Heritage Projects

I am beginning to hate these 'heritage' projects. You know the ones. Family trees. Milestones from every year of your life. Questionnaires with lines to answer questions like 'who was the first one to hold you?', 'what was the weather like on the day you were born?' and 'What did you look like when you were born?' For a child who is adopted, especially if it was an international adoption, those projects can spell doom and gloom as parents scramble to make them fit into the specifics of our children's 'heritage'.

My son has never had any interest at all in his Korean heritage. It's not for lack of our trying. He has a shelf full of books and videos and trinkets that we have collected through out his babyhood and childhood. He is more interested in learning about Israel (because his best friend was taking Hebrew classes to prepare for a Bar Mitzvah) and Germany (because his grandfathers fought there in WWII). He recognizes the South Korean flag however. In fact, I have framed a Mayflower project from first grade. Just a boat - but definitely identified as the 'Mafloer' - with three Popsicle stick flag poles. One holding a white sail, one flying an American flag....and one flying a Korean flag. History re envisioned through my Korean born son's eyes.

My daughter relishes every little thing we learn about Russia. She loves every story that we tell her about our adoption trip to retrieve her from her Russian orphanage. She laughs and demands that I tell the 'bath tub story' again and again. (Her first tub bath in our Moscow hotel and she played and played in the water. I flipped the switch to drain the tub, stepped out to get her towel and pajamas and was confused as to why the water wasn't draining. She'd figured out how to keep all that lovely warm water in the tub by unflipping the knob when my back was turned.) She is proud of her history....of which we know nothing. Her required autobiography begins, "When the police found me at a bus stop in Russia, I was wearing a blue dress and could tell them my name." She was approximately two when they found her and five when we adopted her. She remembers nothing before the Children's Home in Tuva.

As a Teacher, I understand the idea behind a heritage project. It opens a door for exploration of traditions and diversity. It gives a child a sense of 'continuity'.....of belonging to a much wider world. As an adoptive parent it drains my heart a little. I wish I could fill those missing pieces. But it does allow me to explain things like 'grafting' - the process used by tree growers to enhance a tree's make up...to make it better...stronger. My family tree has been grafted twice, with shoots from different corners of the world. Stronger? Of course. Better? Definitely.

Ah...the lowly turkey

I was meandering through one of my favorite neighborhoods in my car looking for houses that were for sale early this morning when I saw a sight than very nearly made me slam on the brakes. Good thing I didn't because there were two cars behind me in a hurry and I seriously doubt that they saw the same sight that I did. But, there in the middle of a nicely paved driveway that lined a perfectly coifed lawn was the biggest wild male turkey that I have ever seen. In fact, I would even go so far as to say it was the ONLY wild male turkey I have ever seen. It just stood there. Stock still. I wished I had my camera.

Turkeys are, by far, the most interesting work of fowl that I know. When you teach Kindergarten, the turkey plays a huge part of your November curriculum. You graph who likes to eat it and who doesn't for Math. You paint or trace chubby little hands to make turkey keepsake pictures. You sing round after round of turkey songs like "Albequeque Turkey" and 'The Turkey Ran Way.' You create story frames extolling the beauty of the bird that saved the Pilgrims for Social Studies. You make turkeys out of cookie dough, pine cones and paper bags. You copy dictated imaginary turkey recipes from five year olds who stuff it with everything from popcorn to tomato soup. You read expository books with real turkey information for Science and story books with friendly turkey tales for Language Arts. My favorite such story, 'Sometimes It's Turkey' by Lorna Balian, outlines a sweet little old woman fattening up a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner only to have him included as a guest at the end. Happy ending for one and all. But there would be no such happy ending at my house. We love turkey. We eat it all year round.

Turkey, dressing and the works. Hot turkey sandwiches with gravy and 'smashed' potatoes. Cold turkey sandwiches with lettuce and mayo. Ground turkey spread made with pickles, onions and mayo. Turkey chow mein. Grilled turkey and cheese. Turkey noodle soup. Turkey all by itself snuck from the plate in the fridge. Turkey anyway, any shape, any form.

I used to make my Kindy kids giggle with pictures of live turkeys. We would laugh and talk about how very hungry a Pilgrim would have been to see it in the forest and say 'hmm....THAT looks tasty enough to eat!'

But, today I saw a turkey. The biggest wild male turkey I have ever seen. Got me thinking about Thanksgiving and Pilgrims. Got me salivating for turkey again. Dang that big, wild turkey. I am off to the grocery store.

Chinese Eyes....again

My daughter had to choose a school journal entry to 'clean up and rewrite' on the computer. She asked me to help her edit it. To my surprise she had selected a piece that revealed her own version of the 'Chinese Eyes' situation that I wrote a few pieces back. Still not writing quite like a 'regular 6th grader' but she makes me proud.

Eyes
By Nina

What they don’t tell you about middle school is that some people can be mean.

It was the second day of middle school and I was wanting for our bus at the bus stop. There were two seventh grade boys there and they were saying how Asian people eyes look stupid. I felt like I was 3 years old and I could not hold the tears back. My friend told them to stop but they would not stop. But when school got out I had to get back on the bus. Then the two boys came and they had to sit with me because there were no spots open. Once again they stared making fun of me. I got so mad that I was going to get up and yell at them and tell them to stop. But I couldn’t because I would get in trouble.

When my bus stop came I was crying buckets of water out of my eyes. “Nina,” my mom said. What’s wrong?” She said, “Are those the two boys?” I looked up and sniffled and said “Yes”. I got in the car and I said, “they live right there”. So my mom talked to their mom and then my mom said “Thank you”.

The next day the boys came up and they both apologized to me.

Ode to the Oh So Clean Desk

I was moved to take a stab at poetry....heh

For many years my desk stood laden
With storybooks and papers
Glue sticks, puppets, tape and scissors
staplers and brads
notes to parents,
notes from parents
confiscated hot wheels
file folders, stray marbles
pencils, crayons and markers
too gluey projects
too painted paintings
(waiting there to dry)
bears, 'babies' and big bumble bees
blankies for safe keeping
stickers, stamps and stamp pads
balloons, strings and paper clips
A computer and a camera.

These were the things I needed
Had to have each day.
I always knew where everything was
Could find most anything there
A shuffle here
A shifting there
A treasure hunt galore!

Now my desk is different
There are no longer any drawers.
The need to hold those projects
those papers, knicks and knacks
No longer things to store
My desk....alas....a wonderment to behold
Each pencil, pen and marker
Standing stright in their own slot.
Paper? Heh. I think not.

So what do I do with this desk?
I keep it nice and neat
I set a good example
For the students that I meet.
And when I pine for that messy desk
The desk with things I need?
I rummage through the big clear box
That sits upon my closet.
The box that holds the paperclips
gluesticks, brads and files
hot wheels cars, stray marbles
stickers, stamps and stamp pads
balloons and strings and.......

Chinese Eyes

Middle school is a hard world. I sent you off filled with excitement and apprehensions about lockers and combinations and teachers and lunch times and homework. But not the bus. You could hardly wait to ride the bus. Today, just three days into the new school year, you got off that bus, marched to the car and promptly burst into tears. I had to get you inside fast because that big, yellow bus came barreling down that skinny side street right at us. I was brusque and you were crying. My heart was breaking. 'Chinese eyes', you said. Two boys. Teasing. Trying to make you mad. Well, it worked. You were mad....and then your feelings were hurt.

This is a tremendous credit to the teachers of your elementary school. You were one of maybe three Asians, in a kid population that was 700 strong. That population was mostly Caucasians with a sprinkling of Hispanics, Blacks and Biracials. Interestingly enough , there were also handful of Russian adoptees. You are very proud of your heritage as a rule....as mixed up as it is. Russian but Asian. And this is the very first time you have ever had to deal with the 'Chinese eyes' issue. No doubt your middle school will have the same sort of reaction to bullying, intolerance and acceptance. Give them a chance.

But what about those 'Chinese eyes' of yours?

Those eyes have seen the landscapes of a very beautiful Tuva, Russia from hugely tall windows of an orphanage. They have seen the bustling city of Moscow from a taxi cab and an airplane. They have surveyed the sidewalks and wonders from Walt Disney World to Chicago, Illinois. They have camped and tramped through Kentucky, Tennessee and northern Michigan. They have squeezed shut in salty ocean water and opened to bleary focus in chlorine pools. They have blinked away dust in a horse stable and stung with the sweat of soccer practice. They have struggled to make sense of letters and words and numbers and angles. They have danced with the excitement of performing in a school play. They have widened with the thrill of being with your cousins and your aunts and your uncles and Grandparents....that huge family circle that you call your own. They have read signs and maps as we traveled without Dad. They have seen 'Hannah Montana' way too many times in one sitting. They have rolled in embarassment when your Mom insists on a kiss or a hug in your estimation of a 'public place'. We have laughed at those pictures where your eyes are shut in the residue of a huge smile. "Open your eyes, for crying out loud!" I have to say with a laugh as I try for a retake.

