photo by jdurham via morguefile.com

Here in the Gangsei house we spent the weekend awash in candy hearts, glitter glue and cardboard Valentines in preparation for upcoming school V-Day parties. And let me tell you, there’s nothing quite like jamming a couple dozen pink princess lollipops into tiny envelopes to make a person wistfully recall those heady days of first crushes… sweaty palms… pink cheeks and think…

Man, I’m glad I’m not eleven anymore.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I think middle-graders are some of the most awesome people on the planet. Full of wonder and ideas and hopes and dreams. But, if I had to pick my most awkward time — especially when it came to matters of the heart — well, it didn’t get much worse than sixth grade. Today, I consider myself a happy, confident, comfortable-in-my-own-skin sort of girl. But back then? This was me in a nutshell: knock-kneed, flat-chested, mouthful of huge silver braces and a too-big nose that was permanently stuck in a book.

(I’d share a picture, but, yanno, sometime around my sixteenth birthday/post-braces/post-growth spurt, in a fit of retroactive vanity I destroyed all evidence of my formerly geeky self. And no, Mom, that wasn’t a challenge. Just step away from that secret box of yours in the basement. I said step away…)

Ahem… so now let’s flash back a few years to shy, skinny, bookworm 11-year-old Jan, who just so happened to harbor a huge crush on a dark-haired, doe-eyed hockey player of a boy named Brian P. Now, I was hardly alone in my infatuation. Pretty much every sixth-grade girl at Barre Town Elementary School was in love with the dashing Brian P. In fact, entire lunch periods were devoted to the discussion of his thick, black eyelashes and wavy locks. Every girl dreamed of wearing his number five hockey jersey and cheering as he scored a winning goal. His name adorned more sparkly pink notebook covers than the words “math,” “science” and “history” combined. Let’s just say he was the Justin Bieber of central Vermont circa nineteen-eighty-something.

So, imagine my complete shock (excitement/horror/fear) when Brian P. strolled across the gymnasium one fateful evening to where I stood by the bleachers with a huddle of girls. While Hall & Oats crooned in the background about kisses or dreams coming true (hard to say, exactly, as I had gone into cardiac arrest), he asked me to dance. A slow dance. I might’ve fainted. I’m not sure. (I vaguely remember a stiff-armed, foot-tripping, where-do-I-look kind of shuffle around the dance floor.) Whatever. It must not have been too horrible, because from that point on good old Brian P. was at my side in homeroom, at lunch, during recess — valiantly giving me his gloves when my hands were cold, picking me (the biggest clutz in the entire sixth grade) for his kickball team, asking me out on an official “date.”

Yep, a date:  to go skating together one Saturday afternoon at the local ice arena.

In the days leading up to the date, the BFF and I obsessed over every detail: how to wear my hair (feathered), whether to wear a hat and gloves (definitely not!) and what to wear (can’t go wrong with a sweater and leg warmers, right?).

When the big day finally arrived, it was nothing short of sixth-grade magic: Brian P. took me by the ungloved hands and led me effortlessly around the rink. We sipped hot chocolate while the Zamboni man smoothed the skate-chopped ice back to glass. We talked and laughed. And when it came time to leave, I was compelled to stand on my tippy-toes in the freezing cold parking lot and give Brian P. a kiss right on the… cheek (after which I ran, red-faced and horrified, directly in to the back seat of my mother’s awaiting station wagon, where I think I hyperventilated for a full ten minutes).

Yep, heady days, indeed.

And my 11-year-old response to all this swoon-inducing, cheek-burning, heart-thumping love? It was to march straight up to poor old Brian P. the following Monday at recess and inform him I was breaking up with him. Because he was a dud.

That’s right. I actually called the most un-dudley guy in the entire sixth grade, the Justin Bieber of Barre, Vermont, a dud. (To this day, I’m still not entirely sure what made that word come out of my mouth. Post-kiss-stress-disorder, I guess.)

