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the girl

Eighteen Years Old

Monday 16 December 2024

Eighteen years ago, the Girl was just that — a newborn treasure, a gift we were to cherish, a future wrapped in a little bundle. That day, she couldn’t open her eyes yet; today, she couldn’t drive to school because her car was in the shop. How things have changed.

That day, my mother and father became Nana and Papa. Their first grandchild had just entered our world, and they were thrilled, ready to laugh at the slightest thing, unwilling to let L out of their sight. Now Nana and Papa are no more, unable to see the strong, intelligent, and beautiful woman the Girl has become.

That day, her future was unclear but promising. Today, there is more clarity, there is more promise, but still more mystery.

18th

Saturday 14 December 2024

Tonight, I believe, was a last of sorts. L had her eighteenth birthday party, and from what I can see, it might be the last birthday party we throw for her. Well, not the last: we’ll throw her parties for as long as we can, but the last time we do it while she’s still living at home.

This was a party the Girl herself planned in large part. She picked the restaurant. She decided which items would be on the menu. She made the guest list and reservations. And for the most part, we were non-participants: the kids stayed in a private room and we took the Boy to the main dining room of the restaurant and went back only when it was time to have the cake.

So different from the parties of the past. In a sense, then, the progression of our parties was a metric for the progression of the Girl. Her first birthday party was completely on us (naturally); her eighteenth, (almost) completely on her. It’s another of those “letting go” moments.

But I can’t say I mind letting this go: it’s nice to see her pick up responsibilities we’ve always taken care of. It’s another sign she’s maturing.

Another sign of maturing: of the guests she invited (and those who came), we knew only a couple. It wasn’t a question of us simply not making the guest list as we used to; we didn’t even know the guests in some cases. Sure, we might have heard the kid’s name, but we didn’t necessarily know who was who. And that’s as it should be as the Girl moves into adulthood.

“The Girl.” I’ve called her that for so long that I can’t think of a time I didn’t call her that. Legally speaking, come Monday, she’ll no longer be the Girl but the Woman. Legally speaking.

Emotionally speaking, she will always be the Girl.

Elf

Wednesday 4 December 2024

Elf has made his yearly appearance, but this year, he seems just to be hanging out in the living room.

“I know it’s you and mom!” the Boy explained last year. And the year before that.

“But still, it’s fun, isn’t it?”

But this year, there it sits. Not moving. Not hiding.

Another sign that everyone is growing up. The traditions of Christmas slowly fall away. The Girl used to write a letter to Santa and leave out a snack. I can’t remember the last time she did that. The Boy searched for Elf. I can remember the last time he did that, but it seems to be just that — the last time.

Should we resist this? Should we try to cling to these things even after the kids have outgrown them? I think not. It’s time to move on, to grow up, to pick up new traditions.

The Elf
Mikołaj 2020

Four Thursday Vignettes

Thursday 14 November 2024

Practice

Every morning I have hall duty in the arts wing. On one side is the band; on the other, strings. I walk back and forth between the two, listening to a beautiful cacophony of kids learning music.

A young lady is practicing her violin part. I recognize the melody.

“Do you know what that is? Who wrote it? What it’s called?” I ask with a smile. The boy standing with her is one of my favorite students, but I don’t teach him. He’s on a team down the hall, but he’s a sweet young man who smiles a lot and is friendly with everyone, so we’ve chat a little almost every morning. He glances at the sheet music at the same time she does. I beat them to it, though.

“Edvard Grieg. It’s called In the Hall of the Mountain King.” One of those pieces we all recognize from this or that film or advertisement, but few can identify by name. “Bet you didn’t expect an English teacher to know that, did you?” I laugh. They both agree it was unexpected, then go back to practicing.

Texting

We received a text this morning about some visitors to our school: we would be having district personnel touring, and they are not paying attention to us teachers; they’re looking for what students are doing. In other words, no need to talk to them or anything. I got admittedly a bit snarky and replied,

Usually, when someone on the group text makes a comment everyone likes, hearts and thumbs-up start bouncing all over the place. For this — nothing. Several teachers later said they appreciated my text, but no one felt comfortable expressing it in a way that everyone could see it. I think that speaks to the overall feeling that seems to be sitting like a low, heavy fog, and if I were to guess, I’d say it’s not just our school.

