WordPress, which I love, has a new feature that provides a writing prompt each day. One that caught my attention was “what makes someone unique?” The idea of individuality – ie uniqueness – gets right at the heart of what it means to be human. Sadly, there are times when our individuality sets us apart from the rest of society due to no fault of our own.
When do we learn in elementary school that the “other” is not OK? I’d love to think that things have changed since I was bullied in early elementary school due to my appearance, mostly height and weight, but I’m not that naive. I’ve watched in recent years as various school districts have tried to address the root of bullying with varying degrees of success. Unfortunately, it all starts at home. Children need to learn from a young age that we are all different. We all have different talents and ambitions, as well as strengths and weaknesses. All of us – all eight billion people on Earth – face challenges at different stages in life.
There are certain things that a person may experience in life that no one will fully understand unless they have been through it – or something similar. For example, unless you have lost a parent or a child, it is impossible to truly understand that level of grief. It is similar when dealing with infertility. Unless you are affected, it is impossible to imagine the depth to which it alters one’s life.
Aside from all that sets us apart from one another, including our challenges, there are interests. My interests are vastly different from that of my siblings or parents. I’m used to it, and over the years, I’ve developed those interests through various opportunities and friendships, both in real life and online.
If I had one wish for students today, it would be for them to have all the resources necessary to first find their interests and then have the ability and support to pursue them further. How many people have stopped doing something they enjoy simply because someone discouraged them, saying they had no talent? I see and hear about it all of the time. It saddens and sickens me. We should be encouraging healthy interests, as well as providing students outlets to develop them. For example, a student who enjoys art should be encouraged to pursue that interest as much as possible, even if there is no interest in making art a career.It comes down to expectations. At times, we focus so much on making ends meet that we need to make a life. We need to teach students that there is so much more to life than material things. It is more than OK to be yourself. You need to be your authentic self.
Below are my thoughts after one year teaching through the pandemic. As a writing exercise, we were asked as teachers what we had learned through the experience. In my opinion, two years later, it sill holds up and summarizes nicely how I felt and continue to feel. Originally published on the Saginaw Bay Writing Project (SBWP) website, you can find a link to the original piece below. I’ve only corrected minor errors here.
What did I learn about myself as a teacher over the past year? First, I clearly understood just how fragile our everyday lives are – students, teachers, and administrators alike. Most people seem to have underestimated the power of their daily routine, their “normal.” I certainly did. Second, I learned just how much I continue to not know. I am still learning how to teach effectively online. Finally, I learned how to focus on what truly matters.
As 2019-2020 was my first full-year teaching, I continue to feel robbed. Plans for March is Reading Month, field trips, and so much more – all gone. Memories with my first 6th grade class never made. The little things still haunt me. I am a big believer in class read-alouds, and when we shut down for the school year in March 2020, I was in the middle of the first Percy Jackson book: Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. My 6th graders adored the book, and I still regret the fact that I was unable to finish the book with them in-person – or continue the series.
If I still feel this way a year later, I can only imagine how my middle school students felt and continue to feel. There appears to be little to no concern regarding the impact prolonged shutdowns can have on emotional, social, and academic well-being. It just doesn’t seem to matter to anyone. Somewhere along the way, we lost our humanity. We, educators and students alike, are not alright.
As we entered the Lenten season this year, memories of last year came flooding back. On Friday, March 13th, 2020, as I participated in the Stations of the Cross with my students, we learned that we would not be coming back to school. Little did we know that we would not finish the year. The uncertainty, the miscommunication, and the worry will always stay with me. At the time, no one had any answers, only an endless list of questions.
During the lockdown, I worried about every single one of my students. Would they fall behind? How would they survive without seeing friends on a daily basis – or ever? I also learned what I didn’t know. No one taught me how to teach online. Yet, that is exactly what I did. I was not prepared last spring. When my class was quarantined this fall, I was still not fully prepared. Only now, in a virtual week built in after spring break, am I now beginning to feel as though I can somehow teach online. It took over a year.
I can’t imagine trying to navigate it all without faith. When I talk about faith, yes, I am referencing a higher power, but I am also referring to a general faith that everything will work out in the end. No matter where we are today as educators and students, there is hope for tomorrow. All hope is not lost. We can and should do better. We will. If given the choice between faith and fear, I choose faith.
