An Open letter to my 1st grade teacher

Dear Mrs. Akard,

         I am writing you because I wanted to clear the air. It's been such a long time since I was in the first grade and I realize that you might actually be retired from teaching by now. Even if you are still teaching, you probably don't remember me, and I'm sure that you don't remember the incident. I was standing in line to turn something in and I accidentally bumped and/or stepped on the girl who was standing in front of me. Said girl cried out and tattled on me. I'm not even sure if I realized that I'd come into contact with said girl, because I've always been a dreamer and chances are I had been zoned out for ages, picturing myself flying beside Peter Pan in Never Land or something. When the tattle girl cried out, it must have snapped me out of my daydream, though I'm sure I was confused about exactly what was going on.  I didn't know what I'd done when you confronted me about the incident and asked what should have been a simple question. "Naomi, did you do that on purpose or on accident?" Well, everything would have been fine, except that I didn't know what the word 'accident' meant and I was too shy to ask. I stood, silently, and thought about which one sounded worse. This six-year-old version of me decided that obviously 'accident' sounded much, much worse. I announced that I had done it on purpose. I felt pretty triumphant about my conclusion, that is, until it got me into trouble at school and at home, dammit.
       I just wanted you to know that I didn't push or step on or whatever the heck miss tattle accused me of doing. I was only guilty of ignorance, and for that I blame my parents. (Though I should take some credit for my lack of attentiveness in school. Yeah, sorry about that.)
            On another note, I was wondering if you've ever considered changing your  last name. You may or may not have realized that it bears a strong resemblance to the word 'acorn'. When I was in your class, my dad constantly referred to you as Mrs. Acorn. This infuriated me at the time and I used to argue with him on an almost daily basis. My dad found my indignation to be quite amusing, which only fueled his teasing. He was even more amused when, years later, I seriously referred to you as Mrs. Acorn in a conversation. I had forgotten your actual name. That being said, I think you should consider changing your name to Mrs. Acorn. I think it would suit you and it's much more fun to say.

Sincerely,
the ignorant daydreamer

           PS-I would like to say a special thanks for the scissors. I don't know how they came
into my possession, but for years, I had a purple pair of scissors that said 'Mrs. Akard' in
black on the handle. One would be tempted to say that I took them on purpose, but I'm guessing it was an accident. Maybe.

On being a tactless mess

            My younger brother and I talk on the phone fairly frequently. In some of our recent conversations, he has taken to mentioning at least one really embarrassing thing that I did when I was growing up. He never mentions these stories vindictively at all and we're both able to laugh about them, but I realized something a few months ago as he was recalling a very special Christmas. The unwrapping seemed to be over until I found a box with my name on the tag. I brought the box into the corner and silently, eagerly unwrapped it to reveal a TV. I immediately let out a squeal of delight which was cut short when my grandmother announced that this present was not intended for me; I had misread the tag. I don't think that anyone laughed about it at the time. Instead awkward silence ensued and I laid low for the rest of that Christmas. As my brother was fondly retelling this Christmas catastrophe, I tried and failed to think of an embarrassing story about him. I've been trying for weeks to think of something, anything, stupid or rash that he did when he was little, but I'm still drawing a blank. He's far more subdued in his temperament, while I've become more and more willing to throw myself out there, despite the risks. Both temperaments have their advantages and both have their downfalls. I think that my boldness has also been accompanied by a certain form of tactlessness.
            Luckily, I've been too shy for most of my life to cause too much damage. I didn't have many guy friends before college; I was too introverted to initiate many conversations and when I did speak, I was far too blunt. I remember being chided, and rightly so, when I was in high school for telling someone, to his face, that I did not like him.
          The summer before my senior year of high school,  my family decided to host a foreign exchange student for three weeks. When friends and neighbors found out it was going to be a guy right around my age, they teased me relentlessly about falling in love with this French boy. "No," I said. "You don't understand. That's definitely not going to happen." I was assured and re-assured that yes, this was naturally what was going to happen. What actually happened, of course, was that Hakim and I fought almost constantly the entire time. When he cheated at cards, I was quick to call him out on it; when he claimed that french fries were indeed French, I was eager to explain that they were actually Belgian. I think I caused my mom minor stress when I wrestled him over a pen for five minutes in our family room. My mom was on the phone at the time and I can still remember her eyes bulging as she snapped her fingers at me, but I was determined to retrieve my pen.
            While my temperament has caused moments of sheer idiocy as described above, I hope that it has not caused only terrible things. I think that it also means I pursue my friendships and interests with a certain vigor. I try to encourage the people I love whenever I can. Usually this encouragement takes the form of baked goods, forced hugs, laconic statements, or absurd notes. I don't know how encouraging these things turn out to be, but if you've experienced them before, this was me trying to love you. (Did it work?)
           I have since stopped wrestling over pens and frequently announcing my dislike of strangers, but I'm still not sure that I've gained much where matters of discretion are concerned. I could probably learn a lot from my brother.
        

