Grandma’s Charms

Posted on January 24, 2012 | 83 comments

My grandma had an awesome chunky, clunky charm bracelet.

It had sixty-five bajillion charms on it, and it clanked whenever she shook her wrist.

She died in 1982, while I was at summer camp.

I don’t know to whom her charm bracelet was willed, but I never saw  — or heard — it again.

Fast forward three years. My senior year of high school, two friends of mine and I fancied ourselves jewelry makers and set up shop stringing rainbow-colored beads onto tiny black fishing lures.

Our plan?

To become famous jewelry makers.

Or maybe to earn just enough money to see the next Grateful Dead Show.

{Or maybe that was just my plan.}

Anyway, after school and on weekends, we bought miniscule black fishing lures and itsy-bitsy multi-colored seed beads and transformed these cheap components into semi-hideous totally fabulous earrings, bracelets and necklaces.

We hawked our wares during periods 5, 6 and 7 lunch and sold everything for under $5.

And then my left thumbnail split in two.

And that was it; we were out of business.

Still, it was good while it lasted.

While our little business was booming, I got to table together with two friends. And as we slumped over flat surfaces sorting beads and determining color schemes, we talked about our lives: the boys we liked, what we thought we might do after college, where we might eventually land.

Our stuff was not fancy, but people seemed to like it. And it was wonderful to see someone delight in wearing something that we had made.

Recently, I saw these really adorable bracelets.

They don’t call ’em cutey for nothin’!

I immediately liked the colorful bead combinations, especially one bracelet with a whimsical heart-drop dangle featuring two people smooching.

I like that bauble a lot.

I like to roll the round smooth beads between my fingers and see if I can guess which one is which just by the way it feels.

Even though this bracelet is nothing like the junk kind my friends and I created in high school — nor is it like the one my grandmother wore — the clinking sounds strangely familiar.

So now I jingle a bit, and — happily — it reminds me of old friends.

And of my grandmother.

Pieces of my life’s history in metal and beads.

Who could have known that this little bracelet would bring me such sweet memories?

Tell me about a favorite piece of symbolic jewelry.

tweet me @rasjacobson

83 Comments

Posted in Family, Memoir

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What the Deuce is GRIEVENSTALL?

Posted on January 23, 2012 | 18 comments
Cover of

Cover via Amazon

Today we continue with Made-It-Up Mondays where I throw out a 100% made-up word and ask you to:

  • define the word
  • provide its part of speech, and
  • use the word in a sentence that indicates how the word could be used.

Why? Because it’s fun. And because someone gave me the book

For example:

The Yupga word “Mamihlapinatapi” from the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego refers to a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other will offer something that they both desire but are unwilling to do.

When I can’t find the right word on the word-shelf to fit my mood or predicament, I just make one up.

The last time we did this the word was “fongutter” and I am sad to say, no one was even close. FON was really pronounced PHONE, and this word harks back to the days when Tech Support was still a wee thing who liked to take apart old phones to see how they worked. Now he enjoys taking bigger stuff, so I have to tell him to stop being a “fongutter” and put my shizzle back together.

No worries. We shall plough ahead.

The first person to use the word even remotely close to the way I do shall receive linky-love. And by that, I mean I will announce your identity in the next Made-It-Up Monday post next month and link up to your blog, so folks can head over and check out your stuff.

If you are not a blogger, don’t worry. If you guess the meaning, I will highlight your name in bold and let everyone know how smart you are. If you are looking for a new job, you can put “uncanny ability to define 100% bogus words” on your resumé and direct prospective employers here. I will totally back you up.

Continuing alphabetically, this month’s word is:

GRIEVENSTALL

What the heck is that? Define it. And give me a sentence in which you show me how you would use it.

You know, if it were a real word. 😉

Tweet this Twit @rasjacobson

.

18 Comments

Posted in Tingo Tuesday

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Dear Mr Reichert by KD Sullivan

Posted on January 20, 2012 | 40 comments

There she is!

