The Innovator's Mindset Chapter 4: All About Relationships at Berkeley Middle

Relationships, Relationships, Relationships. Why or Why Not?

I woke up early this morning to work on my blog assignment, and came across a clickbait headline (which, of course, required a subscription to read, hence I didn't read the whole article) outlining how twenty St. Louis Area schools were in the bottom 2% of the worst performing schools in Missouri.

Most were in St. Louis City, several were in Riverview Gardens, and two were in Hazelwood. The latter two are districts where I formerly worked. None of these schools were buildings I had worked in, but I knew the culture. Poverty was a key component. A greater indicator, I believe, was the fact that the districts might have some outstanding educators but the missing ingredients were administrators who foster relationships with staff and with children.

My middle school has two days left in its existence as a middle school. Ferguson-Florissant is restructuring and turning Berkeley Middle into Berkeley Elementary, a 3-5 building that will be home to nearly 600 students. My head principal will be remaining as an assistant principal; some would call it a "demotion" but he is embracing it with grace and love and the knowledge that the relationships he has built with families in Berkeley will continue to be an asset with the younger siblings of children he has worked with the last several years.

I will continue to be an asset there as well, at least in a half-time capacity split with another 3-5 building. I worked nearly ten years as an elementary librarian even though my true love and comfort is middle and high school settings. Would I jump at the chance to be a librarian in secondary again? Absolutely! For now, though, this is where I will be and I remind myself that whatever the setting my impact on kids is not how many readers I foster, books I check out, or how my innovation mindset can reach kids - it's about relationships.

BMS is not a "high performing school" and to say otherwise is to fool oneself. We have some high performing kids, and our test scores have shown marked growth in the last several years.

We found out in October that this would be the final year, but from my building principal down, the mindset was to continue to teach, love, and grow relationships with kids. Ideas such as mindfulness training were in the pipeline, but we educators still carried on with the mindset that our kids need to know there are teachers who first and foremost want those relationships with students before we can ever see dramatic growth as learners and people.

A situation last week embodied the idea of relationships.

Zoe is an empath. Her mother describes her as always standing against injustice even though it gets her in trouble. When I hear kids exclaim "Y'all DO to much!" I know our love is working. Zoe spent part of the year at the alternative program, which was a blessing in getting her away from much of the "girl drama" and allowing her to mature.

One of my "ministries" at school - those undertakings that are not part of my job description but I undertook out of love - is maintaining the inner courtyard. My "Garden Guys," the cadre of seventh grade boys - the Nerd Herd - have joined me in clearing brush, planting flowers, and even mowing the grass. This spring, we have enjoyed taking lunch outside away from the noise of the cafeteria. I will miss those boys but take comfort in the relationships we have made. They tell me how they walk the hallway and look out on spring bulbs blooming and say "I was part of that."

We were coming in from lunch, and a mass of seventh graders were going from lunch to their next class and eighth graders were heading to the gym for their elective period. I stood at the courtyard door and saw Zoe.

"Jaylen, don't do it," she pleaded. "It's not worth it."

Two boys were exchanging words and about to fight, and Zoe was making an effort to get the crowd into the main hallway where more staff were concentrated. The crowd shifted, and I calmly weaved my way through the mass of adolescent humanity. Reaching the main hallway, other staff swarmed in as Zoe held back Jaylen and some eighth graders restrained the other boy.

They were poised to fight but my peacemaker had done her job.

The halls dissipated and I remained. Zoe was there with some other seventh grade girls, sobbing and hyperventilating. I walked up, she fell into my embrace, and was sobbing.

"Zoe Ann, I have never been prouder of you than I am right now. Blessed are the peacemakers, for you are one of them."

I later returned to the library and called her mother. I had to tell her that.

That is the power of relationship. Zoe is not my most avid reader, and I have had to work with her on how to be cool in the library. She knows that when I call her by her first and middle names she is not just a name on a computer screen. I have claimed her. She is loved.

She returned from a two month alternative placement in March, and while she had a few stints in ISS, she was not suspended out of school, her grades improved, and her outlook has improved dramatically. When she went to alternative school, I told my principal I was praying for her.

"She's a tough kid with some real issues to overcome, but we're here for her," I said.

I tell kids that navigating school requires one seek out one teacher whom you can trust and let them guide you. Zoe is lucky. She had MANY teachers - and two administrators - who see her for who she is.

