Below is a column that I wrote for The Courier-Tribune of Asheboro, North Carolina. It will run on the opinions page on Wednesday, June 3rd.
Commencement is a ceremony steeped in tradition. Graduates enter and exit to the march commonly known as “Pomp and Circumstance” that became de rigueur shortly after Yale University included it in the graduation proceedings of 1905. Graduates wear academic regalia that dates back to standards set by ancient universities. Graduates receive diplomas of a style reminiscent of days when they were hand-scribed on thinly stretched animal skin. Academic institutions go to great lengths to ensure that the integrity of commencement is not marred by any disruptive deviations from precedent. As a senior graduating with the Gray Stone Day School class of 2009, I learned to what extent some individuals wish to uphold precedent.
A less famed, but omnipresent, aspect of graduation convention is the dress code for attire worn beneath academicals. Most institutions require formal attire and many institutions issue gender-specific guidelines. According to standard procedure, men are expected to wear slacks and women are expected to wear skirts or dresses with hem lines not below that of the graduation robe. I suspect that not many people are aware of this distinction; I certainly was not until several weeks ago.
While it may seem a petty detail, consider the deeper implications of imposing such restrictions on females: in the history of social oppression, skirts and dresses are the compulsory garb of disenfranchised women; in terms of functionality, the only benefit of such a requirement is displaying a woman’s bare legs for the viewing pleasure of all attendees; and, in regards to logical progression, the next level of dress specifications would not unreasonably be to require that all Arabs wear red cords.
The issue of a female’s right to wear slacks when an occasion calls for formal attire has been a source of debate at Gray Stone for several years. When I first began attending the charter school in 2005, females were disallowed from wearing slacks to school dances. Along with a fellow sophomore, I approached the school administration and successfully saw the policy altered to allow students equal opportunity of attire. The conflict reemerged in the late summer of last year when I chose to wear a tuxedo rather than the traditional feminine drape in my senior portrait. Before I was able to leave, I was obliged to have my portrait taken in a drape for inclusion in the yearbook. Several meetings between my parents and Gray Stone’s chief administrative officer, Mrs. Helen Nance, and a school board meeting later, it was firmly decided that the picture of me in the tuxedo would not permitted in the annual. Disinclined to acquiesce to what I perceive as a groundless restriction, I opted to have no picture at all rather than the portrait in which I am wearing a drape (and, appropriately, looking miserable).
When I approached Mrs. Nance about allowing my female peers to wear pants to graduation, if such is their preference, she cited the need for conformity as an important factor in why we would not be able to do so. For what purpose, I ask? If men and women are as equal in society as we are led to believe, then why must the genders be distinguished by such base means as attire? If education is truly meant to prepare pupils for the future, then why would the ceremony celebrating the culmination of twelve years of diligent study adhere to such antiquated expectations?
Because I have faith in my peers, I put these questions to the student body. For three days I spent mornings, afternoons, lunch periods, and every other moment of spare time circulating a petition stating that female graduates should be permitted to wear formal slacks beneath their graduation robes. Over the course of those three days, I approached approximately ninety percent of Gray Stone’s students; over the course of those three days, I gathered the signatures of nearly eighty-five percent of the student body. Many of my classmates unaware that the policy even existed.
On May 11, my family and I drove to the campus of Pfeiffer University, where Gray Stone is located, to attend the monthly meeting of the school’s board of directors. My father and I addressed the board in support of allowing female graduates the option of wearing slacks and presented the petition with the echoing voices of my classmates. Though they did not make a decision while we were present, I learned the following morning that the board voted to allow women the right to wear pants this year while deferring the establishment of an official policy until a later meeting.
Over the course of this conflict, many well-meaning individuals encouraged me to “go with the flow;” they advised me wear a skirt and leave the battle for someone else. Their intentions were good, but good intentions do not guarantee sound conclusions. One cannot go through life perceiving but ignoring injustices and expect for the world to become any more just. One cannot assume that someone else who cares will come along, or even that anyone else will come along at all.
For me, there was no thrill in challenging the status quo. There was no desire to undermine the formality of graduation. There was not even pleasure in “stickin’ it to the man.” I prefer to wear slacks when an occasion calls for formal attire because I feel that such garb appears more professional; that I or any other woman would be denied that option simply because of gender is well worth confronting simply on the basis of equal opportunity. Hopefully, the board of directors will recognize this and solidify their equalization of the graduation dress code in official school policy.
