Day 4 - Antigua

We did much the same thing in our next port of call, Antigua It was very picturesque when we disembarked the ship, as you can see from the photo below. Buildings with bright colors. Lots of shops. I wore a different pair of flip flops, but my already irritated feet just got worse and by the end of the day, my feet were swollen and I bore the flip-flop stigmata.

This is a photo of our ship from the port below. She's a big one!

Below is a different angle of the ship. Our room was one of the first rows of portholes on the bottom level. At night, when the seas were rougher, the water would splash onto our window!

A steel drum band was outside the ship to welcome us to Antigua.

We hired a taxi/bus to take us to a nice beach and a short tour of the island. He said he'd take us to the airport and I thought, "Why?" but as you can see from the pictures below, the Antigua International Airport is gorgeous! It looks like a resort when you enter it and the grounds are like the gardens of royalty. According to our driver it was all made by some Texas billionare. The airport grounds include a cricket field, a cricket hall of fame, a golf course, and several other buildings.

Another part of the airport.

This is the Dickinson Beach which is basically the beach used by the Sandals Resort. The yellow buildings in the background are part of Sandals. Beni and I were temped to walk up the Sandals bar and order a drink. How would they know?

Frankie, our little beach bum, sat down and struck this pose all on his own.

Since Frankie wasn't too excited with going in the water, he loved to sit near his cousin Anna and listen to her iPod.

My nephews Mike and Filippo rented jet skis

That night, the seas were rougher than they'd been. I had napped through Captain Mishelle's announcement that those who had motion sickness might want to take something, so after dinner, I felt the nausea coming on and decided to just spend the night in bed.

Day 3 of our vacation - Life's a Beach in St. Martin

Once we were settled on our ship - the Serenade of the Seas, things began to look up. We enjoyed our first three course dinner in the dinning room, had a drink or two and I saw a very entertaining live show with the cruise singers and dancers with lots of songs from Broadway musicals. The sea rocked us to sleep and when we awoke the next morning we were in St. Martin. We got up

early, around 7ish, and had breakfast with most of the family in the dining hall where I ordered my all time favorite - Eggs Benedict! We rounded up the sleepy young adults and headed off the ship where we took a water taxi to "downtown" which was just a row of one and two-story shops and a couple of hotels right on the beach. This was the day Mario fell in love with the beach. Whenever we went afterwards, we couldn't get him out of the water. Frankie enjoyed the water in St. Martin, but we couldn't get him back in after this day. We stayed there for a couple of hours before taking the water taxi back.

This was also the day I wore a brand new pair of flip-flops, ordered specifically for my cruise. We didn't do a whole lot of walking but by the time we made it back to the ship, I had blisters from the straps. More on this later.

We ate lunch in the Windjammer Cafe - the ships buffet - and Mario found love #2. We knew this kid could eat if it was something he liked, but he was going back for seconds and thirds not including dessert! We would spend all of our breakfasts and lunches here at the Windjammer until the end of the cruise. The food was good, but I wouldn't go so far as to say it was amazing. The dinners were excellent, but I could never stay awake long enough to try the midnight buffets - then again, I think there was only one of those.

The rest of the day was spent in typical fashion. A little while after lunch was spent either by the adult or kids pools. Then a nap, shower and get ready for dinner. After dinner Beni or I would go back to the room with the boys since they were wiped out until Beni's dad came to relieve us. (Honestly, it was mostly Beni who stayed with the boys.) I saw a second show called "Vibeology" with pop songs sung by the ship's singers and dancers. We also played "Name that Song" in the lounge and came in second place in a game called "The Quest" where we had a team of 7 people and had to be the first to appear with anything the host requested, such as "a woman, with two bras, not being worn and one must be her own" or "a man with back hair" or "a form of birth control". It was all very fast paced and hysterical and we only lost by 2 points! Thanks to my neice Anna, nephew Michael and new-found friend Louis from Baltimore, for being such intense players!

Beni and the boys next to a real clipper ship docked right in front of our ship

Beni and Anna on our water taxi ride to the beach.

Our home away from home - the Serenade of the Seas - taken from the beach on St. Martin.

The downtown area of St. Martin and our first beach excursion.

Me and the boys.

Beni and his dad.

Nonno, Frankie, Anna, Mario and Beni enjoying the warm waters of St. Martin.

Day 2 or Better Late Than Never

Instead of waking up to the sight of St. Thomas (photos courtesy of my neice Anna who made it on board on time), the Manzella family woke up in a stinky hotel room in rainy Atlanta, Georgia. Not what we paid for. We get ready, which for me consists of taking a quick shower and putting on the same clothes I wore yesterday. Beni and the boys had a change of clothes in the carry-0n bag.

The shuttle drops us off at the airport, and not having to check in any bags, we go through security and to our gate and wait for about three hours. When an attendant gets to the desk, Beni has her check to see if our luggage was found and if it is on our flight. She confirms that yes, it is on this flight with us. Halleluia!

We board the plane, sitting in FIRST CLASS, and it takes off on time. We should arrive at 3 and we have until 5 or 5:30 to board the ship. Beni called from Atlanta to make sure someone from Royal Caribbean was aware we were coming late and would be at the airport to bring us to the ship. Airborne we could see the Florida Keys and the clear blue seas and things started looking up. In just a few hours all would be right with the world again.

Disembarking in St. Thomas was fun. We got to alight from the plane on the tarmac from one of those roll-up staircases, which makes you feel like a dignitary. The airport was tiny. We went through customs quickly and painlessly and went to the semi-outdoor baggage claim area. We saw many islanders holding signs with people's names on them, but of course, none had our name. Not a good sign. I stood and waited for our bags while Beni called Royal Caribbean yet again to make sure someone was coming to get us.

The boys were getting antsy. Mario kept asking, "Is that one ours?" and when I'd tell him it wasn't he became upset that our luggage would be lost again, and it would be all Frankie's fault. Soon, all the luggage had come and gone and - you guessed it - our's hadn't arrived. Beni found the guy from Royal Caribbean who'd been given the wrong arrival time, almost left without us, then gotten another call saying we were there and turned around and come back. He and Beni went to file a missing luggage form. A woman from New York was throwing a fit, threatening to shoot someone because her luggage was also missing. I went to talk to her to let her know we were in the same situation. She said she'd been in a hotel in NJ for two days because of weather delays while she'd been paying for a hotel in St. Thomas. Now her luggage was lost. I wished her luck, went and sat on the conveyer belt and started to just sob. Frankie saw me and came and sat next to me and said, "Mommy, it's all my fault." Now I was out of control. I was sad that my vacation was ruined, I was upset that my youngest son felt he was to blame thanks to my oldest son and I was ready to put Mario on medication to get him under control.

The RC rep decided he'd drive us to the ship so that we'd make it on board and he would come back to deal with the luggage situation and worse case scenario we'd have our luggage at our next port of call. As we rode to the port I imagined myself attending that night's dinner in my bathing suit - the only other clothes I had with me.

One would think that with all the crap we'd been through, and knowing that we were arriving and someone had come to get us, someone from the boat would be waiting to greet us and process us and appologize, but no. We had to wait in front of the boat as all the passengers from the day before passed us wearing swimsuit cover-ups and shorts and sunglasses and carrying souvenier bags, laughing and looking at us and wondering what our story was. Someone asked, "Did you just arrive?" and we told everyone we knew to boycott Delta airlines and told them of our ordeal. People were very nice and said things like, we hadn't missed anything fun and that St. Thomas wasn't really that nice, etc. All lies, I'm sure, but exactly what we'd wanted to hear.

