This evening, for the first time in a long time, I sat and listened to my son read, just listened. I didn't read something else while he read, I didn't wish he would hurry and finish. I didn't care when the baby pulled all the legos out of the box I had just put up. I didn't wonder what time it was. I sat and listened.
And then I was mindfully aware of my listening. For a minute, I drifted and thought how cool it was that this 6 year old was reading about Henry "Box" Brown, when I didn't learn this story until I was in grad school. I marveled at the questions Elijah asked while reading; I didn't make him continue reading and ask his questions at the end. But we talked. He told me, he wouldn't like to have been a slave because of the manacles (no, he didn't use that word) on their hands. He asked where he would be sent to, if he was sold away. He asked how to pronounce and then what tobacco was. He asked what a mistress was. He talked about how Nancy and Henry's children had hair like Nancy and Henry. And then he told me, that when Henry got to Philadelphia, he probably went to play games.
It was a very freeing moment!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
On The Joy Luck Club
It's a little startling to see yourself in the pages of a novel, in the characters of someone else's mind and past, in Chinese women. It's interesting to use their wisdom at this very point in life, when it's most needed.
It reminds you that things aren't left up to chance, but (things, memories, thoughts, wisdom) brought to you at very precise moments.
It's a little comforting to read about the character who pronounces her worth, secretly to herself, at such a young age and then orchestrates a way in which to leave a circumstance that daily diminishes that worth in order to openly display how valuable she is.
It's difficult to read aloud in class with teenagers the tragedies and difficulties the characters face and see, remember your own.
To exist outside of oneself.
It's difficult, challenging, comforting, shocking to exist outside of oneself
and to want move past the difficulties quickly and to understand that God is in the members of that joy luck club that everyone so desperately needs to move on in this journey.
It reminds you that things aren't left up to chance, but (things, memories, thoughts, wisdom) brought to you at very precise moments.
It's a little comforting to read about the character who pronounces her worth, secretly to herself, at such a young age and then orchestrates a way in which to leave a circumstance that daily diminishes that worth in order to openly display how valuable she is.
It's difficult to read aloud in class with teenagers the tragedies and difficulties the characters face and see, remember your own.
To exist outside of oneself.
It's difficult, challenging, comforting, shocking to exist outside of oneself
and to want move past the difficulties quickly and to understand that God is in the members of that joy luck club that everyone so desperately needs to move on in this journey.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
On race and racelessness
I just finished reading an article in which the only person assigned a race was the African-American flight attendant whose name was the only one not remembered, "it was something like Gazelle."
I'm immediately drawn back to graduate school and a Toni Morrison article and her challenging novel Paradise, where one of the opening lines is "They shot the white girl first." It's compelling to try to track the characters and determine which girl was white, but simultaneously almost impossible to track the characters to determine which girl was white. At the end, one question stood: does her race matter?
Why is race so important in character development? What does establishing a character's race tell us that helps us to better understand the character and/or author's purpose and/or theme?
Why was the personal essayist who was writing about meeting strangers in airports to gather and share people's stories so compelled to identify the African-American flight attendant's race in the story? Why couldn't she just be the female flight attendant, like Chad was the male attendant? Why was her name forgotten, yet Chad's remembered? Why and how did her name become similar to "gazelle?" Did her height and skin color and the modifier "stunning" make her exotic? Was her name so ethnic that it could be anything? Was her race identified to add imagery, color to the text? Why did her race matter?
I'm immediately drawn back to graduate school and a Toni Morrison article and her challenging novel Paradise, where one of the opening lines is "They shot the white girl first." It's compelling to try to track the characters and determine which girl was white, but simultaneously almost impossible to track the characters to determine which girl was white. At the end, one question stood: does her race matter?
Why is race so important in character development? What does establishing a character's race tell us that helps us to better understand the character and/or author's purpose and/or theme?
Why was the personal essayist who was writing about meeting strangers in airports to gather and share people's stories so compelled to identify the African-American flight attendant's race in the story? Why couldn't she just be the female flight attendant, like Chad was the male attendant? Why was her name forgotten, yet Chad's remembered? Why and how did her name become similar to "gazelle?" Did her height and skin color and the modifier "stunning" make her exotic? Was her name so ethnic that it could be anything? Was her race identified to add imagery, color to the text? Why did her race matter?
Thursday, February 18, 2010
On eating an elephant
I heard my father's voice last week when I went to shovel the 2-plus feet of snow in front of my car, with a heavy heart. He asked, "do you know how to eat an elephant?"
I forced a chuckle, "what?"
He repeated himself and I more appropriately responded, "no, how?"
"One bite at a time," he explained.
Eight or nine years ago, as I whined about being overwhelmed during my early graduate school days, he told me to take it one step at a time, that I couldn't take on the entire beast at one time. He helped me to calm down and not get so overanxious that I become unproductive, rather to move slowly, steadily through the process.
In the cold, as I looked at the snow mound, looked at the future and thought this is impossible, this will take forever, how can I do this, my father whispered, one bite, one shovel-full at a time. And I very slowly and steadily shoveled.
