Growing Up, Moving On, Hanging Tight: Kindergarten...High School

One morning, in the first week of kindergarten, the burgeoning parent group held a coffee and doughnut get together on the playground after drop off. Having survived a few days of leaving my children with relative strangers I was eager to connect with parents more seasoned and well versed in school matters. I knew no one and so lingered awkwardly near the coffee table while others chatted about teachers and after school programs and reading levels.

"Do you have a child here?", asked a woman on the receiving side of the table.

"Two actually, we have twins in kindergarten."

She was the parent of a first grader and was curious as to how we found her neighborhood school, a small grade school that had been on the brink of closing only the year before.

In Chicago you can attend your neighborhood school or, if you prefer, you can apply to schools outside your attendance area and hope. When our girls were starting kindergarten our neighborhood school was simply not an option; there had been a shooting in front of the school at 3:00 in the afternoon. Safety trumped all my other concerns, we filled out the forms and entered the girls into the vast school by school lottery. Their names were not drawn anywhere, there was no choice to be made. We entered the round two lottery: one four year old was put into first grade at a nearby school, the other found a seat in second grade at a school several miles away. They tested for the gifted and classical school program; one was put in a school in the south loop, the other on the northern suburban border, a distance of over an hour in a car. Jack walked into the CPS offices to appeal our situation. They apologized for the clerical error that put the girls into first and second grade but suggested that perhaps being in two different schools might be a good thing.

"You don't have twins then, correct?'

The veteran parent listened to my long story, offering sympathetic nods and an "oh no!" where required.

"You know, as horrible as that sounds, I've heard finding a high school is even harder."

We were day four into kindergarten, having survived the long and arduous process that ended in a wonderful school, a place that has now been our home for the past nine years. High school? Was this woman serious? High school was years into the future, further even than kindergarten had been from pregnancy. I dismissed her comment somewhat offhandedly, I had far more pressing things to concern myself with, high school was not even worth considering.

That was yesterday, maybe last month.

This past Friday Mary got her high school placement, Kate having secured her spot when she moved to a middle school in 7th grade. We were in Rome when we got the email, physically as far away as I felt from high school nine years ago. Against almost all odds the girls will be back in the same school this September, having been separated for the past two years. Somewhat surprisingly they are both happy about this; separation was hard but they have enjoyed these years apart, each finding their own place.

The search for a high school was, thankfully, far less problematic than we had been warned. Perhaps because this was the girls' search, their choice, helped greatly by their nine years of hard work.

Walking into school Friday I had a moment of finality, the very familiar feeling that something has come to an end. What has been an open ended question for months now has an answer, they have a place to be in September. They are both registered, they have school t-shirts, they are looking at after school clubs and sports. Finding a kindergarten was a relief, after months of unknown, as is finding a high school. But for something that has loomed so long on the horizon, having an answer to a question posed nine years ago seems an abrupt stop to a very long conversation.

Now I stand on the other side of the table, handing out the doughnuts. Finding a school is difficult, finding one that is hard to leave, even trickier. How lucky we have been to have called this place home for nine wonderful years.

An Apology Letter to Mrs. Chamberlin, Grade School Librarian

June 28, 2016

Dear Mrs. Chamberlin,

I am so sorry.

I'm sure there were reasons, possibly extenuating circumstances, but that's not an excuse. I do know that once I left my book outside on the patio and it rained, and we paid for that one, but I bet you had to send numerous notes home, and that wasn't right. I should have been more responsible and taken better care of my library book, but I didn't. And I should have brought you the money right away but I bet it took at least a few weeks. Before email I am certain there were notes lost, notes not delivered, notes purposely misplaced in hopes of finding the book. I know you had more important things to do than chase down an irresponsible child who had ruined a library book.

Maybe you don't remember, and quite possibly I shouldn't bring this up, but let me also apologize for routinely finding books that were not really appropriate for my grade or reading level. You know that shelf, the one that was directly across from the biography section? I loved those books, and I now realize that those books were there for children in the upper grades, and I should have waited until at least fifth grade to ask to check them out. Do you remember the time I found the book about the women suffragists; it had a black and white photograph of four women holding placards on the front, and I ran around the library showing everyone my amazing find? I think I may have been a little disruptive because you took that book away from me and stashed it behind the desk with Mrs. Osborn. I also have vague memories of sitting quietly alone for a good period of time following the suffragist book incident. I'm sorry.