The Visit

Of course, the district personnel come to my classroom. The first one comes accompanied by our principal. Did he guide her here? As soon as they leave, another administrator brings another district person to our classroom.

It was a good day to visit, truth be told. The kids are having a Socratic Seminar — one of their favorite activities. After we’d watched a bit of Harvest of Shame yesterday in preparation for our unit on immigration stories, we transitioned to Harvest of Shame Revisited — a 2010 return to the topic of conditions migrant farm workers face. The common question on the viewing guide was the same: “Why do these folks earn so little money?” So this morning, I decided to change plans. We discussed that. In a limited way. In a South Carolina way.

All the kids discussed how we could do this or do that, but the bottom line was that all their ideas cost money. “Who’s going to pay?” I pointed out there are a couple of sources, but one is we, the people. “They get paid so little because we want cheap food.” That’s true enough, and it led to the discussion I was intending about the necessity sometimes to sacrifice for the good of others.

Left out of the discussion — the elephant in the room for some perhaps — was the exorbitant salaries of CEOs. Where does that money come from? It can come from the consumers, but it can (many say should) also come from reduced CEO salaries or increased taxes on those earning at that level.

But this is South Carolina. And that is socialism. Not really, but it’s going to be labeled Socialism (always with the capital letter) in many South Carolina homes. And that’s at least part of the reason I didn’t even bring that up.

Truth be told, the fact that it might raise some parents’ dander is only part of the reason. To cover this well, I’d need to get a couple of articles for the kids to read about CEO wages compared to employee wages, and this was a spontaneous lesson. I’d decided to do it only this morning after reading yesterday’s responses. But I do take that ugly s-word into consideration.

Such is teaching in South Carolina.

Teaching the Boy

I’ve been reticent to force my own teaching methods and ideas on our kids. L turned out to be a good writer without my help, but E has been struggling a bit. Still, offers of help but nothing more.

Today, he asked for help with his essay. I showed him how I have my students plan and organize their writing, and he found the technique simple and useful. He went upstairs and rewrote his entire essay using my method.

“The essay is so much better!” he gushed.

“That and the fact that you spent two hours in the evening working on it are things you can be really proud of,” I replied.

“Thank you.”

I’ve always oved that about the Boy: when you complement him, he quietly and modestly thanks you for the complement. It has always made me smile.

Game Night

Friday 8 November 2024

We only have so much time together as a family of four. L will graduate in a few short months, and then her time in our house will be limited to summers. I expect that soon enough, she won’t be staying with us the entire summer. She’ll be twenty, twenty-one years old. She’ll have her own life. She’ll have her own priorities. She’ll have a job that she’ll want to continue working over the summer. Or she’ll have some internship or other. So these evenings are rare.

Some things have, of course, changed, but for poor K, nothing has changed. She always has the absolute worst luck in board games. When we play Monopoly, we call her (and she calls herself) the Slum Lord because she can never manage to get anything other than the very cheapest of properties, and the three of us end up bankrupting her in fairly short order. Tonight’s game of Sorry was no exception. But one other thing stayed the same: we all laughed heartily about it.

Laughing as a family — few things are more precious.

The End

Tuesday 5 November 2024

Before the game

Tonight, L’s volleyball career ended. She won’t be playing in college, and we’ve all decided to use the money we would have put toward a final club season to other uses (like adding some time in Greece this summer for her senior trip). So six years of volleyball came to an end in the second round of playoffs against a team from Clover, South Carolina.

We’ve passed the exit to Clover countless times over the years. It’s just before the turn off highway five to Aunt D’s house — Aunt D, who helped take care of both Nana and Papa, who has a heart that gives endlessly. We commented often on how funny it was that there was a town named after our dog. Strange how these little turns appear unexpectedly in our lives: L’s final game in a town we’ve known and had a private joke about for years but which we never would have imagined visiting.

Eyeing the defense

In a sense, that’s been the common theme of L’s volleyball career. To begin with, when she mentioned in sixth grade that she wanted to try out for the middle school volleyball team, I was a little surprised. She’d played soccer at the Y as a kid, but she wasn’t interested in continuing it. If she devoted her free time to anything, I would have, back then, assumed it would have been dance. She always seemed a bit more showy than athletic as a young child. But once she made her decision to try out for the team, nothing could stop her. Not even not making the team the first year. If anything, that increased her determination.

