My Dad

I know I post this every year, but it's my yearly tribute in memory of my Dad...

How exactly do you eulogize a man like James Vescera?  He was many things to many people; husband, Dad, father in law, uncle, brother, brother in law, friend.  All roles he performed with the utmost of importance.  I could stand here and tell you what a horrible disease this is, that took my Dad from us far too early, but when I look back on my life, and when I tell stories about him to Brady or any of mine and David’s future children, I will not focus on HD, I’ll focus on all the little things that made my Dad so great.  Like Halloween.  Every Halloween he would put on this ridiculous old guy mask, to take us trick or treating.  Every year.  
I’ll remember the father and daughter dances where he would do what I called his Frankenstein dance, and I would get annoyed.  Not at his lack of dancing ability because as we all know, I can’t dance either, but I would get annoyed that every other Dad at these dances had to come up and talk to my Dad.  Or how every Christmas it was hard to see who was more excited, Jay and myself, or our Dad.  And how much he loved to tease my Mom every year for Christmas or her Birthday with the worst wrapping job known to man.  Or how he would make up little annoying nicknames for my Mom.  How proud he was whenever I was in a play, no matter how bad some of them were.  How he coached my brother’s T-Ball team, and never was the Dad to get ultra competitive, he would just laugh when instead of looking for fly balls Jay was looking for bugs.  How even though he had to take a night job, that was far below his qualifications because he was getting sick, he still took the time to take me out driving so I could learn to drive, which is probably why I can parallel park, and have a huge love for the Doors and Classic rock.  I’ll think of all of our family trips, North Conway where we would cross country ski, go to the Polar Caves, our trip to Disney, Dad loved amusement park rides, and to this day I can’t think of Disney without picturing his face after the Back to the Future ride.  
 I’ll remember the wood car he and my brother made for Boy Scouts one year, he was so proud to have done that.  I’ll never forget how he even designed our house in Scituate, did so much of the construction, the electrical, and even the painstakingly hard job of hardwood floors, plank by plank with my grandfather.  How every Sunday at my Grandparents, we knew if there was a new recipe, Jimmy would like it.  Or how he was teased by his friends earning him the longest nickname in history “Jim V as in Victor e-s-c-e-r-a.”
I’ll remember having chocolate cake or cold pizza sometimes in the morning for breakfast, and how he used to let my friends tease him about his minor beer belly.  
I’ll remember his fabulous sense of humor.  Even at times where most parents would be aggravated, we could say something and he would find humor in the situation.
I’ll remember times where he stood up for what he believed in, when it came to his brother Danny, or Tommy, or even once a friend of mine in Elementary School
I’ll remember how much he loved his grandchildren, Jay and myself, David and Courtney, and my Mom.
I’ll remember how he never once complained about his illness, how he took it on like he took on everything, with courage and strength.

The saying is a heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.  After last night and today, it is obvious our Dad had a large heart.  Thank you for loving our Dad.

So, just how do you eulogize a great man like my Dad?  By going out and living like he did, hug your loved ones, never let a minute go by to tell them you love them.  Laugh every day.  Be courageous, strong and above all be selfless.  That is the kind of daily tribute you could all give my Dad.

Don't Read That-It's For GIRLS!

I’m a Mom of a funny, adorable, smart, little boy.  He likes soccer, hockey, the Patriots, Legos, trucks, radio controlled planes, riding his bike, making a mess, art, musicals, and television.  He likes watching cooking shows that feature Bobby Flay, cartoons like Star Wars Rebels, Scooby Doo, Wild Kratts, and yes Doc McStuffins and Sofia the First.  GASP!  Aren’t those shows for girls?  As parents, we have never classified anything as “for boys” or “for girls.”  You like what you like, and that’s the end of it.  There are no “girl colors” and there are no “boy jobs.”  We have done this for two reasons.  One, I don’t want him to feel that there are things he can’t enjoy because he’s a boy, and two, I don’t want him to treat women as if they, and their interests, are inferior.  

