Thank you! Love the poem.Memories
At the beginning of school, I do a unit entitled “On the Day You Were Born.” The kids look up information on the Internet and find out what songs, books, TV shows, movies, and toys were popular when they were born; what the phase of the moon looked like on the night they were born; political leaders; and some of the Academy Award winners, etc. In my classroom, I also have several framed pictures of myself when I was LOTS younger, (even before first grade!) that I use to “introduce” my family to my students. Normally I begin our writing sessions with “Did I ever tell you about the time…?” This-coming school year I plan to incorporate a unit on the 50s and 60s culminating in a “Sock Hop” and “Something Groovy” parties. Of course I have the music to go with those two units (some records and some tapes and CDs) which we listen to daily anyway. (Please tell me that some of you remember records!) Anyway, I use my memories, especially of these two time periods, to help create memories for my students and to capitalize on their memories in their writing. Those first days of school are really a wonderful time when the students write about their earliest memories, their funniest memories, their favorite holiday memories….
I was at school last weekend (yes, on a Saturday) and one of last year’s students and her mother, brother, and a friend saw that I was there and knocked on the door. They were at school roller blading on the blacktop of the playground. The first thing Jeanine wanted me to do was to “tell them the story about Scaredy-Cat Vickie” (my sister). I asked her which story. She said “The one where you made Vickie think it was December when it was really June.” So I ended up telling that one and a few more!!! I don’t think my students realize that when I tell those stories that I am really reliving those memories as if it were yesterday. Some of the voices in those memories have been silenced, but they still ring true in my mind.
It sort of reminds me of what Walt Whitman wrote:
“There was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years….
These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.”
What will I be remembered for? What memories will I leave with my students and my family? Will they remember…? What memories will have become a part of me?
As a third grade teacher and a lover of Christmas, I have enough Christmas shirts, sweatshirts, and turtlenecks to last from Thanksgiving until January. I also have several Christmas lanyards for my playground whistle, and I have flashing Christmas necklaces and writing pens!! I adore anything "poinsettia" and plan to decorate the "Southern" way with poinsettias when our kitchen/family room remodeling is done. You might ask yourself what is the “Southern” way of decorating. I guess I should have said “a” Southern way instead of “the” Southern way. It goes back to Southern Living magazine which always has a wonderful Christmas issue and which also puts on gorgeous exhibits at home shows. Anyway, my mother adored poinsettias and had an idea of buying lots of them and placing them around the base of our Christmas tree. Wouldn’t you know it that Southern Living had the same idea!! Now, granted, their tree looked absolutely divine because it was either a silver-tip or one of those trees that is grown at high elevations. Ours was normally a cedar, but you just cannot beat the smell of a fresh-cut cedar. I would put our smell-good cedar up against a “home show” tree anytime. One year, though, my older sister just could not resist the lure of a Southern Living Christmas. We went to the home show in Charlotte, and she was entranced by one of the “theme” Christmas trees so much that she bought it right at the end of the show and took it home. It was beautiful with red and green decorations mixed in with pure white cotton bolls—yes the real ones!! That’s as close as my family ever came to a professionally decorated tree. Mostly, ours was filled with store-bought, homemade, and school-made decorations and a lot of love.
I read a quote that I think applies to me: "So much of who I am is wrapped up in what it's about, because so much of who I am is wrapped up in my identity as a teacher." Through the doors of my classroom have passed all the students I have taught. If their voices were audible, what memories would they tell about? It reminds me of A Christmas Story in which Ralphie says his father's (curse) words are still hanging in the air over Ohio (I think it's Ohio)or was it Indiana? It makes me humble to realize that my words do have an effect, and that effect can be both negative as well as positive.
I wonder what it would feel like to be Jean Sheppard, the writer of the book from which “The Christmas Story” was taken. Were all those wondrous words and memories swirling inside his head or were they put into a little bitty brain file cabinet or little bitty brain writer's notebook just waiting for the right page to come along?
One teacher on another forum encouraged me to take a stab at writing poetry. I chose to write a piece about Christmas and memories. Please accept my humble poem:
If Christmas Were
If Christmas were a fragrance, it would be honeysuckle
wafting through the open window in the spring and summer of my mind.
It would whisper of days gone by,
time captured in a photograph,
time captured in a memory.
It would speak of violet dusk and soft summer breezes.
It would speak of screen doors slamming
and front-porch rocking.
It would yell out in the voice of a child
not yet ready to come in to supper,
wanting just one more minute outside.
It would whisper of antebellum,
hoop skirts,
and outdoor cotillions.
It would speak of fireflies flashing
and clapboard farmhouses
and new-mown alfalfa hay.
It would yell of crickets chirping,
and church bells ringing,
sharing news and warning.
It would whisper of skies
the color of Carolina blue
with angel-hair clouds.
It would speak of Dixie-cup pictures
and home-churned ice cream
and picnics down by the river.
It would yell like the kids at the swimming hole,
jumping in to the ice-cold water
getting out to do it all over again.
It would splash into the beautiful
colors of autumn and be rendered into
the noise of crisp, crunchy leaves.
It would be the smell of woodsmoke
wafting in the air,
clinging to our hair and in our minds.
It would be the lengthening days
and the slanting of sunset through
tendrils of peach and lavender clouds.
It would be the crystal icicles
dripping from the eaves and
becoming our personal popsicles.
It would be winter walks
through snowdrifts
and muffled silence.
It would be the smell
of snow in our hair
and sledding parties at night.
But most of all,
it would whisper.
It would whisper,
“Turn your heart toward home and memories.”
And so we have come full circle to this, another beginning of collecting memories.
--Cherylle in CA
(almost missed your post for lack of going back a page, so glad I did not!!)
haha I know its a big keg of coffee!!
