Lasting Love

Found this photo of Gram in that red velvet dress the night of the winter wedding. She's "shakin' a leg" with Mark, and that means a fast song. You don't see that every day, do you?!
  I also found another favorite of Florence and Kendall. There's a wonderful thing about great grandmas; although moms often get "too busy" to play, Great Grandmas always have plenty of time to play. This is a photo of Gram and Kendall playing one afternoon, many years ago. They sat on that couch for hours (I'm not kidding), reading books and playing house. (Gram is wearing one of Kendall's dress-up hats.) Kyle was at school, and Gram devoted the entire afternoon to her great granddaughter, who reveled in having a playmate who enthusiastically embraced every single idea to pop in her little 3-year-old head.

I'm also including some shots of a "race" held at our house every time Gram was in town. From the time they were toddlers, she'd challenge the kids to a foot race. She'd brag up about how much she'd been practicing and how she was ready to win!

"Get ready...get set...Hey! Don't you cheat now!"

The Finish Line:

" Whoa! You kids are fast! I almost beat you, but I'll get you next time. Let's sit down for a minute."

The loser had to pay the others a dollar. Gram always put up a great effort, but somehow, she always ended up having to "pay up." The kids loved it.

I wish every child could be surrounded by so much love, even if it's only for a short time. I look forward to the days when I can be that kind of great grandma. (There's no hurry, though.)

Gifts

I am so happy! I was digging through old photos this afternoon and came upon this one, which I had thought was gone forever. I let my cousin put it on my chair, knowing that I would have the treasure forever, but thinking it was my only copy. I am thrilled to know now that I have two more!

This photo is a symbol of who Kendall is, the type of person she has always been since the day she was born. I've been keeping a journal for my kids since a year before we even conceived Kyle. (It is currently over 165 pages long!) I searched the journal today for the entry that went with this photo. Here it is:

2/12/99 (You are almost 4 years old)
Kendall, I want to tell you something about a photo that I took of you a couple of weeks ago. When you are older, you will look at it and think of it as a cute picture of you with your little snowman, but to me, it represents much more.

For weeks, you'd been asking if you could go outside and make a snowman, but the weather wasn't right for it. One day, it warmed up a bit; the snow was better, and you were playing outside by the front door. I looked out the window and saw you working on a little snowman; you had made a little base, and the snowman was tall and very thin, about 8 inches tall. You then proceeded to add more snow to make it taller, but instead of it staying together, the top half of your patiently-built structure completely fell apart and landed in a mess.

At this point, you demonstrated a part of your spirit; your attitude towards life. Instead of getting angry or frustrated, or simply giving up, you decided to make the best of it. Moments later, you came in to ask for supplies for your snowman--You were so excited and proud of your work. I helped you place the thumbtack eyes, baby carrot nose, and sock hat on your little snow "man." You beamed over your finished product, and of course, I took a photo.

I love your optimism; the way you delight in the simplest things. You have a fantastic attitude towards life; it's inspiring.

At 13, Kendall continues to inspire us with her gifts of a blessed temperament and an open, loving spirit. We are so lucky.

True Story

Today, I introduced "Tyler" to a geography textbook, and he was excited. Tyler is a fairly bright, sweet 7th grader who enjoys Social Studies.

"Hey," he said, "You wanna know what I know?!"

"Sure."

"I know where North is, because my dad taught me a cool trick; North is whichever direction your nose is facing."

"What??"

"Whichever way you're facing, your nose is always pointing North. He taught me that in the woods one time."

"I think you might have misunderstood your dad, or maybe he's confused. Think about that for a minute, Tyler. Does that make any sense to you?"

"Sure. See, if I spin around in this chair and stop, whichever way my nose is pointing, that's North; just like a compass!"

"Um...Tyler? If that were true, what would we be needing West, East, and South for?"

"Hmmmm. That is kinda weird."

"Yeah, it is."

Too funny.

Who, Me? Oppositional-Defiant!? You're crazy!

Carl is an emotionally disturbed, high functioning autistic 8th grader who is extremely intelligent, loves science, and loves to read. Unfortunately, he hates writing, which is how he ended up in my room for Language Arts. I should take that back; it's being told what to do when he'd rather do other things that truly bothers him. He is a perfectly capable writer with wonderful wit and adequate skill when he feels like displaying it, which is rare. It's just me and Carl paired up daily for great fun and adventures in writing 2nd period. Carl later returns to my room 8th period for a scheduled "free" period.

Today, Corey, was in my room 8th hour. Remember Corey? (He's the one with the sense of humor.) I instructed Corey to continue working independently on a paragraph for his "New Kid Brochure," an advice pamphlet for kids new to our school. Then I turned my attention to Carl, who had spent 2nd hour today laying on the couch in my room, "trying to think of what to write about." So, rather than free time, I told him that he owed me a class period, instead. He grudgingly sat down.

[Here's a tip. Use a kind, insanely-patient tone when reading my lines and a snarly, sarcastic, disrespectful tone when speaking for Carl. Corey's voice is just normal.]

Me: Okay, Carl, it's time to get to writing that descriptive paragraph we talked about.

