Pawpaw

 

October 19, 2022

My Pawpaw Rowe died on this day in 1979. Mom had died that January, my great grandmother, Nanny Great, had died in the interim. I had a hideous bowl cut, and thought, “who is next?” How many more funeral dinners are up?

But my Dad’s father was a tough nut. He had an 8th grade education, and ran a farm. My Pops knew he wanted to not run a farm, but PawPaw never got to see what Poppo did. Dad grew up so poor. I think of what PawPaw would think of things now. He was born in 1901.

Today, I know my Dad has a lump in his throat. He has outlived William Loy Rowe Senior by 3 years now. The takeaway, is that it is good to remember.

It’s also good to remember extra crispy chicken for Baptist funeral dinners. Just saying.

Heart Bend

 I’ve been thinking of heartbreak.

Tony Campolo once said that, if you’re a Christian, your heart will break at the things that will break the heart of Jesus. I think that’s true. I think Jesus would be most broken-hearted by discrimination, prejudice, cancer, murder, pain, abuse…the list goes on and on.

What heartbreak looks like to earthlings is more acute, I believe. Lately, it has seemed a tad too acute.

My friend, Art Hains, is fighting for his life. You can’t find a better man. I hugged his wife last week and just told her how we love them. You don’t have to be blood to be family.

Today I went to my pastor’s wife’s visitation. Her daughter in law told me, “She didn’t just teach us how to live, she taught us how to die.” Betty was a force in my life, and in the lives of many. Because I am a Christian, I believe she is in a better place. As we drove home, I told my squeeze, Jim, that I don’t weep that she is gone. I weep for all she meant to me. You don’t have to be blood to be family.

Before I was seven, I’d been to more funerals than birthday parties. I know grief. But last week at school I had a conversation with my students about trauma. What some of them have endured is beyond measure.

I’m thinking of making it “heart bend” instead of break. I keep bouncing back; my kiddos at school bounce back. The bend just hurts so very much. But we still have our hearts, and are all the better for the people we love.

Trish

 

Today I attended the funeral of the legendary Parkview principal’s secretary, Trish Chrisman. 

When you teach and work with people for any length of time, you form relationships with them that is difficult to describe. I saw many of these folks today. My heart grew wide in the wake of this reunion.

Trish was a formidable character. She reflected the personality of the principal she protected. As a baby teacher, she taught me a lot about how to behave. As I grew into my own, she became a friend to me. She would call my classroom and say, “Nancy, TRISH.” She always made me feel respected but I also feared her, as any good teacher reveres a principal’s secretary.

Today I stood among former colleagues and listened to Parkview’s bugle and drum corp, the Lassies, play in tribute to our beloved Trish. I wept many tears for my memories of being a Viking, and for Trish.

My Pops stopped by after I got home (as he does), and I recounted to him the experience of the funeral. Pops is a big funeral-goer: not just because he is of the age when he is losing pals, but because he shows up. He always has. He has taught me—by example—to show up. As I described the events of the day, he said, “you know me. I just melt.”

So my takeaway from this day, and my delivery to whomever visits my silly blog is this: show up. And cry if you need to. And never forget the people who were there when you were duking it out in the trenches. I remembered today. And I remembered Trish.

Seasons

 August 8, 2022

I was invited to the Parkview class of 2012 reunion this past weekend. It was a little time for the teachers to roll in and see all. It was a delight.

A great part of the delight was seeing those with whom I taught. There is no finer group of educators. I know every work environment has its culture and challenges. When you teach school, it’s another ballgame. Dr. Dale Allee at (then) SMS warned me when getting my degree in education that it’s challenging in ways you don’t understand until you’re eating lunch in 20 minutes, peeing in 2, and seeing other adults only in the halls, have you strength to venture out between classes. He was correct. But the reward speeds past the difficulty.

I hugged former colleagues and students on Saturday and slowly and in solitary fashion worked my way back to my former classroom. I’ve been gone 8 years now. It was the right choice to leave when I did, but as I climbed the steps to 237, as I saw the trophies from the days of mine in those special halls, as I could hear the laughter we shared together, felt the exhaustion, listened to the great argumentation and performance, I burst into tears. 

