All seniors at RMHS are required to write and then read a 3-5 minute "This I Believe" essay. Click here for more details about NPR's revival of Edward R. Murrow's 1951 call for essays. Click here for Edward R. Murrow's 1951 introduction to 'This I Believe'.
In an effort to help my class of 14 very reluctant readers and writers with this process I decided to write my own essay. I thought it would be easy. It has not been easy. Here is my first but probably not final version of my "This I Believe" essay.
THIS I BELIEVE
Jane S. Cunningham
I believe that it is difficult to write an essay about what I believe because beliefs change. They morph like The Wonder Twins, saving the day or the hour or the minute. When they return, it might be in the form of a cheetah or a stallion or an iceberg.
I see how beliefs change as I watch my five year old's beaming face as she discovers an under-pillow note from the tooth fairy or my son's all-encompassing belief that Legos will save humanity. My 10-year-old daughter believes in the power of mystery novels as I did when I read Nancy Drew at her age.
Growing up Mormon in Salt Lake City, Utah came with many already created beliefs. No assembly required. And while I began my life with these beliefs, I have not been able to draw an invisible thread through the religious beliefs of my childhood to now.
It has been a struggle to determine what I should believe and what I can believe and what I want to believe--which is why I look to my children as guides. They are both lightning rods for issues that matter and reminders that sometimes a simple belief, though it may change later, can be just as necessary and satisfying as a complex one.
Thea, my kindergartner, carries around a pink turned grey stuffed animal whose electronic voice box stopped functioning after the twentieth spin through the washing machine. This bedraggled yet well-loved cat provides entertainment, comfort and joy beyond measure. Pink Kitty dresses up in jeweled fuchsia ball gowns and attends all kinds of parties. She sometimes has to go into time out when she misbehaves. Thea believes in the power of Pink Kitty.
When I asked eight-year-old Cole what he believes, he said without hesitation, "I believe that all people in the world are connected." And Aidan, my oldest and an animal lover said, "I believe in being nice to cats, not leaving them outside in the cold all alone."
Adults often get mired in what they are supposed to believe--as if there's a checklist that must be worked through. Some live in cliches. Children's beliefs are different and in many ways more honest than grown up beliefs.
Children believe what they want to believe.
I want to believe in unicorns. And mermaids.
I want to believe that it is vital and necessary to believe in something. Believing in something is the invisible thread that connects me to my own childhood and my own children.
For them and myself I believe in love and second chances and imagination and small acts of kindness. I believe that a scar can be a sign of bravery and healing. I believe in music making and art making--art with a little "a" not a big "A." I believe in giraffes and dust bunnies and circus peanuts (mainly because they remind me of my dad even though they taste like sawdust).
I believe that beliefs change depending on who and what and where and how--not in a flip floppy dying fish I don't believe in anything way--but with admittance that some beliefs must change as we change.
I believe that this last line is not the end of my essay. This, I believe.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
Summer Singing
It is true that summer makes me sing.
Not in the shower, or with the radio.
More like sun singing, green and purple.
Moxie singing. Pesto songs.
Fiddle sounds flutter out of her window and into mine.
Trill. Skip. Moths and butterflies and ladybugs and birds.
And singing.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Bob and Poison Ivy
by Cole
**Note. This story includes drawings. I so want to scan all of the drawings, but for now, it's just the story. The comments regarding the drawings are made by me (unless in quotes).
Aside from a few spelling/punctuation corrections this is exactly how Cole wrote the story.
Cover
*Drawing. Bob saying, "It won't hurt," with all sorts of bumps protruding from his body.
Page 2
Bob was an ordinary man. He liked pizza and going on adventures and rainy days. He went into the woods and touched a leaf. He did not know it was poison ivy.
*Drawing. Bob saying, "It's just a leaf, right."
Page 3
Then Bob's finger started to itch. So Bob called the doctor but all the doctor said was that he should be on a liquid diet.
*Drawing. You should see Bob's face when the Dr. tells him to go on a liquid diet.
Page 4
So then he had to explain it to the doctor. But then he remembered that he was on a liquid diet. And that he ate a turkey for dinner last night.
*Drawing. Bob having lots of funny looks on his face.
Page 5
So Bob said that he ate a turkey. The doctor was so mad that he pulled his beard off and hung up. So Bob went on "Itch" dot com. Itch dot com showed bug itches, instalation (I'm not sure what this is) itches and last but not least plant itches. It showed a plant that was familiar to him; he also remembered he had touched it.
*Drawing. Bob sitting at his computer, straight-faced, visiting itch dot com.
Page 6
It said its name was poison ivy and if you were allergic to it you would have blisters and before you got blisters it would itch a lot lot lot.
Page 7
Well apparently he was allergic. His hand kept itching and it started to get wrinkly too.
