It was a breath of fresh air to read the anonymous Professor X’s essay in the June edition of Atlantic Monthly entitled “In the Basement of the Ivory Tower.”

In a nutshell, Prof. X debunks the notion that a college education is attainable for everyone, using his own experience teaching at both a community and private college. Of his (mostly nontraditional) students, he says, that “they lack the most-basic skills and have no sense of the volume of work required; that they are in some cases barely literate; that they are so bereft of schemata, so dispossessed of contexts in which to place newly acquired knowledge, that every bit of information simply raises more questions. They are not ready for high school, some of them, much less for college.”

It’s no wonder he decided to stay anonymous, though this is pure assumption on my part as to his reason(s).

Though I’ve only had the opportunity to teach undergraduates for three semesters, that’s enough time for me to be familiar with the double-bind many English teachers (and instructors in other subjects) find themselves in. On one hand, teachers feel responsible for guiding students as they develop critical thinking skills and reach the goals described in the course catalog. Many of us begin our semesters with a drop of idealism; it’s easy to hope your students will get just as excited about the material as you do. On the other hand, the day the semester starts, it’s quite clear which students even have the ability to reach those goals, much less be interested in them. Do we teach down to them, hoping that they’ll make leaps and bounds in fourteen weeks, or do we ignore them and adhere to our academic standard?

But the truth, at least as I perceive it, and as Professor X writes with a decidedly Marxist slant applied to academia, is that academic ability can be a crapshoot. I’d add that by the time a student reaches college age, the success of the student, more often than not, is already decided.

So much of it depends on the nature versus nurture equation. Are you able to study as the education establishment demands you do, and did you take advantage of that ability during your formative years? And then you add in the identity politics prevalent in whatever area of the country you came from. Did your family foster a healthy learning environment? Were they even able to, or did you have parents who needed to work double-shifts to make ends meet? Were you on your own?

Did you live in a good school district? If you did, was your instruction a good fit for you? What were the values in your community? Were you expected to sacrifice to help your family make ends meet or resist certain activities because that’s not what people in your neighborhood do? Or did you live in a family with a heavy emphasis on self-betterment and striving for a very hegemonic ideal of success?

All of Professor X’s points aside (of which he makes many — the article really is worth the read), what gave me relief was knowing that I wasn’t alone. Someone else noted the feelings of despair you take on when you teach students who really aren’t prepared to be in your class.

And, gol’dang it, it was nice to read this — for once! — about students who, I presume, aren’t products of deaf or mainstreaming programs and don’t struggle with any of the varying educational stereotypes we always find ourselves putting on deaf students. Suffice it to say, the development of cultural and academic literacy and critical thinking skills in the educational field really are universal issues that teachers, researchers, and parents everywhere worry about and continually aspire to improve:

Sending everyone under the sun to college is a noble initiative. Academia is all for it, naturally. Industry is all for it; some companies even help with tuition costs. Government is all for it; the truly needy have lots of opportunities for financial aid. The media applauds it—try to imagine someone speaking out against the idea. To oppose such a scheme of inclusion would be positively churlish. But one piece of the puzzle hasn’t been figured into the equation, to use the sort of phrase I encounter in the papers submitted by my English 101 students. The zeitgeist of academic possibility is a great inverted pyramid, and its rather sharp point is poking, uncomfortably, a spot just about midway between my shoulder blades.

Looking for “Fast Eddie” Felton in NoVa? Chances are, you’ll find him at the glamorous Continental Modern Pool Lounge in Rosslyn, VA. Land in vibrant hues and funky decor inspired by ’60s era nightclubs frequented by pool hustlers (or wannabes).

With nine billiard tables, you can come prove your mettle with friends. Not a pool shark? Try bar shuffleboard, the latest rage, or mellow out with a board game… anyone remember Connect Four?

A long bar sparkling with silver glitter offers up your standard bar fare. To cap it off, it’s only one block from the Rosslyn Metro and free parking is available at the North Moore Street Garage after 6 pm. And there will be no long lines at this DPHH!

June 6, 2008

Continental Modern Pool and Lounge
1911 N. Fort Myer Drive
Arlington, VA 22209

Nearest Metro: Rosslyn (Orange and Blue Lines)

During my senior year of high school, there were only a handful of students in my Latin III class. We’d banter and write stories - in Latin, of course - and do our studies while our teacher taught Latin I and II in another part of the classroom.

