BY THE START of my second year in the Senate, my life had settled into amanageable rhythm. I would leave Chicago Monday night or early Tuesday morning,depending on the Senate’s voting schedule. Other than daily trips to the Senate gym andthe rare lunch or dinner with a friend, the next three days would be consumed by apredictable series of tasks—committee markups, votes, caucus1 lunches, floorstatements, speeches, photos with interns2, evening fund-raisers, returning phone calls,writing correspondence, reviewing legislation, drafting op-eds, recording3 podcasts,receiving policy briefings, hosting constituent4 coffees, and attending an endless series ofmeetings. On Thursday afternoon, we would get word from the cloakroom as to whenthe last vote would be, and at the appointed hour I’d line up in the well of the Senatealongside my colleagues to cast my vote, before trotting6 down the Capitol steps in hopesof catching7 a flight that would get me home before the girls went to bed.
Despite the hectic8 schedule, I found the work fascinating, if occasionally frustrating9.
Contrary to popular perceptions, only about two dozen significant bills come up for aroll-call vote on the Senate floor every year, and almost none of those are sponsored bya member of the minority party. As a result, most of my major initiatives—theformation of public school innovation districts, a plan to help U.S. automakers pay fortheir retiree health-care costs in exchange for increased fuel economy standards, anexpansion of the Pell Grant program to help low-income students meet rising collegetuition costs—languished in committee.
On the other hand, thanks to great work by my staff, I managed to get a respectablenumber of amendments11 passed. We helped provide funds for homeless veterans. Weprovided tax credits to gas stations for installing E85 fuel pumps. We obtained fundingto help the World Health Organization monitor and respond to a potential avian flupandemic. We got an amendment10 out of the Senate eliminating no-bid contracts in thepost-Katrina reconstruction12, so more money would actually end up in the hands of thetragedy’s victims. None of these amendments would transform the country, but I tooksatisfaction in knowing that each of them helped some people in a modest way ornudged the law in a direction that might prove to be more economical, moreresponsible, or more just.
One day in February I found myself in particularly good spirits, having just completed ahearing on legislation that Dick Lugar and I were sponsoring aimed at restrictingweapons proliferation and the black-market arms trade. Because Dick was not only theSenate’s leading expert on proliferation issues but also the chairman of the SenateForeign Relations Committee, prospects14 for the bill seemed promising15. Wanting toshare the good news, I called Michelle from my D.C. office and started explaining thesignificance of the bill—how shoulder-to-air missiles could threaten commercial airtravel if they fell into the wrong hands, how small-arms stockpiles left over from theCold War continued to feed conflict across the globe. Michelle cut me off.
“We have ants.”
“Huh?”
“I found ants in the kitchen. And in the bathroom upstairs.”
“Okay…”
“I need you to buy some ant traps on your way home tomorrow. I’d get them myself,but I’ve got to take the girls to their doctor’s appointment after school. Can you do thatfor me?”
“Right. Ant traps.”
“Ant traps. Don’t forget, okay, honey? And buy more than one. Listen, I need to go intoa meeting. Love you.”
I hung up the receiver, wondering if Ted5 Kennedy or John McCain bought ant traps onthe way home from work.
MOST PEOPLE WHO meet my wife quickly conclude that she is remarkable16. They areright about this—she is smart, funny, and thoroughly17 charming. She is also verybeautiful, although not in a way that men find intimidating18 or women find off-putting; itis the lived-in beauty of the mother and busy professional rather than the touched-upimage we see on the cover of glossy19 magazines. Often, after hearing her speak at somefunction or working with her on a project, people will approach me and say somethingto the effect of “You know I think the world of you, Barack, but your wife…wow!” Inod, knowing that if I ever had to run against her for public office, she would beat mewithout much difficulty.
Fortunately for me, Michelle would never go into politics. “I don’t have the patience,”
she says to people who ask. As is always the case, she is telling the truth.
I met Michelle in the summer of 1988, while we were both working at Sidley & Austin,a large corporate20 law firm based in Chicago. Although she is three years younger thanme, Michelle was already a practicing lawyer, having attended Harvard Law straight outof college. I had just finished my first year at law school and had been hired as asummer associate.
It was a difficult, transitional period in my life. I had enrolled21 in law school after threeyears of work as a community organizer, and although I enjoyed my studies, I stillharbored doubts about my decision. Privately22, I worried that it represented theabandonment of my youthful ideals, a concession23 to the hard realities of money andpower—the world as it is rather than the world as it should be.
The idea of working at a corporate law firm, so near and yet so far removed from thepoor neighborhoods where my friends were still laboring24, only worsened these fears.
But with student loans rapidly mounting, I was in no position to turn down the threemonths of salary Sidley was offering. And so, having sublet25 the cheapest apartment Icould find, having purchased the first three suits ever to appear in my closet and a newpair of shoes that turned out to be a half size too small and would absolutely cripple mefor the next nine weeks, I arrived at the firm one drizzly26 morning in early June and wasdirected to the office of the young attorney who’d been assigned to serve as my summeradvisor.
I don’t remember the details of that first conversation with Michelle. I remember thatshe was tall—almost my height in heels—and lovely, with a friendly, professionalmanner that matched her tailored suit and blouse. She explained how work was assignedat the firm, the nature of the various practice groups, and how to log our billable hours.
After showing me my office and giving me a tour of the library, she handed me off toone of the partners and told me that she would meet me for lunch.
Later Michelle would tell me that she had been pleasantly surprised when I walked intoher office; the drugstore snapshot that I’d sent in for the firm directory made my noselook a little big (even more enormous than usual, she might say), and she had beenskeptical when the secretaries who’d seen me during my interview told her I was cute:
“I figured that they were just impressed with any black man with a suit and a job.” Butif Michelle was impressed, she certainly didn’t tip her hand when we went to lunch. Idid learn that she had grown up on the South Side, in a small bungalow28 just north of theneighborhoods where I had organized. Her father was a pump operator for the city; hermother had been a housewife until the kids were grown, and now worked as a secretaryat a bank. She had attended Bryn Mawr Public Elementary School, gotten into WhitneyYoung Magnet School, and followed her brother to Princeton, where he had been a staron the basketball team. At Sidley she was part of the intellectual property group andspecialized in entertainment law; at some point, she said, she might have to considermoving to Los Angeles or New York to pursue her career.
