What the ...?

Read Across America 2010. What can I say? It's a day, in honor of Dr. Seuss and held each year on his birthday, when people interested in volunteer work can gather at primary schools and read short books to children at all grade levels. Literacy is an issue close to my heart. Obviously. So, early this morning, I met with my Kiwanis club -- which, Kay will tell you, is a group comprised mainly of fossils ... and me -- and I picked out some picture books. Honestly, I wasn't planning to write about this. I mean, how interesting could it be?

Holy crap! I can't even remember the last time I was so amused. Okay, that's a lie: it was last Saturday. But we'll get to that. First of all, I would just like to say that I think I was the only volunteer taking this thing seriously. The fossils just stood around in the school library, eating refreshments and chatting about Medicare and such. Meanwhile, I frantically picked out books, trying desperately to coordinate subject matter and age-appropriateness. After that, I practiced each book, making sure that I would have enough material to last my entire 20 minutes per class. After all, there is no tougher audience than a group of small children. And I was scared ... real scared. Studying my school map carefully, I circled each classroom, drawing arrows from one to the next, plotting my course so as to eliminate any risk of tardiness. Books and map tucked under my arm, name tag firmly affixed to my teacherly sweater, I was ready to go. I waved to the snacking fossils, and I was off.

And, naturally, they threw me right into the deep end. There was no working up to it. No. First grade. Ay, Dios mio! The teacher led me over to a bench and instructed the kids to sit on the floor in front of me. They gazed at me with huge eyes filled with excitement. Oh, the pressure!

"First grade, HI!" I exclaimed. "My name is Brooke and I'm a teacher. I teach grown-ups how to read and write."

And they went crazy. I mean, these little monsters were seriously impressed. I got a chorus of wows and cools. It was love ... and it was mutual. After the first story, I automatically slipped into teacher mode (I can't help myself, really).

I asked, "So, how many of you think you might like to write a book when you grow up?" Every single one of them raised a hand. Aw, yeah!

One excitable Indian boy began frantically waving his arm back and forth. I pointed, and he proudly stated, "I wrote 15 books this morning." Hmmm... methinks somebody's not telling the truth.

"Really? Fifteen books in one day? What are they about?"

Nodding his head, he answered, "Endangered animals ... and, uh, technology." Okay. Interesting combination. "I'm going to print out copies on my mom's computer so that everyone can have their own. Because, when you write books, you want people to read them." His classmates soberly nodded their tiny little heads, as did I. A wise young man ... with eclectic interests, to be sure. And quite prolific.

Next up: fourth grade. For these kids, I had picked out a Cinderella-inspired story about a Native American girl. Once again slipping into teacher mode, I asked, "Does anyone know what a wigwam is?" No one did -- except for one impossibly small Asian boy with magnifier glasses and a yellow jacket.

"A wigwam is a Native American dwelling made of animal hides and straw. For the most part, wigwams are dome-shaped." What the ...? Is this kid for real?! It's like he was reading out of an encyclopedia.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Christopher." Nerd King of the fourth grade.

"Christopher, that was an excellent answer. Nice job!" Because, honestly, not ten minutes before, I had figured out what a wigwam was by looking at the pictures and putting two and two together. If you'd asked me yesterday, who knows?

The second story was the real tale of the three pigs and the big, bad wolf. If you haven't read it, it's hilarious. The class loved it. But, at the beginning, the wolf asks (hypothetically), "What kind of idiot builds his house out of straw?"

Christopher answers, "The Native Americans!" And we all had a good laugh ... at the expense of our native peoples.

That story completed, I was ready to head off to the next fourth grade classroom, but before I could make my escape, a girl seated near the door grabbed my arm and demanded, "Hey, what's that?" I noticed her pointing to my fifth grade book selection. "I thought you said you didn't have any more books to read us!" Another girl gasped, her eyes full of betrayal.

"I don't! Honest. This is for the fifth grade." And I ran.

After the second fourth grade class, in which nothing much happened, I followed the arrows on my map to the fifth grade. I read them an incredibly moving, beautifully written story about a girl tortured with Dyslexia and her triumph over the disability. At the very end, the author included a note in which she revealed that she was the girl in the story. Her teacher inspired her to keep working at her reading skills, and now she writes books for children.

A chubby Asian kid, lounging in his desk gangsta-style, raised his hand and asked, "So, that's supposed to be a true story then?" I replied that it was, in fact, autobiographical. "I don't buy it."

What?! "What do you mean you don't buy it?"

"That didn't really happen," he stated with complete confidence. "Cool story, though."

When I signed up to read to these elementary students, I suspected I was making a huge mistake. I was sure they'd tear me to pieces, cause me to run screaming from the building. Instead, I wanted to run screaming to the Principal's office, begging to let me teach Language Arts to these super fun smarties. Who ever would have imagined it? I'm SO volunteering for Read Across America 2011. You should, too.

So ... about last Saturday. Bridget, Lindsay, Mom, and I went to Sausalito (necessitating a trip across the Golden Gate Bridge. Hooray!) for Bridget's hair and makeup consultation. We were all eager to see what a gorgeous bride she'll make in just three short months. I'm sure these are the right people for the job. Not only did B2 emerge from the salon looking like a supermodel, but the hairstylist is a creative writer in her free time and loves to talk about copy editing. What luck!

On our way home, we got to talking about food. After all, none of us had had breakfast, and we were all starving. Lindsay told us that Tony doesn't like Thai or Chinese food because it's too fatty. No, he prefers to stick with Mexican food. Huh? Seriously, Tony? You do realize that there's a bucket of lard in practically every entree, right? It's their main staple.

"Well, I don't like Vietnamese food. Yuck! I've never seen a bowl of Pho (Vietnamese meat and noodle soup, pronounced fuh) that didn't have an Exxon-Veldeze-worthy grease slick spread over the top," I said.

"Well, maybe we could open our own Vietnamese restaurant, then," Lindsay offered. "Then, you could make non-greasy Pho."

And then Bridget said it, endangering my status as Title Queen. "We can call it What the Pho?!" Hell, yeah!

I was really proud of this title, as well as her other ingenious offering, Pho, Yeah. And on Sunday, when I met with my bank friends for my Russian sister's birthday, I told my Vietnamese friend, Lien, what Bridget had come up with.

"Oh, we say that all the time," she replied, totally unimpressed. "What's really funny is this place I saw in Las Vegas. It was so hilarious that I made Sonny turn the car around and go back. I had to get a picture. The place was called Jenny Pho."

Get it? Like the name Jennifer. And, really, Jenny Pho is exactly the way I've heard every Vietnamese person I've ever known pronounce that name. So, yeah. I think we may have a winner. Sorry, Bridget.

Ah, we Fogeds have an enterprising spirit. The rap group (F Y'all), the Vietnamese restaurant (What the Pho?!), Lindsay's pizza cart, etc. Of course, none of it ever really comes to anything. But we've sure got a lot of ideas.

B

Pet peeve of the day:
People who write text message abbreviations in letters, emails, office memos, and other forms of written communication -- especially essays assigned for college classes. In fact, I can't even stand to see it in text messages. R U kidding me? I h8 that shit! We're killing our langualage.

Oh, and when I told B2 that I'm writing a new pet peeve at the end of every post, she cautioned me, "Do NOT write about irregardless. That's everyone's pet peeve, and it's not original." Too late! So, sorry if that was cliched. I'll try harder.