I was glad to see this week that the economics textbook used in Richmond High School's classes includes mention of my oft-cited, favorite political economist, Thorstein Veblen. I've been thinking of Veblen's ideas this morning as I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. Francie, the young protagonist, lives with her family in Williamsburg in 1908. Very little happens in the first 150 pages (and, I've heard, in the entire book, but I haven't read it all), but the reader is treated to pleasing accounts of daily life for poor, working class families of various immigrant backgrounds in Williamsburg. One notably absent minority is yuppie.
Veblen says that we only ever feel badly about our own lack of wealth when we are able to look next door and see evidence of someone else's more substantial wealth. When everyone's poor, everyone can feel OK - when I see that there are rich among us, I feel crummy about being poor.
Perhaps this is part of the justification behind the Early College program at Richmond High School, where students considered at-risk for not attending college, because of their level of wealth, or the fact that their parents didn't go to college, take class together. Not that we teach the "poor kids' class" - it's not that stark, and never phrased in anything that approaches that implication. But I wonder if they gain some comfort from knowing that they are surrounded by peers who at least come from a similar background as they do.
Consider Francie, who has never been made to feel badly about her poverty, though she is well aware of the state of need in which she lives (her stomach won't let her forget it). She eagerly anticipates school and its sensory delights: clean paper, fresh pencils, chalkboards, books, socializing with peers, drinks from sparkling water fountains. On the first day of school, however, her expectations are set straight:
Francie, huddled with other children of her kind, learned more that first day than she realized. She learned of the class system of a great Democracy. She was puzzled and hurt by teacher's attitude. Obviously the teacher hated her and others like her for no other reason than that they were what they were. Teacher acted as though they had no right to be in the school but that she was forced to accept them and was doing so with as little grace as possible. She begrudged them the few crumbs of learning she threw at them. Like the doctor at the health center, she too acted as though they had no right to live.
The doctor she refers to commented crudely to the nurse that Francie, who had rolled up her sleeve at a free clinic to get the vaccination required for enrolment in school, was a disgrace because of her dirtiness.
I was surprised when I read about Francie's anticipation of school - I had not realized she wasn't going to school, probably because she was learning so much through daily life. She learned how to buy meat, and how to stand up for herself when the vendor tried to sell her old or low-quality cuts; she watched the neighborhood horse hand brush and care for his horse; she saw her aunt use her attractive appearance to win privileged treatment from men; she had examples of several kinds of morality demonstrated for her, and several brands of work ethic, from neighbors and family members; she learned how the Chinaman at the laundromat counted on his abacus; she saw how her mother saved money for a piece of land in a tin can nailed to the floor; she learned about English through her mother's reading of two pages of literature a night: one from the complete works of William Shakespeare, one from the Bible.
When Francie goes to school, she learns about the class system, a necessary lesson, I suppose. I have struggled with the apparent difficulty of defining why children need to be in school when there can be so little learning happening. The challenge of understanding why bright children must be shut in a building with poor conditions and often unsafe social conditions is echoed in Francie's mother's justification of both the vaccination and school attendance:
Katie was home for lunch when the children got back. She looked at their bandaged arms with misery in her eyes. Francie spoke out passionately.
"Why, Mama, why? Why do they have to ... to ... say things and then stick a needle in your arm?"
"Vaccination," said mama firmly, now that it was all over, "is a very good thing. It makes you tell your left hand from your right. You have to write with your right hand when you go to school and that sore will be there to say, uh-uh, not this hand. Use the other hand."
This explanation satisfied Francie because she had never been able to tell her left hand from her right. She ate, and drew pictures with her left hand. Katie was always correcting her and transferring the chalk or the needle from her left hand to her right. After mama explained about vaccination, Francie began to think that maybe it was a wonderful thing. It was a small price to pay if it simplified such a great problem and let you know which hand was which. Francie began using her right hand instead of the left after the vaccination and never had trouble afterwards.
Certainly we make up rationales for the tasks that children have to do, and with reason, at Francie's age. But what am I supposed to tell my students about the tests we're perpetually supposed to be preparing them for? Why do they need to take arbitrary tests in order to graduate? Beyond that, why do they need to graduate? I know this is pushing a bit, but it is by no means obvious, during the school day, why high school is a better alternative than not-high-school, except that, like vaccination for Francie, it's required by law.
