An Ode to Childhood Summers on the Delaware Coast

I know.  I haven't been writing.

I have nothing to say in my defense.

Except that I just found this story I wrote for my non-fiction class in college, and I kind of fell in love again.

I'm not sharing the whole thing, because I want to be selfish.  And maybe because my boss has inspired me to enter a short story contest (through which she herself got published this year!  Yay!), and the theme for next year's entries just happens to be The Beach.

I wrote what you're about to read in March of 2004.  It has three parts--the one I'm sharing is essentially an ode to childhood.  The second part considers the longing to return to said childhood.  The third shows an actual attempt to do just that.  And I'm thinking of adding a fourth section, because my whole view on childhood has really been enhanced by, um, having a child.

But for now, here's the first section.  I hope you enjoy.

I know I enjoyed writing it.

Waves

I.                    Crest—The portion of a wave displaced above the still water line; the highest point of the wave.

We used to call it “Washing Machine.”

Washing Machine—our very technical term for what happened when the angry gray waves tore our tiny bodies off our fluorescent purple and orange Moorey Boogie boards; slamming us beneath a crashing current, boards flailing about above us, snapping our skinny arms back by the sea-soaked black leashes, sand invading every possible crevice as we tumbled into human pretzel shapes tossed about by the immense power of exploding murky swells, and we came up sputtering and choking, blinking in the bright sun and staggering to our feet above the frothy white aftermath which fizzled around our ankles.

Washing Machine.

And we would gasp for air, and tilt our heads to the side, banging the fists not restrained by the body board leashes against our skulls, in an effort to pound the sand out of our ears.

“Did you see that?” I’d scream to my brothers and best friend Courtney, charging back into the waves.  The taste of salt was overpowering, and I loved it in a way I wouldn’t come to understand until much later in life.  I would gallantly battle to throw my small body past the roaring breaking point, fighting my way back to my fellow adventurers, still rubbing my eyes, or tugging at my bathing suit, or briefly examining and then dismissing the scarlet scraping above my things and knees inflicted by my contact with the furious ocean floor during the last Washing Machine.

Ah, to have millions of grains of sand coat the top of my scalp, clinging to my clumped wet hair, and to not care!  To have the sticky residue of salt water paint my entire sun-bronzed body, and to not want a shower!  To be thrown violently time and time again from the slippery beast that was my Moorey Boogie board, and worry not once about twisting an ankle, or breaking what would become, later in life, my waitressing wrist.

What a wonderful thing, to be young and in love with the ocean.

**After submitting this piece to my professor, Dr. Vince Puma's comments included the most inspiring compliment I've ever received from a teacher.  He wrote, "I expect to see your name in print someday."

It's taking me longer than I hoped, Dr. Puma...

But I am still trying.

Some Kaliahisms to Get You Over the Hump...

Well, Hump Day is upon us, as are several inches of snow here in Slower Lower Delaware.  Again.

I have no flip or humorous comments to offer concerning the weather.  I have decided, though, that Old Man Winter is much more to blame for this than is Mother Nature.  Men are much more stubborn, and this is The Winter That Never Ends, apparently.

So, what to do when you are snowed in for the four BILLIONTH time with your child or your children?

Treasure them for the joy that they are, of course.

It's either that, or, you know, allow them to slowly but surely drive you insane.

Just kidding.

Mostly.

I am blessed to have an amazing daughter.  Still, sometimes the things that come out of her innocent mouth are quite ridiculous. So on a snowy spring day with not much else to do, I present, for your entertainment:

Kaliahisms.

Actual sayings by our eight-going-on-nine-year-old daughter, Kaliah.

1.  My favorite so far this year:  "It only takes one person to mind the business."  I can't remember the exact context of this quote, but she said it shortly after New Year's and Rashieme and I bring it up frequently.  And true:  if the whole world had Kaliah's attitude, how much more peaceful would planet Earth be?

2.  While cooking breakfast for Rashieme:  "These are going to be the best eggs Dad's ever tasted.  Except for the ones he makes.  They're way better."  Hash tag, Chef Problems.  At least we tried.

