"I need cream cheese for my dream cheese."
While I'm giving her a bangs-trim, "Mom, please don't cut the cheek of my eye."
"Pretend there is a girl there and her name is 'Habiana' and she is the rudest girl."
"I don't know what happened in my sleeping bag. It must've had a visit from Peeish Lotta."
Saturday, June 22, 2013
Friday, June 07, 2013
Bios, Theirs
I had a bio up for my CCEF Internship. And soon my bio will be up for The Philly Doula Co-op. And this past week, my niece asked me to give a look at hers as she applies for a teaching internship. I've written about this before here. What an awkward and interesting exercise. Especially for someone with such people-pleasing, fear-of-others self-induced torture issues like myself.
Clara totally rocked it with the simple and gorgeous one she wrote for her class story. She had the input to name the dog in the story after our doggie. So her bio was simply, "Clara has her own dog at home named Millie." I loved the understatement-statement in that. She's so badassly-authorial. It will be in another blog post but we got a letter that she won a prize for a poem. Her first poem! Oh I could cry.
These would be their bios for right now:
Manny never met a Lego he didn't like. He has mastered the art of riddle-telling. At a crowded potluck, you can usually find him with the house-copy of The Far Side or Calvin and Hobbes. His relational style features a sincerity of interest in others that catches you off-guard but completely warms you.
You don't want to befriend Benicio as much as you want to follow him. He has a transfixing charm to him. What he's enthusiastic about, you immediately want to do too. And so you find yourself wanting to engage in ninja-tactics and also search for clues about National Treasure. He loves soccer and has more assists than any kid you have ever met. His favorite assignment this year was a writing an essay that if you made the teacher laugh out loud, you would get an automatic 100%.
These days, Clara signs her name, Candelaria M.B. Clearly, that indicates her name but also it suggests a startling professionalism for someone in first grade. She loves to spend her time reading out loud to her sister, making origami fortune-tellers (good fortune=spa makeover, bad fortune=you're out of the club), and avoiding table-setting.
Calliope makes her life in Germantown. Her primal fear is that she'll be left behind. She is a maker of spaces and experiences. Right now, she's got installations under the piano bench as well as beside her mother's nightstand. Chosen materials are china tea-sets, sea glass and foreign coins. Sometimes too, her medium is Goldsworthy-esque involving chrysanthemum petals and neon chalkdust.
Clara totally rocked it with the simple and gorgeous one she wrote for her class story. She had the input to name the dog in the story after our doggie. So her bio was simply, "Clara has her own dog at home named Millie." I loved the understatement-statement in that. She's so badassly-authorial. It will be in another blog post but we got a letter that she won a prize for a poem. Her first poem! Oh I could cry.
These would be their bios for right now:
Manny never met a Lego he didn't like. He has mastered the art of riddle-telling. At a crowded potluck, you can usually find him with the house-copy of The Far Side or Calvin and Hobbes. His relational style features a sincerity of interest in others that catches you off-guard but completely warms you.
You don't want to befriend Benicio as much as you want to follow him. He has a transfixing charm to him. What he's enthusiastic about, you immediately want to do too. And so you find yourself wanting to engage in ninja-tactics and also search for clues about National Treasure. He loves soccer and has more assists than any kid you have ever met. His favorite assignment this year was a writing an essay that if you made the teacher laugh out loud, you would get an automatic 100%.
These days, Clara signs her name, Candelaria M.B. Clearly, that indicates her name but also it suggests a startling professionalism for someone in first grade. She loves to spend her time reading out loud to her sister, making origami fortune-tellers (good fortune=spa makeover, bad fortune=you're out of the club), and avoiding table-setting.
Calliope makes her life in Germantown. Her primal fear is that she'll be left behind. She is a maker of spaces and experiences. Right now, she's got installations under the piano bench as well as beside her mother's nightstand. Chosen materials are china tea-sets, sea glass and foreign coins. Sometimes too, her medium is Goldsworthy-esque involving chrysanthemum petals and neon chalkdust.
The Magis, The More
I am about to tell you a story from the winter. It is a story about our sons and it has a surprising and sweet ending.
A papa from nursery school is an English teacher at St. Joe's Prep. At the fall cleanup last year, he told me about a program for minority boys who live in Philly. The prep invites a few of them to do what's called Camp Magis-- a 6 week program. They do sports, field trips, character-building and Latin. It is a way of introducing them to Jesuit theology and education. So, in the fall of this year, I brought it to our principal's attention and to the attention of the boys' teachers.
