Go Dubs!
Your sib,
Penny
MONDAY, DECEMBER 1, 2014
Dear You,
As I said, our family lives in OAKLAND, a city in California.
The following information is important, You.
Do NOT get fooled when you hear someone talk about the City when they are really talking about SAN FRANCISCO, which is across the Bay. I don’t get fooled. I just get angry.
Here are those cities on a little map of California:
See? Two stars on a map. Two different cities. There should be no “the” in their descriptions at all. I ABHOR that! Oakland’s a fine city. It is not a watered-down San Francisco! But, sometimes, even Oaklanders call San Francisco “the City”!
SIX GREAT THINGS ABOUT OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA:
1. It has its very own lake. Not every city does.
2. It has Jack London Square, where Gabby and I pretend we own the fancy yachts docked there. One for each of us.
3. It has cool hipsters who wear whatever they want, spiky blue or green or any color hair and tall furry boots and dark-tinted sunglasses. And tattoos. Gabby and I plan on getting tattoos as soon as we’re allowed. Probably not in the near future.
4. Food!!!!!!! Tall, tall ice cream sundaes at Fentons, and markets with lots of free samples where you can buy food from all around the world: Hup Seng cream crackers and tostados and samosas and sushi—you name it!
5. Even our graffiti is spectacular—striped like candy and glittery like fireworks.
6. And the Oakland A’s and the Oakland Raiders AND the Golden State Warriors. How cool is all that?
CORRECTION: That’s eight great things about Oakland, if you were counting.
Oakland used to have many more oak trees than it has now. That’s where it gets its name. The Ohlone used to make meals from the acorns of the oak trees.
Anyway, I am digressing.
OK, I’m not really digressing. Acorns and the Ohlone have something to do with my terrible FABRICATION. I guess it is time to tell you about it.
Tomorrow.
Love,
Penny
PS. You have a new name! You are now at 4 weeks and are called an EMBRYO.
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 2, 2014
Dear You,
Here it is, THE STORY ABOUT MY TERRIBLE FABRICATION.
First of all, I have to tell you that Mr. Chen is my favorite of all the teachers I’ve ever had in my life. I like him because he wears a different tie almost every day.
I know that good taste in ties is a minor reason to like your teacher, but I am positive he chooses his ties carefully, with his students in mind. Teachers aren’t even required to wear ties. Mr. Chen’s ties give us something interesting to look at when our minds wander or just because.
I truly believe that says a whole lot about a teacher.
Here are just a few of the ties he has worn so far:
His Müller-Lyer Optical Illusion Tie
Surprise! If you measure those two lines they are the same exact size! Really!
Here are a few more:
And also, Mr. Chen’s eyes look at everyone in a kind way.
I really, really want Mr. Chen to like me. He seems to like me, but if he ever finds out that I’m a fabricator, I don’t think he will.
Anyway, here’s the story.
Mr. Chen told us about the heritage project a month before I began this journal.
Kids who live in Oakland, in all of California, actually, often have interesting heritages. Many people from around the world have come to live in our state because of our freedoms.
And, of course, the nice weather.
Mr. Chen reminded us that most American families came from somewhere else. The United States has always been a nation of immigrants. Mr. Chen feels that remembering this fact is extremely important. All of my teachers have thought it was important. So I have had to draw many family trees over the years, although my trees are always kind of bare.
The first part of Mr. Chen’s project is to write a simple three-to-four-sentence paragraph about our families’ origins. But there will be other parts, he said. He gave us a project sheet to share with our parents. We should try to hand in something every month.
The project will CULMINATE with an oral presentation, and that’s when all the project parts come together. I’m not thrilled about that oral presentation, even though mine would be short and easy. But boring.
Mr. Chen told us that his own ancestors came to California from China to help build the Central Pacific Railroad.
Amir told the class that his grandfather came from Calcutta in India.
Sophia’s parents came separately from Turkey and fell in love right here in Oakland.
Gabby’s parents came from Jamaica with her brother, Mike, before Gabby was born.
Antonio’s parents came from Arizona and Mexico. Issa’s parents came from Texas and Kenya.
Hazel Pepper’s mother came from Russia and her father came from England.
And, of course, she went on and on for a thousand words or so until Mr. Chen kindly interrupted her “to let someone else speak.”
I thought everyone’s stories were so wonderful!
Before I knew it, my brain began imagining an “impress Mr. Chen story” about my own heritage, except it was someone else’s heritage. And I hadn’t planned to share it out loud.
Until I raised my hand.
Me: “My ancestors were always, always here. They didn’t ARRIVE from anywhere. They were already here!”
“With the dinosaurs?” Kenny Walinhoff called out. Ha ha. Several kids laughed as if that was the funniest joke they’d ever heard.
Mr. Chen frowned at them. Then he gave me his “I’m SO VERY interested” look. (His forehead goes up and his eyes kind of beam sparkles at you.)
“Tell us more, Penelope,” he said. Even the little dancing snowmen on the tie he was wearing that day seemed interested.
Here comes the fabrication.
Me: “I am descended from a native Californian tribe. The Ohlone, to be specific.”
