It's 10pm on Monday night, and it's the first time I've been home since 9am this morning. I spent the morning watching storytellers, the afternoon tutoring, and the evening having dinner with Eric, his father, and his German aunt and uncle. Dinner was oddly stressful. Len brought up some very serious business news and was trying to share it while Eric was trying to help his aunt and uncle understand the Vietnamese menu. That was stressful--trying to make sure everyone was getting what they needed and feeling like it was impossible. Then Eric and Len started talking about Eric applying for German citizenship. And Len mentioned casually, that once Eric got citizenship then he could come with us to Germany and we would take care of him. I was completely baffled and frustrated by the conversation. It stresses me out to think about emigrating to another country. And so I shared this. And that wasn't well understood by his German family. And the whole conversation just felt like it spiraled into a strange abstraction through a series of subtle miscommunications.
But other than this evening, I've had a wonderful day. I followed a new storyteller today, and I loved his style. I got to watch two storytellers and have a lunch discussion with them both. It was a lot of fun to talk story with them and analyze how the students responded to the lessons. I love story. I love watching children listen to stories. Their eyes light up, their mouths fall open, they start to act things out, they crack up with laughter. It's a joy-filled profession. I'm also enjoying watching so many different age groups. It's fun to watch how their sense of humor changes with their age. It's interesting how a room of first graders won't question the fact that the story is about pulling a turkey out of the ground, but second graders would find it ridiculous and need to point it out to the storyteller. And today, there was a group of 3rd grade girls who had a lot of trouble with ambiguity and not having control. At one point the storyteller was sharing different types of possible endings to the same story, and after listening to the options, one of the girls turned around and said to her friends, "I think he did by accident. Right? He did it by accident!" As if voting on it would turn it into an absolute.
"A little political activist," one of the storytellers guessed about this girl.
(Sadly, I think I was that student when I was little. I suppose I shouldn't judge her so harshly--or myself for that matter--but it embarrasses me nonetheless.)
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6 comments:
Kirsten, I think the little girl who was championing her favorite story ending sounds delightful and interesting. Don't you think that by investing her own desire so strongly in a particular ending, she demonstrates an exceptional imagination? She formed a bias toward the outcome that gave her the most pleasure--which is what all of us do in real life. To be able to feel strongly about a story's ending is a good thing in so many ways. Also, I think it is charming that she turned to her friends to advocate for the ending she liked. She sounds spunky, like she has pluck.
I agree that she sound a bit like you in your childhood stories. It seems like you usually tell "I was a bossy little girl" stories with such relish that it surprises me that you are sad to see yourself in this little girl, especially since your description of her makes me think I'd like to be one of her friends.
Why do you think it makes you sad to think of being like her? Why do you think that it is embarassing for you?
I hope that comment didn't sound preachy. I didn't mean it to be. For some reason, I felt defensive of you because I like your bossy little girl stories. I think they are so endearing.
It sounds like an exhausting dinner. It gives me an evil tickle to think of you fielding Len's fantasy about relocating to Germany. What with all your processing of being an MK at the mercy of your parents' relocation impulses, I can only imagine what "strange abstractions" and "subtle miscommunications" might have resulted. Oh, to be a fly on the wall!
After you hit "New Post," a screen comes up with three tabs: Posting, Settings, Template. If you click on the "Settings" one, you'll be given a number of options that allow you to limit the level of public exposure your blog will have. I thought you might like to know this because you recently wrote about your discomfort with the idea of somebody finding your blog by googling your name.
Make sure you read to the bottom of the options provided under the "Settings" tab. Perhaps you will decide to add the "transliteration button"--which will convert your English words to Hindi script upon command. I think I may add that feature.
(I have insomnia)
1. I can definitely appreciate the little girl's spunk. I think my sadness comes from another part of the experience that I didn't write about because it's complicated to explain--but I'll try. He had four kids share their writing simultaneously and he chose one student to conduct the experience. The conductor could cut someone off mid-sentence to switch to another story. These 3 girls were upset to not be picked as the conductor, and then mid-way through the experience they started to get really upset at the conductor. The conductor was another girl who took total charge of the situation and started flying back and forth between the readers. Most of the class loved it, but these girls became so upset that they couldn't listen. When it was over, they felt that the storyteller should listen to their arguments for why the conductor hadn't done a good job. But the storyteller told them that it wasn't the conductor's fault. They were correct, it was difficult to listen, but if they hadn't been talking with each other about not liking the conductor, they probably would have been better able to listen to the stories. It was a very interesting moment for everyone.
I could see myself in that moment, and the way I can sometimes be completely caught up in arguing for an injustice done to me. So much arguing that I never stop to listen.
I'm sorry that you had insomnia! I hate insomnia.
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