the girl | matching tracksuits

the girl

Serve

Saturday 6 February 2016

“Do you have a sponsor?” A simple question several years ago in RCIA as I moved back toward theism and turned toward the Catholic church. A simple answer: “No.” “Well, we’ll have Joe C. be your sponsor then.”

I’d seen Joe, a tall, lanky gentleman with a clean-shaved head, serving as emcee during Mass, but I had no idea who he was. Shortly after my short response to the simple question, though, I found out who he was. And in talking to him, I found out what kind of man he is. Quiet, humble, kind. A runner who gets up before four in the morning to complete all his rituals — running, prayer, adoration on some days — before heading to work, possibly to the 6:00 a.m. Mass beforehand. Always ready to serve, it seems like.

Today, he and seventeen other men — four men total from our parish — were ordained to the diaconate. K went to sing in the choir; I went to support my sponsor. Perhaps not as he’d supported me, for he is my elder chronologically and spiritually.

And the rest of the day?

asdf

Learning

Friday 5 February 2016

My job is about learning. It’s about teaching, too, but the more I stand on this side of the desk, the more I realize that teaching is learning. It’s not just the simple process — as if it were so simple in truth — of learning how to teach. There’s that, certainly. I’m better this year than I was last year, I hope. I’m better this year than I was five years ago, I’m sure. I’m better this year than I was fifteen years ago, I know.

It’s not pedagogy and method that I have in mind, though. I’ve learned that learning is so much more than simply figuring out how to write a good paragraph, understanding how to do geometric proofs, seeing the logic of the scientific method. These things are all well and good — and important. But they all serve as simple means to ends. We learn to write a good paragraph to be able to communicate better. We work on proofs to be able to construct a scaffold of surety around our knowledge — to prove to ourselves what is is. (And to move on to higher and more challenging math.) We study the scientific method because it’s the best way to find out things about the physical world.

All this knowledge helps us in our day to day functioning, but it does very little to help with our living. I’m not more at peace with myself because I can write a paragraph. I can’t show compassion better because I can manage geometric proofs. I’m not more mature because I know the scientific process. My life can bump along just fine without this knowledge, and having this understanding is in now way insulation or protection against anything. I’m not a better person for this.

I’m a better person when I connect with other people. I’m a better person when I understand that the most precious and instructive moments in life are those flashes when a couple of people connect in a real and meaningful way.

I teach my students how to make sense of Shakespeare (and, by proxy, many other challenging texts), and I show them how to organize a paragraph coherently, then how to string several paragraphs together in a logical order. Useful skills, but not life changing. Yet sometimes I get so wrapped up in the importance of those minutia (relatively speaking) that I miss the real teaching and learning opportunities. I forget that just because they’re not learning just what I want in just the way I planned it than my students aren’t learning. I forget that just because what they’re doing for a particular session has nothing to do with English than they’re not become better people. I forget that, at it’s base, that’s what all good teaching is about. There’s the subject matter, true, but all the teachers we really remember taught us more than just their subject matter. In some rare cases, we can sometimes barely even remember what exactly they taught us about English or math or Spanish, but we remember what they taught us about life.

Today, I had the privilege of taking about twenty of my students down the street to a community center than has a trice-weekly seniors program. The plan was simple. The plan didn’t work as planned due to technical issues. And so from a certain point of view, it was a complete waste of time. It didn’t do what I wanted it to do. The plan didn’t behave properly. And in that mini-disaster, I learned once again — my students taught me once again — that there’s more to teaching and learning than nouns and rays and Erlenmeyer flasks.

Sometimes lessons just come along than can’t be planned because the lessons themselves come simply from the messiness and unpredictability of life. Sometimes a room full of teens and seniors offers such individualized lessons that could never be planned, never be executed because life can often never really be planned. And that in itself is part of the lesson.

In the afternoon, another lesson about learning: not all learning has any adults at all involved. The kids headed out for their quarterly (or is it more often? I can never remember) reward day, which consists basically of forty-five minutes of freedom outside. Some kids play basketball; some kids play soccer. Some kids walk around and gossip orally; some kids walk around and gossip electronically.

