“This stinks!”

“That was a foul! The ref shoulda called that!”

“That team is way bigger than ours!”

My younger two sons were droning on and on about what a stupid basketball game we were watching. My oldest was playing in it.

“You’re right. It’s not.” I validated their complaints.

Silence. Their eyebrows drew together as they frowned at the game.

I continued, “Does that mean our team should quit?”

Silence.

“Are there other ways of measuring success besides the score?”

“Not in basketball, Mom,” my middle son said with disdain.

“Yeah, Mom!” My youngest matched his tone.

Ignoring the implied insult of stupidity, “Well, boys, what if we considered it a success every time we get the rebound?”

Silence.

“What if every time we prevent the other team from scoring, we look at it as a success?”

More silence, but this time one pair of sky blue eyes and one pair of bronze eyes were riveted on me and not at the stupid, unfair, stinky game.

“Honestly, boys. We all know it’s not fair. The other team has seventh and eighth graders. We only have seventh graders. Everybody knows this.”

“Well, we’re not gonna win.”

“You’re probably right.” More than probably. The other team was up by 20 points and it wasn’t even halftime. “And I would think the other Middle School coach would let his seventh graders have more play time than the eighth graders, so it would be a more even match up. But that’s not up to us.”

“Hmmmph!” My middle son scoffed, and resumed watching the game.

“Yeah.Hmmph!” my youngest echoed, and followed his brother’s gaze.

“The only thing up to us is our attitudes. Even if they lose the game, each boy on our team could still have a personal victory.”

I know this is true for my oldest, anyway. They had lost every game of the season except the two games against other seventh grade teams, which they won. I asked him how he could handle all those losses. He had answered, “I just want to play, Mom.”

Meanwhile, my younger two were silently staring at me again.

I thought about all the times I had to remind the boys that life isn’t 100% exactly equal and you get what you get and you don’t get upset: with the box of donuts (invariably someone would think “he got the bigger one,” or “he touched the one I wanted”); there are three of them but only one of me (“you’ll have to wait your turn” and “no, I am sure your turn is not always last”); and the reason they don’t all have the same amount of homework is that they are in different grades “but it was the same when you were in that grade” (“okay, you’re right, I am sure it is not exactly the same since you had different teachers”) – but instead asked them to, “Think about it boys. Our school has a seventh grade team and an eighth grade team. Our eighth grade team will probably beat this team. Next year when we’re the eighth grade team, we’ll probably beat them again. We’ll have paid our dues and it will work out fair in the end.” (I purposely omitted mentioning the part about how my middle son might possibly be on the seventh grade team next year, thus would be facing the same challenges his brother was currently.)

“Yeah!”

“We’ll show them!”

“And, we’ll be good sports about it, right?”

Silence, again, as they turned their attention back to the mismatched basketball game.

I thought about genocide, addictions, and discrimination, but asked, “What do you mean, honey? What kinda things?”

“Well, like bees, or poisonous snakes…”

“Oh, well. You know the story about the Garden of Eden, right? How Adam and Eve were living there peacefully with each other and all creatures, but then they ate fruit from the tree after God told them not to?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they disobeyed God. So he cast them out.”

“Well, why would they disobey God?”

“Gee, hon, I guess it’s because they were tempted.”

“Well, it wasn’t the right thing to do…”

“Maybe not. But they were only human, just like you and me and the rest of us. It’s just like when I ask you or your brothers to do something and you don’t, like putting away your laundry. Or I ask you to not do something and you do, like sneaking candy out of the dish before dinner. God is our heavenly parent, just like I am your earthly parent. And we all disobey our parents once in a while.”

“So, now because of Adam and Eve, there are things in this world that can hurt us?”

“Yep. Humans have a tendency to sin because we have free will. And I think God wanted it that way so we can be tested. That’s why he gave us the Ten Commandments. Then when we go through a challenge–”

“–Yeah, like in school, I have math challenges.”

“Yep, God is with us through those challenges, too – through all challenges, everything – but I meant things like trials: hard times, sickness, when someone we love dies, sin, suffering. All of these have plagued the world since Adam and Eve’s decision. God is with us through those times. These are tests to see if we turn away from Him or if we turn towards Him.”

“I would never turn away from God.”

“Well, you might. You might be mad at God, just like you are mad at me sometimes. I’ve been mad at God. There have been times when I have asked God, ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ ”

“Well, at least we have Jesus.”

“What do you mean, like how He died on the cross for us?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, right. And remember that time when we were at your brother’s (7th grade) basketball game and they were playing against 8^th graders? And how you kept saying ‘It’s not fair!’ ”

“Yeah.”

