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Boiling Point.
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The Adoption Virus
Infecting your hard drive and your head.
by Terri Mauro
Well, I guess nobody loves me. Or at least, nobody sent me the Love Bug virus. No "ILOVEYOU" messages in my in-box. It would have been okay, because I have a Mac, like you should too, and Macs laugh at viruses, ha ha! But as the foul contagion spread through Windows-equipped computers all over the world, messing up browsers, sending out e-mails, corrupting files, stealing passwords, I couldn't help but wonder: If there is such weakness in PCs that you can make so many changes with such little input, how come nobody has ever turned this power to the good?
I mean, if you can plant something obnoxious on people's computers, couldn't you also plant something nice? Or funny? Or silly? Why not a joke-of-the-day virus? A smiley-face virus that makes the little yellow suckers pop up all over your screen? A "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" virus that causes Regis Philbin's voice to ask "Is that your final answer?" every time you hit a command key? Why hasn't some politically savvy prankster used a virus to promote a cause? Collect all the names in your e-mail address book and, say, put them on a petition? The potential to capture eyeballs to promote an idea seems so awesome. And so, in case there are any sweaty little hackers out there looking for socially redeeming work, let me be the first to propose:
THE ADOPTION VIRUS
Warning! If you receive an e-mail with an attachment labeled HEYWHYDONTUADOPT, don't open it! It will infect your computer with unwanted content and infect your mind with ideas about adding needy children to your family. Your e-mail will be seized, your browser will be altered, your finances will be drained, your fingerprints will be checked, your house will be too small, your child-rearing capabilities will be pushed to the breaking point, and your heart will be enlarged. Some of the more dangerous features of this insidious virus:
* Places photos from waiting-children Web sites on your screen-saver.
* Makes the Wendy's Web site your default start page.
* Automatically subscribes you to adoptive-parent e-mail lists, which then propogate at the rate of about 150 messages a day.
* Plays a sound bite of Rosie O'Donnell promoting adoption on every computer start-up.
* Starts your computer up in the middle of the night to whisper subliminal suggestions that you can do this, you can do this, you can do this.
* Hacks into your bank account and adds about $20,000.
Hey, I can dream, can't I?
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Motion-free Mother's Day
Never mind the card. Just sit still.
by Terri Mauro
Yesterday morning, my son gave me the best Mother's Day present I could wish for. No, it wasn't a card or a plant from his school's plant sale, although he gave me those, too. It wasn't a piece of jewelry or breakfast in bed or a coupon book full of chores. No, it was something much simpler, and so much harder.
He was good in church.
This is a big deal for my little guy. Sitting still and staying silent are not his strong suits. Low muscle tone and sensory-integration disorder conspire to make him feel best when he's in motion--preferably jumping--and asking him to stop moving is like asking us to refrain from shaking our foot when it's asleep. We could probably do it, but it wouldn't be easy. And at some point we would probably say "Aw, to heck with it" and start a-shaking.
My son's "to heck with it" point has been coming later and later in the service, but come it always does, and then there's trouble. We've set up permanent camp in our church's "cry room," a glassed-in retreat at the back of the sanctuary meant for wailing babies but also convenient for impulsive, motion-driven seven-year-olds. On the plus side, a boy can walk around or lay on the floor lining up cars or talk a bit or even sing softly with the choir back there if he has to. (Singing loudly with the choir, or after the choir is done, is another story.) On the minus side, he doesn't have much of an incentive to behave properly.
And so it was that yesterday, on Mother's Day of all days, one day on which I want there to be peace in the kingdom, one day in which I do not want to have to yell at anybody, or discipline anybody, or pull anybody screaming from the building, on this day we decided to try sitting in the "big church." And darned if he didn't pull it off. He spent most of the time fully reclining on the pew, as if he might take a few winks (we should be so lucky). He asked to go to the bathroom once. He asked for keys to play with a couple of times. He asked if he was being good a little too loudly. But if church behavior can be measured in stern looks from fellow parishioners, his was well on the "good" side of the scale. He even got a smile or two.