And some kids just do a little bit of everything. The lessons there? Countless, and completely unplanned.

Back at home, L asked K to help her with a traditional Polish dance that she’d like to use to try out for the school talent show later this year. Tryouts are coming soon, and the Girl is not quite sure what she’s going to do. This is the first year she’s eligible, so she’s feeling a bit stressed about making a good impression. She’d noticed that all the Indian students in the past who’d done traditional dances made it to the show itself, so she reasoned that a Polish Highlander dance might stand a good chance.

So K began working on it with her. I’m not quite sure how this is supposed to work because Polish Highlander dances are really not solos — unless you’re dancing a male part. This bit of information prompted a bit of begging from the Girl, so K showed a few male moves. And E decided he wanted to learn them all, male moves and female moves.

Another unplanned lesson.

They’re really all around us. The opportunities are endless. And the miracle of it all is that we really don’t even have to be aware of it.

Build and Destroy

Tuesday 2 February 2016

“Daddy, let’s play!” chirps the Boy with such excitement, such genuine joy and anticipation, that it’s difficult to say “No.” Sadly, I do have to say just that occasionally.

“I’m working in the yard,” I explain, and then he responds, “Oh, I’ll come help you.”

Another time: “I have to grade papers.” That’s really a misnomer because most of my students’ work is now online, which means I’m sitting at a computer when “grading papers.” And so comes the obvious: “Oh, I’ll just sit on your lap while you work.”

Every now and then, though, I’m able to beat him to the idea. Such was the case tonight. “E, let’s play.”

“Let’s play!” came the response.

So we headed up to his room, discussing our options as we went. Whatever else might be involved, cars are a prerequisite. Want to build something with Legos? Fine, as long as it’s a device to work on cars. Want to create something with wooden blocks? Great, as long as it’s a miasto — a city for his cars to drive around.

Today, though, I thought we might try something new: an obstacle course.

The ladies, in the meantime, were downstairs, struggling through Polish lessons. It can be a challenge. Part of it is the simple fact that it’s more schooling after a day of school. But more challenging, I think, is the Girl’s reluctance to make mistakes. She flies through work at school, catching on quickly and mastering skills without much effort, it seems. “Math is boring now,” she says. But Polish? It’s not so easy. It’s not mistake-free. And even though she has a linguistic master in the house, she hesitates.

Once she got the work done, though, she came up to join us.

And then disaster struck: “E, it’s time for a bath. Let’s clean up.” The fact that we could rebuild did nothing to comfort him. The fact that I promised we could rebuild tomorrow did nothing to soothe him. Now is now; tomorrow is unimaginable. “But Daddy,” he sobbed, “I have to get up, and go to school, and then we can build it.” I can understand that frustration. I experience it. I see it in my students. And I see how some of them deal with it. So when the Boy and I finished with the clean up, and he was still sniffing, I took him in my arms and said, “That was a very difficult thing to do. No one likes to do something they don’t really want to do.” Perhaps in destroying, we were able to build some character.

“Okay,” he said. And by bath time, five minutes later, it was completely forgotten.

Sunday Afternoon

Sunday 31 January 2016

Snow Day 2016, Part 2

Monday 25 January 2016

Another day off school, another typical Greenville County Schools snow day — not a bit of snow visible in our part of the county, but apparently enough snow in the north portions of the county to render things unsafe. And so we kept ourselves occupied today in a variety of ways — details when you mouse-over.

Garbage-Bagging

Saturday 23 January 2016

“It’s supposed to start around seven this evening,” I explained. “That’s what all the meteorological reports suggest.” The slight bit of icy snow that frosted the ground yesterday was not enough to do much of anything, one would think, but when you’re on the South, any amount of “snow” is significant for children. So the suggestion that we might have even more snow was the stuff of sweet dreams as the kids plodded off to bed. “Is it snow?” was the mantra of the evening, but they went to sleep with complete confidence with the weather reports, knowing that they were only off by the time.

