A couple weeks ago, I taught my 5th graders how to diagram sentences. We started out very simple. They liked it, because it was kind of like geometry in English class. Basically, students were to separate the subject from the verb and create dangling shelves for modifiers. After practicing ten sentences, we started our literature study and left diagramming off to the side.
On their vocabulary test today, I decided to be generous and offer extra credit for diagramming a very simple sentence related to our literary study, The Sign of the Beaver.Here are two responses:
My mother arrived in America in the late 1960s from a small town in rural South Korea. She knew a little English from school, but you can imagine going from the countryside in South Korea to a small apartment building in North Carolina is not exactly a smooth transition.
My sister, brother and I were born in quick succession following her immigration. We quickly grasped the many, many nuances of the English language, especially slang. Mom tried to understand it. But the words and gestures of profanity eluded her.
One day, my siblings and I were doing something that caused her displeasure: eating with our mouths full? Fighting with each other? Getting Bs? I don’t recall. But I do remember her suddenly raising her fist in an incomplete “f*** you” gesture (no middle finger) and yelling, “Fist up!” This created peals of laughter from us and, in her frustration, she gave chase. With a wooden spoon.
The chase was thrilling. Mom and that spoon could sting. But the sight of her in that apron, her face red with anger…it was too much.
As we ran around the house – us kids laughing at the sight of our indignant mother and the epic fail of her attempt to be obscene -she broke into laughter too. Soon, all four of us were in a puddle of giggle tears.
We carried on that day in a lighter state. Life is good. Grades are grades. People are people. Poor is poor. As long as we have each other, we can laugh.
I met my husband at a party. He made me laugh with his amazing ability to do impressions of famous people. He could do perfect Irish accents. On one of our dates to an Irish bar in San Francisco, we met a couple Irish tourists. Willey spoke to them with an Irish brogue and they asked him which part of Ireland he was from!
It’s 22+ years later:
22 years is a long time. Nights at bars gave way to babies, cancer (and recovery), school activities, music lessons, mortgages, bills and retirement plans. The impressions and carefree days faded away. We had have responsibilities.
I threw my husband a surprise birthday party for his 50th last night.
Relatives and friends flew in from out of state. Local friends attended the party. We had a great time. One of our guests was from Australia. Suddenly, Willey was from the Outback, talking like the Crocodile Hunter. We all gathered around him, laughing. And I saw him. I saw us.
I saw our future, our hopes, our dreams, our joy.
And it all came true: We have a home, dear friends and family, beautiful children.
When life is ebbing instead of flowing, remember the high tide. Remember what made you fall in love. It’s always there.
Yesterday was a busy day. In addition to a full day at school, my daughters had an orchestra rehearsal which ran from 6:30 – 8:30pm an hour away from home. This requires planning of dinner, commute and homework.
Our two teenagers are more interested in snapping and editing selfies than looking out the window or talking to us, their parents. They read their instant messages and scroll Instragram. They laugh and trade one-liners that I don’t understand. I’m not privvy to their virtual world. When I try to understand and ask questions, I am met with sighs and sarcasm. I’ve learned how to adapt: I basically talk to myself every morning or sing to the radio as I drop one off to high school and take the other one to work/school. At 13 and 14, my daughters are physically beautiful specimens – fortunate with the gene pool (1/2 Korean, 1/2 German-Scottish-French). They are blissfully ignorant of their luck in aesthetics and parents. Heck, they totally take it for granted. They take everything for granted.
I’m (nearly) 48. I take care of myself and exercise regularly. But my Morning Mirror Time is a fraction of theirs. I apply light makeup and give my hair a quick brush in a matter of 5 minutes. Literally. I just can’t be bothered. Yet, I consider myself above average in appearance. You can tell I was once very pretty, just by looking at me.
In any case, I’m a teacher and I dress for the job. I have a very comfortable dress, v-neck, that goes just below my knees. Here it is:
It looks better on.
I bought it at a boutique shop near my house. The salesperson ooh’d and aah’d when I modeled it for her. I thought maybe I looked a little frumpy. No, she said, you look perfect. I have not had anyone ooh or aah in several years despite my augmentation following breast cancer surgery 6 years ago. Cancer gave me the chest of my dreams: from 34A to 34C.
Well, I wore this dress yesterday. All day. I’ve worn this dress at least 10 times before for various occasions. No one has complimented me, but that’s OK. I don’t need compliments. I’m almost 50 for Pete’s sake. I don’t dress for others, I dress for ME!
My daughters and I were eating dinner before their Phoenix Youth Symphony rehearsal. Food that I ordered by phone. Food that I ordered and picked up and brought to them, lovingly. As I got up to throw trash away, the 14 year old sighed heavily while eyeing my dress.
“What?” I looked to see if there were food stains on it.
Another sigh. Exceptionally heavy. “Mom, I just wish…I just wish you’d wear something….better.”
Suddenly, she gets all Tim Gunn on me. Really? I’ve worked all day with 90+ students. Attended an IEP meeting before school started. Ordered food with my bare hands…and now this? I expect her to follow it with (in gay voice), “It doesn’t even work conceptually.”
“Why do you say this to me AFTER I’ve worn it all day?”
She looks up at her father who has just entered the room. As usual, she completely disregards my question, my feelings.
“What’s going on?” He asks.
“Mom’s dress.”
All three give me a hard look. Tim Gunn, Heidi Klum and Michael Kors, all are staring at me. Judging me. I feel bloated.
Tim speaks.
“Her dress, it looks like a Powerpoint.”
All concur.
I drive home. My hands, gripping the wheel, smell like Greek chicken and tzaziki sauce.
Whenever we are out and about, Josie will spot a hole-in-the-wall pseudo-Asian restaurant with a neon sign advertising “Teriyaki”. She inevitably exclaims, “Teriyaki, mom! Please? Let’s try that place?” She loves teriyaki chicken so much, she once told me she had a dream that she was eating it and when she work up, she was smacking her lips.
The last time I relented, she said:
“Is there a place called Teriyaki? Because if there is, I’m SO going there.”
When I was a kid, I used to love reading the Sunday comics. They were in color and I studied each one. This was back in the day when we had news in paper form…right after fire was invented.
Josie’s creation
I’ve decided to make my own “Sunday Funnies”. Here is Sunday Funny #1:
Setting: Yesterday morning at the breakfast table
Characters: Josie (14) and Ava (13) and me
Ava: Mom, what is your favorite color?
Josie (answers for me): Green.
(I nod in agreement.)
Ava: What’s your favorite song?
Josie: “Sweet Caroline.”
Me: Duh.
Ava: What is your favorite ethnic cuisine?
Me: That’s hard. I love so many foods…Italian…
Josie: Mmmmm!
Me: Greek…Vietnamese, Korean, Thai….I guess I could say that I love them all. They are all delicious!
Ava: What is your favorite kind of dog? You know, which breed?
Kismet 