Stupid English reading selection rules

The other day I completely lost my shit when M, who is in 7th grade, came home and told me he can't read Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card because it has a movie based on it. 

Ender's Game is a book that one of my former students when I taught 6th grade full-time recommended TO ME. He loved it. And so I read it and I loved it. And I've taught it because if a book is so good it makes a sixth grade boy tell his English teacher how much he adores it, then that says A LOT. 

I understand the rationale for teachers saying kids can't read books that have movies based on them. Some students will just watch the movie and not read the book. If it is a book that has an extensive film catalog like Harry Potter, I get it. 

But I also think this decision can mean that students don't get to self-select books that they are really interested in reading. Which begs the question: Why are we asking kids to read independently and self-select if we don't allow them to read what they want?

If books based on films was the only parameter, I might not have an issue, but these are the other "rules" for self-selected books in M's class:

• No graphic novels
• No books under 200 pages

When combined---over 200 pages, no graphic novels, no movies based on them---these rules are just plain dumb. 

First, graphic novels. 

Some kids love graphic novels and rather than disallowing them IN TOTAL, there could be limits set, such as "only 1 graphic novel selection per semester or per project." There are some really great graphic novels. Maybe a kid who would never in their lives read a 320 page book, will read a graphic novel based on that book and still get a great story.

For example, Neil Gaiman is one of my favorite authors. His book, The Graveyard Book, is 320 pages. But there is also a graphic novel that is in two parts. Same author, same story, different format. Some kids would NEVER pick up and read a 320 page chapter book but they will read two graphic novels that clock in at 368 pages. 

And by reading a graphic novel, this gives some interesting topics students can discuss, such as how do the visual images impact their reading and what particular words are illustrated to really emphasize their importance to the story and what would they have chosen to illustrate differently?

The length of a book is also big sticking point for me. 

Yes, maybe kids should have to read longer novels to practice stamina, but this should be done in the classroom where a teacher can monitor and help develop skills. (And honestly, with so much MAP testing and state testing being done on our kids, our testing really promotes SHORT reading, so we're being pretty disingenuous here.)

Whether we like it or not, our collective attention spans are much shorter these days. Even I, who don't usually mind a 350 page book, find that I sometimes tire of an author who can't say things a little more succinctly. Life is short, and I don't know that I need 1,000 pages of exposition. 

G is having to do independent reading assignments, and he is definitely not going to go for long-ass books. He is a good reader, but I don't think he is a fast reader, and kids have to finish their books in 6 weeks. The parameters his teacher set for his assignments are MUCH better and flexible, which I really appreciate.

He can read 1 graphic novel for the year and then can pick a Pulitzer Prize-winning book, a Nobel Prize author, a book with a color in its title, a book published the year you were born, a book on the Kentucky Bluegrass Awards list, etc. There are no page count requirements nor movie limitations.

To help him out, I went down and selected a ton of books from my shelves he can choose from that are relatively short. 

He read Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, which is a whopping 107 pages.

He is going to read The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison next. That only only just barely makes the 200 page requirement. 

And I can list a lot of other books under 200 pages that are exemplary, such as 

Night by Elie Wiesel

Animal Farm by George Orwell

The Awakening by Kate Chopin

Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Expury

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston

I'll stop there. 

But back to M's situation.

Earlier in the year, the teacher assigned some independent reading and summarizing but didn't assign it to the point of completion. M began reading Dragonwings but didn't complete it because I think the assignment just fizzled (and that happens in classrooms sometimes). I suggested he finish it for this project but he didn't think he could do that. He started reading Ender's Game and then found out about the movie thing (which wasn't on the info sheet). 

I normally don't do this, but I did email the teacher and ask for what amounts to an educational dispensation so M can either 1. finish Dragonwings or 2. do Ender's Game. 

Getting kids to want to read is hard enough without making it even more cumbersome. 

I'm the teacher with the complaints

I have been at the cottage school for a decade, and sometimes I'm surprised that they've kept me around as long as they have since I am the one whose classes parents seem to have the most issues with. 

My high school classes, really.

And it's the texts I select for students to read.

I love teaching the classics but I have tried to add a little bit more modern classics to my list over the years because classic literature can be really hard for students to get, especially those who don't have the weird love of English that I do. 

For a lot of students, Wuthering Heights (1847), Great Expectations (1860),  Pride and Prejudice (1813), and anything Shakespeare is utter torture. 

So this year I am teaching Rebecca by Daphe Du Maurier (1938). Several years ago, I started teaching   The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien (1990), A Raisin in the Sun (1959), and Long Day's Journey Into Night (1939-1941). 

Because I can potentially teach the same student all four years of high school, I have to rotate books so as not to repeat. After a several years hiatus, I am teaching The Things They Carried again. 

This is a book about the Vietnam War. About young men (in their 20s) in the Vietnam War. Young men, in general, think about sex. And war is about killing and death and raping and destroying and dying. All unpleasant topics. 

(It is at this point that I like to mention that all of these things--sex, rape, war, killing, dying--are also in the Bible. Like 2 Samuel 13:1-39.)

Some parents homeschool because their kids have food allergies or because their kids are involved in activities that require more flexibility than what traditional school gives. Some parents homeschool because their kids have had socially unpleasant traditional school experiences. Some parents homeschool because they want more control over what their kids learn. Probably some homeschoolers are a combination of these. 

It was due to this last group that we determined, a couple years after I began teaching, that we needed to add a disclaimer to my English classes to warn parents that there is often content that they may find troubling and that they should review the books in advance (like before registering for my classes). The ones who complain are generally the ones who fail to do this.

While I personally think it is ridiculous to censor what kids read, especially once they reach high school, parents have the right to do whatever they want including marking out things from books or keeping certain books from their kids. However, they would save themselves a lot of headache (and me too) if they would check out the books in advance. Or if they are so concerned, read the books with their kids and have whatever discussions they feel compelled to have. That is entirely their business, and we encourage it in our disclaimer. 

The parent who has had the most recent issue with the first book of the year is concerned because I am not explicitly talking about language and sexual content with the students, which he seems to think is my responsibility since I am assigning the book to read. I, on the other hand, think it is my job to assign the book and teach the students the rhetorical devices and complexities of how the book was written (you know, the ENGLISH part of it), and it is the parents' job to discuss any particular issues their children bring to them related to curse words or sexual content if they have concerns about these things. 

