Author: Glass

Actually, it’s hot and smoky. Uncharacteristically so for Lake Tahoe. Today, a fine ash is falling, coating cars, decks and outside furniture.The Air Quality Index (AQI) registers 181 “Unhealthy. Everyone may begin to experience health impacts. Members of sensitive groups may experience more serious health impacts.” We are advised to wear masks when we are outside. Boat, paddle board, and kayak traffic on the lake is minimal, though blankets and chairs and umbrellas still dot the beaches. The water level for the lake has dropped significantly. Many boat ramps and piers are inaccessible. Most homes lack air conditioning. 

I have heard some whining. I get it: Long-planned family vacations have either been curtailed, postponed (again), or are definitely impacted by the smoke. Two weeks ago, the Reno Aces game for which we had tickets was cancelled because of smoke. So was “Shakespeare at Sand Harbor.”  River rafting has ceased, as I understand it. The California fires, which continue to rage out of control in multiple areas, are close; fortunately not such that we are ready to evacuate.

The same cannot be said for thousands of Californians. When I realize I am feeling a bit sorry for myself because of smoke, heat, and inconvenience, I try to remind myself of how fortunate we are simply to be inconvenienced. Truly, it’s difficult to imagine what it must be like to pack one’s most precious belongings in the face of terrifying flames and have to flee, not knowing if and when one’s abode will remain standing. I think of the treasures already lost for so many: photos, memories, pets, clothing, furniture, dream houses, connections to the past. Where does one return? How does a parent explain such losses to a child? How do parents contain their own shock and grief in ways that will not further traumatize their children? I can only imagine. For that, I must be grateful.

I think, daily, of the firefighters whose lives are on the line in so many areas. When others turn and flee, they stay and fight. Day after scorching day. And night. The internet informs me that the average annual salary for firefighters in the United States is not quite $49,000. For EMTs and Paramedics, it is slightly under $37,000.  Why is it that, as a country, we seem to undervalue the skills and courage and commitment of those we need most? These men and women put their lives at risk for us; their families are impacted every day. 

I don’t presume to know the answers to my own questions. I don’t want this conversation to become political. I simply encourage every single one of us to think and appreciate, daily, those whose lives and homes are on the line every day. To remember that there are Real People out there, terrified and suffering and grieving. Any one of them could be us. Let’s be grateful for small inconveniences and consider the impacts of genuine tragedy.

In so many ways, 2020 has been a dark cloud on our personal lives, on our nation, on the world. Over twelve million people in the US have tested positive over the past ten months; over 256 thousand have died. Untold numbers have lost their jobs and/or their homes. They experience daily food insecurity. They have not seen family or friends for months. Loss and chaos are very real elements of most people’s lives. Yet, amazingly, for most of us there are also the unexpected silver linings to which John Milton referred in the 1600s.

For me, Covid-19 has created the means and opportunity to reconnect with individuals and groups in ways I never imagined. Zoom has allowed me to transcend the barriers of isolation and no travel to gather on a regular basis with folks who are dear – and not near at all. In no particular order, other than how these events pop up through the course of a week:

• Every alternate Monday, up to seven couples of “church buddies” tune in to discuss everything from our families to politics to health to movies we have seen and books we have read. Some of these folks we met in 1971, when we first attended Dumbarton United Methodist Church in Georgetown, DC. We raised our children together. We lost parents, jobs, and pastors. At this point in our lives, we are far flung, geographically.
• Every third Tuesday, my two blood brothers (Colorado and Maine) and my AFS brother Germany check in with each other. We joke, we share family updates, we commiserate over politics and world news, we feel each other’s presence.
• Tuesdays each week include a prayer and conversation group of women that evolved from a much less formal in-person lunch gathering last winter. During these months, one woman lost a grandchild; one has suffered acute loneliness; two have sold and purchased new homes. Without fail, we listen to each other, offer unconditional love, make each other laugh.
• Eight female cousins (some not actually cousins, but we always forget that) carve out what has become a sacrosanct hour each Wednesday morning in Europe, Maine, Connecticut, DC, Maryland, Arizona, and Wyoming to provide critical support for each other. Sometimes, we just laugh. Three of our families have experienced Covid-19 personally, however, and one woman has had to make the difficult decision with her husband to find a residential facility to provide for the increasingly devastating effects of his Parkinson’s. We are not all aligned politically, and we have navigated the last several weeks with mutual respect and appreciation.
• Tuesdays and Thursdays are also the days, each week, when I attend Board committee meetings for an independent school in Sun Valley Idaho. As Trustees, we have been able to know exactly what is transpiring on and off campus over the course of ten unique and challenging months, and to provide feedback and assistance to the Head of School and his exceptional administration. We have been able to anticipate, discuss, and plan, rather than simply react.
• When the in-person version of our 50^th college reunion was postponed last May, a core group of my classmates and I began meeting virtually once a month. As with other crews, we live in a number of states and, speaking for myself, were mostly connected through annual Christmas cards and very rare phone calls.
• I have been able to rejoin two book groups, one based in Wyoming, one consisting of women in the DC area with whom I was colleagues well over twenty years ago.
• Last, but definitely not least, once again, work twice a week with a personal trainer  — the same one with whom I trained for ten years when I lived in Southern California. We wonder now why it never occurred to us to use FaceTime, our virtual preference, when I moved to Lake Tahoe. It’s highly likely I’m in better shape now than I was when the pandemic began.

