tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12005985163224081372024-03-13T10:42:12.178-07:00Konnections with KatieAmerican Way with Words-searching for a little inspiration or humor in our shared experiences.Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-12512618938610243272012-02-13T09:56:00.000-08:002012-02-13T13:28:14.150-08:00Sex and the Launch Sequence!<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As a Cape Canaveral, FL resident, I ask, “Can you imagine a shuttle launch without the sequence and the count down?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wouldn't it be a dud?” This is on my mind for Valentine’s Day because great sex with a woman requires the same attention to detail. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">My relationship with my husband began as a smoldering love affair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We met in hotels after work and passionately inhaled each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nervously undid his tie and wrinkled his pressed dress shirt by clutching his massive chest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His huge fingers lovingly traced the curves of my body like a blind man until laser desire guided him to the classified areas of my body which were ready to become the next frontier. My attention slid down to torment his maleness until it begged to be released. I traced its shape with every sensor. We’d make our way to the bed, him with suit pants and belt around his cordovan wing tips and me moving him, like a puppet, using only the magical force field of passion.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Even though time stood absolutely still in these moments of animal pleasure, it was the hours of anticipation during the day that set us up for the powerful ignition. These included the knowing looks across a board room table; ignoring all thoughts except the “I can’t wait until tonight,” message scrolling across my mind like the LED in Time Square; the songs caressing me on the radio on the way to the hotel-- “Saving All My Love for You” and “Sexual Healing;” the overly loud, guilty clicks of my high heels across a marble hotel lobby as I pretended I was a business woman rushing to my room;<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> t</span>he glass of wine sipped knowingly in an aromatic bubble bath leaving my skin as sleek as a summer slip and slide; the practice positioning on the bed as I waited for the knock at the door: Was it better to squeeze my boobs together or open my legs slightly; the buildup was exquisite and contributed to the payoff of overwhelming lust and gratitude expressed in devouring kisses. Telepathically we whispered, “I’m finally home in you. This is where I want to spend eternity.” </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Fast forward twenty years into the relationship that culminated in a successful marriage. The Shuttle Program has ended!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This Valentine’s Day I ask all women, “Is mine the only man who forgot about the launch sequence?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the rocket and shuttle launches that have become so routine, do we take the magic for granted? </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">No matter how many times it happens each year, I still rush to my balcony for every launch. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">After the earth-shaking sounds subside and the flame of ingenuity disappears behind the clouds, I’m left to reflect on what’s been lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sit for a moment and think of the words of many girlfriends. One said, </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> “My husband walks up to me and puts his hand on my nipple and stands there grinning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to laugh and ask what he thinks he’s doing, but I try not to hurt his feelings.” Then she makes a goofy face, takes a wide manly stance, deepens her voice and mocks her husband, “Do you like that? Does it make you hot?” We roar laughter.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Gentlemen, there is a step by step sequence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did you forget? A hand placed on the breast completely out of context doesn’t start our engines. A casual question like, “Feel like doing it?” is not Marvin Gaye sensuality. OMG, “How about oral?” is a kick in the crotch. This makes our whole being scream “Abort mission!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abort mission!”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Please, lovers, let's take it from the true rocket scientists and take our time. Below is only a teeny, tiny segment of the checklist to launch the shuttle and illuminate our hearts, minds and universe with fireworks.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">PERFORM OMS PROP TANK REPRESSURIZATION<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">VERIFY SRB NOZZLE FLEX BEARING & SRB NOZZLE<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">ACTIVATE LCC MONITORING SOFTWARE<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">INITIATE LH2</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">SLOW FILL TO 5% SENSORS WET<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">INITIATE ORBITER MPS CHILLDOWN<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">PERFORM IMU PREFLIGHT CALIBRATION<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">LOX SLOW FILL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">LH2 ENGINE CUT OFF SENSORS WET<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">LOX TRANSITION TO FAST FILL COMPLETE.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">NOW IN FAST FILL TO 98%<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">LH2 5% SENSOR WET.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">INITIATE LH2 FAST FILL TO 98% </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">ACTIVATION COMPLETE<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">PERFORM MILA ANTENNA ALIGNMENT<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">PERFORM LH2 ET ULLAGE PRESSURE TRANSDUCER<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">NUMBER 4 VERIFICATION<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">LH2 98% SENSOR IS WET.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>INITIATE TOPPINTO 100%.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">ET BIPOD HEATERS ARE ACTIVATED<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>(Skip ahead 20 more pages)</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">T-00M6.6S<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>MAIN ENGINE 3 START COMMAND<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">T-00M6.48S<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>MAIN ENGINE 2 START COMMAND<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">T-00M6.36S<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>MAIN ENGINE 1 START COMMAND<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">T-00M00S<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>T-ZERO<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>SRB IGNITION<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">SRB HOLDDOWN RELEASE COMMAND</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">LIFTOFF</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">We have liftoff! Whew! I hope that was as good for you as it was for me. Don’t we all want to have a sexier Valentine’s Day and beyond? Let’s make an effort for both partners to dedicate ourselves to each phase of this important mission!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise, when your giant hand randomly reaches for a squeeze, our defenses flare and our minds shout, “Danger! Danger! Alien approaching!” </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Wouldn’t you’d rather us both smiling and humming, “Let’s get it on!” Ahhh, Baby!</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-6071127787379884522012-02-03T07:13:00.000-08:002012-02-03T07:29:41.643-08:00Teachers are People Too!<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">I would wager that the average adult would not last one day as a teacher. Oh, it seems as if they leave work at 3 o'clock each day and enjoy restful summers, but this just isn't the case. During my fourteen years as an English teacher, I had to read every night whether I wanted to or not. And I wasn't reading romance novels, but Shakespeare, Chaucer, and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. I required students to write weekly journals, which I read all weekend and wrote comments on the entries to encourage those who were struggling with personal issues. I corrected piles of essays and term papers. I worked every weekend and all summer as a waitress to supplement my income. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Most people shudder at the thought of giving a 3 minutes presentation in front of peers, whether in college or in the business world. A teacher has to speak and lead meaningful discussions for 40 minutes, 7 times a day. While speaking, it helps if they are interesting...or better yet exciting and engaging. They have to do this in front of a sometimes hostile audience (I taught in a technical high school where students hating English class--until they met me.) And you have to get ALL students, even the most severely handicapped, or those with limited English, to attain minimum proficiency on a test that most Americans would never pass. In fact, the average American could not pass the 4th grade test. When we were in school, a math problem on a standardized test required us to find the area of a rectangle. Today's math problems go something like this: Pedro was hired to cut his neighbor's grass, which measures two acres for $8 per hour. Pedro asked his friends Rasheed and Joseph to help him. If they divide the grass into 3 sections, how many square yards would each boy cut? If each boy cut 500 yards per half hour with a push mower, how long with it take the team to finish? If Joseph cut the grass for only one hour, how much would he finish? If Pedro and Rasheed divided the remainder of the grass, how long with it take them to finish? How much would they get paid? Write an essay explaining your answer. This is a fabricated fourth grade math question, but trust me, it's very close to reality.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Of course, for all of the struggles of being a teacher, nothing matched the laughter and joy associated with the job. Students are not widgets, so you never know what to expect each day. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">During my first year of teaching, I taught English in a nursing classroom that had 8 hospital beds on one side and a classroom on the other. Each day, I had to ignore the unusual sexual poses someone placed the male and female hospital mannequins in before my class started. One day, the sweet little nursing teacher, who was in her late 50s, about 5 2” with round glasses and mousy brown hair,who barely whispered when she talked, asked if she could speak to me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">I left my classroom of 23 freshmen and told them to continue reading while I was gone for a minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we were in the hallway, Mrs. Roberts folded her tiny hands across her chest and said in a very serious tone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We have a problem.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing how well respected she was and that I was new and making lots of mistakes, I panicked for a minute. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">I said, “I’m so sorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure it can be worked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What is it Mrs. Roberts?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">She said, “Someone stole my vagina.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She usually spoke as if sugar melted in her mouth so I assumed I didn’t hear her correctly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Excuse me?” I asked and put my hand to my ear to signal for her to repeat what she said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, “I believe one of your students stole the model of a vagina that I use for my nursing class.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She added.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My vagina was here last night when I locked-up and your students have been the only class in the room today.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">With all my might I muffled my laughter in the back of my throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh my God, I am so sorry." I tried to show deep concern. "I'll look into it and get back to you right away.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">As I turned the door knob to my classroom I thought, I am looking into her vagina?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Great.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">As I closed the door and reentered my classroom, I bent over and started laughing so hard that I couldn’t catch my breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tears were dripping down my cheeks as I laughed uncontrollably.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My class stared at me as if I was losing my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I squeezed my legs together as if I were going to pee my pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after a few long minutes, I got control of myself and raised my hand to quiet the class, but more to gain my own balance and composure. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Then, with the most serious face I could muster and a monotone voice, I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Someone in this room stole a vagina.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">The class had never seen me more serious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a awkward moment of silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">But just one moment later, they all lost it and laughter was roaring throughout the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t help but join in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to be serious again and added, “I don’t care who did it…but I want that vagina back on this chair by 3:00PM today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My job is on the line.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">I was forced to ignore the comments like the one from Alex: “Hey, it’s been snatched!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Fortunately for me, Mrs. Robert’s vagina was returned and placed on my desk that day as required.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that one moment of joy that we all shared, I never had a discipline problem with my class and we shared an outstanding adventure in literature throughout the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made a connection and that is the basis for outstanding education.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Then, through the magic of reading chapters out loud, watching videos, acting out scenes, conducting mock trials, and other methods, I helped them tackle <i>To Kill a Mockingbird,</i> <i>The Crucible</i>, <i>Of Mice and Men</i>, Shakespeare and more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I loved to see how proud my vocational students were that someone expected them to learn and to understand these works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other teachers shared stories about how much my students spoke to them about suddenly loving English class. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Once, the automotive teacher was listening to two of his students who were in the grease pit under a car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one student, who attended the vocational school on a part-time basis and had academic classes in a different high school, said to his buddy, “We’re reading MacBeth in English Class. It’s so stupid and boring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate it.” Brian, a student from my class, answered, “Well, maybe you just don’t understand it.”</span><br />
<br />
Priceless.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">(Enjoy reading my blog? A portion of this post is an excerpt from my 5 Star memoir: My Mother Killed Christ: But God Loves Me Anyway. Buy it on Amazon.com or Kindle Today!)</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-44477949372921309402011-11-21T09:28:00.000-08:002011-11-21T09:34:27.594-08:00Tuning Out!<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My question is “If the US falls, but no one tunes in to view it, did it really happen?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is your life really in decline? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ok, let’s agree that there are people who are suffering dramatically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, can we really do something about it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beginning 45 years ago, as a Catholic school student, my classmates and I collected money for people starving in Africa on a yearly basis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did this as a plaid uniformed army filled with compassion along with millions of children like us across the globe. Every year, we went door to door, bar to bar, store to store, collecting money in little red boxes decorated with photos of starving children. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> We believed we were doing good. Yet, </span>I noticed on the news the other day that people are still starving in Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband and I spent a combined 60 years trying to bring change to education at the local level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I look back at our school, things are pretty much the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I do vaguely recall transforming the lives of individual students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it possible that we will all have the most meaningful and dramatic impact on the universe if every individual worked hard to positively impact those we come across daily in our own little worlds?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If everybody turned out from the “global connection” and tuned into the actual human beings that are right in front of us, will we make a difference?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if we really cared about the people we know and shared ourselves and our resources with them? Could this have a ripple effect on the universe?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m going to tune out and try it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m going to buck the trend and stay far away from Facebook, Twitter and blogs and give my attention to persons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will begin by reminding my own little circle that things in my country are better than ever in so many ways that I can’t even count.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my lifetime, women were offered limited career choices. Many stayed in loveless marriages for decades because they had no choice. Minorities were excluded from opportunities and gays were routinely shunned and beaten. Meanwhile, children with handicaps were institutionalized in filthy places, like one called Willowbrook. When I was in 7<sup>th</sup> grade, an exceptional journalist named Geraldo Rivera kicked the door down and exposed this disgrace. He was my hero.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Okay, quality has declined in some areas and of course our politicians are scumbags and clowns…but they always were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my school uniform, I was also taught to pledge allegiance to a President called Kennedy who was the face of Catholic values.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all know how that turned out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But guess what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our peeps are still of the highest caliber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> On the left and right of me are exceptional persons. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, if I turn my head away, just six goddamn inches from the television or computer screen, life is freaking fantastic!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m signing off and stepping out where the sun, not a computer screen, forces me to squint. I 'd rather shield my eyes from blessed light, than from the burn of electronic visions of pathetic losers, child molesters, and greedy thieves that will no longer enter my home and my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Putting my head in the sand?