Whirlwind Wanda
Wanda, a young girl with inattentive ADHD, struggles with school and self-esteem in Melbourne, Australia. Her journey of courage and self-discovery begins when she meets Wendy, who helps her realize her unique talents and perspective are a gift.
Wanda lived in Melbourne, Australia, and had long, light brown wavy hair. She loved to draw and paint, but she struggled with school. Wanda had inattentive ADHD, which made it hard for her to focus in class. She often felt like she didn't fit in and was frustrated with herself. One day, while doodling in her notebook, she sighed heavily.
- Wanda, we need to focus on our math problems, said her teacher. Wanda's mind drifted again, and she felt the weight of her struggles. She wished she could be like the other kids who found school easy. This feeling of inadequacy made her feel like she wasn't good enough. Little did Wanda know, a big change was about to happen.
Recess was Wanda's favorite time because she could be herself. She met Wendy, a new girl in school, who was curious about Wanda's drawings. - Wow, these are amazing! Wendy exclaimed. Wanda smiled for the first time that day. - Thanks, I love drawing, Wanda replied.
Wendy was fascinated by Wanda's creativity and energy. - You see the world so differently, Wendy said. - I wish I could be like you. Wanda was surprised. No one had ever told her that before. She started to see herself in a new light.
But school remained a challenge. Wanda couldn't concentrate on her homework and often felt overwhelmed. - I can't do this, she muttered. Her grades started slipping, and she felt like giving up. Even her art couldn't cheer her up this time.
Wendy noticed Wanda's struggles and decided to help. - Let's study together, Wendy suggested. They met at the library and began working on their assignments. But Wanda still found it hard to focus. - I just can't do it, Wanda said, feeling defeated.
One day, there was an art competition at school. Wendy encouraged Wanda to participate. - You have to join, your art is incredible! Wendy insisted. Wanda hesitated but eventually agreed. She poured all her emotions into her artwork.
On the day of the competition, Wanda was nervous. She saw all the other amazing entries and felt like she didn't stand a chance. - What if they don't like it? she worried. - Just be yourself, Wendy reassured her. Wanda took a deep breath and presented her painting.
To her surprise, Wanda won first place! The judges praised her unique perspective and creativity. - I can't believe it! Wanda exclaimed. Her classmates congratulated her and started to see her in a new light. - You're amazing, Wanda! they cheered.
Wanda realized that her differences made her special. With Wendy's support, she began to embrace her ADHD as part of who she was. - Thank you for believing in me, Wendy, Wanda said. - You're welcome, Wendy smiled. Wanda learned that courage and self-acceptance were her true strengths.
Wanda lived in Melbourne, Australia, and had long, light brown wavy hair. She loved to draw and paint, but she struggled with school. Wanda had inattentive ADHD, which made it hard for her to focus in class. She often felt like she didn't fit in and was frustrated with herself. One day, while doodling in her notebook, she sighed heavily.
- Wanda, we need to focus on our math problems, said her teacher. Wanda's mind drifted again, and she felt the weight of her struggles. She wished she could be like the other kids who found school easy. This feeling of inadequacy made her feel like she wasn't good enough. Little did Wanda know, a big change was about to happen.
Recess was Wanda's favorite time because she could be herself. She met Wendy, a new girl in school, who was curious about Wanda's drawings. - Wow, these are amazing! Wendy exclaimed. Wanda smiled for the first time that day. - Thanks, I love drawing, Wanda replied.
Wendy was fascinated by Wanda's creativity and energy. - You see the world so differently, Wendy said. - I wish I could be like you. Wanda was surprised. No one had ever told her that before. She started to see herself in a new light.
But school remained a challenge. Wanda couldn't concentrate on her homework and often felt overwhelmed. - I can't do this, she muttered. Her grades started slipping, and she felt like giving up. Even her art couldn't cheer her up this time.
Wendy noticed Wanda's struggles and decided to help. - Let's study together, Wendy suggested. They met at the library and began working on their assignments. But Wanda still found it hard to focus. - I just can't do it, Wanda said, feeling defeated.