*Drawing. Bob looks gigantic and very, very itchy.
Page 8
One week later a blister appeared. It looked green and ugly and it didn't itch anymore. But he didn't know how to get it off.
*Drawing. Four squares showing how Bob cannot get the blister off. Bob has an exclamation point over his head.
Page 9
Bob called the doctor again. He said he was on a liquid diet which made the doctor calmer. Bob talked to the doctor about the poison ivy. He said that it would go away in a week.
*Drawing. Bob on the phone with funny expressions on his face.
Page 10
In a week the bump went away. So Bob was up and running into trouble.
*Last drawing. Scanned for my personal viewing pleasure as I adore the ending to this story.
**Note. This story includes drawings. I so want to scan all of the drawings, but for now, it's just the story. The comments regarding the drawings are made by me (unless in quotes).
Aside from a few spelling/punctuation corrections this is exactly how Cole wrote the story.
Cover
*Drawing. Bob saying, "It won't hurt," with all sorts of bumps protruding from his body.
Page 2
Bob was an ordinary man. He liked pizza and going on adventures and rainy days. He went into the woods and touched a leaf. He did not know it was poison ivy.
*Drawing. Bob saying, "It's just a leaf, right."
Page 3
Then Bob's finger started to itch. So Bob called the doctor but all the doctor said was that he should be on a liquid diet.
*Drawing. You should see Bob's face when the Dr. tells him to go on a liquid diet.
Page 4
So then he had to explain it to the doctor. But then he remembered that he was on a liquid diet. And that he ate a turkey for dinner last night.
*Drawing. Bob having lots of funny looks on his face.
Page 5
So Bob said that he ate a turkey. The doctor was so mad that he pulled his beard off and hung up. So Bob went on "Itch" dot com. Itch dot com showed bug itches, instalation (I'm not sure what this is) itches and last but not least plant itches. It showed a plant that was familiar to him; he also remembered he had touched it.
*Drawing. Bob sitting at his computer, straight-faced, visiting itch dot com.
Page 6
It said its name was poison ivy and if you were allergic to it you would have blisters and before you got blisters it would itch a lot lot lot.
Page 7
Well apparently he was allergic. His hand kept itching and it started to get wrinkly too.
*Drawing. Bob looks gigantic and very, very itchy.
Page 8
One week later a blister appeared. It looked green and ugly and it didn't itch anymore. But he didn't know how to get it off.
*Drawing. Four squares showing how Bob cannot get the blister off. Bob has an exclamation point over his head.
Page 9
Bob called the doctor again. He said he was on a liquid diet which made the doctor calmer. Bob talked to the doctor about the poison ivy. He said that it would go away in a week.
*Drawing. Bob on the phone with funny expressions on his face.
Page 10
In a week the bump went away. So Bob was up and running into trouble.
*Last drawing. Scanned for my personal viewing pleasure as I adore the ending to this story.
Kid Stuff
My children are in Maine with their grandparents and I am taking the time to go through the world's largest paper pile--paper accumulated over the past year--or maybe longer.
I am finding things that I have not seen before. Little sketches, stories, poems, pictures, notes. A year's worth of children being children.
A year's worth of pink kitty drawings.
I have been laughing out loud. And crying out loud. And doing other things out loud.
I have been invigorated, inspired, illuminated, awed, soured (like a pickle, not milk), surprised.
I am profoundly thankful for the teachers, friends, and humans interacting with my children; you are a gift.
My children are a gift and I am grateful.
Over the next few days I am going to try to post found things that I love. My favorites...and then I will shove everything into a folder or box or file or cabinet. I will freeze moments in time. I will let go and live.
I am finding things that I have not seen before. Little sketches, stories, poems, pictures, notes. A year's worth of children being children.
A year's worth of pink kitty drawings.
I have been laughing out loud. And crying out loud. And doing other things out loud.
I have been invigorated, inspired, illuminated, awed, soured (like a pickle, not milk), surprised.
I am profoundly thankful for the teachers, friends, and humans interacting with my children; you are a gift.
My children are a gift and I am grateful.
Over the next few days I am going to try to post found things that I love. My favorites...and then I will shove everything into a folder or box or file or cabinet. I will freeze moments in time. I will let go and live.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Baby Learns to Crawl
A few days ago we noticed a loose tooth in Thea's mouth. Bottom right. A little wiggly.
Thea is four and has expressed great enthusiasm for having a wiggly tooth like her older brother and sister.
But four seems a little young for a wiggly tooth.
We went through all of the things that it could be:
1. Sucking two fingers, regularly.
2. A bump to the mouth.
3. Sibling rambunctiousness.
4. Alien abduction.
5. Pink Kitty (Pink Kitty gets blamed for a lot these days).
Of course it took us forever to realize that it might be that she is losing her first tooth.
