I had every intention of writing something funny and spirited this week.  Then, something happened that caused a distraction.  Funny how one thing can spiral into many things and get in the way of the one good thing you planned for the day.  I almost missed the opportunity to trigger my happy hormones focusing on something I had no ability to fix.  I am so glad that I dodged some darts loaded with negativity.  I had to duck and weave in order to get back to my original plan.

This children’s book reminded me of the times I folded clothes and came up a few socks short.  I always put the socks in a pile so that I could roll paired socks together.  Sometimes the missing socks would be found behind the washer or dryer and other times I would figure out that I left the missing socks in the laundry basket with other dirty clothes.  There was a belief that the dryer ate the socks.  I believed that theory until a washer and dryer repairman told me that the washer actually eats the socks.  He said it was very likely that the socks were so lightweight that during the rinse cycle the water carried the socks out of the tub, through the hose, and into the great unknown.

I found this book by A.J. Cosmo online.  I decided to read it because of my prior curiosities about missing socks.  I also thought about the socks with holes in them.  I never figured out how one sock in the pair has a noticeable hole and the other showed no sign of wear.  Just this week, I put on a nice pair of socks, started putting on my shoes when I n noticed a large hole in the heel of my left sock.  The mom in “The Monster That Ate My Socks” often expressed her frustration with the missing dirty socks.  Unlike my circumstance, her son’s dirty socks weren’t even making it to the washing machine.  Like me, she was aggravated with the money spent buying new socks.  Her son grew frustrated too because he was tired of his mother accusing him of being irresponsible.  He devised a plan to solve the mystery of the missing socks.  He hadn’t told his mother, but he also had reason to believe that something might be eating his dirty socks.

One night after leaving socks in plain view he pretended to fall asleep.  As he laid there in the darkness waiting for something to happen, a green monster with three eyes came into his room.  I loved that the illustrations of the monster depicted him as a kind, gentle, friendly being.  It was not hard to imagine that a child could enjoy this book without experiencing fear or nightmares.  It turned out that the monster was responsible for the missing socks and the holes in the socks.  However, the boy enlisted the assistance of a friend to delve deeper into the mysterious behaviors of the monster.

The boy and his friend learned that the monster had a family.  The family needed sustenance in the form of dirty socks.  The tale of the dirty socks joined human boys with monsters from some world beyond in the mission to secure dirty socks for the family of monsters.  As one might imagine, the supply of dirty socks ran out and the monsters had to find another food source.  The food source turned out to be the boys homework which made me chuckle.  The boy could honestly tell his teachers that the monster ate his homework.  While that explanation sounded pretty similar to the dog eating the homework, it was not as believable.

In my opinion, this book would be a good purchase for a child under the age of eight or nine.  It has a sweetness about it that encourages inclusion of life different than the norm.  The book also introduces opportunities for adults to discuss chores and taking responsibility for belongings.  Finally, the characters in the book show the world that it is possible to support others who have needs even if you don’t completely understand their needs or their journeys.

I met the Dungy’s when my family moved to Florida (the first time) in 1997.  Lauren and Tony became friends and role models who I admired and respected.  Lauren and Tony consistently demonstrated passion for teaching and encouraging young people.  They also encouraged people who sought support for the young people in their communities.  Those of us who had children grow up in the game thought it cool that children were generally welcomed to spend time with their fathers because Tony made taking your children to work a common and accepted practice.  It was cool to witness children running around an NFL office making themselves at home.  Tony knew how much time coaches spent away from their children so our children who were raised in the game felt welcomed at the office, on the field, and often in the locker rooms.  Tony and Lauren always made the children believe that they mattered.

As I read this book, I recalled partnering with Lauren and a group of other women to make monthly visits to area elementary schools to read books.  Once Lauren noted that the books I chose to read  offered history lessons or life lessons on manners.  In my opinion, there was nothing better than a good children’s book to bridge the gaps between adults and children or to teach children about world and life issues.  Good books used words and illustrations that children could understand.  When it came to books, I looked for children’s books that told relatable, instructive stories.  “Austin Plays Fair” lived up to all of the elements of a excellent children’s book!

The story opened near the end of a flag football season.  The featured team, coached by Tony and Lauren, had not won a game and children on the team were disappointed with their losing record.  Austin played on the team that needed a win.  His team, the Trentwood Tigers, wore bright orange jersey with gray sleeves that coordinated well with their darker gray shorts.  The flags around their waists looked like yellow highlighter strips against the gray shorts.  Although they looked fabulous, the children focused on their losing record.  The encouragement of their parents didn’t eradicate their feelings of disappointment and frustration.

