The Compliment

I have four siblings, very close in age. There’s about a year between each of my sisters and me; my brother came along after a three-year gap. My parents were very unusual in that they took us on Sunday afternoon drives to watch the barges go through the locks on the Mississippi River, and for long vacations in a borrowed camper or our two-toned van with a sliding door named Betty. When we were quite young, they took us to out to eat as a special treat. I’m not sure how they did it, but they put the fear of god in us and we were very well-behaved in restaurants. To be fair, we weren’t perfect by a long shot, but we knew it was a privilege to go, and we also realized that many of the kids in school were never taken anywhere because “they wouldn’t appreciate it.” Initially, the waitresses would look at us with dread, but almost inevitably, would compliment my parents on their children’s good manners.

While on the tram the other day on one of my frequent pilgrimages to the bazaar, a tall man with three small children boarded at the Tophane stop. His girl must have been about four, the boys three and two. There weren’t enough empty seats for them all to sit together, and no one was giving up theirs. The man guided his children to three separate seats while he stood in the aisle between them. He spoke gently, and his children obeyed without a fuss. The girl was wearing her brand new, bright pink coat and all of the other pinks in her wardrobe. She wore very thick glasses. Without them, one of her eyes probably would have crossed to the center. One of the boys had his hood pulled down over his forehead. All of them were thrilled to be riding the tram and smiled so broadly their cheeks must have hurt.. They didn’t yell or even talk to each other, but giggled quietly in their own seats. The smallest was very taken by his reflection in the Plexiglas guard in front of him. As adjacent seats opened up, the man shepherded the kids to the spaces next to each other.

As I watched this family, I thought about the waitresses who complimented my parents. My Turkish vocabulary doesn’t include "well-behaved," (though it should so I can better speak to my students’ parents in their own language) so I thought that “These children are very sweet” would sufficiently carry my message. Before I exited, I approached the man, looked him in the eye and uttered my carefully rehearsed sentence. He looked at me oddly. While I was mentally reviewing my pronunciation, he replied “I don’t know English” in a thick accent. I think he thanked me when I quickly retranslated my little speech back to English, but I had to jump off the tram and couldn’t be sure.

No More Stuff in 2010

I generally don't make New Year's resolutions. Why set myself up for the inevitable failure and the mild self-loathing that comes with it? I am, however, making an exception to my rule this year.

Once again, I emptied my room of possessions, this time for the painters to transform the walls from a light mint green to a lovely neutral beige. Better for the lovely, earthy colors of my accumulated stuff; antique trunks, old wooden tools and bent-wood boxes, bowls and kilims and other textiles. I am overwhelmed with stuff. Against my genetic disposition, I cannot accumulate more things to stuff under the bed, in drawers, in piles.

As a consolation, I am allowing myself to buy more shelves. For my stuff, of course.

For when you feel like an idiot

I hit the snooze button once more than usual. It was so dark, and so very warm under my two, count them two, down comforters. As usual, I spent too much time waking up with a cup of coffee and couldn't find anything to wear. I looked at my watch, swore, grabbed my new black scarf from under a pile of clothes, dashed out the door and nearly ran up the buns of steel hill.

The service bus and I simultaneously arrived at the pick-up spot. I settled myself in and buckled the seatbelt. My scarf was oddly wrapped around my neck, so I adjusted it. It was then that I realized that my scarf remained under the pile of clothes. I had wrapped a pair of black leggings around my neck instead. And they were inside-out, tag waving, a white flag.