The Retrospect Project 3: Beth Kander

That’s What Friends Are For

By Beth Kander

(Read her introduction here.)

Ah, thirteen. The age of secret crushes, awkward body changes galore, and insecurities so pumped up it’s like they’re on ‘roids. Thirteen is basically a year you want to survive, and then erase. What makes the whole survive-and-erase tactic difficult for those of us who number among the Chosen People is the fact that thirteen is also the year of the Bat (or Bar) Mitzvah. Thus, in my middle school years, many hours were spent studying for my own Bat Mitzvah, and attending the B-Mitzvah ceremonies of my handful of Jewish friends. I had Torah verses to learn, orthodontia to work around, and inevitably, an epic crush on one of my Hebrew School classmates.  

He had a biblical name; for purposes of anonymity, let’s say it was Abel. (It wasn’t. No one is named Abel.) He had giant glasses and perfect teeth – the lucky bastard! – and sandy-colored hair that fell onto his horn-rimmed frames. He wore Cosby sweaters and a watch. He looked like a miniature grown-up. The consistent cracking of his voice did mar the illusion, but only a little. 

While the other two boys in our class drew boobs on the matriarchs in our textbooks and looked up swear-words in the Hebrew dictionary, Abel sat with the other brainy girl (let’s call her Peninah, because how many Peninahs do you know?) and me, and the three of us actually went over the prayers we were supposed to be learning. We were the Goody-Goods, but it was more than that: we each carried some extra adolescent baggage. Abel was bullied at school; Peninah was painfully shy; I was enrolled in an “alternative distance learning” program (aka hippie version of homeschooling). In other words, we were the hard core nerds.

Once, for a class project, we had to film a news segment covering “Breaking News of the Bible.” Of course, Peninah, Abel and I worked together. We borrowed a giant old camcorder the approximate size and weight of Texas, created a set for the news desk of WJEW (I wish I were kidding), and filmed our segment. I don’t remember what Breaking Biblical News we covered. I do remember that Abel and I were the news anchors, and when we sat down behind the desk, he complimented my haircut. It was the early 90s; I had just gotten The Rachel; I thanked God and “Friends” that Abel finally noticed something about me beyond my mad Hebrew skills.

December 10, 1994: Abel’s Bar Mitzvah.  His was the first in our class. We all attended the service, watching in terror, knowing we were next. He wore a bright red suit with a black tie. I’d never seen anyone but Santa wear a red suit before, and I seriously doubted that Santa attended many Bar Mitzvahs. Still, Abel pulled off the red suit with aplomb. His voice cracked its way through the service and he did all his nerd friends proud. After the luncheon, there was a recess; his party wasn’t starting until dinnertime, so I went over to Peninah’s to hang out for the afternoon. We curled each other’s hair, put on our fanciest dresses (hers had sequins, mine probably incorporated a vest of some kind), and she assured me over and over that Abel would DEFINITELY ask me to slow-dance at his Bar Mitzvah party. 

The party was in the synagogue’s social hall. Red and black balloons, matching Abel’s distinctive suit, crowded every table. There was pizza, there were glow sticks, and there was a deejay with a ridiculously big moustache, who was playing Ace of Base like they were going out of style. (They were.)

The slow dances were few and far between – and though Abel enthusiastically bounced around the dance floor flailing his glow sticks during the fast numbers, he seemed to disappear for the slow ones. Finally, it was midnight, December 11, 1994: my thirteenth birthday. Peninah came up to tell me that her parents were ready to leave – and they were my ride, so I had to go, too. We went to find Abel to say one last mazel tov. Right as we walked up to him, something magical happened.

“Let’s slow it down for a minute,” said the deejay, smiling beneath the ‘stache. 

“Want to dance?” Abel asked me.

I looked wildly at Peninah. She nodded, go for it! Her parents would wait! This was THE MOMENT!  Abel put his hands on my waist. I put my hands on his red-suited shoulders. There was definitely plenty of room between us. We began to sway, stiffly, moving rather like migrating penguins. I wanted to tell him I liked him. That I LIKED-HIM liked-him. Instead, I said: “It’s my birthday.”

“It is? I didn’t know today was your birthday,” Abel said.

“Not today – I mean, tonight – like, right now –  because, y’know, it’s after midnight – and my birthday is the eleventh, so technically I’m thirteen now…” Dear heaven above, why do I sound so stupid?

“Oh, I gotcha,” said Abel. “Well. Happy birthday, Beth.”

I pictured a birthday kiss, a confession of his love, my own first moment as a teenager somehow managing to transcend the requisite angst and instead be a moment of something beautiful. But there was nothing; he just smiled at me, I smiled back, and we continued our awkward-penguins routine until the last notes of the song. Then I ran off to find Peninah so we could get into her parents’ mini-van and begin dissecting every moment of what had just happened.

