WordSisters

Tag: wordsisters

  • A Foreign Country

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAI visited a foreign country last night while in my own vehicle, a country where I will never be granted citizenship.

    Antonio was up front with me, and five boys of varying personalities sat, sprawled, and perched behind us. Before leaving Richfield for Minneapolis, I looked to make sure all the Cub Scouts were buckled in. For some children, escaping the safety rules undetected can be a badge of honor. And, Cub Scouts is all about badges.

    Within five minutes, we were headed north on 35W to tour the foundry where I work as a Human Resource Manager. The tour would complete the Geologist pin for the Scouts.

    Within ten minutes, I was chewing my fingernails.

    iron being poured into a ladle from the melt deck
    iron being poured into a ladle from the melt deck

    I had no clue that I was entering unfamiliar territory when the boys tumbled into my vehicle. Very soon after I started driving, I realized that I had never experienced a van full of ten year old boys. Sure, I had ferried two or three of them from place to place, but never a van full. A group of boys alters chemistry.Immediately, I became invisible to them as a mom, a female, and an adult. Their conversation bounced from subject to subject like two very bad Ping-Pong players that just wouldn’t quit. It seemed like the fourth graders were jockeying for what would be acceptable conversation. One boy mentioned boobies; another boy said that was inappropriate. I looked at Antonio and raised my eyebrows. He looked back at me with wide eyes.

    iron being poured from d
    iron pourer taking iron from dinghy

    Since I didn’t know all of the boys well, I couldn’t discern who was speaking. I really liked the kid who said, “That’s inappropriate.” But then again, like all kids, he might have been trying to be sarcastic.

    Keeping my eyes on the road, I listened closely to the conversation and questioned whether or not I should speak up. After chewing my third fingernail, I decided that as long as there wasn’t any berating talk or more body part talk, I wouldn’t say anything and let the conversation jump from topic to topic.

    The boys covered the gamut from Pokémon to Twin Towers, from the World Trade Center to Why are we talking about history—let’s talk about manly stuff, to a manly discussion of farts, to don’t distract the driver to singing a ditty about farts, to my dad’s friend made this Internet game, to that building is where my dad works, and so on.

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAAfter the foundry tour and the appropriate oohs, ahs, and that’s awesome, we were back in the van, and I was thrust back into foreign country. The bookends of an Indian chief the boys were given, made with molten iron at the foundry, were soon kissing in the back seat.  I’m sure that the foundry man who made those bookends didn’t expect that.

    This experience has confirmed that Jody and I have been right to make sure Antonio is surrounded by boys so he will know how to navigate male culture. What makes me raise my eyebrows and bite my nails, he can handle –it’s a wild ride but he knows how to stay afloat.

  • WHO IS THE MAYOR?

    January 18, 2013 140She’s the lady in the red sweater, and you, the den leader, are hoping, hoping that the Cub Scout sitting next to her, won’t turn his head and let out his humongous sneeze that you have been watching build for the past minute as he inhaled, inhaled again, and yet again. After he turns his head away from her, at least you hope he did, because at the very last moment you just couldn’t bear to look andJanuary 18, 2013 097 dropped your eyes, he exploded, after which you bring your eyes up to see the same Scout staring at the Mayor’s hair and you hope, really hope, that he doesn’t reach out and touch her head or her sweater or her arm or her hand, and you know he might do any of these or all of these. He likes to TOUCH, and he really looks like he’s going to do something even though at the moment he is busy palming his nose with both hands, and all you can think of is that he is a flu carrier and he is about to hand it to the Mayor.

    Who is the Mayor?

    She’s the one with the cheery personality who asks your 13 Cub Scouts the question, “Well, what do you think a mayor does?” which really, really makes you wish that you had remembered to discuss communicating with respect when a Scout responds with, January 18, 2013 102“She runs the city blabbly blab blab.”

    Who is the Mayor?

