Pretty Things

I'm attracted to things that come in pretty packages. That might make me shallow but it certainly doesn't make me abnormal. If it weren't in our nature to be attracted by bright colors and shiny finishes there'd be no need for male peacocks to strut around looking light Liberace at a Halloween party - minus the Halloween party. The animal kingdom is full of examples of some dope being lured in by a splash of red, a really long tail, or even an evocative dance.

This begins during childhood. My earliest memories of being mesmerized by beautiful things dates back to the candy isle. Thank God I wasn't a kid back in my parents' day. Back when the really cool candies were things like Candy Dots, Pez dispensers, and Circus Peanuts. I remember visiting one of my grandmother's friends as a child and being confused when she offered me Candy Corn, peppermint discs, and candied orange slices. Really, orange slices? This from the generation that brought us candy cigarettes.

When I was a kid we still had a few left-overs from the olden days - candy necklaces, Fun Dip, Big League Chew. Those were alright. But there were far more attractive alternatives. Usually these came shaped as everyday items. A garbage can full of small bits of gum. Worms made from a mysterious gummy substance. Spray bottles full of edible silly string. Aisles and aisles of treasure vying for my seventy-five cents. And to think, my dad used to get excited to find a rock hard piece of gum in the middle of his pack of baseball cards. Ridiculous.

Now that I'm older I try to be a bit more selective as a shopper. I see the transparent marketing ploys for what they are. Being wiser I avoid flash and novelty. Shiny rims on a car. Fancy labels on clothes. Shoes that do something more than protect feet from the elements. I toe the line of responsible consumerism.

That is, until I hit the beer aisle last Friday night.

I really only stopped by the grocery store to pick up some ice cream. But when I walked in and saw the shiny faux-wood floors adorning the liquor section I was drawn like a fly to filth. So many rows of colors. Rushing past the typical selections that are mildly interesting at best I made my way for the microbrews. Fun and wildy over-priced, they sport names like Doggy Style, Dogfish Head, and Horny Goat. The labels feature cartoonish characters and playful fonts. There's no telling what they might taste like but they look a whole hell of a lot more interesting than a six pack of Bud Light.


I opted for Wild Blue. Fitting the description of most every other microbrew, it was advertised as a blueberry lager. Hmm, I really like blueberry, I thought. I set it in my cart and made my way to the ice cream coolers.

When I got home my buddy Tim and I pulled out a bottle apiece and settled in with Tricia to watch a recorded episode of The Office together. I was the first to take a drink. It was god-awful. I thought I might have to spit it back out. Evidiently blueberry and beer were not meant to mix. Normally in a situation like this I would hide my distaste in hopes of letting Tim "enjoy" it as much as I had. However, I couldn't.

"Oh dude, it's terrible!" I cried. "Seriously, it tastes like blueberries that maybe should have been refrigerated but weren't and now they're all thick and gooey and rancid!"

To my amazement Tim took a drink anyway. He found it as disgusting as I did. We joked about just how bad it was for a few minutes and then he, unbelievably, took another drink.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm no quitter," he answered.

He forced down every swallow until his bottle was empty. Not wanting to be a quitter either I had no choice but to follow suit. Thirty minutes later I found out, after forcing down the last few swallows, that it was even worse warm.

"You can have the other four," Tim promised as he gathered up his things to leave. "Tomorrow I'm going to pick up some Hard Lemonade. At least that tastes good!"

So on Saturday Tim stopped by the liquor store to make good on his promise. However, he was taken in by the other colors offered by Mike's. There was the bright red of the Hard Strawberry Lemonade, the purplish tones of the Hard Black Cherry Lemonade, and the orange hues of the Hard Cranberry Lemonade. He opted for the green Hard Lime-Aid.

Excited, he grabbed two bottles last night and headed up to his room to watch basketball. He came back down an hour or two later toting the empty bottles.

"How was it?" I asked.

"Terrible," he mumbled. "I should have stuck with the normal one that I know I actually like. I don't even like lime!"

They say experience is our best teacher. For that to be so, the bar must have been set awfully low.

**************************************

A few notes of interest...

When searching for an image of Wild Blue beer I found that 377 reviewers had given it an average rating of D-. That seems about par with my own assessment. If I had an internet-equipped cell phone I think I might do some research there in the supermarket to avoid such mistakes.

Wild Blue wound up being an A-B product.

It was a lot of fun researching old candies. There were a bunch of them I had forgotten about. Like the wax bottles filled with candy syrup. I remember those barely having any taste but looking really neat (a word I would have used to describe them back then).

Candy cigarettes and candy "chew." Those two novelties warrant an entire essay all their own. I wonder now why no one thought to model those wax bottles to look like small six packs of popular beer brands.

