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  Betty Chernan said, “I want to have fun when I learn. Can it be a rule?”

  “How about that class? Do you want to make having fun as you learn a class rule?” Miss Weir asked. Everyone’s hands shot up while they nodded their heads.

  “In that case, this will be our first rule,” Miss Weir said and she wrote it down on the big blank pad. Al and the other students smiled and looked at each other. They knew instinctively from that moment on that Miss Weir was a lot different than Miss Lemur, that they wouldn’t dread coming to school anymore. The rules they voted on that day reflected their new attitude and set the foundation of an extraordinary school year.

  As Al now reflected on these rules, he was struck by their simplicity and their power. Simple in that they all worked together to promote the desired behavior by using recognition and rewards, by tapping innate curiosity, by demanding accountability, and by honoring everyone’s dignity. Powerful in that all students in the class exceeded their goals for the year and, as promised, Miss Weir took them to Coney Island on the last day of school.

  CHAPTER 18

  Mature Spirits

  A few days after Miss Weir’s class rules were adopted, at the end of the school day, after all the other students had left the classroom, Al walked over to Miss Weir while she was looking for something in her desk.

  “Oh … hi, Al. What can I do for you?” Miss Weir asked him as he stood quietly in front of her desk.

  “The other day you said you’d help me write something to my grandmother.”

  “That’s right. I remember. What do you want to tell your grandmother?”

  “I want to tell her I’m sorry.”

  “OK. You want to write that you’re sorry she can’t hear or talk anymore?”

  “No. I want to tell her I’m sorry because it’s my fault that she can’t hear or talk anymore,” Al said while looking down at his feet.

  “You told me she had a heart attack. That’s not your fault.”

  “You don’t understand. She was watching over me at her house. We were playing cards when all of a sudden, she had trouble breathing,” Al said in a way that told Miss Weir that it had been a traumatic experience for Al. “She asked me to bring her medicine, but I didn’t know which one to give her. She had so many kinds in her cabinet. She asked me for the one that was called nitro something. I don’t remember the whole name. But I couldn’t get it for her right away because I couldn’t read the labels.”

  “I see.”

  “By the time I returned with all her medicines to the kitchen table, where we were playing cards, she was on the floor. I ran for help and a neighbor called for an ambulance. If I would have brought her medicine sooner, she wouldn’t have had a heart attack and she would still be able to hear and talk,” Al said with great remorse.

  Miss Weir sighed and then told Al, “You shouldn’t blame yourself because it sounds like it all happened too fast. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll help you to read and write after school so you can talk to your grandmother again. But you must first promise me that you won’t blame yourself anymore for what happened to her. Is it a deal?”

  “But it is my fault,” Al insisted.

  “Does your grandmother or anyone else blame you?”

  “No. I just heard my dad tell my mom that the medicine could have prevented her heart attack. If only I could read, I would have gotten her medicine in no time.”

  “I don’t think you could have prevented it,” Miss Weir said as she hugged a clearly despondent Al. “But I do think your grandmother would like to talk with you again. I’d like to help you have a conversation about this with her. Then you’ll see that she doesn’t blame you. But first, you must stop blaming yourself. OK?”

  “I don’t know. I can try,” All offered.

  “Well, that’s good enough for me,” Miss Weir told Al.

  Al had spent an hour after class every day for a month learning how to read and write from Miss Weir. And he had spent many hours on his own, with his brother and parents at home; practicing the things Miss Weir had been teaching him. The night before his grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday, Al made a card for her.

  On the morning of her birthday, before anyone else in the family got up, Al entered his grandmother’s bedroom carrying a tray with a piece of toast, a glass of orange juice, and his homemade card on it. She was still sleeping, so Al gently tapped her on the shoulder. When she opened her eyes, Al showed her the tray he had put on a serving table next to her bed. Then she smiled, sat up on the bed, and hugged Al.

