The Real Boy Blog Tour - Oscar

Several months ago I was blessed enough to receive an early copy of Anne Ursu's The Real Boy. I read the opening chapters and immediately fell in love with Oscar. While never stated in the book, I felt certain that Oscar had Asperger's. In my fourteen years of teaching in my current district, I have taught many children with Autism or Asperger's. What I saw in Oscar was my students. It wasn't that Asperger's defined Oscar, just that it was part of who he was but not all that he was. 

In July I had the wonderful opportunity to meet Anne at an ALA gathering for Walden Pond Press. When I thanked her for creating this character of Oscar and told her how many of my students I could see in him, she shared that she has a son who has Asperger's. Today I asked Anne if she would visit my blog, share the inspiration for Oscar, and maybe what we can all take away from this beautiful book. Here's is Anne - and Dash's - story.

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Oscar is not my son; where Oscar hides himself in the cellar of the magician’s shop preparing herbs, Dash would be running around, knocking the tinctures on the floor. Dash is all energy and wants desperately to be with people. But like Oscar, he has no idea how.

My son was diagnosed with Asperger’s when he was three-and-a-half. The diagnosis came after two years of abruptly terminated playdates, a steady stream of disapproving looks and muttered comments from other parents, and a long preschool rapsheet from principals who moved quickly from “we care about him and want to work with you” to “we cannot have him here and we need you to leave.”

The diagnosis was an end and a beginning--one mystery solved only to plummet into a greater, interminable one. Dash’s world is so shadowy to me—full of uncheckable impulses and storms in his mind; of fundamental yearning for structure and order; of a great desire to connect bested only by the utter inability to figure out how; of love, empathy, need, rage, and shame.

I had a lot of trouble writing since Dash’s diagnosis—I’m a single mom, and taking care of him consumed everything for me. There was no space left to write. My books had always been about kids struggling against unfathomable forces; now I was watching my son live it.

After a while, the idea sparked: I wanted to write a fantasy that dealt somehow with the experience of having autism. This is the power of fantasy; it reveals the world by refracting it so we see things anew--telling the truth, but telling it slant. I just couldn’t figure out how to do this; all my ideas about real-world boys slipping into shadowy, mysterious, fantastical lands felt too on the nose. And autism is no fantasy. I put the idea aside.

One night I went to a master puppeteer’s production of “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice” and somehow while the marionettes moved it all came together: the boy would not be from this world, but another. He’d live in a dark forest whose soil is laced with magic and secrets, working in the cellar of a charismatic magician, hiding out because he is an orphan who does not quite fit in.

The boy would have characteristics of autism. His life, too, would keep the world separate and bewildering, so the things that are simple for others are great struggles for him, so he would need to cling to order simply to get by. Meanwhile, the people around him who seemed so certain and comfortable would be desperately clinging to their own rules, smiling brightly and desperately pretending everything isn’t shifting under their feet.

I had lots of ideas, lots of things I was trying to do, but after a while it came down to this: I just wanted Dash to have a book where a kid like him got to be a hero.

When I started, I worried so much about getting it wrong. The minute you start telling a story through fantasy everything becomes a metaphor, and I did not want to say the wrong thing. Autism is infinite, impossible, and desperately personal.

But the more I wrote, the less I thought about these abstract things. Oscar was Oscar, that was all. And as I got to know him I loved him like I was his mother--it sounds cheesy, but it’s true.  And I wanted everything for him, I wanted the events of the book to make him realize he could do anything, even remake the world.

I didn’t want Oscar to triumph in the end despite his autism or because of his autism; I wanted him to triumph because of who he is-- an exceptionally brave, loving boy. I wanted him to know that he had the power to survive and triumph no matter what the world throws at him. I want every kid to know that.

