A GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY by Suzie Acree

I grew up with a Grammie who was fascinated by life-long learning.  In fact, she wanted to live to be 100 just so she could see what the next century looked like! 

She collected rocks and coins and many other things, inspiring her grandchildren and great-grandchildren to do the same because one day they might be valuable.  She marveled at how things had changed in her lifetime often telling us how different things were for her growing up.  She believed in the artist in us all, encouraging each poem, craft or painting by reminding us of the rich heritage we came from.  “You know we had a famous artist in our family,” she’d say, and we’d try to count up how many greats back he was in our lineage of grandfathers.  I grew up on the same 10-acre plot as my grandparents and learned first hand that not all learning happens in the classroom.

I am now a volunteer literacy tutor for an adult learner.  When my student showed up for lessons with her two young boys, I was encouraged by the center staff to look at our tutoring sessions as family learning opportunities.

A little research on family learning validated the importance of this approach with the following statistics from the campaign-for-learning (UK):

~ The stage in life in which we learn the fastest is the first ten years.

~ The percentage of waking hours children spend in school is 15%.

~ The number of questions a four-year-old can ask in a single day is 400.

~ The amount of individual attention most students get in their twelve years 

   of formal education adds up to between 3 and 6 days. 

What I had here was a golden opportunity!

 

These two boys are hungry for learning, one asking questions faster than anyone could possibly answer, and the other completely silent because he is too shy to speak.  One of Mom’s goals is to be more involved in her children’s learning and school experience, so we set out to do just that.  

We started out with Mom agreeing to save the last 10 minutes of each tutoring session for the boys.  Next, we connected the four-year-old to preschool.  Then, during their time at the tutoring sessions, Mom and I ask each of them how school is going.  Now, Mom and I act out songs the kids are learning in school, solve math problems together on the whiteboard, practice with flash cards and apps on tablets, and learn the names of many animals in English and their native Creole. We end most sessions by reading a children’s book together. We laugh, dance, cry, and love learning to learn together as a family.  The sense of wonder and delight in discovering new things through the children’s eyes has introduced a different way to learn, and the children help teach their Mom through the process. 

Some of the most powerful learning is through shared family learning experiences and will stay with us through our whole lives, many times outlasting the influence of peers and the outside world during the teen and college years.   I know this to be true in my own life as I reflect on how my Grammie’s contagious love of learning has impacted me.  In a book written by Mihaly Csiksentmihalyi called Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, the author writes about the influence of the family in a child’s ability to have an optimal learning experience and lists five characteristics that impact this outcome: 

CLARITY

 ~ Goals, and feedback are unambiguous. ~

CENTERING 

~ Parents are genuinely interested in what children are doing. ~

CHOICE   

~ Children have a variety of possibilities from which to choose. ~

COMMITMENT

~ The support that makes a child feel comfortable enough to set aside his shield of defenses and unselfconsciously become involved in what he is doing. ~

CHALLENGE

 ~ Children are provided increasingly complex opportunities or actions 
that enable them to grow. ~

These very same principles apply to the process for adults learning at Literacy Connections and are not difficult to incorporate into the family model; but, staying out ahead of the lesson planning for two impressionable boys and their Mom has been an extra fun challenge.  My satisfaction comes from knowing that by shifting my thinking to the family learning model, I am creating the golden opportunity they deserve and it has made all the difference.   What a rewarding experience it is to see the benefits of the family learning bond deepening and the cycle of learning flowing from child to parent to child in a never-ending cycle of curiosity. I hope that these learning experiences create lasting memories the way that my Grammie did for me.  The enhanced confidence and self-esteem they gain will serve this family well as they outrun the single greatest indicator of a child’s future success that historically has been so limiting on children of parents with low literacy.  

Part Two of MUSE: HOW I CAME TO LIKE POETRY

After such a failure with the Muse, I was very embarrassed and mad at my shaggy neighbor. I wanted nothing to do with poetry anymore. I was done with it!  

