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May 2006
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5/5/06
Penpals
5/5/06
Friday, May 5, 2006
3:39:00 PM PDT
Feeling Happy
Hearing NPR News
Recently we went to China, and a visit was arranged for us to visit a grade school in X'ian.
My nine year old son prepared a little English lesson, showed pictures of Mt. Rainier, Vashon and an Orca Whale.
The headmaster hoped that some of the kids in my son's class would become penpals with the students at this Chinese gradeschool.
When we came back, we made a poster and took it to school Yesterday he told me that almost no one wants a penpal.
Maybe we just need to give it more time. Here's an article I wrote about a penpal I have kept for over a decade.
Portrait Ten Years In The Making.
In my mind’s eye, I am looking at a portrait. It was
ten years in the making, and I think it’s finished, but I
am not sure.
The style of the art is writing. The artist is a young woman
named Crystal. The picture was started long before I had
ever heard of E-mail. Long before people had their own
fax machines in their homes and in their cars and attached to their cel phones.
Crystal and I were penpals. The type you get when
you send in your money and some poor little kid’s life is all of a
sudden better. The only requirement is that they write to
you now and then and thank you for the money. If you are
lucky, you learn a little about them and their family and
their life.
Crystal didn’t just write when the money came. She
didn’t really tell me much about her family except her
dad is a cop and her mother is a secretary and most of the
time she couldn’t stand her little brother, who they obviously
favored and could never do anything wrong. I have no idea what
her house or neighborhood look like. I have no more understanding
of her culture, Navaho, than her suggestion about a book I should
read if I’m really that interested in it.
At first, she told me a lot about her dreams and plans
for the future. They were soaring but attainable. She was
short with long hair. Then she was tall with no hair. Then
she was too fat with red spikes and a tatoo. Her hair has
been blue and then short and then long again.
She told me about loving basketball and playing her
flute. She told me about wanting to be an architect than
then a lawyer and then a pilot.
She told me everythingthat she thought about
her fights with her father, and that he had a gun and that
he hit her. She told me about how young her mother had
been when Chrystal was born and that she, Crystal was
not going that dreary route.
Crystal told me about ordinary school days
in poetic, vivid details. What she was studying and what
she loved and then who she loved.
When I told her that I was pregnant she wrote back telling me how about three-quarters of the girls in her school get pregnant, and what happens to them and how she and Dom would never do that.
She told me about rollerblading and piercing her ears.
About band trips and summer camp. And all of a sudden
she was in her senior year and she told me about
the prom and her dress and the music. She invited me
to her graduation, and then told me it was a good thing
I didn’t come because she was really so sick and nervous
she was puking her guts out all day.
And oh yes, she wasn’t going to college after all and
that Dom had dumped her part was through the year and
she had tried to kill herself and had to stay in the mental
ward of a hospital on a 24 hour watch and they wanted
her to take Prozac but she wouldn’t. She told me exactly
what she thought of the “shrinks” and I didn’t disagree.
Finally, she told me that she was leaving for boot camp
(Air Force) in three days. She wondered what they would think
about her piece(s) and tatoo(s). She added detailed strokes
that described her fear of leaving home and her family.
She added dark color in revealing she and Dom might be
back together. She added the finishing touches to the
portrait ten years in the making--the little girl was
not covered over, yet the young woman was clearly
revealed. At the end she told me that she has kept every
one of my letters to her, and that she loves me. And maybe
I’d like to keep writing. Yes. I would, and I will.
‘
]’’?
Written by slvrwd Blog about this entry |
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3:39:00 PM PDT
Feeling Happy
Hearing NPR News
Penpals
My nine year old son prepared a little English lesson, showed pictures of Mt. Rainier, Vashon and an Orca Whale.
The headmaster hoped that some of the kids in my son's class would become penpals with the students at this Chinese gradeschool.
When we came back, we made a poster and took it to school Yesterday he told me that almost no one wants a penpal.
Maybe we just need to give it more time. Here's an article I wrote about a penpal I have kept for over a decade.
Portrait Ten Years In The Making.
In my mind’s eye, I am looking at a portrait. It was
ten years in the making, and I think it’s finished, but I
am not sure.
The style of the art is writing. The artist is a young woman
named Crystal. The picture was started long before I had
ever heard of E-mail. Long before people had their own
fax machines in their homes and in their cars and attached to their cel phones.
Crystal and I were penpals. The type you get when
you send in your money and some poor little kid’s life is all of a
sudden better. The only requirement is that they write to
you now and then and thank you for the money. If you are
lucky, you learn a little about them and their family and
their life.
Crystal didn’t just write when the money came. She
didn’t really tell me much about her family except her
dad is a cop and her mother is a secretary and most of the
time she couldn’t stand her little brother, who they obviously
favored and could never do anything wrong. I have no idea what
her house or neighborhood look like. I have no more understanding
of her culture, Navaho, than her suggestion about a book I should
read if I’m really that interested in it.
At first, she told me a lot about her dreams and plans
for the future. They were soaring but attainable. She was
short with long hair. Then she was tall with no hair. Then
she was too fat with red spikes and a tatoo. Her hair has
been blue and then short and then long again.
She told me about loving basketball and playing her
flute. She told me about wanting to be an architect than
then a lawyer and then a pilot.
She told me everythingthat she thought about
her fights with her father, and that he had a gun and that
he hit her. She told me about how young her mother had
been when Chrystal was born and that she, Crystal was
not going that dreary route.
Crystal told me about ordinary school days
in poetic, vivid details. What she was studying and what
she loved and then who she loved.
When I told her that I was pregnant she wrote back telling me how about three-quarters of the girls in her school get pregnant, and what happens to them and how she and Dom would never do that.
She told me about rollerblading and piercing her ears.
About band trips and summer camp. And all of a sudden
she was in her senior year and she told me about
the prom and her dress and the music. She invited me
to her graduation, and then told me it was a good thing
I didn’t come because she was really so sick and nervous
she was puking her guts out all day.
And oh yes, she wasn’t going to college after all and
that Dom had dumped her part was through the year and
she had tried to kill herself and had to stay in the mental
ward of a hospital on a 24 hour watch and they wanted
her to take Prozac but she wouldn’t. She told me exactly
what she thought of the “shrinks” and I didn’t disagree.
Finally, she told me that she was leaving for boot camp
(Air Force) in three days. She wondered what they would think
about her piece(s) and tatoo(s). She added detailed strokes
that described her fear of leaving home and her family.
She added dark color in revealing she and Dom might be
back together. She added the finishing touches to the
portrait ten years in the making--the little girl was
not covered over, yet the young woman was clearly
revealed. At the end she told me that she has kept every
one of my letters to her, and that she loves me. And maybe
I’d like to keep writing. Yes. I would, and I will.
‘
]’’?
Written by slvrwd Blog about this entry |
Add to del.icio.us | digg this
