Lon is the father of five. Two of the five children have special needs. One is autistic and one has Down's syndrome. His other three children are in their late 20s and early 30s, raising families and enjoying their lives. Lon's special needs children are 24 and 31: Danny and Katie.
I met Lon today while I volunteered with four of my students at the Special Olympics in Mesa. We do this every year, and I sparkle with joy as I watch my students interact with the athletes. It's an opportunity for them to be the minority for once. 300 Special Olympians and only a handful of average needs high schoolers. They let their guard down and don't need to look cool when their friends aren't there. They cheer and high-five the athletes after the races. They help them find the restrooms. I get that Mom feeling inside, like I'm truly teaching my students the meaning of life.
Lon allowed Danny and Katie to "school" my students into their world. My students followed them around and by the end of the day, they had become real honest-to-goodness buddies. Lon and his wife have had to put their "empty nest" plans on hold, but they had known that parenting special needs kids would never be just an 18 year job. They have a network of parents who are in the same lifestyle and they seem to really take care of each other. They spend major holidays together, sometimes 3 or 4 families together all at once, opening Christmas gifts together.
My students learned about the school/center where Danny and Katie learn and live. My kids asked Lon if they could help with special events at the center and he actually got tears!
He said what we all say, "Just when I thought teenagers were only thinking about themselves these days, I meet some who are the nicest people in the world." Bless Lon and his family, and bless my wonderful students.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Friend #17
Susan is the woman who has been making the "Prop 100" window stickers for the teachers at my son's school. I met her today (stalked her, tracked her down, creepily waited for her to arrive...whatever you want to call it). I ordered some stickers for my teachers and friends while Susan listened to me rant about the Proposition that she obviously believes very strongly in, as I do. After five minutes of her gracious listening, she said, "You DO know that I'm for the Prop, right?" I guess I've been so used to defending the bill to strangers and aquaintances that having someone who already knows about it was refreshing, albeit strange. I felt as though I could relax around Susan. I've been compaigning for it for two months now and she was too!
At that moment, I randomly asked Susan, "You know the cliche cartoon where two men are wandering the desert and meet in the middle and they both realize they're both in the exact same predicament?" She said, "Yeaahhh?..." "That's US!" I said, as I pointed back-and-forth to the two of us. "You're SO right!" she said.
And a weight was lifted off of my right then. I realized that I wasn't fighting this alone.
My overly controlling ego has a way of taking over when I realize that something big is at stake. I resist all deligation opportunities and end up doing things myself in order to "get them done right." Well, Susan is doing it also doing it right...her way, but also the right way.
At that moment, I randomly asked Susan, "You know the cliche cartoon where two men are wandering the desert and meet in the middle and they both realize they're both in the exact same predicament?" She said, "Yeaahhh?..." "That's US!" I said, as I pointed back-and-forth to the two of us. "You're SO right!" she said.
And a weight was lifted off of my right then. I realized that I wasn't fighting this alone.
My overly controlling ego has a way of taking over when I realize that something big is at stake. I resist all deligation opportunities and end up doing things myself in order to "get them done right." Well, Susan is doing it also doing it right...her way, but also the right way.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Friend #16
Today I met Marie. It's pronounced "Mare-ee"...cause she's french. Oh yes, she is one of those delightful, happy strawberry blonde-haired french people who speak like they are Nobel Prize winners with their beauty and intellect.
Mare-ee (and you HAVE to say it like that; If you don't, it will deminish her classiness, I swear) has an equally stunning 3-year-old daughter named Madeline who has tiny red lips, puffy cheeks to rival Shirley Temple's, and the dark brown curls to match. I met these two ladies at the Classy-Organic Park today. I call it the Classy-Organic Park because all of the families who play there come with Dad, Mom, and Children. Everyone. No babysitters or grandparents in sight. The parents feed their children organic snacks and juice boxes. They speak languages that aren't english to their children. They engage their children in educational opportunities at the drop of the hat, "What shape is the tire swing? Where are the clouds? What color is that duck?" I love this park because you never hear yelling or swearing (which runs rampant at most others in the area.) It's a family utopia. You can fish, play in the water jets, skateboard, jog, play baseball or tennis, grill, climb the 5 ft high rock wall or just visit with other cultured parents.