And do you know what I like best about those 'Chinese eyes' of yours?

Those eyes never ever fail to see anything but the best in other people. They never ever fail to see a challenge and to set sights on achieving it. They never ever fail to soften when you encounter a puppy....or a horse....or a turtle in the road...or a person in need of comfort or help. They never ever fail to sparkle with life and light when something funny crosses your path. They never, ever fail to thrill me when I look into your beautiful face and realize that you belong to me.

'Chinese eyes' are my very favorites...and don't you ever forget that.
I love you, kiddo...and don't you ever forget that either.

Soccer

I never intended to be one of those....'soccer moms'. I don't have the van. My kiddos aren't part of any kind of a car pool. I respectfully remained my distance during practices and games. I never try to tell the coach what to do with my child or where to play my child on the team. I generally do not yell at the ref. I just don't really fit all - or any - of this comedic references to 'soccer moms'. I have two kiddos who play soccer however. One has played since he was four and we discovered that he had no interest in baseball - via tee ball. He didn't like the wait time while players took a turn at bat. He was much more interested in finding the honeysuckle flowers in the field around him. Given that his daddy is a sports nut, and wanted him to play something, we tried floor hockey and soccer. Soccer stuck to my son like glue. He loved the game and he was good at it. He had more body cooridination than most of his team mates so he was generally the one that got the goals. He had found his niche.

My daughter came to us from a Russian orphanage at the age of five. Her brother was six and a half. She made him crazy copying his every move and every word. We decided to find her own little world away from his soccer. We tried ballet (too slow), gymnastics (too much time between tricks), ice skating (loved the speed but disliked the instructional times) and horse back riding (fine till she saw a classmate fall against a fence during a horse show). She wanted to play soccer.

During one of her brother's indoor games when she was eight, she was juggling a ball to pass the time and was spotted by a coach from another club. He was surprised that she wasn't committed to a team and invited her to practice with his. And then to play with his team. She has been playing with him for the past two and a half years. Her brother also decided to switch clubs and joined her there. Sigh.

So now I drive an hour each way, three evenings a week for practice. Several other evenings and most weekends throughout the year are devoted to games and/or tournaments. Sometimes my husband heads in one direction with one child and I head in another with the other. We get giddy with excitement about soccer shoe sales. We buy Gatorade by the case. My car stinks of sweaty shin guards and goalie gloves. The back seat floor is covered with empty bottles and smooshed Icee cups.....and an occasional sock. Our dinner table conversation - that is when we are able to have dinner together - is generally spiced with sport words like punt and goal and dribble and score. Out of town tournaments mean gas and hotel fees...and the gratuity to pay for the professional coach's fees as well.

There are lots of times when I long for the days of recreational soccer. These were days when your coach was usually a Mom or a Dad blessed with patience. There were schedules to follow to provide orange slices and juices and snacks after a game. Parents lined up to make a victory arch for all the kids to run through after shaking hands with their opponents. Parents spent more time talking to one another than they did watching the game. The good old days.

This is a Merry go Round that looked like a lot of fun in the beginning. Now that we are on, it's darn tough to get off. Sigh. I guess, maybe, I am one of them after all. Soccer mom. Heh.

Finally happened......sigh

There is a kind of light that crosses the face of a person when you say you are a Kindergarten Teacher. Their eyes soften and a slight smile teases the corners of their lips. They think about those milk and cookie days of painting and clay, ABCs and crayons, holding hands and nap times. They think of little kids in new shoes, with wide open eyes and hopeful hearts. They think you must have a delightful time 'playing' all day. For twenty years I saw that look when ever people asked me what it is that I 'do'. It's a different kind of look than you get when you say you are a second grade teacher or a fifth grade teacher. It's is definitely different from the look you get when you say you teach high school...or heaven forbid... middle school. Those looks border on the wonder if you are, in fact, absolutely nuts.

Nothing, however, nothing compares with the look I received the other day, when someone at a campground asked what I taught. After twenty years of teaching Kindergarten and first grade, my response about my new position was 'Oh, I am one of the the Informational Technology Teachers in my school.' A mouth dropped open and the eyes sort of glazed over. The question in them could only be described as 'what the h...?' It wasn't until I restated and explained that I would be teaching computer skills in a lab setting to Kindergarten through fifth graders that the glazed look cleared. But the question remained. What the heck does a Computer Lab Teacher do?

I have been pondering that myself all summer long. I am not computer illiterate by any means. When I taught first graders on a year round program, the computer lab was the only air conditioned room in our building. Of COURSE we spent an hour a day in there....keeping cool....and using the computers to research and compile an animal report as a final project for the summer. I did that for six years. I was manupulating the lab in an educational setting long before many of my teaching partners had conquered their fear of those huge humming machines. And now, feeling like the dinosaur that I am, I am surrounded by much younger teaching partners who have never taught without a computer in their classroom. And most of the children that I will be teaching have never spent a day without computer contact of some sort. I'm sure that many of them even have their own computers. I would be crazy not to admit that they probably know more about them than I do.

I have studied the curriculum pages. Compared to what I have gotten for other subjects for other grade levels, it's pretty concise. I have no manual or instructions to follow. I have, however, sorted out a few things sucessfully. We will practice our typing skills. We will explore word processing programs and practices. We will create multi-media power point projects. We will explore web sites for information and graphic sites for pictures. We will learn how to harness the World Wide Web and apply it to our elementary school needs.

I think the most important part of my job in the coming year will not be inspiring enthusiasm for learning as it has been in the past. Heck, flipping on the whirring machine will be enough to do that. No, my most basic responsibility will be teaching my students to be responsible about what they use those computers to do. I will be teaching them to sort and compile appropriate information and put it to use in the way they need it. We will be learning to be responsible with this very huge learning tool that they are being given access to. Have some fun? Of course. It's going to be a learning experience for all of us.

Am I nervous? Darn tootin'. I always am at the beginning of a new school year. Am I excited? Definitely. I always am at the beginning of a new school year. And I am looking forward to the challenge of new information and a new learning process. It's just those darn older kids that are scaring me to death. Haven't had to deal with anyone over three feet tall in a long while. I am wondering if stickers and hand stamps are going to still be enough to keep them in line. But when all else fails, my daughter tells me that candy is a good incentive. Heh. Let the school buses roll! I am on my way for a mega sized sack of Jolly Ranchers.....

Tigers, Tunnels and French Fries

It was an exhibition soccer game that was to be played in Windsor, Ontario prior to a Border Stars professional soccer game. My son was invited to play. It would be a nice family type Saturday afternoon activity. We dutifully waited in line at the Ambassador Bridge in Detroit with two passports and copies of two sets of adoption papers. It was what we used a month and a half ago with no problem. The Canadian border guard questioned the adoption paperwork but let us through without a problem. Coming back into the US several hours later was stickier. We were told not to have the copies, but to carry the originals...which are safely tucked away in a locked, fire proof box at home. Whew. What 9/11 has wrought! But it isn't the first time we have run afoul at the border...

Seven years ago I happened upon a deal for professional baseball game tickets. It was a low, low price for a Kids' Day game that looked interesting. Lots of perks to bring families tot he stadium. My children were seven and almost six at the time. The almost six year old had only been in our home for seven months and was still learning to speak English. The problem was that you had to buy the tickets at the box office and not at one of the more readily available suburban ticket outlets. Sooo....we made a Saturday morning trip of it. We drove into Detroit, found the new Tiger Stadium, played around at the new front gates for a minutes and bought our tickets for a game to be played in another week. Then I had this brilliant idea to take our kids to Canada for lunch. My husband wasn't too keen on the idea. We didn't have a lot of cash on hand but I told him there was a McDonald's just through the tunnel to Canada. It was just the idea of eating in another country, for pete's sake. How often do we have the opportunity to experience that? Reluctant at first, his enthusiasm grew as we journeyed through the tunnel to Canada and he could see how awed our kids were. We were actually driving under the Detroit River!

On my previous trips to Canada I had been with a friend who knew the ins and outs of Windsor. There was an awesome Italian bakery we liked to visit. We would stop at the border, state our country of birth and our reasons for being in Windsor and travel on through. No big deal. There were similar scenarios occasionally during my childhood when we would plan a day of Canadian shopping. Name, country of birth, reason for being there, travel on. Heh. That was before we needed to state Korea and Russia as orgins of birth.