I am doing my best to let him make his own choices.

I am doing my best to teach him that men and women are equal.

I am doing my best to not raise a chauvinistic man.

Unfortunately, sometimes the outside world doesn’t help.  Since entering the public school system, my son has come home from time to time asking if something is “girly” and if he is allowed to like something.  When it comes to t.v. shows I explain that they are written by writers, just like Mommy writes plays.  I then ask him if my plays are only for girls, or only for boys.  The answer generally satisfies him and he goes back to doing whatever he was doing.

This week a friend shared an author’s blog on Facebook.  The blog shared was Shannon Hale’s, author of the Princess Academy series.  This is not a series I am familiar with, but after reading her blog, I have to pick up one of her books.  The blog entry that is circulating is about the troubling phenomenon that happens at her appearances, mainly schools.  It seems that when she visits a school, the boys are not invited to the assembly.  Shannon does not write books about the female body, or books that are anti-boy.  Apparently her faux pas is far worse; she uses the word princess is in the title of her books. 

As a society, we seem so worried about how girls perceive themselves.  And rightly so.  I was raised by a mother who constantly told me that only my looks mattered during my most impressionable years.  (Luckily I’ve always been a bit of a rebel and didn’t abide by her backwards school of thought!)  I understand the importance of empowering girls.  I hope I do so as an educator, and if I ever have a daughter, I hope to do so as a mother.  However, it seems that boys get lost in the mix today.  Where is the movement to let our boys know that it is okay to use a pink Easy Bake Oven, or watch a television show that has a girl as the protagonist; or God forbid, a book?  Telling boys that some colors, shows, or books, are not for them and are only for girls teaches them that there is a difference between the sexes and should be treated so.  If we really want to empower girls, let’s tell the boys that it’s okay to like whatever it is that they like.  We often hear of women getting less pay than men, but we start out telling boys that their interests are superior to girls, as long as they don’t share a common ground.  Because when you do, it’s “girlie” and “not for boys” which undeniably sends the message to our impressionable boys that girls, then women, are inferior.

I attached Shannon Hale’s blog.  Her story is a good one.  She made me think, and I bet she’ll make you think as well!  I haven’t blogged in ages, in fact this is the first time I have done so in 2015.  Her words made me jump up and start writing.

Shannon Hale's Awesome Blog

Come on 2015! Can't Wait to Meet You!

It’s that time again.  We’re all making resolutions…maybe mine should be to write more since I haven’t written since the summer!  Last year I had my students fill out a resolutions sheet, and I’m doing it again.  However, this time is different.  This time the students are my students, not students I will only have for a short time.  This year I can revisit their goals, or remind them about their goals.  But of course if I’m having my students do it, I need to as well.  Not only is that the easiest way to get them to trust me enough to write their goals, but this year I am teaching ESl-I model everything!  Of course my version for my students will probably not be this long so I can fit it on the graphic organizer.  And as much as I am honest with my students, things that are too personal don’t need to be shared with them!  So without further ado…

Name: Mrs. McLoud/Miss Shannon/Mom

Favorite food: Chocolate! 

Age:  You seriously didn’t think I would answer this one did you?

Favorite activity: reading/writing

Favorite color: Pink!

Favorite book: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows…or maybe The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, or Jane Eyre.  Honestly, this is not a fair question for someone of my nerdy stature!

Highlights of 2014

Greatest lesson learned:  It’s hard to pick just one lesson isn’t it?  Hard work pays off!  I sent out countless resumes, had many interviews, worked my butt off in school-and now I have a position that I LOVE!  It wasn’t easy, but as I sit here typing this, during my two week vacation with my son, I feel rewarded and content.

Hardest thing this year:  All the rejections from the job interviews.  Although the silver lining is that because of those rejections I ended up where I am now-at the time I had no idea things would work out so well!

Favorite memory:  Disney World with my family.  It’s cliché, but it is the happiest place on Earth!  You are forced to be in a family bubble, where it doesn’t matter if your child is a little too loud, or wants to run.  Epcot feeds my British obsession!  And the weather is beautiful!

