The Power of Books

I am in fourth grade.  We have a period in our school day called SSR, sustained silent reading.  For fifteen minutes a day we are all, including the teacher, to be reading for pleasure.  We are allowed to choose any book we want, even a comic book.  The teacher sets a timer to let us know when our time is up. 

I look forward to SSR every single day.  It's part of what is keeping me sane this year because the teacher is a nightmare.  I've never gotten in trouble in school.  I am careful to do my homework and turn it in.  I get good grades.  For some reason though this teacher has it out for me and for about three other girls in class.  He looses our homework and makes us re-do it.  He accuses us of misbehavior when we are behaving.  He makes nasty comments at every turn. 

SSR is my chance to retreat into some pages and find relief. I may only be nine years old but books have been my refuge for a long time already.  It's easy to get lost in the world between the pages and I often do.  This is something encouraged by both my parents.  They regard it as a good thing.

Two years ago I discovered a biography of Helen Keller.  I was amazed by her teacher Anne Sullivan who was able to reach into a world of silence and darkness and anger and rescue a little girl who had no way to make herself understood before.  I was impressed by Helen's determination to overcome once she understood there was a world of words at her disposal.  It gave me hope that I could deal with whatever problems I had because mine certainly weren't nearly so challenging. 

This year I have found biographies about Martin Luther King, Jr. and Harriet Tubman.  They are more people who overcame more than I ever imagined could happen to a person.  I read about how Dr. King was able to allow himself to be mistreated without striking back in order to make his message be heard and to demonstrate the rightness of it.  I learn his powerful words that challenge us to our best selves.  I read about Harriet Tubman's bravery to not only escape the abuse of slavery but courage to walk back to it in order to bring others out.  I learn she could not read books but she could read people and nature and she did not allow her deficiency to define her.

I read all of these things during SSR, during the respite from harsh words and taunting words and what I will one day learn are entirely unprofessional and inexcusable words.  I am lost in my book, inspired, refreshed, strengthened, when I hear more words.  "Miss Lime... Miss LIME....MISS LIME.  Well class, I suppose we'll just move on to math class without her since Miss Lime can't seem to be bothered to join us.  She's too involved in her books."  His last word drips with disdain before he lets loose with a derisive cackle with the class joining him.  When his words and laughter register I feel a fleeting moment of shame before I remember the character and lessons of my true teachers in between the pages of my books.  This man and his methods are unworthy of my embarrassment.

Report Card for Teachers

It's that time of year when kids run to the mailbox to grab the mail before Mom & Dad so they can hide bad grades or when the good students come looking for a pat on the head.  I'd rather turn the tables and milk it for a blog post.  Calypso has had a rough school year since she is still not attending for full days due to her health problems so we've had to be in fairly regular contact with most of her teachers.  Isaac is doing well in all but one class.

First  Calypso's teachers:

Mr. S. (Creative Writing):  I'm glad you have known Calypso since she was 3 otherwise I realize you might not be able to pick her out of a police lineup since she misses your class so much.  Thanks for being incredibly understanding and flexible.  I actually wish she could make it to your class more often because I know she'd get a lot out of it. B+

Mrs. U. (Ecology): You were a complete pain in our rectal environment at the beginning of the year.  Recently, there's been a climate change for which we are grateful.  Thanks, we appreciate it a lot.  Hopefully we can continue to cultivate positive growth the rest of the year.  Congrats on bringing your D- up to a C+.

