Parent

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Higher Education

Published August 23, 2012 by Ms. Nine

 

Nerner Moore White (Public Domain) via Wikimedia Commons

For the first time in over fifty years, I’m not preparing to enter a school building. When I stopped teaching and started writing full-time, I didn’t anticipate the feelings I’d have at the start of this school year.  I feel like a blood hound sniffing for a lost scent.  For Heaven’s sake, where are my crayons and wheat paste?

When you think about it, school consumes a large chunk of your life.  You might be a student, a teacher, or a parent of a school-age child; sooner or later you’ll march through the doors of a school building.  For many of you, that time is now.

As you poke through your school memories, you’ll find moments of truth.  If you’d like, share them in a comment.

Have a great year and thanks for stopping by!

 

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Open House for 3WW

Published August 22, 2012 by Ms. Nine

3WW prompts: amuse, excite, sincere

The voices in the hall expanded like air in a balloon.

“Bonjour, everyone, bonjour,” she announced to the parents and students waiting by her door.  “My name is Madame Jolivette.  I look forward to meeting each of you. Come in.  Make yourselves at home.”

Madame’s arms gestured a sincere invitation as pupils and parents filed through the doorway.  Faded posters of La Tour Eiffel, La Seine, and L’Arc de Triomphe paired with charts of conjugated verbs wallpapered the room.  She sighed.  This may be my last Open House. When I retire I’ll go to Paris and stroll along L’Avenue des Champs-Élysées…

A chubby boy wearing a collared shirt eyed the pastries on a sideboard.  Madame raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips.  Ah, croissants and éclairs never fail to excite them.

Parents and students mingled, munched French pastries, and chatted.  Madame overheard.

“They say French is a dying language,” a father said.

“Not true.  All international treaties are written in French,” piped another parent.

“Used to be. They’re written in English nowadays,” another argued.

“Why would the board approve this course, then?”

Mme. Jolivette interrupted, “I’m sure the answer will amuse you…Let me tell you a story…”

Thanks for stopping by!

Writing for Revelation

Published July 10, 2012 by Ms. Nine

When my daughter talks to me, which isn’t very often, our conversations are one-sided.  She does most of the talking, which is usually a rant, and I do the listening. She’s toxic, and it’s better when I don’t take the bait.  When she leaves or hangs up the phone,  I fill my journal with what I wanted to tell her.  I thought I’d share with you a recurring theme.

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      “Why did you adopt me?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” I replied.

She scrunched up her face.  The answer, after all, implied that if I had hindsight, my decision would have been different.  Well, what did she want to hear?  Because I loved her?  Because she needed a family?  Because it was the right thing to do?  All this she already knew.  The truth is, even when I try to remember the reason, I really don’t have a better answer.

     Honey, you’re thirty-seven, an adult.  So your life sucked for the first eight years, then you got a new family.  It’s been twenty-nine years and you’ve yet to call me Mom.  Your therapist said you couldn’t say it because the word dredged up feelings of horror, pain, and dread.  Maybe if I had pushed the issue, made you talk the talk, eventually you’d see me as your “real” Mom.  Just so you know, being the “adopted one” never made you any less of a sister or daughter.

      We accepted you for yourself, the crooked sapling that we loved regardless.  Could anything have straightened out that sapling so its trunk wouldn’t grow up gnarly?  Does it matter?     

     Is that why you stuck the needle in your arm?  You blame your heroin addiction on being adopted?  Well, Honey, that’s what addicts do – they blame.  All the therapy in the world won’t change that.  True, you could have been someone else’s daughter.   But you’re mine, and nothing will change that, either. 

     So, why did I adopt you?  I can’t promise you’ll like this answer any better.  It’s a divine poker game and God’s dealing.  When He gives you a chance to love, even if the stakes are high, you don’t fold. 

    And if God ever gives me the chance to tell you this, I will.

 

Writing this has helped.  It’s her birthday and I’ve no way to contact her.

Thanks for stopping by.

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