Sunday, November 18, 2007
Green From Birth to Death
You must check out my favorite new blog. It's by my daughter and I love how she joins the personal with the political in her struggle to understand her role in the Green movement. Check it out and leave a post. http://greenfrombtod.blogspot.com/
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Me and Al Gore and Rachel Carson
I'm delighted that HOME, AND OTHER BIG, FAT LIES has won another environmental-related award, this one from the Santa Monica Public library.
According to the press release, The Green Prize has been created to encourage and commend authors, illustrators, and publishers who produce quality books that make significant contributions to, support the ideas of, and broaden public awareness of sustainability. Sustainability is defined as “meeting current needs – environmental, economic and social – without compromising the ability of future generations to do the same”.
Very cool, especially since I'm in good company. Check out the list of winning authors:
Youth Non-fiction
Birds of Prey Rescue: Changing the Future for Endangered Wildlife by Pamela Hickman, published by Firefly Books
Youth Fiction
Home, and Other Big, Fat Lies by Jill Wolfson, published by Henry Holt and Co.
Youth Picture Book
Why Are the Ice Caps Melting?: The Dangers of Global Warming by Anne Rockwell, illustrated by Paul Meisel, and published by HarperCollins
Youth Honorable Mention
All the Way to the Ocean by Joel Harper, illustrated by Marq Spusta published by Freedom Three Publishing
Adult Nonfiction
An Inconvenient Truth: The Planetary Emergency of Global Warming and What We Can Do About It by Al Gore, published by Rodale Books
Adult Reference
Worldchanging: A User’s Guide for the 21st Centuryedited by Alex Steffen, published by Abrams
Adult Honorable Mention
Greenopia: The Urban Dweller’s Guide to Green Living, Los Angelesedited by Ferris Kawar and Terrye Bretzke, published by The Green Media Group
Pioneer Award
Rachel Carson
According to the press release, The Green Prize has been created to encourage and commend authors, illustrators, and publishers who produce quality books that make significant contributions to, support the ideas of, and broaden public awareness of sustainability. Sustainability is defined as “meeting current needs – environmental, economic and social – without compromising the ability of future generations to do the same”.
Very cool, especially since I'm in good company. Check out the list of winning authors:
Youth Non-fiction
Birds of Prey Rescue: Changing the Future for Endangered Wildlife by Pamela Hickman, published by Firefly Books
Youth Fiction
Home, and Other Big, Fat Lies by Jill Wolfson, published by Henry Holt and Co.
Youth Picture Book
Why Are the Ice Caps Melting?: The Dangers of Global Warming by Anne Rockwell, illustrated by Paul Meisel, and published by HarperCollins
Youth Honorable Mention
All the Way to the Ocean by Joel Harper, illustrated by Marq Spusta published by Freedom Three Publishing
Adult Nonfiction
An Inconvenient Truth: The Planetary Emergency of Global Warming and What We Can Do About It by Al Gore, published by Rodale Books
Adult Reference
Worldchanging: A User’s Guide for the 21st Centuryedited by Alex Steffen, published by Abrams
Adult Honorable Mention
Greenopia: The Urban Dweller’s Guide to Green Living, Los Angelesedited by Ferris Kawar and Terrye Bretzke, published by The Green Media Group
Pioneer Award
Rachel Carson
Friday, May 11, 2007
Mommy Brain
Last night, my friend Kathy Ellison was in town at Capitola Book Café to read from “The Mommy Brain,” her most recent book. I’m so impressed by Kathy’s research and her positive and optimistic message that she gives 
parents. Kathy and I met originally at the San Jose Mercury News, both of us at the time young, aggressive reporters, unmarried, without kids, and with an attitude that many people, especially career women, seemed to share. The idea of having children terrified us – not the responsibility or the work involved –but what we perceived it would do to our minds. You know the old saying about how the brain comes out with the placenta?
When Kathy had her two boys, she decided to face her biggest fear about her head head-on by talking to doctors and neuroscientists about exactly what happens to a woman’s brain during pregnancy, labor, the many thousands and thousands of hours spent changing diapers, finding pre-schools, breaking up sibling squabbles, helping with homework, being tested by teens. Does a woman’s brain indeed turn to mush? No, she found. Recent scientific research paints a dramatically different and far rosier picture. Raising children may make moms smarter, from enhanced senses, alertness and memory skills, to a greater aptitude for risk-taking and a talent for empathy and negotiation.
Well, that’s encouraging news. But as I considered Kathy’s findings, I found myself getting annoyed with myself, almost angry. How often had I just accepted the negative prevailing view that the pre-parenting me was obviously smarter, sharper, more edgy? From my own experience, in my deepest knowledge of myself, I knew – I KNEW – that mothering was making me “smarter,” especially in ways that I valued most. I was kinder, more intuitive, better at balancing conflicting goals, just better at life in general. Why then was I so quick to discount my own knowledge of myself?
This also reminds me of an article I read recently in the New York Times about “chemo brain”? For so long, many breast cancer patients have complained that the effects of chemo make them fuzzy brained and less-sharp, not just during treatment, but long after it’s been stopped. Until recently, many doctors have discounted these women’s experience because supposedly, chemo doesn’t do that! Only now, recent studies indicate that chemo DOES do that! Seems that the women actually know what they are feeling. Imagine that! I can only imagine the torment of self-doubt that these patients endured.
Why do we so often let ourselves be talked out of what we KNOW we know?
So is Kathy Ellison’s book: www.themommybrain.com
parents. Kathy and I met originally at the San Jose Mercury News, both of us at the time young, aggressive reporters, unmarried, without kids, and with an attitude that many people, especially career women, seemed to share. The idea of having children terrified us – not the responsibility or the work involved –but what we perceived it would do to our minds. You know the old saying about how the brain comes out with the placenta?When Kathy had her two boys, she decided to face her biggest fear about her head head-on by talking to doctors and neuroscientists about exactly what happens to a woman’s brain during pregnancy, labor, the many thousands and thousands of hours spent changing diapers, finding pre-schools, breaking up sibling squabbles, helping with homework, being tested by teens. Does a woman’s brain indeed turn to mush? No, she found. Recent scientific research paints a dramatically different and far rosier picture. Raising children may make moms smarter, from enhanced senses, alertness and memory skills, to a greater aptitude for risk-taking and a talent for empathy and negotiation.
Well, that’s encouraging news. But as I considered Kathy’s findings, I found myself getting annoyed with myself, almost angry. How often had I just accepted the negative prevailing view that the pre-parenting me was obviously smarter, sharper, more edgy? From my own experience, in my deepest knowledge of myself, I knew – I KNEW – that mothering was making me “smarter,” especially in ways that I valued most. I was kinder, more intuitive, better at balancing conflicting goals, just better at life in general. Why then was I so quick to discount my own knowledge of myself?
This also reminds me of an article I read recently in the New York Times about “chemo brain”? For so long, many breast cancer patients have complained that the effects of chemo make them fuzzy brained and less-sharp, not just during treatment, but long after it’s been stopped. Until recently, many doctors have discounted these women’s experience because supposedly, chemo doesn’t do that! Only now, recent studies indicate that chemo DOES do that! Seems that the women actually know what they are feeling. Imagine that! I can only imagine the torment of self-doubt that these patients endured.
Why do we so often let ourselves be talked out of what we KNOW we know?
The article, Chemotherapy Fog Is No Longer Ignored as Illusion, is definitely worth reading: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/29/health/29chemo.html?ex=1179115200&en=f7783b8b798469ad&ei=5070
So is Kathy Ellison’s book: www.themommybrain.comThe First of Many College Checks Mailed
A couple of people pointed out that I promised, but then never posted my daughter's college decision. Oops. This fall, she will be heading across country to Hampshire College in Amherst, Mass. It was her first choice and a good one for her (I think. I hope). Back in the 60s, Hampshire was among the first colleges -- if not the first -- to initiate some innovative educational philosophies and techniques that many colleges and universities have incorporated, including narrative evaluations instead of grades, student-initated projects, cross-discipline studies. While many "progressive" schools from the 60s -- think UC-Santa Cruz, Antioch, etc. -- have grown increasingly mainstream, Hampshire still retains its alternative flavor -- coupled with (we hope) a strong emphasis on academic rigor. Word is that students either love it or hate it, flounder or soar. My girl is aware of all this, and looks forward to the challenge and probably the notorious Halloween Party. www.hampshire.edu http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hampshire_College
On the gorgeous grounds of Hampshire sits The National Yiddish Book Center. The building itself was designed to look like a Polish Jewish ghetto. Sounds weirder than it looks. Strangely enough, the architecture works even in the midst of Hamsphire College's rural farm setting. (Hey, what's higher education without cows and goats on campus?) Coincidentally, a friend from my own college days at Temple University in the 1970s is now program director at the Book Center. Nora and I had our first reunion in 25 years, and Gwen got a future work-study job lined up in the Land of Yiddish Lit. .
On the gorgeous grounds of Hampshire sits The National Yiddish Book Center. The building itself was designed to look like a Polish Jewish ghetto. Sounds weirder than it looks. Strangely enough, the architecture works even in the midst of Hamsphire College's rural farm setting. (Hey, what's higher education without cows and goats on campus?) Coincidentally, a friend from my own college days at Temple University in the 1970s is now program director at the Book Center. Nora and I had our first reunion in 25 years, and Gwen got a future work-study job lined up in the Land of Yiddish Lit. . Saturday, April 28, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Shopping List for At-Risk Readers
A few weeks ago at TLA, I had dinner with a group of wonderful, lively and knowledgeable educators. It was so great to talk books! I mentioned that I had received a grant to purchase books for a writing/literacy program that I help run in Santa Cruz Juvenile Hall. I explained that the students there seem to really like poetry, gritty fiction (both realistic and fantasy) and biographies that reflect their often difficult backgrounds. Did they have any suggestions?
By the end of dessert (Mine was a fabulous crème brulee), the group put together this great list. I can’t wait to do my shopping.
Special thanks to Texas school librarian Susan Geye for taking notes during the discussion and organizing into helpful categories.
Please feel free to add other recommendations!
Poetry
Skin Deep: And Other Teenage Reflections by Angela Shelf Medearis.
Quiet Storm: Voices of Young Black Poets by Lydia Omolola Okutoro
The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur
By the end of dessert (Mine was a fabulous crème brulee), the group put together this great list. I can’t wait to do my shopping.
Special thanks to Texas school librarian Susan Geye for taking notes during the discussion and organizing into helpful categories.
Please feel free to add other recommendations!
Poetry
Skin Deep: And Other Teenage Reflections by Angela Shelf Medearis.Quiet Storm: Voices of Young Black Poets by Lydia Omolola Okutoro
The Rose That Grew From Concrete by Tupac Shakur
NonFiction
Hole in My Life by Jack Gantos
My Life in Prison by Stanley “Tookie” Williams
The Shadows of My Life by Danielle Lessard
Short Story Collections
Who Am I Without Him? Short Stories about Girls and the Boys in Their Lives
by Sharon G. Flake
Series Books for Reluctant Readers
The Bluford Series, Townsend Press
Orca Soundings, Orca Book Publishers
Novels in Verse
Burned by Ellen Hopkins
Crank by Ellen Hopkins
Emako Blue by Brenda Woods
Impulse by Ellen Hopkins
Keesha’s House by Helen Frost
Make Lemonade (Bk. 1) by Virginia Euwer Wolff
True Believer (Bk. 2) by Virginia Euwer Wolff
Street Love by Walter Dean Myers
Hole in My Life by Jack Gantos
My Life in Prison by Stanley “Tookie” WilliamsThe Shadows of My Life by Danielle Lessard
Short Story Collections
Who Am I Without Him? Short Stories about Girls and the Boys in Their Lives
by Sharon G. Flake
Series Books for Reluctant Readers
The Bluford Series, Townsend Press
Orca Soundings, Orca Book Publishers
Novels in Verse
Burned by Ellen Hopkins
Crank by Ellen Hopkins
Emako Blue by Brenda Woods
Impulse by Ellen Hopkins
Keesha’s House by Helen Frost
Make Lemonade (Bk. 1) by Virginia Euwer WolffTrue Believer (Bk. 2) by Virginia Euwer Wolff
Street Love by Walter Dean Myers
Fiction (Listed by author in alphabetical order)
Atwater-Rhodes, Amelia, In the Forests of the Night (Bk. 1)
Demon in my View (Bk.2)
Shattered Mirror (Bk. 3)
Midnight Predator (Bk. 4)
Booth, Coe, Tyrell
Coy, John, Crackback
Crutcher, Chris, Whale Talk
Davidson, Dana, Jason & Kyra, Played
De La Pena, Matt, Ball Don’t Lie
Draper, Sharon, Tears of a Tiger (Bk. 1)
Forged by Fire (Bk. 2)
Darkness before Dawn (Bk. 3)
Dueker, Carl, Night Hoops
Flake, Sharon G., Money Hungry (Bk.1)
Begging for Change (Bk.2)
The Skin I’m In
Bang!