None of these opportunities, these privileges, removes the pain and impacts of Covid-19. They are, however, precious silver linings to which I am committed in the future. We have all experienced new ways of processing and dealing with the world. We have found unexpected ways to solve problems, to relate, to express ourselves; different windows on the world. Personally, I appreciate relationships and connections more than ever, made easier, albeit very different, in remarkable ways by technology. Dark clouds? Definitely. Very real and unforgettable ones. Let’s never forget those same clouds came with silver linings. 

As we head into the final week of the 2020 Presidential race, I expect to hear ongoing references to the need for “law and order.” This is unlikely to be a peaceful process, either in the week to come or those immediately following. “Law and Order,” as defined by the current President, is not the answer. Mutual Respect is.

Each of us has had experiences with true leaders, whether they be in a classroom, captain or coach of a team, a school administrator, CEO of a corporation or a non-profit institution, or locally or nationally elected officials. They have more in common with each other than they have differences, regardless of their political party affiliation, religion, race, or even age. The  most significant trait and practice that effective leaders have in common is this: Respect. Respect for others and respect for themselves. They operate from a position of trust. That is their strength – not weapons or derision or caste or exclusion.  

True leaders do not have “discipline” or management problems. They do not fire or discredit anyone who disagrees with them. Law and order are not demands that are inflicted on others by force or the power of weapons. Law and order are, in fact, misnomers for what our current President claims he wants. If that were true, he would abide by the laws: He would wear a mask. He would not ask his “base” to congregate in huge numbers so that he could deride his opponents. He, as the theoretical leader of this country, would be the firstto follow the recommendations of his appointed advisors and to follow the law. As the coronavirus surges in our country, President Trump not only ignores the laws established in various areas, he blatantly encourages others to do the same. Meanwhile, Peaceful Black Lives Matter gatherings, according to Trump, are unlawful and are met with armed resistance.

Should anyone be interested in Trump’s relationship with the law, simply Google that topic. I was particularly struck by comments written by author, former federal prosecutor, and self-avowed “middle-of-the-road Republican,” James D. Zirin. Not somebody out to “get” the President because he is of a different political party, which is generally Trump’s go-to accusation. In his book, Plaintiff in Chief: A Portrait of Donald Trump in 3,500 Lawsuits, published in 2019, Mr. Zirin notes, “Trump saw litigation as being only about winning. He sued at the drop of a hat. He sued for sport; he sued to achieve control; and he sued to make a point. He sued as a means of destroying or silencing those who crossed him. He became a plaintiff in chief.”  

As observed in an article written by Robin Lindley in the April 20, 2020 issue of the ABA Journal, “Zirin argues that Trump has shown a chronic scorn for the law. ‘All this aberrant behavior would be problematic in a businessman,’ he writes. ‘But the implications of such conduct in a man who is the president of the United States are nothing less than terrifying.’”

Think back to an organization in which you felt safe, in which you felt comfortable with whomever was in charge. What, exactly, did “in charge” mean? If you truly felt comfortable and safe, quite likely it was because you understood expectations and parameters. Equally important, you felt heard and respected. You had a voice. It was no louder or softer than that of anyone else in the organization. You knew what to expect, knew what expected of you. You might have elected to be a very active participant or a more subdued one.  You had that freedom. Nobody was above the law. Nobody. It wasn’t about power. It was about respect.