One of Austin’s teammates, Brice, proposed a sneaky plan that involved the members of the team tucking their flags inside of their belts to prevent the flags from being pulled away from the belt by an opponent.  Brice believed that if all of their flags remained attached to their belts during the game, victory would be certain.  Well, Brice convinced the team to execute his plan in the next game.  The team won that game.  The children celebrated the victory, but Austin felt less than a winner because he knew that they cheated to win.

Since the plan resulted in one win, Brice argued that the team should continue this tactic in order to be the victors in the next competition.  Just when it seemed that all of the Trentwood Tigers bought what Brice was selling, Austin spoke out against the plan.  Austin began thought about things his parents and his coaches said to him. His parents told him “You just need a little more practice.” They also reminded him that “Having fun is more important than winning.”  Moreover, the words of his coaches resonated with him too.  Austin especially remembered Coach Tony’s statement that “it’s important to have fun, but it’s even more important to play a game you can be proud of.” I have to admit that I was pretty convicted myself after those reminders on good sportsmanship and playing a game with integrity.

Austin made me think through my gaming strategies a bit.  My father said have fun, but he also absolutely set the standard that winning was the paramount goal.  My father used to say that he coached “a good clean game of dirty ball” which established a very different standard than that of Coach Tony and Coach Lauren.  I was raised by the guy who coached his team to bump my brother, his son, at the start of heat when my brother ran track against my Daddy’s teams.  My daddy won a lot when he coached track and basketball.  He admitted that he sent players into games for the sole purpose of getting “good fouls” designed to upset the performance of the best players on the opposing teams.  Recently, I played Ellen’s Headsup game with the women’s basketball team on my campus and they were convinced that I cheated.  They also accused me of not telling the truth on Twitter.  I guess I borrowed from my daddy to get that extra point and I used a lesson from Coach Tony to formulate my tweet.  Coach Tony taught me years ago that “perception is reality.”  So, I told the women that I didn’t lie to the world because my tweet didn’t say that I won.  I did, however, imply that I won the game.  I read this book this morning and got more convicted, but not convicted enough to delete that tweet.

It’s a good thing that Tony and Lauren wrote this book to remind us about playing fair and having fun.  I had fun playing my game, but demonstrated that I might struggle with one of the challenges faced by many folks – losing with integrity.  We tend to justify our shortcuts or lapses in integrity by accepting the excuse Brice credited his brother with saying: “everyone does stuff like that.”  Austin’s decision to choose more practice, honest play, and hard work over cheating to win demonstrated maturity, integrity, and a willingness to comply with the rules of the game.  Austin showed great courage when he took a stand against “flag gate” and when he held his team accountable for cheating.  Ultimately, Austin proudly stated that “It would have felt good to win, but it feels better to play fair.”

I highly recommend this book and the series of books recently released by Tony and Lauren Dungy.  Don’t be surprised if while you are reading this book to a child you learn valuable life lessons that you can apply in your life.  This book inspires me to 1. want to write for a younger audience and 2. to share this book with children in my community.  I hope you will purchase a copy and share it too.

This week marked the start of Black History Month which led me down a reflective path.  I began to think about the lack of Black History in the classrooms and the lack of Black faces in television, literature, and toys during my childhood.  As I struggled to remember the first time I ever saw a Black girl in a children’s book, I remembered adorable Corduroy.  The thought of Corduroy and Lisa made me smile.  I loved teddy bears and Lisa was the first Black girl in a book who sort of looked like me who loved stuffed animals as much as I loved them.

Don Freeman wrote and illustrated this book.  I have never researched his life beyond the book’s cover, but now in my adulthood I think that maybe I should delve deeper into his life story.  This book was first published in 1968 only four years after the Civil Rights Act of 1964.  His depiction of a happily integrated department store in or around 1968 seemed normal to me as a little girl in the early 70’s, but now I believe that he wrote about a world that many dreamed of experiencing.  I found a website, donfreeman.info, that introduced Don Freeman the musician, author, artist, performer, and friend.  He endeared friends of the darker hue and the stories on this site suggested that they like him were artists who welcomed a diverse friend circle.