Thankfully (for myself and every boy within a fifty mile radius), I promptly stopped “dating” and stuck my nose back in a book where it was safe. I spent the next couple of years agonizing over bra sizes with Margaret, worrying about back braces with Deenie, and getting a better handle on boys from Tony Miglione. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have survived adolescence without Judy Blume. (Not to mention the further damage I would’ve likely inflicted on the opposite sex.) Books were my safe harbor in the weird, exciting and bumpy waters of growing up, which is probably why I like writing for this age group so much (even if it does mean dredging up some of my less admirable moments for inspiration).

So, now it’s your turn:  In honor of Valentine’s Day, tell me your fondest/funniest/most horrifying middle grade love memory (whether it’s your own or from your favorite book!).

And lest you all worry that Brian P. spent the rest of his formative years on a therapist’s couch… In fact, he went on to be the hottest catch in high school. Prom king. Homecoming king. And, who knows, probably King of Liechtenstein by now. So a lesson to all you girls out there: watch out who you call a dud. And boys? If some sixth grade girl says you’re a fool, chances are you are the exact opposite. Brian P., if you’re reading? Sorry about that. Call me. I owe you a hot chocolate.

And to everyone else: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Just before Christmas, my siblings, my Dad and I finished work on a sixth month project—selling the family home so that Dad could move to an independent living cottage. We packed, sorted and distributed over a hundred years’ worth of history. We made sure to keep some things in the family like a spinning wheel, a pedal-operated sewing machine, a butter churn and a grandfather clock. We didn’t keep them because they were worth a lot of money. We kept them because they had stories to tell. They were valuable.

During the time that I lived in that home, we progressed from three channels to the seemingly endless choices of cable TV. From VCRs to DVD players. From boom boxes to Walkmans to CD players. Typewriters (yes, I took TYPING!) to word processors to computers. And since I’ve left that home there’s been years of updates leading to smart phones and Ipods and my dearly loved Kindle and electronic tablet. Never mind my laptop which frees me from writing in the same room with the flat screen TV with hundreds of selections and the Xbox with mind (and ear) defying video games. Don’t forget the competing noise from constant YouTube downloads or the sounds of my kids making movies and editing them on their own using the webcam and a few keystrokes.  Ironically, all of these new developments are probably on the fast track to my own kids’ “remember when” stories.

Our lives would be very different without the constant influence of technology. The invention of the printing press revolutionized society by getting information to everyday people and the world was changed. Facebook and Twitter seem to be modern-day versions of using words to influence things large and small for people who used to be disconnected.  Lots of voices are competing for attention and sometimes it seems hard to stand out. How is that going to influence our future? What’s next? How can everyone have access to the technology that can open doors of opportunity or leave others behind? Will people just keeping getting more and more extreme to stand out from the crowd of voices, or will there still be the possibility of lasting influence and measured discussion?

I think an element of fear and internal conflict is a normal response to change.  I can’t help but wonder if e-books mean there will not be paper books anymore. I love the sound of the page turns, the smell of the paper, the feel of the pages slipping between my fingers and the weight of the book in my hand. But I also love the portability of my Kindle, the ease of getting books, the fact that when I had a problem with one of my hands, I could still easily hold the book and turn the page. How can I love books in both forms? I feel like a traitor to myself. Then I realize that my Kindle is already almost obsolete. Sigh.

And as much as I love technology, I hate the earphones-in-the- head teen years when I’m not sure if I’m actually being heard or am a talking head accompaniment to a music video I can’t see or hear. The constant connection through social networking sometimes leaves me feeling like I’ve missed a real life moment while I’ve been lost somewhere in cyberspace. All this interaction can be overwhelming yet lonely at the same time. What a crazy world we live in.

As we finalized the move, Dad decided to spend moving day with his older, eighty-nine year old brother to avoid the intensity of the moment.  He drove his car two hours north, his not-very-loved cell phone  on the seat nearby in case of emergency.  It rained the entire day and the overcast sky meant that light faded earlier than he expected. On the way back, high water threatened to cover the road and his nemesis in the passenger seat became a comfort. If he had to stop, he’d be able to call for help. He’d be connected. In spite of the challenges, Dad made it home to his new digs and anxious daughters. He brought back a greater appreciation of why we wanted him to have the cell phone and a renewed sense of pride in himself. He would overcome this new challenge.