During my last two years as Head of Lake Tahoe School, the faculty and administration spent a great deal of time dealing with accusations of bullying. This tendency is not new among parents, though it has taken on a life of its own during the past decade and, with increasing intensity, during the last four years.  Please don’t misinterpret. I take genuine bullying very seriously, a claim to which a long line of students and teachers can attest. I also firmly believe that what some parents perceive as “bullying” simply isn’t.  Not to mention those same parents’ total lack of ability to recognize when their own children cross a behavioral line.

More to the point, the question that I wished I could have asked parents with complaints but knew it wasn’t appropriate was: For whom did you vote in the last Presidential election? If the answer were Donald Trump, in my fantasies, I would simply refuse to listen to their complaints. The current President of the United States is a consummate bully. Nobody is beyond the circle of his vicious attacks: race, religion, gender, physical disabilities, country of origin, income status, age, experience… It stands to reason, in my mind, that anyone who dismisses Trump’s assaults on others forfeits the right to object to the actions of anyone else, especially a child. Moreover, the message that such parents give their children, by not reacting directly and forcefully in ways that counter the negative Trump philosophy is to condone such behavior for their own children. 

Myriad reports across the nation during the last four years indicate that bullying rates in schools have increased significantly, especially in regions/districts where a majority of parents voted for Donald Trump.  Our children listen. They listen to the media, whether print or visual. They listen to their parents. Most importantly, they listen very carefully to what is allowed and what is not. They listen to the President of the United States, theoretically the most powerful man in the world, and they are keenly aware that he is allowed to say whatever he wants, whenever he wants, to whomever he wants. Unless they hear their parents react swiftly and strongly to his attacks, they interpret that silence as permission to say and act similarly. 

We can’t have it both ways.  We cannot expect our schools to ensure that every child treats others with dignity and respect without taking the responsibility, as parents, of ensuring that our children receive consistent, thoughtful messages at home as to what constitutes healthy, mature behavior. Anyone who accuses others of bullying and does not, at the same time, decry the actions and words of the current President, loses all credibility, in my opinion. In the past, I have sometimes agreed with policies of various Presidents and sometimes disagreed. Until this one, I have never felt the need to explain/defend/excuse/deplore the behavior and actions of any of them toward others, especially those unable to defend themselves. Children raised in violent homes very often become violent adults. Without intervention, they model what they see. The same is true of how youngsters express themselves verbally. The only way to counteract bullying is to recognize it and address it consistently. Adults should be held more accountable than children, not less.

By the time I was transferred to Terry (in Tulsa, she provided, when I queried her whereabouts), I had just about had it. After two hours of runaround from a number of on-line representatives from a couple of well-established businesses who had done little but put me on hold then foist me off to someone else, my patience was in short supply. One young man named Jay, actually declared, “I can’t spend any more time with you. I have to help other customers.” In an attempt to be fair, however, and to give Terry a chance, I warned her at the outset that I was already miffed and would try not to take it out on her. I have found that expressing just a bit of one’s frustration allows for a more cordial initial exchange. My experience hitherto had certainly not been her fault. At the same time, I wanted her to know that I was not in the mood for any more dismissals.

Terry (from Tulsa) said and did exactly what a well-trained professional should do: She commiserated, apologized on behalf of her company, and promised to do everything in her power to solve my problem. In only a few minutes, she had done just that and we were chatting like old friends. Terry was knowledgeable, efficient, straightforward, courteous, and empathetic. Looking to change our TV service, Terry also realized that, as a senior citizen on Social Security, I am eligible to qualify for something called Lifeline Internet, which should dramatically reduce the cost for internet service in both Wyoming and Nevada. That recommendation was not her responsibility. She just did it because it was the right thing to do.

As our conversation drew to a close, both of us having thoroughly enjoyed the interchange and I shed of previous frustrations, I asked to speak to Terry’s supervisor. My intention, of course, was to commend Terry for the exceptional work she had done and the many positive ways she reflected on her employer. Terry’s immediate response was, “Oh, no, did I do something wrong?”  Frankly, I was shocked – and then maybe not so much. We have become a culture when, too often, customers only speak up when they have complaints. I had voiced nothing but appreciation, yet asking to speak to her supervisor automatically put Terry on edge. I assured her that I try to take the time to speak to those in charge when I think someone deserves praise – as well as when I think a boss should be aware of an employee’s dramatic shortcomings. 

