Anatomy of an Acceptance Letter

In the not so distant past, I received my first rejection letter.  Oh my, it hurt.  This piece was one of those 'open a vein and write' kinds of pieces.  It was about a particularly wrenching time in my teaching career, about a child who created a safe place for himself.  His story broke my heart and writing about it crushed me all over again.  I was sure this piece would resonate with other teachers who'd walked in my very shoes.

I submitted it.  And was rejected.  I submitted it again.  And was rejected again.  Time and time again, I sent this piece out and it returned void.

I was just about to tuck this piece away and give it a rest when a friend of mine sent me a call for submissions for an anthology about what it means to teach.  I dug my brave face out of the drawer and sent in my piece again, steeling myself for another rejection.  I didn't think about it much.  Let's face it, after receiving so many rejections, I wasn't holding my breath.

And then one day my inbox flashed a message from the editors.

My heart began to pound.  My palms dampened with sweat.  I swallowed my nerves and opened the message.

Here it is, with my inner dialogue in italics.

Dear Alicia,

Well, at least my name is spelled right.  There's nothing worse than receiving a rejection letter for Alisa or Alisha or Alice.  Seriously, I don't even sound remotely like an Alice.

It is my pleasure to notify you that we would like to publish your essay, "The Escape Artist," in the Spring 2012 Rogue Faculty Press publication, What Teaching Means: Stories from America's Classrooms.

Wait, what?  I think they said something about pleasure in relation to my piece.  Just a sec, let me read that part again.  

Well, would you look at that, they want to publish something I wrote.  

I might pass out.  Is it lie down to prevent fainting or put your head between your knees?  I'll just try both for good measure.

To help us during this stage of the process, please send an email, as soon as possible, that includes:

1. Informal confirmation that you will allow us to publish your work. Contract will follow. 

Um, yes, and-wow a contract sounds very official.  I think I need to breathe into a paper bag.


2. Your current mailing address for sending a contract packet and, eventually, your copy of the book.

It's becoming increasingly difficult to fully appreciate this e-mail while laying on my back with my head between my knees as I breathe into a paper bag.


3. A short professional biography (150 words) that will accompany your piece in the book. There is one below as an example. We are including these because we want to give our readers a sense of the people behind these stories.

150 words for a professional biography?  How on earth am I going to come up with 150 words for a professional biography when I haven't done anything yet?  I teach.  That's 2 words.  Wait, I teach writing.  Phew, only 147 to go.  I'm pretty sure noodling around with poetry and stuff doesn't count.  I'm 100% sure that practicing staying upright on my bicycle doesn't count as 'professional' in any arena.  I'd better get off this couch and actually DO some professional sort of stuff so that I have something to write down.

We want to let you know that we will copy edit all the pieces for punctuation and grammar. o thank God Oh thank God Oh, thank God!

Once we near the publication date in April, we will be developing a promotion and publicity plan for this book. We are already extremely proud of the collection, and we will be doing everything we can to get these stories to the people that we believe should read them. 

Wait, people are actually going to read this?  Is it hot in here?  I don't feel so well.  I didn't know armpits could sweat this much in an air-conditioned room on a temperate day.  That phrase "dying of shock" is taking on a whole new meaning right this second.

Congratulations and thanks again for sharing your story with us. We look forward to working with you. 

That's because you haven't met me yet.  Should we ever have the pleasure, I will be the tall girl with sweat cascading down my brow and a huge grin on my face.

Sincerely,

__________ and __________*

Editors, What Teaching Means

Wait, editors-as in more than one-decided my piece was good enough?  Well, I guess I'd better clear my schedule for the book tour.

*Names were omitted to protect the innocent.  I also didn't want you googling them and letting them in on the secret that I'm just a regular girl who dreams about being a writer someday.

Thankful Thursday #42

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This week I'm thankful for...

• waking to the sound of rain


• the scent of rain on asphalt wafting in through my open classroom door


• the little ones whispering in the corner of the class about how much they love school


• the part of the pumpkin life cycle where they shrink back to the earth


• my little ones who loved smelling, feeling and examining our old pumpkins with magnifying glasses


• my bathrobe


• Donald Miller's book Through Painted Deserts


• my dear friend who is on the road trip of his life and calls me to tell me about all the quirky things he sees on the road.  His calls make me laugh so hard that I cry and cry so hard that I laugh.