What I loved about 2014: Finding a great school to work in, with amazing students!  I look forward to every Monday!  I love walking the halls and getting greetings from my students, or when one has a breakthrough.  (The last week of school one of my students blurted out “Miss I need a drink!” and it was the most unsolicited English I have heard from her that I almost hugged her!) 

I also love watching my work go from page to stage.  I staged two shows that I co-wrote in 2014, and co-wrote two movies.  I never in a million years thought I could write for film, and I’m glad I tried it!  I was also published in two anthologies.  I felt like a writer, and even began to refer to myself as one.  It’s a great feeling!

And meeting new people.  Through the last year I’ve met new people that have of course in some way impacted parts of my life. 

Looking forward to 2015: 

Want to learn:  How to be a better teacher!  I will never stop learning about education, and I will never try!  I want to learn more about teaching ESL as well.  I would also like to learn some more Spanish.  My students love teaching me the very little Spanish that I now know, and I love seeing the excitement on their face when I get it right! 

And cook.  I would like to learn how to cook.

Want to get better at:  Time management and organization.  Well this didn’t change from last year!  I tend to have a lot on my plate-and I love that…I just need to manage in more “Shannon time.”  Time for writing, running, and reading!

Goals for 2015:  I looked at last year’s goals…and I hit them!  The power of the written word!  Of course my first two goals from last year aren’t too off from this year…to stage a Spring show with RTC and build our company, to run my THIRD 5K and to make better time doing so, to remember that fitness isn’t a diet- but a lifestyle I shouldn’t drop during stress, to publish my novel, to read more, to write everyday….writing is always a goal-I don’t always achieve it!

So bring it on 2015!  Can’t wait to meet you!  We have a lot to learn, and about 365 opportunities to grow!

Why We Should Stop Complaining About the ALS Challenge (I’m Looking at you Michael Hiltzik!)

* My usual disclaimer is in full effect here folks!  I don’t mean to offend anyone, so stop reading here if you think you’ll be offended.  I know many of you have very valid reasons for not getting on board with this particular fundraising venture.  These are simply my thoughts as someone who watched her Dad succumb to an incurable disease.

We’ve all seen it by now; friends, relatives, neighbors, and even celebrities dousing themselves in ice water, all in the name of ALS.  The premise is simple.  Someone challenges you via social media to dump a bucket of ice water on yourself and make a small donation, or chicken out and pay $100.  You are given the time limit of 24 hours.  It’s funny, but it’s more than that.  It’s important.  How can dumping a bucket of ice water be important?  Let me ask you, how many of you have heard of ALS before this?  Sure, you’ve heard of it as Lou Gehrig’s disease, but almost never ALS.  And maybe you don’t think that’s such a big deal?  Well believe me, as someone who has had to explain what it was that my father had, and getting more blank stares than I care to count, having a name is powerful.  My Dad didn’t die from ALS, but from Huntington’s Disease.  Like ALS it is a neurological disease with no cure.  Like ALS it is underfunded, and with the exception of a story line on Grey’s Anatomy or House, it goes virtually unnoticed.  Unless you witness someone you love go through it.

When you are watching someone go through an illness that most people cannot relate to, you feel alone.  You feel as if you are on a solitary island, with a leaky raft and one oar.  The solitude becomes almost suffocating.  When you find someone who knows what you are talking about, you feel as if you can breathe a bit easier.  For the thousands afflicted with this horrible disease, they are not as alone any more.  They still have to wake up every day and struggle through life with this disease, but they know they are not alone.  They know people are out there, and they know people are fighting…even if it is one ice bucket at a time.

I know for some of you, the challenges are annoying.  They clog your feed, they call you out publicly.  Some are afraid that people aren’t really donating money, and they are playing light of a serious situation.  Incurable diseases are serious; the pain, the loss of skills you once had, the change in lifestyle.  Having people dump ice water on themselves is silly.  But sometimes we need a little silly to get through these times where we feel alone. 

