Crash or Soar

I have not heard good things about our ninth grade class as a whole. The other English teachers I've spoken with have had their hands full trying to make a go of their English 9 classes. Mrs. B said at the beginning of each new semester, you hope for your class to run and take off from the ground. That being off the ground is the learning experience, and it's thrilling. But her last class walked a bit, and—plunk—into the water they dropped and sank. They did not want to learn.

I approached my first ever English 9 class with a good deal of reservation as a result of this and other tragic stories. If we couldn't fly, at least we could stay away from the deep end for the plunk.

Today, my English 9 removed my fear of the plunk. Jay read his personal narrative aloud for our revision circle. It was about his being adopted. It was rife with spelling and grammatical errors. But the heart of it was not the less visible for them: he was glad to be in a safe, caring family that brought him closer to God. He read in a stilted way, not yet a confident reader aloud. But he persevered manfully through the piece. We applauded him, and slowly hands went in the air for commentary. Everyone appreciated his sharing his piece. One girl, Elena, thanked him for writing his story. She, too, had been adopted, but more recently. And she still remembered what it felt like not to be wanted by her father and mother. She told us of the relief and gratitude she felt toward her adoptive parents, the people she trusted so wholly. She ended with a sob. It may have taken all she had to talk about that. But she knew she had to, because Jay had the courage to write about this thing that had so moved her as well.

When she had finished, I, like an idiot, said something to try to draw the attention away from her... I think I was uncomfortable for her. I didn't want her to feel as though she had spoken to an empty room. But I think now that I would have rather just said, "thanks so much for sharing that," and left it.

So, there is a story of how my class lifted off of their own volition, and didn't wobble and crash. They soared.

Recent Reading

I recently read A Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut. Oh, ladies and gentlemen, that man is something wonderful and nuts. I love what he has to say about humor. He concludes by saying that perhaps he is too old, and not funny anymore.

This book is memoirish: the rantings of a man who more than admits that he's old: he takes certain liberties which he knows he can get away with, since he's 82. Note, he has always taken certain liberties, but he blames it on age now, his own joke. One may picture him a pensive window-looker, eccentric old man who smokes his cigar, knowing the evil of the world. But he'll offer you a cigar, too. You can watch the bomb go off together. All the good and the bad mixed together. What a man.

Conversation

Readers, this is remarkable only because I believe she was somewhat serious.

Alyssa: Do we have days when the weather makes it... so no school?

Me: You want a snow day?

Alyssa: Yes! When do we have?

Me: It has to snow first.

Alyssa: Oh... Can't we have a day off?

Me: Are you asking me to make it snow? Seriously?

First Day of the Semester

I dismissed a class almost ten minutes early today. I was looking at the wrong schedule. They came back puzzled and chatty.

First days of anything ... I'm not a fan. I have to constantly talk myself down and say things like, "you've done a lot of first things, and you've gotten used to them! Remember the obstacle course at boot camp at age eleven? Remember opening McDonald's at 4am in July? You'll get used to this."

The moment I realize what I'm doing here, teaching and advising, I am liable to hit some strange Freak Out button (this button is visible only after 7pm). In essence, it's not so hard: plan some reading and writing, give a vocabulary test occasionally, hang out with teenagers from different countries. Really, it's wonderful in a basic way. But as soon as I begin to think about the philosophy and the agenda and the goals and the essential questions that have to back up every single thing I say... Well, I say, higher education has only complicated things.

Just a Friend

I believed in you from a distance,
when you were at your worst.
I wish I had a part in you now.

The worst of it is your legacy of pain.
If I hold on now, I'm bound to hurt forever,
with the searing pain of red-hot shackles:

Asking what drove you to it,
why you drove yourself,
and alone!


You jumped!

Now I have to let go.

I, who made the mistake of believing
that you knew exactly what you were doing.

What I Would Like to Believe

I would like to believe that you are in California
with an old laptop some friend let you borrow,
then saw you had a necessity for it,
the words pouring forth from your mind at 2am,
like you do. There you sit, a loud TV on in another room,
but you've learned not to complain since the rent is cheap.

And moment by moment, you narrate the madness of passing world
passing life
beautifully
and with your rueful half-smile.

I promised myself I'd be the first to read it!
Before the piece even touched the shelf,
somehow I'd know.
And all the blurred years of ink and heartbreak,
and your illegible pencil-scratch notes,
would begin their healing in me, as
I read about your cross-country journeys,
your smoking up with strangers,
and how you realized it would get you nowhere.

