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The Best Read Aloud EVER

Today, after completing a virtual run (more about that in a later post), I arrived home to find something special in the mail…

My heart beat a little faster when I saw THREE letters from Rooster.

Three!!!!

This is the first “real” written communication, other than the postcard that arrived last week, that I’d received since he left two weeks ago.

The Mr. was out shopping, and I texted him the news.  I knew I had to wait until he got home to open the envelopes.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long.

I sat down at the dining room table while the Mr. stood.

Anxious much?

We opened the envelopes and determined the order in which we should read the letters.  Rooster had dated each one.  Thank goodness!

And thus began the best read aloud ever.

The first letter started off with, “I’m doing well.”

Yes, we needed to hear these sentiments.  It was a good way to begin.

He said that he liked his MTIs (military training instructors), and that he’d been sick the first day he was there.  Oh, that was hard to read.  Who likes their babies being sick when we can’t tend to them?

The letter was brief.  We didn’t care.

On to letter #2.  It was even shorter and told us to ask for details from his girl, to whom he’d written much more.  Ahem.  At least he wrote!!

Letter #3 got us in our “feels.”  It was the longest of the three.

He told us that he missed us a lot.

I’m crying even as I write this now, just as I did when I read those words the first time.

He told us about specific things he missed.

The waterworks were on full-blast at this point.  The moments he shared were exactly what we’d been missing too.

He explained why he hadn’t been able to call and when he expected to be able to phone us next.  It won’t be soon enough, let me tell you.

The most precious words he shared were “Love you guys!”

Y’all, I read aloud for a living.  It’s what I do as a reading teacher.

Today, reading my sweet boy’s personally handwritten letters put my fluency skills to the test.

The emotions were raw.

I will tell you one thing that is good about not being able to communicate via the phone.

Writing letters back and forth is forcing us to talk the old-school way.  It’s a lost art form, precious but rare.

The Mr. and I have written our Rooster letters (we each write our own) every single day, starting with the night before he left (we snuck those into his travel bag, which he found his first night).

It’s probably no surprise to you that I find the process cathartic.  I NEED to write to process my feelings.

I look at each letter as a continuous conversation with the son who would sit and chat with me for hours about random stuff.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I will be the happiest mama on earth when he gets his phone back after basic training is over; however, I’m choosing to look for silver linings in my current circumstances…to find joy in the smallest of things.

Seeing my boy’s handwriting, taking note of his excellent grammar (I did something right as a mother and English specialist), and holding pieces of paper that he held three or four days prior lifts my spirits and helps ease the anxiety of not being able to hear his voice whenever I want.

I pray that these special read alouds are repeated…often…hanky in hand…heartstrings pulled taut.  These will be treasured moments, tucked into my heart to be pulled out time and again as I remind myself just how blessed I am.

How We are Coping

Dear Rooster,

While you’re off learning how to wear camo and keep your face clean-shaven, we’re just over here, counting down the days until we get to see you again.

We still have a longgggggggg way to go.

The waiting is exhausting.

If you need us, we’ll just be chillin’…in between letter writing…you know, like sleeping, which is something you’re probably not doing a lot of these days.

We love you and are praying for you, even while we snooze our days away.  Honestly, sleeping helps pass the time until we can be reunited with our boy wonder.

Love,

Mama, Pele, Molly, and Gambit

Little Things

You’ve heard the saying that it’s the little things in life that make a difference.  I can honestly say that it’s been the little things that have made my heart soar and the tears flow lately.

As of today, my Rooster has been gone for one week.  He’s officially in Week 1 of his basic training.  The first week isn’t really counted because of all of the processing that has to be done.  I can’t say that I have found a new normal yet because seemingly small things keep hitting my heart.

Little things like a student whispering, from the back of the room, that she’s praying for me after I broke down in tears last Tuesday morning when her class came in.

Things like pulling up to the house, opening the garage, and seeing Rooster’s car…clean from his last trip to get it detailed.

My heart did a slow dive when, on Thursday, we drove that same car out of the garage and met Super Sis and her hubby and turned the keys over to them for my youngest nephew.