Flinn, Alex, Breathing Underwater
E. R. Frank, America
Glovach, Linda, Beauty Queen
Grimes, Nikki, Bronx Masquerade
Halliday, John, Shooting Monarchs
Hill, Ernest, A Life for a Life
McNamee, Graham, Acceleration
Martinez, Victor, Parrot in the Oven: Mi Vida
Myers, Walter Dean, Monster
Porter, Connie, Imani all Mine
Shan, Darren, Lord Loss (Bk. 1)
Demon Thief (Bk. 2)
Slawter (Bk. 3)
Bec (Bk. 4)
Vaught, Susan, Trigger
Volponi, Paul, Black and White
Rueker Park Setup
Rooftop
Whyman, Matt, Boy Kills Man
Williams-Garcia. Rita, Like Sisters on the Home Front
Woodson, Jacqueline, If You Come Softly
Wyeth, Sharon Dennis, Orphea Proud
Zahn, Timothy, Dragon and Thief (Bk. 1)
Dragon and Soldier (Bk. 2)
Dragon and Slave (Bk. 3)
Dragon and Herdsman (Bk. 4)
Atwater-Rhodes, Amelia, In the Forests of the Night (Bk. 1)
Demon in my View (Bk.2)
Shattered Mirror (Bk. 3)
Midnight Predator (Bk. 4)
Booth, Coe, Tyrell
Coy, John, Crackback
Crutcher, Chris, Whale Talk
Davidson, Dana, Jason & Kyra, Played
De La Pena, Matt, Ball Don’t LieDraper, Sharon, Tears of a Tiger (Bk. 1)
Forged by Fire (Bk. 2)
Darkness before Dawn (Bk. 3)
Dueker, Carl, Night Hoops
Flake, Sharon G., Money Hungry (Bk.1)
Begging for Change (Bk.2)
The Skin I’m In
Bang!
Flinn, Alex, Breathing Underwater
E. R. Frank, America
Glovach, Linda, Beauty Queen
Grimes, Nikki, Bronx Masquerade
Halliday, John, Shooting Monarchs
Hill, Ernest, A Life for a Life
McNamee, Graham, Acceleration
Martinez, Victor, Parrot in the Oven: Mi Vida
Myers, Walter Dean, Monster
Porter, Connie, Imani all Mine
Shan, Darren, Lord Loss (Bk. 1)
Demon Thief (Bk. 2)
Slawter (Bk. 3)
Bec (Bk. 4)
Vaught, Susan, Trigger
Volponi, Paul, Black and White
Rueker Park Setup
Rooftop
Whyman, Matt, Boy Kills ManWilliams-Garcia. Rita, Like Sisters on the Home Front
Woodson, Jacqueline, If You Come Softly
Wyeth, Sharon Dennis, Orphea Proud
Zahn, Timothy, Dragon and Thief (Bk. 1)
Dragon and Soldier (Bk. 2)
Dragon and Slave (Bk. 3)
Dragon and Herdsman (Bk. 4)
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Make Way for ...
College Tour Part 2. The East Coast
Gwen and I took the Jet Blue red-eye to Boston for our tour of Hampshire College and Clark University.
Okay, maybe it wasn't the best plan to arrive in Boston at 5 am on a rainy morning without sleep and without a hotel to check into and without any real plan. But I managed to find Cambridge and we sauntered around Harvard.
On the last day of the trip, we spent a few more hours in Boston, happy to
join the ducklings in the Public Garden. When the kids were little, nobody could get enough of Robert McCloskey's Make Way for Ducklings.
Coming Soon: Gwen's big college decision. No, despite the t-shirt she's wearing in the picture, she won't be going to Earlham.
Gwen and I took the Jet Blue red-eye to Boston for our tour of Hampshire College and Clark University.
Okay, maybe it wasn't the best plan to arrive in Boston at 5 am on a rainy morning without sleep and without a hotel to check into and without any real plan. But I managed to find Cambridge and we sauntered around Harvard.
On the last day of the trip, we spent a few more hours in Boston, happy to
join the ducklings in the Public Garden. When the kids were little, nobody could get enough of Robert McCloskey's Make Way for Ducklings.
Coming Soon: Gwen's big college decision. No, despite the t-shirt she's wearing in the picture, she won't be going to Earlham.
Monday, April 23, 2007
TEMPORARY INSANITY
The past year has been all about the college decision for Gwen. Poring over the Fiske Guide, requesting catalogues, applications, essays, appointments with the college counselor, deadlines, financial aid forms, waiting for acceptance letters.
Our favorite rejection letters came from the most popular UC campuses. Dear Applicant …We received 45,000 applications for 4,000 freshman spots. 45,000! Hahahahahahahah.
Gwen has been a good student in terms of grades, not a great one. Her SATs were good, not great. Her interests have changed; her focus has faltered. There was that 10th grade wig-out; I’ll spare the details here and save them for a future YA novel. (Thank you Gwen and friends!)
In short, Gwen has been – what I think – a pretty typical teenager. Who are these other 17-year-olds who know exactly what they want and go after it with unswerving attention? This kind of competition is a true national sickness – get the public health department involved.
While Gwen was touring some Midwest campuses, this article appeared on the front page of the
New York Times. I thought that we had been sucked into the vortex of senior year temporary insanity. Someone please kidnap these kids (and parents) and give them a kitty massage.
Our favorite rejection letters came from the most popular UC campuses. Dear Applicant …We received 45,000 applications for 4,000 freshman spots. 45,000! Hahahahahahahah.
Gwen has been a good student in terms of grades, not a great one. Her SATs were good, not great. Her interests have changed; her focus has faltered. There was that 10th grade wig-out; I’ll spare the details here and save them for a future YA novel. (Thank you Gwen and friends!)
In short, Gwen has been – what I think – a pretty typical teenager. Who are these other 17-year-olds who know exactly what they want and go after it with unswerving attention? This kind of competition is a true national sickness – get the public health department involved.
While Gwen was touring some Midwest campuses, this article appeared on the front page of the
New York Times. I thought that we had been sucked into the vortex of senior year temporary insanity. Someone please kidnap these kids (and parents) and give them a kitty massage.By SARA RIMER
Published: April 1, 2007
To anyone who knows 17-year-old Esther Mobley, one of the best students at one of the best public high schools in the country, it is absurd to think she doesn't measure up. But Esther herself is quick to set the record straight.
''First of all, I'm a terrible athlete,'' she said over lunch one day.
''I run, I do, but not very quickly, and always exhaustedly,'' she continued. ''This is one of the things I'm most insecure about. You meet someone, especially on a college tour, adults ask you what you do. They say, 'What sports do you play?' I don't play any sports. It's awkward.''
Esther, a willowy, effervescent senior, turned to her friend Colby Kennedy. Colby, 17, is also a great student, a classical pianist, fluent in Spanish, and a three-season varsity runner and track captain. Did Colby worry, Esther asked, that she fell short in some way?
''Or,'' said Esther, and now her tone was a touch sarcastic, ''do you just have it all already?''
They both burst out laughing.
Esther and Colby are two of the amazing girls at Newton North High School here in this affluent suburb just outside Boston. ''Amazing girls'' translation: Girls by the dozen who are high achieving, ambitious and confident (if not immune to the usual adolescent insecurities and meltdowns.) Girls who do everything: Varsity sports. Student government. Theater. Community service. Girls who have grown up learning they can do anything a boy can do, which is anything they want to do.
But being an amazing girl often doesn't feel like enough these days when you're competing with all the other amazing girls around the country who are applying to the same elite colleges that you have been encouraged to aspire to practically all your life.
An athlete, after all, is one of the few things Esther isn't. A few of the things she is: a standout in Advanced Placement Latin and honors philosophy/literature who can expound on the beauty of the subjunctive tense in Catullus and on Kierkegaard's existential choices. A writer whose junior thesis for Advanced Placement history won Newton North's top prize. An actress. President of her church youth group.
To spend several months in a pressure cooker like Newton North is to see what a girl can be -- what any young person can be -- when encouraged by committed teachers and by engaged parents who can give them wide-ranging opportunities.
It is also to see these girls struggle to navigate the conflicting messages they have been absorbing, if not from their parents then from the culture, since elementary school. The first message: Bring home A's. Do everything. Get into a top college -- which doesn't have to be in the Ivy League, or one of the other elites like Williams, Tufts or Bowdoin, but should be a ''name'' school.
The second message: Be yourself. Have fun. Don't work too hard.
And, for all their accomplishments and ambitions, the amazing girls, as their teachers and classmates call them, are not immune to the third message: While it is now cool to be smart, it is not enough to be smart.
You still have to be pretty, thin and, as one of Esther's classmates, Kat Jiang, a go-to stage manager for student theater who has a perfect 2400 score on her SATs, wrote in an e-mail message, ''It's out of style to admit it, but it is more important to be hot than smart.''
''Effortlessly hot,'' Kat added.
If you are free to be everything, you are also expected to be everything. What it comes down to, in this place and time, is that the eternal adolescent search for self is going on at the same time as the quest for the perfect résumé. For Esther, as for high school seniors everywhere, this is a big weekend for finding out how your résumé measured up: The college acceptances, and rejections, are rolling in.
''You want to achieve,'' Esther said. ''But how do you achieve and still be genuine?''
If it all seems overwhelming at times, then the multitasking adults in Newton have the answer: Balance. Strive for balance.
But balance is out the window when you're a high-achieving senior in the home stretch of the race for which all the years of achieving and the disciplined focusing on the future have been preparing you. These students are aware that because more girls apply to college than boys, amid concerns about gender balance, boys may have an edge at some small selective colleges.
''You're supposed to have all these extracurriculars, to play sports and do theater,'' said another of Esther's 17-year-old classmates, Julie Mhlaba, who aspires to medical school and juggles three Advanced Placement classes, gospel choir and a part-time job as a waitress. ''You're supposed to do well in your classes and still have time to go out.''
''You're supposed to do all these things,'' Julie said, ''and not go insane.''
Stress Trumps Relaxation
Newton, which has a population of almost 84,000, is known for a liberal sensibility and a high concentration of professionals like doctors, lawyers and academics. Six miles west of Boston, with its heavily settled neighborhoods, bustling downtowns and high numbers of immigrants, Newton is a suburb with an urban feel.
The main shopping area, in Newton Centre, is a concrete manifestation of the conflicting messages Esther and the other girls are constantly struggling to decode. In one five-block stretch are two Starbucks and one Peets Coffee & Tea, several psychotherapists' offices, three SAT test-prep services, two after-school math programs, and three yoga studios promising relaxation and inner peace.
Smack in the middle of all of this is Esther's church, the 227-year-old First Baptist, which welcomes everyone regardless of race, sexual orientation or denomination, and where Esther puts in a lot of time.
