Now that you have taken the time to go through all of your closets, and attics and basements and anywhere else you could find items for your Bio Book Bags, what does this collection say about you as a reader? As a writer?
Choose one of the items from your bag and do a quick write on it...right here on the computer...right NOW! This is not something you have to draft and revise, just let your thoughts flow as you explore the corners of your mind to discover how this item influenced you and who you are today in terms of attitude, your teaching, your likes and dislikes. Have some fun with this. Here is mine as a model.
My Winnie the Pooh cookbook makes me think of my Nana. Nana was the one person in my life who really saw me as her "favorite". How do I know this? I know this because of the way I felt when I was with her. She listened to me and really heard what I was saying about what I liked and what I didn't like. Her gifts, which include this cookbook and my Raggedy Ann and Andy chalk board, were gifts that "showed" how she knew me in a way nobody else seemed to. Somehow she knew that I loved to bake and that this cookbook would be something I would always treasure.
The chalkboard was something that validated my desire to one day be a teacher, but it was even more than that because at that time in my life I was an avid collector of Raggedy Ann and Andy. Anything with Raggedies on them...I HAD to have!
It was not just the gifts, but the fact that she really listened to me and would take the time to hear what I had to say. This meant the world to me and now that I think about it, that is one of the things that I carry with me as an educator...a teacher...a mom. To listen, to really listen when someone is talking shows that they matter. It shows that their thinking, their thoughts, and their ideas count. Yes, that is what my Nana showed me. She showed me the power of someone hearing you out and truly listening to what is in your heart.
That is my quick write. Notice how I get "off track" a little bit. THAT is what a quick write is! Just start writing and see where it takes you. I had NO idea that was where I was going. Quick writes ask us to follow our stream of consciousness...to make connections where there might have been none. It is a way for us to discover what it is that we did not know before.
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"I the midst of our lives, we must find the magic that makes our souls soar." How much more true does it get than that? And when I decided that I was going to begin my very first, self-motivated journal, that quote was what decorated the cover of the one that I bought at Bares and Noble. It fits perfectly because even though the journal is mine, it is not for me. It is for my daughters. Bridget is 3 and Brielle is one. And they are my magic. Each night, well I guess it is more like most nights, before I head off to sleep I write a short letter to the two of them about our day together. It is usually a bit longer on the weekends, since we get to spend more time together. I try to end each entry with something
I want to remember about our day. Some little or big thing, that I know the details of will escape me in a day or a month or a year. I have already gone back and read certain entries, and I am surprised about the things I have already forgotten, even though I just started the journal in August. Like when the two of them found a mouse that Colby had killed in the laundry room and they put it in the microwave of their play kitchen. My skin crawls and I can't help laughing at the same time...Why did they put it in the MICROWAVE? And how could I have forgotten it?
Which brings me to the reason I started my journal I the first place: My girls have baby books, that are completely blank. I have saved pictures to put in them, cards from the baby showers and birthdays, all in separate envelopes. But important stuff that should be in those books is already forgotten. How much they weighed at what doctor visit and when they ate this or that...gone! Favorite baby foods and first books...gone! When did Bridget start to feed herself? When did Brielle sit up for the first time? I just don't know. From time to time, I focus on this and it upsets me. What kind of message does that send to my girls? And what on earth can I do about it now...Enter, my journal. Because ultimately I want them to know that I love them. And I hope that by letting them inside my mind as I process our time together they will know that I do love them. I hope that they will be able to see that, though I would have loved to be the kind of mom that writes baby book entries and clips pictures for photo albums, I am instead, the kind of mom that takes them to a park or
letterboxing, or hiking and notices that Bridget is getting close to pumping her own swing or that Brielle almost climbed the slide's ladder by herself today. So, though I say the journal is for my girls, I guess I also know that it is for me. It is my way of making up for lost time and also my way of chronicling the time that I don't want to make the mistake of loosing. It makes me feel better.
When we were first given the assignment of the bio-book bag only one thing came to mind..."The Monster at the End of This Book". Do you remember that book? It was one of the Little Golden Books with Grover, from Sesame Street, as the main character. My earliest memories as a reader involved that book. My younger brother always wanted to hear that book when he was little, and I always wanted to be the one to read it to him. I remember doing silly voices, and just having fun.