And let’s not forget the $22 million dollars that has been raised.  Michael Hilztik of the LA Times has wondered if the money should be spent on worthier causes.  Apparently, in his opinion, a cause is only worthy if it reaches a large population of people.  I don’t understand this way of thinking.  “Don’t donate to that cause-not a lot of people are affected by it.”  In my opinion, it is the rare diseases that need this type of high profile fundraising.  Think of it, most of us donate our time and money to causes that affect someone we know.  We walk the track because cancer never sleeps, we save lids to save lives, why not dump ice to raise funds for ALS?  And besides the money, let’s talk about the conversation that has started; a conversation about a disease that many people wouldn’t be talking about if they hadn’t been challenged online.  In fact, in my house we told our son that we were donating money after we made our video, and the money would help people who are sick.  Teach them young that giving is fun, and it will become a way of life.

So calm down everyone.  (And Hilztik gain some perspective!)  If you don’t like the ice bucket challenge, don’t participate in it.  But don’t bring down other people for doing something virtually harmless that will ultimately help others.  There are not that many feel good stories out there…people doing whatever small part they can to help others is something to smile at, not get up in arms.

Why I Constantly Battle to NOT Turn Into my Mother

We've all been told that we're acting like one of our parents at one point in our lives.  However, it's something I actually aspire to ensure that no one says this about me.

Being a parent is the hardest job a person can have.  Now some of you who may not be parents might be rolling your eyes, but seriously, hear me out here.  Being a parent is hard.  Or maybe I should clarify that.  Being a good parent is hard.  The older my son gets, the more I think about my own childhood.  Now I am not going to go on some tangent about how I had the world’s worst childhood.  I had an amazing Dad, my childhood was legions better than others.  But I’ve noticed some things lately.  And since I use writing as my form of therapy, here I go.  Here are some parenting rules that I try to abide by, even if my own parents (well my mother) did not.

1        1. Never Discourage Your Kids

I thought of this as I watched my son throw on a get up of plaid shorts, a graphic tee, black dress up shoes and white socks.  Yup.  I let my kid go out in public like this.  Why?  Well it made him happy.  He likes to pick out his own outfits, and with first grade creeping around the corner, he needs to take ownership of getting ready.  Did he match?  Not really.  As a rule should anyone wear white socks, shorts, and black dress shoes?  Probably not.  Is it the end of the world that I let him dance to his own beat?  Definitely not! 

I remember auditioning for a television show when I was young.  It was around fifth grade, and WJAR held auditions for their kids news show.  My Dad took me to the “auditions” which really constituted of answering a few questions in the first round, and then the lucky few would move on.  Not surprising to anyone who knows me, I was a horrible math student even then.  However, I hadn’t given up yet.  I was trying; I would even practice on my own.  This was going to be my year I conquered math!  So when the interviewer asked me what my favorite subject was I of course said “math” in my attempts to actually like the subject from hell more.  I never made the second cut, but my Dad, who was an engineer, was overjoyed that I chose math as an answer.  My hopes were dashed of course when I got home and my mother asked why would I ever answer that, and my answer probably cost me a chance at the second round.  Yes, my mother in her “infinite glory” taught me that to succeed I needed to push math out of my mind. 

2     2. When your children are adults, they are still your children   

      This is a biggie.  This is something, no matter how sick my Dad got, he never forgot.  When the doctor prescribed medical marijuana to him, he tried declining because he had kids.  Two kids who were married, with their own children, and didn’t live at home.  He was afraid he would be a bad influence.  I couldn’t make this up if I tried. 

       

      After I got married, I began packing on some pounds, as many of us do.  I went from the size two that my husband met to a size I won’t write on my blog.  You can only hear your mother say “you have such a pretty face” and tell you how to hide your body so many times before you start to believe it.  Looks over brains were how I was brought up, which is why I tell my son how smart he is constantly.  (Although of course he’s also adorable, and I let him know that as well!)  Boys can develop body image issues too, and it’s not something I wish to be responsible for.  It’s been over a year that I’ve been working with a friend to rethink how I think about my body, and I’ve never been healthier.