The test-prep business is booming. Kaplan (''Be the ideal college applicant!'') is practically around the corner from Chyten (''Our average SAT II score across all subjects is 720!''), which is three blocks from Princeton Review (''We're all about scoring more!''). My First Yoga (for children 3 and up), with its founder playing up her Harvard degree, is conveniently located above Chyten, which includes the SAT Cafe.
High-priced SAT prep has become almost routine at schools like Newton North. Not to hire the extra help is practically an act of rebellion.
''I think it's unfair,'' Esther said, explaining why she decided against an SAT tutor, though she worried about her score (ultimately getting, as she put it, ''above 2000''). ''Why do I deserve this leg up?''
Parents view Newton's expensive real estate -- the median house price in 2006 was $730,000 -- and high taxes as the price of admission to the prized public schools. There are less affluent parents, small-business owners, carpenters, plumbers, social workers and high school guidance counselors, but many of these families arrived decades ago when it was possible to buy a nice two-story Colonial for $150,000 or less.
Newton North, one of two outstanding public high schools here, is known for its academic rigor, but also its vocational education, reflecting the wide range of its 1,967 students. Nearly 73 percent of them are white, 7.3 percent black, nearly 12 percent Asian and 7.5 percent Hispanic. Many of the black and Hispanic students live in the Roxbury and Dorchester neighborhoods of Boston, and are bused in under a 35-year-old voluntary integration program.
Newton North has a student theater, winning athletic teams and dozens of after-school clubs (ultimate Frisbee, mock trial, black leadership, Hispanic culture, Israeli dance). There is an emphasis on nonconformity -- even if it is often conformity dressed up as nonconformity -- and an absence of such high school conventions as, say, homecoming queens, valedictorians and class rankings.
'Superhuman' Resistance
Jennifer Price, the Newton North principal, said she and her faculty emphasized to students that they could win admission to many excellent colleges without organizing their entire lives around résumé building. By age 14, Ms. Price said, the school's highest fliers are already worrying about marketing themselves to colleges: ''You almost have to be superhuman to resist the pressure.''
If more students aren't listening to the message that they can relax a bit, one reason may be that a lot of the people delivering the message went to the elite colleges. Ms. Price has an undergraduate degree from Princeton -- she makes a point of saying that she got in because she was recruited to play varsity field hockey -- and is a doctoral candidate at Harvard. Many of the teachers have degrees from the Ivy League and other elite schools.
But the message also tends to get drowned out when parents bump into each other at Whole Foods and share news about whose son or daughter just got accepted (or not) at Harvard, Yale, Brown, Penn or Stanford.
Or when the final edition of the award-winning student newspaper, the Newtonite, comes out every June, with its two-page spread listing all the seniors, and their colleges. For that entire week, Esther says, everyone pores over the names, obsessing about who is going where.
''In a lot of ways, it's all about that one week,'' she said.
There is something about the lives these girls lead -- their jam-packed schedules, the amped-up multitasking, the focus on a narrow group of the nation's most selective colleges -- that speaks of a profound anxiety in the young people, but perhaps even more so in their parents, about the ability of the next generation to afford to raise their families in a place like Newton.
Admission to a brand-name college is viewed by many parents, and their children, as holding the best promise of professional success and economic well-being in an increasingly competitive world.
''It's, like, a really big deal to go into a lucrative profession so that you can provide for your kids, and they can grow up in a place like the place where you grew up,'' Kat said.
Esther, however, is aiming for a decidedly nonlucrative profession. Inspired by her father, Greg Mobley, who is a Biblical scholar, she wants to be a theologian.
She says she is interested in ''Scripture, the Bible, the development of organized religion, thinking about all this, writing about all this, teaching about all this.'' More than anything else, she wrote in an e-mail message, she wants to be a writer, ''and religion is what I most like to write about.''
''I have such a strong sense of being supported by my faith,'' she continued. ''It gives me priorities. That's why I'm not concerned about making money, because I know that there is so much more to living a rich life than having money.''
First Baptist Church counts on Esther. She organizes pancake suppers, tutors a young congregant and helps lead the youth group's outreach to the poor.
On a springlike Sunday afternoon toward the end of winter, Esther could be found with her father, her two brothers and members of her youth group handing out food to homeless people on Boston Common. She had spent the morning in church.
About 2 p.m., a text message flashed across her cellphone from Gabe Gladstone, a co-captain of mock trial: ''Where are you?'' Esther, a key member of the group, was needed at a meeting.
Esther messaged back: ''I'm feeding the homeless, I'll come when God's work is done.''
Fending Off 'Anorexia of the Soul'
On a Saturday afternoon in late November, Esther and her mother, Page Kelley, sat at the dining room table talking about the contradictions and complexities of life in Newton. Esther's father was with his sons, Gregory, 15, who plays varsity basketball for Newton North, and Tommy, 10, coaching Tommy's basketball team.
Ms. Kelley, 47, an assistant federal public defender, and Mr. Mobley, 49, a professor at Andover Newton Theological School in Newton, grew up in Kentucky and came north for college. Ms. Kelley is a graduate of Smith College and Harvard Law School. Mr. Mobley has two graduate degrees from Harvard.
Amid all the competitiveness and consumerism, and the obsession with achievement in Newton, Ms. Kelley said, ''You just hope your child doesn't have anorexia of the soul.''
''It's the idea that you end up with this strange drive,'' she continued. ''One of the great things about Esther is that she does have some kind of spiritual life. You just hope your kid has good priorities. We keep saying to her: 'The name of the college you go to doesn't matter. There are a lot of good colleges out there.' ''
Esther said her mother is her role model. ''I think the work she does is very noble,'' she said.
''She has these impressive degrees,'' Esther said, ''and she chooses to do something where she's not making as much money as she could.''
As close as mother and daughter are, there is one important generational divide. ''My mother applied to one college,'' Esther said. ''She got in, she went.''
Back from basketball practice with his sons, Mr. Mobley joined the conversation. To Mr. Mobley, a formalized, competitive culture pervades everything from youth sports to getting into college. He pointed out to his wife that the lives of their three children were far more directed ''than any of the aimless hours I spent in my youth daydreaming and meandering.''
Ms. Kelley asked, ''Is that because of us?''
''Yes -- and no,'' he said. ''It's because of 2006 in America, and the Northeast.''
The bar for achievement keeps being raised for each generation, he said: ''Our children start where we finished.''
As the afternoon turned into early evening, Esther went out to meet her best friend, Aliza Edelstein. The family dog, a Jack Russell terrier named Bandit, was underfoot, trolling for affection.
''I'm not worried about Esther because I know her,'' Mr. Mobley said. ''Esther's character is sealed in some fundamental way.''
Ms. Kelley, however, wondered aloud: ''Don't you worry that she never rebelled? When I was growing up, you were supposed to rebel.''
But she acknowledged that she had sent her own mixed signals. ''As I'm sitting here saying I don't care what kind of grades she gets, I'm thinking, she comes home with a B, and I say: 'What'd you get a B for? Who gave you a B? I'm going to talk to them.'
''You do want your child to do well.''
Mr. Mobley nodded. ''We're not above it,'' he said. ''It's complicated.''
On a Fierce Mission to Shine
To sit in on classes with Esther in her vibrant high school where, between classes, the central corridor, called Main Street, is a bustling social hub, is to see why these students are genuinely excited about school.
Their teachers are pushing them to wrestle with big questions: What is truth? What does Virgil's ''Aeneid'' tell us about destiny and individual happiness? How does DNA work? How is the global economy reshaping the world (subtext: you have to be fluid and highly educated to survive in the new economy)?
Esther's ethics teacher, Joel Greifinger, spent considerable time this winter on moral theories. An examination of John Rawls's theory of justice led to extensive discussions about American society and class inequality. Among the reading material Mr. Greifinger presented was research showing the correlation between income and SAT scores.
The class strengthened Esther's earlier decision not to take private SAT prep.
In her honors philosophy/literature class, Esther has been reading Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, ''Sophie's Choice'' and Viktor Frankl's ''Man's Search for Meaning.'' Amid a discussion of the strangely unsettling emptiness Frankl encountered upon his release from a Nazi concentration camp, Esther quoted Sartre: ''You are condemned to freedom.''
Her honors teacher, Mike Fieleke, nodded. ''That's the existential idea. If we don't awaken to that freedom, then we are slaves to our fate.''
A few weeks earlier, Esther, taking stock of her own life, wrote in an e-mail message: ''I feel like I'm on the verge. I feel like I'm just about to get out of high school, to enter into adulthood, to reach some kind of state of independence and peacefulness and enlightenment.''
More immediately, she wrote, Mr. Fieleke had told her ''he thought, from reading my papers and hearing me speak in class, that I was just on the verge of some really great idea.''
''I asked him if he thought that idea would come by next Wednesday, when our big Hamlet paper was due. He said I might feel this way all year long.''
The most intensely pressurized academic force field at school is the one surrounding the students on the Advanced Placement and honors track. About 145 of the 500 seniors are taking a combined total of three, four and five Advanced Placement and honors classes, with a few students even juggling six and seven.
Esther's friend Colby takes four Advanced Placement and one honors class. ''I'm living up to my own expectations,'' Colby said. ''It's what I want to do. I want to do well for myself.''
Another of Esther's friends, from student theater, Lee Gerstenhaber, 17, was juggling four Advanced Placement classes with intense late-night rehearsals for her starring role as Maggie, the seductive Southern belle in ''Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.'' It was too much. About 4 a.m one day last fall, she was still fighting her way through Advanced Placement physics homework. She dissolved in tears.
''I had always been able to do it before,'' Lee recalled later. ''But I finally said to myself, 'O.K., I'm not Superwoman.' ''
She dropped physics -- and was incandescent as Maggie.
Esther's schedule includes two Advanced Placement and one honors class. Among certain of her classmates who are mindful that many elite colleges advise prospective applicants to pursue the most rigorous possible course of study, taking two Advanced Placement classes is viewed as ''only two A.P.'s.'' But Esther says she is simply taking the subjects she is most interested in.
She also shrugged off advice that it would look better on her résumé to take another science class instead of her passion, A.P. Latin. Like so many of her classmates, Esther started taking Latin in the seventh grade, when everyone was saying Latin would help them with the SAT. But now, except for Esther and a handful of other diehards who are devoted to Latin -- and to their teacher, Robert Mitchell -- everyone else has moved on.
''I like languages,'' said Esther, who also takes Advanced Placement Spanish. ''And I really like Latin.''
Who Needs a Boyfriend?
This year Esther has been trying life without a boyfriend. It was her mother's idea. ''She'd say, 'I think it's time for you to take a break and discover who you are,' '' Esther said over lunch with Colby. ''She was right. I feel better.''
Esther turned to Colby: she seems to pretty much always have a boyfriend.
''I never felt like having a boyfriend was a burden,'' Colby said. ''I enjoy just being comfortable with someone, being able to spend time together. I don't think that means I wouldn't feel comfortable or confident without one.''
Esther said: ''I'm not trying to say that's a bad thing. I'm like you. I never thought, 'If I don't have a boyfriend I'll feel totally forlorn and lost.' ''
But who needs a boyfriend? ''My girlfriends have consistently been more important than my boyfriends,'' Esther wrote in an e-mail message. ''I mean, girlfriends last longer.''
Boyfriends or not, a deeper question for Esther and Colby is how they negotiate their identities as young women. They have grown up watching their mothers, and their friends' mothers, juggle family and career. They take it for granted that they will be able to carve out similar paths, even if it doesn't look easy from their vantage point.
They say they want to be both feminine and assertive, like their mothers. But Colby made the point at lunch that she would rather be considered too assertive and less conventionally feminine than ''be totally passive and a bystander in my life.''
Esther agreed. She said she admired Cristina, the spunky resident on ''Grey's Anatomy,'' one of her favorite TV shows.
''She really stands up for herself and knows who she is, which I aspire to,'' Esther said.
Cristina is also ''gorgeous,'' Esther laughed. ''And when she's taking off her scrubs, she's always wearing cute lingerie.''
