The Sinister Birthday Balloon

Y'all, this tower/field stuff has sort of changed my life. I can't remember feeling as free as I've felt the last couple weeks, like, EVER.

I've thought lots more about it; have written lots more. Is anyone interested in hearing more about the Valley of the Towers or the Field of Grace? Or the Shadowlands, for that matter? (The Shadowlands are new.)

In the meantime, I've asked my sophomores to write a poem based off the romantic poet Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty." I didn't want to be left out, so this morning I tried writing a poem as well. My inspiration? The helium balloon* I received on my birthday, well over a month ago, which still creepily hovers near my ceiling and seems to move with a life of its own.

It skulks in my closet, like a raccoon
With devious thoughts and black-ringed eyes
Except, in this case, my birthday balloon
Suspiciously bobs, and tells helium lies.
It ducks and prowls over sweaters and dresses--
A rat-tail ribbon twisting craftily down;
And skritching along, it gives plastic caresses
To my poor frightened skirts and quivering gowns.
There’s no seeming end to its garish display
Of floating red foil, of yellow parading
The freaky thing’s floated for 46 days
And snickers through nights with its “Happy birthday-ing”!


Drawing by Elliot, 12, found on Flickr.

Anyway. Looking forward to hearing what the kids have come up with. :)

*This is not the first time balloons have been ascribed human personalities. Remember this?

Sunrise

Dawn comes
Like absence stretching against a heavy curtain.
Darkness drawn away
By a hidden hand
To leave the sky sliced
In empty light
And swollen night.
So: it reveals.

Dawn comes
Like a crone climbing over the horizon
The moutains,
Her gnarled knuckles
The light,
A last triumphant burst of vitality.
She is living yet;
So: it is ancient.

Dawn comes
Like a child escaping from inside a well
Gathering breath to cast off the panic;
Gathering breath to cast off the dark
The lid lifts;
Atlas rebels.
Watch the young bird fall out of the nest
And soar.
So: it is new.

Dawn comes
Like a breath to me.
Hopelessness slides off
While the shadows sharpens.
So: it forgives.

Moth #2

On the curtain she waited,
Scalloped wings spread in
Apologetic space
Water hits the floor and
Steam rises
Dampening the dust on her wings.

On the floor, submissive
I find her again
A bow, a sweeping fan

And when waking, she is above me
Still-- still
A silent guardian
Garishly displayed against smooth white cotton.

Behind her, out the window
The world unfolds
Leaves ricochet, shocked to be shaken
Rain hums and wakes and washes them all
While I watch through a spider web landscape.

My dusty guardian is not so sinister perhaps;
But misunderstood.

Extra Curricular Involvement

Had to write this up for a grad school assignment; thought it may amuse the "La Vie d'une Fille" readers too. Check out the "Oliver" videos at the end!!

1.) Chaperoned the Halloween Dance (Oct.)

My main recollection of this experience was how uncomfortable it was seeing middle-school girls "get down," and try to be sexy by dancing provocatively in their skimpy costumes. I kept thinking, "Ack! You're little girls!" Was spared the sight of mutual pelvic gyrations however, which was a relief-- most of the kids were actually pretty good about refraining from PDH's-- "public displays of hormones." I elected to dress up because I'd been encouraged to do so by the other teachers-- I threw on a hideous neon-purple track suit that I'd found at a thrift store the year before. Unfortunately, since none of the other teachers dressed up, and since the kids hadn't gotten to know me especially well at that point, I think most of the kids just assumed that the suit was what I put on for "casual clothes." Teaching, be not proud.


2.) Attended the boys' varsity basketball game (Feb.)

This was so exciting! Our boys were on a streak this year, and ended up going all the way to state! Our school is a funky little place, and we had just received the news that the district would be closing down our school. The boys' incredible basketball success immediately after the gavel came down almost seemed to be an act of defiance against that decision. I watched them play a small private school-- watched them go up against clean-cut Caucasian boys in new uniforms, watched the opposing school's large cheer squad perform flips and lifts and throws in their immaculate uniforms, their hairsprayed pony-tails... And then cheered myself hoarse, watching our boys make basket after basket, watch two of our girls run out in front of our crowd and shake their long hippie hair, and holler out make-shift cheers. What an incredible morale booster! It made me love my odd little school so ferociously, and gave me such a sense of pride in who these kids are and in their fighting spirit.