Oh, Michelle was full of plans that day, on the fast track, with no time, she told me, fordistractions—especially men. But she knew how to laugh, brightly and easily, and Inoticed she didn’t seem in too much of a hurry to get back to the office. And there wassomething else, a glimmer29 that danced across her round, dark eyes whenever I looked ather, the slightest hint of uncertainty30, as if, deep inside, she knew how fragile thingsreally were, and that if she ever let go, even for a moment, all her plans might quicklyunravel. That touched me somehow, that trace of vulnerability. I wanted to know thatpart of her.
For the next several weeks, we saw each other every day, in the law library or thecafeteria or at one of the many outings that law firms organize for their summerassociates to convince them that their life in the law will not be endless hours of poringthrough documents. She took me to one or two parties, tactfully overlooking my limitedwardrobe, and even tried to set me up with a couple of her friends. Still, she refused togo out on a proper date. It wasn’t appropriate, she said, since she was my advisor27.
“That’s a poor excuse,” I told her. “Come on, what advice are you giving me? You’reshowing me how the copy machine works. You’re telling me what restaurants to try. Idon’t think the partners will consider one date a serious breach32 of firm policy.”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Okay, I’ll quit. How’s that? You’re my advisor. Tell me who I have to talk to.”
Eventually I wore her down. After a firm picnic, she drove me back to my apartment,and I offered to buy her an ice cream cone33 at the Baskin-Robbins across the street. Wesat on the curb34 and ate our cones35 in the sticky afternoon heat, and I told her aboutworking at Baskin-Robbins when I was a teenager and how it was hard to look cool in abrown apron36 and cap. She told me that for a span of two or three years as a child, shehad refused to eat anything except peanut butter and jelly. I said that I’d like to meet herfamily. She said that she would like that.
I asked if I could kiss her. It tasted of chocolate.
We spent the rest of the summer together. I told her about organizing, and living inIndonesia, and what it was like to bodysurf. She told me about her childhood friends,and a trip to Paris she’d taken in high school, and her favorite Stevie Wonder songs.
But it wasn’t until I met Michelle’s family that I began to understand her. It turned outthat visiting the Robinson household was like dropping in on the set of Leave It toBeaver. There was Frasier, the kindly37, good-humored father, who never missed a day ofwork or any of his son’s ball games. There was Marian, the pretty, sensible mother whobaked birthday cakes, kept order in the house, and had volunteered at school to makesure her children were behaving and that the teachers were doing what they weresupposed to be doing. There was Craig, the basketball-star brother, tall and friendly andcourteous and funny, working as an investment banker but dreaming of going intocoaching someday. And there were uncles and aunts and cousins everywhere, stoppingby to sit around the kitchen table and eat until they burst and tell wild stories and listento Grandpa’s old jazz collection and laugh deep into the night.
All that was missing was the dog. Marian didn’t want a dog tearing up the house.
What made this vision of domestic bliss38 all the more impressive was the fact that theRobinsons had had to overcome hardships that one rarely saw on prime-time TV. Therewere the usual issues of race, of course: the limited opportunities available to Michelle’sparents growing up in Chicago during the fifties and sixties; the racial steering39 andpanic peddling40 that had driven white families away from their neighborhood; the extraenergy required from black parents to compensate41 for smaller incomes and more violentstreets and underfunded playgrounds and indifferent schools.
But there was a more specific tragedy at the center of the Robinson household. At theage of thirty, in the prime of his life, Michelle’s father had been diagnosed with multiplesclerosis. For the next twenty-five years, as his condition steadily42 deteriorated43, he hadcarried out his responsibilities to his family without a trace of self-pity, giving himselfan extra hour every morning to get to work, struggling with every physical act fromdriving a car to buttoning his shirt, smiling and joking as he labored—at first with alimp and eventually with the aid of two canes44, his balding head beading with sweat—across a field to watch his son play, or across the living room to give his daughter a kiss.
After we were married, Michelle would help me understand the hidden toll45 that herfather’s illness had taken on her family; how heavy a burden Michelle’s mother hadbeen forced to carry; how carefully circumscribed46 their lives together had been, witheven the smallest outing carefully planned to avoid problems or awkwardness; howterrifyingly random47 life seemed beneath the smiles and laughter.
But back then I saw only the joy of the Robinson house. For someone like me, who hadbarely known his father, who had spent much of his life traveling from place to place,his bloodlines scattered48 to the four winds, the home that Frasier and Marian Robinsonhad built for themselves and their children stirred a longing49 for stability and a sense ofplace that I had not realized was there. Just as Michelle perhaps saw in me a life ofadventure, risk, travel to exotic lands—a wider horizon than she had previously50 allowedherself.
Six months after Michelle and I met, her father died suddenly of complications after akidney operation. I flew back to Chicago and stood at his gravesite, Michelle’s head onmy shoulder. As the casket was lowered, I promised Frasier Robinson that I would takecare of his girl. I realized that in some unspoken, still tentative way, she and I werealready becoming a family.
THERE’S A LOT of talk these days about the decline of the American family. Socialconservatives claim that the traditional family is under assault from Hollywood moviesand gay pride parades. Liberals point to the economic factors—from stagnating51 wagesto inadequate52 day care—that have put families under increasing duress53. Our popularculture feeds the alarm, with tales of women consigned54 to permanent singlehood, menunwilling to make lasting56 commitments, and teens engaged in endless sexual escapades.
Nothing seems settled, as it was in the past; our roles and relationships all feel up forgrabs.
Given this hand-wringing, it may be helpful to step back and remind ourselves that theinstitution of marriage isn’t disappearing anytime soon. While it’s true that marriagerates have declined steadily since the 1950s, some of the decline is a result of moreAmericans delaying marriage to pursue an education or establish a career; by the age offorty-five, 89 percent of women and 83 percent of men will have tied the knot at leastonce. Married couples continue to head 67 percent of American families, and the vastmajority of Americans still consider marriage to be the best foundation for personalintimacy, economic stability, and child rearing.
Still, there’s no denying that the nature of the family has changed over the last fiftyyears. Although divorce rates have declined by 21 percent since their peak in the lateseventies and early eighties, half of all first marriages still end in divorce. Compared toour grandparents, we’re more tolerant of premarital sex, more likely to cohabit, andmore likely to live alone. We’re also far more likely to be raising children innontraditional households; 60 percent of all divorces involve children, 33 percent of allchildren are born out of wedlock59, and 34 percent of children don’t live with theirbiological fathers.