We can't save them all, but we can save some. None will be saved if relationship building is not the cornerstone.

The Innovation Mindset: Chapter 2

A great teacher adjusts to the learner, not the other way around.

Over twenty years ago, my wife had a middle school student in her 7th grade social studies class who slogged through and persevered in spite of his learning disability in written expression. No matter how hard he tried, the boy did not feel success because writing was his albatross - it always dragged him down.

He was interested in the content - Greek and Roman history - but if one was to ask him to write about the naval strategy of the Peloponnesian War or the workings of Roman government, one would never acquire an accurate assessment of what this child knew.

His teachers simply did not adjust to the learner.

This young social studies teacher did. She adjusted to the learner.

Jodie knew this particular kid loved woodworking, creating, and designing. This was in the 1990s, long before concepts such as "makerspaces"and "learning labs" entered our lexicon. She had an idea.

The boy's task was to research the design and build of the Greek trireme ship and apply that to a working model of the ship. After he built the model ship, his task was to teach the class what he learned about the characteristics of the vessel and why they were historically important.

He built an aesthetically beautiful model, rich in detail and design. He presented to the class and explained how many men the ship needed, why oars were placed at particularly places on the port and starboard side and how low to the water they rowed. He was able to show sail placement and describe how the ship design was adapted for sailing in the Aegean Sea.

The kid knew the content but just needed a teacher who was willing to adjust to the learner. Some teachers have the courage and creativity to find ways to reach kids. It just takes time and building relationships.

The Innovation Mindset by George Couros - Chapter 1

The Innovation Mindset: Empower Learning, Unleash Talent, and Lead a Culture of Creativity
George Couros

It has been a while since I tackled the blog, and since I am taking a book study course where blogging is required, I only saw it fitting to revive my old medium and share my thoughts with the world.

Enjoy my thoughts...

Jon

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"Learning and innovation go hand in hand. The arrogance of success is to think that what you did yesterday will be sufficient for tomorrow." - William Pollard

Being married to a teacher and librarian, my life at home revolves around sharing stories of school. Jodie and I also share stories of our experiences as students, which for us the most recent ones date back more than thirty years. We graduated in the late 1980s, and our school years saw technology advance from purple dittos and film strips to TRS-80s, the Apple IIe, and eventually early Macs and PCs printing in dot matrix and saving to 3 1/2 inch floppy disks. Social media involved printing banners on Print Shop. 

To us, the internet was non-existent and when we discovered it in college the experience required going to the computer lab and logging on to a VAX or Telnet station. This was even before the familiar "You've Got Mail" became part of the cultural landscape.

We are digital migrants. We were on the pioneering front of the computer age when technology became more about communication than computation. This is also when we first started teaching.

Reading Pollard's quote, I have to ask what our teaching lives would be like without learning and innovation. We have always been innovators, and being librarians, we thrive off of innovation. That is not always the case with many in our profession.

Jodie had a teacher whose class revolved around lecturing from the same, curling and fading yellow legal pads of notes year after year. The same notes Jodie heard were likely heard by her cousin, ten years senior, and later heard by her brother, eight years junior. I am sure this teacher was quite successful, notching a solid career at St. Charles High School. However, he obviously had the mindset that was good for Carla in 1976 was good for Jodie in 1996, and Cooper in 1994.

I had a similar professor in college. I was part of a freshman program called Integrated Humanities. We lived together and had core classes in our complex - English, History, and Religion. History and Religion were my favorite classes. Professor Patrick Hutton (who would later become my advisor in the History Department) was engaging and animated, making history what I love about it - a story, a conversation, an experience. Religion was with Professor Richard Sugarman, who can best be described as a cross between Zero Mostel in Fiddler on the Roof, a wise rabbi, and an NFL linebacker. The man would chew Nicorette in class and then duck out for a smoke immediately after class. I took four courses with him. He was amazing.

Professor Metcalfe filled in for Professor Hutton for the second semester of freshman year. Metcalfe was Canadian (I believe from the Maritime Provinces) and was the University of Vermont's go-to expert on Canadian Studies. I found him interesting, but then again, I entered college knowing I wanted to major in history.

Like Jodie's high school teacher, Metcalfe relied on aged legal pads full of notes and his class was heavily lecture, test, and paper based, the latter on topics HE assigned.