I read the book today to refresh my memory about the story line.  Lisa spotted Corduroy at the end of a shopping trip with her mom.  There was no money left to fund the teddy bear purchase.  Lisa didn’t throw a tantrum.  Instead of a tantrum or begging, Lisa evaluated her primary source of income – her piggy bank.  She knew that sweet Corduroy wanted to go home with her as much as she wanted to take him home so she returned the next day with just enough money.  Lisa didn’t know that Corduroy spent the night before searching the store for a button that was missing from his green overalls.  His exploration did not result in the recovery of the button and he believed the missing button would preclude him from being selected.  This book demonstrated a cool lesson on imperfection being the perfect connector of human spirits.  Don Freeman also taught a lesson about the commonality and pureness of a child’s spirit regardless of the color of the child’s skin.

I loved the innocence of this story.  I loved the civility of the characters in a recently integrated department store.  I loved that Don Freeman wrote a timeless, priceless tale of friendship.  This book highlighted the potential of humankind to embrace things and people with visible differences even if the social or political climate advocate for exclusion and separation.  My parents worked hard to find books, toys, and experiences that enabled me to see girls and women who looked like me doing cool things in an effort to engrain in my mind that I cool do some cool things too.  At that time, it was easier to find books, toys, and media with people who didn’t look like me so I appreciate their intentional acts to educate, empower, and enlighten me about myself and the world around me.

I started this blog journey because I wanted to educate, encourage, and enlighten people in topics related to building supportive villages for young people.  Raising my children had become my greatest work.  I regularly received comments from onlookers about my children being “well-behaved” and “polite.”  Sometimes people would say you should write a book about parenting so you can teach other people how to raise children to be like your children.  I haven’t written the book yet, but this forum gives me a platform to speak.

My mother used to talk about how she would listen to the radio or read books and envision the settings described by the artists.  She would imagine what it must be like to be in that space.  My mother spent decades teaching first and second grade children to read and to use their imaginations.  I think she influenced my love of reading and writing. She definitely was my first reading teacher.  Her penmanship was dang near perfect and she stressed the importance of me perfecting my cursive writing skill set.  Unlike Mama, Daddy only cared about you being able to sign your name legibly in cursive.  I never understood it, but maybe it was because his signature and his handwriting left a lot to be desired.

Mama’s reading lessons began with the alphabets. First, she taught us to say the alphabets by singing the “A,B,C Song.”  Next, we had to learn to say the sounds associated with each letter.  She associated each letter with objects which aided students in remembering the sounds made by the letters.  Before my children were born, I started reading to them.  I valued my relationships with Mama and Daddy.  I wanted nothing more than my kids to bond with me as early as possible and I thought reading was one way to accomplish that goal.  My father used to tell me that Big Mama, his mom, said that babies could hear while they were in the womb.  I had nothing to lose and everything to gain if she was right.

I found a “Hooked on Phonics” recording and I played the cassette tape in my car whenever I was in the car with my children.  This recording helped me teach my daughter to read by the time she was four years old.  My daughter was reading beginning readers which Mama called “primers.”  By the time my son reached the age of three, I needed to get him on the road to reading so I pulled out the tapes and put them back in car.  I also made sure that I had some simple books with rhyming words so that he could experience some success reading books.  One of his first books was “Ducks in Muck” by Lori Haskins.  The book was beautifully illustrated by Valeria Petrone which made it perfect for a curious little boy.  As I recall, we read this book almost nightly for probably a month until he could “read” along with me.

One day while we rode in the car my son started to recite from memory the words in the book.  At some point, his memory must have failed him or he just decided playing a rhyming game would be more fun.  He proceeded to meld the lessons from the phonics tape with blends from the book.  He began, “a-a-a, auck, b-b-b, buck, cu-cu-cu, cuck, du-du-du, duck, e-e-e,…, fu,fu,fu.” Before he said the four letter “f” word, I interjected saying something like, “Let’s try “L, Luh, luh, luh, luck!”  Lucky that I was paying attention and redirected this boy genius who was demonstrating a mastery of rhyming words.  He had no idea why my daughter and I were laughing so hard.  In addition to being a master of the rhyme, he was the resident comedian so he probably thought he said something really funny.  The truth was that he had done just that!

My advice to parents is to read to your children early and often.  Finds books small enough for them to hold securely in their kid-sized hands.  Find books with lovely, vibrant illustrations.  Just be careful to pay close attention to those consonant blends when you play the alphabet rhyming game.

