.... hearing a train at night, just close enough to hear the clack-clack of the rails. It reminds me of my grandparents' house just across Highway 69 from the railroad in Pryor, where we slept on the screened porch on summer nights, or on a feather bed in the wintertime under piles of homemade quilts.
....the hypnotic creak of locusts in late summer, reminding me that it's time to put aside the slow pleasures of time off and ramp up for a frenzied 10 months of class/gym/grading/squeezing in a little life of my own.
....kneading yeast rolls when the dough is just right---light, but not sticky---and smelling that golden-brown aroma as they bake.
....water running over rocks, slow like sleep, or rushing like all creation singing together. Water lapping on a beach, surf sizzling, spray flying---any water in nature, as long as it brings life and not destruction.
....the sight of anyone I love, laughing.
....reading a real book, with a soft turn of pages, the weight of hardback or ease of paperback, even the smell of the paper.
....a fire in the fireplace, a cloudy sky, and nowhere to be.
....the sunrises as I drive east in the mornings, and the sunsets as I return west in the evening, like the face of God greeting me whenever I turn to my appointed tasks.
....the owls that sometimes take up residence in the trees across the street from me in winter, hooting during the nights I get to stay up late reading and watching movies, and the hawks I count in the bare winter trees as I drive to work in the early dawn.
....the memory of rocking and feeding my twin baby nephews at the same time, my arms just full of babies.
....an inside joke, a knowing look, a long history that leaves no need to explain.
....that one outfit that gives just an extra bounce of confidence.
....understanding that family will always have my back, no matter what.
....the unmistakable smell of sheets dried on a clothesline, and the clean, crisp smell of Downy sheets in the dryer.
....the crazed chaos of three or four women in one kitchen producing a holiday feast. It's not for the faint of heart, but it's full of joy.
....once in a while, seeing the whole world shift in the front of a kid's brain, knowing that he will see everything differently because I showed him something about himself.
....clean sheets with just-shaved legs.
....a hand-cut French fry; a juicy cheeseburger; a ham sandwich on a paper plate under a tree in the warm spring.
....easing into the cool pool after a long, hot day at school, working out everything instead of eating it all.
....coming here each week to find what's buried in the recesses of my brain, worming it out, phrasing it clearly, knowing it'll just be a pale effigy of what I feel----and coming back anyway.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Saturday, August 24, 2013
Dear Allie:
They say every baby is special. Every baby is beautiful. I know that there's no single thing in the world as soft as baby skin, nothing as joyous as a baby belly laugh. And I have known a lot of babies in my life. But when I found out your momma, my baby sister, was pregnant with you, I knew you would be special to me, just as she was. When I saw you for the first time, swaddled up like a little glow-worm in the hospital, it was so clear to me that I would always love you best. That was only two years ago, but it's already impossible to imagine our world without you in it.
You have not been still for a single second since you were born. Even as a tiny infant in your little bouncy seat, you always had one foot kicking constantly. The only way you seemed to sleep much was in that seat with the vibrations set to lull you into twilight, or on a pillow on your momma's lap for as long as she could sit and rock you (hours, if she had to). You asserted your personality from day one, but the first thing I really remember standing out was that you could NOT stand the music on one of your little mobile play pads. I got a video sent by your parents of you lying on the pad, and when the music started, your entire bottom lip curled down pitifully, and you started wailing. It was the saddest and funniest thing I'd ever seen. Hats would do the same thing to you: on went the hat, down went the lip. I just started calling that face "The Lip!" although it probably wasn't very nice to laugh at it. We all knew by then that you'd be your own girl no matter what, and we were right. You are a pistol.
Your momma taught you to sign as you learned to speak, but you....were....stubborn, and no power on earth could make you talk if you didn't want to. You signed and still sign for milk, thank you, please, and all done. For a while, I was worried about the fact that you were such a quiet baby. But now, you chatter all the time. I have no idea what you're saying sometimes, but "No," "Yesh," and "'top!" (your emphatic version of "Stop!") are perfectly clear. So are "sister" and "baby" and "papa." I'm just proud enough of you to say that I think you're becoming very verbal and that your parents are going to be praying for you to be a little quieter before long.
