Fifty years ago on November 21, I had no idea that it would be the last day of my childhood innocence. Who would have thought that me, a ten year old girl, would become glued to the news and fixed in front of a black and white television watching the world as she knew it explode? Kids today have been exposed to many televised horrors that were unknown to ten year olds in 1963. Unknown that was, until the Friday when President John F. Kennedy, father of Caroline and John-John, was murdered. Today, I am sharing a piece that I wrote in 1989 for my middle school's literary magazine.
November 22, 1988
On this twenty-fifth anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, it has been said repeatedly that those who were old enough to understand can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I remember that day and those that followed as clearly as I remember the happenings of last week.
Twenty-five years ago I was ten years old and a fifth grade student at Darby Township Elementary School in Glenolden, Pennsylvania. We were ending recess and had been assembled in orderly lines for our return to the classrooms.
Two women teachers, whose names I've long forgotten but whose faces are etched forever in my memory, stood at the head of the lines. The taller and greyer of the two held a transistor radio to her ear, as the shorter teacher held onto her arm, tilted her head, and strained to listen. Their faces, frozen with horror, warned us to wait quietly. We shifted uncomfortably in our silent lines, wondering about the reason for the delay, but too afraid to ask.
Finally, the teacher announced that the President of the United States had been shot.
The orderly lines disintegrated into pandemonium. Everybody began talking at once. Though the noise was deafening, it was as if I had slipped into a vacuum of silence. Shocked and sickened by the news, I withdrew from the crowd, drifted off to one of the logs surrounding the playground, sat down, and quietly began to weep.
I remember being the only person crying. Gradually, other students drifted over to stare and me and speculate about my tears. I could hear them asking: Why is she crying? Did she know the President? Was he her uncle? And so, the silly rumors began. My friend, Keith, awkwardly patted the top of my head as I bent over and pressed my face to the tops of my knees. He quietly whispered over and over again that it would be all right.
Eventually, we drifted back to our classrooms. By the time President Kennedy's death had been officially announced, everyone else had begun to weep. My tears, however, had stopped. The numbing shock that was to last for days had set in.
I did not know then why I cried. Perhaps I mourned the death of Caroline and John-John's father. Perhaps I was terrified by this sudden upheaval in my life and in my country. Perhaps I realized deep in my heart that a time of innocence, a time adults called Camelot, was over. My country would never again be the same. Neither would I.
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Buh Bye Keswick Theater
I used to love the Keswick theater, a smallish venue outside of Philadelphia. Those of you who remember the Main Point in Bryn Mawr know how special a place like that can be. Sadly, the Keswick is no longer this generation's Main Point.
Over the years, I have seen all kinds of shows there from Chinese acrobats to Wanda Sykes to fake Beatles to Cyndi Lauper, twice. After last night however, I am done with them. Cyndi was great, the Keswick not so great.
The Keswick needs to decide if they are a dance venue or a theater venue. Seriously, I know that many clubs exist where kids go in, grab their booze at the bar, then stand on an open dance floor where they actively experience the music. Last I checked, the Keswick didn't have a mosh pit in their theater. They had seats. Expensive seats. Seats that too many people choose to ignore. I get it if you want to stand up and dance as the concert draws to an end; a good musician should drive you to that point. But to stand for the sake of standing is just plain rude!
Don't tell me to get with it and join in the standing fun. At five feet tall, I'd have to stand on the seat to see over the six feet tall gaggle of gay guys blocking my view. Yes, I know Cyndi is a great friend to the LGBT community; but news flash guys - you do not have the corner on fandom. She did not write Girls Just Wanna Have Fun for you! She wrote it for me and all those other women twice your age whose views you were blocking. If you possessed an ounce of courtesy, you'd have moved your dance party to the sides of the theater. But nooooo, you were going to do what you wanted, when you wanted, and where you wanted.