There. I’d said it. The story had traveled from my brain, down to my tongue, and out of my mouth, and when it hit air, it became a fabrication. Another word for that is LIE.
Me: “And princesses.”
Of course there had to be princesses.
Not the timid kind with gold crowns and purple-pink gowns and uncomfortable pointy slippers.
No. The brave kind with clothes made of animal skins. There were probably bare feet involved, too, swift and speedy feet that never left a mark as they pad-padded among the oak trees. I was looking down at my sneakers. I was imagining muddy toes.
“Penny?”
I looked up. I wasn’t sure how long I had been pad-padding among the oak trees.
Mr. Chen: “I’m wondering whose side of the family.”
“My mother’s side,” I said.
And now you know, You. I do feel bad about the borrowed heritage, but it is too late to turn back.
Is it really too late to turn back? I mean, is it too late to tell Mr. Chen the truth?
Gabby knows I told a lie. She knows that Sammy is not my biological mother and that I borrowed her heritage. Gabby said she understands why I did it, on account of my usually bare and boring family trees. She promised to keep my fabrication a secret, because that’s what friends are for.
I told her it did feel pretty good to borrow Sammy’s heritage for a few minutes.
Anyway, that’s the fabrication.
I am happy to be able to write about all this to you, even though I don’t feel happy about borrowing Sammy’s heritage anymore.
Your sibling,
Penny
PS. I do not plan to share the project sheet with Mama and Sammy. I will paste it in here for ready reference. Mama and Sammy believe in privacy and told me they would never peek in this private journal. Mama and Sammy always tell the truth.
We beat the Magic again! Whew! Close. 98
–97.
PROJECT SHEET
In just a few sentences, tell us where members of your family lived before they came to California. Perhaps you weren’t even born yet! You can describe one or both sides of your family—it is your choice.
• Does your family have any artifacts or dress items that relate to your heritage?
• Are there ceremonies, customs, or rituals associated with your heritage?
• What was the language of your family’s place of origin? Do you know some words in that language?
• Are there specific foods associated with your family’s heritage? Share a recipe if you can.
• Interview a family member about what your heritage means to him or her.
• Tell us something about the history of the country or state you came from.
CULMINATION: Plan an oral presentation combining the information you gathered about your heritage. You can bring any visual aids you’d like.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 3, 2014
Dear You,
RELATIVE is another excellent word to know. It refers to people who are in your family.
But it can also mean one thing compared to another thing.
For example, I am old, relative to you.
The Earth is big, relative to a raindrop.
The Earth is small, relative to the whole starry universe.
I like to remember that word RELATIVE when I shoot baskets.
Let me explain what I mean:
Today after school, Gabby and I were watching a bunch of kids play HORSE. Kids at our school love that game and play it rain or shine. As a matter of fact, it was raining today, and they were still playing it!
It’s an easy enough basketball game, You.
Everyone stands in a line. The first player gets to do any crazy thing they want before they shoot. Hop up and down. Whistle. Turn around three times. If they make their shot, the others have to do the exact same thing. If the first person misses that shot, the next person gets to make up a crazy shot for the others to copy. Anyone who misses a person’s crazy shot, gets the letter H. You just keep playing like this and when you get enough misses to spell HORSE you are O-U-T. The last one left who did not yet spell HORSE is the winner.
I don’t know what it’s like at other schools, but at Pacific Beach Elementary School, you will notice something peculiar.
Me: “Did you ever notice that only the boys are playing HORSE? That’s SEXISM.”
Gabby: “No. It’s not sexism if the girls don’t join in!”
Hmmm, I thought. She’s so right. So, today, we did.
At first, the boys looked surprised when we stood in line to play.
Kenny Walinhoff to me: “You’re too short for basketball.”
Gabby: “She is a bit short, but not TOO short. Steph Curry is short, too, and look at him!”
Kenny: “Steph Curry is NOT short! He’s six foot three. You call that short?”
Me: “Yes. Because it’s all RELATIVE, like Aunty Lue in her yellow convertible.”
Kenny: “Huh?”
But Gabby knew just what I meant. Sometimes, Gabby and I can read each other’s minds. High fives!
So Gabby told Kenny about her aunty Lue, formerly from Chicago, who always drives her car with the top rolled down, almost all the time. Her aunty Lue says the weather is warm here, compared to Chicago.
Gabby: “See? It’s all relative.”
Me: “And Steph Curry is short if you compare him to Draymond Green, who is six foot seven. And how about Andrew Bogut, who is seven feet? So Curry tries harder and constantly practices his three-pointers.”
Everybody in back of us in line was getting impatient. “Come on, come on, start the game!” one boy yelled.
Kenny wriggled his nose three times, then made the shot.
I was next. I was going to give it my all. It’s all relative, relative, relative, I thought.
I wriggled my nose three times.
Just then, Kenny Walinhoff asked me if I was ever going to tell Mr. Chen my “real” name. Pen-el-o-pee-pee.
And I missed my shot for an H.