Miss Z (Trigonometry):  Excuse me while I try to stop the tics bordering on seizure activity after typing the name of your class.  It kicked in my PTSD from my own year studying it.  Calypso WANTED to be in your class.  It mystifies me how two very non-mathematical parents can produce a mutation causing one of our offspring to enjoy it but good for her!  Really good for her that you are her teacher.  It's hard to miss such a difficult course so frequently and grasp the concepts.  Heck, I'd have given up long ago.  Forget that...I would have avoided the class entirely!  Anyway, you've been awesome in spending time after school to help my kid catch up and in being super flexible about due dates and test times.  You've done a great job of keeping me in the loop.  Calypso also tells  me that you explain things extremely well.  You rock!  A+

Mrs. R. (English Comp):  It's unfortunate that neither you nor Calypso are at the top of your game this year.  It's no one's fault.  It's just how it is.  Try to go easy on each other, ok?  Thank for making sure you communicate with me though.  I appreciate that. B.

Mr P. (Senior Social Science):  Sigh...you and Calypso know each other from last year.  I guess that's a good thing.  She at least knows what to expect with you and given the number of surprises she's had in the last 6 months that's a help.  B-

Mr. S. (Psychology): Dude, how hard is it to answer a freaking email?  Nothing all marking period.  I had to take time off work just to come find out what's going on. I'm less than happy about that.  Even after meeting you I'm not sure what's going on but Calypso seems to have a respectable grade and you don't seem concerned about anything so I won't worry....but ya know, an email could have told me all that and not cost me part of my paycheck.  Courtesy, man.  However, thanks for being easy going about Calypso's lack of attendance. C+.

On to Isaac's teachers:


Mrs. M. (German): Can I tell you how happy I am that I finally have a kid who enjoys foreign language study and does well in it AND has a teacher who is competent?  Can I also tell you how hilarious I think it is that you are such a bouncy morning person and my non-morning son has you first period?  If I myself were awake enough I'd like to be a fly on the wall.  He does enjoy your class and I hear him speaking German for fun.  A+

Mrs. W. (Science): It cannot be easy to command the attention and respect of your junior high age students when you are barely 5 feet tall and look like you are 15 years old yourself.  You seem very organized and able to communicate clearly and professionally.  Hats off to you!  A

Mr Z. (Invertebrate Biology): Dissections and horrible stories about parasites.  Do you know how much my kid loves your class?  Do you know how much he loves to tell me the horrible stories until I stick my fingers in my ears and repeatedly shout, "I can't hear you?"  Do you know how excited he is to have you the second semester for Marine Biology?  In spite of how disgusting it is to hear about flatworms and "willie fish" (horrible creatures that follow a urine stream up into a man's penis before chewing out his urethra...and my apologies to the gentlemen readers) you are feeding this boy's lifelong love of all things zoological and it makes me very happy.  You are challenging his mind on a subject he adores and making him love it even more.  A+

Ms. R (US History): Oh honey, you're sweet, professional, and lovely with an endearing touch of gawky.  You're not brand new to teaching but still maybe just an eensy bit naive.  Psst....the kids are really good at manipulating.  By the same token, thanks for not being a hard ass about a kid who can't take notes due to a broken thumb and for being accessible to parents.  B+

Ms. C (American Lit): I specifically waived Isaac into your honor's class because I knew he was up to the task and because I know you are going to work him hard.  He's not liking it now, but I know he will later on.  You are tough but you are fair.  Isaac calls you "Crazy Pants."  I know you'd laugh and wear that moniker as a badge of honor.  I do worry a little bit about you though because you're at the school so late all the time.  I'm assigning you some recess time away from school because you deserve it.  A+

Mr. W (Algebra):  Dude, you're a putz.  How do you say a kid has earned a D+ and yet give the comment on the report card stating "Satisfactory work to date?"  If the kid did not have a lot of natural math ability (see also, Isaac's parents) and worked his butt off to scrape that D together I could see it.  My  kid is an A student so, to use a math term, are you noticing the incongruity here?  Likewise you tell me he tends to grasp the concepts but that if he is unsure of something he pursues you to ask for clarification....and yet you hustle him off.  By your own report, he's taking responsibility and trying to improve yet you blow him off.  You're a putz.  D- (Unsatisfactory work to date....notice the congruity?)

