THE PROLOGUE: SIGNS (A LEGACY STORY)
My free spirited sister forced my conservative and sensible mother and I into a pact. It was a "Life After Life Pact". She forced us by her determined persistence. We only agreed to her terms to get her to "give it up" and not "hound us" about it. "The Pact", was an agreement that who ever "went first" would send back a sign. Mother went first, and indeed she did send back signs. My sister went second, and I anticipated my signs but none came. At least, not signs for me. The Pact specified there would be direct signs between the three of us; mother, sister, and me. Others called with stories of her contacting them, but still none came to me. Even my non-believing husband was shaken by signs that were definitely "her" and not explainable, but to me, nothing. Until.........
Four years after her death my sister gave me a sign of direct contact. It was in her own time, and in her own way, just as she had been in life. She always had a way of surprising me throughout life. She might be in one of her "snits" and not speaking, yet in my time of need, she would still come through. So it was now, with the signs.
I was having a difficult time struggling with the pain of concern for someone dear in serious trouble. I found myself sitting on the couch crying. I didn't want to go to work upset, but I couldn't resolve this problem in my mind with enough hope for a positive resolution. I found myself saying aloud, "If you were here sister, you'd know what to do or who to talk too. I really need your help.". In my mind, my sister, a distinguished, veteran police officer for twenty eight years, would have a vast ray of experience to draw on. She would have answers to my questions if she was here. I boo hooed a little longer' then I went to the kitchen to take my insulin and force myself to eat breakfast .
As I passed the television it was showing the morning show that was my least favorite, but my husband left it on that channel before leaving with our greyhounds for a walk. Imus. Imus is such a negative person that he sets my teeth on edge. As I passed the tv I could have switched it off , but in my passive and saddened state, I just ignored it.
Fixing breakfast I began to notice music playing in the background. It was a beautiful gospel song with such familiar harmony that I marveled it could be coming from the Imus show. There had to be an explanation. Imus thought of himself as a musical aficionado', but this was not even close to the usual music of his choosing. Then, it hit me. The familiarity was because it was the, "Five Blind Men From Alabama". My sister's favorite. What in the world was that music doing on the Imus program?
I hastened to the living room and there, on the screen , was the singing group. Not only was I hearing their music, they were making a personal appearance on Imus. Impossible. I felt a little nudge in my spiritual self ;realizing there could be a significance to this, and to my previous plea to my sister that I needed her. Of course, the thought of "contact" was fleeting, as one's practical self always interrupts with doubts.
When my sister was literally on her death bed from breast cancer and in the hospital, she had me playing the CD of the "Five Blind Men From Alabama" hour after hour. In the last coherent hours of communication , she had me play only their version of "Amazing Grace" from that disc. It is the most haunting and unique variation of the song I have ever heard. Distinctive, moving, and powerful. I could never forget it.
At that very moment, they began to sing, "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound." As my eggs begin to burn and my toast turned cold, I stood spellbound by the haunting refrain . At the end of the performance I remained silent and staring at the screen. I was still floored by the fact they were even on the Imus program. Beyond that, I had to absorb the occurrence of that song being sung; within minutes of my tearful plea to my sister to help,and that song, specifically. It should be giving me comfort and making me feel she answered. It was a chilling moment when I felt I needed to accept it as a direct contact. But, the contact wasn't over.
I arrived at work in a state of confusion, hope ,and need. I told no one of my state of mind or anxiety and went about in my usual way; pretending this was a perfect day, and life was good. Inside myself, I was still anxious and felt I should have been reassured about my concerns. I should have taken my sister's contact as a sign that the problem I was worrying about would be worked out. But, like most people who struggle with things of the supernatural type, I continued to try to explain away the "coincidence" of the morning music; the appearance of the singing group; appearing on a program known for mocking such music; and again, for mocking such belief systems.
Within the hour, I would no longer have doubts. I sat fretting over work I could not concentrate on. Office interactions were blocked out as I tried to focus on the tasks at hand. In the cubicle next to mine, I could hear our graphic artist talking to a new employee about his personal work style. This graphic artist was known for arriving promptly, putting in his ear plugs, and only taking them out for breaks and lunch. He also had a massive number of downloaded music choices he listened too. Being young, in his twenties, I was often glad he used ear plugs as our music tastes were complete opposites, though he often offered to play selections I would enjoy.
"Yeah, there's all kinds of music on here", he was saying. "Some I listen to a lot, and some not so often. Like this". I could not even react as I heard the strains of "Amazing Grace" begin to play. Oh no, not just a version of Amazing Grace you could explain away, but Amazing Grace by the Five Blind Men of Alabama. I silently begin to pray and to thank God that He allowed my sister's encouragement to reach me.
While the previous problem did resolve in an unbelievably positive way, and I knew I could rely on the fact my sister knew of my concerns and sorrow even though she was no longer "here", I was now accepting that it wasn't going to be an every day happening. I now believed she could be involved in the caring of my welfare in this life, but we weren't going to have a daily coffee clutch or be able to communicate at will. I felt a renewed sense of loss. But, that would not be the only time she would make such a bold statement in my life and give me another jolt.
As much as it has been a joy for me to write these legacy stories to leave for my family, I have also anticipated putting them in a book ,to share with anyone who might enjoy or benefit from the tone and content of the stories. At the same time, it has also made me sad that my sister never got her book published. It was her life long dream to write about her tormented childhood; unsolved rape in her home, and her colorful and pioneering career in the police department. I must say , hers would have been a bestseller. Mine, is a bittersweet project.
On a particularly melancholy night recently, I was ruminating on these very thoughts as I went downstairs to go through bins of old pictures. I was trying to select a few relevant pictures for my book. The fact that I am a clutter bug and have all kinds of pictures, cards ,and memorabilia from the last fifty years, means that I get into these bins for hours once I start. That night would be an exception.
The second bin I opened was a combination of pictures and old greeting cards. Some were from years gone by ,and concern people only I would remember. I try to "thin out" the cards thinking ahead to a time when my poor children will have to go through things, after my passing. I am sure they will wonder who these people were and why I kept their cards. As I searched through to the pictures hidden in the bottom of the bin, I noticed a card that didn't look familiar . What caught my eye was that it didn't appear to be a holiday or birthday greeting card like most in the bin. It had pencils and stars on the front and the phrase, "You Are a Lover of Words".
I pulled the card out and without opening it, began to read the front;
You Are a Lover of Words
One Day You Will
Write A Book
People turn to you because you give voice to dreams, notice little things, and make otherwise impossible imaginings appear real. You are a rare bird who thinks the world is beautiful enough to try to figure it out, who has the courage to dive into your wild Mind and go swimming there. You are Someone who still believes in cloud watching, people watching, daydreaming, tomorrow, favorite colors, silver clouds dandelions, and sorrow. Be Sacred. Be cool. Be wild. Go far. Words do more than plant miracle seeds. With you writing them, they can change the world.
I paused to consider the meaning of those words and ponder the person who would have given it to me. I had a client who was an accomplished and published author of some 28 books and gave me several cards, but I didn't remember this card let alone her giving it to me. Then there was my friend who is my "Writing Buddy" . We have made another kind of pact with each other. Our pact, was that we would each write and publish a book before we died. I didn't remember her giving this card either, though I have dozens from her sent over the years. I decided to open it and solve the mystery. I was stunned.
The undertaking of writing my memoirs, let alone publishing them, often overwhelms me. After all, my sister was the talent when it came to writing poems; I just dabbled at creative writing. Nothing special, I just like to do it ,but not enough to believe it would be worthy of publishing or entertaining outside of my own edification. I would have valued my sister's opinion and encouragement, but she has been dead for over four years. I opened the card and the message inside was hand written. I recognized the familiar scrip instantly.
"In my life you have played an important role Sister! Because of you, I grew in certain directions..for the better. You stood by me in real life; life and death crisis, and you did it with love and unconditional. If you had not been there, I might not be here this year to say "HAPPY BIRTHDAY". But thru the years of good and bad, we grew , and we complimented each other while we reached for goals that only were mapped out in different directions. We work different, we love different and pray different. But Sister, we are the same. May this new year bless you with your heart's rewards you so rightly deserve. Happy Birthday From ,the Sister of the Wind, Blood of the Wolf, Trula."
So many questions exploded in my mind. How could I have received this card and not remember it? It was not dated, so when did she give it to me? Most cards in the bin were in envelopes so I could check the postmark, but not this one. I took it to my husband and asked if he remembered it. He didn't. He too couldn't imagine I would have forgotten it considering the amazing revelations of the handwritten message. In addition, he couldn't fathom that I wouldn't have showed it to him which would have been in keeping with our usual practice. We theorized it was from the time period when my sister almost died from surgical complications and I stayed with her three weeks in the University Hospital. Then, I brought her home to our house where I dressed her surgical site daily for weeks. It would fit that time period. But, how would I have forgotten that? It was a stressful time but still.......
I know I treasure the timing of the find and feel she led me too it. I cherish it more than words can say , as during our often contentious relationship through the years, my sister had a hard time saying she was sorry or expressing deep emotions. This message was truly a gift of closure for me and reassured me that all the time and efforts I had put into trying to be a good sister, had not been in vain. Maybe God allowed me to block out receiving that card until it would do the most good, and touch my life in the most powerful way. Whatever the reason, it worked.
