Year: 2015

So apparently this antibiotic I took was so strong as to ALMOST be an anti-Sarah, which means as I stopped taking it, I came down with an epic head cold. I finally got tired of it yesterday and spent most of the day curled up with books or sleeping, and then went to bed at nine, which means I slept almost 12 hours, on top of all I’d slept during the day.

I keep forgetting that this works to cure colds. My aunt (mom’s younger sister) used to think Port Wine cured colds, because you drank as much as you could stand, then woke a day later without a cold. But I find for me it works just fine without the Port Wine in the equation. I’m still a little snuffly, but there isn’t that feeling I’m trying to think through cork.

And this morning I thought I never remember this works, because logically, in my head, it shouldn’t work. Yes, yes, power down and give your body a chance to fight the nasties, but it’s an infection, and sleep – by itself – shouldn’t cure it.

There are things like this that you think shouldn’t work, but do. And because you don’t really believe they will work, you tend to forget it. Or you never believe it.

Take for instance when I first took the Oregon Writers’ workshop and Kris and Dean told me to “trust the process” – that is to believe that just doing a thing over and over again makes you better at it. It’s not sense. And we probably all know people who have been “trying” for years to be writers, or musicians or basketball players and still suck at it.

But then if you look at it closely, all of these people “trying” aren’t trying very hard. Even for me, it took 13 years to publication, because I’d get discouraged and wander off to do something else (mostly bake carrot cake. Don’t judge me.) I kept coming back to it, and pushing, but then I’d go off for months and lose all the progress I’d made. And most people who try for years and never succeed usually have that pattern, or have some issue that makes it impossible for them to succeed in that field. For instance, it would be insane if younger son decided to become a musician and he couldn’t succeed without specialized classes, because he has sensory issues. So just trying and trying, when you can’t “hear” what you’re aiming for wouldn’t work. It would be crazy if I tried to be a basketball player. No amount of game could overcome the fact I’d be much shorter than everyone else who plays basketball.

For writers a peculiar temptation I’ve mentioned before is to become so immersed in your world and your characters you spend your whole time dreaming it, instead of writing it. And writing it is a painful process, since you have to introduce to your readers these people you know so well, and to mention details you think are obvious because you’ve lived with them so long. So the dream is super-seductive and will actually prevent you from writing.

So, yeah, you can spend years ideating your world and never write, but that’s not the process you should trust. You should trust the simple, dumb process of putting words down, and trying to write the best you can. Yeah, you’ll make a lot of the same dumb mistakes (and it will hurt you because you can see them) but eventually something breaks and you hit another level. This is of course, assuming you continue to read and study the masters of your craft. (Or listen to, or look at, or whatever your craft involves.)

My older son was talking to me, while painting walls, about the distinctive quality of Heinlein’s juveniles. His main characters, son said (and is right) are not particularly gifted. They’re not the chosen ones. Instead, they find themselves in a situation, or want to learn something, and very often have to work harder than anyone else. Think of Rico and his mathematical boneheadedness. Or Torby learning to scan for raiders before they come out of whatever they called warp drive (it’s been a year or two and my memory drops details.)

But they work hard and then they succeed.

This is very different from just about every other YA. Even Harry Potter. While he’s not the fastest or the smartest, he’s the “chosen one” and he’s a naturally good quiddich player. (Think how likely that would be.)

Even in Diana Wynne Jones, the kids are usually fated to be something or other, endowed with abilities to be something or other, and the book is a process of discovery.

Of course, those YA are drawing on a much older tradition, the tradition of folk tales and fairytales, in which you were born special or you weren’t.

But that tradition tied in to a society in which you were born special, or you weren’t.

Heinlein was writing for a (at least envisioned) society in which you were born equal, and those willing to strive harder (whether or not they had the gifts naturally) to do what they wanted to do came out on top.

Which btw, sounds like Heinlein felt about it sort of like I do. “Talent” is a myth. Some of us have a component of what we want to do for free. In my case, heaven help me, it’s words, which in the quiver of writing arrows is the least important. The rest I had to learn, by writing and writing, and writing, and trusting the process. But no one is born with the full panoply of talents to become an extraordinary writer. Even good beginners grow if they continue in the art. And this makes sense, of course, because why would someone be born with all that’s needed for a profession that didn’t exist when our ancestors were adapting to new conditions?

But there is a pernicious idea – weirdly amid those who don’t believe in anything more than the physical – that humans are “born” to do this or that. It was after all part of the package used to sell us a freshman senator from Illinois. He was “born” to this. He just naturally had “more game” than everyone.

We’re learning slowly and painfully he was born with the ability to impress people for a limited time, and in things requiring a not very deep analysis. Which is an ability people can be born with – like facility in the use of language – but the rest of the job takes time and effort, and might be too much for on-the-job training.

Getting away from politics, this is why we both have a poisonous fascination with degrees from the “right” institutions and those institutions continuously water down their curriculum. Because really, they don’t believe they have to TEACH anything, just credential what’s already there.

Which brings us again, like water circling the drain to the d*mn idea of the noble savage. It’s a long, long idea in our society, though it used to be believed because G-d endowed “innocents” with special insight.

So, for instance, when the babe at the mother’s breast, spoke for the first time to proclaim the true king (I must use that in a story!) it was G-d speaking through him. But we dethroned G-d and kept the innocent.

This is why any victim-of-the-week has “unique rights” to criticize western civilization and “speak truth to power.” (Mostly speak truth to people who want to prevent those with the real power – i.e. the government – from giving the “victim” whatever the “victim” wants.)

This includes people who arrived in the US yesterday from some h*ll hole, but who supposedly can see everything wrong with the US, because they’re endowed with the special sight of the noble savage. (As someone who went through acculturation, it will take them years even to see what’s really there, and not what they learned to see in their homeland.)

If we want sanity, if we want a meritocratic society, if we want to save representative government, it is time to get away from this very romantic idea that people are born to do this or that. Sure, they can have a set of characteristics that makes the learning easier, but in the end, they have to trust the process and work through it.

So if you really want to do something, don’t fool yourself that it will take no work, and don’t excuse yourself that you’ll never succeed because you weren’t born with it.

I’ve seen people fail for both those reasons. And succeed despite all sorts of handicaps if they keep working at it.

So, work hard, trust the process and never, ever, ever trust the man on the white horse, i.e. the man who was just “born” to take power and do a difficult job without learning process.

That way lies kingship and slavery.

*And I’d apologize for posting it late, but I caught a head cold my son — good sharing boy that he is — brought home from his job, so I slept till about five minutes ago.*

Where did all the common sense go? -Amanda Green

 

I’d apologize for being late with the post this morning but, frankly, I’m just glad to have gotten something to Sarah. After several years of lower rainfall totals resulting in watering restrictions, etc., Mother Nature has decided to correct the problem. That is the good news. The bad news is she has decided to do it in a very short period of time. The ground is saturated. The lakes are filling up. And my house has now flooded in three rooms for three days in a row. Fortunately, I have the routine down pat by now. Carpets are pulled back, padding is removed and set to dry and fans are going. But so are the allergies and, for the first time in years, my asthma. So, if this post makes little sense, put it down to Mother Nature.

Anyway, common sense. It seems there is a distinct lack of it these days. North Texas has seen more than one example of it over the last few days. Between folks driving into high water areas and then requiring rescue to families standing in the open with cellphone cameras rolling as tornados bear down on their location, you have to wonder what they were thinking. It is going to take a long time to forget the teenager who, along with his friend, got caught in high water, that was rising, and who had to wait an hour for the National Guard to send in a Blackhawk helicopter to rescue them. Instead of calling and talking to family and friends, the teen got on Twitter and worried about how his prized pickup was now trash.

Sorry, bud, but as water is rising around me, moving so swiftly the local emergency responders can’t get to me, the last thing I’m going to worry about is getting on Twitter.

Then there was the principal at a Georgia who went off on a very ill-advised tirade in the middle of graduation. Apparently she did not like the way members of the audience were acting during one of the student speeches. So she got up and chastised everyone. Not the best way to mark one of the most important days in a student’s life. But it got worse. After calling one of the “offending” parties a goober, and after a few other remarks, members of the audience, as well as some of the students, started walking out. That’s when she made what will probably be a career ending statement when she noted “Look who’s walking out. All the black people.” Yes, it was a statement of fact but so ill-advised in this day and climate that it will haunt her professionally for the rest of her career.

But those are minor, believe it or not. You look at the looting that took place in the aftermath of the Baltimore riots. A CVS pharmacy that had been hard fought to get it brought into the neighborhood was firebombed. None of the rioters thought about the service that pharmacy gave to the neighborhood or how many elderly and disabled members of the community it served. But I guaran-damn-tee you that when the dust settles and CVS decides not to rebuild, those same folks who supported the riots will whine and decry the company for not coming back.

Oh, and let’s not forget the condemnation for the mother who saw her son amongst rioters and went down to get him. Initially lauded for taking a stand and pulling her17 year old son out of there, she has since been condemned because – gasp – she hit him in the process. I normally cringe when I see anyone taking a blow to the face. I hate to see a parent slap a kid. (Not that I don’t believe in a well-placed hand to the rear.) But in that situation, I probably would have done the same thing. For one thing, trying to reason with him in the middle of a riot wouldn’t have worked for a number of reasons. For another, he was being a dumb ass.

It did not take long for the cries of outrage to sound. Just a day or two after the event, I started seeing comments from a certain sector claiming that her actions were why there was so much child abuse and bad behavior in the black community. How dare she strike her son!

Sorry, but they are wrong. Here was a mother proving to her son that she cared about him by pulling him out of a situation that could very quickly have resulted in him being arrested – or killed. Would those condemning her have been as proactive in dealing with their own kids were they in her position? I doubt it.