One day, there was an art competition at school. Wendy encouraged Wanda to participate. - You have to join, your art is incredible! Wendy insisted. Wanda hesitated but eventually agreed. She poured all her emotions into her artwork.
On the day of the competition, Wanda was nervous. She saw all the other amazing entries and felt like she didn't stand a chance. - What if they don't like it? she worried. - Just be yourself, Wendy reassured her. Wanda took a deep breath and presented her painting.
To her surprise, Wanda won first place! The judges praised her unique perspective and creativity. - I can't believe it! Wanda exclaimed. Her classmates congratulated her and started to see her in a new light. - You're amazing, Wanda! they cheered.
Wanda realized that her differences made her special. With Wendy's support, she began to embrace her ADHD as part of who she was. - Thank you for believing in me, Wendy, Wanda said. - You're welcome, Wendy smiled. Wanda learned that courage and self-acceptance were her true strengths.
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The Overcoat
One day, I will tell you about the overcoat. The vintage brown artifact with epaulets and pockets stoically suspended from the stout wooden peg in the recesses of the hall closet. The coat no child would ever dream of wearing outside. That coat. You might come to love that garment one day, as I do; to value its heft and utility, to see it, perhaps, as an extension of yourself. One day, you just might. I brought the coat with us that Thursday to the hospital near Tel Aviv; or perhaps I intended to bring it but did not. I had been cherishing the garment since October and tossed it in the trunk of the Camry — on top of the ballistic helmets and vests — before leaving home to collect your older sister from preschool. Your grandmother, Auntie Bella, and I. "A Jew should always have a coat. Preferably one with pockets." Not that we needed outerwear that afternoon. The weather was dry and bright; the sun winking through enormous clouds as it tends to do in March after consecutive days of rain. Winter was still in charge, but Spring was teasing. The scent of seasons changing was such that you would savor — grassy, earthy, and engaging like a fine tobacco blend. With the moonroof open just right, to let in the sort of texture I prefer. One day, I will tell you about that Winter. How I was crafting these sentences in a writing workshop during your birth. One day, you will know how — by the time we were navigating toward the maternity ward — I had been stabbing my hands deep into the side pockets of the coat since October and shrugging my shoulders for comfort more than warmth. One day, you might hear about those ballistic helmets and vests. About The Day The Music Died, and everything that came next. “Tell us about the coat, Grandpa,” you might insist one day. A coat with many pockets; weighty, functional, and warm. Like the forest green U.S. Army bomber jacket your Zaidy Sam kept phylacteries in during WW2, when stationed in Burma. Like the woolen trench coat your Bubbie Bella hid gold coins in during that same war, when surviving in a Ukrainian forest. A coat well made keeps one snug and has pockets to store essentials. A Jewish coat also has pockets for necessities one often forgets. Pockets for conflicting emotions. Pockets for Worry and Sadness. Pockets for Gladness and Hope. That Winter I had been making use of the garment’s more practical hollows and neglecting others. That is how I remember it. I was rummaging for solace in all the wrong places and brought the allegorical coat along to reach into pockets I suddenly recalled were there. Pockets for Poetry and Prayer. Pockets for Loving and Light. Like your birth that March in Israel, your other Zaidy also emerged from such pockets in Poland during another period of Darkness. Our family knows about hardship and sorrow. Our family knows about hidden pockets, too. “Tell us again about that Thursday, Grandpa,” you might one day insist. Then, I might set aside my briar wood pipe and tell you about when the sun in March was grinning. When your Grammy baked sweet potato muffins for your mother — you know the ones — and we had to double back to the hospital from the highway after forgetting to leave important documents behind for your father. How the Fall holidays had not yet ended and the Spring holidays were unimaginably looming after 153 Days of Discontent. How you were a second — and also a first — in our family. How your arrival offered Light when we needed it most. “That is how I remember it,” I might one day tell you and your sister who devours stories like M&M’s. “Later, the coat was on its peg when your parents would finally bring you home.”