You see, I don't recall being read to. I know that my parents are not readers, themselves, and neither is my brother. I used to think I was adopted for that reason! How could I have possibly come from the same place? I decided to talk with my mother. I told her about the project that we had to complete, and explained my one selection of which I was sure. I learned so much from that conversation. My mother said that though she and my dad are not readers, they read to me every night. She remembered the book that I chose for my bag. She used to read it to me and still remembers the voices that she used with me.
I was reading words at the age of two. My grandfather didn't believe this so he put the newspaper in front of me when I was two and a half...I read about the Dallas Cowboys...so there! It turns out that my parents read to me until I only wanted to read to myself, and to them. When my brother was born I finally had another audience.
By having my mother read to me, I learned to do voices for characters, and to lose myself in a book. I became the characters. Maybe that's why my book bag was so diverse...I became Juliet, Emma, and Catherine. I encountered the creatures that came from Stephen King's imagination. All because of the monster at the end of a book....
I decided to write about one of the books I chose to place in my bio bag even though I had almost forgotten about it. It wasn't until a few days before our class, when I was looking for the last of the books I wanted to add, that I saw this book on the shelf and it brought back a lot of memories. I wasn't sure if I wanted to add it to my bag but after much thought realized how much of a hold it had on me. I'll warn you, it's not a pretty story!
Probably about 40 years ago when I was in 5th and 6th grades I remember a family (brother and sister) getting on the school bus and always wondering about them. There was just something about them that I didn't understand. They never spoke to anyone and always had kind of blank stares (never any eye contact). They were never in any of my classes but I always saw them on the bus coming to school or going home. Speaking of which, I could never figure out where they came from or where they were going. Where the bus would stop was on the edge of a dirt road, well really a path, and very densely covered with brush and trees. I remember sitting on the school bus, craning my neck to try to see where they were going. There wasn't any place in those woods to go was there? Anyway, even though this happened so long ago I have very strong memories of wondering about these kids. One day I asked my mother about them and her response was, "Just be nice to them, they are very poor." I remember saying hello to one of them one day as she got on the bus and though she didn't answer she smiled. I was struck by that because I think that was probably the only time I saw her smile.
About 5 years ago, I sat with my coffee and Sunday morning newspaper only to be shocked at the almost full page spread about a book which had been written by a local man. As I read the article I realized this book had been written by the brother and it brought back all of these memories. The title of the book tells it all; 'Wayne, An Abused Child's Story Of Courage, Survival, and Hope.' Of course I ran right out and bought the book! Now I get it! Now I understand what all the wondering was about but I now have new questions. Didn't anyone try to help them? Teachers and administrators had to notice. If an 11 year old notices, someone had to know that something wasn't right. How could this have gone on for so long? And it did go on until they left the house. They didn't know any better but don't we as adults? How could this have happened!!!!!
When I was a little girl, I remember quite vividly spending countless hours playing 'house'. I was always pretending to be a mommy with at least 2 children (a boy and a girl). My greatest desire was to become a mom someday. This memory leads me to the item(s) I chose to write about from my bio-bookbag.
When I discovered I was pregnant with my first child, I was overjoyed! Everything about my pregnancy was magical. I was finally going to be a mom—the moment I felt I had prepared for all my life. I began journaling my pregnancy to my unborn son and wrote entries about the days and months leading up to his arrival. Tyler arrived a month early. My mom was throwing me a surprise baby shower the same weekend he was born. We didn't even have the crib yet. The crib was being delivered the next week. All of this just didn't matter when little Tyler entered our world! We even had to borrow a car seat from the hospital to bring him home. These memories and more are all preserved within the pages of this journal I wrote to Tyler. Seventeen months later, I was pregnant again with baby #2! Would I be able to capture that same excitement and anticipation for our next bundle of boy? I was determined that he, too, would know my every thought and preparation for his arrival! And so, I began journal #2 for baby #2.