Noelle, a classmate and long-time friend, asked "Professor Metcalfe, are we ever going to write about topics WE want to write about?"

Noelle was deflated when he curtly replied "No, I don't think so."

Perhaps it was arrogant for him to assume that the way he always did things would be sufficient for tomorrow. My friends and I were blessed to have professors who saw innovation as necessary. My high school mentor, Bill Holiday, is still teaching in his late sixties and you will never see him reading from aged notes. He sets up Skype visits with students in Belgrade, collaborates with students in Dublin, and engages students in the local history society, where all things historical about Southeastern Vermont are explored and shared.

He will never be tagged as a teaching relic. It's that innovation and learning that has never left him.

It also inspires me.

Words of Wisdom for Young Teachers

Another August has rolled around, and with it is another year in education. I am to the point of my career where I sometimes have to pause and think as to how long I have been involved in this crazy, yet rewarding, exercise. For the first time, this summer I actually pondered the idea of “retirement.” I am far from the normal retirement age for most, but the thought hit me that I could retire in 12 or 13 years – at least from public school teaching in Missouri – and go on to do something else. My mortality really began to sink in.

A week on St. Simon’s Island, Georgia, inspired me to tell my wife my crazy plan. We both could retire from Missouri at 55, move to the Georgia coast, and we could do something different. There is nothing more I could see Jodie doing than working in the Glynn County Library looking out on the Atlantic Ocean every day. As for me, I would have to keep my skin in the game, doing something with kids.

Yes, it is premature to plan anything that far out, particularly with family here in Missouri. However, it struck me that we have passed what is probably the halfway point of our teaching careers. We are survivors. So many of those who started out with us fresh out of the University of Missouri College of Education twenty years ago bailed out for other pastures long ago. It made me ponder what is it that has kept me going. Jodie has spent her career in only two districts. I have been in seven, Hazelwood likely being where I retire here in Missouri. I have taught in central Missouri, as well as both metropolitan areas, Kansas City and St. Louis. I would have laughed at anyone who foretold my future at 25, when I first began, that I would be 43 and an elementary librarian. I have always, first and foremost, considered myself a high school HISTORY teacher. The reality is I am a teacher of children, not of history. Teaching for me alternates between high school summer school and elementary during the regular school year. My roles may alternate, but my mission remains the same: I am here to prepare kids for their lives ahead.

Years ago, at an outdoor cafe on the outskirts of Vienna, I asked my father to distill his wisdom of ministry down to a catchy slogan to put on a pencil. His response was simple: Live a Grateful Life. Perhaps the same thing can apply to teaching. Be grateful you have the opportunity to touch the lives of children, and remember that each and every day.

So for all you newbies (and other young teachers out there), this is Professor Jon’s ten precepts for longevity in this crazy profession. I have not always followed these during the course of my career, and at times I have paid the price for it. This is what I have learned, and my belief is that other colleagues will echo my sentiments.

1. Even veterans have first day jitters.

Today is the 10^th of August, 2014. I have been through nineteen first day eves and while my anxiety levels have subsided over the years, I still have one simple request: get the first day over with. By this time tomorrow night, Day One will be in the books and life will begin to return to a normal rhythm. I had the same feeling the night before summer school began, even though I was teaching my strongest subject and with the age-level of kids I was most comfortable. Teaching is a stage, and you are going out there to face the bright lights and high expectations. More than anything, you want to make a strong impression and have everything go smooth. Chances are, it will. You will weather the first day, and the first week will be gone before you know it. The honeymoon period will soon end, and things will “get real” really fast. Just remember this: come well-prepared but flexible. Your lesson WILL be interrupted with an announcement over the intercom. You WILL have to call that first parent to handle a child’s behavior. You WILL find out that the printer jams, the projector is acting sketchy, and kids will have those moments. Handle it with grace and aplomb, and remember this is a profession of humanity.

2. Establish expectations before content

The first week of school is not the time to jump right in and hit the meat of your curriculum. In the library, checking out books is only part of my job. Before children have the opportunity to browse for books, we must establish procedures and expectations of what our time in the library looks like. How we enter the library, how we interact with each other, and even little things like getting permission to sharpen a pencil or go to the restroom must be taught, modeled, and re-taught. Kids are coming out of the “off season” of their academic careers. Get them – and you – into the routine before tackling the big stuff.

