Terror Of The Great Pumpkin

     Growing up in the late 1970's and early 1980's there was one show everyone looked forward to watching around Halloween and that was "It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown."  This was a time before VCR's became popular and DVD's/DVR's were unheard of.  Having cable was rare as majority of American's still watched 3 to 4 stations on TV.  There was only one time to watch "It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" and that was a special on one of the local stations.  If a person ended up missing the show they had to wait until next year to view it.  Families would invite other families over to watch it, pop up some popcorn, stir up some Kool-Aid and settle in to watch it. 

   

     Everyone knew the story behind the Great Pumpkin.  The Great Pumpkin is supposed to rise up from a pumpkin patch bringing toys to children who believed in him.  Linus tried desperately to have his pumpkin patch be the chosen patch for the Great Pumpkin to visit.  Sadly, he misses out on Halloween and the Great Pumpkin never did visit his patch.  I think as children we anticipated the Great Pumpkin coming to Linus' pumpkin patch to fulfill his belief's on the Great Pumpkin even though we really knew what the ending would be.

     I must of been around 4 years old.  That would be the Halloween of 1981.  My mom was putting up Halloween decorations around the house while my siblings were at school.  I was in the bathtub happily splashing about without a care to the world.  Suddenly I hear a sound coming from the opened bathroom door, "Hello sweetie, It's the Great Pumpkin."  the voice said in eerie tone.  Walking through the door was this squatty jack-o-lantern with an evil grin.  The eyes were midnight black triangles that were beaming right into my soul.  The pumpkin had green ivy curled up around the brown stem on top.  There was nothing friendly about this jack-o-lantern.

     I screamed in terror.  If the neighbors could of heard me they would of thought I was being hacked to death.  I tried to shimmy up the side of the bathtub to distance myself from the horror that was before my young eyes. 

     My mother, who was crouched behind our front door, heavy plastic, jack-o-lantern decoration, was trying to have fun and really did not expect the reaction that I gave.  She must of thought I was only startled as she continued on with her Great Pumpkin escapade.  "Jill, it is me.  I am the Great Pumpkin.  You don't need to be afraid of me."  she says with a tone still eerie to young ears.  She waddled behind the pumpkin right up to the edge of the tub. 

     I shrieked in freight.  Tears were pouring from my eyes.  My back was up against the wall of the tub and I couldn't escape.  I was stuck there with this evil pumpkin face staring back at me.   My mom must of realized that I really wasn't enjoying the whole Great Pumpkin visiting me during my bath time idea she had of hers.  She popped out from behind the Great Pumpkin to show me it was her behind it.  I was shaking, cold and wet.  My mom left the room with the great pumpkin and came back to help me out of the tub.  She showed me that it was a decoration up on the door and there wasn't anything to be afraid of.  She told me the jack-o-lantern is happy and smiling.  I thought it was more of a maniacal evil grin.  As an adult I can see there is nothing to fear but as a 4 year old little girl I just seen that jack-o-lantern come to life. 

I Didn't Do It ~ A Collection of Car Accidents

     Most people have probably experienced a few minor fender benders in their lifetime.  Sometimes a more serious accident can occur.  Sometimes an animal can jump out in front doing damage to the car.  Accidents can happen anytime and anywhere.  It just takes a split second to alter someone's life forever.  Luckily I have never been in a major accident.  The few that I have been in have been really minor.  The largest animal that has crossed my path has been a raccoon.  The raccoon has done some minor damage to my car and I was thankful the tires to my vehicle took its revenge. 

    In my first accident good ol' Murphy was looming nearby.  I was 16 in the year of 1993 and received my license a few months before.  I have been driving for some time before that as friends would let me drive their car.  A guy that I was dating at the time and I wanted to do a little shopping.  There was a Family Dollar Store on the other side of town, probably not on the best side of town, that I liked going to.  My mom gave me strict instructions not to go on the other side of town and to stick on our side of the Saginaw River.  I had the guy I was dating drive my mom's 1988 Cadillac Eldorado.  That was another rule I was breaking that day.  No one except immediate family was supposed to drive that car.  He pulls into the strip mall parking lot and drives slowly down the main aisle.  A lady who was not paying attention comes flying down one of the side aisles and T-bones the side of the Cadillac.  A huge dent appeared in the side of the car.  I felt doomed.  Here I was in a place I wasn't supposed to be, with someone else driving the car and someone runs into me.  Needless to say I was grounded for a long time.

