Somebody

I once worked with a wonderful man
who had a way of "getting real" with kids
You don't need no man he'd insist to the girls
across a table in a disciplinary hearing
to tell you what to do
to make you feel good about yourself
to make you worth something
he said it so emphatically and yet with a supportive tone
like a parent clinging desperately to the hope
his daughter would find the inner strength
to realize she is smart, and beautiful,
and somebody. And he'd sit back and wait and listen
with patience and he never stopped trying
even if he found himself looking across the table at
the same girl twice or three times. It was as if the girl
across the table was one of his own, his daughter in the eyes
of every one of them. I don't know if he even had a daughter,
or any children for that matter. All I know is
many of the girls didn't know their fathers and he did
his best to be a positive man in their lives, sometimes
stoic, never emotional, but consistently there with the same message:
You are somebody. Start giving yourself, your body, your future
the respect and attention you deserve.

Note to Self:

You are enough.

You are not defined by a single action.
You are not the floating ash off the
fire set by others' gossip.

You are not the worst of your days
or the weakest of your moments.

You are not the knots in your neck
or the pit in your stomach or the
lump in your throat.

You are not infallible,
indestructible, immune to hurt.

You are not in control.

You are honest and caring.
You are the pride in your parents
eyes and the joy in their hearts.

You are the best of your days
and the brightest of your moments.

You are the air in your lungs
and the beating in your heart and
the force in your action.

You are resilient, sensitive,
willing to learn.

You are enough.

Bagels: A Micro Memoir

Jewish + Sunday on Long Island = Bagel Breakfast

An actual photo of the bagel I ate this morning. #noregrets #worththecarbs

When I was a young kid, few things were more thrilling to me than hopping in the car with my dad early on Sunday morning for "a bagel run." It was a brief outing, sometimes just my dad and me, and other times my sister came too. But she liked to sleep late, and I was always a go-go-go kid. We lived in a smallish town on the north westerly coast of the island. There were few chains or franchises, the businesses were mostly family owned and operated, and many of them were along the main drag that ran from the north end of town to the south. Middle Neck Road was the place to go for Cheeses of the World, Lazar's Chocolate, any number of real New York pizza joints, and lots of other shops and restaurants. But down on our end of town,  there was a section with a local pharmacy, Tabatchnick's, and The Bagel Store. That's right. We had a bagel store called The Bagel Store. And that's all it was, a counter with a register and a bagel-making operation. There was a neon bagel light on the front window, and you could smell each of the contributors to the everything bagel when you approached the door. Fresh bagels with onion, garlic, sesame and poppy seeds, salt, and caraway seeds. Our bagel shop was famous for the bagel twist, which was essentially bagel dough braided into a twist and coated with the everything toppings. It was even better than a bagel. We would untwist it into pieces, toast them, and schmear cream cheese on each little piece. Dads would wait patiently in line with the Times under their arms, some with children in tow, others solo. I would stand in line with my dad while he picked out an assortment of 13 bagels- always a baker's dozen- and a couple of twists. The 13th was usually a snack for me on the rest of the journey. If I was lucky, it was still warm. Then we would go next door to Tabatchnick's and my dad would pick out the reddest, ripest bagel-sized tomato he could find and a red onion, while we waited in line to buy lox, and sturgeon, a delicious smoked white fish. Occasionally he would allow me to pick out a treat too, a doughnut or deli-fresh baked item. Sometimes I would get a candy in a clear deli container, not the kind that arrives in the store packaged, the kind that sells by the pound. These were benefits you only got if you tagged along for the early morning bagel run.

The memory is priceless. I went to bed last night (Saturday) thinking about how much I'd like to have a fresh bagel in the morning, and I resolved myself to do a bagel run. With the low-carb movement, bagels are getting a bad rep these days and it's a darn shame. We don't need their doughy goodness everyday. But once in a while, maybe one Sunday out of the month, a bagel run is well worth the carbs. It wasn't quite a New York bagel, but I found one SWFL bagel store that comes pretty close. With fresh whipped cream cheese and a local sliced tomato, it really hit the spot. And after toasting an everything bagel in my home, I get to enjoy the nostalgic scent of my childhood all day long.

