Senior Year!!!! I made it!!! I had my cocoon of friends around me - those that hadn't graduated the previous year. I had spent two weeks at Stephen F. Austin State University at a their Summer Theatre Workshop for the second summer in a row. My school sent two students each summer based on grades and performance in Theatre Arts. I was the first person to be selected to go two years in a row. I know Mr. Mangrum had something to do with it because of what I had gone through the year before.
Mags and I had our college plans all made and were set to have an awesome year. I know it was a good year, but to be honest, I don't really remember it. I was kindof working on auto pilot.
I had yet to grieve for my father, but I didn't know this was the problem. I wasn't even aware that there was a problem until my mother realized that I hadn't gotten my monthly visitor in a long, long time. I was taken to the doctor, but there was nothing physically wrong with me. It wasn't until the Dr. asked me if I had thought about suicide that I realized I had been thinking about it. Welcome to the psychiatric department. Here comes the long questionnaire, all the questions and my mother telling the shrink that my father had died the previous December. Here we go.
These are the stages of grief - which one do you think you are on? I wasn't on any of them. I had gotten over it and moved on with life - that's what I do. Can I change it? No? Carry on then. But, wait, wasn't I angry at my father for dying? Why should I be? He didn't choose to die. Was I angry with God for taking my father? Why should I be? God puts us on earth to serve a purpose, and when we have fulfilled His purpose he calls us home - what is there to be angry about. I kid you not, I spent at least 6 months going back and forth with this guy over the anger issue. Of all the shrinks in the world, I get stuck with the guy who insists that you HAVE to go through each and every stage of grief - and in order no less - before you can move on with your life.
He successfully brought me through most of the stages of grief, but in all our time together I would never say I was angry at my father or God - and I had yet to cry. I would not release the control. So, I learned relaxation exercises, I learned self hypnosis that to this day has messed up my ability to meditate (a very dear friend has given this ability back to me via an alternate process).
It wasn't until later in the year, while on a Theatre trip to see a play in San Antonio that I had breakthrough. We had gone to see On Golden Pond at a dinner theatre and on the way back to Corpus I suddenly broke down and completely lost it. Again, Mr. Mangrum was there for me. He sat with me while I cried for almost the whole 2 hour journey. It was then that I realised what I had been feeling all those long months and it wasn't my shrink who helped me figure it out - it was the great - and I mean great google him if you don't believe me - actor Pat O'Brian and his wife. They played the principle parts in the play. I remembered that my father had been ill shortly before he died - and I blamed myself. It was guilt I had been feeling. My father worked so hard to give us all a good life, and he was a student at the local college carrying a 4.0 average. Well, I used to usher at the theatre in Corpus and my junior year they put on a production of On Golden Pond. I was, of course, ushering, but that meant my mother had to keep the car (we only had one) so she could get me to and from the theatre and then we would pick my father up from school after the play ended. When we finally got to pick Dad up, the classes were finished and the school was locked up and there was Dad standing in the rain waiting for us. He got ill the next week and it was shortly after he recovered that he passed away.
All this time I had been blaming myself and it was the play that finally brought it out. To this day, I have not felt angry at the death of my father and I have since learned through other therapies and my training as a Stephen Minister that the stages of grief are not set in stone. Not everyone goes through them in the same order, and some skip stages, nor is there a set time for the grieving process to begin and end. I like to think of the grieving process in the same way the Amish view forgiveness. One day you grieve and feel better, but then another day you may have to grieve again. It is an ongoing process individual to each and every one of us. It is our own personal window that we have to step through on our own terms. My hope and prayer is that if you are grieving, you have someone by your side to help you through it.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
What I Learned in High School
What I learned in High School...I learned that there are many kinds of people. I know I was a geek, there were the jocks, the heads, the kickers and probably some I have forgotten. I had friends in each category, although the jocks I was friends with weren't important jocks. They were the tennis players, I actually played on the tennis team for a short time. I remember we called our coach Farrah because she had Farrah Fawcett hair, it was hilarious.
My friends who were heads were friends because they were the people who threw the cool parties and that's where the drama geeks usually ended up.