Carl: Yes, but I told you I want you to give me the beginning sentence.[which he does not need]

[Here, Corey interrupts to ask me what to write about. I offer a few suggestions and return to Carl.]

Me: Well, one good way to start a paragraph is with some details in a description that kind of leads the reader to your subject.

Carl: What are you talking about?!

Me [ignoring the snide tone]: You know; like, "Balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, Mr. Shomro blowing his whistle...These are some things you hear in gym class."

Carl: That's the dumbest thing I ever heard. I'm not doing that. Just give me a sentence.

Me: Actually, that Introduction was written by a student a couple of years ago who hated writing even moreso than you, believe it or not. Let me show you the finished product; it was actually very good.

[I show it to Carl, who reads it entirely and then drops it on the floor.]

Carl: I'm not doing that. Give me a better idea.

Me: Well, some people like to start an intro with a quote. What is your subject?

Carl: I don't need your help with the subject!! I told you, I need help with the beginning. Are you deaf? Just give me the beginning. Quotes are stupid. I don't know any quotes.

Me: If you want my help, you are going to have to drop the attitude and the tone, because I am tiring of it.

Carl: Too bad. You get paid to help me, so help me!

Me: [Walking away] I am not going to help you now. Let me know when you are ready to treat me with respect, and I will help you.

Carl: You have to help me! It's your job!

Corey: Dude, why don't you just calm down?
Carl to Corey [yelling]: Why don't you SHUT UP?!
Me: Corey, thanks, but please don't try any more to help.

Corey: Pardon me for living!

[Me Ignoring.]

[More ignoring as Carl complains to the ceiling about how I never help him and how is he supposed to write when people are so AAHHHHH. Corey rolls his eyes in response to the drama.]

CARL: Fine! I'm writing about the library. [Translation: Now get over here and write this!]

ME: Great idea! You love the library. Think about how you feel about books and reading; that would be a great way to start. Use one of those ideas to hook your reader.

CARL: Yeah, yeah. Just get away from me. Your ideas are stupid. I'll write it myself. [He starts typing away.]

ME: Good idea.

CARL: Just be quiet and leave me alone.

Corey calls me over to the computer and proudly gestures to his paragraph (wearing a suspicious grin). A full page! The title?

"How do Handle Obnoxious People"

At least someone was inspired...

Saying Goodbye to Bob

When I wrote about saying good-by to Grandma Florence, I didn't mention one disturbing thing about that moment. I don't know what I expected, but when I reached out to touch her hand, I was shocked to feel a cold, wax-like texture, rather than Gram's soft hands. Crazy, I know, to be surprised, but I had never before lost anyone remotely close, so I hadn't had this experience, and I was left with a disappointed feeling; it wasn't exactly what I had hoped for. It made me realize that if you want someone to know that you love them, you have to tell them when they are alive, because casket goodbyes are less than satisfying.

As I've said, Gram passed away two days before Christmas. Her son, (Mr.4444's father) Bob was heartbroken. I had never lost anyone I cared deeply for, and his grief touched me. He was such a cheerful guy, and seeing him silent and withdrawn made an impression on me. Even Kendall crawling up in his lap did little to bring the sparkle back to his eye in those days. It was the saddest Christmas I can recall, of course, but that sadness did not prepare me for the loss of Bob six weeks later, when he suffered a massive heart attack and died.

I got the phone call in my classroom, where I was teaching Social Studies to a group of high schoolers. I remember Mark's words,"Barb, my dad is dead," and my disbelief, "Shut up!" What a thing to say! He told me he was serious, and that I needed to get to his parents' house right away. I remember leading my students out of the classroom, feeling like I was in a movie or something; this was unbelievable. Bob, dead?! I dropped my students off at another classroom and told the teacher (a friend) what had happened. A phone call was made, and another friend quickly drove me to Mark's parents' house, which was a mile and a half from the school.

I found an ambulance crew at the house (Mark wasn't there yet), and his mom in the livingroom in shock. Bob was lying on the floor at the top of the basement stairs, in the dinette area. My first instinct was to be with him, but Pat needed attention. After comforting her in the other room, I returned to the kitchen. I just felt such a pull to my father-in-law; so vulnerable at that moment, in my mind. (I mean, who wants to be lying dead and alone on a floor?) Remembering my experience with Grandma Florence, I turned to the paramedic and asked, "Can I...hug him?" He nodded and left the room.

{Break here for Kleenex; I can't see the screen.}

I knelt down and put my arms around Bob. He had only been there for a short time, and his body felt warm, like he was only taking a nap. Oh, how I wished it was so. After a moment, I took a deep breath and got up, feeling a sense of peace. The last thing we had said to each other the night before was, "I love you." I had no regrets.

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P.S. I just want to apologize if this series of posts has depressed anybody. (I've tried to spread them apart enough not to lose you :) I've felt very happy to be able to finally lay this out for myself, examine my feelings about it, and record the experiences for my kids one day. I only have one more post on this topic, and it is a sort of funny one, so don't worry; there will be no more morbid stories. (At least until I'm ready one day to write my dad's, but that one is waaay down the pike.)