          Also-I would like to apologize to anyone whom I have offended due to my tactlessness with a special emphasis on Hakim and that boy from high school. I would like to note that by 'anyone', I pretty much mean anyone I've talked to for more than 15 minutes.
    

An Open letter to my mom.

Dear Mother-of-all-Baked-Goods,


              Although I once wrote you the apology to end all apologies, I'm pretty sure that you lost it and do not remember said note. I know this note was real and it said something like this: "Mom, I'm sorry for all the bad things I've ever done and all of the bad things I will ever do." I guess I just decided that if I could make up for all my crap in one note, it would make things more efficient and save some paper. Since you didn't remember this note the last time I mentioned it,  I'm now going to have to apologize specifically about some stuff. There's obviously a multitude of offenses I could mention, but I'm only going to cover three things.

             1.) First and foremost, I'd like to let you know that you are indeed beautiful on the outside and the inside. I'm saying this because it's true and also to make up for the poorly thought out card that I once wrote you for Mother's Day. I know you remember this one with my classic line: "Just remember that it's not what's on the outside that counts, but what's on the inside and you've got a lot of that!" I mean...I was trying to be nice. I was just too young and stupid to realize how insulting that might have sounded out loud. Luckily, you have a great sense of humor. Bravo, Mom.

             2.)  I would also like to apologize for all the grief I gave you whenever you asked me to clean my room. I'm pretty sure that not once did I clean my room without a struggle and by that I mean an argument. "Naomi, please clean your room." "Why? It's just going to get messy again! I don't want to clean my room and if we keep the door closed all of the time, then no one will ever see it."Mom repeats request. "I won't leave my stuff out here, but I don't think that I should have to clean my room!...( continues ranting and 5 minutes later) I don't want to clean my room unless you can give me good reasons as to why I should clean my room!"Again, I'm sorry. I should've just shut up and cleaned my room. I'm sure it would have saved lots of time and dust bunnies. It's too bad you can't see my actual room right now, because it's covered in clothes it's the cleanest thing since that bald, muscular man in the tile commercials. Yeah, I'm giving him a run for his money.

            3.) I'm sorry for the annual alphabetical names lists I made until the age of twelve. It was quite rude of me to make these lists which contained all the names I'd rather have been given and then present them to you, as though I expected you to change my name on the spot. Ok, maybe that was ultimately what I was going for, but it never worked, so I should have stopped making the lists. I'll admit that things always became pretty tricky by the time I made it to WXYZ.  I think I always had to pick Xena and Yolanda, even though everyone knows that Naomi is so obviously the best option in such scenarios. I'm really really sorry that when, for the umpteenth time, I presented you with another of these ghastly lists at the age of eleven, I made you cry. I remember you begging me to never show you these lists again. I shouted back that I wouldn't, but  that I promised to change my name when I turned eighteen. Admittedly, I continued to make these lists in my room for another year  or so, until I made a revelatory discover. If you spell Naomi backwards, you get 'I moan'. This changed everything for me. I just wish I would have figured this out much sooner.

       I cannot write you an entire note that consists solely of apologies, therefore I must include a few thank-yous. They will not be adequate, but they will be sincere.

           1.) Thanks for the flexible hips!

          2.) Thanks for turning my childhood in a sous chef training session. I'm not
sure if that was intentional or not, but now I know how to zest a lemon along with
a multitude of other things which may or may not impress my friends. I now find myself
increasingly alarmed whenever I talk about food, because I realize that I am starting
to sound like you, when it comes to food at least. That's not a bad thing I suppose.
I would also have you know that I brag about you all the time.

         3.) Thank you for your generosity. Thank you for making me share with my brother when I didn't want to and for instilling a love of sharing baked goods deep within me. Yes, for this, all of my friends should also thank you. I know that you and dad have sacrificed so much for me and I hope to be able to give back, not as a repayment, but out of gratitude. I love you more than muffins and more than key lime pie.

Your-most-favorite-daughter,
Naomi

Song of the Week

               James Vincent McMorrow. If you haven't heard of him, you should listen to "We Don't Eat". Technically this was my song of the week about four weeks ago, but it's still just as inspiring.

An Open Letter to the my ex-chapel buddy.

        I went to a private liberal arts college where weekly chapels were mandatory and seating was assigned.  Every semester, students are allowed nine chapel skips, but even when I was a mere freshman, I skipped far more than the allotted amount. In one of my last semesters, chapel seating was arranged by high schools and I ended up by all of the homeschoolers. This is an open letter to my chapel buddy from said semester.

Dear chapel-buddy-I-ignored,

  

    I know that you wondered where I was during the first two weeks of the semester. 

