Tales from a Teacher-Mama

When I’m lying in bed at night, waiting to fall asleep, I have tons of ideas to blog about. And now, in the light of midday, I can’t think of what they are. Maybe I should put a notebook and pen on my nightstand…but then I would probably be up jotting notes when I should be sleeping.

So until the ideas float back to me, I’m rambling. Babbling. Writing drivel. Why? Well, for one thing, if I don’t post regularly I’ll lose my account here. (I’ve already had to request to have it reinstated twice.) For another, it’s sort of a step in my therapy. Last week I talked with my counselor about wanting to be able to start something…AND finish it. Although we focused specifically on writing papers for the classes I’m taking, I’m generalizing her recommendations. She suggested that when I think about something I need to do–like write a paper–and I feel the anxiety causing me to shy away from the task, I should face it right then. Put in ten minutes on the paper, read through source material, work on the outline–something small, for a short time. Break it down into small, do-able pieces. Then go on with other things. Now, instead of having that paper (or whatever) hanging over my head as something I need to do, I’m in the process of doing it.

Of course, I knew this. I’m a teacher–I’ve given this advice to students. But it helps to have an outside, objective person help clear the fog of being overwhelmed and get back on track.

And now I have a new blog entry to post. It’s nothing earth-shattering (the counselor and I have also discussed my need for “perfection,” and the fact that it does not exist), but it’s done. I can check that off my to-do list and go on with my day…

Sarah has some anger issues.

Recently, she got upset because one of the neighbor kids was trying to follow her into the house when she didn’t want him to. I told Sarah that the boy could come in for a minute, and that caused her to redirect her fury at me. She came straight at me across the room, eyes wide with rage, teeth clenched and bared, and her little fist cocked back. When she reached me, she actually punched me right in the mouth.

With my lips smarting, I stood and tossed the book I’d been reading on the floor. I pointed toward the stairs and told her to get to her room and stay there. She went, screaming all the way. Once upstairs she slammed her door a few times, calling down, “Hear this, Mommy?” as if I might have missed it.  She followed that act by throwing a couple of toys down the stairwell–generally in my direction–and shrieked, “That’s what you get for giving birth to me!”

I couldn’t help it–I laughed. She doesn’t have any idea how true that statement is.

April is National Poetry Month! Poetry is one of my passions in life, so I love having a whole month to celebrate it.

A few years ago, I went to a week-long workshop for English teachers where we learned about teaching writing by actually writing. One activity we did was based on a poem by George Ella Lyon titled “Where I’m From.” Our task was to write a similar poem telling where we each came from. Here is mine:

Where I’m From

When I left work on Friday, my birthday festivities were not over; I still had family fun waiting for me. Later in the evening, I took the girls to the bowling alley where Jeff bought me a drink while he finished his last game. We went home to presents before bed. Jeff got me new sheets and comforter for our bed, which I’ve been wanting for a while. Laura picked out a nice dress for me. And Sarah gave me two bags of Reese’s peanut butter cup miniatures (which she opened the next morning and ate before I was even out of bed).

I made a Nameless Cake (a family recipe that is sort of a spice cake frosted with a sort of mocha-y frosting) and chicken cacciatore. When Jeff got off work, my sister- and brother-in-law were already here for dinner. Despite Sarah being pouty through dinner, we had a nice meal and enjoyed the cake afterward. Tina and Rob gave me a cool picture frame that I’m already planning to fill and hang up. When they headed home, the girls and I played a little Rock Band–Sarah singing, Laura on guitar and me on drums–our own virtual Go-Go’s. I had fun stretching my birthday out over two days, thanks to my wonderful friends and family.

On Friday (March 27) I turned 35. As London Tipton would say, “Yay me!” (The girls have definitely been watching too much “Suite Life of Zack and Cody” lately…)

Since it was a Friday, of course I had to work. This really wasn’t so bad as co-workers showered me with birthday good wishes. However, the disruption of routine was not so great for my students. Micah* had a crying/shouting/flailing meltdown and went to the in-school suspension room to calm down while the rest of the class went to bake cupcakes. By the time we finished that activity, another Finn* was on the verge of a trip to ISS himself–also screaming and crying. An aide took him for a walk after lunch while the rest of us frosted cupcakes; the walk ended in another tantrum with Finn pounding his fist against a window. Meanwhile, before we could get the party started, Micah accidentally-on-purpose knocked Carly* over, then proceeded to throw a real fit about being put in time-out. I ended up pushing my crisis call button to have him escorted back to the ISS room so I could blow out my candle and pass out the cupcakes.

