Top Ten (Maybe) Influential Reads

                Recently I was challenged to list the ten books that have influenced me in some way, or at least have stuck with me over the years. If you know me at all, that task is a daunting one. Often my students ask me which, of all the thousands (perhaps tens of thousands) of books I have read, is my favorite. I usually reply that I don’t have one; naming one single book as my favorite would be like choosing one of my children and setting him or her on a pedestal above the rest. I can’t do it. However, I have decided to attempt this list of ten books.

                I thought that I would start by shooting from the hip—just listing books that came to me off the cuff. That list came to about three dozen books, and that was before I went back to Goodreads.com to see if I had missed anything. (Of course, I had. I ended up with 56.) And so I had to set a few parameters, to narrow my list.

1.       I excluded all religious books. Yes, I am a practicing member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon), and religious scripture and text had made a big impact in my life, but I figured that at least half of my list would be dominated by religious tomes like The Book of Mormon. And so I decided to eliminate them from my list of ten. Perhaps, I’ll create another separate list of strictly religious texts for another time.

2.       The next eliminating element involved series. I decided to cut all series out of my list and depend solely on works that stood independently. This includes items like The Hobbit  by J.R.R. Tolkien, even though it is technically not part of a series; it is still connected to the world of Middle Earth and the story of The One Ring. If I could only choose one book from a series, I’d end up cutting my wrists instead of items from my list. Maybe I’ll do an influential series list later, too.

3.       The third part of purging dealt with professional reading. Although they have shaped my occupation, works by Kelly Gallagher, Penny Kittle, Deborah Dean, and others were cut to the scrapheap, because, like some of the other rounds of reduction, they might be a little too particular. As I look at shelves in my classroom as I type this, I can hardly decide which have been the top influences in my teaching career, let alone my life. Again, it sounds like this might be another list, although this one might have to be broken down by subjects as well: teaching writing, reading, classroom management, leadership.

4.       I also eliminated poetry.

So where does this leave me? Well, it left me with 17 titles that I felt had influenced my life

and stuck with me.

But before I reveal the top ten, here are the honorable mentions (in alphabetical order by title): Beowulf, Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes, Harris and Me by Gary Paulsen, Hope Was Here by Joan Bauer, Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli, Sleeping Freshmen Never Lie by David Lubar and (believe it or not) Walden by Henry David Thoreau. Quite an eclectic mix, I think. It sort of represents the motley patchwork that makes up my life, though. I wish there were room to share all the stories behind all of these. Some of these, though, I have already written about; others I have not. Perhaps I will later.

                So here is the list in alphabetical order by title. I offer no explanations at this time. Deal with it.

1.       Choosing Up Sides by John H. Ritter

2.       The Chosen by Chaim Potok

3.       Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

4.       Guys Write for Guys Read ed. Jon Scieszka

5.       Lord of the Flies by William Golding

6.       The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros

7.       Swiss Family Robinson by Johann Wyss

8.       To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

9.       Trouble by Gary D. Schmidt

10.   Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

As I look over this list, I regret that I can’t include many (MANY) more, but I suppose that’s just something I’ll have to live with. The good news is that there are many more books to read before I sleep.

If you want to see my Goodreads stuff, and we're not already friends (on the site), please send a request. More than likely I'll honor your request. Heh heh.

How I Broke My Butt

Now that the title has caught your attention, I will proceed to ramble. If my blog died in back June as I indicated, its soul was eradicated in July and August. It took me getting back to writing with my students to resurrect its meager existence. And I could go on about my intentions, but we all know where those lead. I did scratch out several pages of notes, including the tale that follows, but that is neither here nor there. Whatever lapse has occurred, I am back now.

On the third of July, my wife fielded a phone call from Zac’s teacher from fifth grade: Mrs. H. She lived not too far away from us, and we were fairly well acquainted with their family. She invited us to bring the kids over to play on the zip line they had rigged up in their back yard. My kids, loving Mrs. H and not really knowing what a zip line was were all about going. I, knowing their tolerance for heights, was a bit reluctant. However, my wife had some meeting to attend, and I was delegated as official chaperon on this field trip.

I had been to the house before, but never in the back yard. The lawn was neatly trimmed, the flower beds immaculately pruned, the garden growing tidily in the corner. On the north side a small tree house platform sat at about ten or twelve feet from the ground, a wooden railing around it. From it ran a steel cable zip line all the way to the south fence. Connected to the cable on a wheel was a T-shaped metal seat for someone to sit on as they zipped down. At first glance, I thought “No way. There is no way I could ride that thing. The kids can have fun, but it won’t hold my weight. No way.”

As if she read my mind, Mrs. H said, “Don’t worry. It’s safe.”

I raised a doubtful eye brow.

“Lots of guys your size and bigger have ridden it,” she continued.

“We’ll see,” I said, but I still had my doubts.

Zac took to it with ease, and pretty soon he was zipping down and scrambling back up the tree for another go. His sisters got a little jealous, but they were still too afraid to try. Even Sam, who usually tries everything at least once, had lost his nerve.

Mrs. H and I tried to convince them to try but were met with resolute refusals.

Somewhere in the conversation, one of the girls said they would do it if I did it.

Gulp.

So when the seat was close to the ground, I tested out the strength of the rig by pulling down on it. Hard. It held.

So I walked it back up the line a few feet and pulled again adding more of my body weight. It still held.

So I walked it farther. Tested. Again, it held.

Feeling somewhat confident in the durability of the equipment, I finally decided to sit on the bar with my feet still on the ground. Surprisingly, it remained steady.

Then I pushed off, fully sitting on the seat, to a height of about four feet. The bolt snapped. And I fell like an anvil in a road runner cartoon straight on my backside, which was planted on the metal bar.

As soon as I hit, I rolled onto my stomach, trying to assess the damage. My first thoughts were “Holy crap! I broke my butt.” I knew that was ridiculous—a memory of Josh W. “breaking his butt” sliding into home plate at baseball practice back when I was a sophomore replayed in my mind. He was trying to take the extra base on a play to the outfield when the relay throw hit him square between the cheeks. I chuckled to myself (because it was better than crying in front of the kids), but even that hurt.

Eventually, I was able to stand and start moving again. Mrs. H profusely apologized (and still does every time I see her). The next day was the Fourth, and we held too our family traditions: Freedom Festival parade in Provo, followed by lunch at the Brick Oven, then to a BBQ at my parents’. This year we had tickets to go to the Stadium of Fire concert with Carrie Underwood and other guests. Now, for those who don’t know me too well, I don’t really like country music, but all the sitting I had to do, especially on the hard, metal bleachers, made it unbearable. Needless to say, my tailbone ached for the whole month of July.

It’s only been a week or so ago that I was actually able to take my stairs two at a time without excruciating pain. Yesterday, I finally went back to the back yard where I busted my posterior to face my demons. (Not really. Mrs. H wanted Zac to help her with the ALS ice bucket challenge. Do you know how excited he was to dump a bucket of ice water on his teacher?) Mr. H made a point to show me how he had placed an even larger bolt on the zip line to replace to the one I snapped in two (clean break). And now we all laugh about it. Even though I didn't seriously jack up my spine, or even my tailbone, I still have miles to go when it comes to listening to my instincts, and not giving in to pretty girls, especially if the princesses are adorable seven or nine years old missing a few teeth.