Some songs send you back into the past in an almost palpable way.
Month: March 2014
Afternoon Play
Morning Nap
Weeds or Flowers?
“Oh, look!” Babcia exclaimed, “they’re x’s!” I can’t recall the Polish name she called the little weeds growing in our front yard, and I don’t have a clue what they’re called in English. I call them weeds. She calls them flowers.
They have blossoms, so they’re flowers; they’re unwanted, so they’re weeds.
Which means just about anything could be a weed for someone.
Warmth in March
When it's this warm, after days of rain, after days of winter's last stand, a warm and sunny day demands us, commands us, compels us outside. The yellow bells have been blooming for a week, and the green underneath will soon overwhelm the yellow much like the heat of the coming summer will overwhelm the beauty of merely warm days like today.
The warmth of summer isn't the only thing we catch a glimpse of today, though. The Boy glances at me when I call his name, and as I've managed to do several times with the Girl, I catch an instant in which we can see hints of what he'll look like as he grows older.
It's inevitable, of course, but sometimes, like all parents, we just want to keep him at this perfect little age. And keep L at her perfect little age. That's one of the oddities of being a parent: when you're that close to the growth, seeing it constantly, it's easy to forget that a given child hasn't always been this age, hasn't always been just this charming in this particular way.
Hasn't he always been eager to "help"? Hasn't he always been madly repeating every single phrase he hears, with his bubbling, often-near-miss pronunciation? Won't he always love to swing?
Bouncing Back
Dear Terrence,
When you walked into the classroom today, I knew things were going to be difficult for you. Your face was set in such anger: it looked as if you were about to explode. I've learned from experience that kids in a state like you were in are better off left alone, so I decided to let you sit there for as long as you needed, for until you become disruptive -- always a possibility in such situations.
We began the lesson, things moved smoothly, and I kept my eye on you. You were unmoving for a good ten minutes. Then you loosened up a bit, but not much: your fists were still clinched, but not so tightly; your jaw was quivering with anger, but not so violently. I put the stack of papers to be passed out on the desk at the head of your row: when the stack arrived at your desk, you took one and passed the rest back. A positive step. Still, you weren't in any place to begin work, so I let you sit. Finally, as we began marking the text, filling the pages with our scribblings and lines, our arrows and marginal notes, you raised your hand and asked for help catching up. I numbered the paragraphs, drew the lines between paragraphs for our text clusters, and handed the paper back.
"Thanks," was all you said. And you slowly began working.
Let me tell you now: that behavior was not how a boy acts; it was how a man acts. It was impressive. It filled me with hope for your future. It reminded me again how much you've matured this year.
Now, the next step: set a goal to get to that point a bit faster. Then a bit faster. And before long, you'll find yourself able to set aside even the most troubling situations long enough to deal with the responsibilities at hand. And that will be one of many signs that you're a man.
Impressed and still smiling,
Your Teacher
Things We Pass Over
"I will give each of you an answer document. Do not open it or mark on it until I tell you to do so. Be careful not to fold or bend your answer document."
I say these words and begin passing out the answer documents for the 2014 SCPASS writing test, part of the required state testing for No Child Left Behind compliance. I look at each answer document, glance at the student in front of me to confirm that I'm about to hand the correct document to the correct person, and it hits me once again, the little miracle that of being a middle school teacher.
Just months ago, these faces were strangers, a room of twenty-nine kids that I knew virtually nothing about. Since they're taking ninth grade English in the eighth grade, their intelligence and perseverance were an obvious-enough inference. Still, beyond that, there was nothing. Just faces. Now each of those faces tells a story. I've learned so much about these kids in these few months that I'm certain I know them in some ways better than their parents. Certainly I know a different side of them, and without a doubt I know them better than almost any other non-family adult. I know this one's mother died just a little over a year ago yet he holds it together more bravely than I could imagine. I know that one feels tugged between divorced parents, and does that clever one in the corner. I know which have bad habits they're trying to break, which kids have bad habits they're letting linger, which kids feel terribly insecure and put a brave, almost aggressive face on as a defense. I know their dreams, their fears, their loves, and even some of them, I know their crushes and heartaches.
What other job lets you see so deeply into so many people's hearts? Why would I want to do anything else?
Second Thoughts
I would bet that all those in Poland who'd opposed the placement of an American missile defense system in Poland are now having second, third, and fourth thoughts.
Nightly Rituals
We have many, but two stood out tonight. First, the search for Elsa, our kitten. She’s still incredibly small, and she can fit into the must unimaginably tight spots. Under the sofa is a favorite place, even though there’s probably not much more than three inches of clearance there. A recent favorite was behind the baskets in which K stores our scarves and gloves in the winter, our hats and such in summer. Tonight, a new spot: my sock basket at the bottom of our bedroom closet.
The other ritual is reading. The Boy has his favorite books, and now that the Girl has progressed so in reading — still waiting that spring MAP score! — she often reads to him. His attention span is still not much longer than his nose, though, and tonight, the dust cover of the book was far more interesting.
As the Girl grows, she takes on more responsibility with her brother, as tonight shows. Best of all, she often relishes these responsibilities — for a short time. Still, it’s a start toward mature responsibility.