I'm not even saying this to be vain. I'm saying it because the first time I slid into my seat, you turned and said "Oh, it's my missing chapel buddy." I don't think that I introduced myself and I certainly didn't give an explanation for my absences. I wasn't there for the first two weeks for a number of reasons, none of them very legitimate. I always skipped the first day of chapel-too much excitement. I did go once in the first week that semester, but I sat in the wrong seat by accident. Yes, I was a senior and I still couldn't figure out where my seat was. I suppose that I didn't try very hard to figure that out. I just knew ahead of time that I was supposed to be sitting in the second row; what a shocker to find out that there were multiple seats in the second row. Why would they do that? By the time that I found my actual seat, I didn't want to explain my stupidity. I didn't really want to talk to you at all. I'm sure that if we had talked we'd be getting married. Right. Now.

I suppose that you could be getting married right now, but not to me and it's all my fault. I'm sorry that I never asked your name. I'm also sorry that I hit you with my backpack sometimes when I shuffled in late. I really should have offered you some of the nuts and dried fruit I would eat occasionally during chapel. I didn't eat very often during chapel, because one day, I could feel our Chaplain's eyes boring into the back of my head. Admittedly, I probably shouldn't have eaten during chapel at all and I now realize there's a chance you could have been allergic to nuts. Oops.

          

 I want you to know that my constant grunting during chapel was not because you gave off

a strange odor or even because you had a habit of tapping your foot. It wasn't even because I was constipated or anything. Trust me, I eat lots of fiber. It's just that I didn't really want to be there. I'm not usually a fan of things people force me to do and I wasn't particularly thrilled about sitting in the second row next to all of the kids who were homeschooled in high school. I'm sure that you're a really nice guy and maybe I should've been a little bit more friendly. Thanks for trying to make conversation a couple of times. It wasn't you-it was me.

Sincerely,

the grunting girl with the checkered backpack.

Animal of the week

These nocturnal beauties live in the forests of India and other parts of southeast Asia. I want a loris!

Why Children Love Me

             There are some people that children are naturally drawn to. These adults seem to know, intuitively, how to relate to children and get them to obey the rules. I am not gifted in this way. I remember being perturbed as a child by adults who would speak to me in strange tones of voice that they reserved specifically for children. I couldn't believe they didn't think I'd notice that they didn't sound this stupid all of the time,  but only when talking to me. It angered me, so I made a vow to never speak this way to kids. Instead, I use long words and constantly have to explain myself. I'm not very good with kids, but I've mulled it over and have come with the only plausible explanation for why kids sometimes sort of like me.

         Reason #1: While I prefer to think of myself as serious, I recognize that I can also be really, ridiculously goofy. I have been seen in public, on occasion, crying actual tears from laughing so hard. I suppose that this might be considered normal except that on such occasions I am, more often than not, the only one laughing and I may or may not be laughing at something that happened about a week ago. If I'm not laughing at something that happened last week, I may be laughing at something that I am about to say that I think is particularly funny. I should probably be embarrassed by this, but I do not care. I will continue to laugh, because I love laughing and sometimes my hysteria makes other people laugh as well.
                      I think that kids laugh at me mainly because I trip over my own feet, but also because I do funny voices for them.  

         Reason #2: As much as some people love frozen dinners, I love baking. Sadly it seems to be a dying art form in a world where break-and-bake cookies and McDonald's are the norm. Baking is the compilation of seemingly boring ingredients, such as flour, in a precise manner, so as to produce morsels of goodness. These morsels take many shapes—anything from circles to rectangles to squirrels. Yes, I have been known make squirrel-shaped cookies. Anyway, kids totally dig it when I bake. I often regret sharing my baked goods with children, since I have come to realize that children are dangerous enough without sugar. Usually my love of sharing baked goods outweighs the need to end this hyper cycle.  

         Reason #3: I make kids smarter and they secretly love this. Not too long ago, I explained amnesia to one of the eight year old boys I watch and even though his eyes looked glazed, I knew it was only out of excitement.              
       Me: “So...amnesia is when you have memory loss, but it's not to be confused with ambrosia. It's that weird dessert that my grandmother's friends bring to Thanksgiving and it's got fake cherries and coconut in it. Both of them should be avoided.”
          Honestly. What kind of a kid doesn't like this kind of an explanation? I'm pretty sure that he loved my amnesia/ambrosia comparison almost as much as he understood my explanation of consciousness. I tried to use dogs in my examples and to speak slowly but a few minutes later when I asked him if he understood what I was saying, he still shouted no. Maybe it'll click in a few years, right?

         Reason #4: I sing more than Snow White, but hopefully with less vibrato. Since most kids grow up listening to Renee Fleming and other classical singers of such fine caliber, I know that a spark of excitement ignites in them when they hear that I've been classically trained. Those raised eyebrows and dropped jaws are signs of appreciation for my vibrato and the high Cs I let slip on occasion. I don't need any verbal affirmation to know that they admire my trills and knowledge of show tunes. I just know.

         Reason #5 I lay down the law. I think that kids secretly like it when I say no. I, not so secretly, love saying no. This doesn't mean that I say no to absolutely everything, but I try to incorporate 'no' into almost every conversation I can. For instance:
          Kid: "What are we having for dinner?"
          Me: "No!..we are not having candy."
          This strategy allows me to both slip in a 'no' and bring a kid into utter confusion. Obviously a win-win situation.