3. High expectations will make kids like you.

I will be brutally honest. I am not a “rules guy.” I have always bristled at teachers who get continually wrapped up in trying to make all kids toe the same line. For years, I have compared my wife’s teaching style to a symphony. Everything is laid out in “movements,” and there is a logical progression that reflects her borderline Type A personality. My teaching style is more like a Grateful Dead show. I have a “set list” for my performance, but it is the quirky moments which drive me. However, both of us see teaching as a performance with an end in mind. Not every kid will be a gifted writer. Some will be lucky to write a coherent piece of writing. That is okay. We all want our students to be successful, but we must face the reality that success comes in different forms and at different rhythms. Remember that our goal is to see growth in every student. Some grow faster, some creep along. The trick is to keep them moving. When I look back at my favorite teachers, I recall some were serious and some were loose, but they expected the best of me. That made me know they cared.

4. Your classroom does not have to be Pinterest-worthy.

When kid come to my library, they see an eclectic collection of artifacts that I have collected over the years. The dog section has photos of my Doggy Hall of Fame. I have my mother’s antique train set, the model of the tractor my Granddad Brown used to drive around the farm, and other insights into my past. It is eclectic, but not perfectly staged. It reflects years of my teaching life. A new teacher told me she has spent close to $500 before the start of school on decorating her classroom. That is insane! Teachers are the pre-eminent life hackers. We cobble together ideas that make our rooms inviting and learn-worthy but it does not come out of a box pre-assembled. There is no IKEA flatpack classroom.

5. Learn who to trust

By all means, establish strong relationships with your school secretary, custodians, and the lunch ladies. They are the ones who will drop everything to open your classroom when you left your keys at home, who will run those emergency copies as a once in a while favor, and who will comp you lunch when you left your brought-from-home lunch on the kitchen counter. They are the backbone of the school. School will function when your principal is pulled out for an all day meeting at the Head Shed, but order grinds to a halt when our secretary, Mary Holland, is not around to run the office. She thinks she is dispensable. She is so wrong.
You don’t have to be best buds with every teacher in your building. Be professional, but spend a few months learning the dynamics of the building. Notice who walks out the door at closing time with a purse on her arm and nothing else. Notice the clique of teachers who come early to school to visit and gossip over coffee in the hallway, not to make sure their classrooms are ready for kids. These people are everywhere. Too often, they are the ones who are involved in building politics, which is my next precept. I talk outside of school with maybe two or three colleagues. We bonded during those days when we were in the building at 5 p.m.

6. Avoid building politics

Some folks live off drama. I have dealt with administrators who welcome building drama because it is a way of dividing and conquering the staff. Others can rise above it and neutralize faction to some extent. The reality is it will always be there. The greatest role model I have witnessed in rising above this is my wife. Her head principal comes to her in confidence and consults her like a fellow administrator. He knows she doesn’t have time for that foolishness. You can’t control political machinations but you CAN control how you deal with it. When someone tries to draw you in, just say “Hey, I have a bunch of stuff to do in my room.”

7. Don’t try to be Super Teacher – just be authentic

Not every kid is going to be “advanced and proficient.” We see kids for seven hours a day. There are greater environmental factors at work that we have no control over. It goes back to the simple goal of getting every kid to grow in their emotional and academic journey.

8. Don’t Personalize Student Behavior

I recall a student who from Day One of Kindergarten gained a reputation for pushing the envelope with acceptable behavior. I saw some teachers become utterly exasperated with him. One would say “How DARE you act like this in front of these other children!” I cringed when I heard that. First, the kid knew this public shaming was just a front. Secondly, it made him feel like he was less worthy than other kids. This same teacher confronted me when I would let this “problem kid” in her class have responsibilities in the library. It was “unfair to the other children.” I asked this child if he knew the parable of the prodigal son. I told the story and asked how it related to him.

“Gee, Mr. Sanders. I dunno.”

“Buddy, if God can forgive even the wayward and hard-headed like you, I can certainly do the same.”

A smile came across his face. His classroom teacher last year kept him on a tight rein and held him accountable, but he still thinks the world of her because she didn’t personalize his behavior. It inspired me to do the same.