These journals have been stored in my closet for quite some time. You see, my two boys are now teenagers! I have decided that when they become parents for the first time, that I would pass along these journals to them...and perhaps they would write one for their children too. The thing I am most proud of is that I am a mom to two incredible human beings and I think playing 'house' prepared me well (except sometimes teenagers can be scary:)!
When Tomasen started going through her bio bag I immediately thought of the book that defines me as a reader, a teacher and a parent. I read Son Rise by Barry Kaufman in 1982 for a report I was writing on Autism. After reading the book and writing the report I told my teacher that someday I wanted to work with children who had autism. Little did I know that 16 years later I would be sitting in my son's doctors office being told that my son had Autism.
Back in 1982 I thought how amazing it would be to help these children and their parents cope with the disability. I wanted to make the child see that our world was far better their the world they wanted deep inside of themselves. I wanted the parents to see their child accomplish milestones that doctors told them would never happen. I wanted to bring hope!
In 1994 I was teaching Readiness and I had a child in my class with Autism. Once again the memory of that book found it's way back to me and I was working with an Autistic child and his parents. He had strong academic skills and verbal skills but he had limited social skills. His parents came to me and told me their one wish for him that year was to be accepted by his peers and have a "best friend". That year I made it my goal to grant that wish. By Dec of that year he had a best friend. A boy who was struggling academically but had strong social skills befriended the boy and together they formed a friendship that would last all through Elementary school and Woodbury. During those years they taught others about acceptance and by the time High School rolled around the boy had many friends. His Senior Year at Salem High he was vote Homecoming King by his class. He parents stood there during halftime at the football game watching their son be crowned. I have a picture of that day because the queen he was standing next to was my niece.
Four years later in the fall of 1996, I was sitting in my son's doctors office being told my son had Autism. Enter the book Son Rise. I was about to embark on the same journey as those parents. It was my turn as a parent to help my "son rise" from the world of Autism and join my world. I remembering thinking that day that I never said I wanted to be the parent of a child with Autism. My dream was to work with and help families face that journey and bring hope to them. I guess someone misunderstood me and thought I could be that parent.
The book Son Rise was about a parents journey through Autism. I read it for a class report and 16 years later I was rereading it to help me through my journey of Autism. I have read many book over the past twelve years on autism but none have had the profound effect that Son Rise had on me. It was the beginning of a reading journey that would change what I read today. The romance novels and mystery novels that define me as a reader before 1998 are no longer read because when I have time to read for myself my reading is about my son and how I can bring hope to him and myself.
In my bio book bag I included a book that is my earliest memory of reading my own book, and the public library. I must have been about 4 or 5 years old. I remember that I hadn't started school yet. I remember looking through the shelves and choosing this book. I even renewed it because I didn't want to let go of it! I have never thought of myself as a prejudice person and this incident proved that even more so. Someone (who shall remain nameless, and I forgive them) wrote a negative comment about my having this book in my book bag. I am so "not" prejudice that I don't even understand the concern that the individual has over the book. All I know is that I loved this book as a child. I loved the pictures and I loved the "good will prevail over evil" theme. I also loved that I could borrow this book from the library to enjoy....and renew it if I wasn't ready to let go of it yet! So...no offense was ever intended. Maybe...this is another example of how important our schema is to our reading?
As far back as I can recall I have always been in a kitchen. I cooked with my mother each night getting dinner on the table for five o'clock, my father the baker (yes...he made more rum cakes then any other man on earth) and I licking beaters and bowls, and myself and my grandmother making homemade pasta each Sunday after 7:30 mass (which, by the way, was in Italian!) But no matter what my sister wanted to read, (she was considered "the reader") I always wanted to cook. Therefore, my first reading experiences were cookbooks.
My most treasured book in my biobag would be my Saint Rita's Sodality Cookbook, given to me the day I left for college from my Nana. Like many freshman, I relied heavily on the dining hall my first few years in college, but always has friends with apartments. We would take out this cookbook (the only one anyone had) and try the easiest of recipes. Having experience with my grandmother, we always had Sunday dinner at one apartment and I made sauce and pasta, sauce and gnocchi, sauce and cutlets, typical Italian!!