  Al handed her the envelope with the card he had made. The envelope said, “To Grandma, from Al.” Her smile broadened and she mouthed “Thank you” as she pulled the card out. On the cover was a birthday cake with lots of candles and “Happy 75” on the cake.

  Then she opened the card and read Al’s message, which he wrote himself in broken English, “Dear Grandma, I hope you hav a happy birthday. I am very, very sarry I did not get yor medysin when you asked me. Becaws if I did, you cood here and tawk now. Pleaz do not be mad at me. Love, yor grandson, Al.”

  She looked into Al’s sad eyes and shook her head “No, no, no” while she mouthed the same words with a tear streaming down her face. She hugged Al firmly for a minute as the bitterness and self-pity she had felt for herself as a result of her condition drained from her. She had never blamed Al, but she did blame herself for not having her medicine nearby—and God, just because. Now, Al’s misplaced blame and loving gift to her somehow wiped away all blame.

  She motioned for Al to stay where he was while she wrote something down on her notepad.

  She wrote, “I love you, Al, and I don’t blame you. Yes, I have been angry, but with myself and even with God because I wanted to blame someone. But you just taught me something very important. Something I should have learned a long time ago.”

  Al read it, smiled, and wrote, “What did I teech you?”

  “That blaming myself, God, and others for my problems just ends up hurting me more.”

  It is only now, as Al relived this moment in his life, that he fully appreciated what his grandmother had told him so many years ago. The same was true for the other “conversations” he had with her over the next few years before she passed away. He had cherished them all because they were full of love and because they were about the things in life that really mattered to someone who had lived ten times longer than him. And, while Al wasn’t sure about what all her words meant all the time, as he recalled them now, they warmed his soul.

  “Be kind to others because everybody is fighting hard battles in living every day. But don’t be someone who creates battles when there are none. They just use them to make excuses and run away from the good fight.

  “The first half of your life will be filled with things that you can see, touch, taste, and smell. The second half of your life will be filled with things that touch your spirit. Wisdom comes as your physical senses and powers decline. That’s a good thing, because you’ll spend a lot less time and money on things like food, clothes, cars, mirrors, and impressing others.”

  Suddenly, the same reassuring mysterious voice that had previously whispered in Al’s ear during his trip back in time spoke to him again. “Yes, the more that people focus on their physical lives, the less they tend to develop their spirits.”

  “Who are you? Where are you?” Al screamed out, but there was no response as this scene from his life faded.

  Suddenly, Al was witnessing his last day of second grade when Miss Weir took her class to Coney Island as she had promised.

  CHAPTER 19

  Ahhh, Coney Island

  When Al boarded the bus to Coney Island with his classmates at their school, it was a tossup for him: was he more excited about starting his summer vacation the next day or about spending the day at this magical amusement park? By the time Coney Island’s Wonder Wheel, Parachute Drop, and Cyclone rollercoaster came into view and the cool salt water air cam
e streaming into his lungs from the Atlantic Ocean, the answer was clear as his imagination soared in anticipation of a day that he’d remember his entire life.

  Al and his classmates, led by Miss Weir and three parent chaperones, walked along the main street, which was filled with people of all ages, colorful flashing lights, multiple streams of clashing carnival music, barkers hawking rides, shows, souvenirs and food ... mouth-watering aromas of grilled hot dogs and fresh popcorn. The shrieks of rollercoaster riders put an exclamation point on their first impressions. The children basked in the sensory overload. Their challenge was deciding what to do first.

  “Step right up! No waiting. Take a ride on The Wonder Wheel, the world’s largest Ferris wheel, and gets a bird’s-eye view of Coney Island. You won’t believe your eyes. Step right up! Step right up!”

  As Miss Weir consulted with the parent chaperones, the barker said the magic words, “Half-price for school groups, just one ticket for each rider—today only.”