Fast-forward to Garland, Texas and the events that unfolded there as a result of the “Draw Mohammed” exhibit. First of all, anyone thinking it is a good idea to come to any sort of gathering in Texas with the idea of causing trouble ought to think again. A lot of folks down here legally carry concealed. It is also legal to carry rifles, etc., in the open. Most of our cops aren’t Barney Fife. And we aren’t completely without common sense. It was clear the school district and the local police department knew there could be trouble and were prepared for it. The fact there are two dead wanna-be terrorists proves it.

But what really gets me has been the response by some quarters to what happened. There is a movement in Garland to make sure an exhibit that might offend someone at some point in time is never held there again. That is an understandable kneejerk reaction to what happened. I don’t agree with it, but I understand it. I also applaud the district for not immediately caving.

However, the condemnation of Pamela Geller, who heads the organization that sponsored the event, shows a complete lack of foresight, understanding and common sense. Worse, it shows a double-standard the socially enlightened are trying to force on everyone. Why? Because we mustn’t do anything that might upset someone, no matter whether they are justified in their reactions or not.

To which I have only one thing to say: Bull!

If we aren’t allowed to draw comics featuring Mohammed, where do we draw the line? If those cartoons aren’t to be allowed, then why do we allow people to stomp on our flag and burn it? That is offensive to me and a large number of other men and women who live in this country. But I don’t see any of these social justice enforcers looking out for my feelings. Why?

That answer is very simple. The social justice enforcers are cowards. They know that we aren’t going to rise up and take action because they burn the flag or spit on our soldiers as they return home. That is their right to freedom of speech. How many times have we heard that and agreed? But on the other side of the equation, as we saw in Garland, there are those who will take offense and take direct action. So, instead of dealing with the problem – them – it is easier to simply limit even further our First Amendment rights.

It was Geller’s fault for provoking the action of the two men. She is a bad woman. She must be punished.

No, she was offering a forum for folks to exercise their right to free speech. Did she know there would be some who would be offended? Of course she did. But being offended does not take something out of the protected umbrella of the First Amendment, unless it is pornography. The event did not rise to the level of yelling “Fire!” in a crowded theater. But, to the social justice enforcers, it is easier to blame someone who will not fight back than it is to actually take a stance against those who will. This fails big time on the common sense meter because all they are doing is further empowering those who would gladly, happily take away their freedom of speech, freedom to associate and, to be honest, their freedom and their lives.

It is time to grow up, grow a pair and quit being enablers.

So, yesterday we managed to have sun, hail and snow all in the space of a few hours.  More importantly, the bad weather caught me and older son at the other house, where we were painting the attic, and brought our work to a standstill.  Painting white on white even if the older white is all scuffed and dirty — hence the painting — is near impossible in a gloomy, drowned looking half light.

We waited around for half an hour or so, then waited some more till the weather abated enough to drive back.

And then I had to do at least partial cleaning here (more needs to be done.  Things are… well… things.  We’ve spent so much time at the other house, this one is in danger of choking on cat hair and household dust.)

What this all means is that I’m still sipping a cup of too-hot-coffee in the sleeping house and trying to extrude some post from a jumble of thoughts and emotions, before I have more coffee and put some serious work into Darkship Revenge which, in its present state, is a kludge.

So you’ll forgive me if I take on Mother’s day.

I always assumed I’d be a mother some day, even though I never thought anyone would be crazy enough to marry me.  (Yes, he’s still asleep.  Eh.  He masks the nuttiness well.)  After all for a woman being single was not a bar to being a mother.  And besides, I could do it all, hear me roar and all that.

Ah! I’m glad I didn’t try it that way.  With all hands on deck, motherhood was at times — when I was ill, for instance — more than I could handle.  In fact, the early childhood of number 2 son is a blur, as I was recovering from near-fatal pneumonia.  We had a friend live with us and pitch in, but also Dan took on a lot more of it than normal.  Heck, all through Marshall’s elementary school, he kept track of school parties, baked when needed, that sort of thing.  (Fortunately he had a traveling job and spent some time on the bench.)  Or as he puts it “I was a kindergarten mom.”

He also took over all the time when Robert was tiny and I was recovering from pre-eclampsia.  I think Robert was three months old the first time I changed his diaper.

Motherhood for me wasn’t an easy badge, anyway.  It was a matter of infertility treatments and several misscarriages.  And yet, when I held our oldest in my arms, the first thought that came to me was “I’m responsible for him for at least 18 years.”  And it was terrifying.

By the time motherhood came, I’d assumed it would never happen.  I’d have books.  Surely you can be a complete adult without having children.

I know people who are complete adults without having children.  I don’t know if it would have worked for me.  It was that responsibility I couldn’t evade, and the certainty that I was part of a chain stretching back to forever that made me grow up.

I looked at my kids and knew that, if everything went well, they’d be here long after I was gone.  I tasted my own mortality.  Which spurred me, of all things, to take writing seriously.

Regrets?  I have a few.  (Ducks flung carp.  Which of you has the carp cannon?)  Things like, if I had to do it again neither of them would see the inside of a school till at least 10th grade. (It’s easier to apply to university if you do the last two years in a regular school.)

But then… but then… if we had homeschooled all that time, would we have known about the dual college/high school program in which younger son was so happy?  Who knows.  A lot of his classmates came from that background, but there are no warranties.

And if we’d homeschooled would our household become even more wrapped up in itself than it already is?  If that were true, the kids might never figure out how to move out (We’re still not sure they will!)

And if we’d homeschooled, would I have written at all?  And does writing even matter compared to children?

I can’t answer.  It reminds me of that scene in Lords and Ladies where the Chancellor is fantasizing about what would have happened if he’d married Granny and she says “What about when our house burned down and we died with all our children?” because just taking an alternate path doesn’t mean no strife.

As is, I look across twenty three years, to holding Robert in my arms (while he gave me a suspicious look.  That boy was born fifty three) and being terrified I’d forget to feed him/change him/let him catch the black plague/whatever, and think it didn’t go badly at all.

Yes, they ate up a lot of my time, but writing still happened in between.  Yes, there were troubles and worries, and I suspect the worry will continue.

But there are those moments of inexpressible joy, too: building wooden railroads with younger son, all up and down stairs, and running toy wooden trains on collision courses; watching older son place second in a state singing competition, against children who’d been in voice lessons since birth, when he just sings all the time, around the house; watching younger son play Petruchio to a packed house and do it perfectly; late night coffee with older son in a diner, watching the rain paint the windows; countless walks with both of them, and the talks; watching them work hard and succeed at their chosen paths.

All of these are moments when I had to back off and realize they might have been completely dependent on me, once, but what they are is not all what I or their father put in.  They are their own, imbued with a divine spark, with will and interests and abilities of their own.

And that is a wonder to behold.  And the best reward of all for all the years of care, and diapers and feeding.

They are more than the sum of their parts, and I’ve been privileged to watch them grow up.

So here’s to Robert and Marshall as they are in their early twenties, the best mother’s day gifts any mother could have.

 

Good day, Huns and Hoydens. We’ve made it to another weekend, which is a worthy reason to celebrate. I’ve nothing erudite, insightful, or amusing to say, so go enjoy your day, preferably with good friends and a good book. Here are a few options to get you started. Salut!

As always, future entries can (and should!) be sent to my email. Happy reading!

Jason Dyck, AKA The Free Range Oyster

Minion herder, eschewer of obfuscation, buys red pixels by the petabyte

Ken Prescott

Not By Sight

Dennis Sandoval is a “Ghostrunner,” an elite United States Air Force covert operator with a shadowy past. In the waning days of the Cold War, Sandoval must jump into East Germany and rescue an American missionary before a crucial East-West summit. But the mission spirals out of control; both the CIA and East German State Security are after the missionary. Cut off from his chain of command and hunted by Willi Metzger, a fanatical East German State Security officer with his own agenda, Sandoval must call on all of his skill and risk everything in order to survive and succeed.

Cedar Sanderson

Sugar Skull

Sally, whose full name was Alessandra Padilla Rivera, and who had been raised by a grandmama on stories of El Cucuy, the chupacabra, and the jaguar god who hunts in the night, knows how hard good jobs are to find, and keep. She has a mother to support, and a new job to prove herself at. A couple of problems, though… She is working in a morgue where strange things are happening. The only person she can talk to is her boss, her mother just turns the television volume up, and her friends are grossed out by her job. But Sally is convinced her boss isn’t fully human…

Alma Boykin

Fledermaus Murphy: Tales from Riverville

When Fledermaus Murphy comes to town, the only thing certain is Murphy’s Law.

Welcome to Riverville, where a giant bat works at the coffee shop, the school district battles inappropriate mascots, an author hunts for his mews, and landscapers work at night. Nothing is quite as it seems when Fleder Murphy is around.

A short story set.

*Sarah talking. The usual disclaimer applies that these are books sent in for promo, not recommendations as such, since we haven’t read them. Knowing two of the authors, I think they must be good, but read the sample pages, as usual.
Meanwhile I’m doing a “Summer Reads” program through Goldport. Not that you’d think it’s Summer approaching, what with the thunderstorm that kept me up half the night. (Guys, next time I decide to go offending weather gods, tell me it’s a bad idea.)
This week I have Witchfinder on sale for 2.99

and next week it’s another one –likely either Ill Met By Moonlight (the first of my novels ever published) or No Will But His. If you have a preference, let me know. There will also soon be new novels (sorry, but Rogue Magic Editing is squeezed into 2 hours at night, if I don’t crash first (and right now I’m prone to suddenly feelings like the stuffing was removed from me) and this is messier than Witchfinder, which is something I thought I’d never say. It’s also more difficult since I’m trying to make it individual voices, first person, and you know… it’s a craft thing and I need my thinking hat on. AND I might still fall on my face! There will also be other stuff, once Darkship Revenge is delivered.