These trends are particularly acute in the African American community, where it’s fairto say that the nuclear family is on the verge60 of collapse61. Since 1950, the marriage ratefor black women has plummeted62 from 62 percent to 36 percent. Between 1960 and1995, the number of African American children living with two married parentsdropped by more than half; today 54 percent of all African American children live insingle-parent households, compared to about 23 percent of all white children.
For adults, at least, the effect of these changes is a mixed bag. Research suggests that onaverage, married couples live healthier, wealthier, and happier lives, but no one claimsthat men and women benefit from being trapped in bad or abusive marriages. Certainlythe decision of increasing numbers of Americans to delay marriage makes sense; notonly does today’s information economy demand more time in school, but studies showthat couples who wait until their late twenties or thirties to get married are more likelyto stay married than those who marry young.
Whatever the effect on adults, though, these trends haven’t been so good for ourchildren. Many single moms—including the one who raised me—do a heroic job onbehalf of their kids. Still, children living with single mothers are five times more likelyto be poor than children in two-parent households. Children in single-parent homes arealso more likely to drop out of school and become teen parents, even when income isfactored out. And the evidence suggests that on average, children who live with boththeir biological mother and father do better than those who live in stepfamilies or withcohabiting partners.
In light of these facts, policies that strengthen marriage for those who choose it and thatdiscourage unintended births outside of marriage are sensible goals to pursue. Forexample, most people agree that neither federal welfare programs nor the tax codeshould penalize63 married couples; those aspects of welfare reform enacted64 under Clintonand those elements of the Bush tax plan that reduced the marriage penalty enjoy strongbipartisan support.
The same goes for teen pregnancy65 prevention. Everyone agrees that teen pregnanciesplace both mother and child at risk for all sorts of problems. Since 1990, the teenpregnancy rate has dropped by 28 percent, an unadulterated piece of good news. Butteens still account for almost a quarter of out-of-wedlock births, and teen mothers aremore likely to have additional out-of-wedlock births as they get older. Community-based programs that have a proven track record in preventing unwanted pregnancies—both by encouraging abstinence and by promoting the proper use of contraception—deserve broad support.
Finally, preliminary research shows that marriage education workshops can make a realdifference in helping66 married couples stay together and in encouraging unmarriedcouples who are living together to form a more lasting bond. Expanding access to suchservices to low-income couples, perhaps in concert with job training and placement,medical coverage67, and other services already available, should be something everybodycan agree on.
But for many social conservatives, these commonsense68 approaches don’t go far enough.
They want a return to a bygone era, in which sexuality outside of marriage was subjectto both punishment and shame, obtaining a divorce was far more difficult, and marriageoffered not merely personal fulfillment but also well-defined social roles for men andfor women. In their view, any government policy that appears to reward or even expressneutrality toward what they consider to be immoral69 behavior—whether providing birthcontrol to young people, abortion70 services to women, welfare support for unwedmothers, or legal recognition of same-sex unions—inherently devalues the marital58 bond.
Such policies take us one step closer, the argument goes, to a brave new world in whichgender differences have been erased71, sex is purely72 recreational, marriage is disposable,motherhood is an inconvenience, and civilization itself rests on shifting sands.
I understand the impulse to restore a sense of order to a culture that’s constantly in flux73.
And I certainly appreciate the desire of parents to shield their children from values theyconsider unwholesome; it’s a feeling I often share when I listen to the lyrics74 of songs onthe radio.
But all in all, I have little sympathy for those who would enlist75 the government in thetask of enforcing sexual morality. Like most Americans, I consider decisions about sex,marriage, divorce, and childbearing to be highly personal—at the very core of oursystem of individual liberty. Where such personal decisions raise the prospect13 ofsignificant harm to others—as is true with child abuse, incest, bigamy, domesticviolence, or failure to pay child support—society has a right and duty to step in. (Thosewho believe in the personhood of the fetus76 would put abortion in this category.) Beyondthat, I have no interest in seeing the president, Congress, or a government bureaucracyregulating what goes on in America’s bedrooms.
Moreover, I don’t believe we strengthen the family by bullying78 or coercing79 people intothe relationships we think are best for them—or by punishing those who fail to meet ourstandards of sexual propriety80. I want to encourage young people to show morereverence toward sex and intimacy57, and I applaud parents, congregations, andcommunity programs that transmit that message. But I’m not willing to consign55 ateenage girl to a lifetime of struggle because of lack of access to birth control. I wantcouples to understand the value of commitment and the sacrifices marriage entails81. ButI’m not willing to use the force of law to keep couples together regardless of theirpersonal circumstances.
Perhaps I just find the ways of the human heart too various, and my own life tooimperfect, to believe myself qualified82 to serve as anyone’s moral arbiter83. I do know thatin our fourteen years of marriage, Michelle and I have never had an argument as a resultof what other people are doing in their personal lives.
What we have argued about—repeatedly—is how to balance work and family in a waythat’s equitable84 to Michelle and good for our children. We’re not alone in this. In thesixties and early seventies, the household Michelle grew up in was the norm—morethan 70 percent of families had Mom at home and relied on Dad as the solebreadwinner.
Today those numbers are reversed. Seventy percent of families with children are headedby two working parents or a single working parent. The result has been what my policydirector and work-family expert Karen Kornbluh calls “the juggler85 family,” in whichparents struggle to pay the bills, look after their children, maintain a household, andmaintain their relationship. Keeping all these balls in the air takes its toll on family life.
As Karen explained when she was director of the Work and Family Program at the NewAmerica Foundation and testified before the Senate Subcommittee on Children andFamilies:
Americans today have 22 fewer hours a week to spend with their kids than they did in1969. Millions of children are left in unlicensed day care every day—or at home alonewith the TV as a babysitter. Employed mothers lose almost an hour of sleep a day intheir attempt to make it all add up. Recent data show that parents with school agechildren show high signs of stress—stress that has an impact on their productivity andwork—when they have inflexible86 jobs and unstable87 after-school care.
Sound familiar?
Many social conservatives suggest that this flood of women out of the home and intothe workplace is a direct consequence of feminist88 ideology89, and hence can be reversed ifwomen will just come to their senses and return to their traditional homemaking roles.
It’s true that ideas about equality for women have played a critical role in thetransformation of the workplace; in the minds of most Americans, the opportunity forwomen to pursue careers, achieve economic independence, and realize their talents onan equal footing with men has been one of the great achievements of modern life.