The legacy of sisterhood and that bond cannot be fully explained. You have to experience it. And I did.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
THAT OLD GANG OF MINE, NOT !
THAT OLD GANG OF MINE, NOT !!! (A LEGACY STORY)
People think of the kinder gentler days being the fifties. However, when I moved north it was to attend my freshman year at what was considered the toughest Jr. High in the city. There was only one high school and it was the largest in the state. The year was 1957 and the high school had just been mentioned in Reader's Digest as having the largest number of unwed mothers in the United States the previous school year. Gangs were prevalent then as now and in my Jr. High were two of the most infamous. The girls had a very tough gang and they were not to be dismissed when it came to crossing them.
Into this previously unfathomable chaos came me. Blissfully ignorant and only a little wiser after a year in a Texas inner city Jr. High where I was targeted briefly by some girls in a Hispanic gang. My childhood through seventh grade was spent in my home state of Oklahoma, It was a breath taking experience to be in three different states in Jr. High . My most impressionable three years were seventh grade in Oklahoma, eighth grade in Texas and ninth grade in Iowa.
I arrived with my only fear being “Yankees” in general. My whole family was full of red necks and people who were prejudiced in so many ways, either by religion, race, social standing or education. My one uncle mentioned after meeting me when I was elementary age, he couldn't figure out where I came from. I just didn't fit in and "loved everyone" or appeared too.
I truly have to believe there was an angel on my shoulder during these Jr. High years because more than once I was thrust in to what could have been very serious encounters of the “gang” kind.
In the case of this first and scariest northern gang experience I was blessed and cursed by the same person. Having just moved north I had a very active southern accent. When I was nervous or angry it grew thicker. In the case of the new school experience, I was one or the other most of the time.
The Little Rock Arkansas School incident had occurred when school opened and I was singled out as being a southern bigot by virtue of the fact that I moved north from the south. No one asked for or wanted an explanation. No one was willing to listen.
I had this incredibly eccentric Civics teacher and she often did provocative and insensitive things. In one class period she put me on the spot by calling my name and saying “since you are from the south, explain why you believe in segregation.”. Every set of eyes in the classroom seemed to be on me including the black student sitting next to me who happened to be the school's most popular athlete and student.
Unsure how to respond I finally stammered that I wouldn't have a clue why “they” believe in segregation as I had always found it to be bad . I could see some of my female detractors whispering and making hand gestures indicating I was in trouble with them big time.
I walked reluctantly into the hall after class. I just knew I would be accosted and threatened about seeing me “after school and outside the school property”. I heard someone laughing and felt a hand touch my shoulder. The black student who had been sitting next to me was laughing and spoke to me like we were old friends. He said to me and in general, “She sure had you going today. She must be losing it, right? His big smile and friendly banter took me by surprise but I joined in saying something like, “No kidding. She sure doesn't know me”.
I will never forget his intervention and his kindness. The girls noticed the interaction so much have figured that he and I were friends, so they backed away and left me alone counting my blessings.
I hadn't known my rescuer well before and never got to know him intimately. I only knew him as a fellow student I had supported in athletics. One who I had admired for his skills and as a person. Maybe that made it all the more impressive to me as it was an act of unsolicited kindness that flowed so natural from him with nothing to gain for himself. By observing his life into adulthood I found it was truly his nature.
That was the start of my school year and it went down hill from there. I admit up front I was a flirt and enjoyed the fact northern boys were drawn to the “accent”. There was also a girl from Alabama in the class who was new and we joked about our “secret weapon”.
It might not have been a big deal had I not caught the eye of a fellow student in my science class. I guess at first I wasn't even aware of any interest on his part as he never directly addressed me or indicated he wanted to get to know me outside of class. Apparently, however, he said something to a couple of the guys in his gang. He was the leader of the gang though in my naive state, I hadn't put that together. I was pretty much friendly to everyone and spoke to everyone without judgment.
His private remarks to the guys got back to his girl friend. I was confronted in the isolation of the gym locker room.It was just a “friendly warning” that if I didn't want my face rearranged I should shut my mouth and not be flirting with her "property". She then identified him and I was at a loss. The attempts to explain and clear up the misunderstanding were taken as back talk. A timely interruption by a custodian moved the confrontation on and I was left very shaken .
All I wanted after that was to be allowed to return to my home state where my sister was. My sister, being in her senior year, had been allowed to stay with an aunt and uncle to graduate in our hometown. I wanted desperately to go back to people who liked me and didn't threaten me.
I had yet to make friends and my clothes were "southern" thus different . I had no money for new clothes. My step dad was going to the Chiropractic College which had it's own stigma at that time. Living in a one bedroom apartment above a tavern with me sleeping in the dining room was all our budget allowed. Life was not particularly rosy at that point. In Texas I'd been able to have my license at 14 and here I couldn't even drive. My parakeet and dog had been "boarded out" to relatives back home. Homesick did not begin to describe what I felt.
Apparently the girls in the gang were still watching me closely and I was trying like heck to stay out of their way and off their radar screen. I made friends with a boy and tried to make it appear that he was my “interest”. What I hadn't counted on was the Leader finding out about the girl's threatening me and then coming to me to say he was sorry I had been bothered because of him. Unfortunately as redeeming as that was on his part is how bad it was on my side as the girls saw us together talking and took it all the wrong way.
The next morning I walked into a hornet's nest. I had notes threatening me in my locker, girls bumping me hard in the halls and saying, “after school” and “today's the day”. Needless to say, I was a wreck and the thought of trying to walk home after school was horrifying. The girl that led the girl's gang,"his girl" was the most threatening and enjoyed intimidating me all day.
The period before school let out you knew the whole school was in fight mode and planning to watch afterward. The worst part was the look of pity the non involved students were giving me. No help, just helpless looks.
After school not one single person was anywhere near me. I couldn't stall any longer and needed to leave the building. I remember clutching the notebook and books like they would somehow protect me. The only thing I had going for me was that my sister use to beat me up so regularly that I thought I knew how to take a beating. I walked out into the sunshine.
Standing near the sidewalk with their backs to me were the girls. I had to walk by them to get to my sidewalk which turned toward home. I remember thinking, cover your face because that's what they are after. I moved down the sidewalk. When I was even with the girls I prepared myself but kept moving.
It was going to be worse than I had expected since they let me walk by and now were at my back. I didn't dare look back for fear of catching a fist in the face. I trudged on and turned toward home. When were they going to spring or were they waiting for me to reach the alley? I kept walking, and walking and walking. Soon I was home.
Now I was totally confused. I knew their reputation. I knew they had “no fear” of regulations or school rules, I just didn't know why they didn't beat the tar out of me. I didn't feel spared or protected just “delayed”.
The next day I had a rock in my stomach walking to school. Once again I made it without incident. I felt incredibly scared like they were terrorizing me deliberately before carrying through on their threats. I just couldn't figure this out but wished it was over. The waiting was the worst part.
In science class that day our teacher was called to the office. I had gone into the records room where he kept our paperwork and practice tests. It wasn't long until I had a visitor. It wasn't the Leader, but his right hand person. He was really scary to me. He was big, wore black leather and had the long “greaser” hairdo. I didn't know why he was still in school since he had been in so much trouble.
He closed the door and we were alone and I began to shake like a leaf. No bravery here. I'd heard all kinds of stories about the gangs and what they do. I knew that the girls were initiated by having sex with the male gang members in a group so I had little doubt they had worse in mind for a non gang member. At the moment when I think I would have lost it (whether that means screamed or wet my pants I am not sure) the door opened. I felt relieved knowing it was the teacher having returned only it wasn't.
The Leader told his gang member he could leave. When we were alone, once again came the apology and the very soft spoken voice that didn't seem to fit the person. He told me I wouldn't have to worry about the girls, he'd taken care of that. He wanted me to know he thought I was a really nice person but that in the future it wasn't a good thing for me to be seen talking to him or be with him for my own good. He also assured me he would know anything that was going on with me and I needn't worry. Basically, summed up, he was saying I was “in his personal protection”.
Being young and impressionable I am almost sure I could have been dumb enough given the chance to try to be “his girl” just because he made me feel safe. I didn't really believe his bad boy image. It was something I thought was probably over blown. I would have easily been led to believe he would "respect" me just because he'd already defended me. My pie in the sky idea would have been he just needed "a lady to treat a girl like a lady". Gang girls weren't ladies. (In later years I would realize I knew as little about gangs as I would about fraternities).
Fortunately, he was truly looking out for me and didn't feel I should be led down the primrose path. He left the room and in times to come we often nodded, occasionally spoke and a couple of times we even worked on class projects and assignments together. He always treated me like a lady and I was told the girls were warned hands off period or answer to him.
By the end of that school year he was in Juvenile detention. By the time I was out of high school he was in prison. It would be much later in my adult life that I would be touched by him again.
I was living back in the north with my husband and family of three. We made the most of each penny which included often shopping at resale shops for our clothing. There was one store in particular run by a special and friendly lady. After we were acquainted she always put aside the best for me.
