Synopsis: Clarissa's Disappointment begins when Clarissa Pettaway and her mother pick up their father from prison. Although he has been away for five years, he is finally returning home, and Clarissa couldn't be happier. While the family is loving, and Mr. Pettaway tries to do the right thing, reentry is hard for everybody. Unable to find a job, Mr. Pettaway begins to drink, and after an argument with Mrs. Pettaway, he moves in with his parents. Clarissa is confused and disappointed; for years she has dreamt of her father's homecoming, and now again he leaves. Smart and proud, Clarissa tries to be brave. She and her mother resume their routines, and Clarissa sees her father every weekend. Yet, she cannot help but feel sad and even angry. Although she has always done well in school, a particularly irritating classmate starts to bother Clarissa. When Clarissa's anger rises to the surface, her teacher, principal, and mother meet.

Possible uses: Clarissa's Disappointment can be read by all children, though it is particularly geared toward 8-12 year olds. It would be appropriate for a school library, a family's home, or a counselor or minister's office. Reading the book may help children better understand how difficult the reentry process is for families, and it will reassure them that they are not alone. The book ends with Clarissa's family attending a community group for families of the incarcerated. While it is not clear if Clarissa's parents will 'get back together,' it is clear that as a family, they will always do what's best for Clarissa. Finally, when Clarissa is encouraged first by her teacher and then by a mentor at the community program to write in her diary, she is demonstrating how the act of writing can help clarify one's feelings.

Excerpts from four chapters of Clarissa's Disappointment follow.

Chapter Nine: The Fight

Mamma and I continue with our new routines, and I almost believe it isn't my fault that Dad moved out. Almost. School has gotten better too. I try to stay away from Nora, and Chantel and I and a new girl named Sui Wee have become friends. We don't visit each other's apartments like some girls do, but we are together almost all the time in school. Sometimes, during recess, we take our books outside and read, but today we are playing Double Dutch in the corner of the schoolyard. It is my turn, so I am jumping and counting when Nora and her crowd come over. I say crowd, but it's really just Nora and Jasmine and Sonya.

"No reading today, girls?" Nora asks, and Jasmine and Sonya laugh.

I keep counting, and since Chantel is quiet with most people, she doesn't say anything. Sui Wee is still pretty new and doesn't know that Nora is a pain-in-the-neck, so she answers.

"No read today. We want change," Sui Wee says. She and her parents just moved to the United States, and Sui Wee is still learning English.

Nora, Jasmine and Sonya laugh at her.

"I think you mean that you are not reading today because you want a change," Nora says like she knows everything.

Sui Wee blushes, and I can tell Chantel feels bad for her. I do too. I loose my concentration and miss a jump, and that is all Nora needs.

"You missed, Clarissa. Too bad you can't fly like your Dad. Did you guys know that Clarissa's Dad is a jailbird?" Nora says to Jasmine and Sonya.

Sui Wee and Chantel stop turning the jump rope. I don't think Sui Wee knows what the word means, and I don't think Chantel cares, but I am still mad at Nora for saying it.

"Yes, Clarissa's Dad was in jail," Nora says. "He's out now, but my Daddy says 'once a jailbird, always a jailbird'."

I want to say something, but I am having trouble thinking. In fact, I'm not thinking; I'm just feeling, and what I'm feeling is anger. I feel my anger like it's an actual thing that moves out of my stomach, into my throat, and thru my hands. I jump out of the rope and push Nora with all my strength. She falls backwards onto the grass. For what seems like a little while but must only be a second, nobody says anything, and then Nora starts to cry. Chantel takes two steps to stop me from doing anything else, but I have already stopped myself. Seeing Nora fall backwards makes me stop, and it is like whatever flew out of my stomach and into my hands somehow gets bottled up and put back inside me. I feel jittery and hot, but I don't want to hurt Nora again.

Nora screams and begins to run, and Jasmine and Sonya go after her. The teacher on recess duty tells us to go straight to the principal's office. Nora cries the whole way, and Jasmine and Sonya say it is my fault.

Mrs. Nigel isn't in her office when we arrive, so we sit on a hard bench to wait. We are all quiet now, except for Nora, who cries and asks Sonya to be sure there is no blood on the back of her head. There isn't.

When Mrs. Nigel finally arrives, she looks surprised to see me.

"Well let's try to resolve this, shall we?" Mrs. Nigel says and calls us into her office. Nora and Jasmine and Sonya speak first, and tell the story, except they leave out what Nora called my Dad.

