Getting Older

When I was a teenager - a young adult, getting *old* was a terrible thought. Now I count each day as a blessing. Remember picking at my oldest sisters about being "a quarter of a century old." My how time flies - and changes perspective.

 It seems like every blog I post promises a new focus upon becoming more active with this venture.  I've failed that task. Today I am eight years older than my last post. Many, many things have been my experience over these years. Maybe I will tell you about them. I CAN say that I have review my posts and at my age today, I find it amazing that I remembered those tiny times in my life. Sadly many of those thoughts have evaporated with time and illness. Today I am 62 and cannot recall a lot of those details. I began having seizures in 2017 related to stress - making me "disappear" for minutes. Upon returning to awareness, I always started crying. My memory has been affected. Visiting this blog often and submitting new things MAY help someone else through life's happenings.

More later.

Listening Speaking Painting

I cannot believe it has been three years since my last note.  I promised myself that I would keep the blog going, but alas, I broke that promise too.  There are two quotes that speak to me today:  "Still waters run deep" and "Deep rivers run quiet."  Those could each be used to validate my presence.  Some people say that I don't talk enough.  Sometimes I wonder if being quiet is more intimidating to others than having the gift of gab.  I marvel at the way some people can put words together - like the painting on a tapestry.  As for me - I don't worry about not talking enough.  When there is something that I must share - I don't mind sharing it.  Hopefully people will treat me like E.F. Hutton - "When E.F. Hutton talks, people listen."

Settling My Thoughts

It has been a while since my last post.  Tonight, a friendly stranger may have become the catalyst that fires up this soul, and encourages me to continue this self-examination.  Who knows where this will lead?  I do know that I hope my experiences will benefit someone who grasps the characters etched upon this medium.  Sometimes one needs to step away from the "rush" in order to allow thoughts to permeate the surface, and breathe new life into the endeavor.  Tonight I purpose within my heart to again visit Yesterday's Threads on May 31st - my son's 23rd birthday.

Finding My Way

Ninth grade year was one that I did not look forward to.  No longer would I have the safety of "group" trips to the cafeteria or library.  In high school we had free lunch - and we were allowed to "hang out" with our friends during that time.  Normally I did not eat lunch at school, so that hour or so of independence was something that caused inner strife for me.  I did not have the luxury of having ample friends around.  I found Lisa and Patty - two girls who were "outcasts" from the class, and tried to cling to them as "hangout" lunch buddies.  Eventually I felt like an "outcast" from the "outcasts."  I had to find a way to keep myself focused.

Enter Mrs. Page.

My ninth grade English teacher, Mrs. Page, seemed to be an unlikely friend.  She was pretty hard on students in class, but she wanted things the way she wanted them.  I had her class just before my lunch period.  One day during first semester I approached her and asked if she would allow me to just remain in her classroom during lunch.  She had lunch at the same period - and left her classroom daily.  She agreed, and would lock me in the classroom - (the door opened from the inside and remained locked on the outside).  Each day I sat at the back of the room during lunch, and placed myself in a desk that could not be viewed through the windows of the door.  There I would either do my homework or sleep until 1:00 - the fifth period of the day.  When the bell rang, I would gather my things and go on to my Algebra 1 class.  That time allowed me to focus and study as I needed to.  I did not worry about having friends --- just used that time to "get the job done."  I was always thankful to Mrs. Page for understanding.

Ties That Bind

You hardly ever hear the positive stories from yesterday about race relations, though there are many out there to be shared.  I wonder why human nature trends toward the negative?  My mom, a former teacher, had a story to tell yesterday that left me speechless.  I vaguely remember the time - but the year was 1970-1971..the year for total desegregation...  Mom was moved from the local historically black school to teach at the "white" school across the little town.  Most if not all of her students were white.  She was also shifted from elementary to seventh grade (we all know how challenging middle school/junior high students can be.)  That was an extremely tough year for my mother.

Saturday, 4/7/2012 mama received a call from one of her former students from that middle school experience.  Some forty years later, this lady still found a way to reach out to her seventh grade teacher -  just to touch base and see how she is doing.  My mom stated that, over the years, the lady has always just "popped up" out of the blue just to speak to her on the phone - checking to see how mama is doing, and sharing her life updates as well.  It warms my heart to think about how, even within the raging storm of the process of desegregation, there was a quiet, uncelebrated bond formed between a black teacher and a white student that would last for generations.

Paying the Price

After a year of "fun" in the seventh grade, reality struck -- I had to make the greatest contribution toward my success.  Thankfully I do not believe that I ran into a teacher who tried to make it harder for me to be successful - at least not at this point.  So "buckle down" became my mantra.  I lost my beloved grandmother at the beginning of my seventh grade year.  At the beginning of the eighth grade I prayed to God and asked for three things.   1) I wanted a boyfriend who would respect my values.  I believe I used the phrase, "give me another love from which to draw since I lost my grandmother."  2)  I wanted to lose the extra weight that I had been carrying around all of my life; and 3) I wanted to be smart again.  It is strange that 37 years later I still remember the requests of a 13-year-old.  I met some teachers who left strong impressions on my life, including Ms. Tusai - one of my favorite English teachers.  She never knew just how much of an impact she had.  I remember the names of five of my 8th grade teachers (out of six?).  The rest are a blur.

Math that year was a terrible experience.  No matter how I tried, I could not grasp the concepts that this teacher was trying to communicate.  When I think of that teacher today, I see her sitting behind the desk more than anything...maybe that is why I could not grasp those concepts that year.  She made a statement to me at the end of the year that has puzzled me ever since.  It was something along the lines of, "You are a very bright young lady.  I never understood why you were in this class and not the top class."  In my mind I knew why, but I always hoped that the eighth grade  powers-that-be would see the mistake and move me to the "higher level."  It didn't happen that year.

Ninth grade year had a feel of its own.

First Friends

In the seventh grade I found friends.  What a lovely surprise that was....after five years of basically walking the road alone.  We were in the "top class," and I learned that I could have fun in the classroom.

Ours was a very creative bunch.  Whenever I reflected upon my own practice as a teacher/speech therapist, I tried to remember what things were like for me when I "was at that age."  Sometimes I could make the connection, sometimes I couldn't.  But I often say to others, "I chose not to teach at the middle school level because I remember what a terror I was in the seventh grade."  I was always concerned about reaping what I had sewn.

That year Myra, Paula and I were basically inseparable.  We were in the "top class" and having barrels of fun as a group.  Our creativity was so astute that we had descriptive names for each of our teachers:  "Mr. Rubber Nose," "Ms. Same Hairstyle," "Ms. Paddle."  The creativity didn't stop there.  Members of our class took turns writing "True Romance" stories to pass around for group consumption.  That year my grades again plummeted and I remember my mom wondering if her efforts to get me in school early caused me to have such minimal success in the seventh grade.  I did not have the heart to tell her, "Mom, I know I am not doing well, ---- but I have FRIENDS this year."

I realize now that again my son's choices and mine often parallel.  I wish I had shared this story with him when he was still in junior high and high school.  You see, the thing about my seventh grade year, I did not realize that though my friends Myra and Paula were probably having as much fun as I, they had the presence of mind to get their work done also.  Eighth grade year - I lost my friends as they remained in the "top class" and I was shuffled to a second highest class.

Why can't we be born with wisdom???