It's obvious that you're very, very smart. As I was giving you a bath tonight, I watched how you knew how to make your light-up bath toys work: one push of the button in the suction cup turned on the lights, and another push made them flash. You hit the button in two quick, deft movements to make them flash every time you turned them on. Ever since you were walking, you'd pick up your toys at night before bedtimes with little cue, prompting us to joke about how picky your mom is and that you're going to be more OCD than she is. You can name almost anything pointed out to you in your books, and name it clearly. I don't think most toddlers are as careful about putting things in their "correct" places---but that's because your momma is always talking to you, explaining what's going on and teaching you. She's taken a lot of kidding for it, but it's going to be a blessing for you both. Your iron will makes you sure that you're older than you really are and are capable of doing most of what anyone does; today, for example, you were determined to help me make the spaghetti sauce for your birthday party, and we had a little contest of head-butting before we compromised and stirred together so the sauce didn't wind up on the floor instead of in the crock pot. I can only imagine what kind of strength you're going to be capable of in a few years. I'm glad you have it; a strong girl is more likely to be a satisfied, happy, safe girl.
I remember a friend looking at a picture of you when you were just a baby and saying, "Oh my goodness, that is an old person in a baby's body," and it was so true. You have the quintessential old soul. I can look into your hazel eyes and see clear down to the center of your being, to a girl made of light and air and prairie skies, a girl whose spirits will never be tamped down by the hard experiences of life. I see wisdom you haven't earned yet but will possess in full when the days roll around. I see a sweet heart full of joy for your family, all dogs, a pasture full of cows, and hillbilly music. I hear a song that you sing when you think no one is listening, a song that you've heard in your own mind and transcribe for the rest of us.
You are your momma's drama, your daddy's temper, your papa's girl. You're the apple of your sister's eye, and the light of grandma's life. You love Mickey Mouse, tortillas, dancing, and fruit of all sorts. You can't stand to ride in the pastures without a seat belt on, yelling "Buckle!" until someone gets the hint, yet you have no brakes when you're excited about something. You make us all laugh a thousand ways with your silly faces, little grown-up behaviors, and insistent statements. You are pure magic to your momma and daddy, making them two of the most happy and grateful parents ever. You have major meltdowns at times, but you can turn a heart to mush by replying to "Love you" with your baby-voiced "Wuv ooo." You're almost too old to be rocked now, but you'll still sometimes let me whisper the little chant in your ears that I've always told you: "Allie, Allie, Allie-boo, Pooky-boo, I love you." I dread the day you become too old for it. In my heart, I pray you never will.
If two years is enough for you to burrow this deep in my heart, I can only imagine what the rest of our time together has in store. I can't wait to see who and how you become. Happy 2nd birthday, Pooky. <3
You have not been still for a single second since you were born. Even as a tiny infant in your little bouncy seat, you always had one foot kicking constantly. The only way you seemed to sleep much was in that seat with the vibrations set to lull you into twilight, or on a pillow on your momma's lap for as long as she could sit and rock you (hours, if she had to). You asserted your personality from day one, but the first thing I really remember standing out was that you could NOT stand the music on one of your little mobile play pads. I got a video sent by your parents of you lying on the pad, and when the music started, your entire bottom lip curled down pitifully, and you started wailing. It was the saddest and funniest thing I'd ever seen. Hats would do the same thing to you: on went the hat, down went the lip. I just started calling that face "The Lip!" although it probably wasn't very nice to laugh at it. We all knew by then that you'd be your own girl no matter what, and we were right. You are a pistol.
Your momma taught you to sign as you learned to speak, but you....were....stubborn, and no power on earth could make you talk if you didn't want to. You signed and still sign for milk, thank you, please, and all done. For a while, I was worried about the fact that you were such a quiet baby. But now, you chatter all the time. I have no idea what you're saying sometimes, but "No," "Yesh," and "'top!" (your emphatic version of "Stop!") are perfectly clear. So are "sister" and "baby" and "papa." I'm just proud enough of you to say that I think you're becoming very verbal and that your parents are going to be praying for you to be a little quieter before long.