I would call her to make sure I had the temperature correct, I was putting the right ingredients in, or I was timing the dishes correctly; each of my attempts did lead me to research and read additional resources. She always guided me in the right direction.
So, although my book choice is not a typical book I could recommend to others, it provided me with a sense of purpose and family which contributed to my life in all aspects. This book reminded me each day in college to work hard, enjoy friends and family, and make the most of all situations.
When selecting the books for my bio bag, I found myself placing so many books in the bag that I couldn't even lift it. So, I took everything out and started over. I realized that what should be inside this bag were those books that I have loved and treasured and never threw away. You know the ones I mean, they survive every move you ever made. They turn up when you are rummaging through the attic or the back of your closet. They may even be prominently displayed in your bookshelf.
Yet, the one I have chosen to write about didn't survive any moves, and wasn't put away in the attic. In fact this book has been in the same spot (save the day we shared the bio bags) for the past seven years. It is not old, not worn, and god willing, will never be used again. The book I refer to is the journal my family kept when my father battled stage 4 colon cancer. The content is rather bland for anyone outside of our small circle. We recorded daily questions we had and the answers the doctors gave, all medications and when they would be given, reactions to medication, calorie intake, weight, VNA visits and therapy sessions as well as every hospital discharge paper and blood test my father took. I told you it was bland.
Yet, aside from that, it was also the way in which my family communicated on a daily basis. You see we couldn't always be at the hospital at the same time so we wrote each other notes, questions to ask the doctors, and any other information we felt was necessary to update each other.
Erina asked me why we still keep this book. My first response was that if we disposed of this it might be like losing my father all over again. But since that day, I have thought about my response to Erina's question and I think there is more to say.
The journal represents the strength that my father and my family possessed during that difficult period. Not only was it a symbol of strength, but also one of hope. The hope that my father would get better and we could return to our life, one without cancer. Although my father lost the battle, the journal is a reminder to me that my father had an incredible will to live and he did everything within his power to continue that life he loved so much.
And while I will never display this on a bookshelf, treasure it, or love it, this journal will not be thrown away. It is a part of me.
Okay, how is it possible that I could have a "Donny Osmond" book in my collection and not receive any comments about it?
I'm not sure of when my love of books started. I do not remember my parents reading to me often. We did have the traditional reading of The Night Before Christmas which I do remember. I included the book in my collection. That was such a special time that I searched through many copies of the book to find just the right one to pass along to my children hoping they would have the same fond memories of that special time spent with me as I read to them. I've read so many books to them, I wonder what book/books they will remember and want to share with their little ones. I love the feeling I get when I walk into a book store or a library. I love getting lost in a book. That feeling started for me with Nancy Drew, under the covers reading with a flashlight because although Mom said "lights out", I just couldn't leave Nancy before she was safe and the mystery was solved. I tried to pass the series along to my daughter. She is not a fan of Nancy... Back to Donny. It is hard for me to witness the discard of books from the library. The Osmonds was a Lancaster library discard and was going to be thrown away. I could not let that happen. I have never read the book, skimming the pages brings back fond memories of watching Donny and nurtures the crush I had on him. It is safely tucked away in my file cabinet at school and when I come upon it while searching for other things, it brings a smile to my face and that warm feeling of school girl crushes. I am once again reminded of my love for books.
When I started thinking about what I wanted to put in my bag I had a very difficult time. Eventually I remembered my mom had made me a binder as a high school graduation gift with all sorts of school things from pre-school to high school. I started looking through all of my report cards and they all had comments about the effort I put into all of my work, but how much I struggled with reading, writing, and spelling. These report cards stated exactly what I remembered about reading. I hated it as a kid because it was so difficult. I remember never enjoying reading and always being frustrated.
After looking at all of my items it became very clear to me that I have tried very hard to make every student in my class enjoy reading as much as possible. I think I have a lot of sympathy for my students who work so hard everyday, but still seem to be missing the major reading skills they need. I have also realized how frustrated some of my teachers must have been with me when they showed me the same thing over and over and I didn't get it. I now have this feeling at times with my struggling students.