About a year went by and we were still trading at her store. She began to attend the same church I did. Although she was very quiet and shared very little about her personal life,I learned more about her. She lived very simply in the apartment attached to her resale shop. She always put books, puzzles and toys back for the kids and lowered prices for me so that I could give them extras.
One day when I was in shopping I mentioned how hard my son was on jeans and how hard it was to fit his slim body. She remarked she could appreciate that as her son had been the same way. She spoke of him in the past tense. I was careful not to pry but tried to leave the conversation open if she wanted to talk. She had seemed preoccupied and a little sad of late. Within the next few visits we talked enough for her to confide in me that her son was dying in prison of cancer.
I was very touched by this warm and generous woman who had such sadness in her life. She said he had been in and out of prison most of his adult life and only recently had even been open to discussing “religion”. She recounted what a warm and loving son he had remained through all of his legal problems never wanting her to have to see and hear things that hurt her.
She bore a lot of the responsibility in her own mind as her divorce from his father seemed to have been the catalyst for his becoming involved in gangs. We talked further and she spoke of how hard it was since he had gone to the toughest Jr. High in the city becoming a gang Leader before his first sentencing.
Now I have never believed in coincidence. I have always believed that events were “guided or preordained”. And I believe people are brought together for a reason. Something in my spirit quickened and I asked about the school and her son's age. Yes, it was him.
It was such a strange reaction to realize this was his mother. I felt an exhilaration at knowing the connection but a sad reality quickly set in. I saw the wisdom in God allowing us to become friends before the connection was known. I wasn't some stranger to her and now I could share with her that I was no stranger to her son either.
I described and shared with her about the protection and kindness her son had shown to me all those years ago when I was so vulnerable and lonely. I could validate for her the goodness she had known was in him and that I too had seen in him. I shared my understanding of being caught up in that same world that he couldn't seem to get out of. Yet, I told her he prevented me and maybe others from being drawn into that senseless violence.
Though I requested she give him my greetings and memories and especially my thanks, she was unable too. He passed away before we could have further resolution.
However, in my belief system there is shared knowledge after the passing of a soul. Based on his new found commitment to his Lord before his passing, I think he knows his mother was given comfort. I believe God let me “pay his kindness back” by ministering to his heart sick mother . How could I not believe then that God would have also given him that assurance?
We encounter angels and are guided to spiritual encounters in this world. I do truly believe this was a providential and divine meeting so I could share with his mother to bring her peace. As the Bible says, “we encounter angels unaware” . He was "mine" in Jr. High though not in the heavenly sense, and I hope in the end I was his angel restoring to his mother a son's good memory. Legacies come in all measures of good and bad.
People think of the kinder gentler days being the fifties. However, when I moved north it was to attend my freshman year at what was considered the toughest Jr. High in the city. There was only one high school and it was the largest in the state. The year was 1957 and the high school had just been mentioned in Reader's Digest as having the largest number of unwed mothers in the United States the previous school year. Gangs were prevalent then as now and in my Jr. High were two of the most infamous. The girls had a very tough gang and they were not to be dismissed when it came to crossing them.
Into this previously unfathomable chaos came me. Blissfully ignorant and only a little wiser after a year in a Texas inner city Jr. High where I was targeted briefly by some girls in a Hispanic gang. My childhood through seventh grade was spent in my home state of Oklahoma, It was a breath taking experience to be in three different states in Jr. High . My most impressionable three years were seventh grade in Oklahoma, eighth grade in Texas and ninth grade in Iowa.
I arrived with my only fear being “Yankees” in general. My whole family was full of red necks and people who were prejudiced in so many ways, either by religion, race, social standing or education. My one uncle mentioned after meeting me when I was elementary age, he couldn't figure out where I came from. I just didn't fit in and "loved everyone" or appeared too.
I truly have to believe there was an angel on my shoulder during these Jr. High years because more than once I was thrust in to what could have been very serious encounters of the “gang” kind.
In the case of this first and scariest northern gang experience I was blessed and cursed by the same person. Having just moved north I had a very active southern accent. When I was nervous or angry it grew thicker. In the case of the new school experience, I was one or the other most of the time.
The Little Rock Arkansas School incident had occurred when school opened and I was singled out as being a southern bigot by virtue of the fact that I moved north from the south. No one asked for or wanted an explanation. No one was willing to listen.
I had this incredibly eccentric Civics teacher and she often did provocative and insensitive things. In one class period she put me on the spot by calling my name and saying “since you are from the south, explain why you believe in segregation.”. Every set of eyes in the classroom seemed to be on me including the black student sitting next to me who happened to be the school's most popular athlete and student.
Unsure how to respond I finally stammered that I wouldn't have a clue why “they” believe in segregation as I had always found it to be bad . I could see some of my female detractors whispering and making hand gestures indicating I was in trouble with them big time.
I walked reluctantly into the hall after class. I just knew I would be accosted and threatened about seeing me “after school and outside the school property”. I heard someone laughing and felt a hand touch my shoulder. The black student who had been sitting next to me was laughing and spoke to me like we were old friends. He said to me and in general, “She sure had you going today. She must be losing it, right? His big smile and friendly banter took me by surprise but I joined in saying something like, “No kidding. She sure doesn't know me”.
I will never forget his intervention and his kindness. The girls noticed the interaction so much have figured that he and I were friends, so they backed away and left me alone counting my blessings.
I hadn't known my rescuer well before and never got to know him intimately. I only knew him as a fellow student I had supported in athletics. One who I had admired for his skills and as a person. Maybe that made it all the more impressive to me as it was an act of unsolicited kindness that flowed so natural from him with nothing to gain for himself. By observing his life into adulthood I found it was truly his nature.
That was the start of my school year and it went down hill from there. I admit up front I was a flirt and enjoyed the fact northern boys were drawn to the “accent”. There was also a girl from Alabama in the class who was new and we joked about our “secret weapon”.
It might not have been a big deal had I not caught the eye of a fellow student in my science class. I guess at first I wasn't even aware of any interest on his part as he never directly addressed me or indicated he wanted to get to know me outside of class. Apparently, however, he said something to a couple of the guys in his gang. He was the leader of the gang though in my naive state, I hadn't put that together. I was pretty much friendly to everyone and spoke to everyone without judgment.
His private remarks to the guys got back to his girl friend. I was confronted in the isolation of the gym locker room.It was just a “friendly warning” that if I didn't want my face rearranged I should shut my mouth and not be flirting with her "property". She then identified him and I was at a loss. The attempts to explain and clear up the misunderstanding were taken as back talk. A timely interruption by a custodian moved the confrontation on and I was left very shaken .
All I wanted after that was to be allowed to return to my home state where my sister was. My sister, being in her senior year, had been allowed to stay with an aunt and uncle to graduate in our hometown. I wanted desperately to go back to people who liked me and didn't threaten me.
I had yet to make friends and my clothes were "southern" thus different . I had no money for new clothes. My step dad was going to the Chiropractic College which had it's own stigma at that time. Living in a one bedroom apartment above a tavern with me sleeping in the dining room was all our budget allowed. Life was not particularly rosy at that point. In Texas I'd been able to have my license at 14 and here I couldn't even drive. My parakeet and dog had been "boarded out" to relatives back home. Homesick did not begin to describe what I felt.
Apparently the girls in the gang were still watching me closely and I was trying like heck to stay out of their way and off their radar screen. I made friends with a boy and tried to make it appear that he was my “interest”. What I hadn't counted on was the Leader finding out about the girl's threatening me and then coming to me to say he was sorry I had been bothered because of him. Unfortunately as redeeming as that was on his part is how bad it was on my side as the girls saw us together talking and took it all the wrong way.
The next morning I walked into a hornet's nest. I had notes threatening me in my locker, girls bumping me hard in the halls and saying, “after school” and “today's the day”. Needless to say, I was a wreck and the thought of trying to walk home after school was horrifying. The girl that led the girl's gang,"his girl" was the most threatening and enjoyed intimidating me all day.
The period before school let out you knew the whole school was in fight mode and planning to watch afterward. The worst part was the look of pity the non involved students were giving me. No help, just helpless looks.
After school not one single person was anywhere near me. I couldn't stall any longer and needed to leave the building. I remember clutching the notebook and books like they would somehow protect me. The only thing I had going for me was that my sister use to beat me up so regularly that I thought I knew how to take a beating. I walked out into the sunshine.
Standing near the sidewalk with their backs to me were the girls. I had to walk by them to get to my sidewalk which turned toward home. I remember thinking, cover your face because that's what they are after. I moved down the sidewalk. When I was even with the girls I prepared myself but kept moving.
It was going to be worse than I had expected since they let me walk by and now were at my back. I didn't dare look back for fear of catching a fist in the face. I trudged on and turned toward home. When were they going to spring or were they waiting for me to reach the alley? I kept walking, and walking and walking. Soon I was home.
Now I was totally confused. I knew their reputation. I knew they had “no fear” of regulations or school rules, I just didn't know why they didn't beat the tar out of me. I didn't feel spared or protected just “delayed”.
The next day I had a rock in my stomach walking to school. Once again I made it without incident. I felt incredibly scared like they were terrorizing me deliberately before carrying through on their threats. I just couldn't figure this out but wished it was over. The waiting was the worst part.