It's obvious that you're very, very smart. As I was giving you a bath tonight, I watched how you knew how to make your light-up bath toys work: one push of the button in the suction cup turned on the lights, and another push made them flash. You hit the button in two quick, deft movements to make them flash every time you turned them on. Ever since you were walking, you'd pick up your toys at night before bedtimes with little cue, prompting us to joke about how picky your mom is and that you're going to be more OCD than she is. You can name almost anything pointed out to you in your books, and name it clearly. I don't think most toddlers are as careful about putting things in their "correct" places---but that's because your momma is always talking to you, explaining what's going on and teaching you. She's taken a lot of kidding for it, but it's going to be a blessing for you both. Your iron will makes you sure that you're older than you really are and are capable of doing most of what anyone does; today, for example, you were determined to help me make the spaghetti sauce for your birthday party, and we had a little contest of head-butting before we compromised and stirred together so the sauce didn't wind up on the floor instead of in the crock pot. I can only imagine what kind of strength you're going to be capable of in a few years. I'm glad you have it; a strong girl is more likely to be a satisfied, happy, safe girl.
I remember a friend looking at a picture of you when you were just a baby and saying, "Oh my goodness, that is an old person in a baby's body," and it was so true. You have the quintessential old soul. I can look into your hazel eyes and see clear down to the center of your being, to a girl made of light and air and prairie skies, a girl whose spirits will never be tamped down by the hard experiences of life. I see wisdom you haven't earned yet but will possess in full when the days roll around. I see a sweet heart full of joy for your family, all dogs, a pasture full of cows, and hillbilly music. I hear a song that you sing when you think no one is listening, a song that you've heard in your own mind and transcribe for the rest of us.
You are your momma's drama, your daddy's temper, your papa's girl. You're the apple of your sister's eye, and the light of grandma's life. You love Mickey Mouse, tortillas, dancing, and fruit of all sorts. You can't stand to ride in the pastures without a seat belt on, yelling "Buckle!" until someone gets the hint, yet you have no brakes when you're excited about something. You make us all laugh a thousand ways with your silly faces, little grown-up behaviors, and insistent statements. You are pure magic to your momma and daddy, making them two of the most happy and grateful parents ever. You have major meltdowns at times, but you can turn a heart to mush by replying to "Love you" with your baby-voiced "Wuv ooo." You're almost too old to be rocked now, but you'll still sometimes let me whisper the little chant in your ears that I've always told you: "Allie, Allie, Allie-boo, Pooky-boo, I love you." I dread the day you become too old for it. In my heart, I pray you never will.
If two years is enough for you to burrow this deep in my heart, I can only imagine what the rest of our time together has in store. I can't wait to see who and how you become. Happy 2nd birthday, Pooky. <3
Saturday, August 17, 2013
No Other Like My Mother
One of the earliest things I can remember in life is sitting in my mother's lap, face to face, on Sunday mornings in church. Her small, efficient hands would rub my back and smooth my wildly curly hair while I rested my head on her shoulder. Her Cherokee heritage showed in her dark complexion and black hair, and they contrasted strikingly with her cornflower-blue eyes. When I was older, I'd see a similarity between her in her youth and a young Elizabeth Taylor, but as a child, I only saw that she was the source of all comfort and safety. All these years later, I still see her that way, layered with thousands of memories that more than prove my trust and faith in her was well-placed.
"Mama" was all I called her until I was grown, as she did with my grandmother until she passed away. It was a country word and one I loved and still use to address her once in a while. "Mama" conjures up a young mother who bustled about, cooking, cleaning, and sewing all the time. By the time I was six, she spent much of her time working on the house that she and Dad spent two years building, becoming a human dynamo like other mothers of that generation. But I believe she was much, much more.
How so? Oh, only in a million ways. For one thing, she (and Dad, too) taught us to build and keep family relationships with our extended family. Though we lived 100 miles away from Pryor, where my parents both graduated, we all spent a weekend with my grandparents at least once every four to six weeks. She was especially determined to make sure we knew them well, maybe because she grew up with her grandmother living in the same house with them. Having my parents as role models in how to treat family led me to good relationships with virtually every member of my extended family.