Entering the rotation for the last time

Once she became obsessed with volleyball, I never would have imagined she could be part of a state championship team. Such occurrences are fairly rare: one has to be at the right place (or rather, on the right team) at the right time. But two years ago (almost to the day), her high school team took the state championship.

One final kill

There was a time it seemed unimaginable that she wouldn’t play volleyball in college. She seemed so dedicated to it, and she was improving by leaps and bounds each year. But it was not to be: she didn’t get any interest from any of the colleges she wanted to attend, and she made the decision that she wouldn’t choose a college just because she could play volleyball there.

Of course, there were the initial expectations about this year. “We’re not going to win any games this year!” she declared after the first few practices and warm-up tournaments. And it seemed like they wouldn’t be able to get their game together, but the did. And they finished second in the region.

After the game

They got further than they ever expected; they achieved more than they thought they could. But that last game — it was tough to go out like that. They just couldn’t get things together, achieving the same dismal results in the first two sets: 14-25. I thought they’d fall apart completely in the third set, but they got themselves together and took the game to a fourth set with a 28-26 win in the third. In the fourth set, they had the same trouble they had in the first two sets and lost 17-25.

Under the net one last time

It was a tough way to end a wonderful six years of volleyball, and the Girl had difficulty holding back the tears. She broke down after last year’s final game as well. She said it was out of sadness for losing the seniors: “It’s the last time I’ll play with them.” I think in the back of her head, though, she knew in a year it would be her turn. She wants to put herself forward as a no-nonsense type of kid, but I think she’s got just a little of my sentimentality in the mix.

Last Time

Wednesday 30 October 2024

Tonight was the last time the Girl went through the introduction ceremony at Mauldin High. They won their playoff game, but they won’t be playing at home anymore this season. A bittersweet moment to be sure.

Senior Night

Monday 28 October 2024

Tonight was the Girl’s last regular-season volleyball game. Not of the year. Of her high school career. We have at least one more game as playoffs start: we’ll be playing someone somewhere this Thursday, but we won’t know until tomorrow morning who and where.

Six years of volleyball are coming to an end. It’s hard not to get a little emotional about that. Last year, with the conclusion of the season’s final game (the second or so round into the playoffs — perhaps the first? I can’t remember), L was in tears at the end of the game. “It’s just that’s the last time we’ll be playing with our seniors,” she said as she explained that she wasn’t in tears so much because of the loss.

The shoe is on the other foot now, one could argue. It’s the other girls who should be crying because they’re losing L. “It’s just that we’ll never play with L or S again,” they should be saying. Or maybe the tears last year weren’t just about the senoirs leaving.

Before the game, we had a ceremony with intros, pictures, and cheers. The girls on the team made gift baskets and posters for the two seniors, and there was a display in the gym entry. The coach had asked parents last week to send some pictures of the girls from various points in their childhood and in their volleyball careers, and she chose a baby picture of each girl and had t-shirts made for the parents. Coincidentally, she chose the same picture Papa’s coworkers chose years ago to make a shirt for him as he retired (for the second time? third?).

After the coin toss and warmups, the girls were introduced — possibly the last time L is introduced on her home court where the cheers are the loudest and most sincere.

As for the game itself, it was a fairly simple matter: Greenwood’s divisional record before tonight was 1-12. We’d already beaten them once, and we won easily tonight. But I have to hand it to those Greenwood girls: it takes a lot to keep coming out game after game when you’re stacking up loss after loss, almost all of them in straight sets.

Afterward, there were the usual shots — with the unusual shirts.

Final Games

Thursday 24 October 2024

The end of an era is nearing. Tonight was the next-to-last home game in L’s high school volleyball career. It’s likely to be highly emotional on Monday when it’s the last home game, but tonight, there wasn’t time for emotion. It was time for revenge.

Our girls were playing Hillcrest, a team that beat them 1-3 earlier in the year. However, they lost in five sets to Easley, whom our girls beat soundly in straight sets the first time they met this season and won again (though in five sets) the other night at home. It was, in my eyes, a must-win game.