On Friday evening March 31st, 2023, I joined scores of others to attend “Madonna 40” at the Delta College Planetarium. A sold out show, it was incredible – and a lot of fun! Designed to honor Madonna’s 40th anniversary of her first hit single “Holiday” and her always controversial place in Bay City history, it did not disappoint. My only wish: I would have thoroughly enjoyed another hour of her classic music videos and would have gladly paid accordingly. There is nothing quite like watching the music videos that made Madonna a superstar and an inspiration to a generation of girls and women, for better or worse, on the big screen. It is an experience I will never forget. Her early music will always be a part of the soundtrack to my early childhood memories. In designing the program, the following original, unedited music videos were shown in all of their ‘80s and early ‘90s glory:
A still from arguably Madonna’s most iconic music video, Material Girl (1984).
Frankly, the music video portion of the program outshone everything else. The videos have held up over nearly four decades. What struck me most in the vintage videos was Madonna herself. Definitely not model thin or “fat,” she exuded old-school glamor in “Material Girl,” “Vogue,” and “Like A Prayer” with the dance moves that made her famous. As for “Papa Don’t Preach,” she looks like any fresh-faced midwestern high school or college girl.
Personally, I felt that the organizers/designers missed a huge opportunity by not including at least the videos for both “Promise to Try” (1989), which was largely filmed at her mother’s gravesite in Kawkawlin, Michigan (just north of Bay City), and “This Used to Be My Playground” (1992), which was included on the A League of Their Own soundtrack and supposedly written about Bay City becoming her refuge after her mother’s untimely death. The only actual footage of Madonna in or near Bay City was not included in the program. How?
The next segment of the program, “Smelly Little Town,” is originally why I wanted to attend the event and even moved around my schedule to do so. Debuting as part of the Hell’s Half Mile Film and Music Festival in Bay City in 2021, I doubted I would ever have another opportunity to see it. Growing up with the controversy, knowing Bay City a little too well, and having been born in Bay City myself, I had to check it out.
First and foremost, it is quite possibly the most Bay City thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Let me just say this: It began and ended with scenes of people polka dancing at the St. Stan’s Polish festival to the Steve Drzewicki Band, both Bay City institutions. I half expected to see my ex’s parents go dancing on by. In general, the film did a decent job describing Bay City, covering all aspects of the “smelly little town” controversy with Madonna, and explaining how ever-corrupt Bay City small town politics is the answer as to why Bay City has never really been able to capitalize on the fact that it is the birthplace of Madonna.
This mural in downtown Bay City was privately funded and tucked away on a small side street.
For those who don’t know, Madonna Louise Ciccone was born at the former Mercy Hospital in Bay City, Michigan on August 16th, 1958. Madonna is her actual given name as she was named after her mother. Upon her mother’s tragic death in 1963, Madonna spent time in Bay City with her grandmother, who lived in the Banks area, then home to a nearby oil refinery (hence the “smelly little town” comment that caused such an uproar). To this day, there is very little commemorating Madonna in Bay City. Then again, this is the same city that passed on becoming home to a casino and a minor league ballpark, both of which went to nearby communities.
If something wonderful is planning on coming to Bay City, one can be sure that public outrage will ensue in some way, shape, or form. I am speaking from experience. When I moved back to Michigan with my ex, a Bay City native, in 2005, the controversy over the then new Wirt Public Library – a gorgeous new anchor for downtown Bay City – had yet to wane. While I agree it doesn’t have the history of the historic Sage Library in Bay City, people were genuinely upset over a beautiful new library downtown. I will never understand the mentality.
Then again, back in 2005, Michigan experienced a one-state recession which was about to turn into the Great Recession. 2008 is covered well in the documentary. It is rightfully called one of the darkest times in Bay City history, and frankly, I consider my life in Bay City (2005-2012) one of the darkest periods in my life as well. Yet, while Bay City is almost unrecognizable from that dark hour, there is still nothing formal honoring Madonna in the city.
As much as I wanted to see “Smelly Little Town,” I doubt it would have been half as entertaining if not for my own experiences with Bay City and my early love of Madonna’s music. In fact, much of it is forgettable. However, it did a good job highlighting the ridiculousness of the entire situation and Bay City politics. I actually understand the controversy now. A little explanation and context behind Madonna’s comments would have changed everything. In the same infamous 1985 interview with Jane Pauly, Madonna goes on to say that she has “great affection” for Bay City.