I'm not making excuses here but I'm wondering if you still have those carrels, the ones that were on the floor and kind of comfortable? I ask because I know that more than once you had to remind me (and I'd guess Jim L.) to be quiet when we were in those carrels. Here's the thing, we were reading, but we were also talking, about the books. Have you read "Henry and Ribsy"? That's funny stuff. Wasn't there a story about Ribsy trying to save the garbage because he thought it was Henry's? Can you blame us for laughing? Yes, I'm certain we were too loud and I'm sorry. I bet Jim is also. You shouldn't have had to ask so many times, but you know, maybe had I been reading that suffragist book...no, we would have still found something to make us laugh.

A few years ago I found all my old report cards; my mother was holding on to them for this exact reason. Attached to my third grade report card was a receipt, signed by you, for $6.00: lost book replacement cost, received of Allyson Lang. I saved it, made a copy, and hung it on the door to the library where I now work. It's a reminder to our students that everyone looses books and that no one should feel terrible about it, accidents happen. Between you and me, accidents happen far too frequently. There are some students who make a genuine mistake (say leaving a book on the back patio when it rains) and they feel terrible about it. But there are many who say things like "I never checked that book out" or "I already returned that book" or the absolute worst, "my mom forgot to return that". Mrs. Chamberlin! Did their mother check out that book?

Libraries are such an amazing way to teach children about sharing and community and responsibility. Imagine, you allowed me to take home a book every week of my grade school life, and you trusted that I would return that book in the same condition. I know I let you down but I'm grateful that you allowed me to pay for the book and continue to check out for the next three years. Mistakes happen, thanks for understanding that.

I hope you enjoyed your job, running around in those burgundy pantsuits and pixie haircuts, trying to maintain order in that sprawling suburban school library. It was my favorite time of the week, not just because I read funny books with Jim in the carrels, but because I loved finding books in the library that I was genuinely excited to read. Did you know that I read every biography of a first lady in the library? Every one. Abigail Adams was my favorite, still is, followed closely by Eleanor Roosevelt. On the table next to my bed is the new biography of Louisa Adams, wife of John Quincy. I'll finish it this summer, and I bet I'll think of you and the tall shelf in the far corner, where you kept your biographies, when I do.

My apologies for all the time you spent chasing after me and my books. I'd like to say it was childhood exuberance, and that may have been a factor, but there was also childhood irresponsibility in play. I should have returned my books on time and paid quickly for those left in the rain, I've learned my lesson.

Thanks Mrs. Chamberlin, I really loved library.

Your former student,

Allyson Lang

Tall Enough for the Zambezi Zinger: A Fourth Grade Writing Assignment

Racing out in front of the others I arrived triumphantly at the end of the line, a long winding snake of  a line which ended at the entrance to the roller coaster. Never before had I been on one, never before had I been old enough but now I was 10, now I could ride the Zambezi Zinger with my friends. It was all anyone in fourth grade could talk about, some of my friends had been on this thing more than once but now it was my turn; I could not wait to be twisted, spun and shaken into oblivion.

"Step up, back to the stand, right there against the umbrella please", the gatekeeper cried, the only thing standing between me and 180 seconds of unparalleled madness.

Josie, Mary and Jenny all eased through with barely a nod from the teenage sentry. I ducked by but he stopped me, "one minute there missy, back against the umbrella please, you must be 48 inches tall to ride the Zambezi!".

With all my might I eased up from my heels, camouflaging as best I could the obvious deficit between the top of my head and the top of my ticket to happiness.

"Hmmm, you don't seem to reach the top do you?"

A bit more of a push from the heel and I was almost there, "oh no, I'm tall enough, I'm 10. Today is my birthday".

He shook his head, "sorry kiddo, but for your safety you must be as tall as my umbrella, please step this way", and he opened the gate hidden behind him, the one used by people who were not brave enough to face the Zambezi head on, the coward gate. My friends stepped into the car and lowered the bar, I stepped out, finding my 6'3" father waiting for me. He was worried that I wouldn't pass the height requirement and offered to walk me over to the Funcular, the one loop roller coaster sized just for children.

Turns out I hated roller coasters, still do.

Mary and Kate's language arts writing assignment this week was to write a short essay about a birthday celebration, including descriptive language and conflict. This is my take on fourth grade, with a nod to my daughter who is struggling this year with being the shortest one in her class.

"Say Cheese!"

It's picture day at school today which means that I asked my children to each bathe last night.

"We BOTH need to shower? Come on!"

Sadly what passes as clean for one does not translate to the other, no matter how close you are. Yes my dears, it's not much but I thought being clean might be a good start.

