Auld Lang Syne

Well, here we are again. Another year is coming to an end, and a decade, too. All the television channels are showing retrospectives of “The Best Of…“ All the folk who try to keep the peace are on high alert. Taxi drivers are already spending the night’s tips. And people everywhere are getting together to celebrate and bring in the New Year--or perhaps already have. It is always bittersweet to see the year draw to a close. Some years more than others. This is the last day of the last year I still had a grandparent. This is the last year my original baby, Addison, will be a pre-teen. This is the end of the year my new baby, Scarlett, turned two. And so on. But, this is also the last year that Nick had work to do on his degree. And the end of a really tough decade of turmoil for many of us. So, what face to bring to the new year? There is a temptation to look back at unresolved resolutions from past years and lament what went awry, but the temptation to feel powerful in the face of possibility is stronger on this one day. We all believe that the new year will bring a new us--better than we have been, and stronger. In Ann Braybrooks’ King Of The Beasties, Tigger becomes king of the Hundred Acre Woods for just a moment--and it is a moment full of potential. A blessed new year to us all.

http://www.paperbackswap.com/King-Beasties-Winnie-Ann-Braybrooks/book/0307988201/

http://www.amazon.com/Ann-Braybrooks/e/B001ITRIC0

Becoming Great

If you get bitten by a radioactive spider, derive strength from a yellow sun, or come from a long line of Amazonian royalty, it makes sense that you would be superpowered. In fact, it would seem like a rip-off--for you and the world-- if you weren’t. But what about the average guy who decides to fight evil on a higher level than average allows? What about someone like Tony Stark who, with no special skills other than a space-age suit and a brilliant mind (well, millions of dollars, too), chooses to put himself on the line for his fellow human beings, out of a sense of loyalty to the species, by becoming the scarlet and gold powerhouse Ironman? Or, as an even more long-standing and familiar example, what are we to make of the tormented, orphaned Bruce Wayne who uses his family’s vast resources and his own internal demons to drive his crusade against the forces of darkness and chaos? If you are propelled by chemistry or destiny toward greatness, is it as amazing as choosing selflessly to become great? Or does taking care of others who can’t do what you can do, regardless of how you can do it, the most important part of this equation? I realize all of this is just talk, since superheroes, in the comic book sense, exist only in fiction, but reading Ralph Cosentino’s Batman: Story of the Dark Knight got me thinking about this stuff. And I don’t think I’ll finish anytime soon.

http://www.amazon.com/Batman-Story-Knight-Ralph-Cosentino/dp/0670062553

http://www.answers.com/topic/ralph-cosentino

Alarming

No matter how much we love what we do for a living, I think all of us experience moments of work dread--that feeling where we have to exert extreme willpower to get up and get going to the job. For some people, certain times of the year, week, or month are more stressful than others--accountants come April, retailers near the holidays, bank tellers on payday, ER workers on Saturday night. For others, specific situations, whenever they occur, can up the stress ante--a visit from the CEO, an employee evaluation, inspection by the state. And all of us have experienced those day-to-day personality conflicts which crop up out of nowhere and linger far longer than they should. But most of us don’t have to wonder if we are coming home after the day’s shift. Most of us don’t regularly face the possibility of grievous injury, the loss of our friends, or the sight of terrible destruction and tragedy. Yet, there are men and women who do. Somehow, when you consider what the firefighter’s work dread must feel like, having someone eat your Lean Cuisine from the breakroom fridge, going to an early staff meeting, or working unexpected overtime seems like a really small thing to feel upset over. We all know they rush in when we rush out, but they also go every day even when they don’t want to rush anywhere. In Lois Lenski’s The Little Fire Engine, the truck gets the spotlight, but it doesn’t drive itself, does it?