Surviving on meager cooking of your own,
occasionally working up a kitchen masterpiece to share with...

with whom? There I stop.

No one traveled that road with you.
No one knew.
No one knew.

If You Come Back

If you come back

I will write you a poem for every picture of a tree
you deign to send me.

I will go to see that stupid Hulk movie and find a replacement for work.

I will chat online for more than a few minutes: reviewing our chats, I always seemed to be pressed for time.

I will sit with you in your Jeep on the way to your friend's wedding,
and let myself think about your profile against the sunset.

I will not run so hard or so far.

I will let you catch me, hold me, keep me.

But

I know I wouldn't

if you could

Come back.

Life Tastes Sweet

Funny how tempting it is to blog about blogging or to make apologies for long, informative posts. Ha. This blog is about my life, so I feel justified in a few very long posts now and then that solely relay strings of experiences.

The painfully anticipated break is nearing its end, and I have lots of feelings and few moments to share. But I don't enjoy writing or reading about feelings. And I love to write and read about moments. So here are a few that come back to me, with their corresponding food of the moment.

On Christmas eve eve, I visited Krystle. We baked banana bread and talked and talked. She presented me with a gift of a beautiful hand-made afghan that rests snugly over the shoulders. It reminded me of Joella's grandmother's prayer shawl. I am wearing the afghan even now. Turkey Hill Double Dunker ice cream.

On Christmas eve, Stephen (my brother), my sister-in-law Megan, and my niece and nephew Aida and Holden went to Megan's aunt's house for dinner. Everyone eats and drinks and dodges children in the kitchen, dining room, and living room. One moment, I found myself on a big, well-stuffed chair, with Aida sitting next to me. We were discussing something. Then her cousin Maddy found her way to my lap. Then her cousin Luke found his way up the back of the chair, covering me in children. They fell over and on top of me, a sweet, laughing kid puddle. Orange sherbet punch.

Christmas day, we stayed inside like bums and watched A Christmas Story in segments that amounted to three full viewings. Sweet potato souffle.

The day after, we decided to eat at the Waffle Shop in State College. We waited for 15 minutes to be seated because it was so crowded. I sat between Aida and Holden. A teething Holden was biting the side of the table as our waitress came up. I forget our conversation. But she told us that she had been a waitress for 49 years, and she loved to serve people. Blueberry pancakes.

In Waynesboro later that week, Kelly, Sladana, Jack, Chelsea and I stopped at Sheetz for a snack before arriving at the movie theater. We sat in the round table and chatted about nothing, I'm sure. But the moment was sweet, there on the quiet edge of a spinning world. Macaroni bites.

Chels and I sat down together and watched The Prestige. I took Benadryl for some strange and awful allergy. I shouted out my guesses at the plot. She shouted out how annoying that was. Decaf tea.

Thursday lunch Sladana, BJ, Kelly, Josiah, and I ate together in Chambersburg. We sat in the draughty Subway sharing potato chips and stories and ideas. Sladana had work, so we remaining went to Starbucks. On the drive, we recalled our long and glorious history of loving Homestarrunner. Flurries had kicked up, but we were warm. Grande, soy, no vanilla, Mocha Frappuccino.

Thursday night, I joined Kelly's mom's dinner party out at some barn-like bed and breakfast. We sat with Kelly's mom's friends and chatted the evening away. Her friend Kim was telling us about the Alaskan village where her father lived and died, and their communal practices of supporting families through grief. Meanwhile, a bluegrass band with lovely vocal harmony played just behind us. Peppermint ice cream pie.

I leaned on my mom's bed as she woke up from her evening nap (she works nights) and we chatted before I left for Lancaster again. We talked about the things on our minds that mattered. It's funny, sometimes I wonder if I have anything important to say. But talking with Mom makes those trifling thoughts melt away, and what remains feels rock-solid, like it matters. The cat lay on the down blanket, with an occasional wistful sigh. LifeSavers peppermints.

On New Year's Eve with Joella's family, Anita and I talked in the kitchen while the other young people played a game in which players are "shot" and eliminated one by one. Asher came to join us. Our conversation intensified a bit, as we listed single ladies for him to consider. Then Tobias joined us, also "dead" to discuss the pros and cons of casual dating, if there is such a thing. The conversational intensity grew another notch. By this time we were all seated on the kitchen floor, weary from standing. Then Zion. Then Isaac. Then Tirzah. Then Boni and Joella. The conversational intensity had evened out around the entrance of Tirzah, and dropped off around the coming of Isaac. Olive cheese balls.