Author: Neal Saye

Posted in Life Experiences, Neal's Writing

Learning and Teaching from The World’s Smallest Lady

Posted on by Neal Saye

August–the time of year when school bells ring again.  Teachers everywhere commence their incredible annual charge of encouraging students to develop their true sight, their true voices, and their intellectual joy.  School at every level should be a haven where young learners want to be.  And the teacher, though underpaid and overworked, is key.  Some years back, as I spent a summer month participating in the Georgia Southern Writing Project, I was asked to write about what birthed the teacher in me.  I knew immediately the answer: The World’s Smallest Lady.

small fair

The World’s Smallest Lady

As I dialed the telephone recently to check on the condition of the terminally ill father of a childhood friend from my hometown, I kept trying to keep the memory from surfacing.  I hadn’t thought about it in ages.  An incident from several decades ago surely didn’t still have the power to take control of my thoughts, to interrupt my life.  But the truth is, that memory is too powerful to ignore, too embarrassing, too haunting to dismiss.  And as I listened to Ricky’s phone ringing in one ear, the years faded, and the jumbled noises of an old Cherokee County Fair started sounding in the other, accompanied by reminiscent sights and even smells, which are such an integral part of a southern autumn carnival…

…I was thirteen, old enough to know better.  Ricky, Fred, and I had just staggered off The Bullet and found ourselves walking down Freak Show Alley.  Outside one attraction, a hawker was shouting at passersby to “Step inside and see The World’s Smallest Lady!  Only twenty-six inches tall!  For only a quarter!”  So, laughing, into the tent we hurried, just the three of us.

And there, surprisingly close to us on a small black round table, stood what indeed had to be The World’s Smallest Lady.  She was dressed in a little gaudily sequined gypsy outfit.  A short screaming-red skirt revealed two chubby stumps of legs.  But she wasn’t a child, even though she was so tiny.  Her face looked old, and I could see wrinkles beneath the cheap, garish make-up.  It was her very large head, however, topped with a gaudy, shiny gold crown, which really captured my attention.  I couldn’t stop staring, and why should I?  I’d paid my quarter.

So we gawked and snickered, three carefree young teenagers at the fair, secure and even innocent in our youth, our health, our futures, our “normality.”  Then Fred loudly whispered, “Damn, y’all, look at the size of that head compared to the rest of her body.  And her butt is bigger than mine!”

But it was Ricky, the member of our inseparable trio capable of doing and saying anything for a laugh–who, in reckless teenage cruelty, did the unimaginable.  Before anyone had time to react, Ricky stepped over the velvet rope, reached out to The World’s Smallest Lady, and jerked her gypsy skirt down to her ankles.  He ran out of the tent, followed by Fred, giggling and yelling, “Neal, let’s get out of here!”

But I couldn’t.  My feet were glued to the sawdust, and for a second or two, my eyes looked directly into those of The World’s Smallest Lady.  The dimension of time ceased, no one existed except for her and me, and those humiliated, prostituted, tiny eyes took away my innocence and my security.  As I stared, and stared, the plates beneath my small, comfortable, well-defined earth were shifting, ever so slightly, quaking.  Finally, as she reached down, pulling up her skirt to cover her nakedness, The World’s Smallest Lady spoke in a voice that seemed more resigned than angry: “You boys can just go to hell.”

As I hurried out of that tent and away from that sawdust and those piercing eyes, a startling transformation occurred, the full impact of which I wasn’t aware at the time: a sideshow midget, a twenty-five cent carnival attraction, a freak, became a regular human being with regular human feelings in the frightened yet awakening eyes of a thirteen-year-old boy.

guys

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I learned from my encounter with The World’s Smallest Lady the danger and horror of living in a world where we construct walls which establish the category of “other”–with ourselves being the privileged, the truly knowledgeable, the valuable, the ones who really count, the normal…and “other” being defined by gender, race, class, IQ, physical disability, sexual orientation, etc.  I learned that when we cast our dominant “gaze” patronizingly on others, we diminish ourselves as human beings as well as do violence to those we belittle.  I also learned–years later and after much reflection and life experience–that a teacher is one who refuses to allow the binary of “us/them” to operate in (or outside) the classroom.

