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the girl

Over the Shoulder

Wednesday 26 September 2012 | 0 Comments

It used to be something of an obsession. “What was I doing around this time X years ago?” I’d ask before opening up my journal for that month some years earlier and reading to see what happened. Yet what if I’d had a way to thumb through pictures the way I thumbed through my journal entries? For most of my life, I had about as much interest in photography as I had in basket weaving. Then I moved to Poland. And a couple of years after returning to the States, I moved back to Poland, then armed with a digital camera. And so I can open up a photo viewer and easily look over my shoulder.

September 2001: I’d just moved back, and I was still taking daily walks in the fields behind the house where I rented a room. Such pictures now seem almost unreal: did I really live there?

September 2002: The fascination remained. I was still talking almost daily walks in the fields, heading up to a small patch of trees known to locals as “Cats’ Castle”, watching the sunset from various locations, impressed that the church was visible from almost every point in the central part of the village.

And then an empty year. Did my computer crash? Did I not take many pictures? Whatever the cause, September 2003 is void of pictures.

September 2004: K and I had just gotten married. We’d brought all our lovely wedding gifts — the glass paintings and various prints — to my apartment which was then our apartment. We looked through pictures of our wedding and spent lovely afternoons creating photo albums.

September 2005: Back to the States, to Asheville. “This is where I want to live,” K said the moment she saw the small town surrounded by mountains. It was understandable: it looked so much like her own home. And have a few lovely parks about didn’t hurt either.

September 2006: The Girl was just a few months away. We’d heard all the stories, but who can really prepare for how a child is going to change one’s life?

September 2007: The Girl was with us, and already showing her precocious nature. She sat only to roll; she crawled only to crash; she lived only to giggle and fuss.

September 2008: L, able to walk, began asserting her independence. The innocence would surely linger?

September 2009: Independence increased.

September 2010: We learned quickly that owning a house is owning a project. A never-ending, always-bank-account-draining, eternally-exhausting project.

September 2011: Where did that baby go? Certainly she’s somewhere around here?

September 2012: If I could have glanced forward in time from 2001, surely a wife, two children, a house, and a cat on a tired Wednesday night would seem just as unrealistic as the fields of Lipnica Wielka seem to me now?

Homework with the Girl

Monday 24 September 2012 | 0 Comments

She sits at the table — fewer distractions — and draws. “Draw three pictures each of things that begin with the letters P, Q, R, S, and T.” It’s getting close to the Girl’s bedtime, and as we know she is a perfectionist, we encourage her to choose examples that are easily drawn.

For “P” she settles on pot, pencil, and potato. “Q” seems tricky, but the Girl thinks of quilt, question mark, and Q-tip. “R” yields red (my own idea that got the Girl giggling), ring, and rain. For “S” she ends up with snake, sun, and star. At three objects per letter and twenty-six letters in the alphabet, we’re looking at more than seventy-five drawings over the next few days.

A bit much?

Autumn Sunday

Sunday 23 September 2012 | 1 Comment

The sky always seems somehow a little richer, a little deeper blue in autumn. I suppose it has to do with angles and refraction as the Earth tilts the northern hemisphere away from the sun and the southern hemisphere toward it.

Somehow, though, the light just feels more relaxed.

We in the south finally begin coming out to play at this point in the year. Triple digit heat indexes don’t do much to encourage the average South Carolinian to spend time in the park, kicking a soccer ball around or playing on the jungle gym. (And even if one wanted to, the equipment would be much to hot to touch, and forget about the sliding board.)

So today, with temperatures only in the mid-seventies, the four of us went to a favorite park for some swinging, sliding, and soccer practice.

The Boy sat briefly in a swing for the first time. The seat seemed still to swallow him, and his general inability to support himself combined with his love of peering forward made the prospect short-term at best.

But there was always the grass. Fascinatingly green,Â unfamiliarly scratchy, generally puzzling for the Boy. He’d likely have put some in his mouth if he’d realized how easily it could be done. The whole world would go in his mouth if it could fit, piece my piece, chunk by chunk.

L and I, though, were ready for some practice. With her speed, she can easily outrun most of the players on the field in her Saturday soccer games, so we worked on a new tactic: running as fast as possible while still kicking the ball.