“And ‘this stinks!’ ”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we all have different trials and that may not seem fair. But I think our different trials are just customized plans for our walks with God: they are personalized opportunities to bring us closer to God. Do you think it’s fair that Jesus died on the cross for our sins?”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither. But I am grateful he did, and that’s what I try to think about every time I am going through a tough time. If Jesus could face the cross, I can face…whatever. And if we all end up with God, then it all works out fair in the end, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, Mom – can I get a new backpack today?”

“Let me know if you see something you like and we’ll talk about it.”

“Not really mom…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I don’t really like store-bought cake that much.”

“But this is from a bakery. It’s a gourmet chocolate cake with buttercream icing. Here, taste this.” I pulled one of the dark chocolate shavings off the side of the gorgeous cake.

Everyone else who was over wanted this cake, but I wasn’t going to cut it if the birthday boy wasn’t interested. His actual birthday was the following day, and we were all watching a football game, anyway, so it wasn’t like the cake was the main attraction, though it certainly was the most compelling feature on the buffet table.

“Oh, hmmm. No, thanks. Not right now.”

And I knew what he meant was “not ever.”

My original plan was to bake a cake. It wasn’t that I didn’t have cake mix and frosting: I had congratulated myself weeks prior when I bought the Pillsbury cake mix and frosting on sale, well in advance of my son’s birthday. My guilt over boxed cake mix (since my own mother would have never done it that way) was long ago assuaged by my colleague’s affirmation that “if it comes out of my oven, it’s homemade.”

This is actually the way I overcome most of my remorse about feeding the kids chicken nuggets, fish sticks, pizza, mozzarella sticks, or anything that they really like that comes out of my oven (since my own mother would NEVER have allowed us to eat these things growing up), as well as conquer my contrition about allowing the Bigs to eat hot food from the Middle School’s oven every day (since my own mother lovingly prepared our lunches, complete with our names on one side of the reused-and-wrinkled brown bags and our initials inside a heart on the other) until we were just about done with junior high. My boys asked long ago, “Mom, do you hafta put notes inside our lunch bags?” No, I don’t, I realized. There are many different ways of doing things.

It’s just that when I saw gourmet chocolate cake with buttercream icing, I knew it was decorated far better than I could have done, and it wasn’t like it had the typical neon-colored, sugar-flavored lard covering it. Plus, I justified that I could use the food prep time saved to clean the house, since we were having company and most of my cleaning is event-driven (which meant I really needed to clean). However, I wound up giving it to our neighbor to take to the office.

The next morning, on my son’s birthday, I pulled the Pillsbury box out of the cabinet. Cake would be the first priority after we’d finished our morning breakfast routine, which is the story within this story.

In order to ensure we have family mealtime, we have to do it at breakfast. I have given up feeling guilty about not having dinner as a family. We’ve rushed through it prior to evening activities, tried it in the car while en route, or attempted it later on at night when everyone is too tired to do anything other than feed. A lot of times one or more of my kids still eats that way because the fact of the matter is, there is barely a night of the week when someone doesn’t have “something.” One night, we have two or three basketball practices (during one of them, the Bigs are assistant coaches for their younger brother’s team and sometimes my oldest has a school practice or game in addition to rec practice) as well as hockey and chess club. This means someone is doing something between the hours of 2:30 and 9:00 p.m. so there’s no way we’re going to have the family-sit-down-togetherness that my own mom insisted upon nightly when I was a kid and that parenting experts everywhere agree is vital.

Instead, I make the kids hot breakfast every morning. Usually it’s pancakes or waffles (yes, from boxes) and some combination of eggs and/or bacon. Sometimes there are oven things, like muffins or coffee cake (also from boxes) or breakfast “cocktails” (juice and seltzer in non-plastic cups). We dim the overhead lights and burn candles. We might listen to music and I might read out loud (which incidentally never worked for us at bedtime; I’d have to corner them in the bathtub before the closed-door policy was enacted.) At this writing, we’re listening to a motivational book on tape and reading sports trivia. My youngest does his homework in the morning because after the Bigs get on the bus, he has an hour before his bus comes. There are many different ways of doing things.

That morning, after each boy took his turn cracking an egg into the cake mix, I got busy with my son’s cake. After all, as Pillsbury’s slogan says, “Nothin’ says Lovin’ like something from the oven.”

The light had turned green and traffic was starting to move, but I was enough cars behind that I had a few moments. I rolled forward a bit to meet her as she about-faced.

“Can you use this? It’s a Starbucks gift card.”

“Oh, uhm, yes. Thank you.” I pressed the small envelope into one of her fingerless-glove-covered chapped hands. I noticed how cold it was.

Someone in the line of cars behind me honked.

