Our generous sponsors Streit’s andMama Doni, the lead singer/songwriter of The Mama Doni Band, have provided each of the bloggers involved with this project with a little #HanukkahHoopla gift pack. See individual blogs for information on how to win.
For people who have never heard Hebrew, this video features the blessings we recite and instructions on how we light our menorahs.
Our generous sponsors Streit’s andMama Doni, the lead singer/songwriter of The Mama Doni Band, have provided each of the bloggers involved with this project with a little #HanukkahHoopla gift pack. For information on how to win, click on the little menorah button above.
My guest blogger today is Kathy English, one of the very first people I met in the Blogosphere. Or, I guess I was directed to her. Her blog, The Mom Crusades,is filled with funny peeves and basically daily, snarky observations about parenting. Kathy has had a tough year. Last November, her then 9-year-old son was diagnosed with a brain tumor. After surgery, hospitalization, radiation, chemotherapy and endless doctor’s appointments, some semblance of normalcy has been restored. Kinda. I was surprised and appreciative when Kathy volunteered to write a teacher memory. She has such an open heart.
• • •
Mrs. Schmidt’s Wonderful World
In sixth grade, I attended a school with three middle school grades sharing the high school building. As a new kid, I quickly learned to avoid the seniors’ hallway, to avoid the principal as he was quick to paddle students for wrong-doings (yes, principals were equipped with wooden paddles back in the day, and they used them). It was the first year I would rotate classrooms, and I had to memorize where all my classes would be and in what order.
I wasn’t ready.
By sheer rotten luck, I was placed in the class of a teacher who’d had one of my sisters a few years earlier. He was one of those people you look at and wonder, “How the heck did THAT guy ever get to be a teacher?” A toothpick grew permanently out of the corner of his mouth, he was sarcastic, and he talked to us with the vocal inflection that automatically let us know he thought we were “duh-mb.”
By sheer blessed luck, a counselor entered my room on the second day of school and asked for volunteers to switch into a self-contained sixth grade classroom in order to even out class sizes. My hand shot up in the air so fast, I felt like I could have touched the ceiling. I had chosen to sit in the back of the room, hoping to avoid the attention of the teacher, but there I was, practically jumping up and down in my seat, Arnold Horseshack style. (Young’uns can google that reference. He’s from the old TV show Welcome Back, Kotter!)
The counselor selected a handful of us, and we grabbed our books and headed down the hall to the wonderful world of Mrs. Schmidt, sixth grade teacher. Mrs. Schmidt was tall and slender, with wild red curly hair, and a commanding presence. She was ready for business from day one, and guided all of us with a firm hand, a sense of humor, and sternness when necessary.
While other kids might have thought it strange that we didn’t change classes or have different teachers, we were in our own little world with Mrs. Schmidt: caught in a happy cocoon of elementary school-like security and sixth grade learning.
I couldn't find any images that said: "Royal Highness of Reading"!
During the last week of sixth grade, the school was prepared to hand out various awards at a school-wide assembly. The ever-perceptive Mrs. Schmidt knew that there would be many of us who – literally – didn’t make the grade and would not receive any of those awards. In my scrapbook, I still have four, faded-purple dittoed awards – outlined in crayon and glued onto construction paper, all made by hand and personally signed by Mrs. Schmidt. What are they for? “Scientific Achievement” and “Social Studies Skills”; another stated I was the “Royal Highness of Reading” and declared that I possessed the “Imagination to Travel anywhere and everywhere in the Kingdom of Infinity.” I also earned the award for “Clever Wit.”
Each of the 30 or so students in the class was given at least as many personal awards from Mrs. Schmidt, each read aloud joyfully before being presented, as if it were the first time our teacher had ever given such awards to anyone.
Mrs. Schmidt had a knack for making everyone feel special, for recognizing the individuality in each student and finding a way to nurture it. She was certainly a tough act to follow.
Every time end-of-the-year school award ceremonies roll around, I remember Mrs. Schmidt and how she found something personal about each of her students – to let them know they were recognized and appreciated.