Kickers is what everyone called the cowboys. I had quite a few friends in that group. My best friend there was Maggie. We did pretty much everything together when we weren't in school. We had most of our classes together, too. Summers were great with Mags. Her parents also became second parents, although they are Mama and Daddy. I talk to Mags to this day. Her grandparents became mine and we would go to their ranch and ride 'ole blue who liked to rub up against trees with you on his back. We had so much fun doing everything that high school girls are supposed to do.
The other thing I learned in High School is what real pain is. Shortly after I completed training to be a lifeguard my mother woke me in the early hours of the morning to come help my father. I didn't know what was wrong, she said he had made a funny sound and stopped breathing. She came to get me because I was CPR certified. When I walked into my parent's room I knew it was already too late. I won't share the gross medical reasons that told me this, I just knew. There was nothing I could do. My mother had meanwhile gotten my older brother and he jumped right in and started CPR. I can still hear him screaming at my father to breath. When the ambulance arrived they hooked him up to some mechanical CPR machine and the last thing I remember seeing of my father was him being wheeled out of the house with some big suction cup pulling his chest up and down.
My mom and brother went to the hospital with dad, I stayed home with my Granparents and younger brother. In all of the stress and anxiety of the waiting I was able to lay down and go to sleep, if you can imagine that. Now I'm going to testify to something that has shaped my life from that day on. As I sleapt I had a dream, but it wasn't like a dream. There was a bright light and a beautiful man came out of the light and told me that my father was dead and that I was going to have to stay calm and keep it together for the rest of the family. He told me that my mother was going to need me and that I was going to have to take care of things for her. Next thing I know my mother is coming through the door, a total wreck. She tried to tell me that my father was dead and I told her I already knew.
My brother was devastated that he had been unable to save our father and my younger brother just sat in a chair with a blanket over his head and screamed and cried, he was twelve. My Grandparents were shell shocked, they had moved down from Ohio about a year before so my Grandfather could spend his last years with my father.
As that morning progressed I remember going through my parent's address book and calling all of my "Aunts and Uncles" from the military to let them know what had happened. Those were some of the most difficult phone calls I ever made.
I think it was about 8 or 9 am when our doorbell wrang and the visitors started arriving. They were my Church family. Mom and I had joined the Church officially just three weeks prviously. I don't know how they found out, but there was always someone there to take care of things for us. They drove us to meet my older brother's at the airport, we had enough food to feed a third world country. We didn't have to worry about anything. And Mr. Mangrum, my drama teacher was there, too.
There are still some things about this time that amaze me. The people who reached out to us. And when I went back to school, that was the hardest. I had anxiety attacks, and Mr. Mangrum was there each and every step of the way, so were my friends.
That was the biggest lesson I learned - the true meaning of friendship. I couldn't have made it without all of them. To this day I am grateful that they were by my side and I will never forget them for it.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
My friends who were heads were friends because they were the people who threw the cool parties and that's where the drama geeks usually ended up.
Kickers is what everyone called the cowboys. I had quite a few friends in that group. My best friend there was Maggie. We did pretty much everything together when we weren't in school. We had most of our classes together, too. Summers were great with Mags. Her parents also became second parents, although they are Mama and Daddy. I talk to Mags to this day. Her grandparents became mine and we would go to their ranch and ride 'ole blue who liked to rub up against trees with you on his back. We had so much fun doing everything that high school girls are supposed to do.
The other thing I learned in High School is what real pain is. Shortly after I completed training to be a lifeguard my mother woke me in the early hours of the morning to come help my father. I didn't know what was wrong, she said he had made a funny sound and stopped breathing. She came to get me because I was CPR certified. When I walked into my parent's room I knew it was already too late. I won't share the gross medical reasons that told me this, I just knew. There was nothing I could do. My mother had meanwhile gotten my older brother and he jumped right in and started CPR. I can still hear him screaming at my father to breath. When the ambulance arrived they hooked him up to some mechanical CPR machine and the last thing I remember seeing of my father was him being wheeled out of the house with some big suction cup pulling his chest up and down.
My mom and brother went to the hospital with dad, I stayed home with my Granparents and younger brother. In all of the stress and anxiety of the waiting I was able to lay down and go to sleep, if you can imagine that. Now I'm going to testify to something that has shaped my life from that day on. As I sleapt I had a dream, but it wasn't like a dream. There was a bright light and a beautiful man came out of the light and told me that my father was dead and that I was going to have to stay calm and keep it together for the rest of the family. He told me that my mother was going to need me and that I was going to have to take care of things for her. Next thing I know my mother is coming through the door, a total wreck. She tried to tell me that my father was dead and I told her I already knew.
