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Raising a Literate Human is a personal blog where I write about my kids who are eight and two. (Sometimes my husband makes an appearance.)

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slice of life "Would you like ice cream?" I asked Isabelle as we walked along the River at ArtsFest. "Yeah, I guess," she replied. "You don't have to have ice cream," I responded. "Believe me, I'm not going to force you!" She pondered. A moment later she said, "Yeah, let's get some."

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Thoughts on Life, Reading, Writing, & Supporting Middle School Readers and Writers is a blog where I write to support caregivers of adolescents in regards to literacy.
https://lannyball.com/

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Lisa Keeler
Stumbling on the TWT blog and then the March SOLSC six years ago was one of the best things to happen for me as an educator and writer. https://lisakeelerblog.wordpress.com/

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Lisa Keeler
Stumbling on the TWT blog and then the March SOLSC six years ago was one of the best things to happen for me as an educator and writer. https://lisakeelerblog.wordpress.com/

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Year 7
Thoughts and musings on life as it relates to education, writing, raising daughters, and trying to balance it all.
https://justwritemelanie.blogspot.com/

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Wow, can't believe this is my 5th year! My original blog was at http://couragedoesnotroar.blogspot.com/ but I just moved to a new blog. I write about being a teacher, being a mom, and being a person who tries to be a little better every day.

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I write this post 12 hours before March 1 will arrive, seated in a hotel conference room, on lunch break. I am here to learn about the best children's books and to discuss creative and powerful...

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This will be my 8th year doing the March SOLSC! My blog, I'm Living My Words, is a place to hold my slices or fleeting thoughts when they occur on days other than a Tuesday or in March.

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A place to share my little corners of the world.

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Life, in Slices, is a place for me to photoblog. I capture small moments with photographs and match the feeling with poetic writing. Photography and poetry are both passions of mine.

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https://deb-frazier.blogspot.com

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This is my 8th year slicing during March. (I never thought I would be blogging this long!) The impetus was to give me motivation and accountability to actually write like I was asking my students to write. As an international teacher my writing has occurred in several countries.

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Heidi
https://wordsmithing.home.blog/

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My original blog was:
https://juliettesgifts.blogspot.com
Here's my new blo below:
https://justgiftslife.wordpress.com

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La Intervencionista from the Guadalquivir River.
I am a random writer. Since my language is Spanglish  which means that sometimes my brain is working better in Spanish than in English, I decided to create a parallel blog where I write in plain Spanish, and not just translations from one language to the other or a mix of both, and keep this blog for original English posts.

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Learning to be Writers and Readers in the 21st Century

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Learning to be Writers and Readers in the 21st Century

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This is my 8th year!
I started my blog as a place to share professional ideas with my grad students and model shared writing. But then, after the first SOL, my blog has fused my professional and family life with my thoughts and musings.

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This is my 6th year! Thanks to Stacey, March is now my favorite month! Happily many around me in Arlington, VA join the challenge, too and are slicing along with me.

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http://feliksa.weebly.com/slice-of-life

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My blog, Wondering and Wondering, is where I share my thoughts and images on Tuesdays, with the SOL community, Wednesdays, for #WordlessWednesday, and on Fridays, with the Poetry Friday roundup.

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This is my eighth year of slicing. This writing practice has led me to many successes.  I teach gifted elementary kids in South Louisiana.  My blog is named for the bayou running behind my house, Bayou Teche (pronounced Tesh). https://reflectionsontheteche.com/

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This is my seventh year in the challenge I believe. Slice of Life has changed my teaching, my perspective, and my soul. I blog at Live, Love, Teach.

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https://pappaxle.blogspot.com/

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This is my 6th year! I can't believe it. I keep counting the years to make sure I'm right about that because it doesn't feel true! I love March!

https://onathought.com/

(This is a great padlet idea to help find more great blogs to comment on!)