Why would she lose a tooth? How could she lose a tooth?
MY BABY IS NOT LOSING A TOOTH!
A quick look behind the loose tooth revealed the cause: a big girl permanent tooth making its way into the world, rearing its bumpity little head, causing parents to hide tears of sadness--I mean joy.
Thea is genuinely happy about the prospect of gaining a big girl tooth in the place of her silly old baby tooth. She is genuinely happy about her first visit from unicorns and the tooth fairy.
But I'm not as easily convinced that this tooth thing is a good thing.
It means one thing: I'm losing my baby. She is being replaced by a girl. A big, big girl, a teenager, almost. And there is nothing to be done about it.
Do you hear that internet? Nothing.
She will grow and I will mourn and hold on to the bits of baby that are left, cat whiskers, for example.
When she stops drawing 100-whiskered cats, expect another ridiculously maudlin post from me. You might not want to be around, say, when I write about her first day of kindergarten (September, you've been warned).
Love you baby girl.
Love you. Always.
Thea is four and has expressed great enthusiasm for having a wiggly tooth like her older brother and sister.
But four seems a little young for a wiggly tooth.
We went through all of the things that it could be:
1. Sucking two fingers, regularly.
2. A bump to the mouth.
3. Sibling rambunctiousness.
4. Alien abduction.
5. Pink Kitty (Pink Kitty gets blamed for a lot these days).
Of course it took us forever to realize that it might be that she is losing her first tooth.
Why would she lose a tooth? How could she lose a tooth?
MY BABY IS NOT LOSING A TOOTH!
A quick look behind the loose tooth revealed the cause: a big girl permanent tooth making its way into the world, rearing its bumpity little head, causing parents to hide tears of sadness--I mean joy.
Thea is genuinely happy about the prospect of gaining a big girl tooth in the place of her silly old baby tooth. She is genuinely happy about her first visit from unicorns and the tooth fairy.
But I'm not as easily convinced that this tooth thing is a good thing.
It means one thing: I'm losing my baby. She is being replaced by a girl. A big, big girl, a teenager, almost. And there is nothing to be done about it.
Do you hear that internet? Nothing.
She will grow and I will mourn and hold on to the bits of baby that are left, cat whiskers, for example.
When she stops drawing 100-whiskered cats, expect another ridiculously maudlin post from me. You might not want to be around, say, when I write about her first day of kindergarten (September, you've been warned).
Love you baby girl.
Love you. Always.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Eel the Komodo Dragon
Cole's class is making self-published, hard cover books. He is very excited about this project.
I found this draft on our dining room table.
PS--I asked Cole a little bit about his drawing and ideas. He reports that the picture is Eel in Antarctica, one of the many places the Komodo dragon tries out in his search.
Eel The Komodo Dragon
This story is about one Komodo dragon. He just doesn't know that where he is is where he should be so he goes to different places and tries to find his true home but when he finds out that where he was is his true home he has to fix his life.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Living
Rumbling thoughts. Trying to remember so that I don't forget.
Horribly sentimental, remembering my babies in the house. Round the table, the center of this house, talking about Howard Blackburn and what makes a hero.
Colored lights on the tree. Elaborate squirrel traps. Butter on steak.
Babies crawling across the floor give way to running children, through the yard, past peonies in full bloom.
Saint Francis in the garden says a prayer for us all.
Bless this family. Bless these people.
It is the people who make the memory.
We forget, sometimes, what we don't want to remember. Sometimes we forget what we want to remember.
But we try to hold on in some small way.
I remember fires in the fireplace and smokey living room, sitting in the sun, tea and coffee. Stone steps.
Halloween and masks and the piano. Knitting in the sitting room, knitting in the living room. Knitting hats. Mittens.
Her hands. His laugh. Our laughter.
Braided rug, in our house now.
Pictures and pictures. Listening with Aidan, assignment for school to retell a story that has been passed down from generation to generation.
The story of Nena with her sister and her German mother in Washington DC in the park and being asked not to speak German. Nena's memory. Nanny's memory and now Aidan's memory, recorded in her Book of Me.
The memories continue as I think. Some flutter in front of me and are lovely and disappear as quickly as I have remembered them. Some linger, like stringed instruments.
There is beauty and sadness in memories. There is something ghostly that comes from knowing that this is my memory and only my memory.
Others have different memories. We try to remember what we want.
Living becomes mixed up with dying.
Horribly sentimental, remembering my babies in the house. Round the table, the center of this house, talking about Howard Blackburn and what makes a hero.
Colored lights on the tree. Elaborate squirrel traps. Butter on steak.
Babies crawling across the floor give way to running children, through the yard, past peonies in full bloom.
Saint Francis in the garden says a prayer for us all.
Bless this family. Bless these people.
It is the people who make the memory.