Mama was the disciplinarian. I wouldn't say I was afraid of her; I respected her and rarely got into trouble because I KNEW she would follow through. Never did I hear her say, "Wait til your father gets home," or any version of that. Justice was swift and certain from her, and how I am thankful for that. Every kid should have such a strong-minded mother to turn to and to respect.
I learned to cook before I could see the top of a kitchen counter, partly because of my grandmother and great-grandmother, but mostly because of Mama. She was an incredibly patient teacher. I liked baking most, and she would let me pull up a chair to the counter and stir away. She understood the most essential component of dealing with a creative process: don't freak out. I don't remember her ever gasping or fussing over some mistake; we just picked up the pieces of whatever it was, found a correction, kept on moving. A few years later, as I began to learn sewing, we would occasionally get frustrated at each other, but that was my fault, because I hated it so much. "Nope, you need to rip it out and do it over" was one of my least favorite sentences of all time, but she was always steadfast, calm, and sure of her decisions. I've often envied that confidence over the years.
We're something of a gypsy family, and Mama could box up everything our family of five would need for a summer at the South Dakota farm in the back of an International Scout, packing it in indestructible chicken-plant boxes under a false floor that Dad built to fit in the back. She can pack anything anywhere, for that matter, and never waste an inch. I didn't get the faintest hint of that ability, and oh, how I wish for it.
Mama doesn't consider herself a great cook, but we do. I can't come close to her delicious flaky pie crusts, though I have the recipe. Her chicken-fried steak (completely different from the impostor CFS in restaurants) is worth every last calorie. She has the best sloppy joe recipe, makes mouth-watering roast, and turns out fried potatoes that are crisp without being greasy. One of my favorite things she made when I was a kid was salmon croquettes, though we just called them salmon patties. I've seen her can and preserve the bounty of country gardens---okra, green beans, corn, pickles---as well as all kinds of fish and game.
Her family had very little extra of anything when she was growing up, so she learned to save and make do with anything and everything. If clothing isn't good enough to be passed on to someone else when we need to be rid of it, it goes into a rag bag for the farm shop. NO box that is suitable for gift-giving is allowed to leave the premises. She doesn't save wrapping paper anymore, but bows are still subject to capture. She learned that the old tissue paper from sewing patterns was good for window cleaning, and most of our patterns went to their ends that way rather than just being trashed. Mama practically invented "reduce, reuse, recycle" in her entire attitude toward life.
Most people who know our family well could already tell you most of what I have here. What a lot of them don't know is that although Mom always appears very calm and collected, so practical and brisk, when it comes to her family, her husband right down to the youngest grandchild, she would crawl on broken glass for eternity if they needed it. That's probably not so different from most mothers, but this one is mine. Her heart is huge, soft and a little sentimental about us all. She doesn't worry and carry on, but if something needs to be done, she just does it, no quibbling or questioning about it. When I had pneumonia last fall, she showed up at my house and stayed for five days. On the fourth day, I said I was feeling better and maybe would try to go to work the next day. She didn't even look up from her cross-stitch she was doing. "No," was all she said---and when Mama talks, I listen! I trust her judgment implicitly.
Today is her 71st birthday, and I don't get to see her because she and Dad have been off in Montana taking it easy for a much-needed couple of weeks. But writing about her makes me feel a little closer to her. She is my touchstone, my tape-measure of life and measuring cup for joy, both of which she has blessed me with. I thank God for her and hope for another 71 years to continue to learn from and love her.
"Mama" was all I called her until I was grown, as she did with my grandmother until she passed away. It was a country word and one I loved and still use to address her once in a while. "Mama" conjures up a young mother who bustled about, cooking, cleaning, and sewing all the time. By the time I was six, she spent much of her time working on the house that she and Dad spent two years building, becoming a human dynamo like other mothers of that generation. But I believe she was much, much more.
