About Friendship (Is the Question the Answer?)

This morning in Christian Ed we discussed healthy relationships. We talked about the importance of setting boundaries, choosing wisely the people one lets into one's confidence, and protecting oneself from the people who have only their own interests at heart.

I was on a roll. My students were riveted. I thought about all of the toxic "friendships" I was steering them away from, all the meaningful relationships they were going to immediately develop in the next break between classes, and I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back (Okay, so maybe I gave myself an actual pat on the back. But very subtly and not so you'd notice).

"So what does it mean to guard your heart?" I asked.

There was a long silence. Then finally,

"My dad says you should exercise and drink a glass of red wine everyday," responded Landon.

So much for that pat on the back. Every time I get a little too satisfied with myself something steps in to keep me humble (like the time I woke up early for work, showered and quite possibly even brushed my hair, thought about posting a status update about how awesome I was, and then realized it was 6 pm, and not 6 am.)*

*If you have ever accused me of being a poser for keeping my phone on military time, I hope this story justifies it.

I tried again to explain, in simpler terms, what I meant by protecting one's self. But I felt that instead of leaving them with an idea of how to build a meaningful relationship, I was just giving them the impression that no one could be trusted and every person will eventually disappoint you. I wanted to convey somehow that the idea of guarding one's heart didn't mean to build boundaries so tight that no one could get in...

I decided to let the master take over, and gave them a favorite quote from CS Lewis:

He says it much better than I could, and if there weren't any meaningful friendships formed or toxic relationships broken in the 5 minutes before the next class, I was fairly confident there would be at least 4 before lunch.

***

The morning's class left me with a lot to consider about relationships, particularly in regard to maintaining them. Recently, I read an article that I found really helpful on this subject.  It speaks about the importance of asking meaningful questions when in conversation. How many times a day do we hear this:

"How are you?"

Do you really want to know how I am? Should I tell you about how my car was broken into and now I am poorer by 67 pennies and a Canadian nickel? Should I tell you that the pep in my step is because I just started using a new shampoo and my hair is doing that awesome thing it does when you've just started using a new shampoo? Should I explain that I am having anxiety because my dentist told me to start flossing 6 years ago and I still haven't done it? Or are you hoping I will let you off with a simple, "I'm well. How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?" Dangit. Well. You are well, Ms. English teacher. 

They respond in kind, and neither of you leaves the conversation knowing anything more about the person.

So I set myself a challenge. Ask specific questions (shout out to my fab roommate, A, for being my guinea pig). "Did you get any compliments today?" "Hear a good song on the radio?" "What is one word that defines your day?" "Would you like to go directly to bed without speaking to me because you left the house before I even woke up this morning? (that's the one I'm saving for tonight).

And, what do you know, other people are doing it too. Meaningful conversations are sprouting like the sweet potatoes I bought 3 months ago and forgot in the cabinet.

My favorite question to date comes from E., "What was your sound bite from today?"

Mine would have to be, "People stopped saying that in 2011." Who knew the expression "like a boss" was so dated? And very specifically dated, apparently. That one quote summed up very accurately a day of feeling terribly old and irrelevant. It didn't help that one of my students asked me what it was like living in the 80s.

E's response to her own question?

"Sometimes in life, you have to use your hand as a plunger."

Consider the conversation started.

Sláinte, y'all!

How does the South celebrate St. Patrick's Day? By wearing green, of course, like the rest of America.

This is a facsimile of a shirt that a 7th grader wore to school on March 17. Any resemblance to his actual shirt is definitely intended. Because seriously, this was the shirt he wore.

Camouflage and Piggly Wiggly really scream "Céad Míle Fáilte."

As a former resident of the great commonwealth of Massachusetts, I did take some delight in hearing that St. Patrick apparently came from Boston.

I was less amused, when asking what the symbol of Ireland was, to hear "cabbage" posited as a legitimate answer, but I suppose we've brought it on ourselves.

Really though, what person, when planning a feast, hits on corned beef and cabbage and decides to run with that idea? There is a reason why Irish immigrants ate it. Because they were starving and poor. And putting a lot of stuff in a pot and letting it boil was easier than learning how to cook.*

Furthermore, the inferior cut of meat they were forced to buy in their poverty didn't come from the motherland: more like Mama Goldstein's Corner Deli. So really, you might just as well eat bagels and lox for all the Irish history that surrounds corned beef and cabbage. And they would taste a lot better.

*Disclaimer: S. made the best CB&C I have ever eaten. But she uses witchcraft, I think. Just take a look at the cake she created out of crumbs and the love child of cream cheese icing and Irish potatoes.

My opinion is that we ditch the corned beef and cabbage. If you're going to celebrate, eat some fine Irish cuisine, like...

Or maybe sushi.

In my family, we always celebrated the feast with Irish potatoes. This is a foolproof (read, Irish cook-proof) candy recipe that looks remotely like a potato and is therefore in keeping with the holiday. Simply mix cream cheese, butter, powdered sugar and vanilla, roll in some cinnamon and chill for an hour. Make sure you have lots of people to share these with if you don't want to also look like a potato.

Unfortunately, my Irish blood runs so deep that apparently no recipe is proof against it. I could literally mess up a peanut butter sandwich. (I mean, literally. The last time I made one for my niece she made a brave show but failed to finish. Probably because she couldn't open her jaw after the first few bites due to my overly-liberal spreading. Apparently you can have too much of a good thing).

I put too much butter in the first time, so my potatoes were of an icing consistency. Granted, that is pretty much exactly what they are, but somehow it's easier to justify eating straight up frosting when it's rolled in cinnamon and has a clever name. Only I, in the secrecy of the kitchen, feel comfortable sailing in with a spoon.

