Gut Wrenched
Teaching is all about the spontaneity

Fragmentary History

 

So, Charlie got on the bus Monday morning with no issue and had a good day at school, a great bike ride, a last minute refusal to go into the grocery store (so I did in search of lunch items for him), a cool evening walk and then snacking, music-listening-to, running the small L of our first floor, an 11pm request for McDonald's, shuffling through a stack of old photos, and, at half-past midnight, a determined wish for talking with me about his childhood as signified by numerous utterances of 'Rocco Portia' and 'Grandma Grandpa ladder to the attic,' references to Jim's brother-in-law and dog and a certain feature of my in-laws split-level house. One can never turn down talking with Charlie and I interfaced it with study of the rise of the πόλις, the emergence of the hoplites and the tyrants in the Aegean Sea city-states, all while wishing I had taken that Greek history class with Bill Connor back at Princeton. All the names from poems by Sappho and Tyrtaeus and Archilochus are taking their place now in the story on what could be a long night with a boy kept awake by, possibly, his own rememberings.

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