Thursday, February 23, 2012
Thursday, February 9, 2012
The Magic Bunny by Garrett T. Fraley
Garrett was the 3rd Grade winner for the Young Authors Contest. He is elated. This is his story (created by a process that I will henceforth call "Begging Garrett to Concentrate so that His Inner Light Can Shine").
Once there was a medium sized bunny named Ramon. He was a white bunny with a few patches of black fur. Most people thought he was cute. Ramon knew only one person—the magician, the Great Ricardo! The Great Ricardo! knew many magic tricks and was well known. The Great Ricardo was especially good at making a rabbit appear and disappear from his black magic top hat. Ramon was upset that nobody ever seemed to give him credit for making the trick work.
There was one trick that The Great Ricardo! could not do. He could not manage to pierce something with a lot of swords and have the object come out unharmed. Ramon had been watching The Great Ricardo! practice this trick for a long time, using a large supply of watermelon. The only result was a lot of sliced watermelon.
Ramon began to worry that Ricardo (the Not So Great) would want to try his sword trick on a poor, cute, helpless white bunny with black patches of fur. He heard Ricardo say, “For my next show, I will try the sword trick with my trusted rabbit, Ramon!”
Ramon was very worried when he heard this. He had to think of a plan. He would have to trick The Great Ricardo! and disappear. How could he do this? Ramon knew that most magic tricks involved making people see something that they don’t really see. Ricardo calls this “the art of illusion.” But how could a simple bunny master something so fancy as The Art of Illusion? He did not know. He decided to try to hide.
One day when The Great Ricardo! was sleeping, Ramon squeezed out of his cage and hopped quietly to the coal stove. He tucked a large piece of coal under his paw and ran on his other three legs back to his cage. In his cage, he scratched the coal into a powder with his long claws. Then he hid the powder in a small baggie that once held some rabbit treats.
The next day was the day of the big show. Ricardo greeted Ramon with a smile and said, “Today is the day, my furry friend! Today we will do our greatest trick with the sword. Now, don’t be afraid. I’ve had lots of practice.”
Ramon was afraid. He hoped his own magic trick would work! He hid his treat bag full of coal in his cheeks as the magician lifted him from his cage prepared him for the show. Soon Ramon heard the announcer, “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! I present The Great Ricardo!”
It was time. Ricardo began the show by showing the crowd that he could bend a spoon by wiggling his finger over it. Then he made balls multiply and disappear under shiny metal cups. Next he made a ring move through a solid rope. The crowd was impressed.
“Next,” said Ricardo, “I will make a rabbit appear from my hat! This was Ramon’s big moment. The magician lifted him out of the hat and showed him to the audience. The audience said, “Awwww!” Then the Great Ricardo said, “Now I shall make this Rabbit disappear!” Ramon hid himself in the hat and quickly covered himself in the black coal powder. The Magician turned the hat upside down and showed that Ramon had disappeared. The magician said, “Now, I will make the rabbit reappear!” But he could not find Ramon who was camouflaged in the hat. There appeared to be no rabbit in the hat. The Great Ricardo was confused. The audience laughed and booed. Ramon felt bad about that. He was used to people clapping for him. But, he was happy to have escaped possible death from the Magic Sword.
Later that night, after the show was over and the crowd was gone, Ramon hopped from the magic hat and scampered into the darkness, unseen and covered in coal.
About Face
While driving in the car to Garrett's piano lesson, Mary randomly announced that she does not like her "crying face."
Mary: I don't like my crying face.
Caroline: Do you mean the face that you make while you are crying?
Mary: Yes. I don't like the way it looks.
Caroline: How do you know how it looks?
Mary: When I am crying I look at it in the mirror. I only open my eye a teeny crack to see it. I don't like it.
Caroline: I don't like my crying face either.
Garrett: I haven't seen you cry in a long time.
Caroline: I cried when Grandma Lee died. (I have certainly cried since then, but Garrett has seen it).
Garrett: Yes, you cried hard.
Caroline: You know what face I don't like?
Mary: What?
Caroline: I don't like my angry face.
Mary: Why not?
Caroline: It makes me feel yucky. Ugly. My smiling face is much better.
Garrett: I don't like your angry face either.
Mary: I don't like my crying face.