This time at the border we were asked where we were born and duly stated, Michigan, North Carolina, Korea and Russia. The border guard in the drive through booth's brows puckered. She peeked in our car. Did we have our adoption paperwork? No. Why not? Didn't know we needed to carry it. Over to the side, please. My husband looked at me with a certain degree of dismay. We pulled our car over and were met by another of the border's personnel and were led into an office. My seven year old picked up on his dad's very real fear and clung to his pants so tightly my husband had difficulty walking. I was dealing with the newly arrived almost six year old who was bouncing and skipping, all the time singsonging probably the only English multi word phrase she knew well at that time - which was "I have to go potty!" I was also trying very hard to hold in the giggles. My husband was turning very real shades of green and red. Emabarassment or fear? I tend to go with the latter...and that was why it was so funny at the time.

There we stood in front of the big, bad border guard in Windsor, Ontario. My husband was fumbling with his wallet, asked me for my driver's license, which of course I had left in the car and had to retrieve....all the while trying to rein in the 'I have to go potty' culprit whose curiousity in everything had piqued. The seven year old still clung to his dad's pants and peeked around at the big, bad border guard with eyes as wide as an Asian child's will go. I was giggling. My husband's face had gone from green to red and was now bordering purple. The big bad border guard glared at us. He looked at my bouncing almost six year old, still singsonging 'I have to go potty' and oblivious to everything as she checked out posters and standing ash trays and magazines. Then he glared at my seven year old and barked suddenly, "Who are these people?"

Now a reasonable child have answered 'My Mom and Dad'. My seven year old clinging to the pants of his fear dripping Dad responded with our actual names - people who could have been just about anyone taking them out of the country. I couldn't hold it in any more. The whole situation was so bizarre. I grabbed the sing songing almost six year old by the back of her tee shirt and dragged her closer. My gaze went from my wide eyed seven year old who was very proud to have answered the question correctly to my now absolutely purple husband and I chortled. I laughed out loud and then met the gaze of the big bad border guard who actually had the 'twinkle in his eye' that you always read about. Hee hee. He glared at me again and told me to keep a copy of our adoption paperwork in the glove compartment from now on. I nodded and grabbed the hand of my purple hued husband with the seven year old now happily bouncing along side of him having solved the problem with his answer to the big bad border guard. I dragged the almost six year old - who still had to go potty - and we got in our car.

My husband was all for skedaddling out of Canada immediately and was not happy when I insisted that we continue the half block to McDonalds. He ordered hamburgers and french fries and drinks while I took the almost six year old to the potty....at last. When I came back the seven year old was swinging his legs in the booth and declaring that he liked 'their' fries better and showing off the 'really cool' Canadian money they had gotten as change. We ate and headed back to the tunnel. My husband stopped at the border's tax exempt shop to exchange the Canadian money for American and let the kids buy a small souvenir of Canada...an oversized pencil for him and a little truck for her. We had been in Canada for all of 45 minutes.

Soooo....after this last border encounter, we have finally gotten the message, I think. We are going to apply for passports.

Oh, and we did go to the baseball game a week later where a very happy almost six year old was crushed. She thought she was going to see actual TIGERS play baseball....not a team called 'Tigers'. But that is another story!

The 'Still' Facts Are....

1. There is still a lot of sand on Daytona Beach.

2. The afore mentioned sand will still find it's way into every available orafice when you are playing in the waves on shore.

3. Some people (namely me) are still afraid of shark attacks.

4. Some people (namely my daughter) are still not afraid of shark attacks...or rip tides...or sunburn.

5. The Daytona Drive In Church is still a pleasant way to enjoy a worship service.

6. Sonic still makes the greatest popcorn chicken and cherry/lime slushes in the world.

7. The Daytona Flea Market is still a great way to spend an hour or two....or three.

8. I still can't find the captioning mode on the television remote that Pop...still...rules with an iron fist.

9. Driving for two days in a car with a mileage obsessed creature who abhors potty stops because they take time that you didn't know you had married is still...not fun.

10. My mother's continued recovery from the health issues of a horrendous last summer is still a miracle!

And the Cycle Continues.....

Last night I had the delightful honor of being present for my niece's graduation from high school. Given the fact that she lives about five states south of my home, that our school year is still in session and that my state testing scores need to be posted in the very, very near future, it was an honor the I don't share lightly. After the short and very official ceremony, I was ambling about the grassy lawn of Lander University 'people watching' as kids, their friends and families, teachers and acquaintenances enjoyed the dying evening sun as they snapped pictures and just soaked in their in their last moments as a school family. I had taken a couple of minutes to admire a beautiful 10 month old child newly arrived from China...the daughter of my sister's teaching partner. As we were headed back to the car someone else flagged us down from a parked car. A woman approached and asked if I was the 'famous sister she had heard so much about.' She was introduced as one of the high school teachers that had my neice and nephew as students in school. She proceeded to tell me a story that tugged at my heart strings and made my entire day....no week...um...maybe month.

She and her husband were parents of five children and had been going back and forth for a while about the 'wisdom' of initiating an adoption. One day in the last moments of a Science class, students were sharing pictures and my neice approached her to ask if she wanted to see a picture of her cousins and aunt. It was one of those 'teacher moments' she explained, when she had a six inch high stack of papers to go through quickly and would rather have not taken the time to look....but did. My niece handed her a photograph of her adopted Asian American cousins and went in their story...of how wonderful they were and how well their adoption experience had been for our family. And she said it was in that moment that she believed God had given her a sign that they should proceed with an internationl adoption. It has been three years. They are now the parents of seven - including two beautiful three year olds from Guatamala adopted at different times - and one more is on the way home from another South American country in another year. How wonderful that it was our adoption story that tipped this family in the direction of bringing even more into their loving circle. How wonderful for those three children that will grow up cared for and blessed and loved. You just never know when the hand of God is going to reach out and touch someone with your own life story......even if it's five states away.

Meet the Robinsons

Nina is the one that wanted to see it. She has wanted to see it for months. Daniel didn't. Neither did I. There was really nothing else showing, it was pouring rain and we had an afternoon off school together. I appeased Daniel by paying the extra bucks for a 3-D version. You know...the kind where they give you special glasses to use? Cost me the price of another ticket. Sigh. For a kids' movie. An animated one at that. I hate animated movies. But only because it's difficult to read their lips....something crucial that a hearing impaired viewer needs to be able to do. Actually the only animated feature I have ever been able to enjoy without interpretation was Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast'. Watch it some time and pay close attention to how well the words match the characters' lip movements. It's incredible. Haven't seen one like it since...and with two kids, we have seen them all. And so I resignedly settled into my seat, settled the 3-D glasses over MY glasses and prepared to snooze.

What a nice surprise. The movie was actually entertaining. The subject also - surprisingly enough - was one that is very dear to my heart. Adoption....and more specifically, older child adoptions. I didn't know why I didn't pick up on it sooner.

A little kid named Lewis, a brilliant inventor who was left on the door step of an orphanage as an infant, has entered a 'Memory Scanner' in the school's Science Fair. His reason for creating it is to find his birth mother so they can be a family again. Another character - Wilbur Robinson - whisks him into the future so they can stop another character from stealing the invention and save the future. Along the way Lewis meets and begins to care for the wierd and wonderful Robinson family. He learns that the future is rooted in his own present and affected by his actions. Along the way he has a chance to discover his birth mother and doesn't, finds a family and lives happily ever after.

I have read that adoption advocates do not support this Disney movie. They report that adopted children and their parents came away distressed about the scenes depicting Lewis turned down by 100 prospective parents. Birth parents have come away distressed that Lewis, when given the chance to reunite with his birth mother, chooses not to. I don't know really know how my own adopted sweeties took that aspect of the film. They never really talked about it. We've never really talked about birth parent abandonment at all. They thought it was a really, really good movie however - even Daniel.

I saw it as a story of a kid searching for a family and finding it in his own backyard. A kid who knew his potential, knew he was a genius and liked that about himself. He never blamed his birth mother for abandoning him....never hated her....and in the end, respected her decision to give him away.

We have a smidgen of information about Daniel's birth parents and nothing at all about Nina's. I wonder if they will ever feel the need to search for their biological roots? If that day ever comes we will do everything that we can to help them. But in the end, I hope they will know that their 'real' family is the one that has been in their backyard all along. The one that treasures their uniqueness and loves them....just the way they are.