• soaking in my hot tub while it drizzles


• morning prayer time with my hubby


• my teaching team


• my Fall clothes


• hot mint tea on a cold Fall day

Oh So Many Apology Letters

Dear New Sweater,

I'm sorry for catching you in the paper cutter.  Twice.  Ahem.  I'm amazed that, try as I might, I could not cut your fabric.  I mean really, you look so light and airy, but apparently you're made of Kevlar.  Who knew I'd be getting such protection for $20.  I will now stop trying to chop you to smithereens.

Sincerely,

The girl who shouldn't be allowed to use sharp objects

P.S.  I'm also sorry for the spaghetti sauce splattering incident at lunch.  You're a white sweater, you had to see that coming, no?

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Dear Terry,

I'm sorry that ice cream, cereal and salads are the extent of my dinner menu.  Thankfully you make a mean batch of vanilla pancakes or we would probably starve.

XOXO,

Your domestically challenged wife

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Dear Rocket,

I'm sorry I haven't taken you out for a spin for a few weeks.  The cobwebs in your spokes are reprehensible.  I'm profoundly sorry and look forward to a reunion soon.  Please, please don't buck me off in bitterness the next time we meet.

Love,

Alicia

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Dear Dentist,

I'm sorry I was a whiny baby in the chair.  In my defense you had to fix things in 3 of the 4 quadrants of my mouth.  And let's face it, nobody likes to hear "I think I can do this one without numbing you."  You're right, it didn't hurt, but the anticipation of pain caused buckets of perspiration to build up in my armpits and seep onto the chair.  Please accept my apologies for all the whimpering and, no doubt, for the extra time spent mopping up after me.

Kind regards,

Me and my new and improved molars

Thankful Thursday #41

This week I'm thankful for...

• the volunteers in my classroom


• my former student who sought me out to tell me she has a new baby sister


• a taste of Fall weather


• my dentist for making major dental work bearable


• soft foods that require minimal chewing


• my teaching partners


• the feel of my husband's stubbly cheek


• piles of pumpkins at the grocery store

[caption id="attachment_4929" align="aligncenter" width="480" caption="image courtesy of Ryan Donnell for The New York Times"][/caption]

Thankful Thursday #40:

This week I'm thankful for...

• a visit from my brother.  It was too short, but still sweet


• the leaves that are beginning to change colors


• walking to church in the cool of the morning


• the parents and children who still visit me long after they were in my class


• crisp sheets


• minor league baseball games


• road trips with friends


• spin class


• walking to school in the morning before the sun bakes everything


• the fact that it's no longer Wednesday.  Wednesday was a doozy of a day with my little ones.  Thank goodness they're not always like that!


• this Just Because present from a friend.  She gives the most perfect gifts.

Since my terrible photography skills are making it impossible to read the quote, here's a better version of the print.

What It Means to Give

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Dear Little One,

Today the girls stepped in the classroom, twirling in fancy dresses.  The boys showed off their stiff, spiky, gelled haircuts.  It was Picture Day and, Little One, I have to admit I was surprised when you showed up with your thick, black hair cut short.  Your hair was so long and gorgeous.  Your new haircut frames your face and your deep, brown eyes stand out even more than before.

During Morning News, I commented that your haircut looked great and, Little One, your response stole my heart.  You looked at me, with eyes so pure, so earnest, and said, "I gave my hair away."

I felt my jaw drop as the words sunk in.

"I gave my hair away."

This baffled the other kids sitting on the rug with you.

"What?!?"

"You gave your hair away?"

"Who did you give it to?"

"Why did you give it away?"

"What do you mean you gave your hair away???"

I motioned you to the front of the rug to explain.  With a grin that stretched across your entire face you told how your mom braided your hair after school yesterday and then a hairdresser cut it off.  You gave your thick, shiny braid to the hairdresser.

As you spoke, the class stared at you, 25 sets of eyebrows wrinkled in confusion.  You continued, explaining that your braid of hair would now be made into a wig for a sick child who didn't have any hair.

I hugged you tight and told you that you'd given a beautiful gift.  One of your friends summed it up even better when she said, "I think that was the best gift you ever could give."

She's right, Little One.  I know you loved your long hair, but you love helping others even more.  That is your gift to the world.  You give, even when giving requires sacrifice.

Every time I see your pixie cut, I'll remember the day you gave away your beautiful braid. I'll remember the day you taught me what it means to really give.

Love,

Mrs. McCauley

Thankful Thursday #39

[caption id="attachment_4899" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Julie Andrews is one of my favorite things."][/caption]

This week I'm thankful for...

• the little one who brought me a bag of nectarines, freshly picked from the tree in her yard that morning.  She always brings me flowers or fruit, offerings from her yard.  It touches me to know that she thinks of me when she's at home.