However, the very next morning I accidentally ran into the crazy poet again. As usual he was wearing disarranged clothes, had messy hair and was carrying a rather large book under his arm. He said:  

“I am ready to give you another poetry challenge. It’s a great poem.  I’ll read it to you and you tell me who the author is.” 

I interrupted: “Why don’t you JUST tell me who the author is?”  

 “Mayakovski,” he said.  “A great Russian poet.”  

Rubbing my temples, I asked, “So you’re telling me this is another great poet that had been inspired by the Muse?”  He grinned from ear to ear.  “Yes,  and this poem is about love…a great love.”  I stared at him, determined to hear him out.  “OK. Go ahead! Read the poem!” He opened his book, looked down with his flaming eyes and said excitedly, “Yes, yes I will!”  And he read:

           ¹To love

means this:

to run

into the depths of a yard

and, till the rook-black night,

chop wood

with a shining axe. . . .

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What?” I said, “Love and chopping wood?  What’s the connection?! It’s nonsense. Now I am sure this MUSE idea is just stupid!  Poetry is stupid too!  Don’t tell me anymore!  I just hate it!” 

Then, he shut his book with a loud thump and said:  “Well, well…live with such ideas, but life will teach you!”  So, we parted, and I vowed to never see him again.

When I came home, there was an official notice posted on my door.  I had been drafted into the Russian  Army, and I forgot all about the shaggy poet.  

************

It was a little more than a year after I joined the Army that they let women serve as nurses and cooks.  One day, our platoon was standing in formation, and a young woman in uniform walked in front of our platoon before we began to march.  When I saw her, my heart surged. My legs seemed to be paralyzed.  When our commander gave the order, “Forward, march!”  I had to whisper to my buddies beside me, “Quick, please help…my legs have given out, and they won’t move!” They chuckled and grabbed me under my arms dragging me along as the platoon began to march.  It took a few seconds before my legs would work again.

Oh, since then I couldn’t sleep – I couldn’t do anything.  I knew I must somehow talk to her, but I was afraid.  But I had to!  Finally, I decided, I MUST see her.  One day, I gathered the courage, and said, “D..d..dear Masha, ah, can we talk sometime?  I would like to tell you something.”

She smiled at me, “OK, why not. You can come over.”  She pointed to a two-story building across the street.  “I live there on the second floor.  You may come tonight at ten o’clock.”  

I could feel the warmth of blushing cheeks.  “I will.”     

After I left her, I thought.  “What did I do?  How can I go to her at ten o’clock?  Soldiers are ordered to bed at nine o’clock, and I am in the Army!  What have I done? This is a mistake, but I can’t resist!  I must go!”

But it was trickier than I thought.  Our barrack was in an old brick building that had been built over one hundred years before.  The windows were locked, and no one knew how to open them no matter how much they tried.  The locks were strange and the secret to opening them had been lost for years.

 I was in bed, and ten o’clock was rapidly approaching.  I whispered to myself, “I promised to go so I must.  But how?  I knew I could not sneak out of the door because of the guards.  The window was my only choice. I just had to figure out how to open the lock. I got dressed quietly, sneaked to the window and started tweaking with the lock. It did not budge. I began to think hard, and then it struck me!  As if a vision had been sent,  I clearly saw how to open the window.  It opened just like I had imagined it! I jumped out, and walked straight to Masha’s house.  

It was autumn, and it was a little cool.  In the near distance I saw a house with smoke coming out of the chimney.  Our regiment was stationed in a little settlement where several wooden houses were situated. All of the houses were heated with firewood.

I found Masha’s building, and as I walked through her yard, I passed stacked blocks of uncut firewood.  I was so nervous that I accidently hit my knee on one of them and almost screamed in pain. Finally I got to her door. I knocked on it softly.  I heard Masha’s angelic voice call, “Come in, please.”

  

 Oh, my heart was now pounding!  I opened the door, went in, and said, “Good evening my dear Ma…”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sergeant Pavlov from another company of our regiment sitting at a table and drinking a cup of tea.  Sergeant Pavlov was a drill sergeant and the whole regiment was terrified by him. His eyes bulged when he saw me. 

