Listen to Me

My teammate has asked to blog more often. But, since working on the memoir unit with my students, I haven't had any extra time to write here. Of course she suggested including my memoir pieces, so here's one:




Listen to the Mustn’ts
by Shel Silverstein


Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me –
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.


I was reading this poem by Shel Silverstein, and it made me think. There are always times when you SHOULDN’T or MUSTN’T. It’s important to follow the rules in order to stay safe and learn. But has someone ever used the words IMPOSSIBLE or WON’T. That happened to me.
When I was a junior in high school, I started doing research on colleges. Excitement bubbled at the possibility of being on my own, choosing my own goals and classes. Hours were spent examining the pages of catalogues. I looked at the brick buildings, the pictures of students walking on campus to their classes, and I imagined me in those pictures.

“What’s that you’re looking at?” the voice of my guidance counselor came from behind me.

“Princeton,” I replied. “They have a very good program for pre-law students, and that’s what I want to do.”

“Princeton? You have to have really top grades and money.”

I was surprised at how easily she dismissed my idea. “Well, I do have good grades and I’ll try for a scholarship. It can’t hurt to try. I plan on also trying for the University of Denver and Marquette University.”

My guidance counselor continued to argue with me. “Those are all tough schools. What about Pikes Peak Community College? Then if you like it, you can change to another school.”
Even now I wonder, did she really know me so little? I had talked with her for three years of high school. I thought she understood what I wanted in life. Was she afraid I might fail and lose confidence? I had shown I was not afraid to give up on anybody including myself. Was she not looking? Not listening?

“No,” I continued, “I want to go to a regular university and become a lawyer or even a political analyst. Going to a community college won’t help.”

She threw out a new idea. “What about the army?”

“Well, that’s really not me, but I guess I could take time to look up West Point.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

“You think I should just go straight to Officer Candidate School?”

“No, I don’t mean that either.”

It took me a second before I figured out what she was trying to say. She didn’t think I could get into any of those schools. She thought I should just take a class or two or join the army. I first I was deflated. My own guidance counselor doesn’t think I’ll make it despite good grades and determination. Then I felt anger. How dare she try to stomp on my dreams! I stormed out of there more determined than ever. In fact, I was determined to prove her wrong more than determined to get into college.

I guess looking back, it would be easy to say to point fingers and lay blame. What would be the point? She’s no longer a counselor, and I’m no longer a young kid. Just a deep, terrible sadness hangs around my heart, squeezing it tightly. Was there some kid at my high school who lacked confidence, who just needed a push in the right direction? Who knows where they might have gone had they just had someone to believe in them.

Now I’m a teacher, and I can whisper to you. Listen to me, students. Anything can be, can happen. Anything is possible.

Better Off Going Home in a Kansas Tornado

Today my teammate and I were discussing our travels in Europe when she mentioned cab rides in Greece. This, of course, reminded me of my own travel stories - and one in particular.

My trip to Malta began on a bad note. When I say bad note, I mean it was as if the trip were heralded by a five-year-old on a trumpet with spit coming out of the horn. Blaaaaaattttt! It seems my aunt (in Idaho) had gotten a hold of my travel agent (in Denver) and offered what she thought was useful information. Air Malta in New York does not respond solely to faxes and emails about connecting flights; they want to be called. My agent responded that she had sent people to Malta before and not to worry. My aunt began the second sentence with, "Look b . . .," and it went downhill from there. I got some jolting phone calls from my aunt and agent. Turns out my aunt was right. Air Malta had not received and information about my connecting flight, but the situation was quickly fixed.

When in Malta, it is not recommended that you rent a car unless you are adequately insured. The island's roads are quite narrow from back in the time when they had donkeys and carts. Your car will need to be parked along the road where it is a target for oncoming traffic. Many is the vehicle that has had its mirrors smashed off by the city buses.

Speaking of buses, that is the most common form of transportation on the island. The routes are posted everywhere, and the times are accurate. The ride itself is another story. I was suspicious the moment I sat in my seat and the person following me entered the bus, genuflected, and made the sign of the cross. It seems a few more people entered the bus and did the same thing. It was while wondering if they knew something I didn't that I noticed the candles at the front of the bus. Their flames flickered beneath a picture of Madonna and Child (and I don't mean the singer and her adopted child from Malawi).