There might or might not be another post later.  I have a ton of stuff I need to do at the other house, so I don’t know when I’ll get back home.  I also Madame Athena in my head.  I wish I could paint walls and write at the same time.  Yes, I know technically I could but the Dragon it doesn’t work so well for me — not Dragon’s fault.  I freeze and go um oh um. — and the transcribing people are too rich for my blood while we’re paying mortgage AND rent.  This too shall pass.  Better days will come.  For now, all I can say is there might or might not be another post later.  It’s Schrodinger Post!*

Fear and courage and fear as a weapon to enforce comformity and obedience are part of the themes of Darkship Revenge [I knew it was a bad idea to have two R words in a row, ah well] whose tagline could be “it’s best to live on your feet.”

I normally have trouble telling you what the “point” of a book is even after I finish it until it rests for a while and I can think, and in fact I just realized the synopsis I sent in for Through Fire was at best incoherent, so I’ll need to redo it and also add a paragraph to the payoff page, because what I have there could be interpreted as what I mean. Or it could not. I’d rather clarify it. Not a moral, precisely, but tying the threads together. (The funny thing being that in conversation with Kate I told her exactly what the point of that book was, but it still wasn’t on that last page.)

This made me think of what Brad Torgersen (rightly) says “this field is soaked with fear.” Yesterday, I read a post, possibly linked from insty, talking about why fear works so well on the middle class who has career aspirations (we’ll talk more about that later) and who can’t afford to be seen with the wrong people, supporting the wrong ideas, talking to the wrong side of the fence.

As I’ve watched person after person “distance” themselves from Pamela Geller, a disgraceful and bizarre idea, because, let’s make this very clear: she had a contest for people to draw Mohammed in vile ways [This is what I’d heard. That is was the “most offensive” that would win. Apparently I was wrong — quelle surprise — it was just to DRAW Mohammed. Only offensive to devout Muslims of certain sects.]; two people tried to shoot her and everyone in there.

Let’s repeat that in case you don’t get it: lines on paper, which no one who potentially could be offended by it needed to see were responded to with an attempt at killing her.

If you don’t think that’s bizarre, substitute the contest to draw Mohammed with a contest to draw Christ in the most vile way possible [we already have that. It’s called the NEA-ed.] Imagine that two armed people showed up to shoot you for it. How many people who did the ritual “Geller made the poor Muslims do it” all over the media, including Fox News, would do the same? One? None?

Of course, Christians don’t do that. At most they would show up at pray at you. And THAT would be considered hateful and closed minded, and people would talk about being intimidated going into the art show [Every time another show comes up with a way to insult Christians this script plays out.] And then the police would show up to keep them separated, just like outside Planned Parenthood, the people who pray the rosary at you have to keep a certain distance or be arrested, because, well, they make people feel bad and it’s hate speech.

I have yet to hear a talking head say “Well, if people don’t want to be prayed at, they shouldn’t have abortions in a fixed place, in public. I mean, it’s like a trap for Catholics.” Or “if people don’t want those fundies to show up and shout Bible verses at them, they shouldn’t have [yet another] a play showing the Messiah of Christianity having gay sex.” Or… No, you don’t hear it, and for students of religion who wonder about things like the Crusades which, they keep telling us, have no Biblical support, it might be a good idea – as the good professor says – to think about the incentives you’re providing.

But people who are distancing themselves from Gellar in a hurry aren’t acting like they’re afraid of death: afraid of being blown up or shot or stabbed as so many people who spoke up against the religion of “peace” have been. No. They’re afraid of losing public face. Their “distancing from Geller” is not because they’re afraid the Jihadis will show up at their door, or stab then during their morning bicycling, no. They’re afraid their friends and neighbors will think they’re anti-Islamic which has been declared by those who command the heights of the culture to be bad. More so, they’re afraid their BOSSES will think they’re anti-Islamic or “hateful” (since the left is now determined to tell us “hate speech” which is ALWAYS defined by those in power over the culture “isn’t protected.” [Which is a lie. The protection of speech is ONLY needed for speech others hate. Otherwise, no need. No one has ever been told they can’t say they love mom and apple pie.]) and their career/employment/chances at recognition in their specialty will be over.

It’s easier to cow most humans (social animals) with social ostracism than with death threats. There’s something heroic in standing up against a death threat while merely standing up against losing your job because of a whisper campaign calling you a poopy head looks slightly silly. Worse, because it’s a whisper campaign you’re never absolutely sure it’s not all in your head.

This was brought to a head by the comments yesterday about my blast from the past. I said that (as I remember, I locked that post on LJ and d*mn if I remember the password eight years later) there had been a mass fit throwing (what we now call a twitter storm) and hints that I’d never work in this town again. When someone asked for them as proof that they’d threatened careers before, I tried to remember if there was anything specific enough from either editors or writers who were better known than I (which at the time was practically everyone, including Bob who mans the seven eleven and hand sells his novels from under the counter to late night junkies.)

I don’t know precisely anymore, but I doubt there was much more than “You’re not who I thought you were.” And “I thought you were on our side” and such things from people with career ending ability. Look, they don’t usually go around saying that in public.

But think about those two sentences in the context of being said by someone who can deny you employment, should you ever need it. Did they threaten your career? Well, no, but should you not fall into line, the ability to end it is there nonetheless.

Look, part of the problem with this is that the US is no longer a meritocracy. I don’t know when it happened here, because I wasn’t here, but I remember when my brother graduated college and was applying to his first job. It took him years to find an engineering job, partly because the job market for computer people sucked in Portugal at the time. So he applied to a lot of things, including American companies.

The first step in this was a test. Partly it was a competency test, partly a personality test. A lot of this was boogaboo. I remember after one test Alvarim called home to verify when he’d been weaned, just to know if he’d had it right in the test. Boogaboo. Nonsense. “Magic.” And full disclosure in 1981 I took one of these tests for employment in the largest newspaper in the city at the time, and I never got called back for an interview. I suspect it was the “world affairs” portion as I’d been in the states for a year and they had a different “narrative” than in Portugal. Or it could have been that there were 200 of us taking the test for two positions and I had a high school diploma with one or two Journalism AP classes. Frankly, I was shocked that on my resume I was called to take the TEST.

Anyway, the tests weren’t perfect, but it was within the rights of a company to administer the tests, and I understand (can’t swear. As I said, I wasn’t here) that it was once widely used here. In practicality this meant the graduate from Harvard and the guy who taught himself computers in his basement were co-equals. The highest test won.

I still had a test for my last “real” – translator – job, because when you need someone with seven languages, you’re not going to get them all in normal ways and some will be self-inflicted, so you need to test them. How they get away with it, I don’t know.

I know that the other tests, particularly given by large corporations, were ‘debunked’ as being (usually) ‘racist’ and such, and therefore discriminatory. I don’t know if they’re illegal, or if they simply aren’t “done.”

I do know that more and more as I’ve been here, your employment is likely to depend on whom you know and who can recommend you for a position. That means a whisper campaign can as effectively shut you out of making a living as it could do to a writer back in the days of five houses who all talked to each other and no other route to reach readers.

And that’s why the reaction to Sad Puppies and to Pam Geller. Because people must be seen not to be “bad”. They must appease the people who can destroy them, before the whisper campaign starts.

One of things that has amused me, but not really, through the Sad Puppies thing was watching people who’ve known me for years suddenly think I was “right wing” in the way the SJWs say I am – i.e. that I subscribe to theories of race or gender supremacy, or that I think women shouldn’t work (which would be mighty funny, considering I can’t remember an ancestress who didn’t have her own business, going as far back as I can go) or that I’m an homophobe, or whatever.

Whisper campaigns are scary effective, because they can get in behind your rational thought. If someone told you to your face that I was a white supremacist and you’d met me and (particularly) my kids, you’d probably pee yourself laughing. BUT if the same info came to you whispered, as “Well, you know, her opinions on race are just nuts” or worse “of course, I disagree with her thing on race” – incredibly effective because it leaves you to make up in your own head how bad my opinions must be for someone to say just that.

And this is why luminaries are publicly denouncing SP and Pam Geller and anyone else who steps out of line. Because behind their brain they know we’re pretty despicable, even if – particularly if – no one ever told them anything concrete about our despicableness.

So, have there been career threats? Not open, and nothing any of us could point to. Until recently. Recently – because we’re freed by the fact we can always go indie and have a truly closed pen name [and btw, to me the clear admission that they were manipulating things in secret came when my agent told me we couldn’t have a pen name that was secret from the publishers. And also when someone – a midlister – did have a secret pen name (I believe the book is The Seamstress but I don’t remember the author name. And the title could be wrong, though the sense is right) and got pushed to bestseller, and the publishers were furious about her having a secret pen name. Which doesn’t make any sense, unless they have a lot of control. But even having been in the field for years, I greeted that with relief. Because it confirmed what I suspected.]

The problem with whisper campaigns is that you can’t defend yourself, you can’t argue, and you can’t kill them once they start.

So when a whisper campaign starts against someone, the best way is to fall in line and denounce the person loudly and ritually. Which is why Brad is right, and my field (and a lot of society) is drenched, dripping and stinking with fear.

OTOH having been on the other side of this let me tell you, if enough of us refuse to live on our knees, then living on our feet becomes possible. Of course, for the first few this means metaphorically dying (or having your career and character – which is far less glamorous) on your feet.