With a nod to that future, I will march into graduation on June 5th to the drone of “Pomp and Circumstance.” I will don robes in the tradition of generations of scholars before me. I will receive a diploma adorned with commendations and calligraphy. I will observe all the formalities of commencement, but I will do so in pants.
Showing posts with label high school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label high school. Show all posts
Saturday
The Beowulf That They Don't Teach in Schools
Grendel, suspicious of Beowulf's intentions with Hrothgar, set out to spy on the men. "It is not well," he thought, "when one's enemies receive reinforcement from the sea, nor when men value life so little." His efforts to evict the interlopers from his ancestral land have thus far proven ineffective. They are willing to give more life than he is willing to take. His mother knows little of their presence, and nothing of his campaign against them.
Sigrún
Glad that Grendel was gone _ absent from Grethe
Had wandered into the world _ and would not return
Until the sky-spirit _ began to nod,
Sigrún prepared the palace _ to make proud
Her beloved son _ that bright boy
Her only child _ who she cherished
More dearly than any miser _ more greedily than Midas
Relished in his riches. _ That son of Rasmus
Was the song in her heart _ and spring in her step.
She cleared floors _ and filled rooms
With glowing globes _ glorious fire from her fingertips
Driving out shadows _ that might dare to disturb
The gaieties to come _ with their lengthening
Fingers grasping at guests _ and teasing Time's hands
_ _ To a more fleeting tempo.
She hummed a tune _ as she hammer-headed nails
That sprouted up _ from the ancient floor
Like the thorns _ of a creeping briar
Ready to tear _ at tender feet,
As she honed Hjördís _ to a handsome edge
A singing sharpness _ that was Sigrún's song.
A dance floor cannot _ be dangerous to down-steppers
Nor a dull blade botch _ a beat in a syncopated battle
Even a stone-soled spectator _ and tone deaf friar
Know that so things are _ so they have been
And so they will stay. _ The security in uncertainty
The comfort in conflict _ and the cares of queens
Who keep their castles _ as if entire kingdoms.
Thus she prepared her home _ for that honored hour
When she and countless _ other creatures of the deep
Would spin about _ the light-soaked space
Boasting bright garb _ and feasting bountifully
On the wild riches _ found in her realm.
Each turret and tower _ teeming with friends
Each wall and window _ echoing with lifejoy
Such as comes _ solely from creatures
Without wickedness _ or sorrow weighty
Upon their hearts. _ Happy in life
And careful not to squander _ that coveted gift.
She prepared her home _ for that honored hour
When she and that _ shining horde
Would spar with words _ and also weapons
Carefully building their minds _ as well as their bodies
In strength and agility _ in tribute to their wonder
_ _ And in merriment.
She threw wide the windows _ and wove wildflowers
Into awesome arrangements _ their aroma borne
By a current _ which came cool and calm
And danced with the light _ that leapt about
From glistening crystal _ to glittering gold
Of a castle constructed _ of countless treasures:
Looking glass walls _ laced with webs
Of gold speckled _ with spidergems and stardust.
It was an ancient place _ of another age
Of souls long at slumber _ and songs long since sung.
The stars that shone _ upon those spires
When first they rose _ reaching ever upwards
Were not those _ which would throw down their light
On the night anticipated _ by Sigrún, anxious.
She readied her realm _ and rallied guests
To make revelry _ and when the time came
Give praising voices _ to glory-born Grendel
Who had seen _ his seventeenth September sun.
Grendel, aware of Beowulf's arrival and receipt by Hrothgar, goes to Herot to uncover their scheme. Wearing a disguise, he loiters outside the hall's main entrance, carefully collecting intelligence.
The Plot Against Grendel
They awoke with heads _ heavy from mead
And purses light _ from the lavish bacchanal
Of the bygone night. _ Those noble warriors
Those pillars among men _ who muttered of righteousness
During daylight hours _ not daring to offend
The eye of God _ but who gargled of misdeeds
Boasted of brutality _ and bore shame on banners
When that beautiful orb _ blinked, casting
The world into darkness _ and the Danes into sin
And with them the Gaets _ were as glorious by day
And as wicked by night _ as any warped man
_ _ Of Hrothgar's guard, court, or country.
