The Summer of Swans

Before the first of the year, a friend and I were discussing new year's resolutions.  Something he has tried to do the last few years is "x Things to Do Before I am x."  The first x is usually one greater than the second x.  I thought it was an interesting thing to try, so I have a list of 25 Things to Do Before I am 24.  Some of these goals I have already utterly failed at (like removing all fast food from my diet; having a job within walking distance from the Gizmo was not exactly conducive to that when stress or socialization ensues), while others I have done remarkably well with (like making all of my own greeting cards; so far so good!).  One thing I have on the list (something sparked by my roommate at Tillers) is to read at least one Newbery Award winning book per week.  These include winners and medalists.  There is quite a list since the award has been around since 1922, but since they are children's books, I figured that would be doable even when I don't finish the entire list this year.  To be honest, I haven't counted how many are on the list, nor have I counted how many I have read, but to give you some idea, the list fills 13 1/4 pages of a Word document.  While my focus has been on the books I haven't read, I hope to reread some of the ones I read in elementary school, but being in a different place in life gives me such an appreciation for the content and writing in these books.  I finished The Summer of Swans by Betsy Byars today and it got me thinking.

The Summer of Swans, Newbery Medal Winner in 1971, is the story of the Godfrey children who live with their aunt in West Virginia.  Fourteen-year-old Sara, on the cusp of adolescence, has spent the summer critiquing her entire existence (a flat face, too large of feet, not looking like the blonde models in the magazines) and the result is a confused and angry girl filled with angst.  Her ten-year-old brother Charlie had a fever when he was three years old which resulted in brain damage and his inability to speak.  When Sara takes Charlie down to the lake to see the swans, he sees a grace and serenity in them that he wants for himself.  That evening, after everyone has gone to sleep, Charlie makes his way toward the lake to find the swans again, but instead gets lost in the woods.  The remainder of the story traces Sara's search for Charlie and how she interacts with a few of her peers during this search.  There were several things I noticed while reading (particularly with regards to the other Newbery winners I have recently read).  This is probably the third or fourth Newbery book I've read so far that is set in West Virginia or in regions where strip-mining has occurred.  The harsh differences between hilltops that have been depleted of all life because of the strip-mining and the beauty of the forests still intact usually play a pivotal role in the protagonist's development.  For Sara, it was from atop of one of these depleted hilltops that she started to realize how selfish she had been all summer, yet in this very real and terrifying situation, she didn't have any tears to shed.  Once she could look beyond herself, she finally heard Charlie's frightened screams and located him in a ravine.

This is also the third or fourth book I've read recently that dealt with a special needs character and how that character interacted with his or her sibling(s).  While I don't usually relate exactly with the characters because we are in different phases of life, I still vividly recall how these characters and situations reflected my own experiences during adolescence.  With all these books, though, I relate most powerfully with those that have the special needs characters.  This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, and it certainly doesn't to me, because of my own brother, but part of me really wishes I would have discovered these books when I was growing up.  To be fair, the other book that really, really hit home was a 2005 Honor Book Al Capone Does My Shirts, so it wasn't published in my childhood, but it still would have been nice.  I say that because it would have been helpful to not feel so alone with this particular element in my life.  Certainly, I had my sister who could also understand how difficult it sometimes was to have a special needs sibling, and we weren't the only ones in school who had siblings with learning disabilities, but each disability is different.  I know that each INDIVIDUAL with a disability is different, so there is only so much a person can relate to in your specific situation, but within my own class, there was only one person whose brother had a disability.  Her brother was a little person.  But there really wasn't anyone who could fully understand having a sibling you couldn't have a "normal" conversation with.  A sibling who would attract lots of attention when out in public because crowds made them uncomfortable. While I don't do this very often, I will have to give my public high school credit, while there were the kids that teased the special ed classes or were real jerks in their interactions with these kids, the majority of my peers and classmates were either politely indifferent or very nice.  I know very few people picked on my classmate's brother because everyone was friends with him (he was a normal kid except for his height, so it was easier for people to look past his physical size) and because my brother didn't go to school with me, there were very few instances where people said anything about it.  Those few times found someone on the other side of my sharp tongue or a punch in the arm, which may have stopped people from saying anything around me specifically, but I do believe that most people were genuinely respectful of my brother.  Yet having a special needs brother became one of the things that separated me from my peers.  It became something as crucial to my developing a personal identity as farming was.

Now think about that for a minute, everyone has those things that set them apart, those things they clung to so as to become their own person, and my two things directly involved the lives of others.  Think about the things you clung to...how many of you can say that the things that made you different were the things that demanded maturity, responsibility, and the lives of others?  Perhaps more people than I realize, since my view is obviously subjective, but it was an epiphany of sorts today.  I have spent my entire life defining myself by my family.  I suppose there ought to be little wonder why I suffered from and still often suffer from a low self-esteem.  A person can be connected with their family, and I believe ought to be connected to their family, but not so exclusively connected that they don't recognize their own individuality.  Without an ability to pick out what is distinctly you how can you build an identity?  No matter how stable a family foundation is, that foundation supports a specific structure - a structure that uses what was already there; a structure that requires similar building materials and blueprints in order for that structure to stand.  It doesn't give you much of a chance to think and build outside of the box.  While your family ought to at least be a part of your foundation (and I think it is for everyone, which makes its presence not nearly as important as the question of whether or not the "family stone" is the strongest or weakest part of that foundation), there has to be other things to make up that foundation.  So here I am, at twenty-three, trying to identify what is in my foundation, what stones I need to rearrange, what stones I don't want part of my foundation at all, what needs to be a part of it.  Despite my maturing at a young age and understanding responsibility early on, I am starting to think I missed some crucial phases of my development.  Or at least, went through them so quickly that I missed some of the important moments.  Much of this was self-imposed, I realize, which more than anything, probably makes it worse.  Yet, everyday is a learning experience and needs to be realized to its fullest, and I'm doing it.  Or at least, trying to my best ability to do it.  Better late than never, right?