From the moment they woke up, the kids were at the window, ready to go out, ready to play in the snow. “There’s so much snow!” E chirped again and again. It’s only the second or third time the Boy has seen snow, so any snow at all is significant. When Dziadek was sick a few years ago, K to the Boy with her for a visit in the middle of January, and so E saw real snow, deep snow, snow that covers everything and utterly transforms the whole landscape, but of course he doesn’t remember it.

When we finally made it outside, we had a dilemma: the young man who was sledding with us yesterday had come in the morning and taken his sleds with us. What to do? “I guess we sled like I did when I was a kid,” K said. And so we took an old sleeping bag — though, properly speaking, it should have been straw — and used it to stuff a garbage bag. K also thought we might try E’s old inner-tube we used at the pool. “It’s not like we use it anymore.” As the finishing touch, our neighbors invited us to use their yard — slightly smoother and with fewer trees.

When the kids came in, they were soaked. And that’s as it should be.

Snow Day 2016

Friday 22 January 2016

We don’t get much snow here in the South. Even an inch is enough to disrupt everything. We do get a lot more ice, I think. Even then, the slightest little bit makes the news. This morning, for example, a news caster commented on the fact that there were icicles on the trees, “And they don’t fall off when I shake the branch.” No joke.

Still, when we get a little snow, or even a little ice that is masquerading as snow, we make the most of it.

Diagram

Thursday 14 January 2016

L and I were sitting by her bed, reading the graphic-novel version of Shakespeare that she brought from the school library when she came across a sentence that stumped her: the king sent to men “to consult with the oracle of Delphi, in Greece.” I explained to her what “consult” means and then began working to help her figure out what “oracle” might mean.

“If ‘consult’ means something like ‘ask advice from’ and the men went to consult with the oracle, what did they ask advice from?” Much to my surprise, she couldn’t figure it out. I explained that the verb was “consult,” the action is “consulting.” “So who’s doing the action, who is consulting?”

“The king?”

It was clear a new strategy was necessary.

That’s right, I started teacher her how to diagram sentences. There are few skills that are so incredibly useful for getting students to see the inner working of a sentence, the clockworks of the sentence. Of course it’s no longer taught today except by eccentric English teachers who have free reign with their curriculum design — in other words, it’s not taught anymore. Still, I’ve begun wondering if I could somehow incorporate it into my own teaching

Sunday in the Park

Sunday 10 January 2016

The patriarch of the Buendía family, José Arcadio Buendía, spent the last days of his life under the chestnut tree in the courtyard of his home. Even when villagers carried his body to his bed as his end became increasingly obviously near, he woke and went back to the tree every morning as “a habit of his body.” Thus Marquez describes it in his classic One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I am re-reading some twenty or twenty-five years after I first read it. The idea of a habit of one’s body stuck with me all these years, and tonight, when I finally read that scene, I smiled. It was one of the passages of the novel I couldn’t recall where exactly it fell but read eagerly in search of it.

Part of the joy of watching children, I think, is that they have no habits of the body yet. They don’t get up at five thirty and make the morning coffee without thinking about it. They don’t come to an intersection intending to turn right but pulling into the left lane out of habit. They don’t have a routine they follow in which they suddenly become aware they’re half-way through the routine. Every action is new. Every action has a certain uncertainty to it that demands their attention and their care. Every act brings forth a joy of the novel.

Final Sunday of the Break

Sunday 3 January 2016

Just as predicted, we blinked twice and it was Christmas Eve; another two blinks and it was New Year’s Eve. And now, it’s all over again. Another Christmas break is little more than memory. But that’s not a bad thing: Most of our lives are memory. The present is just a passing phase that disappears as soon as you acknowledge its existence. The future is relatively uncertain. So it’s our memories that make up the majority of our life.

Today was glorious, but we were all tired, so we stayed home. It was a lazy day from the beginning: the alarm went off at seven, and it took only a moment for K and me to decide that the eleven o’clock Mass was a better option than the nine o’clock Mass.

