Ringing Like a Bell

"Do you know where my mama's at?" Apparently this is the quote I was known for when I was just barely old enough to talk, for good reason. I have had this lifelong anxiety about being separated from my family. I've always felt completely confident to go anywhere or do anything as long as there's a family member with me. I'll bet there's a 'phobia' just for this. I'm googling it right now. *Cue annoying elevator music.* Wow. Okay, here's a direct quote from childrenshospital.org: "Many kids struggle with a specific fear of being physically separated from their parents or other family members. This is known as separation anxiety disorder (SAD) ." That's it! That's exactly how I've always felt. I don't really know why. I've thought about it a lot.  Maybe it's because I'm essentially a shy person, an introvert. I know some of you are snorting with laughter right now because you're thinking the

This past week was Spirit Week at my school -- a big deal. It's fun, especially since I like to dress up. I've been Mrs. Claus, a Ninja Turtle, and Hermoine Granger all in the space of a few days. Our students really love it, too. I teach in a community with a strong sense of unity and tradition. Not everyone is dedicated to those things, but almost everyone is. In the past few years I've caught that spirit myself. It's irresistible, like a virus. When good things are happening, you just want to join in. At least that's how it is for me. I could tell you lots of things about this past week: face paint, pop songs, cheers, tractors, football, seeing former students, and jumping on trampolines. Instead I'd like to tell you about a few moments yesterday afternoon, moments that made me so proud to be a part of my community and to work at my school. Earlier this year,  a new teacher on our staff decided to sponsor a Project Unify group at our school. Th

I'd like to say it all started when I fell down the bleachers in the fifth grade, but that isn't exactly the truth. It started when I was born. My mom says that I was a cautious baby, testing things out before I tried to use them to help me stand up. I'm sure it's because I knew, even then, that I would easily fall. I fall down. A lot. As a four year old, I  insisted on wearing dresses and ended up with scabbed over knees every day . Right now my knees are scarred up looking from all that falling on sidewalks with no pant legs as protection. In elementary school, I fell off the merry go round into a huge puddle of red mud. My first grade teacher made me sit outside on the sidewalk until my mom came to get me. In middle school, I fell head first down the bleachers in the gym one day before school. If I've never told you about it, ask me sometime. In high school I tumbled down steps at school and fell up the front porch steps and through the bottom of the

I nearly made that "Redneck-ognize," but I thought that might be one Honey Boo Boo reference too many. I hear my students say this phrase sometimes, usually when they are upset with someone else or at least pretending to be. Funny word, recognize . I've been thinking about it a lot lately. Have you ever embarrassed yourself when you think you see someone you know? You know me. I've totally done it: One day I was walking across the campus at UNA, and I seriously thought I saw my friend Angie coming toward me. She was in a completely different town going to a completely different school at the time, so it made no sense for her to be at my university, but the more I looked, the more convinced I was that it was her. The girl I saw walked like her, had hair like her, and even dressed like her. It was probably some sort of psychological illusion because I really love my friend. She's like a walking party, and I was probably having a bad day or something -- wishful

During my sophomore year in college, I sat in an African American Literature class. It was a great class. It gave me a healthy appreciation for the Harlem Renaissance and introduced me to a lot of new friends. We had just begun discussing The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass when a classmate pointed out the tragic fact found in the first few pages, that Douglass wasn't sure when exactly his birthday was. He celebrated it on Valentine's Day, but he never knew his exact date of birth. All around the room people were saying things like, "I can't imagine not knowing my exact birthday." "That is so sad." Heads were shaking all around the room. I've never been a slave, and I'm no Frederick Douglass, but I do know what it's like to not really know your birthday. For years I celebrated it on the wrong day. As it turns out my mom was pregnant with my little sister when she filled out my kindergarten registration form. She wrote down t

