The View from the Top, A childhood story

February 5, 2007

I grew up in a family of five kids. It was pretty chaotic to put it simply. I had three older brothers and a sister. My parents say I wasn’t an accident. My mom says, ‘No, I secretly planned for you.” My mother is Irish Catholic and thus nothing is an ‘accident.’ But let’s just say I was the bonus baby. Raising that many kids can be kind of tricky. I mean especially with three boys. Once they hit middle school they wouldn’t stop eating. My mom would cook us one of her five token meals and twenty minutes after dinner they’d be poking their heads in the fridge looking for more food. One night my mom got so annoyed, that she went out to the garage and got a big thing of black duct tape and duct taped the fridge shut. I come strolling in for some cookies&cream ice cream and our fridge looked like it was held hostage. My mom sat there with a smirk on her face and the tape dangling on her wrist.

During my childhood, I rode the same blue bike every other sibling rode. I had no idea what cable was until college. I got my sister’s hand me downs and until I was late into my high school years, I never knew the satisfaction of having a second slice of pizza. My sister and I spent our years trying to kick each other out of the bedroom we shared. We marked our territory with tape, we threw each other’s stuff out in the hall, I tried to build a wall with blankets. Once I moved into the basement for three days. Then I realized cobwebs and no heat turned out to be more obnoxious than living with her. But it was entertaining and memorable.

Despite the chaos, my family valued family road trips. We had this blue station wagon. The night before a trip he would load the car with food coolers and snacks. My dad drove the speed limit and when he said we were getting on the road at five am he wasn’t kidding. So this one year we decided we were going to drive from Chicago to California for my aunt’s wedding. It was a long drive, so my parents planned we’d take over two weeks to get there and back. My dad made us stop at every national park along the way. Most of my childhood pictures are made up of me and my sister or brother standing in front of a historic monument, museum, or national park welcome sign. We stayed at motels with swimming pools that sat right up against the highway, we camped in the middle of the desert, we ate soggy sandwiches for days on end and I learned to sleep with my feet pressed against my sister’s cheek. As the days went on we started to realize seven people in one car was a bit much. I’m shocked my mom let my dad put her through this hell. Once the snacks ran out and you’ve visited a few dozen museums you start to get grumpy. I was starting to think California didn’t exist. I mean my dad showed me the map, but I was skeptical that he knew how to get there. I mean as a seven, and I wondered, how do parents just ‘know’ which roads to take? It was far too amazing and complex for me to understand. So as the trip went on we started fighting. My brothers wouldn’t stop pushing me around and taking up my space. It’s was really hot, and I was sick of that wind blowing my hair in my face. One afternoon, everyone was complaining and this whole wedding thing was starting to seem like a really bad idea. My mom was digging around and suddenly she pops in the soundtrack tape to Good morning Vietnam. Suddenly everyone is belting out the music. My mom loves to sing loud-you should see her in church, and my dad is just happy everyone isn’t jumping out the window. We spent the last few days listening to that soundtrack on repeat. It was one of the only things my entire family would ever agree upon. We eventually made it to my aunts wedding. My brother and I accidentally spilled grape juice on her white bedspread. That’s all I really remember. Trying to hide the bedspread in her closet and running out back to stuff our faces with the free buffet. That’s the thing about being a kid. You remember these glimpses of your childhood. It’s those insignificant small moments that you take into adulthood. I still can sing the lyrics to those songs. We lost that tape for years. One Christmas I found it in an old box. We cranked it up and everyone busted out laughing. I remember on the way home from California, my dad brought us to the Grand Canyon. I was only about seven years old at the time, but I remember it distinctly. All seven of us stood on the edge looking over at this massive hole in the earth. We stood there side by side in silence. Then I looked up at my mom and said, “Mom is this where God lives?” She started laughing and said, “No, why?” “Because it’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.” My brother hit me on the back of the head and we all piled back in the car. We started to pull away and as we turned back onto the road I caught my dad looking at me in the rear view mirror. It was this look- like I was his most purposeful decision in his life. I dug into the cooler for a cherry coke and climbed over to the front seat. I squeezed between my mom and dad and as the dust swept up behind us, we drove home.

Can't hack teaching for one day? really?!?

To Whom It May Concern,

Nobody said teaching would be easy. I mean every week I deal with my urban teaching stress in one or more of the following ways:

cry a little, watch another piece of my hair go gray (yes I'm only 26), drink a couple glasses of wine, want to scream, point out yet another wrinkle forming under my eye lids, or else I go to bed early. But do I get up each day. Yes, yes I do. Why because I can't help but love those little rugrats and believe in what I do.

What I don't understand are the teachers who quit in the middle of the school year. There are a million reasons on earth to quit. Trust me, I think about them sometimes at 6:30 on a Monday morning when I don't want to get up. I know the reasons, but that doesn't make it OK.

Then there are the teachers who quit after ONE DAY! My students are on their third special teacher. The second one quit after one day. She passed me in the hall at the end of the day and said, "It sure was one HELL of a day." I mean yeah, the kids are used to being left. So they will give any incoming teachers a hard time. They know which teachers they can give a run for their money, and honestly they don't trust that most of us will stick around. So yes, its a little hellish at first. These kids are tough and you have to hit the ground running, especially if you are coming into the school mid year.

So when this new teacher passed me by, I gave her a thumbs up and wrote down my room number. I said don't worry. come by and I'll help you. I mean its common sense. Go home. Eat some soul food. Get in your sweats and go to bed early. I mean set your alarm of course, because you HAVE to get back up and come back.

