Books, Boxing, and Boot Liners

Posted on October 16, 2015 by Keely

My kids finished their first novels of the year recently. For some kids, these were their first chapter books. One boy in particular announced to me that he’d never read a chapter book before and that it felt good. Since finishing that one, he’s read two others. Instead of poking the other kids when he finishes his work early, he quietly picks up his book and goes to a private corner of the room to read. I keep pinching myself to see if it’s real.

The first group read The Mighty Miss Malone. They were inspired by the account of the 1936 Joe Louis vs. Max Schmeling fight and created puppets and a boxing-themed puppet show based on their reading and their research. They were a huge hit with the younger kids, who couldn’t stop talking about it for days after the big kids came to their classes and put on a show.

Yesterday, a group that read Homecoming finished their project, a picture book based on the story. They did a beautiful job: The illustrations were superb, and the main plot points of the story were all there in terms that little people could understand. I went with them to the K-2 class for their reading. Terri projected the book and had my kids read it aloud for the little guys. When they were done, she encouraged the little kids to thank the big kids with hugs, and “ask them nicely to write another book. You’d like an alphabet book, wouldn’t you?” My big tough boy hid behind a table when the little people came charging around to give hugs. One little girl looked directly at him and said “Wiw you wite us a book about faiwies?” and his face nearly melted. She was soooooooooo cute.

I talked on the phone with a friend in another village last night. He says he’ll take me camping this winter, which is awesome. Just going for walks here opens up the world and makes my heart smile. He’s talking with me about snowmachines and extra boot liners and wall tents, and I can’t wait to find out what the world might look like from that kind of adventure-place. I’ve also been emailing all week with a teacher from another district who’s taking me hiking when I go to town in November. He had all my students when they were in elementary, and seems to have an endless supply of super cute pictures of my kids when they were small. I often feel pretty isolated out here, but this week I haven’t. I’ve felt downright social.

Sometimes I think
everyone around me talks too much
I think
I don’t talk unless I have something to say

Sometimes I wonder
if I have nothing to say, or if
listening
just wears the words out of me

Either way.

Lately, I think
friends are the people you are quiet with
I think
I can hear our skis swishing in the snow

Lately I find
i have some friends here
listening
who hear the silent mountains too.

They say “Let’s go outside and play”
And we do.

Parallax

Posted on October 8, 2015 by Keely

Our earth science textbook tries to explain parallax by showing two diagrams of the stars: the stars as seen in January and the stars as seen in July. One of my kids raised her hand and pointed out, giggling, “Um, you can’t see stars in July. Duh.”

I about busted a rib laughing. To her, that textbook was just some stupid crazy talk.

Today, after half an hour of bickering and needling and intentional provocation on both parts, a male student pretended to punch the aforementioned female student in the face. He didn’t touch her, but he came within centimeters, and she burst into tears and claimed he’d hit her. Later, in a private conversation with me, the male student, with a grin on his face, called the girl “a bitch” for arguing with him and “a pussy” for crying.

I’ve never, ever felt especially one way or another about those words. Sean, actually, has always been more aggressive about attacking sexist language than I have. To me, those words weren’t any more potent than the unisex “jackass”. Suddenly, though, that anger fell into place for me. This kid was using those words to describe this girl explicitly as justification for getting into her personal space, mocking her, and intimidating her. To him, it was okay because she was “a bitch” and “a pussy” and it was so clearly okay that he expected me to forgive his actions on the grounds that she deserved it. I was flabbergasted.

I don’t know where I’m going with this except to say that I’ve learned something. I see how those words shape and reflect the brutal reality that my students come of age in, and I really don’t like it. I’m the most present adult in most of my students’ lives (they see me eight hours a day, every day) and I want to offer them a different paradigm, but sometimes the obvious eludes me, and communication requires rewiring. There are no stars in July, obviously. Obviously it’s okay to hurt her if she’s being a bitch.

We’re having a winter dance in December. The girls came to me yesterday to set a date. It’ll be snow-themed, and instead of a night full of stars (which was the theme of our prom in May, when there were no stars), we’ll hang glittery snowflakes from the ceiling, sip hot cider, and watch the aurora dance.

My favorite thing about the prom was the way planning and carrying it off empowered my girls. This little corner of the earth needs all the girl power it can get, so I’m glad the prom committee is back in action. Look out, world, we’re working on the sequel!

