The Making of a Hero…or a Villain

My Little Man and I have been working our way through the eleven volumes of the “How to Train Your Dragon” books on which the film of the same name is based. We read them together before bed, sometimes taking turns, sometimes me reading to him. He likes to make up funny voices and read the parts in Dragonese (the language spoken by the dragons and spoken/understood by our unlikely hero, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock the Third ). The author, Cressida Cowell, has a way of keeping those pages turning, eliciting pleas from Little Man of “Please, Mom, PLEASE, can we just read the next chapter? We can’t stop now! I have to know what happens!”

I think I enjoy the stories as much as my son does, and I sometimes find it hard to keep myself from continuing to read the next chapter after he’s gone to bed. Thus far, I have been able to contain myself, although as we near the end of the series, I’m not sure how much self-control I have left.

The stories follow a teenage Hiccup, the literal runt of his family, as he makes his unlikely was to become the Last of the Great Viking Heroes. It reminds me a bit of the Harry Potter series but aimed at a younger set. Like the Potter books, the series tends to get darker as it goes along, more complex. You know there is hope somewhere far down the line, but at each turn, you’re not sure exactly how the heck Hiccup will get out of this one. And like our good friend Harry, Hiccup’s books of memoirs are both self-contained individual stories as well as interlinking volumes with an overriding arch. They are amusing, occasionally crude, adventures from which surprisingly adult concepts emerge from time to time.

In Book 9: How to Steal a Dragon’s Sword, I was caught a bit off guard by one of these ideas that resonated with me on many levels. Towards the end of the book, in Chapter 20: The Triumph of the Treacherous (Alvin the Treacherous being Hiccup’s arch-enemy), my son and I lay in bed one night reading the following:

“You see how sometimes it is not clear what story we are telling from the outset? For the story we have been part of, it turns out, has not just been about the making of a Hero, but also the making of a villain.

The Alvin who we first met, many books and years ago, was not the same terrible man who was now about to be crowned upon the castle that once was Flashburn’s. When we first met him, he was a charming, sneaky, elegant sort of fellow, barely able to hold his own in a swordfight.

Since then, dreadful things have happened to Alvin, all his own fault, of course, but he has suffered nonetheless. Suffering can, of course, make a man a better person—but with Alvin it went the other way, and it had made him far, far worse. With every ghastly experience, he lost a little more of his humanity…

And now he stands, muscled, hardened, brutal, and merciless, a truly awful man indeed to wield the power he would hold from now on.”

This passage really struck me. Everyday, we see people, perhaps we are, ourselves, those people, who have been struck by adverse conditions. And how we deal with those adversities can make our lives better or worse because of it.

Later, in chapter 24: The Boy Hunt, Cowell writes:

“A Hero cannot triumph all the time.

Sometimes he will be defeated, and how he faces that defeat is a test of his character.”

Indeed.

And yet, there is that nagging notion of the making of a villain to contend with as well.

It struck me that we are sometimes the instigators in the creation of the “villains” within our own lives. Hopefully our villains are not as wicked as Alvin, but those ‘everyday’ sort of villains we come in contact with—perhaps even the villains within ourselves that tell us: ‘you can’t, you won’t, you’re not good enough, no one cares.’

It struck me, too, that how we treat each other every day contributes to the creation of heroes and villains all around us. And I wonder how many of my choices have contributed to the making of each.

I cannot wait to finish this series. I am not sure exactly how it will end, but I am certain I am the better for having read them.

Harry Potter and the Unexpected Inspiration

43 days. 7 books. 4,100 pages.  Yesterday afternoon I finished reading Harry Potter.  Having seen all the movies, I was bound and determined that, while on break from my second job this summer, I would settle in and read the series.

I’ve been reading JK Rowling’s words for such a long stint now that I’m starting to think in a British accent, and certain phraseology from across the pond is making a whole hearted attempt to worm its way into my vocabulary. I’ve stayed up late into the night (sometimes much too late to make me want to get up for work a few short hours later), hungrily sneaked pages in between stirring pots while making dinner, poured over her words on lunch break.

