I Used to Play Bass for The Vitriolic Loons...

First, the good news: my friend may not have miscarried. We spent a night in the ER together (after I caught her Googling "ectopic pregnancy" on her smart phone at karaoke and informed her that we were going to the hospital, even though I hadn't yet had a chance to wail my signature Olivia Newton-John song). They ruled out an ectopic, but diagnosed her with a "threatened miscarriage" (isn't that reassuring-sounding? even more so in print on a discharge summary...), so on Monday night when she had more bleeding and cramping, we figured this was It. But it may not be. There is still hope, as her pregnancy hormones in her blood are still rising and--well, let's just say those are some pretty darn powerful prayers, good vibes, and other voodoo that y'all have got there. Now, if you could just harness that same energy and take care of that pesky oil "spill," that'd be great. Kthxbai.

(Sigh. Fucking oil. That's another post, though, and one which SubWOW has already written far more eloquently than I would have.)

(Oh, yes, that's right, friends...I am getting caught up on all the blog-reading on which I've fallen behind. I read all your old entries on my tiny phone screen, while I'm lying in bed nursing Tankbaby, so as to distract me from the bursitis I'm giving myself. I haven't gotten ahead of the game yet--and it's a very tiny screen--so you won't see comments, but I'm out here, reading. You know that creepy, hairs-standing-up-on-the-back-of-your-neck feeling of being watched silently by one not participating in the conversation? That's me! Hi there!)

Thanks for the kind words on my last entry. I struggled with the writing of it for some time, because I was trying to communicate a foundational shift, not just write a depressing monologue. I feel like you guys totally got it (which may say more about your perceptiveness than my writing ability, but let's go with it, mkay?).

And I needed those kind words this week, because other folks out there on the Interwebz (tm Elly, I believe) have not been so kind to me. Let me 'splain.

Two weeks ago, a letter to the editor in our local paper complained about an article mentioning how much money the teachers' union had spent fighting a couple of ballot measures. The writer said, basically, that the union money should have been spent on schools instead, and added a catty comment at the end. It got my goat, as every year for the past three years, I go to work hearing about more cuts coming, the possibility of layoffs, the constant requests to do more with less. And every year, the union backs us up. We have consistently voted to take unpaid furlough days, to give up our cost of living increases, etc., so that staff doesn't get laid off. So, with my britches firmly twisted, I wrote the following:

"...As a teacher and member of the union, I would like to point out that the money spent on the ballot measures was not money that would otherwise have gone into the schools. That money came not from the state or the taxpayers at large, but from union members' dues and donations.


At a time where teachers are being laid off by the thousands, it's ludicrous to think that we should also take money out of our own (already paltry, even before you factor in that many of us have given up raises or even cost of living increases) paychecks in order to pay for our own jobs.


It is not the union's job to pay for education, it is the union's job to advocate for teachers, who in turn advocate for their students. As noted on their website, the purpose of the Oregon Education Association is to "assure quality public education for every student in Oregon by providing a strong, positive voice for school employees." I pay dues to a union and vote on how I want that money spent so that they can fight for me, to pay for my salary, for my supplies, for assistants, for equipment. In turn, here's who I fight for in my job in early intervention/early childhood special education: the 4-year-old who has been in six foster homes in six months. The toddler who was born prematurely and had a brain bleed. The preschooler who can't talk, but whose family's insurance covers exactly two private speech therapy sessions. The baby adopted from an orphanage where she was never held, never allowed to learn to crawl.


I dream of the day when our culture values education half as much as we like to say we do. Until then, I will go to work for these kids each day--hoping for my sake, and for the sake of the families I serve--that this is not the year I get laid off. "

Now. I am certainly not saying that the union is the solution to all of education's problems, nor am I saying that it doesn't have its own problems. I'm just saying that the lack of funding in our schools is not the union's fault, nor is it the union's responsibility to repair it. Do I sound a little defensive? Lemme 'splain some more.