But for the average American woman, the decision to work isn’t simply a matter ofchanging attitudes. It’s a matter of making ends meet.
Consider the facts. Over the last thirty years, the average earnings90 of American menhave grown less than 1 percent after being adjusted for inflation. Meanwhile, the cost ofeverything, from housing to health care to education, has steadily risen. What has kept alarge swath of American families from falling out of the middle class has been Mom’spaycheck. In their book The Two-Income Trap, Elizabeth Warren and Amelia Tyagipoint out that the additional income mothers bring home isn’t going to luxury items.
Instead, almost all of it goes to purchase what families believe to be investments in theirchildren’s future—preschool education, college tuition, and most of all, homes in safeneighborhoods with good public schools. In fact, between these fixed91 costs and theadded expenses of a working mother (particularly day care and a second car), theaverage two-income family has less discretionary income—and is less financiallysecure—than its single-earner counterpart thirty years ago.
So is it possible for the average family to return to life on a single income? Not whenevery other family on the block is earning two incomes and bidding up the prices ofhomes, schools, and college tuition. Warren and Tyagi show that an average single-earner family today that tried to maintain a middle-class lifestyle would have 60 percentless discretionary income than its 1970s counterpart. In other words, for most families,having Mom stay at home means living in a less-safe neighborhood and enrolling92 theirchildren in a less-competitive school.
That’s not a choice most Americans are willing to make. Instead they do the best theycan under the circumstances, knowing that the type of household they grew up in—thetype of household in which Frasier and Marian Robinson raised their kids—has becomemuch, much harder to sustain.
BOTH MEN AND women have had to adjust to these new realities. But it’s hard toargue with Michelle when she insists that the burdens of the modern family fall moreheavily on the woman.
For the first few years of our marriage, Michelle and I went through the usualadjustments all couples go through: learning to read each other’s moods, accepting thequirks and habits of a stranger underfoot. Michelle liked to wake up early and couldbarely keep her eyes open after ten o’clock. I was a night owl93 and could be a bit grumpy(mean, Michelle would say) within the first half hour or so of getting out of bed. Partlybecause I was still working on my first book, and perhaps because I had lived much ofmy life as an only child, I would often spend the evening holed up in my office in theback of our railroad apartment; what I considered normal often left Michelle feelinglonely. I invariably left the butter out after breakfast and forgot to twist the little tiearound the bread bag; Michelle could rack up parking tickets like nobody’s business.
Mostly, though, those early years were full of ordinary pleasures—going to movies,having dinner with friends, catching the occasional concert. We were both workinghard: I was practicing law at a small civil rights firm and had started teaching at theUniversity of Chicago Law School, while Michelle had decided94 to leave her lawpractice, first to work in Chicago’s Department of Planning and then to run the Chicagoarm of a national service program called Public Allies. Our time together got squeezedeven more when I ran for the state legislature, but despite my lengthy95 absences and hergeneral dislike of politics, Michelle supported the decision; “I know it’s something thatyou want to do,” she would tell me. On the nights that I was in Springfield, we’d talkand laugh over the phone, sharing the humor and frustrations96 of our days apart, and Iwould fall asleep content in the knowledge of our love.
Then Malia was born, a Fourth of July baby, so calm and so beautiful, with big,hypnotic eyes that seemed to read the world the moment they opened. Malia’s arrivalcame at an ideal time for both of us: Because I was out of session and didn’t have toteach during the summer, I was able to spend every evening at home; meanwhile,Michelle had decided to accept a part-time job at the University of Chicago so she couldspend more time with the baby, and the new job didn’t start until October. For threemagical months the two of us fussed and fretted97 over our new baby, checking the crib tomake sure she was breathing, coaxing98 smiles from her, singing her songs, and taking somany pictures that we started to wonder if we were damaging her eyes. Suddenly ourdifferent biorhythms came in handy: While Michelle got some well-earned sleep, Iwould stay up until one or two in the morning, changing diapers, heating breast milk,feeling my daughter’s soft breath against my chest as I rocked her to sleep, guessing ather infant dreams.
But when fall came—when my classes started back up, the legislature went back intosession, and Michelle went back to work—the strains in our relationship began to show.
I was often gone for three days at a stretch, and even when I was back in Chicago, Imight have evening meetings to attend, or papers to grade, or briefs to write. Michellefound that a part-time job had a funny way of expanding. We found a wonderful in-home babysitter to look after Malia while we were at work, but with a full-timeemployee suddenly on our payroll100, money got tight.
Tired and stressed, we had little time for conversation, much less romance. When Ilaunched my ill-fated congressional run, Michelle put up no pretense101 of being happywith the decision. My failure to clean up the kitchen suddenly became less endearing.
Leaning down to kiss Michelle good-bye in the morning, all I would get was a peck onthe cheek. By the time Sasha was born—just as beautiful, and almost as calm as hersister—my wife’s anger toward me seemed barely contained.
“You only think about yourself,” she would tell me. “I never thought I’d have to raise afamily alone.”
I was stung by such accusations102; I thought she was being unfair. After all, it wasn’t as ifI went carousing104 with the boys every night. I made few demands of Michelle—I didn’texpect her to darn my socks or have dinner waiting for me when I got home. WheneverI could, I pitched in with the kids. All I asked for in return was a little tenderness.
Instead, I found myself subjected to endless negotiations105 about every detail of managingthe house, long lists of things that I needed to do or had forgotten to do, and a generallysour attitude. I reminded Michelle that compared to most families, we were incrediblylucky. I reminded her as well that for all my flaws, I loved her and the girls more thananything else. My love should be enough, I thought. As far as I was concerned, she hadnothing to complain about.
It was only upon reflection, after the trials of those years had passed and the kids hadstarted school, that I began to appreciate what Michelle had been going through at thetime, the struggles so typical of today’s working mother. For no matter how liberated106 Iliked to see myself as—no matter how much I told myself that Michelle and I wereequal partners, and that her dreams and ambitions were as important as my own—thefact was that when children showed up, it was Michelle and not I who was expected tomake the necessary adjustments. Sure, I helped, but it was always on my terms, on myschedule. Meanwhile, she was the one who had to put her career on hold. She was theone who had to make sure that the kids were fed and bathed every night. If Malia orSasha got sick or the babysitter failed to show up, it was she who, more often than not,had to get on the phone to cancel a meeting at work.