9. Put in extra time but don’t kill yourself doing it.

Some teachers can come to school with purse in hand and leave the same way. To do this job well, you have to apply the extra grease, particularly early in your career. There will be evenings spent working on lesson plans and combing the web for new ideas. However, you must not make these an everyday occurrence. Coming home with a tote bag full of papers and falling asleep on the couch with them is not healthy. Give yourself maybe one night a week where you block an extra hour or two at school. Close the door. When the librarian comes by to visit, just say “Sanders, I love ya but I gotta get this done.” If you are married and/or have kids, this is where you ask your spouse to step up and grant this one concession. If you are able to come to school early rather than stay late, by all means do it. Oh, and keep your weekends sacred. I used to bring papers home to grade on the weekends. They can wait.

10. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Pace yourself. The longest stretch of the school year seems to be from August to November. October never seems to end, and by the time Thanksgiving break rolls around, you are so ready to give thanks. You have a brief spell before Christmas, a good chunk of time off to recharge your batteries, and then get back in the swing come January. By Presidents’ Day, you have had a couple three day weekends and know Spring Break is looming on the horizon. After that, things begin to wind down after testing and you see the light at the end of the tunnel. Like a marathon runner who knows when to take food and water along the route, experienced teachers know how to pace themselves even at those moments where you think the year will never end.

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I don’t profess to have all the answers. I can only speak from my own experiences. One last bit of advice: constantly reflect on what you teach, how you teach, and why you teach. There is a science to teaching, and it can be taught. The art side comes from experience. That is the part which makes it our life’s work.

Approaching the Bridge

The following is NOT my original piece of writing. All glory goes to my father, who delivered this nearly nine years ago on his retirement from Grace Church.

I heard him preach a homily for a dear friend last Saturday, and it reminded me of the gifts of word and spirit God has bestowed on my dad.

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Grace Church, Jefferson City

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost -- Proper 13-A

July 31, 2005

+In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.

Many years ago I drove an elderly parishioner to the St. Louis airport. I suspect that she was an industrial strength talker, even before she came to live alone as a widow. On the way in she talked while I looked from side mirror to rear view mirror and negotiated the heavy I-70 traffic. Obviously there could be little eye contact, but I thought I was inserting the socially-required minimum of “um-hmms” and “you don’t mean its.” But as we approached the Missouri River Bridge at St. Charles, she said, “Now Father, I have just one more thing that I need to tell you, but this time I want you to listen to me.”

Folks, we are approaching the bridge here, and I have just one more thing that I need to tell you, but this time I want you to listen to me. Seriously, I deeply appreciate the fact that you have always listened to my sermons and have responded in a highly specific manner. You have not always followed my suggestions, but then neither have I.

Very few times over the years have I deviated from the church’s lectionary, that orderly three-year cycle of Biblical readings that prevent preachers from just harping on their favorite themes. Today, however, I would like to deviate from the lectionary and give what I think is a summary of my preaching. Last week I carried home four file crates containing thirty-nine loose-leaf notebooks of sermons. I must confess that I have repeated a few of them over the years, particularly this past year, but not many times over the long haul

First of all, I have always tried to be orthodox. If the Microsoft Corporation were to publish a “Heresy Check” program, I would buy it. I may wake up in the middle of the night with a revelation that God actually exists in four persons, not three, that God in fact is a Holy Quadrinity. That revelation may be an exciting moment for me, but I doubt that it would be helpful to you in your desire to know and love God more deeply. Far more helpful is the Orthodox faith that is the sum total of the search of the entire community over the course of two thousand years. My job has been to try to interpret it for us in accordance with the times in which we live.

I have preached a great deal about the Kingdom of God, since that was the primary message of Jesus. I have talked about the Kingdom as event, rather than place. I have talked about eternal life as a quality of life that must begin now, even though it continues after we die. It is offered to all of us, but we must accept it. And the hard part is to allow ourselves to be transformed to the point that we truly want it.

I have preached about values, encouraging us to place our trust in the things that are not seen, the things that are eternal. I have preached about values because of my own internal struggle with values. You thought I was just trying to be humorous when I told you how excited I become when I smell the Styrofoam that encases new electronic equipment. That was an honest, not very pretty confession of my real values.

