Middle School Gulf War Protest

     It was late autumn of 1990.  I was in the eighth grade at White Pine Middle School in Saginaw.  The Persian Gulf War caught the attention of nearly every adult.  News crews from CNN and other news sources were right there on the front lines showing the horrors of the war to everyone back home.  Iraq accused Kuwait of producing too much oil, which didn't bring a large revenue to Iraq, and taking some of Iraq's oil land which wasn't the case at all.  Iraq started to attack Kuwait over the rights of the oil.  We stepped in with our troops to try to control the matter.  Just like with any other war some American's were against it and other's were for it.  Through the music media singing about peace in the middle east and the outcries of the liberal left that rang out in the news I ignorantly followed along.

     One day word passed around quickly that in the early afternoon at a certain time a walk-out demostration was to be held at the flagpole to show our support to bring the soldiers home.  In the middle of class those that oppose the war were to just get up and walk out.  I debated all morning long if I wanted engage in the activity or not.  I wondered if anyone would actually do that.  It would be exciting to participate I would think to myself.  What risks would there be if I did do that?  After all, we have the right to protest.  Word worked its way around the school and eventually to the principal Mr. Cleveland's ears.  An announcement interrupted the classrooms by Mr. Cleveland saying anyone who walk's out of class will get a detention.   A detention?  That would be it.  I didn't think that was so bad.  I convinced myself to do it. 

     The time came near for the "huge" walk-out.  Everyone was quietly staring at the clocks in anticipation.  The teacher, whose name escapes my memory, stopped teaching his lesson for a moment.  He said he knew about the walk-out and told us that he cannot stop us from walking out but he would give a detention to those that did.  He looked up at the clock.  "The choice is yours but if you are going to go then do it now so I can get back to the lesson"  he said plainly.

     The room was deafly silent.  People shifted their eyes to look around the room to see who would be brave enough to walk-out.  Through the window of the door we could see other students walking past making their way out to the flagpole.  One student got up and made his way out the door.  Then another.  It's now or never!  I whispered to myself trying to find the encouragement to go.  NOW OR NEVER!  I felt my muscles move as if they had control all on their own.  My fingers wrapped around my books and gripped them tightly.  I stood up not being able to look at my teacher.  Deep down I kept thinking this is wrong and I shouldn't be doing this.  At the same time I couldn't help myself.  My actions now have spoken.  I tried to hold my head up high as I walked out of the classroom.  It was hard to do.  For some reason I wanted the ground to swallow me up and stop me from what I was about to do. 

     I made my way outside towards the flagpole that stood tall at the end of the long boulevard-style parking lot.  Students were already standing proudly up on the cement riser that helped hold the flag up shouting chants of bringing our soldiers home.  Mr. Cleveland was outside trying to get students back to the classroom to no avail.  There must of been around 50 students standing around chanting.  A thrill of naughty energy surged through me.  This was going to be exciting.  I tossed my book bag in a heap with other book bags off to the side and jumped up onto the cement riser.  I raised my fist up in the air and began chanting my protest for the war. 

     The busses were making their way around the boulevard to start bringing students home.  Trish, a student who took a leadership role in the walk-out and who personally knew someone overseas fighting, informed everyone that this protest will continue the next day.   Everyone walked away agreeing to come back the next day. 

     The next morning as we got off the busses several students made their way back to the flag pole, myself included.  Mr. Cleveland was already there with the superintendent insisting we go back to the classroom.  We denied their request.  On this day we had only about 20 students protest against the war.  That was a far less cry than yesterday.  Around lunch time more students joined in as it wasn't interfering with their class time.  WNEM Channel 5 news even came.  Naturally we were excited to see the news crew with their satellite trucks and camera's.  Trish, our fearless leader, did most of the talking as a bunch of us were in the background shouting our agreements with what she was saying.  We were all giddy that we were going to be on the news that night. 

     The principal was very upset that the news was called in.  He came out and told us that we either get back to class and have an ISS (In School Suspension for 3 days) or receive an OSS (Out of School Suspension).  Several went back to class feeling defeated.  There were still a handful of stubborn students who still didn't want to give in so easily.  We screamed and shouted vulgar words at Mr. Cleveland telling him that he can't do that to us.  He pointed his finger out to Center road and ushered us out to the sidewalk.  He told us that if we don't leave the school grounds that he would call the police.  When a person tells a bunch of 12 year old students to leave school grounds promptly there is only one course of action....LEAVE!