It wasn’t just the constant scrambling107 between her work and the children that madeMichelle’s situation so tough. It was also the fact that from her perspective she wasn’tdoing either job well. This was not true, of course; her employers loved her, andeveryone remarked on what a good mother she was. But I came to see that in her ownmind, two visions of herself were at war with each other—the desire to be the womanher mother had been, solid, dependable, making a home and always there for her kids;and the desire to excel in her profession, to make her mark on the world and realize allthose plans she’d had on the very first day that we met.
In the end, I credit Michelle’s strength—her willingness to manage these tensions andmake sacrifices on behalf of myself and the girls—with carrying us through the difficulttimes. But we also had resources at our disposal that many American families don’thave. For starters, Michelle’s and my status as professionals meant that we couldrework our schedules to handle an emergency (or just take a day off) without risk oflosing our jobs. Fifty-seven percent of American workers don’t have that luxury;indeed, most of them can’t take a day off to look after a child without losing pay orusing vacation days. For parents who do try to make their own schedules, flexibilityoften means accepting part-time or temporary work with no career ladder and few or nobenefits.
Michelle and I also had enough income to cover all the services that help ease thepressures of two-earner parenthood: reliable child care, extra babysitting whenever weneeded it, take-out dinners when we had neither the time nor the energy to cook,someone to come in and clean the house once a week, and private preschool andsummer day camp once the kids were old enough. For most American families, suchhelp is financially out of reach. The cost of day care is especially prohibitive; the UnitedStates is practically alone among Western nations in not providing government-subsidized, high-quality day-care services to all its workers.
Finally, Michelle and I had my mother-in-law, who lives only fifteen minutes awayfrom us, in the same house in which Michelle was raised. Marian is in her late sixtiesbut looks ten years younger, and last year, when Michelle went back to full-time99 work,Marian decided to cut her hours at the bank so she could pick up the girls from schooland look after them every afternoon. For many American families, such help is simplyunavailable; in fact, for many families, the situation is reversed—someone in the familyhas to provide care for an aging parent on top of other family responsibilities.
Of course, it’s not possible for the federal government to guarantee each family awonderful, healthy, semiretired mother-in-law who happens to live close by. But ifwe’re serious about family values, then we can put policies in place that make thejuggling of work and parenting a little bit easier. We could start by making high-qualityday care affordable109 for every family that needs it. In contrast to most Europeancountries, day care in the United States is a haphazard110 affair. Improved day-carelicensing and training, an expansion of the federal and state child tax credits, andsliding-scale subsidies111 to families that need them all could provide both middle-classand low-income parents some peace of mind during the workday—and benefitemployers through reduced absenteeism.
It’s also time to redesign our schools—not just for the sake of working parents, but alsoto help prepare our children for a more competitive world. Countless112 studies confirmthe educational benefits of strong preschool programs, which is why even families whohave a parent at home often seek them out. The same goes for longer school days,summer school, and after-school programs. Providing all kids access to these benefitswould cost money, but as part of broader school reform efforts, it’s a cost that we as asociety should be willing to bear.
Most of all, we need to work with employers to increase the flexibility108 of workschedules. The Clinton Administration took a step in this direction with the Family andMedical Leave Act (FMLA), but because it requires only unpaid113 leave and applies onlyto companies with more than fifty employees, most American workers aren’t able totake advantage of it. And although all other wealthy nations but one provide some formof paid parental114 leave, the business community’s resistance to mandated115 paid leave hasbeen fierce, in part because of concerns over how it would affect small businesses.
With a little creativity, we should be able to break this impasse116. California has recentlyinitiated paid leave through its disability insurance fund, thereby117 making sure that thecosts aren’t borne by employers alone.
We can also give parents flexibility to meet their day-to-day needs. Already, manylarger companies offer formal flextime programs and report higher employee moraleand less employee turnover118 as a result. Great Britain has come up with a novel approachto the problem—as part of a highly popular “Work-Life Balance Campaign,” parentswith children under the age of six have the right to file a written request with employersfor a change in their schedule. Employers aren’t required to grant the request, but theyare required to meet with the employee to consider it; so far, one-quarter of all eligibleBritish parents have successfully negotiated more family-friendly hours without a dropin productivity. With a combination of such innovative119 policy making, technicalassistance, and greater public awareness120, government can help businesses to do right bytheir employees at nominal121 expense.
Of course, none of these policies need discourage families from deciding to keep aparent at home, regardless of the financial sacrifices. For some families, that may meandoing without certain material comforts. For others, it may mean home schooling122 or amove to a community where the cost of living is lower. For some families, it may be thefather who stays at home—although for most families it will still be the mother whoserves as the primary caregiver.
Whatever the case may be, such decisions should be honored. If there’s one thing thatsocial conservatives have been right about, it’s that our modern culture sometimes failsto fully31 appreciate the extraordinary emotional and financial contributions—thesacrifices and just plain hard work—of the stay-at-home mom. Where socialconservatives have been wrong is in insisting that this traditional role is innate—the bestor only model of motherhood. I want my daughters to have a choice as to what’s bestfor them and their families. Whether they will have such choices will depend not just ontheir own efforts and attitudes. As Michelle has taught me, it will also depend on men—and American society—respecting and accommodating the choices they make.
“HI, DADDY.”
“Hey, sweetie-pie.”
It’s Friday afternoon and I’m home early to look after the girls while Michelle goes tothe hairdresser. I gather up Malia in a hug and notice a blond girl in our kitchen, peeringat me through a pair of oversized glasses.
“Who’s this?” I ask, setting Malia back on the floor.
“This is Sam. She’s over for a playdate.”
“Hi, Sam.” I offer Sam my hand, and she considers it for a moment before shaking itloosely. Malia rolls her eyes.
“Listen, Daddy…you don’t shake hands with kids.”
“You don’t?”
“No,” Malia says. “Not even teenagers shake hands. You may not have noticed, but thisis the twenty-first century.” Malia looks at Sam, who represses a smirk123.
“So what do you do in the twenty-first century?”
“You just say ‘hey.’ Sometimes you wave. That’s pretty much it.”
“I see. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
Malia smiles. “That’s okay, Daddy. You didn’t know, because you’re used to shakinghands with grown-ups.”
“That’s true. Where’s your sister?”
“She’s upstairs.”
I walk upstairs to find Sasha standing124 in her underwear and a pink top. She pulls medown for a hug and then tells me she can’t find any shorts. I check in the closet and finda pair of blue shorts sitting right on top of her chest of drawers.