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fourth grade teacher and mother of two silly boys
https://gentleryan.blogspot.com/

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This is my fourth year slicing. What a growth experience it has been.
Iblessings.wordpress.com

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https://humbleswede.wordpress.com/

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https://marchmoments.wordpress.com/

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This is a great idea! This is my 4th year of the challenge! It's been a great boost to my overall ability to write and to teach writing as well.

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This is my 5th year of slcing. I blog at https://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com  which is my dedicated space to ponder, reflect, and converse about life, literacy, and learning. This year my series is called March Musings 2019.

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http://readingsthebaum18.blogspot.com

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this is a blog I mostly use for SOLSC.  I usually write about my children, teaching, and personal pieces I'm grappling with or am energized about.  I think I'm in year 5 or 6....?- Amy Griffin from Seattle area.

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special educator, aspiring yogi, and mom to three young adults
justsiftingblog.home.com

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Vovome in the Ewe language in Ghana means something like freedom. Hearing the word said aloud makes your body move. This blog is all about movement and observation. As I join the Slice of Life challenge, I hope to document the walks I take in my neighborhood in Accra, Ghana. Walking with my 2 year-old, gives me lots of time to notice.

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Kunga sits on an old, red plastic chair. It's a chair that you would expect to find deserted after too many injuries from the broken armrest. The dust and dirt its collected over time make it look like it's outlined by an artist's hand in black charcoal.

Kunga sits perched on a small, triangular piece of grassy land surrounded by a sewer and the front wall of my neighbor's house. If he's alone, it's rare. He's usually surrounded by a few men talking loudly, occasionally laughing, or in the middle of what seems to be a confrontation. I never know whether to say hello, wave, nod or ignore.

When I met him for the first time away from his red chair, he was taller than I had imagined, his shirt hung a little too short and his arms moved more than his legs when he crossed the street towards us. He looked at my son and said, "How's my boy?"

His eyes narrowed with disappointed when there was no answer. My son peeked from behind me intimidated by his presence. "We are well," I answered, "and you?"

"I am the grounds keeper here. Everybody knows me. They call me Kunga."

"Hello, Kunga." Pointing to my son, I said, "They call him Kojo."

Kunga didn't respond after that. He kept looking at the little boy too new to this world to understand the complexity of conversation. The grip on my leg grew tighter. I realized that I was also too new to this world. We all stood there looking at each other in the middle of the road. A taxi drove by and beeped its horn.

"Nice to meet you." I said as we started to walk away.

After that day, whenever we pass by on our walks and he is sitting on his bright, red throne holding court, we look and wave. "That's Kunga," I tell my son, "everyone knows him."

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Kunga sits on an old, red plastic chair. It's a chair that you would expect to find deserted after too many injuries from the broken armrest. The dust and dirt its collected over time make it look like it's outlined by an artist's hand in black charcoal.

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I try to do this challenge each year and I think I've done it 3-4 times? I write inconsistently and have trouble thinking of things to say.
https://kathgillis.wordpress.com/

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https://litmanifesto.blogspot.com/

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https://persistenceandpedagogy.com

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https://fosteringvoicesandchoices.wordpress.com/

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I started in 2009 and never stopped!

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Walking the Dog for a reason! Maybe it was the 3-day weekend, or maybe it was the weevils I found in my black-eyed peas when I put them in some water to soak, but whatever the reason, I was behind in my morning routine today when I stepped out the door to take Lucy for a quick walk.

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This is my eighth year of challenging myself to find something in every day to inspire a bit of writing. In the meantime, I hope I inspire writing in my students also.

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teacher,mom,artist, music, film and nature lover

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This is my 4th year attempting the SOLC.  My first year, I made it halfway and gave up after missing a day.  Some days are tougher than others when it comes to writing.  I get in a good habit, then fail in some way and fall instantly out of the habit.  My blog is rightly titled, I guess.  Also, I love alliteration.

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It's the first of March, and I've been packing my computer with me all day. I've been so excited about today. Excited and a little nervous is probably more accurate. My bag is a purse/tote. There hasn't been a minute to spare for writing a slice yet.