http://www.amazon.com/Little-Fire-Engine-Lois-Lenski/dp/0375810706

http://www.purplehousepress.com/sig/lenskibio.htm

Timeline

One day, as I was cleaning out an old desk, I came across a yellowed copy of Life magazine stuck to the bottom of a drawer. I don’t know if it was kept intentionally or not, but it was easy to see why this particular issue might have been put away as a keepsake. On the cover was a picture of outer space and a headline asking what was necessary to get man to the Moon. The date? 1965. The articles inside were no less intriguing with drawings of proposed space vehicles and a chronological commentary of what had already been tried to put America ahead in the space race, what had failed, how miserably and why, and what advances would have to be made in technology, information, and expertise before we could reach that elusive goal of leaving terra firma and setting foot on alien soil. Sitting in an office chair at the beginning of the twenty-first century, perusing the old magazine felt like time travel. Here they were, discussing something from my ancient past in future tense. I wanted to call out to those writers and the scientists they interviewed and tell them they would make it, that they would figure it out, that history would change when one man took a small step representing a giant leap for all of us. In H.A. Rey’s Curious George Gets A Medal, it’s 1957 and our monkey friend becomes the first living being in space. It probably seemed possible then.

http://www.amazon.com/Curious-George-Gets-Medal-Rey/dp/0395169739

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H._A._Rey

A Touching Experience

An interesting thing about working with children is the process of rediscovering concepts we take for granted as adults and seeing them through fresh eyes. One unit of study that always has this effect on me, at least temporarily, is learning and teaching about the five senses. Most of us go about our day seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting and touching without giving it much thought unless the normal workings get gummed up somehow--we burn our tongue on something hot, our sinuses are bothering us, we sit a little too close to the speaker at some performance--and then we notice the absence rather than the presence of what our senses have to say. And they all seem to have very specific jobs in terms of when we need and use them most. Although scent is certainly the most compelling of the five senses for memory retrieval, I don’t think touch can be beat for providing comfort. All of my kids developed tactile ways of making themselves feel better, or at least less scared or overwhelmed. Connor was such a dedicated hair twirler that the first night of his first very short haircut (which he requested), he cried himself to sleep and wouldn’t let us cut his hair short again for years. And Keilana still rubs her ears sometimes when she gets tired or nervous. Touch just does what we need sometimes. In Yoyo Books’ Fluffy Wild Animals, each page has soft fur to touch. Sometimes we read it twice just because.

https://www.popular.com.sg/jsp/product/product_detail.jsp?vca001=106&vpd001=93766

http://www.yoyo-books.com/

Separation Anxiety

When I was growing up, I knew two things for sure: I would be a mom and I wanted to have a career, too. To practice for all the small people, I started babysitting professionally when I was nine, learning crowd control, patience, and other kid-specific tricks I still use to this day. I always thought I would have a lot of kids--like ten or twelve--until I got one child…and realized that is a lot of kids. I never knew another human being could captivate your heart and soul so completely until I brought my Keilana into the world and developed a mother instinct that wouldn’t quit. Ever. While I was waiting for Keilana to show up, I just assumed I would spend my maternity leave getting to know her and recovering, and then she would go to childcare and I would go to work and everything would be modern and peachy. Then the day came when I woke up early, dressed in my work clothes, packed the diaper bag, got my baby ready to go out the door…and burst into tears. Put my makeup back on, put my baby in the carseat, drove to the babysitter…and burst into tears. Forgot about the makeup, turned my sweet girl over to people I trusted completely, drove to work…and burst into tears. It pretty much went on like that all day. In Sarah Albee’s Elmo’s First Babysitter, Elmo gets used to being away from his parents. I wonder how they handled it.

http://www.amazon.com/Elmos-First-Babysitter-Jellybean-Books/dp/0375811494

http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Sarah_Albee

Christmas Past

My best friend growing up was born a hundred years before I was. I was with her in covered wagons and through hungry winters. I played with her in the chill autumn air. We spent some of just about every day together and no time reminds me more of her than Christmas. Every doll I ever got on Christmas morning reminded me of the rag doll, Charlotte, her mother made for her when all she had was a corn cob wrapped in a handkerchief for playing house, and that she rescued from a mud puddle years later when she was thrown away by mistake. As I work on sewing or crocheting projects for Christmas presents, I think of the winter she and her family took turns working with their backs to each other so they could finish surprise gifts in a tiny cabin. As I fill stockings, I think of Mr. Edwards carrying treats on his head while fording a freezing river so that Santa could come to the prairie. When I anxiously wait for loved ones traveling in bad Christmas weather, I think of the days Pa spent under the snow eating oyster crackers and candy to survive. And when unexpected Christmas visitors show up, I think of Almanzo appearing almost magically on Christmas Eve to see the beloved girl he waited years to marry open her presents. I want Scarlett to know her, too, so we read A Little Prairie House so they could get acquainted. Merry Christmas, Laura.

