Who is Sylvia Plath anyway and why was that funny?

“If you expect nothing from anybody,
you’re never disappointed.”

— Sylvia Plath

After paging through dozens of options on Netflix.com and Amazon.com, the three of us — a 48-year-old who prefers gory war flicks, a 44-year-old who leans toward rom coms and science fiction, and a 16-year-old who, thanks to a bizarro fluke captured in a vortex of drama, had nothing better to do than sit in the livingroom with his father and stepmother playing “World of Warcraft” while occasionally acknowledging the TV screen — agreed to watch “Easy A,” a high school sex comedy set in 2010 with text-messaging and webcast plot twists but written with an eye toward Nathaniel Hawthorne in 1850 and John Hughes in 1980.

I think 40somethings might appreciate the clever pacing and witty writing of “Easy A” more than its target audience of teen-agers. Starring Emma Stone, the modern-day version of “A Scarlet Letter” was cute but not entirely predictable, naughty but not dirty and very funny if you could keep up with the cultural references.

At one point, a character suggests reading Sylvia Plath on a date and the clever retort included a reference to sticking one’s head in an oven.

This is meaningless and not at all amusing unless you know who Sylvia Plath was. Which brings me to today’s cultural reference defined for your better understanding of 2010 teen-age comedies:

Sylvia Plath was a 20th century American poet whose work tended toward the depressing and who committed suicide at 30 by sticking her head in an oven.

When it comes to John Hughes and the significance of John Cusack holding a boombox above his head in 1989’s iconic movie of teen-age angst “Say Anything,” you’re on your own.

And by the way, everything in life is writable about
if you have the outgoing guts to do it,
and the imagination to improvise.
The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. 

— Sylvia Plath

The carrot or stick approach to good grades

Young Caswell needs some … shall we say, “motivation”? … when it comes to good grades.

He’s getting it by carrot and stick.

Right now, with two and half weeks left in the quarter, he’s getting two B-minuses and a C-minus (and, presumably, an A in phy ed). He’s getting the C in an honors course about world history.

The 15-year-old seems to think a C is OK since it’s an honors course. His father and I disagree.

If he was a C sort of boy, we could be satisfied with this (so if you have a C student in your house, I am in no way implying you should do what we’re doing). But he’s not. He’s got A brains but sometimes he’s below average when it comes to applying himself.

He’s been put on a cell phone diet. Or perhaps it’s a cell phone fast. Until he gets his grades up to a true B (85%), his cell phone is on ice. For a child who texts thousands of messages a month, this is quite an imposition.

That’s the stick.

Of course, since he’s an A sort of boy, we don’t want him to settle for Bs. So the carrot — for straight As in a quarter — is his choice of a limo ride to school for him and his friends or a $100 gift certificate to Subway.

His father and I are of two minds about the whole carrot approach. Honestly, good grades should be reward enough by themselves (I don’t recall getting anything from my parents for good grades). But my experience in direct sales indicates incentives work. At Homemade Gourmet, a Consultant who sells about $24,000 worth of product in 8 months can earn a free 5-day vacation to San Diego. Selling $24,000 would mean $9,600 in commission — shouldn’t $9,600 in income be enough? But it’s not — that trip incentive really motivates our sales people to get out and sell.

With this in mind, we agreed to offer a carrot for straight A’s.

His father, Cas and I met with his world history teacher this morning to discuss his C grade, and she reinforced our gut feelings: Cas is A material, but his skill at being the class clown is disrupting his learning (and the learning of others).

We shall see if a carrot inspires Carrot Top to settle down, buckle down and bring his grades up. I’ll keep you posted.

Great teachers deserve great appreciation

It’s the end of the school year, and I bet a teacher you know could use a little encouragement. I think so, so I wrote the following note to one of Caswell’s teachers who deserves kudos:

Dear Mr. Social Studies & Language Arts Teacher,

 I’ve been meaning to write you a note for a while, but perhaps now is as good a time as any, as you are probably looking forward eagerly to the end of the school year and maybe you could use a compliment to keep you going.

 Hearing about your classes through Cas leads me to believe you are an excellent teacher who is doing everything in his power to help his students learn, and for that, I am grateful. I can’t imagine the patience of Job that is required to teach a roomful of eighth graders every day – sometimes, I can hardly stand the ONE who lives with me!

Cas is learning his American history and spelling lessons, and I know this because he able to recite pertinent facts back to me at the end of every day. And I hear how you try different approaches – like games and movies – to help the lessons sink in. It’s that kind of creativity that is missing from a lot of classrooms, but not yours!

 Cas likes your teaching style very much, and I appreciate your efforts to keep him engaged.

Teachers like you make a long-term difference in the lives of students. Thank you for taking your role seriously and rising above mediocrity and minimum standards. I am noticing it, and I appreciate it very much!

 Caswell’s stepmother

Think of the teachers who’ve made a difference in your life or the lives of your kids, and take a moment to thank them today!