“Private Lebedinskiy, what are you doing here at this time of night when it is clear that you should be asleep?”  

Automatically, I saluted him and somehow words came out of my mouth which I didn’t expect.  “Comrade Sergeant, I am here on orders from the kitchen.”  It was a lie that I had to make up to get out of this mess.  What else could I do?  I continued, “I was sent here to chop wood for Private Petrova.”  

Sergeant Pavlov stood up, looked out of the window, and saw the blocks of wood in the yard.  He turned to me and smiled, “Ah…that’s alright…Well, I give you just thirty minutes to chop those three blocks of wood.  Then to report back to me.”  

I saluted, “Yes Comrade Sergeant!"  He nodded and said, “There’s an axe in the foyer.  Use it.”  I grabbed the axe and hurried out the front door, never so happy to do a late night chore.  Masha chuckled as I stumbled outside. 

   

Pleased that I escaped punishment, I immediately started to chop the wood. I had more strength than  I ever had before. I was full of tension from fear, love, and jealousy. I chopped the wood with such vigor that it immediately fell to pieces onto  the ground.  

Suddenly, the moon appeared from behind the clouds and my axe started to glisten in its light.  Oh, I thought, “This reminds me of something.”  I had to rack my brain to remind myself what exactly it was.  Oh, yes…it was Mayakovski’s words from my shaggy neighbor. 

¹To love

means this:

 to run

into the depths of a yard

and, till the rook-black night,

chop wood

with a shining axe. . . .

I smiled. It was here that I realized that poetry is something great.  It spoke to my heart like nothing had before.  At last, I understood!  Poetry IS the essence of life.  

I also learned to never trust a woman for the rest of my life. 

REFERENCES:

Translated by: Elena Cully  

                                                       

Edited by: Mark Honeycutt and Gail Askins 

¹ Vladimir Mayakovsky’s poem excerpt from Francine du Plessix Gray’s book, THEM: A Memoir of Parents

Part One of MUSE: HOW I CAME TO LIKE POETRY

by Simon Lebedinskiy

When I was young I lived in a little town in Russia. Once a neighbor, a young poet that always had messy hair and burning eyes, stopped by to chat. He liked to challenge me with poetry quizzes. He said: 

      -  Guess whose poem this is?

And he started reading aloud:

¹ “‘T’was then in valleys lone, remote 

   In spring-time, heard cygnet’s note

   By waters shining tranquilly,

   That first the Muse appeared to me…”

Here I interrupted him:

      -  Muse? Is that the girl who lives in the red brick house next door? Muse the Shorty? 

The poet got angry and said:

     -  Stop your nonsense! Muse is the symbol of poetry. If the Muse appears to someone, he would feel as if wings had grown behind him! And he will write brilliant verses. So, guess, who wrote those verses? 

     -  How should I know? I said.

He answered proudly:

     -  It was Pushkin who wrote it!  Yes! Muse appeared to all my favorite poets: Pushkin, Fet, Tutchev…

Here I again interrupted him and said:
     

     -  Listen, why do all your favorite poets have such ugly names: Pushkin, Fet,  Tutchev?...It would be awesome if people could say: “THE GREAT POET SIMON LEBEDINSKIY”   

The poet looked at me in disgust and murmured:

     -   What an idiot!

I got mad, squeezed my lips and said:

     -    Ah! So you say! OK, go home; tomorrow we will see who is an idiot!

The shaggy poet left and I started to wander around, trying to come up with something great. Suddenly a verse appeared in my head: 

     -    Oh MUSE, my dear, please appear! 

I was thrilled! Here it comes! I feel that I AM BECOMING A GREAT POET!

The second verse will come to me any second… any second… any second…. However, the second verse was not in a hurry to come to me. Suddenly, the moon appeared and I remembered that my shaggy neighbor once said that the moon inspires poetry. So I decided to take a walk to stimulate my creative process. I kept wandering along the streets repeating the first verse over and over again but all in vain. I had been wandering for quite a while. 