I got to know my classmates pretty well. And so it was a shock when one of my classmates - let’s call him Mike to protect his identity - showed up with a lightly slashed wrist. The cuts were not deep enough to draw blood, but deep enough to be noticeable. I asked him what happened; he made a glib comment about some accident or another, and I forgot about it.

Several days later, he showed up with a fresh set of cuts alongside both wrists. Not across the wrist, but down from his wrist toward his elbows. Again, the cuts weren’t deep, but they were made with some sharp instrument and the skin around the cuts were pink. Scabs had already covered the cuts where the skin had been broken.

I can’t remember if I asked about the new cuts, but I remember thinking that these cuts weren’t by accident but by design.

Mike was a cutter.

Over the following several days and weeks, new sets of cuts appeared on Mike’s arms. The cuts became deeper and deeper, drawing blood more and more. And yet he’d almost proudly show us the cuts on his forearms. I know I must’ve remarked on them, and so did our other classmates. Mike brushed away our concerns and comments, yet seemed to relish them.

One day, he showed up with cuts so deep that blood had been drawn along almost the entire length of his forearm from wrist to nearly his elbow. Scabs had just begun to cover most of the cuts, and the cuts that hadn’t yet been covered were red and gaping.

That was it. My sign language interpreter and I signed to each other - “What can we do?” “Maybe I could leave class and tell a counselor?” “Yes, yes, do that!” During a lull in class, my interpreter discreetly left the class. After a few minutes, she came back. “I told a counselor, and she’ll be here in a few minutes,” she signed quietly to me. Several minutes later, a counselor poked her head into the classroom, and asked Mike to come with her and to please bring his stuff with him.

For several days, he didn’t come back to school.

I felt horrible. I felt like I had instigated some crisis in his life. Was he still alive? Was he in a hospital with tubes running up his arm? Was he in a mental institution somewhere? I waited further news with bated breath and a good measure of trepidation.

One day, Mike was back in class. And he had a young girl - our age - by his side. I’d never met this girl before. She stayed by his side all day that day as he went to different classes at school. And he didn’t have any new sets of scars since that last, deep set of cuts - which by then were healing normally. We all didn’t speak about his absence, other than to greet him back. And from that point on, no new set of cuts again appeared on his wrists.

One day several weeks later, the counselor stopped the interpreter in the hall and thanked her for alerting her. As discreetly as she could, the counselor explained that Mike was having problems with his parents over a girl he liked, and cutting his wrists was a mix of relieving stress and a call for attention.

Flash forward twenty-two years (geez, has it been that long?). I recently got back in touch with Mike, and a couple days ago, I emailed him asking about the cutting. I explained that I was the one who reported him 22 years ago, and asked what had happened. He responded thanking me for my concern, and explained that he wasn’t suidical - just experimenting with different pain thresholds. He said the counselor was satisfied with that explanation and let him go.

I’m not too sure about that explanation, but I agree with Mike - he certainly wasn’t suidical. Whether he was just experimenting or not, it almost certainly was a call for attention and a way to alleviate his stress.

If you’re a cutter or if you suspect someone close to you is a cutter, here’s an excellent resource over at KidsHealth.org about cutting. It explains that cutting is a way of dealing with trouble, stress, or depression, and can become compulsive behavior. And it lists a few anecdotes as well as ways of getting help.

I’m glad my interpreter and I were courageous enough to get help for Mike. And I hope you can have the courage to do the same for yourself or others.

By Hilary Franklin

For me, the race has been over since February 12, 2008. That’s when I voted for Barack Obama. I had originally planned on voting for John Edwards, but then he dropped out. Since then, I have tried my hardest to ignore any news related to the “Road to the White House.” However, lately, that’s been harder and harder to do. When Hillary Clinton lost the North Carolina primary, but eked out a narrow win in Indiana, I just groaned.

Hillary Clinton has been talking about the importance of gaining the popular vote and trying to convince superdelegates to vote for her at the democratic national convention. Unlike regular delegates, superdelegates may vote for whichever candidate they want. She’s right about that—it is important to “woo” the superdelegates. But as the “race” goes on, she has begun resorting to playing the “race” card. In 1968, that might have worked. This is 2008. We have a white woman running against a black man to become the democrat party nominee for the general election race, to run against John McCain.