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Better than putting it in shit! Real life is just outside your door.</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-20860933790423842692011-10-22T10:11:00.001-07:002011-10-22T10:24:50.186-07:00Trick or Treat<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I usually stopped at Duncan Donuts to pick up two old fashioned donuts and a black coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This seems easy enough, but regardless of how I placed the extraordinarily hot coffee in the cup holder, it always seemed to spill across the white leather interior of my Lincoln Continental.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was on my way to the Care Center to visit my ex-husband, whose entire left side of his body was paralyzed from a recent stroke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first year, he couldn’t eat anything but thickened liquids and his mouth was twisted permanently preventing audible speech. But he progressed now and was able to eat whole food and most of his words could be understood. It was Halloween, so I decided to get him two pumpkin spiced muffins instead of the usual treat. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since we were divorced for 12 years, I didn’t anticipate that one day my life would include visiting him every other day. His doctor warned me, when he was in the hospital, “If they learn that Steve has no advocate, they will warehouse him for the rest of his life. He needs you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For my son and because of the many times he helped me, I had to step up and be his “person."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, we had remained best friends after our failed marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was just 21 and he was 42 when we tied the knot and, of course, the marriage was doomed from the start.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, he spent every holiday with us and we were parents and partners together throughout our son’s life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The funny thing is that he used to call me “AdvoKate” and “The voice for those who could not speak,” because of how enraged I became at injustice and how I placed myself at unnecessary risk for others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, when I was a senior in college, I could not believe how many men were incarcerated because of dysfunctional childhoods. In my mind, they never had a chance, so I signed up to teach a poetry class at Rahway State Prison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Steve found out, he was furious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You know what kind of poetry you’re going to hear?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since he was a truck driver, most of his words cannot be repeated here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if you think of Andrew Dice Clay, you would be on the right track.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Other times, when I was in a department store and saw a parent striking a small child, Steve turned his back as I approached the woman and said, “Why don’t you try f-ing picking on someone your own size?” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I would be a terrible fighter if it came to that, the F word was usually enough to scare the parent and to make her stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would walk back to Steve and he would growl, “Get him, Tiger!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, my visits to the nursing home were not noble in any way and I didn’t approach them with a warm, giving heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hated it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The place smelled like urine and more. His rotating roommates were all in different states of being permanent vegetables and the aides were incompetent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Steve was already in trouble for throwing a shoe at one after she left him on the toilet for 2 hours. Because even his trunk was paralyzed, he didn’t have the force to reach her with the shoe, but he tried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they wrote him up for “misbehaving,” I marched to that nurse’s station and ranted, “I’d throw both shoes at you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How would you like to be left naked on a toilet for two hours?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, Steve refused to leave his room to participate in any activities, even meals, because at 59, he was a full 20 years younger than most of the residents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would beg him to, at least, go to the dining room for one meal a day. He’d say the best he could with a paralyzed mouth, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m not eating with f-ing people who need someone to cut their f-ing food!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would reply, “Steven, you need someone to cut your f-ing food too.” He would simply turn away and the visit was over. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I tried taking him out of the nursing home to eat, but that got too difficult for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He weighed 230 pounds and by the time I got him in the car and the wheel chair in the trunk, I was so exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last time I tried to give him a fun day put an end to the idea for good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had purchased a new Sebring Convertible and I thought Steve would really enjoy going for a ride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled to lift him and drop him into the front seat, fold up the wheel chair and get it into the trunk without scratching my white exterior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put a New York Yankees cap on him and a Penn State cap on my head and dropped the top.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Born to Run</i> on the radio and took off on Route 78.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sun was shining and the wind was blowing my hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned to Steve and asked, “Isn’t this great?” He replied, “I’m going to throw up.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What? In my new car?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly pulled over and reached across him, unbuckled his seatbelt, and gave him a little shove so that his head would be facing down when he vomited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh my God, I forgot that his trunk was paralyzed and saw that his head was going right towards the sidewalk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly ran around the car to catch him before he hit the cement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both decided, with me doing all of the talking, that I wouldn’t take him out anymore. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In addition to all of this conflict, despite painting the biggest smile on my face each time I entered his room for two, Steve seemed to not even care that I was there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was taking two hours out of every other day, after working full time, to stop to see him. I was basically a delivery girl… that’s it. “ Where’s my coffee?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where’s my donut?” And then he would stare at the television.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doctor explained to me that after having a stroke, his brain was so attracted to the television that it was such an effort to turn away and that I shouldn’t take it personally.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well, since it was Halloween and I had to take my own son Trick or Treating, it was my plan to rush into Steve’s room, put the coffee and muffins on his food tray and leave immediately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I reasoned that the aide could cut the muffin for him after I left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I entered the automatic glass doors, my stomach turned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After adjusting my sight from the bright October sun, I focused and saw a line of twenty to thirty wheel chairs all along the hallway wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first thing that I focused on was the plastic, orange and black, Jack O Lantern trick or treating buckets each wheel chair occupant had in his or her lap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the wheel chairs were grotesque wrinkled, toothless witches; nodding, drooling vampires; hideous fairy princesses with sparkly pink crowns atop dingy, grey teased hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I saw Steve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was wearing a red, plastic too-small fireman’s hat and a plastic yellow cape that resembled a fireman’s coat with red strings tied under his double chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His wheel chair had a cardboard fire truck taped to the arm rest. My eyes scanned up from the photo of the ladder and hoses to Steve’s left arm, which was strapped in his wheel chair by a seat belt- like restraint. Within flashbulb seconds, my eyes scanned higher to see the elastic chin strap making a red mark beneath Steve’s unshaven chin. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little higher, I saw his stroke-affected mouth with one side so low into the deepest, most despairing frown. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last blow was the tear drop rolling down from his left eye partially erasing a red circle of makeup that was painted onto his face to form a rosy cheek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s when I lost it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What do you think you’re doing?” I screamed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three aides, at different check points along the caravan of wheel chairs faced me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s not a goddamn child! He’s a grown man! How dare you?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ripped off that plastic hat, undid the straps and ripped the cardboard fire truck into ten pieces within two seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cut into the line and grabbed the handles of the wheel chair and pushed as fast as I could, running at full speed, until I was in his room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly washed his face with brown industrial paper towels and Lysol smelling hand soap and carefully lifted him back to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave him a sip of coffee through a straw and cut his pumpkin muffin into bite size chunks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I calmed down, I had to do what I tried never to do in front of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cried hysterically. I sobbed openly and loudly. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He reached his good hand out to take mine and struggled immensely to be heard. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with his frozen jaw, drooping lips, and sputtering tongue, I received his message loud and clear: “Get him, Tiger,” he said. He squeezed my hand firmly with all of the strength he could muster, and turned his full attention to the television where Casablanca was playing on the Turner Classic Movie Channel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was relieved because within just a few moments, I knew in his mind, the real Steve was Humphrey Bogart saying sweetly, “Here’s looking at you kid.”</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-2815264438726367452011-09-27T09:31:00.000-07:002011-09-27T11:41:41.313-07:00Top of the Morning?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let’s be honest, Ladies, no woman looks forward to her annual gynecological exam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For men out there, you have no clue what we must endure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only remotely similar medical experience you undergo is the annual prostate exam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even this makes my big, macho husband tremble.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he turns his back and hears the last snap of the doctor’s rubber glove secured in place, he turns his face over his left shoulder and threatens, “I better not feel your two hands on my shoulders anytime during this exam!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently, I scheduled my first annual exam and PAP smear with a new gynecologist in Florida.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since moving to paradise, I’ve become somewhat relaxed about schedules and have tried to avoid this important medical procedure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At 53, this area of my expanding body more closely resembles a ghost town amusement park whose colorful flickering lights and joyful music has long gone silent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every once in a while, the caretaker may go for a solo ride on the roller coaster, but the screaming has been muted. In fact, the ups and downs are so much less thrilling that he might actually belch or nod- off in the middle of what was once a thriller.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like all women, when the day for my gyno appointment arrived, I gave myself the “Let just get this crap over with” talk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paid great attention to the little details that a man would never even consider.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What shoes will keep my feet from perspiring so that they smell pretty mid day?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How does my French pedicure look on my big toe? If the doctor’s hand or arm should brush along my calf, with I feel smooth and silky?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What matching lacy panties and bra should I select in case the bitchy nurse should glance and judge them where they lay on the requisite patient chair? After a military quality inspection of the lower half of my body, I checked my face, added my rings and earrings and I was on my way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before being taken into the exam room, I was given the opportunity to meet with my new gynecologist in his well appointed office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was an upbeat, handsome man, with blue friendly eyes and neatly trimmed auburn hair and beard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While he did ask me if I had any concerns, my too quick “no” response made the whole experience similar to speed dating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No wine, no food, nothing before he popped up from his leather chair and said, “Off, we go, then.” Perhaps this was a one night stand.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was trying to keep my feet and hands from sweating as I reclined on the vinyl exam table wearing a white, scratchy robe of the same quality as paper towels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I followed the familiar instructions of the nurse who barked, “Everything off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This drape on top with the opening to the front and this one covering your lower half.” So, there I was, as so many women have been before me, butt forward on the table, legs open, feet in stirrups, with only a thin paper drape covering what my grandmother told me I should never let a man touch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The bubbly, doctor bounced into the room and his nurse immediately stepped to my left side.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rubbed his hands together, to make them warmer, and said “Ok, let’s have a look.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he did, I focused numbly on the mysterious colorful mermaids that had been painted on the dropped ceiling panels. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tightened every fiber of my body. Both of arms were extended to my sides and with defensive, white knuckles, my hands held metal grip bars on the side of the exam table. I heard the doctor sit on his short stool, and could hear the squeaky wheels as he rolled himself closer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gently, he lifted up the lightweight, white paper sheet.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> Instantly, he exclaimed, “Oh my God, who’s Irish?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“What?” “Huh?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Complete silence.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My mind processed rapid thoughts. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the hell is he talking about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are parts of me a red head? Am I freckled?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does anything, in that area, resemble a shamrock? Am I carrying a Leprechaun? Was this a rhetorical question?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then, he freaking repeated the question again more emphatically, “Who’s Irish?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like a hundred year old turtle that has been flipped on its back and is struggling to get right, I floundered on the exam table and used my very few remaining “core” muscles (as my legs were still in stirrups) to lift my head and ask, “What do you mean?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He said, “Your ring. Your ring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see you’re wearing a Claddah ring.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He pointed to my right hand on the side of the exam table.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The three of us in the room laughed so hard that, at fifty –three (Ladies, back me up here) my instant prayer was that I didn’t pee my pants or lack thereof.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I just bought my wife one,” the doc added. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>He had me at Erin go Bragh!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br />