“Just kick it out in front asÂ far as you can,” I explained, “then run — run as fast as possible. You’ll beat everyone to the ball. Then just do it again.”

We also worked a bit on defense.

And the Boy finally got a closer look at that grass.

First Loss

Saturday 22 September 2012 | 0 Comments

It had to happen. And perhaps it was good that it did: L’s team lost their first match today, 8-2. With a point difference like that, it was a stinging first loss. Things just weren’t going as they usually do.

“That team was the best team we played,” L explained. Three young men in yellow managed consistently to stop red team’s offensive charges while also proving themselves to be exceptional ball handlers when on the attack.

“There were some boys on that team that were really good,” L explained later in the day. It gave her, I hope, a view of what’s possible.

Boosterthon

Wednesday 19 September 2012 | 1 Comment

It’s half bet, half bribe. It’s a fundraiser, an exercise event, and certainly for some, a bit of a pain.

I suppose one might argue that it’s an exercise in school spirit and self-confidence. Elementary school activities, we’re finding, tend to combine several elements like that. Show, exercise, fundraising, dance party — I suppose it covers several state educational standards.

For “the biggest fundraiser for the year” at her school — so it was explained at a recent PTA meeting — L had to gather pledges for a run around a small, 1/16th of a mile route set up in the field behind the school. Nana and Papa pledged a significant amount per lap, adding a cap as assurance of not having to mortgage the house to pay their commitment.

Sure enough, when it came time to run — and hop, skip, walk, dance — through the boosterthon, the Girl did the maximum 35 laps.

Which amounts to just over two miles, which is fairly impressive for a five-year-old.

Goal! Again!

Saturday 15 September 2012 | 0 Comments

Game two. The Girl sits out the first quarter. After her adventures last game, perhaps that’s best — start slowly.

When she enters the game, she volunteers to be the goalie. It’s a potential disaster: I anticipate her frustration if she lets a ball get through. She’s doesn’t take mistakes very easily, and I know as goalie, she’s likely to experience them — especially with number five on the opposing team, who seems to steamroll through the defense like a panzer column.

Sure enough, within a few moments of the start of play, the Steamroller Five comes barreling at the Girl. She pulls up a little short and shoots; the ball approaches L with decreasing speed. She bends down; she’s in position.

And the ball rolls right through. Instant frustration; intense irritation. She begins marching to the coach, tugging at the goalie jersey the team shares, when I call her back.

“No, sweetie,” I begin. “You have to stay in. This is your position. We can’t substitute right now just because you’re a little frustrated. But don’t worry — it’s your first time out. You’ll get the hang of it quickly enough.”

And the next time Steamroller Five shoots, the Girl makes the save. She makes a few more as the game continues, but come the second half, she’s ready to go on the offensive.

Her first goal is an act of pure aggression. The goalie makes the mistake of not controlling the ball fully, only gently resting his hands on the ball. L simply takes the free kick.

Her second goal of the the day, though, is a beauty, a joy to watch. She emerges from a pack of defenders and faces off with Steamroller Five, who’s been playing masterful defense the whole game. Just before Five can reach her, the Girl lets loose on a cross-goal shot.

that blasts past the goalie — himself a wonder. He’s been stopping shots left and right, and he’s not afraid to dive

This time, though, he’s a little late. The ball squirts past; Steamroller Five looks on; L collides with a defender — it’s straight out of the World Cup.

The shot just catches the bottom corner of the goal, with the goalie still refusing to give up and the Girl realizing fully she’ll be on the ground momentarily.

So with two games down, we have the stats that might just encourage her to continue. She’d probably like it more if she could wear a tiara, though.

Sharing

Friday 14 September 2012 | 0 Comments

"Name something you don't like to share."

Plinky

Shouldn't the selfless answer be something along the lines of "Absolutely nothing?" As a parent who is always working to teach my daughter (and soon, son) to share, I wonder if this isn't the perfect way to set an example. "Look, my child: there's absolutely nothing I would not share with you. I have my ice cream, but I'm only happy if it's our ice cream. In fact, it gives me more joy to give it all to you than simply to share it." Indeed, in such "sharing," I would certainly be getting the better end of the deal: ice cream melts, no matter what; joy lingers.

Sharing — Photo courtesy of bengrey via Creative Commons.