Dear God,

It’s me, Kim – again.  I started writing this letter to you a week ago early Saturday morning.  My canine kid, Swaggy, didn’t respect that Saturday was not a work day for me.  His body clock woke him up about 5:30 and he demanded that I get up and moving too.  As I resisted Swaggy’s urging to get up, it occurred to me that if I got up I could spend some alone time with my Bible and my God.  So, I got up, washed my face, brushed my teeth, turned on the kettle to heat the water for my coffee, grabbed my Bible, a journal and a pen, and sat down to commune with you.  Once I sat I couldn’t think of anything to say.  It’s funny how I have told myself all of the things I would do or say if I had time and when I got time I found that the list evaporated into nothingness.  So, I decided to get back to an old practice I started as an eleven-year-old child – writing “Dear God letters.”

As you know, I have verbalized my tag line which is that “I ain’t the best church lady.”  I have literally missed a month of Sundays of church services and I tend not to keep up with all of the events on the church calendar.  You know all of the reasons that church people have challenged me over the years and you know my heart.

When I sat down to commune with you, I realized that the chaotic subsections of my life had moved outside of the compartments in which I placed them.  As a result, I had more difficulty speaking to and hearing from you.  Chaos had been my normal since I was eleven and I adapted to that model.  To survive that life model, I compartmentalized the chaos then directed the chaotic subcategories to remain where I put them.  My directive was not to store them for safe keeping, but so that I could control when I allowed each chaotic section permission to participate in the symphony of my life.  I envisioned myself as a director of a band who signaled the rise of the horn section while silencing the woodwinds.  In my perfect band, I would only hear from the section of the band I permitted to play.  However, even when they didn’t play they sat on ready, excited to participate with the excited readiness that often caused members to play out of turn.  There have been times when my sections performed like a grade school band that happily played that one song they rehearsed for an entire fall term for their winter concert audience.  When my chaos refused to stay sectioned according to my directives, I smiled like the parent at that grade school band concert nodding in approval like I really didn’t hear the squeaks, squawks, and missed notes as the band played the song.   I found myself with members blaring random notes, at will, and that random noise from the entire band caused me to have difficulty organizing and communicating my thoughts and needs to you.

This dilemma reminded me of the eleven-year-old me who started writing letters to you.  At that time, life felt complex, uncertain, and frightening.  I think my mother knew that our family dysfunction caused me angst so she encouraged me to “write about it even if you can’t talk about.”  Until now, I have never shared the contents of a “Dear God letter” with anyone except you.  I used to write the letters, read them, and destroy them because I was afraid that someone would find the letters and then know my inner thoughts and feelings.

As a child, I believed that I was the only one living with the dysfunction resonating in my head, heart, and spirit like the noisy clamber of the grade school percussionist.  As an adult, I realized that I was not the only one performing this phenomenal feat.  People performed this feat on a regular basis as they try to manage life and the noise in their heads.  Sometimes the sections played softly, in tune, in the background like a sound track to my life movie.  But, the letter writing was mandated at those moments when the band forgot that it was never to have a primary role, but only provide accompaniment to my script.  It was never supposed to play louder than I could speak or think. In the last few weeks, I learned that each chaotic subsection had a trigger and the collective force of all of the subsections led me to do what I knew I had to do – write.  The pen I used when I wrote letters to you became the baton, raised to lower the volume so that I could think.  Every time I wrote a “Dear God letter” I remembered why my mother’s advice to write manifested itself in letter writing to God.

During the crazy, confusing period of my childhood, a librarian at my elementary school gave me a book to read.  (Unfortunately, she has been nameless and faceless for years.)  The book was “Are you there God? It’s me Margeret” by Judy Blume.  Last week, I visited the local library virtually and I checked out the book because I needed to refresh my memory about why this book transformed my adolescence and continued to influence my adult life.  The young girl in this book reminded me that feelings of inadequacy, rejection, insecurity, aloneness, and being misunderstand did not discriminate.  I was reminded that my chaos did not wait for my life to settle down.  I also had no guarantee that each feeling or emotion would prevent me from experiencing future occurrences of the same feelings like the chickenpox or a rare celestial event.  Judy Blume, through this book, taught me the cathartic value of writing letters to God.  Taking the time to write to you gave me more control over the situations in my life that triggered the negative feelings.  My pen became my baton.  The gliding of the ink from my pen to the paper created musical notes bouncing in my head transforming my loud grade school band into a soothing symphony.

