The Good Old Days I Never Had

By Jane Thornton

A certain tone invades the voice and laughter of those talking about something naughty. I can hear that particular timbre from across a crowded classroom or through a closed bedroom door. Although a tone cannot be written up in a discipline referral at school, nor does it usually support punishment at home, that lower pitch sets off internal alarms which prompt closer monitoring.

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The Possibility of Love

By Jane Thornton

“Papa, tell me a story about the wild, wild, west!”

“I’ll tell you a story about the wild, wild, west where I met the girl I loved the best, and her name was Mimi Hot Shot.”

Thus began many a tale told by my grandfather to my big brother. I often listened in, but I don’t remember any of the adventures, dangers, or shootouts. Girly girl that I am, that introduction sticks out for me. Papa loved Mimi. Their love story lingers as a family legend.

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Resolved

By Jane Thornton

“Let’s make a pact.” My friend thrust her hand over the center of the table. Each of us layered our own hands over hers where they hovered above the soggy-lump remnants of an annihilated chocolate melting cake strewn across a plate. With great solemnity, we all took the pledge. “The diet starts . . . tomorrow.”

Easy to say with stomachs bloated by chips, salsa, onion rings, burgers, and, of course, chocolate.

Many people think I can’t relate to dieting woes. I have, after all, been comparatively thin most of my life. In fact, in junior high I suffered with being too skinny. I know, I know. Many of you are echoing the words of Tevia in Fiddler on the Roof, “May God strike me with such a curse, and may I never recover.”

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Candy Cane Spaceship

By Jane Thornton

“Oh, Mommy, it’s what I always just wanted!”

This gushing exclamation from my three-year-old son melted my heart and that of every family member in the room. A repeat of that ringing approbation became our goal over the next few sets of gift-giving occasions. So, when Matthew, with his unique and mysterious imagination, announced that he wanted a candy cane spaceship for his birthday, creative genius throughout the clan went to work.

Phone calls were exchanged. Gentle inquisitions probed his fanciful mind. The usual answer, though, lacked detail:  “You know, a candy cane spaceship.” Aunt Nanny, natural-born artist, took up the challenge. With papier–mâché, glue, and paint, she created a masterpiece. The resulting red and white striped saucer, with a clear plastic dome for a bridge, perfectly-sized for a newly four boy, awed everyone who saw it. Except Matthew.

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Red Badge Of Failure

By Jane Thornton

When I was in second grade and my sister was in kindergarten, I wielded my red pen with great delight. I brought home spare work sheets, determined to enlighten her with whatever I had learned. I remember that each large scarlet X, showing her the error of her ways, warmed my bossy little heart. All signs indicated that teaching was in my soul.

Last night, grading quizzes for my senior English class, I brandished a green pen—it’s less threatening to student psyche than red. Each slash through an incorrect answer elicited a hiss of disapproval or a groan of frustration. As the number of Xs mounted, my shoulders slumped. If my students failed, I failed. What made me think I should be a teacher?

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