"You know who you look like?"

I was in the middle of a lecture about Realism today, when a kid in my class blurted this out. "You know who you look like, Mrs. Aardappel?"

Oh man. I couldn't even imagine what this kid was going to say.

"You look exactly like the girl from 'Bee Movie'" he said. All of a sudden the class broke out in agreement. They couldn't believe they had not noticed it before. "You guys are twins!" "You look EXACTLY alike, ohmygod!" "You do!" The comments continued until I finally settled the class down.

"Uhhh, isn't "Bee Movie" a cartoon?" I asked.

"Yes, but you have to see her! It's YOU!"

As a class, we made a deal. I would look up my "twin" if they would calmly listen to the difference between realism and romanticism. It worked. So, I have a class full of enlightened kids and they left me smiling at how cute they are to compare me to an animated character in a children's movie. See, high school kids are adorable too!

History repeats itself because no one listens

My sophomores are going to start reading Elie Wiesel's novella NIGHT next week. If you are not already familiar with the book, it is a true story about Wiesel's life and how he was transformed after his family was taken from their home in Romania and transported to Auschwitz during WWII by the Nazi regime. It is a story about torture, loss of faith, survival, and remembrance. It is a story about discrimination.

I really want my kids to understand the context of the holocaust before we even open the book. I want them to understand the dangers of discrimination. I want them to acknowledge what can happen when people are too passive. I want them to feel outraged at what occured in our world, just 66 years ago. I want them to feel.

So, I started gathering background information to get the kids angry. I have pictures of children lining up to enter gas chambers seconds before they were killed. I have photos of thousands of shoes, piled up to the ceiling - confiscated before families were separated and murdered. I have pictures of tiny suitcases - packed and never opened.

We need to get angry. We need to see the dangers of hate and fear.

As I am researching, I come across a poem that is engraved in a wall at the holocaust memorial. And I'm thinking-hoping - that this poem will show us how far we have come. It will reflect the progress we have made and I can show the kids how much we can change the world in such a short amount of time. We will feel so powerful! And I read:

In Germany they first came for the Communists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Communist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Catholics,
and I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant.

Then they came for me —
and by that time no one was left to speak up.

And I cannot help but wonder - how far have we come? Maybe it's not communists or Jews we are afraid of anymore - but instead Muslims and homosexuals. We, as a people, cannot let discriminaiton go. We hold on to hate as if we need it to survive. It's not enough to sit back and quietly disagree. Speak up and fight! Talk about equality and rights whenever you can. Speak up for others!

Prop 8, I see what you are - a tiny seed of hate fighting for survival by clinging to the fears of the weak. Fight. Speak up!

Thank you Catholic SUV driver!

My heart leapt for joy today in the parking lot of Blockbuster. I was pulling out when I noticed the side of the SUV parked next to me had a tiny little Obama-Biden sticker. That's odd, I thought; An SUV driver supporting Obama. (My kids would be yelling out, "That's a stereotype!" I have taught them well). So I back up and am about to pull out of my parking spot when I notice two more stickers on the back of the car. Whoa. Not only is this an SUV driver supporting Obama but they are also a Catholic voting NO on Prop 8. Utter bliss.

Finally, progress.

"Sharks!!!"

I'm already in bed. It's almost 7:30pm (Jeopardy is about to start) and Dan is at his basketball game. The apartment is rarely this quiet. I am in a peaceful mood. I am alone.

I muted the TV so I can write and I let my mind wander. It's really strange when you allow yourself to forget where you are and just let your thoughts go where they will. It's weird where they go. Mine often return to my childhood.

My dad used to go to bed late. And by late I mean 7:00 in the evening (it's gotten earlier). I don't know why he did - I guess I never thought about it until now - but as he was heading down the hallway to bed he would yell, "Sharks!! Get on the big boat! There are SH-ARKS!!!" Okay, so we all somehow knew (I don't know if he told us this or if it was just understood) that the "big boat" was my parent's bed and the "sharks" were the ground. If we didn't sprint down the hallway in time, we would obviously be eaten. Obviously.

And this went on for I don't know how long. "SHARKS!" My dad would yell and we're off, sprinting down the hallway and jumping into bed and laughing. Yelling for my mom until she would finally stomp down the hallway (pretending to be annoyed) and then flop onto the bed with us. We barely made it. They almost got Brad. Mom was so brave. I am so relieved we are all safe.