A Blow Pop is a type of sucker. I really wanted to find a picture of what I thought was called a "Blow Ring." I searched that term. I just want to say that if I were to run for president and the feds searched my computer to see what I've been Googling I could be in some trouble. It seems they're called Ring Pops. NOT Blow Rings. Those two terms get you very different search results.

The Dead Dog

On the way back from dinner tonight the kids and I dropped Tricia off at PetsMart to run in for a bag of dog food. As we started to circle the parking lot I noticed a young couple coming out of the store. Tears were streaming down the young girl’s cheeks as a red leash dangled from her right hand. There was no dog attached to the other end.

They made their way across the parking lot and he opened the door for her. After she climbed in her seat he leaned into the cab of the truck and pulled her into him. She rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed for a long, long while.

Part of me wished I hadn’t seen them yet I couldn’t look away. It isn’t often you see a moment so tender as this from the outside, unnoticed.

Finally the guy made his way over to the driver’s side and the two of them drove away. I wondered if they drove in silence, unsure what to say to one another. I imagined him reaching across the seat to hold her hand. Maybe he would be crying too.

Playing Doctor

For the past few days I've been holed up in the conference room at school while my student intern completes her two weeks of "intensive teaching." This means she is responsible for planning, teaching, recess duty, and all the other responsibilities that fall in her lap when left in charge of twenty-two nine and ten year-olds. I'm sure she's exhausted at the end of the day. There's a lot to do. And a lot to keep track of - assignments, preparations, notes home, picture money, lesson plans, missing work, promises made, promises forgotten. When she first came to our classroom her only responsibility was to hang out with the kids and get to know them. She would often ask me about a story she had heard from the kids and I'd be embarrassed that I hadn't yet heard it yet. I was busy keeping up with all those responsibilities.

Now that the shoe is on the other foot I spend my days sitting in front of my laptop typing away on the academic paper I need to complete to wrap up my graduate work. I'm also writing a narrative progress report for each of the kids at school. Writing, writing, writing. Generally I really enjoy it but after six to seven hours a day of it I find myself far more exhausted than had I been teaching. It's just too much sitting and not enough doing.

Today I was working really hard to finish up a particularly lengthy section of my progress reports when I had to get up, leave the room, and walk around for a bit to retain my sanity. I didn't make it far. Not more than a step out the door I was greeted by two mischievous smiles at the front desk - one belonging to the secretary and the other our principal.

"Mr. Hass, just who we wanted to see!" they said, almost in unison.

"Oh?"

Not that I'm not a likable guy but it's been my experience that anytime someone says "You're just the guy I wanted to see" it's because they want something. And usually it's not something you're going to want to do.

"We need you to be a dad," Dr. Mueller said.

"Uh, okay," I responded. I peered around the corner afraid that I was going to find Harper, Muluken, Ty, or Ainsley sitting in the small office area. They were nowhere to be found. "Where?" I asked.

"In the health room," the secretary answered.

There were a number of possibilities likely awaiting me in the health room. Fever, upset stomach, nosebleed, splinter, scraped knee.  These are the kinds of problems that find their way to the health room each and every day. The kinds of problems you expect.

"We have a kindergartner who says his penis hurts," Dr. Mueller said, breaking into an even bigger smile.

This I wasn't expecting.

"What do you want me to do about it?" I asked.

"You're a man," she assured me, as though ownership of the equipment somehow meant I understood it's workings.

I walked into the health room and this really small boy looked up at me with the saddest brown eyes.

"Hey, what seems to be the problem?" I was really hoping the situation had maybe somehow improved on its own.

"My penis hurts," he explained.  

Dang!

Where do you even begin? At home I generally respond to most ailments and injuries with the tried-and-true "Should I go out and get my saw?" Somehow this didn't seem appropriate given the delicate nature of the area.

"Well, is it a burning hurt, a sharp pain hurt, an itching hurt, or a squeezing hurt?" I asked. I'm not even sure these all real kinds of hurt. Even if they are I imagine there are many others as well. But I really wanted to sound as though I might know what the typical course of action might be for a painful penis. For that to be true I assumed I'd first have to be able to diagnose the problem.

"It hurts real bad when I sit down," he explained. The grimace on his face and the death grip on the area surrounding his penis caused me to believe he was probably telling the truth. I looked around the room and thought out our options as to how best to solve this sensitive problem.

"Alright," I said. "Let's have a look at it. Follow me into the bathroom."

Don't these just sound like the last words I might ever make as a teacher?

"What did he say to you?" the detective might ask.

