I have a difficult time thinking about my mother because she was such a huge part of my life until she died, and I often wish she were still around. She's the main reason I grew up with an open mind and the ability to accept people as they are. Even though she let her first mother-in-law convert her to the "born-again" version of Christianity, she never let the prejudices adhered to by that culture change her sense of fairness. She brought up her children to think the same way.
She was an intelligent, loving and generous woman. She spent her time at home taking care of us, and every time school was cancelled she was happy, because she liked having us around. At night when she put us to bed, she told us stories that she had made up, stories that we all still remember. She taught us to love reading by example. She taught us to cook by letting us help her. She taught us to entertain ourselves by providing music and songs and inspiration. We all have wonderful memories of her.
When she became ill with what was later diagnosed as pancreatic cancer, we all took it hard. I myself never was convinced in my heart that she was going to die. Whenever I visited, she seemed fine and she would tell me that she was following her doctor's orders. She would also tell me that she was preparing my father for her death by teaching him how to cook simple meals and how to pay the bills. I listened to what I wanted to hear: that she was fine and following orders. It wasn't until after she died that the rest came back to me. My tears came much later.
I still miss her.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Grades Are So Unneccessary
When I was in eighth grade, I had a math teacher who in today's world would have been kicked out of the teaching profession. He considered himself to be a strict disciplinarian, but in actuality, he was nothing but a bully. His method of discipline included shouting at his class, picking on individual students to ridicule, and if all else failed, grabbing the unruly boy by the arm, dragging him out to the hall and slamming him against the wall before screaming at him...up close and personal. He also coached and treated his players the same way.
I loved math, and because I was so meek in class, he never bothered me. However, I hated his temper, and was afraid of him because of that. I never spoke in class and I don't remember him ever calling on me. I guess as long as I did my homework and kept my mouth shut, he didn't bother me.
One day I realized I would have to speak to him. He had given me a grade which was lower than I thought it should be. In fact, I was sure he had made a mistake. I told my mother about it and she offered to call him, but I had too much pride to let someone else take care of my problem. Even though the thought of confronting him gave me nightmares, I knew I had to do it. It took me until Friday before I made myself stay after school and speak with him.
His classroom was a large room that doubled as a kind of small auditorium, and it was at the front of the building. I can still see it in my mind's eye as clear as I see the room I'm sitting in now. I went in after school, but he was talking to some people, so I went to the back and stood looking out of the windows at the kids leaving. I was too shy to interrupt. While I was waiting, I saw the last bus leave and knew I would have to walk home. Finally. everyone left and I turned and spoke to him. He listened to what I said, checked his grade book, and...I don't even remember what he said. All I remember is the relief I felt as I walked from the room and headed for home. It was a beautiful afternoon and I felt wonderful.
I loved math, and because I was so meek in class, he never bothered me. However, I hated his temper, and was afraid of him because of that. I never spoke in class and I don't remember him ever calling on me. I guess as long as I did my homework and kept my mouth shut, he didn't bother me.
One day I realized I would have to speak to him. He had given me a grade which was lower than I thought it should be. In fact, I was sure he had made a mistake. I told my mother about it and she offered to call him, but I had too much pride to let someone else take care of my problem. Even though the thought of confronting him gave me nightmares, I knew I had to do it. It took me until Friday before I made myself stay after school and speak with him.
His classroom was a large room that doubled as a kind of small auditorium, and it was at the front of the building. I can still see it in my mind's eye as clear as I see the room I'm sitting in now. I went in after school, but he was talking to some people, so I went to the back and stood looking out of the windows at the kids leaving. I was too shy to interrupt. While I was waiting, I saw the last bus leave and knew I would have to walk home. Finally. everyone left and I turned and spoke to him. He listened to what I said, checked his grade book, and...I don't even remember what he said. All I remember is the relief I felt as I walked from the room and headed for home. It was a beautiful afternoon and I felt wonderful.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Dad
My father loved the outdoors. As we were growing up, he would tell us stories of how he and his friends would spend their time fishing, hiking, bike riding and swimming whenever they had the chance. They lived in the city but they would head for whatever wilderness they could reach on their bikes. He carried this love into adulthood and while stationed with the army in Florida, he used his time off to explore the surrounding countryside, hiking, swimming, fishing. His stories were always entertaining, and he didn't mind laughing at himself and whatever predicaments he got into.