How so? Oh, only in a million ways. For one thing, she (and Dad, too) taught us to build and keep family relationships with our extended family. Though we lived 100 miles away from Pryor, where my parents both graduated, we all spent a weekend with my grandparents at least once every four to six weeks. She was especially determined to make sure we knew them well, maybe because she grew up with her grandmother living in the same house with them. Having my parents as role models in how to treat family led me to good relationships with virtually every member of my extended family.
Mama was the disciplinarian. I wouldn't say I was afraid of her; I respected her and rarely got into trouble because I KNEW she would follow through. Never did I hear her say, "Wait til your father gets home," or any version of that. Justice was swift and certain from her, and how I am thankful for that. Every kid should have such a strong-minded mother to turn to and to respect.
I learned to cook before I could see the top of a kitchen counter, partly because of my grandmother and great-grandmother, but mostly because of Mama. She was an incredibly patient teacher. I liked baking most, and she would let me pull up a chair to the counter and stir away. She understood the most essential component of dealing with a creative process: don't freak out. I don't remember her ever gasping or fussing over some mistake; we just picked up the pieces of whatever it was, found a correction, kept on moving. A few years later, as I began to learn sewing, we would occasionally get frustrated at each other, but that was my fault, because I hated it so much. "Nope, you need to rip it out and do it over" was one of my least favorite sentences of all time, but she was always steadfast, calm, and sure of her decisions. I've often envied that confidence over the years.
We're something of a gypsy family, and Mama could box up everything our family of five would need for a summer at the South Dakota farm in the back of an International Scout, packing it in indestructible chicken-plant boxes under a false floor that Dad built to fit in the back. She can pack anything anywhere, for that matter, and never waste an inch. I didn't get the faintest hint of that ability, and oh, how I wish for it.
Mama doesn't consider herself a great cook, but we do. I can't come close to her delicious flaky pie crusts, though I have the recipe. Her chicken-fried steak (completely different from the impostor CFS in restaurants) is worth every last calorie. She has the best sloppy joe recipe, makes mouth-watering roast, and turns out fried potatoes that are crisp without being greasy. One of my favorite things she made when I was a kid was salmon croquettes, though we just called them salmon patties. I've seen her can and preserve the bounty of country gardens---okra, green beans, corn, pickles---as well as all kinds of fish and game.
Her family had very little extra of anything when she was growing up, so she learned to save and make do with anything and everything. If clothing isn't good enough to be passed on to someone else when we need to be rid of it, it goes into a rag bag for the farm shop. NO box that is suitable for gift-giving is allowed to leave the premises. She doesn't save wrapping paper anymore, but bows are still subject to capture. She learned that the old tissue paper from sewing patterns was good for window cleaning, and most of our patterns went to their ends that way rather than just being trashed. Mama practically invented "reduce, reuse, recycle" in her entire attitude toward life.
Most people who know our family well could already tell you most of what I have here. What a lot of them don't know is that although Mom always appears very calm and collected, so practical and brisk, when it comes to her family, her husband right down to the youngest grandchild, she would crawl on broken glass for eternity if they needed it. That's probably not so different from most mothers, but this one is mine. Her heart is huge, soft and a little sentimental about us all. She doesn't worry and carry on, but if something needs to be done, she just does it, no quibbling or questioning about it. When I had pneumonia last fall, she showed up at my house and stayed for five days. On the fourth day, I said I was feeling better and maybe would try to go to work the next day. She didn't even look up from her cross-stitch she was doing. "No," was all she said---and when Mama talks, I listen! I trust her judgment implicitly.
Today is her 71st birthday, and I don't get to see her because she and Dad have been off in Montana taking it easy for a much-needed couple of weeks. But writing about her makes me feel a little closer to her. She is my touchstone, my tape-measure of life and measuring cup for joy, both of which she has blessed me with. I thank God for her and hope for another 71 years to continue to learn from and love her.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Teacher to Teacher
Here we are, on the cusp of another school year. You can spot the teachers everywhere: they wander through Mardel's with their cranky children, looking overwhelmed by the choices and a little cranky themselves. They make mad runs on Staples stores for .01 loose-leaf paper packs. They scoop up supplies for learning centers and boards and classroom décor, warm up their glue guns and sewing machines, and enlist their kids, friends, and friends' kids in a million projects. Add in the trauma of changing learning goals from PASS objectives to Common Core and now to Oklahoma Academic Standards, and you find that some teachers are already on a ragged edge of hysteria about the coming year.