We were thinking about going for some afternoon outing, perhaps hiking somewhere, but soon after Mass, as we were heading to the car, I think I’d decided that even going to a nearby park might be too ambitious.

So in the end, we spent the day at home. There was an abundance of trampoline time, including the fun game of Charge Yourself with Ample Static Electricity by Shuffling Around the Trampoline with Your Socks On Then Discharge It All Onto Daddy’s Bald Head. A fun game, that.

New Year’s 2016

Friday 1 January 2016

For someone as obsessed with the passage of time as I am, I am strangely ambivalent about New Year’s Eve. When I was younger, it was just an excuse to go to a party. As I grow older, it’s just an excuse to get together with friends.

Then, as our children grow older, it’s become an excuse for them to stay up as long as humanly possible.

And a last stab at ice cream and chocolate overload.

Last night, I children did both. For L, it’s not much of a feat — she managed it last year, and probably the year before. For the Boy, though, to stay up that late. This is the kid that fell asleep at his normal bedtime at our Christmas gathering last week.

But he made it. And he survived the fearful experience of his first near encounter with fireworks.

“Daddy, I want to go back inside,” he said, a slight panic in his voice.

“What’s my job?” I asked him.

“To protect me.”

“So I would never put you in a dangerous situation, right? I would never put you somewhere that you could get hurt, right?”

After a few minutes, he was a different little boy.

“Daddy, I love fireworks.”

Overcoming a fear — a good way to start the year.

For Granted

Wednesday 30 December 2015

This evening, K and I finished out the day watching Iris, a film about the British writer Iris Murdoch. I know little about Murdoch, and I’ve never read any of her work, but the film stars Dame Judi Dench, so I thought it couldn’t be that bad, and it really wasn’t. Dench does a good job, as always, and it’s a tough thing, I would imagine, portraying a lively mind sinking into Alzheimer’s. It got me to research Murdoch, though, and I found a curious quote attributed to her about marriage:

I have a strong memory of an interview between Murdoch and the writer A.N. Wilson in which, when asked about her marriage, she replied: “Oh well; I love, and am loved.” She also informed Wilson that the benefit of marriage is being able to take the other for granted. (Source)

The article is entitled “The secrets of Iris Murdoch and John Bayley’s unconventional marriage,” and the article reveals that “She was apparently very sexual, and not only with John; he, perhaps, was less interested in matters carnal.” In short, she had multiple affairs, apparently fairly openly, throughout their marriage. In the film, Murdoch says to Bayley early in their romance, when he has just discovered her unfaithfulness, which she freely admits, that he just has to accept her as she is. She’s not willing to change for him, in other words. While that might be admirable in some areas, in sexual promiscuity I find it a bit selfish, and I found myself wondering at the end of the film if that’s what she meant in the interview (I researched as the film uncoiled) about being able to “take the other for granted.”

I take so much for granted it’s not even humorous in the slightest. I take for granted that I will have a dry place to stay when the rain pours and pours as it has for the last several days. I take it for granted that I will walk up and see my wife and children in the morning and carry on my life like normal. I take for granted that I can slip downstairs late one evening, occasionally light a cigar and pour a little libation, and write.

I take for granted that my family will have food to eat, and that if, after returning home from inspecting the neighborhood during a let-up in the downpour, we decide to have mac and cheese for lunch, that we can do just that. And I take for granted that I can take all these things for granted.

And that is probably why I have always been somewhat obsessed by time and its passing. Like so many others, I get into the habit of taking things for granted, and when they come to an end, as this year is or as our extended holiday break is, I realize unconsciously that I’ve taken it for granted and not made the most of it. At least I did. Having children changed that to a degree

I learned to be aware of each passing moment because it was just that, a passing moment. This is especially true since the birth of E. The Girl’s first years showed me how one can grow accustomed to — take for granted — the little quirks a child exhibits as she grows and then suddenly, one realizes that the child has outgrown that quirk.