We all know that, as good as a film of a book can be, as dedicated as a creative team might be to staying true to the author, the movie never quite does justice to the completed text.

Already knowing the overall storyline, I began reading Rowling’s novels seeking her voice and the pieces of the story that had ultimately fallen through the cracks. What I found, in the end, was an unexpected kinship with Harry himself…and inspiration.

Harry Potter, who by Book 5 had already thwarted the Dark Lord numerous times, was still quite hesitant to take credit for his own skill. As his friends try to convince him to become their surrogate D.A.D.A. teacher, he tries to slough them off.  He is nothing special, he insists.  Just luck mostly, and instinct. Move along, nothing to see here.

This weekend, as I was picking up my son from a party, I was having a conversation with a parent about a book that had recently been published by one of the teachers from our local elementary school. He turned to me and asked, ‘you’re a writer, aren’t you?’ I was so taken aback by the question, I sputtered dismissively, ‘oh, well, I have a blog.’ As if that weren’t “real” writing, somehow, just lucky words that formed sentences on a page. No, I’m not a “real” writer; no one of special skill or import. Like Harry, I was not trying to impart a sense of false modesty, but truly felt that like great wizards, there are capital ‘W’ Writers, and I am not in their league.  No siree, Bob. Ideas just come to me sometimes, through chance, luck, serendipity, and I merely provide those ideas some form and substance. Gosh, anyone can write, right?

The truth, though, is I have ALWAYS been a writer.  I wrote stories with my vocabulary words in elementary school.  I wrote poetry for the literary magazine in high school. I wrote a letter to the hospital when my father was mistreated by an ER doctor. I write a blog.  I’m writing it now.  I write because I want to and I write because I NEED to. While speech often fails me, particularly in situations where emotions run high, the written word almost always has my back.

I write for myself, but like many artists (there, I did it, I called myself an artist; it is all I can do not to hit delete, but, no, I will let it stand), I also have a strong desire to share my work with others.  Friends who have read my writing have encouraged me to share it, and it was that encouragement that motivated me to start this very blog. But here again, the worlds of Harry and I collide. For with the sharing comes the underlying fear. Like Harry, I wonder if friends who have supported and encouraged me have put their stock in the wrong girl. What if I am not up to the task? The fear of not being good enough at times keeps me from writing anything at all.  After all, if nothing is written, no one will see me as the fraud I might be.  The Girl Who Thought She Could Write.  Ha!

Yet, Rowling has reminded me, through Harry, to just tell the story.  Don’t fret about letting yourself or anyone else down.  Just tell the story. And the rest, as they say, will take care of itself.

Inspirations came to me from a variety angles this summer. As I was finishing the last Harry Potter book and realizing the affect the series was having on me, I found that I was suddenly surrounded by inspiration. Maybe it’s a matter of finding what you seek, so in looking around for inspiration, I’ve found it. But in the end, who cares?  Who can say what inspires us and why? Like falling in love: you cannot MAKE something inspire you any more than you can MAKE yourself love someone.

As I mentioned in the conversation with a parent I had this weekend, there is a 5^th grade teacher at my son’s elementary school who has recently published his third novel. I just bought it at our friendly neighborhood Barnes and Noble today.  Barnes and freakin’ Noble. Totally in awe am I.

I have not cracked the book yet, but am so looking forward to it. Whether his words will inspire me, I can’t yet say, although having read the synopsis, I cannot image they won’t.  Before having read a word of his text, however, I find him an inspiration. He inspires me to stop making excuses and WRITE already. Here is a man, married with kids, full time teaching job (which, from what I hear, he is pretty awesome at, too), who has published three novels.  Not one or two…three. So, no, being a single mom with two jobs and a house to run is no excuse for not writing.  That novel that’s been mulling around in my head for a few years now?  Yeah, it’s not going to write itself.

