The Debate is Real

One of the stories we read for our literary essay unit is "Your Move" by Eve Bunting. A tale of two brothers, one 10 and one 6 who, left alone by their working mother, skip out on the watchful eye of their nextdoor neighbor so that the older one, James, can prove himself to a "club" of boys who call themselves K-Bones. It's undoubtedly a bad decision, but over the course of the story, it becomes clear that James's priority is protecting his brother, who looks up to him, and in the end he realizes his mistake and redeems himself.

At least that's what I think...

My co-teacher finds James completely irresponsible and somewhat reprehensible.

When we talk about the story in class, we each stake our claim and defend it with the text and reasoning, conceding and countering the argument of the other, each convinced we're right.

The students watch like it's a tennis match, and in the end we shrug and laugh, because it's fun arguing with someone you respect.

Literally

"Do you know what D did today?" one of my colleagues asked at lunch about a student who is very distractible and more than a little inattentive. "She needed the password for the quiz, and I told her it was "yellow jackets, no spaces," and she typed y-e-l-l-o-w-j-a-c-k-e-t-s-n-o-s-p-a-c-e-s!"

"In my class," another teacher reported, "I was helping her write her essay, so I told her to write down the chicken foot [a metaphor for a claim with 3 supporting reasons] and she wrote 'the chicken foot' on her paper!" he shook his head.

"Well, in my class," a third teacher chimed in, "I said, "Write your name on the top of the page," and she wrote 'your name'!"

C'mon!

On Second Thought

"Do you have your iPad?" I asked my Gracie Allen homeroom student this morning. She had tried to borrow a laptop earlier, and I had put the ix-nay on that, but it seemed as if she was now absorbed in something below table level, and so the question.

"Yes!" she told me brightly.

"Then bring it over here so I can show you what we are working on," I directed her.

Her face turned stormy and without even looking up she snapped, "No! I don't want to!"

My eyebrows shot up in surprise, for she is usually quite cooperative. "Uh oh!" I said.

She raised her head and looked at my face. "I mean," she responded breathlessly, "Coming right away!"

And she did.

Read It and Weep

As my brother and sister and I sorted through my mother's condo this weekend, my sister held out the slimmest of hopes that we might find some notes to us, and I clung to any scrap of writing that revealed and preserved the remarkable person she was.

Five years ago my mom downsized from a three level 3 bedroom townhouse. As vigorous a 75-year-old as she was, the process of organizing the material trappings of 20 years or more, even though carried out over several months, took a toll on her. Once she adjusted to condo living Mom was very happy, but she had learned her lesson, and she was ruthless when it came to hanging on to all but the most useful, valuable, and/or sentimental of objects.

My brother and sister and I have always appreciated her practical sensibility, but now that she's gone her pragmatism has been an immense relief to us us we sort through her estate: it has made an unbearable job a little more manageable.

And we have no doubt that what is left was truly valuable to her-- the handmade cards from Riley, Treat, Richard, and Annabelle, the thank you note from Emily written in the early 90s, and the email from Heidi in 2003.

Even though the three of us sat by sobbing as she called her closest friends to say goodbye, my mother had no final words for any of us in the last days and hours of her life. She resolutely believed that we all knew how vast and unwavering her love for us was, and so there was nothing to say. 

Fresh Weather

"How are you doing in the cold?" all my mom's Minnesota friends have asked.

They were referring to the snowy single-digit conditions that have been the daily standard since we landed on Friday.

"I kind of like it!" I tell them.

And when they tsk, I continue with a shrug, "It's a novelty for us."

"Right!" my brother agrees. "Plus? We're leaving tomorrow!"

To Cushion or Not to Cushion

The two estate agency representatives were of different minds when we asked if it would be best if at least one of us was present when they came to pack and parcel my mom's belongings. The 10 o'clock women, who were warm and personal, told us that it would probably be a good idea, if possible. They asked about some of my mom's more remarkable possessions and encouraged us to write up descriptions of them for the prospective buyers they were sure would love them.

The noon woman, who was all business and photographs, said, "Absolutely not! In fact, we actually charge more if someone's here."

We looked at her quizzically.

"Not really," she clarified, "but so often people follow us around, picking things up, telling us their stories. That takes time, and we are on the clock."

Maybe she thought she was being a little too harsh. "It's also really hard for you," she continued in a softer tone. "We're very organized and professional. Right now? This place is a home, but when we are done? It will be a house-- four walls. That's what you want, but it's hard to watch it happen."

Ride Share

"I don't think I've ever had a pick-up as my Uber before," I noted as I settled myself in the back of the king cab on my way to the airport this morning.

"Yah, I get that a lot," William, my driver, told me adjusting the volume on the sound system.

I fiddled with my phone as soothing meditation music flowing from the speakers elevated the familiar landmarks we rolled past. High rises gleamed, gulls swooped, and golden rapids riffled the wide urban stream outside my window as the music swelled in the Ford F-150. Even the water treatment plant and metro bus lot were transformed by the light and music as we glided past. I set my phone aside and took a deep breath.

Arriving at the curbside check-in 10 minutes later, I felt refreshed and renewed, which was really not what I had expected at all. "Thank you for the ride, William," I said, climbing out of the truck.

He nodded, and I stepped forward into my day.