The main character reminded me that I had that ability to take each care or chaotic issue to you in my writing.  I remembered that even the things that feel small to other folks can wreak havoc in my life.  I remembered that when I write to you, there is no human judgment or endless lecturing.  I got to say everything that was on my mind and in my heart when I penned letters to you.  When I’m done writing my “Dear God letter,” I don’t have all of the answers to my problems, but I have calmed the chaos enough to breath freer and think clearer.  I hope that somebody who reads my letter will decide to write their own letter.  The truth is that some things are better said in a letter to God and not out loud (especially when you have to yell over the band for other folks to hear you speak.)

When my children were younger, I read to them almost every night and I bought them books for birthdays, holidays, and as souvenirs when we traveled.  In December 1996, my planning included buying Christmas gifts for my family and thoughts about ways to encourage my daughter in her upcoming role as a big sister.  At the time, I was pregnant with my son who was due just before Christmas Day.  In an attempt to get advice on how to better transition from a family of three to a family of four, I enrolled us in a sibling class at the local hospital.

The course instructor taught short lessons on the developmental needs of children.  She took us into a hospital room so that the kids could see and touch the beds.  The kids were also allowed to experiment with the controls for the beds and to ask questions about the other things in the hospital birthing room.  Near the end of the course, the instructor read a book to the class about child birth (and that is a subject for a different blog post).  During the course, the instructor stressed the importance of placing value in the role of the older sibling(s).  She encouraged us to assign our older child tasks associated with preparing the home for the arrival of the baby.  Then, we were told to think of small, inexpensive tokens to gift the older sibling as a thank you for the thoughtful acts of kindness shown by them toward the little brother or sister whose birth we anticipated.  Among the things I picked was a book called “’Twas the Night B’fore Christmas An African-American Version Retold and Illustrated by Melodye Rosales.”

I remembered mama reading to me the “the original poem” upon which this book was based: “A Visit From St. Nicholas by Clement C. Moore.”  However, I could not remember any illustrations associated with the poem.  The cover of this version by Melodye Rosales drew me to the bookshelf.  Once I opened the book and flipped through the pages, I was sold.  I knew that I had to take it home and use it to create a family tradition centered around this version of a classic children’s tale.  Beginning in 1996, I read this book to my children Christmas eve just before bedtime.  The book became a part of the Christmas eve tradition that included getting all cleaned up to put on the new pajamas I selected for them.  The crisp pajamas were necessary so that the Christmas morning pictures would be perfect.  After getting the kids suited for bed, I made them hot chocolate, we plated the cookies for Santa, and poured him a glass of milk to compliment the cookies.

The aroma of the cookies and the twinkling lights made for a perfect environment for us to take in the wonder of this book.  The kids looked forward to this tradition as much as I did and that made me happy.  Once they were dressed for bedtime and the hot chocolate was cool enough to drink, we positioned ourselves shoulder to shoulder so that we could all see the pages of the book at the same time.  The first picture in the book depicted a period reminiscent of the time when my mother was a child.  The children left a note addressed to “Santy Claus” and a gift of “huckleberry jam” on a table in a room lit by a lantern and the moonlight.  The next few pages were filled with color and detail that brought to life the spirits of the family who lived in the house.  The children with their smooth, caramel toned complexions were sweet perfection.  At the start of the book, all of the children were asleep except the youngest girl who laid in bed on her back dreaming with her eyes open about the anticipation of the visit of “Santy Claus.” The children dreamed of dancing treats and toys while the parents slipped into a restful sleep.

When I was a child, mama told me that Santa did not appear if the children in the house were awake so I made sure that I went to sleep as a reasonable time Christmas eve.  I guess “Santy Claus” didn’t realize the little girl was awake in the book because she was harbored from detection by the sounds of the grown ups sleeping on either side of her.  Based on the dad’s reaction to the sound of “a clatter” in “the darkness” I believe he loved Christmas as much as I did.  I also thought he must have been a light sleeper because he sprung from the bed with the little girl and raced to the window looking for the source of the noise. The facial expressions of the girl and her dad were priceless and if “Santy Claus” saw them he must have continued his gift giving mission at the house for the mutual entertainment value.  The bounce and lyrical rhyming of the verses made us feel like we were actually sneaking a peak into the secret world of St. Nick.  We saw the jolly old man drop from the chimney into the living room with his bag of goodies.  It’s funny how the author and illustrator made us accept the tale as told by this family.  We, too, vicariously witnessed the reindeer pulling his sleigh as he “a-hollered, an’ called them by name: ‘Now, Dasher! Now, Dancer! Now, Prancer an’ Vixen! On, Comet! On, Cupid! On, Donner an’ Blitzen!…’”

Every time I read this book, I am reminded about the stories my mother told me about her childhood.  She told me how she grew up on a farm with her siblings and her parents and they looked forward to getting gifts of fruits and nuts for Christmas.  Mama said they often made their own dolls for fun because they didn’t expect to receive one from a store.  In addition to thinking about the simplicity of mama’s childhood Christmas experiences, I think about how much the blankets covering the family in the book resemble the quilts made by the women in my mom’s family.  There were some really pretty, colorful quilts handed down in my family over the years.  I loved reading to my kids because the story lines always presented excellent opportunities to share stories about our family history and the world around them.  I hope that those who read this blog post will make it their mission to read and share this book with the children they know.

