Because of Mrs. Atkinson

Published in the Idaho State Journal on February 21, 2021.

A couple weeks ago, my friend Cori from junior high sent me the sweetest note on social media. Her mom, a former teacher of mine, had been saving my columns for Cori when she stops by.  It’s been 35 years, and Mrs. Atkinson is still keeping tabs on me. What a comfort and delight. All of my wonderful teachers are on my mind in the weeks before a school district levy vote, but ever since I heard from Cori, I’ve been thinking specifically about Mrs. Atkinson.

I went to a small religious elementary school, so when I got to Hawthorne Junior High in seventh grade, I only knew a handful of kids. The sheer number of students was a shock.  A kindhearted locker partner, and the promise of sports and band kept me from despair.

My first hour class was Mrs. Atkinson’s Lifetime Sports. Being a sporty kid, I was hopeful. When I learned she was the seventh grade volleyball and basketball coach, I was ecstatic. The class focused on sports we could play throughout our lifetime: tennis, golf, pickle ball, ping pong, and bowling.  I went on to join a youth bowling league, spent hours in college playing ping pong with my digital circuits study partner, and can still hold my own on a tennis court and golf course.

During the first week in class, I was trying to chat with a classmate when a group of girls from the reservation started to tease us. We ignored them at first, but the ring leader kept interrupting me. When I’d had enough, I looked her in the eyes and yelled, “Knock it off! You’re not being very Christian!” She smirked, handed her glasses to a friend and punched me. Hard. Right in the face. 

My eyes watered without my permission while she waited for me to fight back. I didn’t. It would not have been “Christian”, and the force in her punch told me I needed to sit this one out. Mrs. Atkinson had entered the gym just in time to see the exchange. She pulled us aside individually. I saw the pain in Mrs. Atkinson’s face when she told me if either of us was reported to the principal for fighting, we couldn’t play sports.  I was incensed that the other girl wasn’t going to get in trouble, but even in week one, I trusted Mrs. Atkinson and her judgement. The other girl went on to be a basketball star; I went on to play college volleyball; and as I got to know the other girl’s friends from the reservation, they became my friends, too.

I hesitated to make many friends my seventh grade year because my dad had moved back in while he recovered from having a lung removed. He spent my seventh grade year sleeping on our couch slowly dying of lung cancer, and I didn’t want anyone to see him in his sickly state.  Mrs. Atkinson often checked in with me asking how my dad was. She was a rock.

Two years later, Mrs. Atkinson coached our ninth grade volleyball team. I was so big that none of the uniform shorts fit me, so the whole team had to get new ones. There wasn’t funding or time to get a desirable replacement, so we ended up with cheap, white shorts. Not one ninth grade girl wanted white shorts, but Mrs. Atkinson squashed any rumbling and complaints before they could arise, and she didn’t let me spend one second feeling bad about my size or the money the school had to spend.

This past year, the pandemic has presented our school district with unforeseen challenges far greater than new ninth grade volleyball shorts. The teachers aren’t just supporting one or two kids going through a trauma like losing a parent, they’re supporting all kids going through the trauma of a pandemic while simultaneously experiencing it themselves. Through my thick gratitude for every teacher, I see their exhaustion.  And despite my own exhaustion and pandemic fatigue, you can bet I’ll be at the polls voting yes in the upcoming school levy in honor of my Mrs. Atkinson and every single teacher like her.

Mrs. Atkinson didn’t plant the seeds of math or science that spawned my career. She didn’t teach me how to string words together or interpret literature. Mrs. Atkinson brought me much more. My life has been enriched by sports and competition. My friendships have flourished through forgiveness and humility, and I know the value of a team coming together in white shorts with a winning attitude for the sake of one among them. There are few people who would ever want to relive their middle school years, but I’d go back in a heartbeat because of Mrs. Atkinson.

 

 

Writing Prompts and a Hike or Two

Published in the Idaho State Journal on February 14, 2021.

Last March when we shut things down due to the pandemic, I knew establishing structure and a routine would be critical. Our boys, in sixth and eighth grade, were settling in to online education. I began working from home, and our social interactions with friends ceased. By April, I was concerned that everything was centered on the computer, and I was worried that the boys were disconnected from friends and family. I decided they needed to write daily. They needed to sit with pencil and paper and simply write.

At first, I wanted them to write letters to grandparents, cousins, and friends. Writing by hand makes the mind aware. Writing to loved ones, makes the heart swell. They weren’t seeing the brilliance of my idea, and they argued and complained, so to show how easy and fun it would be, I joined them.

We sat at the kitchen table after breakfast and wrote for 24 minutes. I would wake at 5 a.m. so I could get some work done early and afford time to write with them. I had established a 30 minute target, but in the course of negotiations, we settled on 24. Our boys have become excellent negotiators in the last 11 months.

When they started to receive letters from their grandparents in Texas or friends across town, they were slightly more eager to write. After so many letters, though, they needed a change-up. We added the option of journaling or creative writing. Their new directive was to always write whatever popped into their heads without concern for grammar, spelling or punctuation.

I didn’t read the oldest’s work, but he flourished with the creative alternative often writing “just a few more sentences” after the timer went off. The youngest developed a series of stories about a female spy in the 1950’s who flew planes all over the world. They weren’t at all interested in journaling about their feelings. When they chose to write a letter, I let them know I would read them as I put them in envelopes. I got a glimpse into their feelings even if they didn’t think they were writing about them.

When I realized I had created this window into their minds and mental health, I started giving them a writing prompt. Some days, I wanted to encourage their thoughts in recalling happy times or things that would evoke joy and hope to kick-start their day. What was your favorite vacation? What will you do with your friends when the pandemic is under control?  Sometimes I asked more serious questions to spawn discussions, so they could get things off their chests and I could offer guidance and support. What do you miss the most since we’ve been socially isolating? When have you been the most afraid in your life?