Unbeautiful things and beautiful things

Posted on October 3, 2015 by Keely

The other night, two of my girls showed up at my door with a puppy. The puppy was whimpering inside C’s sweatshirt, and it took a minute for me to process the situation. My knees nearly buckled and I emitted an involuntary “eeeeee!” when she pulled the fluffy little butterball out of her jacket. He’s about four weeks old, so he was a little shaky on his feet, and just starting to think about playing. The stubby little tail wagged drunkenly and he wobbled across the floor, taking it all in.

We brought the little critter over to Jake and Shannon’s place to visit, and sat on the floor playing with him for close to an hour. When it was time to go, I came home, and immediately after I closed the door, there was a knock.

“Can I use your bathroom?” A asked.

“Sure. You could’ve asked Jake and Shannon, they would’ve let you.” I told her.

“No. That’d be weird.”

It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it kind of is. The girls trust me enough to use my bathroom. They trust me enough to take off their socks and let me look at the weird oozy bumps on their feet, or to listen when I say “I think you’d be an awesome engineer”, or to bring me neighbor toddlers and toddling puppies when they visit, or to knock on the door just to tell me “the moon is outstanding! can I borrow your camera to take a picture?”

Beautiful things.

I went for a walk in the village this morning and a student stopped me. He was there, and two other boys, along with the two girls who brought the puppy, when someone was brought to the clinic last night. “Seven cuts,” said the boy. The man died.

PFDs came in this week, the big annual dividend check that all Alaskans receive. Predictably, things have been a little wild.

I try not to dwell on it, but there is ugliness here, in good measure: alcoholism, drug abuse, domestic violence, sexual assault, child abuse, neglect, hunger. Most of the time, the community keeps these things quiet. It would be easy to hear very little about these realities: these are the things everyone (else) knows and no one ever talks about. The teachers live a little apart from the rest of the village, and we aren’t intimately connected the way the other members of this community are. We don’t share blood and history and secrets. It’s rare for these things to come knocking at our doors, so a lot of the time, we don’t know.

When things like this do come knocking (a message from a little girl on my answering machine telling me that a man I knew has died, someone coming to my door to make a wildly inappropriate suggestion, a high schooler pointing out his blood in the snow from when a drunk man hit him the night before, a middle schooler casually mentioning that he’s witnessed a violent death) they are the more shocking for their incongruousness. Most of the time, life in the village is quiet as snowfall. It drifts down and covers the broken bikes and beer cans and candy wrappers caught in the willows.

Unbeautiful things.

Weird things my kids don’t know about

Posted on September 8, 2015 by Keely

Hammocks: My hammock has been a source of endless fascination for the kids in this village. They don’t know the word and they’ve never sat in one. Everyone has had to try it.
Everyone’s related: I taught about how humans came to the Americas last week, and started the story in Africa (my ancestors hung a left and wound up in Ireland, and yours took a right and trooped through Asia and crossed the Bering Sea when it was land during the ice age…). The kids stared at me like I’d sprouted horns and said “wait. Back it up. You’re saying everyone in the world is related? We’re related?”
Yeah guys. In a distant kind of way.
Got a tremendous giggle during this discussion when I babbled about poor old Homo erectus. Sorry gramps.
In the book we’re reading, Homecoming by Cynthia Voigt, the protagonist fabricates a story for her little siblings about their parents’ wedding, which, in reality, never took place. When asked why she did this, my kids couldn’t answer. Many of their parents aren’t married, and I don’t think they knew the meaning of the word “bastard,” which so troubled the kids in Homecoming, until we discussed it.
“Are your parents married, Ms. O?”
“Yeah. Where I grew up, most people’s parents are married or were married, then got divorced.”
“My parents aren’t married.” “Neither are mine.”
“Well, for the kids in the book, it’s a big deal. People treat them badly because they’re ‘illegitimate’ or ‘bastards’ which means their parents weren’t married”
“that’s weird. Is it still like that?”
“Some places. Some people.”
Ms. O, why do white people train their dogs so much? And keep them inside?

The grinder is out, which means the whole school building smells like sewage. We cancelled today (we don’t get snow days, but we get shit days), so there are only three days of school this week. It’s too early for a break! I have everything all planned, and I’m excited! Here’s hoping they get it fixed for tomorrow, and here’s some pictures from this golden weekend.

A and little H enjoyed the hammock experience until every kid in the village showed up, and they had to retreat indoors to guard their share of the cookies.

I was sulking at home (nobody would go camping with me this weekend) when these characters showed up and brought instant joy. A and little H enjoyed the hammock experience until every kid in the village showed up, and these two had to retreat indoors to guard their share of the cookies.