Whooooooshhh! The bus took off with a jolt. We were taken at high speeds on narrow roads through crowded towns. If you looked up ahead, you couldn't help notice a few things. One, the candles were bouncing merrily on the dash. Two, the bus driver was not looking at the road but smiling at a toddler as it sat on its mother's lap. The kid was laughing and making a lunge for the buttons next to the driver. Three, The Virgin Mary had a look of fear on her face, and tears were coming out of the corner of her eyes. If you looked out the back window, you saw the havoc that was left behind. Too bad about that guy's busted passenger mirror.

I suppose if you wanted to avoid wheeled transportation , you could go around the island by water. I had been on several types of boats on this trip when seeing the sights. One was a small fishing boat owned by a cousin. When I say small, I mean it was a rowboat with a motor. He insisted that holding a half dozen people was perfectly okay. Hmmmm. The second was a glass-bottom tour boat meant to hold about three dozen people. You could look through the glass and see the fish of the bay and the rock formations.

Turns out, you can also see Jesus. That's right. To commemorate the fact that Saint Paul brought Catholicism to the island, the people put a statue of Jesus in the bay where Paul's ship wrecked on the coast. Tourists can take pictures of the statue or buy postcards instead. I don't know if Jesus is crying. It's hard to tell in the water. I imagine he's thinking that it might have been better to put a lighthouse up instead. I could be wrong.

I also took a larger tour boat around the whole island. It's while you're about 2-3 miles from the coast that you realize this isn't America. There are no life vests, no fire extinguishers, and no such thing as law suits. There are, instead, several elderly passengers, a jovial "captain", and a picture of Madonna and child (still not the singer) complete with burning candles.

Leaving the island was eventful, too. The people who rented the apartment to us provided a truck to take us to the airport. The small vehicle held the driver, my aunt in the passenger seat, myself tangled up with the gear shift, and my uncle sitting on the luggage in the back. They left via British Airways, and I left via Air Malta/Continental. Flying into Gatwick, my pilot had to pull up because the fog was so thick he couldn't see the runway. And on my connecting flight to Dallas, a group of born-again Christians chose me as their next project and tried to convert me through sleep deprivation. Seriously. The person in the seat next to me sang Bible songs whenever I turned my head into the pillow to sleep.

Finally, after 26 hours my other connecting flight to Denver touched down. I hope no one got hurt in my rush to get home!

Snappy Comebacks

When we were teens, my brother had a subscription to MAD Magazine. One of our favorite parts was a section entitled "Snappy Comebacks to Stupid Questions". For each scenario, it left room for you to add your own response. Hands down, my brother always had the best response. Quick-witted responses just seem to pop out of his head to any given situation.

My brother recalled an incident back in the late 80s when everyone was concerned about the environment and recycling. He was working in a restaurant when a customer asked for a sandwich to go. As he was finishing, she asked if he was planning on putting it in a Styrofoam box. He responded, "I'll put it in a Styrofoam box, disposable diaper, or snowy owl." She didn't get the joke, just the sandwich.

Now, I can do quite well at times myself. There was a time back in the late 80s when I worked at the old airport to make extra money. They always needed people during holidays and summers - times that I was free. In our display case facing the main concourse were replicas of a snowy owl, golden eagle, and a bald eagle - all on the Endangered Species List. I cannot tell you how many times someone asked us if those animals had been killed. In reality they were handcrafted painstakingly with painted turkey feathers. The replicas looked so real that people would storm into our store screaming. Then when told they were fake, they would respond, "I knew that." We begged management to put signs up stating information, but management wanted people to come in the store asking questions. The cheapest of them was $1800.

Dealing with stressed out customers over their desperate need for a toothbrush or an overpriced t-shirt is not my forte, but I had to grin and bear it (or grit and bear it). But, people's stupid comments about those stuffed animals drove me insane . . . until a friend suggested a better idea. I decided to fight back with snappy comebacks.

"Did you kill that eagle in the window?" (Said in an angry, indignant, and superior tone of voice.)

• "No, I killed him in the mountains."
• "No, he committed hari-kari after begging to be stuffed and prominently displayed."
• "No, he flew into an engine and was later rebuilt."
• "No, he drank one too many and was grounded by the FAA."
• "Why do you ask, Kemo Sabe?"

As Bugs Bunny would say, "What a maroon!"