Speaking of lingerie, part of being feminine is feeling good about how you look. Esther is not trying to be one of Newton North's trendsetters, the girls who show up every day in Ugg boots, designer jeans -- or equally cool jeans from the vintage store -- and tight-fitting tank tops under the latest North Face jacket.
She never looks ''scrubby,'' to use the slang for being a slob, but sometimes comes to school in sweats and moccasins.
''I think sometimes I might be trying a little too hard not to conform,'' Esther says.
She says she is one of the few girls in her circle who doesn't have a credit card. But she is hardly immune to the pressure to be a good consumer.
During the discussion around the dining room table, Esther's mother expressed her astonishment over her daughter's expertise in designer jeans. They had been people-watching at the mall. Esther, as it turned out, knew the brand of every pair of jeans that went by.
So what were the coolest jeans at Newton North?
''The coolest jeans are True Religions,'' Esther said.
''They look,'' she said, and here she smiled sheepishly as she stood up to reveal her denim-clad legs, ''like these.''
Aliza and several of Esther's other friends chipped in to buy them for her 17th birthday, in November.
Encouraged to Ease Up a Little
The amazing boys say they admire girls like Esther and Colby.
''I hate it when girls dumb themselves down,'' Gabe Gladstone, the co-captain of mock trial, was saying one morning to the other captain, Cameron Ferrey.
Cameron said he felt the same way.
One of Esther's close friends is Dan Catomeris, a school theater star. ''One of the most attractive things about Esther is how smart she is,'' said Dan, whose mother is a professor at Harvard Business School. ''There's always been this intellectual tension between us. I see why she likes Kierkegaard -- he's existential, but still Christian. She really likes Descartes. I was not so into Descartes. I really like Hume, Nietzsche, the existentialist authors. The musician we're most collectively into is Bob Dylan.''
Sometimes, though, everybody wants some of these hard-charging girls to chill out. Tom DePeter, an Advanced Placement English teacher, wants his students to loosen up so they can write original sentences. The theater director, Adam Brown, wants the girls to ''let go'' in auditions.
Peter Martin, the girls' cross-country coach, says girls try so hard to please everyone -- coaches, teachers, parents -- that he bends over backward not to criticize them. ''I tell them, 'Just go out and run.' '' His team wins consistently.
But how do you chill out and still get into a highly selective college?
One of Esther's favorite rituals is to hang out at her house with Aliza, eating Ben and Jerry's and watching a DVD of a favorite program like ''The Office.'' Their friendship helped Esther and Aliza keep going last fall, when there was hardly time to hang out. Esther recalled in an e-mail message how one night she had telephoned Aliza, who is also a top student, and a cross-country team captain, to say she was feeling overwhelmed.
''I said, 'Aliza, this is crazy, I have so much homework to do, and I won't be able to relax until I do it all. I haven't gone out in weeks!' And Aliza (who had also been staying in on Fridays and Saturdays to do homework) pointed out: 'I'd rather get into college.' ''
By Dec. 15, Newton North was in a frenzy over early admissions answers. Esther's friend Phoebe Gardener had been accepted to Dartmouth. Her friend Dan Lurie was in at Brown. Harvard wanted Dan Catomeris.
Esther was in calculus class, the last period of the day when her cellphone rang. It was her father. The letter from Williams College -- her ideal of the small, liberal arts school -- had arrived.
Her father would be at her brother's basketball game when she got home. Her mother would still be at the office. Esther did not want to be alone when she opened the letter.
''Dad, can you bring it to school?'' she asked.
Ten minutes later, when her father arrived, Esther realized that he had somehow not registered the devastating thinness of the envelope. The admissions office was sorry. Williams had had a record number of highly qualified applicants for early admission this year. Esther had been rejected. Not deferred. Rejected.
Her father hugged her as she cried outside her classroom, and then he drove her home.
Esther said several days later: ''Maybe it hurt me that I wasn't an athlete.''
But she was already moving on. ''I chose Williams,'' she said, with a shrug. ''They didn't choose me back.''
About that thin envelope: Mr. Mobley, unschooled in such intricacies, said he hadn't paid much attention to it. He had wanted so much for his daughter to get into Williams, he said, and believed so strongly in her, that it was as if he had wished the letter into being an acceptance.
''It was a setback,'' Mr. Mobley said weeks later. ''But it's not a failure.''
And Then One Day, a Letter Arrives
Has this all been a temporary insanity?
Esther's friend Colby learned in February that she had been accepted at the University of Southern California. Soon, more letters of acceptance rolled in: from the University of Miami, the University of Texas at Austin, Tulane. With the college-application pressure behind her, she can go back to being the pragmatic romantic who opened her journal last August and wrote her ''life list,'' with 35 goals and dreams, in pink ink.
She wants: To write a novel. Own a (red) Jeep Wrangler. Get into college. Name her firstborn daughter Carmen. Go to carnival in Rio de Janeiro. Learn to surf. Live in a Spanish-speaking country. Learn to play the doppio movimiento of Chopin's Sonata in B Flat. Own a dog. Be a bridesmaid. Vote for president. Write a really good poem. Never get divorced.
In mid-January Esther was thrilled to receive an acceptance letter from Centre College, one of her fallback schools, in Kentucky. But she was still dreaming about her remaining top choices: Amherst, Middlebury, Davidson and Smith, her mother's alma mater.
Esther's application to Smith included a letter from her father. He wrote about how, when Esther was a baby, they had gone to his wife's 10th college reunion. He described the alumni parade as an ''angelic procession of women in white, decade by decade, at every stage in the course of human life.''
He wrote about seeing the young women, the middle-aged graduates and, finally, ''the elderly women, some with the assistance of canes and wheelchairs, but with no diminution of the confidence that a great education brings.''
''I still remember holding Esther as we watched those saints go marching into the central campus for the commencement ceremony,'' he wrote.
''Lord,'' he concluded, and he could have been talking about any of the schools his daughter still has her heart set on, ''I want Esther to be in that number.''
Epilogue: Esther learned last week that she had gotten into Smith. She learned on Saturday that she had been rejected by Amherst and Middlebury. She is still hoping for Davidson.
Published: April 1, 2007
To anyone who knows 17-year-old Esther Mobley, one of the best students at one of the best public high schools in the country, it is absurd to think she doesn't measure up. But Esther herself is quick to set the record straight.
''First of all, I'm a terrible athlete,'' she said over lunch one day.
''I run, I do, but not very quickly, and always exhaustedly,'' she continued. ''This is one of the things I'm most insecure about. You meet someone, especially on a college tour, adults ask you what you do. They say, 'What sports do you play?' I don't play any sports. It's awkward.''
Esther, a willowy, effervescent senior, turned to her friend Colby Kennedy. Colby, 17, is also a great student, a classical pianist, fluent in Spanish, and a three-season varsity runner and track captain. Did Colby worry, Esther asked, that she fell short in some way?
''Or,'' said Esther, and now her tone was a touch sarcastic, ''do you just have it all already?''
They both burst out laughing.
Esther and Colby are two of the amazing girls at Newton North High School here in this affluent suburb just outside Boston. ''Amazing girls'' translation: Girls by the dozen who are high achieving, ambitious and confident (if not immune to the usual adolescent insecurities and meltdowns.) Girls who do everything: Varsity sports. Student government. Theater. Community service. Girls who have grown up learning they can do anything a boy can do, which is anything they want to do.
But being an amazing girl often doesn't feel like enough these days when you're competing with all the other amazing girls around the country who are applying to the same elite colleges that you have been encouraged to aspire to practically all your life.
An athlete, after all, is one of the few things Esther isn't. A few of the things she is: a standout in Advanced Placement Latin and honors philosophy/literature who can expound on the beauty of the subjunctive tense in Catullus and on Kierkegaard's existential choices. A writer whose junior thesis for Advanced Placement history won Newton North's top prize. An actress. President of her church youth group.
To spend several months in a pressure cooker like Newton North is to see what a girl can be -- what any young person can be -- when encouraged by committed teachers and by engaged parents who can give them wide-ranging opportunities.
It is also to see these girls struggle to navigate the conflicting messages they have been absorbing, if not from their parents then from the culture, since elementary school. The first message: Bring home A's. Do everything. Get into a top college -- which doesn't have to be in the Ivy League, or one of the other elites like Williams, Tufts or Bowdoin, but should be a ''name'' school.
The second message: Be yourself. Have fun. Don't work too hard.
And, for all their accomplishments and ambitions, the amazing girls, as their teachers and classmates call them, are not immune to the third message: While it is now cool to be smart, it is not enough to be smart.
You still have to be pretty, thin and, as one of Esther's classmates, Kat Jiang, a go-to stage manager for student theater who has a perfect 2400 score on her SATs, wrote in an e-mail message, ''It's out of style to admit it, but it is more important to be hot than smart.''
''Effortlessly hot,'' Kat added.
If you are free to be everything, you are also expected to be everything. What it comes down to, in this place and time, is that the eternal adolescent search for self is going on at the same time as the quest for the perfect résumé. For Esther, as for high school seniors everywhere, this is a big weekend for finding out how your résumé measured up: The college acceptances, and rejections, are rolling in.
''You want to achieve,'' Esther said. ''But how do you achieve and still be genuine?''
If it all seems overwhelming at times, then the multitasking adults in Newton have the answer: Balance. Strive for balance.
But balance is out the window when you're a high-achieving senior in the home stretch of the race for which all the years of achieving and the disciplined focusing on the future have been preparing you. These students are aware that because more girls apply to college than boys, amid concerns about gender balance, boys may have an edge at some small selective colleges.
''You're supposed to have all these extracurriculars, to play sports and do theater,'' said another of Esther's 17-year-old classmates, Julie Mhlaba, who aspires to medical school and juggles three Advanced Placement classes, gospel choir and a part-time job as a waitress. ''You're supposed to do well in your classes and still have time to go out.''
''You're supposed to do all these things,'' Julie said, ''and not go insane.''
Stress Trumps Relaxation
Newton, which has a population of almost 84,000, is known for a liberal sensibility and a high concentration of professionals like doctors, lawyers and academics. Six miles west of Boston, with its heavily settled neighborhoods, bustling downtowns and high numbers of immigrants, Newton is a suburb with an urban feel.
The main shopping area, in Newton Centre, is a concrete manifestation of the conflicting messages Esther and the other girls are constantly struggling to decode. In one five-block stretch are two Starbucks and one Peets Coffee & Tea, several psychotherapists' offices, three SAT test-prep services, two after-school math programs, and three yoga studios promising relaxation and inner peace.
Smack in the middle of all of this is Esther's church, the 227-year-old First Baptist, which welcomes everyone regardless of race, sexual orientation or denomination, and where Esther puts in a lot of time.
The test-prep business is booming. Kaplan (''Be the ideal college applicant!'') is practically around the corner from Chyten (''Our average SAT II score across all subjects is 720!''), which is three blocks from Princeton Review (''We're all about scoring more!''). My First Yoga (for children 3 and up), with its founder playing up her Harvard degree, is conveniently located above Chyten, which includes the SAT Cafe.
High-priced SAT prep has become almost routine at schools like Newton North. Not to hire the extra help is practically an act of rebellion.
''I think it's unfair,'' Esther said, explaining why she decided against an SAT tutor, though she worried about her score (ultimately getting, as she put it, ''above 2000''). ''Why do I deserve this leg up?''
Parents view Newton's expensive real estate -- the median house price in 2006 was $730,000 -- and high taxes as the price of admission to the prized public schools. There are less affluent parents, small-business owners, carpenters, plumbers, social workers and high school guidance counselors, but many of these families arrived decades ago when it was possible to buy a nice two-story Colonial for $150,000 or less.
Newton North, one of two outstanding public high schools here, is known for its academic rigor, but also its vocational education, reflecting the wide range of its 1,967 students. Nearly 73 percent of them are white, 7.3 percent black, nearly 12 percent Asian and 7.5 percent Hispanic. Many of the black and Hispanic students live in the Roxbury and Dorchester neighborhoods of Boston, and are bused in under a 35-year-old voluntary integration program.
