The Armpit

As stated earlier, we spent two weeks every summer in a hot, dusty farm town close to the Rio Grande with my mother's parents. The first week without our mother; the second week with.

Grandmother rose at 5:00 a.m. to read the paper and eat poached eggs. Granddad rose a little after that and went to the store he ran with my great uncle. It was your average American drug store complete with soda fountain and counter top seating.

Grandmother was a retired school teacher. She taught English to middle school students for thirty years. Words, books, and the structure of sentences were her hobbies. The gift she wanted from the district to commemorate her retirement was an Oxford English Dictionary. The book was huge. You could tone your arm muscles with it. (But don't let Grandmother catch you at that.)

To continue:

Grandmother rose at 5:00 a.m. and read the paper from beginning to end. She kept a red pencil at her side and carefully edited their mistakes. Then she'd put the corrected paper in the mail and send it to the newspaper office -- "The Valley Morning Star". She entitled it, "The Valley Morning Disappointment".

We rose at 7:00 and went for our Cheerios. She kept the cereal in the largest circular Tupperware I've ever seen. We scooped them out with this little cup, then shook liquid saccharine on top to give our breakfast sweetness.

Grandmother had diabetes. No sugar in her house -- except for emergencies.

We sat at the table, swinging our legs and eating our Cheerios while she patiently underlined misspelled words in her reading material. Her eyebrows were always raised, her glasses always perched on her nose. She wore her satin robe and gown, sipped her coffee, and shook her head at supposedly qualified writers.

If she were reading this, I wonder how many mistakes she would find.

Some Teacher

Learning to swim must be very important. Learning to swim from Mrs. Rife must be extra special important.

My mother sent us all the way to her hometown for swimming lessons. My mother's childhood home, known affectionately by my god sister as "the armpit of the south", is thirty minutes from the border. It takes eight hours to get there. (5 if I am driving.)

You have to drive across King Ranch and you better have at least a half of tank of gas before you do.

So, I was under the impression that Mrs. Rife must be some kind of teacher.

We spent two weeks every summer with my granddad and grandmother. Part of our itinerary (the rest is for a later post) was an hour with Mrs. Rife.

Certainly you are patiently awaiting my opinion on this. By now you know I should enjoy the pool and swimming. You should also be aware that me and my mother's big ideas don't always mix well.

However, Big Idea #6 turned out pretty good.

Maria and I walked to Mrs. Rife's house every day. We spent an hour learning the various techniques for successful and safe swimming. I concentrated hard. This woman was teaching me something quite valuable. I definitely could see a future where I used what she taught. (Multiplication was another thing.)

I can still see her very short hair, her wrinkled face, and her bright red pants swimsuit. Yes, she wore pants when she was in the water. Maybe because she was modest. Maybe because she had a condition. I never could figure that one out.

She taught me well. Soon I was diving off boards and racing boys across the length of the pool without a lick of trouble.

After each lesson she put some kind of medicine in our ears. To keep us from getting a swimmer in our ear. (Like that could happen.) But I didn't argue.

The last day of lessons was the neatest. We had to jump in with all our clothes on, take off our shoes and pants while in the water, then swim to the side. Pretty cool....

My mom's big ideas were starting to gain some ground. Maybe I didn't have to hide anymore whenever she called a family meeting.

The Scourge

We must take a step back. I forgot to mention an important moment in my life.

At the time, it did not seem very important. Of course, it is a small thing, and I'm only capable of understanding its strength now that I am an adult.

Come back with me....

It is the year E.T. came out. A very heartbreaking and heartwarming movie. Maria and I were enthralled. Wendy was instantly in love with E.T. Bill was too young to enjoy it, but eventually he was inspired, too.

Maria and I especially enjoyed the funny parts. When Elliott tells E.T. to shut up when he keeps saying, "E.T. phone home." when he's in that white coffin-looking thing. When all the boys are flying through the air and Greg says, "Tell me when it's over!"

But we simply adored the following lines:

Greg: "Can't he just beam up?"
Elliott: "This is reality, Greg."

We died laughing. I mean -- that is hilarious.

It is also the scourge of mankind. Sarcasm.

I use it. Maria, Wendy, and Lela can wield it like magicians.

However, Elliott might as well have called Greg an idiot. Let's imagine, for one moment, what Greg felt after Elliott said that. It was Greg's first real glimpse of E.T. How did he know what the alien was capable of? Elliott had several days with E.T. He had the advantage of knowing a lot more about the little guy. And yet, instead of considering all this, the writers choose to treat Greg like he's an idiot. It's not a stupid question. I mean, for crying out loud, E.T. could heal Elliott's wounds with just a touch. He could make plants grow by just being around them. Why can't he beam up?

But sarcasm is funny. We all know Elliott doesn't think Greg is stupid. We all know it doesn't mean that Elliott doesn't like Greg. But....does Greg know that? Was he able to accurately assume Elliott's intent? Was he able to factor in the possibility that Elliott was anxious, nervous, and scared, so he spoke quickly? Was Greg able to forgive Elliott for treating him so callously?