3.  After Kaliah finally admitted to forgetting about a cup of apple juice that the cat consequently knocked over:
     Me:  "All you had to do was say, I'm sorry, Mom.  I forgot."
     Rashieme:  "Yeah.  Instead of making a bunch of excuses."  Looks my way. (Guilty as charged, 
     by the way and FYI).  "Wonder who she  gets that from?"
     Kaliah:  "From you, Dad.  You just gave an excuse."
     Rashieme:  "No, I didn't.  Kaliah, do you even know what an excuse is?  Or are you just talking?"
     Me:  "Wonder who she gets that from."

4.  "That dumb cat is so smart!"

5.  Accompanied by the picture below and followed by evil laughter:  "This is the perfect snowball.  It's glorious!"

 

Happy Hump Day, Er'rybody! Don't worry, warmer days are coming!  (Aren't they?  I mean, like, don't they have to be?)

I am From...

A good one for #ThrowbackThursday...

My "I Am From" Poem.

Composed on my last birthday.

Originally shared as a note on Facebook, 8/30/13.


Inspired by readings from Ms. Kim Patrick's Young Writers' Open Mic, and dedicated to all the people who have made me into who I am...

I am from golden days spent wiggling toes in sun baked sand, and the taste of salt that lingers after reluctantly saying farewell to the sparkling waves, dragging boogie boards and plastic buckets the half mile trek away from the beckoning Atlantic.
I am from Daddy's big laugh as he thrust me high above his head to do Super Girl, flashes of pine trees whirling by above us.
I am from "If I wanted to build my house in a field, I would have built it in a field!" accompanied by a satisfied nod when Mommom complained to him about those pines.
I am from the comfort of cherry flavored tobacco, snuggled up in my Poppop's generous lap--the warmest, safest place to lay one's head at Mommom's house.
I am from "Welcome to the Family of the People Who Love the Lord" sung by warbling, honest voices in the tiny Baptist church on Rt. 54, and the tears that stung as a teenager as I tried to form those words, not understanding why I cried.
I am from "If you want to be baptized, you have to be nicer to your brother."
I am from elaborate hand-stitched Halloween costumes and my mother's smiles, crispy bacon and hot scrapple on a Saturday morning, cartoons blaring in the background from one of the three lonely channels the satellite provided.
I am from Friday nights under the lights and round-off, toe touch, cheer!  Green and Gold and the swelling victorious instruments blasting out "Da-da-da-da-da, hey!" beneath starry October skies.
I am from the love of my life staring at me in a high school chorus class, tossing my music on the floor or playfully touching my side, my shoulder.... tingles that brought back smiles hours and years later.
I am from dreams of getting off the Eastern Shore, palm trees of North Florida swaying under cloudless blue skies and college life with my best friend, who went 800 miles away with me after forming a playground friendship by the sliding boards in second grade.  I am from going back to where you came from, and so is she.
I am from a bustling, vibrant, welcoming church, filled with thousands of people who love Jesus and each other.  A church that grows and changes and laughs, while staying true to the scriptures.
I am from "Thank You," as my love's beautiful brown eyes fall on me in the hospital bed, our little Rose cradled contently in his arms.
I am from "She won't look like this when we see her again," and his hand on my shoulder as we hold our youngest in the oh-so-soft blanket--the only thing I will ever buy for her.
I am from never look back, or they'll see you as weak, and the thudding of sneakers on pavement as my eyes search for the finish line.
I am from rejection after rejection, sprinkled with glimmers of hope from agents who praise my writing ability, gently admitting my novel is not quite right for them.
I am from all eyes on me at open mics, and laughter and tears and comments that urge me to sit down and begin typing again.
I am from Dr. Puma's barely legible "I expect to see your name in print some day" scrawled across the bottom of my final memoir turned in for Non-fiction class.
I am from believing.

You Know You'e From Slower Lower If...

It's a Winter Wonderland out there today!