No Manners

Today my closest friend came over for a visit. It's good to have her around for the fun and company. She's also good for helping to socialize my dog. My dog has no manners. As Rudyard Kipling would add, "She had no manners then, has no manners now, and will never have any manners." In fact, my dog once nipped my former principal on the back of the leg and drew blood. Now in the dog's defense, she is an Australian cattle dog, trained to bring in the cattle and nip one when it goes astray. It seems that somewhere in my dog's blood line, they've been kicked in the head one too many times. Anyhooo, my dog needs some practice with proper social etiquette, and she was quite well-behaved tonight.

My dear friend had her own neurotic dog at one time - a long-haired terrier. One vacation my friend left the dog with us for a week to babysit. The moment their car pulled out of the driveway and headed for parts north, that dog began a high-pitched whine that could break true crystal (fortunately we only have plastic). She whined when we were with her and she whined when we left. She whined to be picked up and whined of we picked her up. I even tried sleeping on the sofa with her in my arms, and she whined up close in my ear. In less than 24 hours, we had her ensconced in a kennel out of earshot.

A year later my friend and I were taking a road trip together with her two children and two dogs, who I'll refer to as Whiner and Sweetie (the dogs, not the children). On the trip Whiner sat in my lap whenever I was in the passenger seat, slept in bed next to me . . . get the idea. "See, she likes you," they all said. Hmmm, maybe I was mistaken. But then in Nebraska we pulled up at a rest stop. I took the dogs to do their business while everyone took a chance to clean up. The moment they were all out of earshot, Whiner began a high-pitched noise that reverberated up the spine and sent sharp, shooting pain into the brain. I tried to tell everyone what had happened, but of course, she stopped as soon as they got close.

Damn dog!

He Fell. No, Really.

Today I was discussing topics for memoirs with my students. one student recounted a story in which his siblings rolled him up in a carpet and pushed him down the stairs. This reminded me of a similar event with my own siblings on a set of stairs.

First, I must have you travel with me to an event prior to this. I was six, my sister was five, and my brother was three. We and our parents were living in a small 2-bedroom apartment outside the air base where my dad is stationed. I don't know why they stationed him at this one base because they turned around and sent him to school at another, and we didn't have him around. Anyhooooo, it was a cramped situation. I had a bed on oneside of a bedroom, and my brother and sister shared another across the room.

One morning my sister and I woke up to find the house eerily empty. Our brother was gone and so was our mom. We searched each room, but we were alone. We went upstairs to tell our neighbor, a nice woman with a daughter in my class. She explained that my brother had fallen out of bed and broken his collar bone. My mother was with him at the hospital. We were to get ready for school, and she would take us. I suppose it would have been less scary had my mother just woke us up and told us to go the neighbor's. On the other hand, how are you going to wake up two kids who are sleeping through a screaming baby brother? We later found out that he actually rolled over my sister and fell out on the opposite side of the bed. I guess you could say we were deep sleepers.

Years later my mother recounted that at the hospital, the doctors kept asking my brother how it happened. He kept crying, "I fell. I fell." The doctors just gave my mother dirty looks.


Flash forward. I'm ten, my sister is nine, and my brother is almost eight. Again, we're temporarily in one place and my dad is in another. During the summer we had gotten a pool - one of those small ones with corrugated sides and a plastic liner. Now that it was winter, we used the liner as a tent. When we were bored with that, we came up with a new idea. At the house we rented, they had stairs from outside to the basement. For some odd reason, the railing went straight across to the wall rather than down the sides with the stairs. So we decided to drape the line over he railing and hide on the steps. Then we got rocks and put them around the liner to hold it in place. THEN, we took turns getting ON the liner while the other two pushed the rocks off. The person in the middle was slowly lowered down the stairs like an elevator.

While my brother was on the liner my sister asked, "I wonder what would happen if we pushed them all off at the same time?" So like any budding scientist, we put the question into a hypothesis (We predict he will still go down.) and proceeded with the experiment. One side of the liner gave way and my brother was slammed into the wall along the side of the stairs and then dropped unceremoniously onto the cement landing face first.

My brother let out a wail. We girls ran . . . down the street . . . away . . . My mother loaded my brother in the car and passed us. "You girls head back to the neighbor's. I'll be back." We knew what that meant.

When my mother came home, she was steamed. My brother's face was swollen like a red tomato with a black eye. His bruises were fantastic. Every time the doctors asked my brother what happened, he cried loudly and said, "I fell, I fell." They gave my mother dirty looks.

My brother has survived his bumps and bruises (with no help from us). I'll have to thank him for giving us good material for stories.