I heard little Madeline asking her mom for help on the Monkey Bars in french. An adorable little girl speaking french! After her mom helped her, I asked her if she was born in France, and indeed she was. Marie came to Connecticut to be an au pair for a family when she was 18. When her contract was over, she returned home and told her family that she was going to return to the U.S. for college. She attended UCLA and fell in love with her now-husband (yes, he was at the park also!). They moved to Tempe right after she got pregnant and she stays at home to raise little Madeline. Before mommyhood she was a college French professor and hopes to return to the classroom some day.
I complimented her on her choice to stay home with her child. I admire that. And she seems to be doing everything right. Next week she's going to start teaching Madeline spanish. After that, it'll be piano.
I need to move to France.
Mare-ee (and you HAVE to say it like that; If you don't, it will deminish her classiness, I swear) has an equally stunning 3-year-old daughter named Madeline who has tiny red lips, puffy cheeks to rival Shirley Temple's, and the dark brown curls to match. I met these two ladies at the Classy-Organic Park today. I call it the Classy-Organic Park because all of the families who play there come with Dad, Mom, and Children. Everyone. No babysitters or grandparents in sight. The parents feed their children organic snacks and juice boxes. They speak languages that aren't english to their children. They engage their children in educational opportunities at the drop of the hat, "What shape is the tire swing? Where are the clouds? What color is that duck?" I love this park because you never hear yelling or swearing (which runs rampant at most others in the area.) It's a family utopia. You can fish, play in the water jets, skateboard, jog, play baseball or tennis, grill, climb the 5 ft high rock wall or just visit with other cultured parents.
I heard little Madeline asking her mom for help on the Monkey Bars in french. An adorable little girl speaking french! After her mom helped her, I asked her if she was born in France, and indeed she was. Marie came to Connecticut to be an au pair for a family when she was 18. When her contract was over, she returned home and told her family that she was going to return to the U.S. for college. She attended UCLA and fell in love with her now-husband (yes, he was at the park also!). They moved to Tempe right after she got pregnant and she stays at home to raise little Madeline. Before mommyhood she was a college French professor and hopes to return to the classroom some day.
I complimented her on her choice to stay home with her child. I admire that. And she seems to be doing everything right. Next week she's going to start teaching Madeline spanish. After that, it'll be piano.
I need to move to France.
Friend #15
Rosie is Isaiah's football "Team Mom". She has it together. I mean, this chick's organized.
I have watched her and noticed that she learned the player names AND all the names of the parents by the first game (while I barely remember the names of my dogs some days!)
I had brushed her amazing talents off as something she can do since she "only has one child." But wait! There soon was another little boy with her. She has TWO kids??? Something was wrong one day when a little boy arrived with her, called her "Mommy", dug through her purse, and later left with her. It wouldn't have been so strange if she hadn't been a completely different skin color from this little boy. Rosie is black; Devin is white. Rosie's son on the football team looks identical to Rosie, so I was left perplexed for a few weeks. Tonight I got the story as I sat with Rosie at our last practice of the season.
Devin is four-years-old. His mother is in prison. Rosie is his foster mother. End of story, right? Well, I'd gotten to be pretty good friends with Devin in the past few weeks; I became his twice-a-week Spiderman playmate. Devin is sweet...I mean, Sweeeeet. His brown hair and big brown eyes are nothing in comparison to his lispy, yet very ar-tic-u-late little voice. On top of that, he is a snuggler. Oh, man I wished my own boys had just snuggled in my lap once like Devin did.
Rosie told me Devin's story tonight. She's had him for a year now and in that time Devin went from being very "all over the place" at preschool to being at the head of his class. In fact, his IEP (Individual Education Plan for Special Ed students) was just deemed not necessary last week. He has made a ton of progress, just by having a consistant schedule and the same bed to sleep in each night for a year. I complimented Rosie on Devin's great snuggling. She pointed out that getting close to strangers is very typical of foster children who have been abused or neglected. It's not the great characteristic I thought it was, as it can lead to sexual abuse and many other issues later on. Oops.
Rosie was told in December that Devin's mom will be out of prison this October or November. She was excited that he'd get even more stability before his mom gets out. Not so much.