This is not to say that it was a bad day. It was crazy…but I’ve come to know that that comes with the territory! But between tantrums, I got a special balloon arrangement from a co-worker friend that definitely brightened my day. I was wished happy birthday by students and staff up and down the halls. The kindergarten and first grade classes made me cute construction paper birthday cards. One of the middle school classes videotaped a short skit in honor of my birthday for the school-wide morning announcements. My brand-new student teacher had a gift for me–a beautiful necklace and earrings made by one of the aides in my classroom. After cupcakes with my class, I was treated to another chorus (of sorts) of “Happy Birthday” by the middle school class that had made the video announcement. When students were finally ushered onto buses at the end of the day, my great friends in the elementary and middle school departments had cake and ice cream waiting for me, along with cards and gifts. Overall, I could not have felt more special and loved.

*of course, student names have been changed

So I’m taking classes that will allow me to add an endorsement to my teaching license in blindness/visual impairment. I was fortunate enough to get into a program funded by a grant so all of my 24 credit hours are paid for–without a penny out of my pocket. I don’t feel passionately about working with students who are blind or visually impaired the way I do about teaching deaf kids, but that’s okay. I do feel pretty passionately about deaf kids with additional disabilities, and that includes vision issues, so I am excited about taking these classes and learning new things.

Most of our classes are held by telephone conference twice each week, but today we had our first in-person meeting at the university. My professor himself is blind, so in addition to his extensive credentials, he has an authentic perspective on the subject matter he’s teaching us. It was cool to meet him and my classmates so now I have faces to connect to the voices on the phone.

But the day was not exactly smooth and easy! First of all, I overslept a bit: I woke up at 6:55 and was supposed to be meeting two friends at 7:15 to make the 2-1/2 hour drive to the university together. Oops! So I hurried to get ready, and we were able to hit the highway about 7:45. Not bad in Boone Standard Time! We actually arrived before 10:00 when class was to start and found the building where our class was to be held. But…the doors were locked. We searched for an open door and found our other classmates, minus one, who were also locked out of the building. The one person who had managed to get into the building finally came to let the rest of us in, and we made our way to the classroom around 10:15 at least…but there was no professor. A few minutes later, Dr. M’s grad assistant led him in. Surprisingly, he did not apologize for his own tardiness (we later found out that he had been locked out of the building too) but quickly ran through introductions and dived into our first lessons in Braille writing.

After Dr. M’s explanation and demonstration of loading paper into the Perkins Brailler, we each got a turn. The Brailler is basically a Braille typewriter, a machine with just nine keys: six keys that punch the dots, a space bar, a back space key, and a line-space up key. This is deceptively simple. After learning to load the paper in the Brailler, we delved into learning about the configurations of six dots that form the 26 letters of the alphabet, ordinal numbers (0-9), capitalization, and punctuation. The six-dot configurations are formed within what’s called a cell. And that’s juuuuust the beginning.

 There are TONS of rules to Braille. And they change. For example, the dot configurations that represent the letters A-J also represent the numerals 0-9 IF preceded by the number sign–another dot configuration. The rules for use of the number sign depend on whether the numbers are in a set, are separated by a space, continue onto a new line following a comma or a hyphen… Well, I’m not looking at my notes, so I can’t quite remember all the if-thens. I won’t even get into the rules for punctuation. Whew.

But letters and numbers and the rules governing them are nothing compared to contractions. Grade 1 Braille is reading/writing letter-for-letter; the next step is Grade 2, which uses a system of abbreviations called contractions. Since Braille in general is very bulky, the contractions help conserve space in Braille writing. But they also make learning Braille much more complicated! Each letter of the alphabet, standing alone, represents a whole word. For example, “b” means “but” and “h” means “have.” A, I, and O are exceptions since “a” and “I” are already words on their own, and “o” is essentially the same as “oh.” That means 23 letter-word representations to memorize.

There are also whole-word and partial-word contractions. For instance, the words and, the, for, with, and of each have a single symbol to represent them. According to another set of rules, these whole-word contractions can be used alone and within longer words, so that the name “Andy” can be formed in just two cells using the dot configuration for “and” plus ”y”. There are also contractions for letter combinations such as “ch” or “st”–and I think these are partial-word contractions (not looking at my notes…I’ve got some studying to do!).

By 3:30, our heads were swimming with those six little dots. We left with 10 sheets of paper for our Braillers so that we can get busy with our homework exercises. In just over four hours, I learned more today than I have in the past three months, I think! But this is just the tip of the iceberg–only our first class of Braille I. We have the whole rest of this course to cover, and then there will be Braille II. I’m taking a deep breath and focusing on how cool it will be when I can add reading and writing Braille to my resume.

