Book Review: The Bernenstain Bears and a Job Well Done

http://thebulgingbookbag.blogspot.com/2010/08/book-review-berenstain-bears-and-job.html

Stories from an Unconventional Childhood, Week Eleven

Over at Mommy's Piggy Tales there's a cool project going on about family history. There is a challenge to blog for 15 weeks about our growing up years, with a different time period covered each week. Spitfire talked me into joining in because she's hoping for some wild stories from my childhood.

 Image via Wikipedia

My ninth grade year was a study in contrasts. It seemed as if anything that could change, did. The year started off pretty normally. I started the ninth grade enjoying school and spending spare time at the beach. But things were far from ideal. My parents were having issues. Dad was spending more and more time away from home and with his friends. When he was home, there was obvious friction. A couple months into the school year, we all needed a fresh start.

Initially, it was proposed that he would move to Albuquerque and find work and housing, and we would follow later. However, he started packing and dividing up the household goods, even sorting out the albums and negotiating about the ones he wanted. It was all very surreal.

Image via WikipediaDad left and it was a few weeks before we heard from him. He finally called and said he had found a job and a nice apartment. We began packing and I began once again saying goodbye to my friends. Little did I know just how different this move would turn out to be. As soon as we hit Christmas break, we finished packing and left to spend Christmas with my grandparents. My mom left from there to go see my dad and check out the situation.

When she got there, she found the apartment was in the wrong part of town and the job was dead-end. She was furious. They had a huge fight and she drove across town and rented an apartment. After Christmas, we loaded everything we owned into a moving van and moved to Albuquerque. If you've never had the chance to move from below sea-level to one mile altitude, I don't recommend it. I was sure they had removed all the oxygen from the city before I got there.
 

School was an adventure too. Before I moved, I was in a school that ran from 7th through 9th grade. When I moved, 9th grade was in high school. I went from top of the heap to low man on the totem pole. I couldn't breathe, I was pond-scum in the big pond, and my mom and dad were getting a divorce.

To say I was miserable, would be putting it mildly.
 

Image by Getty Images via @daylife

Eventually, I learned the charms of the area. I could stand on my balcony and watch the hot air balloons and hang-gliders coming off the mountain. I loved to watch the clouds coming over the mountains, which meant snow. I spent a couple of weekends with my dad (after he moved to a better part of town). After a while, I began a life-long love affair with the New Mexican cuisine. I learned the proper answer to the question "Red or green?" for me, is always "Green" and the hotter the better.

Image by svenwerk via Flickr

Book Review: Mind Your Own Mortgage by Robert Benarbe

http://thebulgingbookbag.blogspot.com/2010/08/book-review-mind-your-own-mortgage-by.html

Stories from an Unconventional Childhood, Week Ten

Over at Mommy's Piggy Tales there's a cool project going on about family history. There is a challenge to blog for 15 weeks about our growing up years, with a different time period covered each week. Spitfire talked me into joining in because she's hoping for some wild stories from my childhood.


The beginning of my eighth grade year, I was feeling fine. I was living in the same house and going to the same school. School started as usual, but with a few interesting twists. My favorite teacher from the year before moved up with me and taught the subject I had struggled with the most the year before.


The other thing that happened had me dancing a happy dance. Two weeks into school, someone came to my PE class. They were looking for volunteers to help with the PE classes at the primary school. Apparently, due to budget cuts, they had lost all their teacher's aides. They decided to use students instead. When they explained the details, my hand was the first one up. During my PE class, I would get to walk down to the primary school next door and help out with the K-1 class during that period. That would count as my PE class as well. I would get to play with the little kids and get my credit. Woo Hoo! They were looking for two people and one of my friends nabbed the other spot. When I thought it couldn't get any better, I found out my mom's class was in the PE class. I was awesome!


I soon found out the one down side to the job. It was dealing with heartbreaking situations you couldn't control. One little girl in the class wasn't allowed to play with neighborhood children so she cried every day because she thought she would get in trouble for playing with her classmates. I found out that during recess each day, she went off and sat by herself so she wouldn't be in trouble. It took a few months to convince her that it was alright to join in the games and activities.