Is it worth it? I think so. I sleep better at night, and trust me, this is very important. And I can see myself in the mirror without flinching. Also, I’m not jumping at shadows. (“You’re not the person I thought you were” might be completely inoffensive, even said by a publisher, but when you’re afraid they’ll kill your career, it becomes a threat, even if they didn’t mean it that way. So you’re jumping at shadows [and I don’t remember if there were more concrete threats, but to me those were clear enough. Then again I was drenched with fear.])

To me it is worth it. Would I have done it, if Indie weren’t a possibility? I doubt it. I’d probably have walked away from the field altogether.

But what this means is that in your very own field it is important to be on the lookout for opportunities for freedom, for the ability to work, to practice, to establish a career regardless of what people think of you. And then you can be free and stop the ritual denunciations and the crazycakes agreeing with insane people (“lady” is an insult! Totally.)

I know for a lot of you this isn’t possible yet. But I know, also, a lot of those drenched with fear in my own field are ignoring the wide open door. They’ve bought into narratives of less quality (and there’s a rant on that later.) So, don’t shy from the open door, look for it. Create it if you can.

Always look for a chance to live on your feet, or to quote Heinlein, to be a live lion.

Ça ira. Potentia vobiscum.

UPDATE: Welcome Instapundit readers, and thanks to Glenn Reynolds for the link.

*Yes, yes, another report from the closet with the see through door.  Actually this was the first time I visibly stepped out of line, the first issue that bugged the almighty cr*p out of me enough that I threw a fit publicly on line.  This was back when I was on LJ and it got SO MUCH backlash from my colleagues and hints that I’d never work in this town again, that I had to close it to public view.  Now, of course, I’m a bonafide traitor to my gender (who knew you could be betray something you had no choice about or that you owed any loyalty to strangers who only shared a characteristic with you.  Oh, wait, Marxists know.  Like the shadow they know the evil that lurks in the heart of the unsorted, un-group alligiance men women humans widgets.  And they’re more than willing to mau mau the person that steps out of line.  Well, that’s too bad, because this here too-tall-nail has decided it’s more moral, more interesting and far more fun to hammer back.*

And the women are winning.  And this is a bad thing.  Seriously.  Indulge me.

I know this goes completely against everything you’ve ever heard and learned.  History — and SF — is full of dreamers who are convinced that if women ruled the world it would all be beauty flowers and non aggression.  (To these dreamers I say spend a week as a girl in an all-girl school.  It will be a rude awakening.)

Dreamers of the Dan Brown stripe posit a peaceful female worship, with yet more beauty and flowers and non-aggression.  They ignore the fact that 99% of the goddess-worshipping religions were scary.  And don’t tell me that’s patriarchal slander — it’s not.  The baby-killing of Astoreth worship has been documented extensively.  (Of course, the Phoenicians were equal-opportunity baby killers.)  The castrations of Cybele worship were also well documented.  Now, I can hardly imagine a female divinity without imagining hormonal episodes requiring appeasement — but that’s because I’m a woman of a certain age, and that’s fodder for another altogether different discussion.  Suffice it to say that the maiden and mother usually also had a crone persona who was … er… “not a nice person.”

Anyway — all this to say since I joined the MOB (Mothers Of Boys) the scales about such things as the inherent equality of men and women as far as their brain structure and basic behavior have fallen from my eyes.  (Well, the scales that remained.  My experience in school notwithstanding, I’d been TAUGHT that females were getting the short end of the stick and that’s a hard thing to overcome.  Learned wisdom is so much more coherent than lived wisdom, after all.)

Again — indulge me — I’m going to make a lot of statements I can too back up, but which would take very, very, very long to document — so it will seem like I’m ranting mid air.  Stay with it.  If I feel up to it later, I’ll post some references.

Yes, women have been horribly oppressed throughout history including the rather disgusting Victorian period that most Americans seem to believe is how ALL of history went.  I contend, though, that women were not oppressed by some international conspiracy of males — yes, I know what Women’s Studies professors say.  I would however remind you we’re talking of a group of people who a) have issues finding their own socks in the dresser they’ve used for ten years.  b) Are so good at communicating as a group that they couldn’t coordinate their way out of a wet paper bag, or to quote my friend Kate, couldn’t organize a bonk in a brothel.  (In most large organizations the “social/coordinating” function is performed by females at various levels.) c) That women being oppressed by a patriarchy so thorough it altered history and changed all records of peaceful female religion would require a conspiracy lasting thousands of years and involving almost every male on Earth.  If you believe that, I have this bridge in NY that I would like to sell you. — Women were oppressed by their own bodies.

Throughout most of history women had no safe and effective means of stopping pregnancy. — please, spare me the “herbal” remedies.  I grew up in a village that had little access to medicine.  If there had been an effective means of preventing pregnancy we’d have known it.  TRUST me.  There are abortificients, but they endanger the mother as well.  However, until the pill there was no safe contraceptive.  The herbal contraceptive is a plot device dreamed up by fantasy writers.  Also, btw, the People’s Republic of China TESTED all these methods (including swallowing live tadpoles at the full moon.)  NONE of them worked.  SERIOUSLY.*

What this meant in practical fact is that most women were pregnant from menarche to menopause, if they were lucky to live that long.  I’ve been pregnant.  If you haven’t, take it from me it’s not a condition conducive to brilliant discourse or reasoned logic.  On top of that, of course, women would suffer the evils of repeated child bearing with no rest.  In effect this DID make women frail and not the intellectual equals of men.  And it encouraged any male around to “oppress” them.  I.e., when the majority of females around you need a minder, you’re going to assume ALL females need a minder.  It’s human nature.  Note that beyond suffrage, the greatest advance in women’s equality came from the pill.  Not a coincidence, that.

However, the people who think that women were oppressed by an international historical cabal rule the establishment.  Including the educational establishment.  I find it hilarious that in their minds men/boys are so powerful that they must be kept back and are suspected of being criminals just because they have a penis.  This is attributing them god-like powers to rival what any Victorian housewife would believe.

Anyway — these people have decided all efforts must be made to equal male and female performance in school.  Since, in practical fact, this is impossible since males and females develop at different paces and favor different areas, they’ve settled for hobbling the all-powerful males.

You see this everywhere from Saturday morning cartoons to kindergarten to all the grades beyond.  In cartoons these days, the girls ALWAYS rescue the boys.  (They do it while keeping impeccably groomed hair, too.  Impressive, that.)  And in school all the girls are assumed to be right and all the boys are assumed to be wrong.

Because it’s been determined girls learn better in groups — not all girls.  I HATED group work.  But most girls — group work rules the class.  Because girls do better in homework, particularly of the “decorating and coloring” kind, this homework persists well into highschool — even with no pedagogical excuse.  Because single-sex education is good for BOTH genders, but BETTER for boys, single-sex education is anathema.

As a matter of fact I don’t  know ANY parents of boys who haven’t been told their sons are ADHD at some point and told the boy needs ritalin.  Even my older son, who is almost as verbally inclined as a girl, and who has always been interested in learning had this pushed at him in first grade.  Middle school is insane for boys, as their verbal skills at that age lag well behind the girls.  They are not only behind academically, they also tend to have issues working in groups.  Boys are accused of sexual harassment on a regular basis at this age.  No girl ever is.

I remember going to the parent teacher conference for my older son, in sixth grade, and sitting in the hallway listening to the other parents.  All the parents whose children had perfect grades were parents of girls.  All the parents whose children were inexplicably not doing well, despite high IQs, were parents of boys.

You’re not outraged?  Reverse those.  Perhaps it will help.  Imagine that our method for teaching teens was leaving all the girls out in the cold and favoring boys.  Wouldn’t it shock you?  It should.

On top of all, we’re fostering a victim mentality in these girls.  We’re giving them the advantages AND telling them boys are oppressing them — these all powerful creatures from which there is no escape.

You’re not worried?  You should be.

If an alien species had devised a way to stop the human race from reproducing they wouldn’t have come up with a better way to drive both girls and boys crazy.

Look — this is striking at the core of our society.  by which I don’t mean American or even western society.  I mean SOCIETY.  Human.  Association.

Insofar as that goes — and without in anyway defending it — there is a reason that, given the chance (mostly by nature and that pesky pregnancy thing) societies become ridiculously anti-woman.  There is a reason Islamic countries are terrified of the female half of their population — no, don’t want to hear anything about higher observances.  Female circumcision.  Veiling (anyone who thinks those who put women in slip covers respect women needs his or her head examined.)  Women’s testimony being worth half of the man’s.  Women punished for being raped.  If that’s respect and kindness, give me insult and intolerance any day — there is a reason Imperial China circumscribed females to non-human status.

The reason is that we ARE more powerful than they are.

No, seriously.  And I’m not talking about the ability to bear life within us, or some such chestnut dreamed up by an anthropologist.  I’m talking about — creating social links.

Women, perhaps because they were the child caretakers and therefore had to be able to communicate child care lore as well as teach the children, seem to have learned to organize and create cooperative links.  Men’s brains seem to run to hierarchies — the order giving necessary to cooperative hunting — while women’s brains run to networks — the communication lines necessary to pass on recipes and child care tips.

The farther we go back, the more we’re sure the greatest innovations leading to civilization were the work of women: agriculture.  Animal domestication.

I’m going to take a wild leap and assume we also invented language.  Stands to reason “Gog go around mammoth from front” is far less complex than “Iga make sure child doesn’t eat poisonous berries.”

In that sense we MADE society.  We fit into society naturally.  Our aggression is verbal, social.  It’s an aggression that consists in freezing out and/or going around people.  Male aggression consists of hitting someone over the head.  Our society — any advanced society — condones the first, but not the last.

We are — so to put it — house broken.  Males aren’t.  Young males MUST be trained to fit into society.  Young females instinctively know how to go around and manipulate the system. (Yes, I’m talking generally.  I had no social clue and was very much male in my approach.)