I don’t exactly know through whom or when I met KD Sullivan, but I know I liked her right away. Her blog, Journey to Epiphany is filled with beautiful posts that have inspired me. KD has been a number one supporter to me from the moment I asked for help with this project. She has been waiting a long time for this post to go live.

But KD is nothing if not patient. She is a gentle, true spirit. And I urge you to check out what she has done at her place. One of my most favorite posts is called “Painting Grace Graffiti or How I Almost Quit Blogging.”

You should absolutely follow her on Twitter @kdsullivan. And her new Facebook page is here!

• • •

Dear Mr. Reichert

At the time, Mr. Reichart was under-appreciated. We thought he was just plain weird. He had the worst comb-over I’d ever seen: badly dyed, jet-black hair started two fingers above the top of his ear and swept over his otherwise void-of-hair head. With bulbous eyes, slightly yellowed skin and a thin frame, he looked like a character in an old Peter Lorrey film. He always wore a short-sleeved dress shirt. But the most interesting thing about Mr. Reichart’s appearance was the wad of spittle that moved from his top lip to his bottom lip. I used to take guesses as to which lip the spittle would settle at the end of class.

Despite his geeky appearance, Mr. Reichart was the best English Literature teacher. Ever. I remember very little about high school, and even less about actual class time in high school, but I have three very vivid memories of this wonderful teacher’s class.

The first was when he taught a unit on English poets. He asked a question that I’ve never forgotten. He asked:

“Would you rather have some one tell you that they love you despite your faults, or someone who pretends to be blind to them?”

At the time I thought I’d rather have someone be blind to them, but as wisdom and maturity have taken their toll on a horribly flawed me, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’d rather the first.

Portrait of Chaucer from a manuscript by Thoma...

Image via Wikipedia

Mr. Reichart made us memorize the Prologue to Canterbury Tales by Chaucer in old English! He told us that some day, we would see each other in a bar and repeat it…and if my memory was good enough to recognize or even remember any of the students in his class, I would still be able to quote it. Verbatim. And because I home-schooled my children, I made them memorize it as well.

My last memory of this eccentric man was that he created a holiday. He called it Lacey Day. It doesn’t happen on the same day every year, and in the Chicago area usually comes in early May. It occurs the first day the tree leaves are barely unfolding; when you look toward the sky you will find a tapestry of green lace.

I don’t know if Mr. Reichart is still alive, but I have much to thank him for. He sparked a love in me for English literature. He treated me — and all of his students — as though we were already adults with his talk of love and meeting in bars. He believed we could do hard things. But most importantly, he taught me how to make a holiday out of the common, and find beauty in the every day. So for a couple of days each spring, I look up to the tops of the trees and remember dear Mr. Reichert.

What literature did you have to memorize in school? Can you still do it? Which former teacher of yours would you like to meet in a bar? What drink would you order him or her? What would you have?

40 Comments

Posted in Guest Writers

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Things are Breaking

Posted on January 17, 2012 | 60 comments

In the middle of December, I pilfered some of my son’s leftover Halloween candy; I had been craving sweets, and his box of purple NERDS looked strangely enticing. I dumped the entire box in my mouth and proceeded to chomp down on the little pellets, which turned out to be grape-flavored rocks in disguise.

Seriously, those things were friggin’ ridiculous.

I had hoped for sweetness – and initially, they were sweet — but I was utterly unprepared for the unyielding, rock-hardness of those tiny artificially flavored stones.

I felt my teeth crunch against something unnaturally hard, but my sweet tooth was unrelenting.

At some point, it occurred to me that my particular pack of NERDS had come from somebody’s leftover Halloween candy from one maybe two years ago, and I just so happened to be the unlucky recipient of that box.

Nevertheless, I kept chewing until every last bit of tart purple goodness had been devoured.

Later, my husband came home after an unseasonably warm day. The world was clearly confused. There was no snow. The sky was blue and tiny flowers were trying to bloom in my garden.

My husband asked me if I had heard that The Pretty People had separated.

I hadn’t heard.

photo by Jordan Gillespie @flickr.com

I opened my mouth but there were no words.