Grounded

I woke this morning, startled by the sound of my mom emptying her dishwasher. We had a nice weekend visit, but waking unexpectedly on a Sunday is a strange way to start the day. I shuffled out into the living room and plopped down on the couch, trying to blink clear my allergy eyes and my sleepy brain.

I leaned back into the couch and closed my eyes completely, placing my feet on the floor. I was wearing socks so the tile felt comfortably cool, rather than shockingly cold. And my shoulders dropped, and my breath felt relaxed, and the fog started to lift. There was something so satisfying about the sensation of the solid, cool ground under me at every pressure point on the bottom of my feet. It's difficult to explain, but in an instant I felt the origin of the word grounded.

My head cleared and I felt present. Here. Now. The ground beneath my feet, rising up under me and pushing against my feet will keep me steady, keep me strong. It was a seemingly simple, yet internally complex feeling. I felt in touch. I felt grounded. I was present.

Camping Haiku Photo Journal

Camping at Tomoka State Park in Ormond Beach, Florida
December 26- 29, 2017

I.

open air, carefree

hitting the road together

adventure awaits

temporary home

for a few days in the woods

snuggles and cuddles

our backyard view leads

down a wooded winding path

there, a trickling creek

relieved to find out

this mat wasn't theirs

we all stomped our feet

II.

Tomoka State Park

two rivers meet in the woods

nature at its best

peaceful, calm river

one boat, one sun, open water

perfect afternoon

Halifax River

meets the Tomoka waters

foamy bubble bath

mirror reflection

blue sky over blue water

you are beautiful

III.

I really did it

stood with my pole patiently

Yes! I caught a fish

finally success

a perspective I can reach

selfie from behind

IV.

clear and vast azure

home to the glorious sun

please watch over us

power from the sky

glow of light and energy

greater than us all

 

nature restores me

relaxing serenity

peace. no other words

a panoramic

my love on the shore

fishin' and chillin'

Contradictions

I am a teacher.

I have been in the field of education just shy of 20 years. I have an undergraduate degree in communications and three graduate degrees in education, including a doctorate. I work in the education department of a statewide educational organization serving at-promise youth and I adjunct for the local university.

As teachers, we secretly (or maybe not so secretly) hope all our students go to college. That doesn't necessarily mean all of them will, but we want them to have the opportunity to go, if this is what they want. Or maybe we just tell them that's what they want. After all, people who want to be successful go to college, right?

Over the past few years, the pendulum has swung back a little bit. Student loan debt countrywide, has climbed drastically, and trade-related jobs are more plentiful than other kinds of jobs. Students are shying away from incurring debt, and high schools are offering programs to try and prepare students to enter directly into the workforce after high school. After all, our standards explicitly state the goal of making our students college and career ready.

It's all good, right? There is absolutely nothing wrong with learning trade skills in high school and jumping into a job after graduation, especially if you need to support yourself or help support your family. It's perfectly respectable to go to trade school and learn additional skills that are immediately applicable in the workplace. We need tradespeople arguably more than we need college graduates. And if you can't afford college, there's nothing to consider anyway. Maybe some day.

I am a mother.

I was raised by divorced parents. My dad has a law degree, my mom an associates degree because she left college to be with my dad who was ahead of her in school. That's what women did back then. College was the expectation. My dad worked his way through law school and my mom, after the divorce, insisted my sister and I finish college before we ever considered getting married.

I kept that promise to my mom, and so did my sister. We both attended and graduated college. It was never something we considered. We just did it. And we both wanted to. My sister to study art, and me, well I thought I wanted to be a doctor and somehow discovered my true calling was to be a teacher.

I got engaged to my high school sweetheart in my final semester of college. Like my mom, he left after almost two years in college. But he didn't leave for me. He left for him. He never wanted to go to college in the first place. At least not the one his parents chose for him. He joined a fraternity, drank a lot, and floundered because they wanted him to declare a major. He had no idea what to declare, so somehow he became an education major. Even to this day, people are encouraged to choose teaching as a back-up option. Sad.

Three years after we married, we had our first and only child, Jacob. There were signs early on of his intelligence. Late walker, early talker, he seemed to love words. Teachers never want to be the ones to identify their own kids as bright, so I waited for a couple of teachers to point it out. And they did. When it was clear he wouldn't struggle to learn to read, I sighed of relief. As a teacher I knew this was the biggest hurdle of his school life. A wealthy relative set up a college fund for him, and by the time he graduated high school it was enough to cover all 4 years and maybe more. The second biggest hurdle of school life, done.

