Thursday, November 22, 2007

The Bears' House

As a kid, most of my favorite authors wrote funny, fast-paced romps. If you'd asked me my favorite author when I was between the ages of eight to thirteen or so, I almost certainly would have told you Gordon Korman. His books were (and are, for the most part) hilarious, and I'm sure I'll be featuring one of his titles in the near future.

When my fourth grade teacher tried to introduce me to some children's literature with more serious themes, I'll have to admit that I wasn't overly receptive. In fact, I think I more or less told her I liked to pick out my own books, thank you very much. I kind of thought I was a hot shot in fourth grade, and it still haunts me a little because my teacher died when I was eleven. I didn't realize what a rare and kind teacher she was at the time. One day I got all upset because she called me "Katherine" instead of Kate when I was goofing off with the kid who sat next to me. I demanded that she make me a new name tag. I think she must have been used to fourth graders because she didn't really respond to my attitude--she just made the new name tag for me; one that said Kate instead of Katherine. I wasn't really expecting her to actually do it, and many teachers would have ignored my request.

She also had excellent taste in books. One of the books she tried to get me to read was Michelle Magorian's Good Night, Mr. Tom. I read it after she died, and it became one of my favorites. She even read our class a chapter of The Bears' House, which was a bold move.

The Bears' House is depressing and extremely realistic, especially considering its young audience. I think my teacher may have only read a chapter of the book to us because she was worried we couldn't handle it, and she may have been right. I remember very distinctly what happened when she read us the first paragraph of the book:

"Everybody in my class knows my name. It's Fran Ellen Smith. I'm nearly ten. I suck my thumb, and everybody says I smell bad" (1).

We laughed at this, proving that kids really can be a bunch of insensitive bastards. Our teacher pointed out that it wasn't at all funny. It was sad. In my memory, there's a bit of silence as we all realized she was right, this was sad.

Fran Ellen doesn't just smell bad and suck her thumb. Her dad is AWOL and her mother is "sick." It's vaguely implied that her mother has a substance abuse problem. They're on welfare. Her brother Fletcher, a junior high schooler, tries his best to hold things together for his four little sisters. Fran Ellen cares for infant Flora, even running home from school at recess and lunch to check in on her.

The baby regularly drinks bottles of Kool-Aid, and the kids get by on canned ravioli and pork and beans. Her classmates team up and bully her, and Fran Ellen responds by sucking her thumb and yelling, "Who are you hitting?" Her teacher isn't much help, and always tells Fran Ellen to stand further away because "she doesn't care to have me and my smell too close" (22).

When she can, Fran Ellen escapes to the world of The Bears' House, a doll house that her teacher had as a little girl. Goldilocks and the three bears live in the house, and though Fran Ellen enjoys admiring all of the little details, she does not handle anything. She just imagines that she lives in the house, too; that she has a safe and happy place where she is loved and cared for:

"Papa Bear says, 'One thing I always wanted was a daughter.' He looks right at me when he says it, and I kind of giggle and look away." (27)

What's particularly amazing and unusual about The Bears' House is how achingly raw it is. Though the ending is beautiful and hopeful, as Fran Ellen's teacher finally comes to her aid, there is no resolution to the story. It's almost more of an intimate, developed character sketch. For a children's book, it's a surprisingly sophisticated portrayal, and it was even nominated for the National Book Award.

The Bears' House opens up all sorts of issues that people would rather brush aside, making it a brave read-aloud choice. We may have all cried two years later over the read-aloud classic Where the Red Fern Grows, but The Bears' House made us all a tiny bit less insensitive, and a little more human.

Up next: my first request, 4B Goes Wild by Jamie Gilson.



Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Skinnybones

I hated school picture day growing up, but not for the usual reasons. I wasn't worried about my outfit or anything, even though one year I chose to wear pleated, acid-washed jeans. I didn't care that much about how the picture turned out, since they were all kind of the same. The reason I dreaded our class's turn in the school gym was the yearly "lining up" ritual. We lined up according to height because it expedited the process of arranging the class picture. The tallest kids would line up first and be on the top risers, while the shortest kids lined up last, and were in the front row.

You might not think this would be traumatizing, but every year, I was the shortest kid in the class. And not just by a little. Usually it was by a legitimate couple of inches. When it was my turn to join the line up, I knew where to go: right to the end. My classmates used to laugh about how little effort I had to put into finding my proper place in line. It probably was kind of funny, since the rest of the medium kids were busy standing back to back and switching places. As an eight-year-old, I had never met a children's book character I identified with more than Alexander Bell Frankovitch, also known as "Skinnybones."

Alex is the smallest kid in his class, too. He's nothing but a "skinny bag of bones," according to his nemesis, T.J. Stoner. Alex just says, "Nice, huh?" Alex doesn't dread school picture day, but he hates ordering his baseball uniform, and having to shout out "small" in front of all of his teammates. He decides to just order a large to avoid the embarrassment. His coach calls Alex a bubblehead and orders him a small, anyway. That's just one of the things I love about Skinnybones--the adults are far from perfect. They get frustrated and annoyed with Alex, and are generally depicted realistically. In many children's books, adults are either absent or overly simplified characters with no real personalities.

