Lucky

There are two times when other people tell me I am lucky. The first is when I tell them that my husband and I "trade shifts" and don't have a full-time nanny with a British accent to rear our progeny when we are working outside the home.

The second is when I tell them that I don't have to pay taxes because I am too pretty for all that. "You're so lucky!" they cry, opposing finger and thumb propping up their jaws. I know, I demur, it's just that Uncle Sam and I have an understanding, you see...when you look this good, you are considered a natural treasure, you know?

 

But back to the part about my good fortune in picking a mate who is willing at times to stay home with at least one of our children while I go to work. Apparently, according to many, many people, this makes me lucky. ME. And I know this. I am lucky because I like my job and it is ever so much easier to teach a 90 minute class on interactive online journalism without two little talking turnips asking if I can help them with the Netflix again. I am lucky for that.

You know who else is lucky? My kids. They get loads of facetime with their daddy who enjoys rough-housing and playing a game called "trap challenge" of which my uptight introverted ways do not really permit me to engage in readily. They have a special rapport with their father and they have a strong attachment with both parents, which I've heard is a valuable thing to carry through this life full of hollowness and quagmires.

Oh, one more person is lucky, though! Guess who? Wow, you're good. It's true, my husband is lucky to be both a father who can spend quality time with his children and also do meaningful work outside the home. He did not have a father who was able to do this with his children. My husband tells everyone that he loves his time he loves going to the gym during the day, going grocery shopping when the aisles are not blocked by the rush hour crew.

We hear you, Universe. We are aware of our good luck in this arrangement.

Even though sometimes this arrangement stinks. The part no one remembers is that when you have two parents of young children "trading shifts," the two parents are rarely home TOGETHER. Together to have a fluid conversation, or a meal, or a hug. Or, you know. wink wink. Because you are flexing your hours in every which way, you are often working late into the night.

Trading shifts also requires that one parent is the "birthday party parent" or the "room parent" or the "family ambassador of all social gatherings" which is fine except when people do that nervous thing where they don't know what else to ask you at the birthday party so instead of saying, "Wow, it's GREAT to see YOU! How have YOU been?" they choose not to treat you like a whole person but only half of the whole and immediately charge into, "Heyyy, where's your husband?" Or your wife, as the case may be. That's annoying, isn't it? Even though you know it's not malintentioned. You know what I mean? You know what I mean.

This arrangement of the present is still infinitely better than the way we lived formerly in Boston where Loverpants held down 3 jobs and I had all these graduate classes and adjunct teachings and newborns to feed and toddlers to not loose in Target and--WOW, that life was cray.

What it all boils down to is that any person in this great wide world who has an even wider number of choices as to how to pursue his/her life as a parent or a pilot or a pizzamaker or a piano player or all of the above (at once!) is incredibly lucky.

To have choices makes one lucky. Also, having: an education, family supports, community resources, healthcare, and a number of well-fitting pairs of Spanx also make one especially lucky, as well. But that all is another conversation for another day.

For now, I consider myself lucky to call you a reader and friend.

Luckily yours, Kendra

RIP Bernie Macbook, Jr. #mac

Bernie MacBook Jr. passed away the evening of Sunday, January 6, 2014 in his home, surrounded by loved ones. MacBook Jr. is survived by his owners, the FamiLee. He is the son of the late Bernie MacBook Sr. MacBook Jr. arrived to the home of the FamiLee in Boston in 2010. He was adopted by the FamiLee through the Macintosh Refurbished program; his birth family remains unknown. As one of the first iterations of the MacBooks, he was proud to have served as a heavyweight champion of his class, crushing the likes of iPads and MacBook Airs. MacBook Jr. served in the U.S. Armed Forces against Malware and never retired from active duty. He earned his master's degree in Facebook and also scored three virtual golden trophies in the final round of Princess Enchantment Castle on GirlsGoGames.com. He served as a portal for countless awkward conversations with in-laws via Skype and his reserves for awkward family photo documentation were boundless. By far his crowning achievement was allowing Kendra to write her memoir, FamiLee on his software; MacBook Jr. will no doubt smile from Compooper Heaven once the book is published.

Many tears have been shed at the untimely demise of Bernie MacBook Jr.; the FamiLee is still experiencing great waves of grief. A quick scan of their web searches indicate the FamiLee is still soundly in the first stage of denial. Arrangements have not yet been made for MacBook Jr.'s burial. In lieu of flowers, please send Kendra a chai latte as she copes with the loss of her beloved Bernie MacBook Jr.