I have preached a great deal about healing, again because there are so many healing stories in our lectionary, but also because I have dealt pastorally with so many hundreds of people who were ill. I remind us that God’s will for all of us is health. It is difficult for me to imagine that God would engage in biological warfare against his own creation, smiting us with dreaded viruses and bacteria. I remind us that every illness has three dimensions--physical, emotional, and spiritual. Healing can take place in any or all of those areas. Sometimes death is the healing agent. The disease wins the battle only if we come to identify ourselves with the disease, if we actually become the disease. My theories about sickness and health are long held, but those theories were borne out to me in my own experience the past year and a half.

I have preached a great deal about the Eucharist. This weekly event is a reminder that we are to live our lives with thankful hearts. I believe this sacrament to be as well a prelude to the heavenly banquet in the Kingdom of God. I believe in Christ’s real presence in the sacrament. I treat the consecrated elements themselves with deep reverence and respect; although, I believe the Sacrament is as much about the transformation of you and me into the Body of Christ, in order that we might be Christ’s presence in a broken and fallen world. 

I have preached a great deal about living in community. So many of the readings from Paul’s letters have dealt with the issues of the religious community, and for two thousand years every Christian community has struggled for unity and peace. I have encouraged us to be honest with one another, but to continue to look for Christ in one another. And we have succeeded.

I have preached about being concerned for the needs of the world around us. We must honor Christ’s Presence in the Sacrament of the Altar in our willingness to reach out to the poor and to all who are on the margins of polite society. I have encouraged all of us to find places in the community where we can provide hands-on service, whether it is a church program or a non church program. 

I have preached the seasonal themes of hope and expectation during Advent, the Incarnation during the twelve days of Christmas, the showing forth of Christ to the Gentile world during Epiphany. I have preached repentance during Lent and sacrificial death and atonement in Holy Week. On Easter Day, as well as every other Sunday I have tried to preach resurrection. Without resurrection there is no Christianity. God will raise us up when we die, but will also raise us up many times during this mortal life. I have preached the Pentecost message of the Holy Spirit, reminding us that the only life we have is from God, and the only hope for the continued existence of the church is the indwelling of that Holy Spirit of God.

Finally, I have preached a great deal about love, especially at weddings and at the Maundy Thursday Eucharist when we reflect on Christ’s New Commandment of love. I have preached love as act, rather than a feeling. I have preached love as commitment. I have preached love as the willingness to stand by another person, regardless of any feeling that we might have at any given moment. That is the way I have loved you. At a few times we have had our differences, but I have always considered it my job to love you no matter what. For years I thought it was my job as a priest to love you. In more recent years I have come to see it as my job as a baptized person to love you.

These are my last words as we cross the bridge. I have loved you, because in your faces I have seen the face of Christ. And for the very same reason, you must continue to love one another. Now this time listen to me.

(The Rev.) Harvel R. Sanders

101 Words: Poems to Remember my Grandmother

101 Words for 101 Years: 

Poetry in honor of Melvine Brown, 1912-2014

I had a thought this cold January morning, the day before the Browns gather to celebrate the amazing life of my grandmother. If I had to express memories of my grandmother in 101 words, how would I do it? I could write a book about my grandmother's remarkable life and legacy, but I am choosing poetry.

Prologue

Love, faith and wisdom you imparted without abandon -

from Clover Leaf Farm you loved the land and your family.

You fed us with spiritual gifts, as well as your delicious cinnamon cake -

Gram Cake was its endearing moniker, warm from the oven in your cozy kitchen

on a cold winter's day or a lazy summer morning.

Nights around a card table, rolling your eyes at Bob Brown's reckless

abandon at overbidding and loving every minute of it.

Sumptuous feasts at your table, gathering your family; memories endure forever.

All because of a woman we called Grammy Brown. God's treasure.

Cards

Four at a table: you and Granddad, me and Rob.

I was never very good, but Rob was truly his grandfather's namesake.

Passion, daring, and a lot of moxie.

Seven no trump. “Bob Brown, you're gonna put us out.”

“Oh garsh, Melvine! Trust me on this.”

“Mmmph,” you replied with a roll of your eyes. You knew he was

just actin' “simple.” You knew him well in fifty plus years together.

Last card played and Rob cleans the table. Our grandfather catches a steely glance

and smiles, knowing he has irked you.

“Deal another hand, Robbie.”

Gram's Kitchen

Bacon in the pan, eggs on the way, Gram Cake in the oven.

Bob Brown pulls cereal and an empty Cool Whip tub from the cabinet.

He goes for his “fine china.”

“Bob Brown, put that up. We have eggs on the way.”