    She’s the one who is very articulate, but when she asks the Scouts what makes a good citizen, you want to take the jaws of life and extricate the memory chip from all the small electronics in the room. The meeting with the Mayor will only last for half an hour, but still that is too long for the parent who can’t look up from his smart phone for the entire time and the sibling of a Scout who has her face so close to her Nintendo DS screen that you are sure that she is suffering from partial blindness. I bet they can’t tell you that the Mayor’s sweater is a vibrant red, sharper than any cardinal that you have seen this winter.

    Who is the Mayor?

    She’s the one who uses her special badge to let the Scouts see the council chambers and sit in the overstuffed chairs that wheel around even though they immediately grab January 18, 2013 105for the skinny microphones that snake upwards. The first thing the Scouts learn is that the microphones are on and you are sure that they January 18, 2013 110are going to snap them in two as they yank them toward themselves. After you, the den leader, reign in chaos by yelling that ALL hands must IMMEDIATELY go into their own lap, only then do you dare take a breath.

    Who is the Mayor?

    January 18, 2013 201She is why you ask all the Scouts to remove their non-scouting headwear for the group picture. And you hope that the Scout who has his scouting cap tilted liked a gang member will straighten it for the picture in case it goes viral.

    Ultimately, Richfield Mayor, Debbie Goettel, is the gracious woman who communicates citizenship to your Cub Scouts. You hope they will remember at least one thing that she says, even if the thing theyJanuary 18, 2013 203 remember is that she is the one who organized the awesome one-hour tour with the fire department.

  • Perils of Being a Writer

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERACrystel shuffles out of her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. The rest of us have been up for hours. In fact, Antonio has about used up all of his allotted time with electronics. I briefly look up at her. She’s grown taller in the night, I think. She stretches out her form before flopping down next to me on the couch.

    “Good morning, dear.”

    She mumbles, “Good morning.” She leans casually towards me. We’re now bumping shoulders.

    I return to reviewing my manuscript and drop my eyes to the computer.

    “I knew it,” she says. “I knew it! I knew you were going to say it one day!” She jumps up and runs out of the room.

    “What!” I say, alarmed.

    I look down at the writing on my laptop and immediately know what happened. There in black and white it says Antonio and Crystel aren’t my children….

    “Crystel! Crystel! Come back here!” I leap off the couch. Yelling upstairs, I say, “Antonio is Crystel up there!”

    “No, she’s not.”

    Rushing down the basement steps, I holler, “Crystel, you need to come back and talk to me. Crystel, where are you!” It’s dark and quiet in the basement.

    I rush back upstairs to where Antonio is. “Antonio are you telling me the truth? Is Crystel upstairs?”

    “She’s not up here. She never came up here.”

    I’m in a bit of a panic. What could Crystel think, and if she won’t talk to me, then what? And is it true that she has always thought that I was going to say that she’s not mine?

    “Crystel, you need to come here.”

    I hear behind me, “You couldn’t find me.” She seems pleased with this.

    “No, I couldn’t find you. Now, sit down.” I’m relieved she actually does.

    “If you are going to read something that I am writing, you need to read all of it or ask a question. You reading part of a sentence is like coming into a conversation part way or seeing only part of an elephant. You aren’t getting the whole story.”

    “Now, look at this.” I point to the paragraph: Antonio and Crystel aren’t my children to own or to have or to keep. Finding their birthmoms, reuniting the mom with their child, promising to bring Antonio and Crystel back every two years to Guatemala continues restoring me to health.

    “What this means is that you aren’t an object for me to own. You are your own person. Not mine. Now if we scroll up here, it says, When I say to them, you can count on me, I absolutely mean it.” I look in her eyes. “You are my daughter. I would do anything for you.”

    This seems to satisfy her. Crystel is often interested in what I write. When she came upon me reviewing the last blog I wrote about her being interested in the bathroom scale, she read it. She laughed and laughed. Now she will have another blog to read: The Perils of Being a Writer.

    At bedtime we will have that other talk, in case she really is expecting to hear me say she isn’t really my daughter. Hmmmm.