THIS, ladies, is our turf.  They had a handle on us while continuous pregnancy weakened us.  They could even get the upper hand and push us to a corner.

NOW they can’t.  Science has equalized the odds.  And therefore, our superior organizational skills — ever more needed in an increasingly complex society — already give us an advantage.

On top of that our schools are treating our boys as guilty until proven innocent.  This is alienating them and making them crazy.  It’s also giving them a distaste for learning, which is why most college graduates are women.

We’ve won.  They’re on the run.

It’s now time to remember that they are our fathers/husbands/children.  It’s now time to remember that if we demand that men behave like women and become women in all but equipment only a small percentage will be able to accommodate.  The rest will become embittered, disillusioned and, ultimately, aggressive.  Because that’s how men behave when they’re not happy.

It’s time to stop driving the young warriors from the tribe to live in the wilderness.  They only become dangerous and come back in attack mode.

We’ve won.  Fly the standard.  Sound the trumpet.  And then extend your hand to the enemy — bring those boys back in.  They are no more guilty for the crimes of their ancestors who were terrified of women than the little girls today are guilty of the crimes of women who in the last four decades have been terrified of men.

It’s time to stop this nonsense.  We’re two halves of a whole.  Regardless of how your preference runs, or whether you have both genders in the home — it takes both to make a society.  Or at least a functional society.  And — until science overcomes that — it takes both to make a physical human being.

Go out there and hug a man today.

*Actually, according to the my friend Kate Paulk’s research, there was some sort of berry (?) on the coast of Tunisia that taken every day prevented conception.  This was recorded in some Roman manuscripts, and if it wasn’t a joke, become extinct within a few years.  If she shows up in comments, she might give us the name of it.

Yesterday a minor, passing reference hijacked my entire comment thread. Fortunately this is a REALLY rare occurrence here at ATH, so nothing to worry about. Oh, who am I kidding? You guys have been known to highjack posts about weapons to talk about snickerdoodles. (Who am I kidding, now all my comments will be about snickerdoodle goodness, right?) It’s part of the reason why I love you.

But yesterday’s post bumped up against what I call “the historian’s blindfolds.”

To be exact, I made a passing reference to first night rights of the Seigneur, while at the same time qualifying it with “where it happened” which immediately sparked both protests that it never happened and that it happened every time.

My feeling about it is “Yes.” And also that the people arguing were arguing from the 21^st century and from their relative positions of “people don’t do/do this.”

So, of course, because I enjoy having people tell me I’m ignorant/hyperbolic, I’m going to wade in. I’m going to wade in with galoshes. Mostly because this times up with a very exasperating feeling I get particularly while writing historical fiction.

And that’s the feeling that not only in the past another country but the citizens of that country took deliberate steps to prevent us spying on them.

This is not true, of course, it’s more that the “everyone knows” doesn’t get recorded, and the “never happens” or “happens so rarely it’s big and sensational” gets recorded ALL the time.

Take our times, for instance: we know from objective sources like police reports that child kidnap by strangers is exceedingly rare. But between non-custodial parent child-grabs and the few, sensational cases of strangers kidnapping children which get a never-end of reporting, people are afraid to send their children out to play and the crazier jurisdictions will slam you in the pokey for letting your kids walk home from school alone.

Then throw in “is your stranger abduction lower BECAUSE we watch our children like hawks or because there are fewer people who’d even do it?”

A writer in the 25^th century, could justifiably (by source) write a pedo-infested-nightmarish life, or one in which there were almost no stranger kidnappings. Both justified. Diametrically opposed.

And then take the stuff that’s written about our time with propaganda intent. A writer in the 25^th century could justifiably write about shadowy conspiracies to keep men and women out of gaming/sf writing. I mean, why not? Our time does. One that got hold of the names of professionals in both fields, OTOH would write about mass psychosis of male and female “radical feminists” who every few years reset to a past that never existed and demanded an inclusion they already had.

I’ve – for instance – for the last several years been very suspicious of Dickens, because my other sources for the time (not just primary sources, but those writing often in a family/biography) context paint quite a different picture.

I mean, yes, there were horrible conditions at the time, but they were horrible conditions by our perspective, and we live in an era of superabundance. And the underclass lived very disordered lives. Well, I read student doc. Our underclass just uses different substances and is better fed. Go to Student Doc “Things I learn from my patients” (it’s not coming up for me, hence not linked. Also, prepare to lose hours there.) BUT as “bad” as the industrial revolution might have been, it attracted droves of farmers from the countryside. And having seen it happen in real time in India and China, I’m no longer able to believe the propaganda that they were “forced” off their lands.

Farming looks like a lovely, bucolic occupation to those who have never done any, but the farming they did at the time involved no tractors, no milking machines. It was inadequate tools and inadequate strength beating inadequate livelihood out of inadequate (in most places) soil. Yeah, to paraphrase Mark Twain, the girls wove wreaths for Michaelmass, and everyone danced around the maypole, but in between there was a very harsh reality that made the rather horrible conditions in the early mills seem like heaven and depopulated the countryside and packed the cities – as we see now in China and India.

So, our first problem with finding out if there really was a “first night” right for the seigneur is to figure out the difference between the accounts and the truth. There is no direct evidence, but remember all the recording of the times was done by church men who might very well not know what was going on. Sometimes, granted, it was willful not know. The village priest determinedly didn’t know of certain things that went on around mayday and I’m fairly sure would continue not knowing if he walked in on it and saw it. Because he wasn’t stupid and stuff that’s been going on for two thousand years and yet is of a nature not to be co-opted into the church celebration of this or that saint (St. Anthony and St. John with bonfires and wild herbs and jumping over the fires, and trekking to the city and across the city to see the sunrise on the sea, for instance, for Summer solstice. Yeah. Perfectly normal Catholic tradition) couldn’t be stopped cold, but knowing about it would mar his ability to preach against certain things which he must preach against. (“It was a morning in May—” And for the record this particularly guppie always thought going amaying is about gathering the flowers to put in every entrance to the house to word off evil spirits. But I am an ODD and often unable to see what’s right before my eyes because I was told it was different.)

The problem of the “first night” is compound by several issues: we’re talking a span of about 2000 years. It’s about sex and everyone lies about sex, or shuts up about it, which can be the same. We have fundamental disagreements on the basic nature of men and women. And that’s what I’m going to go with. Because that’s the interesting part.

First, let me establish that I don’t say that human nature has changed that much. Second, let me establish that what most people in the 21^st century, with particular emphasis to Americans THINK they know about the immutable traits of humans is laughable even to someone like me who grew up under harsher circumstances.

Third, let me establish that I’ve reached that time in my life that if I found a letter from my great-great-great ancestress saying she’d love me if she knew me, I’d verify it. And if I found a letter from a modern intellectual saying that it took a modern man to love something or other, I’d sneer.

In other words, I’m at the age that I think a lot of what I’ve been taught, and a lot I believed, is the sheerest bull excreta.

We were taught, for instance, that the troubadors invented romantic love.

They might have invented romantic love as expressed in poems – often from kings to their convenients – but I can tell you that there were stories in the village going back before movies and novels polluted the minds of people with the idea of lovers killing themselves for love, or peasant boy and girl running off together, of someone loving someone and never marrying because she married another.

Behind the whole “invention of romantic love” theory, I hear the voice of Marxist theorists who, poor things, think sex is all power and physical satisfaction. And that alone is enough reason for me to quirk an eyebrow and wonder.

But, otoh…

On the other paw, it’s hard to tell what romantic love meant. Almost certainly the tales I heard, preserved through the centuries were the exception.

Again I go back not just to my childhood, but to my whole life. When people here argue that women/men would never contract an alliance for anything other than the greatest love, I have to wonder how much this is influenced by the propaganda (movies, books) since at least the 19^th century, that that IS the only reason you’re supposed to do it.

It’s sort of like saying “Every mother loves her children above all.” We all reinforce it, because that’s the way to be and it’s what we’d like to believe. But suffice it to say that many mothers demonstrably prioritize finding themselves over loving their children. And I don’t even mean in the divorce sense (though some do, too) but in the sense of having a job that almost doesn’t pay after daycare, etc, just to escape having to be with their kids all the time. (And it’s not that I don’t understand them, and I do love my kids. Perhaps too much, since I’m having trouble kicking the wee birdies out of the nest.)

In the same way, even the people who don’t marry for love, pretend to marry for love, because it’s the one acceptable reason to marry. “Because I was lonely” is not acceptable. “Because I wanted to have a home of my own” is not acceptable and “Because he could give me the life I hope to become accustomed to” is DEFINITELY not acceptable outside certain forums. And yet I had friends – good, honorable, decent women – who married for all three. (I married for the deepest love but I am a derp and a romantic.)

And that’s today. Amid the village couples, relatively (though not majorly. We had movie theaters accessible by street car. And we had radio soaps. We just didn’t have television and most people didn’t read much) unsullied by “romance”, the women seemed to look for the highest grade man they could find, and marry the first one they could snag. The men seemed to look for the prettiest girls, and marry the first one they could snag, though there too relative class and her bringing something “in her stocking foot” was important. I remember my mom was making an entire wardrobe for the daughter of a rich farmer, and objected (very slightly. We needed the money) to the sack-like nature of the garments, a nature enforced by the mother of the poor girl. Mom can be as foot in mouth as I am, and she said something like “If she ever wants to marry, she can’t dress like a nun.” To which the lady answered, “Oh, please. She’s an heiress. What will marry her off is her money, not her looks.” I know that sounds awfully abusive, but her daughter concurred, and it was the attitude of most people around there/then. And yep, I knew men who walked away from ‘the greatest love’ because they attracted the attention of a plain but rich girl.

