Mallory’s birthday this year came and went, for me, in a flash. A slow-moving, dragging out all day, must get a ton of stuff moved to my new house flash. If that’s how flashes work. She celebrated it with friends who came to visit from St. Louis and, while I called her early enough in the day, I didn’t really get to spend much time with her until she dropped by the new house to see it for the first time. It was kind of a “Hey, Happy Birthday, kid! Momma bought a new house! One you can’t live in! Thanks for coming out of the birth canal all squishy and cute, though!”

Being the tornado that she is, Mallory stepped into her role as interior designer and finally I got to take advantage of her college degree. She whipped everyone into action including my sister and two nephews who came to help. “Put this here.” and “Books can go there, but where are the boxes of pictures?” and “Why haven’t you painted this and put on knobs like you know you should, Mom? That would be cute!” At the very least, my living room and kitchen are livable at this point. She knows, after living with me her entire life, that when my home is a crazy mess then my head is a crazy mess. No one wants any of this crazy mess I tell you.

She walked through the house nodding her approval of paint colors and checked the light switches and checking the space between the kitchen island and the refrigerator. All passed muster. This is what she’s always done, really. In fact, in the house she spent most of her time growing up in, she managed to convince her brothers that they should all switch rooms at one time or another. Mallory is one to scope out a situation, scanning and surveying properly, and then swooping in to get shit done. She, more than any of the other kids, remembers our first apartment when I went away to college (and lived in the married housing section) and what a little roach box that was. One bedroom and the world’s tiniest appliance kitchen. Luckily, the refrigerator there was just her height (I could see over the top of it easily and put in a shelf to make the most of the space) and she could reach the milk to get herself cereal in the morning if I was still sleeping. One morning, when she was about 3, she let me sleep in and when I woke up I noticed a clean bowl and spoon in the sink.

Me: Mallory? Did you clean your dishes? Is this from your cereal this morning?

Mallory: No, I just had cereal. I didn’t clean.

Me: Then why is this bowl so spotless?

Mallory: I dunno.

Later, I learned that she hadn’t gotten the milk out to use with her cereal but instead grabbed a carton of heavy cream. Apparently, she liked it because she licked that sucker spotless. I laughed and laughed until my side ached from thinking about how my little girl must have devoured that creamy, rich cereal that morning.

In that tiny little box of an apartment we had to share everything. We slept together for the first few years of her life so that now, even at 24, she is comfortable jumping under the covers with me and chit-chatting until it’s time for her to go.

And it is. Time for her to go. She bought her first house along with her longtime boyfriend, Kolin, and they are managing to create a lovely, creative home that is open and inviting to their friends and family. Today, in fact, is her brother Mason’s graduation and she is hosting the party for him. It will be a fun-filled day I’m sure. We’ve come a long way since then and I’m more proud of her than I can adequately express. Even trying to list the things that make her incredible is daunting so I will leave this belated birthday post for Mallory with a picture I stole from her friend, Claire. I saw it on Facebook yesterday and realized that it summed her up, complete with the very incredible friends she’s made over her lifetime.

I think maybe they were on a fishing expedition and I can only imagine the great night they must have had to go outside in a kiddy pool and pretend to cross the sea. It doesn’t really matter. Mallory has managed to grow into a person I’m proud to know let alone raised. Her magic touch in life is a stunning entity to behold and the people she keeps in her life are no less amazing.

Devin, Paul, Tiffany, May, Marianne, Claire, and Mallory. Having a good time in college and NOT even being drunk when they do it.

Over the last few months my blog has been “discovered” by the locals. And boy, are they restless. By that I mean that they mention reading my blog when I see them. Some are old friends, acquaintances, co-workers, and parents of my students. Ever since our local newspaper mentioned my writing there are some new readers here. WELCOME. I SEE YOU ON MY SITE METER. But this isn’t about the technology I use to see who reads me and where they are from in the world. That is, I suppose, the funny part to me. I have readers in New Zealand, Australia, England, and even the island of Hawaii (Hi, Kate!) who have been with me for years and watched the process of growing and changing and sometimes being a complete dolt who is hard-headed and can’t learn a lesson the first time it’s presented to me. For those faithful readers I am eternally humbled and grateful. You’re with me and I can’t quite express how much that means.

