Wednesday, May 15, 2019

Poems, Pads, and Protests

Remember back when (I used to blog, and :-) Evan had a stall at the kids' marketplace as a part of his entrepreneurship class? It's Vivian's turn now. She and her friend created a business selling custom poems. You give them a word or phrase and in about five minutes, the girls write and illustrate a poem for you. They've hit the trifecta: their product is ultra-customized, the value of their product is not defined by the cost of parts, and they have no competition. The downside is a limited market: there are only so many literary risk-takers who want poems written by a couple of dyslexic middle school girls. 


So one day I overheard Vivian and her friend discussing how they should get these cute small wax-paper packets to package their poems. The next evening I see these purple-blue-green things on the dining table at home. 


Me: "Oh - is this what you're going to put your poems in?"
Vivian: "No Dad. Those are my pads."

Much laughter at my expense. Even from Evan who is clueless about pads. Though there's a good chance that I bought those pads for Vivian at Walgreens late some evening after Jo armed me with a photo of what the box looks like. We aren't shy about discussing anatomy and bodily functions, even periods. Sometimes, without giggling. The other day Vivian proudly displayed a booklet she had made for her science class about a certain single celled prokaryotic organism. "Doesn't it look exactly like a tampon? They should call it the tampon bacteria."

Having a daughter is distinctly different and new. Broadly speaking I understand what Evan goes through in so far as his body and biology is concerned. Not so with the girl child. But we try not to not talk about the differences. I leave the exam room when the doctor and nurse are in there with Vivian. But we talk about it afterwards. If Jo got really busy with a dream job, I feel I could step in and help buy Vivian her tampons, shaving stuff, or clothes. It wouldn't be easy but I wouldn't be helpless.


Fortunately, Vivian buys some of her own clothes (with money she has earned - sometimes, by selling poems). She doesn't always make the best decisions and at times, Jo has returned clothes to the store the next day and helped her pick something instead that more is suitable for school. Vivian's school has a dress code. The line between what is acceptable and what isn't is a bit blurry. No enforcement of the code for most of this school year has made the line even blurrier.

Vivian's shorts were getting - well - short. So last week Jo and Vivian went out shopping and bought a few shorts that were longer. In fact, they were a good bit longer than what Vivian had been wearing to school all year.

The first day Vivian wore these new denim shorts to school - with a white t-shirt and solid black thigh high socks, she got dress coded. Her shorts didn't go down to her fingertips as per code. In fact they were considerably short of that lofty goal. You'd need to get "uniform" shorts, cargo shorts, boys shorts, or custom tailored shorts to meet the dress code - you couldn't just waltz in to Old Navy and buy something off the shelf.

Vivian came back home unhappy.

We encourage Vivian to think through her sartorial decisions. What do you like, what are you comfortable with, where and what are you dressing for, what your peers wear, what you can afford, etc. The hope is for her to develop her own confident sense of fashion - initially with some parental input.

School dress codes are based on what keeps the boys calm (and later, men). And that is a slippery slope which ends in slut shaming, victim blaming, and a mandatory full body burka.


So over dinner yesterday, we helped Vivian sort through her options. Jo cautioned her against completely alienating her teachers over this issue of dress code. We even discussed the law - as a private school, the dress code was pretty much what the school decides it to be. Sure - she could try to change the code, but it would have to be done by persuasion and reasoning, not confrontation. Eventually she decided on a tongue-in-cheek response. This morning she wore her oversized Rosedale Ride sweatshirt over a short pair of shorts. The sweatshirt comes down to below her fingertips, but she looks like she's not wearing much else. Which segues to the last word in the title of this post.

I'm going to ask her to write a poem about "dress code"! Full circle.

Wednesday, December 12, 2018

Ma Baker

Growing up, we listened to some strange music in Hyderabad in the late 70's. Here's a youtube link to a song called Ma Baker by a group named Boney M. Of course this was before MTV and back then India had a couple of really boring government TV channels and so I didn't see the videos associated with the music till much later. But here it is. If you loved it and want more, there's Boney M's biggest hit - Rasputin.

