Leaving Alpena

We're leaving Alpena. We're moving the household and NewPages World Headquarters downstate. As we go through this process, I'll be writing about yet another experience of moving. Yet another... It used to be that I moved once year, sometimes more frequently. When I was in college, I rarely stayed in the same place past the lease. And after college, well, old habits are hard to break. There always seemed to be a better deal, a better neighborhood, a new romance, one breaking up - whatever the case may be. Even here, it was one year in a rental, and then buying a home, where I've been probably the longest of all - five years. Six years in Alpena.

Six years.

And in those six years: Bought a house. Ended a relationship. Started a new one and got married. Got a new cat, a new dog and a tank of fish. Stopped racing triathlon and marathon, got hurt, got fat, and am slowly beginning to add exercise back into my regular schedule (having a dog helps!). Six years of living and learning, and now I'm ready to put it behind me.

Each day, I run through the mental list of things I'll miss about Alpena, and things I won't miss. Today:

Things I Won't Miss About Alpena

Mosquitos (I have over 40 bites on my legs alone and have to take Benadryl because I react so violently to them - swollen welts up and down my legs.)
Swamps - we live in one, hence the mosquitos.
Being two and a half hours from the nearest major bookstore, restaurants, microbreweries, shopping, university and family.
Being five hours from the nearest cool museum.
No decent literary arts events.
The smell of the pressboard plant.
Flats - no decent hills for miles.
Several of my "colleagues."
Being the organizer instead of the attender of events.
Shoveling snow in two driveways.
Our quarter acre yard, complete with flower bed - I hate yardwork.
Brown Trout Festival - the biggest festival event of the year, and at the center of it all, the beer tent; sorry, but looking at fish on ice as a main summer event is, in a word: mundane. Hence the beer, I suppose.
Deer hunting stories.
Bear hunting stories.
Ice fishing stories.
"No, we don't have it in stock, but we can order it for yous."
Yous.

Any others I could add to this?

When Giving the Grade Means I Don't Care Anymore

I recently gave a student from my spring comp class a passing grade. The operative word here being "gave" - because the student certainly didn't earn it. So why did I do that? Because I simply decided I didn't care enough about this student anymore to pursue it. It's sad, I know, but it's true.

The student - let's use the name Hisher, pronoun s/he - had been in my fall comp class, and had barely made it by with a passing grade. The only reason Hisher passed, I think, was because s/he had a buddy in the class who pushed Hisher to show up and do the work. Both are players on a college sports team.

Now, before you go - oh, yeah, right, and you hate sports so you were hard on Hisher... I love sports. I can hardly wait for fall football to start, and get depressed when the Superbowl is over. I love basketball, especially the playoffs, and enjoy softball and baseball. Men's and women's in all of these (I can hardly wait to move downstate and see my first women's football game!). If anything, yes, I am "hard" on sports players because I think they should be able to carry an academic load as well as an athletic load, and do both well to succeed. I refuse to let athletes who cannot pass basic skills classes represent our school in sports. Privilege, not a right and all of that.

Hisher didn't start out the second semester very well. In fact, s/he was absent a lot in the first several weeks, showing up once a week to a 3x/week class for three weeks. That's pretty bad. I pulled Hisher aside and asked what the heck was going on, s/he just goofed me some answer, no answer really. "I know your buddy is gone this semester, so you're on your own to pull it together and pass this class. If you miss any more classes, you'll fail. Don't do that." S/he nods and says alright, promise I won't, and sure enough Hisher didn't.

But when grades came out, Hisher didn't pass. It was that first paper. S/he bombed it by not meeting word count in addition to it just being pretty poorly written. I asked Hisher to resubmit with electronic copy to verify - to come and see me about it, but s/he never did. It would have given me the opportunity to work with Hisher more, to encourage better writing, to help with a rewrite of the paper, to set goals for doing better in the class. S/he never came to see me. Just let it slide.

Once the grade hit, of course, s/he was immediately in my e-mailbox, questioning why (in some of the most poorly written e-mails I've seen from a college student in a long time). I explained why. Told Hisher to resubmit the paper with electronic copy and I would reconsider. S/he couldn't get an electronic copy, using Mac not MS - tried to send file, it was blank, complained s/he was working, did not have time to come to campus. After a week of e-mails like this every day, I finally said - no more e-mails: by Friday or not at all. That's when Mom called the college, and the Vice President called me.

I held my ground. Told VP the whole story. VP asked if I would give another week. I said no. Two more days. That's it. Otherwise, they could pursue it as a formal complaint. VP agreed. Two days later, I had the paper and electronic copy.

Rereading it, I was shocked at how bad it was. I could see why I wanted to talk to Hisher, to try to get Hisher to work on just writing more, to develop stonger skills. I knew s/he could do better. And, yes, it was short on the word count. Only by a couple of words, but, short is short, and it concerned me at the time that s/he couldn't even meet a minimum word count.