• watching The Sound of Music in the park.  I've seen it, oh, probably 100 times.  I met a friend there and this was her first viewing.  I was so glad to watch it with her.


• my little one who saw me across the playground before school and ran full speed, arms and legs flailing, just to say hi and get a hug.  What a great way to start the day.


• watching my little ones sand and hammer pencil boxes together as part of a Home Depot project.  They were so proud of their work.


• driving with Terry in the MINI with the top down


• the movie Stranger than Fiction.  Some movies just get better with each viewing and this is one of them.


• playing Parcheesi with Terry.  Strike that, we have the knock-off version.  I'm thankful for playing Pachisi with Terry.


• my friend and former parent, Mandy, who volunteers her time in my class to help my twins with special needs.  She is just the kind of person they need right now and I'm touched that she would devote her time to these sweet boys of mine.


• 2 of my other former parents who sought me out specifically to see if I needed any help in class.  The answer is a big resounding YES!  I'm thankful for you, Kim and Melody!


• my former student teacher who stopped by to see me at lunch today.  I'm just so proud of her!


• cozying up under the covers and watching a lightning storm out my bedroom window


• reading Thundercake by Patricia Polacco to my class the next day

Thankful Thursday #38

This week I'm thankful for...

• slipping in between nice, fresh sheets


• the great parent volunteers working in my classroom


• writing in bed early Saturday morning


• the parents of a former student who called down the hallway "How's our favorite teacher doing?"  It was the tail end of a long day and hearing that  made me smile.


• Jaison, a server at Olive Garden, who made the Never Ending Pasta Bowl true to the name.  I had dinner, lunch and dinner again.  Plus when I asked if I could box up the teensy bit of leftover salad, he boxed it up and added more salad and garnish.  Best service I've had in a long time at any restaurant.  He really loves his job and it showed.


• walking by the river just in time to see the sunset


• my work-out buddy


• lifting weights until I'm sure my arms are going to fall off


• these beautiful flowers picked from a student's backyard

Return to Me

Today, in the sweltering heat of bus duty, I had one of the best moments of my teaching career.  As I stood corralling kids in the bus line and stopping kindergarteners from throwing their backpacks at each other, a young woman tapped me on the shoulder.  I turned as she said, "Mrs. McCauley, do you remember me?  I used to be in your first grade class."

Of course I remembered her.  I knew her the second she said my name.  I knew her eyes.  I knew her voice, quiet and strong.  I knew the tip of her shy smile.

I often dream of former students, children who lived nightmarish lives and found refuge at school, safe in our classroom.  I dream of little ones who lived with monsters, horrid monsters who were careful to never leave a thread of evidence for me to report, but leave me still with a sick pit in my stomach.  I dream of little ones who one day just up and moved, never to be seen again.  They visit me in the sacred space of night, these lost children.

My lost children.

As I stood by the bus area, looking at this beautiful young woman, I hugged her, probably too tightly, and peppered her with questions.  How are you?  What are you doing now?  Are you going to school?  Are you working?

She is the same sweet six-year-old I taught eleven years ago.  She's the darling girl who I hugged hundreds of times, her head resting on my shoulder as her little hands gripped my neck.  She is the same girl who fell in love with reading.  She's the same girl who used to light up the room with her giggle.

She told me about her life and how, at the age of 17, she has removed herself from her monster.  She tutors her peers.  She'll graduate this year.  She's college bound.

She's strong.

And beautiful.

And courageous.

And kind.

And introspective.

And smart.

She is the woman I always knew she could be.

She's the little girl who filled my heart so many years ago and she is the young woman who made it overflow today.

Tonight when my lost children tiptoe into my sleep, I will think of her.  She's given me renewed hope that my other lost children have grown into strong and courageous adults.

And in the solitude of night I will fall asleep hoping that maybe, just maybe, they too will someday return to me.

Thankful Thursday #37

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Oops!  I thought I set this to publish yesterday.  Here's Thankful Thursday on a Friday. 

This week I'm thankful for...

• riding with the top down


• my curly hair


• skirts because it's just too blasted hot for pants


• the little boy who wrote this for our August weather summary.  "Mostly sunny.  I like Mrs. McCauley.  She is nice.  I like school."  Yep, that about sums up the weather, both inside and outside of the classroom


• my little one who brought an encyclopedia bookmarked to the page on Nudibranchs for N day.  Who knew sea slugs could be so beautiful.  I heart word nerds.


• the fact that I have 364 more days until SweatFest Back to School Night comes around again


• my parent volunteers, especially the ones who don't even have kids in my class anymore and still come and help