Pulling up to the house every day since then and seeing the empty spot in the garage still makes my heart sad.

A simple thing like the sound of my cell phone going off during my lunch break on Thursday, looking down, and seeing my boy’s name on the caller ID made me jump up like I’d seen a spider.  He was calling to give me his mailing address.

His small, deep chuckle, given at least twice while we chatted, assured me that he was happy.

Who knew that a mere two-minute phone call could stir the heartstrings so much.

There was the sunny afternoon, which I spent part of outside on Saturday while on a lunch break during a school district-sponsored technology expo I attended that day.  Oh word, but my soul was refreshed as I soaked in the warmth and the view.

There’s the grocery shopping, which the Mr. mostly does for us, and the fact that we don’t have things like Cheez-Its and power bars on the list any more, and the two empty chairs around the table…one of which was only recently vacated.

That hit pretty hard on Sunday.

And then today…one small piece of card stock…

A postcard from my boy in the scripted language of his military branch announcing that he’d made it to Basic safely.  On it was his mailing address, which he’d tailored to fit his specific information.

Knowing that he had held this card in his hands only a few days ago…that he wrote my name on that card…these thoughts made my heart rise in joy.

I don’t know that I’ve been one to take things for granted; however, I am especially sensitive to the smallest occurrences in my life right now…evidence of God orchestrating everything, fulfilling His purpose in my life and those I love.

The Art of Letting Go

Last summer, on July 9th, I was awakened by Rooster.  He said, “Mama, I’ve decided to join <insert certain military branch>.  I’m going up to MEPS to take the ASVAB.  See you in two days.”

That was it.

It was quite out of the blue and a bit of a shock.

Then, he left.

I spent the next two days crying, uncertain of what this meant for him…for us…for the future.

Don’t get me wrong.  I was proud.  My boy had always been extremely patriotic; however, nobody in our family had served in the armed forces before, so this was going to be a brand new experience for all of us.

It was at this point that my mama heart broke a little…a lot…as I officially began wrestling with letting go.

Through conversations with my sweet young man…through the dialogue that opened up…we began investigating and exploring his career goals.  In this way, we shared the burden of uncertainty, lightening the load as we began to forage our way toward this new season of our lives.

His dreams became mine as I did what I’d always done and walked beside him, figuratively holding his hand, watching the excitement in his eyes as he envisioned a future filled with service and adventure.

As the months passed, he continued preparing his body for service.  He quit his job, worked out diligently at the gym, and went running several times a week.  He had a few disappointments as he waited for jobs to come open (that’s how this branch of the military works).  We didn’t know exactly when he would be leaving.  All I knew was that every single moment with him was a countdown toward the time I’d have to say goodbye.  I was going to make the most of those moments.

Although I put full effort into my professional life, I began to balance it out with home and family.  My goal was to spend as much quality time with Rooster as possible.  I was also grateful for a laid-back summer of working out with him at the gym and fixing him lunch afterward.  Those conversations at the table were priceless then, for I did see their value, but became even more so when I went back to school and lost that time with him.

We were able to get through a September trip to Universal, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, and a January trip back to Universal before he got offered a position he couldn’t refuse.  He received his ship date shortly afterward.

My heart broke a little more when I got the news at work.  I rejoiced with Rooster but began to quietly lament the shortened time with him.

In the midst of all of that, Rooster met the girl of his dreams.  I’ve talked about her before.

Well, the Friday that my Spring Break began, March 18, they got engaged!  It was done in Rooster’s way.  We were fortunate to be there, and I snapped photos.  Despite the rain (it must have rained for a week and a half straight), he got down on one knee, and she accepted from the hood of her green rain jacket.

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The Mr. and I would not have an empty nest just yet when he would leave.

Time flew.  Lord have mercy, but it flew.

This past weekend was hard in many ways.  I knew it would be the last time he would be in my home as my baby.  He and his girl spent Sunday packing up his room.  He had done some cleaning out but not enough, apparently.

We had a lovely dinner Sunday night and sat for two or three hours afterward…TV turned off…enjoying sweet conversations with one another.  This time will replay itself in my mind when I need to feel close to him.