After he had children, he didn't have much time for games. Once in awhile, on hot Sunday afternoons, he would load the family, and maybe a friend or two, into the car and head for my mother's favorite lake. It was a long drive but worth it. Our old car would struggle up the hills, then fly down them, making our stomachs flip, flop. We would all hold our breaths as we got nearer, waitng to see how crowded it was. If my mother thought it was too crowded, we would turn around and go home. This happened once or twice, and it was unbelievably disappointing.
Once safely there, we would jump from the car, and into the water. We never went to a beach; the shadiest spots were along the road where we could park close to the water's edge. My mother sat close to the waves and watched us play in the water with our Dad. All past disappointments disappeared from our minds and we enjoyed our time at the lake. It was wonderful.
After he had children, he didn't have much time for games. Once in awhile, on hot Sunday afternoons, he would load the family, and maybe a friend or two, into the car and head for my mother's favorite lake. It was a long drive but worth it. Our old car would struggle up the hills, then fly down them, making our stomachs flip, flop. We would all hold our breaths as we got nearer, waitng to see how crowded it was. If my mother thought it was too crowded, we would turn around and go home. This happened once or twice, and it was unbelievably disappointing.
Once safely there, we would jump from the car, and into the water. We never went to a beach; the shadiest spots were along the road where we could park close to the water's edge. My mother sat close to the waves and watched us play in the water with our Dad. All past disappointments disappeared from our minds and we enjoyed our time at the lake. It was wonderful.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Big Sisters
Before she started high school and spent most of her time away from home, my older sister was like a second mother to us younger kids. With six kids under 14 yrs. of age my mother needed the help. My sister was wonderful to us and we were ecstatic when she agreed to join in our games. She loved having fun and I remember her laughing a lot. When she started high school, I never expected that things would change. Suddenly, she was seldom around, and when she was around, she was either busy or sleeping. I missed her.
Before long, she was off to college and I inherited her bedroom. My older brother wasn't around much which meant I was now the oldest and in charge. I was the queen bee. When my sister came home on breaks, I would share her old bedroom with her. If she went uptown to see friends or into the city to go window shopping, she would sometimes take me along. I felt special.
After I finished high school and went to college, I visited my sister and her new husband and baby a couple of times, but after that I was busy with classes, work and friends and I managed to visit her only once more before I got married By that time she was divorced and remarried and busy with her own kids, new step-kids and work. Her new husband was a strict religious fundamentalist, bordering on fanaticism, and I did not share his beliefs. Before long I saw my sister give up her own soul to become submissive to her husband as his religion demanded, and allow him to take away her freedom of thought and decision; she was no longer the sister I grew up with. To this day, I've only once or twice caught a glimpse of the person my sister once was, and I feel as if I've lost forever my beloved older sister and friend.
Before long, she was off to college and I inherited her bedroom. My older brother wasn't around much which meant I was now the oldest and in charge. I was the queen bee. When my sister came home on breaks, I would share her old bedroom with her. If she went uptown to see friends or into the city to go window shopping, she would sometimes take me along. I felt special.
After I finished high school and went to college, I visited my sister and her new husband and baby a couple of times, but after that I was busy with classes, work and friends and I managed to visit her only once more before I got married By that time she was divorced and remarried and busy with her own kids, new step-kids and work. Her new husband was a strict religious fundamentalist, bordering on fanaticism, and I did not share his beliefs. Before long I saw my sister give up her own soul to become submissive to her husband as his religion demanded, and allow him to take away her freedom of thought and decision; she was no longer the sister I grew up with. To this day, I've only once or twice caught a glimpse of the person my sister once was, and I feel as if I've lost forever my beloved older sister and friend.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Reading for Fun
I think I may have been a strange little kid. Not that I wasn't liked, but I preferred reading to spending time with my friends. I did all the usual things, played baseball with the neighbor kids, took school-sponsored swimming lessons, and put on plays with my siblings for the other kids, but reading was my joy.
We always had books in the house and my parents gave us free rein to read whatever we felt like. I read everything. When I was old enough to walk to the library and be responsible for my younger siblings, my mother let us go there to pick up books for her and for ourselves. I loved those summer afternoons, and can still picture the cool, quiet rooms of our town library after the mile-long walk from our house in the bright sun and leafy shadows. It was pure happiness.
