SLICES OF LIFE

Friday afternoon about two.
 I don't usually carry my cell phone, but today,
because it's an assessment day
and because I am in charge of  materials
I have my cell phone in my pocket.
It vibrates and I look down,
wondering who needs what test.
I am surprised, and a little concerned,
to see Son #1's number.
I answer.

"You know how you were going to come down this weekend?"
"Yeah?"
"It would be ok if you did. I want to go to the game."
I am surprised.
Son #1's team is playing son #2's.
Originally I had planned to go.
Even though both boys are red shirting,
I thought it would be fun
to spend time with my boys.
Two weeks ago, Son #1 told me he was riding the team bus.
I could go if I wanted to,
but he wouldn't be available to spend time with me.
I decided not to go.
Thursday night Son #1 told me he was not going to get to ride with the team.
I could hear the disappointment in his voice and offered again to go.
He said no, he wasn't going.
And now, less than 24 hours before I would need to leave,
he has changed his mind
I can't imagine that I will find a decently priced ticket.
Wonder what I can do with the dog. 
Consider telling him there is no way
I can come
on such short notice.

But then I think
that he so rarely asks for anything
so rarely wants to spend time with me
it would be really nice
to be able to honor his request.
At 5:00 I find a ticket
a kennel that is open all night.
I call and tell him
I will be arriving in Phoenix
at 6:50 on Saturday morning. 

**********
Saturday morning.
My son has 63 cents in his bank account.
And no gas in his car.
I take a shuttle to his apartment. 
We head to the grocery store
I spend $300 stocking his cupboards
and then we head out
to drive
the three hours
to the game.

He drives.
And talks
And somehow in this confined space
my usually silent son
has much to say. 
The first hour is devoted to discussing
his human sexuality course.
The professor, a woman,
is partnered with a man
who used to be a woman.
My son, processing, the whole situation, says,
"It's like the professor knows what she wants us to think.
And she wouldn't be ok if we thought something different."
So you have to be really careful what you say in there."

The second hour we talk about his Evolution class.
That professor, my son thinks,
also has a definite point of view.
And Zay wonders
whether she would give him a bad grade
if he told her what he thinks
about Evolution.
And about Creation.

The third hour
we talk life.
His biological mom.
A friend from high school. 
What it felt like to grow up
in our very non-traditional family.

And I am so thankful
that I have spent money
I didn't really have
on this oh so priceless time
with my son.

**********

Sunday morning.
A tiny town in rural Arizona.
Son #1 and I make a grocery run.
A young woman, probably about my son's age, is the cashier.
I watch her, bent over her register,
long hair covering her face
as we wait for our turn
to check out
of that ugly nasty super center.
I am struck by the cashier's gentle spirit
as she deals with the customer in front of me
who has a thousand coupons,
a million directions about how her order should be packed
and a not very pleasant attitude. 

When the cashier turns her head to greet us,
I see that the left side of her face is badly scarred.
her smile is crooked and off center.
Like she has been in some kind of accident
or perhaps had a tumor removed.
I immediately think of WONDER. 
Remember Augie.
The stares.
Comments.
People's cruelty.
I imagine that this gentle spirit,
like Augie,
has endured much.

As I type in my zip code, she asks where I am from.
I tell her I live in Denver,
and that Son #1 goes to school in Phoenix.
"I'm from Phoenix," she says,
"I moved out here to go to school
because it's so much cheaper.
Where I was going in Phoenix they charged $78 a credit hour.
Here it's only $880, even if you take 18 hours.
Everything after 12 hours is $880."
She asks my son what he is studying.
"Football," he says, in all honesty,
but then, perhaps for my benefit,
he  corrects himself.
"Football and sociology."

"I like your earrings,"
the cashier says to my son.
"Thanks," he says.
And then, in a move that totally surprises me
mostly because he is pretty quiet
and rarely, as far as I know,
initiates conversations with women
"I like yours too."
I have not noticed her earrings
round ceramic dangles with painted designs

I can't imagine that my son
who is generally completely oblivious
 to anything I wear
would have noticed them. 
She reaches up
and touches her earrings.   
"Thanks," she says
smiling that sweet crooked smile.

We grab our bags, wish the girl a good day,
 and walk away.
I know it's probably silly.
But at that moment
I am so very proud to be the mom
of the man
my son
is becoming. 

A Different Kind of Books

OK, so I am just going to come right out and admit it. I am a snob. A book snob. As a book snob, there are certain books that I deem as "literature." And those are the books that I choose to feature in my classroom. And read aloud to kids. And share on my blog.

But there is a whole other category of books.  You know these books. They are the books with characters that you see on television or in the movies. And  the ones you buy in the grocery store check out line. The ones that have pretty blatant morals, sometimes even featured in the title. They are not the books I use in mini-lessons. But, they are books kids love. And read. And reread. And beg me to read aloud.