I also found inspiration just a cyber-click away.  The wife of a dear friend of mine fought off an exceptionally aggressive form of breast cancer not so long ago.  Her amazing family rallied strongly around her, and I am thrilled that she is cancer free.  Having come through the other side, my friend has realized that while there is a substantial support system for survivors of all kinds, there is less support for the “supporting players,” those people trying to help keep everything together in the aftermath.  So, he started a blog for those very people, of whom he is one. It is already being followed by a large number of people, of whom I am one. He gives me a nudge, from a different direction, that inspires me to get on with it already.  Life is too short. I’ve been slacking for far too long.

And so, as my summer comes to an unofficial end, with my adjunct teaching job starting back up tomorrow and my son heading into first grade later this week, I am energized by the inspiration I have found in the 43 days I’ve spent with Harry Potter.  I have gathered it up in my arms and pressed it close to me. It’s time.  Time to tell some stories.

__________________________________________________________________________

You can read more about Matt Dicks and his third novel, “memoirs of an imaginary friend,” here: http://westhartford.patch.com/articles/wolcott-teacher-s-new-book-explores-imagination-in-all-of-us?ncid=newsltuspatc00000001

To read the my friend’s blog, “The Supporting Actor’s Life,” go to: http://mdmussey.wordpress.com/

Kindergarten, Part 2: Who Are You?

After the kindergarten parent meeting comes the scheduled school visit. This is when your child comes to the school at a set time with a small group of other incoming kindergarteners. They go away with some of the kindergarten teachers and participate in various activities (listening, reading, coloring, etc).  This gives the teachers a chance to see how the children interact and they get a basic idea of what their skill levels are.

Little Man was super excited about visiting his new school. I talked him through it several times, reminding him that he’d go off to a different room with the teachers and other children while I stayed behind with the parents and principal. I reminded him to listen to his teachers and that they would bring him back to where I was when they were done. He picked out the clothes he wanted to wear and chatted cheerfully as we walked through the front door.  He was raring to go until some of the other children arrived… then he got a bit shy. I expected that, and continued to talk to him about what to expect and how much fun it would be.  He was a bit apprehensive when the group was ready to go, but went along without incident and I let out a little sigh of relief. After all, I know how super awesome he is, and soon his potential teachers would know it, too.

Then I shuffled off into the parent meeting, which was certain to be less fun.  Don’t get me wrong, everyone was pleasant enough and was happy to answer all our questions (if you’ve ever had a child start kindergarten, you know there are quite a few questions ranging from basic information gathering to outright paranoia). With us we schlepped the big fat packets we received at the Parent Night (see Kindergarten Part One) containing a half an inch of all manner of forms which we had (more or less) dutifully completed between that day and this one. Forms about me, forms about him, forms about health and residency and the PTA. So many forms that I had to fill them out a few at a time as my hand was getting crampy (funny how I used to be able to write forever, but now that I’ve become so dependent on my laptop anything more than a paragraph or two sends my muscles into spasms and my handwriting into the toilet).

Truthfully, there were forms, or parts of forms, that I set aside to deal with later. As a Single Mother by Choice, I began to wonder how to answer some of the questions. One question from the after school program (which is not run by the school) asked me to indicate my relationship status.  My choices were: “married,” “separated,” “divorced,” “living together,” and “prefer not to answer.” Since I was none of the first four, my only other option was the latter, which was untrue—I did PREFER to answer, but did not have an option applicable to me. Being particularly sensitive to this issue, I also wondered what gay/lesbian couples might indicate. “Living together” would seem the closest choice for them, although certainly not adequately descriptive of their relationship, and ‘civil union’ was not an option (although legal in our state). I was particularly disturbed by the options because the after school program is run by a woman’s organization–you’d think they’d be a bit more cognizant of the different types of families that exist. For my purposes, I refused to check “prefer not to answer” and instead created my own check box with the word “single” next to it, checked it off and highlighted it in yellow. Take that!

The second stumbling block came on the same form (and also came up in some forms that came directly from the school), where I was asked: “does your child have any siblings?”