Finally someone from the ship came and took us in and gave us our cards to board the ship. They took us up to guest services where we had to fill out all kinds of stuff, not just for boarding but to address the lost luggage situation. The boys were still ansty, so Beni gave me the room keys and had me take them to the room. On the way, we saw Beni's dad. He asked where Beni was and I told him filling out paper work for our lost luggage. He said, "Your luggage is here, in your room. It came last night." Sure enough, we opened our stateroom and there were our bags. Basically, the Delta attendant who told us our bags were on the flight with us had flat out lied! Not to mention the fact that the RC personnel had no idea that our bags had been checked in! I left the boys with their grandparents and went to tell Beni.

All this settled, we had 45 min. to shower and get ready for our first formal dinner. We were on the ship, and things could only get better, but it was the worst start to a vacation than any of us had ever experienced!

Day 1 of our vacation or BOYCOTT DELTA AIRLINES!

Here is a travel journal of our cruise vacation. I will begin before slightly before Day 1. At about 7:30 p.m. we set out for Chicago, to spend the night at Beni's parents' house which is a 7 minute drive to O'Hare airport. His parents had left that morning, along with his sister and her family and our nephew. As is always the case, I had a feeling I was forgetting something, and sure enough, once we got to my in-law's house, I realized it was my anxiety meds and my Prilosec. Beni made a Walgreen's run for the hearburn pills but I had to resign myself to not become anxious and try not to get too cranky by the end of the cruise. Fran without her Lexapro can be like Fran with PMS. Not a pretty picture. The next issue to address was the fact that Beni's parents do not own a normal alarm clock - part of the joys of retirement, I guess. He found an old travel alarm from 1972 and set that along with his wristwatch alarm and we hoped we'd wake up on time to leave the house by 5.

It was a restless night. I'd wake up every hour or so and wonder what time it was. I got up and walked to the kitchen to check the microwave at 2:30 and went back to bed. Luckily, both alarms went off and we were up at 4 to quickly get ourselves ready to leave.

My in-law's neighbor gave us a ride to the airport. We checked in and walked to our gate and were ready by 5:30 for our 7 a.m. flight to Atlanta where we'd have an hour to change terminals if necessary and get to our connecting flight. We boarded our flight on time but were delayed half an hour because Delta didn't start loading our luggage until after everyone was on board.

Not knowing where our connecting gate would be in Atlanta, we were a bit worried. Our flight was originally scheduled to land at 10:10 and the connecting flight was scheduled to leave at 11:10. When we landed in Atlanta, it was 10:30 and our flight attendant didn't have gate information for any connecting flights. We disembarked, went to an attendant in the terminal and she directed us to Terminal E. If you've never been to the airport in Atlanta, it is made up of 5 different terminals that run parallel to each other, named A, B, C, D, and E. We were in A and had to get to E. We had to go down a floor, hop a train system that stopped at D, C, and B before getting to A. We went back upstairs to Terminal E and found our gate. It was 11:02. A few stragglers were standing at the desk. We went up to the Delta employee and presented our boarding passes. Our conversation went something like this:

Attendant: I'm sorry, this flight is closed.
Beni: We just got here. We were on a connecting flight that just arrived late from
Chicago.
Attendant: I'm sorry, but the flight is closed. The doors are locked and we are not taking
any more passengers.
Me: But we have reserved seats on THIS flight!
Attendant: Sorry but this flight is closed. You were supposed to be here 15 min. prior to
boarding and since you weren't, and the flight was oversold, your seats were given
to someone else.
Me: But we were on a Delta flight! You should have seen that we were arriving late!
Attendant: I'm sorry, but I can't let you on that flight or I could lose my job. You'll have to
wait in that line to get another flight.

We turn to see a line of at least 100 people waiting to speak to Delta agents to make other arrangements. We get in line. At this point, Mario's ODD has kicked in and he's blaming Frankie
for our not getting to the flight on time. Frankie is telling Mario to shut up and the typical wrestling ensues. Luckily, a Delta agent sees us and tells us to follow her to the "special" area for "special" travelers. Here they offer the same services as outside, but you get free drinks and snacks and a comfy lounge to relax in. Beni tries to get us on the next flight, but that too is oversold. We get on as standbys. There is one more flight to Puerto Rico that day, but it arrives at 9 p.m. and 9 p.m. is when they pull the gangplank on the ship and don't let anyone else board. The next flight is our only chance of catching the ship before it leaves port. I have taken the boys to sit in the comfy seats and am trying to get them to settle down. Mario is still blaming Frankie and Frankie is livid, ready to scratch his brother's eyes out. Fun times.

Arrangements made, we head back to Terminal A to the exact gate we disembarked the plane from Chicago, which is, in fact, the next plane headed for Puerto Rico. What a coincidink! Perhaps our travel agent could have given us a little leeway and given us a 2 hour layover and none of this chaos would have happened. Nah!

As we wait in line at this gate to check in and report our standby passenger status, a woman who was on the flight from Chicago saw Beni holding the Royal Caribbean pamphlet and asked if we were going to Puerto Rico to catch a cruise. We talked a while and turns out she and her husband and another family of five had also missed the 11:10 flight and were waiting to fly this next flight standby. There went our chances. Eleven standby seats? Don't think so. Sure enough, everyone boarded and they called each standby group by name to offer the ONE available seat left on the flight.

Delta's practices and policies seem completely unethical and illegal. If you are selling seats for a flight that holds 200 people, how can you sell 220 tickets? One of the attendants we spoke to said that usually about 10 to 15 travelers don't show up, so they do that to ensure full flights. What happens when they DO show up? They get bumped.

By the time we went to the "special" lounge area in terminal A, we were ready to hit someone. I went up to the counter upset and raising my voice and of course, the attendant got defensive, so Beni told me to calm down and he dealt with the woman. They told us to go sit down while they called a supervisor down to work with us. At this point we are all bummed because we know we are not going to make it to our cruise on time and will be missing one whole day of our vacation. The kids are cranky and I don't mind. I want them to get on the nerves of all those "special" people in the "special" lounge. Maybe they'll take care of us sooner. After about 45 min. of updates but no supervisor, I go and get the boys some milkshakes and chicken mcnuggets. Upon returning, I am told by an attendant that I can't bring food into the "special" lounge. "Up yours!" I want to yell, but instead I calmly tell Frankie to go get his brother and meet me outside. We sit on the floor outside of the "special" area like homeless people (which at this point we are) and eat. By the time we're done, the supervisor finally arrives.

We are put on a flight for the following day from Atlanta to St. Thomas, which is our cruise ship's first port of call. Our luggage is still in Atlanta, but the supervisor claims it will take a few hours to find it out on the tarmac and bring it in for us, but he promises he will personally see to it that our bags are on our flight to St. Thomas in the morning. He comps us a hotel room and we walk all around the outer perimeter of the god-forsaken aiport to find the shuttle that will take us to Wellesly Hotel.

