To a Degree

The issue of exactly who has access to higher education is a thorny one, full of truths, half-truths, and outright lies. Recently, I was reminded of an incident which took place over thirty years ago, before the preponderance of “woke” assertions regarding education became “common knowledge.” Back in 1992, my son (a white male, by the way) was about to graduate from high school. He had his heart set on attending California Institute of Technology, and it looked very promising that he would end up there. However, to explore his options and to prepare for summer employment – possibly even an internship or two – he applied to a certain government agency for an entry-level summer job in mathematics. Now, at this point, I should explain that my son was a top mathematician in his high school, holding a place on the Math Team and the It’s Academic Team. In fact, he graduated as valedictorian, and I proudly listened from the stands as he delivered an excellent exhortation to his fellow stud...

Not too long ago, I visited my daughter and grandsons. In the grand scheme of things, I ended up sleeping in my youngest grandson’s room. Of course, being the nosey Ga’maw that I am, I took in many of my grandson’s accoutrements: the items on his shelves, the clothes on the floor, and various items hung up on the walls. One of the things affixed to his wall was a certificate applauding him for “[his] concern for the environment.” Now, on the face of it, this is a laudable things – aren’t we all “concerned for [our] environment? Of course we are. We recycle, we watch how we dump trash. We try not to pollute. All fine and dandy stuff… Than why did I have to read the certificate several times? Why did I eventually give up on trying to understand what it actually meant ? Here’s why: It was gibberish. And I don’t mean it was third-grade language (it wasn’t). I don’t mean the rather silly title of the certificate (it was entitled “The Moon Award”). I don’t even mean the mixture of capi...

The philosophy of the school room in one generation will be the philosophy of government in the next. ~ Abraham Lincoln I grew up in Catholic schools, elementary and high school (there were no junior high or middle schools in the Catholic parochial system when I was young). I generally loved school in all of its seasons. Despite modern-day rumors and half-truths, the nuns who taught me were not abusive to me or to any of my classmates. Yes, children got well-deserved punishments for bad behavior, but no one ever complained in my hearing that the punishments were arbitrary or outlandish; everyone knew better. I have photographic proof that our school was completely and fairly integrated; in fact, I was smitten with a young mulatto boy in first grade, and proudly boasted to my racist grandmother that I intended to marry him one day. (World War III almost started in our house that day!) Being a Catholic at the time, I attended Mass every day when I could. I heard many, many pass...