     Two years had passed.  During that time we moved to Grandville.  I was driving down Chicago Drive, with the same car as the previous accident, approaching the intersection of Wilson.  There were a line cars in the right lane.  I was in the left lane slowing down my speed to stop at the red light.  A car in the right lane became inpatient and tried to steer into the left lane.  He didn't look around before he made the maneuver because as he pulled out he rammed into the front right side of the Cadillac.  The light cracked and there was damage all the way up to the door.  The officer who came on the scene afterwards finished pulling off the trim off the wheel well cutting his hand.  The other driver was cited for the accident.  The Cadillac, again, had to be shipped off to the shop to get fixed. 

     That winter I was attending college at Grand Valley State University.  I was driving through the campus one evening heading back to my dorm at Kistler Hall.  I was stopping at every crosswalk letting students pass by.  I look up in my rearview mirror and seen a plow truck, which is plow raised, coming right at me.  His speed wasn't slowing.  I looked ahead of me and watched the students walking in front of the Cadillac.  I couldn't move.  I closed my eyes and pressed harder on the break.  SMASH!  The car lurched forward.  The students in front of the car jumped out of the way.  I put the car into park and stepped outside.  The driver of the plow truck put his truck in reverse a bit and stepped out of the truck.  We both met behind the car to examine the damage.  Amazingly there was none.  Those who witnessed the accident even had to look.  They were impressed that there wasn't even a ding on the bumper.  We resumed on our way and I pulled into the parking lot near my dorm.  The plow truck followed me.  I was nervous as he already told me that he was watching other students and wasn't paying attention to the road.  I didn't want him behind me again in case something else catches his eyes.  I found my way to a parking spot and he parked the truck right behind the Cadillac.  He got out of the vehicle.  He told me he had to look again at my bumper and he was shocked that there wasn't any damage.  He even admitted that he hit me rather hard too.  I told him I could feel how hard he hit me. 

     The last accident I got into happened when I wasn't even in the vehicle.  It was late in the year of 2005.  I just dropped Christian, Elizabeth, and Ashton off to a private school they attended in Reed City.  James was 3 years old and I had Halvor who was about 3 or 4 months old.  Snow had fallen early that morning making things slick.  A plow truck was shaving off the layer of snow and pushing it off to the side. I pulled into the local grocery store and parked up front.  I was walking up to the doors when I had a feeling to turn around.  As I did I noticed a car traveling towards my car.  I looked at the wheels and I noticed they were not spinning.  The car kept moving.  All I could do was shake my head in disbelief as I watch her crash into the back side of our Plymouth Voyager.  She did a great deal of damage to it.  I head back to the van and place the boys back into their car seats.  We exchange driver information.  She was very apologetic.  I remember thinking that she shouldn't apologize when in an accident because it proves she was a fault, even if she is at fault.  I reassured her that I wasn't upset and I clearly seen that the weather played a factor to the incident.  Her insurance ended up paying for the repair to my van even the co-pay. 

     I haven't had an accident since then.

Wrongful Punishment

    Growing up in Saginaw we attended a fairly large Catholic church.  There was an 8am Sunday service, 10am Sunday service and a noon Sunday service.  There was also a Saturday evening service too but we rarely attended that service.  Mostly we attended the noon service.  We never really did see the same people twice, it was that big.  The shape of St. Thomas Aquinas reminded of a Trivial Pursuit pie piece.  You walked in the wide end of the pie and the priest would give his sermons near the point of the pie.  We mostly sat near the left side towards the back, depending how late we were arriving to the service.  My mom enjoyed attending but for the three of her children that was another story. 

     Waking up Sunday morning we would drag our feet.  Marc and I would be watching a Sunday movie on TV.  Usually it was something with Jerry Lewis or Don Knotts in The Incredible Mr. Limpet.  Lisa would try to sleep in as much as possible claiming a bad headache when mom did try to wake her.  Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't.  If mom got a phone call we would be real quiet trying not to disturb her so she would loose track of time and talk her way through the time of getting ready.  We knew if she was on the phone by 11:30 we were in the free and clear of not going to church.  Marc and I would watch the huge wood and bronze colored star shaped clock above the TV and smile at each other when we realized the hands were pointing at 11:30 or later.  We sighed a relief and continued watching the movie with ease.  When mom finally did get off the phone and realized the time then she would give a huge sigh in disappointment.  Another failed attempt at church.