Turns out it is really a Comfort Inn. Its front doors are locked shut at 4 in the afternoon. Very welcoming. There is a line of about 20 other stranded Delta passengers also checking in, so more waiting. The hotel - which claims to be non-smoking, smells of stale cigarette smoke and mold. Lovely. We go to our room, make some calls, and go to a nearby Italian restaurant named Giovanna's, for dinner. A recommendation - don't eat Italian food in Atlanta. It wasn't inedible, but it wasn't good. The 19-year-old waitress talked too much about her personal life and Beni's seafood pasta had Ragu sauce. We went back to our room to go to bed and hope for a better day tomorrow.

Later, settled happily on the cruise, the Cruise Director made a joke one night during one of the shows. "Delta? Do you all know what Delta stands for? Don't expect luggage to arrive." I think I was the only one applauding from the audience.

Where can I get one of those?

Over the past two weeks, I have witnessed fashion trends at my school that should be arrested by the fashion police and condemned by the judges of good sense. I wish I could include photos of these items, but I could not find images on Google of such atrocities. I'll try to describe them as best I can.

The first item was worn by a grown woman who walked past me in the main hallway about a week ago. She was with a teenage boy, so she must have been the proud mom of one of East High's finest. She wore a knee length pancho. But it wasn't any old pancho. It was a blanket pancho. You know those fuzzy blankets you see Chicago Bears fans wearing at games when it's 7 below? Well, imagine a pancho made out of one of those blankets. It gets worse. On this lovely piece of outerwear was - I kid you not - an image of Al Pacino as Scarface, on the front and back! The image was so large it resembled a movie poster hanging in a movie theater. Ridiculous. I can't even venture a guess where one might purchase an article of clothing such as this.

Conversely, I CAN imagine where one might purchase the next item. Today, in my last class of the day, a young lady strolled in wearing a Robert Taylor Projects t-shirt. For those of you who do not live in the Chicagoland area, let me tell you what that is. It is exactly what it sounds like. Projects. As in housing projects in Chicago. The shirt was black with a graphic of the building and proud white letters above and below the image. The young woman, wore it with a flourish, the collar had been cut a la Flashdance (but not so 80's) and it was tied at the waist in a cute little knot. I assume I can grab one of those at the Robert Taylor Projects or one of it's many surrounding souvenier shops since it is such the tourist attraction. Proceeds go to support the children of crackhead mamas and help supply bail bonds. I think when I go, I'll get the version that says, "My extended family live in the Robert Taylor Projects and all they brought me was this dumb-a** tshirt."

Ay Caramba!

On Tuesday this week, I had to take my students to register for the classes for next fall. We did this in the main hallway, outside of the counseling offices and the counselors came out and called the students in one at a time. Most of us were sitting there in the hall on folding chairs for the better part of the class period. During a couple of the classes, I started up a game of 20 questions to pass the time. We played a few rounds of this until most of the kids got bored. One young man wanted to continue playing so he asked me to think of something and he'd ask the questions. There was one rule with which he wanted me to comply - "They have to be Mexican, Miss. Do you know any Mexicans?" Puhlease! I told him I had someone in mind and the game began.

Seeing as most Mexican or Mexican-American students see the east side of Aurora as Little Mexico, his questions seemed to be assuming that this "Mexican" I had in mind was in our school, when he was, in fact, actually in Mexico. I took the liberty to say that, no, this person was not from Aurora. He looked truly puzzled. I decided to give him another hint:

Me: Where is the largest Mexican population?
A: Florida!
Me: No. The largest population of Mexican people in a country other than the United States?
A: Honduras? Guatamala?
Me: (Stomping my feet) No, no, no! How about Mexico?
A: Oh, I knew that. Is it Vicente Fox?

Yes. It actually was.

Boys Will Be Boys

Mario and Frankie recently discovered that they could use our digital camera. Once or twice they asked permission to take a picture of me or Beni, but last night when I went to upload some legitimate photos onto the computer I found a bunch of photos that had obviously been taken when the adults of the house were unaware. Here are just a few:

This shot was taken of the t.v. during a show called "Chowder" on Cartoon Network.

Another t.v. shot. This one was taken during "Yo Gabba Gabba".

A video game scene on the computer.

The inside of one of my children's mouths.

This look says it all - "Gee, Frankie, isn't playing with expensive electronic equiptment behind our parents' backs fun?!!"

The next is the one that set off the mental alarm - NO MORE CAMERA for anyone under 39!

If boys will be boys, and THIS is how boys will be, then why couldn't God have sent me at least one girl?

Are We Pork?

I've been having blogger's block. I just didn't seem to find anything in my life interesting enough, things my children did cute enough or things my students said or did, dumb enough to write about. Until today! Today, I hit the motherload!

We are about to begin reading the novel Night by Elie Wiesel. It is a first hand account of surviving the Holocaust. As an introductory activity, I took six sheets of poster paper and hung them in different areas of the room, labeling them with a topic related to the book - "Judaism", "World War II", "The Nazis", "Jewish Ghettos", "Concentration Camps", and "Human Rights Violations throughout History". Students were put into groups of three of four, given a marker and asked to brainstorm what they knew about one of those six topics for two or three minutes before moving on to the next topic/sheet of paper. After all groups had written on every topic, they all sat down again and we discussed our results. Some of the postings, and discussions that ensued, were more than slightly entertaining. Keep in mind these are 11th and 12th graders:

While discussing the differences between Judaism and Christianity, I asked if anyone could tell me what the difference is between the Old and New Testaments in the Bible. One eager student raised his hand and very seriously proclaimed, "The Old Testament was written in the 1940's and the New Testament was written in 2008." Lucky us! What a historic time to be alive!

Later the same period, I asked if anyone knew about what it means to be Kosher. During that discussion, one young lady said, "They don't eat when the sun is out." What? Like vampires?


The next class didn't provide as much humor until someone said that Jews make potato pancakes. I said, yes, that those were called latkas.

Student: No, I don't think so.

Me: I'm pretty sure that's what they're called.

Student: No, they're called something else.

Me: What do you think they're called?

Student: I don't remember, but I saw it on Rugrats.

Me: Rugrats? Is that your source?



Period 5/6 was by far the best of the day! The first two faux pas were spelling errors posted on the "Judaism" poster.

#1 "[Jews] have Passover fee's once a year" (spelling violation AND innappropriate use of an appostrophe!) Hhmmm. Wonder how much it costs to be a Jew?

#2 "[Jews] go to church sinega"



On the "Violation of Human Rights" poster, one group wrote, "back of the bus were women couldn't vote." I proceeded to ask these students if it was okay for women to vote in the front of the bus.

My favorite of the day came after explaining why Jews don't eat pork. A student said that it was because they were dirty. I went on to explain that pigs eat leftovers and roll in the dirt. Another student asked a related question, one so appropriate to the subject matter than I no longer even remember what it was, and then this happened . . . One of our school's football players and a usually average student raised his hand. I nodded at him and he asked, in absolute seriousness, "Are we pork?"

I stopped a moment and then could not help but laugh out loud.
Me: Are you kidding?
Student: No. I mean, we roll in the dirt and eat leftovers.
Me: (After some more laughter) I don't know about YOU but I don't roll in the dirt, and as
for leftovers, I didn't mean our own leftovers that we cooked the night before. I
mean leftovers from other animals.

