Elevated Lit on My Lunch Break
I've taken to reading clippings from the New York Review of Books during my lunch break and during my daily bus commute. The former scholar in me stirs to life as I read reviews and responses to new books, films, and the occasional TV show. My heart positively swells whenever I read a review of a familiar history and I find passages or statements upon which I, too, can comment with confidence.
There are many, many ways to my heart, and one of those ways is through my undiminished love for my country and its forefathers. True story: in grad school a friend kept a board of quotes made by fellow students. My favorite quote, besides the classic “You can read Foucault in hell,” which perfectly sums up my thoughts on that subject, was from a fellow student of American history. I forget the context, but the quote read something like, “(My) greatest obstacle: I just can't stop loving America.” So true. Despite her failings, shortcomings, and disappointments, I just can't stop loving her too.
Another way is to present a sentence that rings with clarity, passion, truth, or beauty. Today's clipping, a review of Steven Spielberg’s Lincoln from January, managed to weave together both. After praising playwright Tony Kushner's script, Daniel Day-Lewis' delivery, and (most of) Spielberg’s decisions, the review considered the film’s anachronisms and all-out departures from historical accuracy. In the end, the reviewer seemed to decide that while peppered with inaccuracies, the film and its message are “honorable” (a beautiful verdict if I ever read one). The reviewer then closes with this perfect observation of both film and history:
“Democracy, as Lincoln points out with sufficient plainness, discovers its justification not in emergency actions but in the ordinary and difficult work of passing laws, and the daily dedication of people who agree to live by laws.”*
This, paired with the fact that my children ate their lunch with relative speed and silence and minimal complaints, made for an almost perfect lunch break.
*David Bromwich, "How Close to Lincoln? Lincoln a film directed by Steven Spielberg," New York Review of Books, January 10, 2013, 10.
The True Confessions of a Bad Teacher
I should preface this with the fact that I love my children. After nine months with them, I love them as if they were my own. They comprise as much of my world here as my friends do, and they are one of the major reasons for my decision to remain in Warsaw a second year.
That being said, sometimes they push me to my very limits.
My youngest child turned four in December; my oldest child will turn seven sometime this spring. At this age they each have distinct personalities with strong attitudes and opinions. They are as volatile as I am--one minute they love me, they listen with rapt attention, and they are excited for English, and the next they hate English and everything to do with it (including me).
To deal with this, I have learned that one must laugh whenever possible. It's not the greatest strategy--sometimes it encourages bad behavior--but for the most part it works to get me through the day.
Here are some of the things I've found humor in:
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| When I asked why the dollies were hanging out naked, I was informed that they (the dolls) wished it, and that settled that. |
1. My kids like to contort their Barbies into inappropriate or physically impossible positions. I am compiling an album of these for family and friends to laugh at. I am aware of the wrongness of it all.
2. In the same vein, my kids tend to leave their Tinkerbell and Friends dolls laying around naked and in...er...compromising positions. I also document these incidents for future laughs. This is not limited to just fairy dolls, however. For example, at the moment our classroom teddy bear is engaged in a rather aerobic three way with Mickey Mouse and a one-armed baby doll. I can't even make this shit up.
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| My children have excellent table manners... |
3. I catch myself uttering inane or absurd or just plain insane sentences like:
- “Honey, don't smell your shoes, that's icky.”
- “Honey, don't lick your socks.”
- "Oh my God, did you just lick your shoe?"
- “Honey, you have ham in your hair! How did you get ham in your hair?!”
- "Honey, we don't use our toothbrush to clean the bathroom."
4. I have had equally ridiculous conversations, like:
Me: “What are you doing, kiddo?”
Child: “Me? I am doing what you see me doing.”
Me: “How did this tea get all over the table? Were we playing with the cup?”
Child: “No!”
Me: “So it jumped out of the cup and onto the table?”
Child: “YES!”
5. My children are obsessed with Star Wars and love to hum the main Star Wars theme and the Imperial March. Sometimes I like to play the Indiana Jones theme just to fuck with them. It amuses me every time.
6. Sometimes the more annoying toys that my children love manage to...disappear conveniently on days when my nerves are wearing thin.
6. Sometimes the more annoying toys that my children love manage to...disappear conveniently on days when my nerves are wearing thin.
7. I am aware that this makes me a bad teacher and something of a terrible human being. I am okay of this knowledge.
It would seem that I am not alone in all of this. I have a friend who works as an au pair for two children in Germany. As I was writing my “Confessions,” I saw her Facebook status: "When the comeback I've concocted in my head lacks sufficient zing to suck the wind out of my 11 year old's sails, i resort to correcting his grammar. He in turn gets more pissed while i in turn find some sort of warped joy. It's a vicious but enjoyable circle. Try it."
As I told her, it's good to know I'm not alone.