</div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-45427789555945939082011-09-02T08:37:00.000-07:002011-09-03T08:59:24.851-07:00Mean Girl<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Do you ever think back to a moment in your childhood to realize that you did something truly mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate to admit that every now and then, I participated in street urchin, gang mentality activities that hurt innocent victims. In my tiny NJ neighborhood, the people most targeted by our adolescent cruelty, were Annie and Tony—the owners of a candy store a few blocks from our house. <span style="mso-tab-count: 4;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Annie and Tony were Polish immigrants with thick, spitting accents who opened their eclectic store at daybreak and hustled until 9:00PM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never liked it when I was sent to the store for cold cuts or bread because nothing was organized and sinister cats tiptoed across the display counters throughout the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was difficult to pick up a loaf of bread without the Wonder name appearing a bit furry from cat hair.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Annie and Tony, too, were unattractive because they seemed interchangeable. Maybe their bodies just looked the same because the two of them wore matching denim bib overalls daily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They also had similar white hair that was tinged with yellow on the ends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It didn’t glow like blonde hair, but looked dingy like white sweat socks that needed bleach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was dulled by the fact that to save on utilities costs or to keep the place cool, they rarely had lights on in the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the outside, then, when they and the cats moved about on the inside, the big store windows turned them into ominous shadows working the meat slicer or pushing a straw broom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This sent even more hair and dust into the air to settle on top of the Bit O’ Honey, Tootsie Rolls, or Sugar Daddy candy boxes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, we went to Tony’s because no matter how poor we were, we always had enough to purchase three pretzel rods for two cents or a few long red licorice whips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking back, I can’t believe that, after braiding these sweet, red strings or swinging them around to hit my brother, I still ate them. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Each day after school, three or four boys pulled open Tony’s store door, making the cow bells strapped on by a faded brown leather belt, startle the owners inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Annie, do you want to suck my Sugar Daddy?” One pimple faced boy taunted.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Tony puffed up like a blow fish and put his fists in the air shouting, “What you strange boys want?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Git from my store!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the more he yelled, the more the boys laughed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time Tony hurriedly cleared his products from a center portion of the counter on hinges, the boys grabbed a case of RC Cola, a bag of hot dog rolls, or any other item displayed near the front door. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One crisp fall night, I was sitting on our concrete stoop, when my brother and his two friends ran to the porch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Did you see that?” My brother Billy said, struggling to catch his breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I nailed Tony in the head with a Ding Dong.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The three boys chuckled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brother’s friend, Joey, reached inside his blue Yankee's wind breaker and said, “Yeah, well look what I took.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hand was filled with colorful jaw breakers, Sweet Tarts and other penny candies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Here, have some.” Joe turned to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why don’t you come with us next time?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart leaped because Joe recently began kissing me every time I completed a pass when we played touch football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was steady quarterback and started throwing the best spirals in the seventh grade, even though I was a girl. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Just around 6:00 O’clock the next evening, the four of us headed to the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all wore blue ski masks and our blue school windbreakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our pockets were filled with eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We used sewing needles to put holes in the top and the bottom of the eggs. Then we blew out the insides and filled them with Ajax and topped them with Scotch tape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joe went up to the store window first and whispered to Billy, “Annie is sitting in her chair at the counter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t see Tony.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Perfect,” my brother replied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that, Joe pulled open the glass door and the four of us pelted Annie with the eggs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>White and green speckled Ajax covered her shocked face and she started rubbing her eyes and screaming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just then, Tony came out of what seemed like a secret hallway swinging a baseball bat. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">As he struggled to connect with one, another boy ran behind him and kicked him in his seat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Leave him alone!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I screamed. “Stop it! Don’t hurt him!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t realize, at first, that I was talking to the boys--not to Tony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran home terrified. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A few weeks later, I was forced to return to Tony’s candy store for my great grandmother's quarter pound of ham bologna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never knew if she wanted me to ask for ham or bologna. When I asked for clarification, she spewed curses at me in Polish and added, “Stupid girl, get ham bologna.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">When, I entered the scene of my previous crime, I guess Annie didn’t recognize me in my plaid Catholic school uniform. My blond hair was angelic compared to my navy ski mask. She stood from her badly scratched maple rocking chair and said, “Come, here, Sweetheart, is this not beautiful?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She pointed to her ear, then squinted, creating deep wrinkles on each side of her face. She lifted her head proudly and read slowly and clearly from her Readers Digest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Be careful of the words you say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Keep them soft and sweet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll never know from day to day, which words you’ll have to eat.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">She pushed a crumpled Kleenex across her shriveled face and asked, “What can I give you today?” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Nervously, I stuttered and said, “My great grandmother wants ham bologna, but I don’t even know what that is…” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Annie mistook my shame for innocence and said, “I take good care of you, honey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grandma be happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are a good girl!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">It was on this day, in Tony's candy store, that it clicked for me that words have power. As Annie handed me the small, brown, package of meat, I smiled and said, "Thank you, Annie. Have a good day." In that moment, when our eyes met, I put my mean days behind me. </div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-54125734155065807012011-08-14T11:04:00.000-07:002011-08-15T09:54:32.499-07:00The Tides of Life<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When I was growing-up, my family spent memorable summers at the Jersey Shore building sandcastles to be washed away again and again by the thundering surf. Now that I live on the beach in Florida, I learned that in addition to all of the fun associated with a day at the beach, the event has many lessons to teach.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">You see, what most people, who only go to the beach for the day or a week may not realize, is that the beach is not always a beautiful place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's a completely unique beach every single day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One morning, you walk along the shoreline and your feet are warmed and massaged by smooth sand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The seashells you find are all perfect, whole treasures, and the waves are just big enough to tickle your soul as they carry you, giggling like a lover, safely back to shore.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Other mornings, the beach is littered with ghastly, stinging jellyfish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your toes are stabbed and scratched by jagged shells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your arms and legs get bound and tangled in webs of foul-smelling seaweed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overpowering waves batter you and spit in your face, stinging your eyes, forcing tears, as you struggle find your balance. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sometimes, you smell a rotting fish that sea gulls, which a day before appeared so graceful and beautiful, are fighting brutally amongst themselves to salvage. One flies away celebrating with a sinister laugh as it carries bloody chunks. You can't imagine that you were deceived into seeing it as a dove once.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Despite its cosmic beauty and its gloomy ugliness, its daily certainty and its growing mystery, the one thing that the ocean has taught me to remember in life is consistency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter what happens; no matter what my marital or income status; no matter what time of the year it is, the waves keep rolling into the shore and out to the sea--over and over, with nothing to stop it, forever and ever into all eternity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">As we move through “our times” often made bleaker by the media, we must realize that there are always going to be wonderful days of smooth sands that form perfect shells of memories. Likewise, there will also be days where the dull sky and murky water seem to meet to form endless grey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like the surf rolling in and out, what you must keep in your mind and in your heart is what remains constant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Here is what I have learned:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">First, you are never alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let the waves remind you of the support of your family; regardless of how your family is defined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t have a family in the traditional sense, know that you will always be part of the human family and someone is here for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take the risk and let someone know that you need help. I promise a pool of support will be captured by your openness.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Second, as you weigh the burdensome questions and decisions, stand firmly on the shores of the core values of honesty, trustworthiness, respect, fairness, and compassion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These will always keep you afloat, above the bottom feeders, who will eventually be consumed by larger scum.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Finally, if pressure seems so great that you think that you can't possibly make it another day, just close your eyes and remember the sounds of the ocean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Listen in on your soul for the greater than you waves rolling in and rolling out that have been there everyday since your birth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your worrying will never change or impact that in any way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No problem in your life will ever be more significant than the tiny grains of sand. They are continuously stripped from the shore as the wave rolls out and redeposited in a completely different circumstances, as the tide rolls in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing will ever interrupt that rhythm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tomorrow will still come, and you will be able to face it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This is the give and take of life. It reminds us to appreciate and celebrate our rightful place as children of the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ALL the rest is just some crazy sunscreen—colorless, meaningless, layers that we apply as humans. It's as if we think we actually have the power to combat forces as powerful as the sun. Put your hand up to stop the glare of electronic humanity and look within.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Surrender. Grab a beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sit in a beachy chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Close your eyes. </span>Remember what matters.</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-3042329611404400052011-08-04T08:14:00.000-07:002011-08-07T15:17:16.884-07:00Nature vs. Nurture?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Recently, friends and I were weighing the pros and cons of presenting the concept of “being gay” to elementary school children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some were concerned that the mere talk of it could be the equivalent of notifying children that they have options from which to choose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, from my experience raising my son, Aaron, an only child, I observed that children are who they are at a very young age. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in Kindergarten, when I had 11 little boys joyously celebrating my son’s 6<sup>th</sup> birthday on an apple farm in PA, there were clear divisions among the guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They drastically differed in size and shape as well as personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ten boys would be pleasantly engaged in a 5 on 5 Wiffle ball game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, a few barely knew what was going on and one or two may have been picking their noses instead of fielding a grounder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two others would be off to the side—one trying to put a firecracker in an apple and another, riding my son’s Big Wheel down a steep hill to see how it would feel to crash into a birch tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, there was the one sweet boy, who followed me around the kitchen suggesting that the pale blue napkins would make a better color palette then the Yankee's themed napkins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One other boy iced the cup cakes and asked if he decorate them with pink and blue sprinkles, instead of malt ball baseballs. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, I thought I would have some control over shaping what type of man my son would become. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I insisted that he would never play with toy guns.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the early 80s, there were many experts claiming that violent movies and toys were “turning” America’s children aggressive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, he loved Legos, Transformers, and his amazing little Computron Computer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was having fun and guns would never be allowed in my house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was this too strict?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought I might have been and was more than a little concerned when I took my son to Toys R Us to select any toy he wanted after he received perfect scores on first grade report card.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My grandmother started this tradition with us when we were younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back in the 60s, she was shocked when my brother selected a baby alligator as his prize after making the Honor Roll in 4<sup>th</sup> grade. Nanny kept to her word and my brother got whatever he selected, despite her disgust. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I stood back in Toy R Us as my son went up and down the colorful aisles assessing which toy would be his best reward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew immediately that he found something when he jumped up, and then “skipped” a bit as and declared, “This is it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart sunk…but if my grandmother accepted an alligator, I too had to keep my own mouth shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My face instantly tightened, yet I was able to force a really straight smile that more resembled gritting my teeth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you sure, Aaron, honey?” I asked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “Yea, I love this!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He handed me a clear bubble package that contained a pink plastic blow dryer and 8 pink curlers and rushed to the register. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did this mean what I thought it meant? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I begrudgingly paid for the selected item and sighed as my little blonde haired boy excitedly skipped through the parking lot to our white Ford Tempo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>giddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sick with worry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked, “Aaron, you seem so happy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you like this toy so much?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stopped, took the bubble package out the plastic bag, letting the bag drift away in the wind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pointed to the hair dryer and said, “This, here, is my ray gun.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he pointed to the pink curlers, “And these are my bombs.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sighed relief.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Still, to ensure that I was an open-minded mother, I decided, against his father’s strongest objections, that my son would have a doll. I wanted him to be able to demonstrate his nurturing side. One day, I bought him the “My Buddy” doll, which was a 36 inch stuffed boy doll wearing blue cover-alls, an orange and yellow striped shirt, and a red baseball cap covering blond hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to prove that I was able to let my son enjoy gender neutral toys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I came home late from coaching basketball one night, I walked into the living room to find my son on the couch with his doll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had his left hand on the doll’s cap and the other on the crotch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s going on here?” I asked on the inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aloud, I said, “Hey, Aaron, what are you up to?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Aaron stood up on the coach and lifted the blue clad “My Buddy” doll over his head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nodded to direct my attention downward to the drab beige carpet, where seemingly hundreds of olive green plastic army soldiers were lined up in rows as if they were advancing on him to “take” the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “Look, Mom, this is really cool!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shook the doll above his head and shouted, “This is a huge bomb that could take out all of these soldiers at once.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that, he threw the cloth doll with great force, knocking most of the soldiers onto their sides. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He jumped off the couch, danced around in his Ninja Turtle briefs and tee shirt, and shouted, “USA, USA, USA!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ahh, that’s my boy?</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-8321373201288050952011-07-28T11:53:00.000-07:002011-07-28T11:53:15.203-07:00Repeat: Lost in TranslationMy day job has kept me too busy recently to add a new blog, so I'm going to post one that I posted earlier in May because I think it's funny. I hope you agree.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My husband and I are fortunate to be surrounded by wonderful neighbors, who are year-round residents, in our Florida condominium.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To our left, lives a remarkable couple, who just celebrated their 50th anniversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like many successful seniors, they came to America from another land and worked tirelessly to secure the American Dream for their children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their three daughters have all earned college degrees and have been extremely successful.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However, with the economic downturn, one of their daughters was unemployed last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My neighbor, Maria, approached me while I was walking my dogs and asked if I would consider reviewing her daughter’s resume to see if it could be improved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I work as a grant writer, but while teaching English for 12 years, I always included lesson plans on resume writing, so I had some experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later in the day, Maria gave me a Post It size paper containing her daughter’s e-mail address, so that I could introduce myself and encourage her daughter to e-mail me a copy of her resume.