It would have been really easy to punch Kenny, but I decided to be the mature one in the situation. Except that I didn’t feel like playing HORSE anymore, which really wasn’t very mature at all.
On the way home, Gabby said kindly, “I like your name, Penelope. It sounds like a name from the British TV show Downton Abbey.”
Can you see why she is my best friend, You? My name sounded pretty when she said it.
But there was Hazel, walking home with us. She’s been doing that lately. Her street is around the corner from ours.
Hazel: “I like your name, too, Penelope. It sounds like a little drum roll. Rah-TAT-a-tat! Pen-EL-o-pe!”
Gabby and Hazel both started singing: “Rah-TATa-tat! Pen-EL-o-pe! Rah-TAT-a-tat! Pen-EL-o-pe!” dancing to that rhythm all the way down the block. They didn’t even notice I wasn’t joining in.
Nobody will make fun of YOUR name, You. I solemnly promise. As soon as I find out what your name will be, before it is announced to the world and too late to change, I will check it upside down and inside out. Just to make sure.
Your sibling,
Pen
FRIDAY, DECEMBER 5, 2014
Dear You,
We are so glad for the rain this week because California is experiencing a terrible drought. There hasn’t been enough winter rain to water the farmers’ crops. I worry about our drought.
You yourself are a water baby! I read that you are surrounded and cushioned by fluid inside Mama’s uterus. That is wondrous to me. What to Expect says you even look like a little tadpole. And you have a tiny tail!
Everything about you is wondrous to me.
Love,
Penny
Last night we beat the New Orleans Pelicans 112–85. Yes!
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 2014
Dear You,
Uncle Ziggy came by tonight.
Uncle Ziggy is Sammy’s younger brother. Ziggy is a nickname, short for Zachariah.
You will notice that Uncle Ziggy is over here a lot.
I have a feeling that Mama and Sammy have him over to make sure I have an important male figure in my life because I have two moms. I don’t even think about that, even though he IS important to me. I just love Uncle Ziggy. He is funny and kind.
He always brings his ukulele for after-dinner sing-alongs. He is a troubadour, he says, which is a singing poet, although he’s had a lot of other jobs. Uncle Ziggy has a beautiful, trembly voice, halfway between a country singer and a rock star. I play my ukulele with him even though I only know a few chords. But we all sing loudly, and it covers up my bloopers.
Uncle Ziggy is hard at work looking for a high-paying job that will still give him time for troubadouring. But when he is not looking for a high-paying job, he is mapping out secret stairways. Uncle Ziggy belongs to the Oakland Secret Stairway Society (OSSS). That’s another great thing about Oakland. There are many secret stairways because the city is so hilly. The stairways hide behind alleys or pop up at the end of paths. Some lead to gardens. Some lead to other stairways. The mysterious ones just stop and lead nowhere.
Mama and Sammy think his job search is leading nowhere, so we are helping him spruce up his RESUME (rez-oo-MAY). Resume is another word for “list of jobs you have had in your life.” In Uncle Ziggy’s case, it’s not that many high-paying ones.
Uncle Ziggy: “This is my resume.” He picked up his uke, and I plunked along with him on mine.
(To the tune of “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.”)
I’ve been working as a supermarket checker,
A painter and a whaddya-call-it,
A clown and a sailor and an auto wrecker,
Just to get some dollars in my wallet.
You will love Uncle Ziggy, too.
Uncle Ziggy is a devoted Warriors fan, like I am. He knows a lot about basketball. But he is one of those Extremely Superstitious Fans. He always wears a W
arriors shirt when he watches a game, even when he’s alone in his apartment, he says. And the same pair of blue socks, even if he’s worn them for other games without washing them first. Possibly the same underwear, too.
Tonight, we beat the Chicago Bulls, 112–102! Our twelfth straight victory, and we weren’t even playing at home!
Your sib,
Penny
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2014
Dear You,
Am I becoming superstitious like Uncle Ziggy? I woke up this morning feeling like all the colors of the rainbow at once because of our basketball wins. I was positive something nice was going to happen today. And something did!
Gabby and I were in Gabby’s driveway, practicing our shots. Mike came out of the house, and Gabby asked him to give us some tips. He agreed right away. The tips were awesome.
He told us to keep our eyes up whenever we dribbled. He also had us do a shooting drill to help get the same backspin on the ball as Curry does.
Mike: “Imagine a cookie jar filled with your favorite cookies. It’s sitting on a very high shelf. Now reach your arm up, up, up, as high as you can to reach the jar, and then bend your hand to grab a cookie inside. Now, try the same motion except, this time, with a ball in your hand.”
I imagined Mama’s chocolate chip cookies with hazelnuts. Mike’s tip really works! With the ball in your hand, when you reach into the imaginary cookie jar, the ball spins perfectly off your fingertips!
Then Mike called us the Splash Sisters. That’s what everyone calls the Dubs’ Steph Curry and Klay Thompson—but, of course, they call them the Splash Brothers. We laughed, but it did feel good when he called us that.
By the way, Mike’s voice sounds like he’s about to burst into song. Also, Mike has Quiet Confidence and doesn’t brag.
Love, Penelope Page 2