parents – (n) The hardest working person in the universe.
We can see beyond horizons and be as blind as bats.
We can hear as keen as owls and be as deaf as a day gone.
We can be energetically defeated.
parenting – (v) The hardest job in the universe.
I dare to say our most imminent goal is to ensure our children can live successful independent lives. And to make sure that goal stays in the forefront of our mind, we will do what we must. That includes perfect vision in a forest and closing our eyes in the light. As long as the goal is protected.
That is how I try to reach the parents of my students. Some of them have a spry and transparent engagement with the social and educational growth of their child. But the majority are only proactive towards their counsel to teachers on their personal goal and avoid any reactionary response on classroom feedback that does not comply with the said goal.
As a parent, I have had uncomfortable conversations in regards to the behavior of my three. And some have been the embarrassing repeated behaviors of “overly social”, “running in the hall” or “incomplete assignments. I had to grow into a position with my parenting to concede that, the same behavior I correct them with at home, is the same tone they exhibit with other adults. So when I get phone calls and reports that my youngest, who only stops talking when she is sleep, is “overly social” in class, I believe it. I’m not sure what it is that shapes in parents heads that their child’s calamity somehow stops the second they enter the school building. If your child is flipping furniture at home, there is a 90.9% chance you child will come into the classroom and do the same.
I love to read. Period. I didn’t get to do a lot of that this past year. I was a rookie English Literature teacher, I was preparing graduate school packages and doing more drafts on my latest novel. This summer it was all about reading, drafting (writing) and getting out of the city (beaches).
My favorite 3 that I read this summer:
Alice Walker -Anyone who knows me knows that I love prose and I love folklore. The prose in this book is magical! I found her POV writing to be confusing at times but it served its purpose for the storytelling. But the prose writing made me fall back in LOVE (again) with the magic of words.
Jamaica Kincaid – I can always count on her to teach me more technique on first person fiction writing. She is a genius with sentence temperature! Your typical story has structure for plot movement. She can twist plot in every sentence to keep you hanging on! But the genius part is, she’s writing just as we think. Constant growth/contradiction. Magic of words!
Mary Monroe – This was my second Mary Monroe book that I’ve read. The first one I read years ago and I suppose with life piled on top I forgot about her. NO MORE! This was my favorite book of the summer! I haven’t fallen in love and cared about characters as much as I did in this book in a long time! Magic of words!
My mentor/guide advised that I “find” time to read more. (We’ll see, with my upcoming schedule of teaching and school.) I told her about the books I read and why I chose these three as my top. Her reply was something to the tune of, ‘Because those books asked you something of yourself. They found you. Just as your readers will find your books, so take your time with your writing.‘
**NOTE: These are not new releases. Alice and Jamaica are two of my favorites and Mary Monroe’s book was published in 1995 (I believe). Other books I read this summer were:
Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Liliane by Ntozake Shange
Diablerie by Walter Mosley
I was planning a trip to the beach. Fortunately, Atlanta affords me the leisure of choosing between various Georgia Islands, or a few hours drive to Florida, South Carolina or the coast of Alabama. I decided to do a quick turn around trip to one of the Golden Isles off the coast of Georgia. Distracted, I began to flip through Facebook and came across an article about Igbo Landing or Ebo landing.
“The Igbo Landing occurred when Igbo slaves who had taken control of their ship marched into the water and drowned at Dunbar Creek on St. Simons Island, Glynn County, Georgia.
After surviving the rigours of the Middle Passage, the 75 Igbo slaves who were bought for labour on the plantations of John Couper and Thomas Spalding for 100 dollars each.
The slaves were chained and put aboard a small ship to be transported to their destinations. During this voyage, they took control of the ship and grounded it, drowning their captors in the process.”
(from the site pulse.ng)
I looked up St. Simons Island and discovered it was a mere 4.5 hours away and I could choose lodging on the island or in nearby Brunswick, Ga. There are so many stories to be told. So many lands to be visited and honored or memorialized, and as a writer I believe there are always new words to discover. New smells and newly uncovered ways to describe emotions. So I booked my lodging, fueled up the Buick, and hit the road.
There are several things I love about teaching but most notably I enjoy the time off during holidays and summer. (while still receiving a check 🙂 This is especially rewarding to me who spent years as an executive manager in retail and worked every holiday and most weekends.
Now I know you must be thinking, ‘my goodness Nikki, the school year just started didn’t it and you’re already thinking about time off?’ YES! You would be correct in with that assumption! And I think I have just the thing to help me get through the first half of the school year and my first semester in grad school.
A few months back, one of my friends exercised “staying in the moment” by writing daily things on what she most loved about herself. She did this for 60 days and surprisingly enough, she said the first twenty were very laborious. Laborious because she was having a difficult time discovering what she loved, or even liked on some days. The statements had to be instinctively linked about her and not some indirect love for something or someone else. She said this helped with her daily self care even if it was only 5-10 minutes a day. With my schedule becoming 12 hour days Tue-Thur due to school immediately after work, I thought this “I Love…” regiment would be ideal to ensure I think about me.