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I sat at my computer to write to Maria’s daughter, I struggled to read Maria’s printing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The letters and numbers, comprising the e-mail address, were printed neatly but they were so tiny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with my most powerful reading glasses, purchased in bulk from BJ’s, I couldn't make out all of the characters in the handwritten e-mail address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled and came up with the best e-mail address I could manage.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The next day, when I was walking my dog again, I saw Maria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humbly and gratefully, she inquired about whether I was able to e-mail her daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stuttered a little as I explained that I tried to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, “Maria, I’m so sorry, but your writing was so very tiny that I could hardly read the address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sent the e-mail anyway, but honestly, I’m not sure if it went through to the correct address."</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Maria, who would rather die than inconvenience anyone, reached for my hand and put the other to her head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m so sorry,” she said with a broken accent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My daughter, Katerina, told me, 'Momma, make sure when you give Katie the e-mail address that you use only small letters.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I tried really, really hard to write it as tiny as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even did it two times.”</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I burst into laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave Maria a hug and said, “Maria, Katerina meant that you should not use capital letters in the e-mail address--not that you should write really small!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed so hard that my dogs thought we were crazy. Fortunately, Maria's daughter did get a job and all is well.</span>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-31442237630937865322011-07-14T12:24:00.000-07:002011-07-14T12:24:06.825-07:00Child Rearing?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #004000; font-family: "Arial CYR", "sans-serif";">Recently, I attended a picnic at my friend’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got relief from the heat in heavenly air conditioning as I helped her to carry-out some trays of food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While inside, I heard a car arrive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the grandparents of the children whose parents were hosting the picnic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was stunned as, from the sliding glass door, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw the grandfather struggle to get to the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His baby steps allowed him to cover just inches at a time as his son helped him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heard he had been seriously ill, and his arms displayed the tattoos that were dark bruises from IVs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His face was fully crimson as he struggled to reach the glass storm door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clear tubes connected him to an oxygen tank that his wife managed behind him. As he got closer, I looked into his piercing blue eyes and saw nothing but determination.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he could have spoken, he would have voiced his deep commitment to see his family at one final picnic before he died.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #004000; font-family: "Arial CYR", "sans-serif";">As he stepped through the doorway into the living room, his 10 year old grandson spun around in a burgandy Lazy Boy chair and said, “Hi, Grandpa,” but made no move to get up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This cushy chair was the only reachable piece of furniture near the door that Grandpa could get to before collapsing from his immense struggle to enter the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I waited for it to be said, but heard nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to keep quiet, but couldn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, in my most stern teacher’s voice, I took a step towards the grandson, who was still swiveling in the Lazy Boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, “Jason, you get out of that chair this moment and let your grandfather sit down!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immediately, I knew I had crossed a boundary by speaking to someone else’s child this way, but I couldn’t stop myself. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #004000; font-family: "Arial CYR", "sans-serif";">Jason squished his tan face into defiance and stared back at me with wide brown eyes. He exclaimed, “I was here, first!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #004000; font-family: "Arial CYR", "sans-serif";">As if slapped across the face, I opened my mouth in shock and looked from his face back two steps behind me where his mother was wiping her hands on a dishtowel containing sunflowers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Inside, I’m thinking, “Okay, now she’s going to let Jason have it!’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #004000; font-family: "Arial CYR", "sans-serif";">The mother's face turned to stone as she put her right hand on her hip and said, “He’s right. Jason had that chair first!” Then, her raised eyebrows asked me how I dared to talk to her son that way.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #004000; font-family: "Arial CYR", "sans-serif";">I was raised by a schizophrenic, catatonic, psychopath and yet every hair would be ripped from my head if I ever failed to give my seat to an elder, a pregnant woman, or a disabled person. What is Jason learning?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who will pass down our society's basic courtesies in the future?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #004000; font-family: "Arial CYR", "sans-serif";"><br />
Crazy, Mom, thank you for all you did right. Maybe a kick in the rear is a good thing every now and then. The truth is that there are probably no bad children or bad dogs, only bad trainers. </span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-43737734964607686822011-07-09T07:28:00.000-07:002011-07-14T10:07:10.600-07:00Bad Season Finale?Many of us, who are in our middle years, will never forget the historic season finales of beloved television programs. Immediately, I think of MASH, Newhart, Seinfeld, Friends, and Sopranos. Because of exquisite writing, it was difficult to say good-bye to characters that shared our living rooms with us for years. Collectively, as a nation, we grabbed our favorites snacks and settled in on our couches to see how skillful writers would force us to bid farewell to Hot Lips, Kramer, and Carmella.<br />
<br />
Well, here in Central Florida, this week, we faced another television loss, as the most watched program of the season, The Case Against Casey came to an end. The daily broadcast of the Casey Anthony murder trial, couldn’t have been better scripted by a Noble Prize winner. Central casting couldn’t have selected better actors and actresses. On a daily basis, we watched for emotion on the face of the shapely, attractive mother accused of murder. We felt as frustrated as the stammering Defense Attorney hearing “Sustained” over and over again. We joked that he could have starred in “My Cousin Vinnie.” We admired the verbal sparring skills of the aggressive blond lead prosecutor, always wearing sexy pumps, and supported by her white-haired Perry Mason-like teammate. And then there were the grieving parents, broken and emotional, but always available for a “Meet and Greet.” <br />
<br />
Despite the fact that I was utterly disgusted by the television promotions: “Customize your Casey coverage on your phone, Twitter and Facebook,” I couldn’t turn away. In fact, even on vacation in Las Vegas, the perfect place to escape all reality, I turned on the television whenever I went back to my room to see what was happening in the trial at home in Florida. <br />
<br />
Why? What compelled us to watch this case? Was it that television has become so grossly inferior as a form of entertainment that no modern program could equal the caliber of character and plot development that this trial offered? Was it that every day was as compelling as a season cliffhanger leaving us with more questions than answers? Why wouldn’t a mother call the police after her daughter was missing for 31 days? Why would a former police officer call the police to report a gas can stolen? Who is more reliable, the medical examiner that conducted John F. Kennedy’s autopsy or reality TV star, Dr. G? Where was the DNA, hair fibers, and other stuff we learned on CSI, CSI NY, CSI Miami?<br />
<br />
Then, the worst possible thing happened. We’ve experienced the same emotion in the past when Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer were let out of jail and went their separate ways. It was a bad Season Finale. The show didn’t end the way we expected. Casey Anthony was found not guilty. How could this happen?<br />
<br />
It could happen because Radar never really died. Jerry was never really arrested for being inconsiderate. Bob Newhart didn’t really wake up in bed with his old television wife. Television is not real. Even our news is not real. What we saw every day and every night, related to the case, was not the same thing that the jury saw. We never saw the photographs that the jury saw. We never saw any of the real evidence that the jury shared. We only saw what a camera could capture. We saw the distorted perspective that is broadcast as entertainment. At the same time, our perception of the little we did see was constantly reshaped by talking heads—so called experts who spent every single day 24/7 telling us what we should believe we saw. It’s not real—just as it is not real as it relates to any other aspect of our society.<br />
<br />
While on our summer hiatus, I hope viewers remember this because every, single one of us, could be put on trial by this same media and could someday swim with the fishes, like Big Pussy. We have to get a grip on reality! At this moment, I could point a camera at the water hitting the ground from our sprinkler system and any viewer would believe wholeheartedly that it was raining. But it's not. The sun is shining. The limited camera cannot take in all of the perceptions that we are blessed to enjoy.Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-5807164014066818762011-06-29T10:46:00.000-07:002011-06-29T10:53:13.497-07:00Topsy Turvy Tiff (Update)<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On May 26, 2011, I posted a blog about my retired neighbor’s Topsy Turvy Times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To recap, in an effort to give her retired husband a hobby, my friend Rosie went with Henry to Walmart to buy a Topsy Turvy Tomato. For the price of $ 14.99, they would have all the tomatoes they could eat. That’s how the saga began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here is a quick summary of the events:</span> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They realized that the Topsy Turvy doesn’t come with tomato plants. They headed back to Walmart to spend $30.00 on tomato plants.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Henry planted 15 pounds of tomatoes in the planter and then hung it outside on the balcony wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He realized there was not enough sun there for tomatoes. They went back to Walmart to buy a longer wrought iron plant hook for $10.00.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Henry drilled the balcony wall and hung the plant on the new hook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later in the day, he realized that half the container would always be against the wall and wouldn’t get any sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He decided it would be better if he built a stand for it. He drove to Home Depot to buy $20.00 worth of wood and $12.00 worth of screws. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He built a plant stand in the exact shape of the stick stand you would draw on a piece of paper if you were starting to play the Hangman word game. Henry was still unsatisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “You know, I can’t just keep this wood natural.” Henry ran to Home Depot to buy the best quart of white semi-gloss paint for $14.00.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once Henry painted his plant stand bright white, he put it onto the balcony, hung his Topsy Turvy tomato plant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, all the next morning, Henry realized that his plant was only getting a few hours of sun a day. Henry took the wheels off Rosie’s favorite huge cactus plant and added them to his tomato stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This way, he could wheel the stand around all day to catch the sun for his Topsy Turvy tomatoes in various locations on the balcony.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After three days of peace, Henry called Rosie outside. He was red, sweaty and upset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He noticed a round water stain on the floor of his balcony. Henry headed to Home Depot to buy a few 2” x 2” and 1” x 12” pieces of wood for $16.00.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He built a rectangular tray to catch the water that drips from the Topsy Turvy plant. </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Henry was still unhappy because he didn’t want the new wooden tray, he just built, to get ruined by dripping water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ran into the kitchen pantry and grabbed one of Rosie’s favorite serving trays to put it onto the wooden tray he build to protect the wood from water stains.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Symbol; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Henry invited me over to see the Topsy Turvy tomato. I said, “Henry, I hate to even say this, but the leaves on your tomato plants look shriveled.” He said, “You know, you’re right. I knew it too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walked over to a small plastic tool cabinet and said, “I didn’t tell Rosie, but I went Walmart’s and bought this tomato food for $12.99.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mix a ½ capful of food with a gallon of water.” I said, “Henry, Let me see that bottle.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He passed me a yellow plastic bottle and after putting on my reading glasses, I read aloud, “Mix 1/3 cap of food with 2 gallons of water for 20 square feet of garden every 14 days. “Henry,” I added, “I think you’re killing your tomatoes with kindness.” Henry paused and stared, thinking hard. He walked around the plant stand once and said, “Rosie, get in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to go to Walmart’s to get some new tomato plants.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Well, recently when my husband came home from one of his food gathering expeditions, he mentioned that he ran into Henry and Rosie at Walmart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chuckling, he said, “Rosie and I couldn’t stop laughing. It turns out that the new tomato plants Henry planted in the Topsy Turvy Tomato stand were patio tomatoes.” My husband, an avid gardener, added, “Patio tomatoes are hybrids. The leaves are darker than most tomatoes. The fruit is much smaller and some consider the skin really tough.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He continued describing how in the store Rosie was crossing her legs, trying not to pee her pants when she told my husband the update.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said, ' Henry picked three tomatoes and put them on the table. 'That’s it?' I asked. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘They’re putrid!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not eating those. You eat one first.’ Henry took one look at them and said, ‘I ain’t eatin that shit either!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked up his three golf ball sized tomatoes and chucked them right into the trash. In the store, facing my husband, Rosie rolled her eyes behind Henry and used her pointer finger to make small circles around her right temple indicating that Henry was crazy. My husband chuckled again, “ When Henry turned around suddenly, Rosie stood like a statue and tried to look sad about Henry’s tomatoes."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A few moments later, when my husband saw Henry and Rosie in Walmart again near the cash registers, their moods had changed completely. Both of their faces were filled pride as they each pushed their own shopping cart as if they were baby carriages in which babies were nestled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s because each cart, Rosie’s and Henry’s, contained one tall hearty new tomato plant sitting up straight in the toddler seat portion of the metal cart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They delicately moved their tomato plants to the register and Henry pointed to his and said, “We’re starting from scratch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t want hybrid cars and we don’t want hybrid tomatoes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are normal!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A week later, Henry and Rosie had a repair man in their condo to service their two central air conditioning units.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry, a former union tradesman, welcomed the opportunity to converse with another man who knew his way around a tool belt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the two men traded war stories, revealing their knowledge of complex cooling units, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the air conditioning service man mentioned that he spent some time after work in his garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that, Henry invited the service man to step out onto his balcony for an exclusive private viewing of the Topsy Turvy Tomato stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After taking a step back to take in the six foot tall, bright white, hang man style, ornate Topsy Turvy Tomato stand-- with its custom-made humidity tray, the air conditioning man nodded his head and seemed quite impressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “Henry, I can really appreciate the craftsmanship of this stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s outstanding work. ”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He paused, put his thumbs inside his tool belt and added, “I hate to tell you this, though…but the truth is that it’s WAY too late in the season to plant tomatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’ll never grow now.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Rosie, who was standing just inside, behind the screen door listening, heard the air conditioning man’s comment and her shoulders sunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without a word, she pushed the sliding glass door over to th side until it was fully closed, locked it, leaving the two men on the balcony. She left and went to the grocery store to buy a big juicy tomato to make herself a BLT for lunch. </span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-45885295604313059332011-06-14T10:06:00.000-07:002011-06-14T11:52:37.041-07:00Mucho Macho Men<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Watching the Belmont Stakes and seeing a horse named Mucho Macho Man reminded me of a funny story that my husband told me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone who knows him would acknowledge that he is a big man with massive shoulders, developed in his early twenties, when he invested time in intensive body building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Throughout his thirties and forties, he demonstrated his amazing athleticism and earned the nickname, “The Vacuum” because of how adeptly he fielded grounders as the short stop for the local softball team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, well into his late forties, he was arguably the best racquetball player in our local tennis club-- where he spent every Friday night participating in a round robin league.