Debbie Duncan

(May 3, 2005) Hear the audio version

When the Salinas City Council voted to close its three public libraries after tax measures failed in November, a firestorm of protest ignited. Shut down the libraries in John Steinbeck’s hometown? Why, that’d be like moving the Golden Gate Bridge to Lake Havasu! Libraries are the heart and soul of a community. And if Salinas, a city of 150,000, can close its libraries, then it could happen anywhere.

Libraries are as basic as tap water. They shouldn’t have to beg for funding, city by city, county by county, year to year, as they do now. Poor communities need libraries even more than wealthy ones – their residents depend on public libraries for books, computers, tutoring and other programs. The Cesar Chavez Public Library in Salinas has a popular after-school homework center. Board up the library, and you know where those kids will be left – the street. How dare we let that happen?

Well, thanks to an outpouring of public support and private donations to the Salinas libraries, it won’t – at least not this year. Cesar Chavez will remain open for a grand total of 10 hours a week. The library named after native son Steinbeck only eight. Eight hours??? I bet the Governor’s children don’t line up hoping for their library doors to open. So why should the child of a farmworker or a teacher? Is civic responsibility totally a thing of the past?

I sure hope not. I hope the situation in Salinas has sounded alarm bells heard by all. Programs necessary for a civil society demand adequate funding. California should make library funding a state priority along with schools and fire and police, and, I guess, prisons. These basic services should not have to rely on initiatives or special taxes or lobbying or bake sales for their very survival. The people of this state – citizens and immigrants – need our libraries to be open and thriving. Not just my library, but yours and hers and those 100 miles down 101.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(February 2, 2005) Hear the audio version

Today is Groundhog Day. You may have heard already whether Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow when he emerged from his burrow. If he did, legend has it there will be six more weeks of winter weather. If the little critter does not cast a shadow, spring will come early. The notion that weather conditions at the outset of February predict what will follow dates back centuries, to Northern Europe. German immigrants who settled in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania brought the shadow/no shadow custom with them. In 1886 they designated a groundhog named Phil the official prognosticator. A group called the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club vigorously promotes this dubious holiday and contends that Phil, who sees his shadow about 90 percent of the time, has never been wrong.

Out here in California, I don’t need a groundhog to tell me we’re only halfway through winter. My body relies on the sun to set my mood and energy, and alas, el sol is still too low in the sky for my liking. I begin every February wishing I could skip it altogether – the rain, fog, cold. I long to escape to Australia. I diagnosed myself with SAD, or Seasonal Affective Disorder, even before it had a name. It’s a depression that creeps up on me around the end of September and keeps me down until March. I can’t stop it, even when I know it’s coming. What I can do is stand in front of my “full-spectrum light box,” a two-feet long, one foot high bank of bright lights I have perched on my kitchen counter every morning. People come into my house and ask, “What the heck is that?” and I tell them it’s drug-free therapy for my winter blues. It’s probably also cheaper than Prozac.

When the sun does come out, I make myself take long walks to soak in as much of it as I can. As winter drags on I also rely on snippets of hope that spring is on its way. My favorite expression of the month is “Pitchers and catchers report to spring training.” I watch for the first wildflowers in the foothills. And I’m grateful that unlike other forms of depression, mine will end with the season. But long after Groundhog Day.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(December 13, 2004) Hear the audio version

What a stressful time of year! Not the holidays – college applications. We boomers who had babies in 1987 are now parents of 17-year-olds who all seem to be applying to the same 200 selective colleges and universities. In Palo Alto, where a 4.04 weighted GPA is only in the top 30% of the class, it’s the same 20 schools. And to be successful, word has it that an applicant must have good – make that great – grades in difficult classes, including several Advanced Placement courses; solid scores on SAT’s; passionate, deep involvement in more than one activity; a talent or special skill that will stand out from the pack; plenty of community service “hours”; and, preferably, work experience. This, not in a lifetime but before the age of 18. And before tackling the actual college applications, including those critical essays.