“You’re welcome,” I said, and looked directly into her bright and blue eyes. “God bless you.”

The only word I’d been able to make out on the well-worn cardboard sign she held in her other hand was “HOMELESS.” I drove off on Route 16 towards Medford, closing the car window with my freshly manicured finger, heading for the innermost part of Cambridge, and no longer cursing my GPS for sending me that way.

Because it was me who God had blessed.

Tears clouded my vision as they threatened to spill out of my eyes. I tipped my head back and blinked furiously, willing them away, because I was wearing mascara: I’d gotten all dressed up and made up – and even did my nails – for a meeting.

Just minutes before I was in a sour mood, thinking about my three-hour round trip drive for a one-hour meeting, which I was convinced was a total waste of my day. I’d had a hard drive failure to start the year, which, as a telecommuter, put me mostly out of commission for a week and even though it was approaching the end of January, I didn’t feel that I’d caught up. I couldn’t imagine what would be accomplished that couldn’t be taken care of over the phone, and I couldn’t help thinking about what else I could have done with the commuting time, as well as the time I’d spent to make myself look like a real professional grownup, since normally I don’t take much more time than my boys do to get ready for a day’s work, nor do I dress much differently: sweatpants, tee-shirt, and hoodie.

It seemed like I’d hit every red light on the way in to the city and “just my luck,” I thought. “This one is turning red, too.” It was a busy intersection near the Alewife train station. There were a couple of people pacing back and forth alongside the stopped cars.

“Please, please, please turn green,” I willed the light. I didn’t want to have to ignore the woman with the tattered cardboard sign heading my way.

But a voice inside me prompted, “You don’t have to ignore her.”

“Right,” I huffed. “Well, all I have is a $20 bill. I wouldn’t want to give her that much money. What if she spent it on booze or drugs?”

“What if she did? Is it any of your business what she does with your gift?”

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” I sighed. “But I need the money to pay for parking.”

“Surely you must have something…” I was nudged.

“The gift card!” I had just seen it in my glove box that morning when I’d fished around for my company badge.

“Yes, why not?”

“Because my friend gave it to me for Christmas…” I had been saving that gift card for a special occasion. For me, just going to Starbucks would be a luxury: I rarely bought a cup of coffee, and if I did, it was usually a “Dunks” from the Exchange, about halfway between our house and school.

“Re-gift it. Your friend would want you to.”

“Right. Of course.” And without further ado, I popped open the glove box with another freshly manicured finger and retrieved the card, which brings us back to the beginning of the story.

This was the special occasion.

I shuddered to think about being homeless at all, never mind that day, when it was no more than nine degrees out, and I hoped there was a Starbucks nearby. I think the card was worth $25. I imagined what kind of snacks or coffees the woman would like best. I’d had a fruit and cheese tray and a plain tall coffee with just milk the last time I met the ladies at Starbuck’s after church one Sunday. (Well, they’d gone to church; I’d gone to my youngest’s hockey game.) I wondered if just being entitled to enjoy the warmth of the inner sanctum of Starbucks would be the real significance to the woman. I knew one of my colleagues had been hanging around in a Starbucks for the better part of the week when her wireless was down, so I supposed Starbucks was generous that way to its patrons.

“Thank you, God,” I thought. “That I have a meeting to go to, that I have a warm, safe car to get me there, that this job enables me to provide a home for myself and my children.”

And I realized I didn’t need the card, after all. I had the luxury of making coffee at home.

Every good and perfect gift is from above…James 1:17 NIV

“Oh, gosh, no!” I exclaimed, but as I glanced at the rest of the merchandise she was scanning, I could see how she’d come to that conclusion: sheet set, tension rod, curtain, clock radio, cleaning wipes…

“He’s only seven. He’s just moving into his own room.”

“Oh, he is, is he?”

“Yeah, he’s taking over the “man cave.’ ”

And it is a cave. It’s a room in our unfinished basement, where a spaghetti diagram of original wiring – from the time that wiring was first invented (yes, our house is that old) – is tangled behind the current cables, wires, and telephone lines which snake through the tree-trunk ceiling beams (some of which still sport bark). Sure, most of the cement wall was painted and we’d put a rug with an ample pad underneath it over the cement floor. We’d also vacuumed up all the cobwebs. There was a futon bunk bed and a papa san chair in front of the circa 1980s coffee-table sized TV to complete the furnishings. The TV is only set up for wii – no cable, no DVDs, and no NetFlix, even though rumor has it you can use a wii for the latter two.

My youngest had begun sleeping down there from time to time during the summer. It was naturally cool in our otherwise non-centrally air conditioned home. I am sure the novelty of the new bunk bed and sports-themed pillows and blankets was a factor, as was the proximity of the chest freezer where the freeze pops and Italian ice are stashed. Occasionally one of his brothers would join him, but he was the only regular.