Full strength coffee, never decaf.

Not “that stuff Judy drinks.”

Rob and I giggle.

You pour him milk in the Hamburglar glass from McDonald's in Bel Air

back in 1977.

Yes, Rob still remembers it.

“Stay out of that sweet tea, Jon. It has to last for dinner.”

“Yes, Gram.” I smile.

Tennis

Sunk below Fawn Grove Road,

the tennis court is now a memory.

But it lives on in our thoughts.

Many times, my brother was stubborn

and didn't want to run off in my farm adventures.

But offer a game of tennis and Rob was on.

“Gram, we're going up to hit a few.”

She knew what we meant.

Wooden rackets on a clay court.

Two little boys. Hours to spend.

Then Gram would come up the hill.

“Okay boys, Grandma's gonna bop around for a while.”

Later, at 70, you would still play with us.

Loving it as always.

Family Dinners

Gathering the family was her greatest joy.

Every meal she wrote an index card,

and detailed what she served.

Celebrating Sarah's baptism in 1974 – she wrote what she served.

Pot roast, sea foam salad, Johnny Beakes' favorite mashed potatoes.

Homemade rolls, diabetic coma-inducing sweet tea, a mound of sweet corn ears.

You tolerated Sarah's vegetarianism, even though you said “mmph, that's not right. How can you not eat meat?!”

“Gram, you need any help?”

“No, no, no. I got it.”

She was queen of her domain and to watch her work

was a work of artistry.

Dinner Out

We arrive in Stewartstown at Taylor Haus.

Jodie gets the door, and in her sweet voice

says “Here Gram, let me help you.”

I am such a lucky guy. My two favorite gals out for dinner.

Doesn't get much better than this.

Gram walks in with her “buddy,” the four-pronged cane

that she uses instead of a walker. Even at 95, Gram keeps it real.

She pushes on to the back dining room, ignoring the “section closed” sign.

Jodie smiles and whispers: “When you get to be Gram's age, you sit where you want!”

Amen, sister. Amen.

Epilogue

It is almost surreal that Gram is gone.

When you live for 101 years, it sometimes seems that you WILL live forever.

I know she is with God. She has to be. God wouldn't bless her with that long life

if he didn't have a special love for her.

Gram, a year ago, we celebrated your 100^th, and I fulfilled a promise

that I would pour a glass of single malt and toast your memory

and offer up tears of joy.

No reason for sadness on this day. How many families were lucky enough

to have you for so long? Amen.

My Grandfather's Grateful Life

The coldness of the house lingers with me still. For a place that was jokingly referred to as “Herbie's Little Hell,” my grandfather's house on that December night one year ago was bone-chilling cold. The central heat had been supplemented for years by a propane insert in the fireplace. My grandfather kept it cranking because of his nonagenarian circulatory issues, and it seemed at long last the only source of heat in the house was that heating unit. It did nothing to help the back of the house, where Trixie and I had settled in for what would be my first night in many years at the house with no number on the door.

Yes, the house had no number. Years ago, the City of Ava, Missouri created the strangest convolution of numbered avenues and terraces branching off the main thoroughfares emanating from the town square. Washington and Jefferson Streets are the main roads, but my grandfather's house was on what was known as NW 13^th Avenue Terrace. Even my Aunt Suzanne, who had spent over fifty years as daughter-in-law to Herb Sanders, did not know the exact physical address of the little house. No one in Ava really did. They just knew it as Herb's House. It was only a year ago, and a call placed to the city deed office, that 1313 NW 13^th Avenue Terrace was revealed as the official address of the place my grandfather resided since 1966. It never even had a mailbox. If one wanted to get a piece of mail to my grandparents, my cousin, Mark, or anyone else in my family, it was addressed to the post office box used by the family ready-mix business.

Normally, I would have stayed at my cousin's place, but with my four-legged traveling companion along for the trip, I was bunking at my grandfather's for the night. As I shivered under the thin covers, clutching Trixie for whatever warmth a twenty-six pound dog could provide, I sadly realized this was probably the last night I would ever spend in this house. It would also be the last night I would spend in Ava with my grandfather still on this earth.