If I were to discuss these things, I would be overstepping, which isn't my job, and on this point, the parent and I agree. 

I think the parent's basic argument is that I should have picked a book that this particular parent feels is a better book.

But I picked this book in February and we listed the book choices and the disclaimer in March and this parent apparently enrolled in April and now it is September. Now is not really the time to be complaining that you didn't know what was in the book. 

One of the things I discuss with students while reading The Things They Carry is ethos and pathos, two types of rhetorical devices. Ethos is what gives something credibility; why can we trust an argument that someone makes? Pathos is the emotional language someone uses in an argument that makes the reader feel a certain thing and, therefore, reinforces the argument. 

Tim O'Brien, the author of this Pulitzer Prize-finalist story, served in Vietnam so he has lots of credibility as to what the Vietnam War was like (and this is what the entire book is about). He also writes stories and uses a great deal of pathos to help the reader feel what soldiers felt. 

One thing I explained to this parent is that my job is to prepare high schoolers for college English classes. And I don't know where my students will go to college. Some of them go to private college or Christian colleges, but some of them go to state schools. 

I went to a private Catholic college where I know some of my former students now attend, and I read books that had curse words and sex in them. I actually took a THEOLOGY course in college in which the books we were assigned had cursing and sex in them. 

My point is that keeping a high schooler away from things in the real world (like cursing and sex) doesn't prepare them for when they will be introduced to these things (and they will if they leave the house or if they currently have a cell phone and the Internet). 

I completely understand the desire to protect one's children. I completely understand the parent's argument that kids can't unsee or unthink the things they read. But I think it is better and safer to let them experience the world through books when they can discuss with parents how to address these things that confuse or scare them. Better this that to keep them so protected they have zero reference point and no concept of how to handle it when they do have to handle it in real life. 

Because they will. 

A reading/viewing example of white supremacy

There are, to my mind, two kinds of white supremacy.
There is the definition everyone thinks of, in which white people believe they are superior to other people who are Black, brown, yellow, etc.
This is what I always thought of.

But then there is white supremacy in which whiteness is the dominant color that society thinks about as being "the main."
Reading "White Fragility" helped inform this other meaning.

Because supremacy doesn't just mean superior.
It also means dominant, influence, or advantage.

I caught myself having an experience of white supremacy last night when D and I watched the first two episodes of HBO's His Dark Materials, a trilogy based on the novels of Philip Pullman.

This series of fantasy books has long been a favorite of mine, but I decided I needed to reread it.
And so I started reading it to my kids this summer before bed.
The 16-year-old even participated in the listening.

Now, I have always, in my mind, visualized the characters as white.
Was this because Pullman is white?
Maybe.
Is this because I was influenced by the 2007 film version of The Golden Compass?
Maybe.
Is this because I am white?
Maybe.

So watching the new HBO series, in which the master of Jordan College is played by a black actor, and John Faa is played by a black actor, and Boreal is played by a black actor, it struck me how sneaky and subtle supremacy is. It informs your thoughts even if you aren't aware that it informs your thoughts.

It was a bit of a wake-up for me, an awareness of how unaware I am all the time.

The unexpected learning during pandemic

As I mentioned, I'm keeping low, low expectations during this non-traditional instruction experience.

N is at the end of sophomore year and is pretty self-motivated, so I'm just letting her do her thing.

G and M need more hand-holding--M because he is 10, and G because he is G.

But I discovered last night that they are learning even in the midst of what might be considered "not-real-learning."

On Tuesday in the morning, G did his social studies assignment, which was short and about ancient Greece and city-states.

At night, while I read to the boys, they lie on the floor and smack inflatable globe balls I have (which I purchased for VBS last summer) around their room while I read aloud.

G asked, "Where is Greece?"

So I explained that he should look north from the top of Africa and maybe over to the left a bit. He found it and then asked where Athens was. It was at this point that he handed me the ball. I was able to show him Athens in relation to the islands to the east of Athens in the Aegean Sea.

I used this opportunity to ask him to find Bari, Italy on the ball, which is the site where D and I took an overnight ferry ride to Athens when he and I visited in 2001.

Shortly after, when I was back to reading our book of the moment, Akata Warrior by Nnedi Okorafor, G said, "I found Lagos," which is the city that the protagonist is currently in.

I was pleasantly surprised to see G learning even when he isn't in school for 7 hours a day. 

Books Read and/or Reread for 2019

Total of those pictured: 86

Also, reread the following 11 books:
The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Across Five Aprils by Irene Hunt
Belle Prater's Boy by Ruth White
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Long Day's Journey Into Night by Eugene O'Neill
The War That Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley
When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead
The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien
Moon Over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
Then Again, Maybe I Won't by Judy Blume

Still reading the following 2 books:
Circle by Madeline Miller
Six Years by Harlan Coben

Right now, my total that I've completely finished is 97, but by the end of the year, I should hit the 100 mark.
Woo-hoo!

Getting in touch with my inner quitter

I do not consider myself a quitter.
Rather, if there is a problem, I seek help to get it fixed.

When D and I were arguing, I sought out a counselor.
When G was having issues, we sought out a therapist...and an occupational therapist...and a psychiatrist.
When I have a toothache, I see my dentist.
When the pipes go haywire, I seek a plumber.

Many, many problems can be fixed.

But there is no fix for a book you simply can.not.get.all.the.way.through.

Now I've met many books I've been meh about.
Some of them I've had to read for school, and some of them I've read because the people in my book club picked them, and some I've read because I feel like I should be denied my English degree by rights if I haven't read them.
(I'm looking at you, Moby Dick.)

Out of the hundreds of books I've read, there has only been a handful that I stopped mid-way because I just could go no further.
And when I say a handful, I mean two.
(Or at least these are the only two I remember giving up on.)

Ulysses by James Joyce was one.
(Didn't finish that one at age 19).
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy is the second.
(Refusing to finish that one at age 45).

These books have similarities.
Ulysses is stream-of-consciousness, which means lacking those things (grammar/spacing/punctuation/etc) that make words readable and comprehensible.
Blood Meridian does have formatting, but it is a collective of run-on sentences.
Many, many densely packed run-on sentences.