So what do two octogenarians do to pass time?

They went to brunch and played a crossword puzzle game where they competed against each other to gain points and complete the puzzle.  Not too surprising. But then my dad showed my uncle how to find things on the internet like this You Tube video.

This is proof to me that the key to adjusting to technology is keeping it all in perspective. Life moves on and changing technology is part of pushing it forward, challenging the status quo and a way to mark the passage of time. It’s a measure of where we’ve been and a guide to where we are going.  Embrace it or reject it, technology is here and influencing the way we gather information and communicate. And it’s been doing that for hundreds of years.

For now, I’ll just grab my cellphone and give the old guy a call. But I think I’ll do him a favor and call his landline.

Don’t forget to register for our Skype author giveaway with Wendy Shang, author of The Great Wall of Lucy Wu. She’s also a Mixed-Up Files member and ALA award winner so lets give her a big who-hoo! All you have to do is to leave comment  on yesterday’s post, which was an interview with Wendy, so you’ll definitely want to check it out. Easy peesy. 

Joanne Prushing Johnson lives upside-down and backward which is a very useful skill when life is a rollercoaster. She’s got lots of inspiration with a busy houseful packed with testosterone including a handsome hubby, four boisterous boys and a giant Golden Retriever. Joanne is represented by the Quinlan Lee of Adams Literary. Photos from www.morguefile.com  

Indulging his current obsession with all things dolphin, my son and I recently went to see the movie, Dolphin Tale. As the story unfolded, it became obvious that he was putting himself in the main character’s shoes. When that boy swam with the dolphin, my son had projected himself into that swim as well. He rose and fell with every emotional arc of the movie.

While working on a recent manuscript, my editor explained this to me. She said that when children are really drawn into a story, they will read themselves into the experiences of the character with whom they most identify. If they’re reading a Percy Jackson book, in a way, they are living out the adventure as if they are Percy Jackson.

Washington University psychologists recently studied brain scans to determine the impact of reading upon the brain. One of the findings suggested that, according to the authors of the study, “readers mentally simulate each new situation encountered in a narrative.” In other words, they internally experience the story they are reading.

The stories our children read help them learn how to feel, and through the eventual resolution of the plot, they learn how to better understand and deal with their own emotions.

I recall this in my own childhood as I read the first BOXCAR CHILDREN book over and over. I shared in the worry and loneliness
the four Alden orphans experienced as they tried to build a home for themselves in a boxcar. Gradually, they figured out how to take care of themselves, and as they did, I began to feel more confident that I could take care of myself too, if the need ever arose. That book literally helped me learn to manage one of the most common of childhood anxieties: losing one’s parents and being alone.

Last fall, The Journal of Psychological Science published a study by Dr. Shira Gabriel and Ariana Young that tested the effect of reading on children’s empathy. Some children were given passages from TWILIGHT in which Edward describes the experience of being a vampire. Others were given a passage from HARRY POTTER, in which Harry and the other first years are sorted into their houses. Following the read, the children underwent a test in which words associated either with vampires or wizards were randomly shown on the screen and they could respond with either a “me” or “not me” answer. The next test asked the children questions such as, “How sharp are your teeth?” and “If you really tried, do you think you could make an object move with your mind?”

Results of the study revealed that most of the children had self-identified as either wizards or vampires, according to which passage they had read. Further, they found that the “fictional communities” they joined gave them the same emotional satisfaction as their actual peer relationships. In fact, Gabriel wrote that reading “fulfills a fundamental need – the need for social connection.”

Interestingly, a 2010 University of Michigan study found a sharp decline in the empathy levels of college students over the last thirty years. This comes during a period in which fiction reading has been on a similar decline. Which begs the question of how closely the two are related.

The ability to understand not only one’s own emotions, but the emotions of others is a critical life skill. And it appears that for anyone with a child in their life, the easiest way to help them develop empathy is to give them a great book.

Jennifer Nielsen is the author of THE FALSE PRINCE (Scholastic Apr `12), and The Underworld Chronicles beginning with ELLIOT AND THE GOBLIN WAR (Sourcebooks `10).