Did you ever win any goofy awards at school? What did you win?
Our generous sponsors Streit’s andMama Doni, the lead singer/songwriter of The Mama Doni Band, have provided each of the bloggers involved with this project with a little #HanukkahHoopla gift pack. See individual blogs for information on how to win.
Immediately after Thanksgiving, the blogosphere became crammed with posts about How to Find the Perfect Christmas Tree, and Elves on Shelves & What To Get Your Man for Christmas and lots of stuff about Why We Need To Keep Christ in Christmas.
And that’s all cool and everything.
Except I thought: I want some #HanukkahHoopla!
So, I telepathically contacted Jewish bloggers from across the globe.
What?
No, seriously, I am good, but I can’t do that!
But with a little networking via Twitter, I was able to connect with fifteen other Jewish bloggers, each of whom agreed to write something Hanukkah-ishy.
Taken together, you will see we represent a broad range of Jewish experience.
Some of us are Reform. Others are Conservative. Some are Orthodox. Some of us have converted to Judaism.
Two of us are rabbis!
Some of us keep kosher; others, not so much.
We have enjoyed getting to know each other, and this was truly a group effort.
Because we are fortunate to have sponsorship for our series! Streit’s andMama Doni**, the lead singer/songwriter of The Mama Doni Band, have provided each of us with a little #HanukkahHoopla gift pack including:
•Mama Doni’s 2011 Parents’ Choice Award-winning CD, Shabbat Shaboom
•a Mama Doni poster
•a Download card for free Mama Doni songs (1 Chanukah song and 1 Passover song)
•a Bag of Streit’s chocolate Hanukkah gelt.
(**Note: That’s Mama Doni doing her thing in the video above. Isn’t she cute?)
I don’t mean to point out the obvious but that’s sixteen chances to win, people!
You’ll find more information about winning our #cyberswag on individual blogs.
So look for our button.
If you click on it, you should will be magically transported by Jewish unicorns to this page and then you can figure out who has posted and who will be posting next.
For those of you on Twitter, look for the hashtag #HanukkahHoopla because we’ll be tweeting each others’ tushies off between December 20-28.
Below is the schedule for who will be posting and when as well as everyone’s Twitter handle. You can comment on anyone’s blog all the way until the end of the 2011. Winners will be posted on our own blog pages, but they will also be posted here!
Recently, Tech Support has become much more private. About everything. Where my 12-year old son used to willingly spill all the beans at once, now he doles them out in microscopic handfuls. And even then, I get a little morsel only after extensive prodding and threats of punishment. Picture a skinny 7th grader with freckles and a pre-recorded robot voice. Because basically, that’s what I’ve got goin’ on these days.
This is how most our after-school conversations sound:
Me: How was school? Tell me something cool that happened today.
TS: I do not like to talk about my academic life.
Me: Well, your father and I think it is important that we know what you do during the day.
TS: Cheese.
Me: Tech Support, it’s not like I’m asking you to reveal our nation’s secrets. If you don’t tell me something about your day, there will be a consequence.
Image via Wikipedia
TS: Will this consequence involve my iPod Touch?
Me: It might.
TS: I had a very good day.
Me: That’s a little vague. Can you be more specific?
TS: I do not like to talk about my personal life.
Me: Can you tell me who sat with you during lunch?
TS: I do not remember.
Me: How is that possible?
TS: *shrugs*
Me: Okay, what about that girl from last year. Do you still see her?
TS: I do not like to talk about my social life.
Me: If you don’t give me something, there will be a consequence.
TS: Will this consequence involve my iPod Touch?
Me: It might.
TS: She still likes me. I know because she still emails me once in a while and talks to me in the hall. But she doesn’t like like me.
Me: How are you doing in your classes?
TS: I don’t like to talk about my grades.
Me: Are you kidding?
TS: If I don’t answer you, will I lose my iPod Touch?
Me: You are heading in that direction.