Caroline: Do you mean the face that you make while you are crying?
Mary: Yes. I don't like the way it looks.
Caroline: How do you know how it looks?
Mary: When I am crying I look at it in the mirror. I only open my eye a teeny crack to see it. I don't like it.
Caroline: I don't like my crying face either.
Garrett: I haven't seen you cry in a long time.
Caroline: I cried when Grandma Lee died. (I have certainly cried since then, but Garrett has seen it).
Garrett: Yes, you cried hard.
Caroline: You know what face I don't like?
Mary: What?
Caroline: I don't like my angry face.
Mary: Why not?
Caroline: It makes me feel yucky. Ugly. My smiling face is much better.
Garrett: I don't like your angry face either.
Sleep tight
Lately Mary has been insisting that I sleep with her. She is such an independent, determined person; it surprises me when she says "I don't want to be alone. I want you to sleep with me all night." She says she has nightmares. Last night she had one about Minecraft, a computer game that she plays where she invents her own worlds. She woke up to tell me about this nightmare, but I wasn't fully awake. The information about her dream was somehow merged with my dream. In my dream I was inside the fence of a zoo environment where all the animals roamed around together. There were rhinoceros, elephants, bears, monkeys and apes, and jungle cats. Mary and Garrett were inside the enclosure with me. I was sure a Giant Panda was going to take out Garrett. In the bed, Mary woke and said, "Mommy, my world isn't safe." I said, "Neither is mine. Go back to sleep so I can get this bear away from Garrett." She said, "I don't have a bear, mommy, but buildings are popping up and falling down where I don't want them." I assured her that it was just a dream, but I felt the same urgency to get back to my zoo and do something about the chaos.
Mary has always wanted me to be with her in some way for sleeping. It brings back all sorts of memories for me. Sometimes she completely freaks me out by saying the exact thing my sister, Mary, would have said. "You sleep by the edge, Mommy."
"Why do you want me to sleep by the edge?" I already know the answer.
"Because I'm afraid of monsters and if I sleep by the wall, they'll get you first."
Yep, I've heard that before. As it has in the past, this comment is both a compliment and an insult. Apparently, I'm a source of protection and a necessary sacrifice. I'll admit it feels a little more acceptable as a parent than a sister.
Mary is completely stubborn. This drives me crazy, but I also admire her for knowing what she wants and sticking to her guns. On nights when I'd rather sleep in my own bed, I try to explain to her that there are no monsters, that we are all in the same house, and we are safe. She can sleep on her own and we'll all be here in the morning. She's not buying it. It's absolutely necessary that I be with her in the bed.
I feel like taking my argument a little further and telling her that the monsters don't live under the bed or in the closet. In my experience, the monsters are lurking under our own skin. Self-doubt, disease, fear of being alone--those are the monsters that I worry about. All those years that I slept next to my sister because she was afraid of monsters--or the thing that would come to get us--didn't keep the real monster away. It was already there. It was already taking us, and it didn't choose me. It didn't care if I was on the outside or the inside of the bed. Maybe Mary knew that it was coming for us.
For this reason, I ignore all parenting intuition and sleep with Mary Moo. We wake in the night and say, "There some scary stuff in here." We resolve to go back to sleep and take care of it. I fall asleep turned away from Mary and eventually I am hugging her. I wake up stiffer than I would have in my own bed, but with a familiar peace. She doesn't hog the blankets, or snore, or climb over me to get to the bathroom. She is quite beautiful when she sleeps.
My mother used to tell me that she could always tell me and my sister apart, except when we were sleeping. Our deep resting expression removed all the individuality from our faces. When Mary Moo is sleeping, her face reminds me that we are all the same. We want to go to sleep feeling secure. We want help making sense of chaos and uncertainty. We want to know we can explore our innermost self safely and with a witness.
When I climb into bed with Mary, I hope that the monsters stay away from her. I still hold out hope that snuggling has a buffering effect. I pray that nothing is lurking or coming for her. I pray that I will not look back on these days of sharing our dreams with a pining heart.