Perhaps we can quell the outbreak of nervous hives among our ranks with conventional wisdom we've learned through our experience. I'd love to hear yours if you feel comfortable commenting here. These are some things I know or believe about teaching that can (usually) make the school year go easier.
Never, ever lie to your students. They can smell a lie and they will call you on it. If they ask a question you don't know the answer to, tell them you don't have an answer but will find out and get back to them. Follow through.
Have a seating chart from Day 1. It can solve a myriad of problems.
Laugh---especially at yourself!
Keep as much of your work at work as you can. I know you won't; I'm just giving you permission to take a Saturday or Sunday off once in a while.
Wear sensible shoes! It makes me crazy to see people wear shoes that are going to deform their feet or, even worse, give them no support at all.
Try to make as many positive calls to parents as negative ones.
Remember that our buildings would immediately shut down if we didn't have the secretaries, custodians, and cooks. Learn their names, say them often, and thank them for everything you can.
Greet your students at the door by name, each class, every day. It'll cut discipline problems in half. (This is one I struggle with these days---it seems like there is always something keeping me at my desk during pass time---but I vow to do better this year.)
Here's your answer when a student asks, "Is this for a grade?" You: "Everything's for a grade. Even if I don't record a grade, you'll be preparing for a graded assignment."
Students get two free days every week: Saturday and Sunday. Use the others, every minute!
Know the culture of our kids. Learn something about their taste in music, clothes, movies, or pastimes....even if we find their "culture" perfectly horrible.
If you are wrong, say so and apologize. The students find that kind of humility much more deserving of respect than any bluff and blunder.
Ladies, do not cry in frustration in front of classes. Men, do not yell for the same reason. Students smell blood in the water if you do these things, and they will go in for the kill. They aren't barbarians; it's just nature.
Don't listen to nay-sayers.
Every kid has a strong suit. Find it.
No sucking up! Your peers WILL notice it and resent it.
And no stealing another teacher's shtick, either.
Remember that you are a teacher everywhere you go; act accordingly.
You knew the job was dangerous when you took it. Love it, or find something less stressful (and less rewarding) to do.
And the very most important thing? Take potty breaks, even if you don't think you have to go. Gosh knows when your next chance will be.
Of course, these aren't all good suggestions; they're just things I've observed over the last 27 years in the classroom. Those 27 years aren't a guarantee that I have the best information, just that I've had time to collect them. I have no wisdom, for example, on technology, except that I refuse to let it replace me in my classroom. That's a fight that will eventually be lost, not too far in the future, I'm afraid. Until it does, I'll live and work by my lights, doing the best I can from what I've learned.
What have you learned, friends?
Perhaps we can quell the outbreak of nervous hives among our ranks with conventional wisdom we've learned through our experience. I'd love to hear yours if you feel comfortable commenting here. These are some things I know or believe about teaching that can (usually) make the school year go easier.
Never, ever lie to your students. They can smell a lie and they will call you on it. If they ask a question you don't know the answer to, tell them you don't have an answer but will find out and get back to them. Follow through.
Have a seating chart from Day 1. It can solve a myriad of problems.
Laugh---especially at yourself!
Keep as much of your work at work as you can. I know you won't; I'm just giving you permission to take a Saturday or Sunday off once in a while.
Wear sensible shoes! It makes me crazy to see people wear shoes that are going to deform their feet or, even worse, give them no support at all.
Try to make as many positive calls to parents as negative ones.
Remember that our buildings would immediately shut down if we didn't have the secretaries, custodians, and cooks. Learn their names, say them often, and thank them for everything you can.
Greet your students at the door by name, each class, every day. It'll cut discipline problems in half. (This is one I struggle with these days---it seems like there is always something keeping me at my desk during pass time---but I vow to do better this year.)
Here's your answer when a student asks, "Is this for a grade?" You: "Everything's for a grade. Even if I don't record a grade, you'll be preparing for a graded assignment."