My brother was devastated that he had been unable to save our father and my younger brother just sat in a chair with a blanket over his head and screamed and cried, he was twelve. My Grandparents were shell shocked, they had moved down from Ohio about a year before so my Grandfather could spend his last years with my father.
As that morning progressed I remember going through my parent's address book and calling all of my "Aunts and Uncles" from the military to let them know what had happened. Those were some of the most difficult phone calls I ever made.
I think it was about 8 or 9 am when our doorbell wrang and the visitors started arriving. They were my Church family. Mom and I had joined the Church officially just three weeks prviously. I don't know how they found out, but there was always someone there to take care of things for us. They drove us to meet my older brother's at the airport, we had enough food to feed a third world country. We didn't have to worry about anything. And Mr. Mangrum, my drama teacher was there, too.
There are still some things about this time that amaze me. The people who reached out to us. And when I went back to school, that was the hardest. I had anxiety attacks, and Mr. Mangrum was there each and every step of the way, so were my friends.
That was the biggest lesson I learned - the true meaning of friendship. I couldn't have made it without all of them. To this day I am grateful that they were by my side and I will never forget them for it.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Waiting on Changes
Eighth grade was a never ending time of anger, angst, depression, defiance, and rejection. I still played my flute, but even that was a form of torture. The band director refused to allow me to challenge for first chair because she had applied for the job as director at Dwight and been turned down. As soon as she found out where I came from I might as well have not existed. I joined the choir, but never really fit in there either, my voice had not developed into what would eventually become Contralto. Again, joining did nothing as far as making friends since choir was where the "popular" kids belonged. I remember once, I had broken my foot and had it in a cast. My spot was on the top riser and a particularly vicious girl thought it would be funny to push me off. She just turned around and shoved me right in the middle of the chest. I went off backwards completely out of control.
This one girl, who I must say was also not one of the popular kids, used to go out of her way to terrorize me. There were more than several physical confrontations throughout the year one of them a literal fight ring with us in the middle. I refused to fight, and this girl, who was almost three times my size was determined to beat the crap out of me. It was the counselor who saw what was happening and broke things up. If she hadn't, that girl would have put a serious hurt on me.
It was during this year that I found the "losers club". These were other kids who didn't fit in in one way or another. I don't remember at what point in the year we started it, but we became a "losers lunch club". We took to spending our lunch times together, talking and hanging together. In a way, we were protecting each other. We had some interesting conversations together, I mean really interesting. More fantasy than reality most of the time. We were geeks, that's what geeks do. It was here that I slowly came to be accepted. None in this circle judged my clothing, unwashed hair or attitude. We all belonged, and to this day my heart goes out to the misfits everywhere.
The summer following eighth grade was the first time I held a job. I spent the summer babysitting and saving my money so I could buy my own school clothes for 9th grade. I was actually pretty proud of myself. There was some store, I don't remember the name of it, but I went with mom and chose my clothes and put them on layaway and paid them off over the summer with my earnings. The clothes weren't that bad (although I could probably have done without the jeans with the fringe down the legs). If I could say anything about them it would be that they were too old for me. Mom helped me choose them and I think she was thinking of how the young women dressed when she was growing up. I don't have to tell you the impression they made on my classmates. Wool skirts and pumps are just not what girls were wearing in 1980. At least I still had my loser friends and in high school the circle had widened. I had finally found my niche - I was a drama geek! I was in heaven! I fit in somewhere and loved it! Here was my window to step through. Not only did I have friends, but I also had a great teacher who seemed to understand me. Mr. Mangrum taught me to walk with my head up and to take pride in who and what I was. I'm not saying that life was perfect, but it was so much better.
It was in high school that I met one of the friends who would change my life in the best way. Clay invited my to Church with him one Sunday and next thing I know, I'm in the choir and have been active in the Church ever since. Once I got started at Church with Clay there was no looking back. Clay and I became such good friends that I even called his parents Mom and Dad, still do as a matter of fact. Even though I haven't seen Clay in years, we have communicated via email and follow each others face book pages to keep track. So here was another window for me to step through.