TS: Then I am doing very well. Very well, indeed. I have A pluses in all my classes. I have found a way to stop the United States dependency on foreign oil. I did this in science with my lab partner. I have written many long essays in English. My gym teacher loves me.
Me: Are you messing with me?
TS: Indeed.
Me: Dude, you are exhausting.
TS: *smiling* Will that be all?
Me: May I ask one more question?
TS: If I do not answer, will I lose my iPod Touch?
TS: Very well. When I get up to read from the Torah, I plan to bust out into a rap. Or sing like Operaman. It will be excellent. Everyone will love it. They will think I am awesome and tell me I should be a rock-star when I grow up.
Me: If you do that . . .
TS: . . . will it involve my iPod Touch?
Me: No. *not smiling* It will involve this . . .
And then I jump on him. I tackle my snarky little son who suddenly knows all the answers to everything. He is longer than I remember. And stronger. We are laughing as our fingers intertwine.
Tech Support and I notice at the same moment that our hands are the same size.
TS: That’s weird. When did that happen?
I think about his question. I remember his tiny fingers wrapped over the edge of his blanket, how he used to clumsily grab magic markers and paintbrushes. I think about the way he used to build with LEGOs and K’Nex and how he still loves to make magnetic creations with those super tiny Bucky Balls. I consider how gracefully he holds his sabre before each bout.
My son interrupts my thoughts.
TS: I think I know when it happened.
I tilt my head, lean in, and give all my attention to him.
TS: Probably while I was on my iPod Touch.
*weep*
What physical and/or emotional changes do you remember people commenting on as you grew up? Or what did/do you notice changing about your child/ren? How did your parents punish you? Do you ever take away your kid’s iPod Touch?
Can you imagine if my kid does a Hebrew version of this on his Bar Mitzvah? Oy!
Do you wear reading glasses? If so, don’t forget to enter my reading glasses giveaway which ends December 16th. Details HERE.
• • •
My guest blogger today sharing her teacher memory is Saucy B. She pretends to be tough — she lives in northern New Jersey and claims if you call her a Jersey Girl, she will kick you in the shins — but for all her attitude, Saucy B comes with an enormous side order or good old-fashioned mama love.
I can relate to Saucy B’s story on one hundred levels. When she wrote this post and discussed how she was described by family members as “precocious” but school was academically challenging for her, I totally got it.
@SaucyBis currently taking a break from her blog, but I hope she will drop by to moderate comments. Her post speaks to so many people who have children who are struggling with school.
• • •
Hidden Potential
I was late bloomer when it came to academics. I was young for my grade; in fact, by today’s requirements, I wouldn’t have even been allowed to enter school when I did.
But, since I was rather precocious in nature – often described as being four going on forty by my relatives – my mother didn’t hesitate to enter me into kindergarten.
It’s not that I didn’t get good grades; it’s just that those good grades came as the result of a lot hard work, a little bit of sweat, and certainly a few tears.
I was in my comfort zone with reading and language arts. But math. Oh math. There’s a reason that when I entered college I was an English major with a minor in Communication. (Dear Rutgers University, thank you for dropping your quantitative requirement the year I entered your fine institution.)
Anyway, it was in fifth grade that students in my school system could be chosen to participate in a Gifted and Talented program that met on Saturday mornings called C.A.T. (I haven’t the slightest idea what that stands for anymore.)
While I recall being slightly disappointed that I didn’t get to participate in fifth grade, I wasn’t completely surprised either. I was doing well, but I certainly wasn’t pulling down straight A’s.
Things changed when I entered sixth grade and was in the class of the school’s only male teacher at the time, Mr. Adubato. This teacher really tried to bring new ideas and other ways of learning to the table. He recognized and encouraged my creative writing in a way that no one else had. And after the first marking period, he got me into the C.A.T. program.
I remember being so proud that as part of the program I got to “publish” my own book of short stories. In reality, my work had just been bound with a nice front and back cover by the school librarian. But, to me, it made me legit.
Today, I see my son, who is also young for his grade, struggling as well. Kindergarten was not an easy transition for him. He received basic skills help and was evaluated this summer by the school’s Child Study Team.