While he was out spending precious time with his girl, I sat down and wrote him a book letter.  Ok.  So it was four pages long.

Ahem.

After reading something about not being mushy on a Facebook support group I joined a couple of weeks ago, I decided to give him the shortened version…along with the longer one.

I smuck the letters into his bag when he wasn’t looking.

And then Monday…yesterday.

Oh heavens.

Rooster was beside himself happy, although he played it cool.  I did everything in my power to hold myself together.  Breaking down in front of him wasn’t in my plans, although we had, throughout the months, talked very openly about how hard his leaving would be for me.

When we got up to leave yesterday, he was kind and allowed me to snap a few last pictures.

They are priceless to me.

I prayed for him before we left, and then we drove him to the recruiter’s office where we sat in the parking lot for an hour watching the time creep up to when we would have to say goodbye.

It was like ripping a band aid off a wound.  Fast.  No warning, really.

And then he was gone.

Just as he’d done when we left him at college, he never looked back as he walked away.

We texted back and forth yesterday and today.  He had to go back to MEPS and go through his swearing-in ceremony and last-minute medical checks, before flying to basic training today.

But yesterday.  Folks, I did the ugly cry a time or two or three during the day.  I had taken the day off from school, thank heavens, and while out shopping had a fit of crying in the Michael’s parking lot.

That’s my “I’m really going to miss my son” face.  😦

I did have some better moments.  The day was too lovely to waste completely on sadness.

Still, the nighttime was hard, and I went to bed exhausted.

I did the cry thing three or four times today…even at school.  My students were very sweet and understanding.  I waited for news of Rooster’s travel itinerary.  He had a few hours of flying ahead of him after a 3:45 wake-up call.

I got a minute-long phone call when he landed, and he sounded happy and strong.  This phone call did my heart so much good.  I’d spent two days crying on and off, and I needed to know he’d be okay.

And now I sit…and wonder…how bad is he getting yelled out by the MTIs?  Is he in bed (hopefully so after the early start to the day)?  How in the world am I going to fill eight weeks with busy-ness so that I won’t feel as though time has stopped?  I’m already looking forward to attending his graduation.

He’s gone off to be rebuilt into the military’s version of a good service member.

I know he’ll do himself and us proud.

I hope I’ve done him proud by how I let him go.  I hope I did it gracefully.  I hope I left no doubt how much I love him and cherish the time I had as a hands-on mama.

Treasured Moments

A five-minute phone call to my Rooster boy during the break between classes…getting an update about upcoming plans.

A car in the garage when I arrive home from work…evidence that things are, at the moment, the same.

An hour-long conversation with my boy when I enter the house…excitement flowing from his words…brilliant smile on his face.

Late-night chat…evening plans that had led our paths to diverge now ended…a time to reconnect as a family.

Debate-after-the-debate…the boy and his father hashing it out over the Republican candidates.

These are the moments I am treasuring in my heart right now…moments that fill me with an overflowing love…moments that cause my eyes to brim over with tears.

I am grateful for each of these for I know that when spring arrives, so too will changes in this Auburnchick abode.

No Ordinary People

I just got home from a wedding.

The bride…a young lady I’ve had the honor of knowing for about twelve years.  I am not a numbers gal, so let’s go with twelve, give or take a year.

She and Chicky formed an instant friendship when we moved to Podunk, USA way back when Chicky was beginning the seventh grade.

“J” and Chicky attended school and church together, and they were also on the same school and travel soccer teams.  Her parents, the Mr., and I quickly formed a strong bond (those of you who know me personally will get the pun).  🙂

I’m proud to say that it was my family who took J to her first Auburn football game, taught her the fight song on the way up, and nurtured that love…one she carried through her college career when she later attended and graduated from Auburn.

War Eagle, y’all!

J married her “buddy” a few hours ago, and the wedding was Christ-centered and full of fun.

I had known, when I received my Save the Date flyer, that it would be a wonderful evening.

Now that it’s come and gone, I can honestly say that my expectations were more than met.

My heart is full, and I almost want to cry now that it’s ended.