In science class that day our teacher was called to the office. I had gone into the records room where he kept our paperwork and practice tests. It wasn't long until I had a visitor. It wasn't the Leader, but his right hand person. He was really scary to me. He was big, wore black leather and had the long “greaser” hairdo. I didn't know why he was still in school since he had been in so much trouble.
He closed the door and we were alone and I began to shake like a leaf. No bravery here. I'd heard all kinds of stories about the gangs and what they do. I knew that the girls were initiated by having sex with the male gang members in a group so I had little doubt they had worse in mind for a non gang member. At the moment when I think I would have lost it (whether that means screamed or wet my pants I am not sure) the door opened. I felt relieved knowing it was the teacher having returned only it wasn't.
The Leader told his gang member he could leave. When we were alone, once again came the apology and the very soft spoken voice that didn't seem to fit the person. He told me I wouldn't have to worry about the girls, he'd taken care of that. He wanted me to know he thought I was a really nice person but that in the future it wasn't a good thing for me to be seen talking to him or be with him for my own good. He also assured me he would know anything that was going on with me and I needn't worry. Basically, summed up, he was saying I was “in his personal protection”.
Being young and impressionable I am almost sure I could have been dumb enough given the chance to try to be “his girl” just because he made me feel safe. I didn't really believe his bad boy image. It was something I thought was probably over blown. I would have easily been led to believe he would "respect" me just because he'd already defended me. My pie in the sky idea would have been he just needed "a lady to treat a girl like a lady". Gang girls weren't ladies. (In later years I would realize I knew as little about gangs as I would about fraternities).
Fortunately, he was truly looking out for me and didn't feel I should be led down the primrose path. He left the room and in times to come we often nodded, occasionally spoke and a couple of times we even worked on class projects and assignments together. He always treated me like a lady and I was told the girls were warned hands off period or answer to him.
By the end of that school year he was in Juvenile detention. By the time I was out of high school he was in prison. It would be much later in my adult life that I would be touched by him again.
I was living back in the north with my husband and family of three. We made the most of each penny which included often shopping at resale shops for our clothing. There was one store in particular run by a special and friendly lady. After we were acquainted she always put aside the best for me.
About a year went by and we were still trading at her store. She began to attend the same church I did. Although she was very quiet and shared very little about her personal life,I learned more about her. She lived very simply in the apartment attached to her resale shop. She always put books, puzzles and toys back for the kids and lowered prices for me so that I could give them extras.
One day when I was in shopping I mentioned how hard my son was on jeans and how hard it was to fit his slim body. She remarked she could appreciate that as her son had been the same way. She spoke of him in the past tense. I was careful not to pry but tried to leave the conversation open if she wanted to talk. She had seemed preoccupied and a little sad of late. Within the next few visits we talked enough for her to confide in me that her son was dying in prison of cancer.
I was very touched by this warm and generous woman who had such sadness in her life. She said he had been in and out of prison most of his adult life and only recently had even been open to discussing “religion”. She recounted what a warm and loving son he had remained through all of his legal problems never wanting her to have to see and hear things that hurt her.
She bore a lot of the responsibility in her own mind as her divorce from his father seemed to have been the catalyst for his becoming involved in gangs. We talked further and she spoke of how hard it was since he had gone to the toughest Jr. High in the city becoming a gang Leader before his first sentencing.
Now I have never believed in coincidence. I have always believed that events were “guided or preordained”. And I believe people are brought together for a reason. Something in my spirit quickened and I asked about the school and her son's age. Yes, it was him.
It was such a strange reaction to realize this was his mother. I felt an exhilaration at knowing the connection but a sad reality quickly set in. I saw the wisdom in God allowing us to become friends before the connection was known. I wasn't some stranger to her and now I could share with her that I was no stranger to her son either.
I described and shared with her about the protection and kindness her son had shown to me all those years ago when I was so vulnerable and lonely. I could validate for her the goodness she had known was in him and that I too had seen in him. I shared my understanding of being caught up in that same world that he couldn't seem to get out of. Yet, I told her he prevented me and maybe others from being drawn into that senseless violence.
Though I requested she give him my greetings and memories and especially my thanks, she was unable too. He passed away before we could have further resolution.
However, in my belief system there is shared knowledge after the passing of a soul. Based on his new found commitment to his Lord before his passing, I think he knows his mother was given comfort. I believe God let me “pay his kindness back” by ministering to his heart sick mother . How could I not believe then that God would have also given him that assurance?
We encounter angels and are guided to spiritual encounters in this world. I do truly believe this was a providential and divine meeting so I could share with his mother to bring her peace. As the Bible says, “we encounter angels unaware” . He was "mine" in Jr. High though not in the heavenly sense, and I hope in the end I was his angel restoring to his mother a son's good memory. Legacies come in all measures of good and bad.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Our Personal Encounter of the Alien Kind
OUR PERSONAL ENCOUNTER OF THE ALIEN KIND (A LEGACY STORY)
When you have eleven grandchildren in three states, you don't miss an opportunity or planned event with them . Such was the case when we went to Wisconsin to visit during a really busy working time for both my husband and myself. We told the family that we would arrive very late as we couldn't get out of town until after supper.
Upon our arrival at the split level house everyone was already in bed and asleep. We had instructions to go to the lower level and in to the room of our three year old grandson. He would sleep up stairs with his folks which was a fun treat for him. We would gladly go straight to bed and sleep since the events of the following day were sure to keep us busy. We moved stealthily through the downstairs to the assigned room and remembering our instructions, left the hall way light on for nighttime bathroom visits.
I booted my hubby over to the far side as I needed to plug in my new apnea machine. It had changed my life by giving me the needed oxygen levels during the night and thus helping me be fresh and energized during the day. I had become accustomed to the cumbersome mask and tubing and was able to go right into a sound sleep snuggled up to my husband.
About two in the morning I thought I heard something, then was sure of it. The pitter pat of little feet coming down the stairs indicated my grandson was on his way back to his room. I turned over and held my hands out so that he could climb into the water bed with us. The hall light showed his silhouette in the darkness and then he stepped into the room allowing the light to reach me. Always known for his expressive big eyes, they suddenly were enormous. He dropped his "blanky" ,screamed at the top of his lungs, and turned to run out of the room.
I was calling his name. trying to untangle the tubing, mask and covers while the piercing screams went on and on as he ran for the stairs. His father had heard the screams and having no idea what was wrong bolted from his bed. He and I met at the stairway with the screaming little guy on the platform looking first at me then at his dad and just stamping his feet in place and screaming. It was at that point I clearly understood, I looked like a space alien in the mask and tubing and when he saw me in the light it had scared the little bugger half to death.
It was a real initiation and a little sad as all my grandchildren eventually loved the mask and the air it blew out. But then they saw me demonstrate it and it was easy not to scare them as they helped me put it on. This little guy was completely taken aback and it took a long time to get him over it.
We still laugh about the night the alien was in his bed and how he flew up the stairs and his dad was so scared he was running down the stairs in his underwear. The legacy of laughter and making even the event of a sleep apnea machine special is something shared by this grandson and I.
When you have eleven grandchildren in three states, you don't miss an opportunity or planned event with them . Such was the case when we went to Wisconsin to visit during a really busy working time for both my husband and myself. We told the family that we would arrive very late as we couldn't get out of town until after supper.
Upon our arrival at the split level house everyone was already in bed and asleep. We had instructions to go to the lower level and in to the room of our three year old grandson. He would sleep up stairs with his folks which was a fun treat for him. We would gladly go straight to bed and sleep since the events of the following day were sure to keep us busy. We moved stealthily through the downstairs to the assigned room and remembering our instructions, left the hall way light on for nighttime bathroom visits.
I booted my hubby over to the far side as I needed to plug in my new apnea machine. It had changed my life by giving me the needed oxygen levels during the night and thus helping me be fresh and energized during the day. I had become accustomed to the cumbersome mask and tubing and was able to go right into a sound sleep snuggled up to my husband.
About two in the morning I thought I heard something, then was sure of it. The pitter pat of little feet coming down the stairs indicated my grandson was on his way back to his room. I turned over and held my hands out so that he could climb into the water bed with us. The hall light showed his silhouette in the darkness and then he stepped into the room allowing the light to reach me. Always known for his expressive big eyes, they suddenly were enormous. He dropped his "blanky" ,screamed at the top of his lungs, and turned to run out of the room.
I was calling his name. trying to untangle the tubing, mask and covers while the piercing screams went on and on as he ran for the stairs. His father had heard the screams and having no idea what was wrong bolted from his bed. He and I met at the stairway with the screaming little guy on the platform looking first at me then at his dad and just stamping his feet in place and screaming. It was at that point I clearly understood, I looked like a space alien in the mask and tubing and when he saw me in the light it had scared the little bugger half to death.
It was a real initiation and a little sad as all my grandchildren eventually loved the mask and the air it blew out. But then they saw me demonstrate it and it was easy not to scare them as they helped me put it on. This little guy was completely taken aback and it took a long time to get him over it.
We still laugh about the night the alien was in his bed and how he flew up the stairs and his dad was so scared he was running down the stairs in his underwear. The legacy of laughter and making even the event of a sleep apnea machine special is something shared by this grandson and I.