And they are books I think we ought to talk about.  At least once in a while. Because these books, whether or not I deem them as literature, are books that invite kids into the world of literacy. They provide kids with a link between the world of pop culture and the world of school. They feature character kids know and love. They address problems kids face. And they provide print, words for kids to read.

In my mind, all of those are worthy reasons for reading. And so, starting today, once in a while, I'm going to feature a few of those books. Some might be singles, and some will be series. Today's featured series is Mia by Robin Farley, illustrated by Olga and Aleksey Ivanov.

Mia is a cat, or really actually a cat with little girl loves and problems. In Mia Dances Back to School, for example, Mia and her friends Anna and Ruby are starting school. Mia is very excited until she arrives at school and discovers that Anna and Ruby are in Mr. Bear's class, and she is all by herself, with Miss Bunny. How many times have I needed that book the first day of school?

Mia is a ballet dancer and many of the books in the series. e.g. Mia and the Tiny Toe Shoes, Mia and the Too Big Tutu, Mia and the Big Sister Ballet  feature a ballet-related problem or issue. Lots of the Mia books are I CAN READ books, which makes them perfect for those emergent readers in our first and second grade classrooms.

Several of the Mia books, e.g. Mia: Time to Trick or Treat, Mia: The Sweetest Valentine, and Mia: The Easter Egg Chase are holiday related. Generally, the holiday books also have problems kids face. In Time to Trick or Treat, Mia and her friends are planning to be matching pink ballerinas for Halloween, but then one friend wants to be a blue ballerina, and another wants to be green, and a little compromising has to occur. In Easter Egg Chase, Mia is faced with the hard choice of filling her own Easter basket with goodies,  or helping a much younger cousin.

It seems like it's time for this book snob to reconsider. Mia is a series primary grade girls are going to love. As such, it definitely has a place in my classroom!

POETRY FRIDAY

School started this week in Denver. Colorado is sweltering, setting temperature records almost every day, and I teach in a beautiful, one hundred year old, non-air conditioned building. Despite the heat, I've watched brilliant young teachers do wonderful work with kids all week. On Tuesday, for example, I saw a seventh and eighth grade teacher, new to our building/state, new to this population of kids, share this poem with kids. And kids who had never paid one bit of attention were leaning forward, highlighters in hand, amazed, I think, that this teacher already knew who they were.

 

in front of the class

by Bonafide Rojas

i'm standing in front of a class
society has deemed derelicts and hoodlum
and i am their teacher

i am writing the poem
that will save the world
and they say that it's got to be as good
as a nas rhyme and have more emotion
than tupac did

my class consisting
of ex-gang bangers, graffiti writers, drug dealers,
and students who have traveled too much
in the cracks of the public school system
they are my students

and as their teacher
i have traveled as many roads
as they have, and stand in front
of them without fear
because they can smell fear

i am them fifteen years ahead
with poetry being the left turn i made at 17
i tell them that road is approaching
all they have to do it take that road
so fast that their past
will never catch up to them…

Read the rest the poem here. (The poem is posted in three parts, so be sure you go to the bottom left corner and read all three pages).

Watch Bonafide Rojas perform the poem here.

Tara is hosting today at  A TEACHING LIFE.

POETRY FRIDAY

My first full official week back at school. Teachers started Tuesday and our kids start Monday.  I can't wait! In the meantime, like most other teachers, I'm crazy busy and exhausted. This poem, "The First Day of School," is one that I have probably used almost since the beginning of my career, a very long time ago, but I think it's still applicable to most teachers and kids.

"The First Day of School"

…And what if I can't find lunch, or I sit on my lunch,
or I (oops!) drop my lunch someplace like the toilet?
Will they let me starve or will somebody lend me a sandwich?
A cookie? A cracker? An apple? Some juice?
And what if they say, "Do this," and I don't understand them?
And what if there's teams and nobody picks me to play?
And what if I took off my sneakers, and also my socks, and my jeans, and my sweatshirt and T-shirt,
And started the first day of school on the second day?

By Judith Viorst

You can read the poem in its entirety here. 

Betsy is hosting Poetry Friday is at  I Think in Poems.

SLICE OF LIFE

Many years ago, long before I was a mother,  I heard Shelley Harwayne in a workshop. Shelley said, "To be a mother is to forever wear your heart outside your body." At the time, I don't think I understood what she meant. I do now.

Ten days ago, I went down to Arizona. I flew into Phoenix, spent about six hours with Son #1, and then drove over to Thatcher, to see Son #2 and outfit his dorm room.

While I was in Phoenix, Son #1 told me that the coaches asked if he wanted to redshirt this year. For those of you who are not sports people, red shirting is a technique they use in college football to give a player an extra year of eligibility. The player is on the team, and practices with the team, but never gets to play in games. Coaches redshirt players that are not quite ready for college ball, or with players that have been hurt. My son tore his ACL last October. He has been cleared to play by the doctors, but the coaches don't feel like he is as fast as he was, and they want him to heal for another year.