So, my letter wasn't published in last week's paper, but I received an e-mail telling me I could post it on the on-line editorial page of the paper. Which I'd considered doing, but then, you know, life happened, and it slipped to the back of my mind. Until I received an e-mail on Thursday morning from a co-worker saying, "What a firestorm you started! The vitriolic loons are out in full force!" He was gleeful. I...not so much. I went online, and sure enough, there was my letter, complete with my full name, and approximately 55 comments in response, most in varying degrees of Disgust, with some Crazysauce on the side. These people--and "vitriolic loons" is an accurate moniker--were cloaked in the anonymity of the internet and from behind their pseudonyms, they had no trouble addressing me by name and explaining just how wrong, dumb, misguided, and selfish I was.

To be fair, I only read through the first 15 or so comments. I stopped, because I was having a really visceral reaction to the responses. I was trembling, my pulse rate had quickened, and I felt sick to my stomach. It's possible that the last 40 comments were rallying in my favor (there was one very nice person who came to my defense many times in the initial comments to refute points and tell me not to listen to the "crazy old codgers who have nothing better to do than attack people." I love this person.), but I couldn't read any more.

Now, no-one threatened my life or even called me a bad name (directly...). As internet trolls go, these were pretty mild ("crazy old codgers," remember?), and I was a little taken aback at how taken aback I was. I think that part of it was the shock, in that I hadn't submitted my letter and so wasn't prepared for this. Also, I was especially ooked out by those commenters who used my name ("Ms Falling, sweetie, it IS taxpayer money...my taxes pay your salary!" I guess by that measure, she also pays for my groceries and I should check with her before buying the creamy Skippy, huh?). It was a submission requirement to include my full name, but if the letter had been published in the paper, a) people could have sworn at me from the privacy of their kitchen tables where I couldn't hear it, b) anyone who wanted to write back to me in the paper would also have to give their name, and c) it would have been out there temporarily, to be shredded or recycled or used to line the birdcage. Instead, my name now languishes in the netherworld of internet archives while crazies with poorly phonetically-spelled pseudonyms use it to chastise me roundly.

But, still. It was nothing, not compared to what lots of bloggers get every day. And yet, it was so upsetting to me...I thought about it later that day, and while my first reaction was an overwhelming sympathy for celebrities ("leave Britney alone!"), I also realized that I should, as a dear friend once put it, "cowboy the fuck up" and own what I said. Did I believe it? Yes. Do I still stand by it? Yes. So what if some people disagree? And, according to a friend who read the rest of the comments, it wasn't even that many people that disagreed with me, per se, it became an argument among the commenters fighting with each other over issues that neither the original letter writer nor I had even brought up.

So why am I having such a hard time finding my big girl panties about this?

Well, remember the approval junkie thing? There's that, for sure. Big time. And also? I'm easily intimidated by bullies, which makes sense for a kid who was a geek (and I mean a geek like the Geek in 16 Candles, before being a geek was cool). And, and, and...I just really think I'm right, I guess. It's not that I don't see the problems in powerful unions throwing their weight around. Or in tenured burnouts. But our society's priorities are so effed up, and we keep cutting education funding and teachers are getting laid off around the country by the hundreds of thousands. And yes, schools and teachers are "failing" according to the ridiculousness that is No Child Left Behind, but that doesn't automatically equal lazy, over-paid teachers. And while there are numerous faults in our educational system, it is what we've got to work with right now, and while I'd love to hear about an overhaul, I can't get behind just chipping away at it and still expecting results. And if we're willing to spend billions of dollars to fight wars that many Americans think we shouldn't have gotten into, then we have to be willing to spend a fraction of that on our kids' education, which everyone likes to spout off about during elections, but no-one likes to actually FREAKING PAY FOR.

Hey, who left this soapbox here? And what's all this foamy white stuff around my mouth?

Anyway, I've decided not to go back to the page and read any more comments from the loonies, even though this means I might miss some supportive comments. I want to be the kind of person who is comfortable taking a stand, hearing reasonable opposition, and dismissing the rest. You know, without peeing on myself. So I'm taking the small step of resisting the temptation to go back out there and debate/defend myself to my detractors. I'm also trying not to listen to the voice that says, "We'll just never speak up again, and that way everyone will like us, right (nervous laugh)?" I want to speak up again, if the situation requires it. It is ridiculous to be willing to be a bad-ass only in like-minded company. I'd like to be a bad-ass wherever I go, please.

You know, if that's all right with you.