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Snow and a Change

Friday 31 January 2020

It began snowing this morning. It started and stopped during the two planning periods that begin eighth-grade teachers’ days, and we were all hopeful — teachers that is; I don’t know about the students because they were in related arts, but it’s reasonable to include them as well — that we might have an early dismissal. The temperature kept dropping; the snow kept falling; and then it all stopped.

“Well, there was our snow for this school year,” I joked during dinner. In truth, I’m glad we haven’t had a snow day this year: it means that the built-in make up days remain free, and since they all fall in March, that’s when we really need them.

In the evening, the Boy finally got his new desk — a hand-me-down from big sister.

Rejection

Thursday 30 January 2020

We all know that kind of disappointment, the kind that feels like defeat or complete failure. It seems to engulf our world, to be a lens through which we view everything hereafter. For at least some period of time, we’re sure we’ll never see the bottom of it and so never be able to climb back out of it. Like the pressure at the bottom of the sea, it seems to press in from all directions as if it has a conscious will, a desire to compress us into nothingness.

It’s been a long time since I felt that because to feel that kind of complete desolate disappointment, one has to be really young. With age comes experience, which brings perspective. We learn to say things like, “Well, this is troubling, but it’s not the end of the world.” But when we’re young, those huge disappointments feel like they are in some way the end of the world.

A young lady whom I’ve had the privilege of teaching this year applied for the creative writing program and the fine arts center here in town, hoping to get one of the six available slots for the next school year. She is a gifted writer, an avid and curious reader, and a thoughtful conversationalist — all the things you’d look for in a budding writer. She asked me to write a recommendation for her. My first draft was my “what I’d really like to say but won’t because it’s over the top” version:

In my more than twenty years in the classroom, E stands out already after only one semester as one of the most gifted and hardest working students I’ve ever encountered. She is an endlessly creative writer with a mastery of language that belies her young age. She is more determined, more mature, and more insightful than just about any other eighth grader I’ve ever met, and she has a true gift in the arts, both acting and writing. In short, I can’t think of any student in my experience who deserves the chance at the Fine Arts Center more than E, and I can’t think of any student whose later accomplishments could possibly bring more joy and honor to the school.

This young lady will be one day a renowned, respected, and imitated author, and quite honestly she will do it with or without your help: that’s how good, how dedicated, how determined she is. Admit E, and in so doing, not only will you give an incredibly gifted young writer a much-deserved headstart in her writing career but also you will give your faculty members and the student body a most incredible and memorable gift.

The latter half was way too much and probably would have hurt her chances more than helped, so it was gone long before the final draft was ready. Still, it’s what I felt — what I still feel.

This morning, I got an email from her mother explaining that she did not get admitted to the program. She was emailing me on the sly, she said, and I took that to mean I was to feign ignorance, which I did.

She came in fourth period and said nothing. She was not quite her usual self, but she certainly wasn’t a typical pouty eighth grader who refuses to work and sits with her emotions smeared all over her face. At the end of the day, I teach her again, this time journalism/creative nonfiction. The random-student-picker app I use popped her name up very first when I began one-on-one consultations, and she finally let me know what had happened.

“Where do I go from here?” seemed to be her concern. “How can I get better at writing if I have no one to teach me?”

“You get better at writing by doing two simple things,” I replied. “Writing and reading. Reading and writing.” That’s not quite true: there’s more to it than that, and a good instructor can be invaluable at providing feedback. But none of the writers we see as great had formal training in creative writing: Shakespeare, Dickens, Dostoyevski, Twain — none of them took creative writing courses, yet they serve as the core of Western literature.

No, I don’t worry about this young lady at all. She’s determined, gifted, and curious — that’s all she needs.

Random Photograph

Poland, 2010

Finishing Up

Wednesday 29 January 2020

The Girl has some new furniture. She asked me to help; I did, for a while. But I resisted as well. Not because I wanted to do something else. I thought that at her age, she might get more out of doing a lot of it herself — a sense of accomplishment is a valuable feeling.

Tonight, she worked on the drawers to her desk. In fact, she completed them. And the rest of the desk, as a matter of fact.

I did what I do probably too much: I photographed the event. As she gets older, the Girl is less thrilled with my photographic attention.

Which, given this generation’s obsession with selfies, strikes me as a little odd.