"Of course it is never appropriate to push someone down, but I wonder what made Clarissa do that?" Mrs. Nigel says aloud and turns toward me.

I know I should speak, but I can't seem to get the words out of my mouth. I'm embarrassed and angry, angry with myself this time. Chantel speaks, and I am surprised, because she is quiet with everyone, especially grown-ups.

"Nora called Clarissa's father a jailbird, and I don't think it's true, but even if it is, what business is it of Nora's? And anyway, it would have nothing to do with Clarissa," Chantel says it all quickly, like the words fell out of her mouth before she had time to catch them. Just then, I feel happy she and Sui Wee are my friends.

"Is that correct? Did you use that word?" Mrs. Nigel asks Nora.

"It is true that Clarissa's Daddy is a jailbird. My Daddy told me," Nora says, and by now she has stopped crying.

Mrs. Nigel is quiet for a minute, and then she says, "I think Chantel's right: Whatever a parent does has nothing to do with his child. In any event, I'm afraid that you girls all have detention tomorrow, and Nora and Clarissa I'll see you again later. You may all go back to your classroom now."

I apologize to Chantel and Sui Wee for getting them in trouble. Sui Wee doesn't know what detention is, so Chantel explains it to her. She doesn't seem too upset, but I apologize again anyway.

Chapter Twelve: The Principal's Office

When Ms. Rodriguez, Nora and I go back to Mrs. Nigel's office later that day, my mother is already there. She stands up and turns toward us when we walk in, and I look down. Now I really am going to cry, I think.

"Nora, your mother is next door with Assistant Principal Rosa. Could you go see him, please?" Mrs. Nigel asks, and Nora walks out of the office.

"Clarissa, your Mamma and I have been talking, and I've spoken with Ms. Rodriguez too. You are a very good student: all A's last report card, I understand?"

I nod.

"You've never had any trouble with the other children either. Ms. Rodriguez tells me that although you've been a bit of a loner in the past, you and Chantel have become friends. That's good. Sui Wee's family is lovely too; I met them when they arrived. I'm glad you're making friends, but we must figure out why you became so angry today."

I look up to say something, but she holds up her hand to stop me.

"I know you were angry with Nora, and I understand the two of you had another episode recently in class," Mrs. Nigel says. "But there is more to this, Clarissa. We all get mad sometimes, that's natural. It's what we do with that anger that's important."

I look at Mamma, and I can tell that she isn't mad, just concerned.

"Ms. Rodriguez has found the name of a very good organization," says Mrs. Nigel. "The organization works with," and she stops to clear her throat, "with prisoners' families."

"But my Dad isn't in prison anymore. He's home; I mean, he's not home exactly. He's living with grandma and grandpa, but he's not in prison," I say quickly.

"Yes, we understand," replies Mrs. Nigel, and now she sits down and points to the chairs across from her. Mamma and Ms. Rodriguez sit, but I remain standing.

"We understand, and we are very glad your Dad's out, but I just spoke with a very nice woman from an organization called Families Together. She said that for some families it's even harder after a parent comes home from prison."

I must look confused, because Ms. Rodriguez speaks.

"The woman from Families Together says that sometimes it's even harder when the inmate comes home. It has to do with finding a job, and living as a family again. She says that often children are disappointed and angry because their parent's homecoming doesn't turn out like they thought."

And then Ms. Rodriguez reaches over and touches my hand, "Clarissa, you don't have to deal with this alone, you know."

"Sweetie. I'm going to go too. I didn't even know of the organization, but Mrs. Nigel has been telling me about it," Mamma says. "They have support groups for families. I think we should both go."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. When my father was away, my mother and I hardly ever spoke about him to anybody outside the family. Mamma always said, "Family business stays in the family." She must have known what I was thinking.

"I know we don't usually talk to anyone about Dad, but maybe it's time to start," she says and smiles at me.

I think about what she says, and I remember Dad telling me that he was "reaching out" to others while he lives at Grandma and Grandpa's. I guess we all need help sometimes, I think. "O.K.," I say, "I'll try it."

"Good job," Mrs. Nigel says and stands up, and then Ms. Rodriguez and my Mamma get up too.

"I have to get back to work, Clarissa, so I'll see you later, after the Homework Club." Then Mamma thanks Mrs. Nigel. "Thank you. For everything," she tells Ms. Rodriguez, and my teacher smiles.