3.) Theatre Field Trip to Bellingham

This experience was described at length in an earlier trio of blogs.

4.) Youth Speaks Poetry Slam at the Seattle Town Hall (May)

Our poetry teacher, Karen, had invited all of our students to attend the Youth Poetry Slam at the Town Hall, which she was co-hosting-- Viola and I promised to give extra credit to anyone who attended. I ended up chaperoning five of our students, and had an unbelievable time. Not only were the young performer poets outstanding, but to see my kids' reactions was indescribably moving. One boy didn't say much, but clapped adamantly after each performer, and discussed them all at length after the performance. Another boy cried during several of the poets' performances, he was so moved; he said afterwards, "I want to go home and write in my journal all weekend!" I wrote afterwards in my journal, "The kids were absolutely enthralled. What a gift to watch them watching, and to see them SEEING!" To have my students witness firsthand the power of writing through these cool young poets who looked like them-- for my students to recognize writing's ability to communicate ideas and to reconcile one to oneself-- was a priceless testimony. This was perhaps one of my favorite nights of the year.

5.) Host/Emcee for "One Last Glimpse," a performing-arts talent show/showcase for current students and alumni (May)

I co-hosted this event with another young teacher, Derek, and we had a blast. Our "shtick" of the evening was that we felt insulted to have been asked to HOST, rather than be part of the actual featured "talent"; we therefore tried to "prove" our various talents throughout the showcase during our intermittent hosting segments. It started off with a goofy folk-song from me, then Derek continued the pretense by attempting yoga-- in a tight blue tank top and women's yoga pants no less. We came on together during the second act, doing interpretative dance to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and ended with an over the top rap, performed by me (in the afore-pictured track suit, with Ray Ban sunglasses, and curly blond hair under a black cap), backed up by Derek's arrhythmic beat-boxing. The occasional was a sentimental one, as it will be our school's last performance showcase; there was a slide show commemorating many of our school's moments over the years, which was accompanied by touching quotes. Many people cried. People said afterwards that the silliness of what Derek and I did provided much needed comic-relief, and helped everyone continue on with the show. It was an honor to be asked to host such an emotionally significant occasion for my school, and I felt extremely privileged to be asked, as a student teacher, to take on the responsibility. It made me realize how invested I've become in this community, and how invested they've become in me.

6.) "Oliver!"-- our school's musical! (June)

This was a massive undertaking! I worked as the assistant director and choreographer for the musical to help fulfil my theatre endorsement, which eventually culminated in rehearsals until l0:00 pm, an entire weekend devoted to being at school for the play (during grad school finals week, OUCH), and the performance of endless random tasks, such as...
- Coming up with theatre exercises and games on the spot, to occupy kids that were unoccupied
- Choreographing at a moment's notice and with no prior warning: "Greta, you can choreograph 'Be Back Soon' today, right? Like-- now? OKAY, MIDDLE-SCHOOLERS, GO WITH GRETA!"
- Blocking/directing scenes on the spot
- Re-blocking scenes after getting onto our raked stage
- Choreographing fight scenes
- Working with kids one-on-one and in groups, on character development and their acting
- Helping the kids with stage make-up
- Helping the kids with their costumes
- Helping the kids with their hair
- Improvising new pocket handkerchiefs every night after the middle-schoolers continued to lose them-- EVERY NIGHT
- Running around during the show, resolving sound issues, prop problems, costume malfunctions-- running down to the orchestra pit, in one instance, with a sign for Fagin (the lead) to "TURN YOUR MIC ON!!" before his last big number.
- Endless clean-up after the show and wrangling of middle-schooler-cleaner-uppers

To name only a few...

