Where I'm From, Part 2

(new class, so new version...again, written in the company of wonderful EDU 3540 students!)

Where I’m From 2-28-13

I am from Kennys and Baylises, with enough Rieman to give me big hips and a generous smile.

I am from down at the lake and Central Street, Beaver Island, and the Arch, always yearning for water.

I am from Siamese cats and too many spiders, mourning doves and grackles, and Grandma's calling to tell me she's seen the first robin.

I'm from teachers, readers, and racist Republicans, whose loving roots I trimmed to keep only the good.

I am from nifflies, sugar cookies, overdone roasts, and rolls burned on the bottom from an oven so old, my mom had to guess at the temperature.

I'm from sun-bathing in April and grilling in February, all the while stoically shivering in the Michigan chill.

In my closet are boxes all beaten and tattered, filled with Grandma's letters and Mom's goodbye. Where I'm from is just a beginning, but an integral part of who I soon shall be.

Where I'm From Poems

In EDU 3540, Language Arts in the Middle/Secondary Classroom we try out a number of creative writing activities from Linda Christensen's texts. (Christensen, Linda (2000). Reading, writing, and rising up: Teaching about the power of the written word. Milwaukee: Rethinking Schools.)
Last week the students and I worked on writing our own Where I'm From poems, based upon the original by George Ella Lyon.  I find it to be a wonderful way to help students discover what's important to them in their families, cultures, and upbringings. An interesting outcome is how responsive the students are to one anothers' writing. They also seem to loosen up some with this activity--the ones who are reluctant to answer questions or share seem to be more willing after we do this. I wrote with my students last semester, too, and made some revisions. Here's the latest...

I AM FROM STRONG STOCK—P. Rieman 9-19-12

 I am from strong women and absent men, always cats and books, from copper-bottomed pots and hand towels (which are not the same as dish towels!)

 I am from a tiny apartment on the second floor of an old white house, barely room to turn around. Living with a homecoming, prom, and penny carnival queen sister while I won the spelling bees.

 I am from Grandma and Uncle Dick and from the roses in Aunt Kay’s yard. From creaky old stoves, missing stairs, and “Mr.Otherland.” I’m from cribbage, euchre, double solitaire, King in the Corner, Spite & Malice, and jigsaw puzzles.  

 I’m from goofy klutziness, comparing bruises at get-togethers, stubbornness, getting the giggles, and reading on the couch with a cat on my lap. From shivering in the weak April sun trying to get the first sunburn of the year and being the first in the neighborhood to grill outdoors in the spring—snow, or no snow!

 I’m from “remember, it’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man” and “boring people get bored,” or, “is it time to be hungry yet?” or, “there’s no such thing as don’t like!” And singing, “Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy, a kid’ll eat ivy too, wouldn’t you?”

 I’m from a dime in the birthday cake and Beaver Island every summer. From Ann Arbor and Dexter and the Isle of Man; Porterhouse steak, fried green tomatoes, and licking the pan after making fudge.

 Grandma’s letters to me are packed away in a dusty old box where I hope I can still find them. On the wall are pictures of Mom when she was well and happy, in my heart are memories of Mom as she lay dying. What else didn’t she tell us?

 I’m from a love of education and no suffering of fools, from self-reliance and the desire to give back. I am from strong stock.

WHAT'S IN YOUR NAME?

My 354 students and I have been enjoying writing creatively with guidance from Linda Christensen's text,

Christensen, Linda (2000). Reading, writing, and rising up: Teaching about the power of the written  word. Milwaukee: Rethinking Schools.

I have my own autographed copy, thank you very much! She is a hero of mine, with her focus on empowerment, social justice, and just plain loving her students.  A couple days ago we were looking at the section beginning on p. 10, "To Say the Name..." I first read to them an excerpt from Any Small Goodness by Tony Johnston (where Arturo and his friends take back their names after their teacher assigns them generic, American names), and then we discussed how Christensen encouraged her students to share the history of their own names. It was a lovely afternoon, taking time to write, enjoy one another's writing, and get to know one another just a little bit better! Here's mine:

Patricia Lynne

As the story goes, by the time I was born my mother was so angry with my father that she wouldn’t even let him hold me! They were divorced before I was out of diapers—I don’t know that I ever lived with him. What does this have to do with my name? He, that missing link of my life, named me Patricia Lynne (with an e). I met him when I was 15, and had a relationship with him until he died four years ago. I asked him once why he’d named me Patricia. He had no particular reason, just liked the name. Same for the middle name.  I still don’t know why it has an e on the end…

There is a Patricia way, way back in my family tree, but no Lynnes. When I was little I toyed with Pat, but never Patti with an I or Patsy—NEVER call me Patsy!  Being nicknamed Patty probably did me more harm than good when I was growing up—we all know what it rhymes with, and I was the first child in my class to reach five feet in height, not to mention being the first to weigh one hundred pounds.

I was usually Patricia only when new, or sick, or in trouble; Patricia Lynne when I was in trouble with Mom; Patty Lynne when it was an affectionate chiding.  More often than not with Mom, I was Polly or Pa-olly or Po-atty. My big sister’s name is Polly, but both parents say that had nothing to do with my chosen name.

Now in the prime of my life, I have several beloved variations of my name. My sweet Joe calls me Missum Patty or Miss Patty; the latter of which caught on like gangbusters when I taught at NIU—there are hundreds of NIU grads, now teaching, who know me as Miss Patty!  Dr. Patty is another favorite. To me, the respect for my degree and experience is there, as is the acknowledgement that I am a human being with a personality. My grandchildren call me Grampat. Being the step-grandma, I wanted a name that didn’t confuse them (they have SO many grandmas!!) and that did not take away from the value of the rightfully- earned title of Grandma that my step-children’s mother and their mothers-in-law possess.

What will my name evolve to next, I wonder? When I am old and wearing purple and red with gaudy black and green striped stockings that don’t stay up, how will people address me? Who will name me next?