CINDERELLA, CINDERELLA
CINDERELLA (A LEGACY STORY)
It seems so long ago now, but it isn't really. I have always loved the story of Cinderella. It gave me hope as a child that one could move on, above the seemingly allotted life even if you were poor. The idea of the glass slipper was so unique it made me feel the shoe's beauty represented the individual beauty each of us possesses and can be identified by.
My grandmother was a really pretty lady who felt keeping herself in her A-1 presentation mode at all times was part of being a real "lady". During the depression she made her own cosmetics out of available grains and vegetables. When she could afford cosmetics, she used them religiously not to color her self up, but to retain her porcelain-like skin. This despite working in the cotton fields and other outdoor farming tasks. When she did pass away, she had few wrinkles and could be proud of her young skin and appearance.
There was "one little hitch in her get along "of life. She had some problems with balance at one point and she adamantly refused to use a cane or walker because they made her look "old". And god help the person who would ever try to point out to her that she was old.
It was at this point that I felt inspired and decided to overcome her objections by getting her a very unique cane. I believed that this would motivate her to become more active and I would present it as a fashion accessory. I think I may have over sold the product, but it is absolutely the truth when I tell you the lengths to which she became attached to that cane.
First, it took a lot of shopping and a lot of thinking on how to sell her on the cane I had selected. I went into a rather upscale store and they had a selection of canes that were truly impressive and very beautiful including some very ornate canes. But there in the display was the instantaneous choice that I knew would fill the bill. It was a clear cane that looked like glass, but was a special rosin,plastic mixture. I didn't even look at the price, I just grabbed it and said, "Wrap it special and make it look expensive".
When I gave her the cane, I first told her I had a gift that would make her as special as Cinderella. I knew she was feeling discarded and old and she wouldn't go out because she had to use the cane. I told her that her "fairy god mother" ordained her to have this. (Now bear in mind she was not senile, we just had this kind of relationship"). When she unwrapped it I made a big deal about it being her "glass slipper cane" and showed her that no matter what she wore, it would never clash as it went with everything.It would be a conversation piece, no doubt. And that proved to be a more prophetic saying than I could have imagined.
My grandmother took Cinderella everywhere and people always commented on "her" and my grandmother would tell them the story of how she came to have Cinderella. Ahh, life was good and grandma was safe until that fateful day on the road.
Living with my Aunt and Uncle, my grandmother was able to enjoy some traveling. As a widow she had given up driving long before so it was a good match. They all traveled in a relaxed fashion and often would stop and picnic along the way. On this particular day, they had stopped at a shady rest area and had a picnic before going on their way. It was about an hour later when it occurred to her she'd left Cinderella on the bench of the picnic table. Bless my uncle's heart, he drove all the way back, but alas, Cinderella had disappeared.
My grandmother was inconsolable and they finally called to tell me what had happened. I brashly swore to get her another and the next day went out to the store where I had purchased the original. Sadly they no longer carried them but would give me the manufactures name and information. I set out to find one, but they informed me, they no longer made that kind. There were none to be had.
I was so sad. And though they couldn't help me I recounted the story of Cinderella and my grandmother's devotion to her. I put off letting my aunt and grandma know there was no cane to be had. I planned to use what time I had to find another unique cane. I could create another persona that would intrigue Grandma.
I kept looking but nothing was "that" unique or would really suit her . I was about to give up when I got a call. The company was so touched by the story of Cinderella that they had sent out a contact message for anyone with any knowledge of a used or similar one. At the last moment, one provider in Canada contacted them and said they had shipped one to New York just a few months before. They gave them the name of the store, and lo and behold, Cinderella Two was located. I paid them and they sent it directly to my Grandmother in Texas.
To say the reunion was a success is an understatement. My Aunt told me it was a wonderful thing to see them "back together" and grandma now had another story to tell about Cinderella which allowed her to bend someone's ear even longer.
As for me, it was the one thing I wanted when Grandma passed on. It is hanging here in my Victorian bedroom looking a little forlorn. I have decided that next month when I go to New York City to see The Color Purple on Broadway, I will be accompanied on the plane and in the theatre by Cinderella. I have now reached the age grandma was when I gave her the original Cinderella cane. While I won't be quite as dependent on it as she was, it's about the "ascetics" don't you know.
I only hope I don't lose Cinderella as I would like to pass her on and continue the legacy of the "Senior Citizen's Glass Slipper".
It seems so long ago now, but it isn't really. I have always loved the story of Cinderella. It gave me hope as a child that one could move on, above the seemingly allotted life even if you were poor. The idea of the glass slipper was so unique it made me feel the shoe's beauty represented the individual beauty each of us possesses and can be identified by.
My grandmother was a really pretty lady who felt keeping herself in her A-1 presentation mode at all times was part of being a real "lady". During the depression she made her own cosmetics out of available grains and vegetables. When she could afford cosmetics, she used them religiously not to color her self up, but to retain her porcelain-like skin. This despite working in the cotton fields and other outdoor farming tasks. When she did pass away, she had few wrinkles and could be proud of her young skin and appearance.
There was "one little hitch in her get along "of life. She had some problems with balance at one point and she adamantly refused to use a cane or walker because they made her look "old". And god help the person who would ever try to point out to her that she was old.
It was at this point that I felt inspired and decided to overcome her objections by getting her a very unique cane. I believed that this would motivate her to become more active and I would present it as a fashion accessory. I think I may have over sold the product, but it is absolutely the truth when I tell you the lengths to which she became attached to that cane.
First, it took a lot of shopping and a lot of thinking on how to sell her on the cane I had selected. I went into a rather upscale store and they had a selection of canes that were truly impressive and very beautiful including some very ornate canes. But there in the display was the instantaneous choice that I knew would fill the bill. It was a clear cane that looked like glass, but was a special rosin,plastic mixture. I didn't even look at the price, I just grabbed it and said, "Wrap it special and make it look expensive".
When I gave her the cane, I first told her I had a gift that would make her as special as Cinderella. I knew she was feeling discarded and old and she wouldn't go out because she had to use the cane. I told her that her "fairy god mother" ordained her to have this. (Now bear in mind she was not senile, we just had this kind of relationship"). When she unwrapped it I made a big deal about it being her "glass slipper cane" and showed her that no matter what she wore, it would never clash as it went with everything.It would be a conversation piece, no doubt. And that proved to be a more prophetic saying than I could have imagined.
My grandmother took Cinderella everywhere and people always commented on "her" and my grandmother would tell them the story of how she came to have Cinderella. Ahh, life was good and grandma was safe until that fateful day on the road.
Living with my Aunt and Uncle, my grandmother was able to enjoy some traveling. As a widow she had given up driving long before so it was a good match. They all traveled in a relaxed fashion and often would stop and picnic along the way. On this particular day, they had stopped at a shady rest area and had a picnic before going on their way. It was about an hour later when it occurred to her she'd left Cinderella on the bench of the picnic table. Bless my uncle's heart, he drove all the way back, but alas, Cinderella had disappeared.
My grandmother was inconsolable and they finally called to tell me what had happened. I brashly swore to get her another and the next day went out to the store where I had purchased the original. Sadly they no longer carried them but would give me the manufactures name and information. I set out to find one, but they informed me, they no longer made that kind. There were none to be had.
I was so sad. And though they couldn't help me I recounted the story of Cinderella and my grandmother's devotion to her. I put off letting my aunt and grandma know there was no cane to be had. I planned to use what time I had to find another unique cane. I could create another persona that would intrigue Grandma.
I kept looking but nothing was "that" unique or would really suit her . I was about to give up when I got a call. The company was so touched by the story of Cinderella that they had sent out a contact message for anyone with any knowledge of a used or similar one. At the last moment, one provider in Canada contacted them and said they had shipped one to New York just a few months before. They gave them the name of the store, and lo and behold, Cinderella Two was located. I paid them and they sent it directly to my Grandmother in Texas.
To say the reunion was a success is an understatement. My Aunt told me it was a wonderful thing to see them "back together" and grandma now had another story to tell about Cinderella which allowed her to bend someone's ear even longer.
As for me, it was the one thing I wanted when Grandma passed on. It is hanging here in my Victorian bedroom looking a little forlorn. I have decided that next month when I go to New York City to see The Color Purple on Broadway, I will be accompanied on the plane and in the theatre by Cinderella. I have now reached the age grandma was when I gave her the original Cinderella cane. While I won't be quite as dependent on it as she was, it's about the "ascetics" don't you know.
I only hope I don't lose Cinderella as I would like to pass her on and continue the legacy of the "Senior Citizen's Glass Slipper".
Friday, September 14, 2007
Names , Shames and Family Claims
NAMES,SHAMES AND FAMILY CLAIMS (A LEGACY STORY)
Well, if this doesn't show our white trash genetics, nothing will.
My biological dad was known to swear, and yet, that was nothing unusual for the males in our that side of family and his age group. But, there was one word that would set my nerves on edge, and I truly can't tell you why. It would always seem more offensive than many others I heard in my youth.
The word was "dukey". Or, maybe it was "dookey". I don't really know as I never have heard anyone in my entire life, except my biological dad, say the word.