I've written about my son and the challenges we dealt with in his school career. There were lots of signs this day was coming. I'll leave that to the side for now. But by the time he got to his senior year in high school, he was less than concerned about applying to and getting into college. He put all his eggs in one basket, knowing that his back-up plan was the local university for which he more than met the admission criteria. Basket school sent a rejection letter and back-up school took him. School grades were never reflective of my son's learning so I was relieved when he got into college.

Fast forward through low excitability about moving into the dorm, last minute registration for classes, and less than informative chats about how things were going with classes. By Thanksgiving weekend, my son announced he didn't want to be in college. He wasn't depressed, or having trouble fitting in on campus. The social aspect was fine. He just didn't want to be in school anymore. Period. He told us it was a waste of money because he just wasn't motivated to be in school and go to classes. He wants to get a full time job.

The contradiction.

I was somewhat crushed. It took me a couple of weeks crying, on and off, to process and get through the notion that my son doesn't want to go to college. I'm trying. "Mom, it doesn't mean I never want to go," he said possibly to comfort me. I'm holding onto this and hoping he decides one day when he's ready. I can't help it.

But I got to thinking. It's really hard to be a parent. And I think there's a certain challenge to being a teacher and a parent. Pedagogically I may believe one thing, but when it's my own kid it somehow feels different. Let me give you a similar example, more relatable to more people. Most people in this country, despite what politics tries to say, support our military. We honor those who serve and have served. We support those who are on duty and in combat, whether we agree with the policies around where and why our troops are deployed or not. But if we don't come from military families, it's sometimes hard to accept when our children choose to be soldiers. Why? Not because of disrespect for the military, but for the safety and well-being of our children.

This is the contradiction I'm living through now. On paper, and as a teacher, I don't believe people must go to college to be successful. There are certainly plenty of examples out in the world of people who achieve great success without a college degree. Some of them return to school later in life, and others go on to be successful without ever going to college. But when it's my kid, it just feels different. I want him to be happy, and successful, and educated. I just have to accept that his version of this might be different from mine.

I'm not going to lie. I worry. I worry about how he will feel in crowds of people. I worry how women will feel about him. I worry about whether he'll hit road blocks without a degree. I worry that he will struggle financially. I worry that I have developed a bit of elitism in achieving my own level of education. The teacher in me wants him to love and value education as much as I do.

But here's the reality. My son is a learner. It may not be in the traditional formal schooling sense, but he's a learner. He's just a bit of a nonconformist and a risk taker. In this way, he is not like me at all. I'm a bit of a rule follower. I'm a bit of a people pleaser. I have to accept that we are not the same. And if I am to truly be the kind of parent I have always strived to be, I have to let him find his own happiness, not my definition of what his happiness should be.

The teacher in me is giving the mom in me a lesson.

Something Happens

Inspiration

Dorothy Allison:

Place requires context. Is is responsive? Does it notice me? Or is it porcelain, pristine, and just ignoring my passage through?

... Place is where the "I" goes. Place is what that "I" looks at, what it doesn't look at. Is it happy? Is it sad? Is it afraid? Is it curious?    


Henry David Thoreau:

You learn that if you sit down in the woods and wait, something happens.

Something Happens
by Laurie J. Kemp

If you sit down in the slough and wait,
something happens
     above you,
          around you,
               inside you

The swamp lives in all its glory
messy, beautiful
     bugs buzz, flit, and flutter
          birds bask, swoop, and soar
branches break,
     crack and criss-cross

Gators slowly glide and stalk
eyeballs just breaking the surface,

turtles line up along a leaning log
     necks reaching up to the sun

one anhinga dives down for a meal
     below the surface
While another spreads his velvety black wings

They all know we are here, don't they?

If you walk through the slough and wait,
something happens
     above you,
          around you,
               inside you

the ripples of the water
the rustling of the ferns
the calling of the birds

the whirring of the insects
the plunking of the fish
the oxygen in the air

all of it
breathing life
into my body
into my soul

I am alive.