Archive for School Visits

A Quick Stop at My Childhood, Hometown Library in Wantagh

While in the area to visit a couple of local schools — Mandalay and Wantagh Elementary — I stopped off at the town library to give them a few spare titles for the collection. The director actually knew my books but didn’t realize I grew up there. We had a nice conversation.

I took a quick snap of a seating area that I remembered across all these years . . . 

. . . and that I had reimagined for a scene from Bee the Change. Illustration by the wonderful & ridiculously talented Stephen Gilpin. When I present before young readers, we often talk about where ideas come from, and valuing the core experiences of our lives. Our families and pets, our town and community. This is a small example of that, I suppose. 

Here’s the book cover, the third in my “Big Idea Gang” series. Books that are about young people who work together to make their world a better place. In this case, installing a bee-friendly garden at their school.

Stephen –

Photos & Captions from a Recent School Visit

I’ve been visiting schools lately as a guest author. Here’s some photos from a particularly enjoyable visit to an elementary school in New Jersey. 

I always say the same line: Authors don’t do school visits; schools do author visits. The big variable is what happens in the school before I get there, the sense of preparedness and anticipation, the excitement or the obliviousness; whether the principal arrives to shake my hand, desires to introduce me before every presentation (sending a powerful signal to staff and students alike), or the principal I never meet, too busy administrating. A hundred variables effect the impact of a visit, whereas for the most part, I’m the constant. I do what I do to the best of my ability, and try in my heart to leave that school just a tiny bit better than when I arrived. The students and teachers more excited about books, and writing, and kindness, and (hopefully) about the infinite possibilities inside their very own selves. 

Anyway, I promised photos . . .

The day started off with a small, young group. What I’ve learned over the years is to stay calm and cozy with the youngest audiences. I sit at the beginning, keep in relaxed and gentle. It’s nice when these sessions can be done in a library, but every school has its own unique facilities and demands. 

 

Whoa, standing! We always end with questions — which, at that age, are often comments. “I have a dog, too!”

More students, older ones. The content of my presentation shifts dramatically. Time to stand up and bring more energy.

I had about 90 minutes to inscribe and sign more than 150 books. To me, that helps complete the circle: a child returns home, excited to read a book.

Sometimes I’ll be invited to eat lunch with students, in this case a group of 5th graders. I have mixed feelings about this, mostly because I never get to eat. I’ve come to prefer a shorter “cookies & conversation” session — usually for those kids who’d rather chat books with an author than run around at recess. 

Ah, the kids who linger after the presentation is over and everyone starts filtering out of the room. They want a moment with me: to ask a question, share a fact, or just be seen. It’s always a nice moment there at the end, those kids who want to stick around for me. But no, I do not sign foreheads (I’ve been asked, many times).

 

Thank you, Margaret (ace organizer and photographer!), and everyone else (too many to name) at Merritt Memorial in Cresskill, New Jersey. It was a privilege spending time with your students. 

TOGETHER WE MADE A PRETTY GOOD TEAM!

Morning Announcements: Tuesday Is Now Wednesday, etc.

I walked into a local school recently and saw this sign:

This kind of thing happens in schools all the time. And it reminded me of something I wrote in Better Off Undead, my “cli-fi” zombie comedy for middle-grade readers (grades 4-7).

Chapter 21 is titled “Morning Announcements.” I’m tempted to share the whole thing but let’s not today. Due to construction, the principal of Nixon Middle School has good news, bad news, and some really bad news to announce . . . 

“Until further notice, the cafeteria will be moved to the gymnasium. But P.E. will go on as scheduled. Just don’t confuse the meatballs with the dodgeballs! Heh-heh. The Choir Club will share a room with the Chess Club; they will both meet in the science lab. On Tuesday we’ll follow the Wednesday schedule, except for band members, who will adhere to their Thursday schedules — but only on Mondays. Lastly, the literacy center will be closed because of the asbestos problem recently brought to our attention by Janitor McConnell’s alarming rash. Get better soon, Mike!”