Recently the Washington Post ran a review of Hands of My Father by Myron Uhlberg. Unlike other reviewers of this book, Carolyn See did not have much positive to say. If Ms. See had simply criticized the book–the writing–I could have tolerated her review. But I felt that she attacked Myron and his story, and that’s just not cool.

So I wrote a letter to the editor of the Washington Post. Well, first I wrote a really loooong response…then I found out that letters to the editor needed to be 200 words or less. Who can say anything with such few words?! But I pared down my response, and today my letter appears in the Post: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/03/06/AR2009030603202.html

And if you’re interested, here’s my initial response in its entirety:

When I first read Ms. See’s review of Hands of My Father by Myron Uhlberg, I thought, “Well, she didn’t like it. Everyone is entitled to his or her opinion.” But after a moment, the disgust set in. There are several reasons I take issue with Ms. See’s review. Where to begin?

I am deeply saddened that Ms. See appears to have missed the global message of Myron’s memoir: LOVE. I saw love written on every page. Love of language—of expression through sign language, speech, and print. Love of stories. Love of learning. Love of Brooklyn. Love of the deaf community. And above all, Myron’s love for his parents and brother and theirs for him.

Recently a young man who I once taught in middle school was arrested for murder. He was indicted on eight counts of aggravated murder, four counts of kidnapping, two counts each of aggravated burglary and aggravated robbery, and single counts of gross sexual imposition of a child under 13, receiving stolen property, grand theft of a motor vehicle and being a felon in possession of a weapon. The prosecutor is seeking the death penalty.

Even though I only had the young man in my class for a short time, hearing of his crimes has weighed on me. I don’t recall feeling frightened of him; in fact, when I picture him in my mind, I see him with a sweet but goofy grin on his face. One of my teacher friends referred to him as “charming,” and I’d have to agree that he could be. He was mischievous, but that grin of his could make you forget midsentence what misdeed you were correcting him for.

At the time he was in my class, he was transitioning from a mental health facility into our school. I’ve since forgotten what little I knew of his background, other than that he was in foster care and had serious academic delays. Later, when he was in high school, I witnessed the severity of his rage as he had to be restrained by our crisis team for an outburst of temper. Still, I had no idea how damaged this young man was.

Various newspaper articles have filled in some blanks for me: his mother died of a drug-related heart attack when he was a toddler; in all likelihood, she had used drugs while pregnant with her son. He lived with his abusive father in homeless shelters until going into foster care. He was diagnosed with a hearing loss as well as ADHD at age 6 or 7. Also at age 7, he began smoking marijuana; a year later, he began drinking alcohol. By the time he was 10, he had been identified as mildy mentally retarded. At age 11 he first attempted suicide. As a juvenile, he had various run-ins with the law. He stole–property, cars. After he stole a pizza-delivery driver’s car, his last foster family kicked him out at age 16. He set fire to a neighbor’s house after burglarizing it. He was in and out of youth correction facilities throughout his teenage years and into his early twenties. It appears that none of the interventions tried with him worked. He was a broken boy.

Still, I was shocked to see him arrested for the murder of a young mother and the kidnapping of her 4-year-old son. Shocked…but not altogether surprised. It’s hard to believe that the young man on the news for such heinous crimes is one I once taught in my classroom.

My head buzzes with unanswerable questions. Was there something more I could have done when he was in my class? Should I have made more of an effort to reach out to him? As a school did we do all we could for him? While no one can say for certain, I feel that there was probably no more I could have done. I’m also fairly confident that our school did its best for this troubled young man. But there are tougher questions: What happened? What was he thinking? I wonder if there might have been anything done to prevent this incident. Earlier intervention? Perhaps he has been misdiagnosed or has a condition as yet undiagnosed.

“What ifs” aside, this horrendous situation has driven home one point in particular for me: criminals are human. What this young man–and many others like him–did is monstrous, but he himself is not a monster. His disturbing past left its mark,  unfortunately not only on him but also on his victims. By no means do I feel that his disabilities or personal problems should excuse him from consequences for his actions; I absolutely believe that the family he victimized deserves justice. But justice is not vengeance. In this case, appropriate consequences may include mental health treatment in addition to incarceration. I do not envy the jurors who will have to hear this case and render a verdict. Sadly, I wonder if this young man, being hot-tempered and having been accused of child molestation, will even survive to trial. All I can offer are my prayers: that this young man will understand what he’s done and truly repent,  that the family of his victims will find healing and peace, and that somehow we will find ways to break the cycle of abused and broken children growing into abusive and destructive adults.