For the reader's enjoyment, here are the two main numbers I choreographed, though there's plenty more where these came from!




Although being involved with the musical was at times an overwhelming undertaking, especially since it came when I was doing my full-time student teaching and trying to keep myself afloat in grad school classes as well, I hugely enjoyed it. I loved being able to incorporate my love for theatre and my dance background with my teaching, and I got know my students in a different venue and in a different light. I felt immensely proud of them for pulling off such a great show!

*We were only required to have six extra-curricular events, but chaperoning prom deserves a mention as well... Was sardonically addressed in this blog!

Confession

Today, a guest poet came to perform for our kids. Through the course of the day, he recited many outstanding poems, many of which subtly derided God and the idea of religion. When one girl asked if there was any one experience or thought that showed up in almost all of his writing, he admitted that religion did. Although he didn't get specific, he DID say that he had been told once that he was going to go to hell for being himself, and he stated adamantly that he didn't believe THAT anymore. It was clear that he had been shown a face of religion that all too many people are shown-- that of judgement, anger, and condemnation, rather than love, welcome, and grace. It grieved me deeply, as I've had several conversations lately with people who have told me about the battle-scars they've walked away with after church services. After a day of hearing poetry, my thoughts in response to this came out in the abstract verse below. I took great creative license in "quoting" this man in the beginning of the poem-- however, whether or not those are words he would say, I would venture that they have been thought/felt/spoken, if not by him, by one of the many other people who have been shown a mangled face of Jesus.

"There are no scars on His hands or His wrists," he says
"But my heart is clenched like a fist," he says
"What else could it be, when they shouted out 'Hell!' to a boy who was only being himself? And these sinners, these speakers, they unfurled floods of anger, they sneered while condemning their own vice and dangers, they steered their church across my knees, I see train wrecks, I see ship wrecks, I hear them speak, 'You: fault line, no straight lines where you come from,' they said, they said, they said to me.

"Angels make wings, right? They fly, right?
"But the feathers I found were only rubbed-out eyelashes for wishes made upon,
"Wish for light,
"Wish for wholeness,
"She put me to bed, said 'Sweet dreams son,' but running is all I dream about.

"I want wishes, I want light,
"And she pulls out her lashes to get me through the night.
"She says, 'One of these days, we'll both wake up with grace on our pillows.'

"I tried to follow.

"They said flames, they named names, but when I offered up mine,
"They said, 'Beast, away,'
"I looked for light, I looked for freedom, I tried to fly but hit the ceiling,
"There was no light switch, there was no quick fix, I said the prayer, I said, 'Pick me then!'
"But what I found was cold religion.

"'Do as I say, not as I do.
"'He forgives sinners, except sinners like you.
"'Toe the line kid, and do it our way
"'Take up the cross or rue the day
"'You didn't.'

"Just myself," he says.
"I was just myself
"And they said that that
"Was plenty hell-worthy."

I take it in.
I ache within,
I've said those words,
I've dug a hole for burials of lesser souls
I've nailed the lid on the coffin.
I confess. I confess.

I confess, I did.

And I look at a man with residue
Of religion gone wrong, of God misused.
He cried out for help, and he got abuse, and I'm sorry, I'm sorry

I'm sorry, I did.

We should have said, come as you are.
Should have said, right there too.
Should have said, I'll just listen
Since speaking is so over-used.
And no shaking fingers,
No skeptical foreheads
The face He had
Could not have been the face you read
From us.

Where do I begin?

Is there water to wash the damage, to clean off the face of a Lord we've mangled, to wipe the eyebrows to clean the nail beds, are there waves to recreate the music we've savaged? Is there water to make the sunrise, to send up steam for reflective cloud skies shape them in angels, shape out the feathers, send down a real one to a boy still asleep, send it to the boy who is running through dreams, send it then, send him grace, send him grace on his pillow.

Rouse him gently.