My father advised me, when I was a young teacher and then an administrator, to keep what he called an Orchid File. All educators are familiar with parents who complain, sometimes legitimately and respectfully, sometimes less so. We all treasure those who take the time and care to tell us when we have done something good, something memorable. For administrators, that includes parents who copy us on their appreciative notes to teachers or, even better, go out of their way to commend the ongoing hard work and care they witness on behalf of their child. My Orchid File includes notes and cards and letters accumulated over forty years. The couple of times a year that I stumble across it, I am reminded of wonderful little student faces and the kindness of their parents. The reminder that I made a bit of a difference in a child’s life is an enduring gift.

Terry’s supervisor was not available, sadly. I told Terry I would write a tribute to her and directed her to my blog. I hope she finds it. She deserves to know that she provided a very bright spot in an otherwise frustrating day. Especially during this pandemic time, when there are lots of occasions for frustration, I urge you to thank the Terrys whom you encounter. They, too, must be dealing with all kinds of fears and frustrations of which we are not aware. Go ahead; make their day.

Anyone who knows the professional and personal me understands the time and attention I spent helping students learn about mutual respect and consideration. Even kids who were sent to my office for poor choices knew they could redeem themselves by being honest about themselves and whatever situation had delivered them to my doorstep, as well as by referring to others with appropriate language. Honesty, integrity, and respect have always been cornerstones of what I value. They were the drivers behind my forty-six years as a teacher and administrator.

Those that know the professional and personal me would not be surprised when I recently  forwarded a post on Facebook that basically wondered how some people question if our country is “ready” for a woman or gay or person of color as President, while never seeming to ask if we are ready for someone who is incompetent, vindictive, malicious, misogynistic, homophobic, etc. In response, I heard back from an older friend who asked me how I could speak so disrespectfully about an “elected president of our nation.” She wondered if I hate him so much that I could lower myself to showing that hate.

I considered not responding. I have plenty of affection for this woman and generally don’t believe that trying to engage in dialogue with someone who clearly sees things so differently can possibly be productive. Staying silent, however, would negate the infinite times I admonished children who had not stood up for what was right.  I couldn’t let this one go and wrote back: “ With all due respect, when the current President of the United States starts speaking respectfully about women, gays, people with disabilities, immigrants, and pretty much everyone who is different from or differs with him, I will speak more respectfully. Yes, I detest him and what he makes very clear he stands for. There have been Presidents in the past with whom I did not agree and for whom I did not vote. I respected and appreciated the challenges of their position and the ways they treated that position with dignity and others with respect.”

In my classrooms and, later, the schools that I ran, I would not have tolerated any person who spoke about others as Trump does. Children, I granted time to learn and worked with them about expressing feelings and different opinions in respectful ways. Students were allowed some latitude in which to grow. If they didn’t get the picture pretty quickly, they were out. Had an adult in my employ ever referred to a student or a colleague or a parent in the blatantly sexist, racist, homophobic terms, that Trump uses so consistently, I would have fired that person immediately.

Bullying is a term that I believe is often exaggerated. To survive in this world, we all need to learn how to take a joke, and kids often tease each other without necessarily recognizing the power behind the words they use. A mother once told me that any time her daughter said, “I was just kidding!,” she would respond, “Who was it funny for?” What confounds me is how many adults ignore, excuse, or condone language and actions in the person who should exemplify tact and professionalism. A wise 7^th grade boy asked me, in 2016, “Mrs. Glass, how can anyone hear what Donald Trump says and excuse it as “just words”? I didn’t have a satisfactory answer then, and I don’t have one now.

My question for those who excuse Trump’s rants as “just words”: Would you allow him to work for you? Would you hire him in whatever business you run? Would you want to be his colleague?

I haven’t written anything for this blog since the end of November. I’m not entirely sure why not. I maintain a running list of topics about which to write. Some are serious, some frivolous. Perhaps I have just been lazy; retirement can provide an odd mixture of Nothing and Everything To Do. Maybe I just needed a break. It’s time to write again.

The thing is, I have a voice and the means to use it, unlike millions in the United States who are both invisible and unable to speak, figuratively, if not literally. Consistent with terms and traditions we have all heard and used over the years without considering their implications, readers might remember that the inability to speak used to be referred as “dumb.” Consider how clueless we all were about the not-very-subtle message associated with that term. It is way past time that we thoughtfully examine myriad terms and references that we might have used thoughtlessly in the past. It can be argued that ignorance is bliss. While the learning curve is extremely steep for some, there is no longer an excuse for ignorance. No bliss.

