The white gloves now securely on my hands, I placed the red and white hat upon my head and turned to face my four year-old daughter.  “Well?” I said. “What do you think?”  My daughter regarded me thoughtfully, then turned to consider the cover of the book I had just placed upon the coffee table.  Looking at the book.  Then looking at me.

“You need whiskers, Papa.”

Whiskers.  Right.

At that point, I heard my wife from the kitchen.  “We’ve got that covered, honey!  Come on in here, Papa.”  As I walked to the kitchen, I felt myself being followed by a still-pajama’ed four year-old.  In her hand, my wife held a black make-up pen.  Placing the pen on my face, she said to my daughter, “You’re right, baby.  The Cat in the Hat needs whiskers.”

Today was the birthday of the beloved Dr. Seuss.  So, as the Literacy Specialist in a middle school, I thought it appropriate to try and create a bit of nostalgic, albeit silly, fanfare in my building.

Two hours later, as our students disembarked from their buses and entered school, the Cat in the Hat greeted them.  “Happy Read Across America Day!” I chirped.  And what were those expressions on their faces?  Those smiles? Those reactions?  What was behind them?  In many, I thought I may have detected . . . just maybe . . .a sentiment of, “Yes, I remember that time.  A time when reading was fun. A time I sat on someone’s lap. A time no one tested me on my reading. A time now lost.”  Maybe that wasn’t the look.  Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe.

But in any case, I do believe my efforts brought a smile to the face of many that day.  And that makes the silliness worth it in my book.

Grasping gloved hands, we quick-stepped across the street toward the trailhead.  My breath hung cloudy in the air, while cold wind whispered in my ear, reminding me it was still winter.  “So, what did you write about yesterday?” asked my eight year-old daughter, looking up at me from beneath her pink polar fleece hat.  The two of us had just snuck out of the house, bundled up in hats, gloves, and snow boots, to steal an early morning weekend hike while my wife and other two daughters slept in.  I had just reminded her that the 2020 Slice of Life Story Challenge had begun.

“Well,” I began, “I wrote about you. And that Cyndi Lauper song we heard yesterday. . . you know, the one called ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun?’  Remember we listened to that song yesterday?”

Suddenly dropping my hand, my daughter burst out into the frigid winter air, “Aww, come on, dad!  That’s what you wrote about?!”

Surprised by her reaction, I suddenly felt pangs of guilt.  Gosh, maybe she feels offended that I wrote about her without her permission, I thought to myself.  We had now reached the trailhead and had begun to traverse up the snowy path toward the barren forest.  Winter stared at me from every angle.  “Well,” I stammered, “I mean, I didn’t just write about you and that song.  I, uh, also wrote about how it reminded me of high school, and other thoughts…”

My daughter interrupted my awkward explanation. “I mean, girls want a job and a life, too, Dad!” she quipped.

Wait, what did she just say?  I tried to connect the dots of this surprising conversation.  Then suddenly it occurred to me that her indignation originated not from a parental breach of privacy assumption; no, she was taking issue with the song lyric.  “You mean, girls don’t want to just have fun?” I asked trying to clarify.

“Yeah!” my daughter giggled.  “I mean, that’s dumb.  Girls. . . we want a job and a life, too!  That song is dumb.  I don’t like it.”

“Right, honey.  I hear you.  Girls want more than to just have fun.” With snow crunching beneath our boots, we grabbed hands again and headed into the forest.

“Who’s this?” queried my daughter.

“Cyndi Lauper,” I responded.  From the wireless Bose speaker in our living room, the carefree lyric emanated clearly, “Girls just wanna have fun!”  Placing my hand on the banister, I purposefully turned the corner and headed up the stairs to grab an armload of laundry.  Although I hadn’t looked back at my 8 year-old daughter’s face, I imagined it showing an expression of complete confusion – “Who’s Cyndi Lauper?” she probably wondered.

As I scooped up the laundry, another 80s song, “What a Feelin'” began to play on the Bose speaker.  Suddenly I felt myself transported back to that time.  The 1980s was the era I attended and graduated both high school and college.  Images of sock hops, my 1968 Volkswagen Bug, my 18th birthday party flashed into my mind.  Time used to pass so differently, I thought to myself.  Songs like, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” used to sound like an important claim from a daughter to her father.  Now I find that a year can pass and feel like the blink of an eye.  What is it about growing older that makes the passage of time feel so baffling?  Some have told me that perhaps it’s the lack of milestones associated with coming of age.  Maybe that’s it.

Arms now filled with clothes needing to be washed, I carefully made my way back down the stairs.  Life is good, I thought.  But for a moment, I missed those days of ‘Girls just wanna have fun.’ ‘What a feelin” has taken on a new meaning now.  But I suppose that is part of the journey…isn’t it?

Dear Reader,

I’m excited to see you!  You, reading this post right now . . . thank you.  I really am excited to see you.  Today marks the first day of the Two Writing Teachers Slice of Life Story Challenge 2020.  As I write this, I’m noticing a wide range of emotions bubbling up from inside me.  First, I sense pangs of trepidation– what if I can’t think of something to write about? What if no one reads my blog? Many of us likely experience such fears, yes? But across the years participating in this challenge, I’ve come to believe this:

Trust the Process.

Writers need a routine.  And that’s not just young writers; I happen to believe ALL writers need a routine.  The routine becomes a friend we can trust.  The routine grows to be one thing we can really rely on when things become difficult.  For me, the routine becomes my process.  Do I always produce great writing out of my routine?

No.

But that’s not the point.  The point is to write.  The point is to be a contributing member of a community.  The point is to grow.

As I pause here, I am noticing something else . . . another emotion? Anticipation. Hmm, yes.  Which, well, feels like a shade of happiness.  The joy of writing slices, reading feedback, enjoying others’ writing, sharing feedback . . . I so look forward to all of these phenomenon knitting themselves together into a larger tapestry of community.

And so, Welcome!  Thanks again for being here.  I’m not sure what the days of March will hold. I suppose none of us do. But I’m reminded of a wonderful Shel Silverstein poem:

Invitation
If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer. . .
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin,
Come in!
Come in!
- Shel Silverstein

from Where the Sidewalk Ends, copyright 1974

 

Balancing my old, green suitcase next to me, I scanned my surroundings.  A restroom must be nearby, I thought to myself.  As fate would have it, my search didn’t last long.  Across from Starbuck’s, I spotted the sign.

Wading through dupattas, yarmulkes, turbans, baseball caps, men, women, and children – the sea of diversity that is Newark Liberty International Airport – I finally arrived at my temporary destination.

Once inside, I saw it.  It was located just above the automatic hand dryer.  The sign read, “How was your experience?”  Just beneath this question were three round buttons: happy face (green), ambivalent face (yellow), and sad face (red).  Data, I thought.  They’re collecting data on . . . the cleanliness of the airport restroom? That was my best guess, anyway.

Immediately, I thought about the people who actually do the work of maintaining restroom facilities in an airport.  How hard they must work.  And I thought about those collecting and analyzing the performance data being collected on airline customers.  Of course, concurrently this made me think about the current state of affairs in public schools, how we as teachers are constantly being asked to collect data on our students. And I get it.  John Hattie says, “Know they impact.”  It makes sense.  We do need to know where are students are in relation to visions of high level work.

But I worry sometimes.  Like the restroom smiley and sad faces, have we gone too far?  Could someone lose their job if too many sad faces are pushed?  Has all this data collection removed some of the humanity we once enjoyed?

I pulled my hands from beneath the dryer and pushed the green button.  Who knows, maybe I helped somebody out that day.