Merry Christmas from my family to yours!

Deloris Jordan and Roslyn M. Jordan authored this encouraging children’s book about Michael Jordan and his pursuit of his dream to be a great basketball player.  This book was one of my son’s Christmas presents when he was five. It was the same Christmas that I gave my daughter “Dancing in the Wings” by Debbie Allen.  While neither of them probably understood the richness of these two books under the tree, these books held treasures of encouragement, empowerment, and enlightenment for them and for me as a parent seeking to be a part of excellent villages for my kids.

The Jordan family told a story of a young boy who struggled with holding fast to his dream inspire of his current situation.  Young Michael, like most children, believed that his current state would be his permanent state.  Children see life very literally and what they see with their eyes and hear with their ears often becomes the truth that shapes their futures.  Excellent villagers must continuously speak about potential for greatness that the young, inexperienced mind is not yet able to fathom.  Excellent villagers must speak with excited, welcoming voices when children dream aloud in your presence.  Excellent villagers motivate children to keep dreaming and coach the children about ways to realize their dreams.  Excellent villagers also make efforts to find people more knowledgeable about the subject of the dream or who have more time or means to aid in supporting the young dreamer.  The excellent villager becomes a safety net for the child to protect the child if there are hiccups in the child’s plan or if the plan evolves into some other unforeseen dream or vision.

I loved reading this book at bedtime to my five year old son.  My boy was in the hundredth percentile of every category on the pediatric chart for child development, but he still wanted to be taller.  Because my son loved the book so much, I read this book to classes of young children and they love it too.  It seemed that most of the young boys I read to, including my son,  doubted that their gene pools would grant them more size.  My son didn’t realize that he was a product of two gene pools that have produced some large bodies.  Because I knew his genetic history, I didn’t doubt that he would develop into a large individual at some point in his life.  But, for my young boy the growth spurt could not happen soon enough.  I had to repeatedly respond to his inquiries about  whether or not he was taller and I had to watch him routinely stand next to me using his hand to measure from the top of his head to a spot on my body that was never level with the top of his head.  His biased measurement always confirmed his proclamation that he was growing taller.

The invitation into the Jordan home taught me to remain steadfast and calm in my support of my kid who dreamed of being taller.  Deloris Jordan’s teaching moments with Michael were loving moments of unscripted exchanges between her and her boy.  During those moments, she encouraged him to maintain hope that he would develop physically while she planted ideas about other choices he could make to enhance his development spiritually and athletically.  Although Michael’s mom and dad experienced moments of concern during his childhood, they continued to provide opportunities for him to voice the reasons for his sadness and his disappointments.  His parents listened and reaffirmed to him that he possessed everything he needed to be successful: passion, determination, and opportunities to practice and pray.

These wise parents communicated to their son that waiting for growth is often an exercise in patience, trust, timing, hard work, and an infusion of something that makes the moment feel magical and illogical.  In this case, the illogical ingredient to success was found in Deloris Jordan’s advice that Michael put salt in his shoes at night.  According the book, Michael trusted her strange suggestion because she made the rose bushes in her garden grow taller.  Throughout Michael’s childhood, readers witnessed a consistent offering of support and encouragement by his parents.   Michael’s parents fueled his passionate efforts to live his dream by listening, praying, counseling, and putting salt in his shoes at night.  As my insides warmed with excitement about the parenting and dream chasing at the Jordan house, my five year old was focused on growing taller, faster, and better at sports. It wasn’t until I saw a trial of ants in his room leading to his shoes that I realized that the lesson he took away from the book was not the same heart-warming theme I grasped.  He learned that he needed salt in his shoes at night.  The only problem was that he used the other white granular substance from the kitchen cabinet – sugar.