Newton North has a student theater, winning athletic teams and dozens of after-school clubs (ultimate Frisbee, mock trial, black leadership, Hispanic culture, Israeli dance). There is an emphasis on nonconformity -- even if it is often conformity dressed up as nonconformity -- and an absence of such high school conventions as, say, homecoming queens, valedictorians and class rankings.
'Superhuman' Resistance
Jennifer Price, the Newton North principal, said she and her faculty emphasized to students that they could win admission to many excellent colleges without organizing their entire lives around résumé building. By age 14, Ms. Price said, the school's highest fliers are already worrying about marketing themselves to colleges: ''You almost have to be superhuman to resist the pressure.''
If more students aren't listening to the message that they can relax a bit, one reason may be that a lot of the people delivering the message went to the elite colleges. Ms. Price has an undergraduate degree from Princeton -- she makes a point of saying that she got in because she was recruited to play varsity field hockey -- and is a doctoral candidate at Harvard. Many of the teachers have degrees from the Ivy League and other elite schools.
But the message also tends to get drowned out when parents bump into each other at Whole Foods and share news about whose son or daughter just got accepted (or not) at Harvard, Yale, Brown, Penn or Stanford.
Or when the final edition of the award-winning student newspaper, the Newtonite, comes out every June, with its two-page spread listing all the seniors, and their colleges. For that entire week, Esther says, everyone pores over the names, obsessing about who is going where.
''In a lot of ways, it's all about that one week,'' she said.
There is something about the lives these girls lead -- their jam-packed schedules, the amped-up multitasking, the focus on a narrow group of the nation's most selective colleges -- that speaks of a profound anxiety in the young people, but perhaps even more so in their parents, about the ability of the next generation to afford to raise their families in a place like Newton.
Admission to a brand-name college is viewed by many parents, and their children, as holding the best promise of professional success and economic well-being in an increasingly competitive world.
''It's, like, a really big deal to go into a lucrative profession so that you can provide for your kids, and they can grow up in a place like the place where you grew up,'' Kat said.
Esther, however, is aiming for a decidedly nonlucrative profession. Inspired by her father, Greg Mobley, who is a Biblical scholar, she wants to be a theologian.
She says she is interested in ''Scripture, the Bible, the development of organized religion, thinking about all this, writing about all this, teaching about all this.'' More than anything else, she wrote in an e-mail message, she wants to be a writer, ''and religion is what I most like to write about.''
''I have such a strong sense of being supported by my faith,'' she continued. ''It gives me priorities. That's why I'm not concerned about making money, because I know that there is so much more to living a rich life than having money.''
First Baptist Church counts on Esther. She organizes pancake suppers, tutors a young congregant and helps lead the youth group's outreach to the poor.
On a springlike Sunday afternoon toward the end of winter, Esther could be found with her father, her two brothers and members of her youth group handing out food to homeless people on Boston Common. She had spent the morning in church.
About 2 p.m., a text message flashed across her cellphone from Gabe Gladstone, a co-captain of mock trial: ''Where are you?'' Esther, a key member of the group, was needed at a meeting.
Esther messaged back: ''I'm feeding the homeless, I'll come when God's work is done.''
Fending Off 'Anorexia of the Soul'
On a Saturday afternoon in late November, Esther and her mother, Page Kelley, sat at the dining room table talking about the contradictions and complexities of life in Newton. Esther's father was with his sons, Gregory, 15, who plays varsity basketball for Newton North, and Tommy, 10, coaching Tommy's basketball team.
Ms. Kelley, 47, an assistant federal public defender, and Mr. Mobley, 49, a professor at Andover Newton Theological School in Newton, grew up in Kentucky and came north for college. Ms. Kelley is a graduate of Smith College and Harvard Law School. Mr. Mobley has two graduate degrees from Harvard.
Amid all the competitiveness and consumerism, and the obsession with achievement in Newton, Ms. Kelley said, ''You just hope your child doesn't have anorexia of the soul.''
''It's the idea that you end up with this strange drive,'' she continued. ''One of the great things about Esther is that she does have some kind of spiritual life. You just hope your kid has good priorities. We keep saying to her: 'The name of the college you go to doesn't matter. There are a lot of good colleges out there.' ''
Esther said her mother is her role model. ''I think the work she does is very noble,'' she said.
''She has these impressive degrees,'' Esther said, ''and she chooses to do something where she's not making as much money as she could.''
As close as mother and daughter are, there is one important generational divide. ''My mother applied to one college,'' Esther said. ''She got in, she went.''
Back from basketball practice with his sons, Mr. Mobley joined the conversation. To Mr. Mobley, a formalized, competitive culture pervades everything from youth sports to getting into college. He pointed out to his wife that the lives of their three children were far more directed ''than any of the aimless hours I spent in my youth daydreaming and meandering.''
Ms. Kelley asked, ''Is that because of us?''
''Yes -- and no,'' he said. ''It's because of 2006 in America, and the Northeast.''
The bar for achievement keeps being raised for each generation, he said: ''Our children start where we finished.''
As the afternoon turned into early evening, Esther went out to meet her best friend, Aliza Edelstein. The family dog, a Jack Russell terrier named Bandit, was underfoot, trolling for affection.
''I'm not worried about Esther because I know her,'' Mr. Mobley said. ''Esther's character is sealed in some fundamental way.''
Ms. Kelley, however, wondered aloud: ''Don't you worry that she never rebelled? When I was growing up, you were supposed to rebel.''
But she acknowledged that she had sent her own mixed signals. ''As I'm sitting here saying I don't care what kind of grades she gets, I'm thinking, she comes home with a B, and I say: 'What'd you get a B for? Who gave you a B? I'm going to talk to them.'
''You do want your child to do well.''
Mr. Mobley nodded. ''We're not above it,'' he said. ''It's complicated.''
On a Fierce Mission to Shine
To sit in on classes with Esther in her vibrant high school where, between classes, the central corridor, called Main Street, is a bustling social hub, is to see why these students are genuinely excited about school.
Their teachers are pushing them to wrestle with big questions: What is truth? What does Virgil's ''Aeneid'' tell us about destiny and individual happiness? How does DNA work? How is the global economy reshaping the world (subtext: you have to be fluid and highly educated to survive in the new economy)?
Esther's ethics teacher, Joel Greifinger, spent considerable time this winter on moral theories. An examination of John Rawls's theory of justice led to extensive discussions about American society and class inequality. Among the reading material Mr. Greifinger presented was research showing the correlation between income and SAT scores.
The class strengthened Esther's earlier decision not to take private SAT prep.
In her honors philosophy/literature class, Esther has been reading Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, ''Sophie's Choice'' and Viktor Frankl's ''Man's Search for Meaning.'' Amid a discussion of the strangely unsettling emptiness Frankl encountered upon his release from a Nazi concentration camp, Esther quoted Sartre: ''You are condemned to freedom.''
Her honors teacher, Mike Fieleke, nodded. ''That's the existential idea. If we don't awaken to that freedom, then we are slaves to our fate.''
A few weeks earlier, Esther, taking stock of her own life, wrote in an e-mail message: ''I feel like I'm on the verge. I feel like I'm just about to get out of high school, to enter into adulthood, to reach some kind of state of independence and peacefulness and enlightenment.''
More immediately, she wrote, Mr. Fieleke had told her ''he thought, from reading my papers and hearing me speak in class, that I was just on the verge of some really great idea.''
''I asked him if he thought that idea would come by next Wednesday, when our big Hamlet paper was due. He said I might feel this way all year long.''
The most intensely pressurized academic force field at school is the one surrounding the students on the Advanced Placement and honors track. About 145 of the 500 seniors are taking a combined total of three, four and five Advanced Placement and honors classes, with a few students even juggling six and seven.
Esther's friend Colby takes four Advanced Placement and one honors class. ''I'm living up to my own expectations,'' Colby said. ''It's what I want to do. I want to do well for myself.''
Another of Esther's friends, from student theater, Lee Gerstenhaber, 17, was juggling four Advanced Placement classes with intense late-night rehearsals for her starring role as Maggie, the seductive Southern belle in ''Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.'' It was too much. About 4 a.m one day last fall, she was still fighting her way through Advanced Placement physics homework. She dissolved in tears.
''I had always been able to do it before,'' Lee recalled later. ''But I finally said to myself, 'O.K., I'm not Superwoman.' ''
She dropped physics -- and was incandescent as Maggie.
Esther's schedule includes two Advanced Placement and one honors class. Among certain of her classmates who are mindful that many elite colleges advise prospective applicants to pursue the most rigorous possible course of study, taking two Advanced Placement classes is viewed as ''only two A.P.'s.'' But Esther says she is simply taking the subjects she is most interested in.
She also shrugged off advice that it would look better on her résumé to take another science class instead of her passion, A.P. Latin. Like so many of her classmates, Esther started taking Latin in the seventh grade, when everyone was saying Latin would help them with the SAT. But now, except for Esther and a handful of other diehards who are devoted to Latin -- and to their teacher, Robert Mitchell -- everyone else has moved on.
''I like languages,'' said Esther, who also takes Advanced Placement Spanish. ''And I really like Latin.''
Who Needs a Boyfriend?
This year Esther has been trying life without a boyfriend. It was her mother's idea. ''She'd say, 'I think it's time for you to take a break and discover who you are,' '' Esther said over lunch with Colby. ''She was right. I feel better.''
Esther turned to Colby: she seems to pretty much always have a boyfriend.
''I never felt like having a boyfriend was a burden,'' Colby said. ''I enjoy just being comfortable with someone, being able to spend time together. I don't think that means I wouldn't feel comfortable or confident without one.''
Esther said: ''I'm not trying to say that's a bad thing. I'm like you. I never thought, 'If I don't have a boyfriend I'll feel totally forlorn and lost.' ''
But who needs a boyfriend? ''My girlfriends have consistently been more important than my boyfriends,'' Esther wrote in an e-mail message. ''I mean, girlfriends last longer.''
Boyfriends or not, a deeper question for Esther and Colby is how they negotiate their identities as young women. They have grown up watching their mothers, and their friends' mothers, juggle family and career. They take it for granted that they will be able to carve out similar paths, even if it doesn't look easy from their vantage point.
They say they want to be both feminine and assertive, like their mothers. But Colby made the point at lunch that she would rather be considered too assertive and less conventionally feminine than ''be totally passive and a bystander in my life.''
Esther agreed. She said she admired Cristina, the spunky resident on ''Grey's Anatomy,'' one of her favorite TV shows.
''She really stands up for herself and knows who she is, which I aspire to,'' Esther said.
Cristina is also ''gorgeous,'' Esther laughed. ''And when she's taking off her scrubs, she's always wearing cute lingerie.''
Speaking of lingerie, part of being feminine is feeling good about how you look. Esther is not trying to be one of Newton North's trendsetters, the girls who show up every day in Ugg boots, designer jeans -- or equally cool jeans from the vintage store -- and tight-fitting tank tops under the latest North Face jacket.
She never looks ''scrubby,'' to use the slang for being a slob, but sometimes comes to school in sweats and moccasins.
''I think sometimes I might be trying a little too hard not to conform,'' Esther says.
She says she is one of the few girls in her circle who doesn't have a credit card. But she is hardly immune to the pressure to be a good consumer.
During the discussion around the dining room table, Esther's mother expressed her astonishment over her daughter's expertise in designer jeans. They had been people-watching at the mall. Esther, as it turned out, knew the brand of every pair of jeans that went by.
So what were the coolest jeans at Newton North?
''The coolest jeans are True Religions,'' Esther said.
''They look,'' she said, and here she smiled sheepishly as she stood up to reveal her denim-clad legs, ''like these.''
Aliza and several of Esther's other friends chipped in to buy them for her 17th birthday, in November.
Encouraged to Ease Up a Little
The amazing boys say they admire girls like Esther and Colby.
