Saturday, December 31, 2005
trifling
My students use the word trifling to insult each other. They deviate from the dictionary usage. In their vocabulary, trifling is a state of being. At first, I thought I was not hearing them correctly, because "trifling" reminds me of a Bronte or Jane Austen novel, a word spoken in drawing rooms or written with a pen dipped in a glass bottle of India ink. It does not have same urban kick that phat and crunk have. It would be awkward to text message. Yet, the girls use trifling to describe someone who gets upset or makes a big deal over small things. A grudge-holder. A conflict-igniter. A trifling person.
I've never used the word trifling, but I have used trifle. The dictionary defines a trifle as "something of little or insignificant value". Silly. Trite.
One thing I appreciate about my job is that, every single day, I feel like I put on new eyes and new ears. Again and again, I get confronted with situations that remind me that even though I live in the neighborhood, the world that exists when I close the front door of my house is so far removed from the world that exists behind the front doors of many of my students. I was especially aware of this right before we left for Christmas break. One of my favorite students began acting out and getting into fights: behavior that was completely uncharacteristic for her. I know her well enough to know some of her story - she is in DFACS and there is not a home or holiday to look forward to. The reality for a lot of my students is that two weeks of holiday are two weeks of hell. This is a difficult concept to grasp.
Even though my church is in the neighborhood, it does not pull from the apartment complexes that surround it. Middle class families drive from the suburbs to attend services. A few months ago, the church was vandalized a few times, and I pulled up some statistics about the neighborhoods directly surrounding the church from the police department and mailed them to the minister. Household below the poverty level: 23%. High School Education Level: 32.7%. Percentage of household headed by a female only: 35.8%. He wrote back. I am shocked. I had no idea.
I have been changed by living, each day, in a room with my students. I have listened to their stories and am beginning to come to terms with their reality. I have been angered, and frustrated, and broken, and hushed. Two weeks ago, a fifteen year old student was shot by another student after a basketball game. He was left with a bullet lodged in his spine, likely paralyzed. I have not written since then, because I feel like anything I can write will be trifling. Meaningless. How can I write about Christmas and New Years, anniversaries and family and the funny things my children say? What is there to do besides break and hope that, somehow, Grace will find a way in through the cracks.
I've never used the word trifling, but I have used trifle. The dictionary defines a trifle as "something of little or insignificant value". Silly. Trite.
One thing I appreciate about my job is that, every single day, I feel like I put on new eyes and new ears. Again and again, I get confronted with situations that remind me that even though I live in the neighborhood, the world that exists when I close the front door of my house is so far removed from the world that exists behind the front doors of many of my students. I was especially aware of this right before we left for Christmas break. One of my favorite students began acting out and getting into fights: behavior that was completely uncharacteristic for her. I know her well enough to know some of her story - she is in DFACS and there is not a home or holiday to look forward to. The reality for a lot of my students is that two weeks of holiday are two weeks of hell. This is a difficult concept to grasp.
Even though my church is in the neighborhood, it does not pull from the apartment complexes that surround it. Middle class families drive from the suburbs to attend services. A few months ago, the church was vandalized a few times, and I pulled up some statistics about the neighborhoods directly surrounding the church from the police department and mailed them to the minister. Household below the poverty level: 23%. High School Education Level: 32.7%. Percentage of household headed by a female only: 35.8%. He wrote back. I am shocked. I had no idea.
I have been changed by living, each day, in a room with my students. I have listened to their stories and am beginning to come to terms with their reality. I have been angered, and frustrated, and broken, and hushed. Two weeks ago, a fifteen year old student was shot by another student after a basketball game. He was left with a bullet lodged in his spine, likely paralyzed. I have not written since then, because I feel like anything I can write will be trifling. Meaningless. How can I write about Christmas and New Years, anniversaries and family and the funny things my children say? What is there to do besides break and hope that, somehow, Grace will find a way in through the cracks.