I bought the book “Dancing in the Wings” by Debbie Allen for my daughter when she was about eight years old.  While many parents stop reading books to their kids after age six or seven, I kept reading books at night for as many years as it made sense.  I think the reading at night stopped as homework demands increased and after school activities shortened the amount of time we had left for reading before bedtime.  Instead of reading books of choice before bed, we were reading textbooks and working on school projects.

My goal at story time was not to just read books that entertained my kids.  I also aimed to teach them about self-esteem, staying true to their passions and becoming comfortable in their skin.  I encouraged my kids to view their anatomical characteristics  and their skill sets as gifts bestowed upon them to enable them to achieve greatness.

I was reminded about this book last week when a friend told me about a challenge his daughter was having with other girls during her practices.  Children in competitive activities can be tough on one another especially when the environment has convinced some of the kids that for whatever reason they are better at the activity.  I have found that children tend to minimize the abilities of other children in an effort to gain a competitive edge.  These types of behaviors are promoted by grown folks who have also promoted the idea that everyone deserves the same prize for less than equal performances in the field of play.  These kids never have to consider how to work to improve their areas of challenge.  Rarely are they taught to appreciate the strengths of others, the possibility that they have a ceiling or that maybe they are not as gifted in that specific arena as they like to think (And that is a blog post topic for another time). Finally, it doesn’t help when the grown folks in the environment suck at being excellent villagers for ALL of the children and participate in behaviors that encourage the nonsense.

In this book, Debbie Allen presented a story about a beautiful girl who dreamed of being a lead ballerina.  The main character was blessed to have a mother who repeatedly found a way to spin every painful joke and mean-spirited comment about her daughter into a positive statement that encouraged and motivated the young girl whose nickname was Sassy.  Sassy was teased by her brother, his team mates, and some of the students in her dance class.  The jokes focused on the fact that she was tall and gangly with long arms and legs, and “big feet.”  She was taller than all of the students in the class and found herself standing “in the wings” watching other students receive solo dances and duet performances.

When Sassy’s dance teacher learned that a master teacher would be visiting their dance school searching for young dancers for a special summer program in Washington, D.C., all of the dance students got excited.  Some of the girls in the class discouraged Sassy from auditioning for a position in the dance troop for “the summer dance festival.”  I love the fact that Debbie Allen presented a strong girl who did not let the negativity of others stop her from envisioning herself “dancing on the Milky Way” and talking herself into doing what she needed to do in order to achieve her goal of being a featured ballerina.  Sassy said, “I’m goin’ to that audition, big feet and all.”

Sassy stepped boldly into the audition.  Her nerves and her naysayers were present also.  Mr. Debato, the visiting instructor, guided the dancers through a series of rounds until he weeded them down to one.  He selected Sassy to represent her studio at the festival and she was thrilled.  The illustrations in the book are brilliant!  Kadir Nelson, the illustrator, did an excellent job capturing the moment when Sassy ran from the studio to share her special news with her family.  The expressions of her mother, Uncle Redd, and her brother, Hughie, and his friends made me smile and rejoice with Sassy.  Hughie and the friends who enjoyed teasing her previously all shouted and celebrated her accomplishment as if one of them had scored a touchdown for their football team.

I am so excited about the examples of excellent villagers demonstrated by Sassy’s mother, Uncle Redd, and the dance teacher.  The adults individually and collectively built a village of encouragement and support for Sassy that kept her motivated to keep dreaming, courageous enough to keep showing up in spite of the hecklers in the studio, and strong enough to keep standing and believing that her stature was a blessing and not a curse.  Each of them gave her space and freedom to make mistakes.  She felt safe with them so she talked about her goals, she cried when her feelings were hurt, and she trusted their advice that she should keep being Sassy without making any attempts to be like anyone else.  In addition, I loved that each villager uplifted Sassy with humor and quick wit when others attacked her.  When the children teased her, the village stood in the gap for her which affirmed her and built a trust relationship between each of them and Sassy.  Ultimately, their actions forced others to respect Sassy.  The support of her mother, Uncle Redd, and the dance teacher created a village ripened and ready to celebrate with Sassy when she was selected for the program in Washington, D.C. and when she achieved her dream of being a featured ballerina.  This is such a wonderful book for parents and supporters of children who are looking for examples and direction on how to be an excellent villager.  This book can teach all villagers how to encourage a child to stand boldly in their uniquenesses while working hard to live out their passions and dreams.