"He told me he wanted to look at it and to follow him into the bathroom!" Cue the music and I'm feeling like my story might wind up an episode ripped from the headlines by Law and Order.

So the world's tiniest kindergartner and I made our way into the health room bathroom. Keeping the door open and positioning myself so that anyone could easily see me I told him to pull down his pants and show me what was hurting. Demonstrating the complete naivety of a five year old he pulled back his pants a bit, rolled back his skin, and showed me the problem area. Peering down my nose like an old lady, while keeping a tremendously safe distance, I looked it over. There it was. A tiny pink area of skin that had somehow been worn raw.

"Yep, there it is," I said.

Now, this isn't the type of area where a band-aid or a wet rag is going to cut the mustard. What do you really do for a small cut on a five year-old's penis?

"I'll tell what we're going to do," I told him. "I'm going to go get some medicine and we'll make it all better."

If he believed me he showed no signs. His look of pure gloom hadn't changed since I first asked him what was bothering him. I walked back to the office and asked someone to help me find some Neosporin. We use that stuff on just about everything at home. I really don't even know what it supposed to be used for. But it goes on smooth and doesn't burn so it seems like the perfect placebo for most any cut, scrape, or burn. The secretary dug it out of a drawer for me and helped me locate the longest Q-tip ever made. I marched back into the bathroom, asked him to show it to me again, and telescopically applied the cream.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "This won't burn a bit."

"IT BURNS!!!!" he yelled.

My credibility had been compromised. I quickly abandoned any hopes of applying the rest of the ointment and told him to pull his pants back up.

"Well that should make it better," I explained. "It'll probably take a few minutes though. I wouldn't expect it to start working until you get back to class."

This was the first smart thing I had probably said since meeting him. Should his problem not be resolved I would be buried once again behind my laptop in the conference room. Let some other unknowing male take a stab at it.

"When you get home be sure to tell your mom or dad that it's hurting, okay?" I said.

I wish now that I had followed this with "And if they ask what we did at school to help be sure to tell them I helped. My name is Mr. O'Keefe!"

Young Authors

I had the pleasure of spending a day with a really great group of writers today. Sure, there were published authors like Lesa Cline-Ransom, Stephen Swinburne, Anthony Fredericks, and Sneed Collard III. But they weren't my favorites. No, the highlight of my day was the ten fourth grade authors who entertained and amazed me with their antics, smiles, and love of reading and writing.

Together we spent a little over five hours in Ballentine, South Carolina at the Young Authors Conference. This conference provides an opportunity for fine young writers around the state to spend a day listening to the life stories and advice of published authors from around the country. If they had anything like this when I was a kid I sure never heard anything about it. What an opportunity.

Here were a few highlights...

*   Not long after meeting one another we sat down to await our first author visit and wrote a poem together. Thanks to the inspiration from Deanna's story about a snake that once blew up in her uncle's microwave we wrote the following acrostic poem together. For those who are not familiar with acrostics, the first letter of each line spells out the topic of the poem as you read down.

Mice should never be put
In the microwave
Cause they will
Royally blow up and get
On your mother's
Walls
And she'll be
Vacuuming guts off
Everything

*  At lunch the kids had the greatest conversation about their favorite books. Since only two of them knew each other we were all pretty much strangers. This created the perfect opportunity for each of them to share the authors and stories they love most. "Oh my gosh, Blood on the River is THE best book ever written," exclaimed Autumn. "You HAVE to read it!" This went on and on so I pulled out a small notebook from my backpack and asked everyone to tell me one book that I just have to buy for my classroom. The list they created was great: Blood on the River, Savvy, Percy Jackson, Rainbow Fairies, Taste of Blackberries, The Hunger Games, Found, 39 Clues, How to Steal a Dog, and A Dog on His Own. "Perfect," I told them. "I'll get these and tell my readers how much you loved them. I'm sure they won't be able to wait!"

*  "Have you read Little Women," Deanna asked me. I hadn't. "Well, it's really good. I only just started it and haven't read much though. We have to take an Accelerated Reader test after each book to earn points and we have to have 4.2 points every week. So I can't read too much of Little Women at a time because I have to keep reading shorter books to get my points." "How sad!" I responded, trying to bite my tongue and not make a judgmental statement about her teacher. "Yeah, but when I get my points for this nine weeks then I'll be able to read it more."

* On our way back from lunch Jonathan, one of only two boys in our group of ten, told me "I'm writing this series right now called 'Framed.' It's about...". He joyfully told me all about it. You could tell it was important to him. "I've only just finished the first book but I'm going to be starting the second one soon."