And we are safe. All five of us together on a Tuesday night in the middle of the ocean. We are floating along the carpeted sea and the air is warm and blowing our little ship onward. Bon Voyage...

"You can't fix stupid," he wrote.

And he's right.

Although my friend was referring to another political issue, his words seemed exceptionally timely.

On my way to school this morning there was a group of people standing on the corner with "Yes on Prop 8" signs. Egh. I wanted so badly to shout at them and flip them the bird - but - I followed the lead of a very good friend and decided to act maturely. (This was hard). As I sat at the light, I gave them the thumbs down sign. At first (it was foggy and hard to see), they thought I was waving and two of them leaned forward excitedly. Were they thinking, "Yay for hate! We found another one who wants to shove her ideas on innocent people"?

I rolled down my passenger side window to clarify. "No," I said. "What you're doing makes me sad." I rolled up the window quickly and took off. If I couldn't scream or cuss, I would at least have the last word.

I wanted to forget about it. I wanted to walk into my classroom with a smile and get ready for Monday - but I was pissed. All day I thought about what I could do to get back at them. Makes signs? Blog? Donate? Scream?!

So I tried to understand. I went to the "Yes on Prop 8" website to see what I was missing. It has to be something, right? All these people who claim to be good people are passionate about voting yes. Yes, I must be missing something. So I read. And I read. And I read and I read and I read.

And what I discovered is that these people are concerned with "protecting marriage." Okay, marriage is sacred. I get that.

But then why not put their energy toward trying to lower the divorce rate? Why not ban divorce all together? Why not ban getting married more than once? If marriage is so sacred, how can divorce occur? The answer is that it's not about protecting marriage. It is about discrimination and hate. It's about believing that your views are right and better than other people's. It's unconstitutional and it is wrong.

If you don't believe in homosexuals getting married - then don't be a homosexual who gets married BUT don't stop people that love each other from doing what they want to do.

"You can't fix stupid," he wrote. But you can sure as hell try.

"Is it the best book you've ever read?"

If you grew up in my family - you understand the joke.

If not, here is a little background information : I have always loved reading. Every time I finished a book I would run to my parents and tell them how wonderful it was and how it was the best book ever. I would describe the characters as if they were my best friends and discuss the ending of the novel as if it were the end of a very important part of my life. I would lament the fact that I didn't know how I was going to go on without these characters in my life anymore. I was, admittedly, dramatic.

I would be sitting on the couch, while my family watched TV, and would slowly close a book and look at my parents with tears in my eyes. I waited for them to notice me and my anguish.

"I know," my dad would say. "It's the best book you've ever read."

"But it really was!" I would insist. "If only you knew what just happened..."

This exchange ended with my parents laughing and me finally cracking a smile. There are so many best books.

But today I really did finish the best book ever. (My mom and dad are laughing right now - Jerks!) And the book was so good that I feel compelled to recommend it to anyone who is looking for a good read. A great read. Anyone looking for the best book ever.

The World According to Garp, by John Irving, will change your life. It changed mine; As all the best books ever written will inevitably do.

Cause there ain't no doubt I love this land

I took this picture when I pulled into my apartment complex today. Although I pass the gigantic flag every day, I rarely notice it. Today, however, it looked beautiful.

Without even thinking, I pulled my car over and snapped this picture with my camera phone. What had overcome me?
I had never taken a picture of a flag before. In fact, I usually cringe when I see the red, white, and blue flying in the wind. It's not that I don't love America - I absolutely do. But the flag seems too often paired with phrases like, "These Colors Don't Run," "God Bless America" and "Fear this!" Phrases that are overconfident, exclusionary, and intimidating. Phrases that don't represent the reasons I love America.

Maybe the election has sparked a new, uncharted depth of patriotism I didn't know I held. Hope, perhaps?

I am scared. I don't know how I will recover if California outlaws gay marriage. America is about freedom. It's about choice. It's about love and equality. “Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free" How can we represent this, and at the same time force our own views on other people? The answer is devastating: We cannot.