“What’s wrong with your teeth?” he asked.

I stood in front of the mirror and stared at my teeth, or rather, the now missing parts: the pieces that had been there but that had disappeared at some point along the way without my even noticing it.

I started to weep.

Partly for my broken teeth, but mostly because of The Pretty People.

Early the next day, I made an appointment. I couldn’t wait to see my dentist so he could get his gloved hands all up in there and make things right again; it didn’t seem like it would be too hard.

But it was.

My appointment lasted over an hour during which time I lay back in the chair and listened to the dental assistant go on about another employee whose dog had recently run away, how devastated she was to have had him unexpectedly wander out of her life.

When the dentist finished shaping and bonding, I had two new teeth: nearly as good as the originals – but not exactly the same. I kept looking at them.

“Will they last forever?” I asked my dentist when he finished.

“They’ll be good for a while,” he said, “but once something has broken… well, all fixes are temporary.”

I thought of The Pretty People.

I’ve always assumed every marriage has cracks and weak spots, but that these minor imperfections are things we can excuse in our spouses. Short of infidelity or abuse, I’ve believed most grievances are petty things that we can forgive in each other because we all possess our own heinous fault lines.

I mean, on any given Thursday I want to strangle my husband after I have punched him in the throat and given him a Super-Atomic wedgie.

But Lord knows, my husband is a patient man.

It is January now, and I can’t stop thinking about the impermanence of things.

I can’t stop thinking of friends who are wrestling with health related issues; another friend whose son had to be airlifted from Bolivia to Miami to receive treatment for something doctors have not yet diagnosed. I am thinking about the dental office worker whose puppy ran away. And I am thinking about the Pretty People – their children, their home, their lives.

An eternal optimist, I’m hoping the best for all of them. I’m praying that a Divine Spirit will cure my friend’s tumors, that my friend’s son will miraculously turn around so that his father can stop worrying about diarrhea and measuring urine output. I’m hoping that The Pretty People will rediscover what they once saw in each other after a little time away from their daily routine. I’m hoping that dental assistant’s puppy will find his way home.

Also, I’m hoping that my new teeth will hold.

I know nothing is solid, but I suppose in matters of the heart I prefer the illusion to reality.

Up until that December day, my biggest worry had been getting my sugar fix.

Who knew I had it so sweet?

What has rocked your world lately?

Interested in entering the Create Your Own Super Hero Contest? Details HERE.

60 Comments

Posted in Relationships, Sadness/Anxiety

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Create Your Own Super Hero Contest

Posted on January 16, 2012 | 23 comments

This is El's Avatar. She is riding for justice.

El Farris is my writing partner. She kicks my butt and makes sure that I am writing. And then I kick her butt back.

I guess we kinda like to kick each other’s butts.

El and I have 6,347 things in common. We both love motorcycles and horses. We are both wild women and yet we each have a strong sense of justice. We hate bullying and plagiarism. We have both survived things that might make folks look at us with sad eyes or call us victims. We call ourselves survivors.

El’s just hit her 111th post on her blog Running From Hell With El and, to celebrate, I suggested she run a little contest.

El is all about justice and she has a strong moral code. We decided a great idea — nay, the perfect idea — would be for people to create their own Super Hero Avatars and send them to post at her place.

For the purposes of this contest, a superhero is defined as a character dedicated to using his or her strengths to stop those who might use their powers for selfish, destructive or ruthless purposes.

Rules:

1. Pick your cause — funny or serious — and send in a visual representation of your Super Hero to elfarrisburke@gmail.com. You can use any medium: a drawing, a cartoon, a photograph, a collage.

2. Please include with your submission an explanation of what your Super Hero is fighting for (or against, as the case may be).

3. You may submit until January 24, 2012 at 9 PM EST.

4. On January 25, 2012 at 7 am, I will announce the winner of El’s Strong Enough to Escape From Hell Create Your Own Super Hero Contest.

One lucky winner will receive a $20 gift card to Barnes and Noble.