In books this would mean a fatal flaw in their character, and they’d come to a bad end. In real life? The couples I knew were as happy as any other couples, and sometimes more.

What I mean to say by this is that if you extend backwards to a time of great penury and strife, when your survival was on the line, letting the stupid Lord have your girl for one night (when you’d have her for the rest of her life) might not be a bad idea. Since Lords tended to be promiscuous and (other than better fed/clothed) look like their peasants, you might never be able to tell who was the father of the first child (and yep, if every couple only had one child that would require immense altruism on the husband’s part. But they usually had a number of children) and yeah, you’d be jealous and hate it like poison. And she’d at least pretend to be dragged from your side by cruel tradition. BUT fighting it and murdering the Lord? Oh, please. Villeins were little more than slaves. And having your wife spend a night with the Lord (before or after your marriage – marriage, as has been pointed out was nebulous too. I’ve heard it argued that Will and Nan were perfectly within their rights in going aMaying before the formal wedding because they were betrothed. And certainly Mad King Henry treated his wives betrothals as proof they came to him sullied. – yes, he was mad, but it stuck with reasonable people) was the same as having her bring “a little something” in the stocking foot.

Did it ever happen? I’d almost put my hands in the fire. I’d even put my hands in the fire it was PERVASIVE some places. Yes, it was only talked about as happening elsewhere, because, sex, and who wants to talk about it, after all?

But when that type of thing has benefits for both sides, yeah, it will happen. You just won’t find direct sources for it. And it won’t happen everywhere. (I had this humorous glimpse while writing this of a Lord claiming first night rights, because it’s expected, then telling the trembling bride she can have the bed, he’ll sleep over in yonder couch, and just don’t tell people anything. And the Lord is in his 90s or so, so it saves face on both sides ;).) Not every Lord will take a lively interest in his subordinates wives.

Also let me establish that Christianity would be a great moderating influence on it (and I think the Judeo Christian idea that women had souls/were in a way equals would over time change this, and enshrine the idea of romantic love as an ideal) but in the time we’re discussing there were invasions of pagans, who became Lords over the place before they converted. There were, for that matter, Moorish invasions and we know how the cultures descended from that one treat women now. So, let’s not say “no, never.”

Human nature is worked on by culture, by expectations, by how easy/difficult life was. It, in itself might be inflexible, and male jealousy and wanting to know the kid is yours is one of the great inflexible parts… or perhaps “less bendy parts” since we do have proof in many times and places it did bend, in some ways, and in answer to overwhelming need. Then again, we have no proof that “the greatest love” operates in most male-female linkage, though surely it operates in some, and it’s enshrined as ideal.

It’s very hard – make that, very, very hard – for us to understand the past, even harder than understanding foreign culture. In the last hundred years we’ve doubled the average man/woman’s life expectancy and we live the life of kings compared to them. No, we live a life kings couldn’t aspire to, even in the nineteenth century.

Does this make us different beings? Well, no. We still lust, still dream, still marry and are given in marriage (okay, not so much of the later these days) and still have children (some of us) and raise them (fewer of us.) BUT we do all these things in different ways that shape our choices/interests/feelings in ways they couldn’t have imagined. And in the same way we can only peer at them through a glass darkly.

Remember those two books about the 21^st century, one in which women dominate the creative professions, and another in which a shadowy conspiracy of masked men conspires to keep them out?

That’s what we see every time we look at the past.

We’ve slapped the SJW’s for wanting to project today’s requirements onto the past. “Heinlein was racist/sexist/badthink because where are the transsexual lesbians of color?” (Actually this just proves they didn’t read them, because there ARE transsexuals and lesbians/bi women of color. Never mind.)

Lets not do the opposite and think that in the past everyone behaved according to our ideals.

They were people. And their environment acted on them in ways we can’t fully figure out. Even the historians argue about it, and certainly popular history is wrong.

When we look to the past and to the future, let’s squint, so our reflection doesn’t hide truth from us.

First night? Could have happened. Only accounts I ever read were during invasions and might be the equivalent of the raped Belgian nuns, but some variation of pimping your wife to the Lord to get his protection, almost certainly did happen, some places, some times.

The rule? I doubt it. Because there was a noblesse oblige from the very powerful to the powerless. And where that failed, society failed.

And that’s the main point, always. When looking to the past, if something seems like it wouldn’t work long term, it probably didn’t. Like the Dickensanian hell-mills, a lot of it was nostalgie de la boue and propaganda for one’s favored system.

Motives like that are why the past is so hard to scry, and the present is often not that much easier.

 

 

I was raised with noblesse oblige, which, as we all know is a kind of almond and mare’s milk pastry made in the mountains of outer Mongolia and eaten at wedding feasts to assure good luck.

Okay, I lie. Noblesse Oblige is literally – as all of you know! However, let me unpack it, because sometimes it’s good to reflect on things we know – the obligations of noblemen.

In a world in which station was dictated by birth (most of the world, most of the time) the way to keep society from becoming completely tyrannical and the burden of those on the lower rungs of society from becoming unbearable was “noblesse oblige” – that is a set of obligations that the noblemen/those in power accepted as a part of their duty to society. Most of these involved some form of moderation of force.

The amount of moderation depended on the culture itself. For instance, in those lands in which the nobleman got first night rights (or claimed them anyway) it might be noblesse oblige to return the bride after that. It might also be nobles oblige to stand godfather to the oldest child, who, after all, might be more than a godchild. And in other cultures, though the first night thing wasn’t there, the godchild thing still applied. A small return for faithful service to closer servants and courtiers, etc.

In the same way, while you might treat your serfs or villains like dirt, you forebore to take their last crumb of bread and left them enough to live on. This might not be because you were smart or merciful or whatever, but because someone had dinged it into you.

Noblesse oblige, by that name or others, appears every time there is a gross imbalance of power in human society. Or that is, it appears if society is to survive.

Perhaps the society that did it with the most style were the English before the world wars, where children were raised in an entire idea of service. The entire White Man’s Burden is about that. In fact, that poem codifies the obligations of “White male privilege” more than any SJW could, and in a more rational way, which is why they scream raciiiiiisssss and sexisssss because like vampires they hate mirrors. (Is it racist? Oh, sure, in a way, in that if you confuse race with culture, it admits that some cultures are inferior to others and that the more functional culture has a duty to the less functional. But to think cultures are race is to believe that behaviors are hard encoded in the human genome to an extent that makes people automatons, and which determines everything you think and do. So, to believe cultures are races, you need to be a stone cold racist, yourself.)

Depending on the amount of Noblesse Oblige as way as the colonizing culture, this worked better or worse for the colonized. Imagine how different Brazil would be if colonized by Britain, and you’ll see what I mean.

But noblesse oblige was not just about nobility or about different cultures with an imbalance of power, like that between colonized and colonizer.

Noblesse oblige applied at all levels of society and between the genders, and in transactions. Every time there was an imbalance, you can bet – in a healthy, functional society at least (and more on that later) – there was a rule, an unspoken law about what you didn’t do, what was beyond the pale.

In financial transactions, this might mean harming yourself a little, not pressing home the last bit of advantage. You find this encoded in a lot of Victorian and Regency novels (written at the time) in which if an “evil businessman” left the desperate person he was trading with “without a cent to bless himself with” he was rightly despised by all right thinking people, even if he had done it wholly within the law and no one could touch him.

This is why the Industrial Revolution wasn’t the Dickensinian hell that Marx and, well, Dickens, described. (My son likes Dickens. I say for a novelist he wasn’t a bad propagandist, and he distorted history of the time more than Marx ever could.) (Yes, it was brutal and horrible, compared to our time, but we’re living in a time of superabundance and everything more than fifty years back seems brutal and horrid. I know. I grew up in a time bubble and sometimes I don’t believe my own childhood.)

In the same way, between men and women…

Men are bigger and stronger than women. We’re talking women on average, of course. I think right now I’m bigger than my husband, though he’s still stronger. And probably Lizzy Lifter is stronger than Geoffrey Geek who spends his entire time playing computer games and never sees the sun. BUT on average, over the population, men are so much stronger/faster/physically able than women that any random man can overpower any given woman.

So, why aren’t ALL women victims of domestic abuse? Why are women even outside, without being raped? (And if you think all women are victims, you must be living in an Arab country, where those two above are the pre-assumptions of the cultural norms.) How is this possible? Why don’t men press home their advantage?

Well, first because men aren’t a group with “group consciousness.” Contrary to what “feminists” seem to think, men are not alien creatures who reproduce by fission. They’re women’s children, friends, brothers, fathers. So of course, being human, they care for some women and they’re decent enough to extrapolate their feelings to strange women. (And Women’s Studies programs make a lot of those.)

But more than that, there’s a built in noblesse oblige that prevents men from pressing home their last advantage. Our society runs with it, and is soaked deep with strains of female privilege.

No?

Well, take your three year old boy to a playground. Have him get in a fight with a girl. At that age, their strengths are equivalent, and the girl might be larger and stronger (girls develop faster.) Have him punch her. What do you do? You pull him back and say “you don’t hit a girl. Ever, ever, ever.”

At which point if the girl is a little sh*t who wasn’t taught her part in the bargain, she will beat him to a pulp, but never mind.

You do it because you have to. This is not some fossilized rule. It’s because if your boy doesn’t have that trained into him REALLY early, he’ll hit thirteen and seriously injure a girl. Worse, in an intimate relationship with a girl (should he turn out to like them) he will lose his cool (we all do) and suddenly become a wife abuser. Because the chances his wife will be smaller and weaker than himself are high.

So you tell your three year old this “arbitrary” rule and establish the boundaries of “female privilege” to stop him from becoming a monster when the imbalance of (physical) power sets in.