http://www.amazon.com/Little-Prairie-House/dp/0064435261

http://www.lauraingallswilder.com/

Bump In The Night

The summer after graduation was particularly warm, even for Southern California, and people kept their windows and screen doors open more often and more casually than usual. Which is how Richard Ramirez, the “Nightstalker,” walked right into a dozen houses, wreaking unimaginable havoc. Everyone was scared, I was terrified. For hours every sleepless night, the only way I could get any rest was to creep into my brother’s room and curl up on his floor--my younger brother, to give you some perspective. So, when my usually harmless prankster boyfriend got what he thought was a funny idea, he should have reconsidered. One night when I thought he was home, he snuck to my house and hid near the front door. Home alone, I felt like I kept hearing something outside but dismissed it as paranoia. Finally, when I was too scared to stay by myself any longer, I decided to brave the six foot distance between the main house and my brother’s space in the converted garage so that I would have company. As I stepped onto the porch, the mischievous boy who wouldn’t hurt a fly jumped out of the bushes and I started screaming. And screaming. Screaming until I had no voice and was blind with panic. Poor boy was so contrite I doubt he ever tried to scare anyone ever again. In the Berenstains’ In The Dark, Brother gets more than he bargained for when he tries to scare Sister. Hopefully, everyone learns their lesson from these things.

http://www.amazon.com/Berenstain-Bears-Dark-First-Books/dp/0394854438

http://www.berenstainbears.com/

Nerd Alert

There are certain tests to determine if someone is a nerd and to what extent. If you know what species Jabba is, you are probably somewhat of a nerd. If you can distinguish between peripheral species in galaxies far, far away, you are definitely a nerd. If you know the name of the Klingon on Captain Picard’s Enterprise, nerd. If you know what today is for Klingons, irretrievable nerd. If you know Neil deGrasse Tyson on sight or get a quickening of the pulse when “Mythbusters” comes on, you really are a nerd. If you’ve ever remarked on a continuity mistake in the theater, corrected the grammar on a public sign, or know the director for any movie made earlier than 1950--nerd, nerd, double nerd. I pass (if you’re a fellow nerd) or fail (if you are a normal) all of these tests, so I’m a big time nerd. And I proclaim it with pride (or nuH bey on Kronos). But I think one of the most convincing tests of nerdhood is the fascination with how stuff works--how it’s made, what’s inside, where it came from, and other process-related things. My personal nerd passion is documentarily following something from the beginning of its journey to the destination--blown glass, bills becoming laws, “Trading Spaces“--so, I really liked Harriet Ziefert’s Birthday Card, Where Are You? In it we get to see Sam’s birthday card for Sally travel from his mailbox to hers--and all the stops in between. Now Scarlett is a nerd-in-training.

http://www.paperbackswap.com/Birthday-Card-Where-Harriet-Ziefert/book/0140505369/

http://www.answers.com/topic/harriet-ziefert

What Little Girls Are Made Of

While waiting for Scarlett, Nick regularly got asked whether he was hoping for a boy or a girl. But people rarely asked me and I think it’s because society expects a more pronounced preference from dads, namely a leaning towards a son to carry on their name, legacy, or something. Now, granted, Nick doesn’t subscribe to most male-centric views, but even he was mystified by the frequency of the question and the responses of disbelief he received to answering that he truly didn’t have a preference either way. And when we got a pretty clear ultrasound picture, the disbelief intensified. Many people were incapable of accepting that a man expecting a child, most likely his one and only child, wouldn’t feel at least some disappointment over getting a Mini Her instead of a Mini Me. And I have to admit that, for a moment, I was one of them. Having grown up in a family and religious tradition of firmly entrenched patriarchy, I felt Nick must be a bit bummed out, even if he was hiding it remarkably well, at not having someone to share all his boyhood stuff with. But that’s where we all went wrong--thinking only a boy could share those things, when nothing could be further from the truth. So, Scarlett wears Spiderman swim trunks, knows Marvel and DC characters on sight, and watches the Ninja Turtles video at naptime. Finding them reading Mary Carey’s “Masters of the Universe” Caverns Of Fear was not surprising. Just normal.

http://www.amazon.com/Masters-Universe-Caverns-Shadows-Knowledge/dp/B0007P6DMM

http://www.librarything.com/author/careymv

What I Should Have Said...