My sister is getting married. Prepare to hear lots about it in the weeks to come. Yesterday, we went to multiple dress shops, keeping lots of appointments. My sister's friend, Jordan, came along via an app called Marco Polo. She gave the most constructive feedback to the bride. My sister was lovely and open, without an inkling of bridezilla.

Today, we've been around the OSU campus, visited the church, and traveled to Oklahoma City to find bridesmaid dresses, mom dresses, and look at flowers. Yesterday, we were all in separate vehicles. Today, we've all smashed into my mom's Ford Explorer. We're quite the crew of ladies; me, my two sisters, my mom, the groom's mom, and my mom's friend. It's a carload, with only a small bit of room in the back for cargo.

This laptop doesn't weigh much, but I'm glad to be in the car, typing away. We're all losing some steam. Instead of a sit down dinner, we've opted to order pizza for carry out from Upper Crust in Edmond.

The girl comes out to ask if we have an order in for Heidi. "Yes, that's us." She looks into the car a bit longer than necessary...and I laugh out loud. We packed in here, and after making quite a few purchases and some big gains toward getting my sister down the aisle, no one can see out the back of the car. Adding to the chaos that is our car, artificial flowers poke up from the cargo area.

We have three pizzas for six ladies, after almost ten hours of wedding planning, trying on dresses, and coordinating colors. We're fifty minutes from home, and we dig into the pizzas. I've scrounged around in my purse to find a tissue to use as a napkin. I hope no pizza sauce hits the keys.

I can't wait to get back to the house to read others who are posting. I can't wait to see what's happening in their lives and comment, comment, comment. I can't wait to get started with this challenge, just to be surprised by its sudden end. It's the first of March!

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It's the first of March, and I've been packing my computer with me all day. I've been so excited about today. Excited and a little nervous is probably more accurate. My bag is a purse/tote. There hasn't been a minute to spare for writing a slice yet. My sister is getting married.

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https://maestraavega.blogspot.com/

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https://booksonthebackporch.wordpress.com

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My blog is used primarily for the annual March Slice of Life challenge (my 3rd year in a row!), and a few Tuesday slices throughout the rest of year. I always mean to write more of those! I write about teaching, being a mom, my cats, and random ridiculous events that happen to me. Named in honor of my son's timeless obsession with all things cat, my blog can be found at https://karpenglish.wordpress.com.

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https://thenotsonewlywed.wordpress.com

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I think this is my 3rd year slicing! https://leaderandreader.blogspot.com/

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Welcome parents, family members, teachers, and most important...4 th graders, welcome to your moving up ceremony! Last week I had the chance to meet many of next year's kindergartners, and I can't help but think back to five years ago when I was meeting most of you and talking to you about coming to kindergarten. For many of you, your first year in kindergarten was my first year as the principal of Florence Roche.We were both eager and ready for a new experience, you all were figuring out how to find your classroom, meeting your teachers, and learning about this whole school thing.Meanwhile I was figuring out how to get into classrooms, making connections with teachers and parents, and learning about this whole leading a school thing. I guess we both figured out what to do because five years later...here we are.

Just like the new crew last Monday, and as you saw in the video, you were all so little and the school seemed so big in your eyes back then. And now, as you are about to move up and actually move just a few hundred feet next door to this school, well now you are the big kids at FloRo and somehow the school has gotten smaller through your eyes. It's been the same for me.When I became your principal...it seemed like quite a task to get to know 520ish students, 1,000s of parents and 60 or so staff members.But now, FloRo is my family.This school has become a close knit, caring community that has wrapped its arms around me and all of you.But the time has come to move onto a bigger school where once again you might feel like the small fish in a big pond. But I hope that you will remember how hard you have worked over the years, how much you have persevered, and how much you have accomplished in your time at elementary school.