With my candy looking more like Irish Mashed Potatoes, I decided to add coconut flakes, hoping for some volume. I said a prayer to St. Patrick and stuck them in the freezer ("them" is a very generous pronoun. This would imply that they were actually distinct balls, instead of the gooey amorphous mass spouting coconut flakes that they more closely resembled).

Two hours later, they were no closer to looking like potatoes. Spend four dollars on more cream cheese? Or sacrifice the potatoes? (hold off on the Guinness so that I could drive to the grocery store? That, of course, was the real question).

I decided in favor of salvaging, but after adding the cream cheese was still stuck with frosting that absolutely refused to be "gently rolled into balls about a quarter inch long and dusted liberally with cinnamon."

And this time, the Guinness won. Also the Bailey's and Jameson (incidentally, the man who can invent an Irish car bomb that doesn't curdle deserves a medal. And my hand in marriage). These Irish potatoes were determined to be icing and I was not going to fight it any longer.

Fortunately, S. came to the rescue with a carrot cake box mix.

Unfortunately, she entrusted it to me.

Seriously, how hard is it to mix a powder with half a cup of oil and an egg, cook it for a half hour, and take it from the pan when it's cool? Is it too much to ask that such a simple task be within my limited domestic scope?

Yes.

I'm through fighting my genes. Dinner, March 17th - pre-packaged cole slaw. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

My mother makes a mean carrot cake. It is seriously the bomb. Excuse me, the bomb.com (I need to move into the 21st century, according to my students). Once in a while I have even accidentally baked it successfully myself. Here is the recipe.

Notes from the District

"Latino brothers unite!"

This was the rallying cry of my chaperone group on our recent field trip to DC. I attempted to explain that while I appreciated the shout out to my linguistic subject matter, I didn't think it was a wise decision for a group of very white Georgia private schoolers to be shouting this out in the middle of the District. Especially as their parents were expecting a 100% retention rate.

Of course, some of my students weren't aware of where we were exactly.

"Miss McBryan, are we going to see Seattle Grace?"

I decided to overlook the fact that Grey's Anatomy was not about real people (let's face it, some of us are a little delusional when it comes to Dr. McDreamy), and focused on the more glaring geographical issues in this statement. If nothing else came out of that trip, at least two of my students are now aware that Washington State and Washington DC are distinct places.

Also that North and South Korea are distinct places (though I was surprised to hear that they are apparently divided by the Great Wall of China. Since I was under the impression that the Great Wall was in...well, China).

One evening we stopped by to see Mr. Lincoln.

"Who can tell me what the Gettysburg Address is?" I asked. Blank stares. I prompted them, "Four score and seven years ago...?" 

Recognition lit up a face. "Oh sure, I know what that is. I saw the movie."

I could only hope that the student was referring to the Daniel Day Lewis version, and not the one about the vampire hunter (surprisingly enough, there could be worse things than believing Steven Spielberg was responsible for the Gettysburg Address).

To be fair, Lincoln isn't exactly celebrated in the South (although another student mistaking the statue of Ghandi on Embassy Row for Honest Abe was hard to excuse). I looked forward to our trip to Arlington and a visit to a true Southern gentleman.

"Can you imagine? You are Robert E. Lee - you come home from 5 years of war and the Union Army has turned your lawn into a graveyard. And not just the fields, Charlie...they started by digging up Mrs. Lee's rose garden!"

He seemed interested so I waxed eloquent. I talked about the relationship of the Lees to George Washington, the ethics of Robert's decision to fight for the Confederacy. I talked to him about the shifting views of academics concerning General Lee -  one minute the Homeric tragic hero, the next a villain responsible for the blackest iniquities. He listened and I lectured, totally fired up by his attention. All was not lost! I was going to save America one 8th grade citizen at a time.

I paused for breath.

"So..." Charlie started contemplatively. I waited for the question, "Was secession constitutional? Should loyalty rest with the state or the country? Did Lee deserve to be punished?"

"So...what happened to the roses, then?"

Being about the minds of 12 year olds

I would like to lodge a formal complaint against the editor of Vocabulary Workshop, Level C. Is the word "abut" really necessary to the vocabulary of a 7th grader? And do you realize how much valuable instruction time you will take from teachers when 12 year olds are required to read this word aloud?

Now, I am not a sexist, but I'm going to go ahead and say that a man was responsible for this.

Thank you, Sadlier-Oxford, but composition class provides enough entertainment without your help.

Recently I challenged my students to come up with the longest word they could think of, and Carly produced this gem:

"Bastardization!"

Radio was onto a good thing when it came up with the 7 second delay.

Into my short, violent fit of coughing, a student asked, "What does that mean?"

"I don't know, but my mom uses it all the time."

All the time? I was too busy being impressed to be shocked. Off of the top of my head I couldn't think of any occasion where I could use the word, let alone with frequency.

Lesson learned. I provide the words from now on.

"Can anyone give me a sentence using the word 'bludgeon'?"

"Tiger Woods bludgeoned the golf ball."

I tried to explain to Jackson that "to hit with a club" did not mean what he thought it meant, and further prompted him, "Tiger Woods hits a golf ball with finesse. Bludgeon means the opposite. So you might say..."

"My dad bludgeoned the golf ball."

...Or maybe we could just move on from vocabulary.

But branching into research on the origins of American food didn't provide the intended focus.

"Did you know that someone once bought a Twinkie for $5000?"

"I wish I was that person!"

"I wish I was the person that sold it."

"I ate a Twinkie once."

"Should've saved it. Then you'd have $5000."

"Could a Twinkie really survive the nuclear apocalypse? If I covered myself in Twinkies, could I survive the nuclear apocalypse?"

Good thing these 12 year olds have an adult like me to keep them focused on the task at hand.