I sort of called it.  Well, I guess we all did.  The weather people got it right this time.  Which I'm impressed with.  I get that there's a lot of uncertainty in forecasting, and that it's not an exact science, but sometimes, I get downright irate with the local weather guys.  I feel like if they were held accountable like teachers are, there might be some more accurate weather predictions going on.  Can you imagine?  A state test for weathermen?  I say, go for it.  I mean, why not?  We spend billions of dollars testing the crap out of our children.  Maybe we could share the love by testing the competency of a grown up or two.  My vote is to start with the people who are telling us what to expect every day.  When they're wrong (which, sorry, weather people, is pretty often), everybody who cared enough to turn on the TVs or check their smartphones to dress for the occasion ends up feeling stupid. (And sometimes, too cold.  Or hot.)

If your kid gets a math problem wrong, at least, in general, she's only impacting herself.

Anyway, I digress.  One weather service I'm particularly fond of was started by a former student of mine, a Delmarva local who ALWAYS passed his state tests.  Delmar Weather tends to be more reliable than any other weather source I know of... and during intense weather events, they provide frequent, helpful updates.

So as my students were discussing the impending storm yesterday, I smiled, and told them that I was sure we would be off tomorrow.  I had checked Delmar Weather, had great faith in their predictions, and, as I know that Sussex County is incapable of dealing with even half an inch of snow on the ground, I figured we'd shut down for the duration.

"That's not what Ms. ***** says," commented one student.

"Ms. ***** isn't from here," I smiled.  "I've lived here longer than you guys have been alive.  I'm telling you, we're not going to have school tomorrow.  I'll see you next week."

So, I'd brag about getting it right--I already told my students they could say I told them so when they finally saw me again, which, for all we know, might be February--but really, it's not surprising.  I'm not picking on Sussex County here.  I LOVE that we have no idea what to do when it snows.  It's kind of our thing.  Dusting on the ground, two hour delay.  Stuff on the road?  Stay home until further notice.  It's quite awesome.

So this thought had me thinking about other things I love about Sussex County.  Things that separate the true locals from the transplants.  No offense is intended to either locals or tourists or new residents... just the musings of a born-and-bred country girl (which, Rashieme confirmed to me the other day, I most certainly am, no matter how I try to avoid it) from good ole Slower Lower Delaware.

And so, I present...

You Know You're From Slower Lower If...

• You are completely aware of the origins of scrapple, and you continue to eat it for breakfast on a regular basis.
• You drank Dogfish Head beer before they went nationwide.
• Your education or that of your children was impacted by thousands of hours of lost instruction due to fog delays.
• Beach fries (either D.B.'s or Thrashers) are considered their own food group.
• The smell of chicken manure in the spring and summer time doesn't offend you.  You've grown so used to it you barely notice.
• You knew what Punkin Chunkin was before they put it on TV.
• You've ever had someone from another area of the country ask you what state Delaware is in.
• 30-50% of the male student body population missed school for the first day of hunting season in any given year.
• You've ever worked in the retail or restaurant industry at the beach in the summer time, only to have a tourist ask you where you go for the rest of the year.
• You inadvertently killed upwards of ten pet hermit crabs throughout the course of your childhood.
• You don't drive on Rt. 26 in the summer time, because the commuting time from one end of the road to the other goes from 8 minutes in the off season to a minimum of 38 minutes (and often longer) when the tourists are in town.

Can you think of any others?  Comment below!

#ProudToBeFromDelaware

2014, Week One Play-By-Play

So, Happy New Year everyone!

2014 is here, and for me, it's been pretty awesome.  If you're wondering why, check it out:

January 1st--No School.  Holiday.
January 2nd--Return to school.  Kids were out of their minds with excitement.
January 3rd--No School.  Snow storm.
January 4th--No School.  Saturday.
January 5th--No School.  Sunday.
January 6th--Return to school for a rather smooth-sailing Monday.
January 7th--No School.  Excessive... cold.

Anybody notice a recurring theme, here?

