“It’s a story about two gangs,” I say.  Maybe I should tell them it’s a famous story by William Shakespeare and adapted by the great geniuses of the American Musical Theatre; Stephen Sondheim, Jerome Robbins, Arthur Laurents, Leonard Bernstein, with the film version directed by Robert Wise, who also directed “The Sounds of Music,” but they’re excited it’s about gangs.  I decide to let it play.

The Jets walk into frame, snapping their fingers.  The kids snap their fingers.  Bernardo and the Sharks enter the scene; music and dance tell the story of these rival gangs.

My boys look around at each other.  What?  Huh?

“This is gay.”

I decided to show “West Side Story” instead of “The Sound of Music” because there have been fights breaking out all over the school recently.  Maybe this story will help keep the kids safe over the summer.  We get all the way through Act One, up to the “America” number, and we break for a discussion.

“What are the two gangs are fighting about?”

“Territory.”

“Right.  So, when somebody wins, what will they get?”

“Territory.”

“You mean, they’ll own a nice piece of real estate that will increase in value over time?”

“No…”

“So what do you get if you win?”

“Nothing.”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“So guys, who do you think is going to win?”

“The Sharks.”

“Definitely the Sharks.”

“Oh yeah, the Sharks.”

Most likely, they’re rooting for the Sharks because the Sharks are people of color.  I know I’m rooting for the Sharks because of George Chakiris.

Over the next few days, we make it through the whole story.  They moan through the ballads “Maria” and “There’s a Place for Us.”  Don’t even ask what happens when Natalie Wood sings, “I feel pretty and witty and gay.”   But the story grabs hold and my kids follow along.  In spite of themselves, they want to know if Tony and Maria will get together (and also to see if the Sharks will win).

William Shakespeare reaches out through time, grabs up a bunch of musical geniuses along the way, and inspires my kids.

That is so gay.

Dear Hawaii Ohana,

Deep South Publishing Company is producing a book of personal stories about special places in Hawaii, written by people who live in and love Hawai’i.   I am looking for stories, and by “story” I mean: the transformation of a character (you) as a result of events in the plot.  The setting you choose should be a place that changed you on a profound level.  The book is not meant  to be a travel guide, but rather a personal journey of Hawai’i and what our islands offer on a spiritual level.  Or, it could be just plain funny.   2,000 word limit.  All profits will benefit children’s programs at our beloved Palama Settlement. Deadline: June 30, 2012.  Email submissions to margaretsouth@kidstalkstory.com; please make sure to type “Hawaii Story” into the subject line.

As you work on your story, feel free to browse the website for help with story structure.

Mahalo for your kokua. (See I haven’t forgotten!)

Warmest Aloha from the Peach State,

Margaret South

Frank and I assembled materials today.  We put together samples and all the supplies so 100 children could write thank you notes as part of their original book projects.  They each get a sheet of sky blue paper, an envelope, and a pretend stamp with the picture of a cat.  (They’ve already done their “Heroes” page and their “My Favorite Foods” page and most important, the “About the Author” page. )

It reminded me of Kids Talk Story in the very beginning when all the supplies would come in and each teacher would make up their packet for the semester.  Pens, bags, folders, white-out, templates, markers, colored pencils, even glitter pens.  What fun!  Really, if I started my company over today I would apply for a job in the warehouse.

When my sister was diagnosed with ALS, she asked me to go with her to The Emory Clinic, one of the top research facilities in the world. We met brilliant doctors and nurses and therapists and caregivers.  They inspired me and they made me wonder why I didn’t go into medicine.

A few days before Christmas, Dr. William Grist, also at Emory, removed a mass from my neck.  I’d had this dumb thing for 10 years and other doctors said it was too dangerous to operate because one wrong move could paralyze my facial nerve.  I would be maimed for life.  So there it stayed while I resorted to drug therapy which kept it from growing too much, and scared the heck out of Frank because it was depressing my immune system.  But Dr. Grist said he was up for it and since he was stoked, I figured, “What the heck?  Let’s go for it!”