Yet isn't that also the reckless answer? As with most questions, the more one thinks about this, the broader the potential. Do I want to share my sorrows with my children? Do I want to share my pain?

And deeper still: if I don't want to share my sorrows with my children, why not? It would only be shielding them artificially from what they themselves would experience, and if I share my sorrow, I can control the dose. If I don't want to share my pain, then how can I expect them to share theirs with me, which is much more important?

Homework

Thursday 13 September 2012 | 0 Comments

The bane of most students and many teachers, too, homework seems in some ways to speak to the inadequacies of our educational system. Alfie Kohn and others certainly argue that, but they're certainly in the minority among educators. Most of us educators see homework as practice: just as a world-class gymnast or swimmer puts in extra time beyond formal coaching to improve his or her skills, so too young learners put in the extra time to master new skills.

For the Girl, it's turned into something of a rite of passage. "When will I have homework?" she used to moan when she found me going over student work. Now that she has homework -- of a sort -- she's thrilled. "Tata!" she squealed as she ran into the room the other day, "I love homework!"

And what's not to love about it if it's done right? It can be a moment of bonding between a parent (or grandparent) and a child, an intense social and intellectual engagement where the two engage in a task with a specific and common goal.

Hat Trick

Saturday 08 September 2012 | 0 Comments

When Pele was just over seventeen years old, he became the youngest player to achieve a hat trick — three goals in a match — in a World Cup match. In 1930, Guillermo Stabile scored a hat trick during his debut World Cup game.

What happens if you combine the two?

All I was hoping for was a successful first game, and I defined success simply enough: enough enjoyment to encourage the Girl to continue with her soccer adventure. Certainly, I wanted her team to win — winning always feels good. But more than that, I wanted the Girl to leave with an eagerness to return. And so among my great fears was the shut-out. “If L’s team doesn’t score a single goal, it might be frustrating to her,” I thought.

There were other concerns as well. L is not always the most aggressive person, especially in novel situations, and a first-time soccer game is about as novel as one can imagine.

Yet right from the start, the Girl is aggressive. Really aggressive. She charges the ball without concerning herself about the number of kids kicking wildly at the ball, and she often emerges from the pack with the ball.

And then she scores.

We’ve all seen the typical reactions among the pros — the wild celebrations, the leaping, the shirt front over the head. L seems completely oblivious to the significance of what has just happened. Countless games have finished one-nil, and the sole scorer is automatically the hero.

L, ignorant of all this, simply walks away from the goal calmly, a bit confused even. But my reaction and the coach’s reaction tell her something big has happened.

“It can’t be a more perfect first game,” I think. No matter what happens now, we have something to celebrate. Even if her team loses 5-1, we have that single moment to smile about. “Wasn’t that a great feeling to score?” I’ll be able to ask.

But the Girl has other things on her mind. She continues charging. She continues heading straight for the goal. She continues shooting.

And she misses. Once. Twice. And then more lightning: another goal.

And then a third. A hat trick, on her first time out. As she walks away from the goal the third time, her teammates celebrating, a small smile appears on her face. She knows what she’s done. She’s gotten a taste of athletic greatness. And she likes it.

Not content with having scored the only goals for either team, she proclaims with calm assurance as we walk back to the car, “Next game, I’m going to score five goals.”

Watch out Messi, here comes the Girl.

Flying and Dancing

Monday 03 September 2012 | 0 Comments

They’re not sisters, but they often act like they are, and occasionally they look like it, as well.

Of the three of them, L and T are certainly the most similar. Full of energy, always on the move, ever chattering, constantly seeking some kind of little bit of excitement.

L is a little weary to try something new until she sees someone else do it — like leaping from someone’s shoulders as they explode (as much as my tired legs can make them explode)Â from the water. She leaps prematurely at first.

Then, after watching T do it a few more times, she gets the hang of it. Timing the jump is critical, and she flies into the air so high that I suddenly worry that perhaps it’s too high. Sure enough, it’s a touch too high once, and she lands on her belly — her first belly flop, and she comes up howling.

Soon enough, though, it’s all giggles and laughs again.

And as suddenly as it started, it stops, as a heavy, sudden shower chases from the pool. But why? There’s no thunder, no threat. The youngest girls, realizing this, understand the implication.