But this isn't about BoneyM or their Ma Baker. It's about ours. Jo bakes a few times each year, which is a few times more than me. I think she would like to bake more, especially if it didn't involve eggs. Most of the time her creations are great and Vivian and Evan have a wonderful time helping her.


Last week, her Christmas cookies and gingerbread men appeared to be certifiable Pinterest fails, but the kids still enjoyed eating the cookies and Vivian was upset when she found out that Jo had tossed the amputated remains of the giant ginger man in the trash. Jo took our gentle joking as criticism. So yesterday when she got down to it again and popped the makings of an eggless banana bread into the oven, we were all smiles and cheers and encouragement. Then she opened the oven door a bit later and said "Oh". I took that to mean that she was surprised at what she found in the oven, but I bit down on my initial instinct to make a smart ass comment. In fact I was committed to taking a nice slice of whatever came out of that oven and expressing my hearty compliments to the chef.

So we were all pleasantly surprised, hugely relieved, and quite greedy when a perfect banana bread emerged. I had to stop after three helpings and tell the kids to do the same.

Jo - your baking rocks!

Shadows - a short story

The other evening Vivian settled herself on the arm of the old leather armchair and opened her iPad. She read a story that she had just finished in her Writer's Workshop class at school.

My first thought was "Wow"
My first comment was "Can your fellow 6th graders read this story?" It isn't exactly PG.
My second thought was "Where is she getting this material - it isn't autobiographical"

I wrote a post back in 2013 about Vivian's first book. Here we are - five years later.






SHADOWS


A boy stood at the end of the empty hallway. His vivid green eyes pierced her muddy brown ones. Usually the middle school hall was so full of boys yelling and girls squealing, you could barely hear yourself think. But tonight the moonlight bounced off the sparkling linoleum, illuminating the boy’s pale face and making his dark hair glisten with silver, creating the illusion that his eyes were glowing. She felt as though she'd seen this boy before, but she couldn’t place it.

Kayla woke with a start. Her face was shining with a layer of cold sweat. Her blankets were tangled around her bare legs. Kayla’s orange tabby, Crookshanks, named after Hermione Granger's cat, hissed and spat at her, his hair rumpled from the short fall. He wasn’t the only one shaken. Kayla’s hands still shook with the intensity of his stare. Her head felt numb after the dream…

Kayla slipped a baggy T-shirt over her head and untucked her hair from the collar. Her jeans fit snug against her shaking legs. She laced up a pair of ratty grey high tops. A cheap plastic brush combed through her short hair that always got her mistaken for a boy. Her thickly framed glasses sat heavy on her freckled nose.

“Mom” Kayla whispered, “I’m going to school now.”

Mrs. Ruly had been sick for months now, and she wasn’t getting better. After she’d kicked Kayla’s father out of their small two bedroom apartment, she had spent most of her time at the local bar. She’d come home later and later. Stumbling and throwing up, she would make her way to her empty bed. Kayla could sometimes hear her crying into her father’s old pillow. Her mother would wake in the morning with splitting headaches. Kayla thought nothing of the throwing up and headaches, it was just a bad hangover. But soon her mother never left her bedroom, not even to watch a movie with Kayla. One day Kayla found her mother on the floor of her bathroom dazed and mumbling. Kayla rushed to the phone and called an ambulance. When they got to the hospital, Kayla was in tears and her mother’s eyes were closed.

The doctors were cryptic in their prognosis.“Sorry, but all she can do is go home and get some rest.” They looked at Kayla with pity. That was in February, it was nearly May now.

”Kayla,” a pretty girl with huge round green eyes shouted across the crowded lunchroom.

“Gotta grab my lunch, Avery,” Kayla shouted back.

Avery nodded and plopped back into her seat.

Kayla and Avery had become friends after Kayla’s mother had fallen sick. For the past few months Kayla had spent more time at Avery’s than at her own house. She grabbed her tray and made a beeline towards Avery.