I blame the Keswick for this. When people from the back congregate up front blocking the aisles and the views of those who paid a hefty fee for their seats, security needs to return them to their section. When people are standing and audience members are yelling, Down in front, don't expect your patrons to cooperate. Send security to sit them the hell down. I saw a few things that scared me. This big old blockhead was standing in the aisle, dancing in a way most white men try to avoid. A little, and I mean tiny, woman confronted him and asked him to sit. He began screaming at her, bending down, face purple, spittle flying and telling her to F this and F that or he would F her up. I was frozen and ready to go get help, when she backed away and he went back to his stupid little dance. That asshat was dangerous and stinkin' drunk and should have been removed from the theater. Cyndi had to stop her concert to appeal to some audience members who'd started to fist fight. What where they fighting over? Idiots blocking their views. And that brings me to what has really turned me off to the Keswick - their irresponsible sale of alcohol.
Any business that sells alcohol is required by law to stop serving customers who are obviously intoxicated. Not the Keswick. Unlike other theaters I've attended, their bar is open from an hour before the show starts to its close. From what I observed, they are doing a booming business. I was shocked to see a guy balancing six beers in his hands as he stumbled down the aisle. Does the theater have any idea where that alcohol is going? (No!) Are they providing limitless booze for underage drinkers? (Yes!) Is alcohol being delivered to people too drunk to walk to the bar by themselves? (Yes!) How many of those same people are going to start fights in the theater? (From what I saw, there were a bunch of "fires" being put out by Lauper's security.) How many of those people will get behind the wheel of a car at the end of the show? When is the Pennsylvania Liquor Board going to shut them down? Think about that lack of revenue, Keswick Theater owners, as you peddle your cocktails.
Which one is it, Keswick? Are you a theater venue or a dance bar? 'Cause I don't go to dance bars anymore. Until you decide what you are, I won't be going to Glenside for theater anymore either.
Over the years, I have seen all kinds of shows there from Chinese acrobats to Wanda Sykes to fake Beatles to Cyndi Lauper, twice. After last night however, I am done with them. Cyndi was great, the Keswick not so great.
The Keswick needs to decide if they are a dance venue or a theater venue. Seriously, I know that many clubs exist where kids go in, grab their booze at the bar, then stand on an open dance floor where they actively experience the music. Last I checked, the Keswick didn't have a mosh pit in their theater. They had seats. Expensive seats. Seats that too many people choose to ignore. I get it if you want to stand up and dance as the concert draws to an end; a good musician should drive you to that point. But to stand for the sake of standing is just plain rude!
Don't tell me to get with it and join in the standing fun. At five feet tall, I'd have to stand on the seat to see over the six feet tall gaggle of gay guys blocking my view. Yes, I know Cyndi is a great friend to the LGBT community; but news flash guys - you do not have the corner on fandom. She did not write Girls Just Wanna Have Fun for you! She wrote it for me and all those other women twice your age whose views you were blocking. If you possessed an ounce of courtesy, you'd have moved your dance party to the sides of the theater. But nooooo, you were going to do what you wanted, when you wanted, and where you wanted.
I blame the Keswick for this. When people from the back congregate up front blocking the aisles and the views of those who paid a hefty fee for their seats, security needs to return them to their section. When people are standing and audience members are yelling, Down in front, don't expect your patrons to cooperate. Send security to sit them the hell down. I saw a few things that scared me. This big old blockhead was standing in the aisle, dancing in a way most white men try to avoid. A little, and I mean tiny, woman confronted him and asked him to sit. He began screaming at her, bending down, face purple, spittle flying and telling her to F this and F that or he would F her up. I was frozen and ready to go get help, when she backed away and he went back to his stupid little dance. That asshat was dangerous and stinkin' drunk and should have been removed from the theater. Cyndi had to stop her concert to appeal to some audience members who'd started to fist fight. What where they fighting over? Idiots blocking their views. And that brings me to what has really turned me off to the Keswick - their irresponsible sale of alcohol.
Any business that sells alcohol is required by law to stop serving customers who are obviously intoxicated. Not the Keswick. Unlike other theaters I've attended, their bar is open from an hour before the show starts to its close. From what I observed, they are doing a booming business. I was shocked to see a guy balancing six beers in his hands as he stumbled down the aisle. Does the theater have any idea where that alcohol is going? (No!) Are they providing limitless booze for underage drinkers? (Yes!) Is alcohol being delivered to people too drunk to walk to the bar by themselves? (Yes!) How many of those same people are going to start fights in the theater? (From what I saw, there were a bunch of "fires" being put out by Lauper's security.) How many of those people will get behind the wheel of a car at the end of the show? When is the Pennsylvania Liquor Board going to shut them down? Think about that lack of revenue, Keswick Theater owners, as you peddle your cocktails.
