/fundraising projects/homework/permission slips.  And they are devastated if I forget, which I invariably do.  I feel terrible.  I am certainly not cut out for this job.  I’m sure my children’s hyper-organized teachers are judging me severely for my lack of parenting prowess.  I’m sure that the Dictator will be scarred for life by that one time I forgot to put the handwriting packet into the folder and she was denied a celebratory lollipop (I haven’t forgotten yet, but I anticipate it as likely).  I have no doubt that the Anarchist will fail in life (or at least, lose a finger to frostbite) as a result of my inability to properly label her winter garments with her full name.  

My only solace is in the fact that I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m not the only parent suffering from this character flaw.  After all, those “reminder” letters politely reiterating the importance of turning in homework projects that are already a week-past-due, can’t all be directed exclusively at the Morton family?  Right?

The soon-to-be Toy Story 3-themed preschool Valentines...that
I should be working on right now, instead of ranting.  I'll get
right on that...but then I think I deserve a celebratory lollipop.