May the new school year be one of JOY for students and teachers the world over.

 

Posted in Breaking News

The Twins! The Twins! They’ve Arrived! They’ve Arrived!

Posted on by Neal Saye

Last night at 9:34 and 9:35 Younger Daughter Emily finally gave birth to the much-anticipated TWINS!

Welcome, Welcome. Sweet Little Ones!

Mathew Anthony Olliff met the world first, weighing in at 6.1 pounds and measuring 19 inches.

Madison Noel Olliff yelled hello one minute later, tipping the scales at 4.9 pounds and lining up at 17.5 inches.

Don’t they just look so very intelligent?

We have things to do:

And places to go:

So look out, world!

And look! I’ve already won an award:

(Oh, by the way, Mom Emily and Dad Travis are doing well.)

[More later (much, much more, I’m sure).]

Posted in Encouragement

“You Is” — I’m Standing in Your Balcony

Posted on by Neal Saye

To Encourage Sincerely perhaps ranks at the top of gifts we can give one to another.  I will never forget the first time my daughter Amy and I ran, with tens of thousands of other runners, the annual July 4th 10K Peachtree Road Race in Atlanta.  (Perhaps “ran” is much too dynamic a word to describe what I did during those 6.2 miles.)  At each mile marker, and actually various places in-between, folks would appear in my peripheral vision with cups of cold water in outstretched hands, yelling phrases such as, “Keep it up, #4932, you can do it!” and “Just look at you running so fast!”  I would turn a corner or reach a hilltop and hear blaring cheerily from loudspeakers the theme song from “Chariots of Fire” or “Rocky.”  Such encouragement made me feel like an actual runner.

In a post from way back, I introduced the concept of Balcony People:  “Balcony people are those folks in your life who encourage you, lift you up, give of themselves to you in some way.  They make you feel valuable and important.  They climb the steps up into your balcony, lean over the railing, gaze back down at you as you struggle through life and yell, ‘You can make it!  Keep going!'”

In another post, Balcony People-Part Two, I introduced five guiding principles of Balcony People:

“1.  Balcony People are willing to take risks.  Because when we reach outside of ourselves to help or encourage someone else, we take the chance of being rejected, laughed at, embarrassed, or even thought of as a little weird.  ‘Old Man Saye, why do you keep telling me my yellow dress is just so very pretty?!  Please back away me!'”

2.  BP realize that what you reap, you sow.  Staying in balconies makes you happier and healthier.  Crouching in dank basements is unhealthy.

3.  BP give to give, not to get.  Because giving away good to others is simply the right thing to do.

4.  BP look for the good in others.  They realize the truth of the statement that we usually find what we’re looking for.

5.  BP express encouragement sincerely.  They don’t flatter or lie.  Okay, maybe except when I couldn’t think of anything good to say about one student’s essay, and all I could come up with was, ‘Cool font.'”

I know I have mentioned on the blog before that Kathryn Stockett’s The Help stands as one of the best novels I have read in the past few years.  I loved the story of black maids in the 1960’s south so much that I used it in several composition classes at Georgia Southern.  The book went over amazingly well, with many students telling me that they loved the book and would be passing it along to friends and family to read (and also telling me, disturbingly, that the book was the first one they had ever actually ever gotten all the way through).  The book ENCOURAGES the voiceless to realize that yes, they too have voices.

In the twenty-second scene below from the movie version of The Help, Aibilene explains to her young charge exactly what the girl is, and what she needs to believe about herself.  Oh, how our world would be beautifully improved if we would all see each other the way Aibilene sees Mae Mobley.

*******************************************************************

I challenge you to find someone today, tomorrow.  Encourage.  Lift up.  See the good.  Get in someone’s balcony.

Posted in Delicious Joy, Where Happiness Finds You

Repost — September Oaks: A Midsummer Afternoon at a South Carolina Lowcountry Vineyard

Posted on by Neal Saye

It seems that some of the pictures from yesterday’s vineyard posting did not show up!  Uh oh.  So being the tech-savvy blogger that I am, I’m reposting them all just for you, faithful blogosphere residents.  Thanks. 