Chapter Thirteen: Families Together

That Saturday, Mamma and I go to Families Together for the first time. From the outside, the building looks just like any other office building, but when we walk inside, I can see the difference. First, the office is very bright. The walls are painted the brightest yellow I have ever seen, and on one wall, there is a beautiful mural. Another wall is covered with a bulletin board jammed with pictures of all different people. Mostly the people are laughing, and some are hugging. I notice that there is a whole series of pictures of people in funny costumes, and I recognize the yellow walls in the photographs. It must have been a costume party at the Families Together office, I think. I am staring at the pictures when a tall woman walks up to Mamma and me.

"Welcome. I'm June Jones, the director of Families Together," the woman says.

"Hello, I think we spoke earlier today," Mamma says, "I'm Anita Pettaway, and this is my daughter..."

"Your daughter Clarissa. Yes, I remember our conversation," June Jones says, and then she looks directly at me and smiles again.

"I remember your name, because I've always loved it. I have often thought that I should have named one of my girls Clarissa and called her Clara," June Jordan says.

"Or Sassy or Sassafras," I say without thinking. I am a little nervous.

Mamma laughs, "Those are the names Clarissa's father calls her: Clara, Sassy, Sassafras."

"Well, I like them all! Now, let me introduce you around. We have two groups starting in just a few minutes: the parent group and the children twelve-and-under group. That would be just about right for you, Clarissa, wouldn't it?" June Jones asks.

"Yes, I'm nine, Miss Jones," I reply.

"June, please; everybody calls me by my first name. We also have people here who you can help with other things if you wish: healthcare, housing, job counseling, things like that," she says to Mamma.

Mamma nods, but doesn't say anything.

Just then I hear music, and people begin to put away their soda and fruit juice and to bunch into separate rooms.

"That's our cue," June says, "The music sounds when the groups are about to begin. Mrs. Pettaway, you can go right into the room on the left, and Clarissa, I'll take you into the room on the right."

When June and I walk into the next room, there is a circle of children forming. Some kids are already seated, and others are grabbing pillows for the floor. There are two adults in the front of the circle, and June takes me to them.

"Tayesha, Soo-Yoon, this is Clarissa. She'll be joining the group," June says to the adults.

"Well, hello, Clarissa," Soo-Yoon says. "Grab yourself a pillow and take a seat wherever you'd like."

"Welcome, Clarissa," Tayesha says. "We have a special guest today. She's a poet, and she's going to talk to us about writing. Do you like to write, by any chance?"

"I write in my diary every night. Does that count?" I reply.

"That definitely counts," Tayesha smiles.

"I have to get to the parent group, so I'll leave you here," June says before she turns toward the door, and then she stops and turns toward me again, "It's good to have you, Clarissa," she says.

I take a purple pillow and sit not far from Tayesha and Soo-Yoon and in between a girl who is holding a notebook and a boy who is playing a computer game.

"O.K. Settle down everybody. We have to get started because we have two special guests today. One of them you know about, the other you don't," Soo-Yoon says and smiles over at me.

"Last month we told you that a poet was going to visit us, and she'll be here in just a minute, but before we start, we want to introduce you to another guest," Tayesha says and points to me. "This is Clarissa. I'm going to ask her to say a word or two about herself. Clarissa, can you tell us a little about yourself?"

I look around the room, and everybody is quiet now and looking at me. I don't know exactly what to say, so I just take a deep breath and begin to talk.

"My name is Clarissa Pettaway, and I'm nine years old. I go to Henry Wadsworth School, and I write in a diary, and I mostly like school. I don't have any brothers and sisters, and last year I won the Henry Wadsworth Double Dutch championship."

The girl next to me nods like she is impressed by the last part, and then everybody yells out, "Welcome, Clarissa." This makes me feel good, and I smile.

Tayesha and Soo-Yoon start to hand out paper and pencils, and before they finish, the poet arrives. She reads some of her poems, a funny one about a girl who tries to capture an elephant, and then a sad one about a boy who gets hurt outside the poet's house. She plays music to show us how she gets inspired, and when someone asks her what exactly a poet is she says that a poet is a writer who is not afraid to speak the truth as she sees it. Finally, the poet tells us to take our pillows and paper and pencils to different corners of the room. We have to sit and make up our own poems. After a while, she walks around and looks at what we've written, and suggests little changes. When we are done, the poet asks for volunteers, and I read my poem aloud:

Maybe it's not my fault.
Maybe I didn't jinx it when I said I liked it at home with Mamma.
Maybe Dad will come home someday, and it will be better.
Not like when he was in prison.
And not like when he was at home.
Different but better.
Maybe.

