Kaela's Writer's Notebook

Kaela's writer's notebook is growing in infamy.

I should have known. For years, after we read Bible stories and prayed at night, she's asked for just one more story. I tell her the story about when she was born--sometimes. Usually, though, that one won't cut it. She'll whine, "No, Mommy, tell me about your bad kids. Or about your brothers when they were little."

Sometimes I do tell her stories of my past students' antics. (I change the names.) Sometimes it just seems funny to retell them--even though it wasn't funny at the time. I couldn't make up the stories that happen in my classroom--when you work with kids, you just never know. :) And my brothers--well, they're just totally in a class all their own. My parents and grandparents tried very hard to civilize them, but the boys outnumbered them. Most times, they manage to not drag their knuckles in public. Get all of us together, though, and something crazy is bound to happen.

Earlier this week, Ms. D showed me Kaela's writer's notebook. Her latest entry had pictures of flames on it, and it was called "Whn Pte cot Daves suf on fre." Mrs. D was laughing when she showed it to me. "Little family dispute going on there, Mrs. P?" Aw, man. Little does she know...

In order to protect the guilty, I'll change my brothers' names for this story. One of them wants to go into politics at some point, and has threatened my life if I blog about him. So I won't mention which one that is...but I'll call him Peetah.

Peetah had gone to Mexico for some school thing. While he was there, he bought this really expensive, exotic jar of peppers. I don't know what he planned to do with them, and I guess he didn't either, so he put them in the refrigerator and just left them there. For a couple of years.

In the meantime, Dahveed* was taking a Spanish class, and they had to bring in ingredients to make a Mexican meal. Dahveed was supposed to bring in peppers. However, in true family fashion, he procrastinated and then couldn't find anyone to take him to the store. So he rifled through the fridge and ended up with Peetah's million dollar pickles. He took them to school, fixed the meal, and forgot all about them.

Peetah didn't notice for months. Probably at least half a year. But then one day, he realized his pickles were gone. He lost his mind..."WHERE are my pickles? WHO would take my prize pickles? WHAT kind of family is this? IS NOTHING SACRED?" I don't know who finally squealed on poor Dahveed (who wasn't home at the time), but someone did after it was clear that the ranting would continue indefinitely.

So Peetah picked up a blanket, went upstairs into Dahveed's room, gathered up an assortment of personal belongings, dragged the blanket into the front yard, and set fire to the whole thing. No kidding. I don't remember what all he burned, but I know that one item was a videotape of the State Championship basketball game that our school won--and the tape belonged to Dahveed's coach. Is nothing sacred, indeed!

No one really remembers who won the fight that ensued when Dave got home. We all know that there was one. A big one. It happened right by the scorched earth in the front yard. It's one of those things that still gets raucous laughter anytime someone mentions pickles at my parents' house. I get tears in my eyes just thinking about it--it still cracks me up!

But is that the kind of thing you want to share with your first child's kindergarten teacher? The teacher that we're all trying to convince that Kaela comes from a normal, well-adjusted family? I cringe just thinking about it. All of our attempts at keeping up appearances...gone in a single writer's workshop.

We have no recourse. We are neither confirming nor denying at this point. The situation isn't critical--yet. I'll tell you this much, though: if Kaela ever writes a piece titled "Swirlies," I'm gonna transfer schools.