My Kids and Governor Walker

Outside Wisconsin's Capitol

In 1992, our school held a mock election. All the students voted, and some got to be poll workers. The newspaper sent a reporter who asked the obvious question of all the middle schoolers, the one forbidden at the actual polls because an adult's vote is private and discussing politics is impolite. "Who did you vote for? Why?"

My answers, in 1992: "George Bush!" and "Because that's who my parents are voting for!" I remember feeling proud to support who my mom and dad supported, to be able to put my affection for them into action.

Our middle school predicted a close Bush win. We were... incorrect. Wisconsin broke for Bill Clinton, 41% to 37% (that was the Ross Perot year, remember), and our county gave Mr. Clinton an even bigger margin. But the loss didn't sting too terribly. I was only twelve.

Twenty-four years later, my wife and I took our kids to tour the State Capitol in Madison. Before you assume we're some civic-minded uber-parents, we chose Madison for a quick family trip because, in order, it has a nice zoo (that's free), I found an incredible deal on a fancy hotel with a pool, and my wife REALLY likes farmer's markets (Madison has a big one). The capital was fourth on the list, tops.

In the Assembly chambers

In the car on the drive down, I angled the mirror so I could see my children in the back seat. "Hey," I said. "When we're in the capitol, you can't say anything bad about Scott Walker."

"Why?" my son asked.

"Because he's the governor, and we have to respect him."

"But dad, what about..."

And then my son proceeded to recount all the of grievances I have with Governor Walker, shared over the dinner table and overheard in conversations with my wife since 2010. I've learned to loathe arguing politics with friends and strangers, but I can't tell this story without sharing a few of my views here. I'm not a Scott Walker fan. I'm a public school teacher. I signed the recall petition. My disagreements with him are the same as anyone else who disagrees with him, from Act 10 and the union thing to state natural resources to actions I perceive as unfair and underhanded, especially against those who don't agree with Governor Walker.

The Governor's conference room

I don't know how my parents felt when I told the newspaper I voted for Bush, but when my son recited all the reasons why "we" don't like Scott Walker, I felt anxiety, not pride. Eight-year-olds aren't capable of considering both sides of political issues and using their values to choose candidates who they feel best represent them. The boy has my values and beliefs and representatives, wholesale, and maybe those will be fine-enough placeholders until he has the critical thinking abilities necessary to make his own decisions. Or maybe I just brainwashed another thoughtless American voter, like those people who can't even name their representatives but who get spitting-mad at every moron on Facebook who dares have a different view on politics than they do.

The best antidote I could come up with as a I sat in the car was to teach my progeny who our representatives are, quick.

On the capitol dome observation deck

"Listen," I said, "you need to know who our representatives are. Our Assembly person is Dana Wachs. Think about this way - I have a cousin named Dana, and when our representative needs fresh air, he walks. Dana Wachs. Got it?"

"Yep."

"And our Senator is Kathleen Vinehout. You have an aunt Kathy, so Kathleen. And then, think vines, like in the garden. They're outside. They're out. Kathleen Vinehout. Can you remember that?"

"Sure."

"Okay. So who's our Assemblyman?"

"No idea."

"Our Senator?"

"Not a clue."

Overlooking the rotunda

We arrived at the capitol, and the size of the building awed the kids, almost as much as the revolving doors (we don't have any of those in Eau Claire). My cousin's fiancee works for one of the Assembly people, so he gave us a fascinating tour. The children sat in the Governor's chair in the Governor's conference room, and in the Speaker's chair in the Assembly chambers, a privilege earned only by invitation from a government official or staff person. We climbed up into the dome, and heard the stories behind the paintings. My son and daughter paid attention for fifty times longer than they pay attention to anything that isn't associated with Lego Ninjago.

I hope my kids grow up to believe what I believe, but I hope even more that I figure out how to respect their beliefs and values if they don't. Until we find out which way they fall, I will do my best to help them understand what "bicameral" means, and how the Supreme Court works, state and federal, and I promise, Mr. Kind and Mr. Johnson and Ms. Baldwin, I will come up with fun associations to help them learn your names, too.