      3. Kids Come First.  Period.

I always knew where I stood with my Dad.  He wanted to be home with us, playing outside, taking us trick or treating.  He would constantly plan family vacations.  He would make his famous pizza on Sundays, have us help in the garden, watch ridiculous movies…I honestly could fill a book with all the times my Dad made me feel as if I was the most important person.  I hope I can do that for my son.  Since he passed, this was my mother’s number one complaint about him.  That he wanted to spend too much time with his kids.  As an educator, I can think of countless mothers who wish they had that problem.  I can think of countless kids who would love nothing more than to have their parents want to spend their free time with them.  I married a man who spends countless hours building Legos, watching movies, taking bike rides, even going to birthday parties.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As adults, I think it’s easy to blame our parents for our shortcomings.  I was infinitely lucky with my Dad.  I won the Dad lottery.  This may sound like I am sitting around blaming my mother for a slew of things.  I’m not.  It’s her shortcomings as a human being and “mother” that make me want to be a better mother than the one I grew up with.  Anyone can have kids, but it takes dedication and work to be the kind of parent you want to be.

In Memory of a Great Woman, and an Incredible Teacher

One of the first things I remember about my education classes at Providence College was a simple question.  Who was your favorite teacher?  Why?  I had some great teachers during my four years at Scituate Jr. Sr. High School (as it was called back in the day.)  My chorus teacher, Mr. Kane, an English and Drama teacher, Mr. Nipps, a history teacher, Ms. Winters.  But one name came to mind above the rest.  Mrs. Mumford.  I went to a small school so I was fortunate to have been her student for two of my four years in high school.  One year we were given the task of public speaking.  This shouldn’t have been as daunting as it was since by Sophomore year I had already fallen in love with acting.  But this was different.  This frightened the living daylights out of me.  So I did what I knew; I took each topic given and wrote a monologue.  Sometimes I even used props!  Most teachers would have never allowed this, but Mrs. Mumford was ahead of her time.  She saw my anxiety, and allowed me to complete the assignment in a manner I was comfortable with.  She was differentiating lessons before it became accepted practice in the classroom. 

When I developed the actor’s superstition of not saying “Macbeth” in a theatre, some of my friends found this hysterical.  One classmate in particular decided to read parts of Macbeth to me in class on opening night.  With a smile and a wink, Mrs. Mumford explained to the other student that theatre superstitions were to be taken seriously.  She was just that cool. 

Once, and I have never told this story, she accused me of plagiarism.  I was so upset!  I had taken something I had written earlier, and reworked it for another assignment.  When I explained this to her, she of course listened, but also told me that it was so well written she had made the assumption.  Mrs. Mumford thought I could write?!  I was, and remain to this day, overjoyed by this.  She was also quick to point out your strong points in front of the class.  Having a teacher, of her magnitude, share your accomplishments with the class is something that stays with you forever. 

Years later, as I found my political feet, I was lobbying for a cause at the RI State House.  Mrs. Mumford, then Representative Mumford, welcomed me on the House floor with a warm hug.  When I made the decision to become a teacher, and I told her this, she was thrilled.  After all those years, she still cared about former students, and her community.

Teachers inspire, they make students think, question and explore the world around them.  A good teacher is remembered fondly.  A great teacher is never forgotten.  Mrs. Mumford was one of these great teachers. This week we lost Mrs. Mumford, and the news was devastating to say the least.  I have frequently stated that if I can be half the teacher she was, I’ll be doing right by my students.  She was amazing.  I often think of her when I enter a classroom, especially when I am faced with a student that needs that extra encouragement. 

The world has lost a wonderful woman.  Those of us lucky enough to have known her will never forget her.  