     I am going to pause the story here and reflect on what the principal had done.  He just let about 15 students leave the school during school hours unaided by adults.  WHAT WAS HE THINKING?!?!  He should of called our parents and had them come and get us from the school grounds.  I guess it is a different time era now. 

     We all walked north down center road for a while.  We came to a main crossroads and we debated what to do now.  We were deciding whose parents were home and whose were not.  Obviously we were heading to the house where parents were not going to be there.  The group split up and went several ways.  Several of us decided to go to Adam's house.  Both of his parents worked and wouldn't be home for a while.  The walked seemed to take forever.  We were glad to reach his place.  We all crashed in the cool furnished basement and turned on MTV.  Joy, Amanda, another girl and I plopped ourselves down on the couch not wanting to move again.  We mostly relaxed, smoked a few cigarettes that someone had on them while discussing what music group had the hottest members.  

     Eventually, time was getting close for his mom to be returning from work.  We all left, slowly as a group, then branching off until I was making my own way home alone.  My sister, unhappily greeted me at the door demanding where I had been.  My mom was away to Minnesota for a work conference and had no idea what was going on at the time.  "School called earlier telling me they dismissed you from school and you cannot go back until next Monday!  What do you have to say for yourself young lady?" 

     I gave my sister a blank look, "I had fun?"  I didn't know what to say.  Needless to say she had the authority to ground me. 

     That following Monday my mom, back early from her conference because of my actions, escorted me to the principal's office so I could apologize.  I wanted no such thing and I begged my mom not to have me apologize.  She insisted that I had to.  We sat in the reception area waiting to be called back to see Mr. Cleveland.  It seemed as if the clock crawled slowly until we were called back to see him. 

     I sat in a padded chair across from his desk and next to my mom.  I gazed at the rings of wood on his desk swinging my legs while my mom and Mr. Cleveland discussed the situation.  I really did not want to be in that room.  I felt a sharp pinch in my thigh.  "Don't you have anything to say?"  My mom said as she was pinching my leg trying to get me to talk. 

     I roll my eyes as I finally make eye contact with Mr. Cleveland.  His eyes looked so black and beady behind his glasses.  His comb-over was failing miserable at hiding his receding hairline.  His broadness of his shoulders didn't seem to fit his small head.  He looked like a bug, like a rolie polie bug.  I started to picture antenna's coming out from the top of his head and huge pinchers would come out from his mouth.  I tried to suppress my laughter.  "I'm...(snicker)..I'm....very....sorry...(snickers)...for walking out (full laughter)."  By the time I finished with the sentence I was in a full force laugh attack.  I couldn't help it.  The more I looked at Mr. Cleveland the more in my mind he was transforming into a hideous bug. 

     "Jill!"  My mother gasped out of embarrassment.  "You need to stop that laughing right now!  Apologize!"

      I tried to look away so I didn't have to be reminded of my vivid imagination of Mr. Cleveland as a creepy crawly.  It didn't help.  I tried to say it without laughing but I would only laugh more.  I tried to apologize quickly between my laughter.  He finally had enough of me trying to apologize and ordered me back to class.  My mother stayed behind to talk some more. 

     From my behavior I was grounded for a few more weeks at home.  I tried to tell her that I couldn't help my laughing and that he reminded me of a bug.  At the time she wasn't amused at my imagination as I was. 

     Looking back I realize how nitwitted my actions were.  Did I really think that because a group of middle school students didn't attend class that they would just send the troops home?  Probably not.  I didn't think at all about my actions.  I just acted....acted foolishly that is. 

Broken Cross Awakening

 I was raised Catholic.  It is in my blood.  My great great great grandfather Peter DeRome was studying to become a priest in Montreal, Canada sometime in the 1850's.  He became ill and fell in love with his nurse, Margaret LaChance and married her in 1855.  I have past relatives who help establish Holy Cross Church in Saginaw, Mi.  I even had a relative, Ruth Pelon (1st cousin 3 times removed), who became a Dominican Nun as Sister Ursuline for the 84 years in Grand Rapids, Mi.  She past away when she was 101 years old.  My mother was once disciplined by her mother for saying the Act of Contrition wrong.  The school was teaching a new way of saying it and her mother was very upset by the fact they changed it.  During Lent we were forbidden to eat meat of Friday and we had to give something up.  During Advent we lit the Advent wreath - 3 pink candles and 1 purple candle...or was it the other way around.  I don't remember. 

