Not Much Just Chillin'

Possibly the best line in this book about "the hidden lives of middle schoolers" is: "Somebody stole my agenda," they tell [the principal] when they lose it, as if this is an item with potential black-market value." This so captures the self-centered yet disorganized culture of middle school, complete with the paranoia that everyone is out to get them and that they are not responsible for anything that goes astray or wrong. Not much just chillin', Linda Perlstein's study of a particular middle school in Maryland during these early aughts, is not for the fainthearted. In fact, it might not even be for the parents of a middle school student (too stressful!) but it definitely helps for teachers to read it. Some of the lessons to be drawn, as she follows a handful of kids through the year, are obvious (disorganization, peer pressure, hormone freak-outs), but others are more unexpected. We see how the curriculum itself does a disservice to the kids it is meant to reach. This is only becoming more so, with the pressure from above for a school to do well on standardized tests. Middle school kids are naturally curious about the world around them, but usually only as it specifically relates to them. Yet, the curriculum and the short day leave little time for exploration and everyone--teachers, kids, administrators--feel ragged as a result. They feel like they're always playing catch-up or pushing along, even while aware that some are missing the lessons.

In this book, the events of September 11, 2001 leave the teachers unsure how best to handle the day. Many of their students have parents who work in or near the Pentagon, but they are, after all, middle schoolers, somewhere caught between babies and adults. Such an extreme example of the delicate balance faced each day by educators served as a reminder that emotion--usually overdone or seemingly inappropriate to the moment--is forever at the forefront of a kid between the ages of 11 and 14. It was fascinating and disturbing to see how the kids handled the filtering news of that day.

Not that the whole book is despairing, or even vaguely of the "what the heck do we do with these crazy kids" type. These kids were perhaps chosen for their potential, as if Perlstein could see that they would grow up and be stronger people. In spite of the chaos of their home lives or their hormones, these were not all lost kids and it was reassuring to glimpse the future adult in the growing pains these kids go through every day.

Some of the slights they deal with or the academic struggles are painful to read, but there's hope--there's hope that they get from their families, their dedicated teachers, and even the very peers who can't help but torment each other. The only really heartbreaking moment comes from Eric, the bright boy with the most dysfunctional home life, who admits to being too lazy to try for the GT classes he's offered (GT here is translated as gifted and talented, but from what I could tell, it was more of an honors track than truly for the gifted). He's one who's perpetually "just chillin'" though he doesn't feel that he is. When his grades begin to plummet, he says he doesn't care because he knows what he's capable of, it's just that he hates school. He feels like he should be judged on the work he could do, not on whether or not he uses pen to do his homework (which isn't allowed). At one point, when he's fooling around in class and missing the directions, he says to the kid next to him: "I could be in GT." I found that incredibly depressing. The self-delusion is complete at this point and adult readers (and probably all of his classmates) see it for exactly that. It's a depressing fall for a kid with such potential, though Perlstein makes sure to cheer up her readers with an epilogue.

All in all, not much just chillin' is a fascinating, easy to read portrait of a suburban middle school with a healthy cross-section of class and race. While it's short on answers or technical explanations, it is a great reminder of how wonderful this age can be as kids throw off their babyhood to explore their future selves.