This is 2008. This is supposed to be 40 years after the civil rights movement. Race should NOT be an issue. The issues should be. And instead of talking about how to create a resolution between all parties involved in the Iraq situation, how to generate money for improvements in education, how to boost the economy to pull us out of this “not-a-recession” recession and plummeting housing market, what is Hillary doing?

Celebrating the fact that she has more of the “white” vote than Obama.

From a CNN Political Ticker blog , these are just a few of Hillary’s quotes:

Clinton cited an Associated Press poll ‘that found how Senator Obama’s support among working, hard-working Americans, white Americans, is weakening again, and how whites in both states who had not completed college were supporting me.’

‘These are the people you have to win if you’re a Democrat in sufficient numbers to actually win the election,’ she said. ‘Everybody knows that.’

and

‘I have a much broader base to build a winning coalition on.’

These quotes smack of desperation and borderline racism to me. And even though she has:

* less financial support (she has, so far, lent her own campaign approximately $11 million)
* fewer delegates (1,686 to Obama’s 1,842)
* fewer counted votes (13,621,683 to Obama’s 14,132,579 votes).
* and cannot mathematically win the nomination (Slate Delegate calculator),

she is still fighting tooth-and-nail to keep this going. While some may admire her for her tenacity and perseverance, others are calling urgently for her to drop out. I’m joining the ranks of those saying that it’s time for her to end this. We need a presidential nominee who is respectful and does not resort to racist comments in an attempt to look good. Even I would consider voting Republican if it meant preventing Hillary from moving back into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

Note: This was written prior to the West Virginia primary. However, the outcome of the primary does not affect the opinions put forth in the above blog.

Hilary Franklin is a politically incorrect writer. By day she masquerades as a technical writer in an educational research firm. She has come to the conclusion that everything she learned, she did indeed learn in kindergarten.

I’ve gone the semi-vegetarian route for this recipe…while I don’t fathom 100% giving up red meat, or any meat, for that matter, this recipe really does tempt me! Today we have a two-egg omelet served over Oz’s Beanilicious and garnished with cilantro along with Sriracha (Thai hot sauce). You could do this for breakfast…lunch…or dinner! For this, all you need is:

Oz’s Beanilicious
2 medium cloves garlic, chopped
1 can black beans, rinsed & drained
handful cilantro
1 tsp. olive oil
1-2 tsp. ground pepper, to taste
1 tsp. salt
2 “laps” of Sriracha
juice of 1-2 limes, to taste

2 eggs
1/2 cup soy milk
handful cilantro
3 mushrooms, diced
4 slices Smart Bacon, diced
2 slices Soy Cheese, diced
1 scallion, chopped
1 roma tomato, diced

To do the Beanilicious, take your beans, herd ‘em into a food processor, hit it with the garlic, salt and lime juice. While the beans are being processed, pour in the olive oil and add the cilantro. Taste the mixture–you should be able to taste a hint of everything–sometimes it may be a bit thick, in this case, add some lime water (literally, water and lime juice)–in 1/4 cup increments until a smooth consistency develops. Then, run the Sriracha 2 “laps” around the processor, and push that lever one more time. Beanilicious!

For the huevos, get out your favorite knife (I have a 9″santoku that I use for pretty much everything) and hit the mushrooms, Smart Bacon, Soy Cheese, scallion & tomato, set aside. A tip for dicing tomatoes–cut off the tip, and squeeze out the pulp–this will enable you to chop through the tomato without having it go all over your chopping board/counter. Heat up a griddle or frying pan, get everybody except the “cheese” and cilantro in and sauté 2-3 minutes.
Meanwhile, crack open the eggs, whisk with a fork in a bowl; add soy milk to fluff up the mixture (works just as good as real milk!). Add to the pan & season with salt/pepper to taste. You can even throw in some adobo if you like!

Once the eggs have firmed up, flip ‘er over and add the “cheese” on one half; fold. I cheat a little bit–instead of risking making a big mess and trying to act all Food Network-y by flipping an omelet, I halve the omelet and gently turn it over before adding the “cheese” and folding it :)

Plating: Pour some of that yummy Beanilicious , set up the omelet however you like atop the beans, garnish with cilantro and Sriracha, some cracked pepper…buen provecho!

