Just the facts, Maam

 

   I am learning so much in my NFPB Bio class. One night I had this realization. Our teacher was helping us review primary, secondary and even tertiary sources and the key importance of each, and then it struck me. It seems somehow in our society we have lost the definition (LOST- not blurred the lines- I want to be clear) as to what non-fiction really is.

     And it occurred to me, as our instructor was helping us, that our society has somehow gone DEEP down a rabbit hole, or detoured when it comes to this definition.  As we constructed our drafts of our bios some students where asking, "Could I include a conversation that could have happened?"  Or another posed, "Could I put in something that might have happened?" All were met with a resounding "No!" We were told that if we didn't have a primary source, and we weren't positive something happened, we could not include it in our drafts. If we included it it would not be non-fiction as it is not a fact. We had to have proof. Then he went onto to explain the value of each type of source.

    Since it's non- fiction it must include facts only.

    Let that sit with you for awhile.

    Of course, while I was having my epiphany I immediately thought of my third grade teacher days and remembered how we spent weeks in circles (and we are talking WEEKS), and with partners hammering in the concept of fact vs. opinion.

   If only there were more eight year olds in the world.

The Gift

 

      My father was raised in a different time, with two very ambitious and driven parents, and I now suspect very little love. I will never forget when my kids were toddlers, and I quietly revealed to him, " I think having children might be my biggest accomplishment."

     Oh my goodness! Did he ever come apart.

    "I didn't raise you to be barefoot and in the kitchen."

     I tried to share the rewards of having Max and Emma in my life. I tried to share the gift of being part of two good souls going into the world, and my sacred relationship with them to no avail.

     'You're a teacher, an artist and you have your Masters!" He sputtered.

      I don't know exactly I tapped into that day? My dad was a mess, and that is material for my writing for another time, but my own position on this has never wavered.

      Taking this journey with my son and daughter while encouraging them, and myself to be authentic and true, has been an absolute gift.  And sometimes, when the  craziness of the present day world gets to me (like every day) I try my hardest to remember this. And sometimes it works.

    

Rejection With a Capital "R"

      

    This past two weeks I entered TOO many writing challenges, and after having been kicked in the teeth on multiple occasions with multiple rejections I had an epiphany. What I have asked of my own children, and even my former students (for the past 25 years) is pretty hard to do. Handling, or coping with failure is no easy task.

   No easy task.

    Trust me. My office walls are papered with self esteem builders, quotes to help me cope with failures, and even ones that help me see the growth in failure.  I have spent over a year and a half at writing and I have not only seen my growth as a writer but most importantly, I measure my growth differently. This week I was kinda blindsided. Again, what I learned from the "sting," was that even at 61, not even a SHRED of my self worth can come from others. 

Don't Worry Be Happy

       I know,  I know.  I know all the stuff about worrying. I know all the cliche sayings and how it has absolutely NO impact on the outcome whatsoever. I also know it's unhealthy, and it causes so much stress, etc. Let's face it; I'm a veteran. I try to handle it. I try to conquer it. Honestly, I'm somewhat successful. Somewhat.      

    Except when it comes to my kids. Then all bets are off. Because if you thought watching your kids take a tumble off a slide, or flip off their bike could send you into a tailspin try listening to them make a poor decision as a twenty-something, after listening to your advice, and the conversation ends, and you are left to "not worry."

   That old cliche "letting go," is right up there with "not worrying," as one of the hardest things to do in that parenting book. (In my humble opinion).

    And by the way, I am still waiting for the adult version in the  What to Expect  series. Guess, I shouldn't hold my breath.

    

Worm Boy

"I can't believe there's no recess!" The boys heads dropped in tandem.

"And no basketball practice." Connor added glumly.

Timothy kicked a rock, and after a loud CCCRRRAAACCKK it ricocheted off the patio.

"Maybe, it will stop soon?" Connor offered.

Timothy had no words.

"Whoa! What in the world?!" Timothy suddenly knelt down, and pointed at several worms flipping, and squiggling on the saturated concrete.

"They come up when it rains. It's moist enough for them, and they might find mates."

"That is if a kindergartener doesn't step on them first," Timothy reminded.

"Lets try to get them home," Connor suggested.

     Both boys knelt, and set about guiding the glisteny pink and gray earthworms to the grass with a wet stick. Before Timothy knew it, he had completely forgot about rainy day recess. And his frustration, like his invertebrate friends, had slithered away.