Drive Ins

My son recently wrote a paper for his English teacher about the time honored classic novel, 'The Outsiders', by S.E. Hinton. Sheesh. I had to read the very same book for MY 7th grade English class...um....WAY too many years ago....when it was considered 'compelling contemporary literature'. Anyway, in one section of his paper he was to outline ways in which the book mirrors his own life. What did he say? "Pony Boy, Dallas, Soda Pop, Two Bit (etc.) liked to meet at the drive in. My family likes to go to the drive in too." Hee.

I am glad he remembers. It's kind of like passing down a family tradition. Thursdays were pay day for my dad and we always went to the bank to cash his check, paid some bills and went out to dinner somewhere. A lost tradition due to today's convience of direct deposit. Friday nights in the late spring and all summer were devoted to our family fixation with the movies. We would pore over the newspaper listings to see what was on, pick one and be ready to go after dinner at home. We would load the car with pillows and blankets, popcorn or chips, candy, a gallon jug of kool aid and off we would go.

When I was growing up, Waterford and outlying townships used to be a mecca of drive ins to choose from. It was our Friday night tradition in the summer. Two movies for the relatively cheap price of one. Kids under 12 could get in free. My sister was 'under 12' till she turned sixteen and finally put her foot down.

There was the Pontiac Drive In which had a very nice playground with a mini ferris wheel and boat ride for kids. The Waterford Drive In had a little train on a tractor that would wind it's way around the parking lot and another vehicle there would spew out choking mists of bug repellent on some hot summer nights. The Blue Sky and Commerce theaters were miles away from home which meant a longer drive till we finally stumbled from the car to our beds after going to the show. My sister was small enough - for a very long time - to make her bed in the back window of our car. She would cram a pillow under her head, wrap one arm around the dog and squeeze them both under the cool glass of the back window and leave the entire back seat of the car to me. On very rare occasions we were allowed to sit outside the car in folding chairs, huddled under a blanket,,,not to keep warm but to keep the mosquitos at bay. Sound came from a box on a pole that you would hook on the inside of your window - and risk popping out that window if you forgot to replace the box before you drove off. I remember hating the bathrooms.....at any of them.

There was generally a cartoon before the feature. If we were on the playground and the cartoons came on, that was the clue to race back to your car and not miss it. Sometimes the sun hadn't gone down quite enough and the cartoons were washed out, but that didn't matter. It was followed by a feature flick, then a ten minute refreshment time - complete with a generic 'commercial' for the refreshment stand. There were only a couple of different ones but the one that stands out most in my mind is one of two little space guys in flying saucers that zoom in for popcorn and coca-cola and then blast back into space. The screen was then filled with a huge clock marking 15 minutes - and a medley of calliope music that I can still hum today....mega years later. Every minute we would get an update. "Our show will start in 10 minutes....or nine or eight...." I used to hate that freaking clock. In all honesty, however, it probably served a good purpose in helping me learn to tell time!

Following the 15 minute break we would be treated to my favorite part of the night - COMING ATTRACTIONS!! I still love watching the previews at the movies...and so do my kids. The second feature is when we usually fell asleep. It was a rare occasion when we managed to stay awake during two movies. And if we actually did, the drive home would certainly do us in. We would carry pillows and blankets inside and drop onto our beds with our play clothes on.

I still remember some of the movies we saw at the drive in. I remember watching Agnes Moorehead and Debbie Reynolds navigate their way through wild river rapids in 'How the West Was Won' from waaaay back in the make out section. Got there kind of late that night, I guess. I remember watching 'To Kill A Mockingbird" from the back seat of the car with my Mom, her aunt Dort and Dort's daughter, Debbie. I had gotten lemon drops for a candy treat that night and heard the word 'rape' for the very first time in my life. I think I was about nine. Occasionally we would go and park next to a family or friend. I remember seeing 'Soylent Green' with Charlton Heston parked next to my Aunt Cleo. I remember taking peeks over at she and my Uncle Tom as they slept through most of it and left before the second picture. My dad was a war movie fan and we saw plenty of those....'MASH', 'Kelly's Heros'...to name a couple. We saw Elvis movies, Disney movies, Pink Panther, Beach Party movies,etc. I think the only genre that we didn't see were the slasher movies or horror flicks.

Once my sister and I couldn't get in for free any more, drive in visits were fewer and farther between. One summer when I was home from college and my sister was working at McDonalds, we went to the drive in together regularly for kicks. And I almost kicked out the dash board of her little car watching 'Jaws'. I didn't go in the water for the rest of that summer either. We saw every kind of movie possible....including the slasher/horror thing my parents always avoided. That was the movie about some 'fry kids' that developed 'special skills' because their school bus went through a radio active cloud of some kind of chemical. Eeeew. Probably the single reason neither of us can stand black nail polish as that was the clue that you were about to be 'fried'. And one night we took my dad's van, backed it into a spot, opened the doors to get a better view, wrapped up in blankets and promptly fell asleep till the end of the second movie. Kinda scary when you think that anyone could have jumped in there with us. LOL

Every one of the drive in theaters of my memories are closed. I drive by their locations occasionally. The Waterford Drive In is just a big open field. The Pontiac has been sealed off and the Commerce just had their big screen torn down. It had been closed for years and years. But my children have drive in memories. They actually prefer the drive in over the multiplex theaters of their world. We just happened to learn about a semi-local drive in and went for a lark one weekend a while ago. We just keep going back.

Our trips to the drive in involve a 55 minutes drive and a stop at a gas station for jumbo sized Slurpees and candy bars. Sometime we pop popcorn or buy chips but in the interest of supporting this little piece of Americana, we buy our popcorn there. It's expensive.

Going to the drive in is still fun. Ours is a double screen - which means screens are facing each other and one screen shows one set of movies and the other shows another. You get the sound for which ever screen your vehicle is facing. There is still an interesting comraderie with drive in patrons. People still chat, share snacks, walk their dogs, open the back end of bigger cars to get a better view. My kids still occasionally sit outside in folding chairs huddled in a blanket to keep mosquitos at bay. Playgrounds are not there but kids still play in the drive way while they wait. Frisbees, baseballs, soccer balls...you name it. My son made a couple of bucks one night by washing windows of cars while we waited for the show to start. He was doing ours and people on either side asked him to do theirs. He talked about going into business doing that for a while.

Kids are no longer free but the admission price for 'under 12s' is minimal. There is rarely a cartoon before the show. Sometimes the movie starts before the sun goes down and it's hard to see on the screen. They still have a 15 minute refreshment break between features. And they still play the same basic medley of calliope music. They still screen 'Coming Attractions.' One really nice improvement is that movie sound now comes from your radio speakers. And I still hate the bathrooms.

The World That I Teach In

I am staying away from the television and newspapers today. Everyone else seems glued to the news of another shooting on another college campus. But I prefer not to hear one more thing about violence in a school setting. I am a Teacher.

In one more month I will be marking the 30th year since I graduated with a degree in Elementary Education from Oklahoma Christian College and began my teaching career. Those thirty years have seen a drastic change in Education. Curriculums have changed. Textbooks have changed. Testing measures have changed. Classroom designs have changed. Playgrounds have changed. School lunches have changed. Public attitudes have definitely changed.

Along with correct drinking fountain skills, jump rope rhymes, learning to get along with others, planting seeds in paper cups and an ever broadening spectrum of formal academic skills, I am now required to have my Kindergarten class participate in 'lock down drills' as well as tornado and fire drills. We must teach anti-bullying lessons in our classrooms. Parents need to report to the office for a 'visitor' sticker before coming to a classroom to help. Birthday treats need to be scanned for peanut/chocolate/lactose and gluten allergies. Our office staff will soon need medical degrees for all of the medications they dispense during the day. And we need to ease worries about gun toting citizens storming into schools. Did we really worry about that 30 years ago? I wonder if I would have proceeded down the path of a teaching career had someone given me a look into a crystal ball. Probably.

You see, one thing has not changed in 30 years. The mind of the child. The mind that yearns for stimulation and fun. The mind that very literally soaks up the information that is tossed their way, processes it and then tosses it back out into the world with their own stamp of approval. The mind that looks for a reason behind everything and tries to make it fit in the world they know.

Childhood has certainly changed...just as education has. Our children have seen the very news reports and written pieces that I am avoiding today. Even five year olds know about war in far away places. They know about food kitchens and children who do not have socks to wear and blankets to wrap up in. They know about allergies and illnesses that could take their friends away forever. Try as we might, we simply cannot keep them in their own little bubble of innocence any more. They will see....they will know....and ultimately they will change the world we are handing over to them. It is our job as Teachers...and Parents....to give them the tools for change.