These shamers of mankind _ malady upon the land
And upon the people _ and upon peace
Awoke with heavy heads _ and hearts hoping
To lessen a lord _ of the land that was
Rightfully his, _ yet wanted by Hrothgar.
Their tongues beat _ like booming war-drums
And their eyes glinted _ with dreams of gold
And of bloody scenes, _ shimmered at the thought
Of weeping wounds _ wrapped around the form
Of a majestic youth. _ A monster, said they
Unto the peasants. _ A demon, unto the priests.
Lies carefully concocted _ to crust the minds
Of men who may _ remember and respect
The truth of Grendel _ and his great ancestors.
All this he _ heard, and hated
His vehemence waxing _ with every word,
Spoken or soundless, _ that slithered
From foul tongues _ and fermented minds.
His anger festered _ and his heart feared,
The lord in him _ livid about this scheming
And the mortal _ mightily mindful of death:
A prince of peace _ perceiving war
In all its terror _ for his first time.
"Surely," thought he, _ "something can be said
Words can be woven _ with which we
Can curtail conflict. _ Cruel as they are
Their blood is also red _ their bones also break
They live and love _ and so, life-loving,
Cannot care _ to create death.
Let us talk together _ as men of thought.
Let me join them _ that we may joust
With words rather _ than with weapons."
And so speaking _ he swung wide
The double doors _ upon a drinking hall
Seasoned with sworded enemies _ and suddenly silent.
*This work inspired by characters and events from the Beowulf epic.
Sigrún
Glad that Grendel was gone _ absent from Grethe
Had wandered into the world _ and would not return
Until the sky-spirit _ began to nod,
Sigrún prepared the palace _ to make proud
Her beloved son _ that bright boy
Her only child _ who she cherished
More dearly than any miser _ more greedily than Midas
Relished in his riches. _ That son of Rasmus
Was the song in her heart _ and spring in her step.
She cleared floors _ and filled rooms
With glowing globes _ glorious fire from her fingertips
Driving out shadows _ that might dare to disturb
The gaieties to come _ with their lengthening
Fingers grasping at guests _ and teasing Time's hands
_ _ To a more fleeting tempo.
She hummed a tune _ as she hammer-headed nails
That sprouted up _ from the ancient floor
Like the thorns _ of a creeping briar
Ready to tear _ at tender feet,
As she honed Hjördís _ to a handsome edge
A singing sharpness _ that was Sigrún's song.
A dance floor cannot _ be dangerous to down-steppers
Nor a dull blade botch _ a beat in a syncopated battle
Even a stone-soled spectator _ and tone deaf friar
Know that so things are _ so they have been
And so they will stay. _ The security in uncertainty
The comfort in conflict _ and the cares of queens
Who keep their castles _ as if entire kingdoms.
Thus she prepared her home _ for that honored hour
When she and countless _ other creatures of the deep
Would spin about _ the light-soaked space
Boasting bright garb _ and feasting bountifully
On the wild riches _ found in her realm.
Each turret and tower _ teeming with friends
Each wall and window _ echoing with lifejoy
Such as comes _ solely from creatures
Without wickedness _ or sorrow weighty
Upon their hearts. _ Happy in life
And careful not to squander _ that coveted gift.
She prepared her home _ for that honored hour
When she and that _ shining horde
Would spar with words _ and also weapons
Carefully building their minds _ as well as their bodies
In strength and agility _ in tribute to their wonder
_ _ And in merriment.
She threw wide the windows _ and wove wildflowers
Into awesome arrangements _ their aroma borne
By a current _ which came cool and calm
And danced with the light _ that leapt about
From glistening crystal _ to glittering gold
Of a castle constructed _ of countless treasures:
Looking glass walls _ laced with webs
Of gold speckled _ with spidergems and stardust.
It was an ancient place _ of another age
Of souls long at slumber _ and songs long since sung.
The stars that shone _ upon those spires
When first they rose _ reaching ever upwards
Were not those _ which would throw down their light
On the night anticipated _ by Sigrún, anxious.