Despite all the misinformation and silliness, I think most students learned something today. If nothing else, today's activity taught ME that I need to do more of these activities. If for no other reason, for the comic relief!

The Alamo - Now In a Can for your Convenience

I am not much of a history buff. In fact, history class was always pretty boring to me - no offense to my husband, the history teacher, my good friend Jennifer, or any of my colleagues in my building's history department. I'm sure if I'd had them as teachers I'd have had a different opinion on the subject, and I'm not just trying to kiss up. Today, history is taught through lots of fun activities. This is why I cannot fathom how my students do not know basic historical facts that almost everyone should have some familiarity with. I don't expect them to know dates or specifics, just a general knowlege enough to say, "Oh, yeah, I've heard of that before." Mix those historical smarts with some grammar and you're asking for trouble.

Well, if you've read some of my previous blogs having to do with students at my school, it goes without saying that they lack many things, some of which include common sense and exposure to the real/outside world. We recently have been working on subject and verb agreement as well as run-on sentences and fragments. A couple of nights ago, their homework was a worksheet asking them to take fragments and complete them by adding a subject that agreed with an already provided verb. One of the exercises read, "___________________ are elected every six years." I think maybe three or four students filled in the blank with the word "senators" but many wrote "presidents", "the president" or even "Barack Obama." Not only historically and civically wrong, but grammatically incorrect as well.

In another exercise students had to identify if a group of words was a fragment, a run-on sentence or a complete idea. One read, "Remember the Alamo!" Okay, this one might be tricky. For those of you non-English nerds, this IS a complete sentence. The subject is implied and is "you". The statement is a command that means, "Hey, YOU, remember the Alamo!" This is all beside the point. Regardless of whether or not the student knew it was a sentence or not - NONE of them knew what the Alamo was! Another part of the exercise was to re-write the fragments and make them into complete ideas. Although this particular one wasn't a fragment, some of my genius students thought otherwise. Here are a couple of the choice submissions:

Remember the Alamo from last year?

Remember the Alamo when you go to the store. (Perhaps this student confused a historical event for a brand of dog food, Alpo. Do they stil even make that?)



I just have to shake my head and laugh. If I don't laugh, I'll cry.

McCain . . . Rhymes with . . . Insane

I just finished watching the last Obama/McCain debate tonight and though I missed the first half hour or so, I caught the last part. I was so insensed about a comment made by John McCain regarding education that I had to jump onto my computer and enter this entry.

The last question was regarding education reform. As a teacher, this was a critical question that I was very intersted in. Both candidates said that bad teachers need to be redirected and good teachers need to be rewarded, with which I heartily agree, but McCain also said that those in the military should be able to obtain teaching positions without going through the required credential programs. This is absolutely ridiculous and says to me that John McCain has no idea how the education system works and what it is that makes a good teacher.

Currently, in the school where I work, there are several teachers who spent many years in the business world and decided that they wanted to become teachers later in life. While a few of them have become successful in this field, many are struggling, unhappy and frustrated. Many of them chose to teach because of a love for the subject, not realizing that this love must be balanced with a love of working with teenagers. You cannot be a successful teacher if you can't stand to be around kids. I see this in my own school building and these are adults who DID go through a year-long (if not longer) teaching credential program.

A good teacher loves her subject, loves to share it with others, loves her students and looks forward to coming to work every day, despite having 150 five paragraph essays to grade, weekly planning to do, parent-contacts to make, state standards to meet, and a mere 24 minute lunch period.

What in McCain's mind makes military personnel qualified to teach? What subject would they be allowed to instruct? I will make one exception and say that I agree military personnel should teach NJROTC classes but what does military training have to do with the pythagorean therom or conjugating verbs and writing essays?

Without preparing in a teacher training program how will one's qualifications be regulated? Who will judge if this veteran knows the subject matter well enough to explain it to others? This fall, two of my colleagues had student teachers. One quit because he couldn't stand "any of it" and the other was asked to drop the program because she could not speak Standard English and did not know that Chaucer's Canterbury Tales was an entire book. Neither one was remotely prepared for the amount of work teaching involves on a daily basis and these were college graduates. If these folks with degrees in the subject areas they were student teaching couldn't hack it, what makes McCain think that someone with no specific training could?

If no credential program is required, what is McCain basing their qualifications on? Their high school grades? Many graduates of my high school enter the military. We are currently on the state watch list for low standardized test scores. Are these students qualified to teach after serving in the military for a certain amount of time. I certainly hope not!

As a veteran himself, I realize that McCain is looking out for his own. He should. I have no argument there. I wholeheartedly believe that those who serve our country deserve the highest level of respect. I invite John McCain to visit my classroom where I make all of my student stand for the Pledge of Allegiance every morning in honor of the three alumni who died fighting for our country in the middle east. I have their photos posted under my flag with a saying that reads, "Home of Free because of the Brave." Veterans should get the best health care and benefits available, but trading one crucial job for another is simply ludicrous.

What would we have said if McCain had suggested that as a reward, good teachers should be allowed to perform brain surgery or play NFL football in order to make the salaries and get the respect we deserve? Worse yet, what if he asked ME to serve in the war without training! (Thanks Lisha ; ) The idea is perposterous and completely unrealistic. Get a clue, John.

Texting Is The Devil

I have a cell phone. These days, most people do. Even my mom has one, so that say a lot. As my husband and good friends can tell you, if you need to get a hold of me, don't bother calling my cell phone because it is either off or the battery is dead. I have my cell phone for emergencies. I got it when I had to commute 45 minutes to and from work.

I understand that I am a rare case. Most people with cell phones keep them on and charged constantly. Many people use them for work. Others use them socially which is fine, too. If you are an adult and have a steady job - then you deserve a cell phone and should be able to use it appropriately.

On the other hand, there are many occasions when being on your cell phone is down-right rude: while checking out at a store, in the company of others who are not on cell phones, at a parent-teacher conference. In a classroom! It can also be incredibly dangerous. Just earlier today, as I was on my way to the grocery store with my youngest child in the car, seconds away from an intersection, a speeding black sedan ran a red light right in front of me. The driver was on a cell phone!

My biggest peeve though has to be the use of cell phones in school. My school's policy is that students may carry their cell phones on their person, but they must not be seen and must be off. The phones must be turned off when they enter the building and cannot be turned on until the final bell rings. Of course, the students all concur that rules were made to be broken. Daily there is the interupting ring tone, or the young man texting under his desk. To this, I usually say, "There are only two things you could be doing down there, and both of them are inappropriate! Put it away!" I must admit that I am not big on taking the phones away. It's more of a hassle than it's worth. I give warnings, but if it comes down to it, I will take it away.

Here is an incident that sent me completely over the top last week:

The scene: I am reading The Color Purple by Alice Walker to my class who should all be following along in their copies. There are ten minutes left in the period. Two students, a girl, E, and a boy, J, come up beside the podium I am sitting behind.

E: (Quietly) We have to go.
Me: Go? Go where?
E: Our friend is in trouble.
Me: (Already understanding) How could you possibly know your friend is in trouble?
J: (Silently shows me his cell phone)
Me: Well, you shouldn't have had that on in the first place, so you shouldn't even know that your friend is in trouble, so, no, you cannot go anywhere.
E: Will you write us a referral if we leave?
Me: Absolutely.
E: Okay. (She and J casually walk out of the room)

I lost it! The rest of class had to bear the brunt of my fury. I gave them a tongue lashing about how I hate cell phones in school and that if students are in school simply to socialize they should refrain for coming to my class because I expect their attention to be focused on class. Yada yada yada. The all fell silent. I don't rant and rave very often.