Next thing I knew, I found myself on the outskirts of town next to a gate that led into a huge warehouse-looking building. Being tired, I leaned on the gate, and said for the last time: “Oh Muse, my dear, please appear!” Suddenly, the alarm went off and an old hairy man ran out and started yelling at me: “A thief! I will show you!” He then stuck two fingers in his mouth, gave a loud whistle and yelled out: “Muse, get him!”

In an instant out of nowhere a huge scary bulldog appeared. Without any hesitation I turned around and rushed away, feeling behind my back fierce breathing of a blood-thirsty monster.

I ran as fast as I could. Suddenly the neighbor’s words came to my mind: “If the Muse appears to someone, he would feel as if wings had grown behind him”. I guess he’s right, I thought. I kept “flying” like this for a couple of miles until I realized that Muse was becoming tired and started to slow down. And now there was a good distance between us. So I stopped, turned around towards the tired canine and sarcastically yelled out the stupid verse in a revised form:

      -    Oh Muse, my dear, get lost, disappear!

Muse paused, turned around, and disappeared in the dark.

That is how I failed to become a great poet.

REFERENCES:

Translated by: Elena Cully      

Edited by: Mark Honeycutt and Gail Askins 

 ¹ excerpt from Alexander Pushkin’s novel Yevgeny (Eugene) Onegin, translated by Henry Spaling

DAY 44 - Laughter: A Serious Matter by Gathy Tyree

Have you ever been 
eating or drinking something and right in the middle of your sip or forkful, someone says something funny? 

Now you become part of the story too. Or ever heard someone say, "I laughed so hard, " I (fill in the blank) thought I was going to die, I couldn't catch my breath, I fell from my chair" and so on. I love how laughter makes us react in ways that we can't control. Have you ever got the giggles in a meeting, or church, or some other inappropriate place where you're supposed to be focused on something else? People look at you with a righteous indignation for disrupting the tone of the situation, but others are smiling at you wanting to get in on the joke. Laughter can break out anywhere.
I also laugh at the way someone else is laughing uncontrollably. As a child if I heard my father laughing from another room, I'd run to watch him laughing. It was funny to watch him because he was so animated. He'd be laughing while telling the story and imitating the voice of the other person, slapping his hands together, walking back and forth and eventually rubbing his hands across his chest. There was always so much to see when he'd laugh that I would be laughing too.

I thought the cartoons I grew up watching were entertaining, yet now as an adult, when I watch an episode of Roadrunner, I have a different perspective in seeing all the violence the coyote endures.  As a child, I assume my focus was on how Roadrunner always escaped the elaborate traps the coyote set for him. While I might still get a chuckle out of it, now my focus is on the emotion and torment of the coyote as he gets blown up, flattened out, and limps away in defeat. Evidently, life has shown me to have compassion, and root for the underdog.

No one has ever called me the life of the party, but I'm not a wall flower either. I'm right there being entertained by someone else and then, like a meteor in the sky, here I come with an unexpected comment that sparks hysterics. The thing is, I’m not trying to be funny, and yet I  bring a perspective that rings of a truth that wasn't considered before. I like when that happens because as serious as life can be, I look for that silver lining that takes the heaviness away. I love that euphoric feeling I get after laughing along with my eyes tearing up as though I cried.

I would say I'm more of a "quippier" than a full on comedian as I am not the kind of person to call too much attention to myself. I love the humor of life and just focus on that. I have people in my life who see the glass half full and have a positive attitude towards life, and that joy spreads like a wildfire when we're all in the same room.When I want to escape or just wind down to lift myself up, I enjoy watching something funny on television. Most likely I'll turn to an episode of Grace and Frankie on Netflix. The hilarity in the show is made to order just for me. There are so many themes to choose from in this show, and I love how it finds humor in the truths of life. In the same way a stand up comedian makes us laugh at ourselves it reminds me that I have a way to escape the weightiness that life brings me. 

LIVE, LOVE, LAUGH and PRAY!