Now, I love my students.  Truly, I do.  But, like many human beings (I'd imagine) if given the choice between working and not working... well, you probably know which one I'd go with.

Which is why 2014 has been EPIC thus far.  The first week of the new year has included a ratio of two days of school to five days off, which, I have decided, in all my wisdom, is EXACTLY how we should fix the broken educational system.

*Note--This post, for these next couple of paragraphs, is not intended to be taken seriously.  I understand five days off per week would be a nightmare for working parents (And those who don't like their kids... just kidding, just kidding...).  I am merely entertaining a fantasy.

Think about it.  We spend BILLIONS of dollars on state and nationwide testing, on standardized measures to hold the teachers (rarely the students) accountable.  If we took all the money we spent on testing and hired a gajillion more teachers, we could get those class sizes down to, say, eight kids a class.  Furthermore, if we closed school five days a week, then it would be easier to keep those children focused on school, as opposed to on everything else they tend to focus on such as:

1) what everyone is wearing
2) what the other kids in the class are currently doing
3) who is going out with whom
4) what is for lunch
5) what is outside
6) what they want to do after school
7) any other issue that happens to cross their minds other than what they should actually be learning.

We could keep them focused because every time we saw a pair of those sixteen eyes glazing over, we could slap a ruler down on the desk and yell, "Hey!  Peggy Sue! You only have TWO DAYS to get this right!  That's it!  If you don't want to end up scooping ice cream for tourists your whole life, you need to get with the program!  Do you want to work at Candy Kitchen at age 40?!?!"

Of course, this is a flawed philosophy because no one on the Eastern Shore will ever eat ice cream again.  Not after this so-called "Polar Vortex."  I'm sure that in states that deal with this kind of cold all the time, they are rolling their eyes in disbelief that we've closed the schools due to a little wind and cold...

But, um, it's nine degrees outside.

With a wind chill below zero.  Which, you see, is not something we're used to dealing with in Delaware.  Even so, even I have to admit that I was a bit shocked at the school closings.  In my tenure as a teacher I've seen us shut our doors (or delay opening them) for just about everything:  Snow (even a dusting of it), threat of snow, heavy rain, fog...

But never before cold.

Having said that, I understand how serious the weather conditions are and feel glad to have a day home with my family.  I worry about some of the less well-to-do students in our population, and hope that they are staying warm and eating enough today.  In all seriousness, I know that some of them most likely are not.

I am spoiled in many ways, and I'd venture to say that perhaps many of you are, too.  I have a job.  A roof over my head.  No concerns about where my next meal is going to come from, or whether or not my family will be warm enough through the winter.  I am, compared to many people in our state, our country, and throughout the world, rich beyond measure.

I know this, and I thank God for it everyday.  Seriously--did you ever consider:  you have WON the birth lottery?  To be alive in this country, with all of our freedoms and opportunities, during this time period, with the incredible advancing technology and modern comforts?  Whatever your biggest problem at the moment (and I'm not saying you don't have one, because believe me, I know, that the rain rains on everyone without discriminating)... have you ever considered how amazing it is, that you are here, in this particular moment, at this exact time, perhaps even dealing with this specific problem, for a history-altering purpose?  That who you are and what you have in front of you were designed to intersect in a way that will impact all eternity?

Think about it.

So I pledge to make my 2014 as meaningful as possible.  Not just because I won the birth lottery (or got five days off from work out of the first seven of the new year).  But because I believe I'm here, and you're here, and we're all here, for a reason.  I no longer believe in accidents or coincidences.  I do believe in a sense of humor (see my earlier proposed two day school schedule), but I also believe that it all matters.  And I plan to make this year count.  Maybe I'll start by extending kindness to someone who seems to have a bit less to be thankful for, at this current moment, than I do.  Is that somewhere you could start, too?  What can you do to make this year matter?

And on a lighthearted note, 2014... thanks so much for the extra time off.  But I'd rather not be teaching in July, so, if there's any way we could calm down with this whole Polar Vortex thing...

That'd be great.