“What are these?”
Sasha frowns but reluctantly takes the shorts from me and pulls them on. After a fewminutes, she climbs into my lap.
“These shorts aren’t comfortable, Daddy.”
We go back into Sasha’s closet, open the drawer again, and find another pair of shorts,also blue. “How about these?” I ask.
Sasha frowns again. Standing there, she looks like a three-foot version of her mother.
Malia and Sam walk in to observe the stand-off.
“Sasha doesn’t like either of those shorts,” Malia explains.
I turn to Sasha and ask her why. She looks up at me warily125, taking my measure.
“Pink and blue don’t go together,” she says finally.
Malia and Sam giggle126. I try to look as stern as Michelle might look in suchcircumstances and tell Sasha to put on the shorts. She does what I say, but I realize she’sjust indulging me.
When it comes to my daughters, no one is buying my tough-guy routine.
Like many men today, I grew up without a father in the house. My mother and fatherdivorced when I was only two years old, and for most of my life I knew him onlythrough the letters he sent and the stories my mother and grandparents told. There weremen in my life—a stepfather with whom we lived for four years, and my grandfather,who along with my grandmother helped raise me the rest of the time—and both weregood men who treated me with affection. But my relationships with them werenecessarily partial, incomplete. In the case of my stepfather, this was a result of limitedduration and his natural reserve. And as close as I was to my grandfather, he was bothtoo old and too troubled to provide me with much direction.
It was women, then, who provided the ballast in my life—my grandmother, whosedogged practicality kept the family afloat, and my mother, whose love and clarity ofspirit kept my sister’s and my world centered. Because of them I never wanted foranything important. From them I would absorb the values that guide me to this day.
Still, as I got older I came to recognize how hard it had been for my mother andgrandmother to raise us without a strong male presence in the house. I felt as well themark that a father’s absence can leave on a child. I determined127 that my father’sirresponsibility toward his children, my stepfather’s remoteness, and my grandfather’sfailures would all become object lessons for me, and that my own children would have afather they could count on.
In the most basic sense, I’ve succeeded. My marriage is intact and my family isprovided for. I attend parent-teacher conferences and dance recitals128, and my daughtersbask in my adoration129. And yet, of all the areas of my life, it is in my capacities as ahusband and father that I entertain the most doubt.
I realize I’m not alone in this; at some level I’m just going through the same conflictingemotions that other fathers experience as they navigate130 an economy in flux andchanging social norms. Even as it becomes less and less attainable131, the image of the1950s father—supporting his family with a nine-to-five job, sitting down for the dinnerthat his wife prepares every night, coaching Little League, and handling power tools—hovers over the culture no less powerfully than the image of the stay-at-home mom. Formany men today, the inability to be their family’s sole breadwinner is a source offrustration and even shame; one doesn’t have to be an economic determinist to believethat high unemployment and low wages contribute to the lack of parental involvementand low marriage rates among African American men.
For working men, no less than for working women, the terms of employment havechanged. Whether a high-paid professional or a worker on the assembly line, fathers areexpected to put in longer hours on the job than they did in the past. And these moredemanding work schedules are occurring precisely132 at the time when fathers areexpected—and in many cases want—to be more actively133 involved in the lives of theirchildren than their own fathers may have been in theirs.
But if the gap between the idea of parenthood in my head and the compromised realitythat I live isn’t unique, that doesn’t relieve my sense that I’m not always giving myfamily all that I could. Last Father’s Day, I was invited to speak to the members ofSalem Baptist Church on the South Side of Chicago. I didn’t have a prepared text, but Itook as my theme “what it takes to be a full-grown man.” I suggested that it was timethat men in general and black men in particular put away their excuses for not beingthere for their families. I reminded the men in the audience that being a father meantmore than bearing a child; that even those of us who were physically134 present in thehome are often emotionally absent; that precisely because many of us didn’t havefathers in the house we have to redouble our efforts to break the cycle; and that if wewant to pass on high expectations to our children, we have to have higher expectationsfor ourselves.
Thinking back on what I said, I ask myself sometimes how well I’m living up to myown exhortations135. After all, unlike many of the men to whom I was speaking that day, Idon’t have to take on two jobs or the night shift in a valiant136 attempt to put food on thetable. I could find a job that allowed me to be home every night. Or I could find a jobthat paid more money, a job in which long hours might at least be justified137 by somemeasurable benefit to my family—the ability of Michelle to cut back her hours, say, or afat trust fund for the kids.
Instead, I have chosen a life with a ridiculous schedule, a life that requires me to begone from Michelle and the girls for long stretches of time and that exposes Michelle toall sorts of stress. I may tell myself that in some larger sense I am in politics for Maliaand Sasha, that the work I do will make the world a better place for them. But suchrationalizations seem feeble and painfully abstract when I’m missing one of the girls’
school potlucks because of a vote, or calling Michelle to tell her that session’s beenextended and we need to postpone138 our vacation. Indeed, my recent success in politicsdoes little to assuage139 the guilt140; as Michelle told me once, only half joking, seeing yourdad’s picture in the paper may be kind of neat the first time it happens, but when ithappens all the time it’s probably kind of embarrassing.
And so I do my best to answer the accusation103 that floats around in my mind—that I amselfish, that I do what I do to feed my own ego77 or fill a void in my heart. When I’m notout of town, I try to be home for dinner, to hear from Malia and Sasha about their day,to read to them and tuck them into bed. I try not to schedule appearances on Sundays,and in the summers I’ll use the day to take the girls to the zoo or the pool; in the winterswe might visit a museum or the aquarium141. I scold my daughters gently when theymisbehave, and try to limit their intake142 of both television and junk food. In all this I amencouraged by Michelle, although there are times when I get the sense that I’mencroaching on her space—that by my absences I may have forfeited143 certain rights tointerfere in the world she has built.
As for the girls, they seem to be thriving despite my frequent disappearances144. Mostlythis is a testimony145 to Michelle’s parenting skills; she seems to have a perfect touchwhen it comes to Malia and Sasha, an ability to set firm boundaries without beingstifling. She’s also made sure that my election to the Senate hasn’t altered the girls’
routines very much, although what passes for a normal middle-class childhood inAmerica these days seems to have changed as much as has parenting. Gone are the dayswhen parents just sent their child outside or to the park and told him or her to be backbefore dinner. Today, with news of abductions and an apparent suspicion of anythingspontaneous or even a tiny bit slothful, the schedules of children seem to rival those oftheir parents. There are playdates, ballet classes, gymnastics classes, tennis lessons,piano lessons, soccer leagues, and what seem like weekly birthday parties. I told Maliaonce that during the entire time that I was growing up, I attended exactly two birthdayparties, both of which involved five or six kids, cone hats, and a cake. She looked at methe way I used to look at my grandfather when he told stories of the Depression—with amixture of fascination146 and incredulity.