That’s my wish for Dash. He’s six now, and I can’t understand what it’s like to be him, what it’s like to be so baffled and besieged by the world he lives in. I never expected that my child’s very experience of the world would be utterly foreign to me; and I don’t know how to take his hand and show him the way to live in it. But I know how much he struggles, how hard he works, how much he strives; I know he fights monsters I don’t see, every day. I can’t protect him, I can’t make it right. All I can do is tell him that he is my hero, and he saves my world every day.

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When I received Anne's essay in my email box, I was blown away. She eloquently expresses the heart of a mother in it. Thank you so much, Anne, for sharing yourself with us. Selfishly, thanks for continuing to write. The Real Boy is a book that everyone - children and adults - should read. 

THE REAL BOY BLOG TOUR: 

Monday, 9/30 – Maria’s Melange - Maria’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Tuesday, 10/1 – There’s a Book - Danielle’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Wednesday, 10/2 – sharpread - Colby Interviews Anne

Thursday, 10/3 – Novel Sounds - Elena’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Friday, 10/4 – Word Spelunking - Aeicha Interviews Anne

Saturday, 10/5 – The Hiding Spot - Sara’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Sunday, 10/6 – The Brain Lair - Kathy’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Monday, 10/7 – Read, Write, Reflect - Anne Talks Oscar with Katherine

Tuesday, 10/8 – Librarian’s Quest - Margie’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Wednesday, 10/9 – Buried in Books - Heather’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Thursday, 10/10 – The Book Monsters - Kristen’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Friday, 10/11 – Cari’s Book Blog - Cari’s Take on The Real Boy + An Interview with Anne

Saturday, 10/12 – Unleashing Readers - Kellee Interviews Illustrator Erin McGuire

Sunday, 10/13 – Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers - Gina’s Take on The Real Boy + Giveaway

Monday, 10/14 – Heise Reads and Recommends - Editor Jordan Brown Interviews Anne

Tuesday, 10/15 – Bulldog Readers Blog - The Bulldog Readers Debut Their Book Trailer

And, if that wasn't enough, Walden Pond Press is holding a GIVEAWAY on Facebook in honor of The Real Boy and the prize is $300 in BOOKS! Click HERE to head over to enter. 

Reminders of what is Important in the Classroom

“It’s like a visit to the Pope.”  - Chris Sokolowski

Friday night I stood with my husband, Chris, against a chain link fence as we watched our high school football team play their Homecoming game. The entire day had made me smile. I have lived in this small town in central Illinois for most of my life. I did leave and move to Chicago for a few years, but then returned when we knew we wanted to have a family. The entire day was made up with moments that are woven into my own memories of growing up.

Homecoming week is a week filled with anticipation. In high school you are focused on the parade, the game, the dance. In grade school you are more concerned with what you are wearing for Spirit Week and the parade (CANDY!) at the end of the week. My student cracked me up with their wardrobes all week, from supporting their favorite team, to hat day, to wacky tacky/ crazy clothes (and hair!), to a day where they dressed up, it was highly entertaining.

It is Friday that I feel the real excitement. We head out to the parade around 12:30. The parade comes by with the band, the football players riding on fire trucks, all the different sports teams in various pick up trucks, the FFA on their awesome Charlotte’s Web float with their horse escorts, and then former classes in for their class reunions. The kids cheer, shout when they see people they know, and then scream with glee as candy is shot at them.

And then, it’s game time. We are undefeated this year and the games have been packed. Spectators filled the stands with people also standing against the fence, as we were. My own children were part of the mass of kids running around, pausing every once in awhile to see what the score is, but engaging in the social aspect of football games at the elementary age. And as Chris and I stood and watched the game, old friends from high school came up to say hi – in for reunions or just to visit, it was great to see so many people. Often our conversations would be interrupted briefly as a pair of arms would wind their way around my stomach and I’d greet a student I hadn’t seen in anywhere from one to five years. As I returned hugs titles would be whispered of what they were reading, shared without being asked. I’d exclaim over those books I knew, ask about those I didn’t. At one point when during one conversation I was pulled away several times to greet a former student I heard Chris laugh with a friend that it was always like this, that it was as if they were coming to visit the Pope. I turned back to them, laughing.