  “OK, class. We bought twenty tickets for each of you with the five dollars you all brought for rides. If you want to go on the Ferris wheel, please give me one of your tickets and form a line behind me. If you don’t want to, keep your tickets in your pockets and form a line behind Mrs. Nelson.” Only a few remained with Mrs. Nelson on the ground. Al was the first to line up with Miss Weir. The after-class tutorial sessions brought them close together and helped them become buddies. Al and Miss Weir sat next to each other in the Wonder Wheel car. As the wheel raised them higher and higher, Al surveyed the many interesting sites. To their left, the world-famous boardwalk went on and on while the Atlantic Ocean stretched beyond the horizon. To their right, thousands of people filled the many amusement park rides and thousands more entertained themselves at scores of shows, game booths, and food concessions. And now, as Al relived this moment in his life, he remembered being so happy.

  The Wonder Wheel car Al and Miss Weir were in stopped at the highest point to let more riders on at the bottom. Being up so high, with no visible support beneath them and only a thin bar across their laps to keep them from falling out, Al’s anxiety peaked as well.

  Once the Ferris wheel was full of riders, it circled around several times without stopping. Al relived the exhilaration of rising up, up, up seemingly forever, and then down, down, down to the ground. For a moment, he had thought they’d crash into the ground, even though he knew the wheel they were sitting on was safe above the ground. His body told him one thing and his mind something else.

  When the ride ended, the class regrouped. There was so much Al wanted to do and he was happy to hear Miss Weir tell the class that they would be having lunch in a couple hours but they could have a snack now. Eating Coney Island food was high on his to-do list. The cotton candy, popcorn, candy apples, and ice cream pops all called his name as they walked a few blocks to the boardwalk for their snack.

  “See them all: Big John, the world’s tallest man; Sadie, the bearded lady; Omar, the sword-swallowing, fire-eating wonder; Rembrandt, the tattooed man, who has more art on him than most museums have on their walls,” bellowed the barker who stood with one hand on his suspenders while opening the curtain covering the show’s entrance with the other.

  All the kids slowed down as they walked by to sneak a peek. Al got a glimpse of Big John, at least the lower half of him, as he walked past Sadie, who sat on the stage. A part of him wanted to go in to see these strange people, but not enough to overcome his fear of them. He didn’t know why he feared them at the time. But now, as he looked back, he thought he knew. They had threatened his view of people and the world at a time in his life when he didn’t have the ability to handle life’s exceptions. He was too busy learning the norms, because he wanted to be normal more than anything and couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be one of those anomalies behind the show curtain that people paid to see.

  “Boo!” said the barker in Al’s ear as he tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey kid, go ahead, stick your head in the door and take a free peek.”

  Al jumped away and ran to catch up with his classmates. As he turned from the barker, he ran into a blind man who was being led by a seeing-eye dog.

  “Whoa! Watch out! Are you OK?” the blind man said with concern.

  “Uh ... yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you,” blurted Al.

  “Oh. Are you blind, too?” he joked.

  “I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Al said as he turned slowly this time before racing off to join his classmates.

  “I’ve got to remember that line the next time I bump into somebody,” the blind man said with a laugh as he continued on his way.

  The irony of bumping into a blind man at that moment shot past him as a kid, but now it tapped him on the shoulder like a bystander telling him, “Pardon me, I think you dropped this.” The bystander went on to explain the life lesson this way: “We can’t run away from our fears because we’ll keep bumping into them until we confront them.”

  Reliving this incident years later, in hindsight, helped Al see that the blind man had been at peace with his handicap, with being one of life’s exceptions, just like those behind the show curtain were at peace with theirs. They had to be for them to display their exceptions for the entertainment of “normal” people. He wondered how different his life would have been if he had embraced his exceptions over the years, instead of hiding them to avoid bringing attention to himself.

  When Al and his classmates arrived at the food concessions, they were greeted by a symphony of barkers hawking all his favorite foods.

  “Dogs! Get your hot, hot dogs! Right here! Coney’s best!”

  “Sweet cotton candy. Made just for you!”

  “Coney dogs, hot off the grill!”

