(no subject)
Mar. 3rd, 2006 10:07 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rmhttp://www.nytimes.com/2006/03/03/education/03preschool.html
I don't remember the pre-school derby. It may not have realy existed in the early 70s, I'm not sure. But I do remember my kindergarten applications, being put in a yellow dress and photographed in front of my mother's avocado plant and me sort of howling about it, wondering why it mattered what I looked like for me to go to school. I also remember some of the interviews -- playing with plastic animals and putting them on little squares decorated with those same animals -- apparently it is significantly difficult to recognize that a three dimensional pig goes with a flat pig. A rag doll to play with, to hold, to see if I had compassion for it -- it was a boring toy -- at home, I had a plastic motorcyle, I'd put my foot on the seat of and would push around with my other leg, going on about Evil Knieval, but here I had to show everyone that I was a nice clever girl that would make their school look good, literally. And while I can recall large swathes of my childhood where I loved dresses and all manner of delicate things, that was not the case during those interviews. I hated being dressed up, and I thought the plastic animal game was stupid, and would say so. I went to Hewitt, which was irritated me from the start, from the naptimes that bored me to my homeroom teacher who decided I was too fearful to be allowed in iceskating classes. And we had to wear particular bloomers under our uniforms, which struck me as an invasion of privacy and a fearfulness of precocious children even then. I remember my rages about it very specifically. And that business about sticking a scissors in a lightsocket in Descensus? That is my one true Mary Sue moment, as I did do that in nap time one day, and my arm was numb for days and days. I never told anyone, just kept hiding in the bathroom and rubbing it and worried. I'd steal cookies on the way, as the teachers would stay watching the other nappers, and the cubboards with the oatmeal ones were by the bathroom. I stole cookies every day, and then often after classes, when I was in the older grades and we walked downstairs to meet ou parents individually. The kindergarteners would be gone, and I would raid their cubboards for a cookie or two, and a ball of this or that fuzz and googly eyes for this or that craft project. I was lonely.
At any rate, everytime I read one of these articles (which are at minimum an annual event in New York, where we must constantly be convinced that everyone lives the life of some neurotic new money in this city) I go absolutely nuts. It's not that it's too much pressure on the kids or parents, nor that the expenses are exhorbidant or irrational. It's just the whole self-important delusion of it all and the notion that the intelligence of children can be measured by parents kissing ass, attractiveness, comportment or how one holds a damn rag doll. I'm sure there are theories on all this, people who spend their lives dedicated to it, so that the plastic animals busines really did show I was clever, easily bored and disliked authority or something, but it can't be good for anyone for little children to feel insulted at having to jump through hoops. That should be the test. Does this crap piss them off?
I don't remember the pre-school derby. It may not have realy existed in the early 70s, I'm not sure. But I do remember my kindergarten applications, being put in a yellow dress and photographed in front of my mother's avocado plant and me sort of howling about it, wondering why it mattered what I looked like for me to go to school. I also remember some of the interviews -- playing with plastic animals and putting them on little squares decorated with those same animals -- apparently it is significantly difficult to recognize that a three dimensional pig goes with a flat pig. A rag doll to play with, to hold, to see if I had compassion for it -- it was a boring toy -- at home, I had a plastic motorcyle, I'd put my foot on the seat of and would push around with my other leg, going on about Evil Knieval, but here I had to show everyone that I was a nice clever girl that would make their school look good, literally. And while I can recall large swathes of my childhood where I loved dresses and all manner of delicate things, that was not the case during those interviews. I hated being dressed up, and I thought the plastic animal game was stupid, and would say so. I went to Hewitt, which was irritated me from the start, from the naptimes that bored me to my homeroom teacher who decided I was too fearful to be allowed in iceskating classes. And we had to wear particular bloomers under our uniforms, which struck me as an invasion of privacy and a fearfulness of precocious children even then. I remember my rages about it very specifically. And that business about sticking a scissors in a lightsocket in Descensus? That is my one true Mary Sue moment, as I did do that in nap time one day, and my arm was numb for days and days. I never told anyone, just kept hiding in the bathroom and rubbing it and worried. I'd steal cookies on the way, as the teachers would stay watching the other nappers, and the cubboards with the oatmeal ones were by the bathroom. I stole cookies every day, and then often after classes, when I was in the older grades and we walked downstairs to meet ou parents individually. The kindergarteners would be gone, and I would raid their cubboards for a cookie or two, and a ball of this or that fuzz and googly eyes for this or that craft project. I was lonely.
At any rate, everytime I read one of these articles (which are at minimum an annual event in New York, where we must constantly be convinced that everyone lives the life of some neurotic new money in this city) I go absolutely nuts. It's not that it's too much pressure on the kids or parents, nor that the expenses are exhorbidant or irrational. It's just the whole self-important delusion of it all and the notion that the intelligence of children can be measured by parents kissing ass, attractiveness, comportment or how one holds a damn rag doll. I'm sure there are theories on all this, people who spend their lives dedicated to it, so that the plastic animals busines really did show I was clever, easily bored and disliked authority or something, but it can't be good for anyone for little children to feel insulted at having to jump through hoops. That should be the test. Does this crap piss them off?
no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 03:30 pm (UTC)I despair for the species.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 03:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 04:01 pm (UTC)