So perhaps--dare I hope--we are moving into a phase where he can hold it together, against all odds, for at least 40 or so minutes at a time. We don't require it often, but when we do, it would be awfully nice to have. Just a little leeway. A little normal behavior. A little normal life. Too much to ask for Mother's Day? Probably. But the small installment I received was pretty keen nonetheless.
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Everybody's a critic
But don't go criticizing me!
by Terri Mauro
Before there was a World Wide Web, or at least before everybody and their brother was on it, reviewers had to have some credentials to opine about somebody’s work. Now, sometimes those credentials were sketchy; I reviewed plays for a city paper in college, and my credentials were mostly that I could string words together with some accuracy and I was willing to do it for low pay, But generally, a publication will confer status on a personage that allows said personage to analyze and sometimes rip apart a work of art at will. And the fact that it’s printed and published gives readers a reason to believe.
But of course, now that the great democratizer, the Net, has gotten a hold of so many eyeballs, everybody’s a critic. Anyone can go on amazon.com and say what they really think about a book, movie, or record, and they don’t even need to leave their name to do it. Over at the Internet Movie Database, a reference I use at least as often as my dogeared copy of Leonard Maltin's Movie & Video Guide, any old surfer can write reviews, provide synopses, or vote on a film’s quality. Entertainment Weekly offers visitors to its Web site a chance to weigh in on the “Critical Mass” poll that appears in the magazine. BarnesandNoble.com, like amazon, gives consumers the ability to sway their fellows at the point of purchase. Roger Ebert may influence what people choose to see in the theatres, but you might be able to influence what they buy on the Web.
Now, it’s a good feeling, to be able to praise a book you loved or dis a movie you hated, and see those words onscreen. But then amazon had to go and add another dimension to it by allowing people to critique its reviewers. Every review appears with the question: “Was this review helpful to you?” and the opportunity to check “Yes” or “No.” Helpful votes are tallied, reviewers are scored, and their rankings are posted. This should just give me a warm feeling, to know that my words are helpful, but what it does is make me insanely competitive. I’m currently ranked 2106. Who are these people above me, with their odd handles and know-it-all ways? Would it be wrong to recruit a bunch of people to just log on and give their reviews unhelpful ratings? Would it be wrong to recruit a bunch of people to log on and say my reviews are keen? (Not that you should, but my member page can be found here; click on a title to go to the voting booth, though, um, certainly no need for that.)
It’s better than the nasty letters that Ebert undoubtedly gets about his reviews--and it’s sure better than being called and argued with by an irate play producer, as I was in my college critic days--but it still makes me want to find those people who don’t like my reviews and ask them what their problem is. One of my contributions, which seems to me to be a wholehearted bit of praise for a book I liked very much, has been rated "not helpful" by nearly half of the people who have read it. I seem to have offended other fans of the book. But how can they disagree? I spent at least five minutes writing that review!
Democracy is good, but it’s not always pretty.
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Does soccer make you stupid?
Heeding the risks of heading the ball.
by Terri Mauro
I knew there was a reason I didn't like soccer. I've hated the sport since I was a kid, and our phys-ed time would be spent in a grassy area between classrooms, running back and forth, kicking at the ball and each other's shins. At the time, I developed the very excellent strategy of always guarding the part of the field where the ball wasn't. This was before soccer was every child's favorite after-school obsession; nobody really much knew how to play, and the ball stayed close to the ground. I don't recall anybody impacting the ball with anything but their feet, which appears to have been a good thing: We're a smarter generation for not hitting things with our heads.
Or so opines a researcher who has tested the impact of soaring soccer balls on the heads of crash test dummies and determined that being struck by a hard sphere will hurt you--maybe even to the point of losing IQ points. This is a revelation to some folks, and many researchers disagree on the degree to which it hurts and whether it warrants any concern. Now, if the discussion were about, say, throwing books at children's heads, or toys, or small appliances, I think we could all agree that that might cause a dead brain cell or two or two thousand. But a soccer ball--well, we like soccer! Soccer is good! Soccer builds strong bodies and tough skulls! We need our soccer! So a hard heavy soccer ball cannot possibly bruise the brain! Shins, on the other hand, we guard like crazy.