Both of these books makes my head hurt in the same way that reading middle schoolers' short stories makes my head hurt.

I don't like feeling like a quitter, but the older I get, the less time I have to waste on books that make me cuss.

I said yes, I will yes

During my undergraduate years, I spent 10 weeks traveling through England, Ireland, and Wales. I have many good memories of this time, but the downside was it meant having to
read...
attempt to read...
suffer through James Joyce's Ulysses.

Now, some people consider this book miraculous and amazing.
I was not one of those people (and am not one of those people), although I never actually finished reading it so my opinion could be ignored solely for that reason.
There is only so much stream of consciousness and lack of punctuation I can handle.

I used to think that I'd finish it if I ever found out I had a terminal illness and was relegated to my bed for six months but decided that this was a shitty way to spend my final months.

Still, 20+ years later and despite my general disregard for the book,  I do remember the end (which I think I just eventually skipped to in a fit of utter confusion and desire to be DONE).

where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I 
put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me 
under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my 
eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I 
put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes 
and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes. 

This is Molly Bloom's soliloquy, and there is something about it that has stayed with me over time.

It's something about that saying yes business.

In the context of the novel, it is about her relationship with Leopold Bloom, but I think it speaks to a desire in me, which is to say yes.

As an anxious person, my go-to response on the inside is to say "no."
No--I don't want change.
No--I don't want to get out of my comfort zone.
I also have a latent lazy streak.
(Like I'm mentally lazy, but my body just won't sit still.)

The older I get, the more I'm like, "meh."

And yet, that Molly Bloom stuff. That saying yes, I will, yes.

It's true that a person can say yes to too much.
I've been rather good about setting limits for the kids and our family about what we can and will do.
The kids have never been in season after season of activities without breaks.
I think my vacation/trip-addiction is partly a need to be "away from real life/relaxation."
(There is a difference between being active because you HAVE to in your real life and being active for FUN on a trip.)

But because of my odd-job professional life, I've been able to say "yes" to a lot of stuff without it getting too hairy, at least most of the time.

Sometimes, though, everything happens at once, but as I learned in undergrad years, my best semesters happened when I took 18 hours and worked part-time. I used my time more efficiently.
I'm pretty good at that in the short-run, and most of my jobs, in their way, are short-run.
I know I won't be doing any particular job forever and forever.
They are all "for a while."

There are occasions when a person needs to say no.
I said no as a teenager when friends were drinking and driving.
I say no to drama.
(I avoid people who never got out of middle school emotionally.)
I say no 99.9% of the time to television viewing.

But, most of the time, I say "yes."

"Hey, Kiddo"

I recently read a fantastic graphic novel by Jarret J. Krosoczka called Hey, Kiddo. It is intended for kids in grades 7-9, which is older than both my boys, but I'm encouraging them to read it anyway.
I'm also throwing it at the 15-year-old.

I'm encouraging them to read it even though it has language and mature content because the story it tells is so fantastic.
If I allowed the language and mature content to keep them from the book, they would miss such tremendous depth.

The novel is about Krosoczka, who was more or less "adopted" by his grandparents as a toddler because his mother was a heroin addict who went to jail for acting as an accessory to murder. I listened to an interview of Krosoczka by Terry Gross, and he summed up his grandmother with the story of what she said to him when, as a third grader, he told her a kid was bothering him.

She told him to tell the kid, "Go shit in your hat."

Not everything resolves perfectly at the end, and Krosoczka came from a middle-class background, so he wasn't dealing with other hindrances that affect so many other kids whose parents are addicted.
What I liked about this book is that it offers hope.
One or two or numerous bad things don't have to mean a life is written off as all bad.

I recently saw something floating around on social media about talking to your kids about certain topics, and I think reading is similar.

If I let my kids read a book about heroin addiction, I don't think it is going to make them become heroin addicts. It might, however, make them see how devastating addiction can be. It may make them decide not to experiment with drugs.




I've talked to my kids about sex, and those talks have not been comfortable for me.
They've been skin-crawling uncomfortable for me, which I say as I shake off the willies as I type this.
But my hope is that being open, even if it made me uncomfortable, will help my kids to know that they can come to me about ANYTHING.
I won't yell.
I will listen.
I will guide them.

Someone cuss on the internet?
Let's talk about it.
See porn?
Let's talk about it.
Violence?
Let's talk about it.

If anyone is going to talk to my kids about these things, I think the best person is me.

The book nerd version of "Show us your t*ts"

The other day I wondered to myself how many books we have in our house.

Given that I've been writing about heavy topics of late, I thought I'd indulge my lighter side and pay homage to books.

I decided to go through my house and snap a photo of every place I find a book.

I started with the main floor:

 The dining room table (also my makeshift office)

The other side of the dining room table 

 My purse

 My desk in the kitchen

(Actually, there is a Jodi Picoult novel on my desk, too.)

 The living room

The bookcase by the front door

The upper floor where our bedrooms are:

 N's bookcase

N's bedside table

The boys' bookcase

Books in bins on the floor in the boys' room.

Book on boys' dresser.

Table in my bedroom

D's bedside table

 Book on a desk in my bedroom (I work in a lot of rooms in the house)

My bedside table

The basement:

 My bookcase

 D's sci-fi/fantasy books

Under the steps closet for miscellaneous books

A few years ago I actually got rid of a lot of books from college because I decided to only keep books I love.  I have sold or given away many children's books as the kids have outgrown them because there is only so much room in our house. D actually reads mostly ebooks, so we would have more if he didn't do that. I'm also a big library user, so I borrow regularly, which also cuts down on the books we own. 

See, I feel like I'm offering excuses for why my book hoarding behavior could be worse. 

Still, if there is any truth to articles like this, I think we're setting our kids up well. 

Reading Kafka and raising kids/teenagers

I'm reading Franz Kafka's Letter to My Father.
It is heartbreaking if you maintain any connection with your "child" self.
I think every parent should probably read it because it will make them think about how they interact with their own children.