Yes, high school grads have higher earning power, but isn't there some way for us to make high school feel worthwhile while students are sitting there? I hope and believe so.
Veblen says that we only ever feel badly about our own lack of wealth when we are able to look next door and see evidence of someone else's more substantial wealth. When everyone's poor, everyone can feel OK - when I see that there are rich among us, I feel crummy about being poor.
Perhaps this is part of the justification behind the Early College program at Richmond High School, where students considered at-risk for not attending college, because of their level of wealth, or the fact that their parents didn't go to college, take class together. Not that we teach the "poor kids' class" - it's not that stark, and never phrased in anything that approaches that implication. But I wonder if they gain some comfort from knowing that they are surrounded by peers who at least come from a similar background as they do.
Consider Francie, who has never been made to feel badly about her poverty, though she is well aware of the state of need in which she lives (her stomach won't let her forget it). She eagerly anticipates school and its sensory delights: clean paper, fresh pencils, chalkboards, books, socializing with peers, drinks from sparkling water fountains. On the first day of school, however, her expectations are set straight:
Francie, huddled with other children of her kind, learned more that first day than she realized. She learned of the class system of a great Democracy. She was puzzled and hurt by teacher's attitude. Obviously the teacher hated her and others like her for no other reason than that they were what they were. Teacher acted as though they had no right to be in the school but that she was forced to accept them and was doing so with as little grace as possible. She begrudged them the few crumbs of learning she threw at them. Like the doctor at the health center, she too acted as though they had no right to live.
The doctor she refers to commented crudely to the nurse that Francie, who had rolled up her sleeve at a free clinic to get the vaccination required for enrolment in school, was a disgrace because of her dirtiness.
I was surprised when I read about Francie's anticipation of school - I had not realized she wasn't going to school, probably because she was learning so much through daily life. She learned how to buy meat, and how to stand up for herself when the vendor tried to sell her old or low-quality cuts; she watched the neighborhood horse hand brush and care for his horse; she saw her aunt use her attractive appearance to win privileged treatment from men; she had examples of several kinds of morality demonstrated for her, and several brands of work ethic, from neighbors and family members; she learned how the Chinaman at the laundromat counted on his abacus; she saw how her mother saved money for a piece of land in a tin can nailed to the floor; she learned about English through her mother's reading of two pages of literature a night: one from the complete works of William Shakespeare, one from the Bible.
When Francie goes to school, she learns about the class system, a necessary lesson, I suppose. I have struggled with the apparent difficulty of defining why children need to be in school when there can be so little learning happening. The challenge of understanding why bright children must be shut in a building with poor conditions and often unsafe social conditions is echoed in Francie's mother's justification of both the vaccination and school attendance:
Katie was home for lunch when the children got back. She looked at their bandaged arms with misery in her eyes. Francie spoke out passionately.
"Why, Mama, why? Why do they have to ... to ... say things and then stick a needle in your arm?"
"Vaccination," said mama firmly, now that it was all over, "is a very good thing. It makes you tell your left hand from your right. You have to write with your right hand when you go to school and that sore will be there to say, uh-uh, not this hand. Use the other hand."
This explanation satisfied Francie because she had never been able to tell her left hand from her right. She ate, and drew pictures with her left hand. Katie was always correcting her and transferring the chalk or the needle from her left hand to her right. After mama explained about vaccination, Francie began to think that maybe it was a wonderful thing. It was a small price to pay if it simplified such a great problem and let you know which hand was which. Francie began using her right hand instead of the left after the vaccination and never had trouble afterwards.
Certainly we make up rationales for the tasks that children have to do, and with reason, at Francie's age. But what am I supposed to tell my students about the tests we're perpetually supposed to be preparing them for? Why do they need to take arbitrary tests in order to graduate? Beyond that, why do they need to graduate? I know this is pushing a bit, but it is by no means obvious, during the school day, why high school is a better alternative than not-high-school, except that, like vaccination for Francie, it's required by law.
Yes, high school grads have higher earning power, but isn't there some way for us to make high school feel worthwhile while students are sitting there? I hope and believe so.
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