By the way, Bay City still is a “smelly little town.” In a hilarious coincidence, I happened to drive by the Michigan Sugar plant on Friday on my way to see “Madonna 40.” For those who don’t know, processing sugar beets can smell like hot garbage on a good day. Friday, as I drove by, it never smelled worse.
Clearly, Madonna’s relationship with Bay City remains complicated. I fully understand why. My love/hate relationship with Madonna – I will always love Madonna’s music, but question her methods of self-promotion – mirrors my love/hate relationship with Bay City itself. I do hope that she is commemorated in Bay City at some point. Not every small town can claim to be the birthplace of the best-selling female musical artist of all time.
By the way, if you want a quick, accurate outline of Madonna’s complex history with Bay City, the article below does a wonderful job of doing just that.
I admit, it took me a little longer than usual to get throughStoryteller: Stories of Life and Music by Dave Grohl, but it certainly didn’t disappoint. It is one of the best memoirs I’ve read. Considering his current stature in the world of pop rock/alternative, whatever you want to call it, as a drummer, his humble nature shines through. It all started with his pure love of pop rock, namely the Beatles, moving on to the punk scene of the late 70s and early 80s, and making it big with Nirvana and grunge. Today, it seems as though Dave Grohl has settled in as drummer and girl dad extraordinaire. If planning on reading the book, I highly recommend the audiobook version as he reads his own memoir. There is nothing quite like hearing about Nirvana’s early days and the danger of their exploding fan base from the drummer himself. Then there are the well-placed expletives in his internal monologue as he meets his musical heroes and juggles world tours with daddy-daughter dances and musical projects with Joan Jett.
There is so much that stands out that it is hard to know where to even begin. First, the unwavering support of his teacher mother is undoubtedly one of several keys to his success. She supported – or put with – his love of music and his decision to drop out of high school in order to tour the United States with a band. Dave’s description of his discovery of punk rock at the hands of a formerly “preppy” family friend is memorable, as is his realization that she was in a punk band herself. It sets the stage for what is to come.
His description of his life between dropping out of high school and eventually joining Nirvana is as hazy and transient as his life at that time. It’s great and easy to imagine. Opportunities to fill in and drum with his idols Iggy Pop and Tom Petty standout as it is clear that Dave was as star-struck as can be at the time.
Frankly, the section in Seattle with Nirvana is just sad as we all know how it ended. Dave’s descriptions of Nirvana’s meteoric rise to infamy is gut-wrenching to read and full of danger. He describes in spectacular detail playing venues far too small for how big Nirvana had grown in such a short amount of time thanks to MTV and “Smells like Teen Spirit.” After Kurt Cobain’s death, Dave understandably took some time to process everything and ground himself once again.
Given the timeline, it appears that Dave developed Foo Fighters and started his family at roughly the same time, both growing together. For me, the best part of the book involves Dave’s descriptions of juggling life with his three daughters and superstardom. Stories involve things such as Paul McCartney giving his eldest daughter her first piano lesson and Joan Jett reading his daughters bedtime stories.
The Joan Jett story is one of my favorites. It starts with Dave in the Barbie aisle helping his daughters pick out a doll and coming across a Joan Jett doll. His girls didn’t realize that Joan Jett was a real person. Soon, Joan herself was over to their house working on some musical project with Dave, when his oldest daughter asked her if she would read them a bedtime story. She did .. in her pjs.
Then there is the story of the daddy-daughter dance. It involves a whirlwind trip to Australia and back to make the dance, the Australian tour itself, and a horrific bout of food poisoning. Yet, he made it and didn’t break his little girls’ hearts.
Above all, it is a series of stories about following your dreams, hard work, fame (or infamy), family, and music. Dave’s descriptions of conversations with his dad are touching in the end. In the beginning, it seemed as though Dave hated his dad due to his conservative politics and his parents’ divorce. While much of Dave’s relationship with his dad remained complicated prior to his fame, it does seem as though they made up in the years before his father passed away. It also appears that Dave took his dad’s financial and career advice.
While I didn’t outline it here, there are plenty of rock star stories from the road in the book as well. They are just as good. Dave appears to have found a balance between his career and family both in the memoir and in real life. If you love music at all or just enjoy memoir, check it out.