''I hate it when girls dumb themselves down,'' Gabe Gladstone, the co-captain of mock trial, was saying one morning to the other captain, Cameron Ferrey.
Cameron said he felt the same way.
One of Esther's close friends is Dan Catomeris, a school theater star. ''One of the most attractive things about Esther is how smart she is,'' said Dan, whose mother is a professor at Harvard Business School. ''There's always been this intellectual tension between us. I see why she likes Kierkegaard -- he's existential, but still Christian. She really likes Descartes. I was not so into Descartes. I really like Hume, Nietzsche, the existentialist authors. The musician we're most collectively into is Bob Dylan.''
Sometimes, though, everybody wants some of these hard-charging girls to chill out. Tom DePeter, an Advanced Placement English teacher, wants his students to loosen up so they can write original sentences. The theater director, Adam Brown, wants the girls to ''let go'' in auditions.
Peter Martin, the girls' cross-country coach, says girls try so hard to please everyone -- coaches, teachers, parents -- that he bends over backward not to criticize them. ''I tell them, 'Just go out and run.' '' His team wins consistently.
But how do you chill out and still get into a highly selective college?
One of Esther's favorite rituals is to hang out at her house with Aliza, eating Ben and Jerry's and watching a DVD of a favorite program like ''The Office.'' Their friendship helped Esther and Aliza keep going last fall, when there was hardly time to hang out. Esther recalled in an e-mail message how one night she had telephoned Aliza, who is also a top student, and a cross-country team captain, to say she was feeling overwhelmed.
''I said, 'Aliza, this is crazy, I have so much homework to do, and I won't be able to relax until I do it all. I haven't gone out in weeks!' And Aliza (who had also been staying in on Fridays and Saturdays to do homework) pointed out: 'I'd rather get into college.' ''
By Dec. 15, Newton North was in a frenzy over early admissions answers. Esther's friend Phoebe Gardener had been accepted to Dartmouth. Her friend Dan Lurie was in at Brown. Harvard wanted Dan Catomeris.
Esther was in calculus class, the last period of the day when her cellphone rang. It was her father. The letter from Williams College -- her ideal of the small, liberal arts school -- had arrived.
Her father would be at her brother's basketball game when she got home. Her mother would still be at the office. Esther did not want to be alone when she opened the letter.
''Dad, can you bring it to school?'' she asked.
Ten minutes later, when her father arrived, Esther realized that he had somehow not registered the devastating thinness of the envelope. The admissions office was sorry. Williams had had a record number of highly qualified applicants for early admission this year. Esther had been rejected. Not deferred. Rejected.
Her father hugged her as she cried outside her classroom, and then he drove her home.
Esther said several days later: ''Maybe it hurt me that I wasn't an athlete.''
But she was already moving on. ''I chose Williams,'' she said, with a shrug. ''They didn't choose me back.''
About that thin envelope: Mr. Mobley, unschooled in such intricacies, said he hadn't paid much attention to it. He had wanted so much for his daughter to get into Williams, he said, and believed so strongly in her, that it was as if he had wished the letter into being an acceptance.
''It was a setback,'' Mr. Mobley said weeks later. ''But it's not a failure.''
And Then One Day, a Letter Arrives
Has this all been a temporary insanity?
Esther's friend Colby learned in February that she had been accepted at the University of Southern California. Soon, more letters of acceptance rolled in: from the University of Miami, the University of Texas at Austin, Tulane. With the college-application pressure behind her, she can go back to being the pragmatic romantic who opened her journal last August and wrote her ''life list,'' with 35 goals and dreams, in pink ink.
She wants: To write a novel. Own a (red) Jeep Wrangler. Get into college. Name her firstborn daughter Carmen. Go to carnival in Rio de Janeiro. Learn to surf. Live in a Spanish-speaking country. Learn to play the doppio movimiento of Chopin's Sonata in B Flat. Own a dog. Be a bridesmaid. Vote for president. Write a really good poem. Never get divorced.
In mid-January Esther was thrilled to receive an acceptance letter from Centre College, one of her fallback schools, in Kentucky. But she was still dreaming about her remaining top choices: Amherst, Middlebury, Davidson and Smith, her mother's alma mater.
Esther's application to Smith included a letter from her father. He wrote about how, when Esther was a baby, they had gone to his wife's 10th college reunion. He described the alumni parade as an ''angelic procession of women in white, decade by decade, at every stage in the course of human life.''
He wrote about seeing the young women, the middle-aged graduates and, finally, ''the elderly women, some with the assistance of canes and wheelchairs, but with no diminution of the confidence that a great education brings.''
''I still remember holding Esther as we watched those saints go marching into the central campus for the commencement ceremony,'' he wrote.
''Lord,'' he concluded, and he could have been talking about any of the schools his daughter still has her heart set on, ''I want Esther to be in that number.''
Epilogue: Esther learned last week that she had gotten into Smith. She learned on Saturday that she had been rejected by Amherst and Middlebury. She is still hoping for Davidson.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Classroom Discussion Questions
I've gotten requests lately for discussion questions about my novels. What an interesting exercise for me. As a writer, I'm motivated mostly by character, so it's intriguing to see what themes emerged during and after the writing.If you're a librarian or teacher, I'd like to know what discussion questions you use. And if you're a student, feel free to post your book reports. I'd love to read them!
What I Call Life
1. The Knitting Lady says that the girls in the Pumpkin House don’t have the same parents, yet she also says that they are members of the same tribe with common ancestors and a shared history. What does she mean by that? Who are some “ancestors” mentioned in the novel? Can you think of any others – from books you’ve read, movies and people you know personally? Have you ever felt as close as family to someone who is not directly related to you? What made you feel connected to that person?
2. When the book opens, Cal Lavender says that living in a foster home is not her real life. How does that change by the end of the book? What does she learn about her own life and life in general from the girls in the Pumpkin House?
3. The Knitting Lady says that she can “read” people by their knitting. She can understand their personality and traits by the tightness or looseness of their stitches, by the colors and designs they choose. Describe or draw what your knitting would look like if it reflected you. How about the knitting of your favorite teacher? A relative? Your best friend? Someone with whom you often clash?
HOME, AND OTHER BIG, FAT LIES
1. What are the different ways that the new foster kids in Forest Glen try to fit in to their new community? How does Termite act? Honeysuckle? Josh? Why do they act the way they do? How do you act when you are in a new situation with new people? Do you act the way you feel inside? Give a specific example.
2. Whitney and Striker take an immediate dislike to each other. Why? And what changes between them? What circumstances and personality traits eventually bring them together?
3. Did you ever have a secret place like Striker’s spot in the forest and Whitney’s space at the top of the stairs? What drew you to it? What did you do there? Describe your secret spot using all of your senses?
What I Call Life
1. The Knitting Lady says that the girls in the Pumpkin House don’t have the same parents, yet she also says that they are members of the same tribe with common ancestors and a shared history. What does she mean by that? Who are some “ancestors” mentioned in the novel? Can you think of any others – from books you’ve read, movies and people you know personally? Have you ever felt as close as family to someone who is not directly related to you? What made you feel connected to that person?
2. When the book opens, Cal Lavender says that living in a foster home is not her real life. How does that change by the end of the book? What does she learn about her own life and life in general from the girls in the Pumpkin House?
3. The Knitting Lady says that she can “read” people by their knitting. She can understand their personality and traits by the tightness or looseness of their stitches, by the colors and designs they choose. Describe or draw what your knitting would look like if it reflected you. How about the knitting of your favorite teacher? A relative? Your best friend? Someone with whom you often clash?
HOME, AND OTHER BIG, FAT LIES
1. What are the different ways that the new foster kids in Forest Glen try to fit in to their new community? How does Termite act? Honeysuckle? Josh? Why do they act the way they do? How do you act when you are in a new situation with new people? Do you act the way you feel inside? Give a specific example.
2. Whitney and Striker take an immediate dislike to each other. Why? And what changes between them? What circumstances and personality traits eventually bring them together?
3. Did you ever have a secret place like Striker’s spot in the forest and Whitney’s space at the top of the stairs? What drew you to it? What did you do there? Describe your secret spot using all of your senses?
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Crazy Buildings of San Antonio
Those old-style Texans sure knew how to keep the whimsy in architecture. It is easy enough to ignore the spectacularly ugly Hyatt and Marriott because there are so many other visual feasts of brick, stucco and tile.
Today, after my presentation (more on that later), I followed the River Walk south and quickly got out of the Texas "theme park" clutter of souvenir t-shirt shops and Mexican restaurants (In one, I ate the WORST Mexican food I've had in my life. I mean, how to do they screw up chips and salsa? Well, this place did. Okay, bitching over).
A little south of the main downtown area is the King William Historic District where the trees are big and leafy and the homes big and southern and slightly demented in their size and homage to Europe. Italian meets Greek meets German meets Texas moneyman.
The River Walk becomes double fun when you look up from the water and spot evidence of an architect who had a swell time designing pillars.
Texans take their justice seriously and are known for their intimidating county buildings and courthouses.
To get out of the hot sun -- must have hit 85 today -- I headed into the San Fernando Cathedral, shut my eyes and listened to my breathing. Okay, I kept peeking out at this amazing gilted Jesus.
On a busy corner sits a landmark. William Sydney Porter -- O. Henry --lived in this ramshackle
place and set several of his 400-plus short stories in San Antonio--before he moved to Austin and was busted for embezzling. I love O. Henry, even though his reputation isn't so stellar among serious literary folks. I love his wit and wordplay and those twisty endings that are criticized for being corny and not like real life. But who says? From my experience, life hands out one corny twist after another.
In the conference today, I was asked for my literary favorites and mentioned a handful -- Flannery and Raymond, usual suspects. I also threw in the author of Nancy Drew, the series that got me reading in the first place as a kid. I want to go on record here paying homage to O Henry. Oh boy, when that last leaf stayed on the tree, I knew what writing could do.
Today, after my presentation (more on that later), I followed the River Walk south and quickly got out of the Texas "theme park" clutter of souvenir t-shirt shops and Mexican restaurants (In one, I ate the WORST Mexican food I've had in my life. I mean, how to do they screw up chips and salsa? Well, this place did. Okay, bitching over).
A little south of the main downtown area is the King William Historic District where the trees are big and leafy and the homes big and southern and slightly demented in their size and homage to Europe. Italian meets Greek meets German meets Texas moneyman.The River Walk becomes double fun when you look up from the water and spot evidence of an architect who had a swell time designing pillars.
Texans take their justice seriously and are known for their intimidating county buildings and courthouses.
To get out of the hot sun -- must have hit 85 today -- I headed into the San Fernando Cathedral, shut my eyes and listened to my breathing. Okay, I kept peeking out at this amazing gilted Jesus.
On a busy corner sits a landmark. William Sydney Porter -- O. Henry --lived in this ramshackle
place and set several of his 400-plus short stories in San Antonio--before he moved to Austin and was busted for embezzling. I love O. Henry, even though his reputation isn't so stellar among serious literary folks. I love his wit and wordplay and those twisty endings that are criticized for being corny and not like real life. But who says? From my experience, life hands out one corny twist after another.In the conference today, I was asked for my literary favorites and mentioned a handful -- Flannery and Raymond, usual suspects. I also threw in the author of Nancy Drew, the series that got me reading in the first place as a kid. I want to go on record here paying homage to O Henry. Oh boy, when that last leaf stayed on the tree, I knew what writing could do.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Deep in the Heart
Here I am in San Antonio for the Texas Library Association Convention. My talk -- writing about kids with special needs -- takes place early tomorrow. I'm especially looking forward to meeting a co-panelist Matt de la Pena, who wrote a novel that combines foster care, basketball and OCD disorder, my kind of characters.
Fresh off the plane, I walked and walked this afternoon and into the evening. San Antonio is a great strolling town, especially in April when the temperature is mild with a touch of coolness. The last time I was here, it was June and 100-degrees of non-stop sun. Better this time.