{Knowledge is power, people. We find that knowledge in books.}

This is my Super Hero! And before you get all freaked out thinking, "I can't do that!" I didn't. My kid did it for me. I made a doodle. Which would have been fine. Plus, I'm the judge. I can't win.

When is the last time you created art with something other than words?

23 Comments

Posted in Writing Life

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Lessons From a Tiger Teacher by Deborah Bryan

Posted on January 13, 2012 | 51 comments

She doesn't look like a Monster? Does she?

My guest writer today is Deborah Bryan from The Monster in Your Closet. I met Deb when she was Freshly Pressed. She posted this powerful, personal piece, and I thought she was so brave. Then we got to tweeting.

Later, I won a contest she was running and she sent me a book of poetry and an autographed copy of her own book, The Monster’s Daughter. Then we got to emailing and calling.

Deb has an awesome life. Sometimes she’s a mom, and sometimes she dresses up like a zombie. And sometimes she lands guest spots on reality television shows. And that is why I hate her. I mean I adore her, but I’m jealous. I mean, where is my camera crew? 😉

Read Deb’s beautiful piece about her Lesson Learned. Check out her blog, and follow her on Twitter at @deb_bryan.

• • •

Click here to see the schedule!

Lessons From a Tiger Teacher

I spent most of my early life assuming I’d make a mess of my later life. I was poor and headstrong, both of which seemed to be cons that outweighed pros such as intelligence, writing skill and my dastardly ability to flex the second knuckle of each finger.

I went through the motions of school, but I invested myself only minimally. Why on earth would I want to forego reading time to do homework whose long-term benefit I couldn’t really grasp? I’d plow through my assignments at the last moment just to avoid my mom’s not-quiet lectures on the importance of education, but my effort was strictly “just enough.” I didn’t see the point of doing more.

Mrs. Stamm changed that.

At first, I knew her as the personable, quirky teacher of my high school’s Asian Arts class. Her unique perspective on just about everything left me laughing more often than not. Over the first couple of weeks of the course, I came to enjoy classes with her so much that I approached her about taking her Chinese class as well. She was ecstatic about the inquiry, rightly seeing it as a compliment to her teaching. She approved my joining first-year Chinese late in the term.

It was a little disconcerting jumping into Chinese three weeks late, but I caught up pretty quickly. Within a few days, Mrs. Stamm started returning my quizzes with “A+++” scrawled across the top.

After class, I’d ask her questions about what we had just studied. She relished these questions and encouraged me to keep on asking them.

Within a few weeks, she concluded one such Q&A session with the surprising words: “I hope you keep studying Chinese in college!”

I laughed and said, “You mean, if I go to college.”

When I said this, she gave me a look of such complete incredulity I laughed even harder.

“When you go to college, Deborah. When you go to college.”

Virtually every day after that, she’d tell me something she loved about college. She’d daydream for me about the adventures I’d have as a college student. At first, I smiled and nodded, allowing myself only briefly to enjoy the fantasy with her.

Thanks to Mrs. Stamm’s persistence, what started out as my humoring her slowly transformed to actually seeing college as the mandatory next step following high school.

It was only right and natural that I should go to college! It seemed impossible that I could ever have thought otherwise.

Sure, my mom had been trying to pound the importance of higher education through my iron-plated skull since before I understood what college was, but the words felt empty to me without the substance of clear experience to support them.

My class schedule was too full to allow me to continue studying Chinese for long. Those months that I did impacted me far more profoundly than I could ever have guessed when I first walked into Mrs. Stamm’s classroom. I learned not only a smattering of Chinese, but also about Mrs. Stamm’s youth in China. I learned about some of her struggles as she made her way to the quieter — but by no means dull — life she lived when I was her student.

It’s been more than half my life ago that Mrs. Stamm taught me at least as much about hope and having faith in myself as she did about China and Chinese.

I don’t remember much Chinese anymore, but I’ll never forget the warmth of Mrs. Stamm’s unwavering belief I could and would be whatever I dreamed for myself.

Who was I to look at the truths she told me and call her a liar?

Who believed in you when you didn’t believe in yourself?

