Born on Black Tuesday,
a child of the Great Depression;
your view of life shaped mine.
Escaping the depths of the economy on Saturday afternoons
in the cool darkness of film;
your view of life shaped mine.
You went to college and discovered a broader world,
one where people stood together against the mistakes of society;
your view of life shaped mine.
You went to Korea,
and never spoke about what happened there;
your view of life shaped mine.
On your return to college in the bastion of southern liberal thought,
the woman you would marry second had left, and you met my mother on a blind date;
your view of life shaped mine.
You married and left college without a degree to work,
but you read everything, for yourself, and later for me;
your view of life shaped mine.
Gin and tonics, no fear of malaria,
no viable escape from the suburbs;
your view of life shaped mine.
You worked out of town a lot,
home on Tuesdays to take me to the film at the local library;
your view of life shaped mine.
I was nine, amid the screaming, and a police car,
you left our life for your true love;
your view of life shaped mine.
You were at home and happy in your new life with your love,
more than I had ever seen;
your view of life shaped mine.
Your first two children
saw the immaturity evidenced by such selfish actions;
your view of life shaped mine.
You fought so hard to stay in my life,
the last bit of you available;
your view of life shaped mine.
As I lose you, to the damaged lungs of too many cigarettes,
and a mind that can only now follow what is in the room at the moment;
your life shapes mine.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Mama and Daddy
Mama and Daddy
Mama was born in 1934 on a farm in Rockingham County. A child of the Great Depression and being raised on a farm produced a certain approach to life's decisions. She saves everything, including money. I grew up with her saying things like "it's the Scot in me" -as if all people from Scotland were misers. I am not sure about the truth in that, but it is so ingrained in my thought processes I find myself defining financial decisions that way.
My mother, to this day, can make something useful out of absolutely nothing. She kept a garden, canned, made our clothes, and saved practically everything. I didn't know until I was older what she sacrificed for us, and how she arranged, and re-arranged everything so we could have what we needed, and sometimes a little of what we wanted.
She had a blossoming career at Duke, working with the Army Research Office at Duke, and leading up their S.O.P with a group at the Pentagon, she commuted to D.C. during the week in the late 1950's.
At a time when most women would be found in the kitchen, the country club, or perhaps on a tour of our nation's Capitol, my mother was flying to D.C. three times a week for her job and rubbing elbows with some pretty powerful people. She gave this up, for us.
In today's world, with people so focused on personal achievement in the public view, I doubt my girlfriends would do the same.
Most ofwhat I know about hard work and education comes from my parents. I guess that this is common for many grown-ups today - for good or not. I don't ever remember reading anything about a 'Protestant Work Ethic' in any K-12 materials, or even discussing it in class. It was just there, in my house, in my neighborhood, and in my church. It would first appear in print to me at age 30, while I was getting a degree in history studying 'the new england agrarian protestants'.
I understood it easily, while my traditional aged classmates had a harder time, and seemed to think it obsolete.
Daddy was born on October 29th, 1929; the day the Stock market crashed. He is only 5 years older than Mama, but a world away in who he is. His father was butcher and grocer. Still a hard job, especially during the Depression.
Grandaddy and Grandmother believed in having a good time. By this, I mean to say that they closed shop at 8, had supper at ten and then went out to play cards and have drinks. They slept until 9 or 10 in the morning and opened up the store after breakfast. Maybe it was coming of age at the end of World War I, or building a business in the 'Roaring Twenties' that made them live in the moment as they did.
Daddy left when I was nine and moved to Chapel Hill. and I learned how to bartend in my father's house long before I was of age to drink; at our house my mother might, reiterate might, drink half of an ice cold beer on a really hot summer day if she had been working in the garden.
What that life produced in my father, an only child, was to seek enjoyment and pleasure and good times. He worked, but that has never been what drives him or inspires him. He loves art, music, philosophy, and especially films. He shared his love for cinema with me, and instilled a knowledge of and appreciation for the arts that continues to shape my views.
When I was eight, a branch of the public library opened in our neighborhood. It quickly became my haunt. On Monday nights, Daddy took me to watch the free movies they showed. It was here that I was introduced to films such as "Gunga Din", "Anna Karenina", "Dr. Zhivago", and "The Man Who Would Be King". I think that I was the only child there, and each viewing was followed by a discussion about the film's characters and genre and tone. I soaked it in, the reverence for the art form, the analytical approach, and the depth of the characters and their dilemmas; all enveloped in the time with my father.
I was lucky in many ways being their youngest child. The way they raised me was different than how they raised my older brother and sister. I imagine what they, and I, would call 'trial and error' was minimized by what they learned with their first two children, and with their own personal growth and maturity as adults. It took me a long time to understand why my siblings relationships with both of our parents is so different than mine. My brother, as first born, now has no relationship with my father, and my sister has only a begrudging one at the insistence of her husband for the benefit of their children.