Rosie got a call today that she was released 7 days ago. One would think that a mother's first desire when she gets out of prison would be to see her baby. She didn't even contact her social worker. She wanted to get some partying out of the way first.
Rosie isn't sure what will happen now. When the social workers and the mother are ready, Devin will begin visitation with his mother, which will become more frequent as the weeks progress. Rosie doesn't know how much contact she will have with the little boy who calls her "Mommy" after he's goes to live with his mother. She can only do what she has the power to do right now, and that is to love and snuggle with this little boy every minute that she can.
I have watched her and noticed that she learned the player names AND all the names of the parents by the first game (while I barely remember the names of my dogs some days!)
I had brushed her amazing talents off as something she can do since she "only has one child." But wait! There soon was another little boy with her. She has TWO kids??? Something was wrong one day when a little boy arrived with her, called her "Mommy", dug through her purse, and later left with her. It wouldn't have been so strange if she hadn't been a completely different skin color from this little boy. Rosie is black; Devin is white. Rosie's son on the football team looks identical to Rosie, so I was left perplexed for a few weeks. Tonight I got the story as I sat with Rosie at our last practice of the season.
Devin is four-years-old. His mother is in prison. Rosie is his foster mother. End of story, right? Well, I'd gotten to be pretty good friends with Devin in the past few weeks; I became his twice-a-week Spiderman playmate. Devin is sweet...I mean, Sweeeeet. His brown hair and big brown eyes are nothing in comparison to his lispy, yet very ar-tic-u-late little voice. On top of that, he is a snuggler. Oh, man I wished my own boys had just snuggled in my lap once like Devin did.
Rosie told me Devin's story tonight. She's had him for a year now and in that time Devin went from being very "all over the place" at preschool to being at the head of his class. In fact, his IEP (Individual Education Plan for Special Ed students) was just deemed not necessary last week. He has made a ton of progress, just by having a consistant schedule and the same bed to sleep in each night for a year. I complimented Rosie on Devin's great snuggling. She pointed out that getting close to strangers is very typical of foster children who have been abused or neglected. It's not the great characteristic I thought it was, as it can lead to sexual abuse and many other issues later on. Oops.
Rosie was told in December that Devin's mom will be out of prison this October or November. She was excited that he'd get even more stability before his mom gets out. Not so much.
Rosie got a call today that she was released 7 days ago. One would think that a mother's first desire when she gets out of prison would be to see her baby. She didn't even contact her social worker. She wanted to get some partying out of the way first.
Rosie isn't sure what will happen now. When the social workers and the mother are ready, Devin will begin visitation with his mother, which will become more frequent as the weeks progress. Rosie doesn't know how much contact she will have with the little boy who calls her "Mommy" after he's goes to live with his mother. She can only do what she has the power to do right now, and that is to love and snuggle with this little boy every minute that she can.
*Pic: Devin and Jack, with permission to print from Rosie
Monday, April 26, 2010
Friend #14
Friend #14 came to the United States from Somalia about ten years ago with her children. Ashka has eight children and brought them all to safety when warfare broke out. Her youngest was only a year old at the time. One would think that escaping war with a year-old baby would be terrible. It turned out that this baby saved the family's life more than once.
There were three instances where Ashka's family was confronted by soldiers. First, soldiers demanded money when they found Ashka's family fleeing, otherwise they'd kill the family. They had no money, but they did have a baby. The soldiers had an unwritten rule that they will not kill a child who could not yet walk. (Apparently that would be crossing the line to these men.) It was because of this child that the family was allowed to live and arrive in a safe area of Somalia.
The family established themselves in new land. Although still not well off, they had 100 goats and 100 sheep. This year-old baby, now five, was put in charge of herding the 200 heads, feeding them, and sheering the sheep. Once again, soldiers demanded money or they would go to the house and kill the family. This time they still had no money so the child and her older brother offered up 10 heads. The soldiers warned her that they would return whenever they wanted more goats or sheep. This little girl didn't tell Ashka what had happened until years later.
Five years after this incident, the family got word that their opportunity to come to the United States had arrived. They would be refugees. In the refugee camp, the little girl, now nine, had learned English and a few other languages. Being the youngest of Ashka's (now six) children, she was the only child allowed to go to school at the camp.
