A long time ago, I lived in Las Vegas. It was a temporary home—I was there for three years—and I’ve only been back once since I moved away. I’ve lost some of the particulars of the place by now; thinking about that phase of my life feels kind of like remembering a good movie I once saw.
But last week, I woke up from a dream that was both mundane and incredibly visceral: I had just walked through a casino parking garage and stepped through a pair of sliding glass doors into the building. Casinos are the standard venue for a slew of everyday life activities in Vegas, so making that walk is nothing remarkable, but it is a pretty distinctive sensory experience. I woke up feeling the starkness of the transition from the motionless baked air in the garage to the casino’s chilly perfume so vividly that I was disoriented, blinking at the ceiling to regroup and locate myself.
I find myself thinking about other places all the time—dreaming about Las Vegas, plotting future family vacations both extravagant and minor, even just daydreaming about, like, patronizing the ice cream stand down the street—and I think Amelia is too. She is a joyful kid with a strong spirit of adventure and a very low bar for being impressed, and she loves to travel. Last week, she was sitting on the floor brushing her doll’s hair and looked up suddenly, stricken. “When can I stay in a hotel again?” she asked. I told her I wasn’t sure, and that did not ease her mind. “But I love hotels. I really want to go sleep in a hotel. Will you take me when the big sickness is over?” She’s asked if she can go to school, to camp, to Target, to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. She’s asked to make trips to her grandparents’ house, to Florida, to a wedding—every destination she can remember, pretty much.
We have everything we need. We’re secure and comfortable at home, and we go out for fresh air and to feel a part of the world every day. Nothing has materially changed since the first few weeks. But last week felt harder. Sadder. I felt lonelier, more stuck, more frustrated and panicky. I think she did too. As soon as it is safely possible, I’m going to take her to a hotel.
Last week, we received a large box from a relative far away. Inside, a build-your-own fort kit: old blankets, sheets, clothespins and clips and twine. Little pillows, a package of glow sticks, and miniature flashlights. Three people participated in the construction of the manse you see here, and were I to rank those people’s enjoyment, enthusiasm, and investment in the process, the children would place second and third. Anyway, if you were looking to delight any kids in your life (and, perhaps, their fathers), you could not go wrong with putting a kit like this together. Get after it while the Post Office still exists!
Ask A Teacher
I’m a public high school teacher. Our campus has had several tragedies over the last three years, including a student death by suicide and two recent-graduate deaths, not to mention parent suicides and two helicopter crashes. A student of mine was just killed in a traffic collision this last week. Every time the campus seems to get back on an even keel, something terrible happens.
The pandemic has complicated this. With schools canceled for at least three weeks, if not more, I find myself at a loss about what to do for my students, who have lost a classmate and cannot even mourn together. Our move to distance learning at the end of the week was going to be difficult enough, but in this shocking and terrible moment, school itself seems almost cruel.
In Ask A Teacher last week, I had some thoughts for the teacher suffering through this terrible situation. Plus, letters about whether now’s the time to ask for help with a struggling reader, how to help young students stay in touch while school is closed, and a conflict with an opinionated, yet apparently ill-informed, Spanish teacher.
If you like reading Extra Credit, would you consider sharing it somewhere, or with someone? Parenting can be isolating in non-pandemic times, and lately, it’s….well, you know. I would love to be able to share with and hear from more of you. Thanks!
Recommendations
I thought “What I hope my (white, economically secure) kids are learning right now” was a thorough and incisive look at the way the extended school closures are poised to exacerbate the disparities already so prevalent in our public schools, and the way affluent white parents manipulate the system to the advantage of their own children (and the active disadvantage of children of color).
The problem is, as I hope we’ve learned this week, it isn’t our job to just protect our own kids. It’s our job to build something collectively that protects all kids. And that’s where the more malevolent half of the equation comes rolling back in. Because us white parents can’t actually disaggregate our definition of what our kids deserve from a lifetime of self-serving, whispered stories that place us at the top of every hierarchy.
In the past year, I have done an abrupt about-face from never reading romance novels to stacking my Kindle with a digital pile of cute modern rom-coms. They’re just so nice and so light, and having a pleasant, uncomplicated leisure experience in These Trying Times is a real balm to the soul! Right now I am delighting in Love Lettering (the protagonist is a Brooklyn handlettering artist who designs custom journals and planners! Winsome! Charming!).
In general, I am reading a whole lot lately (because what else am I going to do, GO OUT? Sob! Check social media or look at news sources? NO THANK YOU!). You can see the complete list of what I’ve read so far this year on Goodreads.
On Friday, I set up a game of Zoom bar trivia for my family. It was easy to arrange and execute, took about two hours to play, and was fun—easily the best distraction and the most convincing simulation of a social experience I’ve had since The Shutdown. I pulled most of the questions from recaps of Geeks Who Drink quizzes, which meant the rounds were themed and the level of difficulty pretty high. Help yourself to the directions/question/answer document here! (And the image for Round 4 here).
TikTokkers impress me because the best creators manage to render complex ideas, experiences, or feelings incredibly succinctly and legibly. This is one of those:
This is fifteen seconds long and absolutely ridiculous, yet managed to make me shriek-laugh so hard I cried:
Get in touch and tell me the first place you’re going when you can travel again:
Email: extracredit.newsletter@gmail.com…or just reply to the newsletter directly from your inbox!
Twitter: @carrie_AB_