High school was definitely looking up. I spent all four years in the Drama club, lettered all four years as well, and found my Faith Family. I had joined the Church and would eventually be married there. I still go when visiting home. I have many friends there, including my Counselor from Jr. High and High School. These are people who have been in my life since high school, have literally watched me change from an insecure scared kid into the woman I am today. They were there for me when my father died, when I got married and when I had my son. Some are facebook friends today and are able to follow how things are going. This is my family and I love them and they love me.
The changes I was so desperately waiting on were coming, slowly but surely. I was becoming...me, and God was there with big strong shoulders whenever I needed Him. And I am thankful to those who brought me to Him...finally.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
This one girl, who I must say was also not one of the popular kids, used to go out of her way to terrorize me. There were more than several physical confrontations throughout the year one of them a literal fight ring with us in the middle. I refused to fight, and this girl, who was almost three times my size was determined to beat the crap out of me. It was the counselor who saw what was happening and broke things up. If she hadn't, that girl would have put a serious hurt on me.
It was during this year that I found the "losers club". These were other kids who didn't fit in in one way or another. I don't remember at what point in the year we started it, but we became a "losers lunch club". We took to spending our lunch times together, talking and hanging together. In a way, we were protecting each other. We had some interesting conversations together, I mean really interesting. More fantasy than reality most of the time. We were geeks, that's what geeks do. It was here that I slowly came to be accepted. None in this circle judged my clothing, unwashed hair or attitude. We all belonged, and to this day my heart goes out to the misfits everywhere.
The summer following eighth grade was the first time I held a job. I spent the summer babysitting and saving my money so I could buy my own school clothes for 9th grade. I was actually pretty proud of myself. There was some store, I don't remember the name of it, but I went with mom and chose my clothes and put them on layaway and paid them off over the summer with my earnings. The clothes weren't that bad (although I could probably have done without the jeans with the fringe down the legs). If I could say anything about them it would be that they were too old for me. Mom helped me choose them and I think she was thinking of how the young women dressed when she was growing up. I don't have to tell you the impression they made on my classmates. Wool skirts and pumps are just not what girls were wearing in 1980. At least I still had my loser friends and in high school the circle had widened. I had finally found my niche - I was a drama geek! I was in heaven! I fit in somewhere and loved it! Here was my window to step through. Not only did I have friends, but I also had a great teacher who seemed to understand me. Mr. Mangrum taught me to walk with my head up and to take pride in who and what I was. I'm not saying that life was perfect, but it was so much better.
It was in high school that I met one of the friends who would change my life in the best way. Clay invited my to Church with him one Sunday and next thing I know, I'm in the choir and have been active in the Church ever since. Once I got started at Church with Clay there was no looking back. Clay and I became such good friends that I even called his parents Mom and Dad, still do as a matter of fact. Even though I haven't seen Clay in years, we have communicated via email and follow each others face book pages to keep track. So here was another window for me to step through.
High school was definitely looking up. I spent all four years in the Drama club, lettered all four years as well, and found my Faith Family. I had joined the Church and would eventually be married there. I still go when visiting home. I have many friends there, including my Counselor from Jr. High and High School. These are people who have been in my life since high school, have literally watched me change from an insecure scared kid into the woman I am today. They were there for me when my father died, when I got married and when I had my son. Some are facebook friends today and are able to follow how things are going. This is my family and I love them and they love me.
The changes I was so desperately waiting on were coming, slowly but surely. I was becoming...me, and God was there with big strong shoulders whenever I needed Him. And I am thankful to those who brought me to Him...finally.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Sunday, July 31, 2011
The Changes that Changed Me
At some point I settled into my life at Dwight and even found a happy medium. I learned to be who I was and even play up those attributes that got me the most attention. These were not always my best attributes, but I still had my friend and that was all I really needed and I had my neighbor who also played flute and we would practice together to shut out the noisy world around us.
1977, my oldest brother has graduated from high school and decides to go into the Air Force like our father. My heart is breaking. I don't know why, but I have always looked to him and felt closer to him than my other brothers. I still remember the day he left. He was a stamp collector. He had an album into which he carefully mounted his collection. On the morning he left, he came into my room and slid it under my pillow and kissed me on the forehead. I don't think he realized I was awake, but thinking about it now still makes me cry. I was never able to bring myself to add anything to the album. I put the loose stamps into little envelopes so they wouldn't get lost, but I couldn't make any changes to it. It is today as he left it back in 1977. Sometimes I take it out and look through it, but for the most part it lives in the back of my filing cabinet where it is safe.