Since local folks have started reading me, however, I get some questions that I’ve never gotten before. “Don’t you get in trouble for writing a blog?” and “How are you able to write about your work in a public school without getting shut down?” and “How do you get away with that?” Even when a local reporter found me and started reading back through my archives (yeah, I saw you spend an entire weekend checking out my writing and I’m impressed because even I don’t go back and read stuff I’ve written for over 30 hours! But really! I’m honored!) he offered his opinion on my writing. I quote: “She’s also about as honest as one can get about one’s life and job without crossing the line and getting fired.” Sure, I know I’m “edgy” as a new, local reader just pointed out to me in an email. In fact, I’m having this pissing contest going on right now in the comment section of someone else’s blog on an issue and I’m certain the blog writer will ask me to stop commenting because I can’t hide the snark. The comebacks come too easily at times and that is, I have learned, very hard for some people to take. But again, I’m toeing the line and trying to be respectful of his space. 

My students are reading me more frequently, too. They tell me this at school. Some of them wonder why I even like to write. Mostly, I respond to them that they hate writing right now in school because it’s required and getting feedback in the comment section is FAR BETTER THAN THE WRATH OF A TEACHER’S RED PEN. I’ll bet if they got responses to their thoughts the way a blog offers they’d be more likely to open up and find their voice. It took years to find mine. What I learned was that I like the short, choppy sentences. I enjoy leaving a one-sentence paragraph to complete a thought. And I realized that it’s actually OKAY to begin a sentence with the word “and”. It’s also true that I like to use the caps lock when I’m pushing a point heavily across the page. 

What if I stopped writing about the anecdotes on my blog? Would you stop reading? I certainly don’t discuss too much of my personal life online that I can’t put out there for criticism. Does that mean I’ll never discuss my adopted daughter again? I know from hearing from people that it’s healing and refreshing to listen to someone honestly say, hey, this is my life and I’m learning lessons here and I’m screwing it up and making big mistakes but I’M LEARNING. I KEEP LEARNING. To my close friends I say that they know 100% of me and writing about your life and getting to the heart of the matter is sometimes not for public consumption. My guess is that I put about 10% of my life “out there” but that 90% of it is for me and my family and friends. You don’t get to comment on everything. That’s the beauty of this. Lots of blogging friends write far more personal stuff that, yes, I’m grateful for but, no, I wouldn’t share about myself unless it felt right and no one would get hurt in the process. That lesson? Already learned years ago. 

If I stopped sharing about my work in education then you might never know an update to one of the stories I shared about a student that I called “Anna”. In February of this year I wrote about her here. Since that time I haven’t heard anything from her. I ask some of my other students and no one seems to know anything. I checked up on her at the alternative school she ended up attending, but her attendance didn’t last very long. The day before Thanksgiving, Anna showed up in my office. She stopped by on her way out to get a copy of her transcripts so that she could go back and finish her GED. She said, “It’s the best I can do right now.” and I accepted that. She hugged me and said she missed seeing me. We exchanged phone numbers and poof! She was gone again. 

Should I stop writing about that? Those are the experiences that change me as an educator. I am ever a teacher. Most days, however, I am the student. Even you, sometimes, are the student and we learn together through writing. You’re with me and I don’t know if I could stop even if I were forced to do so. This writing? It won’t stop. Not even now that I’m at the end of the month of November and I signed up to do the NaBloPoMo deal of posting every day. No. I won’t stop.

I write to learn.

Not that kind of recycling. A different kind. This is a post that I started writing about four years ago. If you’re a reader who has been with me that long then this will be a familiar reading. If you’re new, welcome! So glad you could make it. 

The series of these posts was The Allen Series and this is a true story. 

Part I : Huck Finn All Grown Up

When I first met Allen I was wary of him because of his appearance. Since we became friends I’ve often described him to people who wanted to know who this oddity was. This is what I say: He’s in his 60s, has a full beard, bushy white hair, a few missing teeth, and thick glasses that are probably fifteen years out of fashion. His ensemble is complete by black tennis shoes and overalls. He probably weighs about 130 pounds soaking wet because I’m sure that bushy beard and hair can hold a good 10 pounds. I’d seen him on my way out the door of school several times. Only a “hi” or “goodnight” ever left my lips as I passed him when I walked out to my car. 

Mid school-year I decided it was easier to grade papers late into the evening in my classroom rather than take them home where a toddler and two school age children resided. My husband always supported me in this because if I did work at home other things would distract me and I could never get caught up with grades. It was one such evening that I stayed so late that Allen had made his way down to my classroom to clean the boards, vaccuum, and empty the trash. In my mind I recall thinking about how he looked what Huckleberry Finn would look like all grown up. He looked like a man who had a hard life. Never without his broom or a pack of cigarettes. I glanced up and said a quick hello before concentrating back on the papers on my desk. “Please don’t talk to me. Please leave me alone,” I thought. He came in and worked for a bit before making a motion to have a conversation. I knew it was coming and in my mind was wishing him away. I didn’t feel like small talk tonight. It was already past 7:00 pm and I had too much to do. Plus, look at this guy! He was a janitor and I was a teacher and what could we possibly discuss?