By the time I arrived and became my own little entity, my father had matured. He was not the angry, rash, erratic man that he had been in their childhood.
Mama was born in 1934 on a farm in Rockingham County. A child of the Great Depression and being raised on a farm produced a certain approach to life's decisions. She saves everything, including money. I grew up with her saying things like "it's the Scot in me" -as if all people from Scotland were misers. I am not sure about the truth in that, but it is so ingrained in my thought processes I find myself defining financial decisions that way.
My mother, to this day, can make something useful out of absolutely nothing. She kept a garden, canned, made our clothes, and saved practically everything. I didn't know until I was older what she sacrificed for us, and how she arranged, and re-arranged everything so we could have what we needed, and sometimes a little of what we wanted.
She had a blossoming career at Duke, working with the Army Research Office at Duke, and leading up their S.O.P with a group at the Pentagon, she commuted to D.C. during the week in the late 1950's.
At a time when most women would be found in the kitchen, the country club, or perhaps on a tour of our nation's Capitol, my mother was flying to D.C. three times a week for her job and rubbing elbows with some pretty powerful people. She gave this up, for us.
In today's world, with people so focused on personal achievement in the public view, I doubt my girlfriends would do the same.
Most ofwhat I know about hard work and education comes from my parents. I guess that this is common for many grown-ups today - for good or not. I don't ever remember reading anything about a 'Protestant Work Ethic' in any K-12 materials, or even discussing it in class. It was just there, in my house, in my neighborhood, and in my church. It would first appear in print to me at age 30, while I was getting a degree in history studying 'the new england agrarian protestants'.
I understood it easily, while my traditional aged classmates had a harder time, and seemed to think it obsolete.
Daddy was born on October 29th, 1929; the day the Stock market crashed. He is only 5 years older than Mama, but a world away in who he is. His father was butcher and grocer. Still a hard job, especially during the Depression.
Grandaddy and Grandmother believed in having a good time. By this, I mean to say that they closed shop at 8, had supper at ten and then went out to play cards and have drinks. They slept until 9 or 10 in the morning and opened up the store after breakfast. Maybe it was coming of age at the end of World War I, or building a business in the 'Roaring Twenties' that made them live in the moment as they did.
Daddy left when I was nine and moved to Chapel Hill. and I learned how to bartend in my father's house long before I was of age to drink; at our house my mother might, reiterate might, drink half of an ice cold beer on a really hot summer day if she had been working in the garden.
What that life produced in my father, an only child, was to seek enjoyment and pleasure and good times. He worked, but that has never been what drives him or inspires him. He loves art, music, philosophy, and especially films. He shared his love for cinema with me, and instilled a knowledge of and appreciation for the arts that continues to shape my views.
When I was eight, a branch of the public library opened in our neighborhood. It quickly became my haunt. On Monday nights, Daddy took me to watch the free movies they showed. It was here that I was introduced to films such as "Gunga Din", "Anna Karenina", "Dr. Zhivago", and "The Man Who Would Be King". I think that I was the only child there, and each viewing was followed by a discussion about the film's characters and genre and tone. I soaked it in, the reverence for the art form, the analytical approach, and the depth of the characters and their dilemmas; all enveloped in the time with my father.
I was lucky in many ways being their youngest child. The way they raised me was different than how they raised my older brother and sister. I imagine what they, and I, would call 'trial and error' was minimized by what they learned with their first two children, and with their own personal growth and maturity as adults. It took me a long time to understand why my siblings relationships with both of our parents is so different than mine. My brother, as first born, now has no relationship with my father, and my sister has only a begrudging one at the insistence of her husband for the benefit of their children.
By the time I arrived and became my own little entity, my father had matured. He was not the angry, rash, erratic man that he had been in their childhood.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Mowing Yellow Jackets
Just notes to myself that:
1) I should pay more attention to the flying critters when mowing the grass. Seems I mowed not once, but twice over the yellow jacket hole before they decided that was enough! They got caught in my hat and in my hair; five stings later - a mower on speed six across the field, benadryl and ice are nice! :)
2) the mower's steering is shot, it doesn't turn left -yeah, that's right, mowing 3 acres with only a right turn takes a certain level of insanity and creative driving.
3) I should have stayed on the porch drinking my coffee and reading the paper instead of mowing, getting stuck, and then pickup the front of the mower to move it off of the root I hit - I am not 23 anymore, and now I have yellow jacket stings and ice on my lower back.
Ahhhh, the age and wisdom combination seem more elusive than ever.
1) I should pay more attention to the flying critters when mowing the grass. Seems I mowed not once, but twice over the yellow jacket hole before they decided that was enough! They got caught in my hat and in my hair; five stings later - a mower on speed six across the field, benadryl and ice are nice! :)
2) the mower's steering is shot, it doesn't turn left -yeah, that's right, mowing 3 acres with only a right turn takes a certain level of insanity and creative driving.