I'm staying in this great hotel called the Emily Morgan. Open the curtain and here's the view:
Yes, it's the Alamo, laden with tourists yet still chillingly evocative. The Alamo at night
Some baby mallards along River Walk. Tomorrow, I'll have time for a longer walk and more pictures.
Fresh off the plane, I walked and walked this afternoon and into the evening. San Antonio is a great strolling town, especially in April when the temperature is mild with a touch of coolness. The last time I was here, it was June and 100-degrees of non-stop sun. Better this time.
I'm staying in this great hotel called the Emily Morgan. Open the curtain and here's the view:
Yes, it's the Alamo, laden with tourists yet still chillingly evocative. The Alamo at night
Some baby mallards along River Walk. Tomorrow, I'll have time for a longer walk and more pictures.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
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Recommended Reading
I've been wanting to post list of recommended children's books about foster care for awhile. (in addition to my own). Thanks to Carol Muller and Betsy Bird who put out a call on her fine children's lit blog http://fusenumber8.blogspot.com/
Here ya go. Feel free to add.
Adam and Eve and Pinch-Me by Julie Johnston
Andy Shane and the Very Bossy Dolores Starbuckle by Jennifer Richard Jacobson; Illustrated by Abby Carter
Anna Casey's Place in the World by Adrian Fogelin
Ball Don't Lie by Matt de la Peña
The Book of Fred by Abbi Bardi.
Breakout by Paul Fleischman
Bud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis
The Canning Season by Polly Horvath
Chance and the Butterfly by Maggie de Vries; Illustrations by Cindy Ghent
Dave at Night by Gail Carson Levine
Finding the Right Spot: When Kids Can't Live with Their Parents by Janice Levy
Illustrations by Whitney Martin
Gossamer by Lois Lowry
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine Paterson
Grover G. Graham and Me by Mary Quattlebaum
Higher Power of Lucky by Susan Patron; Illustrations by Matt Phelan
A House Between Homes: Youth in the Foster Care System by Joyce Libal
I’ll Sing You One-O by Nan Gregory
The Last Chance Texaco by Brent Hartinger
Locomotion by Jacqueline Woodson
The Mailbox by Audrey Shafer
Mama One, Mama Two by Patricia MacLachlan
Maybe Days: a Book for Children in Foster Care by Jennifer Wilgocki and Marcia Kahn Wright; Illustrated by Alissa Imre Geis
Nellie's Promise by Valerie Tripp
Here ya go. Feel free to add.
Adam and Eve and Pinch-Me by Julie Johnston
Andy Shane and the Very Bossy Dolores Starbuckle by Jennifer Richard Jacobson; Illustrated by Abby Carter
Anna Casey's Place in the World by Adrian Fogelin
Ball Don't Lie by Matt de la Peña
The Book of Fred by Abbi Bardi.
Breakout by Paul FleischmanBud, Not Buddy by Christopher Paul Curtis
The Canning Season by Polly Horvath
Chance and the Butterfly by Maggie de Vries; Illustrations by Cindy Ghent
Dave at Night by Gail Carson Levine
Finding the Right Spot: When Kids Can't Live with Their Parents by Janice Levy
Illustrations by Whitney Martin
Gossamer by Lois Lowry
The Great Gilly Hopkins by Katherine PatersonGrover G. Graham and Me by Mary Quattlebaum
Higher Power of Lucky by Susan Patron; Illustrations by Matt Phelan
A House Between Homes: Youth in the Foster Care System by Joyce Libal
I’ll Sing You One-O by Nan GregoryThe Last Chance Texaco by Brent Hartinger
Locomotion by Jacqueline Woodson
The Mailbox by Audrey Shafer
Mama One, Mama Two by Patricia MacLachlan
Maybe Days: a Book for Children in Foster Care by Jennifer Wilgocki and Marcia Kahn Wright; Illustrated by Alissa Imre Geis
Nellie's Promise by Valerie Tripp
Night of the Burning by Linda Press Wulf
The Ocean Within by V.M. Caldwell
Onion Tears by Diana Kidd
Our Gracie Aunt by Jacqueline Woodson; Illustrations by Jon J. Muth
Parents Wanted by George Harrar; illustrations by Dan Murphy
Pictures of Hollis Woods by Patricia Reilly Giff
The Ocean Within by V.M. Caldwell
Onion Tears by Diana Kidd
Our Gracie Aunt by Jacqueline Woodson; Illustrations by Jon J. Muth
Parents Wanted by George Harrar; illustrations by Dan Murphy
Pictures of Hollis Woods by Patricia Reilly GiffThe Pinballs by Betsy Byars
Returnable Girl by Pamela Lowell
Road to Paris by Nikki Grimes
Ruby Holler by Sharon Creech
Same Stuff As Stars by Katherine Paterson
Saving Sweetness and Raising Sweetness by Diane Stanley; illustrations by G. Brian Karras
Stellaluna by Janell Cannon
Surviving the Applewhites by Stephanie Tolan
Taking Care of Moses by Barbara O'Connor
Where I’d Like to Be by Frances O’Roark Dowell
Great site: www.childrenslit.com/ft_fostercare.html
Road to Paris by Nikki Grimes
Ruby Holler by Sharon Creech
Same Stuff As Stars by Katherine Paterson
Saving Sweetness and Raising Sweetness by Diane Stanley; illustrations by G. Brian KarrasStellaluna by Janell Cannon
Surviving the Applewhites by Stephanie Tolan
Taking Care of Moses by Barbara O'Connor
Where I’d Like to Be by Frances O’Roark Dowell
Great site: www.childrenslit.com/ft_fostercare.html
Thursday, April 05, 2007
Magnificent Trees
Saw this link on another blog and needed to share it. Today, as I'm stuck inside tinkering with commas and formatting type faces, my soul seems to be demanding -- SCREAMING! -- for a new life goal. Yes, to seeing each of these trees in person before I die. Interesting. I already have a good start.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Favorite Books about Foster Kids -- HELP!
Next week, I'm traveling to San Antonio for the Texas Library Association convention. I'm really excited to be on a panel with some interesting writers (Diane Gonzales Bertrand, Lee Byrd and Matt de la Pena) to talk about writing for and about kids with special needs and disabilities. I've been asked to put together a recommended list of children and young adult titles that deal with foster care (in addition to my own).
I get asked that a lot and have been intending to post such a list for awhile.
The Great Gilly Hopkins, of course. And Where I'd Like to Be and Ruby Holler.
But please, help! I'd love to create an extensive and interesting list that will be helpful to teachers and librarians. Give me your suggestions that include books for all ages.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Home
I’m so glad to be back in California. After only two weeks away, so much has changed. It’s that time of year, spring making its splashy debut. While I was gone, the mustard greens in my garden sprouted their tall spikes of yellow. 
Screaming orange poppies are everywhere.
Only a month or so ago, this fancy perfumed showgirl looked brown and withered in the pot on my deck. Look at her now.I took a break from work today and biked out to Wilder and all along my beloved coastal trail. Spring on the Central Coast. It was all so familiar, exciting yet comforting. The wild afternoon wind bringing the heavy scent of freshly fertilized crops all the way from Davenport. The hemlock with its “bloody” stalk, the wild radish taking over the bike path and getting in the way of any ant trying to walk a straight line. The sun was warm enough to lure a 3-foot-long snake from under a rock. The red-tail hawk with lunch in its talons and the wind chopping up the water of an extra low tide. Naturalists hate the non-native Scotch Broom with its proliferation of yellow flowers. They call it a noxious weed. But honestly, who can blame the plant for wanting to live here?
During my ride, I felt an idiotic grin on my face, like a drunk. No, more like a little kid who hasn’t yet discovered that the world of spring also contains war and suffering and cancer and death and pain and confusion and blight and heart break and bone break and petty meanness and profound wanton destruction and child abuse and animal abuse and ...okay, enough.
After more than 25 years in California, 10 of them by the ocean, this finally feels like home. I realized that during this past trip to Philadelphia. I no longer felt in tune with the geographic and human landscape of Langdon St. where I grew up, and downtown Philly where I spent my college and early working years, and New Hope, where I was married and where my sister still lives.
I didn't know the names of the trees there. The air felt and smelled foreign to me. I didn’t sense the subtleties of climate change as 80-degree weather turned overnight into an ice storm; the snow and sleet came out of nowhere. I felt like a tourist in my own past. Nothing wrong with that. It's just good to be home.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Legacy
There are some nice messages of condolence about my dad:
www.legacy.com/SunSentinel/GB/GuestbookView.aspx?PersonId=86790045
Feel free to leave one. My family will enjoy it.
www.legacy.com/SunSentinel/GB/GuestbookView.aspx?PersonId=86790045
Feel free to leave one. My family will enjoy it.
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Semper Fi Father
Every family has its recurring and unchanging stories about its members, the shorthand for summing up who’s who and why they behave the way they do. My mom is a master at that, and honestly, it drove me crazy while I was growing up. I felt trapped by her version of me and of everyone else.
For example, my dad was a Marine who served in WWII and then worked for the Marine Corps after returning from overseas. His “Marineness” came to be the explanation for so much of his behavior: Dad’s insistence that dinner be on the table at 5:30 sharp. His politics during the Viet Nam War. The way he didn’t really have conversations with his children, but barked out opinions and interrogated. What I saw as his stubbornness and rigidity, my mother explained as “He was a Marine.” What I saw as bordering on obsessive-compulsive disorder, she admired as “his Marine training. He likes things precise.” It was enough to make a teenager scream, which I frequently did. Semper Fi my foot!
Even though I heard “He was a Marine” ad nauseum, I really never heard any of the details of his time in the service. It wasn’t that dad didn’t like telling stories. With the slightest prompt, he would go on about his boyhood growing up in South Philly, the crazy stunts he pulled, the way he did anything to make a buck to help support a sister and single mother (Dad was a rarity of the time; a child of divorce).
But when it came to the war, I don’t recall him ever going into any details. For a long time, I figured it was me, that in my snotty judgmental way, I tuned him out, or that he suspected that I didn’t want to hear, so he stayed silent on the subject. But even my mom admitted that he didn’t talk much about the war, and that it was out of character for him to be so reticent about an experience that clearly shaped and defined him half a century later.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I heard vague mention of his heroism as a member of the famous 5th division at Iwo Jima. It wasn’t until this latest trip home for his funeral that I came across dad’s scrapbook of his Marine years and took the time to go through it. There are photos
from Japan and China and the Islands. A handsome, unbearably young soldier smiling with my dad’s distinctive underbite. This same soldier with his arms looped around a fellow soldier. Holding a weapon. Arms playfully around a Japanese woman.
There were also copies of several articles, including a long, detailed one written by a Marine Corps combat correspondent. In the Philadelphia Inquirer appeared the following brief article headlined Courage in that straight-forward, enthusiastic 1940s newspaper style:
Pfc. Gilbert Wolfson, 268 S. 5th St., was one of a group of volunteer
litter-bearers whose courage resulted in the rescue of 28 wounded Marines on Iwo Jima. The Marines had been isolated almost three days and nights in an enemy dominated pocket.
More than 40 Marines had been killed or wounded in unsuccessful attempts to rescue the 28 men. The wounded had been without food, water, or medical attention. They lay under a constant cover of Jap fire, unable even to sit up. One very accurate Jap sniper hidden in a maze of caves used the wounded as a lure, and is credited with hitting 15 Marines and Navy medical corpsmen
Shortly before dusk on the third night, the volunteer stretcher-bearers moved out beyond the front, and crouching low, ran across the open stretches. The rescue work was doubly difficult, for the wounded were spread out over a large area, making it impossible to provide protective fire for the litter bearers.
By 8:30 that night they walked back through the lines. They had succeeded in evacuating the 28 wounded, nine of whom were in serious condition.
