oh no, not the turtle again

I promised, so I'm coming back to this literature thing. Some of you are scared off right there. The word "literature" has terrified you since since Mrs. Finley in 10th grade stared at you through her little nose-perched glasses and asked, "What is the symbolism of the turtle in Grapes of Wrath? And you thought, "I have no clue, but I do know he took an awful dang long time to cross that stupid road, and I took that as a hint at how boring the other 345 pages would be, so I never got past page 36, and please stop staring at me!"

But I am not Mrs. Finley. And the question on the table was, what makes a book a classic worth asking young people to read despite (or because of) the sad elements in it, and what makes a book simply depressing without a lot of redeeming value in assigning it to kids who have enough garbage in their lives to deal with?

The above example is actually a pretty good one, for me. I have to admit right off, this English teacher despised Steinbeck in high school. Too depressing and too vulgar. I'm still not a huge fan, but I did a 180 and taught Of Mice and Men later because could go back and see the incredible value in the lessons of that book and the mastery in its writing. So, sad and harsh isn't always bad.

Then there were the things we had to read because teachers were trying too hard to be "relevant." I know I'll step on toes here, because people love these books, but I hated, hated, hated reading things like The Outsiders. To quote a review, "This book forever changed the way that Young Adult fiction was written (and) also changed the way that teenagers read, enabling a generation to demand stories that reflected their actuality."

And my feeling at 14 was that what it did was talk down to teenagers and tell us that teachers knew all we cared about was our own issues and feelings, and therefore we would now be fed a steady diet of books written about our "reality," which they were only guessing at as far as I could tell and embellishing quite a lot at that. And I sat there thinking, "I am not a stupid selfish high school kid who can't see past these four years and four walls, and will you please treat me like someone who can do better?" And that's the way I feel when I look at my daughter's summer reading list that is full of depressing novels written about "teen reality." Where are the books written about life's reality and rising above it?

What would your criteria be? How would you decide between what makes something a classic and what is simply depressing and unnecessary? I think I'd at least start with the question--Does the book offer a redemptive solution at the end, so that the sadness isn't all there is?

Shakespeare, for all his tragedy, at least tells us how to avoid the same fate if we take notice. Though, were I to tell the tale of Romeo and Juliet, I'd probably offer the moral that girls who get married after knowing a guy for ten minutes might deserve what they get. Not to mention considering stalkers at their windows perfectly acceptable.

What else? Please chime in.

do you still hate your high school english teacher?

OK, now you've done it, my friends. Hit two of my hot buttons at the same time. I'm talking about a facebook conversation about literature in high school that I just had to jump into. Even though I know the possibility of confining myself to a facebook word count when discussing teenagers, literature, and teen depression is about as likely as me cliff diving in Mexico. And it's way bigger than one blog post, so I imagine there may be several.

So, I'm the mother of three teenage girls, a former high school English teacher, and a writer, currently working on my first young adult novel. I care passionately about what kids read. And too often, I'm really discouraged by it.

You might think I mean the books they choose to read for themselves, but I don't. I mean the ones their teachers/administrators require them to read. The list reads like a Who's Who and What's What of everything that could possibly go bad with the world and, specifically, their lives. By the end of freshman year, most kids should, according to their literature books, have suffered the death, imprisonment, abuse, or addiction of at least one parent; war-related trauma; rape; a car accident that killed their best friend and/or sister; and probably an end-of-the-world cannibal scenario thrown in as well. The fact that most kids don't seems to have escaped the purview of literature teachers everywhere.

My youngest daughter's summer freshman reading list last year was a good case in point. I do not recall one book on the list that wasn't flat out depressing. And having talked with teens and lived through a lot of teenage depression, this does more than annoy me. It alarms me. At an age when kids are so prone to doomsday thinking anyway (Something bad happened to me today. Therefore, my life sucks. I guess everyone's life sucks. Is there anything worth getting up for tomorrow?), why do we feel the need to fan the flame? Shouldn't we consider maybe putting books in their paths that send the message, "Life is beautiful, even if you have to hang on a while to get there?" For whatever reason, we think feeding them "reality" means feeding endless messages about how ugly the world is, instead.

I'm not unrealistic. My own mother died while I was in high school. So did my sister. A very dear friend killed himself. I get that bad things happen to kids. The question is, is that all we want them to know? Do we really want to spend four years affirming their fears? "Yep, you're right. Life sucks. Now graduate and get out there!"?

What do you think? It would be great to generate some opinions and even some reading alternatives. Back to this later!

acting my age

I love being 48. Not ashamed to own my age. Prepared to flaunt it. Better than the alternative. So what inspires this mutual love affair with my age? Purple hair.