3) I should have stayed on the porch drinking my coffee and reading the paper instead of mowing, getting stuck, and then pickup the front of the mower to move it off of the root I hit - I am not 23 anymore, and now I have yellow jacket stings and ice on my lower back.
Ahhhh, the age and wisdom combination seem more elusive than ever.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Life on Avalon Lane - V
The Conforte girls were Yankees from New York City.
They moved in across the street when I was 2 and my sister, Jen was 6. There were three of them; Elise was the oldest, then Celeste who was the same age as Jen, and then Jeaneen who was the same age as me. Not only were they Yankees, but they were Catholics as well.
They were all blond haired with green eyes. Elise had something wrong with half of her face, we never did know what is was, and we never did ask either.
Years later, I wondered if it was a bad burn scar or a birth defect. As the years went by, she stayed inside more and more.
Celeste 'had a mouth on her', or so said Mama.
Mr. Conforte was always nice; his first name was James, he was a mill worker and a Methodist, but Mrs. Conforte was absolutely cold. She weighed herself and her daughters everyday, threw away any toys that were left out by her daughters, and couldn't cook worth a lick. She didn't keep a garden, bought everything at the IGA, and never set foot in the yard except to layout in her bathing suit. Her first name was Audrey, but I never could find anything Hepburn about her.
Apparently, Mrs. Conforte had been in a convent to become a nun, and she met Mr. Conforte and ran off with him. It was such a scandal that they moved south in 1968. Only to find themselves in suburb hell, surrounded by Protestants!
When I was eight, Mrs. Conforte's parents moved down from New York too. They were retired, and bought a house one street over from Avalon Lane. The Byers were really nice, Mr. Byer could carve anything into a Madonna, Moses, or Jesus figurine. He carved something called balsa wood, I had never heard of that. But it was really soft and smooth. Mrs. Byer was nice enough, but quiet and she stayed inside a lot, especially in the summertime.
I always wondered how the Byers had raised such a mean daughter.
Anyway, Jen was not a fighter, but Celeste and Elise were. About once a week, Jen would come running into the house, crying that Celeste and Elise were being mean and pulling her hair.
One day, Mama had had enough. She saw Jen running across the front yard, crying. Mama locked the screen door before Jen got there. Jen pulled up short, sobbing that as usual, Celeste was making fun of her - Mama told Jen, "don't come home until you've snatched her head bald." Jen's eyes were big as saucers as she stood there on the porch.
She turned, swallowing the tears, and marched back across the yard to the Conforte's.
Celeste did not lose all of her hair. But Jen played more with Susie Denny down the road than Celeste from then on.
The rivalry continued between the Confortes and my sister and me. One morning, Jeaneen, our next door neighbor, Jimmy Helmick and I were playing in our back yard. Mom was shelling peas watching us. I was telling them about a dream I had the night before. "We were in the woods behind our house and it was early in the morning, a huge lion was chasing us through the woods, and suddenly my big brother Richard came out of the yard with my grandfather's rifle and shot the lion."
Jeaneen, wide-eyed, asked if there were anymore lions in the woods, I told her, straight-faced, that no, there weren't anymore lions and Jeaneen calmed down.
Mama just knew that I couldn't leave it well enough alone. I waited about a minute, then I told her that there weren't any more lions, but there were tigers and bears!
Jeaneen ran home crying. and Mama had a grin on her face.
The Helmicks lived next door. They were from West Virginia and had funny accents. Jimmy was a year older than me, and was the first boy I ever kissed, but that was only a dare.
Mr. Helmick worked at the Coca-Cola Bottling company in downtown Durham. Sometimes he would bring home Coca-Cola bottles that he had heated up and pulled into neat shapes. Mrs. Helmick wore her hair in a beehive hair-do. She stayed at home and made and decorated cakes for special parties. We used to sneak in the kitchen to look at the ones she made for bachelor parties!
For being from West Virginia, Mrs. Helmick surely was scared of bugs, mice, snakes, and frogs. She would scream if she saw a mouse, and I swear, her beehive would go up a whole inch!
I loved catching little green snakes and frogs from the creek. In the the summer about once a week, I would wait until the mailman had put the mail in the Helmick's mailbox, and then put the snake in the mailbox. Jimmy and I would hide in the bushes and wait for his mom to walk out to get the mail!
Mama made me apologize every time, and then sit on our front step for thirty minutes without talking.
My big brother, Richard, nicknamed me "Chatterbox" early on, so this punishment was exceptionally tough.