I’ve been fairly open about my struggles with Turner Syndrome over the years (you can read my story here), but it still amazes me to see Turner Syndrome – along with certain aspects of myself – depicted in popular culture. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how those representations influence perception and so much more. Both well-known depictions of Turner Syndrome, one a “victim” in the Law and Order: Special Victims Unit titled “Clock” (hint: turns out she isn’t a victim at all) and the other, Gwen, the protagonist in the popular novelThe Condition by Jennifer Haigh, have issues and inaccuracies, and yet, there are certain truths that shine through. Personally, I have yet to meet a woman or girl with Turner Syndrome who isn’t as stubborn as we are portrayed in popular culture. It is quite simple, actually: We have to be.
Even though these images of women and girls with Turner Syndrome, along with their accuracy (or lack thereof), have been analyzed to death in the Turner Syndrome community, that isn’t my intention here. No. My intention is to describe my experience of seeing aspects of myself in relation to Turner Syndrome in Gwen in The Condition. I am discussing my experiences only.
Frankly, while I enjoyed The Condition, it isn’t a book that I would necessarily reread in its entirety. Yet, there are scenes, plots, and subplots in which I couldn’t help but see myself mirrored in Gwen – not as a woman, but as a woman with Turner Syndrome. It is those pieces and depictions that have stayed with me for well over a decade at this point. There are several things Gwen is faced with in the novel that most women will, fortunately, never have to face.
The opening scene still takes my breath away. In it, Gwen’s father, who later becomes almost obsessed with the fact that she has Turner Syndrome, watches Gwen tag along with her slightly older female cousin at the beach. He observes them as they run into the ocean. The difference in their height and body structure is noticeable. Gwen’s body remains almost childlike while her cousin’s decidedly does not.
Growing up with older female cousins, particularly my cousin Abby (10 months my senior), I couldn’t help but compare my body to theirs. I always wanted to catch up but never could. I distinctly remember one December shopping with my aunt, cousins, sister, and mom. I desperately wanted to be able to finally buy clothes in the misses section (not kids, not juniors …) like my older cousins. Nope. Not yet. Even though I was now in high school, it would have to wait. In that opening scene of the novel, I could distinctly visualize Abby and I swimming somewhere as preteens. In my head, I was the one comparing.
Later, Gwen is described as hiding herself away from the world in a job in which she remains in the background. Now in her late 20s/early 30s, she wears jeans, t-shirts/sweatshirts, and sneakers everyday, all often too big for her. Given the choice, I’d be right there with her (and am when I can). Quite simply, it is often difficult to find clothes that fit correctly if you are a woman with Turner Syndrome.
A few years ago, I tried on a top while shopping with my mom. I loved the color, the style – everything – except the fit that wasn’t quite right. I came out of the dressing room to ask her opinion. My mom almost mumbled under her breath: “Damn Turner’s body!” I found it hysterical because that is precisely what I was thinking. I just needed it verified. As much as I love the button-downed look, I could purchase blouses three sizes up and still suffer from gap-osis. Sadly, fashion is a struggle at times.
At the end of the novel, I can’t help but root for Gwen. She is so fed up with her family members’ actions and reactions to the life she has created for herself and the fact that she finally met someone that she runs off to the Caribbean to be with her new boyfriend. Considering how her family treats her and reacts to different aspects of her life, I can’t say that I blame her. Her new life in the Caribbean sounds fantastic.
I admit, I am extremely guarded about my personal life as well. It is just that I’ve always needed space. Throwing infertility into the mix is never easy. The idea that someone you love would have to give up having biological children of their own to be with you … Well, unfortunately, that is reality in many cases. I pray that it will get better with age, and in some ways, it already has.
When I finished The Condition all those years ago, my immediate reaction was one of wonder. Did Jennifer Haigh have Turner Syndrome herself? Did her best friend? Who did she interview to get into our heads so well – or at least my head? I loved the title of the book. One may think that “the condition” references Turner Syndrome, but in reality, in the book, each member of Gwen’s family battles demons of their own, even without a diagnosis.
I am a firm believer that everyone has something – some huge hurdle he or she needs to overcome in life. Everyone has a story. As The Condition lingered in my mind, I couldn’t help but feel “seen” in a way I’ve never experienced in a book. As a teacher, it reinforces the need to expose students to as many diverse books as possible. Unfortunately, when we talk about diversity in literature, we too often just focus on race, religion, and sexuality. The reality is that there are so many other stories out there and so many other ways to view diversity. This is one reason why I wish everyone would share their story in some way, shape, or form. No one is ever truly alone.