You know the scenario: Someone smug and obnoxious or cruel and manipulative does or says something really awful to you and it hits you like a brick. Your chest gets tight, your face flushes hot, and you get a flash of white hot anger. And then you come up with the perfect comeback--a stunning blend of acid, wit, and payback. But you come up with it about three hours later when you are lying, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep for thinking about the encounter for the thousandth time. Which of course does no good for you and your psyche and pride, but lets the perpetrator off the hook with your spluttering. Don’t you hate those moments? You’d think that having extensive training and education in communication (and a natural bent towards controversial behavior) would make me immune to drawing the short stick in one-up exchanges, but all the information in the world can’t save me from the temper rearing its ugly, incoherent head. So, I’m left to stew about what I should have said, and I’m always much more clever in hindsight. But sometimes you get it just right, say just the perfect thing, smooth over the conflict in just the right, clever way and you can live off the high of that for a good week. In Mercer Mayer’s Just A Daydream, Little Critter goes up against the school bully, and loses miserably, until he figures out just the right way to come out on top. Finally.

http://www.amazon.com/Just-Daydream-Look-Look-Mercer-Mayer/dp/0307119734

http://www.littlecritter.com/about_mercer_mayer.html

"S" Is For Super

Scarlett has hit that stage in letter-recognition where a few letters are especially important to her. She is beginning to pick the first initials of her family and friends out of the alphabet crowd. She knows “N” is her Daddy’s letter, that “K” is for Sissy, and her friend Joshua’s name begins with “J,” but her hands-down favorite, and most quickly recognized, is the most important letter of the whole twenty-six to her: “S” for Scarlett. She’s in that two year-old “I’m the greatest kid in the world!” phase where everything about her is amazing. I once heard a child development scholar describe it this way: Being conceited is “I’m better than other people,” being egocentric is “There are other people?” and preschoolers are definitely egocentric. Scarlett has started referring to herself in the third person when she wants to toot her own horn. So, each trip to the loo is celebrated with, “Yay for Scarlett going potty!” and every meal is “High five for Scarlett eating healthy food!” And she has a lot of big people around who go along with the hoopla. She gets asked about ten times a day, “Where’s the “S” for Scarlett?” So, it’s possible we created the letter monster. In Jane Belk Moncure’s My “t” Book, little “t” finds all the things in his world that start with his favorite letter--toys, train, tractor, and turtles. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t notice whether any of us were there or not. Kids are like that.

http://www.amazon.com/My-Book-First-Steps-Reading/dp/0895652927

http://www.janebelkmoncure.com/fsrsbbhome.htm

Bright Lights, Big City

When Connor was a toddler, a woman approached me at the park one day and asked if I had ever considered putting him in commercials or print work. Now, I thought all my children were the most beautiful babies ever and that Hollywood should come knocking at our door all the time, but I didn’t expect it to literally happen. Sort of. The woman in the park was from Sacramento, not Hollywood, but she did have a modeling agency and was interested in representing Connor--who, admittedly, was a really striking child. So, always thinking I should put my kids in magazines and movies but never considering the logistics of it, I had some pondering to do. Would it be a sound choice? Would he benefit from it? Was this tied up in my ego rather than something I would truly want for him, or he for himself? I decided to check the place out, bundling Connor and some head shots into the car and driving to the agency in Sacramento. But it was miserable--hot, crowded, one-way streets winding forever, and impossible to find the place. Once we were there and she saw Connor’s pictures, she said she could put him to work the next day, but most of the work would be in San Francisco and we’d have to commute there. Which was the end of Connor’s short modeling career. In Norman Bridwell’s Clifford Goes To Hollywood, the big, red dog tries the bright lights…but comes home in the end.