My interpretation, from the way it was used , was that it was another word for feces, crap, s--- etc. But, on the rare occasion I heard my dad say it, it was like fingernails on a chalk board to me. And, I sadly have to admit it conjures up the smell of stale smoke from Lucky Strike Cigarettes and my father's daily "toilet ritual" in the morning . Oddly, I remember it still at the ripe old age of 64 though the last "dukey" experience would have been no later than the age of , maybe 8.
My mother's favorite sayings were;
"Now when we assume ,that makes an "ass out of u and me". We've all endured that one, right?
And ."Write it down, make a , and everyday mark it off ,and make a new one. You cannot be successful without a successful list". If you tried to talk over some problem or failure, and needed consoling, you were met with, "Well, did you use your list? Did you have it all down in black and white so you could deal with it?" Mother used to give so many lectures that when we talked about one of them, we'd label it with numbers like; Lecture 999, was about talking with your mouth full; Lecture 345, was about curfews.
My mother also had a unique way of dispensing sex education information. She would instruct her grandchildren about their "utensils". Her word for the male appendage.
My sister's favorite was "Pretty is, as Pretty does", and "The good die young so the evil can live on to repent." Her plea (even at the end of her life ) was, "Don't let them bury me in a shroud. I don't want to go to heaven with my butt showing".
I am told my sayings include, "Trust me", and the inevitable, "But they needed it and didn't have any" which caused me to be immortalized on the front page of the newspaper. My son revealed in an interview, I'd given away our Christmas tree one year when they were still young, so we didn't have a tree that Christmas. The truth was, our youngest daughter bought a tiny Christmas tree with her own money to fill the void. But, the others were having none of it. No Christmas spirit there. This sort of fits in with the fact that, if anyone can't find anything in our home, the saying is always, "Who did mom give that too?".
My husband's famous for, "you have to have your oars in the water". If you sought consultation or counseling from him, he would always inquire about your proverbial oars, or sum up your problem as being a result of the oars, not being in the proverbial water. And of course his never failing goodbye of, "Don't forget to use your seat belt, and drive like you've got good sense".
My husband was also responsible for nick naming just about everyone in the family. Listed here are family nicknames from the entire spans of family members including, but not limited to, the ones he doled out;
Cunkie.Queenie. The Lioness. Goose Girl. Ray of Sunshine. Boy. Sono. Stevie-weevie. Sonny-boy. Old Woman (mine given to me by him before we even left the platform of our wedding ceremony. I was all of 18 and it stuck). Also, "T". Poo Poo ( my sister who identified with Winnie the Poo with her grandchildren). RRD (Rhoda rum dum). Shamey Amy. "Z "(short for "zipper" when our nephew got his "utensil" zipped up in his jeans when he didn't wear undershorts as instructed. A trip to the emergency room was required to rectify the situation). Doc. Smitty. Bud. Flubber. Big Butt(a beloved grandson). Liberty. Lily (of the Valley). Bad-um Adam. ZJ. Zackie. Putty. Marshmallow. Aspy. Weiner. Noseboy. Sam I Am. Sammy Sue. Hawkeye. Buckeye. Lund. Shack. Hermie Honey. Favorite Wisconsin Son in law. Favorite Ohio Son in law. Favorite Daughter in law (can't show favorites you know).
I am not sure what all of this says about our family, or how happy it makes you that you aren't a part of this family, but I just wanted to be sure some of the "monikers" of the family are not be forgotten. After all, in many cases they become a legacy too.
Well, if this doesn't show our white trash genetics, nothing will.
My biological dad was known to swear, and yet, that was nothing unusual for the males in our that side of family and his age group. But, there was one word that would set my nerves on edge, and I truly can't tell you why. It would always seem more offensive than many others I heard in my youth.
The word was "dukey". Or, maybe it was "dookey". I don't really know as I never have heard anyone in my entire life, except my biological dad, say the word.
My interpretation, from the way it was used , was that it was another word for feces, crap, s--- etc. But, on the rare occasion I heard my dad say it, it was like fingernails on a chalk board to me. And, I sadly have to admit it conjures up the smell of stale smoke from Lucky Strike Cigarettes and my father's daily "toilet ritual" in the morning . Oddly, I remember it still at the ripe old age of 64 though the last "dukey" experience would have been no later than the age of , maybe 8.
My mother's favorite sayings were;
"Now when we assume ,that makes an "ass out of u and me". We've all endured that one, right?
And ."Write it down, make a , and everyday mark it off ,and make a new one. You cannot be successful without a successful list". If you tried to talk over some problem or failure, and needed consoling, you were met with, "Well, did you use your list? Did you have it all down in black and white so you could deal with it?" Mother used to give so many lectures that when we talked about one of them, we'd label it with numbers like; Lecture 999, was about talking with your mouth full; Lecture 345, was about curfews.
My mother also had a unique way of dispensing sex education information. She would instruct her grandchildren about their "utensils". Her word for the male appendage.
My sister's favorite was "Pretty is, as Pretty does", and "The good die young so the evil can live on to repent." Her plea (even at the end of her life ) was, "Don't let them bury me in a shroud. I don't want to go to heaven with my butt showing".
I am told my sayings include, "Trust me", and the inevitable, "But they needed it and didn't have any" which caused me to be immortalized on the front page of the newspaper. My son revealed in an interview, I'd given away our Christmas tree one year when they were still young, so we didn't have a tree that Christmas. The truth was, our youngest daughter bought a tiny Christmas tree with her own money to fill the void. But, the others were having none of it. No Christmas spirit there. This sort of fits in with the fact that, if anyone can't find anything in our home, the saying is always, "Who did mom give that too?".
My husband's famous for, "you have to have your oars in the water". If you sought consultation or counseling from him, he would always inquire about your proverbial oars, or sum up your problem as being a result of the oars, not being in the proverbial water. And of course his never failing goodbye of, "Don't forget to use your seat belt, and drive like you've got good sense".
My husband was also responsible for nick naming just about everyone in the family. Listed here are family nicknames from the entire spans of family members including, but not limited to, the ones he doled out;
Cunkie.Queenie. The Lioness. Goose Girl. Ray of Sunshine. Boy. Sono. Stevie-weevie. Sonny-boy. Old Woman (mine given to me by him before we even left the platform of our wedding ceremony. I was all of 18 and it stuck). Also, "T". Poo Poo ( my sister who identified with Winnie the Poo with her grandchildren). RRD (Rhoda rum dum). Shamey Amy. "Z "(short for "zipper" when our nephew got his "utensil" zipped up in his jeans when he didn't wear undershorts as instructed. A trip to the emergency room was required to rectify the situation). Doc. Smitty. Bud. Flubber. Big Butt(a beloved grandson). Liberty. Lily (of the Valley). Bad-um Adam. ZJ. Zackie. Putty. Marshmallow. Aspy. Weiner. Noseboy. Sam I Am. Sammy Sue. Hawkeye. Buckeye. Lund. Shack. Hermie Honey. Favorite Wisconsin Son in law. Favorite Ohio Son in law. Favorite Daughter in law (can't show favorites you know).
I am not sure what all of this says about our family, or how happy it makes you that you aren't a part of this family, but I just wanted to be sure some of the "monikers" of the family are not be forgotten. After all, in many cases they become a legacy too.
THEY SAW A MAN
THEY SAW A MAN ( A LEGACY STORY )
In The Spring of His Life
They saw a tall good looking 21 year old college student.
I saw a great looking, strong protector, highly desirable man.
They saw a Catholic boy with no apparent church interest or involvement
I saw a man who to accept me had to deny the pain of religious hostility in his past .
They saw a student with no visible financial means.
I saw a man with potential and determination not to be a beggar or a slacker.
They saw a man who lacked social finesse'.
I saw a man who carried himself in such a way he charmed all he met.
They saw a man who came from a home where there was dysfunction.
I saw a man who refused to be a part of dysfunction and was striving to move beyond it.
They saw a man who smoked and drank beer.
I saw a man who sought his stress relief in familiar habits.
They saw a small town boy with athletic dreams left behind.
I saw an adaptable man who translated athletic loves into love of athletics.
They saw a strong man who could move great things in big ways.
I saw a man who suffered greatly from the efforts and achievements he made.
In The Summer of His Life
They saw a man exercising too strong a parental control.
I saw a man protecting and guiding his family to think for themselves and God.
They saw a man who didn't bend or yield to their opinions or positions,
I saw a man who had a mind of his own and felt beholding to no one.
They saw a man who seemed stern and stubborn.
I saw a man with a flickering light in his eyes when he was mischievous and who was steadfast.
They saw a man who spent hours in preparation for his job and his presentations.
I saw a man who desperately wanted to do his best at all times and be his best at all times..
They saw a man who would not cut corners or stretch a point.
I saw a man who remains true to himself no matter the loss or the consequences.
In the Autumn of His Life
They saw a man running, racing and withdrawing.
I saw a man bedeviled by the reality that life hadn't been as he expected.
They saw a man of intolerance and independence.
I saw a man who learned patience, acceptance and to face being alone, if need be.
They saw a man who changed his priorities and refused to justify it.
I saw a man clinging to his dignity and his privacy and asking for support.
They saw a man who never cared to “go along” because it was the accepted thing.
I saw a man who decided to make others accept him for who he was and how he was.