Labels: save as draft
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
gifted
I love Tulipgirl's post about gift ideas, so I am borrowing her idea)
I am a gift person. I love to give gifts, it is one of my favorite things. There is not much that makes me happier than sending a package off in the mail. I realize, however, that not everyone enjoys finding gifts - or the search for the perfect gift. My husband is one of those people, and in time, he has learned to ask my friends what I would like. If you are looking for a gift for someone you love, here are a few things I've bought at one point and enjoyed so much that I've given them to others.
Who Was Born This Special day is my favorite Christmas book for toddlers. The pictures have a lush, quiet beauty and the text is just enough to engage a fidgeting two-year old. I still get teary when I read the last page.
I've mentioned it before, but Expecting Adam truly is a wonderful book for any mother to read. It a memoir, and the subject matter seems like it might be depressing - but it is truly one of the most encouraging and inspiring things I have ever read. Mothering is hard, and one of my all-time favorite quotes is from this book. I think of these words every time my child is in tears over hurt feelings or disappointment or the cruelty of playground politics, and every time they struggle to learn something and rip the paper they are working on in frustration:
"The hardest lesson I have ever had to learn is that I may never understand the meaning of my children's pain, and I have neither the right nor the ability to take it from them."
My favorite two restaurants are The Grit, in Athens, Georgia and The Flying Biscuit in Atlanta. I can personally vouch for these two cookbooks. In fact, my husband and I have had more than one argument over the fact that he has taken my cookbooks to the coffeehouse and forgotten to bring them back. If you know someone who likes to cook - these are fabulous.
Flying Biscuit (try the oatmeal pancakes and the black bean love cakes. mmmmmmmmmmm)
The Grit (Best macaroni and cheese recipe EVER. I'm not kidding. The iced coffee is insanely good even though it seems weird to put pancake syrup in a drink)
If you know a girl or woman who wears tights, I can't say enough about these organic cotton tights. They don't feel gross the way lycra/nylon tights do. They also don't run. They are as comfortable as sweatpants, and warm. I was in a car accident years ago and truthfully, I was more upset that the paramedic had to cut my tights to check a broken ankle than I was about totaling my car. At the time, there was no internet, and I had no way to replace my beloved tights. It was tragic.
If I were pregnant, I would go crazy over thischarm that hangs and gently chimes against your belly. Lovely. I need a pregnant friend so I can buy one.
Finally, there is always the gift of a historic tree. I bought my dad a descendant of a tree from the shores of Walden pond a few years ago. It arrived in a big box, and it has grown and thrived. I can't think of a better gift.
I am a gift person. I love to give gifts, it is one of my favorite things. There is not much that makes me happier than sending a package off in the mail. I realize, however, that not everyone enjoys finding gifts - or the search for the perfect gift. My husband is one of those people, and in time, he has learned to ask my friends what I would like. If you are looking for a gift for someone you love, here are a few things I've bought at one point and enjoyed so much that I've given them to others.
Who Was Born This Special day is my favorite Christmas book for toddlers. The pictures have a lush, quiet beauty and the text is just enough to engage a fidgeting two-year old. I still get teary when I read the last page.
I've mentioned it before, but Expecting Adam truly is a wonderful book for any mother to read. It a memoir, and the subject matter seems like it might be depressing - but it is truly one of the most encouraging and inspiring things I have ever read. Mothering is hard, and one of my all-time favorite quotes is from this book. I think of these words every time my child is in tears over hurt feelings or disappointment or the cruelty of playground politics, and every time they struggle to learn something and rip the paper they are working on in frustration:
"The hardest lesson I have ever had to learn is that I may never understand the meaning of my children's pain, and I have neither the right nor the ability to take it from them."
My favorite two restaurants are The Grit, in Athens, Georgia and The Flying Biscuit in Atlanta. I can personally vouch for these two cookbooks. In fact, my husband and I have had more than one argument over the fact that he has taken my cookbooks to the coffeehouse and forgotten to bring them back. If you know someone who likes to cook - these are fabulous.