But this election can also make me overwhelmingly proud of the progress America has made. If we can come out of this election with a black president (who I'm voting for because of reasons other than his race - it's just a nice bonus), rights for everyone, and hope for the future, I have a feeling my chest will swell with pride again at the sight of our flag. We will show the world that America is truly a nation to be admired. A progressive people. The greatest nation on earth.

There is so much riding on this election. I hear people make comments like, "I don't really care who wins, nothing ever changes." (Grandma said this, among others). But the truth is things do change. 143 years ago, in the United States, blacks were slaves. The idea of any one of these "boys" running for office was unimaginable. Unattainable. Impossible. Yet - here we are.

So here it goes. My whole heart is at stake.

Come on America, show me what you got.

Ghetto-Fabulous Nails

are pretty "sick" at my school. And by sick, I mean popular. So, I decided to give into peer pressure and 'get my nails did' too. It is October, I love Halloween, I'm in.

So I sit down with Lynn, like I do every other Tuesday, and tell her this time I want to go festive. Orange and black please.

We talk about the election. She tells me how she took her husband's ballot and voted for him and then accidentally signed her own name. We laugh. For the first time today, I am actually relaxed. (Teaching writing really sucks the life out of you).

Fast-forward to ten minutes to six. Lynn's next appointment walks in and sits down. Lynn is starting to paint part of my nail orange.

This lady, who I quickly discovered is named Irene, starts to tap her foot rather loudly (deliberately, in fact) and huffing and puffing.

Oh god, I think. I'm tense again.

Okay, I will admit it. My festive Halloween nails took a little longer than normal. Eight minutes longer. Eight freakin' minutes and this lady was about to burst.

Lynn finishes up my nails and I switch seats with Irene. I need to let my nails dry before I drive home.

Immediately, Irene starts telling Lynn how she was going to stop at the store before she got her nails done but she didn't want to be late. Being late is rude. We all get the "deeper meaning" in her message. It's not that deep.

Lynn ignores it. So do I.

Irene continues by bitching (no other word works as perfectly as "bitching") about how her family is going to wonder where she is since she is not going to be home on time. She wonders if they will call her. Hopefully, they don't worry. She should probably call them.

It was eight minutes. Eight.

Irene then continues (Irene is pretty self-absorbed) about her day at work in which the idea of being late comes up two more times.

Honestly, I wanted to show Irene my perfectly painted holiday nail - on my middle finger.

There is no poetic message to wrap up this frustrating experience. I gained little insight other than one clear observation: Irene sucks and my nails are ghetto FAB-U-LOUS!

Autumn, the year's last, loveliest smile

We have a name for our group of friends. Instead of calling each other "the group" or "the gals" we call each other BSC. There is no better group of gals than the BSC.

"Is everyone from BSC going to be there?" we sometimes ask. We always hope so.

BSC translates to Baby-sitters Club. Now, we never officially babysat together, but if you were ever a fan of the series of books written by Ann M. Martin titled "The Baby-sitters Club" you will understand. The baby-sitters club is a group of thirteen year old girls who do everything together. We were about thirteen when we met. The girls have adventures that are simple and real. They have slumber parties and eat pizza. In this way, we were absolutely the same sort of girls. We are the same girls.

And sometimes this puzzles me. I often ask myself, "When am I going to feel like a grown-up?"

But I DO feel like a grown-up often. Every morning when my alarm goes off at five a.m., I feel like an adult. Every day when I am responsible for thirty-five kids, I am reminded I am a grown-up. When I spend Saturday mornings cleaning instead of sleeping in, I cannot forget that I am indeed not a kid anymore.

But then, I get together with the BSC.

And this is the best surprise about friendship so far. When I am with the BSC, I am twelve again. We are all twelve. And the laughter and tears and confessions go on and on. I cannot remember how many secrets have been told over the years. How many admissions of fear have been revealed. How many insecurites dispelled. We are at a slumber party and we are 27 only we are not. This friendship is a sort of Never-Never-Land where we go to be safe. Where we can go to be us.

"Are you going to give him a hug?"

My class asks.

Yes, if he wants one.

And he does.

Andrew is leaving our class. He is leaving our school. After a year in Juvenile Hall (you don't want to hear what he did) and two years back in high school the consensus is he should be transferred to our continuation school. No chance for him here.