Chai Latte for Kendra

An open letter to the student who wonders if he/she missed something

I have spoken to many colleagues and other academics about this issue. The matter of the "eventual e-mail," sent after a week of classes were missed on account of "sickness," wondering if he/she missed anything. Dear Professor,

I'm sorry I missed class this week. I was sick. I was just wondering if I missed anything.

- Student

Every professor receives this brand of e-mail. And we usually respond in kind.

  [showmyads]

Here, however, is the e-mail we do not send.

Dear Student,

I hope you are feeling better. Per your question, I will address what what missed during your absence. Please note, however, per the syllabus received on the first day of class, our policy indicates that every student is responsible for obtaining course notes for any classes missed due to sickness or other commitments, e.g. trips for other classes. Additionally, a note from the university health center should accompany the student upon his/her return to class.

You inquire if there was anything you missed during the 2.5 hours of classtime in which you were absent this week. I would imagine that in that time, class discussions transpired that cannot be replicated, questions were voiced that will never be echoed with the same spontaneity as the first time hands were raised, and difficult texts and media were explored by your classmates. Most, if not all of this, cannot be conveyed in a follow-up e-mail, though I am doing my utmost as one professor responding to the needs of 30-40 students whose assignments I will be grading and whose e-mails I will be answering until well past midnight tonight. And most nights. So did you miss anything this week? The answer is, emphatically, yes.

I suppose you would require that I provide detailed notation of what was missed, as you have obviously not taken the initiative to seek out these notes from a classmate, nor checked the online portal to see if there were any relevant materials uploaded. You are, afterall, the arbiter of this course and further my job since upon your evaluations does my future rest. If I appear in any way inflexible or less than amenable to student requests, I understand that this will be reflected directly in student feedback. Rightly so, many would say, since you are paying far more than an entry-level salary per year to attend this institution of higher learning. You may consider yourself a customer of higher education, a patron who should always be treated as if he/she is right. The difference between a customer and an investor, one who places great stock in his/her future by taking these courses seriously, is one of perception. The former perceives his/her opportunity in college as a right to be served. The other perceives his/her opportunity in college as a great privilege, enjoyed by a fraction of the world's population, and one that should be cherished.

Please note that your reluctance to attend class during sickness, despite your talent for broadcasting on Twitter your every rumination, trip to Starbucks, and conversation during latenight rendezvous during the time of your sickness renders me incapable of responding as I would to a classmate who approached me face-to-face during office hours (also published in the syllabus), explaining the predicament of his/her sickness and his/her willingness to go over any notes/reading missed as he/she strives to get caught up in this and other classes from which he/she was absent during sickness--not just this particular 8am class which you oftentimes miss. I am typically willing to spend hours with students in helping them and it is my great joy in doing so. Some 20 years ago, this face-to-face interaction would have been basically the only means of following up with a professor, save for a phonecall. There was no e-mail to hide behind, no text message to condense a sentiment deeply felt into a modern day smoke signal.

Because of your reluctance to report for class on time if at all, as well as your reluctance to visit during office hours, I will also be unable to provide a stellar reference for you when that entry-level job in the future calls. You will no doubt need that entry-level salary, in part, to pay back your astronomical student loans (over which I wholly sympathize as my salary still pays for mine). Since you have not accepted responsibility for class material missed, I dread for your future supervisors in the workplace who will be asked to "catch you up" at *your* convenience after you were out sick.

Which is why, to your original question, did you miss anything this week? I regret that you missed so much more than classtime over a few days. In fact, it would appear that you have missed more than time, more than notes and information, more than interactions, more than money.

I regret that you have, in fact, missed the point. You have missed the point of why you are here, in a university setting, pursuing a degree in a discipline that will prepare you for an exciting field of service in which you have the power to be a real agent of change. Perhaps you will be an agent of micro-change or macro-change; you may improve something or you may improve systems. The eventual diploma earned in higher learning is not a ticket. It is not a one-way pass to the great payout of entitlement. It is merely the evidence of some of the work you are capable of doing. It speaks to your accomplishments, your stamina and the integrity of your efforts. A diploma may not open all the doors you desire to fling open to you, but it is among the few things in this life that, if soundly earned, can never be taken away.

I just hope you don't miss your chance to earn one. To truly earn one.

Sincerely, Professor