They saw a man who was a “hard nut to crack”
I saw a man who had softened beyond all expectation and yielded to the Potter.
In The Winter of His Life
They saw a no nonsense opinionated man who cut no slack for incompetence.
I saw a man consumed by a passion to see hard work and perseverance rewarded.
They saw a man who expressed love for his grandchildren yet missed many life events,
I saw a man who tried to balance his physical pain and his desires to have it all with his family..
They saw a man who seemed bitter and resentful at retirement.
I saw a man who knew the finality of one's lifestyle was somehow entangled with his worth.
They saw a man they loved and yet couldn't penetrate in their perceived fashion.
I saw a man who couldn't put down the barriers for fear of cracking himself.
We all saw the same man,
we all loved the same man,
and we all failed the same man.
But, fortunately for all of us,
he saw us as well.
And the one thing we saw,
he saw.
Love.
In The Spring of His Life
They saw a tall good looking 21 year old college student.
I saw a great looking, strong protector, highly desirable man.
They saw a Catholic boy with no apparent church interest or involvement
I saw a man who to accept me had to deny the pain of religious hostility in his past .
They saw a student with no visible financial means.
I saw a man with potential and determination not to be a beggar or a slacker.
They saw a man who lacked social finesse'.
I saw a man who carried himself in such a way he charmed all he met.
They saw a man who came from a home where there was dysfunction.
I saw a man who refused to be a part of dysfunction and was striving to move beyond it.
They saw a man who smoked and drank beer.
I saw a man who sought his stress relief in familiar habits.
They saw a small town boy with athletic dreams left behind.
I saw an adaptable man who translated athletic loves into love of athletics.
They saw a strong man who could move great things in big ways.
I saw a man who suffered greatly from the efforts and achievements he made.
In The Summer of His Life
They saw a man exercising too strong a parental control.
I saw a man protecting and guiding his family to think for themselves and God.
They saw a man who didn't bend or yield to their opinions or positions,
I saw a man who had a mind of his own and felt beholding to no one.
They saw a man who seemed stern and stubborn.
I saw a man with a flickering light in his eyes when he was mischievous and who was steadfast.
They saw a man who spent hours in preparation for his job and his presentations.
I saw a man who desperately wanted to do his best at all times and be his best at all times..
They saw a man who would not cut corners or stretch a point.
I saw a man who remains true to himself no matter the loss or the consequences.
In the Autumn of His Life
They saw a man running, racing and withdrawing.
I saw a man bedeviled by the reality that life hadn't been as he expected.
They saw a man of intolerance and independence.
I saw a man who learned patience, acceptance and to face being alone, if need be.
They saw a man who changed his priorities and refused to justify it.
I saw a man clinging to his dignity and his privacy and asking for support.
They saw a man who never cared to “go along” because it was the accepted thing.
I saw a man who decided to make others accept him for who he was and how he was.
They saw a man who was a “hard nut to crack”
I saw a man who had softened beyond all expectation and yielded to the Potter.
In The Winter of His Life
They saw a no nonsense opinionated man who cut no slack for incompetence.
I saw a man consumed by a passion to see hard work and perseverance rewarded.
They saw a man who expressed love for his grandchildren yet missed many life events,
I saw a man who tried to balance his physical pain and his desires to have it all with his family..
They saw a man who seemed bitter and resentful at retirement.
I saw a man who knew the finality of one's lifestyle was somehow entangled with his worth.
They saw a man they loved and yet couldn't penetrate in their perceived fashion.
I saw a man who couldn't put down the barriers for fear of cracking himself.
We all saw the same man,
we all loved the same man,
and we all failed the same man.
But, fortunately for all of us,
he saw us as well.
And the one thing we saw,
he saw.
Love.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Behind Every Big Black Cloud is a Bigger Blacker One
BEHIND EVERY BIG BLACK CLOUD IS A BIGGER BLACKER ONE SO ENJOY THE ONE YOU'RE WALKING THROUGH.(A Legacy Story)
There are no coincidences. I truly believe that. In fact in my belief system, if you wait long enough you'll be able to look back in hind sight and see the ground work that was laid and how it all was simply an additional support to all that was to come . Let me explain.
When I married my husband I thought I would want to support him at anything he ever wanted to try to do. I would even support him if he wanted to be a politician. That of course was never a desire or dream of his or mine. Yet little did I know as I created momentary fantasies of what it would entail to be with a politician, that indeed, someday I would enter that arena myself.
When my son was born JFK had already been assassinated. That act tarnished any desire of mine to dream of a political future for any of my children. I would never want them in harm's way. Yet I did find it curious that somehow in taking note of the world event's the day my son was born, President Herbert Hoover had died. The thought came to me unbidden that maybe someday my son would fill his spot.
This was all curious as we lived in a tiny rural town in the middle of nowhere in the plains of Kansas and had no plans to ever live in Iowa, Herbert Hoover's state. At that time I was a card carrying Democrat and Hoover a Republican. And I also had no belief that reincarnation or any such coincidence of birth could exist. (And I am certainly not saying Herbert leaped into my son at birth and led him down the proverbial political primrose path). But as you will see from the next Legacy Story, there were about to be some very curious "coincidences".
When my son was three we were struggling with catastrophic health issues due to the illness of his little sister. Our third child had been born at a time of great financial struggle and we were living in a small town where my husband taught school and coached. I attempted to augment our income by working odd jobs cleaning houses, working as a nurses aide and baby sitting. Life was about struggles and challenges and yet we had the fulfillment of friends and laughter.
We could hardly believe it when my youngest daughter began to have seizures. The seizures grew worse and we found ourselves facing the reality that she might indeed never live a normal life. She had as many as six grand mail seizures in a day. The medication she was placed on was so toxic to her that our medical doctor warned us of possible severe consequences. We were warned that at fifteen months old at the rate she was needing medication and with the severity and frequency of her seizures, she might be retarded by the time she was kindergarten age.
Financially and emotionally devastated, we lacked any hope for her recovery after talking with a specialist. He was "the" specialist for epilepsy not only in the state but for the entire Midwest. Sadly after the test results were in he felt there was little that could be done and concurred with our medical doctor's diagnosis; Idiopathic Epilepsy in the extreme.
We called home to my mother and stepfather in Iowa and told them the bad news. My stepfather, a chiropractor who taught at a Chiropractic College challenged us to give Chiropractic a chance since the medical field had given up. We had nothing to lose.
One of the doctor's who had been a classmate with my step dad was practicing in our state and lived about seventy miles away. He arranged to see us without charge since our insurance wouldn't cover chiropractic. We began the series of trips to get her evaluated and adjusted to see if there would be any change. Often the gas was paid for with redeemed coins from our sofa, car seats and milk bottles.
Of course to get there meant my driving alone with three children if no volunteer was available. My husband had to teach and needed to remain at school. It was an unbelievable trip made worse by the fact that when we had a flat, which was almost every single time we drove on bald tires. Almost every time we made the trip, I had a flat. i had to change it or be at the mercy of someone who came along. Then we'd have to get the "patching kit" out to repair the spare tire so there would always be a spare. No tubeless tires in our day. And we couldn't afford to take it to a service station or replace them.
The great news was, that from the first time our daughter was adjusted, there was change. After the first adjustment she looked surprised and in the middle of a cry she stopped and just looked at the doctor and then rubbed her neck She would continue with that look of surprise which never left her face. Then she'd be hungry and able to eat which gave me hope that she would fill out her near skeletal frame.
Unfortunately she would be restless in the car going back home. Once she tried to crawl from the back seat where she had been sleeping into the front seat (No seat belts or car seats in those days). When she slipped she must have pulled her neck again. She started to cry and kept holding her neck. Another seizure occurred and I had to turn around and drive back to the doctor.
It became a pattern;taking her to be adjusted the fussing would stop, she would be hungry and want to eat then sleep really well. But eventually the effects of the adjustment would wear off and she'd begin to seize again. It didn't help her delayed motor skills put her at the point where she was just learning to walk and now kept falling.
All this time we continued to give her the medication as well as the adjustments. When she would lose the adjustment she learned to come to me and hold her neck and cry to go "bye, bye" as she loved the doctor and would feel so much better after seeing him. The trips however, were beyond our financial abilities and taking a physical and financial toll on our whole living situation.
My parents challenged us to take a step of faith and bring her to Iowa where my dad could adjust her regularly and we would stay with them. If she didn't improve dramatically we could always return home and let her life take it's course. It meant leaving my husband alone and taking the three children several states away to live with my parent's. But,we had no choice . It was the life of our child.
So, here we were in Iowa. President Hoover's state. We actually drove near his hometown Presidential Library as we traveled to my parents . I remember the thoughts of those political leanings coming back into my mind and I chided myself for ever thinking someone from our humble background would ever become a political figure. Especially from our family. And in truth, I considered that a good thing.
Our arrival in Iowa was greeted with an early winter ice storm. My dad wasted no time beginning the chiropractic therapy for my daughter as soon as she arrived. He assessed and gave her spinal manipulation as needed at least twice a day. He and his former classmate had agreed her atlas was compromised while she was still in the uterus. This caused the sternocleidomastoid muscle on the right to shorten and on the left to lengthen . In layman's language that meant she had a "fixed wry neck". It had caused those two vertebrae to misalign to the point they put too much pressure on her nerves in that area causing the seizures.