He had the bloody thing out in an hour-and-a-half and I partied through Christmas on Oxycodone and Vodka (for the unfortunate result of this bad combination check out my FB post here known as “Socks on Drugs.”) Again, I marvel at the medical profession.  Wow, why didn’t I go into medicine?

Just the other day, I took Mom to the eye doctor where she’s getting these shots in one of her eyes because of mascular degeneration.  She’s been going by herself because on school days I’m in the classroom with my sister.  But she can’t tell me anything about what goes on there.

“Mom.  What do they say?  Are the shots working?”

“I can’t tell.  First  I can’t hear, and now I’m blind, too.”

“How long do you have to keep going?”

“I don’t know, they didn’t say.”

So I take matters in hand.  Determined to get some answers, I drive Mom into Macon and she gets her shot.  I ask the nurse to explain things.  She goes into detail about the whole procedure and how it works and why we don’t know for sure yet.

“So the next shot will be in six weeks,” she says.”

I nod my head as though I understand and I think there might be a glimmer?  But no.  I realize I have no idea what she’s talking about and I remember why I didn’t go into the medical profession in the first place.

So Thursday I got started with my precept that all heroes care about others, so Melanie, the subject of my sentence, was followed by the word “gave,” because I figure Melanie’s a pretty nice girl and she might give to those less fortunate and that’s when I heard someone (and I know it was Octavius) shout out “blow job.”

Really?  Oh man, really?  I turn around and face Octavius and for all his bravado he knows he could really get in trouble for this.  But I decide the best thing to do is keep going.  Melanie ended up giving a book instead of a sexual favor and I continued on with the class and nobody got in trouble.   I was mad for the rest of the day and I was mad all the way home in the car.  I mean, I used to have a real job.  I was treated with respect.  I went out to fancy lunches.

But I have to admit, these kids crack me up.

I teach middle school kids now, and I see the bullying and the name calling they learn at home.  Kids call each other “stupid” and “ugly.”  Kids play mean tricks in the classroom, and practice cruelty on Facebook.  In school, we teachers work hard to help the students understand and practice empathy.    We hope that although they might not have been parented well, they can move forward and treat their own children with respect.

Again, I do have a sense of humor.  I admit, I laughed.

So see the video:  Halloween Candy and tell me what you think.

“You’d think that every week would be Drug Free week, right?  Not just this one week?” she types on her IPad.

Charles inserts his six-foot-two frame into the little school desk we set aside for him– it’s apart from the group because the other kids seem to get on his nerves.  He’s so big he looks like he’s wearing the desk instead of sitting in it.  I want him to do his work so I do everything I can to make him enjoy the class.  I change his seat, I write encouraging comments in his journal, and I take him aside for earnest pep talks.  I like the kid.   I look into his big caramel-colored eyes and I tell him to hang in there, he’s doing great.  He rolls his eyes and heaves a great sigh.  Sadly, it seems he’s just not that into me. I ask Mrs. Jones what more I can do.

“Don’t worry about it.  He’s in a bad mood because of the hat thing.”

“What hat thing?”

“They took it away but now he has it back. Look at it.”

I get in front of the class and I look at Charles’ hat and I see the bright green marijuana leaf sewn onto it.  You gotta love that kid.

I’m in Georgia now taking care of family.  The girl who stepped in at Palama is Lynn Marie Sager.  She teaches.  She nurtures.  She makes the occasional run to the Food Bank for fresh fruit.  We pay her not enough money at all and she has made a huge difference to these kids.  They adore her and she’s there for them every single day.  Her book just came out on Kindle and I urge you to take a look.

Here’s my review on Amazon:

In her book, “A River Worth Riding: Fourteen Rules for Navigating Life,” Lynn Marie Sager uses the river as a metaphor for the life journey. Beautifully written and illustrated, each chapter deals with a particular life lesson we need in order to survive, but often forget. I go back to this book from time to time, looking for clarity in my own journey and its unpredictable episodes. Each time, I find myself saying, “Oh, right, I forgot about that one.” Highly recommended for adults and also for the teenagers in your life, who are just beginning their journeys.