Pomp and Circumstance

This month I am using my blog as a sounding board for my homework.  We have to use two of the five senses in order to be nostalgic.  I’m not done with it yet, but I’ve been trying to write about this topic for two weeks now…I hope I got it!

            Frequently throughout life one takes a moment to reminisce.  Reflection is a wonderful activity to participate in, and it is something I frequently have my students participate in.  It only makes sense then that as a parent, on the cusp of a new career that I will be reflective from time to time.  Especially during the month of June.  You see, this month my son graduated Kindergarten.  Now I know, I just know, if you’re not a parent you are most likely rolling your eyes and a few of you may be wondering why mediocrity is celebrated.  But humor a mother for a little bit right now okay?  Or stop reading your choice.

            I knew I had to try to survive two parts of the Graduation.  Listening to “Pomp and Circumstance” and the emotional roller coaster that is the Graduation slideshow.  But I had a plan.  I would help out during Graduation.  After all, my son’s school is also where I work, and I help out during Graduation every year.  If I’m working, I probably will be able to keep the waterworks at bay right?  I underestimated the power of music.  And not just any music.  One song in particular.  “Pomp and Circumstance.” 

By the time I had to press play on “Pomp and Circumstance” I realized how much I truly hate that song.  Now don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful song.  But think of all the times in your life you hear it, it always signals the end of something; the end of Kindergarten, high school, college, an era.  I can’t hear that song without thinking of my own trek down the aisle for my Bachelors.  I never thought I would walk at my own college graduation, and I did so six months after my father passed.  A week before he went into his sharp decline and his body began to shut down I finished all of my course work and ran to tell him.  It was something he had always wanted for me.  And I can’t hear that song without thinking of him.  When I was in Kindergarten, he was in college, and although we didn’t attend his Graduation, “Pomp and Circumstance” reminds me of him.  I witnessed his numerous hours studying, and the enormous books he had, and his refusal to throw them away even twenty years after graduating from New England Tech.  Something my mother, who never did value an education, could never understand.  But it was something my Dad and I just got.  He would keep those books next to our Commodore 64 in the basement, which doubled as a playroom.  When he was at work, I remember running my hands over the pages.  I was amazed at how large those books were, I assumed there was no one smarter than my Dad since he could read those books.  Even thinking about it now I realize he was the sole adult in my life I would witness reading anything substantial.  My mother would only be concerned in magazines that promised to make your house attractive, nothing that would really matter in life.  But these books of my Dad’s with their weird drawings, which I now realize were math equations, were something.  I would take the corner of the books when no one was around, and flip the pages to hear the slapping of each sheet against one another enjoying not only the sound they made, but how they felt against my thumb.  Thankfully it is near impossible to dissect memories of my father apart from “Pomp and Circumstance.”  I love that I am reminded in his passion for education with a common song. 

As I watched my son up on the stage, paying attention to the ceremony, walking up to receive his diploma, I was instantly in the hospital room at Women and Infants having my husband teach me how to diaper a baby and wondering if I could even do this.  And I am not referring to just the diapering, (although that was a huge concern) but being a parent at all.  Did I love him enough?  Could I love him enough?  Will he love me?  What if I dropped him, or didn’t feed him enough, or couldn’t get him to sleep?  Could I relate to this little amazing being that was now my responsibility?  And why don’t these little guys come with manuals?  Fast forward six years and I can’t imagine my life without that amazingly funny, smart, kind, goofy kid!  My fears of motherhood, which now seem so unfounded, can come flooding back to me with just one look.  I remember lying in the hospital bed, holding him until the crook of my arm ached, looking at every single spot of his face.  His little nose, to the eyes that seemed to never rest, to two perfectly sculpted lips, as if they were made for a baby doll.  And with one look, watching him on stage “like a big kid” I am back in that room, surrounded by my fear and the love the three of us have for one another.

Reflection is a funny thing, and can sneak up on us at any time.  A simple Kindergarten graduation can propel me back six years to a time of extreme importance in my life to thirty years, to things that seem insignificant on the surface.