He spoke first. “Do you know which of the teachers is the one who is teaching the Holocaust and Anne Frank?” This was his opener? He wants to know about WWII stuff that’s been up in my classroom? He must have seen my notes on the chalkboard “Yeah. That would be me. My 8th graders are reading it right now. Why do you ask?” He told me that he had always liked history and spent some time visiting the museum dedicated to her in Amsterdam. Immediately I dropped my pen on the desk and looked over at him. Had this man actually been to Europe? This old janitor who emptied my trash daily? I was all at once jealous, intrigued, confused. “When did you go there?” Even as I said it I knew that the emphasis on “you” was too great and I betrayed my thoughts to him. He just sighed a little and answered, “When I was studying at the University of Leeds. I visited most of Europe in the early sixties.” 

Our conversation lasted another 2 hours. Slowly, I began to be drawn in to the tale of his life. His love of crows, his disdain for one of my favorite characters (Atticus Finch – gasp!) and his colorful life that led him to his current position. Our talk was all over the map. We talked about everything and nothing had any particular flow to it, but we kept up together. He wasn’t just smart. He wasn’t just intelligent. He was incredible to a degree that even as I conversed with him I knew he was a once in a lifetime kind of person. I spoke slowly, thought deeply, and tried to make this time last with him. Deliberately, I knew this needed to be impressed on my brain so I played everything in slow motion. But it was time to leave. My whole face smiled as we said goodnight and as I extended my hand to shake his he took it, kissed it and told me it was a pleasure talking to me. The janitor told me it was a pleasure. I was hooked.

The next day this note was on my desk:
I filled out the questionnaire you gave your students. Is that ok? It’s under your copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Do like that book? You realize that Atticus isn’t the character he purports to be, right?
Allen

to be continued
 

©Mocha Momma

Well, since it’s SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY and there is FOOTBALL, FOOTBALL, FOOTBALL on and there was CHILI… ok, since you get the point with what my Sunday has been filled with I think it’s time to get on with the show. I wanted to know what songs I’ve listened to the most so I checked out my Top 25 songs that I’ve played over the last year and came up with the following:

1. “Goodnight and Go” by Imogen Heap

2. “The Mating Game” by Bitter:Sweet

3. “How Can It Be” by Forever Thursday

4. “A Beautiful Mess” by Jason Mraz

5. “Trouble Man” by Marvin Gaye

6. “Hide and Seek” by Imogen Heap

7. “Love Lockdown” by Kanye West

8. “I Can’t Stop Loving You” by Kem

9. “Misunderstood” by Common

10. “Knocks Me Off My Feet” by Donnell Jones

11. “Amazing” by Josh Kelley

12. “1 2 3 4” by Feist

13. “Ring the Alarm” by Beyonce

14. “When I Get You Alone” by Robin Thicke

15. “Mushaboom” by Feist

16. “The People” by Common

17. “California Love” by Tupac

18. “Let Go” by Frou Frou

19. “Whatever Lola Wants” by Sarah Vaughan

20. “Alright” by Ledisi

21. “I Believe (When I Fall In Love)” by Stevie Wonder

22. “Bang Bang” by K’Naan

23. “Start Wearing Purple” by Gogol Bordello

24. “Terminal” by Gui Boratto

25. “Get By” by Talib Kweli

Yeah, I know I phoned this one in for NaBloPoMo but it’s Sunday. Don’t make me yell that again.

Today is a day when people are celebrating TWLOHA which is a rather funny looking acronym for the real name of the movement: To Write Love On Her Arms. It’s dedicated to helping those who struggle with depression, addiction, self-injury and suicide. People who struggle with that need to know so many things not the least of which is that there is HOPE and that they are LOVED. In my career there have been multiples times when I’ve been involved with students who are in need of just that thing. Depression knows no boundaries, but I do see how often it manifests itself as a drug problem or some sort of self harm. Kids will turn to those they trust. Hell, we all do that. 

Depression is a bitch. For my friends and family who suffer from it I know only their experiences as an outsider. I’ve never had an addiction or tried to harm myself. The thinking behind these actions are beyond my realm of understanding, but it makes it no less incredibly important in my life. When they suffer, I suffer. It is responsible for broken friendships, marriages, and hurting families that have all touched me somehow.

If you know someone who is hurting, please get them help. Love them through it. That’s all they’d want anyway.

This picture is taken from my friend Whitney who has resurfaced in my life at the best possible time – when we both needed each other. I dedicate this entire post to her.