This past year, I read an amazing book.It's called The Power of Moments: Why Certain Experiences Have Extraordinary Impact.I love this book so much that I am going to reread it this summer and tell more people about it.And I want to talk about this book a little with all of you.In the book, the authors talk about how important moments in our life are.Sitting here today, I am thinking back on all of the moments that have happened for our 4 th graders over the past 5 years.I love when the authors in the book say, "We must learn to think in moments, to spot the occasions that are worthy of investment...in organizations (like school for example) we are consumed with goals...but for an individual human being, moments are the thing.Moments are what we remember and what we cherish."I hope that your teachers and I have helped create moments for you over the past several years. I don't expect you to remember exactly what you did during math class in November or exactly what your teacher said in second grade about the way to write an opinion paper or exactly which artists you learned about in art.But I hope that we created some pretty amazing moments that you will take with you.Tuck them away in your pockets and pull them out, remember them, cherish them.

Maybe you had a moment in 1 st grade when your teacher turned your classroom into a beach scene and you were able to read books with your friends.Maybe you had a moment when your 3 rd grade teacher let you create something with magnets.Maybe you had a moment this year when you designed something new in MakerSpace.Maybe you had a moment when you helped a friend solve a problem and you were so proud of yourself.The school year is 181 days, times five years that's 905 days at Florence Roche.You are not going to remember every single thing that happened and every single thing you learned.But I hope you are going to remember the moments that we helped create here.I know I am going to.I am going to cherish so many moments where I was able to get to know you, watch you grow right before my eyes, watch you laugh and laugh with you, sometimes watch you cry and offer you a shoulder to lean on.Please keep thinking in moments.My wish is that your teachers and your principals continue to make moments for all of you.

I have to share that my favorite moment of this year happened with all of the 4 th graders.Back in December, we loaded you all up on buses and headed to the brand new theater in Littleton to see the movie Wonder.As I stop in the theater welcoming you all in and watching you find seats, several of you came up to me and said, "This is the best day ever, the best field trip ever!"And the funny thing was...the movie had not even started yet!And as we watched the movie, I spent half the time looking around me and watching all of you.Everyone was focused on Auggie and the movie and the important message of kindness...and in that moment, my heart was bursting with love and pride.That is a moment that I know I will cherish always.And when you all graduate from high school...I am wondering if that will be moment that you remember from elementary school.

Since I shared my favorite moment and it happened to be related to one of my favorite books, I want to read a little section from the book Wonder.

(share principal speech chapter)

All it takes is to be kind. Your teachers and I, we have been looking out for you over the years. Now it's time for you to look out for each other. Be kind to each other. When you go through middle school and high school, you get to create your story, you get to create your moments. What will your story be? What will everyone remember about you? What moments will you remember? Your friends that you are sitting next to, they will remember how you treated them and how you made them feel. Make sure those memories that you are creating are good ones. Being kind does not cost anything and anyone can do it. But if you can simply remember to be kind, not only will you reap the rewards that will last long after middle school, but everyone around you will also benefit and you may never even know the impact you had on all of those people.

In the book, the principal said, "If every person in this room made it a rule that whenever you can, you will try to act a little kinder than is necessary - the world really would be a better place." I hope that during your time at FloRo, besides math equations and writing strategies and technology skills, you have learned the importance of being kind. In the book, we learn that we actually need to be kinder than needed. As you go onto middle school, I hope you will continue doing the hard work involved in building good social karma. Karma means that what you put into the world, you get back. If you put kindness out, you get kindness back. It's very simple.Be kind.

And to finish this morning, instead of giving you answers, I will leave you with a few questions.I don't need to know your answers, in fact pretty soon I won't be here for you to tell me your answers.But I hope you will remember these questions and work on the answers over the next several years.

Instead of asking you what you want to be or do when you grow up, I want to ask you what problem will you solve?

Instead of asking you what accomplishment you will achieve from the school or your teachers, I want to ask you how will you help make this school a better place?How will change the world...because I know you will all do that.