Then my 55+ year old snow angel came out with her shovel and said, "I thought she can't do this by herself," and she helped me two shovel-fulls at a time. We talked and laughed and shoveled. Her steadiness and willingness showed me that my strength is present, maybe a little buried under some flakes, but alive.
Then another snow angel appeared and helped me break through the ice around my car "to help [me] get the babies in the car safely." These women with lives of their own became my brother and my mother, my family, my strength, my help. They showed me my inner strength and helped remind me that I need people in order to be strong.
My daddy's whispers of one bite at a time, my family's ear, shoulder, support, my friends' shovels help me to eat every elephant placed in front of me.
I forced a chuckle, "what?"
He repeated himself and I more appropriately responded, "no, how?"
"One bite at a time," he explained.
Eight or nine years ago, as I whined about being overwhelmed during my early graduate school days, he told me to take it one step at a time, that I couldn't take on the entire beast at one time. He helped me to calm down and not get so overanxious that I become unproductive, rather to move slowly, steadily through the process.
In the cold, as I looked at the snow mound, looked at the future and thought this is impossible, this will take forever, how can I do this, my father whispered, one bite, one shovel-full at a time. And I very slowly and steadily shoveled.
Then my 55+ year old snow angel came out with her shovel and said, "I thought she can't do this by herself," and she helped me two shovel-fulls at a time. We talked and laughed and shoveled. Her steadiness and willingness showed me that my strength is present, maybe a little buried under some flakes, but alive.
Then another snow angel appeared and helped me break through the ice around my car "to help [me] get the babies in the car safely." These women with lives of their own became my brother and my mother, my family, my strength, my help. They showed me my inner strength and helped remind me that I need people in order to be strong.
My daddy's whispers of one bite at a time, my family's ear, shoulder, support, my friends' shovels help me to eat every elephant placed in front of me.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
On the weight
The thoughts, the feelings, the sadness form an anvil sitting comfortably on my chest, squarely on my heart. I try impossibly to catch my breath, to take in air. I fail miserably. I fall violently.
I hold my heart tightly, fearing it will crack wide open and become un-mendable.
I creep to a pillow, a friend's ear, my word catcher and only through exhaling the pain does the 2-ton weight lift slightly enough to let someone, something else keep me from being crushed.
I hold my heart tightly, fearing it will crack wide open and become un-mendable.
I creep to a pillow, a friend's ear, my word catcher and only through exhaling the pain does the 2-ton weight lift slightly enough to let someone, something else keep me from being crushed.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
On teaching what they want...
I sat down to make plans for finishing To Kill a Mockingbird with my freshmen and stared searching for Nollywood films to finish out my seniors' work on Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart. Yes, Nollywood. The Cinema of Nigeria. I found a few clips on you tube and realized my students would not appreciate the work. As I nixed the idea, I found myself thinking of what they would want to read and view, what would pique their interest.
I no longer thought of what they needed, as in something they had to put effort into (i.e. Things Fall Apart), but rather something they would enjoy and that I could still teach some of the basics of literature (symbolism, theme, characterization, author's purpose). Some of the best literature that I read in high school, college and grad school was that in which I could connect. I wanted to find something my students could relate with but still expand their literary circle as well; yet I wasn't willing to teach Urban Lit. and I still wanted to stay somewhat inside of the antiquated curriculum.
As we finished Things Fall Apart and I learned I was public enemy number one around the school, I asked the students how they felt about finishing the text. Many felt relieved that it was over. Some felt they learned about a different culture. Some felt they had accomplished something, either because they had never read anything like this before or because they had never read an entire novel before. Even though several students stopped reading altogether, and some whined through the entire process, at the very minimum together we had actually accomplished something.
Now, I was eager to continue talking about Nigeria and other African countries as they exist in present day. With the help of a friend, I was reminded of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I found a website, (and then her official site) and began searching for articles and stories that could transport my students out of turn-of-century colonialism and into the effects of colonialism and Westernization on this country.
We're going to finish the quarter with "Nigeria's immorality is about hypocrisy, not miniskirts," and a discussion on gender roles in Achebe's late 19th Century Nigeria and present-day Nigeria as well as in the U.S. Then we will read, "My Mother, the Crazy African" to continue our discussion about gender, but also to open up a conversation about immigration. We're also going to read "Cell One" from the new short story collection The Thing Around Your Neck (Thanks, Heather). I'm curious to see what my majority black students will have to say, and hopefully how their stereotypes and ideas will be transformed.
I'm excited about bringing Adichie into my classroom. I hope the students will be excited and feel like they are reading something they "want" to read.
I no longer thought of what they needed, as in something they had to put effort into (i.e. Things Fall Apart), but rather something they would enjoy and that I could still teach some of the basics of literature (symbolism, theme, characterization, author's purpose). Some of the best literature that I read in high school, college and grad school was that in which I could connect. I wanted to find something my students could relate with but still expand their literary circle as well; yet I wasn't willing to teach Urban Lit. and I still wanted to stay somewhat inside of the antiquated curriculum.