Students get two free days every week: Saturday and Sunday. Use the others, every minute!
Know the culture of our kids. Learn something about their taste in music, clothes, movies, or pastimes....even if we find their "culture" perfectly horrible.
If you are wrong, say so and apologize. The students find that kind of humility much more deserving of respect than any bluff and blunder.
Ladies, do not cry in frustration in front of classes. Men, do not yell for the same reason. Students smell blood in the water if you do these things, and they will go in for the kill. They aren't barbarians; it's just nature.
Don't listen to nay-sayers.
Every kid has a strong suit. Find it.
No sucking up! Your peers WILL notice it and resent it.
And no stealing another teacher's shtick, either.
Remember that you are a teacher everywhere you go; act accordingly.
You knew the job was dangerous when you took it. Love it, or find something less stressful (and less rewarding) to do.
And the very most important thing? Take potty breaks, even if you don't think you have to go. Gosh knows when your next chance will be.
Of course, these aren't all good suggestions; they're just things I've observed over the last 27 years in the classroom. Those 27 years aren't a guarantee that I have the best information, just that I've had time to collect them. I have no wisdom, for example, on technology, except that I refuse to let it replace me in my classroom. That's a fight that will eventually be lost, not too far in the future, I'm afraid. Until it does, I'll live and work by my lights, doing the best I can from what I've learned.
What have you learned, friends?
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Dear Emeri:
I will always remember the first time I laid eyes on you. Unlike your cousins, you came to us fully formed as a young child. You and I met the day my sister went to pick out a wedding dress to marry your father. When you walked up to me as Sheri introduced you, you had your arms crossed with your hands tucked awkwardly in your armpits. But you gamely took my hand and gave it one hard shake, ducking your head with a shy smile. I knew right then that I wouldn't be able to help it; I would always love you best.
At six years old, you had the widest smile and the thickest honey-brown head of hair I had ever seen. You sat calmly through the dress changes for a while, but it was a long time to wait for a little girl, and within 30 minutes or so, you were posing me various ways in my chair to serve as your recliner. I could see clearly why Sheri called you Monkey. You had a giggle that could win over even the most hard-hearted person. I was so happy that you seemed happy to be there and that you loved your future step-mom---and it was clear that she was excited to be gaining not just a husband, but a daughter as well.
You were adorable at the wedding in your purple dress as your dad's "best girl," joining Dad and Sheri pouring sand into a jar to mark the day. The very best picture of the day was of you and your new cousin Katie, both of you looking off at something out of the camera's view that clearly was really strange, leaning away from it with matching looks of confusion. I still crack up when I see that picture. The only sad part of the day was when you realized you wouldn't be going with them when they left the wedding, and you cried like your heart was broken. I think eventually they took you in the pickup around town a little to calm you and then brought you back to the reception to make their real exit.
Thankfully, it wasn't a sign of things to come; you seem to love being with Dad and Sheri whenever you can. It's hard to go a long time without seeing you since you and your mom live in Texas, but we are all so happy when you get to come to your Oklahoma home for holidays and your six weeks in the summer. I would rather play Uno with you than with just about anyone else in the world, which is good since we play it whenever you're here. You and Katie have both left a few bruises on me, using me as your jungle gym/diving platform when we go to the pool every summer. I love to find little art projects for you since you enjoy them, and helping you with them is part of the fun. I hope as you get older, we can have the same fun with make-up, movies, music, and whatever else you're interested in.
As you've grown, I've seen that little gap-toothed girl turn into a young lady who is beautiful in both spirit and body. I envy you that tremendously thick bob, still the same glowing brown-and-gold as when I met you four years ago. That wide smile will be winning hearts for a long time to come. I know Sheri and I, both pale like Papa Welker, are so jealous of your caramel-colored complexion. And I would almost kill to have your strong, athletic build. But your heart is what I love most. Your first summer here, when you were seven, you said, "You're a good step-aunt. But really you're just my aunt. You're my favorite aunt...in Oklahoma." We both laughed at your joke---I'm probably always going to be your ONLY aunt in Oklahoma---but we always say, "step, but not really." We know we're family, and that's what counts. Your sweet spirit became even more obvious when your little sister was born two years ago. You treated Allie so carefully when she was tiny, and now you will play with her whenever she wants, never hiding out or telling her to leave you alone (although that may change as you both get older; all little sisters are annoying SOMEtimes!). Still shy, you will nevertheless still let us hug and kiss you, as long as we aren't making a big production of it.