Of course, I am a skeptic, and this is only Franz's letter that was never sent to his father.
We don't get Hermann Kafka's letter to his son.
Franz likely had what all people have in bits: myopia when it comes to their own irrational childhood thinking.
I was guilty of it as it concerned my own parents, and it took some therapy for me to come to some realizations.
Parents have their own baggage and anxieties that impact their children, and children often think they are the cause.
They are not the cause, but they experience the effects.

Still, just because a person has children doesn't mean that person knows anything at all about raising them.

I certainly don't claim to know all there is to know about raising children, but I do think my training as a teacher helps, as does reading lots of books about parenting.
Not forgetting my "child" self also helps.

I'm sorta a "kid" magnet, and I've never entirely understood why.
Kids just seem to gravitate to me.

I could say it is because I talk to them as I talk to anybody; I don't talk "down" to them.
I could say it is because I'm funny.
But I wonder if it is because they see something vulnerable in me that they relate to.

I've never quite lost that vulnerability that has seeped through my pores since childhood.
I've never quite worked through the doubt and the uncertainty and the fragility.
I sometimes wonder if kids sense that in me---a kindred spirit, of sorts.

As a teacher and a parent, I do not pretend or claim to know everything.
I am the first one to say I'm not an expert or the single voice of knowledge or the fountain of all that is holy and right about anything.

I try to be as forgiving of children as I wanted adults to be forgiving of me when I was a kid.
Sometimes I fail miserably, especially with my own children.
But I apologize and I explain myself, including my fears, my anxieties, the reasons why I am throwing a fit about whatever I'm throwing a fit about.

I have never liked nor respected the "I'm the adult, therefore you do what I say" logic.
I want explanation.
I want understanding.
Then, I may not like what you are asking me to do it, but I will do it with less grief because I know where it is coming from.

I'm also a firm believer in picking your battles very, very carefully.
If you insist on making every hill one you're gonna die on, you're going to be dying (and suffering) a lot.

Being a feminist role model?

My daughter bought herself this book a few weeks ago.

When we got in the car to come home, she flipped through the text, reading me the names of the women in it. She then said, "I'll put you here."

This is what she showed me:

This made me feel a lot of things:
honored that my teenage daughter thinks so highly of me (because that is NOT how I thought of my own mother when I was that age.)
and
terrified because I think I am the last person on the planet someone should honor as a feminist.

I often worry if I have been a good role model to N of what a woman can be.

I imagine my own mother wondered the same thing.

For my mom, she didn't have a professional career. She worked, but she didn't love it. She wasn't a teacher or lawyer or chemist. From her own childhood, she knew if she had children, she would be at home with them. If she couldn't do that, she wouldn't have children. She went back to work part-time at my grade school after my brother started school but retired when she developed breast cancer at age 58.

My mother influenced me because she wanted me to have the choice of staying home if that was what I wanted. She wanted me to have options if at all possible, but she also made me very aware of limitations. I knew she was not going to raise my children, so I would either have to do it myself or put my trust in other people who were not family. I knew, long before I ever wanted children, that I could not easily do this.

Most of the time, I beat myself up because I am not what I consider a true professional. I am only a half-time anything. A half-time writer. A half-time teacher.

I do not give any one thing 100% of myself because I desire the flexibility of being available for my children if and when they need me. I have always been willing to sacrifice if needed to make that happen. I am fortunate that D has a good job, but when the kids were younger, if his job situation had changed, I would have moved into a smaller home and been a one-car family to make it work. (I would likely go back to teaching full-time if this would happen now since the kids are older, although if we were in dire straits, I'd still move and go to one-car.)

(I am very much aware that many women don't have that option, especially single moms. By the same token, I also think that some of the things we think we can't live without are more wants than needs. I feel like I need to write that so someone doesn't think I'm completely living in an upper middle-class bubble. I am, but I'm also very cognizant of that.)

I suppose, in some ways, what I am showing my daughter is that a woman can sometimes carve out a niche for herself that works for her. She can take graduate classes and be certified and teach part-time and write part-time and volunteer and read books and go to book club and have a mind that is engaged and growing.

This past week I worked at the magazine office to interview various women from different professions (marketing, image consultants, politicians, etc.) After speaking with them, it became very apparent to me how much of a woman being what she wants involves her knowing herself, being true to herself, knowing what she can and cannot live with or without.

For some women, they know that staying at home is not for them. I used to not understand this. Doesn't every woman want to be with their children every day?
Some women don't. They are okay with allowing others to care for their children (of course, wanting that care to be loving and responsible and responsive).
They know what they can live with.

For each woman, that is different.

While I certainly don't consider myself a feminist saint, I think I have shown my daughter that I am a blend of a "traditional" stay-at-home mom and a nontraditional "have a little bit of a lot of the things you like and are good at" mom.

Update: the app is in / auto correct and voice / The Mamas and Papas / John Green / immigration

The app is in

I took N's high school application to the school on Monday.

On Tuesday morning, when I was trying to get her out the door early so I could get to my subbing job, I threatened to go back over to the high school and ask for it back because I am tired as hell of driving her butt to school, and the idea of doing this for another four years makes me want to cry.

So now we wait.

Autocorrect and voice

I both love and hate autocorrect.
I hate typing on my phone, so anything that reduces fingers pressing on buttons is great.
Except when the phone thinks it knows more than me, which it doesn't.
At least not in the way of spelling most words.
And don't even get me started on voice dictation.
Yesterday I ran into an accident on Finchley (a street near the school), so I dictated a text to send to N. Instead of Finchley, it said something about "sensually."
I cannot send my teenager a text about anything sensually.
I hate technology, especially in my car.

The Mamas and the Papas

Sometimes I remember things that I've forgotten.
But I don't mean the important stuff, like where I put the safe deposit box key which I hid somewhere in the house.
I remember stuff like how I read Michelle Phillips' autobiography about 60 times when I was a kid, which then led me to listen to The Mamas and the Papas music.
Sometimes I think that seems like a pretty weird thing for a kid to do. Read a book like 60 times, but I did. I read Judy Blume books like that too. Over and over and over.
Everytime I ate a snack, I'd sit down with one of my most read books and just open it anywhere, picking up wherever, because I'd read it so many times it didn't matter where I started. I knew everything by heart.