Blessing 2020

Tuesday 28 January 2020

I first noticed it at a friend’s house. Above one of the doors were some numbers and letters, and I thought it was perhaps a marking left behind during construction — some kind of measurement or something. Of course, the house in question was long finished: it was not one of the half-built, “raw” houses that dotted the road that ran through Lipnica. This was a fully completed house, but I didn’t really think about that. I just didn’t have any idea why someone would write something in chalk on the wall.

And then I married a Polish Catholic and found out: it’s the indication of the blessing of the house.

I’ve grown much more skeptical in the last few years and tend to have to fight the temptation to view these things as I once did, which is not all that positively. To begin with, the priest is supposed to do it. Our priest leaves a basket of blessed chalk in the church narthex with a card that includes instructions and the prayers. This year, we didn’t get the blessed chalk, so we just used chalk that we bought at Walmart. Does that make a difference? Ontologically, it should: if not blessing it didn’t make a difference, why bless it to begin with? And what exactly does blessing the chalk do? Is it possible to discern the difference between blessed and unblessed chalk?

There’s not even consensus about the origin and meaning of what one writes in chalk:

The origin of this ritual comes from eastern Europe where homeowners mark their doors with the sign 20+C+M+B=(year). CMB are the initials of the three Wise Men: Caspar, Melchoir and Balthasar who are remembered on the Feast of Epiphany.

Another interpretation given of this sign is: Christus Mansionem Bededicat (Christ Blesses this Mansion). We welcome you to bless your home for the New Year using the blessed chalk and rite given below:

One person makes the inscription with chalk above the door (20+C+M+B+14), while another proclaims the corresponding words: The three Wise Men, Caspar, Melchoir, and Balthasar followed the star of God’s son who became Man (20) two thousand years ago. (+) May Christ bless our dwelling (+) and remain with us throughout the New Year.

If we don’t know what it means, doesn’t that kind of make it, well, useless?

Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps what’s more important is the unity involved in the process, both in the blessing itself and in the overarching idea. It keeps us thinking about the house as not just as a building, a location, but as a home, an idea.

New Furniture

Monday 27 January 2020

L wanted new furniture in her room. Truth be told, she’d outgrown a lot of what she already had, so it was a need rather than a want — surprising, I know.

So Saturday, the Girl and the Boy hopped into the van (we still haven’t sold it) one last time and headed to their favorite Sweedish store.

Music

Saturday 25 January 2020

How did I come to love music so much? Nature or nurture? Well, I can’t say much about nature because I have no idea about the genetic magic that might lead to a love of music. I can say there was some nurture involved.

In Trouble

Friday 24 January 2020

I can’t understand how some students get so fixated on some perceived slight from the teacher because they got called down for something they didn’t do or something someone else was doing at the same time and “Why are you picking on me?” type nonsense that they end up escalating the whole non-issue into a referral-able offense. It’s like someone getting pulled over because the officer wanted to give them a warning about their speed and the person ends up assaulting the officer. What could have ended in a matter of moments will stretch out to a few years as a result of their decision.

“Why am I in trouble?” she asked.

“You aren’t in trouble,” I said. “I’m just talking to you.”

But soon enough, the disrespect of her body language and tone of voice does indeed end up getting in trouble.

I just can’t understand that.

A teacher tells you to be quiet; you feel you weren’t talking then and that it’s unfair — say “Okay” while showing at least a modicum of respect and let it die a quick and natural death. Don’t start arguing about how it’s unfair or how someone else is talking, all the while letting an aggressively disrespectful edge take over your voice. It just won’t end well for you.

A police officer pulls you over and says you were speeding; you feel you were going about the same speed as everyone else — say “Okay” and be respectful and hope for a warning. Don’t jump out of the car and start cursing the police officer, threatening physical violence. It just won’t end well for you.

Picture from this Evening

Volleyball Practice

Thursday 23 January 2020

L’s club coach sent an email to everyone this afternoon before the evening’s practice. One passage really stood out:

Quite a few of our fellow Excell coaches sang the praises of your girls at the tournament this past weekend mentioning how far they have come already, how much better they are getting in skill, game knowledge, teamwork, and in some of the ‘intangibles’ they as athletes have to develop on their own. This is a direct result of how hard they have worked so far and how much they have wanted to learn.

That outsiders (so to speak — they coach for the same club but different teams and often only see our girls playing at tournaments) see the change in our girls’ team is very encouraging.