Yearbooks: A rite of spring

April 13, 1980

Dear Diary,

I didn’t see Chris walk by today. Boo-hoo. I was looking through my old annual and he’s a tennis player! He is cute. Speaking of annuals. Since I’m on the annual staff, I was one of the first to see the new annuals! They are great but I’m not! I am not photogenic. How sick! I look terrible in pictures. But the page I did turned out real nice. I am not supposed to tell anyone about the new annuals and it is driving Amy crazy! She wants to know so bad but I can’t tell her.

April 29, 1980

Dear Diary,

For annual staff we voted on editors and I voted for me and Krista. But I have a horrible feeling that I might get it. And Todd will, too. That is horrible. I would die. We get our annuals on May fifth. That’s when we get to know who is editors. Mmm.

May 5, 1980

Dear Diary,

They are selling annuals tomorrow. And they are announcing the editors for next year! I hope I get to be one! But I may not get it.

May 6, 1980

Dear Diary,

I’m an editor! I’m an editor! I’m so glad! And Amy is on annual staff! This has been a great day. It would have been evenbetter if I found out for sure if [name deleted to protect the innocent] liked me. That would be great! I’m an editor with Krista Boline. That’s super, too. She’ll be good to work with. I think Todd and Rick are jealous. HA HA TODD!

I don’t know if fleeting text messages and electronic MySpace/Facebook have replaced eternal school yearbooks today, but I still have my yearbooks, a.k.a. annuals, from seventh grade through my senior year. Annuals were an exciting thing about the end of the school year and I looked forward to having friends write ridiculous and sublime things in all them. Here are a few excerpts:

Seventh grade: “It’s been fun! Even through the ‘hard times.’ Being in your fights aren’t too fun. Listening to your ‘boy fantasies’ get boring sometimes especially when we were already late for school.” Signed “F/F/A [Friends forever always], Amy”

Eighth grade: “To the nicest person I’ve ever hated.” Signed by a seventh grade nerd.

Ninth grade:“Problems, problems. The world is full of problems. Good thing you’ve got some good solutions.” Signed “F/F Confucius” [a.k.a. the girl who became my college roommate and remains my best friend]

10th grade: “It’s been real nice having you as a neighbor even though we didn’t talk that much. I hope I see you next year, I also hope you have a locker by me next year. See ya next year or possibly this summer. Stay away from the rowdies and wild parties.” Signed by the boy who I did date seriously the following year.

11th grade’s yearbook has been misplaced, probably in my ex-husband’s bookcase two states away.

12th grade: “It’s been great even though we didn’t learn anything in Physics. Good luck always and have fun in college.” Signed by a boy I don’t even remember being in physics, but I’m sure he’s right about not having learned anything. This is especially funny because my stepdaughter is now a wiz at physics.

A hairy situation

I had one of those tickle-your-insides moments of stepmotherhood today.

Fourteen-almost-15-year-old Caswell is very interested in body hair. His, in particular.

A year and a half ago, he would show me his armpits and ask me what I thought. Usually, I would respond with something like, “Gross!” or “That’s disgusting — put your arm down.”

But he kept it up, and finally I asked, “What do you want me to say?”

And he told me he wanted me to tell him how impressive his underarm hair was. Underarm hair was a novelty to him at the time. He was growing it! It meant he was getting older! It was an impressive thing!

So, I dutifully complied. When he raised his arms and asked me what I thought of his armpits, I would say things like, “Wow! Those are the hairiest armpits I’ve ever seen!” and “I think there’s a lot more hair there than last time!”

He went away happy.

So, it was easy to guess how he wanted to respond when he started showing off his leg hair. “Wow, that’s impressive!” and “Omigosh, your legs are totally hairy” were met with smiles and pride.

(Before I was 13, I begged my parents to let me shave my legs. My parents demurred, and finally my dad told me I could shave my legs when I could braid the hair. I tried and tried to braid my leg hair but failed, so I had to wait until I was 13 to shave. If someone back then had ever remarked on my leg hair, I would have wanted to crawl into a hole. That’s the difference between 12-year-old girls and 12-year-old boys.)

Today, the hair in question was facial hair. Cas asked me when he would have a beard. “When you’re 25,” I answered, knowing how scraggy most teen-age boys’ “beards” are and conscious that my red-headed stepson’s blond facial hair will take longer to look beard-like than other boys. That was not the answer he wanted. He told me he’s set a goal to grow a goatee by the time he’s a sophomore. “Sure, a goatee — maybe you could have one of those,” I said.

But he needed more gratification: “Here, feel my beard.”

I touched his cheeks and lo and behold, there’s more than peach fuzz there! There is the whisper of whiskers! 

My look of surprise was an acceptable response.

He went away, rubbing his face, pleased with his razor stubble.

I went away with a happy feeling inside, that he dared share these hairy wishes with me.