"Mom, they are not taking a picture of all of me, just my head. No one will know if my feet are dirty".

The joy of having raised logical and exceedingly bright children, their ability to poke holes in every sort of solid argument I put forth.

"Nor are they scratch and sniff photos, you will not be sharing any of your odors with your classmates for eternity, just yesterday and tomorrow, but today, you shower. Clean hair, clean faces, a good start to every day".

The water was turned on, the racing of children, completely naked, down the hall commenced, and, once soaked, the serenading (last night a mix of Train and Julie Andrews), began. Shower night was officially underway.

It's possible that the best thing that can be said about my fourth grade picture was that I was clean.  My well scrubbed and freckled face appeared on top of a blue plaid blouse, one with a small ruffle near the top, one my mother loved. My mousy brown hair, cut just above my shoulders, was brushed before school and hung, as it always did, straight and shaggy around my head. This was as good as it was going to get, and then Someone Else's Mother appeared. She waved her plastic comb at my head, the same one she had used to tame the tresses of every child photographed before me.

"Oh dear, what have we here? Shall we try and flip it up? Or maybe comb it back this way, to feather it away from your little face?.

Lady, I'm nine. In a few short years everything you are saying is going to be intensely important to me but right now, I'm nine and my hair is straight and brown and clean. I'm pretty sure the eggs that stuck to my chin after breakfast were removed when my father scrubbed me with the belt of his trench coat and that my shirt, while pretty ugly, is crisp enough to be presentable. And that is how this is going to look for years to come, clean and crisp, but not feathered.

She smiled, I ducked, but the plastic comb with the disease laden teeth made their way to my head. 

"Allyson, what happened to your hair?', weeks later, as my mother opened the envelope of pictures. There it was, the work of Someone Else's Mother, a large clump of hair sticking straight out from my left ear, somewhat feathered, completely ridiculous.

It used to be that the girls chose matching outfits for picture day, hoping to appear on Facebook twenty years from now, via a scanned yearbook photo, as twins. Last night Mary began pulling out dresses, offering choices for both that were coordinated if not matching.

"No, no, not that one, doesn't fit, hate that one, yuck, no, spilled toothpaste on it, really Mary?", said Kate.

"Can't I just wear jeans?", and the answer was yes, of course, as long as you wear something nice on top. Her Kansas City Royals t-shirt was deemed not nice, or not nice enough. She fussed her way through her entire wardrobe, finally deciding on a lovely navy dress with a simple collar, a perfect choice for picture day.

Of course all that fussing matters not at all when you find that a pre-bed shower means that you went to sleep with not entirely dry hair, resulting in what can best be described as Flock of Seagulls on one side, matted mess on the other.

"MOM!", wild laughter from the bathroom, as they both crowded in front of the mirror to get a glimpse of Kate's hair.

We squirted it with the water bottle, brushed it back and slid on a headband. No amount of feathering could repair this damage, it was the beautiful smile and clean face that was saving this school photo.

Several weeks from now, when the big envelopes come home, we'll see the results of wardrobe mania, flying hair, and yes, a bath. Several years from now we'll deal with concerns over hair styles, pimples, and clothing beyond what fits and is not covered in toothpaste. And I am certain I will long for the days when being clean was the biggest hurdle and comfort and coordination were the biggest goals.



Bedhead, a truly funny book about waking up with hair that finds it's own way, and of course, school pictures. By Margie Palatini, available here.

Traveling through My History

It was not the answer I expected, not from my pragmatic and history obsessed child. Kate was asked  "where would you go if you could travel in time?" and I so smugly thought that I knew the answer. Kate would find a seat in the corner of Independence Hall and watch the signing of the Declaration, or she would stand in the crowd when Lincoln delivered the Gettysburg Address.

I was wrong. Kate, who usually chooses to think with her mind rather than her heart, answered immediately. Forgoing a chance to ride on the back of Paul Revere's horse as he made his way from  Boston to Lexington, Kate opted instead for a seat in Mrs. Grow's fourth grade class, at a desk near mine. "I would go back to when you were my age Mom, and I would be your best friend".

From time to time my girls say things that actually make me stop, breathe and realize that at the end of the day they are becoming just the kind of people that I really hoped they would. They are becoming the kind of people I would like to have as friends.

Unfortunately I can't offer you a seat at the next desk but I can introduce you to someone who made fourth grade my favorite place to be: my partner in too much talking, too little working, and hours of laughter, testing the sanity of our poor teacher.

I'd happily give up my seat in Independence Hall to find a friend like Jim for Mary and Kate.