One day he asked if he could move his room down there. He had been sharing a room with one or both brothers for most of his life.

“Maybe, honey…” I stalled. How would that work if anyone else wanted to use the room?

Time passed, and he brought it up again.

I put him off, “Well, I guess we can see about that…” Would he really be okay that far away from the rest of us? His brothers would be two floors away; I’d be three…

Finally, “Can we move my bureau downstairs this weekend, Mom?”

“Okay, honey. Yes, we can.” I relented. Apparently moving was more than a whim.

After two nights in his new room and confirming that he’d slept well and liked his new clock radio and that the cat didn’t bother him, I asked, “So, what was the main reason you wanted to move downstairs?”

“I just wanted privacy, Mom.”

I was slightly taken aback. At his age? I imagined that if anyone wanted privacy, it would have been one of his middle-school-aged brothers. However, I recalled when one of them was a toddler, he’d demanded, while banging with his little fists on the outside of the closed bathroom door, “But I want privacy, too!” at my refusal to open the door. And while neither of my older two have an open door policy with the bathroom today, they still do with their bedrooms, preferring togetherness over solitude.

“I understand completely, honey. Everyone needs his or her own space.” Whether it’s a few minutes alone or a room of one’s own, privacy is one thing you just can’t share.

Ideally, I would have had more time to transition between chaos and serenity, but the school bus was on the late side that morning. I’d smiled and chattered amicably with my youngest (but truthfully my mind was elsewhere) while he showed me the tricks he could do with the wheeled backpack – the traveling compartment of “Butterscotch,” the class room teddy bear, and all his related paraphernalia – that he was returning to school after visiting at our house the night before. My son had written a story and drawn a picture about his adventures with the bear just that morning, which was tucked in his homework folder in his other backpack, along with his football, lunch, and Bruins sweatshirt. Yes, he was carrying a heavy load, but I wasn’t offering a ride to school, just as I hadn’t for his sixth-grade brother, who had gingerly carried the model of the chlorine atom he’d painstakingly assembled during the previous two nights. Not that he didn’t ask (“what if someone bumps it!?”), it was just that this particular morning I had my own agenda. I had a certain amount of work I needed to get done in order to feel okay about going to a 9 a.m. yoga class (even though my manager is well aware that I view yoga as an essential way to ward of the chiropractor and likely a psychiatrist as well), and shuttling kids to school was not on the to-do list. They could take the bus. That is why we have buses. And if they don’t like the bus, they can walk (except not my youngest, because I don’t have time to walk with him and allowing him to walk alone would no doubt be scandalous, and truthfully, I’m not quite ready for that, even though I walked to school alone in a city when I was in second grade).

So after having ensured my kids’ basic needs were met: breakfast, showers, teeth brushed, backpacks packed, lunch (money), it was my turn. I and got settled in with really no time to spare, I’d have to sign in after class. At least I hope my oldest had breakfast. I made him a breakfast shake, but did he actually drink it? Wow, there sure are a lot of people in this class!
I glanced around as I sat “Indian style.” Wait, I’m not sure that’s PC. I sat “criss-cross applesauce.” Usually I go to the Tuesday class but this was Thursday. I had to go to a meeting in Boston on Tuesday, for which I spent more than three hours driving in and out of the city. I just can’t imagine how people do that every day. I’d complained to my friend afterwards, “I see absolutely no reason why knowledge workers should have to show up at an office. Ever!” Though before I held the position I do today, I did spend three hours a day commuting between home, daycare, and work.

I realized the woman on the mat next to me was someone who attended the same pilates class back when our kids were toddlers and there was affordable babysitting available for the duration of class (not that I hadn’t ever considered dropping them off for $1 each an hour and going shopping). “Hey, how are you?” I asked as I changed sitting positions to kneeling – my back was too stiff to sit cross-legged – just in time to begin deep breathing. How you are supposed to completely empty your mind and concentrate on your breath is beyond me. I did have a yoga teacher tell me once that she knew someone who could go for like eight breaths without a thought.

I hope my son made it to school okay with his atom. We’d spent a good deal of time (and money) two nights ago at the craft store, including researching the best way to color Styrofoam balls (hint: it includes food coloring and white glue) and then executing the procedure while I tried to cook dinner simultaneously, in addition to all the time he spent assembling it the night before.

Oh my gosh, was the woman in front of me the bodybuilder from the gym…the one I belonged to years ago – before kids – when I actually went to a gym every day as opposed to looking at the charge on my credit card statement and lamenting the average cost of each visit to the gym that month – yes, I could usually count them on one hand. Hmmmm, I wonder if she ever had kids. I wonder if I didn’t have kids, could I have a physique like that?