At the beginning of the year, I told his teacher, “There are no rose-colored glasses in this house.” And while I’m very much aware and recognize that my son has challenges, I also know that he is extremely bright and articulate. Collectively, we just have to figure out how to unlock the potential that I know is sitting poised and ready in his little body.
How am I so sure of this? Last weekend I had the privilege of transcribing a story that my son made up to go with a comic book he had drawn. He had numbered the pages, established heroes and villains, and formulated a plot with a distinct beginning, middle and end.
He just couldn’t write it.
Apparently, kids his age are supposed to be able to write some semblance of words based on how they sound. My guy isn’t even close to that yet. So we sat. And I told him the letters to write so that he could bring the story out of his imagination and onto the page.
I strongly suspect that things may get harder for my son before they get easier when it comes to his school work. But I hope he is fortunate enough to have a teacher that recognizes his unique capabilities the way Mr. Adubato recognized mine.
How much do you think a child’s age influences his or her academic performance? And what do you think about “gifted and talented” programs?
It’s 12:25 am, so you are probably sitting at the kitchen table having your late-night snack.
And while could probably call, I didn’t want to wake up mom.
So I had to write you a quick note because I didn’t want you to think I forgot your birthday.
Because I didn’t.
But by the time I can talk to you tomorrow, it will be late afternoon, so I just wanted to tell you a few things.
Last week, I went out to buy you a gift.
I bought you a Syracuse University stadium blanket.
You know, the kind of thing that you can cozy up under when you watch SU sports on television.
I talked to mom and she said that you have many blankets and that it would be a waste.
So I returned it.
Because I know she is right.
You wouldn’t really want a blanket.
Then mom suggested that I buy you sweatpants.
She told me your size and a brand name and even where to go.
And I thought about it, but seriously… sweatpants?
I couldn’t do it, Dad.
We need a new picture!
You mean more to me than sweatpants.
Even if you can really use them.
Because you can buy your own sweatpants. And every time I try to buy you pants, you end up having to return them for a different color or size or style, so what’s the point?
And anyway I know that what you really want is for me to be with you on your birthday.
To cozy up with you under one of your many warm blankets, probably on the couch in the sunroom.
To sit at the kitchen table and share a tangerine and a few dozen handfuls of peanuts.
To talk about politics or do a crossword puzzle until we finish it.
Even if that means staying up way past midnight.
But I can’t be there, Dad.
I just wanted you to know that I know what you want.
You want your family.
Your children and your grand-children.
I will talk to you later, okay?
xoxo
Your only daughter
How do you show you love and appreciate someone when you can’t be near them?
Over the last twenty years, societal attitudes have fostered an expectation that all students should go to college.
Currently, 71% of graduating high school students in the United States go directly from high school to college. And while financial aid has made college accessible for nearly everyone, not all students are ready for college (or the college experience).
Right now over 50% of incoming first-year students require some kind of remediation to help retroactively prepare them for college-level work.
So I am wondering: Are we putting too much emphasis on going to college? Is it possible that the pressure and increasing “requirement” that everyone go to college is an unjust expectation? Is it really necessary that everyone have a college degree? To get entry-level work? Or tradesman status? Because it seems like that’s where we are today. People are paying extraordinary amounts of money to attend college, only to find that upon graduation there are very few well-paying jobs.
Should everyone be expected go to college right out of high school? What else could kids who aren’t hard-wired to continue with formal education do rather than menial labor? Or do you believe that college is the only way to a better life?
I was prescribed Klonopin for insomnia in 2005. Seven years later, after a slow, medically supervised wean, I became cognitively impaired, and after 30 months of intense suffering, I have been resurrected - a phoenix, come from the ashes, ready to battle doctors and big Pharma, while offering empathic support to those still suffering protracted withdrawal symptoms.
A perfectionist by nature, I'm learning to find beauty in the chaos. I'm the girl with the big ideas and the big hair. And words. Always words.
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