we move through Sunday
finishing written work
reading words from foreigners
disappearing into imaginary worlds.
we step into the reality
of controlled chaos,
endlessly flashing lights,
banging balls, screaming children.
birthday party aside, we slip into nature,
our shoes sliding across dirt
that tickles the wind with views
of waterfowl-filled wetlands.
this isn’t the church he grew up with
(the one i never knew)
but with fingers interlaced
we can still see the true beauty of God.
Isabella
infinitesimally eight
you round out your three-day weekend
with consecutive sleepovers
endless games and dives
at Casa Bonita
and round-the-block singing
of Girl Scout songs
in your train of Brownie vests.
infinitesimally eight
i hope you will remember
this bright moment
of your youth
with these words you will
someday read.
Mythili
Mixing in with the older set
Yearning for forever-gone blankey
True to your matter-of-fact words
Heatedly demanding justice
Imaginative to no end
Loving the art that shapes your life
Inundated with the realities of school.
Riona
tears and sobs take control of you
at the mere mention of Daddy’s death
a death unknown, far-reaching
and my arms can’t console
the sensitive child
who needs to nestle
in his shoulder,
dentist-forbidden thumb in mouth,
your cries simmering down
to the ever emanating warmth
of his love for you,
his Daddy’s Girl.
yes you have tickets
and you ask permission
as if i have a choice
i clutch the silver plastic
letting the words fall
in between the lines
your tickets were for us
but just as back then
you teach me exchange rates
i wonder what we are worth
or how much you paid for them
does it even matter to you?
it takes two sisters
four hours to make
three pies
dessert for fourteen people
when we include
two of six aunts
two of seven uncles.
three platters of lasagna
and forty-two plates later
we celebrate
year fifty-seven of
my father’s life
who with two “old” legs
just rode
twenty-four miles up a mountain
and hiked three and a half
and still carries his four grandkids
wherever the
endless numbers add up to next.
take me in
i’m surrounded
i give in
pink purple white balloons
pink red streamers
a Guinness cake
homemade pumpkin pie
take me in
take me in
for a day’s preparation
for a simple birthday celebration
six years old
and she wanted the beer cake
the pumpkin pie
small and special
for the actual day
take me in
because never in my childhood
did i spend a day
an entire weekend day
preparing for a party
that she’ll remember
small and simple
in her mind tomorrow
next year
the moment
she closes her eyes
for the last time
take me in
i’ll be there by her side
when she
opens her presents
welcomes her guests
plays her games
closes her eyes
and makes her wish
our wish
for that moment
that we could
all be six again.
it is her first invite
(i wish it was her last)
and we sit in awkward silence
exchanging knowing looks
we’re surrounded by excess fat
skimmed off meat
once set aside just for the rich that has
oozed into our barely-middle class neighborhood
in gluttonous globs it surrounds
even the youngest rosy cheeks,
tripping and slipping their every step
as they unwrap, unwrap, unravel.
by coming here today, we are guilty,
and though our portion size is smaller,
it sits at the edge of the heaped-to-ceiling plate,
torn to bits in minutes by a ferocious four-year-old.
we take our leftovers in six baggies home,
but they are not for the dog. they are for us,
our girls, to chew on all evening, to try and
fill the growling hole in our gut-wrenched stomachs.
it may seem simple and small
it is and it is not
what it lacks
what you cannot see
is a degree of superficiality
(tucked into corners, it pops out)
but the shining star of this show
goes into the rehearsal time.
hours of baking, dyeing, decorating,
hours of designing, painting, waterproofing,
hours of stitching, sewing, piecing
(hours of labor that brought her into the world)
hours of labor to bring her these gifts.
what you will not see
(that elsewhere you are blinded by)
is the degree of superficiality
that makes her party
(her day, her celebration,
her place on this earth)
so simple, so small, so perfect.
It’s June first (my mother’s birthday)
ninety degrees with a slight breeze
that makes this uphill ride tolerable,
and as I pedal along I catch sight of
our illustrious three-tiered shadow.
First me, silver helmet casting sparkles
against the cracked black pavement,
then Mythili on the tag-along, her frilly
dress flowing behind her seat like a
butterfly waiting to escape the heat,
and then the round caboose of the trailer
with Riona singing Christmas songs as I
shout, “Pedal!” when we come to the
bottom of another glorious hill.
Before we’ve even made it to the park
(the one with two playgrounds, a creek
where Elizabeth fetched the girls’ pollywogs,
a Frisbee golf course and exercise equipment),
we have turned every driver and pedestrian
with gaping rubbernecks bent in our direction, and
I have thought of a name for this silhouette of
bikes daisy-chained to one another in harmony:
The Vittetoe Express, a perfect train of thought,
a perfect train of happiness on this
perfect Kentucky summer day.