As we finished Things Fall Apart and I learned I was public enemy number one around the school, I asked the students how they felt about finishing the text. Many felt relieved that it was over. Some felt they learned about a different culture. Some felt they had accomplished something, either because they had never read anything like this before or because they had never read an entire novel before. Even though several students stopped reading altogether, and some whined through the entire process, at the very minimum together we had actually accomplished something.
Now, I was eager to continue talking about Nigeria and other African countries as they exist in present day. With the help of a friend, I was reminded of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I found a website, (and then her official site) and began searching for articles and stories that could transport my students out of turn-of-century colonialism and into the effects of colonialism and Westernization on this country.
We're going to finish the quarter with "Nigeria's immorality is about hypocrisy, not miniskirts," and a discussion on gender roles in Achebe's late 19th Century Nigeria and present-day Nigeria as well as in the U.S. Then we will read, "My Mother, the Crazy African" to continue our discussion about gender, but also to open up a conversation about immigration. We're also going to read "Cell One" from the new short story collection The Thing Around Your Neck (Thanks, Heather). I'm curious to see what my majority black students will have to say, and hopefully how their stereotypes and ideas will be transformed.
I'm excited about bringing Adichie into my classroom. I hope the students will be excited and feel like they are reading something they "want" to read.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
On Elijah's 6th birthday
12-22-09
Dear Elijah,
It has been wonderful to witness your growth, curiosity and love this past year. I can’t believe you are six years old already. I remember when you were a baby, so happy and carefree.
Now, you’ve become a thoughtful, considerate, intelligent little person. You’ve gone from being frustrated by reading to loving it so much that you can’t get enough of words. You read anything you see. It’s fun to watch you ask questions and think about what is before you. It’s fun to watch you want more books or to take over reading when I’m reading to you. It’s a pure delight that you like all types of books. And it’s been one thing that I rarely say no to: if you want a new book, I’m so thrilled that you want it, that I have to buy it for you. I hope this love of books and stories just continues to grow and fill you up.
You’ve been very curious about the goings on in the world. Just last week, you came to me and said, “mama, how can the United States defeat Afghanistan, when the United States is so far away from Afghanistan? Look at my globe, see here is Afghanistan and here is the U.S. all the way over here. How can that be, mama?” You’re a thinking child. I know you will be an excellent critical thinker as you grow older. I’m curious to see what you will use your thinking skills and memory for. I just hope that we can continue to help nourish your strengths and excitement.
You’ve asked to watch the news on several occasions to see what Obama has to say. And when I was taking a picture of a sign advertising a fight party by way of a smiling Barack Obama picture, you asked “why are you taking a picture of that. “ I replied, “I don’t know why his picture is on this fight sign; what do you think about this?” You quickly responded, “maybe because he’s fighting for health care.” Just like most of your smart retorts, I shared this one too. Everyone loves hearing my Elijah stories and they too marvel at your intelligence.
The last amazing thing I’ve witnessed this year is your love for your baby brother. You insisted from the moment we told you we were going to have a baby that the baby was a girl. However, when you walked into the hospital room on February 13th, you eagerly asked, “what is it?” I said it’s a boy and you sulked, averted your eyes and walked away so disappointed. I was disappointed for you. Your daddy was able to give you a pep talk about the joys of having a brother and how you’d be like your cousin Stephen and very quickly you were over it. As soon as you held your brother your eyes lit up and you had this amazing smile on your face. We were all snapping away trying to preserve that moment through a perfect shot.
Ten months later, your face still lights up and now Ezra knows his big brother and his face lights up too, at the sound of your voice, when he hears running and especially when he sees you smile. This has been the greatest joy: seeing you two together. Once when your father and I were just glowing over Ezra’s smile, you chimed right in, “seeing him smile/laugh, makes me smile.” My heart was so full in that moment. Another moment was this summer when Ezra was in his bouncy chair and I was getting ready, you came running to me, “Mommy, when I say on Ezra, he just smiled.” I was able to find a laugh and tell you that maybe it wasn’t a good idea to sit on your brother. You have loved to hug him, kiss him, pick him up and make him laugh. I know as you both grow, your relationship won’t always be this easy. But I hope you two become the best friends and always remain loving to each other. I hope you continue to forgive and forget as easily as you do now. I’m excited to see how you continue to show love to Ezra and how your relationship will evolve.
Finally, I’ve loved when you want me to pray with you before bed. I’ll pray about something that is going on, safe travels for family or helping Elijah to be obedient, to sleep well, to be happy or sheer gratefulness at what we have. I pray in my heart, and sometimes aloud with you, that you will always be happy and loving. I pray that you will be a good man who loves, worships, and serves God. I simply want the best for you now and always. I love you when you eat your peas and when you don’t. You are my sweet, wonderful, smart, amazing child.
On your sixth birthday.
Love,
Mommy
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