 

Summer Hours

Here at ye olde blog, I’ve given my entire staff the summer off.

It’ll be quiet until the school year starts back up. I might post a thing or two, as the spirit moves me, but not with any consistency.

As always, you can contact me directly regarding school visits, college application essays, whatever. That’s jamespreller@aol (dot) com. 

Thanks for stopping by.

 

Have a great summer. 

 

Blue Creek Elementary, Revisited: Remembering Ben

“Ben was gentle, he smiled often,
there was softness in his eyes:
a sweet boy.
And all the while, Ben looked at me
as if I was the one who was special.
As a writer, sometimes by some miracle
you touch someone. But with Ben it was different.
He was the one
who left a lasting mark.”

 

I recently enjoyed two days visiting Blue Creek Elementary. It was my first time back in schools as a guest author since the pandemic. It was a great pleasure and, always, a privilege. I loved seeing the children and the teachers, hanging out with Abby the librarian, signing books, all of it. 

As it happens, I visited Blue Creek 13 years previously, back in 2009. 

(Who says I never get invited back to the same place twice?!)

On that day, 13 years ago, I met a boy who I will never forget.

This is that story . . . 

 

—–

 

His name was Ben and he was waiting for me when I arrived at Blue Creek Elementary. Ben was holding my book, Six Innings, in his hands.

Could you . . . ?” a teacher asked.

Yes, yes, of course.

So we ducked into the empty library, where Ben and I could have a few moments together. I was told that Ben had osteosarcoma, the same illness contracted by a character, Sam Reiser, in my book.

We talked quietly. I told Ben about my oldest boy, Nicholas, a sixteen-year-old who had gone through five years of chemotherapy. “He’s doing great now,” I said. “Healthy, strong.” Both boys shared the same oncologist, Dr. Jennifer Pearce. I explained that Dr. Pearce helped me with Six Innings, and showed him where I thanked her in the acknowledgments. We agreed that she was very kind.

Ben was gentle, he smiled often, there was softness in his eyes: a sweet boy. And all the while, Ben looked at me as if I was the one who was special. As a writer, sometimes by some miracle you touch someone. But with Ben it was different. He was the one who left a lasting mark — on me and so many others.

I learned last week that Ben passed away, October 12th, 2009. He was nine years old.

I did not attend Ben’s wake. I was told by one of his teachers that among the objects displayed was a signed copy of my book. The story meant something to Ben. He may have related to Sam’s experience. “It’s been so hard,” Sam confided in the book’s last pages. But Ben probably most enjoyed the baseball, the humor, the fun of boys at play.

Ben was probably similar to my Nick. At least that’s what I saw, as I blinked back tears, when I looked into Ben’s eyes. Back when we first gathered to explain to Nick, at age nine, that he had relapsed with leukemia — that the cancer was back — Nick sat and listened quietly. Dr. Pearce laid out the protocol, the path Nick’s life would take over the next two years. This will happen, then this will happen, and then this will happen. Like a story unfolding, though no one could say with certainty how it would end. Dr. Pearce asked if Nick had any questions. Nick did. “Can I go to my friend’s house now?” he asked. That seemed to me, then and now, the perfect reaction.

I saw Ben only twice that day, once alone in a library, once as part of a larger group. But I’m looking at him now.

I’ll always remember the few minutes I spent with Ben Stowell.

Ben’s family has established The Ben Fund to assist other families dealing with childhood cancers, c/o HSBC, Latham Branch, 494 Troy-Schenectady Road, Latham, NY 12110. Ben leaves behind a twin brother, James, and his parents, Stacey and Tim. My heart goes out to them.

 


POSTSCRIPT, April, 2022: Ben’s father, Tim, contacted me recently. Time has passed and he’s now in a relationship with a woman who’s child, Charlotte, attends Blue Creek. Charlotte, a 2nd grader, said hello and told me about her connection to Ben. She never had the chance to meet him, but Charlotte knows James, though, Ben’s twin. He’s now in college and thriving. I’m not crying, you’re crying.