Our home would never be the same.
My father announced that he was retiring and we would be moving. As horrible as this place had been, I had never lived anywhere as long as I had lived here. I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my sister.
We left, I think, a week before the school year ended and moved to Corpus Christi. I had a whole summer ahead of me with no friends. All I had was the promise that I could go and spend time with my friend and she could come down and spend time with us. My older brother, who would be a senior in High School stayed in San Antonio with my Grandmother and Uncle so he could graduate from the same high school because he was going to the Air Force Academy. This left me, my third older brother and my younger brother at home with our parents.
Dad's retirement didn't mean much. He worked a full time job and went to school full time, so when he wasn't working or at school he was studying. The only thing that had changed was the demographics for us. As usual Dad had researched the schools and moved us into the best school district. Unfortunately, this meant the district with the wealthiest families, which we were not.
Come time to enroll in school I was escorted to the counselor's office with my parents. Carolyn Merritt, the enemy at the time, informed me that if I performed as I was capable of performing, there was a good chance that I could skip 9th grade like my oh so smart brother. What no one realized was that I didn't care. By this time, I was my own worst enemy.
I was approached by girls and initially made friends, until I refused to wear purple on purple day, or because my daddy didn't own x number of oil wells and I didn't have any Jordache jeans. It was at this point that I began wearing jeans, my dads combat boots, baggy shirts and a dirty denim jacket. I had my mom put my long hair into teeny tiny braids at night and the next day brush it out into a huge mess. I didn't bathe regularly, I just didn't care. I didn't wear make-up, I just shlumped through life trying to fade into the back ground.
Several teachers tried to reach me. They saw my potential and saw what I was doing to myself, but there was nothing to be done. It wasn't until I found the "loser's club" that I felt at home and found some real friends. Some of these friends I have still today. Some of the teachers who tried to reach me, including Ms. Merritt I have still today. Some of these people helped save me from myself and I would meet even more in High School, but that is another story for another day.
Today is about being lost in a world that doesn't know how to find you. Being lost and not knowing how to find yourself. Being lost and watching the world go on around you as you scream for someone to please, please recognize the agony that your soul is in. Please, please, reach down and pull the pain and hatred out of your being.
When I look back today, it does not surprise me that there were so many young people committing suicide back then. There was no one looking for them. No one to recognize the needs that were out there. The only "help" out there when I was out there was literally sex, drugs and rock and roll. Those were the sub cultures of our youth. You were either a head (drugs), a banger (rock), a cowboy, a slut or a loser (because you wouldn't choose one of the above). I was a loser because I was also a brain. That was the least desirable of the sub cultures (loser-brains). I didn't care.
My parents pushed me, my teachers pushed me and the harder they pushed the harder I pushed back and did as little as possible to pass. I could care less. The future held nothing for me as far as I was concerned. Look at what the past had given me - what could I possibly have to look forward to? There was nothing out in the world I wanted. The world had never given me anything and I expected even less at this point. 8th grade did nothing to change my opinion of the world.
I had yet to find the next window that I was to step through. Depression had a strong hold on me and it was not going to give up easily. It would be a long time coming and many hurdles to cross.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
1977, my oldest brother has graduated from high school and decides to go into the Air Force like our father. My heart is breaking. I don't know why, but I have always looked to him and felt closer to him than my other brothers. I still remember the day he left. He was a stamp collector. He had an album into which he carefully mounted his collection. On the morning he left, he came into my room and slid it under my pillow and kissed me on the forehead. I don't think he realized I was awake, but thinking about it now still makes me cry. I was never able to bring myself to add anything to the album. I put the loose stamps into little envelopes so they wouldn't get lost, but I couldn't make any changes to it. It is today as he left it back in 1977. Sometimes I take it out and look through it, but for the most part it lives in the back of my filing cabinet where it is safe.
Our home would never be the same.
My father announced that he was retiring and we would be moving. As horrible as this place had been, I had never lived anywhere as long as I had lived here. I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my sister.