Before the first tournament each year, I would stand on a chair before my Parkview kids. See, I followed the amazing Bob Bilyeu and Brett Miller. Tradition was my ally. I told the kids who were about to march into an arena of competitive art with others equipped with more money, more coaches, more of much, that they were from Parkview, and that when the other competitors heard it, they would wet themselves a little.

It was true. It was a legacy of excellence, and the Parkview Vikings I carted hither and yon fought adversity and remained champions. I always said I was along for the ride: they amazed me. I could never really believe I was there.

I told my wonderful Nydia today that as I drove home from the reunion, my tears dried. Life has seasons. Mine now includes much baseball, some teaching, love, the dog. 

I’m especially grateful that I was once (and always) a Viking. I am grateful for every season.

Personhood

 May 23, 2022

My father called this morning to arrange a call with him, my brother, and myself about a matter with life insurance. He didn’t want to do anything without talking with us.  (PS—high fives to BDR for knowing how to patch 3 calls together.)

This afternoon—as an alleged lady of leisure, with school out— I’ve been watching “The First Lady” on Showtime while I completed domestic tasks that (let’s be honest) are not my fave. Now, I’ve long thought myself a feminist just because I think women deserve the same rights as all. Crazy me. When I think of all my ladies who have endured much—from not being allowed to wear pants to not be allowed to have credit to not being ALLOWED to do anything—I’m grateful I was born in ‘74. Even then, it’s an uphill climb.

The bottom line, though, is that Daddio called me this morning. He has always treated me as an equal, and equal to all the dudes. I grew up doing the work that any boy would do. I was spoken to as a person with intellect and capacity. I appreciate being raised by a man who expected no less from me than I am. 

Watch “The First Lady.” There is some sketchy stuff; but every FLOTUS had balls of steel. And trust me, when I teach the difference between connotative and denotative meaning, “balls” are the example that drives the point home.

Go figure😉.

Strength

 

It might seem like a shocker, but I was raised by tough broads. My Nanny is my mom’s mom and took me over after Mom left us. Auntie Grace picked up the slack. She had no children and put up with me when Nanny could take no more of the bowl cut with the mouth. I wear a ring every day that Auntie gave me. It is blue. For years I saw it on her dainty hand, and told her every day how beautiful it was.

She has been on my mind.

She gave me that ring. With pride I have it on my markedly longer fingers. Every day of my life, I think of Auntie: she was beautiful and brilliant and talented. She lost her husband too early, she was one of the first deans of women in the US, and she and Nanny fought like cats and dogs. Guess what made me tough? Watching those two wig-wearing Baptists duke it out while I sat on the ciggie burned sofa just hoping I could catch a “Laverne and Shirley” rerun.

I couldn’t love either more.

There is stuff that makes life life. This made mine.

Jack

 April 3, 2022

Jack Tuckness was recently named the Outstanding Educator of the Planet. And he is. And I am compelled to say a few things about Jack.

Jack has been a father to many (aside from the Tuckness trio, we are all surrogates), a hero to more, and mentor to scads (including me), and has been one of the single most influential people in my life.

Who took care of me during my mother's graveside? Jack. Who played double-or-nothing with Kristen (my best friend) in the driveway with the bball hoop and then took us to Burger King for breakfast when I was a little punk? Jack. Who taught me how to love kids (and also how to pick up Chinese food)? Jack. Who put up with me when I was fearlessly competitive and difficult and still loved me? Jack. Who showed me how to love God, no matter what? Jack. Who proved that loving kiddos to success is the way and to never come unglued? Jack. Who asked my buddy Chad (after Chad had to bust a kid for meth hidden in her compact) if he could have a little pick me up? Jack. Who loves kids more than anyone? Jack.

I want to thank my friend, Kristen, for always loaning her Pops to me. And I want to thank Jack for being the person who is a good man. You taught me how to parent, how to teach, and how to be. (Extra kudos to Winnie, too.)

Congrats, my friend. All my love.