By the way, if you happen to be the parent of a girl with Turner Syndrome, I can’t recommend the National Turner Syndrome Camp enough. I attended two years, and it allowed me to meet others with Turner Syndrome for the first time. It also boosted my confidence in a way that nothing else ever has.
Where do I begin? First, if you are or were a fan of The Little House on the Prairie TV show in the 70s and 80s, I can’t recommend this book enough. Be aware: This isn’t saccharine. Far from it. If you are easily offended, this probably isn’t for you. However, if you loved to hate Nellie as a little girl and wished each week for Laura to give Nellie exactly what she deserved – in spades – this book is for you. If you ever thought that playing the most outrageous villain possible on TV would be fun, once again, this book is for you. Last but not least, if you count Nellie Oleson and her overbearing mother Harriet among the favorite TV characters from your childhood, you need to read this book.
Frankly, both The Little House on the Prairie TV show and the children’s book series were a huge part of my childhood. I can’t imagine growing up without either. I do know that by 2nd grade, I was hooked. Mrs. Butz reading Little House in the Big Woods to our 2nd grade class saw to that. In early elementary school, I would fly off the bus to make sure I didn’t miss the start of Little House on the Prairie at 4 PM, in much the same way I made sure I was home at 4 PM during my high school years to watch Oprah. It was simply what I did, and I loved every minute of it.
I know that there are still a lot of adult fans of the show out there – millions of them, in fact – but I’m not really one of them. As an adult, I couldn’t get over the increasingly bizarre storylines that strayed further and further from the books – Albert’s opium addiction, anyone? Then there was the issue of no mountains in Minnesota, where the show was supposedly set, and the fact that the Ingalls family spent a big part of Laura’s childhood in DeSmet, South Dakota. In reality, the Ingalls family didn’t live in Walnut Grove for long. Still, there was something special about the show. It might be a little too sweet for my taste now, but back then, it was the best.
Nellie and Harriet made the show, of course. The Ingalls were so wholesome and down to earth that they needed Nellie and Harriet as foils. Personally, I think the show would not have worked without their over-the-top antics. They had to be just that outrageous. In the book, Alison talks lovingly about her TV parents. Supposedly, in real life, they were similar to their TV characters, although Katherine MacGregor (Harriet) was much nicer, even if just as bold. Alison’s descriptions of Katherine alone make the book worthwhile. As fun as Harriet was to watch, the best scenes were the ones in which Nellie and Laura actually fight.
About Laura and Nellie … in real life, Alison Arngrim (Nellie) and Melissa Gilbert (Laura) were best friends. They spent a lot of time together on and off set and at each other’s homes. One of their favorite pastimes happened to be simply appearing in public together. People freaked out. I can only imagine how much fun they had playing up their “rivalry.”
Alison’s antics with Melissa Gilbert are a great part of the book, but there is so much to unpack here. First, there is that voice. I chose to listen to the audiobook version as soon as I learned that she read her own book. As soon as I started listening, I knew I had made the right choice. Regardless, the book would have hit me with a huge wave of nostalgia, but Alison reading her book in a voice that I have always associated with childhood evil personified: priceless.
In all fairness to Alison, she comes across as extremely down to earth in her book to the point that I’d actually love to meet her. She spends quite some time discussing the perils and perks of playing one of TV’s greatest child villains. Can you imagine growing up playing a character people loved to hate? Once, during a publicity event at a private school, an event that she attended with Katherine MacGregor (Harriet Oleson), both in full costume, some of the students shoved her so hard that she laid face down on the pavement for a while until her father realized what had happened to her. He ended up taking her home immediately. It was the last time she attended a publicity event in costume. How do you deal with that all before adolescence?
Alison Arngrim as Nellie Oleson with her TV mother, Katherine MacGregor as Harriet Oleson.
In the book, Alison uses the trauma she experienced as a child as a way to frame her memoir. No, her trauma isn’t exactly what comes to mind with young stars and Hollywood, but sadly, it seems all the more common – and of course, very real. I’m not going to discuss it here for many reasons; the main one being that, in a way, it is the point of her memoir. I don’t want to spoil it for those who haven’t read it. She has used that trauma to try and help prevent others from experiencing the same thing. In essence, she uses her “inner b*tch” to create real legislative change in an effort to protect kids – all kids.
One of the more interesting tidbits I learned in the book is the history behind why the TV show deviated so much from the books. Michael Landon supposedly exclaimed at one time: “My God! Have you actually read the books? There are descriptions of churning butter!” In other words, they had to up the action. I get it, I do. What makes a great book doesn’t necessarily make great television.