The Girl thought so, too.

The Mavs started off weakly, though: they trailed most of the first set, and in the end, lost it 19-25. “The Hillcrest girls are so confident,” K observed, “despite the fact that they’ve lost their last five matches.”

Everyone knew the second set was a critical set: lose it, and it would be hard to win the match. Reverse sweeps are not unheard of, but they are rare. We pulled ahead quickly in the second set, and then launched a huge attack that ended the set with a 25-17 win.

One set each makes the third set the momentum-maker: whoever wins that one needs to win only one more set. At first, I didn’t think our girls wanted it: they trailed by about five at one point. But they pulled back and pulled ahead. Then they let Hillcrest catch up. In the end, though, they held them off and won 25-22.

The momentum was definitely on our girls’ side of the court that fourth set: they pulled ahead after being behind 1-4 and never looked back, winning a deciding third set 25-22. It extended the Hillcrest girls’ losing streak to six, and while I usually don’t like seeing someone lose like that, I didn’t mind too much tonight.

Neither did our girls.

Game Night

Thursday 17 October 2024

We’re nearing the end. The Girl’s volleyball has been a constant in our lives for years now. The Girl and volleyball — we can’t imagine one without the other. Two years of middle school volleyball followed by four years of high school volleyball with club volleyball each of those years: it’s all coming to an end in just a couple of weeks.

So often, we don’t see the end coming. We don’t know when we’re in the midst of some last or another. The last time we see this person. The last time we visit this place. The last time we watch someone do something they love. This last, though, is approaching with unrelenting certainty.

I revel in nostalgia. I wallow in it at times. These last few days, I’ve been looking for pictures to send to our volleyball coach for the upcoming senior night, and I’ve found pictures throughout L’s volleyball career, one from the very beginning:

She was the Boy’s age in this picture, perhaps a little younger. She was just learning, and an overhand serve was the stuff of dreams. An overhand jump serve (as if you’d do an underhand jump serve) was something she couldn’t even imagine. Now she does the easily (when the coach leaves her in rotate on the back line to serve, which is admittedly rare these days).

And in a few more games, it will all be over. She’s not going to be playing volleyball college (at last not for the college team — she’ll likely get involved in intermural sports). So we enjoy each game in a way we probably never have.

Greenville Game

Thursday 10 October 2024

One thing that rarely happens to me at L’s volleyball game is meeting former students. The two high schools that most of my eighth-grade kids attend are not 5A schools like Mauldin High, so we never play them. This year, however, Greenville High (where probably 45% of my students end up attending) ranked up to 5A, so we now face them a few times a year. The first time was at a weekend tournament that I was unable to attend. The second time was at Mauldin, but I was shuttling the Boy here and there. So tonight, we all went to Greenville High for the final game between these two schools.

There were lots of familiar faces. First and most significantly was E, who was in my English I class four years ago and on L’s travel volleyball team (along with H, another of my students). At weekend tournaments I would sometimes see E and H huddled together, papers spread about, talking to each other.

“What are you girls doing?”

They would both look up at me with mock anger: “Studying for your test, Mr. Scott!”

But E wasn’t the only former student I saw. In total, I’d guess about eleven or twelve kids came up to me to let me know how things are going in high school.

“Guess what, Mr Scott? I have a 98 in English 2!” J, a student from last year, boasted with a smile.

“Do you have all As?” I asked C, who is now a junior.

“Of course!” came the laughing reply.

The game itself was a grueling, five-set slog. Our girls won the first set 25-13, which got them a little too confident. Greenville jumped out to a lead in the second set, and at one point it was 13-19. Our girls didn’t give up, though, and fought back to make it 16-19 before falling apart and losing the set 17-26. The third set went to Mauldin, but just barely: at one point, our girls were down 4-9, but they battled back and won 25-22, going up two sets to one. Of course, Greenville tied it at two sets each with a 19-25 fourth-set victory. Mauldin jumped out to an early lead in the deciding fifth set, going up 5-2 then quickly adding two more to make it 7-2. But as our girls like to do, they gave most of it back and were only up by one, 7-6. Ultimately, they kept a lead, increased it a bit, and won the final set 15-12.