*  "Do you publish books here?" Ezekiel asked. "What?" I asked. "Do you publish books here? You know, when you finish them?" "Oh," I said. "I don't teach here. But I'm sure they do. At least I hope so. Don't you? My class actually publishes their writing to a blog on the internet so that everyone can read it and respond to it." "Cool," he answered. I later noticed him writing during one of the presentations. He was jotting something down in the back of his writing notebook. During a break I asked him if I could see it. He had created a list of his favorite songs and was adding to it each day. He was currently on #73. Jonathan grabbed the notebook from me and started rifling through Ezekiel's pages. "Chris, you've got to see this!" he said. "He's writing this really long story." Sure enough there was a story titled Jake the Spy. The cover page read A slight of comedy...A lot of action. Flipping through it I saw that it was seven chapters long and consisted of twenty or so pages. "Wow," I said. "Yeah, I've been writing it since I was in second grade. I'm in the fourth grade now."

*  "When are we going to write?" Jaden asked during lunch. "Yeah," someone else joined in. "Is this all listening or will we get to write, too?" I didn't know for certain but I was  pretty certain it would be all sitting and listening. As great as these authors were, the kids wanted to show what they could do as well. I didn't blame them. During one of the sessions Jaden sat at my side writing poems and passing them over to me to read.

Cats like to
fidget with playtoys
in stores and
cages that may
not hold
gorillas
but do hold
peacocks

She also wrote an acrostic using the word "Boring." I'm not sure it was so much the authors she was frustrated with but the lack of opportunity to write together. There were others sneaking away small moments to write. I saw Autumn working in her notebook as well. I asked to read it and saw that she had a descriptive piece about a lake. A passage from her piece read "Out of the reeds a family of swans glide silently behind each other breaking the lake surface into a pond of ripples. Dragonflies play hide and seek darting behind the reeds." The whole piece was really cool and she was proud when I asked if I could jot some of it down into my own notebook. "I want to share this with some other writers I know," I told her.

* Kylie told me "I'm going to write these two books called Crime Scene Kate and Medusa Vacation. One is a about a girl who solves crime and the other is about Medusa going to the beach and turning people to stone." "Oh my gosh," I said. "Can I write that down? I'd like to share your ideas with my kids. Those sound like they'll make really interesting stories."

*  Annelise shared with me a list of "bad" words she had memorized. With the help of Autumn she explained that they weren't really BAD words so much as WEAK words. Words you should avoid in your writing. The list she recited included: very, absolutely, am, is, are, was, were, be, been, bring, do, did, does, have, has, had, may, might, must, can, could, shall, should, will, would, really, bad, a lot, and all right. Hearing this, Jasmine responded "Absolutely isn't a weak word. It's juicy!"

*Kylie shared the drawings of horses she had made a few days ago. They were truly amazing. Everyone was in awe of her artistic abilities. She's clearly going to illustrate her own stories. Her favorite type of story? Animal fiction.

By the end of the day I was a bit exhausted from waking up early on a Saturday and sitting for such long periods of time. However, I hated for it to end. We had a great time together, heard a lot of great advice on writing, and had some wonderful conversations around reading and writing. Best of all, my daughter Harper was there to share it with me. She loved the group just as much as I did and was quick to jump in with her own favorite books and stories. On the way to the conference she sat in the back seat working on a biography she's writing about Paula Deen. After the conference she was anxious to buy a book or two and jump in line to get autographs from the authors. Not athletes or movie stars. Authors.

At some  point the kids asked why I was writing down so many of the things they were talking about. I told them I was going to go home and write about our day together and post it to the internet. "All these authors told us to write about what we know," I said. "That's what I'm planning to do." I gave a few of them the address to this blog so they could read about themselves. So here it is guys. I hope you enjoyed it. You all are truly amazing and I hope to see you again next year!

Losing It

I fear I’m unraveling.

Falling apart.

Coming loose at the seams.

 I used to be really on top of things. I always knew where everything was. Where I was supposed to be and when. If fact, I was so good at this I often helped to keep those around me up-to-date as well. Helpful or annoying, I was always busy.

If someone needed a form we had received at school a number of months ago (or even years, really) I could go to my file cabinet and produce it within seconds. If there was confusion as to where a meeting was I could reference my journal and provide the answer. The things I knew I would need next Tuesday were in an assigned spot waiting for me just behind the Monday things, the weekend things, and the Friday things.

Some call it anal retentiveness. Others call it madness. I call it organization and I was very good at it.

But not anymore.

In the past week I have lost both my i-pod and my back-up i-pod (yet again), Harper and Ainsley’s Girl Scout cookie money, both pairs of eyeglasses, and numerous materials at school. And as if that’s not bad enough I also left Ty at school one afternoon.  A pretty unimpressive week, I’d say.