I think that conference call is at 11. I hope it’s not at 10:30 – I won’t have very much time to prepare after class…and when am I ever going to get those Christmas cards written out?
What would my life be like, never mind my physique, if I didn’t have kids? That reminded me of a question my oldest had asked me once that seemed flip at the time, “Mommy, what better things do you have to do than to do laundry and cooking and driving?” But he was too young for sarcasm; it was a serious question.

And I had no answer.

My mind had been as blank then as it was that day in class. I just couldn’t imagine what my life would be like if I didn’t have kids.

At last, I was ready for yoga.

I had no words for my son as I handed him the dustpan. These shards were part of a set handed down from sometime before my time and irreplaceable. The china bell and the remaining blown glass ornaments quickly rejoined the rest of the ornate and fragile heirlooms in their storage bin. I wouldn’t let my boys touch them or even look at them, and huffed off to put them back in storage immediately. I suppose that action in itself spoke louder than any words I could conjure.

While I do cherish these ornaments, they are not the most meaningful to me. My most-loved ornaments are the ones that are made out of Popsicle sticks, yarn, pipe cleaners, beads, or wood colored with markers. We also have cut-out photos, real birds’ nests, and origami creations fashioned from standard-issue sticky notes, as well as crinkle paper garland made from the discarded left edge of perforated loose-leaf paper. Some of these decorations are from my own childhood – like my original clumsy attempts at sewing with green embroidery thread on red felt – but most of them chronicle my boys’ lifetimes, in yearly chapters.

My ultimate favorite story is told by the hand-painted baby food can “ornaments.” At least, I think they are baby food cans. That is what my mom always told me, but I can’t find any documentation that baby food ever came in cans. Suffice it to say, they are little cans about the size of a small vessel of tomato paste, painted brightly with stripes, candy canes, and dots. When my grandparents were first starting out, during World War II, they did not have very much materially. Legend has it, they drove an army surplus jeep with holes in the floor boards (this story always made me think of Fred Flintstone’s foot-powered car). They surely ascribed to the philosophy espoused by The United States Office of War Information on its posters urging Americans to “Do with less – so they’ll have enough.” (“They” referred to U.S. troops.)

My grandparents followed the part about “doing with less” long after the war, it seemed, if one could judge by the upright glass straw dispenser filled with leftovers gleaned from fast food restaurants (which I am sure were washed and re-used). The surplus paper restaurant napkins were in the next drawer down from the supposedly secret stash of hard candies, and my grandparents dried out paper towels for reuse next to their kitchen sink. My grandparents were the only people I knew who actually used a nutcracker: buying nuts already shelled was deemed frivolous. My grandfather’s cracking the nuts we all found in our socks (we hung my grandfather’s actual everyday socks on the mantel for Santa to fill), first for “his bride” and then for the rest of us, was a common occurrence on Christmas morning.

My grandparents also had a storehouse in their basement with seemingly endless shelves of canned goods, no doubt bought at the opportune time these things were on sale. My brother and I learned to like mandarin oranges and olives a lot. We were sent home with bags of these, as well as broth and cranberry sauce. I am not sure it was because my grandparents had a glut of these items or if we just needed food. At the time it didn’t matter: it was just fun “shopping” in their basement.

I came to understand that the baby food can ornaments were an embarrassment to my grandmother, though initially, I couldn’t imagine why. When I was a kid and we traveled over the river and through the woods to celebrate Christmas, they were the first things I looked for on the tree. When the time came that we didn’t sleep over at my grandparents’ house on Christmas eve, my grandmother was only too happy to hand the ornaments down to my mother for our own tree. Here we are years later and I, as the matriarch of my family, am the keeper of the ornaments. They are among the first ones I put on our tree every year.

I understand now that my grandmother was ashamed of not being able to afford “real” ornaments; that hand-painted baby food cans symbolized hard times for her family. (Ironically, because of the value of scrap metal during World War II, they were probably worth more than “real” ornaments.) But to me, the ornaments represent assurance – that Christmas would always be Christmas, no matter what; optimism – that there is light at the end of the dark times; and most of all devotion – that my family would stick together come what may, through thick and thin. There have been Christmases where I have wondered how I could afford the dog and pony show I thought I should put on for my boys to make their Christmas “magical” (never mind the gifts themselves), but regardless, we keep the faith in Christmas, hope for better times, and love our family and friends.