One of my favorite children’s books is “The Story of ‘Brave Bessie’ Coleman Nobody Owns the Sky” by Reeve Lindbergh. In addition to the inspiring story about Bessie Coleman, the illustrations by Pamela Paparone are absolutely marvelous. Bessie Coleman was “the first licensed black aviator in the world.” In this book, the author takes the reader on a journey from Bessie’s childhood in Texas to part of her journey that ended with her life as a stunt pilot and lecturer.

When I read this story to children, I always point out that Bessie Coleman had a dream that took her outside of her neighborhood. I encourage children to dream outside their blocks, outside their neighborhood. I want them to believe that they too can be the first to do something that nobody else they know has done. I tell them of my father being the first person in his family to go to college.

Additionally, the reader sees Bessie Coleman work hard in the cotton fields as a child to help her family earn money. We also learn that she worked in a barber shop to earn money to pay for pilot training. My husband brought me some cotton from
a trip he made down south. I take the cotton to classrooms so that kids can touch and feel the cotton. We talk about the seeds in the puff of cotton and the prickly nature of the plant. We discuss what it must be like for a child to pick enough cotton to fill a burlap sack in the hot Texas sun. Suddenly, kids don’t think being asked to clean their rooms is a big deal.

The discussion about the state of Texas makes for a great opportunity to talk about the climate in the southern United States and its proximity to the equator. I am always so excited when kids can tell me about the equator and the heat. It is great to see the kids make the connection that picking cotton was not fun or easy. I love to see the kids go through the mental process of realizing that real cotton is not a cotton ball from a bag.

The first illustration and the last one are aerial views which emphasize her goal of flying high and being a champion of dreaming. I have the kids practice saying aerial view a couple of times then we talk about what that means exactly. We talk about when they might see aerial views. The kids usually remember seeing aerial views during sporting events on television or when they have been passengers in a plane. They think it’s really cool to learn a new phrase. I always tell them to teach their families this fancy phrase the next time they watch a parade or sporting event together and a view of the city or the stadium is shown from above.

I enjoy reading this book aloud because of the rhyming words. The words bounce from the bright, colorful pages. I love that Bessie Coleman encouraged people to dream and work hard to realize their dreams. I love that her life story furthers her passion to help people soar to heights that seem unattainable. Her story teaches us that dreams and hard work can lead to greatness even if there are folks saying your goals can’t be reached.

In 1996, my mother and father gave my daughter the book “Tops and Bottoms” as adapted and illustrated by Janet Stevens. It has been one of my favorite children’s books since the first time I read it aloud. It is the story of a bear and a hare. A bear who enjoyed rest and relaxation more than he enjoyed labor and a hare with a clever business plan.

Even if the kids you read to don’t crave vegetables after you read this book, they should quickly catch on to the plan that creates a bountiful harvest for Mr. Hare and his family and a not so delectable spread for Mr. Bear. This book comically teaches us that we should carefully listen to the questions and proposals presented to us before making a decision. Secondly, we learn that laziness generally leaves us empty-handed and sour. Thirdly, we learn to pick our partners in any venture very carefully. Finally, the relationship between the bear and the hare teach us not to count on others to do the planting and weeding and then give the harvest to us if we don’t use our brains or our sweat.

This book brought back some really cool and wonderful childhood memories for me which I love to share when I read this story to kids. I’m guessing that my mother probably chose the book because it reminded her of some great memories too. My mother grew up on a farm in rural Alabama. I remember her telling me that when she was younger they grew and raised all that they ate. I can remember her mother had corn and a few other crops on her land when I was younger. My mother probably inherited her green thumb from her parents. She loved gardening. She had beautiful plants in the front yard and every other year or so she would plant some vegetables in the backyard. I don’t remember the names of the plants in the front yard, but I do remember her excitement when she saw tomatoes, okra, and cucumbers growing in the backyard. She also planted greens which I think were turnips because she favored turnips over collards.

I can also remember my dad bringing home peas for us to shell. He would either buy them at an excellent price or tell us that somebody gave them to him because of all the
work he did for the kids in the rural Alabama community where he taught. He would be thrilled to rush into the house with a bushel of peas for us to shell. And yes, I did say a bushel. “Oh yay!,” “Thanks, Dad!” Not! I’m not sure why he thought we would be equally thrilled to shell peas until our fingertips were purple and sore. We (meaning my mom and I and sometimes my sister if she was home, but never my dad) would sit in front of some made-for-television movie with a bowl for the peas and a trashcan for the shells. We would shell peas and talk until the bushel was done. My mom would blanch the peas and freeze them so that we would have fresh vegetables in the winter. I am so glad my parents were smarter than the bear in “Tops and Bottoms.”