Instead of asking you what you will learn or study, I want to ask you what moments will you help create and what moments will you cherish always?

Instead of asking you who you will be friends with or who you will still be connected to through middle school and high school, I want to ask you how will you be kinder than is necessary to everyone?

You won't be able to tell us the answers to these questions, but someday you will all show us, your teachers, parents, your community, you will show us the answers to those questions.

In a minute, Mrs. Wallace will be coming up here to call all of your names out and have you walk across the stage.We are going to hear all of your names called out as you walk across the stage today, but I hope you know that you are all unique, wonderful individuals. We will miss you at Florence Roche.I will miss you. But we wish you all the best. Keep reading, keep learning, keep living in the moment, keep loving your parents, and keep being kinder than necessary.

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Welcome parents, family members, teachers, and most important...4 th graders, welcome to your moving up ceremony! Last week I had the chance to meet many of next year's kindergartners, and I can't help but think back to five years ago when I was meeting most of you and talking to you about coming to kindergarten.

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Momma, Teacher, Writer, Hugger.  Navigating the waters of motherhood and second grade, one wave at a time.
https://mommastrong.wordpress.com/

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https://wordpress.com/view/livinglife816287820.wordpress.com

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https://questingcwen.wordpress.com/
Single mum, yearbook/newspaper adviser, GSA, writing group, anime club sponsor, Comic Con organizer, animal lover, angsty poet

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Hello! I'm an 8th year slicer (who usually posts super late).  I write about my job as a Reading Specialist (K-5th), my daughters (in their 20s) and other randomness at

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Musings from a K-5th Reading Specialist. I encourage my students to think, speak, read, and write, with my support.

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All I know is: Thank to Slice of Life, its Story Challenge, & its generous community of organizers/participants, I've been writing regularly for 3+ years.

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Ten or so inches had fallen at that time, and another eight stacked up over the course of the day. Roughly 11 hours after slinging characters on Twitter, I can report the skiing was indeed top-notch. Powder days are rare birds, in my experience, and this was among the rarest.

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Glenda Funk
I think this is my fourth year participating, but I started five years ago. I started my blog as a way to reflect on my teaching practice and focus on all that’s positive in my profession. That was in 2010. Since then I’ve incorporated more social commentary, travel, and reader response into my posts. I do get political at times.

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Hannahshappenings.net

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Hannahshappenings.net

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This is my 8th year to participate. I started in 2012 encouraged by my incredible 6th grade students. I've been retired for a few years now, but still read middle grade books (and lots of other books too)!  I love writing with the SOL community.

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"Everything is held together with stories. That is all that is holding us together, stories and compassion." -Barry Lopez

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https://sliceoflife213349809.wordpress.com/

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I had to do a little research to figure out how many years it's been! 2013 was my first year slicing! This year my goal is to write a slice of life in graphic/comic form each day. http://literacytogether.org/solsc

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First year here! Enjoying writing every day this first week and also reading everyone else's posts!

http:\\www.blissfulwritinglife.blog

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Middle school reading specialist, avid reader, sometimes writer.

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From the start, I knew something was going to be off this morning. I could feel the impending chaos in my bones as soon as my alarm went off. The day before parent-teacher conferences is usually a...

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Lots of 8th year slicers here! I am an original slicer. I've been participating for 12 years.

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Nine years ago I thought I would blog just for a month. Still blogging. My blog is my writing playground.

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themeagermodernmom.wordpress.com

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First year Slicer.  Lover of all things linguistic

https://laydenchi.blogspot.com/

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It's my 6th year :-) I have blogged all five years at Bigtime Literacy  but this year I'm on my lifestyle blog:
Hello Good Good Life

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This is my second year of slicing! I was incredibly nervous about posting anything last year. I still get nervous but I am glad that I am doing this! I am an ELA and literacy high school teacher in Wisconsin. I used to be our district literacy coach. Thank you for all of this support in this writing community!
https://trinarrative.blogspot.com/

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Patricia Holloway
Year 7
I went through my old blog (missivesfrommissouri.blogspot) to count the years and was surprised at the numbering years I’ve participated. I have learned so much during this time. I often share TWT blog with other teachers. I changed blogs because WordPress works more smoothly with the annual slice of life challenges. And I’m working to become an author of children’s books and felt this new blog would better fit my current needs.