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He would dupe new players by walking onto the course wearing complex knee braces leading his opponent to think that he would be playing against a virtual cripple. Then, when my husband entered the court, his sheer size, although he is just 5 10, so let’s say… his notable width, pervaded the court.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would position himself in such a way that a mere flick of his wrist would send his opponent scurrying after that blue ball, in every direction, until he was spent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dripping wet, the new player would shake hands and concede that my husband was, indeed, the best racquetball player in the club.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s true, that now that my husband is 65, some of his shoulders have sunk into a sloping belly, but he’s still an imposing figure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With his dark black hair and beard, gold horn and pinkie ring, black Lincoln Continental and trunk, big enough for cement shoes and a body, he’s someone not to be messed-with. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s why I was surprised when he entered our condo dripping with sweat after leaving the cavernous underground garage in our building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He heaved to catch his breath and was doing that dance little boys do when they have to go to the bathroom urgently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the same time, he was bending over laughing and laughing, unable to stop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After visiting the bathroom, he resurfaced again, still bent over, holding his stomach, unable to control his laughter. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He eventually told me the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our neighbor, Benny, and he were in the basement garage area talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bennie is a former Wall Street trader that resembles Sean Connery, with his salt and pepper hair but with tough New York talk and city swagger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Benny and my husband had the main building garage doors opened to let in the ocean breeze because they were both going to do projects in their respective garages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While they chatted, my husband saw a spider enter the garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “This spider was so big, it cast a shadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear to God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was walking towards us.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Step on it, Bennie.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bennie jumped back and grimaced. “I’m not stepping on it. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m wearing sandals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You step on it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband said, “No way, I’m not stepping on it either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s too big. I’m not going near it!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like Batman seeing the Bat Signal and heading to the Bat Cave, Bennie’s tone turned ominous and he instructed, “Wait, here.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He went to his individual garage with his unit number 207 on the outside in fake gold letters.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like Bruce Wayne, he punched a secret code into his keypad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His garage door opened, revealing his sky blue Mercedes convertible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband waited, a little confused, as he heard the tweet of the key fob and soon Bennie pulled- out of the garage, moving his arm to push the button to roll down the front window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He called my husband over to him, pointed to the tires, and said, “We’ll run him over!” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They both guffawed and then instantly took on the serious tone of former leaders of men with a mission. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband used his broad shoulders to take a position in between the car and the spider. He lifted both arms simultaneously like a member of a ground crew signaling a plane’s arrival at the gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He put his pointer fingers up and waived Benny forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The men’s eyes met and mirrored each other’s intense focus. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“To the left, Bennie, left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, missed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back up now. Go back!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Frank mumbled, “Get in the game, for Christ sake!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Concentrate.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bennie, who is a little hard of hearing, put his head out the window and asked, “Did we get him?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“No!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We didn’t get him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come on!” Frank shook his head in frustration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No, we missed him.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband moved closer to Bennie than back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Try it again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finesse it!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband took his position, spread his legs to give him extra balance, lifted up his arms and directed Bennie. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wide Mercedes tire was eventually directly in front of the spider.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Little more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little more. Go Right. Right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little More…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Got him!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My husband’s feet left the floor as he and Bennie cheered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They hooted as if the NY Giants had just scored a field goal to again win the Super Bowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband rushed up to the car and the two Olympians high fived. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Good job,” Bennie shouted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That was teamwork!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bennie backed up his Mercedes passed his garage to the one for Unit 210.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, turned right and pulled his car into the garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He closed the garage using the keypad and said, “Hey that was a workout. I’m going to have a scotch to celebrate.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“See you later,” my husband said feeling content. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He headed up the steps instead of using the elevator to get to the second floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Midway up, he partially collapsed because the ridiculousness of it all hit him at once. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just couldn’t stop laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I was laughing so hard I was afraid I wasn’t going to make it up here without peeing my pants.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His laughter was contagious so the two of us stood in the kitchen laughing as we haven’t had in a while.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then, when my husband finally caught his breath and said, “Another job well done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time for a nap."</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-54187475520159772362011-06-09T08:01:00.000-07:002011-06-09T08:24:10.454-07:00Couples Credit?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As someone who was once employed by my spouse, I had lots of experience with him getting credit for what was actually my work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I wrote a grant, newsletter, or article for him, inevitably, he read it, paused, contemplated, grabbed a pen, and made one tiny swipe of his huge hand to add a comma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He smiled, sat back in his high, burgundy-upholstered office chair and said, “That’s better.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked over his glasses at me on the other side of his mahogany desk, as if I were a peon and added, “That comma made all the difference.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Instantly, the unfairness of it all simmered in my chest and I came close to erupting into an explosive argument, but I held my tongue. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, I reasoned that his organization paid me for my words, so they were now his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But does the same rule apply in our personal relationship?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For a few years, my husband and I drove every Sunday from our home in PA to NJ to visit his mother in a nursing home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time, we had the same argument.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the way down Route 78, until we exited into the suburban town, I instructed, “Pull over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re going to a bakery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re bringing your Mom some pastries.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“She doesn’t need any damn, pastries!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gets all the food she needs.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You pull over right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re not going there empty-handed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where are your manners? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few baked goods really make her day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She can share them with her friends.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I’m not pulling over. You’ll be in there for a freaking half hour.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Pull over, now!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Inevitably, I won.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rushed into the bakery and pointed to various display cases filling one box with Italian cookies, another with brownies, and still another with a cheese Danish ring. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I fumbled through my wallet to pay and tip the lady in white because she responded to my anxiety and got everything ready so quickly. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I felt content and proud of myself as I carried the tower of white bakery boxes, tied with string, to the automatic glass door of the nursing home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, since I was unable to navigate ice and snow with my hands so filled with delights, my husband said, “Here, let me take those for you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I relinquished the boxes, so that I could ensure that my Sunday best outfit was not covered with powdered sugar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> I brushed off my skirt and did my final primping as we walked down a maze of hallways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, just as we entered my mother- in-law's room, where she waited facing the door in her wheel chair, my husband inched in front of me like a thundering race horse, nose to nose, with another at the finish line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d lift up the three boxes slightly, with just a barely noticeable shrug of his shoulders, as if to say, “Lookee, here!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, the celebration started. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">His mother’s arms lifted towards the ceiling, in a Baptist Halleluiah gesture, and came back down as if folded in a prayer of Thanksgiving. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She put her eyes down for a moment and shook her praying hands forward and back.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“My a son, My a son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look what he brings me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s such a good boy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m the luckiest Momma on earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come give me a hug. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh by the way…Hello to you.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So what’s wrong with letting my husband look good in his mother’s eye? But what about when he does it with my own family?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When we lived in PA and had a pool, deck, hot tub, and volleyball court, our place was the spot to gather for Fourth of July and Memorial Weekend events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband pushed a stocked shopping cart through BJ’s while I selected baby back ribs, flank steaks, and sausages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the while, he tagged along behind me mumbling swear words --that cleaned up a bit amounted to, “Throw a freaking hot dog on the goddamn grill!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do you have to get all this crap?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because they're your brothers?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After an amazing day of drinks, volleyball, swimming and incredible food, my brothers and sisters and their spouses lined up at the front door to say their goodbyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each one passed me by, grabbed my husband’s hand in a hearty handshake, then rethought it, and wrapped theirs arms around his big shoulders in a grateful bear hug, and said, “My man, Frank,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> y</span>ou throw the best parties!”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s one thing to be recognized for fine backyard grilling, but now that my husband has retired, his credit- seeking ways have penetrated other areas-- like the kitchen. He would have never dreamed of getting involved there before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I rush from the refrigerator to the stove, putting the final touches on pot roast, stuffed cabbage, loin of pork or filet mignon, he has been known to enter the kitchen from the other doorway. He waits until I’m in the dining room setting the table, he looks left, then right, to make sure the coast is clear, and stealthily adds a dash of pepper to whatever I’m cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One dash of pepper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>After guests take their first bite and I straighten my posture in my dining room chair preparing to be garnished with accolades, my husband clears his throat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just in time to interrupt the first tidbit of praise, he states, </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Ya know, she’s a good cook, but I put the finishing touches on this dish with my secret formula.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
Amidst the “Ohhs and Ahhs” and “Delicious, Frank!” I fume.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve got to be kidding me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All you did was add pepper-- which it didn’t even need, I might add!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The thing that I find most upsetting about this credit stealing conduct is that my husband has so many of his own talents to be recognized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has a PhD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a successful Superintendent of Schools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He can do any home repair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He recently added crown molding to our living room and raised panel molding to our dining room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He installed hanging lights above our kitchen counter—demonstrating electrical skill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s even a better golfer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why does he need to take credit for my only skills, writing and cooking?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When couples recently visited our condo in Florida for an indoor Memorial Day barbecue, they were so impressed with how beautiful our tile floor looked. My husband had purchased beige grout stain online.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He spent an entire weekend, on his knees, applying the grout stain with a toothbrush into every dark line of our 1800 square foot condo that has tile in every single room. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As each guest asked about our floors, since grout lines are a big topic of discussion in our neck of the woods, I stepped in front of my husband and said, “It took me hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rolled up and down the rooms in my office chair, leaning way over and painting every single line by hand, myself, with a tooth brush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was backbreaking work!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put on my best martyr face. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My guests were interested for all of one second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One wife turned fully away from me, rubbing her hands together in anticipation, and said, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“I can’t wait to see what Frank made for dinner tonight.”</span></div></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-76070721001402343592011-06-02T10:48:00.000-07:002011-06-02T10:56:07.228-07:00Special Education?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">After being out of the classroom for five years, I was excited when one of my school district clients asked if I would be willing to teach a one-night, technology-based writing class for adults.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I operated my own grant-writing consulting business for years and it was lonely work at times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I welcomed the opportunity to briefly return to teaching to use my love of writing to try to build some confidence in those less thrilled about taking pen to paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">On my way to teach the evening class, I received a call from the Program Director advising me that in addition to 23 adults ranging in age from 24 to 76, there would be a professional signer in my class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the mothers who registered for the class was deaf. In accordance with <city w:st="on"><place w:st="on">ADA</place></city> regulations, the district was providing someone to sign my words for this parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a former English teacher, I was accustomed to accommodating special need students, but was still worried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I was “Teacher of the Year” and received outstanding evaluations, there was one glaring negative comment on every review:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>This instructor must make every effort to slow her speech.</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">In order to soothe my own anxiety and to reassure the signer, I greeted her as soon as I entered the classroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately warned her about my speech impediment and promised to make every effort to slow down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I added, “Please know that it is a lifelong problem that won’t be corrected tonight, but I will work with you.” I smiled at Mrs. Eastwood, the deaf parent, and gave her the “Okay” sign.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">My adult students filed into class in many different shapes and sizes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was an elderly couple that just purchased a computer and wanted to use it to write e-mails to their grandchildren.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was another couple that hoped to help their 8<sup>th</sup> grade daughter write a better 5-paragraph essay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were several unemployed Moms and Dad there to learn to write a cover letter and a resume.