We left, I think, a week before the school year ended and moved to Corpus Christi. I had a whole summer ahead of me with no friends. All I had was the promise that I could go and spend time with my friend and she could come down and spend time with us. My older brother, who would be a senior in High School stayed in San Antonio with my Grandmother and Uncle so he could graduate from the same high school because he was going to the Air Force Academy. This left me, my third older brother and my younger brother at home with our parents.
Dad's retirement didn't mean much. He worked a full time job and went to school full time, so when he wasn't working or at school he was studying. The only thing that had changed was the demographics for us. As usual Dad had researched the schools and moved us into the best school district. Unfortunately, this meant the district with the wealthiest families, which we were not.
Come time to enroll in school I was escorted to the counselor's office with my parents. Carolyn Merritt, the enemy at the time, informed me that if I performed as I was capable of performing, there was a good chance that I could skip 9th grade like my oh so smart brother. What no one realized was that I didn't care. By this time, I was my own worst enemy.
I was approached by girls and initially made friends, until I refused to wear purple on purple day, or because my daddy didn't own x number of oil wells and I didn't have any Jordache jeans. It was at this point that I began wearing jeans, my dads combat boots, baggy shirts and a dirty denim jacket. I had my mom put my long hair into teeny tiny braids at night and the next day brush it out into a huge mess. I didn't bathe regularly, I just didn't care. I didn't wear make-up, I just shlumped through life trying to fade into the back ground.
Several teachers tried to reach me. They saw my potential and saw what I was doing to myself, but there was nothing to be done. It wasn't until I found the "loser's club" that I felt at home and found some real friends. Some of these friends I have still today. Some of the teachers who tried to reach me, including Ms. Merritt I have still today. Some of these people helped save me from myself and I would meet even more in High School, but that is another story for another day.
Today is about being lost in a world that doesn't know how to find you. Being lost and not knowing how to find yourself. Being lost and watching the world go on around you as you scream for someone to please, please recognize the agony that your soul is in. Please, please, reach down and pull the pain and hatred out of your being.
When I look back today, it does not surprise me that there were so many young people committing suicide back then. There was no one looking for them. No one to recognize the needs that were out there. The only "help" out there when I was out there was literally sex, drugs and rock and roll. Those were the sub cultures of our youth. You were either a head (drugs), a banger (rock), a cowboy, a slut or a loser (because you wouldn't choose one of the above). I was a loser because I was also a brain. That was the least desirable of the sub cultures (loser-brains). I didn't care.
My parents pushed me, my teachers pushed me and the harder they pushed the harder I pushed back and did as little as possible to pass. I could care less. The future held nothing for me as far as I was concerned. Look at what the past had given me - what could I possibly have to look forward to? There was nothing out in the world I wanted. The world had never given me anything and I expected even less at this point. 8th grade did nothing to change my opinion of the world.
I had yet to find the next window that I was to step through. Depression had a strong hold on me and it was not going to give up easily. It would be a long time coming and many hurdles to cross.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Friday, July 22, 2011
It's Time for My Scout to Come Home
I did it!! I cried a little. I gave him my Haitian Prayer Angel to tuck down in his trunk, and I talked his ear off about what-if situations - but I did it. I let him go to West Texas for a week. No cell phones, no computers no contact (well, one e-mail from a leader letting us know they had made it through the first day and that the consensus among the boys was that it was fun, but HOT).
I did it, now it's Friday and I don't think I want to wait until tomorrow night to see him. It's time to bring him home. I have proven to myself that I can do it, now I want to be put out of my misery. There are still things I would like to do with him before school starts. Watch him as he sleeps and wonder how he and a Great Dane both fit on a twin bed. Argue with him over getting chores done before he can disappear to a friend's house. Take him school clothes shopping and pretend to be shocked by his choices. Argue about him taking Cotillion classes again this year and then sit back and watch how much fun he has once they start. Oh so many things still to be done.
The main point is - I let him go for a whole 8 days - I gave him to God and God has not let me down. Now bring him home please.
That's all I needed say this morning. What are the lyrics from Les Mis "One more dawn, one more day, one day more!"