“Hey, how’s your mom,” Avery asked.

“Not getting better,” Kayla said, “how’re your parents?”

“Fighting, as usual.” Avery tugged on the strings of her hoodie, eventually popping one into her mouth. “I wish they would just split, listening to them fight is torture.”

Kayla’s eyes softened and her brow creased.

“...Or at least let me move into the basement.”

Avery stabbed her broccoli and flipped her long blond hair that had recently been dyed black to match her usual attire of velvet high tops and a spiked choker. The sparkling green eyes were the only thing left from old Avery. Maybe that’s why they were drawn to each other. Avery’s parents had started fighting, she’d become introverted and her favorite color went from rose pink to coal black. Kayla wouldn’t have minded if her parents fought all the time if it meant that her father were still around.

Kayla’s dad was brilliant, at least that was what she thought. To everyone else, he was crazy. He’d wanted to solve the world's problems, but Kayla was the only one who saw him in that light. Even his own wife had kicked him out after finding a bra two cup sizes bigger than hers, although everyone knew it was because of the constant explosions in their basement.

Kayla redirected her mind and tried to focus on the wonderful dream she’d had the night before. Before she could even catch a glimmer of what the dream had been about, a new thought infiltrated her mind. The glimmering green eyes, the teasing smile, and the way he kept dancing out of her reach.

Avery waved her fork in front of Kayla’s face to bring her back, “Hellooo? Anyone home?”

Kayla jumped and they resumed their normal lunchtime commentary about the group they referred to as the ‘School Royals’.

After school Kayla dropped by the park. She walked around the pond and skipped rocks over the clear sparkling water to clear her mind.

“Ouch!” A head of black hair emerged from behind a large tree. “Geesh you’ve got a good arm.”

Kayla stood there, dumbfounded, like an idiot.

A startling green gaze landed on her and she almost fell to the ground with the intensity.

He grinned teasingly. “Hello Kayla.”

“How do you know m...“

But before she could go any further he crossed to her and glanced at the backpack on the ground at their feet “I saw it on your backpack.”

He offered her his arm in a courtly fashion. Kayla tentatively placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. This was not her normal behaviour. Usually she would ignore a stranger in the park, but there was something about this guy that made her want to be adventurous. “The names Kayla Ruly- although you already seem to know that,” she smiled weakly.

“Enchanted, Kayla Ruly, I am Zev.” He added a quick little bow.

They walked through the forest arm in arm like in a Disney movie. Yellow sunlight filtered through the fresh leaves. Kayla bounced on a squishy patch of moss. He glanced at her, but she was too busy blushing to notice. 

He ran his hand through his shaggy hair, making it even more unkempt.

The rest of the walk went something like that as they walked up Main Street, stealing quick rosy cheeked glances when the other wasn’t looking. As they turned the corner, Kayla’s eye caught on a blazing, red glint of light near his pocket. She stopped for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” asked Zev.

She shook her head “It must have been my eyes playing tricks on me.”

“In that case, let me walk you home.”He offered his elbow to her again, but she grabbed his hand instead. He raise an eyebrow at her, questioning, but did not pull away.

They strolled back down Main Street, across a small stone bridge, and turned a corner. They walked up to the front door of the apartment complex.

“So I guess I’ll see you around town?” Kayla asked turning back to him.

“Coffee on Tuesday?” He asked, adding, “ at the new Starbucks on Hampton Street.”

“See you there.” Kayla pulled her head up to see if he was blushing as much as she was. But he was gone. She started to go into her apartment when she noticed a brown package sitting on the steps. She picked it up and slipped it into her pocket.

As she made her way up the grimy steps, Kayla was lost in thought. Where had Zev come from? She knew most of the boys in her small town that were that age and she had never seen him before. There was something about him...something compelling. She could still feel the cool touch of his hand on hers. She continued daydreaming until her phone buzzed with her reminder that she had an essay to write.