Flying Biscuit (try the oatmeal pancakes and the black bean love cakes. mmmmmmmmmmm)
The Grit (Best macaroni and cheese recipe EVER. I'm not kidding. The iced coffee is insanely good even though it seems weird to put pancake syrup in a drink)
If you know a girl or woman who wears tights, I can't say enough about these organic cotton tights. They don't feel gross the way lycra/nylon tights do. They also don't run. They are as comfortable as sweatpants, and warm. I was in a car accident years ago and truthfully, I was more upset that the paramedic had to cut my tights to check a broken ankle than I was about totaling my car. At the time, there was no internet, and I had no way to replace my beloved tights. It was tragic.
If I were pregnant, I would go crazy over thischarm that hangs and gently chimes against your belly. Lovely. I need a pregnant friend so I can buy one.
Finally, there is always the gift of a historic tree. I bought my dad a descendant of a tree from the shores of Walden pond a few years ago. It arrived in a big box, and it has grown and thrived. I can't think of a better gift.
Labels: save as draft
Sunday, December 11, 2005
the children, the witch, the wardrobe (and a lion)
We were invited to attend a special church service at a local seeker-friendly megachurch today. The church rented out the movie theater at one of the big malls in Atlanta and was having a huge Narnia event, complete with a special screening of the movie. We were going to attend, but had other commitments. Instead, we saw the movie yesterday afternoon. After watching the film, I'm not sure how effective the strategy of churches using the movie as an evangelical tool will be.
The movie is absolutely beautiful: every snow covered branch, every red and gold, waving-in-the-breeze, lion-crested banner, every black-as-soot eyelash on every wide-eye of each one of the gorgeous children. My own kids really enjoyed it, but my husband and I were left feeling like something was missing. We agreed that the story was right and the children were perfect - everything looked the way we thought it ought to look. And yet, it was not right. As we left the theater, my husband asked what I thought. "I think it didn't really have a soul", I said. He nodded. Yes. It was missing a soul.
I thought about it all evening. I am a huge crier. I cry at everything. My daughter has inherited a similar sensitivity. She became hysterical when she watched March of the Penguins. When the time in the movie arrived for Aslan to meet the witch at the stone table, I motioned for her to get on my lap. "You know that Aslan is like Jesus", I whispered. She nodded. "He's going to die, isn't he?", she asked. I told her yes, and I prepared for the moment when I would have to carry her out of the theater in tears.
When I was a little girl, my father sat on the edge of my bed and read me the Narnia books at bedtime, one chapter at a time. When I saw the poorly animated movie version, and they shaved Aslan's mane, I cried so hard I could hardly breathe. And yet, as I sat and watched the beautifully crafted movie yesterday afternoon, I did not shed a single tear. Neither did Lily. Neither did anyone sitting around us. I should have cried, but I didn't.
So, when asked what I thought, I simply said that I thought it was missing the soul of the stories. The details were there, but the deep magic was not.
As I've thought about it, I think I've realized what the problem is. The movie is not really about Aslan at all; it is about the children. As you watch, you get the message that the children are the important thing. The witch wants to kill the children, the beavers must take the children to Aslan. There is never any sense that the children need Aslan - it's as if Aslan needs the children. Aslan's sacrifice is cheapened, and this is why I did not cry.
In fact, the children are made so central to the story, that it seems perfectly reasonable to expect Aslan to die to save Edmund. Instead of being devastated by his death, it feels like the death of any side character in any buddy movie. You hate to see him go, but it's okay - because Edmund, Peter, Susan, and Lucy have their special weapons from Father Christmas, and they have a big, beautiful army backing them up with shining silver armor and lots of beautiful banners waving in the wind to signify that their side is the winning side. The battle is so exciting that when Aslan finally does return and kills the witch, it's almost anti-climactic.
Last night, my mother called to ask how the movie was. I'd thought it through by then, and I told her about that the movie was not really about Aslan at all. I mentioned the whole megachurch theater-renting outreach, and I said that I didn't think people would watch the film and be spiritually moved by it. "Not if it isn't about Aslan", she agreed.