I struggled with creating my bio book bag and I struggled again choosing a book to blog on. I don't have any memories of being read to as a child. Nor do I remember actually learning to read. I can picture my kindergarten and first grade classrooms and teachers, but nothing comes to mind about reading. My parents are not "readers" (if given the choice, they probably wouldn't read for pleasure) and my 2 brothers hate to read. In recent years I got my mom reading a bit here and there, a few books I had enjoyed (about friendship, life, etc.) She seems to enjoy it when she does it, and I am happy to know that I encouraged it, but I don't know if she'd choose a book over a tv show.
I, on the other hand, can get lost in the right book. I fall in love with the characters and end up feeling as though I'm living through the book. But that only happens to me with the right books. Much of the time when I'm reading, my mind is completely sidetracked and I end up reading the same paragraph 4 times. The only book I know I read and loved in gradeschool was Pippi Longstocking. I don't actually remember the book or reading it, I just know that I wanted to read all of them and loved them. I guess this was probably one of my first experiences of getting lost in a book and feeling like I was part of it. The only problem is that I get so lost in the book that a month later I don't even remember what happened in it!!!
Three years ago when my husband and I got married, my parents were obviously very excited for many reasons...but the reason they claimed they were so happy was that they were going to be able to "get rid" of the 4 large file cabinets filled with with, "the story of my life" which sat in their basement for 30 years! My parents had been meticulous about keeping anything and everything.
I found myself spending hours going through these boxes in order to find artifacts that have shaped me as a reader or non reader. My parents had even kept every newsletter that my nursery school teacher had sent home. Why you ask? Well, at first I too thought...what's the point of keeping these, but once I read many of them I changed my view and am thankful that I can relive those years I can't remember. Although I teach 1st grade not nursery school, (but I do have those days where I am not sure I'm teaching 1st grade!)I was able to make some connections to these newsletters. Some of our themes were the same. My old teachers had the same "please dress your children appropriately for the weather comments" etc. that I had. Things were really not that different 30 years ago! I also found all my artwork and my report cards...which leads me to what I chose for my book bag.
All of my report cards showed that I struggled with reading and was a "Title I lifer!" The decision from the teachers was that I had shown such a dislike for books that my parents needed to find other ways to get me to read. My mom was told to write notes to me...for example, clean your room, change the fish tank water, clean the bird cage. I am now wondering if my family just stopped talking to me and wrote everything down to force me read. I don't remember this stage of my life so it must not have been that traumatic. I found these notes to be amusing, interesting and personal all at the same time which is why I included them in my book bag. My family was willing to do anything to get me to read. I do sometimes feel as though I have let them down. They worked so hard to get me be a good reader. My family's idea of the perfect day is to sit and read. That, unfortunately, is my idea of a cruel punishment!
I have to tell you that when I first found out I had to do a Bio Book bag I was like oh ****. I thought to myself, I don't have anything to put in my bag. I have always been a reader, I have read countless books, I have a "gazillion" (as Julia would say) books in my house. From Sandra Boynton to Hillary Clinton but I could not decide which books were important enough in my life to include them in "THE BAG". So, what did I do? I did what any self-respecting teacher would do. I faked it. I started pulling books from shelves all the while hoping that I did not have to give any type of in-depth explanation as to why I had chosen these particular books. I went into my daughter Julia's room and pulled the book Someday off her shelf. Someday is the story of a mother watching her daughter grow up and become a mother herself. I began to think about how I was going to be sure that my children remembered the "important" moments of their lives. I am not the type of person who fills out the baby book line by line or keeps a spectacular scrap book. I have not written down all of the wonderful, funny, amazing things that they have said or done over the years. I decided that I would create for each of them a "bio backpack". Thankfully my children are pack rats so they each had the first backpack that they used for pre-school. I took the backpacks and put a few special books in each one. That was the beginning...I have since added a CD of songs that we enjoy listening to or that make me think of them. Each bag has a couple of photos and that is about it. So, if either Julia or Katie ever has to do a "BAG" of their own, they will have someplace to start.
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