Economics
In the early 70's, Bill Cosby debuted on TV with Jello Pudding Cups; oh how I wanted some of those. Mama made plenty of desserts, all wonderful, but I sure did want those pudding cups. I was with Mama at the IGA getting groceries one day and I started pestering her about the pudding cups and went so far as to put them in cart without permission. Boy she did scold me -"Rebecca Lee, we can make pudding better and cheaper at home! Put those back!" I did, I wasn't happy but I knew she was right. We went down a few more aisles, and we were in the frozen food section and Mama picked some Ritz pie crusts and started to put them in the cart - " I piped right up, "Mama, you can make those better and cheaper at home!" And you know, it stopped her short, I don't know if was because she was considering spanking me right there, or if she was once again reminded of exactly who she had raised.
School, Sex, and Religion
When it came time to start Kindergarten, I was pretty excited. It was at the Methodist Church which was right through the woods behind our house. Richard surprised me by building a bridge over the creek and clearing the path so that I could walk there without having to go the long way on the street. We got to play, read, and make art stuff. Everything but the naps was fun, I couldn't lay still for that long during the day. Playing outside was fun too, they had a whole playground with a huge industrial swing set.
Everyday we had a contest to see who could swing the highest and I won a lot. As the year went on, we added to it by seeing who could jump off from the highest point, this was limited because the playground fence set a limit. Terry Dugan beat me by finally managing to jump the fence, except he broke his arm doing it. We stopped after that.
When it came time to start the 1st grade, I was not at all excited. Jen and Richard had been going to real school ever since I could remember and it didn't seem like a good idea to me. It took a lot of convincing on Mama's part, and a few weeks before school started Mom took me down to the school to show me around. Mr. Benton, the principal, greeted me by name which amazed me, "Hello Becca, are you looking forward to starting school?" to which I replied, "No, but Mama says there is a law that says I have to come, so I guess I'll be here."
Mr. Benton's eyes were little wide, then he laughed, and my Mom just shook her head, as if she expected me to say anything else.
My first grade teacher was Mrs. Best and she was pregnant. Because I was the youngest in our family, I had never been around a pregnant person much. She got permission to show us film about how babies are made and one is born. The real thing, not the animated stuff they use today! I thought it was really gross, and a little unbelievable, and while I couldn't spell it, when I found out what an episiotomy was, I decided right then and there that I was not going to give birth if I could avoid it!
Now what I did with this new found knowledge turned out to cause a little bit of consternation on my mother's part. The Hollemans were church friends, and the closest Presbyterian Church was in Durham, so that's where we went. Most of our church friends didn't live out where we did. We had refreshments after Church every Sunday, and we kids always got there first since we had separate lessons and didn't have to sit through the sermon. Anyway, Mama got there and I ran up to her in front of everyone, exclaiming "Dewey Holleman didn't know where babies came from, and he was in the 4th grade!" To which Mom calmly replied, "Since when are you an expert on sex?"
Puzzled, I asked, "Six what?"
My desire to educate started even before I received my formal sex education in the 1st grade. Our family cat, Tiki, was a blue point Siamese who also happened to be the easiest cat in the neighborhood. She had eleven litters of kittens in five years! I was very familiar with the process as she had two litters in my bed, under the sheets.
Jen took piano lessons from Mrs. McIver, who was friends with Mama, and who had a son my age, named Charlie. They lived about a block away from us. When she had her lessons I would play with Charlie. In a greater effort to impart my new found wisdom on life, one day I asked Charlie if he knew where babies came from, he said no, so I proceeded to use his cat to explain the anatomy of the situation; holding the poor cat down and pointing out all of the important parts. About that time, Mrs. McIver called us into the house because something was on TV she wanted to show us. Turns out, it was a man walking on the moon for the first time, which became slightly overshadowed by Charlie explaining to his mother that I had just told him where babies came from. I still relate "man's first step" and feline reproduction in an odd way.
In the 2nd Grade, I had Mrs. Rudisell. She wore a slip, a bra and a girdle - I couldn't figure out what all of those stripes were under her clothes and asked Mama to explain. That caused a big eye roll. When we were especially bad in class, Mrs. Rudisell made us stand, with our arms out straight on each side holding an encyclopedia balanced on each hand. When our arms started to drop or our elbows started to bend - she would rap them with a yard stick. None of our parents believed us when we told them she did this.
That was also the year that I spent most of my time sitting on the Principal's bench at the office because I couldn't be quiet.
In the 3rd grade I had Miss Jandy Mooney, she was so nice, and pretty too. She looked like that actress who played Wonder Woman on TV. At the time, I couldn't figure why so many Dads would show up with snacks for the class or forgotten lunches, usually it was Moms, but not that year.
Every year we had spirit week at school and dressed up in funny outfits. Jen was in the third grade the delegation from Japan visited the school. They came the day everyone dressed up as babies in diapers with pacifiers; even some of the teachers - I wonder what ideas about American schools they took back to Japan with them . . .
Aman Sandhu rode her bike into the street when we were in the 1st Grade and was hit a by a car. She was in a body cast for six months. We all visited her a lot, and brought lots of coloring to do with her.