Then I commented that, ironically, the same churches that are renting the theaters are the ones that have decided to cancel church on Christmas morning. In the end, maybe Narnia is a better metaphor for the current state and message of mainstream Christianity than I realized or want to admit. The Children, The Witch, and The Wardrobe - with a lion thrown in and then quickly forgotten once the children are on the throne.
The movie is absolutely beautiful: every snow covered branch, every red and gold, waving-in-the-breeze, lion-crested banner, every black-as-soot eyelash on every wide-eye of each one of the gorgeous children. My own kids really enjoyed it, but my husband and I were left feeling like something was missing. We agreed that the story was right and the children were perfect - everything looked the way we thought it ought to look. And yet, it was not right. As we left the theater, my husband asked what I thought. "I think it didn't really have a soul", I said. He nodded. Yes. It was missing a soul.
I thought about it all evening. I am a huge crier. I cry at everything. My daughter has inherited a similar sensitivity. She became hysterical when she watched March of the Penguins. When the time in the movie arrived for Aslan to meet the witch at the stone table, I motioned for her to get on my lap. "You know that Aslan is like Jesus", I whispered. She nodded. "He's going to die, isn't he?", she asked. I told her yes, and I prepared for the moment when I would have to carry her out of the theater in tears.
When I was a little girl, my father sat on the edge of my bed and read me the Narnia books at bedtime, one chapter at a time. When I saw the poorly animated movie version, and they shaved Aslan's mane, I cried so hard I could hardly breathe. And yet, as I sat and watched the beautifully crafted movie yesterday afternoon, I did not shed a single tear. Neither did Lily. Neither did anyone sitting around us. I should have cried, but I didn't.
So, when asked what I thought, I simply said that I thought it was missing the soul of the stories. The details were there, but the deep magic was not.
As I've thought about it, I think I've realized what the problem is. The movie is not really about Aslan at all; it is about the children. As you watch, you get the message that the children are the important thing. The witch wants to kill the children, the beavers must take the children to Aslan. There is never any sense that the children need Aslan - it's as if Aslan needs the children. Aslan's sacrifice is cheapened, and this is why I did not cry.
In fact, the children are made so central to the story, that it seems perfectly reasonable to expect Aslan to die to save Edmund. Instead of being devastated by his death, it feels like the death of any side character in any buddy movie. You hate to see him go, but it's okay - because Edmund, Peter, Susan, and Lucy have their special weapons from Father Christmas, and they have a big, beautiful army backing them up with shining silver armor and lots of beautiful banners waving in the wind to signify that their side is the winning side. The battle is so exciting that when Aslan finally does return and kills the witch, it's almost anti-climactic.
Last night, my mother called to ask how the movie was. I'd thought it through by then, and I told her about that the movie was not really about Aslan at all. I mentioned the whole megachurch theater-renting outreach, and I said that I didn't think people would watch the film and be spiritually moved by it. "Not if it isn't about Aslan", she agreed.
Then I commented that, ironically, the same churches that are renting the theaters are the ones that have decided to cancel church on Christmas morning. In the end, maybe Narnia is a better metaphor for the current state and message of mainstream Christianity than I realized or want to admit. The Children, The Witch, and The Wardrobe - with a lion thrown in and then quickly forgotten once the children are on the throne.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
what won't be on the shelves at toys r us
Haba has become one of my favorite toy companies because they make the best little children's games on the planet. They also make a wide assortment of gorgeous wooden play food (sold in little tins), and all sorts of really creative and beautiful things.
I have to wonder, however, what possessed them to make Haba toy matches.
The marketing indicates that they truly are intended for children.
I quote:
In the hands of a three-year-old, these play matches are much safer than the real thing! Eight matches come inside a fun, life-like case. Made of hard wood with a non-toxic finished. Crafted to withstand years of childhood adoration and play.
I have to wonder, however, what possessed them to make Haba toy matches.
The marketing indicates that they truly are intended for children.
I quote:
In the hands of a three-year-old, these play matches are much safer than the real thing! Eight matches come inside a fun, life-like case. Made of hard wood with a non-toxic finished. Crafted to withstand years of childhood adoration and play.
Labels: save as draft