John Green

Speaking of books, I'm both liking and disliking Green's latest book, Turtles All the Way Down. It resonates with me because the main character has OCD, and the way her thoughts spiral is completely accurate. I like her confusion as to who is the captain of her ship, which is language I've heard Green himself use in interviews. We all like to think we're the captains, but the brain is a wacky thing, and we really aren't.

I've been looking at school and church and different places where people congregate as versions of pods of bacteria. Humans do the same things as bacteria---live, eat, produce waste, reproduce and try to survive. This book has made me consider just how much we are not the higher/greater species. We aren't nearly as adaptable as bacteria.

Immigration

I listened to this interview today, and I realized, once again, that even though I think of myself as being pretty left-leaning, I don't disagree with this senator's proposal about not giving DACA residents automatic citizenship. I'm a person who tends to be a rule-follower, who tends to go about things the "right" way. I'm the type of person who pays attention to the flight attendant every time I get on a plane when they go over the safety rules. Yes, I'm that person on the plane who rolls my eyes at the people who don't pay attention and will be the first ones to f*ck everything up when a crisis ensues because they don't know what to do because they didn't pay attention.

I mean, I work in middle schools. I see how this goes down every.day.

And if I was going to think about this scenario in a grocery store, then I would have to admit that I get pissed off at the people who don't read and follow the 15 Items or Less sign. The people who drop 35 items on the conveyor belt. The people who don't do things the "right" way, the way that everyone else who has groceries is supposed to follow. And maybe it is a teenager, who watched his or her parents drop 35 items on the conveyor belt and so that is all he or she knows. I can understand it, but I would still get pissed off if I (and when I), in the grocery store, followed the instructions to the letter.

I can understand why someone who follows the "right" process for citizenship would be miffed by the prospect of people who came illegally just getting a pass.

And I know that this doesn't account for the fact that it takes so long to get citizenship (which maybe is too long), and maybe costs a ton of money (I don't know because I've never actually researched it, and maybe those people came because they were desperate and in dire straight (which makes me think of Jesus and do unto others and then things get super complicated in my heart), and maybe those things need to be addressed.

What I'm saying is that I can see both sides of the coin.

Trying to raise adults

I am nearly finished reading a book that has been on my radar for a while: How to Raise an Adult: Break Free of the Overparenting Trap and Prepare Your Kid for Success by Julie Lythcott-Haims.

It has made me look at what we (D and I) are doing to raise our kids.
I saw "we," but the truth is that I am, in most ways, the captain of this child-rearing ship.
Partly, this responsibility lands on me because I am more of a control freak than D.
Also, he hates conflict more than anything, and conflict is part of raising children.
Conflict comes from saying to your children, "No, you cannot do whatever you want" or "No, I'm not giving you whatever you want."
Conflict may also come in the very real need for children to assert independence from their parents: "No, I do not believe whatever it is you believe."
Partly, the fact that I was a stay-at-home mom for many years means I had the bulk of child-rearing decisions and input. He deferred to me then and still does.
Also, I think he thinks I know stuff about kids because of teaching.

One of my great fears is that I will die before our kids are grown, and D will be left to parent alone. I worry that his desire to avoid conflict would mean he does more for our children than he should just to avoid listening to them whine, bitch, and moan.
I don't mind conflict, and I especially don't mind conflict when I am the mom and the risk of me not engaging in conflict is having children who grow up thinking they can walk over others, do whatever they want, not work hard, and so on.

When I was a kid, I always had a distinct feeling that my parents didn't like me very much.
I now realize that my parents loved me very much but did not indulge me. They didn't think I was all that and a bag of chips to the point where I knew they thought I was all that and a bag of chips.

I seem to have that same ability to know that my kids are pretty great but keep it under wraps fairly well. My kids probably sometimes think I think they are "meh."
I hate it when my kids are disappointed, but I do not ask for special favors or try to pull strings or anything like that.

Based on this book, I think we're mostly doing ok with our kids.
Not perfect, but we're trying to teach them responsibility and empathy.
We're not trying to make everything wonderful all the time, to remove any obstacles in their way.  We are trying to help them become resilient and be able to apply grit to their lives.

I have been wondering whether I'm completely screwing up M lately because of piano class.

He has been in this class for 4 years; G has been in it with us for 3 years.
It is an amazing program to help children learn to read music, play piano, play recorder and play a little guitar. (It has helped me learn all these things as well, so really it is a 3-for-2 deal.)

With that being said, we are all ready to be done with it. We need a break, but we are in our last 2 months of class. The boys have their recital at the end of February, and it is like a lifetime until the end of February because M hates.hates.hates practicing.
G, on the other hand, just sits down and practices without tears or fighting or fidgeting.
I have been making M do it, and he complains.
I finally reached my breaking point and said he didn't have to perform in the recital, but he did have to go and watch G perform in the recital.
He complained about that, too.
I finally just said to him, "If I tell you to practice, you throw a fit. If I tell you you don't have to practice and will play in the recital unprepared, you throw a fit. If I tell you you don't have to perform in the recital at all, you throw a fit. I can't win."
After this, he decided to practice on his own without too much trouble, so we'll see how the next few weeks go.

(G "gets" music better than M does. I just don't think M has any natural ability or interest the way N and G do. I'm not even going to bother M with taking an instrument in middle school. I really just don't care anymore and don't feel like fighting him over it. I'm not sure what M's niche is, but I don't think it is music.)

I have told M he never, ever, ever, ever has to take another music lesson for the rest of his life after the recital, and then he cried because I said that, and he says he wants to take guitar one day.

Wall. Meet My Head.

There is a part of me that wonders why I'm doing this to him and me, but I knew when we started in late August that we were on the final stretch, and I think there is something to making your kid stick out something relatively short-lived just to finish it up.
Of course, short-lived to 40-something me is very different than to an 8-year-old child.

But there is another part of me that thinks I'm a complete idiot for making him follow through because he is just really done.

So am I helping him develop grit and stick-to-it-ness?
Or am I being a ruthless, short-sighted Tiger Mom?
The fact that I gave him an out to not even be in the recital but he opted to practice on his own and had a better attitude about it makes me think maybe it's a power struggle and when I gave up power, he was ok again.
Of course, we haven't practiced today so he may lose his damn mind this evening.