Sometimes I wonder what has become of parents and their kids. I feel constantly surrounded by families who seem to think that their children, and their needs, come before everyone else around them. It’s not just the parents of the students I teach—in fact, this is rarely the case. I see it in the parents of kids who are the same age as my daughters. And the more exposure I have to it, the more it burns me up.
It begins with the questioning of authority. Teachers in particular. These parents seem to think that they should be running the classroom, and in effect letting their kids have no consequences for their actions. And if the teacher thinks for one moment he’s going to punish his students for their behavior, he’s got another thing coming. Those parents will go straight to the principal rather than taking the time to set up a meeting with the teacher.
What I would like to see is this: a teacher going into an office of one of these parents. Maybe he wants to read one of the reports they wrote. And when the report doesn’t satisfy him, he won’t make suggestions for editing and revising. He’ll mark it up in red and go straight to the parent’s boss, complaining about what a shoddy employee he hired.
It’s a perfect analogy, really. Is that the way to deal with a problem? To take your angst behind the “perpetrator’s” back and try to get that person disciplined? And what message does this send to our kids? That’s the part that’s beyond fucked up.
Scenario:
“Mama, Mr. Jones won’t let us have our holiday party because he said we misbehaved.”
“Did you?”
“Well, it was half my fault, but the other kids were being naughtier.”
“I don’t agree with that at all. You’re in first grade, and I don’t think it’s fair to cancel the holiday party because of a few rotten kids. I’m going to speak to the principal in the morning. Mr. Jones shouldn’t do that.”
Thoughts in the child’s mind: I don’t have to listen to Mr. Jones. He’s going to get in trouble. We didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one who’s wrong.
So the next time Mr. Jones asks this child to behave, will he? To do homework, will he? To show respect for authority, will he? Why? What is his motivation? The parents have stripped all authority and respect from the teacher, and their message to their children is loud and clear: your desires, no matter how petty, are more important than the teacher’s rules.
It doesn’t stop there. The parents lavish these children with every possible gift imaginable and birthday parties that cost upwards of $500. They invite every student in the class, expecting gifts (some invitations even specify which type of gifts!!) from all of them of course, and then don’t send out thank-you cards. (There are always exceptions, but they’re rare). And they do this for their kids every year so that the kids come to expect it. It’s no wonder these kids misbehave in the classroom setting (and other settings): they are the center of the world, the selfish, gluttonous world they’ve been raised in.
What is a parent to do? How can I raise my daughters to understand that they won’t have a giant birthday party every year, that when their teacher sends them home with a note that the class was naughty, they’re damn well going to write a letter of apology, that the world does not revolve around them even though their classmates seem to have this impression?
In this consumer-driven, corporate-sponsored society we’ve created for ourselves, we seem to have overlooked some important details about humanity: mainly, that our lives shouldn’t revolve around silly parties filled with cheap pieces of plastic, nonstop gifts, and a total disregard for what is most important—human relationships. The same parents who go over the teachers’ heads to complain to the principal are those who are spoiling their kids in every way imaginable. And while they complain, while they shop, they are missing out on what I value most about being a parent: spending quality time with my children as a family, showing them that giving to those in need is better than receiving, that respect is a part of going to school, and it begins at the classroom door, with the teacher.
In the end, how will they turn out? What kind of adults will they become? Only time will allow this revelation. But at least I can go to bed every night without the guilty conscious of a parent of an over-indulged, disrespectful child. And no matter how hard I have to fight this battle as my children witness this disrespect and indulgence among their peers, I know that in the end they will be better for it, that in the end, we will win the war. Because once they enter the real world, they will already know that it doesn’t revolve around them.
1. Sore muscles: a recorded memory of my crash
2. Fixed bike with gears that switch like butter
3. Three beautiful girls
4. Pancakes for breakfast
5. Strawberries in season to go with the pancakes
6. Cross stitching, so relaxing
7. A quilt made by my friend and bought by my husband
8. Two pairs of shoes for Isabella: $8.63
9. New bike helmet (silver to match my bike)
10. Prime rib
11. The last of Dad’s prime rib that they saved for my birthday!
12. Prime rib, second helping
13. Cooked carrots cooked with the prime rib
14. Asparagus (in season!!)
15. Made-from-scratch chocolate cake
16. I didn’t have to bake
17. French vanilla ice cream to go with the cake
18. Fixing the fucking bridging certificates so they’d print
19. 3.8 mile hike
20. View of the flatirons
21. A trail that is accessible by the stroller
22. Girls who tell stories to each other along the trail
23. A survival kit that includes two bottles of Riesling
24. A shirt nice enough to wear to work
25. Rain that pours only once we’re back at the car
26. Printing all the bridging certificates for free
27. All my Facebook birthday wishes
28. The silly ecards Elizabeth sent
29. Earl Grey tea
30. Green olives stuffed with blue cheese and garlic
31. Hershey’s Special Dark
32. The perfect, most surprisingly romantic husband in the world
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