So....we will teach them to read and to write and to measure angles and sort things with common attributes. We will keep them safe with lock down drills.....and teach them to problem solve. We will guard them from peanuts and chocolate and lactose and gluten and bee stings and strangers......and teach them to take care of their bodies. We will toss worms back into the grass after a rainstorm and capture spiders in our classroom to be released to safety outside. We will teach them to guard the gifts of the earth. Guard them very carefully. We will keep singing songs about vowels and bubble gum and monkeys jumping on the bed....and teach them to laugh. We will encourage them to collect cans for food kitchens, blankets for shelters and pennies for the Leukemia Foundation. We will cheer as they jump for the American Heart Association. We will keep the world of gun men and wars and hunger and sick at bay for a while every day.......and give children the innate self esteem to know that they have the power to change things. We are Teachers after all....and that is what we do. Every single day in this crazy world. We teach.

NYC

When I was eight years old, my parents left my sister and I with Aunt Cleo to spend a week in New York. They were participating in a reunion of my dad's WWII army division, the Golden Acorn 87th. When they came home my mom was full of tales of cab drivers that cursed one another, buildings so tall they blocked the sun from the streets, the Statue, the UN building, the World's Fair, wonderful people, the hustle and bustle and exciting sights. My little head was fairly bursting and filled with a longing to see the city myself. I read everything I could about the city...every fictional kids' book I could get my hands on that was set in old New York and new New York. Anyone ever read 'The Magic Tunnel'? I think mine was tattered to shreds.

As I grew, so did my desire. When I became enamored with play writing and theater as a pre-teenager, it blossomed even more. The fact that Broadway, Off Broadway and Off Off Broadway were in NYC made it even more enticing. Only a short plane hop away, right? But, always, always 'life' stepped in to divert time...and money.... elsewhere. My children have learned to love Chicago, as it is a city closer to us. It's their ultimate vacation spot. My husband rankles at the thought of crowded streets and traffic jams. But my heart still longs for the streets of New York.....just once.

Last week my younger sister , who - ironically - has never wanted to visit there, came home from chaperoning her daughter's high school band trip...to New York. Heh. Pay backs for her childhood 'enlightenment' to the existence of Santa and the Easter Bunny, no doubt. She came home with tales of crowded streets, hustle and bustle, flowers in street stands, buildings so tall they blocked the sun from the sidewalks, tributes to the life changing 9/11, astounding architecture, testy food, tour guides with sass and memories of a life time. Sigh.

And so the pictures are hers....and readily shared with me. But there is still hope for my ultimate vacation after all. My daughter's scout troop is contemplating next year's end of the year event as a 'weekend in New York'. Loose in New York with a gaggle of 12 year olds? I will be SO there as a prospective chaperone. Till then....and I know it's trite but.....give my regards to Broadway!

Update....The troop decided that a weekend in Chicago was the way to go. Still had a great time though. I think that I am a TOTAL city bird!

Pink Elephants & April Fools

April Fool's Day passed in a relatively quiet manner this year. It was Sunday and the kids were roused with a 'we're late for school!' call. Not funny as they stumbled out of their beds....for about 30 seconds. Then there was the telephone call to Non and Pop in Florida. Snow storm in Michigan and the kids were out playing in it. Foot and a half of snow was dumped over night...easy. Naw, they said. Bantering back and forth for about 10 minutes as the sun flooded in the bedroom window and the kids were stuffing blankets in their mouth to keep from laughing. Finally, just as we were to hang up and I had Non hooked...line and sinker...I said 'April Fool's'. It was a funny, funny scenario in my kids' eyes. One we tried to copy later with Aunt Darcy...but lost it in giggles too soon. Oh well.

This 'holiday' has never been one that I took particular delight in. I don't like being the fool. And unfortunately, being a too trusting and somewhat naive individual, I was usually...the fool. It is a day however, that never passes without thoughts of pink elephants.

When I was growing up, our telephone would ring on April Fool's Day and it would be my Grandmother. "Quick...run to the back door," she would say. "There are pink elephants flying over your house!" And I would do it. Every time. There was a year or two when I would argue and she would insist and I would always check. And then there was the year (I was in college, I think...) when I called her to tell HER to run to the window to see the pink elephants. The tradition continues.

My Grandmother died last summer. She was 97 years old and still living on her own in a nice little house in Florida. She lived for long drives in the car, flea markets and meals eaten at restaurants with the best senior citizen discount. She was fortunate to have her children - a tremendous support system - around her to help her sustain that life style. They drove her here and there, ate with her in restaurants and looked after her daily needs. Even in the end, she was lucky. We were all there. Admirable. Ninety seven years old and taken out by a careless driver in a head on collision. She hung on for several days....surrounded by her children, grandchildren and four of her great-grandchildren. Lucky her.....

My Grandmother and I had a complex kind of relationship. I was never an easy child. Big for my age, cloddy, loud, occasionally obnoxious (okay...maybe more than occasionally), heavy, hearing impaired and introspective, I had been born smack in the middle of my Grandmother's 'favorites'. One was a cousin two and a half years older that she helped raise and the other was my sister, four and a half years younger. Her computer screen name isn't 'litte ray of sunshine' for nothing. It is a childhood nickname that stuck. Sigh.

I never, ever felt like I quite measured up in my Grandmother's estimation. She was a stern task master and demanding individual. When I spent the night at her house I puked on the inside of her brand new van. When I went shopping with her we would always buy my clothes in the fat lady section....no matter how much I argued. I broke a glass figurine that was displayed on her glass table. I consistently fought being seated at a 'kids' table'... especialy when the afore mentioned cousin made the move to the 'big table'. I was always too loud...or too boisterous...or too...whatever. Hungry for attention from someone that didn't have it just for me. So I thought...as I grew up.

Oh, I have great memories because of her as well. My family camped on weekends with my grandparents as I was growing up. We spent many holidays at a special restaurant in Frankenmuth with them....and when we celebrated at home her cole slaw was the best tasting ever. And I never got her recipe. There were birthday cakes with quarters wrapped in plastic and stuffed inside the birthday kid's piece. There were chins dripping with peach juice from the fruit grown in her backyard. There was money that turned up in surprising amounts in surprising places. She took my sister and I to Hawaii the Christmas after my Grandfather had died. An unbelievable and treasured time. I will never forget the look on her face when we hung a filled stocking for her to find on Christmas morning that year...in the hotel shower. We continued that tradition for her for a couple of years after.

I was in my 20's when my Grandfather died. He was the third of her four husbands, the Grandpa we had grown up with and her undeniable soul mate. It was a difficult, difficult time for her. For all of us. As we were filing into a pew for his funeral service, my Grandmother unexpectedly slipped between my sister and I to sit. That was the first - and only - time in my life when I ever felt like I was able to please her. We held her hands that day. I prayed...long and hard and passionately that she would find peace.

That day passed and we moved on with our lives. She moved many states away to Florida. We didn't see much of one another. She loved the fact, however, that I loved to write. It was probably the one thing we had in common...aside from our prickly personalities. A traveler with good memories of trips to China and Korea, she delighted in the fact that my children are Asian.

We forged a relationship of respect....but never one of real friendship. That relationship belonged to the 'little ray of sunshine'. Heh. I am fortunate that I have gotten to know my Grandmother better through my sister and her sharing. And I am fortunate to have been there in the end. My children have several days worth of memories with 'the freaking OLD people' as my Grandmother and her entourage babysat for me while my mother was in the hospital last summer. Those will be memories that stick with them for a long time.

Kind of like pink elephants flying over your house.

Mabel Elizabeth Green
Thayer McLeod Mattoon Hawkins
1909 - 2007

The Evolution of a 'Ryter'

I have always been a voracious reader. I read everything I can get my hands on. I have also always been a writer. Fortunately I have had parents and teachers that supported this endeavor.

In third grade I wrote my first play. It was a story about a teacher with an unruly class. I wrote it, directed it and starred in it. Unfortunately I had a 'cast' of friends who decided to make up their own dialog as we performed. Not a good experience. In fourth grade I wrote a holiday play about Santa and his elves. This time I was a much sterner task master...er...control freak...um... director. Our play went off without a hitch. We performed it for our class and several younger classes as well. The only thing I remember is that we all fell on top of one another behind the piano (our 'back stage' area) in the Music Room at the end of the performance. Giggling, laughing and SO glad it was over. Fourth grade was also the year that I wrote my first melodramatic fiction story. It was a story about a little girl who had lost the use of her legs and became the poster child for the Easter Seal Society. It was entitled 'Amy's Legs' and Mr. Dieck gave me an unofficial 'A+' for writing it. Again, the thing I remember most about that story was snitching a piece of green yarn from my mother's knitting bag to hold the multitude of loose leaf pages together.