Of course, the rule has its opposite. Because women have power too, in the relationship. Oh, sure, not at three, when they’re just annoying, extra-whiney little boys as far as boys are concerned. (Average, statistical girls, that is. Some of us were Vengeance of G-d hellions.)

I tell you as the girl who was often pulled back from these with “girls don’t fight” or “girls don’t hit boys in public” but most often (my being outsized for my time and place) with “you don’t hit people smaller than you. Ever, ever, ever.”

This – ah – female privilege of course established “the way girls fight” usually underhanded, and without the adult noticing. Pinches, kicks to the ankle (my poor male friends in middle school) and also gossip and character destruction and other, less physical means of retaliation.

Because women are still human and will still fight.

But by middle school, we had it well established. A boy understood he would take whatever the girl dished out physically, if a girl were so uncouth as to hit him, and treat it as a joke. (And by that time they were that much stronger – thanks to testosterone – that they could do that, in most cases.) The girl in turn knew if she’d hit a boy, short of self-defense in a dark classroom, where he ambushed her, thereby putting himself beyond the protection of social rules, she’d committed a social sin and broken a major unspoken rule.

This kept fist fights between the sexes from happening. And most girls, though they might character assassinate one another, had learned to keep the boys out of it, because they weren’t adroit in the art and therefore were as vulnerable to that type of war as women to punches.

Or to put it another way, as the good professor says, “Chivalry imposed obligations upon both sexes.” And it can’t continue when one breaks the compact. The same way that other imbalances of power in society can’t continue unless both parts play by the rules.

When one part forgets the rules, they don’t leave the peasants enough to live on, and the peasants chop their necks off.

Look, I’m a libertarian and in the US. I believe all men and women should be equal under the law. But you can’t eliminate imbalances of power unless you stop being human. Communism fails, in large measure, because it wants to eliminate imbalances of power completely by making humans into something different. They believe they can shape a social ape into something more like ants or bees (don’t argue. Yeah, they do want to have rulers. One ruler over faceless millions. Because someone has to enforce equality. Yes, I know about the myth of the vanishing state.) Hence the myth of the homo Sovieticus, the selfless, perfectly acting man who would emerge once the distortions of capitalism were removed from the “natural” man who was of course a Rousseaunian noble savage. No, I don’t believe it. No one should believe it. The rejects of that culling program have filled a hundred million graves and bid fair to fill more. Because Rosseau was wrong and the mythology of communism is a hot and sticky repulsive mess.

Some people will always be taller, larger, stronger. Some will be smarter. Some will, for whatever reason like “my ancestors got here earlier” have the advantage of a better adaption to the society they live in.

I, for instance, got both sides of the noblesse oblige speech because I was taller than most of my male teachers by 13, and probably stronger too. It took. Sort of. I knew how to subdue a badly acting male without hitting him by the time I was 20, and only psychopaths did not respond. (And for those there was hitting, hence the weaponized umbrella.)

Because I WAS a walking imbalance of power, frankly.

Noblesse oblige is needed to keep things from coming to extremes.

Unfortunately for us, starting with Rousseau, someone mistook those rules for “arbitrary and unnecessary.” Now, a lot of them were, of course. Human societies acquire unspoken rules, a lot of them dross, like a dog acquires fleas. And yep, if you follow all the unspoken rules, you’ll reinforce the power of the elites because that’s what the rules are designed to do. (Like, you know “you shouldn’t vote in the Hugos unless you’re a truefen” and “you can’t publish a list of suggestions, like the ones we’ve been passing around behind the scenes for years.” [What, me? Say anything? Nevah.])

But the Rousseau attempt to change those rules started from the idea that all unspoken societal rules were wrong. ALL of them. And that absent them, humans would live in a sort of paradise.

I wish he’d been acquainted with some savages, not the least because then he probably wouldn’t have lived to pen his awfully misguided ideas.

His ideas have been bouncing around society for a while, aided by Marxism (Marx MUST have been Asperger’s. No, I mean that. He looked at society and had no clue why things functioned, and couldn’t see people as people but as widgets belonging to particular groups which MUST of course be opposed to other groups they interacted with) in its feminist and racialist versions, cut the threads of things that were actually important, functional, and so early-set-in that they were never spoken of.

So women didn’t see the two sides of the bargain and just saw the way their side of it “oppressed” them, which led them to lose the power they did have in society, and now they want it back – see the way they’re racing back to the fainting couch where men can’t touch them or look at them – but since they don’t understand its origins, they’re trying to get it back in all the wrong ways. It’s all “check your privilege” but without ever checking their own privilege, even as it causes white knights to run to their defense.

I don’t know how long a society or a culture can last like this. Every time I know of in history, it ended in tears or guilhoutines.

I do know that humans are hierarchical apes who crave rules. The astonishing number of western converts to Islam (astonishing considering what Islam is as a way of life) particularly the women shows the craving for rules, spoken and unspoken is far stronger than rationality. And the fact that young men aren’t converting en masse to Islam (which gives them a much greater power than any western culture) means some traces of Noblesse Oblige remain. The idea of keeping your women imprisoned and veiled for their protection; the idea that those other men will of course rape them and hurt them; the idea that strange women are fair game, are still revolting and repulsive to men who were told “never hit a girl. Never, ever, ever” as little boys.

Which gives us some time to rebuild.

But rebuild we must. And that doesn’t mean teaching your boy he can’t hit girls, but teaching your girl that she has no obligations because patriarchy and she should go for the throat, every time. It means teaching your girl that what she is and what she can do will reduce most men – even strangers – to mush brains after puberty. And that her greater verbal ability (on average, statistically) doesn’t mean she should eviscerate and character-assassinate the poor bastage.

It also means teaching both sexes not to press home their every advantage in a business deal and not to use inside knowledge to eviscerate the defenseless financially.

It’s much better than “check your privilege” which requires you to apologize for the crimes of people you never met or heard of and then denounce yourself. It’s “Mind your noblesse oblige” which means if you find yourself in a position of overwhelming power over someone else, pull that punch. Because nothing is permanent, what goes around comes around, and guillotines in some form or another have a way of appearing when the imbalance gets too great.

Now eat your noblesse oblige like good boys and girls. Mare’s milk and almonds don’t grow on trees. Except the almonds. In outer Mongolia.*

 

*Yes, the writer is slap happy having delivered the cursed book. You should deal with it and be noble, for a change.

 

Le Deluge – David Pascoe

When I was a wee, young creature – not so wee as Wee Dave – shortly after I learned to read, I discovered the world was going to end, and there was nothing I (or any of us, I learned) could do about it. The Coming Ice Age was coming! The world was going to freeze, probably solid, my young (and febrile) mind suggested. Earth would be this glittering ball of ice, with people frozen like Otzi or woolly mammoths.

Either that, or the world would go MAD, and everything would disappear in flashes of nuclear light as Slim Pickins destroyed Moscow. Except for the people who survived and got superpowers and got to enjoy nuclear winter like in that classic of post-apocalyptic literature, The Road.

And then the Berlin Wall came down (I remember that) and the USSR kinda fell apart, and the world wasn’t going to end. For a while. Then Kevin Costner made a movie and suddenly the seas were rising, and the plains baking and everything was going to burn up, because Glow-Ball Worming!! Or something. It was a few years ago, now.

Only, apparently, that just isn’t so, despite pretty heavy coverage from, well, everybody. Our very own, um, Guy in the White House was just down in Florida recently playing golf giving a speech about the fact that the climate changes. (I’m stunned, me. And here I thought climate was static. Always were, always gonna be, kinda thingy. Well, you live and learn, I’m given to understand.) This is bad, we’re told, and it will result in great badness. There were also a few jokes, some laughter, and then His Majesty the Bossman jetted off to Rio for dancing and then Paris to meet up with Al-Gor for a party where they burned barrels of kerosene to propitiate the fire demons. Crazy thing, Earth Day.

So the world’s still going to end. I mean, there were the recently televised (in the same way the Revolution won’t be, Komrade) peaceful demonstrations in Baltimore. And some more in Seattle, celebrating May Day, though I’m given to understand that party got shut down by the local police. Spoilsports.

Speaking of Baltimore, and it’s recently unpleasantness, it seems the insipid hordes of social media were working to inflame the already … flaming … um, to cause greater violence between rioters peaceful protestors and Charm City’s finest. Pictures of dead police (later identified as being from countries other than the US) and inflammatory comments. Looks like Twitter’s good for something, after all.

So the world’s falling apart, again, still. Do we have anything to hope for? Well, the Navy Research Lab has succeeded in creating transparent aluminum. There actually seems to be something to the EmDrive, though nobody seems to understand why the thing produces thrust. (Me? I want my reactionless drive. If it works, we can use it to get off this rock.) More importantly, people are pushing back against the Narrative of the Powers That Be, and the True Believers of same are getting more and more outrageous in their attempts to retain power. Meanwhile, the very causes for which they so stridently campaign are starting to eat them. Witness the restaurants in Seattle closing, the independent stores in San Francisco looking desperately for some way to cut costs.

So, per the title, are we about to get swamped? No, not really. Things are lousy, right now. They’ve been bad before, and they’ll be bad again. Is the singularity about to erupt, propelling humanity to a new, permanent golden age? Maybe, but I doubt it. I’m hoping I get my own personal spaceship before I die. We’ll see what happens. The reality is that civilization is a long, long game. The kind that takes generations to play out. It’s why we work, and why we have children. Why we take such pains in raising them. We do what we can, every damn day, and we do it together, with whom we choose (that’s actually politics, no matter what lie some tired, old baggage tries to peddle you). This game often a slog, and a tiring one. Fortunate, then that we have proof that the Blessed Ichor is going to keep us around long enough to win it.