We stopped writing when school was out for the summer. We kept our “germ unit” intact and isolated and did not eat out or visit friends’ houses. We spent a lot of time hiking. During those hikes, the kids would talk in ways I could imagine them writing. The youngest in particular wanted to be doing things with his friends rather than hiking with us.

When school resumed last fall in the hybrid model, our older son began his freshman year at Pocatello High School. With honors English and debate, he had ample opportunities to write and engage with peers, so we let him phase out of our writing practice. We’ve kept the assignment going for our seventh grader during his online learning days.

I had to get creative with the writing prompts. What do you like about flying? Imagine a day in the life of Franklin. (He is our grumpy 12 year old cat who apparently speaks with a lot of &^%#’s.)  What makes a good friend? Tell me everything in your head about water balloons. How do you feel about returning to in-person learning?

With our public schools resuming full-time in-person learning in March, more writing prompts will connect to that theme.  We’ve talked about why it is happening now. The COVID-19 daily case numbers have shown a declining trend over the last two months indicating less community spread. Hospital beds and resources aren’t at critical levels, so severe cases along with other traumas can receive prompt and adequate care, and teachers who want to be vaccinated should be by then.

The virus is not suddenly gone, but with precautions in place, a return to in-person learning in March makes sense for all of these reasons. While we continue to wade through this pandemic, our seventh grader is undoubtedly processing it in his own unique way. As winter fades to spring, the COVID-19 numbers lessen and vaccines roll out, he’s certainly got things he can write about and share with us. I just need to come up some writing prompts and a hike or two. 

A snow shoe hike off of Scout Mtn Rd

The dogs had a blast!

 

Vacation Revelations

 Appeared in the Idaho State Journal on February 7, 2021

Every year over the winter break, we watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. The 1989 movie starring Chevy Chase is a slapstick comedy that’s become as much a part of our blended family traditions as new pajamas on Christmas Eve and cinnamon monkey bread on Christmas morning.  When the first two movies in the series came out - Vacation in 1983 and European Vacation in 1985 – I was too young to see them in the theater, but they became prime rentals for my friends and me when we got to high school. We watched them over and over and laughed and laughed.

We’ve come to love the Clark W. Griswold family during Christmas, so our brood was on board to watch the other old shows in anticipation of similar giggles.  My recollection was that they were mildly inappropriate and peppered with sophomoric humor that aligns with our boys’ present stages of development. We settled in with our new pajamas, fleece blankets, and dozing dogs to start with the original. I was so excited for us to follow the Griswold family road trip from Chicago to California’s Wally World and revel in the repercussions of Clark’s bad luck and worse choices.

The first city was St. Louis and as the arch showed on the screen, our boys lit up.   Their dad is from Missouri and they have all been to a couple Cardinals baseball games. When Clark took a wrong turn, they ended up in a bad neighborhood. In this show, that means they ended up in a Black neighborhood. Our boys recognized the negative stereotyping immediately.  My wife’s neck whipped around and she glared at me with a mixture of “why are you having them watch this?” and “do you really think this is acceptable let alone funny?”  I had no words to address her stare.

Clark’s wife’s face conveyed nothing but fear. At least Clark was portrayed as clueless, so he didn’t come across prejudiced or overtly racist as he asked for directions back to the interstate. While distracted in the driver’s seat and talking to a Black man in a teal athletic suit, other Black men stole their hubcaps. The camera panned to a gold-chained pimp with three prostitutes flanking him. The only good part of sitting through this scene was the awareness our boys displayed and the disgust they declared at all of it.

With a promise of a family debrief, I convinced everyone to let the movie continue.  During one of the next stops in rural Kansas to see good ole Cousin Eddie, who we’ve come to know from Christmas Vacation, it got worse. When Eddie’s teenage daughter told her cousin “Daddy says I’m a good kisser,” we turned the movie off.

My mom was a child protection worker for crying out loud. I grew up learning that child sexual abuse is never funny. Not ever. How was this show in my head as one of the best stupid movies of all time?

Begging for another chance and assuring them that European Vacation had to be better, I convinced everyone to try it.  

The second show kicked off with the Griswold’s competing on a gameshow called Pig in a Poke where they would go on to win a European Vacation. The show was crafted after the original Family Feud where the relatives lined up to answer questions, and the host infamously kissed all of the female contestants on the lips during introductions.  When the Pig host planted a seconds-long full-mouthed kiss on teen Audrey Griswold, more confused and horrified glares came my way. 

At this point, I wasn’t as interested in being entertained or revisiting laughs. I wanted to dive into an investigation of “how will the rest of this look to me now?”

Some might classify these shows as “politically incorrect nowadays”, but it really goes much deeper than that.  I wish we could eliminate the phrase “politically correct” from present day vernacular and consider something like “compassionately correct” or “culturally considerate” as alternatives.  The Vacation movies’ racial stereotyping and jokes about child sexual abuse have nothing to do with politics, but everything to do with compassion and consideration for fellow human beings. 

Sometimes when we revisit old memories, the hyped nostalgia in our minds doesn’t disappoint. Other times, whether it’s a matter of growing up, shifting tastes or a more widespread changing of the times, an examination of old loves has the potential for unexpected outcomes. My drive down memory lane took a detour I didn’t expect, and I still don’t know exactly where I’m at. Watching the Vacation movies revealed that the last 30 years have remodeled my eyes and conscience. I used to love these movies, but they sure don’t represent what I think is funny today.