John Foley

FOLEY, John. A Mighty Wall. 240p. Flux. 2009. pap. $9.95. ISBN 978-0-7387-1448-6. LC number unavailable.

Gr 9 Up–Jordan, a high school junior in Everett, WA, is the best young climber at the local gym where he works, and where he meets his first serious girlfriend. Pete, Jordo’s boss, lives for today, and his obscenity-laced speech is matched by Jordo and his friends’ off-color banter. Jordo is counting the days till graduation when he has a vague plan to become a second-story man, breaking into homes to finance his adventures. In the meantime, though, he’s stuck being one of the smaller boys in school, and he relies on his football star buddies AJ and Casey to protect him from the school bully. AJ is popular with everyone and often climbs with Jordo, but he is not careful enough, a shortcoming that causes a tragedy. If there’s a weakness in this bildungsroman, it might be that the main character’s life is too good to be true as, within a short time, he experiences his first kiss, first sex, first too-drunk-to-care, and first summiting of Mount Rainier. Only his lack of money causes problems. But the author maintains a quick pace, the descriptions of climbing are good, and the portrayal of high school life with a strong outside interest is enhanced by detailed descriptions of specific locales, crags, and routes. Foley’s focus on a non-ball sport and the protagonist’s relatively carefree sexual relationship bring to mind Terry Davis’s Vision Quest (Laurel Leaf, 1991). In the end, the plot comes down, not to winning, but to death and its aftermath. Teens will likely find this book sobering and thought provoking.–Joel Shoemaker, South East Junior High School, Iowa City, IA

As an English teacher and writer, I never imagined I would utter phrases such as: “Are you a Mister Poopy Butt?” “Do you need a new Didy?” “Are you hungry for Nanners?”

But such is life with my son, Sean Michael, who is a bit over 6 months.

He was an unexpected blessing. I can be rather self-involved, a common malady among writers and other creative types, and never felt an urgent desire to produce children of my own. My teaching job was a related factor. When asked if I had kids, my stock reply was, “You mean other than the 130 or so in my classroom every day?” Teaching teens can be pretty draining, and after 3 p.m. I really didn’t want to see any human beings under the age of 21.

That’s changed, of course.

Sean Michael was born last November, when I was 48 years old. My siblings tease me that when I drop him off at school in years to come, his teachers will remark, “It’s so nice your grandpa drives you to school.” What can I say? I know I’ll resemble that remark.

I guess the reality of Sean Michael hit home when my wife Jules and I went for a sonogram last spring and I heard his heartbeat. I also heard something that sounded like a whale surfacing, an analogy Miss Jules did not appreciate. Nor did she warm to the doctor’s comparison of our son-to-be as a “highly efficient parasite.”

Motherhood is clearly Jules’ calling, and she says she’s never been happier. I marvel at the way she can anticipate Sean’s needs and spring into action when she hears or senses something – even while sound asleep.

We’re lucky that Sean Michael is a relatively calm baby, sleeping through the night most of the time and crying only at the expected times. He will let us know when he wants to be fed, and upon receiving the promised bottle, he makes the satisfied noises you might expect from a dehydrated man in the desert who has stumbled upon an oasis – an oasis called…Similac.

While I’ve always been athletic, I couldn’t imagine that my favorite form of exercise would be pushing a stroller around a park. I’m also fond of Sean’s weekly swim lesson, despite the singing and splashing — and a pool that contains more pee than I want to think about. Thank God for chlorine!

On weekends, I take the early shift with Sean Michael, which usually begins around 6 a.m. I love the way he stretches and smiles to greet the new morning – “What’s going to happen today?!” His toothless grin contains such joy, and brings joy to others.

Ah, Sean Michael me lad, you make the world a better place.

Spring
A hill without a name
Veiled in morning mist

Recently started a poetry unit with Juniors to close out the year. Always enjoyable to revisit some of my favorites. I read poetry daily, as a writing warm-up, and encourage students to do the same before they begin a piece of writing. A tough sell. “Poetry!” the boy in the back yells, “I hate poetry!”…Might as well say you hate everything beautiful and worthwhile in the world, and that you have no soul…Many boys change their minds when we write Limericks, especially of the ribald variety:

There once was a man from Madrass
Whose balls were constructed of brass
When jangled together
They played “Stormy Weather”
And lightning shot out of his ass

My favorite poet of recent years is Mary Oliver; she reminds me of Frost in her celebration of nature, but her imagery seems more vivid than even that master:

This is what love is:
The dry rose bush the gardener, in his pruning, missed
Suddenly bursts into bloom.
A madness of delight; an obsession.
A holy gift, certainly.
But often, alas, improbable.
Why couldn’t Romeo have settled for someone else?
Why couldn’t Tristan and Isolde have refused
The shining cup
Which would have left peaceful the whole kingdom?
Wild sings the bird of the heart in the forests
Of our lives.
Over and over Faust, standing in his garden, doesn’t know
Anything that’s going to happen, he only sees
The face of Marguerite, which is irresistible
And wild, wild sings the bird.