Act of Contrition

O my God,
I am heartily sorry for
having offended Thee,
and I detest all my sins,
because I dread the loss of heaven,
and the pains of hell;
but most of all because
they offend Thee, my God,
Who are all good and
deserving of all my love.
I firmly resolve,
with the help of Thy grace,
to confess my sins,
to do penance,
and to amend my life.

Amen.

     I am no longer a practicing Catholic.  I have been baptized, made my First Communion, and received the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  I attended a Catholic school from Kindergarten up to 6th grade then again in 9th and part of my 10th grade year.  It wasn't until my 7th or 8th grade year did I start slipping away from the Catholic church.  God sent me a message loud and clear.

     At the time I couldn't quite put my finger on why I started to slide away from the church.  For me something wasn't sitting right.  I began to question the reasons we do certain rituals and said the same prayers over and over.  I felt like a robot regurgitating what teachers and priests told us to say.  To me it felt hollow.  I don't think I ever opened up a Bible until my 9th grade year and that was more of a history lesson rather than the meaning behind it.  We had Bibles at the house but it was something you didn't need to read.  The teachers told us the stories we needed to learn.  That was all there was to it.  I had no one to turn to to ask why we do certain things.  Everyone I knew was Catholic.  Why do we have to say so many Hail Mary's and Our Father's to be forgiven?  What if I had nothing to tell the priest during confession?  I was a child.  Am I supposed to do wrong things so I could tell the priest something?  What if I lied about my confession just so I had one?  Would that be wrong?  The endless thoughts started to suffocate me. 

     That is when I started to dabble in the occult.  It fascinated me.  I was learning about the lines on my palms, how many children were in my future, how many times I would get married.  I would even ask my friends if they had a hope line because not everyone had one.  I would ask the stars in the night sky for special favors in my life.  When they were granted I felt like the stars were making it happen.  Objects began to have spirits to them.  The four basic elements Earth, Wind, Fire and Water was all that I needed.  I had control of what happened.  Not God, not the church, and not my family.  I remember going to the library and checking out books and learning about different signs, chants and  symbols and how those signs can give me joy, love, fertility, beauty, wits, etc.  It gave me a false peace. How foolish I was. 

     One day it all changed.  I was sitting alone in my room reading some occult books with several candles placed around me.  It was dark but the candles illuminated enough so I could read.  I wanted to feel that power, control, in me.  On the other side of the room came a loud BANG!  It jolted me upright.  I looked over and my crucifix fell off my wall.  This crucifix, that I received on my First Communion six years prior had been hanging snuggly on my wall ever since.  I was not jumping around or making any vibrations to cause it to fall.  It just fell.  An awful chill ran up my spine when I realized what fell.  I ran out of my room lightning speed.  I did what any 13 year old would do when terrified.  I ran to mom.  She found it amusing since she wasn't liking what I was doing anyway.  I couldn't go back into my room until the next day.  I slept out on the couch that night.  I wanted to hide, especially from God because I knew I was disobeying His word. 

     I had my mom go with me into my room the next day.  We went over and picked the crucifix off the floor and to hang it back up on the wall.  When I picked it up the arm of Jesus broke off from his body.  Guilt like I never imagined swept across me.  I broke Jesus' arm.  I caused him pain.  I didn't want it back on my wall.  I didn't want in my room as a reminder of what I did.  Mom disposed of the cross disappointed in me I am sure. 



     Almost instantly I stopped dealing with the occult.  It was like God giving me a stern message that what I was doing was wrong.  Don't get me wrong, I wasn't a Christian overnight.  My walk with the Lord during my adolescence was more like a roller coaster ride than a walk.  I did plently of backsliding trying to figure out what my life had in store and what God wanted for me.  To this day God is still working on me but I have come a long way.

     A few years ago for my birthday my mom handed me a present.  I open up the gift bag and there was my crucifix...with the arm still broken.  Fear quickly came upon me.  Then I took a breath.  I realized I was saved and I shouldn't be afraid anymore.  I looked at his arm.  I was able to swing it around and make it whole again.  Just like me.  I was once broken but through Jesus, He has made me whole.  I keep my cross on my dresser as a reminder for my broken years and now I am now complete with God in my life.  My mom recently asked why I don't hang it up on my bedroom wall.  I told her I don't think I could bare it if Jesus fell down again.  I am not perfect but I don't want my sins to give me a wake-up call like they did when I was 13.