If there's one thing my children have gleaned from their English/Language Arts & Reading (ELAR) classes over the years, is how to suck the joy out of reading.
As parents, we've tried very hard to cultivate a love of reading and language in our children. From their earliest days we've read to them, with them and encouraged them to find books they love and read to their hearts’ content. We've also encouraged them to develop a healthy sense of humor and perspective. It’s fun to watch them as they grow and mature in both their understanding and knowledge and their wit.
During one of Ethan’s middle school ELAR classes, the teacher told the kids to pick some books that were a little above their reading level (lexile score) in order to stretch them. They know their lexile score from the state testing they're required to take. I don't put much stock in the lexile scores--they aren’t that useful to me when lexile-appropriate book searches for your 8th grader come back with titles like Solar Energy, Technology Policy and Institutional Values, because, for better or worse, they don't typically stock college textbooks in middle school class rooms or libraries—so the teacher took a look at his score and just told him to read whatever he enjoys--which is really my approach.
Last year, freshman English was a great success for the teacher, if not for Ethan. He came out of that class with a newfound joyless view of literature generally and an understanding that reading can be used as an instrument of torture. Case in point, despite my love for Shakespeare, the teacher managed to instill in Ethan, an utter hatred for the playwright. Rather than helping him to enjoy the richness and beauty of the language, the course sucked him dry of any future desire not just to read, but to watch anything remotely related to the Bard. In fact, I would not be surprised, knowing that threads of Shakespeare run throughout much of even modern literature and entertainment, if Ethan, noticing any such thread, promptly shuts down and refuses to ever be subjected to even a suggestion of Shakespeare ever, ever again.
Fortunately, Ethan hasn't refused to read for pleasure entirely (yet), and is striving to recover from Freshman English. We have had hopes that Sophomore English will be a better experience for him, despite his repeated claims that high school English has nothing to offer, and is looking for a way to test out and skip it altogether. Nonetheless, we have reason to hope that this year will be better--if not in content, at least in perspective. Ethan's taken a bit snarkier approach. Today he told me that the teacher asked the students to set a personal goal for English. Since, "to avoid taking another joy-sucking high school English class" probably wouldn't have gone over well with the teacher, the goal he wrote down, he told me with a smirk was: "to achieve an 1800 lexile score." Which I found to be hilarious as we plugged 1800 into the lexile score book search for Science and Technology, and came back with International Handbook on Chemical Weapons Proliferation. I'll put in a request at the library so I can get in the hold queue for that one.
Perhaps I should have clued into my future back when he was a preschooler.
Tuesday, September 4, 2018
Saturday, September 1, 2018
How I Met Your Father
I don't remember the first time I met my future husband. In fact, I was a little creeped out when he pulled out a framed picture of me and him together from the first time we'd met. A picture I didn't remember posing for. It was on our second date (during which he pulled out the picture--not that I met him on our second date. Because really, is it even possible to meet someone for the first time on a second date? Perhaps if you have short term memory loss, because then every date is like a first date. I might be good at that, having short term memory loss, not going on lots of first dates, because I have an extreme fear of commitment--but that's for another post, I digress). When you go out with a guy, and he seems nice, and then you go out with him again, and he pulls out a framed picture of you and him, taken two years ago that you don't remember being in, he kinda seems creepy at that point. And that's my point--it was a little creepy, but not enough to preclude a third date.
Let's back this train up into the station. I had graduated from college at BYU (more stories on that later), had returned to Seattle to where my parents had moved whilst I was at BYU (seriously, couldn't they have done that sooner? I could have begun this sentence with "I had graduated from the University of Washington, which is so much cooler than BYU", or at least that's how I felt at the time), had decided to serve a mission for the Mormon church, of which I was/am part (sorta why I went to BYU I suppose--not many people who aren't Mormon do go to BYU, but some do, sometime I'll tell you about my Catholic friend who proclaimed me the patron saint of backing 16 passenger vans down narrow tunnels at BYU), had returned from my mission and was living back at my parents home, figuring out life.
It was during this period that said creepy photo was taken. I had chosen not to attend Sunday church meetings with other single people, and chose instead to attend the family congregation with my parents (this was due to some scarring experiences I'd had in singles congregations--also a story for another post), but my little brother was in town one summer from BYU, and he was totally in to the singles congregation, and was always like "Come on! just come to this activity with me! It'll be fun!" And I'd be like "you mean fun, like creepy 35 year old virgins hitting on 18 year old girls fun? or Marriage proposal on the second date sort of fun?" and he'd be like "You're such a downer, those 18 year old girls are smokin' hot!" and I'd be like, "but the 35 year old creepoids who imprint on me, the fat girl they assume is desperate enough not to notice their creepiness, but have decided that I am their mate for life upon first sight, are decidedly NOT smokin' hot, and whereas the 18 year old girls have all decided that you're fun, and not creepy, I on the other hand have no chance with you because you're surrounded by 18 year old girls imprinting on you, but mostly because you're my brother and that's gross." I think his experiences and my experiences with singles congregations were slightly different, and certainly less emotionally scarring for him.
But, I acquiesced and we went to this event--a BBQ at a state park if I recall. And sometime during that event, my brother, ended up in a photo with me, my future husband, and the girl that was in love with my future husband. I think she'd carefully arranged it so she could casually have a photo with Matt, because she was leaving soon on a mission, and wanted something to remind her of him. I was totally oblivious to all of this, was merely a pawn in her scheme --and apparently had no recollection of it at all. Good times.