I mean the kids are waiting. So the lady doesn't come back the next day. I can't believe it. My children can't believe it. Now they have a sub and fill out the same worksheets they filled out with every other sub.

Nothing is ever easy without hard work, but seriously, future urban teachers, please ask yourself, 'can I HACK it?' before applying.

In the end it will benefit all of us.
Thanks.

Chicago Marathon: For All? or For some?

Yesterday I went to the Chicago Marathon. It brought back the blissful memory of my own marathon experience years back with two good friends of mine.

So we go to watch my friend's co-worker run the race. We told her we would run a couple miles in support and good cheer. At mile 16, she passes by and we jump in along side of her.

I will say, the heat was beating down and it was a hard day for a long run. We ended up running nine miles with this friend. She was tired and needed some extra support.

As I ran among these packs of people, although a fraud in the race, I couldn't help but feel motivated by the spirit of it all. The feeling of doing something monumental, challenging, even a little crazy.

Until I looked around.

All around me people were walking and walking....

....

and walking.

Some were walking so much they weren't even breaking a sweat anymore. Then I began to notice the people who were trying to keep up their pace. They were staggering in and out trying to get past the walkers. What startled me more was that some people were wearing those pace signs on the back of their shirts. You know those signs that tell you 4:45 in order to re-assure runners, in moments of (near) insanity, that yes, yes you are on pace and will maybe, just maybe make your goal. Seeing these pacer runners ahead of you keeps one focused on the prize ahead. Right?

Well sometimes.

What I saw instead, in many cases, was that the 4:00, 4:45, even 5:30 pacers were ALL TOGETHER!?

sigh.

I couldn't help but think about this whole marathon business. Is it getting out of hand? I am not your worlds fastest runner, at all, and yes people my legs hurt today. After nine miles (spontaneous however). BUT. When I ran the marathon I trained...for five months. I didn't walk. At all. Did I qualify for Boston, no.
But that is not my point.

My point is, is this marathon getting out of hand? Is it a lofty goal that everyone puts on their life to do check list so they can say they did it? It seems to me a marathon is becoming something everyone feels they have to do, like going to prom.

Or maybe-if they don't-they will really, really regret it. But is it for everyone?

At one point, my roommate and I thought...Should there be a walking lane at the marathon? Would this help the chaotic mess of 40,000 people running 26.2 miles?
But then I thought,

It is a marathon.

Train and Run. And those who WEAR pacers...well for the love of God, keep the pace.

I can't help but think many of the 40,000 out there slacked on their week day work outs, never completed that 20 mile run before tapering, or worse yet, maybe drank a little too much the night before. I think simply if you are going to run the marathon know what you are getting yourself into. Because the fact is, there is no walking lane, and yes, there are other runners trying to get by.

MS O!! MS O!! let me explain about my homework...

Homework Excuses:

-It IS done, but it's sitting on my bed.

-I didn't do my homework over the weekend, because I had SO many CHORES to do for my mom, like making a run to Burger King.

-I didn't really do my homework, because I didn't get it, so instead on my math page I filled in the following numbers 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 backwards. Wow, Ms. O, you noticed huh?!

-My journal entry IS written, It's just written sideways in yellow pen on a half torn piece of paper. It counts right?

-I DID do my home-work, but I lost my folder on my way to school. But somewhere, wherever it is, its done in there.

-I didn't finish my homework because my mom said you give us too much, and we have don't have time to relax and watch TV.

-My journal is completed, but I took up the first half page with the following greeting:
DEAR MS. O,

-Sorry, but at my old school, we watched movies. We never got homework.

and then there is the one charming child, that says,

-Tonight can you give me more? :)




-

to the jerk who stole my mum

Dear Asshole who stole my mum,

I live on a busy street in Bucktown and decided last weekend I would be a little 'domestic' and put a purple, darling mum on me and my roommates' front porch. I was at a little pumpkin patch last weekend with my nieces and nephews. They were running through corn mazes and poking their hands through the fences of the animal farm. I was hung over, 26 can't shake it like my college years, and I trailed behind the kids laughter and shrieks.

Suddenly before my eyes I saw it. Rows and rows of mums. All in dazzling colors-yellow, pink, orange, white, and purple. I couldn't help but wonder, should I buy a mum? Should I become one of those people who buys holiday or season decor and feels unusually satisfied by its presence in my home. I barely kept up with household chores such as taking the trash out or folding my laundry. Now in my new apartment, I decided, I would become one of those warm and fuzzy people who hang stupid wreaths out on the door, throw up the Christmas lights, and even buy Halloween candy, although I know not a soul will probably come by.

Then I saw it-my purple delightful mum. I picked it up and examined it from all sides. My family gave me the thumbs up and I took it home. I set it up ten steps from the sidewalk right by the door and stepped back and felt proud of myself. In a way, I felt, I was enhancing Armitage Avenue.

Then one week later, a jerk stole my mum.

I found out today. I opened the door this morning to water my mum. I look down and its F-ING gone. Some dude walked by my two flat and thought, 'look at that charming mum, lets steal it.' Then they walked up my ten steps, right by my family room window mind you! and hoisted the plant. Then looking quickly to either direction, ran down the steps and around the corner. I would like to know who took my mum and I hope I catch you. You Chicago punks. Here I am trying to add a little spice and warmth to this city. I mean the economy sucks and a little plant may brighten up the city street. And you, stealer, decided it was ok to just come up on my porch and take my plant. Christmas is right around the corner, and no, I am not beaten down by you. I will put out Christmas decor, and yes I will wait for you.