Fifth grade was devoted to book reports of every size, shape and length. Sixth grade was devoted to reading again. My Teacher was a stickler for the classics, Greek mythology and history. Mrs. Schultz was a 70ish traditionalist who was teaching for her very last year. She read aloud every single day. She read only Newberry Award winners (with the exception of 'Boy of the Pyramids' because we were studying Egypt at the time) and I can still name every book she read to us. Seventh grade was totally devoted to survival of the first year of jr. high. I do remember that we were introduced to journaling and that Mr. Pritchard was a little freaked that my entries read like magazine articles and book reviews instead of 'personal recollections'. Always thinking outside of the box. Heh.

Just for 'fun' I was writing scripts for my favorite television shows. My friend, Linda Sue Nutt, was the first one I ever allowed to read those. She read them as fast as I could write them. My younger sister became a fan and favorite critic. She would read things as they were being written...chapters always out of order. It used to make her crazy. Still does. Once, about seven years ago, we decided to pass the time on a mutual family campout by creating a plot and group of characters, going off to our campers to write and then meeting later to compare. She finished her story in several pages. Mine had twice as many and was only the first chapter. Still working on that one!

In tenth grade I was a lonely only sophomore in a Journalism class and wrote copy for the high school year book. It was quite heady to have upperclassmen seek me out for captions for photos or pages of photos. My very first published poem is in that book. My 'scripts' were also circulating amongst the other kids in that class. My Journalism Teacher recommended me as the school reporter for the local newspaper. It was a job I held for the next two and a half years. In fact, my byline was a regular fixture in THREE local newspapers during that time. All for the 'experience', of course. On second thought, I think the Lakeland Tribune paid me a nominal fee for each 'feature' that I wrote. That paper became defunct when I was in college.

As a senior I was taking an 'Exploratory English' class. We basically met with the teacher and determined our own course of study. Since I was reading...alot... during the second marking period and didn't have anything to turn in for a grade, I hastily finished a little ditty I had started writing for fun during the summer. It was a lengthy novel that evolved from an essay I had written for English the year before. The exercise in 11th grade had been to write a theme with a character - as unlike us a possible - in a situation we would never be caught in. I think the purpose of the exercise was for us to come to the realization that no matter what, our fictional characters always carry a bit of us. My essay was entitled 'The Decision' and the follow up novel was entitled 'The Crystal Image'. It was about a girl and her family coming to terms with an illegitemate pregnancy, birth and subsequent return home with a child. A hot topic in the early 70's. It was a smash....much to my dismay. My teacher loved it. My friends read it and loved it. It was entered in a short story contest for an out lying college. It was one of twelve stories selected from high school entries to be part of a short story symposium with invited published authors. The authors would be on campus for a week working with college students prior to our little symposium.

We spent a wonderful day on that Sienna Heights College campus. By we, I mean my mother, my grandmother, my 'Literary Cheerleader'/English Teacher Sue Shipley, the other 'winners' and their various supporters. We met with an author in small groups of four. Our written pieces were critiqued. I was red faced and worried and so stressed by the time mine was picked up to be discussed. It was the last of the four in our group. I remember my head buzzing and my face burning....but this very distinquished, white turtle neck sweater/dark jacketed/stylishly graying/oh so handsome author (I wish I could remember his name!) picked up my submitted manuscript and said that he would absolutely love it if his students walked into a writing class with the kind of material he was holding in his hands. I remember that he began asking ME questions about how I developed my characters, how I decided my plot lines and chose my descriptive phrases. Not at all what he had done with the previous three stories. Yikes! It was a surprise only to me when I was declared the winner of a college scholarship for that story.

Did I mention that I have a hearing loss? Before my graduation I allowed the people that love me talk me out of going to school for a writing degree. "Get something that you can support yourself with" they said. They were my family, my friends, my school counselor. "Be a teacher", they said. "You can still write in the summer time." Did I mention that I had also been involved in available child development avenues for high school; classroom helper at the nearest elementary school, student aide the high school day care/pre school center, vacation Bible school teacher, etc? Elementary Education appealed to me and that is where I directed myself. Writing became lost in the shuffle, except for my own enjoyment or for the professors that read my term papers and exam essay questions. When I graduated from college Elementary Education allowed me to put all of my extracurricular interests into play. I wrote for my students. I wrote for my lessons. I wrote...I wrote...I wrote.

Real life stepped in. Multiple jobs to pay bills while I searched for a full time job in education to 'support' myself. I investigated teaching in the Los Angeles area to be closer to the entertainment world that I longed to write for. Too far from family. I got married and busied myself with my husband, home and two stepdaughters. I busied myself with my classroom. I busied myself with community theater, as a make up person, set designer/painter, costume cooridinator, producer, assistant director and finally director. I wrote copy for programs and press releases. I wrote newsletters for various purposes. I still do that. I wrote plays for school drama clubs to perform. I busied myself with my own son and daughter and their activities and their lives. And still I wrote. Nothing big. Nothing anyone else really wanted to read. Nothing I was really comfortable having outsiders read. Until I discovered fan fictions.

I posted my first chapter of my first fan fiction on line during a school holiday vacation in January 2006. People responded with 'reviews'. Well...that was fun, so I posted another chapter...and another and another. In the past fifteen months I have posted 15 different pieces with multiple chapters. Some are funny. Some are melodramatic. Some are just plain 'fluff'. Some follow the course of the show they were written about. Some are 'back stories' - or histories - for characters that appealed to me...answering questions that I needed answers to. Fifteen pieces have generated 140,890 computer hits at one site alone. Some of the stories have been posted elsewhere and gotten even more 'hits'. I have written several pieces for writing 'challenges' that have won their own little contests with readers' votes. I write a lengthy, detailed recap of a weekly television show for a friend's web site. I submit television reviews for another site and have my own little fan base. I have developed some very good friendships amongst my frequent reviewers. This writing has become a very ego building thing at a time when I really needed it.

This writing has also become an all consuming thing. I will never regret my life or my family. I will never regret what I have accomplished in my career. But given the fact that I am finding my all of my free time being sucked in to the time that I spend in front of my computer key board, I think I am always going to wonder what would have happened if I had followed my own originally charted path. I ran into my Literary Cheerleader/English Teacher, Sue Shipley, once about 12 years ago. We were at the grocery store. In the bread department. I was so proud to show off my husband and my too cute little son. She asked me what I was doing now and I still remember the disappointment in her eyes when I said that I was teaching first grade. She told me - again - that she was still holding out hope. That she knew I would make money as a writer some day. "I have always thought that you are able to write what people like to read," she said. "That's not an easy thing."

Write what people like to read. Apparently I still can. I am working on it. Still trying lots of different kinds of writing. Still trying to find that muse that always seems to elude me. I find that I like manupulating characters that are already defined. I am too old to quit what I am doing for a living. With two soccer stars to support, I am too poor to go back to school. Yet, I am too young to totally belie what I enjoy doing the most. It's a conundrum......but an evolving one.

Pax - on the subject of international adoption

Angelina and Brad have a new son. People Magazine says she is taking time for Pax to 'gently bond' with their family. For once I know exactly where a celebrity is coming from. We have been there and done that.

After years of fiddling around with infertility issues and tap dancing around the subject of adoption, my husband and I attended an international adoption 'forum' in which seven different adoption agencies took part. Domestic adoption didn't appeal to my husband AT ALL. We had just spent the past year following the Baby Jessica story. Apparently we weren't alone. Once the statement was made that parental rights are irrevocably severed once a child leaves it's country of birth, there was an almost audible sigh from the hundred or so people present. That was fourteen years ago. We filled out the paperwork, did the leg work, signed the checks, talked with social workers, did more paperwork and seven months later, on June 29, 1994, we picked up our son from the international terminal at Detroit Metro Airport. He had flown 14 hours (including a significant layover in Tokyo) from Seoul, Korea. He was four months old, had a gorgeous head of stick straight hair and eyes that totally disappeared when he smiled...and he smiled alot. He was a good baby, a curious toddler, shy Kindergartener, creative elementary student and now an intelligent and kind middle schooler..most of the time.

Six years later we filled out more paperwork, did more leg work, signed more checks, talked with more social workers and traveled to Russia to complete the adoption of a five year old daughter. She was in an orphanage in Kyzyl, Tuva. This meant an overseas flight to Moscow, a five hour plane flight to Abakan and a six hour drive through the Sayan Mountains in a cab with a driver that did not speak English. We spent 17 days in Russia. We 'gently bonded' with her in a hotel in Kyzyl for five days. During that time she screamed in the shower, cried whenever Papa had to leave, ate one piece of fruit after another, learned the ABC song, how to count to 10 and to sing 'Rock A Bye Baby.' In Moscow she laughed in the bathtub, went on her first shopping spree, ate her first McDonald's french fry and charmed the visa guy at the embassy.