I don't always always don't know what I'm doing to raise these kids, but I'm glad there are books like the one I'm reading that help me feel good about the things I'm doing well and give me ideas for how to handle the stuff I'm uncertain about.
This book, in particular, is a reminder that I could do everything "right" (whatever that is), and my kids are their own people who have designs for their lives that may not be anything like what I envision. There is a whole lot I cannot control.
All I can know is that I tried my best and turned to experts to guide me. 

Superstar year

In some ways, I feel like this fourth year at the cottage school has been a "superstar" year.  I've hit a nice groove and proven myself.  I haven't heard any parent complaints (which doesn't mean there haven't been any....just that I haven't heard of them).

I planned two field trips in the fall...to see Macbeth performed live with my high schoolers who read the play and to see Shakespeare's First Folio with my middle and high schoolers.  On Friday,  I had a local potter come in and give a demonstration as a tie-in for the middle graders' reading of A Single Shard.

I spoke with my high schoolers on Friday about how I appreciate and want their suggestions, which one student gave last week when I inadvertently gave them a spoiler on their reading of Jane Eyre.  Basically, he asked if I could revise the instructions on their assignments so that students can annotate better and avoid such spoilers.

I'm really glad he said something because I like it when students give me their feedback even when, or particularly when, it is constructively critical.

Ultimately, I want all of my students to both enjoy and learn a lot from my class, and if the class or my assignments are boring or repetitive, then they will get less out of it.  And as much as I like feeling less pressure because I'm in a nice groove and have proven myself, I worry that I could become complacent.

I think my desire to change things up to keep myself from getting bored will prevent that, but there is always that possibility.

Next year, I am very excited to teach The Wednesday Wars to my middle schoolers, and I'm already planning how I will have students read one of five Shakespearean plays so that they can do some fun literature circle work with the text in the spring.  I haven't gotten excited about a middle school book like this in a long time.

One of the best things about teaching is finding those extra little things that I can encourage my students to read or watch or listen to that adds to their understanding of the literature.  Last night, I watched To Walk Invisible about the Bronte sisters on PBS, and it was really interesting.  I knew the basic story of the sisters, but it really made a difference to me to see it dramatically acted out.  It put a human face to the myth of the Brontes and helped me understand better what influenced their stories.

These are the books I'll be teaching, with the goal being three classes, although depending on enrollment I may have to merge my high school classes together.  I like being able to add new works while also doing some previous books I've taught.  Even if I've taught them before, I learn something new and see something different each time I teach them.

Middle-- Grades 6-8

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupery  (never taught)
Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt  (never taught)
The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare  (never taught)
Nothing But the Truth by Avi
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle

Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred Taylor

High School-- 9th-10th grade---focus on American Literature

A Separate Peace by John Knowles (never taught)
Long Days Journey into Night by Eugene O'Neill  (never taught)
My Antonia by Willa Cather
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
Bartleby the Scrivener by Herman Melville

11th-12th grade--focus on European Literature

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen  (never taught)
The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka  (had students in prior years do as Independent Study)
The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Medea by Euripides

New book discoveries with each child

When N was little, she and I enjoyed the Junie B. Jones books by Barbara Park.  Yes, Junie was a rascal, but that was the great thing about her.  She was an imagined rascal.

(I never understood why some parents got bent out of shape by Junie...like she was setting a bad example that their children would emulate.  Kids understand far better than parents sometimes that these stories are made up.)

N read some of the Frannie K. Stein books by Jim Benton, but when G got older he dove headfirst into every one of them.  The little boy mad scientist in him fell in love with the little girl mad scientist in her.

G went bananas over the Geronimo Stilton fantasy series and read almost all of those.  Now he is firmly ensconced in The Diary of a Wimpy Kid series by Jeff Kinney, although I try very, very hard to throw some Newbery Medal winners his way (he doesn't want to read them but loves them once he does).  He picked Because of Winn-Dixie and loved it, so we're getting ready to read another Kate DiCamillo book (The Tiger Rising).

M and I discovered a new-to-me series, Mr. Putter and Tabby by Cynthia Rylant.  There is much to love in this series.  I mean, it is about an old man and a cat, which are two of my favorite things.  One of the best things about the series is Mr. Putter's special relationship with his neighbor, Mrs. Teaberry.  There isn't romance, but it is obvious that the books are showcasing the beauty of companionate love.

Parenting is full of "duh" moments, and one of mine concerns my children's different interests in books.

I think when I had children I sorta expected them to all read and like the same books, although I realized that N's interest in princesses would likely not carry over to the boys, who enjoyed books about diggers and other machines.

N didn't have any interest in nonfiction books, while G loves (and loved) nonfiction books (animals, mythology, video games).

She enjoyed the Magic Treehouse books for a time, but G and M haven't gotten into them (although M still might).

N was reading wordy chapter books by the end of first grade, while wordy chapter books are anathema to G and M.  They like things that are more graphic-novelly.

I try not to fret too much on whether the kids will become avid readers.  I wasn't what I would consider an avid reader as a kid.  I liked reading, but I didn't read as I do now.  I didn't have 2-3 books going at one time, as I do now.  I didn't carry a book with me at all times as I do now.

But when I look at this picture of my bedside table and the stack of books waiting to be read or reread, I have to laugh at G's stack, which is next to mine (D or I read with G in our bedroom, and M reads with the other of us in their shared bedroom).  Apparently, I am passing along that shared love of stacks of books.

My stack:  on the left, includes Moby Dick

G's stack:  on the right, includes The Tiger Rising

A different goal for 2017

In 2016, I set a goal to read 45 books.

I didn't really think this through, but I figured that since I had read 44 books in 2015, I could probably add one more without too much trouble.

The problem with setting goals is that then you feel compelled to meet your goals.  And depending on what is going on in your life, meeting said goals can feel, or actually be, impossible.  And even if it isn't impossible, knowing that you have a goal to meet and a deadline can make you feel a little stressed.  

I don't really like feeling stressed as it concerns reading since reading is my escape and relaxation.  