The stress my daughter is feeling now comes from her cutthroat environment, not from her dad and me. And that’s where our family separates from the pack. We don’t care where she goes. Almost any college in the country has more to teach than any student can learn in four years. She has friends whose parents insist they apply to the Ivy League, or Stanford or Cal. Many families in the Bay Area “outsource” the college application process to high-priced independent counselors, hoping that will give their children an edge. But I don’t want someone telling my daughter where to find her passions or what to write about in her essays. I’d like her to figure that out for herself. And I have good news for parents whose instinct is to resist packaging: my oldest followed her own path in high school, and is now a sophomore at the only university she applied to. Her sister, who still has 19 schools on her list, spent more than a month crafting a fresh, original personal statement she has every reason to be proud of. I’m content to sit on the sidelines and offer help when asked. And ask she does, for this crazy process has actually brought us closer. After she filed her UC application from the kitchen computer, she invited me to lunch.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(August 18, 2004) Hear the audio version

My friend Molly was the first to use the new ATM at the bank next door to our office in 1979. “It’s so cool,” she said. “You almost feel like you don’t have to record it in your checkbook!” For 25 years I’ve appreciated the convenience of being able to get cash on Saturday mornings for the farmers market, and deposit checks without standing in a teller line. The ATM worked wonderfully ­ until the bank installed new, touchscreen models. Last week the machine took my deposit envelope and then wrote on the screen: “Your request cannot be processed at this time.” No receipt, no money, no nothin’. Fortunately the bank was open. Unfortunately, it is against federal law for the teller to retrieve the envelope and return it to me, or deposit it in my account. Two days, two visits to the branch, and four hours on the phone to customer service later, I was granted “provisional credit.” The head teller’s advice? “Don’t use the ATM. This happens randomly, at least once a week.”

Oh, dear. Touchscreen ATM’s are related to touchscreen voting machines, which, in an over-reaction to the hanging chad fiasco in Florida, will be inaugurated en masse across the nation in arguably the most important election of our time. Will random voters this November 2 see “Your vote cannot be processed” on their touchscreen voting machines? Or “This ballot is provisional pending an investigation?” Bravo to Secretary of State Kevin Shelley for insisting on corrections to the security of electronic voting machines in California, and for requiring polling places to offer a paper ballot alternative. Florida’s Governor Jeb Bush apparently has no qualms about the technology, despite computer crashes and lost – then found – discs from the 2002 gubernatorial primary, and his own party’s recommendation that Republicans vote absentee.

My bank sent a letter informing me that “a hardware failure occurred during (my) transaction.” No kidding. So I’m going back to banking the old-fashioned way: with a teller. And I’ll be casting my ballot the old-fashioned way, too: on paper. Isn’t progress wonderful?

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(July 6, 2004) 

I must confess I wasn’t thrilled when my 17-year-old daughter recently announced she was going vegan—that is, eat only plant-based foods. This is a child who decided in kindergarten that she wouldn’t eat meat, but she’s never especially cared for vegetables. For years it seemed she lived on cheddar cheese, sourdough bread, applesauce and plain chow mein. I asked her how she planned to get protein. “Nuts, tofu and soy milk,” she said. She promised to take her vitamins. Then she cheerfully went off to the grocery store, and I decided our family of five is themost difficult to feed. 

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Because I had known young women with eating disorders who had grown up with mothers obsessed with food and body weight, I had decided that food wouldn’t be an issue in our house. That worked, until my youngest was diagnosed 12 years ago at age 20 months with a gluten intolerance. Food suddenly became a huge deal, as wheat, barley and rye (mostly wheat) had given her a severe case of malnutrition.

I learned to cook gluten-free. And vegetarian, as one by one my three daughters gave up meat. I stopped eating it too. But when my husband was recovering from a bleeding ulcer, he had to load up on beef. So he started making most of his own meals. Then his doctor wanted him to go light on the carbs. And now our oldest has gone gluten-free, even though her symptoms aren’t as nasty as her sister’s.

We don’t get invited out anymore.

Our refrigerator doesn’t have room for seven different kinds of milk.

And yet . . . bumping into each other in the kitchen as we prepare three, or perhaps four or five dinner entrees has its advantages over the old query, “What’s for dinner, Mom?” I’m glad my kids know how to feed themselves. And while we’re clearly pretty far out there on the fussy-eater spectrum, I bet it’s unusual, especially in this season of Atkins and South Beach diets, for a family of five not to have any dietary restrictions. Those who do are welcome at our dinner table any time.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(December 8, 2003) Hear the audio version

My 13-year-old daughter nearly died of malnutrition before she was two. She looked like a starving baby on the Nightly News: bloated tummy, stick legs, blank facial expression. After watching our child waste away even after 54 doctor visits, three hospitalizations and 17 blood tests, we heard from a friend down in Southern California about gluten intolerance. I mentioned it to our doctor-of-the day, and for the first time a physician stepped back and looked at our child instead of her chart. “You know what?” he said. “She does look like a sprue kid.” Bingo! Five days later she was diagnosed with celiac disease, sometimes called celiac sprue. All she needed was a diet free of the gluten in wheat, barley and rye. 