But I will miss him.

I can see through the crossed arms and the socks pulled up above his knees. He thinks he is tough. He is tough. But Andrew wants a hug.

I wish I could squeeze him and tell him that I care about him. He would roll his eyes. Andrew is very tough.

The bell rings and everyone runs out. It's Friday.

Andrew lingers and tells me he might be back. He's going to try, at least, to come back. I give him a hug. I don't care if he is tough. So am I.

I hope when he goes home, someone gives him a hug. He's tough and he desperately needs a hug.

other things may change us, but we start and end with the family.

Jeff is smart. I have always been aware of this. Painfully aware at times. I often call him for answers to questions that I don't even know how to approach. When he graduated with his bachelor's degree he was awarded the honor of being the religious studies "Outstanding Graduating Senior." He gave a speech and everything. I cried.

After he graduated from San Diego State, Jeff was fortunate (well, do you still call it fortunate when you earned it?) enough to get accepted to Claremont Graduate College. He's been there for a few months now, but just yesterday I finally got to see his school.

My mom and dad took the day off work. Dan worked a half day. I called out sick. We all piled into my dad's car and drove up to Claremont to see Jeffy's school. (Aw, my little brother. He will always be Jeffy to me!)

I don't know how to describe the school unless you grew up wishing for big oak trees and quiet lawns. I know I did. The college is so serene and peaceful. It smells of intelligence. Oh my dreams were all wrapped up in place like this. And my brother is really doing it. I felt proud. He's my brother, I thought, and ran to be close to him.

Yesterday was perfect. Jeff showed us where he sits and studies. My dad complained about all the walking and stopped to smoke his cigar and chug diet cokes as often as he could get away with. My mom danced around the open lawns, trying to get me to capture her graceful leaps in a snapshot. Dan begged for snacks and said he was getting weaker by the moment without food. I loved it. You can change our surroundings, but we are who we are.

We ate lunch at cool little place in "the village." We had beers and margaritas. Ah, heaven!

Afterward, we walked around the little shops near Jeff's school. My mom and I bought things we could not afford. We looked lovely.

I don't know how I got so lucky.

On the way home, after bidding farewell to our scholar Jeff, I fell asleep. My dad driving made me feel safe. My mom, with her feet up on the dashboard reading a book, make me feel happy. My husband, with his head on my lap, made me feel loved.

I don't know how I got so lucky.

Happy Birthday Daddy. (I think he has something to do with my luck)

Slow down everyone you're moving too fast

I have been tired all week. I don't actually feel sick but I have a suspicion that I am getting there. When I look around my classroom and see all my kids blowing their noses and coughing I know it is only a matter of time. I will get sick. I feel sort of bad because I know I haven't been very enthusiastic this week. I feel worn down and I just cannot muster up the energy to jump around the classroom like I usually do.

So, as I was leaving today, the guilt started. I felt like I was not doing my job to the best of my ability and my kids had to know it. I am not a good teacher. They hate me. I have failed. All I wanted to do was drive home and go to sleep. Yuck.

I packed up all my stuff, shut down my computer, wrote the agenda on the board for tomorrow and locked my classroom door. I could almost count the steps to my car and freedom. I hate to admit this but I was happy that I didn't have to see any more kids for the day. No more being patient. No more answering the same question one hundred times. No more reminding them about the vocab test on Monday. No more responsibility.

When I was about twenty steps away from my car I heard, "Hey, Mrs. Aardappel!"

Oh god, I thought, just leave me alone. I was so close to escaping.

Then two girls from my fourth period class - Chelsea and Mia - ran over to give me a hug. Okay, that wasn't so bad. Sweet, even.

A group of boys turned around and it was four kids from last year. They walked over and gave me the fist bump and said that they missed me and it was weird to hear people call me "Mrs. Aardappel" because I would always be "Ms. Murico" to them. I laughed.

I laughed. And as I walked away and this group of high school students was waving goodbye to me, I felt honored to be their teacher.

Kids surprise me every day. Sometimes they frustrate me to the point where I want to pull my hair out. Sometimes they impress me with what they know. Sometimes they break my heart. And sometimes, every once in a while, they make me laugh and re-energize me and make me slow down so I can remember how much I love them.