We are in the middle of two pandemics — one created by a virus and spread through ignorance and selfishness, one created by injustice and spread through ignorance and fear. My voice is tiny and privileged. Using it may make no difference at all, but not using it is irresponsible.

I saw a wonderful post on Facebook today of a middle-aged or older gentleman in a wheelchair. Masked to protect others, he wore a t-shirt emblazoned with “Black Lives Matter.” The sign he carried proclaimed: “Sorry I’m late. I had a lot to learn.” We all have a lot to learn. It’s never too late.

Last summer, I was on my way to a women’s group lunch at St. John’s Episcopal Church in Jackson, Wyoming, when I passed a local resident speaking to a walking tour group he was leading. The fellow was probably about my age, dressed in western wear, and one might surmise, a local. While I cannot quote him directly, I was stunned to hear him refer to the beautiful church building and campus with this message: “It’s a shame that this property, in the middle of town, is wasted on a building that is used for only an hour a week.”

I considered stopping and correcting the fellow, then, as is my wont – and probably that of many – I figured it wasn’t my business. I have been bothered ever since that I did not have the courage to correct him, politely but firmly. St. John’s belongs just where it is because it has long been at the heart of this community. One hour a week? Nothing could be further from the truth.

The site of the main sanctuary and connecting rooms is where St. John’s Hospital resided until it was relocated. As a hospital, it welcomed and did its best to comfort and heal everyone who entered its doors. St. John’s Church continues that tradition. I am quite sure that I am not aware of all that St. John’s does to support the Jackson Hole community, but the following projects and activities take a great deal more than an hour a week:

The campus facilities, including the sanctuary, Hansen and Donnan Halls, are open to all who are involved and provide space for:

• Browse and Buy
• One-22
• AA and other support group meetings on a daily basis
• Jackson Food Cupboard
• Bright Beginning PreSchool
• Various meetings and discussions as requested by the larger community
• Free family portraits for those who cannot afford them (provided by local photographers)
• Monthly Mindfulness for Mamas meetings
• Suicide prevention programs
• Santa Fund
• Angel Tree
• Jewish community services
• Grand Teton Music Festival monthly free concerts
• Day of the Dead celebration and dinner presented jointly with local schools and Latino community
• Partnership with Community Safety
• Network: Movie and Discussion Nights
• Free summer concerts featuring local musicians

Ongoing Church outreach projects include:

• Hands-on support for Habitat for Humanity
• Period Project
• Blue Bag Project every November: Blue cloth grocery bags are filled with household needs and donated to families
• If You Need Me, Take Me Coats (new and gently used coats are hung around the campus for those who cannot afford to buy their own)
• Adopt A Family for the Christmas season
• Laundry Love (donations of money and time allow locals in need to meet at the laundromat one night a week, where church volunteers provide detergent and coins to operate the machines)
• Wind River Reservation Projects
• Diapers and toys for babies and children
• Tea and Talk at Legacy
• Afternoon snacks at the library for school children
• Season of Light Project with Lower Valley Energy

In short, there is never a need, identified by the greater community, to which St. John’s does not respond with open doors and open hearts. Had I shared even some of the above with the group of tourists gathered, not to mention the ill-informed guide, I might have opened another heart, another door. I should have stopped.

Recently my husband and I saw the movie “Harriet.” Powerful, brutal, beautifully acted and filmed, it should be required viewing for all. The theme should also be ancient history. Sadly, it is not. As a country, yes, we have made progress in some ways, but it’s not nearly enough. “Harriet” reminds us of the work we all need to do.

Watching the movie prompted me to think of several moments in my teaching career when the subjects of slavery/race/prejudice/bias and the whitewashing of history were central to our discussions. One occurred during my initial year teaching 6^thgrade. We were studying US history. Our text, from an established publishing house, contained the briefest of mentions of slavery. While I cannot recall the exact words, one small paragraph described slaves as living in small cottages or cabins. There was no mention of anything remotely related even to hardships, much less brutality. Incensed, I assigned the class to do some research and rewrite the chapter. My students were receptive and interested. What they wrote was, of course, still far from reality. My hope was that they started to read history with minds more open to different perspectives and with an awareness of intentional misrepresentation.

