The following post is dedicated to Ms. Christen Babb. Thank you for continuing to kick my butt to share my voice.
I missed Christmas. Well, I don't mean to hyperbolize...I knew it was happening, I just didn't get to join the parade. In fact, I didn't really even get to stand on the sideline, wave and catch candy. My role this year was more like paroled float maker. Bah Humbug.
My Christmas routine has been set in place for 25 years - it began the year I entered the world of teaching. December guarantees blizzards. In the the "old days" this meant stacks of final exams, theatrical critiques, and last-minute-I-am-begging-you-to-accept-it assignments. Today the blizzard still hits specifically at the end of the second week in December, but now it means digging through the electronic windows heavy with emails, texts and -God help me - tweets.
When I taught high school, my classroom seemed to be the last of my worries. December was a time of speech tournaments, advent performances and Christmas party entertainment. Donning a tree was not even in my top 5 things to decorate. Is my Reader's Theatre styled with a sense of relativity to the material and one another without looking uniformed and costumed? Should the traveling Advent actors wear variations on a white, green, purple or red or should they sport various jewel tones? Do the students need to dress up for their party gig or are their school uniformed khakis acceptable? From the state oral interpretation festival to the St Lambert's sanctuary, the wrapping was important. I was not immune from wearing the appropriate " Catholic costume." I discovered years later that the Bishop of the Eastern South Dakota Diocese once - at a meeting of priests - asked for suggestions as to what successful ideas were working in each of their parishes. One priest said that a highlight of their parish was inviting the O'Gorman Advent Liturgical to perform each season. Other priests verbalized affirmation to their experiences to which the Bishop asked, "Who writes and directs these liturgies?"
"Kim Bartling'" they responded.
"Of what parish is she a member?"
According to the story, there was a long uncomfortable pause. Finally, Holy Spirit's Father Andrasko whispered, "She is one of mine." I will always be one of his. My dear friend took it upon himself to shelter this poor Lutheran from the threat of theatrical excommunication and wrap her in his parish's swaddling clothes. I may be a Catholic-lite (darn those two sacraments), but my heart will forever be full of love for the Catholic Church, the Sioux Falls Catholic School System, and all those darn mackerel snappers. The lessons I learned about the grace and the power of a faith community shaped my faith walk and my teaching philosophy.
After rereading my initial thoughts, it has occurred to me that I miss some of the Christmas routine that came with those days. It was always quite difficult to juggle the classroom, advent script writing and directing, coaching an oral interp. team of over 100, preparing for state interp., casting one acts etc. However, for some reason, it seemed like life was a more simple time than the one I live now. My kids were young, so I dragged them along. I didn't just teach at Arlington, Brookings, Brandon and O'Gorman, I raised my family there. There was not a school event we missed. My kids were raised by "my kids." I don't know if my students will ever understand the impressions they have made on my own children. There are too many families to mention, but Teake Bartling will forever wait in the wings for the love of Amanda Garry and aspire to be the huge personality of Ronnie Heitzler. Tyler will always strive to be the man he saw grow up to be Mitch Maguire, and even though he was a mentor - not a student of mine- Tyler was inspired to be a man of God by the example of Fr. Chuck Cimple. These are just four of the literally thousands that shaped my children. I digress.
When I made the reluctant move to higher education, I was asked - a lot - what was the biggest difference between teaching high school and college kids? My response was, "If I told my O'G students I needed the theatre moved closer to Kiawanis Ave, they would ask no questions, start immediately, and work until done. If I asked my college students to move Jeschke closer to 26th Street, it would get done, but they would ask for me to email my request with specific deadlines and objectives and respond to me via text or email as to what worked best for their schedule. To use the phrase, "I do not wear the pants in this relationship" would be as archaic as using secondary teaching techniques in a university classroom; but, in truth, both are still true blue. I digress.
Preparing for Christmas as a professor comes with more scheduling freedom and internal pressure. College students only see me in a class 150 minutes a week, so they assume that during the other 9,930 minutes that week, I work on their submissions. Last year, I actually had a student text me on Christmas eve asking me why his grades were not posted. I text back that grades were not due until the 27th. His next text was, "im concerned cuz all other grades r in." My subsequent question was, "How many of your other profs are women?" The answer was none. Exactly. The other professors did not have to buy every present under the tree, let alone decorate it. They did not do grocery shopping nor cook a 25 lb. turkey and all the fixings for both sides of the family and any stray student who needed a home and family for the day. They did not make sure their special friends (they don't have them), the newspaper girl, the mailman, the neighbors, the ministers, and their family's charities received tokens of appreciation and love. Men - and I know this is a huge generalization; but, sue me, it is true - are not wired this way. Of course some of the male profs grades were submitted before they walked home for Christmas break. Did they expedite their submissions so they could move on to cookie decorating and caroling? No, they just had the time. I once had a colleague tell me that when it came to semester grades he found himself submitting "the lowest possible grade that he would not have to argue over." Despite the awkward phrasing and ending the thought in a preposition, the approach is tempting. I digress.