She readied her realm _ and rallied guests
To make revelry _ and when the time came
Give praising voices _ to glory-born Grendel
Who had seen _ his seventeenth September sun.
Grendel, aware of Beowulf's arrival and receipt by Hrothgar, goes to Herot to uncover their scheme. Wearing a disguise, he loiters outside the hall's main entrance, carefully collecting intelligence.
The Plot Against Grendel
They awoke with heads _ heavy from mead
And purses light _ from the lavish bacchanal
Of the bygone night. _ Those noble warriors
Those pillars among men _ who muttered of righteousness
During daylight hours _ not daring to offend
The eye of God _ but who gargled of misdeeds
Boasted of brutality _ and bore shame on banners
When that beautiful orb _ blinked, casting
The world into darkness _ and the Danes into sin
And with them the Gaets _ were as glorious by day
And as wicked by night _ as any warped man
_ _ Of Hrothgar's guard, court, or country.
These shamers of mankind _ malady upon the land
And upon the people _ and upon peace
Awoke with heavy heads _ and hearts hoping
To lessen a lord _ of the land that was
Rightfully his, _ yet wanted by Hrothgar.
Their tongues beat _ like booming war-drums
And their eyes glinted _ with dreams of gold
And of bloody scenes, _ shimmered at the thought
Of weeping wounds _ wrapped around the form
Of a majestic youth. _ A monster, said they
Unto the peasants. _ A demon, unto the priests.
Lies carefully concocted _ to crust the minds
Of men who may _ remember and respect
The truth of Grendel _ and his great ancestors.
All this he _ heard, and hated
His vehemence waxing _ with every word,
Spoken or soundless, _ that slithered
From foul tongues _ and fermented minds.
His anger festered _ and his heart feared,
The lord in him _ livid about this scheming
And the mortal _ mightily mindful of death:
A prince of peace _ perceiving war
In all its terror _ for his first time.
"Surely," thought he, _ "something can be said
Words can be woven _ with which we
Can curtail conflict. _ Cruel as they are
Their blood is also red _ their bones also break
They live and love _ and so, life-loving,
Cannot care _ to create death.
Let us talk together _ as men of thought.
Let me join them _ that we may joust
With words rather _ than with weapons."
And so speaking _ he swung wide
The double doors _ upon a drinking hall
Seasoned with sworded enemies _ and suddenly silent.
*This work inspired by characters and events from the Beowulf epic.
Wednesday
Ode to E.R.
I wrote this ages ago, before I had the good sense to change venue.
I hate the rednecks that clog up the halls,
and the childish ramblings upon bathroom stall walls,
and the preppy people that think they're the stuff,
and the wanna-be thugs that think they're so tough,
and the cheap-ass computers in the media center,
and the freezing cold classrooms in the winter,
and the mice in the theatre, and cracked cement floors,
and the plants in the gutters, and rust on the doors,
and that the girls' locker room doesn't have lights,
and that so many people are packed together so tight,
and that so many students don't care to learn,
and that the teachers are jaded and show no concern,
and that the teachers that care can't get anything done
because most of their students just want to have fun,
and that the teachers that don't care let everyone pass
whether or not they learned from the class,
and that there aren't enough scissors, or rulers, or glue,
and that the football team gets the only supplies that are new,
and that you can't be yourself, or the least bit unique,
without being shunned and labeled a freak,
and that the "honors" classes are worse than a joke,
and that the cafeteria food makes most humans choke,
and that the bus' breaks squeal, and the roof clatters
if there's a faint breath of wind or a little rain splatters,
and that the coaches encourage their athletes to cheat,
and whatever is clogging the art room sink,
and that the teachers punish everyone instead of a few,
and that the SROs haven't a clue,
and that in the theatre the curtains are torn
the house seats are broken, and the carpet is worn,
and that students aren't given chances to show their potential,
so the loss of their talents is exponential,
and that the desks are bent and the tables are shaky,
and that on G hall several toilets are leaking,
and the classes in trailers, that often smell funky,
and the constant fund raisers 'cause the school doesn't have enough money,
and that "good kids" are pardoned while "bad ones" are screwed,
and for many more reasons I wish to eschew
this place in East Randolph that is hardly a school.