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This is my 3rd year participating in the March SOLSC. After being an elementary school intervention specialist for years, I've recently gone to work in a state men's prison where I teach GED/Pre-GED classes to inmates. In my blog, I write about teaching, my family, life, and random things. My blog is called Joodles Now & Then (The now and then doodles of Judy's mind) and can be found at https://joodlesnowandthen.blogspot.com .

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This is my 5th year participating in the March SOLSC! I had to go back and check my old blog to be sure. Glad to be back writing.
https://jaanawrites.wordpress.com/

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Thank you Sally for introducing me to this magical month where I turn into a writer.
https://mschiubookawrites.wordpress.com/

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Angelina’s Garden

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Wow, I can believe I’ve been slicing since 2012-I remember connecting with Stacey over things we had in common with our daughters being about the same age...I haven’t met the challenge every year as I’ve been through a lot with my elderly parents who are both in heaven now.  Things are mighty different since I’m no longer taking care of both of them...I usually love blogging about silly family stories...

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Captain of my ship, full speed ahead... to discover and explore new things about the world both personally and professionally!

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I took on this challenge in 2015. I was trying to get back to my writing when the challenge popped up. I need structure, which this month of writing provides. I decided to give it a second try.

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justsiftingblog.home.blog
teacher, mother of three young adults, nature lover, yogi, enthusiastic blogger

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Stephanie Affinito thank you for introducing us to this wonderful writing experience!

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I have enjoyed this!

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http://readingsthebaum18.blogspot.com

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https://wordpress.com/block-editor/post/lisasslicesoflife.home.blog
Literacy Instructional Specialist (LA Coach)

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ELD (EAL) and Drama teacher in Belgium. My writing swings from humours reflections to serious essays on social justice and education philosophy.

https://learnthroughit.home.blog/

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Fran McC.
This is my 5th year.  The first 4 years my blog was pencilonmybackporch.wordpress.com.
This year it is pencilonmybackporch.home.blog.
I love this challenge and the writing world it has opened up to me.

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This is my 6th year. I have found a sense of home in this writing community and am so grateful for the efforts of everyone at Two Writing Teachers! I write at
https://pelicansandprose.com/

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This is my third year participating. My blog is
https://thesassymightymissb.wordpress.com/

This challenge is one that I look forward to every March. This year I'm doing it differently and writing in front of my students. Over the course of three years I've added to my PLN courtesy of this challenge. I look forward to knowing new teachers/writers every year.

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Eighth grade ELA.
Husband.
Dad to toddler.
Fur parent to a 7-month-old sheepadoodle.
Really tired.

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It is said that children pay for the sins of their fathers. I often wonder: what did mine do? What God or gods did he aggravate to such a degree that I would bear the burden? What god would be so vengeful to alter my life's course? What if there were no God? He or she seemed to be hiding beneath a rock, cowering somewhere out of reach, unable to hear the plaintiff calls of someone clearly in need. I guess I wasn't loud enough.

Although I can't definitively answer those questions (because there may be time and place for such hypotheses to be made), there was a moment when everything changed - my cataclysm - a godless warp in my continuum of time. What was previously one way, became something entirely different, like blinking an eye and reopening it only to find a pale green sky, filled with clouds, hanging just above the ground, close enough to touch if you just strained enough. I'd know exactly what I was seeing (the sky), but at the same time, would be startled by its utter lack of familiarity (it's green?). From one instant to the next, I was left with the unpleasant certainty that there would never again be a blue sky, so to speak, in my life, and this green would be the new normal.