"MAMA! He did it again!"  When we were little, my brother had a fascination with ant hills. He couldn't stay away from them. He crouched down, watching the activity around the mound; he was fascinated. Then he would stomp on the mound. The only problem is that he didn't run away -- he would just stand there until the ants swarmed all over his feet and started biting him. Our mom would swoop outside when she heard him crying, start tearing his clothes and shoes off, and turn on the water hose. Since he did it all the time, she had to figure out the fastest way to get the ants off, so she would literally hose him down. We tried to make him stop. Our parents spanked him. I tried to keep an eye on him while we were playing, but by the time I realized what he was doing, it was usually too late. I  always understood why he did it. Ants mesmerized me too. Instead of adventurously tramping through the yard getting up close and personal with the little insects, I dream

We had some pretty nasty storms here today. The windows got really dark when one of my students was sitting with me after school making up some work she missed. Rain started pouring down and thunder clapped. The power blinked. Our eyes met and we shrugged. We were thinking, just a thunderstorm . She went back to her test, and I to the papers I was grading. A few minutes later, my friend walked in wearing a worried look. "I think we're under a tornado warning," she said. A few minutes later our assistant principal made an announcement advising us to find a safe place to stash ourselves. I decided to quickly call my husband to let him know I'd probably be late getting home. In the middle of the call the power flashed again, and my student looked at me with wide eyes. I knew what she was thinking, so I told her, "I'm going to stay with you until your ride gets here. I won't leave you; I would never do that." We went with some other teachers and stud

I love bluegrass. This isn't a new taste I've developed; I've always liked it.  Old school bluegrass is not something I want to listen to every day, but I can't get enough of the younger women singing in a style I like to call light bluegrass. It's really probably just folk music. Right now I'm listening to a lot of Sarah Jaroz, The Wailin' Jennys, and Crooked Still. I'm also crazy about anything live. You can watch something on TV, but it somehow never measures up to being there in person. Here's a universal truth -- just because something is  fun and awesome live doesn't mean it will be as great to watch on TV. How many of you groan when somebody says, "HEY! You're going to love this video of my son's second birthday party!"? That's what I thought. My husband and his parents aren't as crazy about that kind of stuff as I am. Sometimes I think I've married into a family of people that would actually rather skip t

My mom called us all into the kitchen and lined us up in front of the sink. She was holding a stack of plastic cups in her hand. They were the colorful plastic ones we kids used. "I want to know who did this, " she was borderline hysterical. I'm sure on some days she would have rather been stuck with four cannibals than with four kids under the age of twelve. "I want to know so one day when I write a book, I can put the offender's name down." She held out the cups, and each one had a slice in it -- right down the side. Every single plastic cup in our kitchen was ruined.  I will tell you now that I didn't do it. That's what I told my mom; my three siblings also denied any culpability. All of us then turned to my brother, next in birth order after me. It was just the sort of thing he would do. He was forever trapping bugs outside and setting them loose in the house, mixing beverages in the kitchen, taking apart applicances to see how they worked, o

She walked into my classroom straight from P.S.# somethin' in New York City. Every single thought had to be announced to the entire class. Her favorite phrase was, "Ms. I can't be doin' this work!" She slapped her books around and complained to the young man sitting next to her about me. He'd been in my class before, so he just raised an eyebrow and went back to work. I was stymied. I tried it all. I took her into the hall for a conference. I thought it went well until she got back to her seat, and we were back at square one again. I tried to call home, I kept her after class for another talk, and I gave her several 'new' seats. She ended up back beside the student I'd taught before. He was the only one of us in the room who seemed able to cope with her antics, me included. It didn't take long before I reached my last resort. Quality learning wasn't happening; she had to go. I sent her up to talk to the assistant principal. I'm a s

    A Christmas Story is one of those movies you just have to see. What's not to love? Turkey stealing dogs, a mouth washed out with soap, a bumbled trip to see Santa, 'You'll shoot your eye out!", a triple dog dare, a bunny suit, and a glorious Red Rider BB Gun. I was thinking about my favorite scene from the movie earlier -- the leg lamp. If' you've never seen it, Ralphie's dad wins a prize . The anticipation builds, and when the box is finally opened, inside is a horrendously ridiculous leg lamp. His dad proceeds to put the lamp on display in the family's front window much to his mother's shame. It's all very funny, but the part that cracks me up every time is what his dad says just before he opens the box, "Fra-GEE-Lay! It must be Italian!"  The word on the box is, of course, 'fragile,' a fact Ralphie's mother gently points out. I thought about A Christmas Story today because something else fragile came to mi

