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.
Wherever you are tonight, may you be warm and safe and surrounded by people with whom you love and who love you!
When my son was a l’il dude, I tried not to bring him to the grocery store if I could avoid it. But one year, it was our turn to host the annual family Hanukkah party and twenty-four people were coming over that night, so I found myself in the grocery store for the eleventy-seventh time that week.
As a result of poor planning, I had to bring the l’il dude along.
As I zoomed down the aisles – grabbing applesauce and sour cream for the latkes — we rushed past rolls of wrapping paper featuring snowflakes, ornaments in every shape and color, lighted-reindeer for the yard, artificial garlands and wreaths, tree skirts; boxes of 100-count multi-color lights; enormous platters embossed with angels sporting sparkling halos; floppy red, velvet hats with fluffy white pom-poms at the ends; pillar candles in red and green and gold; Godiva chocolates wrapped in boxes with bows and six-packs of chocolate Santas wrapped in silver foil.
It was full-blown Christmas in that grocery store.
My 4-year old – who had spent the last 18 months of his life at a Jewish Community pre-school surrounded by other children who did the same things in their homes that we did in ours — sat trapped inside the grocery cart. He eyed the Christmas fixins with curiosity; his head whipped from side to side, taking it all in.
“Know what’s weird?” my son started tentatively.
I heard his words, but I didn’t.
I needed to find the tuna fish.
And another carton of eggs for the egg salad.
I needed jelly filled donuts.
And I needed more oil. More oil for the latkes.
“What’s weird is that there is so much Christmas stuff because almost nobody celebrates it.”
I stopped pushing the cart.
I looked at my sweet, innocent son.
I thought:
How do I explain that Jews make up 0.2% of the world population?
That in the United States we comprise 1.7% of the population.
That when he starts kindergarten in September, he will likely be the only Jewish kid in his class.
That people might not like him because he is Jewish.
That, once, store owners wouldn’t allow me to clean my clothes in their laundromat because I was Jewish.
That millions of people have been killed throughout history because of their love of Torah. Because of their desire to preserve generations of religious and cultural traditions.
I rubbed my son’s spiky crew cut and I told him this:
“There are many people in this big world and you will find that people celebrate things in lots of ways. Hopefully, when you get older, you will have friends who will invite you to their houses to celebrate Christmas. And a hundred other holidays that you don’t even know about yet. Because there are a eleventy-million-bajillion ways to celebrate what is close to our hearts. And each way is wonderful. Hanukkah is just one way. But it’s ours.”
My son smiled.
And like the wish that it was, it has come to pass.
My l’il dude is now 12 years old. And he has celebrated Christmas with friends. And Kwanzaa. And Eid. And Diwali. He loves being invited to experience how his friends celebrate their assorted religious and cultural traditions. He feels proud to have tasted everything from stollen to chickpea curry. He has sampled poori, spicy khaja, and sweet and nutty desserts like atte ka seera. My boy’s ears have heard many dialects, and he is fluent in laughter. He can understand a smile in any language. He has learned the stories behind why people do what they do, and he understands their beliefs are as right and precious to his friends and their families as ours are to us.
He has sampled many different ways to be.
But he has never wanted to be anything other than what he is.
I would like to thank Streit’s and Doni Zasloff Thomas a.k.a.Mama Doni, the lead singer/songwriter of The Mama Doni Band for providing each of the 16 bloggers involved in #HanukkahHoopla with a little cyberswag.
Click on the button below to be connected to the other bloggers involved in the #HanukkahHoopla project!
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?
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.
All rights reserved. Excerpting portions of posts and/or linking them is encouraged, provided full and clear credit is given to renée a. schuls-jacobson with proper attribution via hyperlinks directing folks to the original content. Duplication in whole or substantial portion of this site or any component is not permitted: neither is reblogging.
renée a. schuls-jacobson 