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly, these were too many topics to cover in two hours, but I planned on doing my best.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I began the class by distributing a questionnaire asking for personal information and a sentence or two about what each enrollee hoped to learn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I spoke for about three minutes about writing, about how personal it was, about how it is used to assess educational level, skills, etc. I mentioned that it was a hands-on class and that we were going to actually be doing writing, and reviewing some of the most common errors that could be …</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Suddenly I was interrupted by the signer raising her hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Eastwood frowned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The signer stated, “Mrs. Eastwood was looking down filling out the questionnaire, so she was not able to read your lips or watch my sign interpretation of your introduction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you begin again?”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“Oh, sure…I guess… there are a few stragglers, just getting settled, I will start again.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I repeated the intro the best I could, but it <span style="color: black;">was </span>not going as smoothly as before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First, because the faces of the students looked as if they were saying “We heard this already!"<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secondly, because I knew I said it much better the first time. I suddenly felt nervous and began stumbling.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I continued, “Tonight, we are going to begin with…..”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I was interrupted again by the signer’s chubby hand. Mrs. Eastwood grimaced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The signer stated, “Mrs. Eastwood says that you were a little fast and she is writing down everything that you say, so could you try it again a little slower.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">22 people sighed.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I responded rapidly, “Please…I assure you… there is nothing so important that I am going to say that needs to be taken down in note form.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a hands-on class that will allow you to …</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I was immediately interrupted by the signer again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m sorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Eastwood was getting to MS Word and was looking down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was not able to get that part.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The class stared. I said, “Let’s just move on to our first practice assignment.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The challenge was to see if participants could combine 5 simple sentences into one correct complex sentence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heads immediately bowed behind the computer monitors as some quickly started typing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others bit fingernails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One or two called me over for help.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I asked participants to please raise their hands when they were done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I navigated the very large computer laboratory, going row by row, to see if any participants wanted to share their answers with the class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped here and suggested a comma; there and pointed out a run-on sentence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked up and down the middle aisle saying “Good Job!” and “That’s perfect!” All across the room adults, returning to this world for the first time in years, were raising their hands feeling proud to share what they had written. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I eventually made my way back to the front of the room and was just about to ask for volunteers to share their work when…my field of vision was blocked by the signer’s hand waving furiously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Eastwood glared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">The signer stated firmly, “Mrs. Eastwood requests that you stand in one place, facing the front of the room, without moving or turning your head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please just face front because she cannot read <span style="color: black;">your </span>lips if you are walking around or in the back of the room.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Read my lips? Then why do we need a signer? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spoke as if I were a tape in very slow motion, “Are you asking me to stand perfectly still for the entire class perio<span style="color: black;">d?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Mrs. Eastwood nodded powerfully.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“You’ve got to be kidding me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am teaching 23 people here!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I screamed on the inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the outside, I said nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I scanned the rest of the room, where my excited, renewed students were waving their hands and waiting for me to give them their moment in the sun.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">“I’ll try my best.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, within seconds, I rushed across the room for the first answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bobbed and weaved up and down the rows for others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I check sentences. I gave suggestions. I wrote on the board. I patted shoulders and arms. I gave smiles of support.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laughed at jokes. I jumped forward, moved backward, waived my arms, shuffled my feet and gloried in the kinetic dance of interaction called teaching.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">When it was over, I slumped into the black vinyl chair exhausted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had forgotten how physically draining it was to teach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, I was quickly renewed as I flipped through the completed evaluation sheets. Of the 23 evaluations scoring my presentation on a scale of 1-5, 22 participants had scored the class either a “4” or “5” and added comments like “Extremely helpful.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Can we do a Part II?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The best class I ever had.” “You are so much fun!”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I felt proud and invigorated and actually missed the profession for one lengthy minute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, I neared the end of the pile and there it was, the dreaded score, circled in red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a “1” from Mrs. Eastwood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She added, “This teacher was terrible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She spoke too fast and failed to follow my commands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did not make reasonable accommodations for me.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Believe it or not, I understood the frustration that made Mrs. Eastwood circle that “1” twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did feel sympathy for her situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I knew that I could not have taught her classmates if I just stood still and gave no personal attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Was I unfair?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">This question stayed with me as I drove home and recalled other recent discussions I had with superintendents about the special education situation in public schools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never really paid attention to the fairness of it all until it confronted me face to face on this night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">For example, administrators again and again shared the alarming stories of the outrageous financial burden on school districts due to the placement of severely handicapped children in out-of- district settings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One superintendent told me that his district had paid $107,000 per year for a severely handicapped child to be educated and transported.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 8 years, the 14 year-old boy had learned to touch his eyebrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The district budgeted approximately $13,000 per year for other students.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I could truly empathize with the difficulties faced by the parent’s of severely handicapped children… just as I could imagine the pride the same parent must feel after witnessing any progress whatsoever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But are we being fair?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">I couldn’t help but wonder how well a highly intelligent child from our poorest cities would do in life if $107,000 were made available each year for him to be transported out of district to a top private school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or how advanced our nation would be if $107,000 was invested in every gifted and talented child each year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are we being fair to these children?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are we letting sympathy for handicapped parents and children cloud our judgment?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Are we afraid to stand up and advocate for the other children in the room?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">After a few weeks, I called the Program Director to offer to do a Part II to the writing class free of charge, since the parents found it helpful. The Program Director told me that the evening parent education program had to be cancelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mrs. Eastwood had signed up for every night of the 12-week program. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The school did not have the budget to pay the signer $150 for 2 hours each night for two nights per week for 12 weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, they had to cancel the entire program or risk being sued for not making “reasonable” accommodation. </div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-62271747700271731342011-05-26T09:01:00.000-07:002011-05-26T13:39:45.286-07:00Topsy Turvy Times<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One common issue among the wives in my Fl condominium community is finding projects to keep our retired husbands busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whenever my hubby concludes that he’s exhausted his ideas for daily activities, he stands over my shoulder, rubbing his fuzzy belly against me while I write at my computer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s often wearing only plaid boxers, when he asks, “Can we go to the pool yet?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His tone takes me back to a time when my five year old son whined, “Can we, Ma? Can we, please? Ma, can we go to the pool, now?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can we Ma? Ma?”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, the whining and desire to go to the pool are better than doing nothing. There are other days, where my head pounds from the background noise of talking heads on a 24 hour news program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, I pop-up from my office chair, march into the living room, hand on hip, and summon my most authoritative teacher voice to address my husband in his easy chair. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uh,uh,” I wag my pointer finger. “Don’t think for one moment that you're sitting in that chair all day and doing nothing!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You better find something to do and fast!” </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey, I worked for 37 years!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have a long way to go to catch up to me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s true, he is thirteen years older and I saw how hard he worked as a Superintendent of Schools, when I was an English teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, I never thought the change from being in a leadership position to retirement would be so dramatic in just five years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a Superintendent of Schools, my husband dressed impeccably with a perfectly pressed suit, a starched white shirt, a yellow speckled power tie, polished shoes, an impressive Rolex watch, and a twinkling diamond pinky ring.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, in retirement, when he does get dressed, his uniform is khaki shorts and a golf shirt with Birkenstock sandals. He looks like a supersized Osh Kosh B’Gosh catalog model. True, this is appropriate wear for Florida, but every time we step out of our dark condo into the sunlight, the warm rays illuminate caked spaghetti sauce stains dotting my husband’s shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shocked, I point them out and say, “You have stains all over your shirt!”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So,” he says as he picks at them like a scabbed knee.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“So?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re not going out like that, Mister!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Get in there right now and change that shirt!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With his head down in shame, he complies. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To avoid having my husband looming over me all day, I usually dictate the most bizarre grocery list to require him to go both to Publix Grocery store and BJ’s to extend his time shopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cream of Tartar, Anise seed, cuticle oil, basmati rice—heck even Eye of Newt are added to the list. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Compiling his list on a piece of yellow legal pad paper makes him joyous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He folds the yellow, lined paper in four and places it into his khaki pocket as if to say, “Once again, I am a man of purpose.”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My good friend, Rosie, shared her experiences with keeping her husband occupied as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she begins her story, it’s immediately clear she hails from Brooklyn, NY because she pronounces her, like Huh, and mother like motha, and whore, like whowhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This only adds to the fact that she is one of the funniest people on earth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her looks and personality are the perfect combination of hot-blooded Italian and light-hearted Irish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her hair is ebony black and worn in a bob. Her nearly 70 year-old face is speckled with adorable freckles and a white easy smile warms her listeners immediately. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here’s how her story unfolded: </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Henry and I were in Walmart’s and he decided that for a little hobby, he has to buy this Topsy Turvy Tomato. Henry said, “We’ll have tomatoes all summer for $14.99.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can grow it right on the balcony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>See, you hang it. Perfect for condos.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rosie elevates her voice, “Do you know how many tomatoes I can buy for the price of that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Henry turned sullen, she said, “Fine, get it.” She figured he would at least be out on the balcony instead of following her around with a dustpan.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since retiring as a union steam fitter in New York, Henry has made it his sole purpose in life to ensure the grout in the tile floor of their condo remained spotless. This has driven Rosie crazy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She makes it a point each day to walk from the kitchen to the living room, carrying a ham and cheese sandwich, breaking off small chunks of the sandwich and purposely dropping them onto the floor as she goes.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She chuckles, “I like to clock him to see how quickly it takes before he picks it up. He’s freaking crazy.” Like most of us as we age, Rosie has blossomed from being called Bony Paroni as a teen to a full figured woman. Now, in the midst of heated discussions, she screams at Henry, ‘My skinny friends are all divorced. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I lose five pounds, will you get the hell out--for Chrissake?”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rosie continues... when we got it home, Henry and I stood side by side peeking down into the contraption to see the stuff inside the planter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Crap,” we realized that the Topsy Turvy doesn’t come with any tomato plants.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We headed back to Walmart to spend $30.00 on tomato plants.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry planted 15 pounds of tomatoes in the planter and then made his way to hang it on a hook on the balcony wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stood back to admire his work and realized there was not enough sun there for the tomatoes.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We went back to Walmart to buy a longer wrought iron plant hook for $10.00.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry drilled the balcony wall and hung the Topsy Turvy tomato pot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later in the day, he realized that half the container would always be against the wall and wouldn’t get any sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He decided it would be better if he built a stand for it.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He drove to Home Depot to buy $20.00 worth of wood and $12.00 worth of screws. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He built a plant stand in the exact shape of the stick stand you would draw on a piece of paper if you were starting to play the Hangman word game.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Rosie arrived at the pool that day, she said, “If you see a body dangling from a hangman stand on my balcony, call the police.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">After inviting my husband into his garage to show off his new plant stand, Henry was still unsatisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, ‘You know, I can’t just keep this wood natural.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It don’t look right.’</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry ran to Home Depot to buy the best quart of white semi-gloss paint for $14.00.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once Henry painted his plant stand bright white, he put it onto the balcony, hung his Topsy Turvy tomato plant and stood back to admire a job well done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, all the next morning, while checking on his tomatoes every hour, Henry realized that his plant was only getting a few hours of sun a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His 3 bedroom condo, a coveted corner unit, allowed him to see the ocean, but was shaded for a major portion of the afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry got an idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked at Rosie’s beloved seven foot tall cactus that she kept since her granddaughter grafted two cacti for a science project in first grade, 20 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry took the wheels off that plant and added them to his tomato stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This way, he could wheel the stand around all day to catch the sun for his Topsy Turvy tomatoes in various locations on the balcony.