Which one is it, Keswick? Are you a theater venue or a dance bar? 'Cause I don't go to dance bars anymore. Until you decide what you are, I won't be going to Glenside for theater anymore either.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Former Students...Part 1 in a Series
All of you who know me know that my weakness is Facebook. I love the daily statuses, the games, and being on top of world events, especially Hollywood world events. What you might not know is that one of my biggest pleasures concerning FB, though, is the opportunity I've had to peek into the adult lives of my former students. I'm going to name names (in most cases), so if any of you kids object, just message me and I'll invent a fake name for you. Right Aimee Granger? LOL You know who you are.
I must start with one of my favorite students in the whole world. Now, that doesn't mean the rest of you weren't important, but this kid grabbed my heart and I have never forgotten him. Tony Saunders, come on down!
When Tony was in seventh grade, he was a mess. He was doing poorly in class, his behavior made him the talk of the faculty room, and he was a fixture in the assistant principal's office. At the time, Bart Simpson was a popular cartoon character. No lie, Tony looked just like him. Well, our assistant principal, Mrs. Jones, decided that each of us on the team was to select an at-risk student and mentor him/her. However, we were not to let the students know they had been selected; we were to establish helping, encouraging relationships on the sly. When I eagerly announced I wanted to mentor Tony, my team members had the deer-in-the-headlight look before they burst out laughing.
Such cynics! I already knew that Tony could be reached. I'd taught his older brother, I knew his mother cared, and maybe this kid was wild, but he was not a lost cause. So, as we were instructed, I made an effort to get to know Tony. To get him to trust me. To get him through seventh grade.
Every day he'd come to homeroom and I'd ask him how things were going, if he'd done his homework, if he had his library book for class, if he needed a pencil for the day. Tony was smart, though, and he caught on to my not so subtle tactics. One day, I remember him looking at me in horror and blurting out, "Ms. Snyder! Why do you talk to me so much?!?" The jig was up. So I told him the truth, I had to. I told him that he was my project. He rolled his eyes, probably called me crazy under his breath, but he put up with me. It was a difficult year. One day I even called his mom in tears because I was so angry and frustrated with him. As always, she was very supportive. I never gave up on him. Due to many different factors, he began experiencing success in his classes; his grades improved, and he realized he liked doing well. Tony made it through seventh grade. I was there the evening he graduated from high school. Now, I see him on FB. He's a hardworking young man, and I'm proud of the person he has become.
I'm really glad for FB because I would not have known what happened to him unless I read about him in The Record or The Aegis. (We locals know that is not where you want to be featured.) I'm not totally up on all that happens in Tony's life because I have most of his feeds blocked. Bless his heart, he and his friends use the F-word as noun, verb, adjective, and adverb. And I can't help it, but such a lazy use of the English language just drives this English teacher crazy.
(PS: In case any of you are horrified that I have used his real name, please know that I obtained his permission before sharing this. And, I didn't reveal half the stuff I learned about him during our homeroom conversations. )
I must start with one of my favorite students in the whole world. Now, that doesn't mean the rest of you weren't important, but this kid grabbed my heart and I have never forgotten him. Tony Saunders, come on down!
When Tony was in seventh grade, he was a mess. He was doing poorly in class, his behavior made him the talk of the faculty room, and he was a fixture in the assistant principal's office. At the time, Bart Simpson was a popular cartoon character. No lie, Tony looked just like him. Well, our assistant principal, Mrs. Jones, decided that each of us on the team was to select an at-risk student and mentor him/her. However, we were not to let the students know they had been selected; we were to establish helping, encouraging relationships on the sly. When I eagerly announced I wanted to mentor Tony, my team members had the deer-in-the-headlight look before they burst out laughing.
Such cynics! I already knew that Tony could be reached. I'd taught his older brother, I knew his mother cared, and maybe this kid was wild, but he was not a lost cause. So, as we were instructed, I made an effort to get to know Tony. To get him to trust me. To get him through seventh grade.
