Dandelions Remind Me . . .

                                  . . . But at my back I always hear

Time's winged chariot hurrying near;

And yonder all before us lie

Deserts of vast eternity. . .

(from To His Coy Mistress by Andrew Marvell)

A Farrago

Thinking in Black and White

A while back, one of my friends made the comment that they don't seem to teach patriotism in schools any more.  As this friend and I are on pretty much opposite ends of the political spectrum, this seemed to me a topic fraught with danger and I made some non-committal reply and the conversation went elsewhere. But the question has remained with me.

I thought back -- was I taught 'patriotism' -- love and devotion to my country -- in school? 

We said the Pledge of Allegiance every day. We sang America the Beautiful, The Star Spangled Banner, and My Country, 'Tis of Thee. (We also sang Dixie, but that's another discussion.) We memorized the Preamble to the Constitution, the Gettysburg Address. In eighth grade Civics, Miss Lucas taught us the basics of how our government works. And we read and memorized patriotic poems like "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere" and "In Flanders Fields."

It's in a government's best interest, isn't it, to ensure that its children grow up to love and support their country? But on reflection, all that pledging allegiance and singing patriotic songs seems uncomfortably reminiscent of the methods used by totalitarian regimes -- the Red Guards, Hitler Youth, the blind devotion to the Dear Leader demanded of North Korean citizens. 

Of course, our indoctrination was less extreme. For many of us it was just background noise, the default mode. We lived in the USA, therefore we were proud citizens. USA! USA! We're Number One!

For many of us it was the Vietnam War that forced us to come to terms with the the blindly 'patriotic' mindset of "My country, right or wrong, is always right."  Could one disagree with the war one's country was fighting and still be patriotic? Was it true that our flag decal wouldn't get us into heaven anymore?

If they don't teach patriotism in the schools today, it may only be that due to the pressures of constant testing, patriotism, along with Art and Music and Recess had been ditched in favor of reviewing the materials of upcoming tests.

Or it may be that, like religion, there is no one size fits all. 

It's too hard to agree on what patriotism is or what's the best way to create patriots. And what kind of patriots anyway  -- blindly obedient to and supportive of the state or knowledgeable and questioning?

Some states (I'm looking at you, Texas) mandate that their history books downplay the unpleasant aspects of the past -- little things like slavery, genocide, imperialism -- in order to portray America as an ideal nation, one that a patriot can be proud of. 

To me, this smacks of Soviet revisionism, of the constant re-writing of history in Orwell's 1984 (do they still teach 1984 anymore?)

It's a knotty problem, this patriotism thing. Personally, I'm in favor of knowing the worst of the past, in hopes of doing better in the future.

And, on sober reflection, I think I'd much prefer our children be taught Civics -- how our government works and how it can be changed by voting.

What do you think? I'd especially love to hear from anyone  with ties to our school system -- is patriotism taught and, if so, in what form?

At Day Break

Uh Oh . . .

 

Early Morning and the Louisiana Irises Were Blooming Down at the Pond

This Could Be Your Chance . . .

In less than a month, I'll be heading south for a week at John C. Campbell where I'll be leading a nuts and bolts class in writing popular fiction -- designed for anyone, from beginner on up.

I just found out that there are still some openings in the class so if the idea of spending a week playing with words in beautiful surroundings with like minds (and someone else doing the very splendid cooking,) check out the link HERE.

We meet in an air conditioned studio . . .

But the surroundings are so inviting that some folks prefer to use the porch for their writing assignments . . . 

It's a fun, non-competitive way to jump start your writing, to make a beginning on that novel you've always thought you might have in you, or just to have fun with words, responding to the prompts I give (all designed to make you a better writer.)

Several folks who've been in this class have gone on to publish novels  . . .

Think about it . . . this could be your chance!

Corny It May Be . . . But . . .

Abou Ben Adhem

By Leigh Hunt

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,

And saw, within the moonlight in his room,

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,

And to the presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?" The vision raised its head,

And with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And shower the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

This poem, one I learned in grade school, has been rattling around my head. Yes, it's old-fashioned, sentimental sing-song (one reason I still remember it) and a real poet would dismiss it out of hand.

But I (a non- believer) still like the point it makes and wish we had more Abou ben Adhems around. I suspect that it's a lot harder to love one's ornery, sweaty, troubled and often irrational fellow men  than it is to love the idea of God.

Drenched

Writers and Their Day Jobs -- Another Class Ends . . . -

Wednesday night was the last meeting of my 15 week prose  class.It will be nice to have a little time off but I'll miss these folks and their fascinating stories. 

It was one of the strongest groups of writers I've had yet and one of the most thorough and generous when it came to the attention they gave to their classmates' pages.

The submissions ranged from memoir -- growing up in a large Roman Catholic family in Boston; growing up in middle class, small town Appalachia; growing up poor and gay on the streets of NYC -- to alternate reality fantasy set in another version of Asheville -- to  beautifully crafted short stories about ordinary people . . . and some not so ordinary.

And there were novels in progress -- a thriller about a woman vs. the Medellin Cartel; a YA with supernatural elements that moves between Nazi-era Vienna and present day Atlanta; a coming of age/road trip/buddy story with excursions to the past; the story of a woman faced with the loss of the illusions that have supported her; the story of a heiress, tangled in a web of deception; and the story of a woman on the verge of brilliant success, forced by family circumstance to abandon her passion and find a new means of fulfillment. 

Every writer puts something of themselves into their work, whether it's fiction or not. Sharing your writing with others is opening yourself to criticism -- and learning to accept suggestion for change. It's a scary thing to do that requires a bit of bravery and a thick skin, even when the critics are trying to be kind. 

 One of the group made the remark that the class had been, in a way, like a therapy session.

And then someone else commented that at least half of the class were or had been practicing therapists of one kind or another. (I would include the hair stylist in this group.)

I'd never thought about it before but I have, indeed, had a lot of therapists/social workers/psychologists in my classes over the years. 

What is it, I wonder, that draws this group to writing in such numbers? A habit of introspection? An interest in the human condition and the twists and turns a person's life may take? The many stories they've heard in the pursuit of their practice?

Or is it a reaction to dealing with difficult clients -- a relief to work with characters on the page, who will behave, at least most of the time, as you want them to?