The librarian got to know us and would choose books for our mother while we chose our own. Later on, she would let me me go behind the desk and choose books from the adult section, forbidden territory for children. We continued these excursions for years. When I reached high school, this same librarian became the school librarian for our new library, and I eventually had her as my teacher for a couple of English and Latin classes. When I applied for my first job after college, her reference cinched it for me, and that's how I ended up with the library position that I loved so much. She was one person in authority with whom I never felt like a scared little girl.
We always had books in the house and my parents gave us free rein to read whatever we felt like. I read everything. When I was old enough to walk to the library and be responsible for my younger siblings, my mother let us go there to pick up books for her and for ourselves. I loved those summer afternoons, and can still picture the cool, quiet rooms of our town library after the mile-long walk from our house in the bright sun and leafy shadows. It was pure happiness.
The librarian got to know us and would choose books for our mother while we chose our own. Later on, she would let me me go behind the desk and choose books from the adult section, forbidden territory for children. We continued these excursions for years. When I reached high school, this same librarian became the school librarian for our new library, and I eventually had her as my teacher for a couple of English and Latin classes. When I applied for my first job after college, her reference cinched it for me, and that's how I ended up with the library position that I loved so much. She was one person in authority with whom I never felt like a scared little girl.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
One Teacher At Fault?
I grew up feeling loved, happy, and safe in my home with my family. I was secure in my place in the world. I knew I was an important member of my family. My siblings were my friends and playmates. I had no reason to think otherwise that our family was the best in the world. Then, I started school.
I don't really remember much of my younger school years. I have vague memories of riding on the bus, but nothing else, except for the memory of a day in kindergarten that has stayed in my mind like a scary nightmare. The event happened early in the school year, before I had a chance to get used to the whole experience of school. I was sitting at a round table with my classmates happily coloring. Suddenly, the teacher appeared and started accusing me of copying from my neighbor. She was very judgmental and righteous and told me to put my head down on my arms and stay that way until everyone was finished coloring. I was scared and confused and humiliated. I knew I wasn't supposed to misbehave in public, especially at school, and I felt lonely and unloved. The worst part of the entire affair was that I had no idea what I had done wrong. At home I copied all the time. I copied words from books to pretend I was writing; I copied pictures I liked; and my siblings and I copied from each other if we especially liked the other's choice of colors. It was never considered to be wrong. It was part of learning. I don't remember anything else about that day, just that my teacher punished me because I was "bad."
From that day on I became a scared little girl, not at home, but in the rest of the world. Everywhere I went I was afraid and shy and worried that I would unknowingly do something wrong. I always wanted to know the rules first. Even now I always check the rules (regulations, policies, guidelines) before I start anything new. People in positions of authority worried me until I got to know them and believed they accepted me as I was. I needed to be sure of what was considered to be wrong before I could feel safe.
It wasn't until just recently that I finally connected the dots. I had always felt I was just a shy kid; I never connected the trauma of that early experience in school with my fears and obsessions later. I now know differently. And when my daughter decided to homeschool her son, I gave her all the support and encouragement I could to keep my grandson from unschooled and unfeeling teachers.
I don't really remember much of my younger school years. I have vague memories of riding on the bus, but nothing else, except for the memory of a day in kindergarten that has stayed in my mind like a scary nightmare. The event happened early in the school year, before I had a chance to get used to the whole experience of school. I was sitting at a round table with my classmates happily coloring. Suddenly, the teacher appeared and started accusing me of copying from my neighbor. She was very judgmental and righteous and told me to put my head down on my arms and stay that way until everyone was finished coloring. I was scared and confused and humiliated. I knew I wasn't supposed to misbehave in public, especially at school, and I felt lonely and unloved. The worst part of the entire affair was that I had no idea what I had done wrong. At home I copied all the time. I copied words from books to pretend I was writing; I copied pictures I liked; and my siblings and I copied from each other if we especially liked the other's choice of colors. It was never considered to be wrong. It was part of learning. I don't remember anything else about that day, just that my teacher punished me because I was "bad."
From that day on I became a scared little girl, not at home, but in the rest of the world. Everywhere I went I was afraid and shy and worried that I would unknowingly do something wrong. I always wanted to know the rules first. Even now I always check the rules (regulations, policies, guidelines) before I start anything new. People in positions of authority worried me until I got to know them and believed they accepted me as I was. I needed to be sure of what was considered to be wrong before I could feel safe.
