Walking in Papi's Shoes

I've shared another bilingual book review over at Latin Baby Book Club. Go there to read about The Woman Who Outshone the Sun/La mujer que brillaba aún más que el sol by Alejandro Cruz Martinez.

My father was gracious enough to be a guest reader at my school last week, along with my mom. He read this book to my students. Retired for several years now, Papi taught high school Spanish. I'm sure that reading to a group of 4th graders had to have felt quite different after spending so many years with hormonal teenagers. Papi was the perfect maestro though; he read at the perfect pace, pausing here and there to ask a question or show the illustrations.

My dad, a former teacher, read to my students, in his dress shirt, cardigan sweater, and pressed pants. As I watched and listened, it occurred to me that I too, wear that same outfit to school every day. Papi would carry a book and paper-filled briefcase to and from work; I lug home an about-to-explode book bag. Along with that, I use and reuse the same plastic Barnes & Noble bag to carry extra papers and such; Papi did the same I remember, using a shopping bag until it almost cried for mercy. When he was teaching, he carried so much stress around, and now, I do the same. At the same time, Papi was proud to teach the Spanish language and its rich literature. That is perhaps the most special gift he has given me.

My father took me to school. He led me to teaching. And when he read to my students, I had the pleasure of bringing him back.

Mami and the Dancing Tiger

El baile del tigre caught my eye as books with cats on the covers always do. The cover shows a tiger dancing with a little girl. I once tried to “commission” my sister to paint a portrait of me sitting in a cat’s lap, the cat reading me a story. I suppose I always fancied interacting with animals that way, in a fantasy world. At any rate, I borrowed El baile del tigre from the school library and was enamored by the story and the drawings. This book now carries a special memory; I had the pleasure of hearing my own mother read it to my students.

Originally published in English as The Dancing Tiger, Malachy Doyle creates a precious story of a little girl who discovers a tiger dancing in the forest in the moonlight. You can only see him when it’s quiet and the moon is full. One night, the little girl ventures out into the woods and surprises the tiger in mid-dance. He whispers to her not to tell anyone what she has seen. He promises that, if she keeps the secret, she can return to dance with him when the moon is full. And from then on, the little girl visits with the tiger once a month, season after season, to dance as only a little girl and a tiger can.

The illustrations by Steve Johnson and Lou Fancher are truly special, in particular the scene where tiger and little girl waltz in the newly fallen snow, leaving their prints. This book is translated very well. The poetic text is perfect for teaching mood, setting, and descriptive language. One could even integrate the concept of seasons and phases of the moon. Personification also comes to mind, as we’ve recently discussed examples of this in my class.

In the end, the narrator is revealed as an old woman who brings her granddaughter to the forest, to continue enjoying this wonderful fantasy. The woman sits and beholds the magic of the little girl and the dancing tiger in the moonlight.

Last week, our school held a special day-long reading event, with invited guest readers. I seized the opportunity to bring my own parents to school to read to my students. I handed my mother this book to read to my fourth graders. She was wonderful, pausing to show the pictures, holding the book up for all to see. She read to my class as if she were reading to her own grandchildren. While she read to my students, I hoped that for a moment, they would remember their own grandmothers. I know that Mami and I both tucked the moment away in that place of special memories.

Goodnight Sam...

He was 70, maybe 80
when his wife lay dying in the hospital
and it was our turn to make sure he got to bed OK.
I let myself in after dinner
noticing the cat’s moist food had dried up,
the refrigerator was left open,
and something smelled in the trash can.
Sam sat, as he always did, in his chair by the living room window
reading the newspaper by the light of a lamp
in a short sleeve plaid shirt, khaki pants
his black framed glasses perched neatly on his nose.
It was my job to tell him it was time to get ready for bed.
He seemed insulted by my being there,
folded his paper, made two, three attempts to get up
and upon steadying himself,
shuffled off to his bedroom while I
washed his plate, glass, fork and knife
opened a can of Friskies Buffet and
gave the cat fresh water.
I sat in his wife’s chair and waited
looking around me, at photos of a young couple,
mementos of World War Two
and a collection of knick-knacks placed on faded cream-colored doilies
while he paced back and forth from living room to bathroom
in boxer shorts, white undershirt, brown socks
pale sagging skin
and disheveled white hair.
I made him nervous I know,
it breaks my heart to remember.
“Are you leaving yet?”
“Yes Sam. Goodnight,”
I locked the door behind me,
cut through the back yard
and went inside where I continued to watch him
from our own kitchen window
until he finally turned out the light.