Right before Christmas break, I pop my head in to Sister's office to kindly remind her that the recommendations are due soon for Camp Magis. She kindly asks me to sit down. This is when she tells me that she has looked over the boys' scores, given much thought, but decided NOT to recommend Manny to the program. Her reason was this: She, herself, is a twin whose academic performance lagged behind her sister's. And she remembers her mother pulling strings for her admittance into a program. And then how she flailed the whole time and felt in-over-her-head. She did not want this pressure for Manny, especially not for a summer session, when things should be fun. I told her that I trust her opinion and that I accepted that answer even though I chewed my lip and cried about it in the car.
Fast forward to February when Benicio is running up the score in continental-style handball and explaining handily, what the dative case is. Manny is with Geoff to pick up Benicio. They are walking through the lobby when the Magis director (Picture a Tony Danza-esque guy in a SJP pre-distressed baseball hat and Garmin watch.) stops Geoff and asks who Manny is. He asks, "What? Why aren't we getting both Beatty brothers for the price of one?" Geoff kindly redirects him and asks if we can talk about this later. He is trying to protect Manny's feelings of rejection for not getting recommended by our school. Geoff said, "I"ll have my wife call you."
Geoff told me about this right away and I said, "This is it, here's his IN!" Here is where we are so different. I'm like, "Pursue! Pursue!" And Geoff, ever-steady, is like: Manny has his thing. Let's just let Magis be Benici's thing. It will work out if we let them have their separate interests. But he said, let's sound Manny out on it. When I'm putting Manny to bed that night, I grab his sporadically-inscribed prayer-journal. I ask him what we are praying for in his life tonight. And he says, "Just the same thing as always."
With night classes, I haven't been able to pray with him consistently. So I open the journal where it says: Feb 4: To please get into Magis too. Feb 7: That I could go to Magis on Saturday. And it went on like that about 7 times.
I play phonetag with the director over the next few days. Finally, on the day that the new Pope is announced, over dinner, my phone rings and I excuse myself and run to talk to the director. He says, "So, tell me about Manny." I take this as a 45 second opportunity to sell it, to describe Manny as glowing and nuanced and rewarding and intelligent. I say he is someone who doesn't jump off the paper but whom you have to meet. I talk about tap and music and his phenomenal long-term memory. I talk about how I see him eventually in the Cape and Sword club at SJP, someone with artistic gifts and who adds a humanity and sweetness to everything he does.
I'm breathless at that point and he responds, "Wow, Mrs. Beatty. I have to say, you remind me a lot of my mother, may she rest in peace. She hustled for me just like you are hustling for Manny. She hustled for me even when I didn't deserve it. And by doing that, she got me opportunities that I wouldn't have ever gotten. So, I really like that. I think we'd be honored to have Manny."
Freakishly giddy gratitude sounds issue forth from my mouth. He says, "But I need to hear about the seizures. And I need you to go over all that with the staff." I manage to say, "Okay." What a proud day for the Jesuits! Woo hoo! Ohmigosh squared.
Fast forward to Manny's first Saturday at Magis. I get there early to explain emergency procedure for a seizure. I explain things to the secuirty desk guy and to the teachers. The boys are meeting in the library. Benicio introduces his brother. The director finds me and brings over a counselor. Picture a hispanic One Direction boy in a retainer and Jordans. He is precociously composed and shakes my hand. The director says, "This guy has a brother who has frequent seizures and we're pairing him with Manny's group. This should ease your mind some."
I'm so glad to meet this kid. I launch into my how-to-tell-he's-having-a-seizure thing when this kid respectfully completes each of my sentences. I say: He will be stammering and you'll look at him and his eyes. . . And the kid says, "Yeah, his eyes will lock to one-side." Yes, that's right. And I go on. . . Here are his meds, one tablet just goes. . . "It just goes on the tongue and dissolves." Yes, exactly, that's right. I'm flushed with relief and in disbelief that there will be someone with Manny all day that knows what to look for.
The teenager is walking away and I call out, "Hey, what's your name?"
He goes, "My name?"
"Yes, I didn't catch your name."
"My name is Angel."