One of the really interesting things about cleaning up the rest of the other house, to move, is that we’re hitting exactly the sort of things we’d even forgotten had happened/existed.

For instance, we opened a box last packed away in 1990, when we moved from our very first house together.  It would have been exciting if it hadn’t been packed by movers, who don’t seem to have the ability to distinguish between trash and office stuff.  So, we had Dan’s business cards hoard, now with a lot of names and addresses either no longer in the business or no longer at that address/number; we had some sketch pads with funny drawings which back then was his way of dragging me away from writing.  You know exactly what.  We were 27.  There were pictures of cartoon guys with googly eyes and “here’s looking at you kid,” etc.  There were also sheets of paper that from their crumpled look the movers rescued from the trash can.  You know what I meant.  Crumple marks on an old shopping list.

There is a certain factor of “Wow, really” to this, at least when you realize not only have you any idea what the party was you were hosting, but also when the number of apples and cucumbers required must have meant some sort of salad I no longer remember making or having a recipe for.

It is a reminder of both the permanence of who you are and the transience of many things that seem incredibly important at the time.

Take those business cards.  If we’d found them 15 years ago, we’d never have shrugged and shaken the whole mess into the trash bag.  We wouldn’t have done it because, even though we probably would never have contacted any of those people anyway (note we never felt the need to ransack the house for still-unopened boxes) we’d have had the feeling that it might “be important.”

Weirder still is finding evidences of me in that creature I don’t remember.  Like endless miles of rejections, that mean I must have submitted a lot of stories, but I can’t remember any of those titles, and the stories I DO remember I’d rather I didn’t.  (There’s miles and miles — and MILES — of twerpitude on the way to becoming who we are as the late Pterry (pbuh) said.  What he didn’t say is that who we are is marginally less twerpy and our future selves, still a little less twerpy, will laugh at us.)

But then there are other surprise discoveries that have more meaning for both our society and us.

We found Robert’s grade reports from sixth grade, for instance.  And I blinked at the grades.

For background, both our kids are brilliant, which in this case is defined as “sharper than old mom” or to quote PTerry (pbuh) again “So sharp they cut themselves.”  This means they have a ton of idiosyncrasies and that if I’d known what was really going on in elementary/middle school, AND if I’d known I could homeschool (listen bud, I was afraid of missing something essential.  My formation has HOLES) I’d have taken them out in a New York minute, or even a Colorado one.

But one of their idiosyncrasies is that, being very similar, they like to play opposites.  What I mean is, though their basic makeup is close to the same and though they are (like my brother and me) when not in contact likely to be reading the same book at the same time, or playing the same game for the same reason, when they are together they view it as their sworn duty to not be alike.  So, since older son was a straight A student (or close enough) who gave himself an ulcer in high school worrying about grades, younger son studies for what interests him and lets the rest go hang, which makes him an A/D student or an A/F student on rare occasions.  (Mind you almost everything in college at least interests him minimally, so last time I looked he maintained a B average, but he gave me white hairs getting him through K-12.)

So as I looked at the report card I thought “Marshall” but the name was Robert, and I thought “Robert never had an F in math” and “This must be a strange mistake.”

But I remembered, vaguely, being very worried about Robert all through sixth grade, until we moved and changed schools and put him in an advanced program which was not that great in retrospect but which, at least, graded him on what he’d learned and his homework and tests.

Because you see my husband found the sheet explaining that grade.  I.e. the sheet with the checks and points for various things during the semester.

I’m fairly sure I never saw that sheet, though I can’t swear.  It might have been at the back of our desire to move which was so intense we picked a house totally unsuited to us by the method of “it’s in another district” and “We can afford it.”  (There were other reasons, like that someone in the neighborhood was killing cats, and we didn’t know who.)  Also, this was the year coming off Dan being unemployed and while he still was suffering from undiagnosed sleep apnea, which meant I was suffering from undiagnosed being kept awake (more than health issues were already doing) by apneaing husband, so heaven knows what I saw or what I made of it. The entire year is a fog.  Which is good as it kept the berserker from descending on the school to create the sort of scene where the police say “the bodies haven’t been found yet.”

Because that check list leading to an F in math read as follows: Items, three, tests, with perfect scores.  Item, “bring in x boxes of kleenex” with zero.  Item, bring in three lightbulbs, with zero.  Item bring in folders of appropriate size and 24 highlighter markers, zero.  Item inspection of locker showing it messy, zero.  Item, failed to organize his notes and use the appropriate colors to take them, zero.  Etc. etc.

Now younger son often managed to have cs in classes where he aced the tests due to an allergy to homework.  As the woman who grew from the kid who wrote her homework in the two seconds before class, whose stories of how her homework had disappeared (it was aliens.  A UFO, I swear. They paralyzed me with their rays and took my long division homework) became preparation for her current career and who, up to her Junior year in college, was known to read essays from a blank sheet, I couldn’t really come down like a ton of bricks on THAT.

But this wasn’t even homework.  It seemed a deranged combination of trying to stock up the school (okay, it’s a small village and I imagine they have trouble, but still, giving grades for it, and for that matter asking the kids for it isn’t cool) and trying to enforce blind compliance.

There were mitigating circumstances, too, that adults could have told the teacher about, but Robert couldn’t or wouldn’t.  First of all BOTH our kids have a marked aversion to spending our money.  Not their own, that they’ve earned, but ours.  And back then the money was all ours, or at least Robert couldn’t drive to the store and buy Kleenex from the money he’d earned helping my friends with gardening projects.  And we were broke.  Dead, flat broke, as we’ve only come close to being since.  Dan had lost his job in the middle of a tech flight from town, and we were scrambling and not sure when he’d find work again.  Now we didn’t discuss this with the kid, but kids know.  So he never even mentioned the shopping list to us, much less take the stuff in.  And btw, since this was the ONLY time (and only because we REALLY were at the end of our rope) our kids have been on free-lunch program (Yes, I know I disapprove of those, but you know what?  Part of the reason we were in the pinch we were in was the massive amount taken from Dan’s severance check.  So it’s not like we weren’t paying into the maw of the government, not-by-choice.  And it’s not like if we hadn’t used it it would have been returned to the tax payer.  It would have been spent in ever more creative ways.  It was, in fact, as the school (the shopping list notwithstanding) had a surplusage they spent on showy but useless equipment.  And when the school more or less forced us into it, we thought that if we didn’t have money to eat, we wanted to make sure the kids did) the teacher could/should easily have known that and SHOULD have understood not only that we couldn’t afford a lot of those items to stock her in-class cupboard, but that it was insensitive and crass to ask the kids to bring this stuff in with no regard for parental circumstances at the time.  (And these are the people who preach sensitivity.)  I’m going to guess if Robert had abased himself before the class and told them we were broke she’d have excused him.  Only, of course, he’d rather take the F and I can’t blame him, since I remember Middle School vividly.

Then there was the blind compliance of “dot this with this particular color” and “take notes in the approved manner.”

When we showed the list to Robert he said “I was near suicidal that year.  Because my mind doesn’t work like other kids’ I guess.  I just couldn’t see where that stuff mattered.  I mean, in college whether you take notes or rely on aural memory no one cares, as long as you KNOW the material, but it seemed in sixth grade knowing the material counted for nothing, and it was all how well I did these pointless tasks.”

This probably wouldn’t disturb me as much if I hadn’t gone through this, in spades, with younger son four years later and if school administrators hadn’t told me that the purpose of middle school is not to teach the kids anything so much as is teaching them “the process.”  And the process as described by these bright souls seems to consist of “Ve hav ways und means to make you OBEY.”  Seriously, with younger son, too the emphasis was on “You will dot all the is and cross all the ts in the color designated!”

Perhaps it’s just my kids (heaven knows where they picked it up, but they have slight problems with arbitrary, shouty authority) or maybe it is why all our friends’ BOYS (not the girls, not even in cases where we saw no difference in IQ between the kids) hit the wall in middle school and started lagging behind their sisters.  Girls (present typist and a lot of readers very much excepted) tend to be more compliant with group mores and authority.

This girl, of course, faced with that course of “study” would not only also have had Fs but would probably have thrown shoes at the teacher’s head and got expelled.  Fortunately her kids turned out calmer.

Anyway, the whole idea that middle-school is supposed to enforce blind compliance and that’s what they’re actually grading on (or was when my kids were involved) makes my gorge rise.  It might be a very good way to raise machine-operators, but it sucks when raising free-thinking citizens in whom (we the people) the power and the legitimacy of the state is supposed to rest.

If I had my time again those kids would never have seen the inside of a classroom till I put them in the dual high school/college program Marshall attended, in 10th and 11th grade.  (And for those in the area, Coronado Highschool.  Yes, they’re a magnet school and take kids even from out of district, though it’s a little harder.  And unless it’s changed all out of recognition in the last 3 years, highly recommended.)  Because colleges still prefer standard high school grades to portfolios.

But it’s past, and it’s past by a long time, and it was just a memory of gritting my teeth and a surge of annoyance at the items on that check list.

However, those of you with kids in school — check what they’re actually being graded on.  Then ask yourself if that’s why you sent them to school and if that’s the formation you want them to have.  Then see if there’s anything you can do, including but not limited to “teaching them at home after school.”

And cut our fellow citizens some slack.  They are the product of this system.  They’ll need to go through conditioning as well as twerpitude before they come out on the other side as free men and women.

And yet, I have faith a number of them will.  Reality tends to beat this sort of programing.

Just don’t pile on with the school and assume the teachers are always right.  This is not the school you went through (or at least I hope not.)  And what your kids are failing on might be things that would hurt them in life and work should they learn them.

There will be book pimpage later.  I’m on the home stage on the cursed book, so I’ll be doing that, now.  Talk quietly amongst yourselves while I kill a gross characters or so.