My father had been in town the previous week to visit and move my grandfather to the nursing home. Herb had been declining for months, losing weight and losing stamina until one Sunday morning, he found himself unable to get out of his chair and get ready for church. Dad immediately came down and discussed options, and my grandfather stoically decided to check himself into the nursing home where my grandmother had spent her last months five years before. My grandfather had made peace with the decision, but still spoke optimistically about returning home in a few weeks. At the age of 97, my grandfather sadly lamented that he was the “last remaining sonofabitch in Douglas County.” He had outlived his friends. Doc Curry was long gone. Ray Parsley had passed away. My grandmother, Stella, preceded him and the greatest blow was losing my uncle, Herb's firstborn and business partner, two years before. In his mind, Herb Sanders was ready to go, but he sure wasn't going to admit that to anybody, even my dad.

The two of us shared a wonderful visit at the nursing home. This enfeebled man lying there in a hospital bed was a shadow of the man I enjoyed visiting so often for the past forty-plus years. He lay there with a blanket over him, too weak to move much, but taking comfort in having photos of my grandmother looking over him. He knew he would see her soon in heaven. We shared stories I had heard thousands of times before, but gladly took them in again. He spoke of his kind and gentle father, who even though had only a third grade education, made a good living raising cattle on the family property off Cowskin Creek. We laughed about his cantankerous mother, who was the complete opposite of his dad. I was reminded of the time Granddad Aud came close to letting Granny Tracy wear a pan of cream he was preparing on the cream separator but she had the common sense to walk out of the milk house before she said one negative comment too many. Herb recalled how his father loved to brew beer, and would add a potato peeling to the mix to add just a little bit more kick. This home brew was so strong that one time it shattered the bottles in the attic of their house and led to a seeping mess through the ceiling plaster. We avoided talking about Uncle Weldon, for I knew my grandfather's broken heart would not be soothed by talking about losing his son and best friend. He told me how proud he was of my dad, and asked how “Miss Jodie” was doing. He asked if Jodie's dad was “still digging basements.” We talked a little Civil War history. My grandfather's body was physically deteriorating, but his mind was still sharp as ever. That was comforting.

The week before Christmas 2012, my dad returned to Ava and holed up at the Super 8. Having spent four decades as an Episcopal priest and dealing with the end of days for so many parishioners, my dad knew that his father's time was measured in days, not weeks. In the early morning hours of December 20, he received a phone call. My grandfather had died peacefully in his sleep. For my grandfather, the pain had come to an end.

+++++

Approaching 43, I am very blessed to have known my grandparents as well as I did. My mom's father died in 1989 when I was a senior in high school, and Grammy Brown still rolls on at the amazing age of 101. When I moved back to Missouri from the east coast in 1993, I had the chance to spend more time with my paternal grandparents. I sometimes wonder how life would have been different if I was able to find a job back east twenty years ago and not had to make the decision to venture west. I would have missed out on so much time to enjoy my grandparents as an adult. Before I met Jodie, I would decide on a whim to call my grandmother up and just announce I was coming down from Columbia or Kansas City. She would have a massive sandwich prepared and an open invitation to spend the night, knowing I would invariably spend the night at Mark's. My grandfather would be at the gravel plant, holding court in the garage and watching the dust kick up. Weldon would likely be out delivering a load of concrete and Herb would be there to answer the phone and visit with his friends.

“C'mon, Jon!” he would say. “Let's go to Senior Citizens.”

The three of us would go to the senior center for lunch, and he would proudly tell them I was his bodyguard. As far as culinary repasts go, the senior center lunch was on par with some bad school lunches I have had over the years, but the wonderful company made up for it. He would pay full price for my lunch AND his, even though he was eligible for a reduced rate. My granddad always felt someone needed a subsidized meal a lot worse than he did. He never made a big production out of it. I just knew that was how he rolled.

After he died, my father remarked how his dad embodied this ideal of living with simple means in mind. My grandfather founded a business that for many men could have been run unscrupulously and returned wealth and prosperity. For many in the ready-mix business, fortunes could have been made and passed on to families but my grandfather and uncle were content to support their families and not worry about building empires. He lived in a modest house, put money in savings, drove the same truck for years, and dressed plainly in his uniform of Dickies work shirt and pants. My grandfather was very comfortable in his own little corner of the world, and he was grateful to work hard, fish, hunt arrowheads, and live his simple life. That model is a lesson worth following.

My grandfather lived a grateful life. I am glad he had 97 years on this planet to show the rest of us that valuable example.