Beautiful Bloggable Me
I did it, now it's Friday and I don't think I want to wait until tomorrow night to see him. It's time to bring him home. I have proven to myself that I can do it, now I want to be put out of my misery. There are still things I would like to do with him before school starts. Watch him as he sleeps and wonder how he and a Great Dane both fit on a twin bed. Argue with him over getting chores done before he can disappear to a friend's house. Take him school clothes shopping and pretend to be shocked by his choices. Argue about him taking Cotillion classes again this year and then sit back and watch how much fun he has once they start. Oh so many things still to be done.
The main point is - I let him go for a whole 8 days - I gave him to God and God has not let me down. Now bring him home please.
That's all I needed say this morning. What are the lyrics from Les Mis "One more dawn, one more day, one day more!"
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Please Help Me I'm Falling
Another new school year. I'm big time now - 6th grade - honor society! Mr. Bebon, my first teacher crush. The dude was a coach and he was built. Still in the noisy school, but this year we have a new Principal and his son is in my class. What a problem child. Spoiled, fat and annoying as hell. Just my luck he has a crush on me. He won't leave me alone. One day he slaps my butt as I am handing out papers for Mr. Bebon, I of course slap him across the face. Boys don't do that to ladies, my brothers taught me that. This dork starts chasing me around the classroom, what a stupid ass thing to do. I of course run, it is quite the foot chase until he catches me and pins me against one of the cabinets that divide the classrooms. He keeps pushing and pushing like he's trying to squash me. He won't stop. Then I feel the cabinet starting to tip. I yell for him to stop, that the cabinet is tipping - he doesn't believe me. We all know what is coming - CRASH. Over goes the cabinet and lands on a desk on the other side. thank God there wasn't a student in it at the time, he/she would have been killed. For the first time, that school went quiet. It was shockingly still. We were all looking at each other and I was wondering how the hell I was going to get out of this one. You won't believe it, and sometimes I wonder myself, but someone chose that moment to pull the fire alarm. I was so relieved I almost peed my pants. I knew I could slip away during the chaos of the evacuation. I had it all planned out. I would run home and tell mom what happened so she and dad could help me. Just as our class lined up, Mr. Bebon grabs me by my neck with one hand, he has my nemesis in the other. No escaping this time. I don't remember what the punishment was and that is basically all I remember of 6th grade. The year to come would shadow all of the years to follow.
Dwight D. Eisenhower Jr. High School. I loved that place, I hated that place. Changing classes for the first time. Having lockers for the first time. Tons of new faces. Again, one of the few white kids in the school. I started out in the honor society again this year. The Deltas. Blue and white uniforms. Standing duty in the halls at class changings. I could definitely live without this, and eventually I did. My grades dropped to the point that I was ousted from the Honor Society. Who cares. It was just another way for me to stand out - even worse than I already did.
I don't know how many elementary schools emptied into this one junior high, but it was crowded - and the new kids - the ones I didn't know - had their own kind of mean. I remember being devastated at one point in the school year because some really nasty girls had started the rumor that my brother and I were having sex together. That cut so deep in so many different ways. It was probably because I wasn't allowed to date, neither was he. We weren't old enough, according to our parents. It really doesn't matter why they did it, once it was said there was no going back.
The only refuge I had at this school was the band hall. I can still smell the band hall. For some reason I felt safe there. In the band hall I could stand on my own two feet. My favorite place was the instrument room. It smelled of instrument polish and valve oil. It was safe. Mr. Sidel, the band director, was safe. Don't ask me why, I just knew. During my 7th grade year I played the flute in the 7th grade band and the french horn in the 8th grade band. Band was the only place I felt on equal footing with everyone else. It was the only time I really felt like a member of a team. It felt good. I think that this was the most secure I had felt since coming to the United States.
Little did I know, my world was about to change yet again....
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Dwight D. Eisenhower Jr. High School. I loved that place, I hated that place. Changing classes for the first time. Having lockers for the first time. Tons of new faces. Again, one of the few white kids in the school. I started out in the honor society again this year. The Deltas. Blue and white uniforms. Standing duty in the halls at class changings. I could definitely live without this, and eventually I did. My grades dropped to the point that I was ousted from the Honor Society. Who cares. It was just another way for me to stand out - even worse than I already did.