Our medical specialist had advised me ,when we told him we were going to Iowa for the purpose of getting chiropractic care, that he couldn't condone Chiropractic as he was a medical doctor. He did say that however, if it was his child and there was anything that seemed to help he would do it because there is nothing beyond the damaging medicine he could offer. I still bless that man and his honesty.
About a week after we were at my parents home my husband called to see how we were doing. It had been hard for him to live on his own knowing we were hundreds of miles and hours away. He did take heart however, that from the moment we arrived at my parents and from the first time my dad adjusted our daughter, she had not had a single seizure. This success after more than six months where not a single day had gone by that she didn't have a seizure was more than just encouraging. It was an answer to prayer.
But, just after the week marker of our arrival, my daughter crawled up on the piano bench where I was pecking away at long forgotten tunes and keys. Suddenly she pitched backwards and fell to the floor . She began to convulse. My mother immediately called the college where my dad was teaching and had him paged. He raced home and adjusted her immediately . She never had a seizure again. Not one. Not ever.
It became a point of amazement to my husband and myself that in years to come, my other two children would become the ones with illnesses that worried us and challenged us. Our youngest daughter would become the healthiest of the three children in to adulthood. She also grew to appreciate and had great joy in knowing that her healing glowed like a miracle . It eventually put her on a path that would lead her to find the love of her life and future husband, a chiropractor. She would always champion Chiropractic and be the living testimony of it's health restoring potential.
Legacy stories of victims overcoming health issues are plentiful in our family now but this was our first and the one that most miraculously sealed our family's future commitment to Chiropractic and Medical providers working in tandem. And ,the Chiropractic legacy has thrived through my eighty one years old father. He still has a practice seeing up to two hundred patients monthly, he teaches chiropractic in schools as far away as Brazil and is a testimony to the good health initiatives of a healthy lifestyle and Chiropractic.
There are no coincidences. I truly believe that. In fact in my belief system, if you wait long enough you'll be able to look back in hind sight and see the ground work that was laid and how it all was simply an additional support to all that was to come . Let me explain.
When I married my husband I thought I would want to support him at anything he ever wanted to try to do. I would even support him if he wanted to be a politician. That of course was never a desire or dream of his or mine. Yet little did I know as I created momentary fantasies of what it would entail to be with a politician, that indeed, someday I would enter that arena myself.
When my son was born JFK had already been assassinated. That act tarnished any desire of mine to dream of a political future for any of my children. I would never want them in harm's way. Yet I did find it curious that somehow in taking note of the world event's the day my son was born, President Herbert Hoover had died. The thought came to me unbidden that maybe someday my son would fill his spot.
This was all curious as we lived in a tiny rural town in the middle of nowhere in the plains of Kansas and had no plans to ever live in Iowa, Herbert Hoover's state. At that time I was a card carrying Democrat and Hoover a Republican. And I also had no belief that reincarnation or any such coincidence of birth could exist. (And I am certainly not saying Herbert leaped into my son at birth and led him down the proverbial political primrose path). But as you will see from the next Legacy Story, there were about to be some very curious "coincidences".
When my son was three we were struggling with catastrophic health issues due to the illness of his little sister. Our third child had been born at a time of great financial struggle and we were living in a small town where my husband taught school and coached. I attempted to augment our income by working odd jobs cleaning houses, working as a nurses aide and baby sitting. Life was about struggles and challenges and yet we had the fulfillment of friends and laughter.
We could hardly believe it when my youngest daughter began to have seizures. The seizures grew worse and we found ourselves facing the reality that she might indeed never live a normal life. She had as many as six grand mail seizures in a day. The medication she was placed on was so toxic to her that our medical doctor warned us of possible severe consequences. We were warned that at fifteen months old at the rate she was needing medication and with the severity and frequency of her seizures, she might be retarded by the time she was kindergarten age.
Financially and emotionally devastated, we lacked any hope for her recovery after talking with a specialist. He was "the" specialist for epilepsy not only in the state but for the entire Midwest. Sadly after the test results were in he felt there was little that could be done and concurred with our medical doctor's diagnosis; Idiopathic Epilepsy in the extreme.
We called home to my mother and stepfather in Iowa and told them the bad news. My stepfather, a chiropractor who taught at a Chiropractic College challenged us to give Chiropractic a chance since the medical field had given up. We had nothing to lose.
One of the doctor's who had been a classmate with my step dad was practicing in our state and lived about seventy miles away. He arranged to see us without charge since our insurance wouldn't cover chiropractic. We began the series of trips to get her evaluated and adjusted to see if there would be any change. Often the gas was paid for with redeemed coins from our sofa, car seats and milk bottles.
Of course to get there meant my driving alone with three children if no volunteer was available. My husband had to teach and needed to remain at school. It was an unbelievable trip made worse by the fact that when we had a flat, which was almost every single time we drove on bald tires. Almost every time we made the trip, I had a flat. i had to change it or be at the mercy of someone who came along. Then we'd have to get the "patching kit" out to repair the spare tire so there would always be a spare. No tubeless tires in our day. And we couldn't afford to take it to a service station or replace them.
The great news was, that from the first time our daughter was adjusted, there was change. After the first adjustment she looked surprised and in the middle of a cry she stopped and just looked at the doctor and then rubbed her neck She would continue with that look of surprise which never left her face. Then she'd be hungry and able to eat which gave me hope that she would fill out her near skeletal frame.
Unfortunately she would be restless in the car going back home. Once she tried to crawl from the back seat where she had been sleeping into the front seat (No seat belts or car seats in those days). When she slipped she must have pulled her neck again. She started to cry and kept holding her neck. Another seizure occurred and I had to turn around and drive back to the doctor.
It became a pattern;taking her to be adjusted the fussing would stop, she would be hungry and want to eat then sleep really well. But eventually the effects of the adjustment would wear off and she'd begin to seize again. It didn't help her delayed motor skills put her at the point where she was just learning to walk and now kept falling.
All this time we continued to give her the medication as well as the adjustments. When she would lose the adjustment she learned to come to me and hold her neck and cry to go "bye, bye" as she loved the doctor and would feel so much better after seeing him. The trips however, were beyond our financial abilities and taking a physical and financial toll on our whole living situation.
My parents challenged us to take a step of faith and bring her to Iowa where my dad could adjust her regularly and we would stay with them. If she didn't improve dramatically we could always return home and let her life take it's course. It meant leaving my husband alone and taking the three children several states away to live with my parent's. But,we had no choice . It was the life of our child.
So, here we were in Iowa. President Hoover's state. We actually drove near his hometown Presidential Library as we traveled to my parents . I remember the thoughts of those political leanings coming back into my mind and I chided myself for ever thinking someone from our humble background would ever become a political figure. Especially from our family. And in truth, I considered that a good thing.
Our arrival in Iowa was greeted with an early winter ice storm. My dad wasted no time beginning the chiropractic therapy for my daughter as soon as she arrived. He assessed and gave her spinal manipulation as needed at least twice a day. He and his former classmate had agreed her atlas was compromised while she was still in the uterus. This caused the sternocleidomastoid muscle on the right to shorten and on the left to lengthen . In layman's language that meant she had a "fixed wry neck". It had caused those two vertebrae to misalign to the point they put too much pressure on her nerves in that area causing the seizures.
Our medical specialist had advised me ,when we told him we were going to Iowa for the purpose of getting chiropractic care, that he couldn't condone Chiropractic as he was a medical doctor. He did say that however, if it was his child and there was anything that seemed to help he would do it because there is nothing beyond the damaging medicine he could offer. I still bless that man and his honesty.
About a week after we were at my parents home my husband called to see how we were doing. It had been hard for him to live on his own knowing we were hundreds of miles and hours away. He did take heart however, that from the moment we arrived at my parents and from the first time my dad adjusted our daughter, she had not had a single seizure. This success after more than six months where not a single day had gone by that she didn't have a seizure was more than just encouraging. It was an answer to prayer.
But, just after the week marker of our arrival, my daughter crawled up on the piano bench where I was pecking away at long forgotten tunes and keys. Suddenly she pitched backwards and fell to the floor . She began to convulse. My mother immediately called the college where my dad was teaching and had him paged. He raced home and adjusted her immediately . She never had a seizure again. Not one. Not ever.
It became a point of amazement to my husband and myself that in years to come, my other two children would become the ones with illnesses that worried us and challenged us. Our youngest daughter would become the healthiest of the three children in to adulthood. She also grew to appreciate and had great joy in knowing that her healing glowed like a miracle . It eventually put her on a path that would lead her to find the love of her life and future husband, a chiropractor. She would always champion Chiropractic and be the living testimony of it's health restoring potential.
Legacy stories of victims overcoming health issues are plentiful in our family now but this was our first and the one that most miraculously sealed our family's future commitment to Chiropractic and Medical providers working in tandem. And ,the Chiropractic legacy has thrived through my eighty one years old father. He still has a practice seeing up to two hundred patients monthly, he teaches chiropractic in schools as far away as Brazil and is a testimony to the good health initiatives of a healthy lifestyle and Chiropractic.
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