Ashka's daughter has saved her mother many times in their ten years here. She helped her find an apartment, a job, and a new life. Ashka's daughter is now in my ELL class, and I had no idea how much she had gone through until Ashka came in to introduce herself.
Next time I think my five-year-old is too young to help unload the dishwasher, I'll remember that there are kids herding goats and keeping their families from getting executed in the world.
There were three instances where Ashka's family was confronted by soldiers. First, soldiers demanded money when they found Ashka's family fleeing, otherwise they'd kill the family. They had no money, but they did have a baby. The soldiers had an unwritten rule that they will not kill a child who could not yet walk. (Apparently that would be crossing the line to these men.) It was because of this child that the family was allowed to live and arrive in a safe area of Somalia.
The family established themselves in new land. Although still not well off, they had 100 goats and 100 sheep. This year-old baby, now five, was put in charge of herding the 200 heads, feeding them, and sheering the sheep. Once again, soldiers demanded money or they would go to the house and kill the family. This time they still had no money so the child and her older brother offered up 10 heads. The soldiers warned her that they would return whenever they wanted more goats or sheep. This little girl didn't tell Ashka what had happened until years later.
Five years after this incident, the family got word that their opportunity to come to the United States had arrived. They would be refugees. In the refugee camp, the little girl, now nine, had learned English and a few other languages. Being the youngest of Ashka's (now six) children, she was the only child allowed to go to school at the camp.
Ashka's daughter has saved her mother many times in their ten years here. She helped her find an apartment, a job, and a new life. Ashka's daughter is now in my ELL class, and I had no idea how much she had gone through until Ashka came in to introduce herself.
Next time I think my five-year-old is too young to help unload the dishwasher, I'll remember that there are kids herding goats and keeping their families from getting executed in the world.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Friend #13
Kimlee is Friend #13. She intrigues me because she had the guts to name her two boys the coolest names ever: Zion and Kingston. She can get away with it because her husband is from Jamaica and I'm jealous because I wish my Scandanivian roots had cooler names than Sven or Thor.
Kimlee is the person who oversees the ELL teachers in my district. She has a voice like honey that's been sitting out in Brooklyn for three days. Very soothing with a hint of East Coast spice. I briefly met Kimlee last year when she came to my school to give a brief meeting. She was pregnant with her second baby. My staff was eager to get out of the meeting because I was throwing a party at my house right afterward. Kimlee used to be a teacher. She told me that day that she missed the comraderie of working on a personal level with other teachers. She now works in a corporate environment where you get promoted for being professional and serious all the time. Needless to say, there aren't many corporate bonfire parties like the one I was holding that evening. Even though I didn't know Kimlee, I sensed a sort of despiration for adult time with other teachers so I invited her to the party. She couldn't make it, but I noticed a sparkle in her eye just for being invited.
When I had a looong conversation with her this time around, I learned so much about her and her family. I invited her over for a family BBQ when summer comes around. Maybe I'll get some goldfish before she arrives, just so she can name them for me : )
Kimlee is the person who oversees the ELL teachers in my district. She has a voice like honey that's been sitting out in Brooklyn for three days. Very soothing with a hint of East Coast spice. I briefly met Kimlee last year when she came to my school to give a brief meeting. She was pregnant with her second baby. My staff was eager to get out of the meeting because I was throwing a party at my house right afterward. Kimlee used to be a teacher. She told me that day that she missed the comraderie of working on a personal level with other teachers. She now works in a corporate environment where you get promoted for being professional and serious all the time. Needless to say, there aren't many corporate bonfire parties like the one I was holding that evening. Even though I didn't know Kimlee, I sensed a sort of despiration for adult time with other teachers so I invited her to the party. She couldn't make it, but I noticed a sparkle in her eye just for being invited.
When I had a looong conversation with her this time around, I learned so much about her and her family. I invited her over for a family BBQ when summer comes around. Maybe I'll get some goldfish before she arrives, just so she can name them for me : )
Friday, April 23, 2010
Friend #12
I don't like being told where to sit in meetings.