I don't know how many elementary schools emptied into this one junior high, but it was crowded - and the new kids - the ones I didn't know - had their own kind of mean. I remember being devastated at one point in the school year because some really nasty girls had started the rumor that my brother and I were having sex together. That cut so deep in so many different ways. It was probably because I wasn't allowed to date, neither was he. We weren't old enough, according to our parents. It really doesn't matter why they did it, once it was said there was no going back.
The only refuge I had at this school was the band hall. I can still smell the band hall. For some reason I felt safe there. In the band hall I could stand on my own two feet. My favorite place was the instrument room. It smelled of instrument polish and valve oil. It was safe. Mr. Sidel, the band director, was safe. Don't ask me why, I just knew. During my 7th grade year I played the flute in the 7th grade band and the french horn in the 8th grade band. Band was the only place I felt on equal footing with everyone else. It was the only time I really felt like a member of a team. It felt good. I think that this was the most secure I had felt since coming to the United States.
Little did I know, my world was about to change yet again....
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Friday, April 8, 2011
Another Brief Aside
I have just seen my son off to yet another campout with the Boy Scouts. He sure does love camping and all things Boy Scout. Between BSA and Church Group his social calendar is busier than mine. I am thrilled that he has these outlets. He is very smart and needs the stimulation. I miss him when he is camping and on Mission Trips, but I am glad that he is able to do all the things I never got to.
Okay, I'm happy for him, but my gut will always wonder where he is and what is going on. A couple of weeks ago my husband comes home from the Scout meeting with him and informs me that in July our son will be gone for a whole week. Let me repeat that - he will be gone a whole week - at Boy Scout Summer Camp in West Texas. I think (though some would disagree) that I now know what a guy feels like when he is kicked in the balls. I literally had to catch my breath and compose myself before speaking.
My head and heart are saying hooray for him. He will have a blast and everything will be fine. My gut and my past are screaming in agony. NOOOOO, he can't leave us for a whole week, and not so far away. I can't watch him and protect him so far from home. My head is saying - you know all the leaders and kids who are going, he'll be fine. He'll have a great time and nothing will happen to him. My gut just doesn't trust anyone with my child.
This is where my resolve to keep my past as far from him as I can wars with my anger and mistrust of the world. I have always said that my past is a part of me, but it doesn't dictate who I am...until now. How can I separate the two me's? It's not that I can't let go of him. I realize that he needs these experiences in order to grow. It is my fear that wants to hold on to him and never let him be hurt. He is excited and I am trying to be excited for him, but I gotta tell you, it is going to be the longest week of my life.
When he gets home, all jazzed up from the trip, I will be the most relieved parent on the planet. I will share his experiences and moments of discovery, and I will be truly happy for him - but I will be happier for me. Is that as selfish as it sounds? I can't help it.
All I can ask is for God to watch over my child and help him make good choices and decisions.
But I am still scared.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
Okay, I'm happy for him, but my gut will always wonder where he is and what is going on. A couple of weeks ago my husband comes home from the Scout meeting with him and informs me that in July our son will be gone for a whole week. Let me repeat that - he will be gone a whole week - at Boy Scout Summer Camp in West Texas. I think (though some would disagree) that I now know what a guy feels like when he is kicked in the balls. I literally had to catch my breath and compose myself before speaking.
My head and heart are saying hooray for him. He will have a blast and everything will be fine. My gut and my past are screaming in agony. NOOOOO, he can't leave us for a whole week, and not so far away. I can't watch him and protect him so far from home. My head is saying - you know all the leaders and kids who are going, he'll be fine. He'll have a great time and nothing will happen to him. My gut just doesn't trust anyone with my child.
This is where my resolve to keep my past as far from him as I can wars with my anger and mistrust of the world. I have always said that my past is a part of me, but it doesn't dictate who I am...until now. How can I separate the two me's? It's not that I can't let go of him. I realize that he needs these experiences in order to grow. It is my fear that wants to hold on to him and never let him be hurt. He is excited and I am trying to be excited for him, but I gotta tell you, it is going to be the longest week of my life.
When he gets home, all jazzed up from the trip, I will be the most relieved parent on the planet. I will share his experiences and moments of discovery, and I will be truly happy for him - but I will be happier for me. Is that as selfish as it sounds? I can't help it.
All I can ask is for God to watch over my child and help him make good choices and decisions.
But I am still scared.
Beautiful Bloggable Me
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