Yesterday afternoon I ventured off the too-beaten trail, heading away from hometown Savannah across the Talmadge Memorial Bridge on US 17 into the South Carolina Low Country.  My destination: September Oaks Vineyards, a small but incredibly beautiful boutique winery hidden in the midst of towering, ancient live oak trees, just outside Ridgeland, SC.  September Oaks welcomes visitors along a magical shaded drive, reminiscent of an antebellum plantation approach.  I’m 99% sure that the Spanish moss tentacles waved a Southern welcome especially for me as I drove onto the property.  (And I hadn’t even tasted any wine yet.)

Before meeting a soul, I did a little exploration of the grounds.

The muscadine vines looked in excellent health, grapes drooping heavily and bountifully in the July heat.

I was transported back …

… quite a few years (don’t ask!) to my North Georgia upbringing in Ball Ground near the foothills of the Appalachian Trail, and my father, “Tub,” making muscadine jelly from the grapes we picked along area streams.  I closed my eyes, and Dad stood before me in our little blue-curtained kitchen as he measured grapes, sugar and Sure Gel to create the heavenly treat.  I blinked and there was my mom, “Neever,” pulling hot golden buttermilk biscuits from the oven.  My biscuit, halved and steaming, centered on green Corelle.  The butter melting and glistening.  The minutes-new, still warm jelly spread.  Little Neal smiling in edible joy.

Okay, for goodness sake, let’s get back to the winery tour!  I thought I rested secure in my world famous blogger stature until I stood next to this tree.  It cut me down to size.

Finally I saw the sign to the wine tasting, so started to mosey over that way.

Got sidetracked.

Find Neal:

The rustically beautiful tasting room.

And here’s Nikki, the wine tasting hostess/teacher.  (She’s also an English teacher, so a kindred spirit.)

I know next to nothing about wine, so the experience was fascinating.  According to their website, September Oak’s “goal is to create  unique and high quality wines, specializing in wines made from muscadine grapes (vitis rotundifolia). We’ll also be developing a variety of wines from different vinefera grapes as well as blending the merlot and muscadine grapes” (SOV Website).  The tasting included seven wines: a Chardonnay, SOV Family White (made from the muscadine grapes you saw earlier, and whose aroma reminded me of my dad’s muscadine jelly), White Merlot, Kiwi Gold (yes, with locally grown kiwi), Crescent Moon, SOV Lenoir (“a dry red that brings history home with the Lenior grape that originated in the Low Country in the 1700’s”), and SOV Family Red.  Some of these wines have already won prizes.  Congrats!

[Do you KNOW that at a wine tasting you actually DRINK the wine?!  Glass after glass.  Like SEVEN glasses.  Isn’t wine alcoholic?]

Here’s another wine-taster, Damon from Hilton Head.  (I asked him for a recommendation for a great HH restaurant, and he immediately said, “The Sage Room, on the south end.  Tell them I sent you.”  So I plan to, soon.  I’ll keep you posted.)  Damon knew SO MUCH about wine that I felt like one of the Kardashians trying to talk to Einstein.

I mean, he asked questions about grape growth patterns and parent vines and bouquets.  The foremost, burning question on my mind was, “Yall think I shoud buy this?  It’s so cool!”

It was my lucky day …

… because after the tasting, I ventured behind these doors (Wizard of Oz-ishly) and met the September Oaks owner Grady Woods (cool and appropriate last name, don’t you think?) and his polite son Kent, as they were working.

Grady showed us some of the equipment and explained about plans for expansion of the winery.

I stood behind a barrel and made the announcement that maybe I would just start up a winery/vineyard.  (As some of you know, I have frustratingly abandoned my desire to be a tugboat operator.)  I thought that perhaps I could call my winery something like NealNowReallyEnJoysWineTastings.  But I got no respect at all from Nikki and Damon:

But I got even by confiscating a big ole barrel of wine.  “I gotta load this by myself?!”

What a great Low Country afternoon.  I will definitely go back one of these days.  You go with me!

Now which way is Savannah?

See you next time.