If you are the parent of a teenager, please, please, please, make them uderstand that having a cell phone is a privelege. I spend at least one period, each semester, telling kids that they do not need their cell phones during the day. I try to explain that if their parents need to get a hold of them, they can do it the old-fashioned way, via the school telephone and a note sent to the student. Anyone else, should be able to wait until 3:04 to get a hold of them. I don't care who they are. I tell them that I have a cell phone, but it is turned off and in my purse, in my closet. If someone needs me, they know where I work. Believe it or not, I once had a student answer a call in class - it was her mom! Her mom wanted to know what she wanted for dinner!!!! How are my students supposed to take their educations seriously if not even their parents think it's serious? (See two posts ago for my thoughts on this)

Cell phones and texting are the devil! I once said to two female students, "If you can go several hours without your phone when you're asleep, then you can go without for the several hours you're in school." They looked at me like I was so naive - and I am. "Ms. I leave my cell phone on vibrate under my pillow at night," was one girl's response. "Me, too," said the other. I just shook my head, speechless. I guess there was no way to make them understand. The second girl went on to tell me she racked up $500. one month going over her text minutes. $500! They can pay the cell phone bill but God forbid they go out and buy their own dictionary!

Perhaps this is a rash judgement, but technology is ruining our society. It creates too many distractions, has bastardized the spelling of the English language and has made the next generation too concerned about social status and too uncaring about becoming a productive, intellingent, caring human being.

It's Sarah, Miss Palin If You're Nasty.

Let me just begin by saying that I have not yet had the opportunity to watch the Tina Fey spoofs of Sarah Palin on SNL but have heard they are awesome.

That being said, I have always thought there was something "off" about her. On my first introduction to her on the evening of McCain's announcement of having chosen her as a running mate, I thought, "Hhmm. She's cute, but definitely doesn't look like VP material." Upon hearing that her daughter was pregnant soon thereafter, I thought to myself, "Hhmm. Maybe that's it. Is she so busy with her career that she doesn't know what's going on at home? Or maybe she condones 'free love'. Hell, she has 5 kids with hippie names like Willow."

One day recently, I was able to put my finger on exactly what it is about ol' Sarah
that I question. She's a naughty girl. When I look at her I harken back to videos of the 80's. (I'm an 80's girl, after all) I see the librarian in Adam Ant's "Goody Two-Shoes" video, the female scientist in Thomas Dolby's "She Blinded Me With Science" or Tawny Kittain (?) in the Whitesnake video, writhing all over the hood of a rock star's car. Think about it. Can't you just see her, seductively pulling off those glasses and unpinning that up-tight bun and shaking out that flowing hair? Her politician look is just a disguise. Deep down, she's a dirty girl.

Although my description may sound like I'm hot for her, I'm not, though my husband might be. Now, dirty girls have their place. Who else would star in the rock and rap videos? Who would keep the porn industry going? Who would tend to all those drunk 20 and 30-something men in trendy bars looking for one night stands? The lyrics of an Usher song say, "We want a lady in the street, but a freak in the bed." Dirty girls try to look like ladies, but we can see right through them. We know that they're freaks because they have that certain something that screams, "Deep down, I'm naughty."

Regardless, her ranking on People Magazine's 100 Hottest People does not a vice-president or potential president make. McCain may have chosen her to pick up all the lost Hilary supporters, or he may have chosen her because she's the kind of girl the Republican men like to cheat on their wives with, but I cannot give my vote to a dirty girl.

I Fear Who Will Run This Country When I'm Old and Gray

There are so many interesting stories that come from my school. Some are funny, some are sad, some are ridiculous, but this one fell into the category of all three. To give props to my friend Jennifer I will refer to students and colleagues by their first initial to protect their identities:

My journalism class was reading some stories in yesterday's newspaper when a discussion began about the previous night's presidential debate and how Obama kicked McCain's butt. I argued that I didn't think any such thing happened and that they both were going at each other pretty evenly. One young African-American lady, who seemed to have potential (I use past tense because now I have my doubts) raised her hand (a rarity) and when I called on her she said, "I don't like it."

Me: Don't like what?
M: The whole thing.
Me: What are you talking about? The debate?
M: No, Obama.
Me: Again, what do you mean?
M: Doesn't anyone else find it strange that for all these years we've been looking for Osama and suddenly there's a guy running for president named Obama?
Me: (Long, serious pause, then a smile) You're kidding, right?
M: No.
Me: You're serious?
M: Yes, don't you think it's a little too much of a coincidence?

In the meantime, the whole class jumps in (as I said, raising hands is a rarity for these kids) and explain to her that Barack Obama is not middle eastern but rather African (they said "black") and American ("white"). Then the class smart-ass, tangent-instigator says: "You know his middle name is Hussien."

M: There you go! See what I mean?
Me: M, listen for just a minute. Barack Obama's mother's parents are from the midwest, they moved to Hawaii where their daughter went to the University of Hawaii. There she met an African man and married him and they had Barack. Barack and Obama are African names. Hussien is a Muslim name because many Africans are Muslim. He is in no way from the middle east nor is he a terrorist.
M: But he's Muslim.
Me: No, he's some Christian denomination, not a Muslim.
M: I just don't like it one bit.

We continued a little longer and then I gave up. There was no helping this young lady see the light. I don't care whether she votes for Obama or McCain, but I do care that she has her information straight. I began to wonder if a bright girl like herself came to this conclusion on her own or if her sheltered, close-minded, border-line educated parent(s) planted this seed in her head. In our strange little community (or alternate universe) these kids see way too much disinterest from the uneducated and uninvolved. It pains me that the only open-minded, educated and successful people they are exposed to are their teachers but they only chalk up our smarts to "being teachers" rather than normal, functioning adults.

Here's another sad example. My friend is the track and cross country coach. He had a student who got a scholarship to a small college in southern Illinois for track. Everyone was excited and the student was planning to attend. This very dedicated coach who had pulled some strings to get this kid in, would voluntarily run with some of the kids in the summer. One day, he heard from the graduate's brother that he would not be attending the school that was offering him a scholarship because his parents didn't want him to go so far away. They wanted him to go to the local community college so he could still help out with the family business. Don't get me wrong - when and if my own boys go off to college (especially one that's paid for), I don't know how I'm going to sleep at night not knowing whether or not they are safe and sound - but that is a risk I know I will have to take for their benefit! Until the parents in my school's community and their attitudes change, NOTHING will change.

By no means do I want to tell my students what to think. I want them to be well-informed and be involved and care, damn it! If they go into the world after high school as lackadaisical and uninterested as they are right now, then I am very afraid of who will be in charge when I'm old and gray.

Let Me Explain

I love to write. As an English teacher, that isn't surprising. I also love to tell stories about my experiences - especially the cute and amusing ones I get from my children - both biological and educational. I had never really considered starting a blog until I became so addicted to my friend Jennifer's. I would post discussions to my family's web page at myfamily.com but I didn't think enough family members were reading them.