Each layer of this memory is onion skin - thin and difficult to separate from the next, delicate and difficult to peel back, triggering involuntary tears. At age 19, I became, partly, who I am today, on a Wednesday morning in the fall of 2004. The exact moment I can recall with such clarity, precisely wedged between my mother's nervous foot-tapping and my father's vacant stares, my silent sentinels standing guard, unable to protect me from the hidden attacker. They were a useless phalanx against an invisible army. I sat on one of those doctor's chairs, the thinnest layer of paper product separating me and a history of previous patients, still warm from whoever sat there before me. That was not that long ago for me, and it's true what they say about memory, that you may not remember every detail, but you will remember a feeling or feelings, and that I do. Those feelings, no matter how cemented you try to make their feet in the cinderblocks of repression, they resurface from the lake in which you try to drown them. At first, the bubbles come to the surface slowly until, all at once, the memory surfaces facedown, bobbing in an otherwise placid pool, forcing itself to be addressed, swollen with the weight of history. So much for sleeping with the fishes. Looking back, I realize that there I still sit, 19, on that bed, listening to the clinical pronouncement of my future.

Doctor's offices are places where diagnoses happen sterilly, devoid of humanity. Places where the bright white lights match the bright white walls and the bright white lab coats of trained professionals who swear to do no harm. Places where there are so many answers, but ever more questions.

The cleanliness made me uncomfortable, and I'd shift repeatedly, each time causing the rustling of the crepe-like paper beneath, like the crunching of snow beneath heavy boots, but without any of the nostalgic winter underpinnings. Smelling of some disinfectant, the room felt more toxic than clean, as though I could close my eyes, breathe deeply, and achieve some sort of half-rate high from the noxious fumes. But no such luck; I tried.. There were no clocks on the wall, so time passed at freakishly slow, as if carried by an snail through quicksand. Each tick of a second hand seemed to measure five, and I would have loved a glass of water to wet my dry mouth. The irony is that this moment is timeless, and even if there had been a clock, time stopped for me altogether.

Sweat formed around my brow, causing the light in the room to reflect directly downward into my eyes through which I bore witness to the events to follow. The entire experience was outer-body; hovering above myself was me, looking down on the room, hovering to bear witness. My heart was pounding in my chest as if awaiting some judge's sentence, but that was to come.

Two years prior, I found myself in a similar setting, equally clinical, just a hundred-plus miles from this room. A high school senior, my routine doctor's visit had turned dark after a series of accusations were made by a less-than-couth doctor, more concerned that his office door would revolve x amount of times per day than with the fragile state of his patients. My feet, size eight (eight-and-a-half, depending on the make), had gone into hibernation; they'd taken a long nap, and the pins-and-needles feeling of sleeping limbs persisted for the past two weeks.

You can imagine, person with two feet of your own (assuming) just how uncomfortable / annoying / infuriating such a nagging, yet benign sensation would be. It was a person talking at a movie bad. That person on their cell phone at the register obnoxious. It was downright bothersome. A varsity athlete, playing soccer had become complicated by the unnatural clumsiness brought on by the lack of feeling in my cleats. I'd lumber as I ran, one foot clumsily clunking over the other, cinder blocks in leather boots. Falling unnaturally, I looked like a clown in a striped uniform, and was pretty much useless as an athlete and teammate at this time. I may have stood more of a chance being bound at the ankles with rope.

Rationalizing, I gave myself countless, trite encouragements. It was probably nothing. It would go away. I would run normally again. Yes, but when? Patience was not my virtue.

By the time I found myself sitting before the least friendly doctor this side of the Mississippi (because east-coast doctors had to be even less friendly - especially those in Manhattan, dealing with endless traffic or subway stops, and in the middle of winter? Forget about it!), I had reached max capacity for the tolerance of sleeping feet.

"You have poor nutrition," he accused, or maybe he asked? "You have poor nutrition?" Either way, it felt suggestive and accusatory. My mother would be mortified at such an accusation / inquiry.