Do you really want an explanation, or, as one of my favorite Harry Potter lines goes, "After all this time, (have you) just learned to go with it?" So, last night was the first dress rehearsal of The Wiz, our community theater production. Last night, I came home with purple hair and purple glittery fingernails. And today, before my haircut appointment, I had to go shopping and commit several other public offenses.

Five years ago, I would never have ventured out of my house with purple hair. I would have been mortified at the thought. What would people think? Say? What children might I frighten? Today, I was completely amused. Now, I imagine what people might say, and it's fun to let my imagination go. It's not got far to go. I know what I might have said about a 48-year-old woman with purple hair wearing decidedly not mom-jeans not long ago.

Now, it is so darn much fun not to care. And that's why I love being 48.

What do you love about your age?

oh so pleasant

OK, so it doesn't look like anyone else's house. But then, the inhabitants aren't quite like anyone else.

Really, my husband has made amazing progress. Used to be, when we had to spray paint a garage sale find, or a 4H project, or a costume piece in the driveway, he'd get all distressed because we didn't cover the asphalt. I always said it added character to the house to have all those paint outlines. Plus, people got to guess what we'd painted by the shape of the outline. And since the driveway has more cracks in it than all of the Golden Girls put together, it's not exactly a cosmetic blemish.

So, surprised we were when middle child got the brainstorm to paint the outside of the house and he agreed to let her do it. Now, you understand, I do not mean paint as in paint the nice lemon yellow with blue trim I have in mind one day when we can afford it. I mean as in, abstract art all over the side of the house. Yes, it's tempera, so it will eventually was off, but still. Quite a serious character departure for my husband.

You probably won't be surprised that it was not so for me. Still, I was surprised to discover how much I really love the finished product. (Though I doubt it will ever be 'finished.') Life is just too short to worry about what the neighbors will think about the front of the house. I'd rather think about what we're learning about creativity and flexibility and thinking outside the box when faced with a situation that we'd like to change (in this case, the awful color of the house).

To quote my favorite actor of all time:

"Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, "In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant." Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You may quote me."

My paraphrase would be:

"In this world, you can be oh so controlling or oh so flexible. Well, for years I was controlling. I recommend flexible. You may quote me."

Not only that, but I have a really cool house now!

bronco driving friends

In light of recent events at our high school, I've been thinking a lot lately about friends. Facebook friends, lunch friends, cry on your shoulder friends, or, as one comedienne recently put it, Bronco driving friends. And the book I'm reading right now (Gen Buy: How Tweens, Teens, and Twenty-Somethings are Revolutionizing Retail) is verifying what I've suspected. We can be "connected" to hundreds of people and feel completely alone.

According to the authors, "Only half of Americans today say that they have a friend, besides their spouse, to confide in and rely on for support. That's a big drop from 1985, when nearly three-quarters of Americans felt they had such a friend. One-quarter of Americans say they don't have anybody to confide in. . . . hundreds of Facebook friends and dozens of daily email exchanges don't cut it when it comes to feeling the safety and support of close friends and confidents."

The "recent event" is the tragic suicide of a young man who, reportedly, had over 1,000 Facebook friends. Some of them had to be good friends. But how many were friends "to confide in and rely on for support"? We can't know. What we do know, increasingly, is that texting and IMing aren't providing teens with the relationships they need. But I know, from watching the specimens in my own house, that that is pretty much all the species does to communicate.

What's the answer? Any suggestions? I I've got a lot of teenagers on my Facebook list. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

not a good sign

The other day, I drove past a local junior high. I know, not an attention grabbing opener, there. But the sign outside the school got my attention. The motto on it? "Educating students to be exceptional producers." Am I the only one who sees something wrong there?

Those of you who are parents, when is the last time you stood looking at your sleeping darling and thought, I sure hope she grows up to be an exceptional producer? OK, those of you with 26-year-old sons living in your basement playing Mortal Kombat 24/7 may be thinking that. But it's not usually the first dream we have for our kids. And in fact, it really disturbs me that a school believes it should be.

Producers of what? Why? And if this is the most important goal, how far are we willing to teach them to go to reach it? How do they know when they are producing enough? Who are they and of what value are they if they aren't keeping up?

These aren't idle questions. They're questions I've seen teens wrangle with over and over. Their self worth and motivation are in the toilet because they never feel like they can keep up with the superstar producers. The truly upsetting thing is, the memo that they're worth less if they don't is clearly coming from the adults in their lives--the ones who are supposed to be safe and supportive, letting them know that there are more important things in life than measuring yourself by constant output.

What goal would you like for your child? I think I would prefer to say in the end that my daughters were exceptional human beings. The great thing is, anyone can be that if they choose.