I recently did a shameful thing. I created a Facebook account at the encouragement of my sister who said a lot of our family had accounts there. Once on Facebook I became addicted and I have to say I really love it. There are more adults on it than I expected. I have had more contact with my far away relatives than ever before AND I came in contact with some long lost friends, one of whom I had lost touch with and had no way of finding! As Martha Stewart would say, "It's a good thing." Anyway, on Facebook, there is a way to connect your blog site to your Facebook page. I wanted to add my discussions from the family page, but it wouldn't let me, so here I am, creating a "real" blog.

So, to ensure that my previous ideas got the attention I feel they deserve, I cut and pasted them from my family site to my blog. That explains why the previous blogs were all submitted on the same date. I don't like to write THAT much!

100 Random Things About Me

1. I was born in Berkeley, California.
2. I was baptized on the day of a 60's riot in Berkeley.
3. I am the oldest child of 3.
4. I have one sister and one brother.
5. I have been happily married for almost 10 years.
6. I met my husband on the internet.
7. I have two young boys, ages 7 and 4.
8. I am a first generation Italian-American.
9. I don't have any tattoos.
10. If I ever got a tattoo it would be a trinacria - the symbol of Sicily.
11. Both of my parents were born in Sicily.
12. I have been to Italy and Sicily twice.
13. I visited Switzerland once, for one day.
14. I have been to Mexico and Jamaica.
15. States I have visited are California, Illinois, Wisconsin, Nevada, Arizona, and
Florida.
16. I have naturally curly hair, but it wasn't always curly.
17. I am a high school English teacher.
18. My ears are pierced only once.
19. I live 7 minutes from work (and a universe apart!)
20. My favorite color is pink.
21. My favorite book is The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
22. My favorite movie is any romantic comedy starring Matthew McConaughey tied with Goodfellas (I know, a weird combo)
23. I have 21 aunts and uncles.
24. I have 17 first cousins.
25. I have three neices and two nephews.
26. I have three sisters-in-law and three brothers-in-law
27. I have been to Disneyland in California 5 times.
28. I have been to Disney World in Florida once.
29. I love to read fiction.
30. I hate to iron and mop the floor.
31. My favorite wine is Pinot Grigio.
32. My favorite soda/pop is Diet, Caffine-free Pepsi
33. My favorite fast-food is Panera.
34. My favorite restaurants include The Cheesecake Factory, California Pizza Kitchen, Carraba' s and Biaggi's.
35. I love the crab cake appetizers at The Cheesecake Factory.
36. My favorite meal is Thanksgiving dinner.
37. I love the feeling of a full tank of gas.
38. I also love the feeling of a clean house (though that doesn't last very long).
39. My high school mascot was a gaucho ( a South-American cowboy).
40. I am the advisor for my school newspaper.
41. I am also the advisor my school's Gay Straight Alliance.
42. Things I miss from California include my family, the ocean, ciopinno, Noah's bagels and scones and blue cheese burgers from Fat Apples.
43. My favorite t.v. shows are Lost, Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy.
43. My favorite random shows to watch when nothing else is on are Run's House, Bizarre Foods, Globe Trekker, I Love the 80's, Queer Eye, Jon and Kate Plus 8, and MTV Cribs.
44. My dream vacation is renting a villa in Sorrento for a month or longer in the summer.
45. My favorite perfume is Ralph Lauren Blue.
46. I suck at text messaging.
47. I must eat chocolate at least once a day.
48. Things I love about living in Illinois are friendly people, the change of seasons, and white Christmases.
49. Favorite season: Spring - once the leaves and flowers have bloomed.
50. I never remember when payday is. I must really love my job.
51. Songs that make me get up and dance: "Yeah" by Usher, "Push It" by Salt n' Pepa
52. I drive a Toyota Sienna mini van.
53. I'd rather drive an SUV.
54. I've been swimming in the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans and the Caribbean and Adriatic seas.
54. I've been to the top of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
55. I've ridden in a gondola in Venice (my favorite city) - twice.
56. I've seen a shooting star.
57. I've seen a bear, multiple times.
58. I've had a bear break into my cabin when I wasn't there.
59. I've had three dogs as pets in my life- Muffin, Copper and Primo.
60. I'm not a cat person.
61. I love the smell of Easter lillies and Stargazers.
62. I love sunlight filtered through leaves.
63. I also love the way artificial light looks through the trees.
64. I love the outdoorsy smell of hot dirt and pine needles.
65. I love s'mores.
66. I love the feel of warm sun on bare skin.
67. I've won $200. in Reno on my first trip after turning 21.
68. I won almost $3,000. the last time I was in Reno.
69. I want to publish at least one children's book, hopefully more.
70. I hiked/climbed to the top of Vernal Falls in Yosemite National Park.
71. I've been to Death Valley three times.
72. I've seen the following artists in concert: Duran Duran, George Michael, Bon Jovi, New Kids on the Block (sad but true), Spin Doctors, Sting, Hootie and the Blowfish, REO Speedwagon, Pat Benetar and Peter Frampton (the last three were together at one show) and Harry Connick Jr.
73. I still love Duran Duran.
74. I have been in more than one car accident, though none of them serious.
75. I cannot tolerate most R&B songs.
76. I have recurring dreams where I cannot find my car.
77. I am named after my paternal grandmother.
78. I tease those I love.
80. One of my favorite childhood memories is spending Sunday afternoons at Tilden Park in Berkeley, Ca.
81. I once (accidentally) flipped my younger sister and brother out of hammock, causing them to become airborne for a moment.
82. I change radio stations when a Bob Seger or ZZ Top song comes on.
83. I wish I were more athletic.
84. If I could change one thing about myself, I would get rid of my gray hairs until I turn 65.
85. I fall asleep on my couch, and sleep there all night, at least once a week.
86. My intuition has never failed me.
87. If a movie were being made of my life, Tina Fey would be cast as me.
88. My nicknames have been Chechi, Checka, Cesks (as in desks), Fran, Franny, Franners, and Cescalina.
89. I shoplifted pages from teeny bopper magazines as a teenager (but never the whole magazine)
90. Most of my students like me.
91. Along with three dogs I have also owned a miniature rabbit named Nina, a canary named Gigi, and several goldfish, three of which were named Sonny, Fredo and Michael.
92. My stripper name would be Gigi Mendocino. (First pet + the street you grew up on).
93. My favorite toothpaste is original Crest.
94. The most influential television show in my life has been Sesame Street.
95. I am the queen of Brady Bunch trivia.
96. I am often complemented on my handwriting.
97. In a bold, enebriated moment I once flashed my bra to a passing car (or maybe there was no car) in the Kensington Cirlce.
98. I've peed my pants from laughing too hard.
99. I've never been so drunk that I've passed out.
100. Coming up with 100 random things about myself was harder than I'd thought.