This story doesn’t mesh with the dad who raised me. As a snotty, know-it-all teenager and young adult, I so often criticized him for being so tame, so 9-to-5, so unadventurous, and so fearful of upsetting the status-quo blue collar life that he went on to establish with my mother --the life of 55 years in the same marriage and same house, the life of eating in the same restaurants and working at the same job and vacationing in the same spot decade after decade.
So, who was this fearless guy of Iwo Jima? Who was this dashing, wild, reckless hero who defied the odds of war and lived long enough to return to Philadelphia, to meet my mom, to marry, to become the only dad I ever had?
I’m so glad to have this new puzzle to puzzle over, to keep me from smugly thinking that I really know who’s who and why they behave the way they do.
For example, my dad was a Marine who served in WWII and then worked for the Marine Corps after returning from overseas. His “Marineness” came to be the explanation for so much of his behavior: Dad’s insistence that dinner be on the table at 5:30 sharp. His politics during the Viet Nam War. The way he didn’t really have conversations with his children, but barked out opinions and interrogated. What I saw as his stubbornness and rigidity, my mother explained as “He was a Marine.” What I saw as bordering on obsessive-compulsive disorder, she admired as “his Marine training. He likes things precise.” It was enough to make a teenager scream, which I frequently did. Semper Fi my foot!
Even though I heard “He was a Marine” ad nauseum, I really never heard any of the details of his time in the service. It wasn’t that dad didn’t like telling stories. With the slightest prompt, he would go on about his boyhood growing up in South Philly, the crazy stunts he pulled, the way he did anything to make a buck to help support a sister and single mother (Dad was a rarity of the time; a child of divorce).
But when it came to the war, I don’t recall him ever going into any details. For a long time, I figured it was me, that in my snotty judgmental way, I tuned him out, or that he suspected that I didn’t want to hear, so he stayed silent on the subject. But even my mom admitted that he didn’t talk much about the war, and that it was out of character for him to be so reticent about an experience that clearly shaped and defined him half a century later.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I heard vague mention of his heroism as a member of the famous 5th division at Iwo Jima. It wasn’t until this latest trip home for his funeral that I came across dad’s scrapbook of his Marine years and took the time to go through it. There are photos
from Japan and China and the Islands. A handsome, unbearably young soldier smiling with my dad’s distinctive underbite. This same soldier with his arms looped around a fellow soldier. Holding a weapon. Arms playfully around a Japanese woman.There were also copies of several articles, including a long, detailed one written by a Marine Corps combat correspondent. In the Philadelphia Inquirer appeared the following brief article headlined Courage in that straight-forward, enthusiastic 1940s newspaper style:
Pfc. Gilbert Wolfson, 268 S. 5th St., was one of a group of volunteer
litter-bearers whose courage resulted in the rescue of 28 wounded Marines on Iwo Jima. The Marines had been isolated almost three days and nights in an enemy dominated pocket.More than 40 Marines had been killed or wounded in unsuccessful attempts to rescue the 28 men. The wounded had been without food, water, or medical attention. They lay under a constant cover of Jap fire, unable even to sit up. One very accurate Jap sniper hidden in a maze of caves used the wounded as a lure, and is credited with hitting 15 Marines and Navy medical corpsmen
Shortly before dusk on the third night, the volunteer stretcher-bearers moved out beyond the front, and crouching low, ran across the open stretches. The rescue work was doubly difficult, for the wounded were spread out over a large area, making it impossible to provide protective fire for the litter bearers.
By 8:30 that night they walked back through the lines. They had succeeded in evacuating the 28 wounded, nine of whom were in serious condition.
This story doesn’t mesh with the dad who raised me. As a snotty, know-it-all teenager and young adult, I so often criticized him for being so tame, so 9-to-5, so unadventurous, and so fearful of upsetting the status-quo blue collar life that he went on to establish with my mother --the life of 55 years in the same marriage and same house, the life of eating in the same restaurants and working at the same job and vacationing in the same spot decade after decade.
So, who was this fearless guy of Iwo Jima? Who was this dashing, wild, reckless hero who defied the odds of war and lived long enough to return to Philadelphia, to meet my mom, to marry, to become the only dad I ever had?
I’m so glad to have this new puzzle to puzzle over, to keep me from smugly thinking that I really know who’s who and why they behave the way they do.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Funeral for the Unknown
My sister’s house sits across the road from Washington Crossing State Park. You walk through her horse pasture, cross a road and you see the great Delaware River, warm and gentle in summer, but during this ice storm, a brown torrent with a steady flow of chunks of ice rushing south. The day the big storm hit, all the kids and I took a cold, slippery walk along the tow path that runs aside the canal. Alex tossed in a heavy branch and cracked the ice that had started to form. It’s a 60-mile path from Yardley to Easton that I want to walk some spring. Wouldn't that be a great adventure? Even with McMansions going up along the river, even with cars whooshing by at some points, you can feel the history in every step. I loved the Canadian geese – those bossy crotchety cranks of the bird world -- that quacked at our intrusion in their domain.
Not far from my sister’s house along the path, there’s a memorial and graveyard with a line of identical tombstones. Unknown soldier, Unknown soldier, Unknown soldier, Unknown soldier. 
22 Unknowns, only one stone with a name. No gold here, no carefully chosen wooden coffin, only a line of small white markers like giant Chiclets in the snow. I so hope that some shabtis were buried along with these forgotten men. Buried on Christmas Day 1776, victims of sickness and exposure before the Battle of Trenton. 
Not far from my sister’s house along the path, there’s a memorial and graveyard with a line of identical tombstones. Unknown soldier, Unknown soldier, Unknown soldier, Unknown soldier. 
22 Unknowns, only one stone with a name. No gold here, no carefully chosen wooden coffin, only a line of small white markers like giant Chiclets in the snow. I so hope that some shabtis were buried along with these forgotten men. Buried on Christmas Day 1776, victims of sickness and exposure before the Battle of Trenton. My kids and nieces and nephew ran along the line of graves, trying to get out energy before the brunt of the storm hit and we would be housebound for the next 24 hours. Even with L.L. Bean down parkas and snow boots and hats and gloves, our fingers tingled with the cold, our toes and noses in serious danger of going numb.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Funeral for a God
A few days after my father’s funeral, after the three days of sitting shiva, my mom, kids and I headed to the Franklin Institute in downtown Philly for the King Tut exhibit. We were looking for something fun to do, and I guess my mind was in such a swirl that I didn’t recognize the irony of our choice of “fun” until I set foot into the exhibit.
The replication of the tomb itself, the incredibly ornate coffins stacked one inside of another like Russian nesting dolls, the golden treasures placed upon the dead body of the 19-year-old king who the people saw as an intermediary between the gods and ordinary man. The bejeweled necklaces, the golden dagger placed on his chest as protection during the dangerous journey through the underworld. The gleaming amulets and startling animal fetishes. The representations of food that would spring to life all juicy and tasty to nourish the boy king. The jars of viscera, the golden crown, the throne of ebony. The glittering statues of the mighty Horus and the elegant Isis. The 22-pound solid gold burial mask. It was all so gaudy and ghoulish and astoundingly hopeful in its vision of a perfect life beyond.
When Tut’s tomb was uncovered, archeologists found hundreds of doll-like figurines called “shabtis,” which Tut would be able to summon as servants if he felt like slacking off when called upon to cook or garden or clean in the kingdom of the gods. To keep him company too, I suppose.
It reminded me of a few days earlier, looking down at my lifeless father in his coffin, his skin yellowed, his distinctive mustache that tickled his grandchildren during kisses now without its incessant twitching. My daughter Gwen had brought along a small white Beanie Baby seal that she had sent to him a month earlier for comfort when the cancer had spread into his brain and he no longer had words or much memory. My mom said that when it arrived in the mail, he placed it under his chin and fell asleep with it there. Now Gwen handed the soft, soft toy to my mother who placed it on his chest. Dad and the seal seemed to be eye-to-eye, a Beanie Baby shabti to do his tidings. My 9-year-old niece Brianna placed into the coffin a piece of paper with a poem she wrote. The part I remember most: My pop-pop taught me to never cry if you lose at poker. I love my pop-pop.
My mother, married to dad for 56 years, leaned over the coffin and left the scent of the perfume that he always loved. “He never called me his wife,” she said. “I was always his bride.”
The replication of the tomb itself, the incredibly ornate coffins stacked one inside of another like Russian nesting dolls, the golden treasures placed upon the dead body of the 19-year-old king who the people saw as an intermediary between the gods and ordinary man. The bejeweled necklaces, the golden dagger placed on his chest as protection during the dangerous journey through the underworld. The gleaming amulets and startling animal fetishes. The representations of food that would spring to life all juicy and tasty to nourish the boy king. The jars of viscera, the golden crown, the throne of ebony. The glittering statues of the mighty Horus and the elegant Isis. The 22-pound solid gold burial mask. It was all so gaudy and ghoulish and astoundingly hopeful in its vision of a perfect life beyond.
When Tut’s tomb was uncovered, archeologists found hundreds of doll-like figurines called “shabtis,” which Tut would be able to summon as servants if he felt like slacking off when called upon to cook or garden or clean in the kingdom of the gods. To keep him company too, I suppose.
It reminded me of a few days earlier, looking down at my lifeless father in his coffin, his skin yellowed, his distinctive mustache that tickled his grandchildren during kisses now without its incessant twitching. My daughter Gwen had brought along a small white Beanie Baby seal that she had sent to him a month earlier for comfort when the cancer had spread into his brain and he no longer had words or much memory. My mom said that when it arrived in the mail, he placed it under his chin and fell asleep with it there. Now Gwen handed the soft, soft toy to my mother who placed it on his chest. Dad and the seal seemed to be eye-to-eye, a Beanie Baby shabti to do his tidings. My 9-year-old niece Brianna placed into the coffin a piece of paper with a poem she wrote. The part I remember most: My pop-pop taught me to never cry if you lose at poker. I love my pop-pop.
My mother, married to dad for 56 years, leaned over the coffin and left the scent of the perfume that he always loved. “He never called me his wife,” she said. “I was always his bride.”
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Graves and Coffins
My week has been populated by graves and coffins, large and small, simple and elaborate, final place of the Gods and the unknowns, coffins filled with gold, filled with bones, filled with trinkets worthy of a museum, filled with a toy stuffed seal, filled with probably nothing extra at all.
Gravesite #1. My dad. It fell to my sister and me to pick out the "box" for my father. We stepped into the funeral home "shopping area," a set right out of 6-Feet-Under and perused the options, from ridiculously gaudy and ornate to the chillingly simple pine box used by the most strict of Orthodox Jews.
What standards does one use to make such a decision. What would my dad want? My mom? The small crowd that would gather to toss a handful of dirt on top and then watch it being lowered into the ground? My sister and I ran our hands along wood polished and unpolished, along brass handles and various cloth linings. What were we feeling for? Who would be feeling the high quality silk? Were we looking for wood that would withstand the harsh Philadelphia elements or that would deteriorate as quickly as possible, releasing my dad's flesh and bones into the soil, adding nutrients, adding life.
At a loss, we decided on the same coffin that my cousins Mark and Cindy chose for their parents and grandmother. Tradition seemed as good a standard as anything else.
Gravesite #1. My dad. It fell to my sister and me to pick out the "box" for my father. We stepped into the funeral home "shopping area," a set right out of 6-Feet-Under and perused the options, from ridiculously gaudy and ornate to the chillingly simple pine box used by the most strict of Orthodox Jews.What standards does one use to make such a decision. What would my dad want? My mom? The small crowd that would gather to toss a handful of dirt on top and then watch it being lowered into the ground? My sister and I ran our hands along wood polished and unpolished, along brass handles and various cloth linings. What were we feeling for? Who would be feeling the high quality silk? Were we looking for wood that would withstand the harsh Philadelphia elements or that would deteriorate as quickly as possible, releasing my dad's flesh and bones into the soil, adding nutrients, adding life.
At a loss, we decided on the same coffin that my cousins Mark and Cindy chose for their parents and grandmother. Tradition seemed as good a standard as anything else.
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