We forget, sometimes, what we don't want to remember. Sometimes we forget what we want to remember.
But we try to hold on in some small way.
I remember fires in the fireplace and smokey living room, sitting in the sun, tea and coffee. Stone steps.
Halloween and masks and the piano. Knitting in the sitting room, knitting in the living room. Knitting hats. Mittens.
Her hands. His laugh. Our laughter.
Braided rug, in our house now.
Pictures and pictures. Listening with Aidan, assignment for school to retell a story that has been passed down from generation to generation.
The story of Nena with her sister and her German mother in Washington DC in the park and being asked not to speak German. Nena's memory. Nanny's memory and now Aidan's memory, recorded in her Book of Me.
The memories continue as I think. Some flutter in front of me and are lovely and disappear as quickly as I have remembered them. Some linger, like stringed instruments.
There is beauty and sadness in memories. There is something ghostly that comes from knowing that this is my memory and only my memory.
Others have different memories. We try to remember what we want.
Living becomes mixed up with dying.
Influence
e.e. cummings poem, followed by ra ra riot lyrics
dying is fine)but Death
?o
baby
i
wouldn't like
Death if Death
were
good:for
when(instead of stopping to think)you
begin to feel of it,dying
's miraculous
why?be
cause dying is
perfectly natural;perfectly
putting
it mildly lively(but
Death
is strictly
scientific
& artificial &
evil & legal)
we thank thee
god
almighty for dying
(forgive us,o life!the sin of Death
Dying is Fine, John Pike, Wesley Miles, e.e. cummings
To settle our thoughts
Never minding what for
nothing of a harm to dread
On my mind
Tell me what belies
Oh Tell me what I could have
Oh
Tell me what for
No more of this living dying
Just scientific analyzing
Forgive us oh life
The sin of
Death oh baby
You know that dying is fine but maybe
I wouldn't like death if death were good
Not even if death were good
Is this it
Maundering about and
All I have is too much time
To understand
One can only love
Life until its ending
Oh
And I can't forget
No more of this living dying
Just scientific analyzing
Forgive us oh life
The sin of
Death oh baby
You know that dying is fine but maybe
I wouldn't like death if death were good
Not even if death were good
dying is fine)but Death
?o
baby
i
wouldn't like
Death if Death
were
good:for
when(instead of stopping to think)you
begin to feel of it,dying
's miraculous
why?be
cause dying is
perfectly natural;perfectly
putting
it mildly lively(but
Death
is strictly
scientific
& artificial &
evil & legal)
we thank thee
god
almighty for dying
(forgive us,o life!the sin of Death
Dying is Fine, John Pike, Wesley Miles, e.e. cummings
To settle our thoughts
Never minding what for
nothing of a harm to dread
On my mind
Tell me what belies
Oh Tell me what I could have
Oh
Tell me what for
No more of this living dying
Just scientific analyzing
Forgive us oh life
The sin of
Death oh baby
You know that dying is fine but maybe
I wouldn't like death if death were good
Not even if death were good
Is this it
Maundering about and
All I have is too much time
To understand
One can only love
Life until its ending
Oh
And I can't forget
No more of this living dying
Just scientific analyzing
Forgive us oh life
The sin of
Death oh baby
You know that dying is fine but maybe
I wouldn't like death if death were good
Not even if death were good
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Turkey
Cole brought this message about the turkey home from school a couple of days ago. He seems a little conflicted about his turkey eating. He loves to eat turkey and he loves turkeys. What to do?
Our conversation:
Me: So you don't think that we should eat turkey on Thanksgiving?
Cole: Do you eat turkey on Thanksgiving?
Me: Sometimes.
Cole: I am only going to eat turkey on Thanksgiving.
The Turkey
by Cole S. Cunningham
The turkey is known on Thanksgiving. I have to state that it really hates it.
The turkey hates everything about the Thanksgiving day. They see one after another being slaughtered all day. Before they know it, they're being slaughtered too.
So please eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Our conversation:
Me: So you don't think that we should eat turkey on Thanksgiving?
Cole: Do you eat turkey on Thanksgiving?
Me: Sometimes.
Cole: I am only going to eat turkey on Thanksgiving.
The Turkey
by Cole S. Cunningham
The turkey is known on Thanksgiving. I have to state that it really hates it.
The turkey hates everything about the Thanksgiving day. They see one after another being slaughtered all day. Before they know it, they're being slaughtered too.
So please eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Aidan's Red
I finally found Aidan's red poem. It had been hiding amongst the hundreds of papers that inhabit the house. Someday those papers are going to have their own room.
Red
Red leaves in the fall
from the trees
to the ground, from the
top to the bottom.
Red, deep red deep as blood
flowing through the
heart. Red hearts, apples
in fall, like leaves
falling to the ground
top to bottom in
the fall.
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