Show him a face of kindness first.
Don't speak, don't hurt, just deepen eyes,
Soften your breathing,
Just show him a sigh, show him healing.
If you open your mouth, you should only sing something lullaby,
Just quiet-like.
Let the light creep in through the window
And let that soften the harsher corners,
Let that ruffle the dusty curtains,
Let that chase away the spiders,
Let that reach into monster corners,
Let that blow the cobwebs and ashes,
He is just a boy, he is just

Himself

And that is loved. And that is worth holding.

Let the dawn break
On the heart that he's clutching.

I can't begin to apologize
For the lies the lies the lies the lies
That said you weren't acceptable.

Those words are damnable.

Saving
Should be a safe place to land
Grace
Should be a strong weathered hand
His face
Should say, "I understand,
"And I love you, I love you, I love you,
"It's love
"Like sand on the shore
"Like rain from the sky
"Like poppy weed buds that fire burst bright
"I love you like this
"I love you right now
"I love you running and aching and braving and shaking and falling and breaking again, and I loved you then
"And I loved you then
"And I loved you then, even then."

It's kindness
We missed it
It's mercy we forgot.
Instead of His words,
We sang funeral songs.

I confess,
And I'm sorry.
And I pray with my lashes,
That His face in the sunrise
Gives you grace
And not ashes.


_

Out of Reach

Today was sort of a depressing day.

The kids are starting a poetry unit with this renowned spoken-word-poet Seattle woman, who's coming in every Tuesday for the next ten weeks. She's great with them-- very encouraging, and affirming. The kids read some of their initial free-writes out loud at the end of class today, and I was completely shaken. The writing was STUNNING-- but in many cases, absolutely heart-breaking. One girl wrote about her alcoholic/drug-addicted mother. Another boy wrote about his uncle who was in jail for murder, and his mom who had died, and his dad who had been crippled. He ended it with saying in this strong, sharp-edged tone, "I'm Dan. And my life's been f****d." Some poems were funny-- one kid wrote about cake. Another girl started off with, "I used to think dinosaurs were real. But now I KNOW I'm a Gloriasaurus." But so many of them... were just shattering.

It's like these kids have finally found a venue through which they can actually TALK about what's going on in their lives-- and it's explosive. It's resounding-- but utterly devastating to witness.

Anyway. That gave me heavy boots.

And then Jane was supposed to come work on her paper after school, so I waited, but she didn't show, and I started thinking about all the different kids that have basically tried to scam us this week, with bogus excuses, and lies... And I just felt discouraged.

I decided to just go home. I got my things together, and began walking slowly down the stairs. The particular staircase I was on has big windows looking out onto the parking lot below, and I saw my latino posse, all gathered. The afternoon today was warm, and full of sunshine, and I squinted down at them on the staircase landing, just watching them.

There were George, and Raoul. There were Jose and Eduardo. I saw Miguel there too, who hasn't come to school in weeks. He's a junior, but was taking our freshman/sophomore English class a second time-- but I think he may have just decided to drop out of school altogether. I squinted at his hand, which he brought to his mouth. Smoking. I saw a blonde girl, facing away from me. Was that Jane? Is that why she wasn't getting help on her paper? No, I realized. It's the Ukrainian girl. Miguel's girlfriend.

A mini-van slowly drove by them, and, as if on cue, they all began moving with purpose as if they were going somewhere together. Then, once the car was gone, they abandoned the act and resettled on a stair-case in the shade, like birds settling themselves on a wire. I just looked at them. Every single one of those boys is failing right now. I saw them talking, laughing, smoking. I never see Raoul laugh like that in class. He always looks so afraid.

I looked at them and just thought: I don't know how to help you.

Eduardo looked up at me, and a moment later, other heads swiveled up to look at the window. Caught. I walked down the rest of the stairs and went outside into the warm sunshine. Waved at them. "Is that Mikey there?" I called out.

"What?"

"Isn't that Miguel? I thought I saw him!"

"What? Oh! Yeah!"

Miguel stood up. "Hey!"

"Hey! How you been? We've missed you!"

"What?" he called.

"How have you been?" I called again.

"I can't hear you!" he called back.

I know, I thought. I wish you could.

_