This year, because my boys started circling the same things in the toy catalogs (which had arrived in our mailbox prior to Halloween) that Santa had brought them in years past, I began to wonder if they could name any of the gifts they’d ever received at Christmas – even just last year. I doubted it. So, I decided to ask them what makes Christmas Christmas-y and initiated a list of favorite traditions on our whiteboard. The boys not only more than doubled the list, but also developed a rating scheme. They all agreed unanimously on the chocolate advent calendars, gingerbread houses, festive movies, and spending time with family (this got five check marks next to it, as opposed to the previous line items receiving two apiece). Runners-up included making fudge, decorating, and listening to Christmas music. Giving and receiving gifts didn’t even make the list. While I know they’d feel “not that good” about relinquishing this part, I am happy to know that it’s not the sole focus and that “Christmas” to them is more than just the one day.

After hauling the bin of heirloom ornaments back up to the attic that day after Thanksgiving, I waded — knee deep in decorations – back through the fracas surrounding our Christmas tree, and noticed that someone else had already hung the baby-food can ornaments.

Boy to the World!

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

~1 Corinthians 13:13

We take the tree out every year the day after Halloween and anyone who walks into our home between then and Thanksgiving is welcome to write something they’re grateful for on a leaf and stick it on the tree.

If you zoom in you can see most of what people have written is very basic: life, love, family, friends, pets, and the occasional “oreos,” “my yoyo,” or “candy.” Some of the leaves go so far back they only have scribbles on them (with my translation on the other sides), or one of my boys’ names, when he was practicing how to write it.

A couple of the leaves say “electricity.” The ice storm of 2008 was a very dark time, not only because we lost our power but also because it was shortly after my mother passed away, at Thanksgiving time that year.

We did not put our tradition aside, though we were all very sad by this sudden and unexpected loss and it was bittersweet to see the cornucopia on the posterboard stating my youngest’s gratitude for his dog and his grandma. Still, we found things to be grateful for, even amidst great sorrow.

First Thessalonians 5:18 says give thanks in all circumstances. It doesn’t say we have to give thanks for all circumstances. I know so many people today who are facing trials they never imagined: illness, death, poverty, loss, failed relationships – unspeakable disappointments. What we need to keep in mind is something that my Sicilian colleagues used to say (that I had written on a sticky note in my cubicle during the early years of my technology career), “Si çiùri ‘na porta e si ràpi ‘m purticàtu,” which basically means “a door closes and a gate opens.”

A gate is bigger than a door. Let’s focus on the things we can be thankful for.

Wishing you all a Happy Thanksgiving!

Dear school teachers and administrators,

I’ve discussed recess and lack thereof in the upper grades at Groton-Dunstable Regional Middle School (GDRMS) in two previous articles, Thoughts on Recess and Whatever Happened to Recess?. Because of the enlightening conversations I had with both Mr. Steve Silverman and Dr. Tony Bent, I understand that there are opposing forces at work here. As Dr. Bent said, “There is a benefit from physical activity and movement. At the same time, schools are under pressure to improve academically and to get kids ready for high school.”

Is there a way we can meet in the middle with a best-of-both-worlds scenario?

The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) issued a recent report titled, “The Association Between School-Based Physical Activity, Including Physical Education, and Academic Performance.” This report suggests that providing recess to students on a regular basis may benefit academic behaviors and that teachers can incorporate movement activities and physical activity breaks into the classroom setting that may improve performance and the classroom environment.

Additionally, here is some anecdotal feedback I’ve received from local and worldwide sources, as well as from kids themselves.

One local mom shared, “I agree with your article 100%. I think it is much more important for 7th graders to have a 20-minute break outside to walk around or run around and burn off some energy than to sit for 20 minutes and read. Kids need more physical activity — every study we read says this. I was very disappointed to find out that my 7th grader no longer has any outside time all day.

Another said, “All kids, even the high schoolers, need some sort of down time and exercise during the day. In Australia, the school day for middle and high school starts around 8: 30 a.m., and there is a 20 min morning recess, a 45 minute lunch (kids go outside as soon as they finish eating), and the school day finishes at 3:30 p.m.”

One of my colleagues told me at her kids’ private school in North Carolina, the 5th-8th graders get 23 minutes for lunch and 23 minutes for recess. It is built into the day, every day. The middle school also has gym two times a week for 46 minutes and that is all gym/outside time there is no classroom work for gym. Typically the wellness lessons are special seminars during the school day.

A local mom of an 8th grader wrote, “According to my daughter and her friend, they don’t like not having recess at all. They feel like they are sitting around all day, only moving when changing classrooms and going to the rest room. In Japan, at the school in my mother’s city where my daughter has gone during summer vacation for the past eight years, almost all kids walk to school (two-three miles), gym class is offered every single day (swimming during the summer), as is physical (either indoor or outdoor) recess every morning and after lunch. The school system there really believes in the mind-body connection and the benefit of physical activity toward academic performance.