51 Comments

Posted in Guest Writers

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I’m Sorry The US Postal System Wrecked Your Christmas

Posted on January 10, 2012 | 29 comments

Dear L’il Niece and Nephew:

As you may or may not know, I absolutely hate to shop, but this year I went out and actually found cool stuff for both of you! L’il Niece, I got you that unicorn that you wanted and Nephew I was almost able to get that cool guy that you love from that awesome YouTube video to come to your house, but instead I ended up getting you a unicorn, too.

They were having a buy one/get one thing, and I figured if your sister was going to have one, what’s one more unicorn in the barn? I mean, they eat rainbows, right? So it’s not like they cost very much or anything. Anyway, I was really psyched about having completed my holiday shopping early because not only was I done in time which we all know is rare (like unicorns), but I also knew I was mailing everything with plenty of time for everything to get there in time for all the festivities.

That was waaay back on December 9, 2011.

And then, right before Christmas, your mom called me and told me that neither unicorn had arrived.

I had a bad feeling because I didn’t insure anything this year.

Anyway, as K$sha would say, I’m pretty sure I’m on the family $hit list.

And I just wanted you all to know that I apologize.

I have learned my lesson.

In the future, presents will be sent in November and from here on out, everything will be insured.

And don’t worry, your gifts will get way more interesting.

I’m thinking packs of pencils or bags of rocks.

Or both.

Anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and a great New Year.

I love you both and hope you can forgive the United States Postal Service even though they really $uck.

Because I think we all know someone who probably deserved a lump of coal is totally loving those unicorns right now.

Any post office horror stories? Misery loves company.

29 Comments

Posted in Family, Humor

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Ingrate Spotted With Invisible Awards

Posted on January 7, 2012 | 37 comments

I feel like that woman who comes out of the bathroom with her skirt tucked into her pantyhose. Except it’s not in my panty hose, it’s in my underwear. Because I don’t wear pantyhose. Oh, and also, there is toilet paper on my feet. Because I forgot to wear shoes into the bathroom.

Seriously, that’s how embarrassed I am today.

I have been fortunate to receive some attention over the last 6 months.

You know, those sparkly invisible awards that you are supposed to put on your cyber-mantle?

Yeah, well, I didn’t.

Because I don’t have a cyber-mantle.

I don’t even have a cyber-fireplace.

So while I appreciated the awards, I didn’t do anything with them.

I sort of shoved them in a cyber-footlocker.

Which was actually very inconsiderate, and I feel like shitake mushrooms about this.

So I would like to thank a few people.

Waaaaay back in June 2011, Save Sprinkes from How Can I Complain gave me the Sweetest Blogger Award. Only I didn’t see this award until January 5, 2012. (How lame is that?) I just wrote Sprinkes a note letting her know how much I appreciated her recognition. Because I do. And I can’t believe I missed that blog post because Sprinkes is awesome. She hasnt posted in a while, but she was one of my very first subscribers, and I miss her.

I think for that award I was supposed to tell you 7 things about myself and suggest 7 other bloggers for you to read.

In September 2011, Jess Witkins from The Happiness Project sent me a Liebster award. What is a Liebster, you ask? I understand “liebster” is German for “dearest” — and so there is sweet Jess, trying to tell me that she considers me a dear friend. And what do I do? I shove her love in my cyber-footlocker. Nice, right? Four months later, I feel it, Jess. I do.

For that award I was supposed to link back to the person who nominated me and suggest 5 bloggers for folks to read.

Two people gave me the Versatile Blogger Award.

The first person to extend this kindness was Lorna Earl from Lorna’s Voice. A sociologist by training, Lorna started writing about her past when her future looked grim due to chronic illness. Her observations are keen, and I enjoy reading her posts.

The second person who found me versatile was Melissa Ridley Elmes from Cerridwen’s Cauldron. If Sarah Jessica Parker is my Celebrity Doppelganger (Ha ha. Yeah right!), then Melissa is my real life evil twin. She’s a teacher; I’m a teacher. She’s a painter; I’m a painter. She likes bad girls, I like bad boys. I’m telling you, it’s spooky!