So then, this girl, whom we will call Kit, to protect her anonymity, frames said photo, and mails Matt a copy of it from her mission a year or so later, probably so he'd have a photo of him and her together with which to anticipate her return, which arrived sometime between my first and second dates with Matt. If she'd realized she was sending him a framed picture of herself with him and his future wife with his future brother-in-law as a memento to remind him of her, she might not have reconsidered. Unless perhaps she thought that by doing so, he just might creep me out enough to scare me off. But I don't think so--Kit's a really nice girl. Regardless of motive, the deed was done, and there I was, sitting in Matt's car, staring incredulously at this framed photo of me and him and my brother and Kit. Of which I had no recollection of taking.
It gets worse. You see, when I told Matt I had no recollection of that event, he prodded me: "You mean you don't remember that day? or later that night when you came back to my house with a bunch of other singles and everybody swam in the pool?" And then it hit me--"Wait! I remember that night! That was your house?! I didn't swim much, I spent the whole evening sitting in the hot tub talking to Kit about her impending mission, since I'd just returned from mine. And no, no I don't have any recollection of you--sorry. But I do remember your house now--I wasn't sure whose house we were at, I just sorta followed my brother."
I think I hurt his feelings. Which may have been the first time, but certainly wouldn't be the last. In fact, if there's one thing that defines our marriage, it's chronic pain. But the second thing that defines our marriage is me chronically hurting Matt's feelings. I'm particularly insensitive, and don't have much of a filter, so yeah, that happens. A lot.
Let's back this train up into the station. I had graduated from college at BYU (more stories on that later), had returned to Seattle to where my parents had moved whilst I was at BYU (seriously, couldn't they have done that sooner? I could have begun this sentence with "I had graduated from the University of Washington, which is so much cooler than BYU", or at least that's how I felt at the time), had decided to serve a mission for the Mormon church, of which I was/am part (sorta why I went to BYU I suppose--not many people who aren't Mormon do go to BYU, but some do, sometime I'll tell you about my Catholic friend who proclaimed me the patron saint of backing 16 passenger vans down narrow tunnels at BYU), had returned from my mission and was living back at my parents home, figuring out life.
It was during this period that said creepy photo was taken. I had chosen not to attend Sunday church meetings with other single people, and chose instead to attend the family congregation with my parents (this was due to some scarring experiences I'd had in singles congregations--also a story for another post), but my little brother was in town one summer from BYU, and he was totally in to the singles congregation, and was always like "Come on! just come to this activity with me! It'll be fun!" And I'd be like "you mean fun, like creepy 35 year old virgins hitting on 18 year old girls fun? or Marriage proposal on the second date sort of fun?" and he'd be like "You're such a downer, those 18 year old girls are smokin' hot!" and I'd be like, "but the 35 year old creepoids who imprint on me, the fat girl they assume is desperate enough not to notice their creepiness, but have decided that I am their mate for life upon first sight, are decidedly NOT smokin' hot, and whereas the 18 year old girls have all decided that you're fun, and not creepy, I on the other hand have no chance with you because you're surrounded by 18 year old girls imprinting on you, but mostly because you're my brother and that's gross." I think his experiences and my experiences with singles congregations were slightly different, and certainly less emotionally scarring for him.
But, I acquiesced and we went to this event--a BBQ at a state park if I recall. And sometime during that event, my brother, ended up in a photo with me, my future husband, and the girl that was in love with my future husband. I think she'd carefully arranged it so she could casually have a photo with Matt, because she was leaving soon on a mission, and wanted something to remind her of him. I was totally oblivious to all of this, was merely a pawn in her scheme --and apparently had no recollection of it at all. Good times.
So then, this girl, whom we will call Kit, to protect her anonymity, frames said photo, and mails Matt a copy of it from her mission a year or so later, probably so he'd have a photo of him and her together with which to anticipate her return, which arrived sometime between my first and second dates with Matt. If she'd realized she was sending him a framed picture of herself with him and his future wife with his future brother-in-law as a memento to remind him of her, she might not have reconsidered. Unless perhaps she thought that by doing so, he just might creep me out enough to scare me off. But I don't think so--Kit's a really nice girl. Regardless of motive, the deed was done, and there I was, sitting in Matt's car, staring incredulously at this framed photo of me and him and my brother and Kit. Of which I had no recollection of taking.
It gets worse. You see, when I told Matt I had no recollection of that event, he prodded me: "You mean you don't remember that day? or later that night when you came back to my house with a bunch of other singles and everybody swam in the pool?" And then it hit me--"Wait! I remember that night! That was your house?! I didn't swim much, I spent the whole evening sitting in the hot tub talking to Kit about her impending mission, since I'd just returned from mine. And no, no I don't have any recollection of you--sorry. But I do remember your house now--I wasn't sure whose house we were at, I just sorta followed my brother."
I think I hurt his feelings. Which may have been the first time, but certainly wouldn't be the last. In fact, if there's one thing that defines our marriage, it's chronic pain. But the second thing that defines our marriage is me chronically hurting Matt's feelings. I'm particularly insensitive, and don't have much of a filter, so yeah, that happens. A lot.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)