The 'gentle bonding' continued at home. She followed her brother around and made him absolutely miserable for a while by copying his every move. Her second week home we took her on a Halloween candy binging trick or treating campout for the weekend with our camping club. Two weeks later we took her to the wedding and reception when my husband's oldest daughter got married. Two weeks later we were on the road to South Carolina to spend Thanksgiving with extended family. Poor kid. Her intial thoughts of America were probably that life was just one party after another!

She picked up verbal language fairly quickly. There was a period of about a week when she was very frustrated that she could understand our English and didn't understand why we couldn't interpret her Russian quickly enough. She finally stopped using Russian all together. That made me sad. She bonded very quickly with her preschool/day care buddies inspite of the language differences. Daycare was probably more familiar than home life to her. That made me sad.

But today she is a bright, funny, happy fifth grader. She is a Girl Scout. SHe likes life in the 'fast lane' - rollerblades, skateboards, sledding, her bike, horses - anything that gives her speed. She reads, struggles with Math, loves to write stories and has every boy in her class wrapped around her little finger. She is their 'bud'...someone to play football with, to kick a soccer ball with, to share a joke with. I would have to say that she has 'gently bonded' very well.

So, here's to Pax....and Angelina and Brad and Maddox and Zahara and Shiloh. May your family be as happy and as 'gently bonded' as mine.

Mr. Kindergarten Husband

I am a Kindergarten Teacher. When I say that, most people look at me with new eyes. 'Aww. You must have fun every day,' they say. When I was engaged, my husband thought I had the best job in the whole world. All I did was 'play' all day. Heh. Then reality struck. He got out of bed one morning - shortly after our wedding almost 18 years ago - with a huge strip of laminating film stuck to his back as I had been cutting things out while watching television the night before. It was the beginning of the end. He had to deal with a life partner who fielded telephone calls from 'helicopter parents' who would ring at any given time of day or night. He saw school supplies and needed items slipped into our shopping cart on a regular basis. There were trips to the book outlet and a guilt analysis of receipts to tell him 'how much I saved'. There were trips to the pharmacy and the doctor for meds to cover the cold/flu/pink eye that was raging through the school and which I would inevitably catch. There were stacks of oatmeal boxes and shoe boxes and egg cartons and magazines that piled in the dining room waiting to be used for 'something good'. There were highly stressed 'report card marking weekends' that surely became his version of hell on earth. There were the impromptu conversations and 'conferences' that arose whenever we ran into a parent from school at the store or the library or the movies. There were the conscriptions to play Santa/clowns/ Mr. Dressup during school events and Kindergarten special occasions. There were constant rereadings of favorite books as I needed practice to get the reading just right. Heh. I think he had Chicka Chicka Boom Boom memorized before I did! There were trips to the hardware, trips to the lumber yard, trips to the Teacher Store.....never complaining....always repeated until a project was 'just right'. He would cut boat shapes for the transportation project, build a classroom loft, drill holes in popsicle sticks for the Christmas projects, hunt for the perfect candy bars for our end of the year awards ceremony (Snickers for the one with the best laugh, Bit-O-Honeys for the sweet one, etc.), carry things in and out of school, etc. etc. etc. etc.

Sometimes I take it all for granted. Too much. I appreciate it all. But I never appreciated it more than I did last night.

I had one of those school day moments that brought a lump to my throat.... something that hasn't happened often of late. Our bus walkers were late. Four Kindy Kiddos were still waiting to be taken to the very confusing bus dismissal area. I asked if they thought they could make it on their own. It was time for them to try it. They would be doing it alone as first graders next year. Big eyes in hooded jackets with backpacks as big as their five year old bodies, they nodded their heads. Hold hands and stick together, I told them and walked them to the back exit door. I stood and looked out in to the sunny spring afternoon and watched as Jamie and Michael and Melinda and Evan* bounced up the sidewalk in two twosomes, holding hands and chatting amiably as they headed for their buses. Little birds out of the nest and they didn't even know it. The lump started then. How sweet to be privy to the beginnings of independence all wrapped up in security and innocence. Who to tell about this picture? Teachers see this kind of thing every single day. Sometimes it's gets old when it comes from someone else.

The picture stayed in my head and the lump in my throat as I cleaned up my room and put things out for the next school day. It stayed as I drove home and listened to the middle school and fifth grade doings from my own children. It stayed as I made spaghetti for dinner. It stayed until we were in the car and headed for another soccer practice.

In the quiet of the car - a new novelty with two new handheld computer games in tow - we talked about our day. I described the picture of my four little birds and their venture out into the big old 'world' on their own and the lump in my throat threatened to spill over. I looked over at my Mr. Kindergarten Husband and he was smiling the smile of one who absolutely understood. Yes....I do take it for granted sometimes.

*Names were changed to respect the privacy of my students.

And The Little Girls Cried....

Last weekend my family had the privilege of accompanying our daughter to another city in another state for the National Indoor Soccer Championships. My daughter is eleven years old. They came in second for the regionals that were played in their home facility so this was a much bigger deal. The excitement of the weekend was definitely staying in a hotel for two whole nights and eating in restaurants and swimming in the pool. I thought it was wonderful that they were so very far removed from the whole competition aspect of the event. They were there because they love to play soccer. Twelve little girls with lanky legs and bobbing pony tails. Well...my daughter lacks the lanky legs as yet....and several have hair too short for ponys. One had just gotten back from a cruise vacation so she was tanned and braided and beaded to the max. Fashion aside they were excited to see one another in another city in another state.

In our room there was an argument over who slept in the rollaway and who slept on the little love seat. Mom and Dad got the bed. That was a given. We are the paying customers here. The tv was tuned to something we all wanted to watch - for once - and the snack box filled with apples and bananas and oranges and granola bars and cheese crackers was fair game.

The first game was at nearly noon on Saturday. It was a 5-0 win. The second game was six hours later. It was a 9-1 win. What a delight to see our daughter ecstatically taken out of her usual position as goalie and put in a s a forward. She no sooner hit the field than she was tearing toward the opposite net and scored a goal. Our cheering section roared. Yeah...we are moms and dads and brothers and sisters and we are pretty loud. Heh. VERY loud. Out for a team dinner. A little too expensive and way too late. Back to the hotel. Showers. Another 'who gets the rollaway bed argument'. Once again, Mom and Dad get the big bed. It's a given. Early game on Sunday.

It was early. Too early for soccer but our lanky legged champions were up for it. A little tougher this time. A 5-2 win. We were headed for the finals. Hotel check out is 1 pm. The game is at 3:30. What to do in between? Wal-Mart calls these out of town shoppers.

Division winners. Champions. Pumped and hyped and ready for the finals. Faces painted like warriors of old. WAZA! Skull printed bandanas on their heads. Smiles and grins and determined glares. Forty minutes later.....sunken hearts. A 5-4 loss. Tears on cheeks and plastic smiles. Still we cheered. Heh. We were loud! Moms and dads and brothers and sisters stomped their feet and whistled and yelled and clapped till our palms were red and hurting. And the little girls cried. Tears streaked their faces and their eyes were hurting as they ran to the barrier in front of the bleachers as their coach instructed them to do. Plastic smiles. Medals given. Red ribbons. Finalists.

Quiet ride home from another city in another state. Reassurance that they had done their best and that was all they could do. Reminders that we had still had fun. The hotel...the restaurants... the pool.....the new friends from other teams. And while my non-lanky legged champion slept in the back seat I wondered if this was the right thing to do. Is soccer really worth the red ribbons and the medals and the tears and the plastic smiles? We have logged a lot of miles for practices...for games....for 'perfect shoe' searches. We have paid alot of money for clinics and camps and coaches and 'perfect shoes.' Really, really worth it?

The very next day we were back at the soccer facility. Our champions were scheduled for a regular season's game. One day back. Twenty four hours from that moment of loss. One day and one night away from the tears and the plastic smiles.

They were bouncing. They were giggling. They were running and kicking and dribbling and striking for the pure and simple joy of it. As I watched the smile on my daughter's face.....the steely determination in her eyes as she guarded her goal.....I knew the answer. Yeah. It's worth it.