Now I’m still obsessed with time, but the obsession has changed. No longer do I find myself thinking, “This wonderful experience is ending, and I’m not sure anything coming will ever be as magnificent as this,” for that was how I framed my taking-for-granted nature. Instead, I find myself shocked at how quickly time as passed, regretting slightly the moments I’ve taken for granted and more determined not to do it any more.

Tuesday

Tuesday 29 December 2015

With a break in the clouds, the unseasonably warm temperatures, and a free day for everyone, there was only one place to go: the park.

First a bit of playground fun. L has been growing more creative in her daring, but still needs a bit of help every now and then. Her grand idea of swinging down from the monkey in one fluid motion ended with frantic calls for help. Her insistence that she could take whatever spinning madness I could produce on the tire swing ended with her begging me, though not in a panic, to slow her down.

Afterward, bikes. It was fairly amazing to see how L has changed with her bike riding. Adjacent to the park we were visiting was an abandoned BMX race track, with only the starting gates remaining. The Girl was eager to try riding down the lower portion, below the gates themselves. Once I showed here how to navigate the lowered starting barrier, she rode down the concrete ramp seemingly countless times. And the Boy, as he always does, imitated her. Yet, also as he always does, his trusted his intuition and didn’t even want to try going from the top of the ramp.

Finally, an odd adventure: we’ve had a leak in the crawl space, and I’ve tried a few things to figure out what was causing the leak exactly. When I suggested that the Boy could go into the crawl space with me to check the latest effort, he was literally ecstatic. “Daddy, I love the crawl space!” And as L always does, she wanted to join us. I took the camera down to snap a few shots of the damage (which was not as bad as I thought), and of course I had to take a quick picture of the kids in a once-in-their-lifetimes location.

And while that bit of hanging insulation looks awfully close to them, it really wasn’t — an effect of the lens.

Jasełka 2015

Sunday 27 December 2015

A Family

Tuesday 22 December 2015

The Girl: Daddy, E’s copying me!

Tata: And?

The Girl: He’s pretending he’s hurt.

The Boy: No, I’m not!

Tata: And?

The Girl: It’s driving me crazy?

Tata: And? You drive us crazy. He drives us crazy. We drive you crazy. It’s what makes a family a family.

More Pictures from Yesterday

Tuesday 22 December 2015

Day Two, at the Park

Sunday 20 December 2015

The days before Christmas Eve are all about preparation. There’s so much to clean, so much to cook, so much to get ready just to cook or to clean. There’s an art in knowing when to help and knowing when helping is simply getting out of the way.

Today, K made the pierogies for Christmas Eve, and while she was at it, she used up the rest of the chicken from Wednesday’s rosół (L’s favorite, made especially for her birthday) to make some chicken pierogi. All in all, she made well over a hundred of the little dumplings, which means that flour was flying all over the place.

Were the kids there, cries of “Can I help?” and “Why can I help?” and “L could help — I want to help!” and “Can I have some dough?” and a thousand other things would be a constant added challenge to gauging the amount of filling versus dough to make it all come out, the challenge of making cutting-board full of dumplings quickly enough that the first ones don’t dry out before the whole board gets slipped into the freezer. Not to mention one’s sanity.

So after lunch, I packed the kids and their bikes into the car and headed to the nearest park. Southside is not nearly as crowded on it’s busiest Sunday as Cleveland Park is on an average Sunday, and when we arrived today, we had the park almost all to ourselves.

Almost as soon as we arrived, a young man with a yellow safety vest and an unsteady stride approached us. “Hi,” he smiled awkwardly, then pointing to his bandaged wrist, asked, “What’s this?” I looked at his vest, which has his name printed on it and a telephone number, and it was quickly clear that the young man had Down’s Syndrome. I looked at his wrist and replied, “It looks like you hurt yourself. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What’s this?”

I explained again, glancing around to see where his parents might be, glancing at L and E to see where they were.

“What’s this?” came the voice again.

