In case you missed it in one of my many very late night posts on facebook, I wanted to share this very moving tribute to the troops in Afghanistan.  While it’s slightly old, and was originally made for specific soldiers who passed away, I think it can be generalized.

It is beautiful.  While I heard of this “highway of heroes” phenomenon, to see it, finally, brought tears to my eyes.  The music may have contributed as well.

Two scenes always get me: The row of police (OPP?) on the side of the highway (there must be at least 6 cars) and the guy standing on the median with his hand over his heart.

I must not get caught up in this. It is a flirtation, a passing moment, and while it is good for the ego, nothing can or should come of it.

That doesn’t mean I’m not both ashamed of my weakness while also amazed at my bravery.

If only circumstances were different. Very different.

Note to self:

I’m not a princess
This ain’t a fairytale
I’m not the one you’ll sweep off her feet
Lead her up the stairwell

The bar, the youth, the discovery.
Drinks from a favourite book,
Science Fiction characters on the doors of bathrooms,
This is what I think of.
I think of that moment, in the darkness,
On the dance floor,
That moment of clichés,
With sparkling lights and loud bass,
And your sunlight grin.
Oh how in love I was,
With life,
With the song,
With myself,
With you.
And years later with the memory,
And the words.
A Bittersweet Symphony
Indeed.

Enjoyable, yet infuriating, Family Tree is the story of two white people, Hugh and Dana, who have a baby “with African-American features”.  Being a book that makes such an emphasis on Hugh’s family going back to the Mayflower and Dana’s not knowing her father, well obviously everyone (except Dana) freaks out.

No one is going to grant this book awards but at the same time, I couldn’t put it down. Hugh pissed me off, although a small part of me sympathized. I should have caught the outcome but didn’t. And why did we need the Earl and Corinne story lines? Unnecessary.

The discussion of what it means to be African-American was rather pathetic.  As someone who is technically mixed race (1 quarter Ojibwa), the idea that these people raised and living their entire lives as blond haired white people suddenly begin to question their very selves and go around saying “I am African-American” was aggravating.  If I was black and had read this book I would have found the whole thing patronizing and mildly offensive.

Ultimately what kept me reading was want to know the answer to the question of where Elizabeth’s dark skin came from.  The result was mediocre, but I was pleased to know.

I miss books like this.  It’s been so long since I’ve come across one. What I Was found me today at Chapters.  I can’t even tell you where.  Was it on a table (20 books to read before you’re 20?  Maybe New & Hot Teen Fiction?), or maybe just there on the shelf.  I have no idea now.  But anyway.  I picked it up and read the back and got chills up my spine.  This was a book I had to read, even if it tore my guts out (which it did, mostly).

What I Was is the story of H.  16 years old and shuffled off to his 3rd boarding school in the middle of nowhere, England. Here at St. Oswald’s, H goes through the now familiar motions of his “sterling history of mediocre achievement”.

And then he meets Finn, an “almost unbearably beautiful boy” who lives by himself in a hut on the cliffs of the seaside.

What follows is the slow deepening of their regard for each other.  Rosoff drags it out painfully slowly for a book that’s just over 200 pages.  Like H searching Finn’s facial expressions, we are left searching the pages for any hint of how the hermit boy feels for his unasked for friend.  Like all the best characters (in my humble opinion), Finn is minimal, but takes up so much space.  And while it’s the mystery of Finn that kept me reading, it’s my complete and utter connection with H that made the story for me.

It takes some magical story telling for a 30 year old woman to see herself so thoroughly in the naration of a now 100 year old man remembering his 16 year old self.  With every time H goes to see Finn, crossing the treacherous water, often soaking himself through with water and humiliation I could sense his feelings growing, while at the same time retaining an innocence that would not have existed if the two main characters were even two years older.

I read How I Was in about 2 hours, turning page after page with an urgency I haven’t experienced while reading in quite some time.  It seemed only fitting that while reading this Young Adult novel I felt 15 again, if only briefly.  Only now, instead of wolfing down my food at supper to get back to the book, I was steadfastedly ignoring the laundry in the dryer.  The wrinkles would be worth it.

Nothing is perfect however, and I admit to feeling slightly cheated and annoyed at the resolution.  While clever in it’s own way, it felt a bit too safe.  H is metaphorically pulled out of the water one more time, no deeper self examination is needed.  How convenient.

I’ll give Rosoff a bit of a break on this, though.  While the ending felt too safe, I did not feel that way about the rest of the book, which is what’s important I think.

“What I Was” was a surprise, in the best way possible.