Well, hmm. How to answer this question? I assumed that their intent was to seek information on other siblings living your home with you and your child. Which, in our case, would be ‘no.’ However, the fact of the matter is that he does have siblings. They are not full siblings, but they are technically related and he does know about them, has even met one of them. I didn’t want to lie, but I also didn’t want to confuse the truth. Argh!

All these forms are designed to reflect relevant, database worthy information on the incoming class.  Most of them capture extremely basic information, although a few were open ended inquiries seeking a bit more personal information, such as “which discipline style does your child respond best to?” followed by a list of several options.  Being a Gemini and knowing my child as I do, the answer to a question like this is generally ‘all of the above.’  For example, sometimes I can speak quietly to him to correct his behavior, sometimes positive reinforcement works, and sometimes I just have to scream my fool head off.

God bless the people who design these forms in an effort to get to know our children; I know they are trying very hard to get parents to talk about their kids. In these little rectangles, I am tasked with creating an outline of the remarkable little boy that I’ve spend nearly 5 years raising. For a wordy girl like me, this is a nearly impossible feat.

Luckily (or not), our packet contained a lovely lavender flyer titled: “A Message from the Principal, Class Placement for 2011-2012.” On this flyer, the principal invited parents to “write a letter about your child for 2011-2012 placement purposes.” Letters would be used during the creation of the class lists and we were asked to adhere to the following guidelines: tell us about your child, don’t request a specific teacher, don’t ask to be placed in a class with current friends (it was noted that this would be considered in passing only and would not be a major consideration in placement), and get your letter in by the deadline. The principal’s closing lines were:

“So, begin the reflection process.  Jot little notes to yourself.  Make a strong cup of coffee and sit down at the computer one night to compose your masterpiece. Then place it in an envelope addressed to your child’s teacher.  We promise to do our best!”

Are you kidding me?  This was a dream come true!  I could write a whole letter about my Little Man? Sa-weet!! I stretched my arms, cracked my knuckles, and prepared for the challenge.

I filled the space all around the margins of the flyer with notes to myself .  What did I want to say about Little Man? What was most important?  How could I best convey his personality? His strengths? His weaknesses?

I found it just as easy to gush about his good points as to dish about his bad ones.  He’s not a total angel, but certainly is no devil.  Sweet and kind but hard-headed and sassy. How to balance the presentation so as not to give impression that he’s a pain in the ass, but also not that I think he can do no wrong.

I hemmed and hawed and thought and composed little snippets in my head.   And I put it off for as long as possible.  The night before our kindergarten visit (when I would have to turn my letter in) I was up until midnight crafting my words, carving them out, molding and shaping them into an impression of my soon-to-be kindergartener.

I opened with a brief explanation of our family structure, then launched into my description: joyful, funny, creative, affectionate, and a list of the things he likes, which is almost everything.  He is just as comfortable playing dress-up or creating macaroni art, as he is reading a book, writing a story, building with blocks or playing with dinosaurs.  From there I talked about his weaknesses, although I admit I found myself using lots of hedging words here: sometimes, occasionally, seems. He is my baby, after all!

I read it, re-read it, printed it, read it again, edited it again, re-printed it.  What had I missed? Had I said too much?  Not enough? Well, to be honest, I hardly think I’d be accused of “not enough.” I managed to squeeze 865 words onto a single page by annihilating the margins and using a tighter font. But did it say everything that needed to be said?  I could not believe the angst that went into this! I hope that I did my Little Man justice.

The hour was late and a big day lay ahead for us both, so I finally had to put it, and me, to bed. I concluded my letter thusly:

“So there, in a nutshell, is my amazing son. I have planted the seeds of learning, love and life, and pass him now to your tender care, to help me nourish his mind, body and spirit, and cultivate the incredible human being he is meant to be. I hope that you enjoy having him in your life as much as I enjoy having him in mine.

Thank you so much for all you do.  I hope this letter is helpful and look forward to working with you in the coming year.”

