The School Science Fair and the Snowy Parade

Emigration Diary: The School Science Fair And The Snowy Parade

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Posted March 20, 2013 by Jenny Foxe in Ramp Specials

After the Valentine’s Day disaster I discovered that in order to avoid any more grade school cultural blunders I should simply take my cues from remembered episodes of The Simpsons. This is what I did last week when confronted with phenomena of The Science Fair.
I was unable to attend the Parent’s Information Evening due to work commitments and so had to make do with a downloaded PDF informing me of nothing more than the required dimensions of the display, the judging criteria, a reminder that it should be the students’ own work and that scientific method must be followed. My second grader was enthusiastic. He had obviously discussed the upcoming fair with the science teacher. That’s what I get for signing him up to Science Club. Despite how cool it sounded, I dissuaded him from the ambitious wind powered contraption he was originally planning. After all, where was he supposed to get indoor wind without a socket for a fan? He settled on a series of experiments on bridges he was to build out of K-Nex. This sounded more reasonable. I bought him a notebook and he set to work. He got his little brother to weigh toy cars to test his structures. It was odd listening to scientific measurements in ounces and inches. The metric system really does make much more sense.
It was interesting watching him work. He started with one structure which collapsed under just a few cars and then added different parts to it until he came up with a structure that would hold all of his cars. Of course two nights before the fair I was presented with pages of scribbled notes and asked to help him write it up properly in his notebook. He was still writing at 10.30pm the night before it was due. He had photos for his display and he planned to bring the final successful bridge as a model. It was only thanks to Twitter that I discovered that the poster board I had supplied wasn’t going to cut it. The display had to stand up by itself. Thankfully, the local stationary store is more familiar with science fairs than I am and stocks reasonably priced cardboard displays for exactly that purpose.
It became apparent at the parents viewing that we had got it right. His project stood up both physically and metaphorically quite well among the others. There was even a fourth grade project quite similar to his. The standard of the projects was excellent. There were plant tropisms, hamster mazes, mentos explosions, dogs’ paw preferences and a myriad of vegetables acting as batteries. Admittedly, I was disappointed not to see a single baking soda volcano. My son won the first prize for second grade. He was thrilled with himself. He even allowed pictures to be taken. We are very proud. He’s to take his entry to the County fair next. Perhaps next year I should let him try whatever wind powered contraption he comes up with.

We headed into New York City to see the parade on St Patrick’s Day. Or actually St Patrick’s Eve, as this was, bizarrely, when the parade was on. The train journey was an eye opener. Dublin absolutely does not have the monopoly on half-dressed sparkly shamrock adorned drunk teenagers. Green knee socks and short shorts with cleavage crushing leprechaun waistcoats was the uniform of choice for the majority. I dread to think of their fate later that day because by the time we arrived in Penn Station it was snowing.
We made our way up by Central Park following the sound of drumming and the trail of green debris and found a decent viewing spot. We saw police bands, firefighter bands, prison warden bands, college bands, Irish Society bands and yet more police bands. It’s remarkable how many members of the emergency services in New York are Irish. We stood for about an hour as the snow fluttered around us. The atmosphere was pleasant, we waved and clapped as the bands passed by. It was pretty cold though. We were wrapped up, but I hadn’t really prepared for snow. My kids were getting bored and starting to shiver and whine too. I suggested we just wait to see a few floats and then go in search of food.
But there were to be no floats or puppets, just marching band after marching band, kilts and flags adding the only colour. I was shocked and a little disappointed. The bands are, of course, impressive, but the biggest St Patrick’s Day parade in the world doesn’t have any floats, puppets or giant heads? As the blizzard worsened and the goosebumps became visible on the drummer girls’ legs we retired in the most Irish American of ways to TGI Fridays where the choice of beer was between green Budweiser and Guinness with a shamrock in the head. No ‘traditional’ Patty’s Day corned beef and cabbage for us; we ordered steak.

Shamrocks, Chivalry and Such Shenanigans

Emigration Diary: Shamrocks, Chivalry and Such Shenanigans

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Posted March 6, 2013 by Jenny Foxe in Ramp Specials

A bad thing happened last week. I got a call to cover a shift and when I arrived I found out that the reason was that my colleague’s house had burned down. No people had been home but the family’s beloved pets and all their belongings had perished in the fire. I watched as the town sprung into action. The fire had happened on Wednesday morning and by Thursday evening three fundraisers had been organised by different local establishments with the first to take place on Friday night. The family were handed gift card after gift card for various different stores by people hoping to make this difficult time even a little bit easier for them. Hundreds of people attended the fundraisers which raised thousands of dollars. The family are still overwhelmed by the sheer amount of kindness shown. I had never expected to find this type of community spirit in New York. It was incredibly touching.

My children, not here much more than a wet weekend, have frequented Central Park, The Lego Store and The Subway System more often than a lot of adults who live here.

This is a small town. It has a population of about 8000 making it similar in size to Thurles or Dunboyne. I have spoken to adults who have lived here or in other nearby towns all their lives who can count the number of times they have been into New York City on one hand, even though it is just over an hour away. My children, not here much more than a wet weekend, have frequented Central Park, The Lego Store and The Subway System more often than a lot of adults who live here. Many people obviously do commute daily on the LIRR or by car but just as many seem to feel no need to leave this scenic, sleepy town for the skyrising, quickstepping, ever moving mass of confusion that is Manhattan. Despite the sea and the parks and the malls, I start to get cabin fever if I stay on Long Island too long, much as I did when I lived in Dublin 15 and didn’t venture into town for months on end. I guess as much as I am able to fit into Suburbia, I’ll always be a city girl at heart.
We’ve decided to take the kids into Manhattan to the parade on the 17th. It’s St Patrick’s Month here in New York. Apparently so that the bagpipers can attend them all and lend some authenticity to the smaller local parades, there is one every Saturday and Sunday in March in different nearby towns. Having previously shunned the Dublin parade with its amazing spectacle of tourists waving their cellphones in the air and the odd head of a tall puppet to attend the much smaller Lucan parade which featured every child in the town cheered on only by their sibling toddlers and grandparents, I’m not sure how this will go. I figure it’s definitely worth doing once though. Judging by the shamrocks and gaudy green tat popping up everywhere from the grocery stores to the sushi restaurants, I may have to make a little bit more of an effort than my usual green ribbon in my hair. Interestingly, any bar staff I’ve spoken to dread St Patrick’s Day more than any other. ‘People just drink way too much and usually fall over or get thrown out for fighting before they even tip.’ Sounds fun doesn’t it? I’m glad I’m not working in the bar that day anyway.
It’s a funny situation to be in, having left Ireland to go somewhere where people often get emotional with longing to visit towns and places I happily waved goodbye to. People hug me and shake my hand when they hear my accent, jubilant that they placed it correctly and that its not actually Scottish, then mildly disappointed when I don’t come from the precise town of their ancestors. Total strangers are constantly trying to hook me up with other Irish families, which although is very nice of them, I feel unnecessary. I live here now. I’ll be ‘the nice Irish girl’ constituent of this small community until I move on. My children say the Pledge of Allegiance to the American flag every day. If I’m to become a teacher or even a citizen, I’ll have to learn it myself. We will wear green and wave flags on St Patrick’s Day just like we always did but that’s about as maudlin for ‘the old country’ that I’ll get. Like many before me, my leprechaun top hat hangs here on the Statue of Liberty now.