As I saw people arrive for the wedding, I couldn’t wait to hug their necks.  I couldn’t quite yet because the ceremony was about to start, so I eagerly awaited the reception.

You see, these were no ordinary “people.”

They were my fellow soccer parents.

Over the years, we had traveled far and wide together (all over the United States, in fact), rejoiced in victories, and dried tears after losses.

We had agonized over teenage/parent frustrations while cheering our girls from the sidelines.

We’d shared countless adventures together.

Holler if you remember getting lost on back roads in Virginia.

Ahem.

If you’re a sports parent, you know the unique bond that forms in such circumstances.

We had broken bread together at all hours of the day more times than I can remember and at more restaurants that I probably want to recall.  Hello, hotel oatmeal.  heehee

It’s a very good thing that social media wasn’t a thing back in those days.  😀

As the girls got older, we attended their college signings and cheered them on when we heard their names on the news or read about them in the paper or online.

And now…

They are getting older.  Many are either finished with college, almost finished, or in the case of K, the youngest of a LARGE crew, about to embark on a college career.

And then today, there was J’s wedding…

The most recent event to bring us together.

I cried a little when I saw her groom’s eyes fill with tears as he saw her.  It was absolutely precious to behold.

I saw J take a deep breath as she held her father’s arm and passed my aisle…on her way to her groom waiting for her.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, her dress conservative but so feminine with its lace and train.

The ceremony was so sweet – especially because they incorporated promises to forever cheer on Auburn in the vows they wrote for each other.

War Eagle!

After the ceremony, I greeted the other soccer moms with the hugs I’d been holding back.  We talked non-stop as we walked to the reception room.

Chicky, the Mr., and I were seated at the table with our soccer peeps.  Whoever made the seating arrangements, thank you!!

What fun we had describing past times.

Watching J and her guy dance their first dance…well, my goodness…I think we soccer moms all shed a few tears.

And then the dance floor was opened up to everyone.

I am not going to lie.  I danced.

A lot.

I pulled one of my friends, L, to the floor with me, and honey, that girl had moves!

Song after song played, and we parents had as much fun as the kids.  Seriously.

At one point, J’s mom got in the middle of the moms and totally cut loose.  My friend, L, looked at me and said, “I have goosebumps right now.”

You see, after our girls, in their senior year of high school, won the regional playoff game that sent them to the state playoffs, we had stood in the school’s parking lot, and J’s mom had gotten in the middle and danced in celebration.

It felt like deja vu.

We boogied our behinds off and did dances I didn’t know how to do.  I just followed the lead of S, one of the soccer dads, who had, apparently, been taught by his five kids.  🙂

We did the Wobble, which I had learned how to do on the cruise.

I learned that to dance like the young folks, all you have to do is point at someone or something every now and then.

heehee

The night went by too quickly, and before I knew it, the Mr. pried me off of the floor.  He and Chicky were ready to leave.  I could have partied all night.

#teachersonsummervacation

As I hugged L, she said, “I don’t want tonight to end.  I’ll probably be depressed tomorrow.”

I told her to focus on the positive memories, but now, I see what she meant.

We, despite having grown children, have gotten busier (who would have thunk it).

We aren’t required to meet up every few days for practices or tournaments.

Simply put, our lives don’t intersect very often any more.

Because we are family, this makes letting go of each other when we are together even more difficult.

You see, when you’re a soccer [insert your sport of choice] parent, you automatically adopt every player on the team.  You walk away from the experience having parented more children than you originally intended when you signed up for the sport.

Your heart gets bigger at the same rate that your “family” grows.

I’ll forever be grateful to J for including us on her special day.  Not only did we get to watch her marry the man God had planned as her soul mate, we got to do it together…like we always did…from the sidelines but with as much enthusiasm as ever.

I’ll carry these memories in my heart for a very long time and will look forward to the next celebration that reunites us once again.

Weekend Visit

My Chicky is coming home for the weekend!!!