From my work teammate India: “Students have school from 7:00 a.m. to noon in some cities and noon to 5:00 p.m. in others. The morning shift is for small kids (up to age 10) and the afternoon shift is for older kids (ages 10 to 17). The interval time given in all the schools is generally 30 minutes. For the morning shift there is a break around 9:00 a.m. and for the afternoon shift it is around 2:00 p.m. This 30 minutes is for lunch; if in case you finish eating you can play during that time. Additionally, there is no hard rule of eating inside, one can go out in the playground benches and eat there too.”

“Kids get to go out to the playground for physical activities twice in a week; there is a separate period for that. And when a sports event or some other tournament is nearing, we have such period every day, it’s a half-an-hour extra period which is generally the last one.

“This kind of culture is generally followed by all the schools across India and has been for some time. Every school has their own way of dividing the times, but on average, each school devotes a few hours every week into physical activities, either sports, swimming, cycling, or whichever thing interest the child. Nowadays in India, the schools are trying to groom kids as “all rounders”—good in studies and good in physical activities as well.”

I asked a couple of 6th-grade boys, “How do you feel about not having recess next year?”

One replied, “Horrible.”

The other agreed, “Me, too. It’s dumb.”

My 7th grader is “bummed out” when he can see 5th and 6th graders outside enjoying recess when he’s walking between the North and South buildings.

His 7th-grade friend stated, “It’s boring not having recess. I don’t like it. We’re not active enough.”

“I miss recess,” said an 8th-grade girl.

Another 8th-grade girl thought if the school offered “physical or outdoor” recess, she and her friends are not sure if they would really have “physical” time. Instead they may end up chatting. Her suggestion is to have gym class every day instead.

According to another 7th grade boy: “I think recess in middle school is needed because most kids do not get enough exercise. Physical education for 176 – 264 minutes in a school week isn’t enough.”

However, this boy also commented that he thinks it’s better to have more time for classwork, and another 7th grade boy said he likes having 20 minutes of reading.

So, what is the solution?

My 7th-grade son suggested, “Maybe the kids who want outdoor recess could go out, and the kids who want to stay in can stay in. The teachers could be divided up to be with either group of kids.”

Additionally, perhaps we should not expect the same “playing” behavior as is seen in the younger grades. Maybe it’s either okay to let kids stand around and socialize (which is what a Westford mom of a middle-school girl says happens there), or maybe urge the kids to walk as they socialize, as the Groton mom of a 6th-grade girl suggested.

Another mom of a 6th-grade girl commented, “A walk around the school after lunch might be good to keep kids focused in the afternoon. I know I always feel better after I walk at lunch.”

Because team time is right after lunch, the time slot is already built into the day. Would you consider offering some structured physical activity options for team time such as “Walk-a-mile Wednesday” or “Free-throw Friday” for those who want it?

Or if there is some reason that makes a physical/outdoor recess option during team time completely impossible, would you think about other ideas to add physical activity to the school day as the CDC report suggests? What about taking a classroom outside (click here for an example of one innovative teacher at Wake Forest University) or adding more physical activity into the classroom (see “Let’s Move In School” or “Action Based Learning”)?

Thank you so much for your consideration.

Sincerely,
Caroline B. Poser, mom of three sons (two in GDRMS and one in Florence Roche Elementary School)

P.S. Fifth and 6th grade teachers, please consider not withholding recess as a behavioral consequence. Kids need to get up and move their bodies and burn off some energy before they can sit still and focus. Keeping them in for recess seems counterproductive. Thank you.

After hearing from my boys that there is no recess for the older grades in middle school, I decided I’d find out why. (I’m not typically someone who questions authority, but having kids inspires me.) I talked to Steve Silverman, principal of Groton-Dunstable Regional Middle School (G-DRMS). He told me that Grades 5 and 6 have recess every day for 15 minutes (not the 25 minutes and 11 minutes respectively, as reported by my children), during which time, there are 8-10 teachers outside with the kids to supervise. Recess is not counted towards time on learning.

According to the MA Department of Secondary Education: all schools shall ensure that every secondary school student is scheduled to receive a minimum of 990 hours per school year of structured learning time. Time that a student spends at school breakfast and lunch, passing between classes, in home room, at recess, in non-directed study periods, receiving school services, and participating in optional school programs shall not count toward meeting the minimum structured learning time requirement for that student.

Silverman has been the principal for six years, told me that the school had not offered organized recess for the upper grades in more than 20 years, and there is even less Physical Education offered now than before he started.