I wish I could say that delayed diagnoses such as my daughter’s went out with the 20th century. Sadly, that’s not so. Most physicians still believe celiac disease is rare, when in fact research confirms an incidence in this country of one out of every 133 people. It is a chronic, genetic autoimmune disease that can show up at any age. Doctors have been taught it’s difficult to diagnose because not all celiacs have obvious gastrointestinal symptoms. Some are just horribly fatigued, or short in stature. But a simple blood test for celiac antibodies is a safe and accurate screening device, and should always be considered for patients with a bloated stomach and signs of malnutrition. Last week I met a newly diagnosed teenage celiac who looked like a concentration camp victim. It had taken her more than six weeks to be referred to a gastroenterologist, who tested her immediately.

Of course there are physicians who diagnose celiac disease even before their patients become seriously ill. But when doctors don’t consider it, then we as patients and parents need to insist on the screening test if we suspect gluten intolerance. Untreated celiac disease not only makes a person feel crummy, it can also lead to diabetes and other autoimmune diseases, as well as cancer. People deserve to know if their food is poisoning them.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(November 18, 2002) Hear the audio version

This month Stanford and Yale took a bold step forward in the college admissions game by abandoning their Early Decision programs, which require students who apply in November and are accepted in December to attend those universities. Beginning next year, students applying early to Stanford and Yale will still find out in December if they’ve been admitted, but they’ll be allowed to apply to other colleges, and won’t have to decide which school they will attend until May.

Any parent of a college-bound high school senior knows all too well the tremendous pressures these kids are facing. Early Decision offers students who know – or who think they know – precisely which college is right for them the chance to apply early, find out early, and coast the rest of senior year – if they get in. Savvy students and their parents, as well as college counselors at privileged high schools also figured out a few years ago that applying Early Decision gave a student better odds, sometimes much better odds, of admission. So what’s wrong with that? Not everyone has in-the-know parents or counselors, and many, perhaps even most applicants need to compare financial aid offers. The policy is, in a word, unfair.

Early Decision helps colleges increase their yield rates, or percentage of admitted students who enroll. That makes them look better in those all-important rankings. But it also has increased the panic rates among students, some as young as 16 who feel compelled to make decisions they should not be asked to make yet. Junior year is stressful enough without having it be the last year of grades that count for college admissions. Students denied admission in Early Decision are understandably devastated, then must turn around and scurry to meet other application deadlines. And why are elite colleges encouraging senior slump to start before Christmas? Let these kids grow up – learn a little more in school and about themselves and what their goals are for the next four years. They’ll make better choices, and make better college students wherever they decide to go.

So I applaud the decision by Stanford and Yale, and hope other schools soon follow their lead. And this Stanford grad thanks the University of California for never bowing to Early Decision in the first place.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

P.S. Nevertheless, my daughter Jennifer applied Early Decision to New York University last week. She is sure that’s where she wants to go to college, and she, uh, has in-the-know parents. As I said, it’s unfair, but she’d be stupid not to go for it knowing what she knows.

(October 9, 2002) Hear the audio version

This Saturday my daughter will be one of thousands of Bay Area high school seniors sitting down to take a three-hour test that may very well determine where they will go to college. The SAT is alive and well and influential as ever, even after the University of California threatened to drop it. That probably won’t happen, because the College Board, which owns, operates, and promotes the SAT, not wanting to lose the largest single recipient of SAT scores, listened to UC System President Atkinson’s criticisms and will be eliminating analogies and adding a writing sample for students beginning with the high school class of 2006 – plenty of time, the Princeton Review boasts, to develop a test-prep curriculum.

