Alexandra Fuller's Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight

I have such affection for this story. Alexandra (Bo-bo) Fuller grew up in Rhodesia as it turned into Zimbabwe. Her parents loved Africa, and she grew up loving it deeply. Yet there were so many racial and political issues going on, and a civil war to boot, that you might think that it would be a sad book. But it isn't. It is a story of great heart, courage, and humor.

The tug I feel reminds me of my long abiding and deep love for my Grandfather, who left Turkey to escape the draft of young Greek boys. Like many of the Africans in Fuller's story, and like her own family, he lived with terror (his family was massacred after he left) and blood. Yet he gave us, his grandchildren, a deep sense of identity. He became a part of us. His stories became ours, and he made us laugh. His music-making, and dancing excited us. When I read about smoking (yes!), plants, cooking, or dancing in Fuller's memoir, I think of him. When I read about humor amidst terror, I think of him. This characteristic, of both my Grandfather and those others who live their lives with grace in adversity, inspires me.

Comments

Cher said…
I remember your grandfather well, even though I only met him once or twice when you and I were teenagers. Hope and humor in adversity is a really good thing to remember. Great post!
June 7, 2009 at 8:26 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Halloween, preschool style.

Image
Preschool Halloween parade. Parents rush in right before with siblings in tow. Undressing and dressing commence. Little ones cry or stomp, refuse to wear some part of their costume. Parents coax, cajole, praise. Everyone is taking pictures, even we teachers. How many pictures do I have of four year olds in Halloween costumes from twenty years of teaching? We walk in a line down to the school office for our first "treat", an apple, then on to the church office for our second treat, a pencil. Then down to the Social Hall for a few more, only one of which is actual candy. We dance one teacher's favorite, The Chicken Dance. Next we dance to mine, Ghostbusters. I secretly think my choice is much more fun. The children seem to agree. The princesses (they are all princesses this year) grab each others' hands and circle, giggling. The boys bob up and down, not too sure Batman or Spiderman would be caught doing something so undignified. Not everyone dances. Some are already c
Read more

True self-expression

Image
This is a former student (she's going into first grade, now). When I teach courses on young children and the arts, this picture resonates for me. A child who has the opportunity to listen to music, feel it, and respond to it is finding her creative center. In schools, today, children need to learn through all their senses, through their bodies, as well as their minds and imaginations. I teach my college students that American children are several years "developmentally delayed", musically. As a nation we are more music consumers, than music makers. I show them videos of children in other cultures making sophisticated rhythm and music when they are only four and five years old--mostly unheard of here. I emphasize the connection between musical and language development, and how those areas of the brain are close together. We discuss ways to infuse music and movement into every aspect of the curriculum. Before the state cut out the Community College class on Music & Mo
Read more
Image
Christ Church, Alexandria, VA. In this sanctuary, both of my children were baptized. One daughter was married here. We look forward to baptizing our grandson here, also. My husband and I have been members since 1977, when we came from Cleveland, Ohio. A choir member at our old parish suggested Christ Church, having visited as a tourist. The Christ Church choir director just happened to have openings for both a baritone and alto soloist (paid soloists being the thing in many Episcopal churches). So we sang in the choir for many years, and my husband still does. In the beginning, all of the exotic southern culture involved in living in Alexandria felt like wearing new, slightly itchy clothing. We found ourselves living in a foreign country that spoke a version of English. Some people drawled, like in the movies! Others, being transplants like us, did not. As for food: Just as casseroles, I'm told, are the holy food of Methodism, ham biscuits were here. Church receptions al
Read more