My Favorite Book List

I am currently reading:
The Life of Pi by Yann Martell

Also reading: Children Writers and Illustrators Marketplace

In the wings: One of many Jodi Picoult books, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

Here are some of my favorite books:

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
Atonement by Ian McEwan
The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
Happy Hour at Casa Dracula by Marta Acosta
Midnight Brunch by Marta Acosta
The Color Purple by Alice Walker
Possessing the Secret of Joy by Alice Walker
My Sister's Keeper by Jodi Picoult
Keeping Faith by Jodi Picoult
The Pact by Jodi Picoult
The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown
Angels and Demons by Dan Brown
Digital Fortress by Dan Brown
The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
The House of the Spirits by Isabel Allende
The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold
Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
Emma by Jane Austen
The Giver by Lois Lowry
Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut
The Five People You Meet In Heaven by Mitch Albom
Here On Earth by Alice Hoffman
Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel
The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follett
Enrique's Journey by Sonia Nazarrio
A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah
Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult
New Moon by Stephenie Meyer
Eclipse by Stephenie Meyer
Breaking Dawn by Stephenie Meyer

Autumn in Aurora

September is here, and our family is back into the swing of the old school year routine. Beni and I used to fight over who was going to get into the shower first at 5:30 a.m, but in just one month it's settled into Beni first at 5:45, followed by Fran at 5:55. Mario gets up and dresses himself and goes downstairs with daddy to eat breakfast. Frankie, on the other hand, values every minute of his precious sleep - just like his mommy. Beni leaves around 6:10 and after I get myself ready, I wrestle and argue with the boys while we dress, wash faces and brush teeth. Despite two years of this routine, it never seems to get easier. By 6:45ish we leave the house and drive the 4 blocks to daycare. I always heave a sigh of relief when they are safely delivered to daycare and my quiet day of teaching high school juniors and seniors begins. Sounds crazy, I know, but it's the truth. The best part of the day is the daycare drop off to 7:35 when the bell announcing the arrival of my students rings. In that time I drink my coffee, check my mailbox, read my emails and socialize. I think of it as my mental prep time.

School is over at 3:04 but I usually stay until about 4, preparing for the next day and doing teacher stuff. I pick up the boys and head for home. Because it is football season, Beni doesn't get home until 5:30 or sometimes 6. Therefore it is my job to make dinner. I don't mind, except that the boys are both in soccer this season and on practice or game nights, we have to be out of the house by 5:25 at the latest to get to the park which is only two blocks away on the same street. Last week we had either a practice or game for either one or the other boy EVERY night! It was ridiculous. Fortunately, two of the nights got rained out. Hooray! As a soccer mom, I pray for evening rain. On weeks like those, the menu consists of hot dogs, frozen chicken cordon bleu, and other quick, processed foods. Luckily this week, I only have to pray for rain on Wed. and Fri.

About soccer. The boys love it. As we walked to Mario's first practice of the season, he told me that he wants to be a famous soccer player now that he knows how popular soccer is all over the world. I encouraged him to keep practicing. Bless his heart. If you saw him play you would immediately know that at this point in his training, he doesn't have a chance! But hey, you never know. I won't discourage him to follow his dreams. Maybe David Beckham had no talent when he picked up his first soccer ball.

This is Frankie's first time playing soccer and he was a little leary, but once the first practice was over and he got his first snack he let me know, "I LOVE soccer!" They both enjoy themselves tremendously, but have no idea what is going on and what they should be doing. It is sometimes hysterical and sometimes embarrassing. I feel bad for the other kids who have to play both offense and defense because my kid is staring at cloud formations instead of goal-keeping. God bless those kind parents who tell my child, "Good job Frankie/Mario" as the other team scores while my child picks dandelions. I just smile sheepishly and remind him to "watch the ball." At least they look cute in their uniforms.

I did see some improvement in Mario from one season to the next, so I guess there is hope. I guess we'll have to take it one kick at a time until fall turns to winter and Beni can have a regular meal ready for me when I get home from work. Along with rained out practices I also pray for no playoff season for the W.V. football team. I know. I'm a terrible wife and mother.

Decisions, Decisions

Okay. So I hate when Beni asks the dreaded question, "What should we have for dinner?" HATE IT! Most of the time, the meal in questions is a day or several hours away and I could care less. When my mom was here this summer, I said to her that #1: I wish I had a personal chef, like Oprah has, who would cook me low-fat, healthy, yummy meals and I would just be surprised at what was in front of me when I sat at the table and #2: eating intraveinously would also be nice. Having to think about eating makes me crazy. I wish I didn't have to eat! (Though once it's in front of me I can really chow down!) So the question is now being passed along to you, family and friends - "What should the Manzellas have for dinner tonight?" Pass along any great recipes you have, keeping in mind that quick and easy preparation and cook time are essential for our busy schedules.

The Extreme Sleeper

I think that in 2016, if the Olympics come to Chicago, I will try out for the Extreme Sleeping competition. Of course, first I'll have to petition to make this an actual event. Wish me luck.
I have probably taken a nap 85% of the days of my summer vacation. I LOVE to nap and it doesn't even matter if I got up at 9:30 a.m. and curl up for my nap at 1:30 after lunch. One might think that I close my eyes for 10 minutes or so for a quick power nap, but NO! If I'm going to nap, I'm going to take it seriously. Nothing less than an hour counts and two is more like it. Mind you, I am being constantly interrupted by my children, so very rarely am I sound asleep. I have to be conscious enough to make excuses to my children. Here are some excuses from my vast reportoire: "I'm not sleeping, I'm just resting my eyes,", "I'll be up in just a few more minutes," , "I'll get it for you as soon as I get up," etc. Of course, if it were an emergency request like "Help! Mario's bleeding!" I'd be up in a second, but it's usually something like, "I want to play on the computer, Mommy. Can you put me on PlayhouseDisney.com?­"

Because of my frequent summertime naps, my bed time has become later and later. It is currently 11:42 and I am enjoying some alone time, listening to the crickets chirp outside. Ah, peace at last. I'm not even tired yet. Funny thing is - I didn't even take a nap today. I am really getting used to this quiet alone time at night BUT sadly next week it will come to a crashing halt as I have to get up at 5:30 a.m. to try to leave my house by 6:30 to drop off the kids and head to work so I can get in a good hour of prep time before the students show up. It's mostly to mentally get in "teacher-mode" and chat in the hallway with my colleagues.

In preparation for this, I have been weaning myself off of the naps and trying to go to bed earlier, but I just don't want to. I know I'll be miserable when school starts, but I think I can just live with it for a few days until my internal clock catches up and I go back to falling asleep on the family room couch around 8 p.m. when I finally sit down after working all day and making dinner, cleaning up and giving the kids their baths. Some nights, I'm so comfy that I stay there all night! It's a great couch!

So, as summer winds to an end, it's time to flip my sleeping extremes from Napping Night Owl to Busy Couch Crasher. Let the games begin!

Kids Can Be So Cruel

WARNING - This is a LONG one! Needed to vent.

This summer started off really well for Mario and the other kids in the neighborhood, but . . . Before I tell the story, let me give a little background on the setting and characters. We live one house away from the corner of our street. In the first house around the corner lives N, a third grader. Next door to him lives S, a fifth grader and the youngest of four boys. Next door to S live G (5th), E (1st) and A (K). Now, since we do not have fences around our yards, all of the kids can easily run through the back yards to get to each other's houses.

Still a little more background info - because they are older and the same age, G and S have always picked on Mario. S didn't come around much but G was around a lot because Mario would play with E. Last summer she frequented my back door a lot, letting me know when Mario peed outside or used profanities in the presence of the angelic-and-ever-so-­innocent others and criticizing me as she walked away because I hadn't flailed my son in front of her. Mario and E have always had an on-again/off-again relationship. I wouldn't have called them friends - just convenient playmates when needed.