"No," I responded, slightly off-guard.

"You using drugs," again a question or statement. Who could tell? Maybe it was his accent?

Again, "No."

"You sure?" Question this time, I'm certain.

"Yes."

"You're sure you're using drugs or not using them?" Tiring of his Gestapo tactics, I sighed, sinking into poor posture.

"I am sure I don't use drugs - "

"Because this is a safe place," he claimed, although it became increasingly clear that this was anything but. (Didn't he take some sort of oath? One hand, parallel to body, elbow bent at an acute angle. Or is that Boy Scouts?)

"I'm sure."

"Well," he rubbed his chin, quizzically, as though he were thinking about what to get for lunch (because that's what I do when I'm thinking about lunch), and not about my physical (and at this point, mental) well being. "It'll probably just go away. Come back in two weeks if it doesn't," followed by the most vague of all doctor statements learned in their doctor classes, "If not, we'll run some tests."

There I had it - perfect clarity. It was nothing. Probably nothing. Probably (certainly) nothing.

Fan-fucking-tastic, I thought, tests, something this AP-loaded high schooler just could not get enough of. Bring them on (or don't. hat would be fine, too).

Within two short weeks, it did go away. Magic! Oh you, human body, with your trickster ways. You almost had me panicking there, the whole numb-feet thing. So, feet rejuvenated and gait restored to typical levels of clumsiness, I returned to my normal life and over-scheduled program, soccer included. Good morning, feet! My, you feel rested. There were no more tests, No more inquiries into my nutrition or drug habits - that is, until the time when my parents came to support me with their best intentions and palpable nervousness.

Awakened by my father's cough, I distract myself from whatever impending doom would follow, taking in my surroundings. Doctor's offices are wretched places. Their ambiance really is shitty. Plastered around the room beneath the flickering fluorescence were seemingly infinite brochures addressing you-name-it health concerns: breast cancer, Alzheimer's, acid reflux, obesity - a robust plethora of conditions. A who's who of life-altering ailments.This was a veritable smorgasbord of menu items for the budding hypochondriac in such a setting. What will I choose today? Will it be one from column A or column B? So much to choose from. How does one ever decide? Do I have that? (No, that one is for ovarian cysts. You don't have ovaries.) There was, it seemed, something for everyone, membership, if you will, into exclusive clubs for the infirm that few would willingly join. The faces on those brochures were so normal, and that's the point; he or she on the cover could be you - you could be them, with their golden retrievers and smiling toddlers, helmets atop a tricycle or hand-in-hand with a paid-model-to-look-like loved one. The woman on the acid reflux brochure looked like my fourth-grade teacher. Was it her? Did she carry Tums in her purse and I never noticed?

It could be you, taking the trifold from its plastic casing, thumbing through the well-organized and visually appealing content, staring down the barrel of your medical future. In a split second, your mind climbs the ladder of assumption, making arrangements for your future as a member of Club Sick. Do you get a membership card? A tote bag? Is there an elected body that runs the meetings? Are there cookies at the meeting? That would somehow lesson the despair. I could use a cookie right now, maybe two. This office could really use a plate of cookies, especially when I am forced to wait in the clockless room for an indiscernible amount of time. Lost in transient thoughts of absent sandwich cookies., the door to the room opened and the doctor, heavy footed in shoes only doctors and Dr. Frankenstein's monster should wear, ominous in their leaden thuds, steps in, and everything changes. If there had been a clock in the room, it would have stopped. I gulp. The white lights flicker and the recycled air pipes through the vents. Which brochure would I be?

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It is said that children pay for the sins of their fathers. I often wonder: what did mine do? What God or gods did he aggravate to such a degree that I would bear the burden? What god would be so vengeful to alter my life's course? What if there were no God?

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https://tomasevichtales.wordpress.com/

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https://kidblog.org/class/hr-44-jeckavitch-2018-2019/posts