Her room is ready, adorned with her favorite flowers…

The dogs were excited after she phoned at 8am to tell us that she had just hit the road…

Well, okay.  Maybe excited is a little too strong a word to describe the moment captured above.  Rather, they began waking up to a day that was sure to be busy…

Somehow, I suspect that baths were not the dogs’ idea of fun, although they certainly felt good afterward…

Chicky hasn’t actually been home in a year.  We spent Christmas at the in-laws’ house.  It’s in-between our home and Chicky’s, and she didn’t feel like driving all the way here when she’d only be here a day (our school break didn’t allow for much time between the beginning of it and Christmas Eve).

We don’t get to see Chicky as much now that she’s a totally legit teacher and all.  The Mr. and I ate dinner with when she met us at the Cowfish at CityWalk (Universal Studios) during Spring Break.

She’s coming into town to attend the wedding of a childhood friend.  It’s going to be a family affair.  That what these things are when you 1) grow up in the church together, 2) go through puberty together, 3) play travel soccer together, and 4) introduce said friend to the best school ever…Auburn University…by taking her to her first Auburn football game, teaching her the fight song, and listening to her sing it ALL THE WAY there and ALL THE WAY home.

And so Chicky is coming home.

My heart is the happiest it’s been in a long time. ❤

How They Want to be Remembered – Part 3

Nancy is such a faithful reader.  I connected with her years ago through KnittingHelp and then discovered that she had spent her life immersed in her teaching career.  Thus, her comments are so kind and full of encouragement that is much needed when teaching finds me in the weeds.

She commented on yesterday’s blog post and mentioned that this writing prompt gave my students a voice and that my room was a safe place to express themselves.

Interestingly enough, my sixth period class and I had just that kind of discussion after their presentations.  I asked them if they felt that they would have shared so deeply had I assigned this writing to them at the beginning of the year.

K, a sweet child you’ll get to read more about later, said that although the kids had shared personal things (two truths and a lie) on the first day of school, they had not shared like they did when they read their essays.

I asked why, and students said that they didn’t know each other well enough to get into their feelings.

I’ve been so hard on myself regarding the peer respect…or lack thereof…in my classes this year.  Perhaps I was too harsh, for this particular class, despite being my most difficult throughout the year (they twerked for a sub, played with the baking soda in my small refrigerator when I had a sub, and yelled up and down the hallways between class sessions), we grew the most, and they had endeared themselves to my heart by year’s end.

So, with all of that said, I think it’s time I get back to sharing their writing.

My students’ essays reminded me that although I do develop good relationships with my students, there are still so many things they don’t tell me…things that affect their ability to function in school…unspoken things that teachers need to be aware exist and are the cause for kids not doing their work or being distracted in class.

R is one such child.  Take a look at what she had to deal with all year (and she always came in smiling, so I had no clue!!)…

I want to be remembered as the girl who’s dad had a heart transplant. My family was very pleased that my dad got a new heart. So I don’t get to see my mom and dad for three months, not like you who gets to see them everyday.When my dad gets home in August I will be happy and also sad. He will be able to do a lot more things with me and my brother now. Hopefully my family will be a lot happier.

Now, let me introduce you to J.  This girl.  God placed this girl in my class to teach me patience.  She was loud, except when she was sick.  When she wasn’t sick, she talked.  Non-stop.  She lived most of her life in my classroom on one of my “islands.”  She still talked.  Her picture should be in the following meme…

I chuckled when I read the following in her essay…

I want to be remembered by the girl that can make anyone laugh,not by the girl with the bad attitude and talks back. I mean yes I’m rude at times and always talk back,but hey,everybody has a bad day.

Something interesting happened during the year, though.  I found out she worked after school at the mall.  In fact, one day, work called her while she was IN MY CLASS.  I was not happy, but it was an indication that she was a valued employee.

I would like to be remembered by the girl that gets stuff she earns. Not the spoiled rotten brat that only see it her way.

I saw glimpses into her heart, and her laugh, though it will probably haunt my dreams for a long time, was infectious.  I really, really liked what she wrote in the following part of her essay because it went beyond the fun outer exterior…

Another thing I wanted to be remembered by is a child that loves her grandparents. I don’t want to be remembered as the child that only calls that grandparents when they want something. I want to be remembered by being the best big sister , not the bully of the house.I want to be the leader of my siblings, so they don’t turn out like my parents.I want to be remembered as a girl who’s know as a social butterfly , not the hibernating shy girl.