Every day he'd come to homeroom and I'd ask him how things were going, if he'd done his homework, if he had his library book for class, if he needed a pencil for the day. Tony was smart, though, and he caught on to my not so subtle tactics. One day, I remember him looking at me in horror and blurting out, "Ms. Snyder! Why do you talk to me so much?!?" The jig was up. So I told him the truth, I had to. I told him that he was my project. He rolled his eyes, probably called me crazy under his breath, but he put up with me. It was a difficult year. One day I even called his mom in tears because I was so angry and frustrated with him. As always, she was very supportive. I never gave up on him. Due to many different factors, he began experiencing success in his classes; his grades improved, and he realized he liked doing well. Tony made it through seventh grade. I was there the evening he graduated from high school. Now, I see him on FB. He's a hardworking young man, and I'm proud of the person he has become.
I'm really glad for FB because I would not have known what happened to him unless I read about him in The Record or The Aegis. (We locals know that is not where you want to be featured.) I'm not totally up on all that happens in Tony's life because I have most of his feeds blocked. Bless his heart, he and his friends use the F-word as noun, verb, adjective, and adverb. And I can't help it, but such a lazy use of the English language just drives this English teacher crazy.
(PS: In case any of you are horrified that I have used his real name, please know that I obtained his permission before sharing this. And, I didn't reveal half the stuff I learned about him during our homeroom conversations. )
Friday, November 8, 2013
Procrastination
One of the downsides to my retirement is that it has allowed one of my bad habits to flourish. I am a procrastinator. A certified procrastinator. Yes indeed, I even have the certificate to prove it! Years ago the Procrastinators of America allowed you to join their organization for a small donation. I eventually got around to sending the donation, they eventually got around to sending the certificate, but I never got around to renewing my membership. I'm sure, though, that I continue to be a member of this fine organization because I'm sure they rarely get around to clearing their files.
But I digress. The point I had started to make was that because I am retired and under few actual time restraints, I can put off until tomorrow just about everything. However, that stuff needs to get done!! I just don't feel like doing it ... today. Or in some cases, this week, this month, or even this year.
When I taught, doctor appointments were always tricky. I'd schedule the annual ones for the summer. The regular ones I'd try to fit in without having to make plans for a substitute. I'd "get 'er done" because I had to do it. Scheduling was a must in order to complete all the demands on my days. They were the good old days of regular wellness check ups.
All this talk of health care has reminded me of all the check-ups I haven't had in months, years, or forever. I need to get to the dentist. I have health insurance and I should take advantage of those teeth cleanings and check-ups. I hate the dentist. But, I love my teeth. Gotta get there...one of these days. It's been so long that I actually had to do internet research to remember my gyno's name. I wonder if she'll remember me? Breast Cancer Month passed with me thinking, I gotta get those babies squashed one of these days. And Nancy, I have not forgotten your kind offer a few years ago to take me to my colonoscopy appointment, whenever I make it. Sigh. I'll be mad as hell at myself if I do finally get these things done and find out I let something awful go undiagnosed. Mad as hell.
Yes, I need to make these appointments. Soon. But, you know, the holidays are coming up and they're going to be so busy....
But I digress. The point I had started to make was that because I am retired and under few actual time restraints, I can put off until tomorrow just about everything. However, that stuff needs to get done!! I just don't feel like doing it ... today. Or in some cases, this week, this month, or even this year.
When I taught, doctor appointments were always tricky. I'd schedule the annual ones for the summer. The regular ones I'd try to fit in without having to make plans for a substitute. I'd "get 'er done" because I had to do it. Scheduling was a must in order to complete all the demands on my days. They were the good old days of regular wellness check ups.
All this talk of health care has reminded me of all the check-ups I haven't had in months, years, or forever. I need to get to the dentist. I have health insurance and I should take advantage of those teeth cleanings and check-ups. I hate the dentist. But, I love my teeth. Gotta get there...one of these days. It's been so long that I actually had to do internet research to remember my gyno's name. I wonder if she'll remember me? Breast Cancer Month passed with me thinking, I gotta get those babies squashed one of these days. And Nancy, I have not forgotten your kind offer a few years ago to take me to my colonoscopy appointment, whenever I make it. Sigh. I'll be mad as hell at myself if I do finally get these things done and find out I let something awful go undiagnosed. Mad as hell.
Yes, I need to make these appointments. Soon. But, you know, the holidays are coming up and they're going to be so busy....
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