Posted in Delicious Joy, Where Happiness Finds You

September Oaks: A Midsummer Afternoon at a South Carolina Lowcountry Vineyard

Posted on by Neal Saye

Yesterday afternoon I ventured off the too-beaten trail, heading away from hometown Savannah across the Talmadge Memorial Bridge on US 17 into the South Carolina Low Country.  My destination: September Oaks Vineyards, a small but incredibly beautiful boutique winery hidden in the midst of towering, ancient live oak trees, just outside Ridgeland, SC.  September Oaks welcomes visitors along a magical shaded drive, reminiscent of an antebellum plantation approach.  I’m 99% sure that the Spanish moss tentacles waved a Southern welcome especially for me as I drove onto the property.  (And I hadn’t even tasted any wine yet.)

Before meeting a soul, I did a little exploration of the grounds.

The muscadine vines looked in excellent health, grapes drooping heavily and bountifully in the July heat.

I was transported back …

… quite a few years (don’t ask!) to my North Georgia upbringing in Ball Ground near the foothills of the Appalachian Trail, and my father, “Tub,” making muscadine jelly from the grapes we picked along area streams.  I closed my eyes, and Dad stood before me in our little blue-curtained kitchen as he measured grapes, sugar and Sure Gel to create the heavenly treat.  I blinked and there was my mom, “Neever,” pulling hot golden buttermilk biscuits from the oven.  My biscuit, halved and steaming, centered on green Corelle.  The butter melting and glistening.  The minutes-new, still warm jelly spread.  Little Neal smiling in edible joy.

Okay, for goodness sake, let’s get back to the winery tour!  I thought I rested secure in my world famous blogger stature until I stood next to this tree.  It cut me down to size.

Finally I saw the sign to the wine tasting, so started to mosey over that way.

Got sidetracked.

Find Neal:

The rustically beautiful tasting room.

And here’s Nikki, the wine tasting hostess/teacher.  (She’s also an English teacher, so a kindred spirit.)

I know next to nothing about wine, so the experience was fascinating.  According to their website, September Oak’s “goal is to create  unique and high quality wines, specializing in wines made from muscadine grapes (vitis rotundifolia). We’ll also be developing a variety of wines from different vinefera grapes as well as blending the merlot and muscadine grapes” (SOV Website).  The tasting included seven wines: a Chardonnay, SOV Family White (made from the muscadine grapes you saw earlier, and whose aroma reminded me of my dad’s muscadine jelly), White Merlot, Kiwi Gold (yes, with locally grown kiwi), Crescent Moon, SOV Lenoir (“a dry red that brings history home with the Lenior grape that originated in the Low Country in the 1700’s”), and SOV Family Red.  Some of these wines have already won prizes.  Congrats!

[Do you KNOW that at a wine tasting you actually DRINK the wine?!  Glass after glass.  Like SEVEN glasses.  Isn’t wine alcoholic?]

Here’s another wine-taster, Damon from Hilton Head.  (I asked him for a recommendation for a great HH restaurant, and he immediately said, “The Sage Room, on the south end.  Tell them I sent you.”  So I plan to, soon.  I’ll keep you posted.)  Damon knew SO MUCH about wine that I felt like one of the Kardashians trying to talk to Einstein.

I mean, he asked questions about grape growth patterns and parent vines and bouquets.  The foremost, burning question on my mind was, “Yall think I shoud buy this?  It’s so cool!”

It was my lucky day …

… because after the tasting, I ventured behind these doors (Wizard of Oz-ishly) and met the September Oaks owner Grady Woods (cool and appropriate last name, don’t you think?) and his polite son Kent, as they were working.

Grady showed us some of the equipment and explained about plans for expansion of the winery.

I stood behind a barrel and made the announcement that maybe I would just start up a winery/vineyard.  (As some of you know, I have frustratingly abandoned my desire to be a tugboat operator.)  I thought that perhaps I could call my winery something like NealNowReallyEnJoysWineTastings.  But I got no respect at all from Nikki and Damon:

But I got even by confiscating a big ole barrel of wine.  “I gotta load this by myself?!”

What a great Low Country afternoon.  I will definitely go back one of these days.  You go with me!

Now which way is Savannah?

See you next time.