When Jen broke her arm she only had to wear a cast for 4 weeks, so I asked Mama why Aman was in the cast for so long. At first she just said that Aman had broken a lot of bones so it would take longer to heal, but this didn't seem to make that much sense to me. Finally, after continued questioning, Mama explained that Aman's religion didn't let her drink milk or eat meat, and that without the calcium and other stuff from animals that Aman's bones had a hard time fixing themselves.
Looking back, my mother did a pretty good job at hiding her opposition to what probably appeared to her as a form of neglect; she just gave me the facts and let me stew on that for myself.
They moved in across the street when I was 2 and my sister, Jen was 6. There were three of them; Elise was the oldest, then Celeste who was the same age as Jen, and then Jeaneen who was the same age as me. Not only were they Yankees, but they were Catholics as well.
They were all blond haired with green eyes. Elise had something wrong with half of her face, we never did know what is was, and we never did ask either.
Years later, I wondered if it was a bad burn scar or a birth defect. As the years went by, she stayed inside more and more.
Celeste 'had a mouth on her', or so said Mama.
Mr. Conforte was always nice; his first name was James, he was a mill worker and a Methodist, but Mrs. Conforte was absolutely cold. She weighed herself and her daughters everyday, threw away any toys that were left out by her daughters, and couldn't cook worth a lick. She didn't keep a garden, bought everything at the IGA, and never set foot in the yard except to layout in her bathing suit. Her first name was Audrey, but I never could find anything Hepburn about her.
Apparently, Mrs. Conforte had been in a convent to become a nun, and she met Mr. Conforte and ran off with him. It was such a scandal that they moved south in 1968. Only to find themselves in suburb hell, surrounded by Protestants!
When I was eight, Mrs. Conforte's parents moved down from New York too. They were retired, and bought a house one street over from Avalon Lane. The Byers were really nice, Mr. Byer could carve anything into a Madonna, Moses, or Jesus figurine. He carved something called balsa wood, I had never heard of that. But it was really soft and smooth. Mrs. Byer was nice enough, but quiet and she stayed inside a lot, especially in the summertime.
I always wondered how the Byers had raised such a mean daughter.
Anyway, Jen was not a fighter, but Celeste and Elise were. About once a week, Jen would come running into the house, crying that Celeste and Elise were being mean and pulling her hair.
One day, Mama had had enough. She saw Jen running across the front yard, crying. Mama locked the screen door before Jen got there. Jen pulled up short, sobbing that as usual, Celeste was making fun of her - Mama told Jen, "don't come home until you've snatched her head bald." Jen's eyes were big as saucers as she stood there on the porch.
She turned, swallowing the tears, and marched back across the yard to the Conforte's.
Celeste did not lose all of her hair. But Jen played more with Susie Denny down the road than Celeste from then on.
The rivalry continued between the Confortes and my sister and me. One morning, Jeaneen, our next door neighbor, Jimmy Helmick and I were playing in our back yard. Mom was shelling peas watching us. I was telling them about a dream I had the night before. "We were in the woods behind our house and it was early in the morning, a huge lion was chasing us through the woods, and suddenly my big brother Richard came out of the yard with my grandfather's rifle and shot the lion."
Jeaneen, wide-eyed, asked if there were anymore lions in the woods, I told her, straight-faced, that no, there weren't anymore lions and Jeaneen calmed down.
Mama just knew that I couldn't leave it well enough alone. I waited about a minute, then I told her that there weren't any more lions, but there were tigers and bears!
Jeaneen ran home crying. and Mama had a grin on her face.
The Helmicks lived next door. They were from West Virginia and had funny accents. Jimmy was a year older than me, and was the first boy I ever kissed, but that was only a dare.
Mr. Helmick worked at the Coca-Cola Bottling company in downtown Durham. Sometimes he would bring home Coca-Cola bottles that he had heated up and pulled into neat shapes. Mrs. Helmick wore her hair in a beehive hair-do. She stayed at home and made and decorated cakes for special parties. We used to sneak in the kitchen to look at the ones she made for bachelor parties!
For being from West Virginia, Mrs. Helmick surely was scared of bugs, mice, snakes, and frogs. She would scream if she saw a mouse, and I swear, her beehive would go up a whole inch!
I loved catching little green snakes and frogs from the creek. In the the summer about once a week, I would wait until the mailman had put the mail in the Helmick's mailbox, and then put the snake in the mailbox. Jimmy and I would hide in the bushes and wait for his mom to walk out to get the mail!
Mama made me apologize every time, and then sit on our front step for thirty minutes without talking.
My big brother, Richard, nicknamed me "Chatterbox" early on, so this punishment was exceptionally tough.