http://www.amazon.com/Clifford-Goes-Hollywood-Norman-Bridwell/dp/0590442899

http://www.kidsreads.com/authors/au-bridwell-norman.asp

Chunky Monkey

A comedian was talking about her early years trying to make it in the business world. One boss decided to become her mentor and started by getting her subscriptions to several women’s magazines for fashion and style advice. She took her reading list very seriously at first, she said, until she realized that any person only needs one subscription to magazines targeted at the double-X population because they all really only have one article they keep reprinting with different font: How to get that perfect body. Which sounds like news you can use, right? Unfortunately, it turns out that, despite whatever number the article lists for steps to the body that every girl is dying for, there are actually only two that matter--eat less and exercise more. And who really needed some commute-from-home part-time fashion writer to provide that breaking news? Then, to make matters worse, they show impossibly thin, airbrushed waifs who weigh less than we did in elementary school and expect that to be our comparison point. And those same magazines ordinarily have recipes for fancy foods to feed your party guests in the same issue. Sumptuous treats lit and photographed to be their most tempting and delicious selves. So, how are we supposed to win that game? Most of the food I find alluring could never be worked off with any amount of exercise--and I won’t give it up. In the ironically-styled Bendon Press “chunky” book Food, everything looks tasty. And there are no steps in sight.

http://www.paperbackswap.com/Chunky-Fun-Books-Bendon-Publishing-International/book/1740474066/

http://www.paperbackswap.com/BENDON-PUBLISHING-INTERNATIONAL/author/

What's The Big Deal?

A few years ago, some gals at church got upset over a Carl’s Jr. commercial showing a sexy girl picking up a hitchhiking guy and then dripping burger fixin’s all over herself. True, not exactly G-rated, but it hardly seemed worth mounting an all-out boycott, letter-writing campaign. Yet, that is just what happened. And I spent half my time around these women mystified at their misplaced (I thought) zeal on the issue, and the other half being chastised for not being righteous enough to be on their side. Which was not unusual. This may surprise you, but I’m not known for subtlety. I know, hard to believe, but true. Oh, I don’t think you should say things solely for the purpose of upsetting other people, but I do think calling things what they are is under-rated. The phrase you’re trying to think of is “Does not play well with others.” But, I do. Just a select group of others. That kind of thing may have started when I was really young and the “Joey Incident” occurred. You may not remember it, but it made a big impression on me. Basically, when Archie Bunker’s grandson Joey was born, a doll soon followed. An anatomically correct doll. And everyone lost their minds. Even though I was only nine years old, I thought the hoopla was pretty extreme. And so it goes. In Vicky Ceelen’s Baby Nose To Baby Toes, there’s a naked baby hiney. I hope the church ladies don’t see it.

http://www.amazon.com/Baby-Nose-Toes-Vicky-Ceelen/dp/037584208X

http://www.randomhouse.com/author/results.pperl?authorid=74849

Different Strokes

Dads are different than moms. And while there is a ton of research to demonstrate all those differences, anyone who has ever had or been a parent didn’t need proof. We know this instinctively (mostly) and experientially (sub-consciously) from the time we get here, and have it reaffirmed continually throughout our lives. We know that dads overwhelmingly tend to play more physically and have a much higher bar for what circumstances warrant sympathetic nurturing. We know that dads are more likely to expect (and therefore often get) performance that is beyond what age and skill would suggest a child is capable of. Maybe, since dads are statistically far less informed about childhood development, they just don’t know any better. So, it’s like the bumblebee school of parenting--the kids don’t realize they can’t do what’s being asked, so they fly anyway. Kids who have involved dads tend to have more confidence, fewer social-navigation challenges, and a more active lifestyle. But, let’s face it, they are also far more likely to have wardrobe challenges on dad days. Yesterday, Scarlett was going out to have fun with her Daddy--who also chose the day’s ensemble of red Spiderman shirt, orange pajama pants, purple fancy socks, and pink-glitter, too-big, hand-me-down Sunday shoes with the toes scuffed off. To be fair, it’s what Scarlett would wear and perfectly suited to the activity at hand, but sheesh! In the Berenstains’ Life With Papa, Brother and Sister know that Papa is different. That’s why he’s so much fun.