“We tried recess in 7th grade for two years and found that kids did not participate to the extent that the younger grades do: they didn’t play. Instead, they stood around and talked in groups.” According to Silverman, unstructured time can sometimes lead to behavior issues, such as disagreements or bullying (no doubt one of the underlying reasons for recess coaches).

Silverman is not against recess, but feels it needs to be age appropriate. He says he supports the teachers’ decision to offer “team time” instead of outdoor recess, which was implemented two years ago. The 7th grade teachers felt that it would be more productive to use the break after lunch for silent reading, doing make up work, getting extra help, or participating in “enrichment” activities, which may include problem-solving exercises.

As an aside, I also asked Silverman about 5th and 6th grade kids being kept in for recess. He told me, “If teachers are willing to keep a student in for academic reasons that would benefit the student, they may do so by mutual agreement between the teacher and student. Kids being kept in for discipline needs to be in collaboration with administrative authorities and parents.”

I mentioned that I had let my 6th grade son’s teachers know that I do not support keeping him in for recess unless it is his choice. Silverman inquired if there were any more instances since then. I confirmed that there weren’t, and felt that Silverman truly supports the G-DRSD mission: to work in partnership with parents (me) but also the community (the local online news) because he was willing to ensure that my family’s wishes were respected (as well as communicate with me repeatedly until I got the facts in this article straight).

Silverman agreed that kids do need a break and that is why they have a 25 minute lunch period. He then reminded me that “outdoor recess is not a common thing in a lot of middle schools,” which is exactly what some of the parents I polled and I remembered from our own childhoods.

While it is also true that the kids have a three-minute walk between classes –- taking time away from work is something recommended to office workers and mandated by labor unions -– this is certainly not enough to be considered “physical activity.” Every seminar and event I’ve attended has had scheduled, 15-minute or so breaks throughout the day in addition to a one-hour lunch, and I would venture to guess that the curriculum days offered by the Groton-Dunstable Regional School District for teacher development follow a similar methodology of specified minutes of break per minutes of seat time.

I also had the opportunity to meet with Dr. Tony Bent, the G-DRSD interim superintendent.

Bent can see the rationale for having and not having recess. “There is a benefit from physical activity and movement. At the same time, schools are under pressure to improve academically and to get kids ready for high school.”

Aside from hearing about his recent fascinating trip to Finland and Sweden with a group of educational professionals to focus on the Programme for International Student Assessment (PISA), my takeaway from my meeting with Bent, was that it is important to focus on the value of physical activity as it relates to academic performance.

According to the Need to Know site, to which I referred in “Gimme a break!,” proponents of keeping recess through middle school point out:

• Research indicates that learning and memory actually improve when learning is spaced out rather than presented all at once.
• Physical activity makes the brain more alert.
• Play is an active form of learning, even in middle school.

The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) issued a recent report titled, “The Association Between School-Based Physical Activity, Including Physical Education, and Academic Performance,” which compiles the results of 50 unique studies and confirms that there is substantial evidence that physical activity can help improve academic achievement (including grades and standardized test scores) and that it can have an impact on cognitive skills and attitudes and academic behavior, all of which are important components of improved academic performance.

The report suggests that providing recess to students on a regular basis may benefit academic behaviors and that teachers can incorporate movement activities and physical activity breaks into the classroom setting that may improve performance and the classroom environment.

There’s a program at South Lawrence 5th Grade Academy in Lawrence, MA where the daily schedule for fifth graders includes not one physical education class, but three. The program is just a couple of months old, but administrators studied similar programs in schools in Baltimore, Pennsylvania, and Illinois and were convinced that children learn more effectively when they’ve raised their heart rates by exercising before climbing behind their desks.

“Teaching middle school before was a lot of kids sitting at their desks,” said Meghan Kelleher, who teaches science and supports the new system. “We tried to find ways to stand them up every once in a while, and here we still do that, but they know that in 45 minutes or 80 minutes, they’re going to go outside and play or play a game or some physical activity, so they’re not as antsy, I’ve found. It helps with their focus in the classroom, and they get excited to come to school, and that’s one of the coolest things about it.”

I can’t imagine such a radical shift taking place in at G-DRMS any time soon, but is there anything we can do in the near term that would not increase the school’s budget or take away from time on learning?

If you have an idea for adding physical activity to the school day – keep in mind there are 230 kids per grade and that appropriate supervision would be required (not paraprofessionals or high school students) – let’s hear it. According to Bent, who has a leadership philosophy that includes principles such as respecting all constituencies, allowing space and time for multiple perspectives, and saying “yes” as much as possible, “We try to consider everybody’s suggestions. It’s the least we can do.”

Stay tuned for the third article in this series, with your feedback and suggestions.