In the late 1950’s, a Virginia judge upheld a law declaring that blacks and whites could not marry each other. He sentenced Richard and Mildred Loving to one year in jail or 25 years of exile from Virginia for the simple crime of marrying each other - a black woman and a white man.

The Loving couple fought the ruling all the way to the Supreme Court. In 1967, the Supreme Court justices unanimously decreed that Virginia and numerous other state laws prohibiting interracial marriage were unconstitutional.

Richard and Mildred Loving have long been heros of mine. They didn’t take up the marriage torch for political reasons or to make a point to others. Rather, the Lovings did it for love. I admire them for that, and for succeeding in legitimizing their love in the eyes of the law for the most noble of reasons.

Richard Loving died in 1975. Last Friday, Mildred Loving passed away at the age of 68.

It is my sincere hope and desire that, one day soon, my partner — the man I love — and I will be able to marry. And that our two daughters would have two fathers who are married to each other. Not because it makes health insurance easier. Not because my retirement would then cover my boyfriend. Not because it would make it much, much easier to make sure one father can still keep our daughters should the other father pass away. No. It’s because we love each other.

Currently, gay men and women can marry in Massachusetts. But their marriages would not be recognized in most states. If my partner and I were to marry in Boston and then return to Maryland, little would have changed. Except, of course, for our love - which would still not be legitimized by the state nor the Federal government.

I love these thoughts from Mildred Loving, and I wanted to share these with you in closing. These thoughts are truly what loving is about.

Loving for All

By Mildred Loving

Prepared for Delivery on June 12, 2007,
The 40th Anniversary of the Loving vs. Virginia Announcement

When my late husband, Richard, and I got married in Washington, DC in 1958, it wasn’t to make a political statement or start a fight. We were in love, and we wanted to be married.

We didn’t get married in Washington because we wanted to marry there. We did it there because the government wouldn’t allow us to marry back home in Virginia where we grew up, where we met, where we fell in love, and where we wanted to be together and build our family. You see, I am a woman of color and Richard was white, and at that time people believed it was okay to keep us from marrying because of their ideas of who should marry whom.

When Richard and I came back to our home in Virginia, happily married, we had no intention of battling over the law. We made a commitment to each other in our love and lives, and now had the legal commitment, called marriage, to match. Isn’t that what marriage is?

Not long after our wedding, we were awakened in the middle of the night in our own bedroom by deputy sheriffs and actually arrested for the “crime” of marrying the wrong kind of person. Our marriage certificate was hanging on the wall above the bed. The state prosecuted Richard and me, and after we were found guilty, the judge declared: “Almighty God created the races white, black, yellow, malay and red, and he placed them on separate continents. And but for the interference with his arrangement there would be no cause for such marriages. The fact that he separated the races shows that he did not intend for the races to mix.” He sentenced us to a year in prison, but offered to suspend the sentence if we left our home in Virginia for 25 years exile.

We left, and got a lawyer. Richard and I had to fight, but still were not fighting for a cause. We were fighting for our love.

Though it turned out we had to fight, happily Richard and I didn’t have to fight alone. Thanks to groups like the ACLU and the NAACP Legal Defense & Education Fund, and so many good people around the country willing to speak up, we took our case for the freedom to marry all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court. And on June 12, 1967, the Supreme Court ruled unanimously that, “The freedom to marry has long been recognized as one of the vital personal rights essential to the orderly pursuit of happiness by free men,” a “basic civil right.”

My generation was bitterly divided over something that should have been so clear and right. The majority believed that what the judge said, that it was God’s plan to keep people apart, and that government should discriminate against people in love. But I have lived long enough now to see big changes. The older generation’s fears and prejudices have given way, and today’s young people realize that if someone loves someone they have a right to marry.

Surrounded as I am now by wonderful children and grandchildren, not a day goes by that I don’t think of Richard and our love, our right to marry, and how much it meant to me to have that freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the “wrong kind of person” for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry. Government has no business imposing some people’s religious beliefs over others. Especially if it denies people’s civil rights.

I am still not a political person, but I am proud that Richard’s and my name is on a court case that can help reinforce the love, the commitment, the fairness, and the family that so many people, black or white, young or old, gay or straight seek in life. I support the freedom to marry for all. That’s what Loving, and loving, are all about.