I am not a soccer mom. My kids play on no teams at present; we're spending so much time trying to build up their brains that we have no time left over to knock them around. My daughter, who shows serious jock potential, did go to a soccer camp last summer, though. The ad said over and over again that it was for kids of all skill levels, her skill level being zip, but when we got there, all the kids had their little uniforms and shin guards on and had clearly been playing the game for a while. My girl had fun, and learned some skills, though they did not alas include a grasp of which goal you're supposed to kick it into to make points for your team. I don't think they worked extensively on heading the ball, thank goodness--her brain has enough problems as it is.
Some would say they should have worked on it a lot; the trouble with heading comes when it's done wrong. Hit the ball with your forehead, knees bent, and no harm shall come to you. Hit it with your head any old way, or worse still get hit by surprise, and we make no promises. The likelihood of kids executing this maneuver with patience and skill every time when they could just be going gonzo and whacking the thing seems slim. After all, soccer is the one place where you can hit things with your head without your mother telling you to cut that out. In fact, she may be cheering from the bleachers. There seem to be two safe options: Making the kids wear helmets, or just stopping the soccer madness right now. Switch those young developing brains to a safe sport. Like football.
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Sensitive or stressed?
The school and I don't see eye to eye
about why my daughter cries.
by Terri Mauro
On my daughter's last report card, her teacher noted that she is a "very sensitive child." Now, this could mean she's particularly heedful of the feelings of her friends, a kind child who cares about others. It could mean she reacts badly to allergens in foodstuffs or the environment. It could mean that her sense of touch is highly developed. But it doesn't. I know what the teacher is really saying. "Sensitive" in this case is merely shorthand for "cries in class."
Now, to my way of thinking, a sensitive child would cry because somebody said something mean to her, or because somebody was leaving her out of something fun, or because somebody was doing something better than her, or because somebody looked at her funny. She would feel these things deeply, think about them often, and weep with frustration or despair. She would brood on them, and remain on the brink of tears for hours, even days. Not so my girl. She's mostly oblivious to the ways others treat her. If she mentions that someone's been picking on her, it's mostly because she can't understand why they're being so stupid. A brooder she ain't. She cries alright, but it's mostly when she doesn't know what to do--when a school assignment is confusing, when she's in an unfamiliar place, when she misunderstands someone's directions. I wouldn't call that "sensitive," myself. I'd call it..."in need of better stress-management skills," maybe. But what do I know. I'm just her mother.
No, the conventional school wisdom about my daughter is that she's "sensitive," and that label has been sticking to her since she was five years old. And since she's "sensitive," and learning disabled, and a poor little orphan to boot, she must be nurtured and protected and hugged and coddled. Last year, when I tried to wrest her out of a self-contained special-ed class and into a regular-ed inclusion class, I was told in no uncertain terms that it would "destroy her." And I wanted to say to these people, "This is a child who left the only home she had ever known and went off with strangers who spoke a strange language--went off on her first car ride and her first train ride and her first plane ride--to a place where everything was new and strange and foreign. If that experience did not destroy her, I doubt there's anything 2nd graders can throw at her that will."
In fact, she's done just fine in the inclusion class. But now and then they give her a worksheet that looks daunting to her, and she cries. The teacher or aide explains how to do it, and she stops. The aide describes it as an anxiety attack. The teacher describes it as "sensitive." And her speech therapist is worried that if she gets the wrong teacher next year, it will "destroy her." Her IEP specifies that she should have a caring and nurturing teacher. So all those careless and soul-crushing teachers on staff? Out of the question!
Ah, well. Sometimes I think what she really needs is a teacher who will say, "Hey! You're 10 years old. What's with the tears? Snap out of it!" No matter how sensitive you are, it's really not okay to be crying at school. Someone should be giving my girl that message, but they're all too sensitive to her sensitivity. If she was really all that sensitive, she would know that her peers think it's kind of weird to be teary, and she would be bothered by their disapproval. No such luck. She'll either have to grow out of it, or avoid stress altogether, or find some mean adult to give her what-for.
Won't be me, though. I'm much too sensitive.
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copyright © 2000 by Terri Mauro