http://www.jacketflap.com/bookdetail.asp?bookid=B0006R8ZY0

http://www.berenstainbears.com/

The Wonderful World Of Disney

Therapy. I literally think that is what viewing Disney movies leads to. Or at least should. Remember how freaked out you got at Malificent as a giant fire-breathing dragon? Or Jafar becoming a massive killer snake? Remember how upset you felt when Pinocchio and Mufasa and the fifteenth Dalmatian puppy (for a moment) died? Think of Jessie’s “When She Loved Me” montage. And John Smith leaving. And the cut-her-heart-out-and-put-it-in-this-box Snow White queen. Those step-sisters ripping up Cinderella’s first dress--lovingly created by all her little friends--made my younger brother cry. No one will love Mulan for who she is, Aladdin can’t marry the princess because he’s poor, Lady gets muzzled, Mowgli gets sent back to the man village, Belle can never see her father again, Bernard feels inadequate next to Jake, and Ariel’s dad tears the dickens out of her favorite stuff. Big drama for little minds to try and wrap around. Even big minds, sometimes. But, undoubtedly, the single most tragic moment in the Disney pantheon has got to be…Bambi’s mom. You know you were thinking it. That scene is synonymous with trauma in the common vernacular. For good reason--it’s one of the saddest things ever. Now, I understand that loss is universal and we must all face it some time in our lives, but Walt Disney accelerated the process for three generations of kids so far. When reading Disney’s Magical World of Reading Bambi, I noticed that part is still in there. I was kinda hoping for a re-write.

http://www.amazon.com/Bambi-Dumbo-Disneys-Magical-Reading/dp/1403720452

http://tv.disney.go.com/playhouse/

Expect The Unexpected

Parents have certain expectations of things their kids will love--mostly because they wanted it and couldn’t afford/find/have it--and go to great lengths to produce or procure them…only to discover the kid had something else in mind. When my mother was a child, for some reason she truly longed for but never received a Raggedy Ann doll. So, when I came along, even though we were complete opposites in every other respect, she just knew that my childhood would never be complete unless I owned an honest-to-goodness Raggedy Ann doll with the yarn hair, the blue-flowered dress, the striped legs and white pinafore. A real one, not a knock off. And for my sixth birthday, that is what she presented to me with great ceremony and anticipation of my ecstatic response. I remember clearly, there in Chatsworth Park with its spooky tunnels, tearing off the wrapping paper and sensing very clearly from my mom that I was supposed to be feeling something very specific. But not knowing what that was. I loved the doll, all dolls, but it wasn’t the life-changing experience for me that my mom had been hoping for. Nor was it when I gave Keilana her first spool of cotton candy thinking she would be transported by the amazingness of it. Except, unlike me, she h-a-t-e-d it and spent the rest of the encounter yelling, “Off!” when it touched her. Not successful. In Thomas Crawford’s Sticky Stanley, Stanley thinks he wants candy all the time. But he really doesn’t.

http://www.amazon.com/Sticky-Stanley-Thomas-Crawford/dp/B000JJTKVW

http://www.librarything.com/author/crawfordthomas

Jumping To Conclusions

I think the “Toy Story” movies are brilliant--touching, engaging, fiendishly clever. Two of my kids have been genuine “Toy Story” addicts and I have seen all three flicks now more than any ten other adults. Although, unlike some of the things that catch my kids’ attention, I think time spent keeping track of Andy’s Pixar crew has been well spent. But after several recent viewings of “Toy Story 3,” I realized something: Those guys always get in trouble, or more of it, because of misunderstandings and people jumping to conclusions. True, they always find a way to make friendship and self-discovery triumph over disaster, but it truly seems they could devote their time and resource efforts to other things if everybody just took a deep breath once in awhile. Think about it--Woody and Buzz have to go to Herculean efforts to escape Sid and return to Andy’s possession because everyone thinks Woody has lost it to jealousy. Woody and Jessie work against each other because they perceive incompatible goals, but it’s really the Prospector gumming up the toy works. The whole gang ends up in daycare hell because Andy’s mom mixed up trash bags and everyone thinks Woody’s bias makes him unreliable as an objective source. Now, all that madcap misdirection makes for great movies, but can be pretty stressful in everyday life. I for one wouldn’t mind seeing it go. In Michael Catchpool’s Where There’s A Bear, There’s Trouble, everybody wastes a lot of time assuming. Don’t we all?