Your time with us for this summer is almost over. Today we celebrated your 11th birthday a few days early, since you'll be back at home in Weatherford by your actual birthday. I was thinking today of a poem my aunt gave her adopted daughter, about the difference in a birth child and an adopted child. The last lines read something similar to, "You grew not under my heart, but in it." Ever since you joined our family, in fact, I remember those lines and how you walked right into our hearts and settled happily into your own corner, a place that had always been there waiting for you. I hope you'll always feel at home there, dear Em.
Happy birthday with lots of love from your favorite Oklahoma aunt!
At six years old, you had the widest smile and the thickest honey-brown head of hair I had ever seen. You sat calmly through the dress changes for a while, but it was a long time to wait for a little girl, and within 30 minutes or so, you were posing me various ways in my chair to serve as your recliner. I could see clearly why Sheri called you Monkey. You had a giggle that could win over even the most hard-hearted person. I was so happy that you seemed happy to be there and that you loved your future step-mom---and it was clear that she was excited to be gaining not just a husband, but a daughter as well.
You were adorable at the wedding in your purple dress as your dad's "best girl," joining Dad and Sheri pouring sand into a jar to mark the day. The very best picture of the day was of you and your new cousin Katie, both of you looking off at something out of the camera's view that clearly was really strange, leaning away from it with matching looks of confusion. I still crack up when I see that picture. The only sad part of the day was when you realized you wouldn't be going with them when they left the wedding, and you cried like your heart was broken. I think eventually they took you in the pickup around town a little to calm you and then brought you back to the reception to make their real exit.
Thankfully, it wasn't a sign of things to come; you seem to love being with Dad and Sheri whenever you can. It's hard to go a long time without seeing you since you and your mom live in Texas, but we are all so happy when you get to come to your Oklahoma home for holidays and your six weeks in the summer. I would rather play Uno with you than with just about anyone else in the world, which is good since we play it whenever you're here. You and Katie have both left a few bruises on me, using me as your jungle gym/diving platform when we go to the pool every summer. I love to find little art projects for you since you enjoy them, and helping you with them is part of the fun. I hope as you get older, we can have the same fun with make-up, movies, music, and whatever else you're interested in.
As you've grown, I've seen that little gap-toothed girl turn into a young lady who is beautiful in both spirit and body. I envy you that tremendously thick bob, still the same glowing brown-and-gold as when I met you four years ago. That wide smile will be winning hearts for a long time to come. I know Sheri and I, both pale like Papa Welker, are so jealous of your caramel-colored complexion. And I would almost kill to have your strong, athletic build. But your heart is what I love most. Your first summer here, when you were seven, you said, "You're a good step-aunt. But really you're just my aunt. You're my favorite aunt...in Oklahoma." We both laughed at your joke---I'm probably always going to be your ONLY aunt in Oklahoma---but we always say, "step, but not really." We know we're family, and that's what counts. Your sweet spirit became even more obvious when your little sister was born two years ago. You treated Allie so carefully when she was tiny, and now you will play with her whenever she wants, never hiding out or telling her to leave you alone (although that may change as you both get older; all little sisters are annoying SOMEtimes!). Still shy, you will nevertheless still let us hug and kiss you, as long as we aren't making a big production of it.
Your time with us for this summer is almost over. Today we celebrated your 11th birthday a few days early, since you'll be back at home in Weatherford by your actual birthday. I was thinking today of a poem my aunt gave her adopted daughter, about the difference in a birth child and an adopted child. The last lines read something similar to, "You grew not under my heart, but in it." Ever since you joined our family, in fact, I remember those lines and how you walked right into our hearts and settled happily into your own corner, a place that had always been there waiting for you. I hope you'll always feel at home there, dear Em.
Happy birthday with lots of love from your favorite Oklahoma aunt!
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