I never did tell Abel how I felt about him, which wound up being okay, because a few years later, he told the world how he felt about men: turns out, he felt like sleeping with them. That would be true of many of my closest male friends in the coming years – but luckily, after Abel, I only fell for guys who were actually interested in persons of my gender. And now, looking back at my awkward unrequited love, I have to smile. The song Abel and I danced to that night was “That’s What Friends Are For.” I mean, seriously. The truth was right in front of my eyes, jumping around with glow sticks, wearing a bright red suit. Thirteen-year-old-me would have been humiliated to learn that my epic crush was probably checking out the guys snorting Faygo at the table behind us as we danced. But almost-thirty-year-old me is glad that we nerds had each other … even if we didn’t really know who we were yet. 

"Like" Beth's professional Facebook page for a chance to win a free copy of her book.

Get This Kid a Book Deal, 2: Ghost Town-

I never let my kids write fiction in class.  Perhaps it's a personal hang up. I know all my adolescent experiments in fiction were filled with stereotypes and cop-outs like "And then I woke up. It was all a dream." 

But they beg and beg. So this week, I finally gave in...a bit. We've attempted spurts of fiction. For example, when working on describing setting, I gave them the following prompt:

"A group of teens are exploring dark woods when they stumble upon an abandoned village."

Here are some of their sentences:

"The trees in the woods looked like skinny arms grabbing for lost visitors."

"The grass acted as spikes on the ground, protecting the land from intruders."

"The woods were so dark, it was as if God forgot to turn on the lights."

(Another variation of this one was, "It was so dark that it was as if someone had forgotten to pay the light bill.")

"The dark clouds swirled above them like moths as they stared at the abandoned village."

"The radiant moonlight skimmed over their heads like flashlights in the trees."

"The animals were as terrified as two-year-olds at the dentist."

"You could almost hear the forgotten hum of the villagers."

They make the hard work of original writing look so effortless. 

Basically, I issued up the fiction challenge, and they responded with a, "Ain't no thang, lady."

Yet again, they prove me wrong. Each day, they show me how very little adults, like myself, truly understand about their capabilities.

Slack-jawed,

Ms. P

Damn Good Sentence Contest, Part 2

I debuted the Damn Good Sentence Contest on Monday. It's a bit of a competition where you vote for your favorite one of my students' sentences in the comment section OR on facebook.

Sentences that make you say "Then What?!"

1) I walked out of the room feeling confident that today was going to be easy, but if that was true, then turtles hunt bears with ray guns.

2) Two fatal gunshots rang out.

3) Right before I opened my mouth for disapproval, his furious, hungry scissors ate away at my hair like a parasite.

4) Uncertain, I started to creep forward, but with all my best efforts I still couldn’t help from snapping a few dried up twigs. 

5) I would rather give The Count the wrong number of the day. I’d rather be lactose intolerant and try the gallon milk challenge than be by this kid. I would rather watch Glee. I’d rather clean a gas station bathroom. I would rather staple my eyes shut and run around busy streets.

Pick your favorite. I know mine.

From the Mouths of Babes

Today, my students got to be celebrity writers as part of the publishing party for our personal narratives. I got the idea to interview them from here.

Here is the interview sheet that I created. 

(Teachers, if you want this, I will email you a pdf version of it for free.)

When I planned this lesson, the main goal was for them to began to identify as writers. But, as always, they surprised me. As I reviewed the responses, I realized that I was gobbling up their "advice to young writers on writing." It was so enlightening. This is what I love so much about middle schoolers. Just when you think they aren't listening, they will shock you with their insight. 

"19 Bits of Advice for Writers"

By: Ms. P's 7th Graders

1) ”Just write. Don’t let people tell you that you will never be a writer, you’re too young, or you’re way too undetailed (sic). You can do anything.”

2) ”Just think of something exciting or something that you’re into and just write what you can and remember to write something that makes you want to keep writing.”

3) ”Never give up on writing, and writing won’t give up on you.”

4) ”Just write about anything on your mind. Don’t worry if it is ‘crappy’.”

5) ”Never give in - just write down what comes to mind. Then if you’ve found something you like, go on that.”

6) ”Be inspired...be an inspiration.”

7) "Always write about something you remember very well.”

8) "When you write, you should put emotion in it because if you are writing about that subject you have a reason you’re writing about it, so put emotion in it.”

9) ”When you have an idea, don’t wait before you write it. Write it down somewhere before you forget all the details.”

10) ”When you like writing, keep writing. It helps you bring out your thoughts.”

11) “Writing helps you please your emotions. Writing helps you bring out your inner feelings.”