It is left to Michelle to coordinate147 all the children’s activities, which she does with ageneral’s efficiency. When I can, I volunteer to help, which Michelle appreciates,although she is careful to limit my responsibilities. The day before Sasha’s birthdayparty this past June, I was told to procure148 twenty balloons, enough cheese pizza to feedtwenty kids, and ice. This seemed manageable, so when Michelle told me that she wasgoing to get goody bags to hand out at the end of the party, I suggested that I do that aswell. She laughed.
“You can’t handle goody bags,” she said. “Let me explain the goody bag thing. Youhave to go into the party store and choose the bags. Then you have to choose what toput in the bags, and what is in the boys’ bags has to be different from what is in thegirls’ bags. You’d walk in there and wander around the aisles149 for an hour, and then yourhead would explode.”
Feeling less confident, I got on the Internet. I found a place that sold balloons near thegymnastics studio where the party would be held, and a pizza place that promiseddelivery at 3:45 p.m. By the time the guests showed up the next day, the balloons werein place and the juice boxes were on ice. I sat with the other parents, catching up andwatching twenty or so five-year-olds run and jump and bounce on the equipment like aband of merry elves. I had a slight scare when at 3:50 the pizzas had not yet arrived, butthe delivery person got there ten minutes before the children were scheduled to eat.
Michelle’s brother, Craig, knowing the pressure I was under, gave me a high five.
Michelle looked up from putting pizza on paper plates and smiled.
As a grand finale, after all the pizza was eaten and the juice boxes drunk, after we hadsung “Happy Birthday” and eaten some cake, the gymnastics instructor150 gathered all thekids around an old, multicolored parachute and told Sasha to sit at its center. On thecount of three, Sasha was hoisted151 up into the air and back down again, then up for asecond time, and then for a third. And each time she rose above the billowing sail, shelaughed and laughed with a look of pure joy.
I wonder if Sasha will remember that moment when she is grown. Probably not; itseems as if I can retrieve152 only the barest fragments of memory from when I was five.
But I suspect that the happiness she felt on that parachute registers permanently153 in her;that such moments accumulate and embed154 themselves in a child’s character, becoming apart of their soul. Sometimes, when I listen to Michelle talk about her father, I hear theecho of such joy in her, the love and respect that Frasier Robinson earned not throughfame or spectacular deeds but through small, daily, ordinary acts—a love he earned bybeing there. And I ask myself whether my daughters will be able to speak of me in thatsame way.
As it is, the window for making such memories rapidly closes. Already Malia seems tobe moving into a different phase; she’s more curious about boys and relationships, moreself-conscious about what she wears. She’s always been older than her years, uncannilywise. Once, when she was just six years old and we were taking a walk together alongthe lake, she asked me out of the blue if our family was rich. I told her that we weren’treally rich, but that we had a lot more than most people. I asked her why she wanted toknow.
“Well…I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve decided I don’t want to be really, reallyrich. I think I want a simple life.”
Her words were so unexpected that I laughed. She looked up at me and smiled, but hereyes told me she’d meant what she said.
I often think of that conversation. I ask myself what Malia makes of my not-so-simplelife. Certainly she notices that other fathers attend her team’s soccer games more oftenthan I do. If this upsets her, she doesn’t let it show, for Malia tends to be protective ofother people’s feelings, trying to see the best in every situation. Still, it gives me smallcomfort to think that my eight-year-old daughter loves me enough to overlook myshortcomings.
I was able to get to one of Malia’s games recently, when session ended early for theweek. It was a fine summer afternoon, and the several fields were full of families when Iarrived, blacks and whites and Latinos and Asians from all over the city, women sittingon lawn chairs, men practicing kicks with their sons, grandparents helping babies tostand. I spotted155 Michelle and sat down on the grass beside her, and Sasha came to sit inmy lap. Malia was already out on the field, part of a swarm156 of players surrounding theball, and although soccer’s not her natural sport—she’s a head taller than some of herfriends, and her feet haven’t yet caught up to her height—she plays with an enthusiasmand competitiveness that makes us cheer loudly. At halftime, Malia came over to wherewe were sitting.
“How you feeling, sport?” I asked her.
“Great!” She took a swig of water. “Daddy, I have a question.”
“Shoot.”
“Can we get a dog?”
“What does your mother say?”
“She told me to ask you. I think I’m wearing her down.”
I looked at Michelle, who smiled and offered a shrug157.
“How about we talk it over after the game?” I said.
“Okay.” Malia took another sip158 of water and kissed me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’rehome,” she said.
Before I could answer, she had turned around and started back out onto the field. Andfor an instant, in the glow of the late afternoon, I thought I saw my older daughter as thewoman she would become, as if with each step she were growing taller, her shapefilling out, her long legs carrying her into a life of her own.
I squeezed Sasha a little tighter in my lap. Perhaps sensing what I was feeling, Michelletook my hand. And I remembered a quote Michelle had given to a reporter during thecampaign, when he’d asked her what it was like being a political wife.
“It’s hard,” Michelle had said. Then, according to the reporter, she had added with a slysmile, “And that’s why Barack is such a grateful man.”
As usual, my wife is right.
