Memoirs

Litsy Mark-up Postal Book Club

I just ended a round of reading, marking up with notations, and mailing Memoirs.

There are four of us in all.

I sent out Men We Reaped by Jesmyn Ward.
I can not wait to get it back to see all of the notes and how it affected everyone reading it. I loved it. I, at the time of mailing the book out, had read every book Jesmyn had written. She now has a new one that I want to read out called Navigate your Stars.

Men We Reaped.

Here is the letter I sent along with my book choice.

 “Words 2 My First Born” Tupac is quoted in the preface of the book. These words hit my hard as it is a reality for many of the kids I’ve worked with over the past decades. Tupac’s poetry is some of the most gut wrenching heart breaking poetry I have ever read. If you have not read any of it I highly recommend you read it.

I most recently rewatched Freedom Writers and it gutted me again I sob the entire time watching it. Because it is my every day and people who don’t know about it, judge it, legislate incorrectly about it and dismiss it. FIVE people she knew DIED in 4 years. Rips my heart out.

I often find people can talk about the loss of a spouse of partner, but that of a child. No. When I was charge nurse on overnights in the nursing homes I remember residents telling me to lose a child, there are no words, losing your spouse is painful, but your child, it’s unfathomable. This has always stuck with me. I’ve read it over and over in books. I have my partner but I have lost children, and I know the death of my sister my parents never speak about…EVER. Men’s bodies litter her lineage … it is at times taken as fact for so many people and so many races. 

What a time to be reading this in, uncertainty and fear…..hatred, upheaval…..

Feeding kids breakfast is something done now in the schools, by organizations or the district. It has become home. Like the Blank Panthers were to many kids. A safe place. A place to be fed, loved, taken care of. 

The kids being given adult responsibility. How this makes people who they are, how this affects multiple generations and our society. I have kids I read with that are in first grade who make their own breakfast get their siblings younger than them awake, walk them to the sitter, get on a bus. Be adults at such young ages. Because their parents are working two jobs to keep them in a home and fed and clothed.

Jesmyn parents beginning was quite beautiful in it’s writing in this book. Made me smile.

Her opinion of Michigan and mine are the same. Ha. This is not my home. It hates me and I leave it so I can breathe literally and figuratively as often as possible. This made me smile. (I’m not trying to insult you fellow Michiganders if you love it here.) When I was back out in the rolling hills and mountains in Pennsylvania ( where I was as a child before Michigan) this summer I felt peace like I do in Chicago. So I understand the wanting to go home draw. 

I hope nobody dies this summer. I felt that in my soul. How many times have I voiced this, I hope none of my kids get killed……

I love the picture she weaves for us, puts us right there with her. What home means you can feel it. 

Page 26 A normal everyday experience to this day. Even in my small town.

Isn’t that true you expect the people to always be at where you picture them in your mind and in your heart. 

Unless you lived it I don’t know if you fully understand the reality of death for so many young people I remember a few years ago I went to five funerals in one year……it’s just unfathomable nothing changes and all these kids die. That they are deemed unworthy of value. 

I have have discussed this over and over and over the past years with fellow mentors and teachers at our alternative school and my other schools I am at. It used to be like this, and gangs used to have codes they actually followed and procedures. No more. You want in you’re in, their is no more honor amongst thieves so to speak and it’s a whole new hierarchy and way of doing things. None of it better and all of it more deadly. 

Rog’s death so devastatingly beautiful in it’s telling so devastatingly tragic that his life is gone. What a beautiful way to talk about someone who has passed on. Comforting.

I until this point was typing as I read and then I got captured and totally immersed in the story. Sometimes even forgetting to underline.

The way ‘family’ is considered in this book is how the kids I am with everyday view it. It is your community or people in your house or surviving with you. I am considered family by many of the students I work with. So when there is a death it is a huge huge loss. We are a year out from our last shooting and death of a 14 year old young man, and it still stings. To have so many every single year there are no words.

The inadequate of life valued is so prevalent where I live for the students I serve and they feel it. I feel it for them. I remember watching years ago Boys in the Hood and the father telling his son and friend that the tests are racially biased only the math is equal. I never caught it the first time. Dealing with it every day and seeing it be true is something there are no words for. How young black men are treated is so horrific, and yet it is still going on. Guts me.

I hope you enjoy the read. It has been such a wonderful experience for me and I cant wait to read it with students and open up dialog about how they feel.

The first memoir sent to me was
Love with a Chance of Drowning

“𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝒹𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇… 𝒪𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓂𝑒𝓇𝑔𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁𝓈; 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈. 𝐼𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓁𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒. 𝐿𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝒴𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎’𝓈 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎’𝓈 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓃𝓉 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹; 𝓎𝑒𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒, 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓊𝓃𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹𝓇𝑒𝓃. 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝐿𝒾𝒻𝑒’𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓉𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻. 𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝓉𝒽 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃. 𝒲𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓋𝒾𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒, 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀.” Me. That is my essence.   I just read in less than 24 hours a memoir called ‘Love with a chance of drowning’ that spoke to me on so many levels it was just amazing. .. 𝔽ℝ𝔼𝔼𝔻𝕆𝕄 City girl Torre DeRoche isn’t looking for love, but a chance encounter in a San Francisco bar sparks an instant connection with a soulful Argentinean man who unexpectedly sweeps her off her feet. The problem? He’s just about to cast the dock lines and voyage around the world on his small sailboat, and Torre is terrified of deep water. This book was AHMAZING.

NEXT UP WAS WAVE by Sonali Deraniyagala

This was such a true picture of grief. I admire the honesty and the bravery it took to write this and relive and live this. One cannot comprehend this happening and yet it does in countless ways all over the world. An accurately brave telling of loss. I have never read a book showing all the sides of grief so accurately.

NEXT UP WAS
Travels with Charley in search of America by John Steinbeck

I tried several times to get into this read. I picked it up off and on for over two weeks. I just could not get into a flow of reading it. So with great guilt I bailed. I will try it at another time I think but for now I am going to mail it back to its owner.

SO THAT IS IT!

Another round done. NEXT UP is Middle Grade I am very excited for it!