12) ”In your life, you may think there’s nothing to write about. All you need to do is think about that little things that matter to you. You are the author. You are the only one the story has to please.”

13) ”You first piece will not be your best. Don’t give up.”

14) ”Write what your heart speaks.”

15) ”Be yourself. Don’t try and be a different person when writing. If you’re a nerd, be a nerd! If you’re shy, be shy! If you’re enthusiastic, be enthusiastic.”

16) ”No matter what people may think, write.”

17) ”Don’t be afraid to write just the truth.”

18) ”I once read in a book to ‘catch fireflies.’ Write down everything you think of, even if it’s stupid. Then making it yours is fun.”

19) ”If you feel it needs to be on paper, then put it there. No matter what anyone thinks.”

Taking notes from these guys,
Ms. P

The Retrospect Project 1: Carrie M.

If you missed the introduction post for the The Retrospect Project* feature, please catch up here.

I am very pleased to have Mrs. Carrie for our first guest writer on the Retrospect Project. Allow me to introduce her, will you? 

This is Carrie toasting to the fact that she's no longer in middle school.

Carrie is a busy blogger. You can read more from her at The Life and Strife of a Military Wife and From the Mat Up, her yoga blog.

But more on the middle-school Carrie:

Me: Carrie, what CD or tape would we most likely find in your radio in middle school?

C: Regretfully, I must say 98 Degrees. I liked their muscles.

Me: Tell us a fashion trend you participated in wholeheartedly.

C: Sweater vests were cool for about a month.

Me: What was your go-to yearbook sign off?

C: Most likely a heart with my name underneath. The "i" dotted with a heart as well.

Me: Sum up your middle school experience in ONE word.

C: Distressing.

Now listen to her story. 'Cause she's a yogi.

See?

"Out of the 19 years of school, seventh grade had to be the worst year of my educational experience (not to mention, life). I was short, wore glasses, and had an older brother just one year ahead of me. I cannot tell you how many times I was called 'J.P.’s little sister' or told that I looked just like him (Thanks, you just told me I look like a 13 year old boy.) But even that wasn’t as bad as the embarrassment a 12 year old can feel when she falls flat on her face.

Gym class at CMS was dreaded, especially for me. I hated everything about it but one thing: Scooter Day. That’s right, one whole day devoted to riding these four-wheeled pieces of plastic that were only a few inches from the ground. Everyone loved scooter day, and everyone wanted to be first to gym class to get the best scooter. My friends and I had a pact: Whoever got to class first would get the rest equally as nice scooters. 

Gym class was located across campus, behind the high school. It was already intimidating enough walking through all the “big” kids, but my friends had nominated me that day to be the scooter saver. I was honored that they would choose me, but wary because there was a huge crowd of HIGH SCHOOLERS that I would have to push through. However, I was a savvy seventh grader, so I decided to run on the ground beside the sidewalk and cross onto the sidewalk at the last minute to narrowly dodge anyone over the age of 14. It was brilliant! I couldn’t believe how possible I had made an impossible task.

After formulating my plan and noticing fellow classmates on their way to gym, I broke into a sprint. I ran with all my heart, and I actually think Vangelis’s “Chariots of Fire” was playing in the background. I visualized the best scooter and I knew it would be mine that day. Then, it was time for the crossover. I leaped with great faith, but instead of sticking my landing, my legs became tangled and I fell like a sack of potatoes. IN FRONT OF ALL THE HIGH SCHOOLERS! I was mortified and bleeding. 

I did the only thing I knew to do… I got back up and started running. But instead of getting my coveted scooter, I had to get my elbow and knee bandaged. No scooter that day, and my friends didn’t even care to check on me. It took weeks worth of Neosporin to get my wounds to heal and a hell of a lot more time to forget the incident. I still have the scars from that day, but as for those other hussies I called friends, they’re history."

We've got your back NOW, Carrie. (those trollops)

Watching my step,
Ms. P


*Originally called Blast from the Past

Ain't no thang.

Back to the grind, kids. I woke up today feeling a lot like this....

And then I looked in the mirror at my bank account and got real post-haste.

However, I am glad I went to school because on the way to lunch I had the following conversation with one of my accelerated students who is like Tom Clancy, but twelve.

Picture this with glasses and more awkward, but in a lovable way.

Dialogue with Kid Clancy:

Ms. P: So, Kid Clancy, how was your break?

KC: (matter-of-factly) Pretty uneventful. I did finish my novel that I've been working on. Typed it up.

Ms. P: (sheepishly and less upbeat than before) Oh, uh cool. I...uh...made a wreath.

KC: Right. That's...nice.

Wondering what the heck I'm doing with my life,

Ms. P