Economics
In the early 70's, Bill Cosby debuted on TV with Jello Pudding Cups; oh how I wanted some of those. Mama made plenty of desserts, all wonderful, but I sure did want those pudding cups. I was with Mama at the IGA getting groceries one day and I started pestering her about the pudding cups and went so far as to put them in cart without permission. Boy she did scold me -"Rebecca Lee, we can make pudding better and cheaper at home! Put those back!" I did, I wasn't happy but I knew she was right. We went down a few more aisles, and we were in the frozen food section and Mama picked some Ritz pie crusts and started to put them in the cart - " I piped right up, "Mama, you can make those better and cheaper at home!" And you know, it stopped her short, I don't know if was because she was considering spanking me right there, or if she was once again reminded of exactly who she had raised.
School, Sex, and Religion
When it came time to start Kindergarten, I was pretty excited. It was at the Methodist Church which was right through the woods behind our house. Richard surprised me by building a bridge over the creek and clearing the path so that I could walk there without having to go the long way on the street. We got to play, read, and make art stuff. Everything but the naps was fun, I couldn't lay still for that long during the day. Playing outside was fun too, they had a whole playground with a huge industrial swing set.
Everyday we had a contest to see who could swing the highest and I won a lot. As the year went on, we added to it by seeing who could jump off from the highest point, this was limited because the playground fence set a limit. Terry Dugan beat me by finally managing to jump the fence, except he broke his arm doing it. We stopped after that.
When it came time to start the 1st grade, I was not at all excited. Jen and Richard had been going to real school ever since I could remember and it didn't seem like a good idea to me. It took a lot of convincing on Mama's part, and a few weeks before school started Mom took me down to the school to show me around. Mr. Benton, the principal, greeted me by name which amazed me, "Hello Becca, are you looking forward to starting school?" to which I replied, "No, but Mama says there is a law that says I have to come, so I guess I'll be here."
Mr. Benton's eyes were little wide, then he laughed, and my Mom just shook her head, as if she expected me to say anything else.
My first grade teacher was Mrs. Best and she was pregnant. Because I was the youngest in our family, I had never been around a pregnant person much. She got permission to show us film about how babies are made and one is born. The real thing, not the animated stuff they use today! I thought it was really gross, and a little unbelievable, and while I couldn't spell it, when I found out what an episiotomy was, I decided right then and there that I was not going to give birth if I could avoid it!
Now what I did with this new found knowledge turned out to cause a little bit of consternation on my mother's part. The Hollemans were church friends, and the closest Presbyterian Church was in Durham, so that's where we went. Most of our church friends didn't live out where we did. We had refreshments after Church every Sunday, and we kids always got there first since we had separate lessons and didn't have to sit through the sermon. Anyway, Mama got there and I ran up to her in front of everyone, exclaiming "Dewey Holleman didn't know where babies came from, and he was in the 4th grade!" To which Mom calmly replied, "Since when are you an expert on sex?"
Puzzled, I asked, "Six what?"
My desire to educate started even before I received my formal sex education in the 1st grade. Our family cat, Tiki, was a blue point Siamese who also happened to be the easiest cat in the neighborhood. She had eleven litters of kittens in five years! I was very familiar with the process as she had two litters in my bed, under the sheets.
Jen took piano lessons from Mrs. McIver, who was friends with Mama, and who had a son my age, named Charlie. They lived about a block away from us. When she had her lessons I would play with Charlie. In a greater effort to impart my new found wisdom on life, one day I asked Charlie if he knew where babies came from, he said no, so I proceeded to use his cat to explain the anatomy of the situation; holding the poor cat down and pointing out all of the important parts. About that time, Mrs. McIver called us into the house because something was on TV she wanted to show us. Turns out, it was a man walking on the moon for the first time, which became slightly overshadowed by Charlie explaining to his mother that I had just told him where babies came from. I still relate "man's first step" and feline reproduction in an odd way.
In the 2nd Grade, I had Mrs. Rudisell. She wore a slip, a bra and a girdle - I couldn't figure out what all of those stripes were under her clothes and asked Mama to explain. That caused a big eye roll. When we were especially bad in class, Mrs. Rudisell made us stand, with our arms out straight on each side holding an encyclopedia balanced on each hand. When our arms started to drop or our elbows started to bend - she would rap them with a yard stick. None of our parents believed us when we told them she did this.
That was also the year that I spent most of my time sitting on the Principal's bench at the office because I couldn't be quiet.
In the 3rd grade I had Miss Jandy Mooney, she was so nice, and pretty too. She looked like that actress who played Wonder Woman on TV. At the time, I couldn't figure why so many Dads would show up with snacks for the class or forgotten lunches, usually it was Moms, but not that year.
Every year we had spirit week at school and dressed up in funny outfits. Jen was in the third grade the delegation from Japan visited the school. They came the day everyone dressed up as babies in diapers with pacifiers; even some of the teachers - I wonder what ideas about American schools they took back to Japan with them . . .