To compensate for his size, Alex tries to be funny. And he succeeds. His observations are kind of junior Catcher in the Rye-esque:

"One time I asked the gym teacher, Mr. McGuinsky, if he ever thought about starting a school square dancing team. I told him that if he did, I would like to volunteer to be the team captain. He must have thought I was making a joke. He told me to sit my tail down and shut up. Gym teachers like to say 'tail' a lot." (20)

"My arm was a goner. It just hung limp at my side like it had croaked or something. I checked it out to see if it was bleeding, but no such luck. I hate that. When something hurts as bad as my arm did, the least it could do is bleed a little." (50)

"All my mother did was tell me that I should try to ignore him. She's always giving me great advice like that. Then she hands me my lunch, shoves me out the door, and her problems are over for the day. Mine are just beginning." (19)

Indeed, things often seem unfair for Alex. His small baseball uniform is still way too big. The name of his team is the lame "Fran and Ethel's Cleaning Service." They lose every game. He humiliates himself by opening his big mouth at the wrong time, over and over again ("Sometimes, when you're caught doing something dumb, you feel too embarrassed to stop doing it right away.") He always wins the award for "Most Improved" on his Little League team, and recognizes that it really isn't an honor at all. In order to get Most Improved, he says, you have to be really bad to begin with.

Alex's sense of humor finally earns him a victory, when he wins an essay contest. This is the subject of the equally enjoyable sequel, Almost Starring Skinnybones. I read and reread several of Barbara Park's books, including The Kid in the Red Jacket, Don't Make Me Smile, My Mother Got Married (And Other Disasters), and Operation: Dump the Chump. She creates memorable, sympathetic characters, and handles some difficult issues without being saccharine or predictable. You really start to feel for Alex: he's funny, but he's constantly bullied, and I think we can all remember how awful that really was.

Skinnybones is still very much in print, and was recently updated for a modern audience. I had the Bullseye edition seen above, complete with the now dated references to Steve Garvey.

Up Next: The Bears' House by Marilyn Sachs, if I can find it, and probably Mary Stolz's The Noonday Friends if I can't.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I'm Going to Be Famous


I have many memories of third grade, perhaps because I had a particularly memorable teacher. We did stuff in third grade that would never happen today--there's simply not enough time, due to all the preparations for standardized exams. My teacher was not married, and I think we really were her surrogate "kids" and family. In the mornings, she used to just talk to us for about fifteen minutes, and tell us about her life. She would talk about things like what diet she was on. I remember she used to drink SlimFast and read Danielle Steele novels. She often brought in treats (something else that wouldn't fly today) and she really enjoyed cooking and crafts. She wanted to pass those things on to us, so our class made a complete Thanksgiving meal, with the help of several parent volunteers. She also taught us to do cross stitch and plastic canvas. For Christmas, she made us all personalized plastic canvas bookmarks. I'm sure that took hours, if not days, to complete.

I also remember her as rather permissive. Third grade was the year that I really started reading a great deal, and I remember having plenty of time to pick a book out of the class library, and just sit in the classroom, reading. At least once a month, usually on Friday, my teacher would pass out paper cups full of trail mix that she called "GORP," and we would join the other third grade class and watch a movie. Sometimes, when we had reading group, we would just play Boggle. Another time, I didn't do my homework and told her it was because I was watching Doogie Howser, M.D. She just said that next time I should do my homework before I watched TV. Like I said, this lack of structure made for a memorable year.

So I thought it was only fitting to start off with a book that my teacher read aloud to our class that year: I'm Going to Be Famous by Tom Birdseye. We loved this book and thought it was hilarious. Tom Birdseye is an elementary school teacher himself, so he was well-acquainted with his audience. I'm Going to Be Famous was his first book, and it's an impressive debut. The book is written from the perspective of fifth grader Arlo Moore, who sets out to break the world record for banana eating to earn a spot in the The Guinness Book of World Records. Soon, other kids decide to join his quest, including his sister Kerry, who wants to break the world record for spitting melon seeds and his friend Mike, who is trying to top the record for ice cream eating. It's a classic kids against authority story that would make a good afterschool special: the parents worry the kids are going to hurt themselves and the school principal is concerned about "gambling," as the kids start betting on whether or not Arlo and his buddies will succeed. They ban any further attempts at world record breaking, but Arlo decides to forge ahead with his plan.

The concept of breaking a world record makes for a good story, since there isn't an elementary school student alive who has not been obsessed with The Guinness Book of World Records at some point. But some of the smaller scenes in the book are what really stuck with me over the years. Take, for example, Arlo's plight as he waits for a turn in the family bathroom:

The bathroom door is shut. I've arrived here from my bedroom obstacle course with little time to spare. Nature is still calling to me--loudly. It's Tuesday morning and I'm on the wrong side of the bathroom door.

"Hey Kerry, hurry up. I need to use the bathroom."

"In a minute," she says.

"A minute is too long. I need in there now."

"I'm brushing my hair, Arlo," she says.

"I know you're brushing your hair. Hey, listen. I have to get in the bathroom. Do you understand?"

"Say please and I'll let you in, Arlo."

I've lost control. I'm banging on the bathroom door. I've become a wild man filled with the strength of a lion. I'm Bigfoot, about to rip the handle off the door. Then I'll change into Tyrannosaurus rex, tearing my sister Kerry into little shreds. I'll be the creature of the black lagoon....My kingdom for a million bathrooms. Bathrooms in the hall. Bathrooms in the attic, and the big pine. A million bathrooms everywhere. Nature calls to me. Very loud it calls. (33-35)

A Richard III reference in a book for kids? I love it when children's book authors don't talk down to their readers. I'm Going to Be Famous is full of similar passages: Arlo and his siblings, Arlo and his teachers, Arlo and the bully at school. He's a great protagonist, but Birdseye doesn't take the afterschool special way out and actually let any of the kids succeed at their record-breaking attempts.

I've never really heard much about this book, and it's one I don't happen to own. This copy came from the local library. But I enjoyed it with the likes of more well-known books by Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, and Lois Lowry. Any teacher who not only encouraged reading every day, but read to us, too, is okay in my book. I hope there's still time for that for the third graders of today. And without that teacher, I might not have remembered I'm Going to Be Famous.

Up next: undoubtedly one of my very favorite books as a kid, Barbara Park's Skinnybones.