Those as Can, Do (and Should Teach)

Tea: Vanilla Lapsang

Music: Lynyrd Skynyrd, "Gimme Three Steps"

Time: Night.

Third Friday means hanging out with artists, which invariably means good conversation.

Tonight, I was at a reception, talking with an artist acquaintance who teaches at an area high school. He was bemoaning the fact that too many times, people who teach art at that level aren't producing artists themselves.

A writer friend has said the same thing for years, under another paw. He contends that to teach writing in high school, one should be a producing writer.

Granted, that is the case sometimes. There are artists who teach, writers who teach, directors and actors and techs who teach. And when that happens, it's a good thing.

But that should be the norm. Education should be a minor, not a major, in every case. Focus on expertise in the core subject, and it will be easier to teach it. And if someone knows the material-- has lived the material -- and can communicate it, why keep him or her from teaching?

In too many cases, though, the education degree is paramount -- and it shouldn't be. Would you rather have your kids learning from people who know how to do the work, or from people who have spent most of their undergraduate lives learning educational theory (much of which seems dedicated to the modern-day cult of self esteem)?

I'd better stop here. That last parenthetical could lead to a much longer rant, and it's late.

Tonight's scary story: Lafcadio Hearn, "The Corpse-Demon"

Cup XXX: A Plastic Bottle of Parenthood Lite

Tea: Moroccan Rose/Mint

Music: Bobby Vee, "Take Good Care of My Baby"

Time: Night

There's a "baby" "sleeping" in the living room. I put both words in quotation marks because the object in question only simulates a dozing infant. The teenager sleeping in the living room is real enough, though.

The high school junior has brought home a "RealCare Baby" as part of her Child Development class. She's supposed to take care of it overnight -- responding to its programmed cries by (a) rocking it, (b) "feeding" it, (c) "changing" its diaper or (d) "burping" it, and not by (e) ignoring it or (f) doing bad things to it.

An array of sensors inside the "baby" record her actions -- the daughter's, not the "baby's." This is designed to protect the "baby" not only from abuse or neglect by its "parent," but from acts of outright sabotage by -- in this case -- the freshman "uncle" and the eighth grade "aunt."

(I'm supposed to say "she," not "it," for the pretend baby, which the daughter (following directions) has named "Hayley Joy." It's supposed to aid with bonding.)

The whole purpose of the assignment is to get teens to see that being a parent isn't glamorous. That's an admirable goal, but a misguided approach. Anyone can spend one night with a doll, even a cranky one, without it being a life-changing experience.

Well, almost everyone. The same friend who brought my youngest to New York and called her "child of my deepest heart" gleefully admits that RealCare Baby would have fared horribly on her watch.

"I would have found a great t-shirt for it every day, though, before it starved to death," she said.

But this isn't a realistic picture of single parenthood. It's Parenthood Lite.

This "baby" doesn't projectile vomit. It doesn't let fly with another load of sticky, foul-smelling toxic waste while you're changing its diaper. It doesn't develop colic and cry for hours on end. It doesn't leave you wondering how you're going to afford to keep it fed and clothed and healthy.

And let me repeat this: She only has it for one night.

It's not the first night at home with a new baby that threatens to devolve into madness. It's the fourth straight night with inexplicable screaming jags at 2 a.m. It's the gigantic glob of spit-up on the shoulder of a new shirt. It's the inevitable "It's your turn" arguments.

When schools figure out a way to simulate that, then perhaps bringing home a "baby" will provide a real, lasting lesson. As it is, it's just one more chant in a long litany of "If you pretend to be pregnant/homeless/a minority for a day, you will know what it is to be pregnant/homeless/a minority" foolishness.

You know who's learned the biggest lesson from RealCare Baby? The people who make it. They've figured out that no matter what you charge for a bad idea, you can get school boards to spend tax dollars (that's your money and mine, folks) on it if you can bamboozle them into thinking it's "good for the children."

Flawed (and expensive) though the assignment is, my daughter's taking it as seriously as she can. That's more a credit to her than to the concept. Even if she'd never held a RealCare Baby, when the time comes she'll do just fine taking care of a real baby.

Tonight's spooky story:

Frank R. Stockton, "The Bishop's Ghost and the Printer's Baby"