To top this all off I drove Muluken to the ball fields on Saturday to have his picture taken with his baseball team. We don’t generally order individual or group pictures from the kids’ sports teams. However, Muluken really wanted a picture and we agreed. In the morning, before leaving, I made out the check, slid it into the picture envelope, and set it on the edge of the kitchen counter until we were ready to go.  Not surprisingly, when we got to the field and met his team I soon found that I didn’t have the envelope.

“That’s alright dad,” he assured me. “I can wait and get a picture next year.”

Gee, if I didn’t feel terrible enough already I definitely did now.  I shared my pain with a few other parents who explained to me that I could just grab another order form from the photographer and fill it out right there. This would have worked, too, if I were the type of guy who carried a wallet. Which I don’t. More often than you’d expect, this has been the topic of discussion with bank tellers, police officers, and most every other adult I’ve been stupid enough to tell.

Muluken waited until the other boys had their pictures taken to join them for the team photo. The photographer assured me that if I brought money later in the afternoon I could still order him a team photo. This was some measure of consolation.

A little later all the teams joined up on the ball field for their Opening Ceremonies.  After about twenty minutes of listening to speeches about how “success only comes before work in the dictionary” I leaned up against the outfield fence and slipped my hands into my the front pouch of my hoodie. 

Sure enough, there was the photo envelope.

That just about figures, I thought. Even when I have it together I don’t really.

I ran over to talk with the photographer and he agreed to let Muluken come straight over after the Opening Ceremonies to have his picture taken before his next scheduled team. I thanked him and confessed my stupidity. He half-chuckled and went back to smoking his cigarette and playing with his cell phone.

Walking back to find Muluken I felt a sense of relief. I had lost many things over the past week and even forgotten my own child at school. But this one I had fixed. Perhaps it would provide some momentum going into next week. Which would be nice because I don’t think I could stand to lose much more.  Being so disorganized and feeling behind these days, I fear the next thing I lose just might be my mind.

The Birds and the Bees

A few days ago the boys and I were in the car on our way to baseball practice in Blythewood when out of nowhere Muluken asked "Can every woman have a baby?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You know," he said. "Like can every woman have a baby and how does it start? How does she know it gets in there?"

Ha. I knew this question would eventually come. Ty, who is always quick these days to jump in with an answer whether it's right or wrong, tried to help.

"They just cut that string!" he said.

"What?" Muluken asked.

"That string," Ty explained. "They just cut that string!"

Muluken was confused about this all but knew this didn't sound right. I dove into a really patchwork explanation.

"Well, a girl's body is made so that it can have, uh babies..."

"But this ability doesn't happen until a certain age...like it can't do what it needs to until it's ready."

What am I saying???

"And at some point it goes away and her body can't have babies in it anymore."

There, that about sums it up.

"I don't get it," Muluken said.

"Yeah, me either," I answered.

I remember having the "sex talk" when I was about Muluken's age. I had taken to using some language I had picked up at school that I didn't really understand. Around the time I tried using it at church my dad decided it was time to clear some things up. He explained as much to me as he probably felt I needed to know. The discussion ended with a promise to talk about it again in another year or two. I was in no hurry. I don't imagine he was either. Fortunately he either lost his nerve or forgot.

"What if the girl doesn't want it?" Muluken asked. "What if it's in there but she didn't want it?"

Given what we know about pregnancy and the circumstances that can sometimes lead to it this question makes sense. However, it was clear from Muluken's questions that he thought those babies just magically appear in women's tummies and that maybe sometimes they weren't so pleasantly surprised.

"No Muluken," I said. "They don't get it in there if they don't want it."

I know this wasn't really true but I wasn't so sure this was a discussion to have in front of Ty. Muluken, sure. Ty, no. I imagined his teachers coming to me to ask why he's talking about penises and vaginas at recess.

Confused by our discussion, Muluken turned to a related topic. Marriage.

"When you get married do you have to stand in front of all those people and kiss?" he asked.

"Yeah but it's not a big kiss," I explained. "Although sometimes people don't have big weddings in front of people."

"Will I have to?" he asked.

"Probably," I said. "Girls usually like the idea of a wedding with guests and things."

"That's why I don't like girls," he shouted. "They always want the opposite of everything I do!"

In the end he decided that maybe he could magically turn into a horse for the wedding and then go back to being a boy afterward. Somehow in his nine-year-old mind this made sense and was a logical solution to kissing the bride. A beautiful young woman marrying a horse.

But then again, given my help up to this point in the discussion maybe I should withhold judgment. Rather, I'll take two years to regroup and try again. Or else lose my nerve or forget.