Part Two: Myron’s visit to the Ohio School for the Deaf    

The spring of 2006 finally brought Myron back to Ohio.  On the afternoon of May 16, I picked Myron up at the airport and brought him to his hotel. The next two days would be busy ones.

Day One of Myron’s visit was filled with presentations to OSD’s students. There were three groups: elementary, middle school, and high school. Myron entertained all of the students equally with magic tricks, slides of old photos, and stories of his childhood with his deaf parents. The students also laughed when Myron showed them his name sign and explained its origin: his initials “MU” sounding like “moo” inspired his mother to give him the sign for “cow.” Throughout the rest of his visit, students who passed Myron greeted him with his name sign, the sign for “cow,” with some of them uttering, “Mooooo.” Although Myron took advantage of the sign language interpreter for most of his presentation, he did open by signing for himself. Students as well as deaf staff really seemed to appreciate and enjoy the level of direct communication with an author who could sign–not to mention Myron’s open, friendly manner.

Possibly the most engaging part of Myron’s presentation was his demonstration of making a newspaper printer’s hat. He built suspense as he stopped at various points to show his progress. As he worked, he recounted how he, as a boy, had watched and waited eagerly for his father’s hands to fold the newspaper this way and that until they finally placed on Myron’s head a perfectly-creased printer’s hat.

Myron later commented that seeing the students interacting with each other gave him insight into what it might have been like for his parents attending deaf residential schools decades ago.
Myron spent the morning of Day Two visiting classes in the Alice Cogswell Center, OSD’s preschool. With the older students in ACC, Myron read his book “The Printer” to the class. The children were fascinated, and having the author himself read the story in their native American Sign Language was surely a treat. Afterwards, Myron made newspaper hats for each of the children. With the younger students, Myron performed his magic tricks, which the children loved! Myron was enchanted by the tiny, signing hands.

Myron spent the rest of Day Two with my co-teacher Mary Ellen Cox, student teacher Shana Baker, and our middle school language arts classes. The morning group of sixth and seventh graders learned to fold printer’s hats of their own. They loved their special time to interact with the Printer’s Son, as did their teachers!

  The afternoon class of seventh and eighth graders also enjoyed learning to make printer’s hats. They were treated to a reading of “The Printer” in sign language by Myron as well. The memories of their visit with the Printer’s Son surely will last a lifetime.

After making hats and finishing the story, two students took Myron aside for a videotaped interview. They asked about Myron’s childhood in Brooklyn and his second career as a writer. One student in particular found inspiration in meeting and interviewing Myron, who has become a mentor to the young, aspiring author.

Although the elementary students did not get class visits with Myron, they did enjoy making their own printer’s hats. Having met Myron in person made the story of “The Printer” come alive for them.

  At the end of Day Two, Myron spent time chatting with students and staff in OSD’s library. He also autographed copies of his books for many people. Myron’s stories based on his experiences growing up with deaf parents touch OSD’s deaf students and staff in a way not many books can. Having the author himself visit and share the story behind the stories enriches the reading and re-reading of Myron’s books.

One ACC student  watched as Myron made him his very own newspaper printer’s hat after autographing his copy of The Printer.  The young man’s deaf parents would read to him again and again while he would look at the pages of the story and sign, “Fire! Fire!” Middle school students also brought books for Myron to sign. They will treasure their copies of stories by their friend “Moo.”

Myron met many staff members during his book signing in the library. Some were deaf themselves; others were CODAs (Children of Deaf Adults) like Myron. They shared their personal stories, which were similar and different at the same time.

Myron also met OSD’s printer, printing teacher Ray. Ray took Myron on a brief tour of OSD’s print shop, showing him both the modern and the antiquated machinery there. The two regaled the “old days” of black ink and linotype machines. Ray presented Myron with a gift of a composing stick with metal type pieces spelling out “Myron Uhlberg.”

Myron spent a few spare moments perusing the historical items on display in OSD’s administration building lobby. He particularly loved the plaster sculpture of the manual alphabet. There were also antique TTYs, outdated hearing aids, black-and-white photos of former students, and long-retired sports uniforms. The nostalgic displays again stirred Myron’s memories of his beloved parents.

During his stay, Myron also had a chance to become a part of OSD’s documented history: the school’s annual “family” photo was taken on the afternoon of May 17. The framed photos from each year hang on the walls of the school cafeteria. It seems official that Myron is a part of the OSD family now!