  “Pop! Pop! Popcorn! Step right up for your fresh buttered popcorn!”

  Al’s stomach growled on cue and he responded by deciding on a colorful blob of spun sugar that looked like a huge blue cotton ball. He was fascinated as the vendor swept a paper cone around the inside rim of the cotton candy maker, which looked like an empty metal wash tub with a hole in the middle. As the vendor guided the cone around the tub with his hand, it collected more and more candy, which seemed to appear from nowhere. Al was amazed, but no more than he was about all the other incredible things he experienced at Coney Island that day. Eating sweet blue “cotton” that magically materialized in a wash tub was about as strange as seeing a bearded lady. At the time, Al had wondered what other amazing experiences were in store for him, and he didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  CHAPTER 20

  Spook-A-Rama

  “Eeekk! Ha, ha, ha, haa!” blasted the screams and sinister laughs from inside Spook-A-Rama, the world’s longest spook house ride, as Al’s class walked across the street from it. It got Al’s and everyone else’s attention. Chills ran up his spine, but for some reason, he was willing to face his fears that the scary ride presented. He just knew it wasn’t an option for him to turn his back on that challenge to his bravery, at least not with everyone else in his class watching and measuring each other’s reactions.

  Most of the class apparently felt the same way. Choruses of “That doesn’t scare me” and “Let’s go on that ride” rolled through the group before ending with a rhetorical but tentative “Who’s afraid of that?” after Miss Weir took them at their word and lined them up at the ride’s entrance.

  They were seated three per car as the eerie, ghastly sounds belched from behind the huge crypt entrance doors. Colorful illustrations of three-headed ghouls; a wild-eyed, disfigured madman with a blood-drenched knife; huge-fanged spiders; and more passed before their eyes on the wall as their cars sliced through the doors sideways into the darkness.

  Frightening sounds stalked them as their car crept forward on its winding course in total darkness, punctuated by quick about-faces that jerked them in front of scary scenes that appeared and disappeared one after another. They also felt the presence of scary creatures when
slimy, crawly things slithered across their heads, legs, and arms. The creatures that Al only felt but didn’t see frightened him most. He had a vivid imagination.

  Al gasped the loudest when his car spun around and stopped for a second of tension-filled silence. A filthy tomb suddenly appeared inches from his face before a mummy sat up in it and stared, with its glowing green eyes, directly at Al. When the mummy moaned, Al felt its putrid breath all over his wincing face.

  The ride ended ten minutes later when their cars burst, one-by-one, through an invisible door, into the blinding sunlight where the ride had begun. Al was exhausted and disoriented, with his heart racing. He was relieved to be back in the real world after experiencing what hell must be like. “How was it?” Miss Weir asked Al.

  “The best,” he weakly replied.

  It was strange now to Al that back then Spook-A-Rama was just an amusement ride, but now it had become a metaphor for life, or at least those times in his life when he crept along in the dark without a clue, twisting and turning from frightening experiences that inevitably had popped up. Whenever one of life’s unpleasant surprises had hit, Al had always wished that he would have had a heads up, so that he could have been better prepared to deal with it. That way, he could have either closed his eyes just before the mummy appeared so he could pretend it wasn’t there or had been ready to look the mummy straight in its eyes and say, “Boo!” first.

  Perhaps that’s why Al fantasized now that he had walked into Madame Marie’s Fortune Telling Parlor instead of passing it by with his classmates as he did on that Coney Island visit. But the questions he now had on his mind during his imagined visit were those of a fifty-one-year-old man. He wondered how his life would have been different if he had known then the answers to those concerns that materialized later in his life.

  Al now imagined walking through the beaded door and into a small, dimly lit, shadowy room where an elderly gypsy woman sat alone on one of four rickety wooden chairs that surrounded a scratched, old wooden table. Several lit white candles on the table gave a warm, mysterious glow to the woman’s craggy face. Their flames danced in the bowling-ballsized, clear glass ball that was perched on a stand to her right.