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After three days of peace, Henry called Rosie outside. He was red, sweaty and upset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He noticed a round water stain on the floor of his balcony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, this ain’t no good,” he mumbled to himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since he now defines himself based on the cleanliness of his floor, this rust color stain was completely intolerable.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry headed to Home Depot to buy a few 2” x 2” and 1” x 12” pieces of wood for $16.00.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">He built a rectangular tray to catch the water that drips from the Topsy Turvy plant. Meanwhile, Rosie received a letter from the Condo association stating that there was far too much hammering, sawing and other noises coming from her condo and neighbors were complaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, Henry was still unhappy because he didn’t want the new wooden tray, he just built, to get ruined by dripping water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ran into the kitchen pantry and grabbed one of Rosie’s favorite serving trays to put it onto the wooden tray he build to protect the wood from water stains.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Henry was finally satisfied and saw that it was good, he invited me over to see the Topsy Turvy tomato.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a city girl, but my husband has grown many tomato plants in our yard in PA over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After overtly admiring his monster plant stand, I had to pause and think about whether to hold my tongue or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I said, “Henry, I hate to even say this, but the leaves on your tomato plants look shriveled.”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry’s shoulders sunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ran his hand through his pure white hair and said, “You know, you’re right. I knew it too.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walked over to a small plastic tool cabinet and said, “I didn’t tell Rosie, but a few days ago, I went Walmart’s and bought this tomato food for $12.99.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve been giving it to the tomatoes every other day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mix a ½ capful of food with a gallon of water.”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Henry, I’m no expert, but are you supposed to feed tomatoes every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me see that bottle.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He passed me a yellow plastic bottle and after putting on my reading glasses, I read aloud, “Mix 1/3 cap of food with 2 gallons of water for 20 square feet of garden every 14 days.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>“Henry,” I added, “I think you’re killing your tomatoes with kindness.” </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Henry paused and stared, thinking hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walked around the plant stand once and said, “Rosie, get in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to go to Walmart’s to get some new tomato plants.” </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re not going anywhere!” Rosie erupted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll hang you on that Goddamn monstrosity. It is what it is.”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Stay tuned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The saga continues. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-28821313456302587222011-05-22T10:27:00.000-07:002011-06-10T07:38:11.844-07:00<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" mce_style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" mce_style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"> </div></div></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-54502379399352696342011-05-17T08:22:00.000-07:002011-05-17T08:22:58.622-07:00America's Greatest Reality Program<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Amazing Race? Survivor?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please. You call this adventure? You want to see danger? Yesterday, I benefitted from one of the greatest advantages of living in Cape Canaveral, Florida, a port town that lacks the beauty of other Florida locations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Passing massive cruise ships, I walked to our private beach at 8:40AM to watch the final lift off of Space Shuttle Endeavor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I could only see that intense ball of fire for mere moments, the remarkable flame, moving at thousands of miles per hour, always ignites national pride within me that lasts for weeks. The Space Program was my generation’s reality television and today’s television programs cannot even come close to generating the same excitement.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Can you even begin to imagine the bravery required of the astronauts who suit up and climb aboard the space shuttle to sit atop those rocket boosters to be propelled into space?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I’ll never forget the excitement in 1986, when the Space Shuttle Challenger was scheduled to carry the first American teacher into space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all turned on our televisions in our classrooms to watch the event with our students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’ll never forget the devastation our nation felt when the dream exploded right before our very eyes on television.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk about reality TV.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll always remember the emotion and pride I felt watching then President Regan tear-up as he spoke these sentiments to our nation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“To the families of the Challenger, I want to say, your loved ones were daring and brave, and they had that special grace, that special spirit that says, give me a challenge, and I'll meet it with joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had a hunger to explore the universe and discover its truths. They wished to serve, and they did. They served all of us.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>President Reagan added:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">“We've grown used to wonders in this century. It's hard to dazzle us. But for twenty-five years the United States space program has been doing just that. We've grown used to the idea of space, and, perhaps we forget that we've only just begun. We're still pioneers. They, the members of the Challenger crew, were pioneers. </span>And I want to say something to the schoolchildren of America who were watching the live coverage of the shuttle's take-off. I know it's hard to understand, but sometimes painful things like this happen. It's all part of the process of exploration and discovery. It's all part of taking a chance and expanding man's horizons. The future doesn't belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave. The Challenger crew was pulling us into the future, and we'll continue to follow them.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">And then in 2003, when the Space Shuttle was again lost and the footage was played over and over again on television, President Bush comforted and encouraged the nation with these words:</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"> “We'll continue our quest in space. There will be more shuttle flights and more shuttle crews and, yes, more volunteers, more civilians, more teachers in space. Nothing ends here; our hopes and our journeys continue.</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mankind is led into the darkness beyond our world by the inspiration of discovery and the longing to understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In an age when space flight has come to seem almost routine, it is easy to overlook the dangers of travel by rocket, and the difficulties of navigating the fierce outer atmosphere of the Earth. These astronauts knew the dangers, and they faced them willingly, knowing they had a high and noble purpose in life. Because of their courage, and daring, and idealism, we will miss them all the more.”<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">What we have in common, my senior Florida peers and I and today’s children of our nation is that we all still live in a country that thrives on courage and idealism and bravery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all carry that spirit within our very fiber—even if you were not born here because your family came here to seek it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was personified even more at yesterday’s launch by the participation of Representative Gabby Giffords, who is currently struggling to overcome the headshot wounds she suffered in January of 2010.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless of her pain and trials, she was there to cheer on her husband and his crew, despite her own suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her news incident represented one of the worst times in our history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yesterday, she, once again, represented the best.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">The news sometimes can get us down and there will always be good and evil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, as our history unfolds, I hope our young people may be comforted by the words below that I have consolidated and reiterate from two American presidents from two different generations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They may be even more meaningful now that our amazing Shuttle Program is coming to an end. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Nothing ends here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our hopes and our journeys continue in you. You ,too, have a high and noble purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>The future doesn't belong to the fainthearted; it belongs to the brave. Be brave, stand strong and lead us <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">beyond our world by the inspiration of discovery and your longing to understand. It’s now your turn to</span> take the chances that will greatly expand man's horizons. We cannot even imagine where you will take us, but we take great comfort in knowing that with you and in your hands, we will be safe.Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-53169275248765738652011-05-13T20:43:00.000-07:002011-05-14T07:45:10.413-07:00You Never Know<div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">Today I want to tell you a story about a guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a just a simple kid who grew up in a little town and spent his time playing sports, especially soccer, with his buddies in the school yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He also loved to ski, kayak, and swim in the river near his house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was passionate about all sports and had a lot of friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, his happy childhood was interrupted when his mother died when he was just nine years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was devastating to him and his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, his older brother died when he was 12 and he was never the same.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">He and his father, the only two left in his family, moved into a one-room apartment, where his father cooked for him and sewed clothes for him to wear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His father wanted him to be tough, so he made him study in a bitter cold room with no heat in the middle of winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He believed this would increase his concentration and help him to do very well in school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">His father also wanted him to still have fun too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, when he could not afford a soccer ball, his father made him one out of rags, so that his son could still run and play.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, the guy graduated from high school and was accepted to a university, where he looked forward to beginning his studies.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">What do you think happened to this guy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think he made it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think he was successful?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think he made his father proud?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you think he became an electrician? A doctor?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A teacher? A plumber?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lawyer?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A millionaire? The funny thing about kids is that you just never know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You really just never know.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This guy I’m telling you about went on to the university and loved studying languages, poetry, philosophy and religion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He even started his own theatre company and was an actor for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s pretty famous today, but he wasn’t on a sitcom or in the movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he made it big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was having a lot of fun in college until Communism began to limit the type of poetry he could read, plays he could perform, and the religion he could practice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, his life took a different turn…he decided to do something about the pain and suffering he thought Communism was causing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, he wasn’t a soldier or a politician.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This guy loved sports, but he’s not a famous athlete.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loved theatre, but wasn't an actor on Broadway or in the movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, his influence has been felt by millions world- wide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You all have heard of him. Because of his commitment to others, huge, adoring crowds met him wherever he went.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People stood out in sweltering heat or pouring rain just to get a slight glimpse of him. People traveled countless miles just to see him wave from a window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And because he spoke eight languages fluently, he was able to communicate to so many and to bring peace and comfort to people all across the globe.</div><div class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The guy, this soccer player, this son, this graduate I’m telling you about was named Karol <span style="color: black;">Wojtyla.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you know him?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t recognize him by that name, maybe it would help if I told you that most people knew this guy as </span>Pope John Paul II.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">It didn’t matter if his fans were Catholic, Muslim, Jewish or Atheist, American, Italian or Cuban, Pope John Paul II, was recognized as a universal symbol of strength, courage, and values for everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">According to CNN News Correspondent John Allen, “You'd be hard pressed to name any global figure who has achieved 100 percent of the things they set out to achieve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is doubtful there has ever been a man who so successfully translated his strength, determination and faith into such widespread respect and goodwill.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My reasons for writing about this distinguished man have absolutely nothing to do with religion because I no longer attend any church. It has 100% to do with the guy…the man he became.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to emphasize for all parents that no young boy finishes playing soccer, sits down, drinks his Gatorade, and turns to his buddies and says “You know, I think I will be the Pope when I grow up.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It just doesn’t happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure he didn’t say it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure your child has never said it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the wonderful truth is that we just never know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cannot predict what choices they will make or risks they’ll take and the results that will follow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span class="body">In closing, I’d like to leave you with the words of Pope John Paul the II, who so deeply affected the world, “Have no fear of moving into the unknown. Simply step out fearlessly knowing that I am with you, therefore no harm can befall you; all is very, very well. Do this in complete faith and confidence.</span>”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">As a parent, you never know what miracle you're growing. That runny-nosed, grimy munchkin in your kitchen having a cookie, may one day, become a saint.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-20968872601762887842011-05-09T10:37:00.000-07:002011-05-09T11:39:51.972-07:00Teachers of the Year (Mother's and Father's Day Tribute)<span style="font-family: "Courier New";"></span><br />