Usually I choose a seat near the front so that I'm not distracted by other people's off-task BS like whispering, doing Sudoku, or texting. I do this not because I get mad at these people. I sit in the front so that I'm not the one being seduced into whispering, Sudoku or texting. Call it "fear of being called on and not being prepared" or "wanting to seem perfect and knowledgeable."
Today's meeting had assigned seating. I was seated in the back, right next to a co-worker of my bff Wendy. This made me nervous. Nervous because I knew I would be temped to talk/learn about each other/gossip with this woman, and because I knew that the leader of the meeting likes to call on people. A LOT. Besides, in the end, there was NO reason why they needed to have assigned seating at all.
LuAnn is my new friend. I've met her briefly before because we hold the same Curriculum Coach positions at our schools. She oversees three elementary schools and I only have my one, but I also teach. This makes us equally busy (ok, she's actually a ton busier than I am.)
LuAnn has two kids, ages 5 and 8. Last night when she came home at 7pm, her husband announced, "Look, kids! There's a stranger in our house!" We talked about how it's perfectly acceptable for fathers to work until after dinner hours, but when a woman does it, we're being selfish and bad mothers. Dinner usually ends up consisting of lollipops, cold pizza, cereal, and pieces of bread on those nights because either that's what the dads make, the kids make for themselves, or what the mother makes after being too tired to make a decent meal. Sigh.
LuAnn also brought up the fact that her husband has the habit of leaving doors unlocked and windows open. On any given day she may come home to an unlocked front door. Both LuAnn and her husband are from the Midwest, but they're very intelligent people who have lived in Arizona long enough (it seems to take about 8 minutes to learn this) to understand that if you leave your home open to bad things, bad things will happen to it. Evidence: The home invasion that happened yesterday in the neighborhood of my school. Door unlocked, bad guys invade.
I'm not sure what it is that divides the genders SO MUCH, but one would think that after thousands of years through evolution, we'd have each other figured out by now.
I'd like to fast-forward 1000 years (if anyone is still around) and just peek at the gender differences. I wonder if we will still be sacrificing balanced dinners for our families in order to get ahead in our careers.
Usually I choose a seat near the front so that I'm not distracted by other people's off-task BS like whispering, doing Sudoku, or texting. I do this not because I get mad at these people. I sit in the front so that I'm not the one being seduced into whispering, Sudoku or texting. Call it "fear of being called on and not being prepared" or "wanting to seem perfect and knowledgeable."
Today's meeting had assigned seating. I was seated in the back, right next to a co-worker of my bff Wendy. This made me nervous. Nervous because I knew I would be temped to talk/learn about each other/gossip with this woman, and because I knew that the leader of the meeting likes to call on people. A LOT. Besides, in the end, there was NO reason why they needed to have assigned seating at all.
LuAnn is my new friend. I've met her briefly before because we hold the same Curriculum Coach positions at our schools. She oversees three elementary schools and I only have my one, but I also teach. This makes us equally busy (ok, she's actually a ton busier than I am.)
LuAnn has two kids, ages 5 and 8. Last night when she came home at 7pm, her husband announced, "Look, kids! There's a stranger in our house!" We talked about how it's perfectly acceptable for fathers to work until after dinner hours, but when a woman does it, we're being selfish and bad mothers. Dinner usually ends up consisting of lollipops, cold pizza, cereal, and pieces of bread on those nights because either that's what the dads make, the kids make for themselves, or what the mother makes after being too tired to make a decent meal. Sigh.
LuAnn also brought up the fact that her husband has the habit of leaving doors unlocked and windows open. On any given day she may come home to an unlocked front door. Both LuAnn and her husband are from the Midwest, but they're very intelligent people who have lived in Arizona long enough (it seems to take about 8 minutes to learn this) to understand that if you leave your home open to bad things, bad things will happen to it. Evidence: The home invasion that happened yesterday in the neighborhood of my school. Door unlocked, bad guys invade.
I'm not sure what it is that divides the genders SO MUCH, but one would think that after thousands of years through evolution, we'd have each other figured out by now.
I'd like to fast-forward 1000 years (if anyone is still around) and just peek at the gender differences. I wonder if we will still be sacrificing balanced dinners for our families in order to get ahead in our careers.
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