Social butterfly…yes.  That she was and will continue to be.

Now, let’s turn more serious for a few minutes.

Let’s get back to that trust thing…that safe feeling.

S came into my class about halfway into the year.  He was quiet and always complied.  He was eager to please.

What he wrote in his essay completely blew me away.  I think you’ll find your heart touched as well.

I want to be remembered by my personality, and always doing my work, and being on time to class. I don’t want to be remembered as the guy who everyone asks if I’m gay. I want to be remembered for more than something ridiculous like that. I would rather be remembered for much better things than the “gay guy” or being talked about behind my back because the way my voice sounds, and the way I act. It may not seem that I’m straight but to a point it gets hard to put up with but it makes me a stronger person. When I go to school and get asked almost every day if I’m gay I just do my work and try to block out the negative things that everyone is saying.

Oh word.  This poor kiddo.

Read on.

Every school year since I have been in school, I have to deal with people asking me if I am gay. I am tired of people thinking that I am gay, and I want them to think of more than that I want them to think about how I get to class every day on time I actually do my work and try my hardest I am not the kind of person who tries to impress other people but I am the kind of person who tries to do the extra things and help people out if I can. People’s personalities don’t always show you who they really are like me I don’t show my personality unless I want to try to get to know you.

“People’s personalities don’t always show you who they really are.”

Such insightful words.

Don’t we cover up who we are by loud exteriors or, in my case, shy ones?

We do this to protect ourselves.

S has got it figured out.

I love the way he ended his essay…

As the year progresses, students are moving, and the new students who start to go to my school that I happen to try to talk to, and get to know ask me if I’m gay, most of the time it bothers me, and the other part of the time I just act like I was never even asked. For that it makes me a much better person, and helps me get stronger to get through life it also helps me see what the other people are like, and shows me who I want to talk to, and who I don’t want to associate with. I want to be remembered by my personality, and always doing my work, and being on time to class that’s how I want to be remembered.

S knows that this stuff he’s going through is making him stronger for life.

He’ll come out on the winning side because of this self-awareness.  It bespeaks a maturity level far beyond his age.

Stay turned for more snippets in the next installment of my little series.

How They Want to be Remembered – Part 2

Yesterday, I started a series of posts in which I’ll be providing snippets from a writing prompt I assigned my students.

Their responses were very revealing and deeply touching.

Today, I present Part 2 of this series.

T is a young man who is heavily involved in sports.  He plays football, runs track, and lifts weights.

How I first wanna be remember is for my kind heart and brains those are my two main things that I feel that every athlete is supposed to obtain.When you’re known as kind hearted you can get better support and more respect as a leader. When you’re a nice to your person and adults you will get a lot further in life. If you start now being kind to people will remember how you treated them , like a first impression. When you make a first impression you want people to have good thoughts about you.

G is another young man who definitely had some struggles this year.  I really, really appreciated his honesty in the following paragraph he wrote.  I also love his sense of humor in the last sentence.

I have ADHD but I can focus without it, it really is not a disorder but some teachers like to rub it in my face which really aggravates me. People that know like to joke but I don’t really take it in a serious way. The other day two girls told me that a guy they know has ADHD, they also said that he is mentally retarded and that people which have this is stupid because they can’t control their own body. I’m listening to all this, and I walk up to them and say not every one that has ADHD is retarded and stupid. I told them I have ADHD, I also told them I can control what I do. If I couldn’t then I would slap both of them up side the head for calling me idiotic and reckless.

L is a young lady who also had challenges to overcome this year.