A papa from nursery school is an English teacher at St. Joe's Prep. At the fall cleanup last year, he told me about a program for minority boys who live in Philly. The prep invites a few of them to do what's called Camp Magis-- a 6 week program. They do sports, field trips, character-building and Latin. It is a way of introducing them to Jesuit theology and education. So, in the fall of this year, I brought it to our principal's attention and to the attention of the boys' teachers.
Right before Christmas break, I pop my head in to Sister's office to kindly remind her that the recommendations are due soon for Camp Magis. She kindly asks me to sit down. This is when she tells me that she has looked over the boys' scores, given much thought, but decided NOT to recommend Manny to the program. Her reason was this: She, herself, is a twin whose academic performance lagged behind her sister's. And she remembers her mother pulling strings for her admittance into a program. And then how she flailed the whole time and felt in-over-her-head. She did not want this pressure for Manny, especially not for a summer session, when things should be fun. I told her that I trust her opinion and that I accepted that answer even though I chewed my lip and cried about it in the car.
Fast forward to February when Benicio is running up the score in continental-style handball and explaining handily, what the dative case is. Manny is with Geoff to pick up Benicio. They are walking through the lobby when the Magis director (Picture a Tony Danza-esque guy in a SJP pre-distressed baseball hat and Garmin watch.) stops Geoff and asks who Manny is. He asks, "What? Why aren't we getting both Beatty brothers for the price of one?" Geoff kindly redirects him and asks if we can talk about this later. He is trying to protect Manny's feelings of rejection for not getting recommended by our school. Geoff said, "I"ll have my wife call you."
Geoff told me about this right away and I said, "This is it, here's his IN!" Here is where we are so different. I'm like, "Pursue! Pursue!" And Geoff, ever-steady, is like: Manny has his thing. Let's just let Magis be Benici's thing. It will work out if we let them have their separate interests. But he said, let's sound Manny out on it. When I'm putting Manny to bed that night, I grab his sporadically-inscribed prayer-journal. I ask him what we are praying for in his life tonight. And he says, "Just the same thing as always."
With night classes, I haven't been able to pray with him consistently. So I open the journal where it says: Feb 4: To please get into Magis too. Feb 7: That I could go to Magis on Saturday. And it went on like that about 7 times.
I play phonetag with the director over the next few days. Finally, on the day that the new Pope is announced, over dinner, my phone rings and I excuse myself and run to talk to the director. He says, "So, tell me about Manny." I take this as a 45 second opportunity to sell it, to describe Manny as glowing and nuanced and rewarding and intelligent. I say he is someone who doesn't jump off the paper but whom you have to meet. I talk about tap and music and his phenomenal long-term memory. I talk about how I see him eventually in the Cape and Sword club at SJP, someone with artistic gifts and who adds a humanity and sweetness to everything he does.
I'm breathless at that point and he responds, "Wow, Mrs. Beatty. I have to say, you remind me a lot of my mother, may she rest in peace. She hustled for me just like you are hustling for Manny. She hustled for me even when I didn't deserve it. And by doing that, she got me opportunities that I wouldn't have ever gotten. So, I really like that. I think we'd be honored to have Manny."
Freakishly giddy gratitude sounds issue forth from my mouth. He says, "But I need to hear about the seizures. And I need you to go over all that with the staff." I manage to say, "Okay." What a proud day for the Jesuits! Woo hoo! Ohmigosh squared.
Fast forward to Manny's first Saturday at Magis. I get there early to explain emergency procedure for a seizure. I explain things to the secuirty desk guy and to the teachers. The boys are meeting in the library. Benicio introduces his brother. The director finds me and brings over a counselor. Picture a hispanic One Direction boy in a retainer and Jordans. He is precociously composed and shakes my hand. The director says, "This guy has a brother who has frequent seizures and we're pairing him with Manny's group. This should ease your mind some."
I'm so glad to meet this kid. I launch into my how-to-tell-he's-having-a-seizure thing when this kid respectfully completes each of my sentences. I say: He will be stammering and you'll look at him and his eyes. . . And the kid says, "Yeah, his eyes will lock to one-side." Yes, that's right. And I go on. . . Here are his meds, one tablet just goes. . . "It just goes on the tongue and dissolves." Yes, exactly, that's right. I'm flushed with relief and in disbelief that there will be someone with Manny all day that knows what to look for.
The teenager is walking away and I call out, "Hey, what's your name?"
He goes, "My name?"
"Yes, I didn't catch your name."
"My name is Angel."
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