These are the books I have read in 2016:

A Man Called Ove

Out of My Mind

The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Ordinary Grace

The Things They Carried

The Girl on the Train

As I Lay Dying

Good Masters, Sweet Ladies

A Single Shard

Julie of the Wolves

Long Day's Journey Into Night

Masterminds

So We Read On

Modern Romance

All the Light We Cannot See

We Were Liars

When Breath Becomes Air

Their Eyes Were Watching God  (a reread in order to teach)

Stone Fox

Slaughterhouse Five

The Double Bind

Frindle

The Light Between the Oceans

Wonder

The Mysterious Benedict Society

When You Reach Me

Netherland

The Hunger Games

And Then There Were None

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night

Catching Fire

The Little Prince

Attachments

The Family Fang
Gathering Blue

The Doll Bones

The History of Love

Beowulf (Seamus Heaney version)

Light in August

The Outsiders

A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius

Life Drawing

Grendel

We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Gertrude and Claudius

Scorpions

Fortunately, the Milk

The Speckled Band

A Case of Identity

I just started The Shack and will finish that up before the end of the year.  

Even though I beat my goal, I think I've decided that next year I'm going to have a different strategy.  Rather than quantity, I'm going to focus on selecting some quality books that I've never read.  I did a bit of this in 2016 with Faulkner.  I had never read him and knew that I should probably forfeit my English degree as a result.  There are other authors I know I should read but whom I haven't yet, such as Dostoyevsky.  Some authors I have read, but I haven't read their magnum opus; Les Miserables (Hugo) and War and Peace (Tolstoy) are examples.

The first of these "quality books" for 2017 is Moby Dick.  Brave New World or Alas, Babylon might make the list, too. 

To find meaning in suffering

There was a time when my mood disorder caused me suffering.  Fortunately, as a result of medication, my teeth give me far more problems now than my OCD and GAD.  I am very thankful for that, although having dental work sucks.  It doesn't suck as badly as feeling like you're going crazy, though.  Dental work gets done, and you move on with life, perhaps $600-$700 poorer.  Intrusive thoughts go on and on and on.

(I also feel compelled to distinguish between what I experienced as suffering and what seems like capital S suffering, which would be living in a war-torn nation, like Syria.  Like so many things, suffering is a spectrum with degrees.  An untreated mental health disorder is on there, although not as extreme as war.  Of course, depending on the severity of the mental health disorder, they might be pretty darn close.)

Suffering has also come in the form of helping G deal with his mental health issues.  The differences between our situations are many.  He is a child, and I was not when I hit the mental health wall.  He didn't see a problem in what was going on (his behaviors), while I knew very well that something was horribly wrong with my brain.

I am not, by nature, an optimistic, glass half full person, but I can see that there has been much good for others to have come from mine and G's mental health suffering.  Having experienced this as an individual and as a mom, combined with my openness about both, have been very beneficial to others who are going through similar things.

It is a very common occurrence for people I know to confide in me about their own mental health struggles or those of their children.  And I am not particularly close to many of these people---they are acquaintances.  I am often asked questions, and I frequently provide resources to others who are just beginning their journey into treatment.

I just finished reading the book A Man Called Ove, and I very much enjoyed it.  One of the things I especially appreciated about it was that Ove, a curmudgeon to the core, was also a profoundly giving person.  I felt like I could relate to him in many ways.  When he saw things that needed to be done, people who needed to be helped, he helped them.  He was an utter pain in the ass, and a man who was experiencing a great deal of internal pain, but that didn't stop him from helping others.  It was a frequently laugh-out-loud story (and reminder to me) that what you say or what you think is far less important than what you do.

I often give myself a lot of internal grief because I am not a "classically thoughtful" person who does niceties for people.  I don't make bread and give it to others.  I don't see trinkets I think someone would like and purchase it for them "just because."  In my own way, I am a callous person.  When my own mother underwent a procedure earlier this year that caused her a lot of discomfort, it never occurred to me to make a meal and take it to her and my dad (my sister-in-law did this, which I thought was very nice and thoughtful).

As I "grow up," however, I am starting to see and, more importantly, appreciate that I have my own unique ways of being thoughtful to others.  I am starting to understand that even though my way is not "classically thoughtful," it is still giving.  Like Ove, I assist others ways that feels natural to me, even if it's not detailed-oriented niceties.

Also like Ove, the people I assist may have to contend with my curmudgeonly mouth and general outlook on life.

I hate "God is great" and that darn phrase from Sam McBratney's book

It's summer......
I'm bored......
So I have nothing to write about except all these little thoughts swirling in my head.

I often talk to my students about the terms "denotation" and "connotation."

Denotation is the literal meaning of a word.  For example, the denotation of the word blue is the color between violet and green.

Connotation is the idea/feeling/meaning that a word invokes.  The connotation of the word blue is sadness or melancholy.

If I say "I am blue," I may be Violet Beauregarde or I may be depressed.

I think it is very important to consider not just the definition you find in a dictionary, but the larger perceptive meaning that words suggest to you and others.

Suffice it to say, I have a connotative conundrum with the phrase "God is great," which people use a lot.

Typically, this phrase is used when someone gets good news.  I have yet to see someone say or write "God is great" when they've just been diagnosed with terminal brain cancer (or any cancer).

When what they want to happen happens, God is great.
When what they don't want to happen happens, God will take care of them and has it all under control.
Either way, God apparently has a special place in his pocket just.for.you.

Maybe they are using "great" in the denotative case?  In this case, I wouldn't have a problem.  God is above/beyond the average or normal.  I can get behind that usage.  God is bigger/larger/more profound than our average/normal human understanding (which also leads me to the whole idea that as mere humans we don't have the capacity to understand God in any way, shape or form, but that is another blog post for another day.  Or maybe later....because I am bored.)

But "great" connotatively means "better than good."  If I say I had a great time at dinner, I do not really mean I had a time beyond the normal, even if dinner was beyond my normal dinner.  I mean I had fun, it was good, I enjoyed it.  "Great" is a judgment word.

So if "God is great" it means God is judgmental.  God is picking and choosing who gets blessed and who doesn't.  God deems you to be special and someone else (who did get a positive cancer diagnosis) to not be special.  I know this is not what people intend to mean when they say it, but this is how I (and maybe others) connotatively understand it.  This phrase is like a skin tag in the bra line.  It doesn't cause pain or damage, but dang does it rub the wrong way.