Reluctantly she opened her ancient computer. When it finally loaded, she started to search the web for a good essay topic. She came across an article that was published in the 40’s:

Last week the body of Alissa May was found in a ditch outside of a small town in Massachusetts. Alissa’s entire family is under investigation. The only thing found on the crime scene was a knife covered in blood. It had been stabbed into Alissa’s stomach but the only trace of fingerprints were hers.

Kayla stopped reading and feeling a little shaken, scrolled down. She skimmed a few more articles, until one published in the 90’s caught her eye

Earlier this month Maddie Kim disappeared during a school ski trip. In a gruesome turn of events, her body was found on one of the black diamond slopes. A hiker, Malory Jones discovered her, “Her body was covered in blood and a dagger was plunged into her skull.” Malory found the body when she and her husband were hiking the mountain. There were no fingerprints on the unusual weapon: a dagger made of ruby encrusted obsidian.

The article went into more depth but Kayla couldn’t read more. Her stomach roiled and tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She glanced at the small package on her desk. Maybe she would finish her essay tomorrow. She grabbed the brown paper-covered parcel and carefully untied the string. When she pulled the paper away, a strangled breath caught in her throat. A dim light glanced off of the red jewels and obsidian and an eire shadow was cast over Kalya.

Monday, December 10, 2018

The 2018 Christmas Letter

The world will remember 2018 as the year American lost it's self-proclaimed right to moral exceptionalism by letting our fears and biases get the better of us. It is the year that we realized that plastics had fucked up our oceans, at least for the duration of a few human lifetimes. And 2018 is the year that we (and leaders and lobbyists of all except, coincidentally, the world's largest four oil producers) came to the unpleasant conclusion that our children will experience considerable hardship because of changes wrought by us humans to our home planet.

But 2018 was also a big year for hair. Vivian, Evan and Jo changed their hair multiple times.


Also, 2018 is the year the children grew up. Vivian purposefully, and Evan reluctantly. Vivian took control of her life. I can see glimpses of the adult she will grow up to be and I like what I see. Vivian and Evan used to be each other play friends. Now they occupy the same spaces and the same dinner table conversations but their lives are distinct. This has happening a bit sooner for Evan than he would like. He wrote in an English assignment at school that, like the character in the story, he was lonely because my sister doesn't like me and my cat is dead.  So Jo and I hug Evan a bit longer and tighter. But he is beginning to test his wings too.


Like when he went to summer camp. For three weeks he lived amongst his friends and camp counsellors and didn't have any contact with us and had a great time. But I have a sneaky feeling that this was engineered by Vivian too. In the spring Vivian announced that she wanted to attend the three week session of Camp Champions in summer, and so we encouraged Evan to do the same. Turns out that Vivian wasn't interested in the leadership training, or bonding with girls, or sailing classes. She wanted to dance with her old school mate at the Friday evening dances. Luckily, or perhaps there was no luck involved, she succeeded.


It is good to have kids who are growing up. Jo and I went to California while the kids were in camp. We sometimes do our thing in the evenings and the kids get ready for bed and turn themselves in. We aren't empty nesters for sure, but this was the year that we got to see the light at the end of the tunnel.



In spite of all this talk about going our different ways, we do continue to travel well as a family. In 2018 we had memorable trips with friends and family to Florida, Costa Rice, England, the east coast, and San Diego, with one more trip - to Utah - coming up. So Jo had a brilliant idea, as she often does. For a year, from July 2019 onwards, we're traveling. We envision going places that would be hard to visit over school breaks. We want Vivian and Evan to see more of the world but also to understand what it is like to grow up and live in places that we visit. And along the way, we hope to see you, our dear friends and family. Come visit us and share in our travels. First stop - southern Africa - Kruger National Park, the Okavango delta in flood, migration in the Serengeti, beaches of Zanzibar and Mauritius, and the snows of Kilimanjaro. And if all goes well, inshallah, we'll continue after Africa on to South America and perhaps I'll write our 2019 Christmas Letter from somewhere in Patagonia.


Warmest Christmas greetings and a very Happy New Year from our family to yours.

xoxo
Evan, Vivian, JoEllen & Me