Mr. G (Tech Ed. aka Shop Class):  You're a sexist putz.  When my husband and I came to speak with you, you couldn't even make eye contact with me or acknowledge my presence.  Yes, my husband teaches the same subject as you so I expect some bonding between you two over power tools but not to the exclusion of  basic courtesy. FYI, I know the difference between a rip saw and a cross cut saw, allen wrenches and crescent wrenches, claw hammers and ball peen hammers, dado joints and dovetails.  Drill presses, reciprocating saws, compound miter saws...yeah, I can use them all.  I know what countersinking a screw is all about (and it doesn't involve some pig lifting my apron so he can grope me while I do dishes). When Mr. Lime started teaching Tech Ed. he was having trouble with the more advanced mechanical drawings (we're only talking an 8th grade curriculum here not anything really wild).  Guess who took the text book and the drafting tools and figured it out and taught the new tech ed teacher how to draw them.  That's right, it was ME, the female not worthy of your time.  So don't act surprised when I thrust my hand out before leaving so I can finally introduce myself with a firm handshake (not letting go until you make actual eye contact) rather than some dainty limp fish excuse for a greeting.  Maybe it doesn't seem like that has anything to do with teaching my son but I worry about any girls you might have in your class and the attitudes you impart to all your students.  I'll be charitable and give you a C- because I'm going to assume you at least know your subject matter.

The Poet's Obligation

I first posted this poem by Pablo Neruda three years ago for National Poetry Month. It is National Poetry Month again and since there has been a lot of turnover in my readership since that time I am posting it again. I don't know how many of you enjoy poetry. I am certain several do because I know they write it themselves. Others may regard it as something a bit poofty. Some may think it's a bit too highbrow or esoteric. Yet others may have at one time considered it and had every bit of joy from it sucked out in high school. That's a distinct possibility.

I remember my own Lit. class as a senior. We walked in, sat down and were directed to, "open your notebooks and prepare to take copious notes." That was Mr. C's favorite line to commence class. Fortunately he was honest about the unpleasantness that faced us. We were informed we'd be explicating poetry by parsing it down to its minutest elements and that this was surely no way to enjoy poetry. In fact, he told us, it was the best way to make certain we hated the poems we'd have to read. I'm sure the eye rolling in the class was as audible as the groans of dread. He hastened to add that if we mastered our lessons in poetry explication well enough to regurgitate things for tests we could then toss them aside and go back to reading poetry for enjoyment. We were fairly well disarmed by his candor and his acceptance of the severity of our "senioritis." We explicated the hell out of everything from Shakespeare's sonnets to William Carlos Williams' Red Wheelbarrow. When we thought we had pulled out all the elements we could Mr. C. made us dig for more and told us we had miles to go before we slept. Drowsy students were brought to attention by loud rapping on the board or their desks as Mr. C. demanded they identify his beatings as iambs, trochees, or spondees. Always he'd remind us he knew this was no way to enjoy poetry.

After all that torment he made us composes sonnets adhering to the strict meter and rhyme scheme. What agony. Finally, the exams were complete. Our sonnets had been written and graded. We thought we were off the hook on this poetry bit. Anyone who had ever enjoyed poetry prior to this class pretty much never wanted to look at a poem ever again. Those who hated it to begin with had their biases confirmed...and then...Mr. C. told us the last few days would be given over to poetry for pleasure. We were to all come to class with at least one favorite poem, something we had not read in class. He didn't care who the poet was. We could even bring something we had written ourselves. All we had to do was bring the poem, read it, and explain why we liked it and there were no right or wrong reasons. If we had more poems than one class period allowed for he'd let us continue into the next one.

