The Big Fresh July 29, 2017 Tickle Tickle

I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realizes an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don’t have complete emotions about the present, only about the past.

                                                                                           Virginia Woolf

The phone rings. It is my mom, on the road home from a trip to visit the alma mater we share, Michigan State University. She is laughing, so delighted with herself she has to stop and call me.

On the long drive back from Michigan to New York, she and my dad stopped at a Bob’s Big Boy restaurant. Big Boys are an icon of my childhood, as they are for many of us of a certain age from the Midwest. Before there were McDonald’s restaurants, there were Big Boys. And before there was Ronald McDonald, there was the actual Big Boy in front of the restaurant. That huge grinning statue thrilled my young heart every time I saw it.

After lunch, my dad lingered in the restaurant. My mom explained that as she walked back to the car, she was flooded with memories of me when I was two or three years old. I was too young to remember this, but I would always insist that before we went in the restaurant she lift me up, so that I could tickle under Big Boy’s arms. I thought I was the one keeping a smile on his face as my mom and I said “Tickle tickle!” over and over again.  So my mom walked back to the statue, gave Big Boy a quick tickle tickle under his arms, and then called me to reminisce. It’s one of the privileges of being 80 years old — you can go anywhere and do almost anything, and no one bats an eye.

Memory is a tricky and beautiful thing. I think memories are one reason almost everyone is delighted by babies. There are so many memories for any of us, wrapped up in one little bundle — the babies we’ve loved who are now grown, the potential for babies we hope to see one day. And we hold memories for babies before they can hold their own. That’s why when a parent passes away, we lose a piece of ourselves we can never retrieve.

Memories are also the reason why the return to school in late summer is always bittersweet. Our classrooms are empty, but they echo with the sights and sounds of the children who have been here before. Now that they are gone, we can fully appreciate the best moments of laughing and learning with them. Each space on the rug or knickknack on the shelf conjures someone up as we move furniture around and tidy everything. When the kids are with us, we’re all just too busy with the next book or writing assignment to appreciate the memories burrowing or expanding deep in our brains, waiting to be retrieved in a quiet moment years from now.

Throughout the school, there are other spaces that used to belong to a colleague who has retired, or a co-teacher who has moved on to another grade or building. We’ll pick up a book they loved, or a mug they left behind in the staff room, and it tickles our brain, surprising us with how much we miss them.

In these moments, I am always grateful at the mind and heart’s seemingly infinite elasticity to expand and fill with good memories of so many students and teachers. It gives us all optimism that we will have room (emotionally and physically) for all our new students, no matter how awkward the early days may be.

This week we look at ways teachers can become more playful as they plan units, and in the process energize young readers and writers. Plus more as always — enjoy!

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In A Joyful Mess, Ruth Ayres writes about the messiness of analyzing needs, celebrating achievements, and thinking about what’s next with writers in workshops:

http://www.choiceliteracy.com/articles-detail-view.php?id=2524

Suzy Kaback is inspired by chefs testing recipes to develop a lesson analysis activity. She shares an example of how it works, encouraging honesty, playfulness, and risk-taking among new teachers.

http://leadliteracy.com/articles/573