In another part of my dream last night I was with my grandma. I was at her house arranging her things. I had a collection of framed photographs and I was unsure whether or not they should be saved. I had the sense that I was being advised to throw them away, but I resist this idea. I leave the photographs alone and later return to them. My grandma is there and she has fastened them all together with gold filigree clasps. She tells me, "They are all connected, see? They go together even if they are framed a little differently." Suddenly I see the pictures as a whole. I say, "Grandma, where did you get those clasps? I have never seen them before." She said, "Oh I keep them by my bed. I have lots of little things." The clasps were actually connected to the people. It was essential that these clasps touch a part of the subject's body. My grandfather had a clasp on his foot and on his hand. The hand extended to the next picture where it linked to a child's shoulder. We were literally all connected.
Although there is not a third body in the bed with Mary and me. There are other souls. They come in and out of our dreams and they are part of the fabric in the quilts and blankets. We swaddle them around us and invite them to tell us something. They tell me that we have to make the most of the time that we have. They say that these sleeping moments count just as much as the waking moments. We are all connected all the time.
Mary has always wanted me to be with her in some way for sleeping. It brings back all sorts of memories for me. Sometimes she completely freaks me out by saying the exact thing my sister, Mary, would have said. "You sleep by the edge, Mommy."
"Why do you want me to sleep by the edge?" I already know the answer.
"Because I'm afraid of monsters and if I sleep by the wall, they'll get you first."
Yep, I've heard that before. As it has in the past, this comment is both a compliment and an insult. Apparently, I'm a source of protection and a necessary sacrifice. I'll admit it feels a little more acceptable as a parent than a sister.
Mary is completely stubborn. This drives me crazy, but I also admire her for knowing what she wants and sticking to her guns. On nights when I'd rather sleep in my own bed, I try to explain to her that there are no monsters, that we are all in the same house, and we are safe. She can sleep on her own and we'll all be here in the morning. She's not buying it. It's absolutely necessary that I be with her in the bed.
I feel like taking my argument a little further and telling her that the monsters don't live under the bed or in the closet. In my experience, the monsters are lurking under our own skin. Self-doubt, disease, fear of being alone--those are the monsters that I worry about. All those years that I slept next to my sister because she was afraid of monsters--or the thing that would come to get us--didn't keep the real monster away. It was already there. It was already taking us, and it didn't choose me. It didn't care if I was on the outside or the inside of the bed. Maybe Mary knew that it was coming for us.
For this reason, I ignore all parenting intuition and sleep with Mary Moo. We wake in the night and say, "There some scary stuff in here." We resolve to go back to sleep and take care of it. I fall asleep turned away from Mary and eventually I am hugging her. I wake up stiffer than I would have in my own bed, but with a familiar peace. She doesn't hog the blankets, or snore, or climb over me to get to the bathroom. She is quite beautiful when she sleeps.
My mother used to tell me that she could always tell me and my sister apart, except when we were sleeping. Our deep resting expression removed all the individuality from our faces. When Mary Moo is sleeping, her face reminds me that we are all the same. We want to go to sleep feeling secure. We want help making sense of chaos and uncertainty. We want to know we can explore our innermost self safely and with a witness.
When I climb into bed with Mary, I hope that the monsters stay away from her. I still hold out hope that snuggling has a buffering effect. I pray that nothing is lurking or coming for her. I pray that I will not look back on these days of sharing our dreams with a pining heart.
In another part of my dream last night I was with my grandma. I was at her house arranging her things. I had a collection of framed photographs and I was unsure whether or not they should be saved. I had the sense that I was being advised to throw them away, but I resist this idea. I leave the photographs alone and later return to them. My grandma is there and she has fastened them all together with gold filigree clasps. She tells me, "They are all connected, see? They go together even if they are framed a little differently." Suddenly I see the pictures as a whole. I say, "Grandma, where did you get those clasps? I have never seen them before." She said, "Oh I keep them by my bed. I have lots of little things." The clasps were actually connected to the people. It was essential that these clasps touch a part of the subject's body. My grandfather had a clasp on his foot and on his hand. The hand extended to the next picture where it linked to a child's shoulder. We were literally all connected.
Although there is not a third body in the bed with Mary and me. There are other souls. They come in and out of our dreams and they are part of the fabric in the quilts and blankets. We swaddle them around us and invite them to tell us something. They tell me that we have to make the most of the time that we have. They say that these sleeping moments count just as much as the waking moments. We are all connected all the time.
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