It wasn't until just recently that I finally connected the dots. I had always felt I was just a shy kid; I never connected the trauma of that early experience in school with my fears and obsessions later. I now know differently. And when my daughter decided to homeschool her son, I gave her all the support and encouragement I could to keep my grandson from unschooled and unfeeling teachers.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Paths Not Travelled
When I was in high school, I enrolled in an introductory physics class my senior year. I found the class to be boring and meaningless, and could not understand much of what was going on. So, I dropped it. As far as I was concerned, physics had no connection to my future life. I planned to major in biological sciences in college and go into medical research.
I made up my mind that I would attend a religious-based college which my older sister had also attended. I was a scared little girl and knew I would be safe there, although at the time I thought I was being daring by going "away" to school.. Unfortunately, I soon learned that I was once again suffocating in an organized religious experience. I lasted two years, but before the two years were up I had switched my major from biology to English literature - no more daring moves for this scared little girl.
After graduating from the local campus of the state university, I started working in the local public library, not knowing what else to do with my liberal arts English degree. There, I worked with an amazing librarian who taught me as much as I wanted to learn. I loved my job, and thought I had died and gone to heaven. Then, I discovered science fiction; first, while I was becoming acquainted with the children's section and then when I branched off into the adult collection. It was fascinating to me, and I suddenly found myself wishing that I had paid more attention to physics in school...because I wantd to know how and why all this could and would happen.
Since then I have read many more science fiction stories and continued on to read as much as I could find, and try to understand, about space, time and the universe. I learned I had taken a wrong path, but ended up in a good place. I met my wonderful husband at that local university, and then gave birth to a beautiful daughter whom I love very much and of whom I am very proud. I'm still reading and learning, and as a result, I've managed to leave behind those beliefs of my childhood.
I made up my mind that I would attend a religious-based college which my older sister had also attended. I was a scared little girl and knew I would be safe there, although at the time I thought I was being daring by going "away" to school.. Unfortunately, I soon learned that I was once again suffocating in an organized religious experience. I lasted two years, but before the two years were up I had switched my major from biology to English literature - no more daring moves for this scared little girl.
After graduating from the local campus of the state university, I started working in the local public library, not knowing what else to do with my liberal arts English degree. There, I worked with an amazing librarian who taught me as much as I wanted to learn. I loved my job, and thought I had died and gone to heaven. Then, I discovered science fiction; first, while I was becoming acquainted with the children's section and then when I branched off into the adult collection. It was fascinating to me, and I suddenly found myself wishing that I had paid more attention to physics in school...because I wantd to know how and why all this could and would happen.
Since then I have read many more science fiction stories and continued on to read as much as I could find, and try to understand, about space, time and the universe. I learned I had taken a wrong path, but ended up in a good place. I met my wonderful husband at that local university, and then gave birth to a beautiful daughter whom I love very much and of whom I am very proud. I'm still reading and learning, and as a result, I've managed to leave behind those beliefs of my childhood.
For My Daughter
I didn't start life as a scared little girl; that happened later. I put most of the blame on school, but a lot had to do with genes. Anyway, I've spent most of my life being too scared to do things that I wish now I had done.
My parents (mainly my mother) started me off in sunday school at a young age, and I spent my weekends at church until I went to college. I thought what I had been taught to believe was absolutely true, and I never questioned anything until I was middle-aged. I had doubts off and on but I always did my best not to dwell on them. I got fed up with organized religion long before that, but I never questioned my "beliefs" until several years ago. I was a scared little girl.
I believe now that if I hadn't been a scared little girl I would have rejected those "beliefs" at a very young age. I believe now that if I hadn't been a scared little girl I would have insisted on better guidance from my high school guidance counselor. I believe now that if I hadn't been a scared little girl I would have or may very well have led quite a different life.
My parents (mainly my mother) started me off in sunday school at a young age, and I spent my weekends at church until I went to college. I thought what I had been taught to believe was absolutely true, and I never questioned anything until I was middle-aged. I had doubts off and on but I always did my best not to dwell on them. I got fed up with organized religion long before that, but I never questioned my "beliefs" until several years ago. I was a scared little girl.
I believe now that if I hadn't been a scared little girl I would have rejected those "beliefs" at a very young age. I believe now that if I hadn't been a scared little girl I would have insisted on better guidance from my high school guidance counselor. I believe now that if I hadn't been a scared little girl I would have or may very well have led quite a different life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)