No Wonder

There was a book on my desk when I got to work this morning. I smiled when I saw it, because I had read it a long time ago and loved it. It was also about Alaska.

I first heard of the novel years ago at a meeting for sixth grade language arts teachers in our district. We were talking about books that we had taught, and one woman, perhaps in her late sixties, was complaining.

"It's such a wonderful story," she said, "based on an Athabascan Indian legend and so well-written." She sighed. "But none of the boys want anything to do with it."

"What is the title, again? " someone asked.

"The Two Old Women," she told us.

Time Capsule

Perhaps if anything struck me as I scanned the list of new sixth graders, it was that not a single name looked familiar. Over the years that little glimmer of recognition that shines when a sister or brother of a former student joins the team has always been one of the pleasures of this event. 

I was not to be disappointed, though. Not only were there a few siblings (of different surnames), there was even another child of a former student. This time, in a like mother-like daughter twist, they were both assigned to my homeroom. 

"I think I sat over there," the mom pointed for her daughter. Then she turned to me. "Wow! Things really have not changed much in here since 1996!"

Everything's Coming Up Alaska

"Guess what?" one of my colleagues said today. "We have twins on the team this year who are..."

"Yes?" I said. 

"wait for it..." she told me.

I raised my eyebrows. 

"Alaskan native Americans!" she finished. 

I was surprised. "Cool! What tribe?" I wondered. 

"I don't know," she answered, "but it seems like you all will have a lot to talk about!"

What They Hear

"How will your art projects be assessed?" I asked Josh as he worked to complete his summer assignments this evening.

"We'll pretty much put 'em up and all the other students will look at them," he told me.

"So, peer review, then?" I clarified.

"Well, the instructor lady will probably tear us all down individually, too," he added.

I frowned. "Or maybe offer some constructive criticism?" I offered.

"We'll see," he said doubtfully. "We'll see."

Privileges of Seniority

After a day filled with powerpoint presentations and a lot of butt time, I had one last meeting before I could actually go to my classroom at 3:40. This one was with my fellow sixth grade team leaders, and I welcomed the chance to organize my thoughts before leading the first team meeting of the year tomorrow morning. We went through a quick list of things to talk about and things to delegate, and the familiarity of the task warmed me in the air conditioned chill of the library. It wasn't long before the three of us felt prepared, and as the meeting broke up, the other two teachers expressed some gratitude to me. "Your memory is amazing," said one. "Thank goodness someone knows the details."

Although I appreciated their comments, I shrugged. "I've been doing this a long time."

"Me, too," said one of the others, and I knew she meant her 20 years of teaching.

I nodded. "But I've been doing this for a long time," I said, making a circular gesture with one upraised finger. "It's not that hard to remember!"

The Big One

The news today that Mt. McKinley will once again be officially called "Denali" was particularly timely, given our recent visit. On the heels of finishing Into the Wild, I am currently reading Denali's Howl about the history of mountaineering on the peak, particularly the ill-fated 1967 expedition.

In the early chapters of his book, Andy Hall, whose father was park superintendent from 1967 to 1970, makes the point that the native Athabaskan people never had any interest in climbing to the top of the mountain and thought it foolish when the first white men attempted the feat. For them, the mountain was primarily a landmark, called variously, 'the great one', 'the high one', and 'the tall mountain'. With nothing material to gain, such an endeavor would present an unacceptable risk in the already harsh conditions in which they lived.

What a sensible attitude! Dibs to them on naming the mountain.

No Second Chances

When we were in Alaska, our travels took us within ten miles or so of Christopher McCandless's "magic bus" made famous by the book Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. Being so close to where McCandless died provided a whole new frame of reference on the story of young man who cut ties with his family and lived a vagabond life in the western U.S. before heading into the Alaskan wilderness on his own in April 1992. 

When we returned home, I read Krakauer's book, and I also looked at many of Chris's photographs, letters, and journal entries that the McCandless family published in the 2010 book, Back to the Wild. This morning, we watched a documentary about McCandless and his family, and tonight we watched Sean Penn's 2008 film based on the Krakauer book. 

 A little wilded out by the end of the movie, I was reminded of an old joke. Two guys are at the movies when one leans over to the other and whispers,"I'll bet you five bucks the cowboys get ambushed when they leave camp." 

"You're on!" His friend replies. Not two minutes later, the cowboys are attacked, just as the first guy predicted. When the movie is over, the second guy hands his friend a five dollar bill. 

"I have a confession," the first guy says. "I saw the movie before. I knew they were going to be ambushed." 

"So did I," says his friend. "I just didn't think they would fall for it twice!" 

 That's how I felt about Chris McCandless every time I was confronted with his demise-- not that he was arrogant or stupid, I just wanted him to have the chance to learn from his mistakes.