Looking at the paper again, thinking about how much I cared about Hisher during the semester and wanted to help, I thought about Hisher now. Working in Hisher's family business, not a great sports star, parents still fighting Hisher's fights - because, in the meantime, Mom e-mailed me, on behalf of her child, wanting clarification as to why her child hadn't met requirements, why I was asking for what I was, why this, why that - but no disrespect... Then why ask?

Where was Mom when Hisher wasn't showing up for class but once a week? Where was Mom when Hisher was coming in hungover to class and burned out on partying? Where was Mom when Hisher had papers due that were turned in at less than a high school level? Was Mom on Hisher as quickly and as diligently as she had been on me?

I didn't need this shit.

That's my breaking point line. I know when that comes out of my mouth, I have really hit the end of a fight and need to quit.

That was the point where I looked into my heart and realized this was not a student I cared about anymore. I had once. I had thought I could have made a difference. I held that paper grade because I thought Hisher would care. But it was clear, s/he didn't and never would, not about this anyway. I was still caring more about Hisher than s/he cared about his/herself.

Hisher was the one student in my class that semester who, from pre- and post-writing samples showed absolutely no progress whatsoever. I realized it wasn't my fault. I couldn't change it. I could make it worse by holding to the failing grade that s/he truly deserved. I could ruin Hisher's life for a little while, but would only do it if I thought it would ultimately make it better. I knew deep down, it wouldn't make any difference at all. Not for this one. Not me. Not this time. It's for someone else, somewhere else, some other time to reach this kid.

I gave Hisher a passing grade. Because I just didn't care anymore.

Hisher sent me a thank-you e-mail - with poor grammar and technical errors. I deleted it without responding.

What to Do When You're Told No

It's not that I don't like being told no. If it makes sense and is reasonable, it's fine. I especially appreciate being told no by someone who is stopping me from making a big mistake or doing something that would ultimately end up being very foolish and I just can't see it that way right at the moment. Oh, I've had plenty of times I wish someone had told me no in my life. And probably just as many times when someone did and I wish I would have listened. Those were generally my much younger days (like last week...).

But the last no I got just did not settle well with me. I have been working with the Hope House girls - a JD school program - on putting together a literary art journal. We've been working on it for months. Angela got involved with the layout and design and a great deal more in terms of editing and working with the girls on their writing and critiques. Kathy came in and worked with them on art and art critique as well as going over all the works herself and giving the girls each individual conferences on their work. I thought we were good to go. I had met with staff, who were very excited about the project. I was told that at the state level there might be problems if they did not allow such publications, to which I responded I would be happy to provide them with any information and support they needed to see what we were doing. All seemed okay.

Then, last week, we were told no. That the director of the funding organization - Child and Family Services - and the director of Hope House decided against the project. I spoke with the Hope House director, and she said it was their decision, at this level, for two reasons: the girls' right to confidentiality and liability.

Mind you, these are issues we worked with in the classroom very carefully with the girls. None of them were forced to publish, they could select which works to submit, no one could use their full name - it had to be first name, initials, nickname. We talked repeatedly during the class about content and respecting others' identities, but also having the right to tell the truth in their writing. Yadda, yadda.

I was shocked at the denial. Surprised. Then, after talking with the Hope House director, who repeatedly said to me, "It's not like camp..." I was pissed. Just seething mad over it all. Camp? When did I ever work in a camp? Seven years in a domestic violence shelter, three years in a high school dropout program, teaching composition in a men's maximum security prison, a mentor for newly released prisoners coming back into society - camp? Excuse me?

After spending time fantacizing about the Rambo-Jane approach to salvaging the literary-art journal ("For the arts!" she yelled as she tossed the grenade into the office cubicle...), I decided that the best defense was, well, as much defense as I could gather. I went over the Hope House director and made an appointment with the Child and Family Services director, then I went to work.

I researched other JD programs and publications. I found the sponsoring organization for a book written by women in prison, I researched libel law both at the federal and state level, and I made printouts and photocopies and - armed myself. Regardless of the outcome of this situation, I'm glad I did what I did. I amassed a great amount of information in short period of time and hope to continue research in this area. Some of the best stuff I found:

The Beat Within - A Weekly Publication of Writing and Art from the Inside
Their publication is amazing. Dave was a great person to speak with here, and he immediately sent me three issues. It's chuck full of writing, and to top it off, The Beat writes a response to each piece they publish. It's incredible work, from both ends - the writers themselves and the publishers.

Aid to Inmate Mothers
This is the group responsible for publishing the anthology Right to Remain Silent, which I found out about on the Tolerance.org website, and for which I wrote a review on NewPages.

Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts
Who knew? Based out of New York, they have a hotline staffed by law students who can answer most initial questions coming in on the lines, and if they can't, then they consult with staff lawyers and get back with you. Every writer and artist should know about these people. Brava/o for the work they do!

Pongo Publishing
"The Pongo Publshing Teen Writing Project is a volunteer, non-profit effort with Seattle teens who are in jail, on the streets, or in other ways leading difficult lives. We help these young people express themselves through poetry and other forms of writing and publish annual anthologies of their work."