A few years later and in another school, the 8^thgrade teachers and I had created an Outcast Simulation to accompany the study of the Holocaust. Over the course of a month, one day each week we declared that some shared aspect (birth months, hair color, etc.) for a small group of students made them outcasts for the day. As such, they were not included in games, were the last to enter classrooms, had to pick up trash, and were completely ignored by their classmates, etc. Every student was an outcast at some point during the month. The experience was generally powerful. When I debriefed with the “outcasts” before they left for home, their observations were gratifyingly thoughtful. The most memorable moment came from one young African American boy who said, “Mrs. Glass, this is the only time in my life I think my classmates might have a tiny idea of what it is like to be Black.” This from a boy who was well-liked by and easy with his peers.

My final year in Virginia, one of our African American students missed the first day back from Thanksgiving break because an older boy in his neighborhood, someone he knew slightly, had been shot and killed. The second such instance in Keith’s life. During my morning classroom rounds, his teacher asked for my help. She needed to accompany the rest of the class elsewhere, and this young man clearly was struggling. To be honest, I had no idea what to say or do, so I simply sat down with him as he quietly wept. Finally, I asked him if he were afraid this would happen to him.” No.” (Pause.) “Maybe.” Therein lay the chasm that separated us. There was no way I could reassure him that it wouldn’t. His white classmates would never even consider the possibility. Fortunate through happenstance of birth; the kind of privilege most would never even recognize as such.

Teachers want to make a difference. We rarely know what sticks with our students, what interactions and discussions, what projects and questions will remain a part of their souls as they grow older. Were there times that made a difference in how they regarded and treated others as they matured? More often than not, the things they remember are likely things of which we were either unaware or have forgotten. I want to know: Does anyone remember those moments that have stayed with me for over forty years? Did they make a difference?

I have a new favorite time of the week: 2:00-2:15 on Thursday afternoons. That magic quarter of an hour is when I read to Ms. Bliss’s second grade class at the Wilson Elementary School. Fifteen little charmers sit “crisscross applesauce” on their classroom rug, while I perch on a chair, holding aloft books I have checked out from the Teton County Library. Reading aloud to children will always be one of the most magical interactions in which people of any age can participate. This class is a delight.

It’s been awhile since I read to a group this age. I’m still settling on the appropriate level of reading material. The first week, I wondered if the books recommended by the town librarian were a bit too young. My instincts were correct, though the seven-year-olds were generous in their acceptance of what I brought. As is often the case, they are much more capable and curious than they are “supposed” to be. It was quickly obvious that their teachers recognize their talents and have exposed them to a wide range of concepts and experiences. The students told me their names, and we discussed what they planned to be for Halloween, which was that night. When I asked what they thought Ishould be, they agreed “a principal” would be perfect. What about a costume? Straight hair, dark lipstick, and a dress. I allowed as how straight hair would be a challenge for me. The week later, one of the boys sat down and announced, “You straightened your hair.” These kiddos do not miss a trick.

Children may have changed in many ways over the years since I began teaching, however, they remain as eager to hear and are as receptive as ever to a good story. They respond to the rhythm and cadence of words carefully chosen by an author. Morris McGurk and the Grinch, the Sneetches and Thidwick convey messages as timely now as they ever were. Horton first heard that little Who in 1954. Flopsy and Mopsy and Peter have been joined by Juana and Luca, Clifford, Captain Underpants, and, of course, Harry Potter and that Wimpy Kid. The book  review section of Sunday’s New York Times  includes a special ten-page insert devoted solely to children’s books. Recommendations start with picture books and end with timely young adult choices. There is no excuse not to read to and share books with children of any age.

Research over many years consistently reinforces the concept that reading aloud to children significantly affects their mastery of language and of literacy. Many parents stop reading aloud to their children when their youngsters start reading on their own. Don’t. My husband read to our girls into their upper elementary years. Father and daughters treasured the explorations and discussions connected to books both humorous and thoughtful. I recall with great pleasure (and some embarrassment) that my mother would read aloud to Dad, my brothers, and me on the frequent long road trips we took as a family. The embarrassment stems from the summer I was fifteen or sixteen and Mom shared James Bond. 007’s romantic trysts were just too much for me to hear my mother describe aloud. My guess is they were pretty tame, relative to today’s standards!

I love that Ms. Bliss’s 2^ndgraders seem as eager as I to share whatever books I select. They remind me of the many years I taught middle school and would hear a student describe a book  to a classmate and say something along the lines of, “It’s great! Mrs. Glass recommended it to me.”  Find someone with whom to read. It’s a timeless gift.