I hate the rednecks that clog up the halls,
and the childish ramblings upon bathroom stall walls,
and the preppy people that think they're the stuff,
and the wanna-be thugs that think they're so tough,
and the cheap-ass computers in the media center,
and the freezing cold classrooms in the winter,
and the mice in the theatre, and cracked cement floors,
and the plants in the gutters, and rust on the doors,
and that the girls' locker room doesn't have lights,
and that so many people are packed together so tight,
and that so many students don't care to learn,
and that the teachers are jaded and show no concern,
and that the teachers that care can't get anything done
because most of their students just want to have fun,
and that the teachers that don't care let everyone pass
whether or not they learned from the class,
and that there aren't enough scissors, or rulers, or glue,
and that the football team gets the only supplies that are new,
and that you can't be yourself, or the least bit unique,
without being shunned and labeled a freak,
and that the "honors" classes are worse than a joke,
and that the cafeteria food makes most humans choke,
and that the bus' breaks squeal, and the roof clatters
if there's a faint breath of wind or a little rain splatters,
and that the coaches encourage their athletes to cheat,
and whatever is clogging the art room sink,
and that the teachers punish everyone instead of a few,
and that the SROs haven't a clue,
and that in the theatre the curtains are torn
the house seats are broken, and the carpet is worn,
and that students aren't given chances to show their potential,
so the loss of their talents is exponential,
and that the desks are bent and the tables are shaky,
and that on G hall several toilets are leaking,
and the classes in trailers, that often smell funky,
and the constant fund raisers 'cause the school doesn't have enough money,
and that "good kids" are pardoned while "bad ones" are screwed,
and for many more reasons I wish to eschew
this place in East Randolph that is hardly a school.
Tuesday
How I lie with statistics
Based upon a convenience sample conducted by Calluna der Partitionoutsmallwoodedvalley (name changed for anonymity) and myself on the breezy afternoon of Tuesday, April 15, 2008, it has been observed that two out of three male road workers in Copper Atoll (also changed) are not registered to vote. A study by Edward Packard reported a total of 5,367,838 registered North Carolina voters in 20061 out of a population of 8,857,0002.
HO: There is no statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote.
HA: There is a statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote.
Rejection criteria: alpha .05, Zsc 1.96
p = 0.6061
q = 0.3939
n = 3
Sp = √((0.6061x0.3939)/3) = 0.2821
Zsc = (0.6666-0.6061)/0.2821 = 0.2145
Since the test statistic of 0.2145 does not meet or exceed the critical value of 1.96, there is insufficient evidence to conclude there is a statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote. Based upon these sample data I fail to reject the null hypothesis.
1 http://www.cs.duke.edu/~justin/voting/upload/Precinct_size_report.doc
2 http://www.newsobserver.com/news/growth/census/story/840401.html
I am aware that the ridiculously small, exclusively male sample of road workers fails to meet two of the three assumptions necessary for a legitimate one sample z-test and that the small sample size was an influential factor in the rejection of HO. This is all in good fun. Statistically I must admit that there does not appear to be sufficient evidence to support the hypothesis that there is a statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote, but in my heart I fully accept HA in all its truth and splendor.
HO: There is no statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote.
HA: There is a statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote.
Rejection criteria: alpha .05, Zsc 1.96
p = 0.6061
q = 0.3939
n = 3
Sp = √((0.6061x0.3939)/3) = 0.2821
Zsc = (0.6666-0.6061)/0.2821 = 0.2145
Since the test statistic of 0.2145 does not meet or exceed the critical value of 1.96, there is insufficient evidence to conclude there is a statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote. Based upon these sample data I fail to reject the null hypothesis.
1 http://www.cs.duke.edu/~ju
2 http://www.newsobserver.co
I am aware that the ridiculously small, exclusively male sample of road workers fails to meet two of the three assumptions necessary for a legitimate one sample z-test and that the small sample size was an influential factor in the rejection of HO. This is all in good fun. Statistically I must admit that there does not appear to be sufficient evidence to support the hypothesis that there is a statistically significant difference between the proportion of male road workers in Copper Atoll who are registered to vote and the proportion of N.C. citizens at large who are registered to vote, but in my heart I fully accept HA in all its truth and splendor.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