Bring a poem, read it, share why you like it, get full credit for the assignment, extra poems get extra credit. Man, this was going to be a breeze. We could all bring in a boatload of poems and read for a week and not have to do any actual work. We couldn't believe he was going to let us get away with this. Suddenly, thirty teenagers were scouring the library for poetry books. Some were determined to read epics just to waste class time. Others went straight for the naughty limericks in order to shock. We read, we commented, we didn't open a single notebook to take a single note. We were convinced we were getting away with a lot. Through it all Mr. C. sat in his chair smirking as he asked why each student picked each poem. Some pulled out all the fancy literary terms to explain their reasoning, others said they just liked it because it made them laugh or smile or it expressed their feelings better than they could. Others added their comments. Mr. C. told everyone they got 100 as they each finished. After it all he smirked again as he noted none of us rolled our eyes through this assignment and yet in our comments amongst ourselves we had voluntarily explicated the poems. That Mr. C., what a wily guy.

Ok, so that was a long lead in but here is Pablo Neruda's The Poet's Obligation as translated from the Spanish by Alistair Reid. I just plain like it. I hope you do too.

To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
in house or office, factory or woman
or street or mine or harsh prison cell;
to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,
I arrive and open the door of his prison,
and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
a great fragment of thunder sets in motion
the rumble of the planet and the foam,
the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,
the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,
and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.

So, drawn on by my destiny,
I ceaselessly must listen to and keep
the sea's lamenting in my awareness,
I must feel the crash of the hard water
and gather it up in a perpetual cup
so that, wherever those in prison may be,
wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,
I may be there with an errant wave,
I may move, passing through windows,
and hearing me, eyes will glance upward
saying "How can I reach the sea?"
And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,
the starry echoes of the wave,
a breaking up of foam and quicksand,
a rustling of salt withdrawing,
the grey cry of the sea-birds on the coast.


So, through me, freedom and the sea
will make their answer to the shuttered heart.

Now tell me, which poets and poems fulfill their obligation to you?

Da Count-Teacher Appreciation

Charles tagged me... And since I am so bad at following meme rules I'm twisting the tag and using it as the basis for this week's Da Count.


What was the name of the teacher that was most influential in your life from grades K through 6?
I've read a few of these that sort of lingered on some of the awful teachers. It may have been last week or this week, I don't know....but it's around the time for Teacher Appreciation Week so I'll chose the one who had a positive influence.

Second grade was a year of bests and worsts. It was the worst because my parents had just divorced and I was reeling from the hurt and confusion and struggling desperately to make sense of the chaos around me. I had to change schools too. I hated not knowing anyone on that first day of school, when everyone else already had friends in the class and my best friend was far away in another school.

It was the best because I was in Mrs. C's class. She always smiled warmly when we came in. She made us mind her but I don't think she ever yelled. She sometimes let us have class outside when the weather was nice. In the Spring her husband came and showed us how to make kites out of trash bags, dowel rods, and tape. We had a ball flying them all afternoon. She was the first teacher who let me pace myself too. She didn't reprimand me for working ahead the way my last 2 teachers had. She actually asked me what I wanted to do with my spare time when I got my regular work done early and she gave me all sorts of choices. She even recommended I be tested for the gifted program. I don't remember if it was her suggestion or my idea first but one thing I wound up occupying myself with was writing. Sometimes it was stories, other times it was poems. Sometimes she'd give me something to read and suggest I write something similar, other times she'd have me do my own thing.

I was more or less oblivious to my classmates, wanting to be included but way too fragile at that point to reach out and risk rejection. I wrote and drew endlessly in her class. My family was a common theme. I didn't write about how it really was, but I wrote how I wanted it to be. I can remember making a whole book. Each page was dedicated to a different family member and what made them special. I can remember starting each page with, 'This is MY father, mother, grandmother, uncle, etc.' and stapling all the pages together, as if somehow the affirmation of their role along with the staples would magically bind together the fractured relationships and make everything all better. It didn't change the facts of existence but it did soothe and comfort me. I carried around my 'book' like it was a treasure map, a precious thing to be guarded at all cost and only shared with those who had gained my utmost confidence.