The other thing I had to deal with broke my heart and made me mad all at the same time. One little girl showed up almost every day with a new set of bruises and bandages. She always had some explanation for how they got there, but it wasn't very convincing. Then one day, I hugged her shoulders and she winced in pain. I questioned her and she finally pulled her shirt aside enough to reveal what looked like cigarette burns. I was horrified and angry. The little girl looked almost apologetic. I knelt down and told her this was not her fault. She told me that sometimes she couldn't help being bad. I wanted to hit someone and it wasn't her.


I reported this to the PE teacher who nodded her head sadly. She said that she and a couple of the other teachers had reported it several times to no avail. When I told her the little girl thought it was her fault her parents hurt her, I saw her eyes flash and her jaw clench. She asked if I could watch the class for a bit while she made a phone call.


The next day, she wasn't in school, and I have to tell you that I feared the worst. Another day went by and she still didn't show up. I fretted about her all weekend. But on Monday, she came in all smiles and clean and dressed up cute. She told me that some people came and got her and sent her to live with her grandmother who was very nice. I was so happy I thought I would burst. She was safe, the other little girl was coming out of her shell and my mom's students came in every class and gave me big hugs and told me what they were learning.


Imagine my distress when I learned we were moving over Christmas vacation. My mom would still be teaching there, but we would be living in a different district so I would have to change schools. Again. Sigh.

Stories from an Unconventional Childhood, Week Nine

Over at Mommy's Piggy Tales there's a cool project going on about family history. There is a challenge to blog for 15 weeks about our growing up years, with a different time period covered each week. Spitfire talked me into joining in because she's hoping for some wild stories from my childhood.

When I was in the seventh grade, my mom got her first full-time teaching job. It was in the same school system as I attended, in the building right next door. She was teaching in the primary school and had the class of first-graders that were labeled "educable retarded". I just thought they were adorable. Whenever I had opportunity, I would visit her classroom and the kids would always tell me all about whatever they were learning. And they were learning. I loved being around them because everything was a delight and a wonder. If they could figure out how to sound out a letter it was cause for celebration and another's success would cause everyone in the class to break into clapping and cheering.

Meanwhile, I was trying to make my way through my first year of junior high. Most of my classes were just alright, but three really stood out, the first two because they were so good and the last because it was so awful.

The first two classes were taught by two of my favorite teachers. One was my life science teacher. She was an amazing person who was full-blood Cherokee Indian. She pushed me in a good way and never let me get lackadaisical, as good students sometimes do. The other teacher taught Texas history and was the science teacher's best friend. When they figured out that they both had me, and I was teacher's pet in both classrooms, they really started having fun. One would send me with messages or jokes or Dr. Pepper's to the other's classroom. I dearly loved both teachers and classes.

The last one was my PE class. I never was a big fan of PE anyway, but that was the year they instituted co-ed PE classes in my school. Suddenly, we were expected to play baseball with the boys and flag-football with the boys and so on. Worst of all, I was in the class taught by the male coach, who thought it was funny when the boys interpreted his flag-football rule of "two hands below the waist to tackle" as "it's okay to pop a girl on the butt to tackle her". Needless to say, if I could find a reason to be gone from PE, I took it.

The highlight of my seventh grade year would have to be the end-of-the-year trip that was the reward for the "A" students in the Texas history class. We went on an all-day trip, first to the Gladys Porter Zoo in Brownsville, and then across the border to Mexico to spend the day. The zoo was amazing and enjoyable except for the mandrill who was overly excited about my strawberry blond hair and went berserk every time he saw me.

That hair was a real problem for me on that particular trip, but everything worked out. At the time, there was a gang in Mexico, that was kidnapping red-headed Americans. Alerts had been sent out throughout the region, so my teacher assigned two large Hispanic boys to be my bodyguards for the entire time we were in Mexico. Fortunately, they took to their role as protectors and treated me like a beloved little sister. I was a little nervous, but managed to have a lot of fun, knowing I was safe and well-looked-after. I came home with lots of pictures, a belly full of good food, some wonderful memories and a lovely pair of maracas.