My mother is an extraordinary woman. She married at 19 and worked as a case worker while my father navigated the Army Reserves during wartime. After their divorce, she went back to school to become an early childhood educator and literacy specialist. Her career was spent teaching in the poorest districts of NY. I remember visiting her in one of the schools she taught in. It was a Kindergarten annex fashioned from an old carpet factory. They were so ill-equipped, they had to create makeshift classroom walls with bookcases. Still, the air hummed with an electric enthusiasm.

My mother’s expansive heart fueled my compassion, her amazing stories inspired my creativity, her advocacy lit the fire of my activism, and her parental prowess provided the base from which all my best mothering instincts are born.

During this time of “at-home learning”, my mother has consistently coached my 7 year old via Zoom. She has patiently guiding him through his Fundations (don’t let the name fool you, they’re not) via Zoom and helped him navigate his 2nd grade poetry unit. (My step-father, also a gifted, retired classroom teacher, has been tutoring my daughter daily in Math, as he did for me many year ago.)

In this Mother’s Day tribute blog post, I wanted to share a little bit of my mother with the world, in the form of her seemingly effortless creative writing. Her prose always belies her resilience and humor. It would not be fair to judge her canon by this causal, dashed-off brilliance, but I chose it as it’s a topical testimony to a grandmother’s love from afar. She related that she wrote this poem waiting for my son, who was running a little late to log-on to their appointment.

Second Grade During the Pandemic

Dedicated to My Grandson

He wants to have fun

But, he’s in his room

From 9 to 1

Doing school Zoom

On his bunk bed

In front of the screen

Scratching his head

What’s this poem mean?

No teacher, no school

No desk, no hall

This isn’t cool

He’d rather play ball

Dad gives a math test

Then teaches writing 

Mom does the rest

So, not exciting

He wants to cut class

Skip school all day

Just give it a pass

And go out and play

But what can you do

His hands are tied

When school comes to you

There’s nowhere to hide.

- Lucy Iscaro, May 2020

My mother was a New York Times published author just for fun before she retired and post-retirement has dedicated her time creating a plethora of poignant pieces that have been winning awards and featured all over the internet. She’s not yet created her online portfolio, but here’s a link to one of official post-COVID pieces.