Aman Sandhu rode her bike into the street when we were in the 1st Grade and was hit a by a car. She was in a body cast for six months. We all visited her a lot, and brought lots of coloring to do with her.
When Jen broke her arm she only had to wear a cast for 4 weeks, so I asked Mama why Aman was in the cast for so long. At first she just said that Aman had broken a lot of bones so it would take longer to heal, but this didn't seem to make that much sense to me. Finally, after continued questioning, Mama explained that Aman's religion didn't let her drink milk or eat meat, and that without the calcium and other stuff from animals that Aman's bones had a hard time fixing themselves.
Looking back, my mother did a pretty good job at hiding her opposition to what probably appeared to her as a form of neglect; she just gave me the facts and let me stew on that for myself.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Moderation? In the classroom?
I think it was Ben Franklin who said "everything in moderation" or something like that.
It repeats itself in my concious from time to time, more so as life becomes more complicated.
Quite often in the classroom it seemed I was handling crisis after crisis with students, or massaging professional 'differences' in some way. To a certain extent, this was fine, I had few regular committments or responsibilities.
So, in the past five years, I married, bought a 1880's farmhouse to renovate, adopted a 7 year old, and my parents are 75 and 80, aging, and experiencing many of the illnesses of aging. Ergo the 'more complicated' part. Learning moderation when I am 43 is baffling. How do people do this without cracking up? Or does everyone go a little nuts and that is expected?
It repeats itself in my concious from time to time, more so as life becomes more complicated.
Quite often in the classroom it seemed I was handling crisis after crisis with students, or massaging professional 'differences' in some way. To a certain extent, this was fine, I had few regular committments or responsibilities.
So, in the past five years, I married, bought a 1880's farmhouse to renovate, adopted a 7 year old, and my parents are 75 and 80, aging, and experiencing many of the illnesses of aging. Ergo the 'more complicated' part. Learning moderation when I am 43 is baffling. How do people do this without cracking up? Or does everyone go a little nuts and that is expected?
This, for me, is the scary part. Summer has always been restorative and recuperative and I start the new academic year ready to go and excited for the new opportunities and education that the students will bring. But I am not at all there, not even close.
I absolutely do not want to be one of those teachers who is there in body but not in spirit. We all know the sort. It is painful to see this when I do.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Connecting reading and writing
While I am learning about teaching reading and writing basically for the first time in this course and the last one, I am still, well, feeling ill-prepared to actually put it into action.
In the last course I wondered if I ever had taken a class on teaching reading. I actually hauled out my transcript yesterday and - no, I did not take any classes on actually teaching reading, or writing in earning my history-teaching degree/licensure. Seems odd in hindsight, but my classes were mostly history content related with just a sprinkling of methods classes. My second licensure (now woefully out of date) is actually in media technology - so I did mess around with the stuff in the library - but still, not actually teaching reading. harrumph!
Anyway, the structures I read about in the last class for note-taking and such are great and so far what I am reading in Kucer and Burns is interesting - a foreign language in some ways, because the earliest grade I have taught was 9th. The (false) expectation that 9th graders are literate has defined much of how I teach.
Okay, okay, what to do with this. It seems from what I have read that a lot of the writing assignments discussed are more free flow, less formal, and more personally expressive than critical analysis, or document based analysis. These latter two forms of writing are what I, and the State of NC, believe my 10th graders should be doing in the course I teach. The latter two forms are also what the College Board believes my 12th grade AP students should be doing as well. And I probably could build skills with this IF all of my students had teachers following Burns and Kucer K-8, but that is not the case.
90 minutes/day, 16 weeks, fifteen year olds. The challenge in isolation seems overwhelming and impossible.
Yes, yes, it takes a whole school to teach each child. The image of the onion, the layers and the term conundrum comes to mind.
In the last course I wondered if I ever had taken a class on teaching reading. I actually hauled out my transcript yesterday and - no, I did not take any classes on actually teaching reading, or writing in earning my history-teaching degree/licensure. Seems odd in hindsight, but my classes were mostly history content related with just a sprinkling of methods classes. My second licensure (now woefully out of date) is actually in media technology - so I did mess around with the stuff in the library - but still, not actually teaching reading. harrumph!
Anyway, the structures I read about in the last class for note-taking and such are great and so far what I am reading in Kucer and Burns is interesting - a foreign language in some ways, because the earliest grade I have taught was 9th. The (false) expectation that 9th graders are literate has defined much of how I teach.
Okay, okay, what to do with this. It seems from what I have read that a lot of the writing assignments discussed are more free flow, less formal, and more personally expressive than critical analysis, or document based analysis. These latter two forms of writing are what I, and the State of NC, believe my 10th graders should be doing in the course I teach. The latter two forms are also what the College Board believes my 12th grade AP students should be doing as well. And I probably could build skills with this IF all of my students had teachers following Burns and Kucer K-8, but that is not the case.