For the next 90 days, I am going to write in this little journal different things I Love about me. This is extremely horrifying to me because it involves commitment and I can be so anal (for lack of a better word) when it comes to committing to something and what loyalty means to me. But I am at a stop in my life where I am both an educator and a student, literally, and I am content. How do I insist that I remain present under both titles? By involving myself daily, by communicating with myself daily. Hopefully this 90 day venture will prove to assist with that!
Join me if you may! Also, after this 90 days, it will be Thanksgiving and time for a week break from both work and school 😉 Clever, huh?
Happy Sunday good people! Here are some words reminding you to be flexible in the face of possible obstacles this week. MAKE IT A GREAT ONE!
All is well. In my life of literature and living that is. I’ve had an incredible year thus far with working on a television show, writing and acting. Very exciting!
Now we are in the fall already… I have mixed emotions about that. Summer is my favorite time of year. Or honestly, it may be that I enjoy the daylight savings time frame. But with winter I have to be mindful of my moods. I lose energy, I lose ambition and drive. I’ve never identified it as depression but it could be.
So like always, I am working on my favorite project to date! (I say that for all of them 🙂 This one started as a new collection of short stories but it may be considered a novel. You know how things take a life of their own once you begin them? That is what this project did and I am so excited to share it with the world.
I look forward to reconnecting with my blog world friends. It’s been awhile! Stay tuned and I’ll be hanging around your pages as well.
The boat whistled its’ way through the waters and soon the screams of the women faded. The air was now filled with the constant yells of families sitting on roofs screaming for help. They approached Memorial Medical Center and Chris decided to seek refuge there. As he got closer, he could see through the lobby window hundreds of people camped inside. Every seat was occupied and people were sprawled out on the floor with blankets. Police were patrolling the doors. Chris knocked but the policemen just stood and shook their heads in the negative. Chris trudged through the water to the other side of the hospital and policemen were standing heavy guard at those doors too. He knew besides the sore bones and loose teeth, he had no serious injury and they were not going to let him in.
Chris double tied his bag of food and treaded through the water on his tippy toes. He began to reminisce on the summers growing up in New Orleans. His father worked as a mechanic in a neighborhood shop and in the summer Chris would help out by washing the cars once he was done. Afterwards, instead of joining his cousins down at the local swimming pool, he hung out with the neighborhood knuckle heads and smoked weed. Or they convinced one of the older drunks to buy them liquor. He was all of nine years old. With the water slapping up against his chest and occasionally splashing in his face, he wished he had taken those swimming lessons instead.
A few blocks from the hospital, Chris found himself pacing in the water side by side with a dog. The dog was a dark brown cocker spaniel probably looking for a dry place to rest his feet. From atop, the dog seemed to be relaxed. But he knew underneath he was probably paddling his legs wild as the devil! Chris remembered how easy it was to tread the dog paddle when he was younger so he picked his feet up to give it a try. He quickly dipped in the thick, murky waters and emerged panicked. He struggled to get his stance stable but soon regained his pace and continued down the street with the other stranded people.
A little ways down, Chris spotted the small boat and whistled to get their attention. They acknowledged him by waving. Other people began to whistle and try and make their way to the boat too so Chris picked up his pace. The eyes of the dog swimming nearby were showing signs of exhaustion. There was no telling how long the dog had been in the water. The dog let out a bark, then went under the water. Within seconds, his head reappeared and he began to bark in desperation. Chris was mindful to stay as far away from the dog as possible to avoid being bitten. The small boat reeved it’s engine as they waited for him. The dog’s bark now became aggressive as he continued to swim towards Chris. The men on the boat splashed water towards the dog to slow him down and distract his concentration on swimming.
“Come on man! Dat dog look mad or summin’!,” one of the men said.
Chris turned his head to witness the dog go under again. He started to run on his tip toes because he knew he would get sprayed with the dirty water when the dog came back up. He reached the boat and threw his bag of food aboard. He could feel the water spray on the back of his neck as the dog shook its’ head. The men reached down and pulled Chris on the boat.
“They wasn’t lettin’ nobody in down at the hospital huh?,” Gunner asked.
“Naw,” Chris simply replied.
The boat pulled away and the dog continued to swim behind it. His eyes were bulging as he barked pleas of help. There was nothing in sight for the dog to take refuge on. The dog’s shiny, brown coat disappeared under the water a third time, not to emerge again.
a snippet from the short story book, Mississippi Window Cracks.
She Chronicles celebrates the feminine narrative through showcasing Her unique vernacular in literary contributions. “Women writing about other women responsibly.”