E was approaching me at that point, calling out his usual mantra — “Daddy, come play with me!” — so I simply repeated my explanation and excused myself. The Boy and I headed to the biggest slide on the playground, and glancing back at the yellow-clad boy, I saw him head to another father on the playground. Pointing to his wrist, he was clearly asking the same question of almost everyone, and it was still unclear where his parents might be.

“Who was that, Daddy?” L asked as she ran up beside us as we headed to the bigger playground with it’s enormous slides.

“I don’t know, sweetie.”

“Then why were you talking to him?”

“He was talking to me,” I replied, knowing where the conversation was heading.

“Why?”

I explained, and L, having recently become aware of the autistic students in her own school, asked if he had “bad autism” or just “a little.”

“He isn’t autistic, honey. He’s mentally disabled. He has something called Downs Syndrome.”

“What’s that?”

I explained it quickly, and since we were then at the bigger playground, she found that explanation adequate and ran off to mount the ladder to the slide.

Still no sign of the lad’s parents, but by then, my attention had shifted to the Boy’s climbing. Lately, he’s grown more confident and more willing to take risks, which means he was climbing on things like the chain ladders that just a few months ago were unthinkable challenges for him.

I stood at the base of the slide, waiting for him. As he climbed up the ladder, my view was briefly obstructed, and the normal parental thoughts paraded: What if he falls? Should I be by him to help?

I stayed where I was. He didn’t fall. I learned the same lesson for the millionth time: I have to let go. I have to step back. I have to let him fall.

And later, when they were riding their bikes in the empty over-flow parking lot and the Boy fell, I walked calmly over to him, calling, “Oh buddy, it’s nothing. Get up — brush it off. You’re fine.”

I never figured out who the yellow-clad young man’s parents were. He talked to almost everyone in the playground and wandered freely. In fact, I wondered whether or not they were even at the park. Maybe they dropped him off and went somewhere for a while. Shopping? Who knows. Yet I’m not willing to make any kind of judgment about their parenting choices. They’re probably just letting him climb alone for a while.

(Final pierogi count: 148.)

First Day 2015

Saturday 19 December 2015

First day out of the gate and we get phenomenal amounts of things accomplished. Well, phenomenal by some standards. Cleaning, shopping, cleaning, rooting around in the crawl space, cleaning, playing with the heating system (what’s a winter without it going crazy at least once?), cleaning, playing with the kids, cleaning, and going to the library.

As part of the playing element of the day, we experimented with the walkie-talkies we got before going camping last year. The Boy loves the idea of them, but can’t seem to get the concept of pressing the button to talk and releasing to listen. That meant a lot of frustration, both on his part and the Girl’s.

Fortunately for both of them, something else quickly grabbed their attention and the arguments they have — which, in some ways, are increasing in frequency — were averted.

In the evening, a family movie — the Polish version of Polar Express — and a fire in our newly-fixed fireplace.

“Should we go to nine o’clock Mass tomorrow, or maybe wait until eleven?” K asked before heading up to bed, just about to fall asleep. It’s winter break: the answer was obvious.

Nine

Wednesday 16 December 2015

A day of double goodness. First, the Girl turned nine. It happened when she was arriving at school — 8:05 to be precise. I wished her an official happy birthday when I got back from work in the afternoon. In the meantime, she had cupcakes at school and got to go see E’s first concert.

Dinner was her favorite: rosół. Clothes for her Caroline made the perfect birthday gift — all in all, a good day for her, I think.

Trying out Presents

Tuesday 15 December 2015

We have Candyland and Monopoly, Shoots and Ladders (or is it “Shoots ‘n’ Ladders”?) and checkers, Uno and Jenga, as well as a handful of others, but the one classic kids game we did not have Twister. So when one mother said to us as an aside, “We didn’t know what to buy her so we just got a game,” I was hopeful.

Tonight, we tried it out. And quickly discovered that the Boy isn’t quite big enough to make some of the connections.

« Older Entries

Next Entries »

← Socratic Seminar Parkour →

Matching Tracksuits