13

In two days my son will be 13 years old. We were given a gift when this four month old bundle of dark hair and eyes that totally disappeared when he smiled was carried off that plane from Seoul, Korea. He has taken us down paths we never thought we would travel....and some that we would rather NOT travel. He is bright and funny, a gifted soccer player with a player's determination that belies his off field personality. He has no interest in the girls around him....yet. He thinks chores around the house are a total waste of his time. Reading bores him. He plays the trumpet in the school band only because it got him out of the required chorus or Music class. He is becoming interested in the world around him and asks the kinds of questions that I think are making him a responsible citizen of the world. Questions about why things are the way they are, how they came to be and what could change. He loves a good joke....and an occasional bad one. He is a rock and roll lover wannabe who suffers in a family that prefers country music and show tunes. He dabbles in writing....but not enough to make a statement....yet. He has the kind of quiet leadership qualities that cause people to look up to him more than he knows. He has always been shy....a kid who stops at the precipice of a new challenge to survey the 'lay of the land' before jumping into the fray. His sister makes him absolutely crazy but I really feel that if she needed it, he would be a protective force in her life. A school psychologist (who is a friend) told me she sees him in the halls at the middle school, happy and silly and surrounded by friends.....a nice kid. I am SO glad she was able to give me that visual picture to carry in my head. I refer to it often when we struggle with the preteen angst at home. And there is LOTS of preteen angst.

So he will be 13 in just two more days. I am proud of him. I am proud of the child he was and the teenager he is about to become. I am proud of my son. Happy Birthday.......

This ER Thing

Thirteen years ago my sister - who lives several states away - was begging me to watch this 'new' television show she was loving. She wanted someone to talk to about it every week. I gave it a watch but didn't like it much. It was too fast paced. The dialog was quick and filled with medical terminology that was difficult to follow. At least for me. I am hearing impaired and am somewhat reliant on lip reading to follow a show. She was very disappointed when I told her that I wasn't interested. VERY disappointed.


The following summer I began watching the reruns. We are both teachers. The pace of our lives changes during the summer months. We began our Fridays with leisurely telephone conversations and she would explain what had been happening in the show the night before. Slowly and surely I was hooked. I enjoyed the characters that drove the show. Mark Greene. Carol. Carter. Doug Ross. Jeanie Boulet. Susan Lewis. David Morenstern. ER became a Thursday night 'habit' that has continued for twelve more years. My sister's interests moved on.


The faces on the show have changed. Sherry Stringfield left, taking 'Susan Lewis' with her. I loved Kellie Martin and her characterization of 'Lucy Knight'. I began to follow her story lines. I was instantly drawn in to Luka Kovac...from his very first appearance. What a hunk. What an accent! I was horrified when I'd read that Maura Tierney had been signed to join the show. She was my favorite character from the comedy "News Radio'. How was she going to fit in to this drama driven ensemble? Ha. Should of known. 'Lucy' was killed off.....knifed by a psych patient during a Valentine's Day episode. A horribly surprising event. I still miss her character. However, Tierney's 'Abby Lockhart' rapidly took her place in my interests.


I discovered that my classroom aide had a similar Thursday night 'addiction'. We would spend the first 15 minutes of our Friday school day - while taking attendance and lunch count and distributing morning work to first graders - quickly rehashing our thoughts from the previous night. Abby and Luka became more than friends and we sighed. We cheered the appearance of a stunningly heart rending Sally Field as 'Abby's' mother. James Cromwell as a dying Bishop blew us away by being the catalyst for several Luka revelations. Abby and Luka broke up and we were both miserable. And life marched on. There have been several job changes and I no longer work with anyone that follows the show.


There have been some stunning performances. Sally Field returned. Susan Lewis returned. Mark Greene died on a beach in Hawaii. Luka went to the Congo. Carter followed him. Guest stars filled the ER. Sherry Stringfield left again . A couple of seasons of not so good story lines. Sometimes I snoozed in front of the television. And then, last year, along came an episode called 'The Human Shield'. Luka and Abby were back together after five freaking years. WHAT could possibly be better? Back together again and having a baby. Back together again and the most incredible television hours ever in '21 Guns' and 'Bloodline'....interrupted by a long summer hiatus. And then Forrest Whitaker as a frightenly creepy ex-patient and an episode called 'Murmurs of the Heart'. It just gets better and better. But for whom? My sister will no longer watch. Says she doesn't know the characters. Friends no longer like the bloodiness of the show. My children are too young. Sigh.


I don't really know why ER still appeals to me. I have gotten older too. I no longer reflect the preferred advertising target. Sniff. I miss Lucy...and Mark....and Romano...and definitely Susan. I am so loving the reemergence of the 'Luby' relationship. And now there is talk of contracts ending and other characters leaving. I think I would be ready to break my 'addiction' if that happens. Who could possibly sustain my interest more than Maura Tierney and Goran Visnjic? Searching the current cast....probably no one. But 'ER' has surprised me before.

Kids

I have decided that my children are the most courageous people that I have ever known. Every morning I set them off into their world as true minorities at their schools. Both of my children are Asian....one was born in Seoul, Korea and the other in Kyzyl, Tuva. They look enough alike for people to ask if they are 'real' brother and sister. I used to go into the 'two parts of the world' litany. Now I just reply that 'now they are!' Of course they are real brother and sister. They fight with one another constantly. My daughter has a more generous nature than her brother and we have to constantly watch that it's not taken advantage of. They play games together. They share funny things they have found on the computer with one another. But they also have a tremendous amount of courage.
We have tried to raise them with nationality in mind. One is very, very proud of her Russian heritage and loves to hear about it. The other has shown very little interest in anything Korean. He is more interested in China and Israel......and Russia. He doesn't like to be different.....and yet maneuvers in a world where he is very different just by being there. I wish there were more Asians for him to interact with. One summer I took them for skating lessons at a rink closer to a bigger city. It dawned on me, as I sat in the bleachers watching them on the ice, that for the first time in their lives they were actually in the majority. Of the maybe 100 kids on the ice, only 10 of them were non-Asians. The funny thing is, they never even noticed.

Our federal government has decreed that all public school classrooms must do something to acknowledge Martin Luther King's birthday. I think the biggest testament to Dr. King is that it is the adults the worry about this. In my classroom, with 1 Arabic student, 1 Hispanic student and 15 white students of various shades....no one had a clue to what I was trying to say about discrimination. In order to celebrate the abolishment of racial discrimination....we have to TEACH racial discrimination. Go figure.

Fathers and Sons

I told them months ago that this would be 'their project'. I have been involved in book reports and country projects and regions projects and Science Olympiad projects and Scout projects since the dawn of my parenthood. This 'energy transference' thing for 7th grade Science class was ALL theirs. What a hoot. I keep getting called in for advice. I have dug through sewing stuff for embroidery floss. I donated a part from my sewing machine. I have run interference to maintain calm and order. I have cooled hot tempers. In the end I know it will be worth it. In the meantime, I fear for the white tile that covers my dining table. Wonder how many will be cracked this time?

The Planets are Alligned

I just want to bottle it. All of her enthusiasm. All of her joy. Everything is so very RIGHT with her world right now. She was chosen Kindergarten Safety helper of the month. She wore a skirt to school for the first time since picture day in first grade and no one laughed. The curlers she sleeps on leave these gorgeous black ringlets cascading down her back. Jamie brought hockey sticks to play with in the morning while they wait for school to start. She has gotten TWO 100% on Spelling tests in the last month. She has a part in the drama club play with THREE WHOLE LINES! Her soccer team is headed for the National Indoor finals in another month. Fractions are killing us but that's okay...as long as she tries her hardest. And best of all, a friend 'complemented' her in the lunch room by telling her that she was popular....and not like the mean popular girls in the movies..."because she is nice and friendly to EVERYone ALL of the time." Like I said before, I would love to bottle this time so I can pour it out on those angsty days that lie ahead of us. All that enthusiasm. All that sheer joy. These are beautiful days for my beautiful daughter.

The Year Begins

There are many thoughts on my mind as the year 2007 begins. It's January 2nd. 9:33 am. My children are still sleeping in various positions on the couch and in the Lazy Boy. Report cards and mid year Kindergarten testing are looming. Saddam Hussein is dead. The war lingers on....and that bothers me tremendously. 'Super Nanny' was good last night. So glad I don't have twins. The Red Wings are winning. Hope my sister and her family make it home safely from their Disney World vacation. Wish we could have gone with them. Will they be able to get me some more Mr. Potato Head stuff from Down Town Disney. Time to take the dog out. Wonder where Maura Tierney spent the holidays. Is there any money in my checking account. What cereal shall we have for......lunch. Will I be able to get my new DVD recorder working at last. Has anyone reviewed my posted fanfictions today. How many loads of laundry will I have to do. Back to school tomorrow. Sigh. Petty and important stuff from my world to yours. Happy New Year.