For that award I think I was supposed to tell you 7 things you did not know about me and suggest 15 blogs for you to read.

Any math teachers out there?

I think I’m -21 facts and -47 recommended bloggers.

Do you see why I am hanging my head in shame?

Miranda Gargasz of Scattering Moments showed up to tell me that she had nominated me for the Awesome Blog Content Award. I hadn’t even heard of that one before, so I had check it out. When I did, I saw that it had no rules.

Thank goodness. (I like Miranda so much for that!)

I thought I was going to have to go through the alphabet and choose a word or phrase to correspond with each letter and use that to describe myself.

I started planning:

A is for Astoundingly Average.

B is for Beyond Belated.

Somebody should throw me in the Blogosphere Slammer for lack of gratitude.

A day later, one of my favorite bloggers, Gigi, from Kludgy Mom wrote a post called 12 Bloggers to Watch in 2012, and I almost died. Because there I was, on her list with many of my most favorite bloggers. I kept wandering back to the computer and looking at Gigi’s post all day, just to see if it was still there. I also checked this post from my iPhone and my iPad, too. Finally, my husband suggested I print out the article and stick it in my Happiness File that always makes me feel better when I am freaking out about a failing student, or sobbing hysterically about being out of Kona coffee or worrying that my writing has turned to lumpy oatmeal.

Not that there is anything wrong with lumpy oatmeal.

In fact, some people prefer their oatmeal lumpy.

I’m just trying to make a point.

Later that same day — the same day, people! — I was reading a faboo blog post, by the faboo Julie C. Gardner — a woman whose writing makes me “Squeeee!” like a little piggy, I see that Julie has written about how good it feels to be home after doing all her cyber-traveling this last year. (She was a busy little beaver blogger in 2011, and she was taking a moment to kick back and enjoy her home page. And her home life.) At the bottom of her page, she expressed more gratitude, thanking all the folks who had hosted her at their pages this year.

And she listed me.

Which felt like I had won an award.

While simultaneously making me feel like a dooj.

I mean, duh!

I should have totally done that.

And because I am a copy-cat great believer in the adage “Better Late Than Never,” I would like to thank the following writers for making my blog a richer place this year. My fryber Clay Morgan of EduClaytion continues to be a source of support and inspiration as does Leanne “Shirtsleeves” Shirtliffe of Ironic Mom.

The folks who posted for TWITS (Teachers Who I Think Scored/Teachers Who I Think Sucked) provided something special to unify my blog. Some people opted to glorify teachers while others remembered lousy teachers and opted to kick them in the pants. Either way, the variety of voices worked. So special thanks to the following writers. If you have never heard of these people, please consider giving them a look-see.

Jessica Buttram

Save Sprinkles

Steven Hess *

Piper Bayard

Zach Sparer

Larry Hehn

Dances With Chaos

Tyler Tarver

Tamara Out Loud

As A Linguist

Mark Kaplowitz’s

The Decorative Paintbrush

Blackwatertown

Penny Thoyts *

Some Species Eat Their Young

Life & Times of a Self-Proclaimed Saucy Bitch

The Mom Crusades

Six Ring Circus

*non-bloggers

I hope you will accept my belated gratitude.

I will try to be less sucky in 2012.

Or, in the very least, keep my skirt out of my underpants. 🙂

So what should my penance be?

37 Comments

Posted in Mash-Ups

Tagged , , ,

Why Teachers Need to Laugh by Leanne Shirtliffe

Posted on January 6, 2012 | 86 comments

Click here to see the main schedule!

I’ve only known Leanne for about 9 months, but it feels like I have known her forever. And I mean that in a good way. Not the way you would say that about some weird cousin or something, you know when you roll your eyes. She’s like one of my blogging besties. For reals.

I like to imagine that — one day — we will stop Skyping and sit side by side. I could listen to her Canadian accent for hours. That thought makes me feel funny inside. But in a good touch way. Because that’s the way we roll like thunder under our cyber-blankets. I have no idea what that means. Follow Leanne’s blog HERE or stalk her on Twitter at @Lshirtliffe, eh?