These are things we cope with today. Interpreting sarcasm. It can be seen as bullying.

If someone is usually sarcastic, we can imagine this person might be seen as a bully. For example, it is your second week of school. You and your peers are starting to relax. You walk into math class wearing your favorite shirt. Peer A says to you, "Where'd you get that shirt? Queers 'R Us?"

Everyone laughs.

It's mean isn't it? But just because Peer A said such a thing, doesn't mean he doesn't like you. It means he has a sarcastic mouth.

This is the dilemma, for we can't rid our society of sarcasm. We must cope with it.

And that is the MOST important thing school teaches us -- how to cope. Some of us develop very good coping skills, some not so much.

And before you tell me that the school and the world was better in the 1950s, watch a routine from Bob Hope. He uses sarcasm. I promise.

Unhappy Endings Exist

Light from the bathroom spills onto the floor, offering the perfect chance to ignore bedtime for the more enjoyable task of reading. This is my saving grace from ever being held back a grade -- I like to read.

You might remember my first interaction with our librarian. I searched for books about Rudyard Kipling, and he nearly expired from a heart attack.

Tonight, I lay on the ground in my doorway, using the light from the bathroom to read Riki Tiki Tavi. Wendy and Maria are asleep behind me, hence why the closet light is not on.

This book is very loved. It's been read at least once a week, if not once a day.

I am up late. I know this because the entire house is dark, and my parents are in bed. Of course, my mother understands my habits and is up checking on me. She pads down the hallway. I expect her, so I don't immediately snatch up my book and hurl myself in bed. This is a regular routine for us. She's never gotten mad at me before, so there is no fear of being caught.

However, she surprises me with the following:

"Kara, perhaps it's time you read something else."

I look up at her. "I read lots of books."

She yawns. "Yes, but I think you might enjoy a new one. Go on and go to bed. In the morning, we'll start another book."

I groan inwardly. This means she is going to pick a book for me. That is the WORST. But, I don't argue, and in the morning, as promised, is a new book. Little Women.

She reads it to me. And Maria.

I am enthralled with the characters. These four sisters who love each other so dearly, who make believe, and tear down walls. I love Meg. I love Jo. I adore sweet Beth. I laugh at little Amy.

I decide I am like Jo. She chooses independence over marriage. I think that is a pretty smart idea.

And then...the unspeakable...sweet Beth.

My heart is ripped from my chest, a bloody, pulpy mess lying on the ground. The author is grinding her heel into it and twisting. The pain is excruciating. I stare aghast at my mother.

"What kind of book is this?" I cry.

She just smiles at me.

When the book is done, I walk around in a trance, wondering how my mother and Maria can function. Poor Beth! How can we go on as if nothing happened?

Thus begins my rapture with the lives of fictitious people. Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy. They were my first.

Second Grade Project

My Grandmother loved this so much, she hung it in her house. It hangs in mine now. The following story was written on a piece of lined white paper, cut to look like a ghost. I did not correct the spelling or other errors. Enjoy!

I was at a cave
and in that cave Ther was a gost
and I was scered!
Will he grabed me
and Then I said
Help no body hred me
So I tried to get
out but I coodet
get out
I did some thing and do you
know what I did
I scereed him myself.

Kara

Friend

Through Kindergarten and First grade, I spent recess in the following ways:

1) Cajoling kids into games of tag.
2) Cajoling kids into games of kickball or dodge ball.
3) Climbing on the varieties of playground equipment. Alone.
4) Defending people from "The Bully" that kicked my sister.
5) Forcing myself to play those hand games with the girls. You remember....."Apples on a stick, they make me sick, they make my stomach go two forty six...."

I distinctly remember the day when I ran over to the balance beams. Ponytail Girl was on one doing back walk-overs. I asked her if she wanted to play. She put her nose in the air and completed a perfect cart wheel. I took that as a no.

It wasn't easy trying to get kids to play with you. Recess during these two years wasn't always fun, though it still was my favorite part of school.

Second grade was different. You might recall my earlier post about the new redheaded girl, Jennifer. She made second grade very bearable. She didn't always want to play tag or kickball, but because she was loyal to me, I forced myself to do "girl" things.

When the summer came, she gave me her phone number. We had plans for slumber parties and swimming.

I almost looked forward to third grade....

Quite A Character

Grace's husband.....

Calm, steady, quiet, and brilliant. He can travel the Appalachians on foot. He can probably survive in the woods with nothing but a stick and his smarts.

He fixes problems with few words, has a ready smile, and a firm handshake.

One always felt safe around Grace's husband. One always felt encouraged by his genuine interest in how you were doing and what you were doing.

But...I always thought him surprisingly contradictory.....

He went to work in a suit and tie. He made sure all activities were safe. He cautioned you on making the right decisions. He advised with wisdom and an unassuming tone.

And yet, he came to the Halloween party as a flasher. I can see him in my mind, clear as if it was today. A trench coat over shorts that bore a sign that said "Boo!" in orange letters.

What an interesting and fearless person.

Liam.

The strength of his character shows a will I admire and try to practice....every day of my life.