When I first met E and A when we moved in two years ago, I knew their mom was the kind of mom that was too busy or self-involved to know what her kids were up to. A, a cute little blonde, blue-eyed thing, would come out to play, her hair a total rat's nest; obviously she woke up, dressed herself and went outside. Maybe her mom had seen her, maybe not. E has ALWAYS been sneaky. Never trusted that kid - he has that look in his eye that he's up to no good.

Okay, thanks for hanging in there. Here is this summer's drama. Mario loves playing with N and as far as I could tell, until this summer, I thought N liked playing with Mario. He was the only neighborhood kid that Mario played with all year long. Even on winter weekends and during Christmas break N would come over and play with Mario or vice versa. He's on our speed dial for God's sake!

It was probably around Spring Break when the cruelty started. N would be in the basement playing with Mario and the doorbell would ring. It would be E (sometimes with A, sometimes solo) and he'd ask, "Is N here?" Not "Is Mario here?" I'd say yes and he'd let himself in and go downstairs. Sometimes they'd all play together and sometimes N would just up and leave with E, leaving Mario upset and jealous. Once, around the same time, E, A and N all came over together and asked if Mario could play. They all went into the basement. About five minutes later Mario was crying hysterically. I asked what was wrong from the top of the stairs and up comes A with E and N behind her. She told me that Mario was crying because the three of them were going to a movie together with her dad and had to leave. I told her that it wasn't very nice of them to come over just to rub it in Mario's face that they were going to a movie and they left. Mario, with his ODD, was in hysterics for a good part of that day.

Same stuff has been happening all summer. E rings the bell, practically lets himself in and N leaves with him. I began answering the door and trying to block him from entering while I warned loudly, "Mario! E is here," but N would beat Mario up the stairs. Once, when Beni tried this, and E snuck in anyway and heard Mario's response - "Dammit" - E kicked a pile of stuff Beni had left at the top of the steps to take downstairs. Beni made him pick it up. Brat!

When Mario stormed home from N's house earlier this month and I asked what was wrong, he said that when he'd gotten there, E was already there. When 's mom let Mario in, E said, "N doesn't want to play with you." Supposedly N's mom told E that wasn't nice and went back to vacuuming. The dog, afraid of the vacuum jumped on the couch and accidentally scratched Mario's leg. Mario said, "Ouch!" and E laughed. Mario proceeded to punch E in the nose three times. When he told me this story, I sternly told him that he should not have hit E and that punching was not the way to handle the situation etc. but when he left, I pumped my fist in the air and shouted a silent, "Yes!" That brat had it coming!

Needless to say, I told Mario to stay inside. Undoubtedly, E would tell G and S and they'd all be on the war path, seeking revenge. Mario laid low for a couple of days and then one morning E and A showed up at our back door, "Can Mario play?" Beni asked Mario if he wanted to and having been confined indoors and naively glad to see that E had forgiven him, he went out with them. Five minutes later, he was back inside, threatening to kill them, his shirt soaking wet. Turns out that E and A had led him back to their yard where G and S were hiding with super-soakers. Mario stayed inside the rest of the day.

I'll give them that one. Maybe Mario had that coming for punching E, but that should have made them even. But no . . .

Just as we sat down to eat dinner, N, who hadn't been spending as much time with Mario lately, shows up and asks if Mario can play outside. Of course Mario wants to go immediately, but we told N he'd catch up to him after he ate his dinner. Mario scarfed down his food and ran out the door. Beni and I were totally suspicious. We were practically counting down the minutes. We had already warned Mario to be wary and come home if the other kids started trouble. Sure enough, here comes Mario, soaking wet again and in tears. Same thing - ambush with super-soakers - this time with E and S behind the triggers. Mario was devastated, not understanding why his friend N would trick him like that. My heart was breaking as he asked me, "Why would N do that? Doesn't he like me anymore? Is it because I'm the newest kid in the neighborhood? Now I have no friends." I reminded him about all of the friends he has outside of the neighborhood - from school, and the children of family friends. He was somewhat appeased by that.

A few days go by and my neighbor Kathy comes over to bring the boys one of her teenage son's old toys - a big styrofoam glider. As I talk to her on the back deck, the boys run around the yard trying out the plane. Soon they have an audience, N, S and E. They all begin to play together in my line of sight. I begin to explain to Kathy, whose kids are all teenagers, what's been going on and why I'm keeping such a close eye. As this is going on, Mario decides to put the plane in the house and go over to their yards to play. As Kathy and I are still talking, I hear Mario screaming inside and Beni asking him what happened. Next thing I know, Mario comes outside where I am and says, "Daddy just left to talk to their moms!" At this point I have no idea what happened. When Beni returns, he comes out and says he was only able to talk to E's mom. I asked what prompted this and he says the boys were hitting Mario with a whiffle ball bat. As the three of us are discussing the situation, here come the three boys and N asks if he can talk to Mario to appologize. I sit on my deck step and tell them that I want to talk to them first. I tell them, very calmly, that I don't like what is going on and that they are being mean. E says Mario was being mean, too, and he punched N in the eye. I ask N if this is true and he says yes. Mario has come out by now so I ask him why he punched N. He says N was laughing at him while E and S were hitting him with the bat. I tell N that it wasn't right for Mario to punch him but that it probably made Mario mad to hear someone who he thought was his friend laughing while he was getting hurt. I also told N how much it hurt Mario's feelings when they tricked him with the water guns earlier. I told them they don't have to like each other, but tricking Mario is just plain mean. I said my piece and then they appologized to Mario - who wasn't very forgiving - and they left.

That evening as the boys and I ate dinner (Beni went to a Sox game) I heard a girl yell, "Fuckers!" as she ran past my house. Nice. After dinner, as I sat in my living room, I heard kids on the side of my house. I got up to look and sure enough there was the bunch of them- N, one of his friends, A, E, G and S - running from the side of my house back to their side. Later when I got up to do something in the kitchen I saw them all again. Every once in a while I"d still hear, "Fuckers!" always in a girl's voice. Luckily, my boys didn't hear them. I told them to stay inside and I went to sit inconspicuously on my front porch. From my neighbors driveway came E followed by A and the rest. I stood up and A stopped short. I yelled, "Hey! Come here. I want to talk to you again!" They took off the other way and I threatened to call their moms again if necessary. Meanwhile my quiet-as-mice neighbors across the street are outside in their driveway thinking I must be maniacal, yelling at elementary school kids.

The next day they were still sneaking around with water guns. What little terrorists! I'm so glad that Beni's talk with E's mom made a world of difference.

Am I being an over-protective mom? I know Mario is no angel and I'm sure he gets on the other kids' nerves (as he does mine), but does he deserve being stalked by them? If they don't want to play, shouldn't they just stay away? This entire situation has really upset me. When Mario has gone on playdates I've never gotten a bad report. When he has other friends over to play they get along great. We've gotten together with another neighbor across the street who has a 1st grader and kindergarten-bound triplets (all boys) - God bless her - and the kids play great together as well. Now, since her oldest and E were in the same class, E had been over to play a few times too and even she said, she doesn't trust him. I have no reason to believe that Mario is the instigator with the neighborhood kids. I just feel bad that this is happening to him. I am so grateful that he tells me everything but I just wish that other parents cared enough to talk to their kids.