Last night I finished our crazy weekend at a wedding for a cousin. As he and his beautiful bride were talking to the crowd, I turned to Chris and asked if he felt time was flying. I clearly remember Will when he was little – babysitting at their house, trips to Disney. Watching the slide show of photos of the couple as they grew up was like being transported through time. It seems like time is only going to continue to speed up. And as we jumped and danced for hours at the end of the night, I spun around to face the person behind me, who was a student from my third year in Monticello. We both shouted with recognition and I asked where he was now.  When he said he was a junior in college, I laughed and told him how old he made me feel. We talked, shouted, for a few minutes. He reminded me of an old joke we had always shared in fourth grade, and then he gave me a hug and we parted.

I love small towns. I love seeing my students grow up before my eyes. I’m glad that as crazy as I feel the year often is – as rushed as it always seems to be – I know the relationships are ones that last. Those relationships are the ones that help me to get the students to grow as readers and writers in our year together. I know they are there because I feel those relationships in the hugs, words, smiles, and stories when I see students one year later, or ten. This weekend was an excellent reminder to me of what is truly important in my classroom, and I’m grateful for that.

If you’d like to see what Homecoming looks like for us, click on the video below. 

Lessons from a Picture Book

Recently I was reading a post on A Year of Reading where Franki Sibberson shared how she was teaching the concept of community to her third graders. One of the books she shared was, What if Everybody Did That? Like many books Franki mentions on her blog, I immediately went out and ordered it.

This quick picture book arrived on Friday. As chance would have it, I grabbed it off of the porch after reading a conversation among friends who were lamenting a rule one of our schools had in place for an event they were holding. Some of my friends didn’t like the rule and one friend said to just ignore it and do what they wanted anyway. I then picked up this book.

The child at the center of the book breaks a different rule on each page. For example, what is the big deal if he beeps the horn once while waiting for his dad? One honk doesn’t matter. The next page shows everybody honking with the words, “What if everybody did that?” written across the top of the page. While simplistic in style and the overall message, this might be exactly what I need to help my students see the importance of their actions.

We’ve all been there where we think something we’re told to do, or not do, is inane. Why does this rule even exist? This book reminded me of a few things. One, while we don’t think our small actions make a bigger impact, they do. And two, I have many kids watching me – my own and my students. My actions are teaching them. Every time I break a rule,  *cough* *texting and driving* *cough*, I am teaching those that watch me that they can break rules too. I think this book will be a lesson not only to my students, but to me as well. And for that, I am grateful. 

Letting Go

Today was one of those days. I came home, grumpy, irritable, negative. I did what I told my students to do – wrote for 10 minutes, just to get it out. It’s rough, but what I needed to say. And I think I need to share it with someone – so here you go.

Letting Go

There are days where I want to scream.

Frustration builds up inside like a cork in a champagne bottle,

Just waiting to pop.

Days where I vacillate between what is “right” in education,

If anything is.

I despair.

How do you fight against something that is bigger than you?

How do you hold fast to what you know to be true?

Where do you find strength?

Allies?

Answers?

I look into the faces of my students and I know,

I know what is right.

I know where the truth lies.

I know what is important.

And yet, I struggle.

Where is the all-knowing body who tells us what to teach?

Since when should an eight-year-old know math this complex?

Who forgot to tell the authors of these standards that not every child is the same?

That not every child learns the same way.

That there is no magic bullet in teaching.

It is an art.

I am the artist.

They need to leave my classroom.

I’m beyond frustrated today.

And yet, I will continue to teach.

I will continue to provide the environment I believe to be best.

I will continue to teach the way I know will reach students.

I will pray that my own children and my students persevere.

I will hope that one-day politicians will leave teaching to teachers.

Because unless you have been one.

Unless you have taught in a classroom.

How can you possibly know how best to reach these students?