收听单词发音 |
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caucus
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| n.秘密会议；干部会议；v.（参加）干部开会议 | |
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interns
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| n.住院实习医生( intern的名词复数 )v.拘留，关押( intern的第三人称单数 ) | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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constituent
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| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
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ted
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| vt.翻晒，撒，撒开 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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hectic
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| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
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frustrating
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| adj.产生挫折的，使人沮丧的，令人泄气的v.使不成功( frustrate的现在分词 )；挫败；使受挫折；令人沮丧 | |
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amendment
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| n.改正，修正，改善，修正案 | |
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amendments
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| （法律、文件的）改动( amendment的名词复数 )； 修正案； 修改； （美国宪法的）修正案 | |
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reconstruction
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| n.重建，再现，复原 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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intimidating
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| vt.恐吓，威胁( intimidate的现在分词) | |
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glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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corporate
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| adj.共同的，全体的；公司的，企业的 | |
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enrolled
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| adj.入学登记了的v.[亦作enrol]( enroll的过去式和过去分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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sublet
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| v.转租；分租 | |
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drizzly
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| a.毛毛雨的(a drizzly day) | |
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advisor
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| n.顾问，指导老师，劝告者 | |
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bungalow
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| n.平房，周围有阳台的木造小平房 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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cone
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| n.圆锥体，圆锥形东西，球果 | |
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curb
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| n.场外证券市场，场外交易；vt.制止，抑制 | |
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cones
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| n.（人眼）圆锥细胞；圆锥体( cone的名词复数 )；球果；圆锥形东西；（盛冰淇淋的）锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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peddling
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| 忙于琐事的，无关紧要的 | |
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compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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deteriorated
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| 恶化，变坏( deteriorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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canes
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| n.（某些植物，如竹或甘蔗的）茎( cane的名词复数 )；（用于制作家具等的）竹竿；竹杖 | |
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toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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stagnating
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| v.停滞，不流动，不发展( stagnate的现在分词 ) | |
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inadequate
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| adj.(for,to)不充足的，不适当的 | |
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duress
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| n.胁迫 | |
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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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56
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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57
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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58
marital
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| adj.婚姻的，夫妻的 | |
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59
wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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60
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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61
collapse
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| vi.累倒；昏倒；倒塌；塌陷 | |
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62
plummeted
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| v.垂直落下，骤然跌落( plummet的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
penalize
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| vt.对…处以刑罚，宣告…有罪；处罚 | |
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64
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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65
pregnancy
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| n.怀孕，怀孕期 | |
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66
helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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67
coverage
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| n.报导，保险范围，保险额，范围，覆盖 | |
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68
commonsense
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| adj.有常识的；明白事理的；注重实际的 | |
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69
immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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70
abortion
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| n.流产，堕胎 | |
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71
erased
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| v.擦掉( erase的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；清除 | |
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72
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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73
flux
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| n.流动；不断的改变 | |
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74
lyrics
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| n.歌词 | |
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75
enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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76
fetus
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| n.胎，胎儿 | |
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77
ego
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| n.自我，自己，自尊 | |
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78
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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79
coercing
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| v.迫使做( coerce的现在分词 )；强迫；（以武力、惩罚、威胁等手段）控制；支配 | |
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80
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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81
entails
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| 使…成为必要( entail的第三人称单数 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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82
qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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83
arbiter
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| n.仲裁人，公断人 | |
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84
equitable
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| adj.公平的；公正的 | |
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85
juggler
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| n. 变戏法者, 行骗者 | |
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86
inflexible
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| adj.不可改变的，不受影响的，不屈服的 | |
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87
unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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88
feminist
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| adj.主张男女平等的，女权主义的 | |
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89
ideology
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| n.意识形态，(政治或社会的)思想意识 | |
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90
earnings
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| n.工资收人；利润，利益，所得 | |
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91
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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92
enrolling
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| v.招收( enrol的现在分词 )；吸收；入学；加入；[亦作enrol]( enroll的现在分词 )；登记，招收，使入伍（或入会、入学等），参加，成为成员；记入名册；卷起，包起 | |
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93
owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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94
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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95
lengthy
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| adj.漫长的，冗长的 | |
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96
frustrations
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| 挫折( frustration的名词复数 )； 失败； 挫败； 失意 | |
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97
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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98
coaxing
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的现在分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱；“锻炼”效应 | |
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99
full-time
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| adj.满工作日的或工作周的，全时间的 | |
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100
payroll
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| n.工资表，在职人员名单，工薪总额 | |
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101
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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102
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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103
accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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104
carousing
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| v.痛饮，闹饮欢宴( carouse的现在分词 ) | |
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105
negotiations
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| 协商( negotiation的名词复数 )； 谈判； 完成（难事）； 通过 | |
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106
liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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107
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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108
flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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109
affordable
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| adj.支付得起的，不太昂贵的 | |
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110
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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111
subsidies
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| n.补贴，津贴，补助金( subsidy的名词复数 ) | |
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112
countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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113
unpaid
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| adj.未付款的，无报酬的 | |
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114
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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115
mandated
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| adj. 委托统治的 | |
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116
impasse
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| n.僵局；死路 | |
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117
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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118
turnover
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| n.人员流动率，人事变动率；营业额，成交量 | |
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119
innovative
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| adj.革新的，新颖的，富有革新精神的 | |
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120
awareness
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| n.意识，觉悟，懂事，明智 | |
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121
nominal
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| adj.名义上的；(金额、租金)微不足道的 | |
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122
schooling
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| n.教育；正规学校教育 | |
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123
smirk
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| n.得意地笑；v.傻笑；假笑着说 | |
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124
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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125
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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126
giggle
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| n.痴笑，咯咯地笑；v.咯咯地笑着说 | |
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127
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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128
recitals
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| n.独唱会( recital的名词复数 )；独奏会；小型音乐会、舞蹈表演会等；一系列事件等的详述 | |
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129
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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130
navigate
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| v.航行，飞行；导航，领航 | |
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131
attainable
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| a.可达到的，可获得的 | |
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132
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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133
actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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134
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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135
exhortations
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| n.敦促( exhortation的名词复数 )；极力推荐；（正式的）演讲；（宗教仪式中的）劝诫 | |
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136
valiant
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| adj.勇敢的，英勇的；n.勇士，勇敢的人 | |
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137
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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138
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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139
assuage
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| v.缓和，减轻，镇定 | |
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140
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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141
aquarium
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| n.水族馆，养鱼池，玻璃缸 | |
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142
intake
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| n.吸入，纳入；进气口，入口 | |
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143
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
disappearances
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| n.消失( disappearance的名词复数 )；丢失；失踪；失踪案 | |
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145
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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146
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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147
coordinate
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| adj.同等的，协调的；n.同等者；vt.协作，协调 | |
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148
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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149
aisles
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| n. (席位间的)通道, 侧廊 | |
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150
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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151
hoisted
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| 把…吊起，升起( hoist的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
retrieve
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| vt.重新得到，收回；挽回，补救；检索 | |
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153
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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154
embed
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| vt.把…嵌(埋、插)入，扎牢；使深留脑中 | |
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155
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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156
swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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157
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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158
sip
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| v.小口地喝，抿，呷；n.一小口的量 | |
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