The SAT is like socialism – fine in theory, not so good in practice. I can understand why college admissions officers would like to know how well their applicants perform on a standard test taken by all students. Fair enough. But the reality is that the SAT is not fair, and I’m not just talking about the test questions themselves, which have been criticized as biased. I’m referring to access-access to pricey test-prep classes that teach the “secrets” of the SAT, or to the wide variety of “services” offered by the College Board. Want to see your scores a week early? That’ll be $13 – have a major credit card handy. Need to rush your scores to colleges and scholarship programs in time to meet fall deadlines? That’ll be $20, plus $6.50 for each report. Think the computer made a mistake scoring your test? (You mean that’s a possibility???) Fork over $25 for to have it hand-scored. You can also pay $12 to see a copy of the test you took – helpful before taking another $26 SAT.

But you’d better sign up early, or risk being assigned to a test center 20 or 30 miles from home. While you’re at it, hope you don’t get a proctor like my daughter had last spring, who didn’t explain the instructions and told one girl to take the test while perched on a stool. That is not fair.

I applaud the growing list of colleges and universities that have made the SAT optional. I hope the University of California continues to consider it, or at least give more weight to fairer measures of aptitude and potential.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(July 17, 2002)

As a parent of a 17-year-old who attends a viciously competitive Peninsula public high school, I know all too well how high the college admissions bar has been raised. The stat’s are scary. Take UCLA, where the average high school GPA for students admitted to this fall’s freshman class was 4.23, when honors and AP classes are graded on a five-point scale. At Berkeley it’s 4.18. Stanford could have filled its freshman class five times over with students who had GPAs of 4.0 and higher. When top-tier schools are this picky, the bubble of applicants gets pushed down and other, formerly less selective colleges become much more difficult to get into as well.

An article in the New York Times more than a year ago noted that some colleges are realizing they’ve inherited a generation of burned-out young people. Still, their admissions offices continue to tell students to take as rigorous a high school curriculum as possible, which means loading up on honors and AP classes. (That is, of course, how students get above a 4.0.) They are also expected to excel outside the classroom – sports, music, community service – which takes time, and get good scores on SATs, which requires preparation. No wonder these teenagers suffer from sleep deprivation, caffeine overload, and stress-related illnesses during the school year.

And are they getting a break this summer? Not likely. Some are off on expensive “save the world” resume-building programs. Others have signed up for almost-as-pricey SAT prep classes. My daughter and many of her friends are taking a required senior course, Economics, in summer school so they’ll have more time to tackle those honors classes and college applications come fall. She is also taking an evening photography class at the community college. The school she’s most interested in specifically recommends enrolling in a college course the summer between junior and senior years. But more than that, this class allows her to pursue her passion for photography. Passion doesn’t show up on those University of California GPA and SAT charts, but for me, it’s what I want most to see in my daughter, and what I hope will survive through this crazy college application year.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.

(December 10, 2001)

I’m having a really hard time getting into the Christmas spirit. Usually I haul out the Christmas CDs and decorations the day after Thanksgiving, but this year I just couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. I especially wasn’t ready for Christmas shopping. The ads, the catalogs, the displays in stores I could not avoid were from a different world, a pre-September 11th world. Hadn’t anyone been paying attention? Thousands of people died that day merely because they went to work in a certain building, or boarded a certain airplane, or tried to rescue others. Landmarks collapsed that Tuesday along with the sacrosanct notion that we here in America were safe from foreign attack. As much as I look back on last summer with wistfulness and nostalgia, there’s no going back to that time. I can’t. I won’t. I shouldn’t.

Our lives must change, or we will fail to honor those who died on September 11th. Rampant consumerism isn’t patriotic, it’s irrelevant. What better time than these December holidays to think about what’s really important – life, family, friends, love. Safe journeys. A song. A touch. A new year beginning January 1st, and with it prayers for an end to fear at home and war abroad.

I’m not proposing abandoning gift-giving entirely this year, but I am suggesting we think seriously how to make it appropriate to the world we’re living in today. The immediate impulse of millions after September 11th was to give to those in need, and we all know that giving is good for the giver as well as the receiver. Let’s marry gift-giving to the great American traditions of philanthropy and voluntarism. Yesterday my 16-year-old daughter brought home two cards from the Giving Tree at her high school. She’ll be buying a jacket for a five-year-old and a toy car for a six-year-old – Bay Area children who want and need those items more than I need a new sweater. That’s the spirit.

With a Perspective, I’m Debbie Duncan.