I know the feeling when you need someone to talk to, and there’s no one there. It feels awful. I’ve had lots of struggles at home and outside of school, but some how they all affected me throughout the school year. I see the struggle in others when I look into their eyes. Observe their actions. Sometimes they even hide it. People always tell me I’m such a happy person. That I have the perfect outlook. That’s what I want them to see. Two and a half years ago, my siblings and I were removed from my mother. I had no clue what to think or who to tell. I was scared, I felt alone. That was the hardest time of my life. I started disrespecting everyone, only because I didn’t know how to deal with anything. My siblings and I got separated. I lived in a group home [original text removed right here] with thirteen other girls and boys. Older and younger. It was horrible. It all made me stronger. I won’t let that define who I am. “The girl who lived in the foster home?”

L went on to say…

I want to be remembered by the girl who overcame all her troubles. The girl who helped others when they wanted to overcome their troubles.

A quickly became a favorite of mine this year.  Hush your mouth.  I can hear you now tsking me for claiming to have a favorite, but we humans naturally gravitate toward kindred spirits, and this young lady certainly was one and earned my respect early on.

The way girls carry themselves, I want to show them that boys aren’t the only ones that can make them feel special, but to get where you want to be can make you feel special; being someone that can help make a difference in someone else’s life.

I see girls today carrying themselves in all kinds of way; to find a girl that has high expectation is very rare because most girls are too focused on getting attention from boys. I want to be that one girl that is known to show girls that they don’t need boys to keep their expectations up.

A went on to share information that helped explain her conservative nature.

I’m that one girl that struggled to fit in because of how I am. I speak a different language, I’m from somewhere poor, but we have money. Yes, we do have most of the things America has, but not all the things. I’m that one girl that gets picked on and I don’t want to be remembered by that. I don’t want to be a bully because of how I’m treated I want to help; I want to show that I care for all the kids that are different, like I am.

As she read her essay to the class, we started getting weepy-eyed when she shared the following…

I want to show that the appearance of the way I dress, my high pitch, loud voice, or even the way I look, where I’m from does not just complete me but also shapes me into who I am. My personality is much more than how I look and how I act because deep down is a hidden smile that will never be released. I  close all doors that show the real me because my hidden smile is more than it appears to be; it’s not just a smile but it’s a part of me that will never be shown. That’s what I don’t want to be remembered as the girl that hides her real personality.

And then the next part…oh my…she started crying, and I went to her, standing beside her until she finished with her presentation…

Besides me I’m the one that’s left out. I get less attention because i’m the middle child and the fact that i’m in America and he [her father] is in Jamaica makes everything even worse. I was really close to my dad but now I have no idea where I stand with him, I wish I had my dad.

I think I’ll end this post right here.  As when A presented, a hush fell over the room, and we had to collect ourselves.

I’ll write Part 3 tomorrow (or soon thereafter).

The Legacy of the Table

Once upon a time, there were two sisters.

These sisters loved each other very much.

They were each others’ main playmates, and they spent many, many hours coloring and playing games at this table…

Much laughter and, most likely, many arguments (as is the way with siblings close in age) were exchanged at this table as the girls grew up.

The table eventually came to reside in the eldest sister’s room, and it was there that this sister stayed up late many nights before her wedding writing thank you notes for the beautiful wedding presents that were pouring in.

Both sisters got married, and the eldest one was the first to have children.

Not long after her own daughter was born, this sister acquired the table.

It was time for a new generation to create memories.

The daughter and son that soon followed whiled away summer days coloring and playing games.  They built castles out of Legos and had Hot Wheels races off the table.  Many mid-afternoon snacks were enjoyed at this table, sometimes with Mama and other times with friends.

After a number of years, the table and chairs, which had been, by this time, whittled down to two from the full set of four that once existed, found their way to the attic.

The children had long outgrown them.

The daughter grew up, moved away to attend college, and began her grown-up job.

Meanwhile, the chairs and table sat, lonely, in the attic.

Until today…

When the eldest sister’s daughter requested them for her kindergarten classroom…

Where a new generation of little ones will begin creating their own memories.

They may find themselves like the original owner of the set, the eldest sister, whose happiest memories are tied to the fun experienced at this table…where a less-than-ideal home life may be offset, if only in small chunks of time, by the laughter shared with other little people.

The eldest sister’s eyes filled with tears when her daughter requested that she make that trip up to the attic, for she knew that the legacy of the table would continue.