I also have a problem with the general overuse of the phrase.  Like the word "blessed" (which also has that judgment-like meaning attached to it), it has been run into the ever-loving ground.

It is akin to "I love you to the moon and back," a phrase that stems from Guess How Much I Love You? by Sam McBratney.

Ooooo, don't get me started on this one.

It doesn't bother me for its connotative/denotative meanings but for its absolute ruination because everybody on the planet loves everybody else on the planet far beyond the planet.  They love them to the moon.....and back.

And we have to have t-shirts and signs and ornaments and cups and bracelets stating that we love people to the moon and back.

I love the Sam McBratney book, but I daresay he is sick to death of this phrase being used by every human alive to describe how they feel about their loved ones.  Is there no other children's book in the world that has a similar sentiment?

This, THIS, was the book that I adored when my children were small.

It's summer.
I'm bored.
Possibly PMSing....
Just ignore me.

The love affair with Geronimo Stilton

It is interesting to me to see the kids' tastes develop as readers.

As new readers, neither N nor G stuck with The Magic Treehouse series for very long, although they both enjoyed them for a time (this was kind of a bummer to me because I rather enjoyed them.)

N was big into Junie B. Jones in early elementary (and I enjoyed Junie's wit and mouth, although I probably would not had those words been coming out of my actual child's mouth).  She dabbled in the Puppy Place series and Thea Stilton, but nothing really stuck.  I threw Newbury winners at her (and still do) and even though she fought me (and still does), she was (and is) always crazy about the book by the time she got a chapter or two in.

G has been on a Geronimo Stilton reading kick this school year.

Since school began he has read these:
#3 Cat and Mouse in a Haunted House
#6 Paws Off, Cheddarface!
#14 The Temple of the Ruby of Fire
#18 Shipwreck on the Pirate Islands
#46 The Haunted Castle

He sorta fought reading chapter books, so I am very happy he has taken to these books and continues checking them out.  He is a big fantasy, mystical creature lover so when he saw these mentioned in the back of one of the other books, he was very keen to read them.  I hightailed it to the local Scholastic warehouse sale and bought him the three in this series that I could find.

This is the one he is reading now.  It is a little like The Fellowship of the Ring.  There is a giant, the king of the fairies (who appears as a deer) and Puss in Boots.  D and I take turns having G read to us at night, so I can't follow the story much more closely than that.

These are the other two he will read.

We sent in for a special "gift" from Geronimo and got this back.  G was pretty excited to get it and specifically mentioned that Geronimo says writing stories isn't as hard as you think.  

One of the things I like about these books is the way some of the words are highlighted, colored, or in unusual fonts.  Not all of the words are big or difficult or mean anything particularly helpful, but some are/do.  If nothing else, the unusual lettering makes the reader pay attention because the word might be important.  Or it might just be cool the way the font mimics what the word is, like "frozen" is done in white/blue and looks like ice.  

G is enough of a vested reader that he has asked me to define a number of words that he has read in the Geronimo books, which is a good sign, I think.  He cares enough and/or is paying attention enough to want to know.  

So until it ends, the love affair will continue....

Into a fold, even if it's not the original fold

Many of my posts seem to begin with "I just finished reading....." and then I write about how the book relates to my life.  I'll do that later.

This one begins with....

My mom told me that the local Catholic church is having a "return to the fold"-type effort, whereby they ask attending members to give the names/contact info for Catholics in exile (that is my term, not theirs).  Fortunately, my mom has the good sense to not give my name.  

Had she given my name, I would have been ticked off for a variety of reasons.  First, I know where to find churches, so if I wanted to return to the Catholic fold, I know exactly where to go.  Secondly, this effort is just too much in the way of "telemarketing."  Thirdly, I tend to me very much middle-school oriented:  if I am going to do anything, it is going to be my own decision, not at the urging of anyone else.  I hate to feel guilted, cajoled, or forced into doing anything, which is why evangelization just drives me bonkers.  

At the same time, I wouldn't have been mad at her, really.  I suspect that even though she is glad I attend a Christian church however randomly, there is some level of feeling rejected.  The feeling that what she and my dad gave me as in infant, the community of Catholics, isn't good enough, isn't something I want.  I get that.  That is a normal parent experience....

(and here is where I segue to a book I've read.....)

I finished reading The Chosen by Chaim Potok, and it simply devastated me, as both a child and a parent.  

When I think back to my earlier years, attending church and bitching about it the entire time, I suspect my parents knew that I would eventually do my own thing.  The older I got, the more "black sheepish" I became.  I seem to recall questioning the role of women and the dictates of the Catholic church, what I considered the narrowness of the dogma.  I didn't like the guilt associated with church, nor did I like the "have-tos."  Perhaps this is what drew me to D, in part.  I liked that he wasn't associated with any of that.  I liked that he had his own totally non-religious perspective.

It cannot be easy for a parent who very much subscribes to a way of life to see his/her child choose something different.  Even if it is not a rejection, it feels like a rejection.  A person almost can't help but take it as a rejection, and there is sadness and loss.

But if a parent is paying attention, it is probably not a surprise.  A child lets a parent know very early on, I think.

This December marks 3 years that the kids and I have been attending the nearby Christian church where they went to preschool.  The kids are getting a foundation in some kind of organized religion, but I don't know where that might lead them.  If nothing else, it gives them something to question, something to consider as they grow up.  Going to this church, although we are not every-week or even every-other-week attendees, gives me some of the ritual that I missed from attending Catholic church.  And I like that there aren't hoops my kids have to jump through to attend and participate in "communion."

The other day G said something like "Everyone should believe in Christmas" and I had to explain Judaism and Islam to him, that not everyone believes in Christmas, and that is ok.  That these other religions have their own special holidays and holy days.  At 8 years of age, G has already shown me that he is a questioner, a doubter, a skeptic.  He said he doesn't believe Jesus is the actual son of God, but rather that he was God's helper.

If he grows to be an adult who "rejects" anything and/or everything that I have tried to instill in him, it would not surprise me.  And even though I have always wanted my children to figure things out for themselves, I would probably feel like he was rejecting me and what I thought important enough to give him as a foundation and point of reference.

I would have to reflect on my own choices and the things I rejected or reconfigured from my parents in my effort to be the person I am.