Three years ago, I thought I had discovered the secret to total Christmas enjoyment. I spent the fall of 2007 in NYC on academic sabbatical. My flight home was on the 24th. It was the perfect plan. I did not have to decorate, plan, cook, or purchase. It was a test to see of what my men were made. I was pleased. The tree was up, the stockings hung and there were even a few gifts purchased (albeit, they were provided a list). I was not made accountable to any meals. It was like we were that young family again. My mom took care of everything. Unfortunately, my entire family has also become accustomed to a Christmas routine, so the following year the festivities were back on the McKennan Park track, and I took my place as the drum majorette on the Poinsettia Parade. I tried this year to pull this stunt on a somewhat smaller scale. I took off to watch the USF football team play in the national championship game in Rome, Georgia on December 17th. Spending an entire weekend out of Christmas commission, I naively hoped would jump start my men into the same type of call to duty I witnessed in 2007. Let's just say that in my house, holiday tradition might as well be called repetition and reliance. I digress.
I did do something different this year. I bought throughout the year (even though my nieces usually got things as I bought them - blasted their cuteness). Also, the internet was my friend. However, most of what I bought on CyberMonday I forgot about, so I am just starting to find some of the items as I sort through the Holiday shrapnel. Today - December 27th - Dick received a really cool ipod converter for his van; I think I probably paid more for it than his van is worth. I also bought him a new set of drum cases, clothes, a funky leather Diesel watch and cozy socks. He gave me a bottle of perfume. I have been wearing the same perfume for 15 years; it is not this perfume. Don't tell him, he was so proud that he actually found the mall. Also, two years ago, I asked him to stop buying me gift cards to Kaladi's. I explained that since the only gift he was in charge of was something for me, I would appreciate something a bit more personal. Evidently, he still thinks Sex and the City is on the air, and I still aspire to be Carrie Bradshaw. I can now smell like Sarah Jessica Parker everyday if I chose to wear her scent. This all comes under the heading of "Be Careful What You Wish For." In reality, it all makes me laugh. It adds to my rich, well-meaning holiday tradition. I digress.
Like all other years, I got it all done. Was I still shopping on the 24th? Yes. Did I still make the 20+ lb. turkey with all the trimmings? Heck, yeah. Was our home full of both Bartlings and Schetnans and others who needed a home on Christmas? Always. Did I gorge on my culinary talents, clean up on the traditional game of dominoes and cuddle with my boys while watching the holiday classic District 9 (ok, so that was the Christmas of 2009 where we were socked in by a blizzard alone and it was heaven on a stick)? I digress. The answer is - nada. There was no overeating, playing or cuddling for me. Once the bird was carved and the meal served, I caved into the f#@*ing flu. I viewed Christmas somewhere between the bathroom and the couch. I found myself wanting to reach into the referee's pocket on my HD TV and throw down the bullshit flag. This is not the snow globe version I envisioned. I waited all year. I was a good girl...ok, well, I tried really hard to be a good girl...ok, I had good intentions. I want it my way. I digress.
I would like to tell you, that like the Grinch, I looked around at my amazon version of Who-ville, and my heart melted. I would like to report that as everyone left full and happy, my stomach ache was settled by knowing my family had a lovely day. I would even settle for a small Christmas carol reference:
Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Tis the season to be jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Don we now our gay apparel,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Troll the ancient Yule tide carol,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
because I decked the those halls. I strove to be jolly. I donned, dammit, I donned. And even though I had to look up what "troll" means on wikipedia, I am willing to still troll any yuletide carol thrown at me. I just want my one day back! Instead, I sunk into a "poor me" hangover that has lasted about 24 hours longer than it should.
Time has expired on the "free sorry for myself kiddy ride." It is time to put on my Type A, oldest child, kick ass and get things done panties and clean up this mess. Geez, what does my family think this is, a vacation? This is not the time to digress. What was I talking about?
