Oklahoma Dreaming: Tis the Season
by Donna Schoenkopf
It’s winter, a little less than two weeks till Christmas.
I sit at my colorful dining room table. I painted it one beautiful afternoon in San Pedro, years ago.
(I’m not really in a dining room. It’s a dining AREA. I have no rooms with interior walls to block the flow of air. My house is one large 1200 square foot room. It’s spacious and very environmental.)
So I sit in my open, light-filled home at my colorful dining room table, with my Rolodex, a bunch of Bart Simpson stamps, my return address labels, and a pile of hand-drawn Christmas cards in front of me, as well as Halloween cards, Mother’s Day cards, and just plain cards.
The cards are fabulous. Every year for many years I had my students draw postcards on the backs of index cards. They could draw anything they wanted. They could do this if they had done their work. It was a reward for them. And they loved it.
I have to say I do have some favorite cards that I can’t bear to part with. One is a card drawn by Fidel, a black student of mine from the third year of my teaching at 61st. His brother’s name is Nikita. His mother and father went to 61st Street School when they were young. It was a troubled family, with all the problems associated with poverty, hard luck, struggle. The names of the sons is a clue as to where the father comes from. He was part of the Black Power movement of the 60s.
Fidel was handsome and tall. He had learning disabilities, maybe as the result of being hit by a car when he was four. His long scar across his face was evidence as to how horrible that experience was. He was in trouble a lot due to a quick temper, but his sweet smile and spontaneity won me over. It was hard to seat another student next to him because there was usually a battle. But I finally found the perfect person, the sweetest girl, Maria, a tall, plump girl, with all the patience in the world, quiet, unassuming and completely unrattled by Fidel’s antics.
But one day, as my back was turned while writing on the board, Maria cried out in horror. Fidel had vomited in her lap. Her dress was full of his breakfast and THAT finally pushed her over the edge.
I apologized over and over to her. She graciously and sweetly accepted.
Maria, if you’re out there, know that I love you.
Then I told Fidel (and all the other kids) that they should ALWAYS tell me if they thought they were going to throw up and then just run out the door.
One more thing about Fidel.
Every year I took my kids to Malibu Creek State Park. I didn’t want to drag them through museums, or make them sit still, or be on their best quiet behavior. I wanted them outside, away from concrete and asphalt and garbage. I wanted them in the fresh air, in the beautiful California hills, walking down paths to mystery destinations. AND Malibu Creek State Park had a volcano. And lizards, and butterflies, and wildflowers, and all KINDS of things! The long bus ride along Pacific Coast Highway was part of the trip. We looked at erosion of the cliffs, the basalt rocks sticking up out of the water, and as we entered Malibu Canyon they could see, with their own eyes, the way the earth has been tilted up by the pushing of the tectonic plates. It was a thrilling ride and they were GLUED to the windows on the Magic Bus Tour.
FINALLY we got to Malibu State Creek Park and climbed out of the bus. Fidel got out, with a HUGE smile on his face, walked over to a low wall, stood on top of it, extended his arms widely, and said, “I feel, I feel ... like I’m in the WORLD!”
THAT’S what I loved about Fidel.
So the card ... It shows two dogs (Pit bulls? Rottweilers?) tearing a person apart. It is graphic and real.
WHY??? You say, is THAT your favorite? And this is my answer:
It is my favorite because it shows something real, no filter. Other kids have hearts and flowers, and yes, that’s real, too, but Fidel’s shows me something else. It shows me how things are sometimes.
When people see it, they recoil, or emit a gasp. It’s pretty damn powerful.
ANYWAY, I sit at my dining room table, addressing a few cards. Now folks, don’t get your feelings hurt if you don’t get one. I just send a few. To the people in my life from long ago. They never fail to write to me at Christmas. I LOVE getting their cards. Their words rejuvenate my old brain, making the old synapses of the memories I have of them tingle with feeling.
There is Pat. She’s 81 years old now, to my 66. We are fifteen years apart in age. We met at the Conejo Players audition for George Washington Slept Here in 1976, I think. She is the consummate actress, beautiful, articulate, graceful, smart. Her hair beautifully arranged, her makeup glorious, her gestures perfect. She was ALWAYS smiling, had an infectious laugh.
And she sends me a Christmas letter every year, with lots of handwritten personal stuff, her to me.
SHE gets a card.
And there’s Dianne. Her son and mine were in Pop Warner football together. And then her husband died, killed in a car wreck on his way home from work. Her children were ten, eight, and six years old. I was intensely affected. My father had died when I was ten, and my two brothers were eight and six. To make a long story short, we became very, very good friends. She eventually married a wonderful man, a DOCTOR, and lives in Northern California. We always write at Christmas.
And Ann shall get a card and Stan will, too. They popped back into my life after FIFTY-ONE YEARS. Went to junior high with them. They were only in my life for two years, but the connection with them was so deep and true that when we finally reconnected, it was as though we had never parted. (Thank you, Stan, for your curiosity and ingenuity in finding us and putting us together again.)
And, of course, The Cell. The beautiful and lovely Cell. They saved my life during a Dark and Fearful Time.
And finally my three girlfriends. We are sisters. We have known each other continuously for forty-eight years. We have been through good and bad times. We have been mad at each other and always, always loved each other. My Carole, my Jo Anne and my Judy.
That’s my list. Don’t get your feelings hurt if you don’t get a card. You KNOW I love you and how special you are to me, but I am a lazy good-for-nothing and have to draw the line somewhere.
So Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, and Happy, Happy New Year, my darlings.
Have to go now. Diego Rivera the Dog is hung up (swollen penis stuck in swollen vagina) on Angela Davis the Neighbor Dog.
Now how did he DO that? He’s not got any testicles. I guess that doesn’t matter when you’re a He Man Dog who still has his prostate. Do dogs HAVE prostates?
Go Diego. At least there won’t be any puppies to deal with.
P.S. Che the Cat is home, one leg less. He is happy and sleeps a lot and takes his antibiotics like a good boy. Rosie the Cat is home too. She got out of the house yesterday, streaking between my legs when I opened the back door. You should have heard the profanity streaming from my mouth. But she came home the same night, and, much to my surprise, she sat patiently outside the sliding glass window in the dark until I noticed her. She walked in, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, tail high, purring and rubbing against my leg.
All animals home. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!
donna@fourstory.org
Comments
I’m so glad Che made it through. And that Rosie had sense to come in from the cold at night. (Our cats would spend the day outside in the yard but come running each evening when I made kissy noises and rattled their food dishes—ka-zam! they were in the door—and locked in for the night, safe from maurauding tomcats and other night predators) And Diego? Wow, that’s unusual. And why is Emma—that slut—still around? Thought she was run off after running cows? If she’s unspayed, there’s sure to be puppies showing up at some time. OH, dear.
LOVE the table and chair and room and house. It’s soo lovely and Zenish and environmental and perfectly full of feng shuishness!
I can’t wait to get one of those wonderful Christmas cards. Can’t beat kids; it all comes through true and unfiltered and from the heart.
Merry Merry! from the Calhooligans
2009-12-16 by Ann Calhoun
Your story is itself a big ol’ Christmas card, full of hope and love. Here’s a big hug for you.
2009-12-15 by Don