http://www.amazon.com/Where-Theres-Bear-Trouble/dp/1589253892

http://www.jacketflap.com/persondetail.asp?person=110563

The Other Side Of The Mirror

I really like alternate universe stuff. Something about the idea of everything turning on its head, everything different in a no-holds-barred way, where it’s just temporary and no one will get sad or hurt because you can come back to the real universe where things are normal any time, is appealing to me. But I only like alternate universes where people see audacious, cool, interesting versions of themselves--I like to entertain the thought that maybe they could take a bit of that spark back to their real universe and change what they find less than amazing. And by “they” I probably mostly mean “me.” I have outrageous kids and I’ve played outrageous characters, but I myself could really only be considered outrageous in some throw-caution-to-the-wind mirror realm where breaking the rules is considered the rule. Then I could be very interesting. But, alas, I have as yet never encountered a worm hole, or black hole, or secret closet panel, or magic talisman that opened the doorway to a place with people that look like all of us but aren’t quite us. I keep looking, so there may be hope for a what-got-into-you me yet. In Liza Donnelly’s Dinosaur Beach, a boy and his dog travel to a faraway stretch of sand where the sauruses of all shape and size have come to sunbathe…and build sandcastles of the people they think don’t exist anymore. Everyone else is too scared to try the alternate universe. And they are the less-amazing for it.

http://www.amazon.com/Dinosaur-Beach-Liza-Donnelly/dp/059042176X

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liza_Donnelly

Special Education

One of my pay-for-college jobs was sign language interpreting for a tiny school in an outlying rural area. My favorite charge there was a spunky girl named Tosha. Profoundly deaf from birth but born to a family living with no electricity and dirt floors even in modern times, Tosha had a pretty lonely life until she was six years old and the county finally discovered she was not in school. Her family, uneducated and a bit superstitious, assumed the girl who didn’t turn when they spoke or learn to speak herself was severely retarded or damaged in some other irreversible way and treated her in the only way they knew how--as a beloved, but wild, pet. By the time she came into the school system, she had lived for years with no academic training or specific intervention for her disability, but she was worlds removed from being stupid. By the time I met her at fifteen, this young woman was only two years behind her hearing peers, despite a childhood world of silence and isolation. And sense of humor? That girl was wicked sharp with a quip--even though I was the only one around for miles who knew how clever she really was. She eventually went onto a prestigious college for the hearing-impaired and kept me updated on her progress. Pride doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt. In Miriam Cohen’s See You Tomorrow, Charles, the whole class can see how amazing Charles is…even if he can’t see them.

http://www.amazon.com/Tomorrow-Charles-Welcome-First-Grade/dp/0440411513

http://www.answers.com/topic/miriam-cohen

Bad Sportsmanship

I think that competitive sports make people crazy. During an impromptu speech, a student said that he didn’t like or participate in any sports…and then told a story about a rock climbing adventure with some friends. Another student said that football is the “only real sport”…but missed several days of my class for this year’s baseball playoffs. Two factions of colleagues at the college squared off against each other in defining what is and isn’t a sport when the whole campus was participating in a team fitness contest...walking, no matter how slowly, yes. Yoga, no matter how vigorous, no. Some say cheerleading, with jumping, running, and dancing, isn’t a sport, but bowling, which some pros do between pitchers of beer and plates of nachos, is. Golfers want people disqualified if they use a cart, even if they have permanent disabling damage to their legs. And the most insane example of competitive-sports-gone-wrong--Oscar Pistorius, a South African double amputee born with no bones in his feet, having to fight for the right to compete for a spot on the Olympic team. Why is this a problem? If I’m an Olympic-level runner and I am worried about the competitive edge a pair of non-motorized prosthetics gives a person who has had their lower legs removed, I should feel a little reality-check shame. Like I said, sports and crazy seem to skate a very thin line. In Charles Reasoner’s Who Plays This Sport?, all the players are solo. Which is why they don’t fight.