"They said it's my decision," said my son. "I can do what I want."

All weekend long, he vacillated. He wanted to play. He wasn't going to red shirt. He was going to wait for the depth chart to come out. He wanted to play, but not if he had to play third or fourth string, and wouldn't get playing time. He had two more practices and a scrimmage and he was going to show the coaches that he was ready.  He wanted to play.

And all weekend long, my heart broke for him. My guy loves, loves, loves his football, pretty much more than life itself. School has never been easy for him. He struggles to maintain a 2.0 GPA. But football, well, that's different. Football is Zay's happy place- the place where he feels strong and sure and confident. He was offensive player of the year two times in high school. Was team captain his junior and senior year. And now, it seems, even football is being taken away.

On Monday night, Zay called me after practice. He had decided to red shirt. I fought to keep my voice even, to swallow the lump in my throat, as he said, "It will be ok. I just need you to support me."

And so all week, I have tried to support him. Told him how much I loved him. How proud I was, that he had gone down there, 900 miles away, and stayed, even after the other three kids he knew quit school and came back. Told him I knew that God had big plans for him. Told him that it would be ok. That he would get to play next year.

And then, every time, I have gotten off the phone and cried. Every single night.

Because being a mom really is wearing your heart outside your body

FLORA AND THE FLAMINGO- Molly Idle

Between preparing for the beginning of the school year, teaching two classes (and responding to 30+ final projects), and getting a son off to college, my blogging has been woefully lacking as of late. Actually, so has my reading, as I have spent every spare minute reading final projects. On Saturday, though, I couldn't stand it any more and I headed to the library, where I found a new wordless picture book.

FLORA AND THE FLAMINGO  by Molly Idle is the story of a graceful dancing flamingo, and Flora, a little girl, clad in a yellow bathing cap, pink bathing suit, and gigantic flippers, who is, well, not so graceful, at least not at the beginning of the book. On every page, the flamingo assumes a new and graceful dancing pose. And Flora, well, Flora tries to assume the same pose. At first, the flamingo does her best to ignore Flora. But then the inevitable happens, and the two become friends.

This is one of those absolutely perfect picture books. So perfect, in fact, that I kept thinking, as I was reading it, "Is this the next Caldecott?" The image of movement and dance, and the lines in the pictures made me keep looking and looking and looking, even though I'm not usually all that patient with wordless picture books. And there are even a few bonus lift the flap pages for the kinesthetic learners in the crowd.

This would be a perfect book to introduce the idea of characters changing over time. It's simple enough that kindergarteners could understand it, and complex enough that fifth graders would love it. In the meantime, I'm trying to decide which of my little reading friends is getting FLORA for Christmas…

SLICE OF LIFE

Our family does not do many things in ordinary ways.

Take this leaving for college thing, for example.

I know, or at least I've heard, how it's supposed to work.

The way I understand it, in most families, kids spend their senior year applying for college. They take ACT's, visit a few colleges, apply, debate their OPTIONS, and finally make a choice. Then they graduate, and spend the summer sorting through high school mementos and visiting Bed, Bath and Beyond, and packing.

And then, in late August, they leave.

That's most families. But that's not how we do it in our family.

About two weeks ago, the stars aligned, and things fell into place, and my younger son decided he would go to college. Nine hundred miles away from home. In 48 hours. Seriously. I'm not kidding.

On Thursday night, he talked to a football coach and rush ordered new football cleats (when you have size 17 feet you can't just go into a store and buy shoes, you have to special order them). On Friday, he went and got a new driver's license and I made plane reservations.  On Saturday, we went and shopped for sheets and towels, and bought a suitcase. I also helped color a pair of pink cleats with a black sharpie, but that is a whole other slice. And on Sunday morning, he got on a plane with his football coach and moved to Arizona to go to college.

Since then, I have made four trips to the UPS store. The first time, I mailed a bag of shoes, because somehow, he had gotten to Arizona with his Jordan sandals and his football cleats. The second time, I mailed the new football cleats. The third trip, I mailed his special pillow. And then today, I mailed the long board (but that is also a story for another slice-- too bad this isn't March, because I have plenty to write about).

I also went to Arizona last weekend. I stopped in Phoenix and stocked Son #1's refrigerator. Then I drove three hours east to help Son #2 get settled. I bought a microwave and dorm refrigerator. And a special pillow, because the first one I mailed never got there. Or at least it didn't get there until after I bought the second one. And I sat through a scrimmage in a monsoon. And paid an extra $175 for a replacement ticket (but that is a story for  another slice).

And now I am back in Denver.

Trying to pretend that it's ordinary for our house to be so very, very quiet.