• • •

Like Renée, I love good wordplay. If it crosses the line of appropriateness, I love it all the more. I am constantly saying what I shouldn’t.

This started in high school. I remember sitting in twelfth grade chemistry class; I had handcuffed my lab partner to me because he wouldn’t sit still and do his share of the work.

Shane and Leanne, handcuffed

My teacher was my volleyball coach, a man who had a good sense of humor and knew me well. I sat at the desk with my Texas Instruments calculator and my partner, desperately trying to write up the lab before going out-of-town for a weekend tournament. Our Friday afternoon class, meanwhile, went sideways and launched into a spirited, circular discussion on the pronunciation of certain words.

Different students bandied options about. Even our teacher, whose first name was Richard, participated eagerly.

“Is it to-MAY-to or to-MAH-to?”

“How about of-FEN or of-TEN?”

“What about po-TAY-to or po-TAH-to?”

“Is it HER-bal or ER-bal?”

A loud debate ensued. I sat there, rubbing my wrist, trying to finish the lab. Shane, my partner, sat there too. He had little choice.

Frustrated, I decided to have the last word. I raised my hand and looked directly at my teacher.

“Is it Rick… or Dick?”

The class shifted in silence.

My teacher stood wide-eyed, staring back at one of his top students. He paused and said, “Get to work. Everyone.”

I had crossed the line.

• • •

Now that I teach eighth and ninth grade English, I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of students who cross the line. I also know that I still cross the line, unwittingly in the classroom. My capacity to embarrass myself as a teacher is limitless.

Every class, I write an agenda on the board. Most days I do this hurriedly as students rush in and take their seats; in the interest of haste, I take shortcuts, scrawling abbreviations of the day’s tasks on the whiteboard.

On more than one occasion, I’ve written agendas like the following:

This agenda appears to belong to an edgy sexual education class, rather than to one doing literary analysis and oral assessments. Try explaining this to fourteen year olds who are in various hilarious stages of hyperventilation and full-out laughter.

Lately, I’ve found myself in as semi-serious discussion, explaining the terms wet-nurse, weaning, and “ho”.

Thank you, Shakespeare, for helping us to giggle through Romeo and Juliet.

My biggest bonehead move occurred a few years ago. I was trying to explain what a static character was to my ninth graders. I knew they had all studied S.E. Hinton’s The Outsiders two years ago. Keep in mind that when I’m teaching, I tend to scoot across the room like Mary Poppins, enthusiastic, gesticulating, and full of self-importance caffeine.

Do you remember Dally from The Outsiders? Let’s examine him. He was a hard character. He remained hard throughout the whole novel. In every aspect, he was hard. He never changed. His hardness was evident from the first page to the end of the novel.

Indeed.

Evidently I too am a static character.

Thank God for laughter.

And thank God for the continual reminders that it is healthy to laugh at ourselves.

What do you remember laughing about in the classroom?

86 Comments

Posted in Guest Writers

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Something Wrong

Posted on January 4, 2012 | 43 comments

Photo by Auntie P at flickr.com

Today, I did something wrong.

I ate a perfect pear in January.

In this part of the United States, January usually means down jackets, snow pants and polar fleece.

By now, we should have built a snow fort or two; our weekends should involve ski slopes and sleds and hot chocolate by blazing fires.

January is supposed to mean batting flakes out of my eyelashes as I go into the grocery store and scraping the ice off my windshield on my way out.

So while the earth is firm under my feet and breathing the air makes me cough, I can still see grass.

We are at a threshold, neither in nor out.

And on this winter morning, as my son slid out the back door wearing a new parka — so blue against the white sky – biting through that pear’s flesh tasted entirely wrong.

The sweet nectar was delicious but wrong.

I tried to be grateful for a summer reminder.

{In subtraction, they would call it the remainder.}

But I’m tired of these remnants, the what’s left sticky residue of summer on my fingers.

Let it be winter already: enough of this in-between.

Is anyone else wishing for full-blown winter?

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