I suppose that’s what has always bothered me about the TV show. As an aspiring writer, it sickened me to think what happened to Laura Ingalls Wilder’s original work. Now, older and wiser, I can see the value of the TV show too. I am sure it inspired millions of kids to pick up the original books. All publicity is good publicity, right? For people who grew up with the TV show, I can’t recommend Confessions of a Prairie B*tch enough. There are so many great aspects to Alison Arngrim’s memoir. It is a wonderful combination of nostalgia, good story, and humor. By the way, Alison’s voice impression of Melissa Gilbert is hilarious. Several other memoirs have been written by the child stars of Little House on the Prairie. In fact, I plan on reading both of Melissa Gilbert’s books. I will be surprised if Confessions of a Prairie B*tch doesn’t remain my favorite.
What can I say about Don McLean’s American Pie that hasn’t already been said? Not much, actually. Yet, that song is so ingrained in my love of music, my childhood, and more. It can safely be called Americana at this point – a modern American folk song in the best sense of the term.
I couldn’t tell you the first time I heard the song, but I have always loved it and could deeply visualize the lyrics. For whatever reason, I imagined the high school gym as the same high school gym where I’d watched my dad play old man basketball countless times as a preschooler – his alma mater – Arenac Eastern High School in Twining, MI. I think it has something to do with how rural the setting appears to be in the song. Sadly, Arenac Eastern High School no longer exists. The building, now a community center, still sits among acres of farm land and a tiny village. When I think of the quintessential rural American high school, Arenac Eastern immediately comes to mind. It has always felt like stepping back in time and into my family history.
Whatever the case may be, I do know that I had the lyrics practically memorized by 4th grade. Mrs. Currie, my 4th grade teacher and my first teacher at Standish Elementary, used the lyrics to teach us the terms “levee” and “dirge.” In fact, at this point, I can’t listen to the song without thinking about 4th grade and Mrs. Currie. None of the kids were getting it. She then began to sing the song, basically saying “Come on! You know the song.” Except, they didn’t. As I remember it, I was the only kid who knew the song and lyrics – at least well enough for the purposes of her vocabulary lesson. It was funny, irrelevant, and frankly, kind of summed up that school year.
Years later, as a substitute teacher, I had the opportunity, with a bit of caution and specific directions from the regular classroom teacher, to show high school Spanish students the movie La Bamba. After the movie, I had just enough time to explain the term “the day the music died” and the lyrics to American Pie. They left singing Oh Donna, moved by the true story, which completely took me by surprise. It also happened to cement it in my memory.
February 3rd, 1959 – “The day the music died” – (L to R) Buddy Holly, JP Richardson (the Big Bopper), and Ritchie Valens died in an airplane accident, traveling over Iowa as part of the Winter Dance Party Tour.
I’m glad that I had the opportunity to explain the lyrics to American Pie and help them make the connection. I may have known the song longer than I care to remember, but it wasn’t all that long ago that I learned that the lyrics referenced a true tragedy, much less the death of Buddy Holly, JP Richardson (the Big Bopper), and Ritchie Valens. I suppose that is the true tragedy of American Pie: What if they had lived?
The musical legacy of Buddy Holly, of course, is staggering. Modern pop and rock music would not have evolved in quite the same way without him and the Crickets. He inspired the Beatles to write their own music, among countless others. In fact, it could be said that Buddy Holly was one of the main influences of what became known as the British invasion. JP Richardson (the Big Bopper) and Ritchie Valens were just getting started. Again, what if?
If nothing else, American Pie taught me that lyrics can indeed be a form of poetry.
Lou Diamond Phillips (Ritchie Valens) and Danielle von Zerneck (Donna Ludwig) in a car in a scene from the film ‘La Bamba’, 1987. (Photo by Columbia Pictures/Getty Images)
I just wanted to take a moment to share Mid Michigan Writers website. You can find our collective blog here. Lots of wonderful content. You can find my contributions here. Check it out!
Every so often there comes along a rock documentary that I can recommend to just about everyone. That is the case with The Day the Music Died, which is currently streaming on, and exclusive to, Paramount +. If you care about Don McLean’s American Pie at all, or the stories behind it, it is a must-watch. I adore everything about the song, and clearly, after watching the documentary, I am in great company.