Stay tuned for Part Three!  🙂

How Mommy Got Her Groove Back (no, not that groove!)

It all started with a package of underwear. Well, that’s not entirely true, but more on that later…

Obviously it’s been a while since I’ve posted. When last we met, I’d been to the parent meeting in preparation for my son’s impending foray into kindergarten.  Since then, we’ve had kindergarten visit day, Spring turned to Summer, Little Man “graduated” from Pre-K, I turned 40, I took a semester off from online teaching, the state went to hell in a handbasket, Little Man’s about to turn 5, Little Man got his library card and has proceeded to consume reading materials at a startling pace…

Fully blog-able topics, all, and then some! And yet, I have not written. While finishing up my online class in June, a multitude of topics whirled in my head.  “No!” I told myself, “you have to focus! You’ll have plenty of time to write once class is over and all your grades are in.”

So true!  Eight weeks of blissfully boring time at home with nothing in particular to do once Little Man has gone to bed but write.

And read (two Stephen King’s, a Tina Fey, and half a Grisham later).
And catch up on Criminal Minds…and Without a Trace. <damn you, Ion TV.  You ARE positively entertaining!>
And play Bejeweled Blitz…and Wordpath <damn you, FB, with your brain sucking, quasi-intellectual and/or mind-numbing games>
And fall asleep on the couch, waking up in time to brush my teeth and go to bed…

It has occurred to me these past few weeks, as I played Pathwords for the 5,000^th time (high score: 1360—hooya!), that my lack of focus has a curious source.  I seem to be more motivated to work when I have other work competing for my time and energy. I must do everything, or nothing at all. All the big plans I had for my time off from my second job?  Nothing has materialized. The curse of the post-modern mommy.  “You deserve a break,” I say to myself, “some time to just veg out.  You can write later.”

And while ideas continued brewing on all manner of subjects, they’ve been relegated to tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. Until today.

Today I’m browsing around Target determined to find the perfect pale pink to paint my nails (mind you, I haven’t painted my nails since my son was born… but I digress). On my journey, I pass by the ‘intimates’ section and  decide to look, as I always do, to see if they have my underwear in my size. After all, the Hanes six pack is on sale, with 2 bonus pair! (I am hard pressed to pass up bonus packaging of something I use anyway).

Here’s what I want: all cotton, hi-cuts. I’m not going for sexy and I’m not a little girl: no bows, no lace, no nylon, no cutesy pattern, no string up my butt. Just no-ride guaranteed ®, all cotton, hi-cuts.  Size 7.  Yeah, I said it. Size 7.  Me and my Ben & Jerry belly are a size 7.  And apparently, so is every other woman in 50 mile radius, because every time, and I mean EVERY time, I look for this type, style and size, there are none.  Size 6? Yep.  Size 8, 9, 10? You betcha! Size 7? Nope.  Size 7 briefs, boy cut, bikini, string?  Sure! No high cuts.  It’s infuriating! I believe it may be a conspiracy…

But that’s not what motivated me to get writing.  No, that wasn’t it at all.

As I peruse the packages, tossing aside one after the other in frustration at the lack of a winning combination of style and size, I find one that’s been torn open. A few packages later, another.  Then another. At least five, maybe more.  Different sizes.  Different styles. But there’s no stray pairs of underwear laying around.

And I begin to wonder:

Are women stealing underwear one pair at a time? Did they really need a pair right then and there and just couldn’t wait to get to the checkout? And then just decided the rest of the package was unnecessary? No one is going to miss one pair, right? Are they trying them on? Over their clothes? Under their clothes?? [ew…in which case, I do not mind that they are nowhere to be found]

There appears to be an epidemic of occasional underwear abduction and someone needs to get to the bottom of it!  [I know, a cheap pun, but tell me you didn’t at least snicker…or groan…yeah, that’s what I thought!]

And that, my friends, is how Mommy got her writing groove back.

Expect more posts soon…after I finish a few rounds of Wordpath…