"Nice job," the poet says when I finish reading. "I like the repetition of the word maybe. Can anyone else tell us what they like about Clarissa's poem?" she asks the boys and girls sitting around the circle.

The girl with the notebook raises her hand, "I like that she says she didn't jinx it."

"I like that too," the poet nods and then asks, "Anyone else?"

A boy on the other side of the circle speaks up, "I like that she says she liked it at home with Mamma, because I know what she means. Sometimes it's just easier that way, even though you miss your Dad."

The poet nods and Tayesha speaks.

"Well, I like that she's not sure how it's going to end up. That's how I felt when my mother was released from prison. I didn't know what would happen, but I knew that whatever happened, it wasn't my fault."

"Your mother was in prison?" I ask Tayesha, surprised.

"Yes, and Soo-Yoon's father is still in prison," she says gesturing toward him, "So we all know how you feel, Clarissa."

The room is quiet for a minute, and then a girl in the back says, "I think Clarissa should title the poem Maybe."

"Maybe I will," I say, and everybody laughs.

Chapter Fourteen: A Practicing Poet

Sojourner is the name of the poet who visits us at Families Together, and she's there the next week too. She says that we should always behave like what she calls "practicing poets." We should always be honest about what we think is true.

"Most people believe that poets just come into this world with special gifts," Sojourner explains. "But they don't. They have to practice their craft. Poets practice writing poetry by reading and writing as often as possible. And they practice by putting on paper what they think and feel. They practice by being honest with themselves, and by not being afraid to let others know what they think and feel," Sojourner tells us.

She shows us her poetry notebook. In it she has lots of things: lines of words that might become poems, entries that look like what you'd write in a diary, pictures she drew or cut out, and lyrics from songs she likes. Sojourner explains that she puts in the notebook anything she likes or wants to understand, and that she's not afraid to show it to others. She suggests we keep a notebook too, so I try it.

It is hard work at first, writing what I feel and knowing that someday I might let others read it, but the more I practice, the easier it gets. Pretty soon I have several pages written, and at first, they don't seem to fit together. They come out like feelings do: one at a time and not always easy to understand. But then when I look back at a bunch of them, they start to make sense. Here are my first entries.

Sojourner says that sometimes the best way to know what we think and feel is to write down what we don't understand. Here's a list of what I don't understand.
1. how to make a cake by myself
2. why a clean room is important
3. what "complicated" means
4. why exactly Dad went to prison
5. why exactly Dad is living with Grandma and Grandpa

"Just pay attention to the words," that's what Sojourner said when someone asked what we do when we've written an entry and don't know where to go next. When I reread what I wrote on my first entry, I see that I underlined the words "exactly." I think Sojourner would say those are the words to pay attention to, so here goes.
What do I mean by "exactly"? Well, a long time ago Mamma and Dad said that Dad went to prison because he was "in the wrong place at the wrong time," but I guess I don't know what they mean by that. The second "exactly" must mean that although Mamma said that Dad needs some time alone, I don't know why he has to go to Grandma and Grandpa's house to get it.

Sojourner said that for practicing poets, everything they see and hear comes into what they write. When Dad took me out Saturday, we went back to that sandwich shop he likes and a man was sitting in the corner playing music, and I liked how it sounded. Dad said it was called "jazz." Later, when we went back to Grandma and Grandpa's, Dad played me more of this music and explained why it is important. "Jazz," Dad said, "is the music of the soul."

The other thing Sojourner explained was that poets have to read everything, even things they don't understand at first, and then keep reading it until it makes sense to them. I asked Ms. Rodriguez if she knew any good poetry books, and she gave me one by someone named Lucille Clifton. I liked the poems because mostly I could understand them, but when I came to one I couldn't, I didn't just flip the page like I might have before. Instead, I wrote the poem down.
i am accused of tending to the past
as if i made it,
as if i sculpted it
with my own hands. i did not.
this past was waiting for me
when i came
There's more to Lucille Clifton's poem that I couldn't really understand, but this is the part I like.

After I reread my notebook entries, I decided there are things I don't understand about why my Dad went to prison in the first place, and what is happening to us now. I'm trying to be good and not to bother my parents, but I'm just getting more confused. The more confused I am, the angrier I get inside. And the more I get mad at people like Nora, my pain-in-the-neck classmate. If Sojourner's right—if poets always have to speak the truth—then I have to tell my parents how I'm feeling and what I don't understand.