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Each year, in most schools across the nation, an important committee convenes to solicit nominations, collect votes, and announce the results to recognize an outstanding educator with the distinguished honor of “Teacher of the Year.” According to the standards established by Departments of Education, among the criteria for selecting candidates are the use of effective instructional techniques and methods and the development of feelings of self-worth and love of learning in students. The teachers I recognize today are those who have accomplished this by inspiring children on a daily basis. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Who are these amazing teachers?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At graduations, they are not all seated among the faculty and staff members as you might expect. They're not among the Board of Education members and local dignitaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They're not mingled in with the administrative team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They're seated out there, somewhere, in the audience. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Every caring and nurturing parent or guardian should stand to be saluted as the Outstanding Teachers of the Year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is with great admiration that society pays tribute to you for your relentless dedication, your tireless work, and your unselfish partnership with schools.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You have nurtured exceptional young adults while facing overwhelming obstacles. You have done it all during this most challenging time in history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, most of you have kept your composure, humor, and compassion. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">I honor you, the mothers and fathers and guardians of students because, you, America’s parents, are the first teachers. In our media driven society, our culture has really confused terms like victims and heroes, celebrities and role models. As a society, we are so enthralled with the stars of pop culture that we have come to care less and less about the "content of one's character."<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, stunning examples of fine character are walking up and down the streets of our own neighborhoods every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we simply turn our heads, just a few inches from the television or computer, to the window, portraits of real heroes will be there, framed by the responsibilities of daily life. As a famous athlete once told his young admirers, "I am not your hero, kids; if you want a hero go home and talk with your parents."</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Parents give their all, and often sacrifice their own dreams, in order to nurture the potential of their children. In our country, many parents have uprooted their lives, left their homelands, abandoning their relatives and support systems—not to pursue material riches, but in search of a better future for their children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thousands of Moms and Dads have given up their professional and personal aspirations to spend time preparing children for school, chauffeuring them to various activities, and carefully orchestrating each day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They struggle to ensure that learning is fun, strengths are developed, and weaknesses overcome. Scores of parents are also volunteering in the classroom, chaperoning class trips, tutoring children who need assistance, organizing PTO activities—all the while monitoring their children’s health and well-being. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Yet, you rarely find a moment to congratulate yourselves for all that you've done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, most spend a great deal of time mired in anguish about what you haven’t done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter what, you always think you could or should do more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">You probably don’t even realize how phenomenal you really are, and how lucky your children are to have your loving support. It’s time to do what you forget to do: pat yourself on the back and think about all of the incredible ways you’ve made a positive contribution to your child’s life. In fact, I want you to ask yourself, “Am I a hero?” A hero is defined as a prominent or a central person in any remarkable action or event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You all have certainly played the prominent role in the remarkable events we celebrate during graduation season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I call you heroes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A hero is also described as a person of distinguished valor or fortitude in suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one can deny the courage or valor you need every day to face the challenges of parenthood in this chaotic time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we call you heroes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And amid the joyful moments, you have endured varying degrees of suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And even as we attempt to celebrate you, there are mixed emotions. After you’ve nourished and protected your most treasured and prized possession, nature will now force you to part so that your child can makes his own way in this world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">As each child’s name is called this graduation season, a face somewhere will stream with tears, because graduates are now the future’s children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>World-renowned poet, Kalil Gabran, summarized the bittersweet nature of the parent/child relationship in his book The Prophet.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">"Your children are not your children.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">They come through you but not from you,</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">You may give them your love but not your thoughts.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">For they have their own thoughts.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">You may house their bodies but not their souls,</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.”</span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">We can never predict just how far that arrow will go or where it will land. We cannot even know for certain if it will ever reach the destination that we would have chosen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's all totally out of our control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as it soars gracefully towards its destination, I ask you to please find some peace in knowing you have been and will continue to be the wind that speeds these children on their way to tomorrow. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Did your child ever tell you that you’re his hero?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give him time because time is the only true ingredient that produces this glorious patina on your special work of art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the interim, please accept my congratulations and deep condolences, because I know firsthand, that the arrow soaring towards tomorrow cannot reach its destination without first piercing through your heart. </span></div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoPlainText" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New";">(This blog is dedicated to Stephen Trembley.)</span></div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-18958281931001337522011-05-07T08:52:00.001-07:002011-05-07T08:52:09.327-07:00The True Tests<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Is dearth to paucity as hair is to baldness?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was the first question on a sample Scholastic Aptitude Test when I taught English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder how many “successful” people could answer this analogy question correctly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s funny, but twenty years have passed and I never felt the need or the desire to use either dearth or paucity in a sentence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, these words and many similar words are used on an annual basis to determine the success or failure of America’s schools. </span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If you pay close attention to the print and news media, you would think that because of dearth and paucity, our schools are failing dreadfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, according to many reputable sources, we are graduating young adults who can barely tie their own shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can’t read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can’t write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can’t think and they will never survive in this dog eat dog world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I beg to differ.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">America’s young people were put to a far more stringent test than most teachers could ever create.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether we supported it or not, agreed with our president or strongly disagreed with him, the United States Armed Forces are enduring a high stakes test that puts the No Child Left Behind assessments and the SAT to shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the average age of combat units at just 19 years old, young men and women, who probably were not the top students in their classes, and probably did not attend our best universities, or any university, traveled to an extremely dangerous part of the world on a very significant mission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In their exceptional execution of their mission, they endure dramatic challenges as they demonstrate many of the educational standards defined by the state of New Jersey as Core Content Curriculum Standards or Workplace Readiness Standards by which we are supposed to measure student achievement: </span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 25.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They used technology, information and other tools. </span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 25.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They used critical thinking, decision-making, and problem-solving skills.<br />
</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 25.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They demonstrated self-management skills. </span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 25.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They applied safety principles.<br />
</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 25.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They acquired a geographical understanding of the relationship between language and culture.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt 25.5pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They acquired historical understanding of economic forces, ideas, and institutions throughout the history of New Jersey, The United States, and The World.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And most importantly, this so-called struggling generation of children, who supposedly cannot read or write on grade level, effectively communicated a message so very loud and clear that it resonated throughout the world, for all to hear, in every language in the universe: America stands for freedom and we can accomplish anything!</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For several weeks, television was alive with such bright young faces of American men and women of every color and nationality, who personally hand delivered—not a Dominos pizza, not a gang bustin rapper’s rhyme, not any of the stereotypical things attributed to their generation. No, instead they delivered freedom, big time, to a nation of people who were being brutalized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Think about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They delivered freedom –life itself to a suffering people. </span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The toppling of a statue once, that we all witnessed, should signify the final toppling of the false notion that America’s youth are failing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have and will continue to succeed far beyond our wildest dreams and imagination. As I drive past school bus stops, I see beautiful young faces filled, not only with hope and promise, but determination, strength, intelligence, and vision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I challenge America’s youth to categorically dismiss the nonsense reports that you are not up to standards and show the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Stand and deliver your own special brand of freedom—however you wish to define it.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My prayer is that young Americans never again have to reach for a gun, or drive a tank, or fly a fighter jet to deliver this freedom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, if they are challenged, they will answer their challenges in an exceptional way as all American generations have done before them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Meanwhile, if television airways were filled each night with the daily accomplishments of our youth in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya, our national pride would explode.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, what we do have in our media is a dearth of images portraying the good in America and a severe paucity of reality on our reality television.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-15190554777955108932011-05-07T08:51:00.000-07:002011-05-07T08:51:11.256-07:00The Golden Years<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After retiring as a Superintendent of Schools, my husband collected his loose change in a coffee can. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the dull coins neared the top of the blue can, he decided to take it to the local grocery store to cash it for our upcoming trip to Las Vegas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we drove to the store, he said, “You take it and put it through the coin machine. I’m embarrassed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agreed to do it, but the coffee can was way too heavy for me to carry into the store and lift high enough to pour the change into the CoinStar machine near the cash registers. So, my husband joined me after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Together, we lifted the can and leaned over in amazement as the coin machine devoured the quarters, nickels and dimes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The steady clanging of change was music to our ears as the digital counter totaling our stash climbed even higher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every now and then, there was silence as we reached in to take out a button or token that had accidentally been placed into the coffee can during the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed and high-fived each other when it totaled $200.00 and was still counting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We turned our attention back to the machine and our heads were nearly touching sides as we watched in delight with our backs towards the rest of the supermarket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were in our own little world when my husband was suddenly tapped on his shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We both turned to see the long time County Superintendent of Schools, who met with my husband for years at the county’s monthly Superintendent’s Round Table meetings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His beige suit was in sharp contrast to my husband’s too-short blue gym shorts and too-tight Under Armor tee shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The county superintendent’s face opened into a wide grin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pointed to our scratched Maxwell House Coffee can of change and chuckled, “Frank, is this what happens to you when you retire?” We all had a good laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What are the chances of this happening?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just just one month later, I sent my husband to the next town to a Laundromat to dry a bulky comforter that didn’t fit in our dryer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He first made a stop at the drug store and then parked his black Lincoln Continental in front of a pizza place next door to the Laundromat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He felt out of place as he walked into the mildewy establishment to place the comforter in the dryer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t appreciate the clientele lurking around the washers and dryers, so he decided to wait outside and clean the inside of his car while our comforter tumbled. When the car interior was clean, he tossed the trash into the outside container, picked up the comforter and then headed for home.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As soon as he placed his keys on the kitchen table, he realized that he was missing the bag with his purchase from the drug store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It dawned on him that while cleaning his car, he had accidentally thrown-out his very expensive diabetes test strips that he had on the front seat in a white plastic bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rushed back to the pizza restaurant’s trash can and searched furiously for the pharmacy bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he did, old soda cups splashed brown coke spots on his cream colored golf shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sweat rolled down his reddened face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he wiped it from his eyes, his filthy hands smeared trashcan dust across his cheeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As he neared the bottom of the trashcan, his eye caught a glimpse of the white plastic pharmacy bag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He leaned deeply into the can, stood on his tippy toes, and finally pulled it out, along with a paper plate that was glued to the bag by pizza cheese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stretched the two apart, smiling as he lifted the pharmacy bag in triumph.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that exact moment of glory, the very same County Superintendent of Schools pulled up to the pizza place in his new silver Lexus. He exited the car and stopped in his tracks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took one look at my, sweaty, disheveled, husband and shook his head as if to clear it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said, “Man, I am never going to retire if this is what becomes of you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait till I tell the guys at this month’s round table meeting!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My husband started to explain, but instead just rushed to his car and drove away. </span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1200598516322408137.post-41701991056977363352011-05-07T08:50:00.000-07:002011-05-07T08:50:19.838-07:00Lost in Translation<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My husband and I are fortunate to be surrounded by wonderful neighbors, who are year-round residents, in our Florida condominium.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To our left, lives a remarkable couple, who just celebrated their 50th anniversary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like many successful seniors, they came to America from another land and worked tirelessly to secure the American Dream for their children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their three daughters have all earned college degrees and have been extremely successful.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However, with the economic downturn, one of their daughters was unemployed last year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My neighbor, Maria, approached me while I was walking my dogs and asked if I would consider reviewing her daughter’s resume to see if it could be improved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I work as a grant writer, but while teaching English for 12 years, I always included lesson plans on resume writing, so I had some experience.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later in the day, Maria gave me a Post It size paper containing her daughter’s e-mail address, so that I could introduce myself and encourage her daughter to e-mail me a copy of her resume.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I sat at my computer to write to Maria’s daughter, I struggled to read Maria’s printing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The letters and numbers comprising the e-mail address were printed neatly, but they were so tiny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even with my most powerful reading glasses, purchased in bulk from BJ’s, I couldn't make out all of the characters in the handwritten e-mail address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I struggled and came up with the best e-mail address I could manage.</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The next day, when I was walking my dog again, I saw Maria.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humbly and gratefully, she inquired about whether I was able to e-mail her daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stuttered a little as I explained that I tried to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said, “Maria, I’m so sorry, but your writing was so very tiny that I could hardly read the address.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sent the e-mail anyway, but honestly, I’m not sure if I sent it to the correct address."</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 16.8pt; margin: 0in 0in 12pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Maria, who would rather die than inconvenience anyone, reached for my hand and put the other to her head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m so sorry,” she said with a broken accent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My daughter, Katerina, told me, 'Momma, make sure when you give Katie the e-mail address that you use only small letters.'<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I tried really, really hard to write it as tiny as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even did it two times.”</span><span style="color: grey; font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 9pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Verdana", "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I burst into laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave Maria a hug and said, “Maria, Katerina meant that you should not use capital letters in the e-mail address--not that you should write really small!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We laughed so hard that my dogs thought we were crazy. Fortunately, Maria's daughter did get a job and all is well.</span>Katie Roberta Stevenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08389671159376656958noreply@blogger.com0