On Myron’s last evening in Columbus, Ohio, Mary Ellen and Ron Cox hosted a small dinner party to honor the visiting author. Several staff members from OSD–hearing and deaf–came to the Cox home, some with their spouses and children. Mary Ellen had promised and delivered the best Italian meatballs Myron had ever tasted. Amidst the plentiful food and drink, stories abounded. Myron chatted with individuals, alternating listening intently with talking or signing enthusiastically. Soon folks gathered around the table with Myron appropriately serving as the center of attention. Laughter erupted as he told the story of a parent-teacher conference at which he, as a young and mischievous boy, interpreted–or rather, “misinterpreted” until his father ordered him to “tell it straight.” Tears welled up for many as Myron recounted the disrespect and discrimination his deaf parents faced in the community, such as sales clerks who  ignorantly referred to his father as “the dummy.”

That evening and throughout his entire visit, Myron touched the hearts of all he met. He connected with the youngest to the oldest by the power of stories, whether shared in English or American Sign Language. His time at the Ohio School to the Deaf was precious and long to be remembered fondly.

I first met Myron Uhlberg in March 2005 at the Ohio Council of Teachers of English Language Arts (OCTELA) spring conference.

The conference theme that year related to disabilities. I saw in the program line-up an author named Myron Uhlberg. Never heard of him. But from the blurb about him, I learned that he was the child of deaf parents, and his children’s book The Printer was based on his own deaf father who was a printer. I decided I wanted to hear this guy speak, and it would be worth half off the conference fee to present a workshop session. So I submitted a proposal for a workshop on something I knew fairly well, deafness and literature (fiction and non-fiction about or related to deafness) and sign language. I got my discounted fee plus two days off school, so I was looking forward to this conference. I thought this Myron guy might be interesting too.

After I checked into the conference on the first morning, I wandered past the booths of vendors, primarily booksellers. I stopped at the Peachtree Publishing table where they displayed Uhlberg’s books, including a new one I had not seen yet. I told the woman working the booth that I had loved The Printer, as had my deaf students and colleagues, and how exciting it was to see Dad, Jackie, and Me was also centered around a deaf father and hearing son. The woman seemed to remember something and asked if I was Nancy Boone. Of course I was surprised but answered yes. Then she really floored me: she said Myron was looking for me! He had seen my workshop session in the program booklet and was keen to meet someone who knew sign and worked with the deaf. I was flattered and told her I would keep an eye out for him to introduce myself, then headed off to a session.

Later in the morning, I saw a thin man with graying hair holding a newspaper and a small briefcase walking toward me down the corridor. I was pretty sure it was Myron, since I’d seen his picture in the conference program, so I waved a greeting and approached. For a moment he looked at me blankly, then quickly glanced down at my name tag. As soon as he saw my name he exclaimed, “Oh, Nancy!” then switched to sign language to say, “Nice to meet you!” And instead of a formal handshake for our first meeting, he wrapped me in a warm hug. That was it; we were friends.

In long and short moments stolen between sessions, Myron and I shared our respective stories and experiences in the deaf/Deaf world. I was fascinated to learn about his deaf parents’ lives in New York–how both his mother and father went to residential schools for the deaf where sign language was strictly banned, so students taught one another and conversed in sign in secret. He spoke with such love for his parents, and with special admiration for his father the printer. He autographed my books and made me a four-cornered newspaper printer’s hat.

Myron gave his keynote speech on Saturday morning at an 8 a.m. session. I was disappointed at the turnout due to the early hour, as I felt a bit like the conference attendees had snubbed my friend. However, Myron’s speech washed away those feelings of disappointment. I was entranced by his stories…stories about growing up with his deaf parents, stories about how he came to write his books. I found myself laughing at many scenarios he described, then quickly welling up with tears at others. My heart absolutely broke as he told of being a young boy, called upon to interpret for his deaf father in the hearing world again and again, and having insensitive and ignorant hearing people begin their message with, “Tell the dummy…” It was evident in Myron’s tone of voice and body language that, even now in his 70s, Myron still felt the pain of those words aimed like poison darts at the father he adored. But, masterful storyteller that he is, Myron would not leave us on a sad note. He finished his presentation by calling up a helper (one of the conference planners) to read aloud his book The Printer so that he could translate it into sign. Again, my eyes welled with tears (as they always do) near the end of the story, but now they were tears of pride as the deaf character’s co-workers surrounded him to sign “thank you” for saving them from a fire in the newspaper printing room.

I knew Myron had to visit my school. We exchanged contact information, and I expressed my hope that we could arrange his visit for the coming fall. We corresponded through e-mail, sparsely at first. Finally I had arrangements in place on my end and began to work out the details with Myron. By the time the new year had come and gone, Myron had thought plans might have fallen through but was glad they were in fact going forward. We set up a two-day visit in May of 2006…and that will be Part Two of my story.