My son's favorite part of the weekend, even more than the zoo and pool and pizza in the hotel room, was the tour. My daughter's was the capitol's revolving doors. For now, that's close enough.

MFA Take-Aways

My masters dorm room

Some people say earning an MFA is a necessary part of pursuing writing as a profession. The practice and study facilitated by a university will provide significantly better results than any programs of improvement writers might try to accomplish on their own. An MFA proves the seriousness of a developing writer’s intentions and dedication.

Other people think that’s all a bunch of crap. Many legendary writers achieved notoriety without earning a masters’ degree, and the MFA industry exists because it makes a ton of money for universities. Writing skill can’t really be taught.

I just started an MFA program, so you can probably guess where I fall.

During the first residency of my low-residency program, I learned things. Maybe those things aren’t especially unique or profound, but my newfound understanding of them is.

Beardedus Emerging Writerus, in the wild with family unit

1. There is a taxonomy of people you meet when you become a writer. We shouldn’t stereotype, but the categories are so gosh-darn apparent. For example, one phylum under the kingdom of Writer is the Late Career Writer, which encompasses the classes of Pre- and Post-Retirement Writers, which are further subdivided into genera including Memoir Writers, Lyric Poets, and Perpetual Students. The Undergrad phylum tends to be a little less complicated, until we start to try to classify young sci-fi and fantasy writers. Modern science would struggle to arrange that family.

I am kingdom Writer, phylum Mid-Career, class Literary Fiction, order Family Man, family Public School Teacher, genus Midwestern, species Bearded. In my MFA class, there is another specimen exactly like me.

2. I am a big sucker for author success stories, even though I hate them. Twitter and numerous blogs (Michelle Hauck’s, for example) attract a respectable readership by relating the stories of how published authors earned their agents and success. An MFA program inevitably features many of these stories as well, from the staff and the visiting authors. These stories are not meant to be formulas. Instead, these stories are shared so aspiring writers can mine them for advice. If they ever find themselves in some semi-similar situation, they can learn from what others have tried.

But that is really hard. Others’ success stories are like paths through the desert in a sandstorm. No one can follow anyone else’s paths, but many still try to. I still try to. I learned that I need to look up from the sand, focus on the destination, and try to see my own path. In a sandstorm. Good luck.

3. Rejection is really, honestly, actually a part of a writer’s life. I’ve grappled with this lesson before, but the MFA experience helped solidify it. One of the visiting authors was Jacob Appel, a novelist and short story writer and all-around brilliant human being. He has had over 200 short stories published in prestigious literary journals. In pursuing those publications, he has amassed over 21,000 rejections.

He told this story, which I still can’t wrap my brain around. He entered and won the Boston Review Short Story Contest, an enviable award that involved the magazine flying him to Boston, a big cash prize, and muchos prestige. The story he won the contest with had been rejected seventy-five times previous, including a rejection from… wait for it… the Boston Review.

There is no such thing as too much rejection.

4. Everything I need to know about writing I learned in 9^th grade. In our workshops, we discussed character, and point of view, and the plot curve. An accomplished travel writer and journalist (Greg Breining) talked about organizing nonfiction, where he cited the five-paragraph essay as a solid organizational strategy.

I’ve taught ninth-graders, and I can assure you, not one of them is ready to publish a novel or write for the Star-Tribune, so I’m not trying to imply that I already know everything, and that the instructors did a poor job. But… we all already know the tenets of good writing. Studying those basics, understanding them more deeply, and learning to manipulate them in increasingly complex and effective ways, that is how we will become better writers.

5. The Secret of Good Writing. I had hoped on the last night of the residency, our mentors would don robes and, in an ancient ceremony, deliver the secrets of quality writing. But that’s not how this works.

Writing is like playing the guitar. You don’t get better at playing the guitar by taking notes on playing the guitar. You get better by practicing, and for a long time it doesn’t feel like you’re making any progress at all, until hundreds of hours and chords and words and sentences later, you start to look like you know what you’re doing. Few argue that taking guitar classes isn't necessary for getting good at the guitar. I won't make that argument for writing, either.