I'd run into Mrs. C in the hallways for the rest of my elementary school years, occasionally I'd see her out in public when I was in high school, and she'd always ask me if I was still writing beautiful stories. Even years later, when I was married and had children and was reeling from newly broken dreams after leaving Trinidad under really awful circumstances, I ran into her in the store. I hadn't seen her in 10 years and the same old question came back to me, 'Do you still write beautiful stories?' I blushed and said, 'Not so much, the kids keep me pretty busy.' She gently responded, 'You should, you were good and it was good for you.' I thought, 'What on earth makes her call them beautiful? I was a brokenhearted 6 year old. She was a nurturing teacher who saw through a lot of unhappiness to find something good way back then but what makes her think I'd have any shred of talent or put out anything worthwhile all these years later?' I hugged her and saw the same kindness in her eyes, heard the same sincerity in her voice as I had when I was 6. For a long time I put aside her exhortation but it kept echoing. Eventually, I gave in and put pen to paper again. I will say, whether or not it's worthwhile reading to others, it is indeed good for me.

Thank you, Mrs. C. for nurturing those of us who so desperately needed it.

Did you argue with teachers? (I saw this question on another meme somewhere else)
Is the sky blue? In Junior high and High school my teachers either loved me or hated me. There was not a lot of middle ground. I was such a pain in the rump, I loved catching them in mistakes and then nailing them. My senior year I had Economics with Mr. J. I had zero interest in that subject and let it be known. Mr. J. was unfazed. The homework load was not terribly burdensome on the surface, but class time was quite different than any other class I'd had. There was the standard lecture from him but he'd often pause to allow us to react. There were any number of students who would choose to disagree with him and he usually pulled their arguments apart easily but not in an overly harsh manner. A lot just kept their noses in their notebooks hoping he'd not see them.

Being the argumentative kid I was, I made it my personal mission to argue him into an inescapable corner. Over the course of the year we had several rounds and he defeated me handily. I was undaunted in my pursuit of victory. Part of my motivation was wanting to see him twist in the wind, squirm when I'd caught him. The day finally came when he introduced a topic and I knew I could defend my side. I'd spent a lot of time thinking about how I could deliver the death knell if he took us in this direction. I was giddy. The pause came and I let loose. We struggled back and forth and a few classmates seemed to sense Mr. J's imminent defeat. The moment came when it was clear he had no adequate response to my points and he knew it. Sweet victory was mine! I waited for his pained expression and pathetic attempts to cover his embarrassment. It did not come. He merely stepped back, smiled sincerely, bowed to me slightly and said, 'Excellent arguments, well presented, Miss Lime. Very nicely done.'

I was stunned. This was not the reaction I expected. It made me stop and think for a moment...'Ooooooh....that's what he wanted all along...He didn't care who won the argument. He wanted his students to think. Well, that's a novel concept. Not many of the others seem to care if we think. It tends to piss them off if we do much more than regurgitate. This guy respects the ones who think. Wow! And dontcha know, the stinker got me to actually study a subject I hate just so I could best him. He's gooood, really good!'

Thank you, Mr J. for making us think and respecting us when we do.

What subject did you favor in high school?
I took 4 years of French and 2 years of Spanish concurrently and loved every minute of both of them. I had excellent teachers for the subjects I enjoyed most. In fact, my high school's foreign language department was much better than the one at college. Not that I remember much...


Did you attend a university and if so, did you attain a degree?
Yep, B.S. Ed, special education.


Do you learn best through books, by watching, or hands-on?
Hhhmm, depends on what I am trying to learn.


Has education been an ongoing process for you?
Formal education, no. I am always learning something new though and I don't plan to ever stop.


What seven people are you tagging to do this?
You, in the blue shirt.
You, eating while reading this.
You, with the birthday this month.
You, with a strange skill for picking things up with your toes.
You, with the green eyes
You, with the unusual affection for latte.
You, blogging nekkid.