Here’s a link to purchase: (paperback or kindle or any e version you want)

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=a+river+worth+riding&x=0&y=0

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Liz gives the kids a new writing prompt for the day to go with the chapter we’re reading in “Touching Spirit Bear.”  Describe a time you told a lie, or wanted to tell a lie. They seem to dread writing and my theory is that they feel they can’t do it.  They fear making a mistake.  So Liz demonstrates on the big screen by typing up her story as she thinks of it.  They follow along as she goes.

I am in my parent’s bedroom watching “Bewitched” on T.V.  I’ve seen this one a million times.  I spot a book of matches on the dresser.  I know that I’m not supposed to play with them, but I just can’t resist.
I pick up the matches and light one. This is fun.  I light another one and another.

The kids look around at each other.  Is this their teacher?  Liz keeps typing on the big screen.

The match flies from my hand.  I watch the flame cross over the bed and land on the bottom left hand side.  It is still burning.  The sheet is melting under the heat of the burning match.  By
the time I reach it, I notice that it has already burned through all the sheets and is now burning the mattress.  I don’t know what to do.  I freeze.  I can’t move.   I try to slap out the fire, but it goes
deeper into the mattress.  Finally, I get a glass of water and sprinkle it on the burning mattress.  Oh boy am I in trouble.  I turn around and see my brother standing there smiling.  He says, “Oooh, you’re
gonna get it when mom gets home.”  I start to cry realizing I really am in big trouble.  Then, my older sister comes in and asks what’s wrong.

All the eighth graders turn to look at me.  I nod as if to say, “Yes, that was me.”

I show her the hole in the mattress.  The confident girl that she is says, “We can fix this!”  So, she strips the bed and together we flip the mattress over. Then, we go to the closet and put a fresh set of sheets on the bed.  A few minutes later, mom comes home from work.  My brother runs to tell on me.  He shouts, “Mom!  Lizzy burned up the mattress!”  Mom is very upset.  I shake with fear as my brother takes my mom into the room and tries to find the burn. But he can’t find it.  After several minutes of him swearing to my mom that there was a burn in the mattress, she finally said, “I’m too tired to play this game Bobby.”  Then, she went to the kitchen and started dinner.  My sister and I are laughing so hard.  My brother is still trying to find the hole in the mattress.

Okay so the moral to the story is not to lie and not to play with matches but also?  Nobody likes a tattletale. Our students really enjoyed seeing their teacher in this predicament.  They set to work right away.  Later, during “share” Liz and I heard all about Alvin and his sister, who broke their mom’s T.V. and had to call up Uncle, who ran out and got them a new one at WalMart.  Apparently Mom still doesn’t know about the broken one.  Mark tells his Mom they never gave out the report cards at school and hopes the teacher doesn’t call home which, of course, she does.  And my personal favorite, Bree, who cut off one of her pony tails and hot-glued it to the dog.

Isn’t my sister Mrs. Jones the best teacher ever?  Did I mention that she was just named Teacher of the Year for Bibb County?

I first used this strategy at the Palama Settlement In Community Treatment Program because the students there struggle to focus and I thought it might be a good way to calm them.  It worked.  Liz and I now have a student I’ll call “Kevin.”  From the first day of school, Kevin refused to do any work and also did his best to prevent the class from doing any work.  He’s been out a couple of days, suspended, but now he’s back and he’s putting all his energy into disrupting the whole class.  I take his folder and write:

Please make a choice:

___I will do my work today.

___I will not do my work today.

And sign your name with the date.

Kevin reads the instructions and realizes whatever he decides, he’s got to put it into writing.  He looks at me and I can tell he’s confused.  I walk away.  Couple minutes later he pulls me aside and shows me he’s checked the box marked “I will not…” and he’s added that he doesn’t feel well so he can’t do his work.

I write back, “If you don’t feel well, it’s okay to put your head down on the desk, but please do not disturb the other students.  O.K.?”

He writes back, “O.K.”

He puts his head down on the desk.

Liz plays the audio book of “Touching Spirit Bear” by Ben Mikaelsen and the class settles down to listen to the story.  Kevin listens, too, because now we’re at the part where Cole is so angry he burns up all the stuff he needs to survive in the wilderness.  Soon, Kevin picks up his book and starts to follow along.  Maybe there’s hope.