My prayers this morning were unusually focused. Afterward I felt calm, truly ready to face this day. My mini-sausage biscuits were scrumptious; you know how much I love sausage. My cup of English breakfast tea was perfect. At the stop sign, I got to see the rising sun break over the hills in the distance. The light bounced off the mist woven through the trees. This afternoon, I felt satisfied with my lesson plans, got papers graded, and left school feeling accomplished. I've had a great hair day, and the weather is so flawless it's absolutely heartbreaking. At the library a few minutes ago, I found some excellent books to read. One is called, The Story of Libraries . I also found a book about a topic I've been thinking about lately. There it sat on the shelf, waiting just for me. Days like today are rare for me. Aren't good days rare for all of us? Today wasn't perfect. In fact, there are still lots of things that make me sad and concerns hovering at the edges

I'd already admonished my students to arrange their make up work with me. As I sat at my desk looking at the spreadsheet for my ninth grade class, there were holes, lots of holes. Some of the grades were downright abysmal, and progress reports were going home tomorrow. I shook my head, deciding to call the parents of students missing important test grades. Maybe that would get some results. The first few tries didn't get anyone, so I had to leave a message. Finally, a mom picked up. I explained who I was and said, "I'm calling because the test your son missed last Thursday needs to be made up." I paused expecting the standard response, "Okay, when can he arrange to do it." That's not what she said, "My son didn't miss that test. He was at school on Thursday." I sighed. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I don't have a test grade here, so he must have missed it." She stood firm, "Nope. He was at school. You've

I have a scar on my right ear near the top. A little bit of the skin is gone, and sometimes when I'm fixing my hair, I feel it and think about how I got it. It's the result of a curling iron accident that happened years and years ago. I think we were getting ready to go to the movies; one of the only entertainment options in my rural hometown. Jess was fixing my hair, a labor of love she devoted herself to because I was hopeless at such things. We were talking away about the movie we wanted to see and when Brooke would arrive. She rolled the curling iron right on top of my ear. I could hear sizzling. I'm serious. Jess was talking, and so she didn't even notice until I finally yelled. "YOU'RE BURNING MY EAR!!" She instantly let go and panicked. Her hands were fluttering all around my head. I thought she was going to cry. I though I was going to cry. I won't lie to you -- it hurt . I wasn't really mad though. Even in that moment, I realized that

The first one I can remember is Ms. Anna. When we moved up to her Bible class, it was a big deal because we'd also be going to school that same year. Every week she brought us Starburst candies and used her felt-backed visual aids to teach us Bible stories. In case you didn't know, Jesus is always the one in white with a royal blue sash. She loved the pink Starbursts best, so we'd all pretend to fight over them but give them back in the end, so she could eat them. She loved us, and it showed. At public school that year I lucked out again. Ms. Brown. I remember her as extremely patient and kind, but she also paddled me (just a little) for talking during nap time. It didn't hurt; I was mostly sad that she was disappointed in me. She was there to teach me to tie my shoe when my mom was too busy with a new baby. Later on in college, when I was working in a local restaurant, she slipped a wad of bills into my hand. "I remember how hard it is. Use this to help pay for

For the last couple of days, I have written about what philosophers and theologians call "The Problem of Evil." In other words, "If God is good, why do bad things happen?"  I hope you're still with me, even if you disagree with the things I've said because there's a little more I want to share with you about the bad things that happen in this world. Part Three: Evil and the Fallen Creation If you've read what I've written in the last two days, you know that only God can declare things right or wrong and that sometimes we suffer from choices others make. But what about the rest? What about natural disasters and other things that aren't as easy to explain?     I'd like to talk about nature first; nature is powerful. In my short lifetime the earth has experienced earthquakes, tsunamis, wildfires, hurricanes, and tornadoes -- I'm sure I've left something out. The bottom line is that nature can kill. Nature can destroy.