http://www.paperbackswap.com/Who-Plays-Sport-Charles-Reasoner/book/0843179910/

http://www.jacketflap.com/persondetail.asp?person=25543

Secret Society

The first time I heard “Placido Flamingo” sing on Sesame Street, I knew that kids’ shows were no longer just for kids (and Sesame Street writers have a sense of humor I can truly appreciate). And then when I watched Pinocchio’s pink lingerie get revealed on “Shrek,” I knew there really is a secret adult-information society and all of us past puberty have to get on board or risk having the youngsters know too much. There’s lots of stuff in that category--Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy--and most of it is fanciful in nature. Other things are played close to the grown-up vest because they would be disappointing. That’s why I was a little surprised to watch all the beans getting spilled on Disney’s “The Incredibles.” The first part of that movie is all about how when you grow up, your dreams get smaller and your choices get increasingly limited. I thought we had all agreed to keep that secret. True, the rest of the movie is about finding out who you really are by realizing what you stand for and who loves you, and I am being facetious, but there is something there. Becoming an adult, with all that implies, is hard work and sometimes not much fun. But we must be doing a good job of keeping the secret because small people still want to become us. Disney found the idea so marketable they made a movie and a book, and those things sold like hotcakes.

http://www.paperbackswap.com/Incredibles-Interactive-Play-Disney/book/1412730295/

http://home.disney.go.com/tv/

I'll Keep My Sillies, Thanks

You know the feeling when something strikes your funny bone with particular force and, even if it is completely inappropriate, you get a nuclear-grade case of the giggles and just can’t stop yourself? I think everyone has it happen at least once, and those make for some really interesting stories. You see it on send-in-your-tapes shows where a bride or groom has a nervous-system implosion and can’t keep a straight face saying their vows to save their life. You see it in special features sections of DVDs where actors cannot earn their seven figure paycheck because they, or someone they are working with, has a giggle fit take after take. One I can remember clearly from my own past was during, naturally, church. I was sitting on the very back pew (which is really the only one left to the habitually late) with three friends and I have no idea what tiny disturbance started the ripple that turned into the silliness tsunami, but it was epic. It began, like these things always do, with a bit of contagious goofiness and ended with all four of us bawling behind hymn books trying to stay off the reverence-disturbing radar. Unsuccessfully. But those times always make me feel so much better. If, as they say, laughter extends your life, giggle fits so extreme they cause tears surely add a year or two. In Raffi’s kid-song-turned-book Shake My Sillies Out, we learn how to navigate wiggles, jiggles, and sillies. I have to wonder why.

http://www.amazon.com/Shake-Sillies-Raffi-Songs-Read/dp/0517566478

http://www.raffinews.com/

Wild Goose Chase

Geese are terrifying sons a’ guns. At least the ones who live in Rancho Simi Park are. Anyone who grew up in Simi Valley knows what I’m talking about--because the chances are better than average that if you were raised in Simi, you went to Rancho Park. And if you went to Rancho Park, you or someone you love was most likely the unfortunate target of an orchestrated goose attack. Maybe more than once. Mean, those geese were mean as snakes. Meaner. And fast. You could be minding your own business--just trying to wade or swim out to the little island when you knew you weren’t supposed to---and they were all over you before you could say “down comforter.” They were also greedy and aggressive. Heaven help the little fingers that started looking tasty after the stale bread brought for throwing to the ducks was gone or the tiny toes that bobbed above the water when feet were dangling over the side. Most of us needed only one run-in with the goose posse to steer clear, but some more hard-headed, stout-hearted souls never seemed to get enough of the fight. Like my youngest brother, Matthew. I do not know what sound is more prevalent in my memory of Rancho Park--geese hissing and wing flapping or blond-boy yelling and running. I do know I heard them both a lot. In Grete Mannheim’s The Geese Are Back, some really impressive nature shots show geese doing their thing. Including hissing and wing flapping.

http://www.amazon.com/Geese-Are-Back-Grete-Mannheim/dp/0819302449

http://www.brooklynmuseum.org/opencollection/artists/7024/Grete_Mannheim