I grew up loving the song, which is a story in and of itself. Very few songs from the time period steal from so many genres. Stop and think about it for a minute: Exactly which genre does it belong to? It isn’t exactly a folk song, it isn’t entirely a rock song, nor is it a pure pop song. American Pie is all that and more. It has been covered by country artists and even Madonna, whose version I’ve had mixed feelings about ever since she released it during the summer of 1999 (it was definitely in heavy rotation the summer before I headed to Michigan State). In the documentary, Garth Brooks discusses in depth the influence the song had on him and his career. Yet, I feel it is SO much more. It is timeless.
Several years ago now, during one of my subbing experiences in a high school Spanish class, I was instructed to show the movie La Bamba, which was, quite frankly, an unforgettable experience in all the best ways. First, if you know the movie at all, you will easily recognize why showing it to high school students required some careful editing (fastforwarding). Fortunately, that went well. What pleasantly surprised me is how much those students loved the story behind La Bamba and the music. As we had a few minutes left after the end of the movie – thanks to the inappropriate parts I had to skip – I had a moment to explain the term the day the music died and Don McLean’s song. Most students knew the song American Pie, of course, but I don’t think that most realized that it referenced an actual event. I loved watching them make the connection!
The documentary itself covers so much. It dives deep into exactly how Don McLean wrote the song and came up with the lyrics, as well as his childhood. Of course, one of the best aspects of the song and lyrics is trying to figure out all of those cryptic references – ie the king with his thorny crown, jack flash, etc. According to McLean, the only one that is truly “correct” is the double reference ”Lenin/Lennon read a book on Marx.” Yet, I am not entirely convinced. That is what makes the lyrics great. Just as with the best poetry, there are layers upon layers. Definitely a must-watch.
By the way Michiganders, watch for an interesting reference to Grand Rapids.
Restarting my conversation with all of you here has been on my mind for quite some time. As with so much in my life, things became bogged down during the pandemic. It is telling that my last posts described my feelings at the beginning of the shutdown – my experience as a new teacher suddenly thrown into the great unknown and then a two-part series on the pandemic and the canoe livery. The survival of that constant in my life weighed so heavily on my mind during the darkest days of the shutdown. It was almost unspeakable.
And now … Well, I feel as though I just witnessed the end of an era on Friday with the death of Betty White. I watched The Golden Girls during its original run. Yes, I am that old. Even though I was a child and tween during that time, there always seemed to be something timeless about that show and the principal actresses as well. I spent many Saturday evenings watching with my grandparents. Grandpa Owen adored Sophia, and of course, we all loved the humor. Out of the remaining three actresses, Betty White’s Rose reminded me the most of Grandma Reid. However, there is one huge catch: Grandma was never, ever even close to being that naïve (or dumb)! Yet, Rose’s willingness to help anyone and everyone fit the bill and her constant positivity reflected my experiences with both of my grandmothers. I think it is that kindness, reflected in both Betty White’s character Rose Nylund and anecdotes of Betty White’s generosity towards her colleagues and fans, that I am sensing is gone. It is also a longing for a simpler time.
If I am honest, the feeling that it is the end of an era started before Friday. This past fall, one of my Grandma Reid’s last remaining friends passed away (although there may be a few left). It hit particularly hard because Ginny was such a positive person. I have fond childhood memories of visiting her home during Halloween, at which time she would show me her vast porcelain doll collection and shared stories about working for my grandfather. As an adult, I saw her often as she volunteered at the Skilled Nursing Facility where Grandma Reid lived out the last few years of her life. I can only hope that I will be around to volunteer in my 80s and 90s! I remember her as so full of life. Again, the world could use more positivity at this point.
In fact, I am done. There are so many times I’ve wanted to write that simple sentence, and I now know how to explain it a bit better. I am done listening to the negative, which, let’s be honest, is everywhere now. I’m also done spending any time or energy on people who only focus on what could go wrong. It is time to finally move forward after the last nearly two years of hiding in the shadows and not living to the fullest. Yes, I truly believe that there have always been ways to do so safely.
We can get back to ourselves, but we might find that we have discover ourselves once again. As I work on decluttering my life, I will hopefully make even more room for what is truly important. I still have important to decisions to make, but I am finally once again headed in the right direction. There is hope for me yet (see article below).
So, thank you. Thank you for staying with me through all the craziness that is my life. Thank you for still reading even if I am nothing but inconsistent. Thank you for letting me share a tiny piece of my life.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 