ideas into obscurity

When I was an undergraduate at the University, I spent a good amount of time pacing the serpentine shelves full of books labeled with library of congress call letters L-LD. Books about Montessori, books about community education, books about the psychology and sociology of learning.

When I first discovered these open stacks, I felt thrilled to be surrounded by a physical representation of the accumulated knowledge of our society's systems of teaching and learning. However, as the months and years of my schooling began to pass, my extracurricular readings barely scratched the surface of what was available on the shelves.

Curious one day, I began to pull books off the shelf at random, checking the back cover to see the date that the book was last checked out. For some, it was never, some 20 years ago and very few in the last five years. Of course, some folks were like me, reading classroom ethnographies AT the library, rather than at home.

Soon, a quiet, painful little thought began to eat away at me as I sat writing papers. These books represented the innovative thoughts of people that truly cared about teaching and learning. Bold folks who believed in an idea -- leaders, educators, intellectuals. These books were the work of authors who spent nights and weekends revising chapters, searching archives, tape recording interviews. Some of these books surely represent a life's work. A life's work -- shelves full of them.

The question is, what does a life's work mean if it was only important enough for one person to ever move it from the confines of the library? What does a book mean if no one reads it? What does a call to action mean if no one takes action?

Surely, the act of writing a book fulfills the purpose of the author. It brings satisfaction to the author, probably just to know that and ideas explained. From experience, I know there is great clarity at the end of the writing process. But, what does it mean when there are 500 books and 5,000 journal articles about the best way to structure high school education? What does it mean when 450 of those books are no longer being read?

Those 450 books are still there on the shelf. Tightly bound, closely shelved and gathering dust. Ashes to ashes...

business of book reviews

This week's New York Times Book Review featured the Children's Book bestseller listings. Fascinating stuff, Robert Sabuda's pop-up book magic is well deserving of two spots in the top five. But read a few pages further...

Please, please, PLEASE tell me why The O'Reilly Factor for Kids is on the Advice, How-To and Miscellaneous best-seller list. You could show up at a bookstore and buy a child in a nonfiction book about engineering, chemical reactions, ancient history, inspirational biography, but somehow all that catches your eye is the obnoxious face out of the nonreturnable eight copies of spin-off punditry book. WOW. Grown-ups suck. You know that every kid that gets that book from some well-meaning old fart just has another reason to feel misunderstood and bitter. And what kind of advice, exactly, is Bill offering to today's youth? How the capitalist, white supremacist patriarchy allows exposed sexual harassers to have their own TV show?

You can't talk to me like that just because I am white

I feel dirty.

Today, this young woman comes in to the children's book department asking for stickers. Now, we don't sell little sheets or rolls of stickers, just sticker books and a couple of gift sets. So, I hand her a Dr. Seuss sticker set. It's clear by facial reaction that it is not what she is expecting or searching for, but she seems interested by it.

I dote at an arm's length away, pointing out that it has a lot of stickers for the price, but I realize that it is not necessarily what she was looking for.

She gets ready to speak, and I smile, expecting a polite explanation of why she won't be purchasing the stickers that day.

Instead: "Well, I am a nursing student and I'm conducting health screenings on kids ages two through seven years old in a predominantly African-American school and... I mean, are they going to know who Dr. Seuss is?"

what? huh? My brain goes blank. Up until the dot dot dot, I was expecting an objection to the price, quantity, small size of the actual stickers. And then -- wham -- expectation that I am just as racist as you. Because I am white like you. Because I am dressed like you.

Now looking back on it, I feel so dirty and used to be dragged into her racism just because of our similar skin color. Would you really ask that to a black person, nursing student?

And now, looking back on it, I feel ashamed because I didn't see something clever, honest, boldly antiracist back to that.

No, I stare at her, recover from blank brain, and as passive aggressive as I can get is to say, "well, you said the kids go to school, right? I would assume that you're fine."

And she just goes right on telling her whole charitable nursing student tale... oh, it's a Montessori school, oh, it is right by your bookstore...blah, blah, bitchity blah.

And THEN she tells me she doesn't think the stickers are right. And where can she get stickers around here? And look at me, nonconfrontational is that I am, giving her ADVICE to buy them online at a teacher store because that's where they sell big quantities. And, then, she leaves, skipping off to nursing class, la la la, in her little school sweatshirt.

I can only imagine her today fawning over cute black toddlers, sneaking a touch of their exotic kinky hair as she helps them adjust the earphones during the hearing test. Maybe she is passing out some Fat Albert or Little Bill stickers, all "you know who that is, don't you, sweetie?" while grinning down at their poor, underprivileged faces.

And you know what, I am no better for not calling her on that shit. Because by not speaking up, even in the strange power arrangement of customer and employee, I'm coasting by...clinging to my white privilege.

Here's my vow to speak up when there is a next time.