Small Towns Are Weird

    Growing up in a small town is weird. I can’t imagine I’m alone in this judgment. In some ways it’s wonderful, in that people always say it takes a village. I grew up riding in carpools to dance class and getting band-aids put on me when I fell off my bike in my neighbor’s driveway. But in some ways it’s disorienting, at least when you leave. What happens when you step out of the village, is that you realize it is a bubble, and perhaps your sparkling talents are like a lot of other people’s. Perhaps that grade point average is not that impressive (I’m talking about me, if you couldn’t tell). Perhaps that hometown hero's batting average is a lot like lots of other player’s averages (this one’s not me). And, perhaps that superlative didn’t mean that much after all. What happens when you leave is humbling and probably necessary. Your idea of success shifts, and you realize there are a lot of ways for people to shine that your small town didn’t begin to offer. At least, that’s what I realized.

    That’s a good thing, because I am a former elementary school teacher and current stay-at-home parent. I’m not humbly accepting any major accolades for my homemade waffles and PTO raffling. Most days, I remember that’s not where my value lies anyways.

    This was fresh on my mind when I read the boys the latest installation of Andrea Beaty’s Questioneers, Lila Greer, Teacher Of The Year. Illustrated by David Roberts, this picture book tells us the origin story of the student’s teacher, Ms. Lila Greer. We learn of her childhood spent in anxiety. We learn of a move to a new town that rocked her world. We learn of her kind teacher that scaffolded her assimilation to this school in a way that allowed her to make friends and absorb her life changes confidently.

    When the inferiority of being a former-small-town-gifted-student hits me, I have to remember Ms. Lila Greer. I have to remember that accolades are usually few and far between, and the most important things to me can be small and often unseen. The way Nathan and I raise our children, the ways I nurture my marriage, the ways I show up for my community. These are the ways I pay forward some of that weird, small-town love.

#andreabeaty

#lilagreer

#happyvalentinesday

Taking A Break

There are neighborhood kids everywhere, and it’s amazing. They are in our driveway, in our backyard, in our trees. These kids are running around with my boys, swinging foam swords and filling plastic cups with weird mud concoctions and making forts out of gnarled sticks. I peek out at them every once in a while to make sure that a scream wasn’t a cry and everyone’s okay – and they usually are. But last week I heard crying and yelling. I went outside to see what was going on, and two of the kids were upset after a tussle had gone wrong. Everyone was okay – one friend just didn’t stop when the other had enough. Nevertheless, the feelings got big really fast, and the tears fell and the words were snuffled as they explained to me what happened. We talked it out and they went off to play. I peeked out a few minutes later to see if the joy had returned and I saw one of the boys sitting off by himself. When I asked him how he was doing, he said, “I just need to take a break for a few minutes.”

I was really impressed that this little guy knew what he needed, that he could listen to his body so well. He probably knew he wouldn't have fun yet. He probably knew he wouldn’t make good decisions yet. He probably knew he needed a moment to process what happened.

This was fresh on my mind when I read Peter’s Chair by Ezra Jack Keats this week. In this book our beloved Peter, from The Snowy Day, just became a big brother and it’s not going well for him. His mom shushes him when his block tower crashes down and his dad is painting his old baby furniture pink. So Peter takes matters into his own hands, grabs his favorite blue chair, and runs away…to his front yard. There he realizes he no longer even fits in that little blue chair. He spends a little while outside in thought, and eventually goes back inside. When he does, ostensibly at peace, he asks his dad if he can help his dad paint the little blue chair pink for his sister.
I’m guilty of letting the world tell me that taking a break is being lazy or retreating from a problem. These two little boys, both real and fictional, reminded me that a break is sometimes just what I need to let the joy return.
#ezrajackkeats

Clinging To All The Things

Lately I haven’t been waking up early for my sacred “me-time” before the demands of the day begin. I haven’t restarted my weekly five-mile runs on the downtown waterfront in Manteo. I haven’t been writing in my office sunroom with the view of the water sparkling in the corner of my eye. Truth be told, in a lot of ways I don’t feel like I am who I was before I had cancer. While I’m not sure I’m supposed to, I can’t help but feel like when I emerged from cancer treatment last year, when I crossed the finish line from hell, I was so eager to get back to normal that I became overly regimented in all the wrong forms of normal. Perhaps, I was just clinging to all the things that made me feel in control of my life…if only I could keep my kitchen clean and keep the fridge stocked and keep the laundry folded, then…

This was on my mind last week when I began reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl this week. Inspired by the fantastic new Wonka movie, I decided to reread this childhood favorite of mine with Beckett. As I read the exposition of Charlie Bucket and his life of extreme poverty, the torture that was living next to a chocolate factory when all you had to eat was cabbage, and his dilapidated little house full of his four elderly grandparents that all oddly slept in that one bed, I was so struck by Grandpa Joe. He was tired and bedridden and, can you blame him, downtrodden, but when “Charlie, his beloved grandson, was in the room, he seemed in some marvelous way to grow quite young again. All this tiredness fell away from him, and he became as eager and excited as a young boy.” Nightly, Grandpa Joe would brighten their dreariness through stories of magic and joy and hope.

And I realized in that moment, that Roald Dahl perhaps had it right (forgive me for compartmentalizing all the ways he otherwise had it so very wrong) in the development of Grandpa Joe. Because, every day he stopped to remember the magic. In fact, he made it a priority. Later on in the book, Willy Wonka said, “In your wildest dreams you could not imagine the things that could happen to you.” Grandpa Joe reminded me to let those things back in.

#charlieandthechocolatefactory