Tuesday After the Storm

Tuesday 1 October 2024

Our street has been blocked since Friday morning when Helene took down the tree I’d expected to fall for at least five years.

“When are they going to take care of that?” L asked. “When are they going to get rid of that tree,” E asked. The answer was simple, like so many things in Helene’s wake: “I don’t know.”

We kept reminding them about fortunate we are: we had power back the same day we lost it. We never lost water. We have a home that “flooded” with about two inches of water at most, and in the basement, where we’d already prepared for just that much flooding.

Today, though, the linesmen began working in our neighborhood. They took care of the broken power pole behind our house and cleared the tree blocking our road (though that was the city’s work, I guess).

And we decided it was time to do some exploring. We headed back along the creek that we’ve always called our adventuring area. There was a waterfall there that spilled over some rocks and enormous roots of two trees that towered over everything.

Those two trees, however, were casualties of Helene. Minor casualties, to be sure: they were tall enough to take out a bit of fencing in a backyard on our street, but that’s nothing compared to the death toll that’s in the Carolinas.

Heading back home, we noticed another change: without the enormous tree that was hanging over our street (and the blocking our street), our street looks a lot different.

It’s not the only thing in the south that looks different thanks to Helene.

Old Friends, Old Teammates

Thursday 19 September 2024

They’ve known each other for years. They’ve played together on at least three different teams. During high school season, they’ve played against each other for four years.

Two years ago, when he Mauldin girls took state, L’s team beat S’s and E’s team in straight sets.

Tonight, the roles were reversed. Woodmont is a regional powerhouse this year just like Mauldin was two years ago.

But no matter who wins, the after-game picture is always the same.

Home Game

Thursday 5 September 2024

It was a tough loss: the girls were up 15-7 in the first set only to lose 22-25. It’s tough to lose after having such a lead, and it’s tough to go back out for a second set. But they did. And the struggles continued, and the frustrated girls took another one on the chin: 21-25.

Then came the third set. They jumped out to a quick lead just like the first set, but this time, instead of losing it, they increased it, taking the third set 25-14. “See? That’s what we’re capable of,” they seemed to be saying.

Then came the fourth set, which the lost 16-25. It’s these ups and downs, these moments of brilliance followed by moments of — what? — that are so frustrating for this year’s team. They know what they’re capable of: they’re just not managing to maintain it consistently.

Yet through it all, there’s our L, always the upbeat cheerleader of the team, always celebrating even the smallest victory, always cheering up the team when they’re down, always believing in her team.

Soup

Wednesday 28 August 2024

Polish cuisine, in my experience, is centered around soups. I’m not a culinary expert or anything of the kind, so this is undoubtedly my personal preference coming to the fore: what has always caught my eye (and my tastebuds) in Polish cooking has been the soups.

Barszcz z uszkami is a treat beyond treats: we only have it once a year because the uszki are so time-consuming. It’s one of E’s favorites.

Żurek is such an odd-ball dish for Americans: soup made from a base of fermented rye flour? How weird. And how utterly delicious. It’s one of L’s favorites.

Ogorkowa? Pickle soup? “Get out!” was my first reaction. Who the hell makes soup out of pickles?! It’s absolutely perfect.

K likes most Polish soups, but she probably agrees with L and E that a simple rosół is the best. Babcia always makes it for us as our first dish in Poland, and a gentle, easy broth like that is the perfect thing after traveling.

And then there are the other: koperkowa, chłodnik, kapuśniak — the classics. But there are a couple of soups that stand above them all for me: flaczki (not because I love it so much — I do, but it’s not a favorite — but because I only get it in Poland: K absolutely is not a fan) and my hands-down favorite, kwaśnica. Not so much a Polish soup as a regional highlander soup.

We usually stick to soups in the winter and give them a break in the summer: having the stove on that long really warms up the house, and we want lighter meals in the summer. Except for rosół and koperkowa (none of us is really a chłodnik fan), the soups disappear.

Until the Girl asks K to fix that one soup — you know, with the potatoes and bacon bits.

And so we had for dinner a soup I have always thought of as a winter soup.

“We should do kwaśnica,” I will say some time in October or November.

“No, it’s not cold enough yet,” comes the reply.

But all our Girl has to do is ask for kwaśnica, and it can be 90 degrees outside, and K will not hesitate.