90 minutes/day, 16 weeks, fifteen year olds. The challenge in isolation seems overwhelming and impossible.
Yes, yes, it takes a whole school to teach each child. The image of the onion, the layers and the term conundrum comes to mind.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Our 4th of July went much as our day travel plans often do - with mechanicals! :) My husband couldn't get all of the boat trailer lights to work, so I followed in my car just in case the Staties wanted to ticket him. It was a good thing - as one of the trailer tires peeled down about 5o miles into the trip on the highway - fun!
Managed to get it off, find a Walmart, buy the only tire they had that would fit, had it mounted, drove back, put it on, assessed the other tire, drive all vehicles to Walmart, buy a second one, get it mounted, then my husband put it on, replaced trailer lights and arrived at Lake by 2:30!
It was a fine 3 hours at the lake at which point we decided that because we had to get our son to summer camp on Sunday, and it is a 5 hour drive one-way that we had better start the return trip . . . unfortunately, the lug nuts weren't tighten down well enough on the second tire. WOW, I had never seen what that did - bored out the holes in the rim, and stripped the bolts out almost completely!
Please note that Walmart did not put the tire on, and in a marriage it is generally best not to point fingers or mutter at any volume "Why didn't you check . . .?"
So - Cody and I just worked on his learning how to spell the states names in the U.S.
A friend of a friend has a place at the lake and we managed to get the boat/trailer to his house to leave it until we can get a new trailer wheel set this week.
I am not sure which of the following two events tests a couple's ability to communicate and cooperate more - car mechanicals, or house renovation. Because I tend to believe that life presents whatever it is I need growth in -I guess this is it for the moment!!
Managed to get it off, find a Walmart, buy the only tire they had that would fit, had it mounted, drove back, put it on, assessed the other tire, drive all vehicles to Walmart, buy a second one, get it mounted, then my husband put it on, replaced trailer lights and arrived at Lake by 2:30!
It was a fine 3 hours at the lake at which point we decided that because we had to get our son to summer camp on Sunday, and it is a 5 hour drive one-way that we had better start the return trip . . . unfortunately, the lug nuts weren't tighten down well enough on the second tire. WOW, I had never seen what that did - bored out the holes in the rim, and stripped the bolts out almost completely!
Please note that Walmart did not put the tire on, and in a marriage it is generally best not to point fingers or mutter at any volume "Why didn't you check . . .?"
So - Cody and I just worked on his learning how to spell the states names in the U.S.
A friend of a friend has a place at the lake and we managed to get the boat/trailer to his house to leave it until we can get a new trailer wheel set this week.
I am not sure which of the following two events tests a couple's ability to communicate and cooperate more - car mechanicals, or house renovation. Because I tend to believe that life presents whatever it is I need growth in -I guess this is it for the moment!!
Friday, July 3, 2009
8 year old funnies
This morning, our son was reading aloud from his National Geographic Kids magazine, sounding out "pachyderm" - I (attempted) explained that there are several names for different living things, for example while he is a 'human' he is also homo sapien sapien, (odd look from 8 year old), that he had a genus and species . . . (wait for it)
"Mom, I am a genius???"
"Mom, I am a genius???"
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Vacations, humidity(?), and making myself write
Having just returned from the great north west - Oregon, I am saddened to find myself back in the 98% humidity of the North Carolina summer! We were on the shuttle last night from the airport along with another family who were returning from Mississippi. They were thrilled with the drop in humidity! We were expounding on the attributes of Oregon, and the mom asked what the negatives were - I really couldn't easily identify any - other than the cost of living was considerably higher I think. I need to check that. I do know that the real estate prices are high compared to NC - but that is probably why everyone keeps moving here!!!
Week 1 of EDU 743 asked us to consider the role of writing, and thinking, and reflecting. as I was considering my response I realized that I have relegated writing, or journaling, to the place of wind sprints, sit-ups, and regular yoga - all things that I know are beneficial, and that will make me better, stronger, and more able - but that I keep setting aside for either greater priority items, or just things that are not as taxing.
I have always thought that the hardest part of a workout was walking into the gym, once there it wasn't a big deal. Writing for myself is the same, once there, I actually enjoy it, but getting there - oh my!
Week 1 of EDU 743 asked us to consider the role of writing, and thinking, and reflecting. as I was considering my response I realized that I have relegated writing, or journaling, to the place of wind sprints, sit-ups, and regular yoga - all things that I know are beneficial, and that will make me better, stronger, and more able - but that I keep setting aside for either greater priority items, or just things that are not as taxing.
I have always thought that the hardest part of a workout was walking into the gym, once there it wasn't a big deal. Writing for myself is the same, once there, I actually enjoy it, but getting there - oh my!
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