     Most of the time we did end up making it to church.  It wasn't that we didn't love God.  It was more of the service being the longest hour of our lives.  It dragged on and on.  We could tell what time it was from what action was being performed at church.  When the priest started to perform the Eucharist we knew the church was half way over.  We passed the time counting the unique brick structure that stood on each side of the alter, or counting how many people wore red or blue or black.  When we became bored at counting my sister, brother and I would turn our attention to each other for entertainment.  We would sit playing thumb wars with each other mouthing, "One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  I declare thumb war."  We would made shadow puppets with each other or we would give each other Indian burns.  That is where you put both hands on a person's arm between their wrist and elbow and twist in opposite directions really hard. 

     This one particular Sunday we were sitting on the right side of church near the middle.  We were young.  I was probably in kindergarten or first grade.  My siblings and I were not on our best behaviors and mom's patience's were wearing thin.  She bends over to us children and growls, "If one of you makes another peep I am taking you to the bathroom."  Going to the bathroom with mom only meant one thing....a spanking.

     The three of us stare forward trying to count whatever so we wouldn't get a spanking.  Marc, who was standing next to me, lifts up his foot and stomps right on my foot.  The hard bottoms of his shoes twists on my open skin from the sandals I was wearing.   It hurt!  I shouted out a yelp.  In a microsecond my mom grabs my upper arm and hauls me out of the church, into the lobby and over to the bathroom.  I was spanked....hard. 

     I cried.  I couldn't tell if I was crying because of the spanking or because of the injustice of the reason I was spanked.  I didn't do anything wrong.  I was just standing there being good when Marc stomped on my foot.  Did he get punished?  Nooooo.   It was easy to blame me since I was the one who let out a noise.  We return to our seats.  I was now sitting on the other side of mom, away from my siblings.  I bend over to look at them.  They were both snickering that I was punished unfairly.  Needless to say I wasn't happy with them. 

     We all jump to conclusions in life.  It can be easy to do.  This situation helped me realize to obtain all the facts when dealing with an issue.  Now that I have children I watch to make sure I don't do the same mistake and punish unfairly.  I am far from perfect and I am sure I have unknowingly done just that at times.  But at least I am aware of trying not to do jump to conclusions so quickly. 

    

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. 

Lost

     It was late summer or early fall in 1981 when my grandparents, my mom, my sister, my brother and I went to the Fashion Square Mall in Saginaw for shopping.  I was half way through my 4th year of life.  We spilt off into group and I happily went with my grandpa.  Teaming up with my grandpa was always a smart idea when you were a little.  He would often sneak you treats or buy you toys. 

     I remember my grandpa and I walking into the CVS pharmacy.  At that age everything I looked at seemed amazing.  He was checking out.  Behind him was a display of the newest hot wheel cars in a thick plastic case, with neat vertical rows that displayed the shiny, and most colorful design of cars I had ever seen  I was somewhat of a tomboy growing up.  I enjoyed playing with cars and wrestling.  Trying on clothes and wearing jewelry were for girly girls and I was not for it.  I called out to my grandpa to show him all the wonderful cars I wanted.  He turned and agreed they were neat.  That was not the reaction I was hoping for.  I wanted him to buy them for me. 

     "Grandpa, I want this one, " I would point to a particular car, "....and this one....and that one...Ooooh, I would like this one too."  Suddenly it seemed strangely silent for a moment, "Grandpa, are you paying attention to me?"  I turned around.  To my horror my grandpa was gone.  I stood there and looked around.  A bad feeling arose in me.  "Grandpa?"  I called out again.  Nothing. 

     I froze for a moment not knowing what to do.  Could he have went further back into the store for something he needed?  Did he leave the store and go somewhere else?  What do I do?  I looked at all the people entering and leaving the store.  I suddenly realized how big the mall is.  I couldn't just stand there all day. 

     I finally managed to take a step.  I decided to quickly go up and down every aisle to see if I could locate my grandpa.  I ran down each aisle calling out his name.  Nothing.  I made my way to the entrance of the store.  I looked out to the middle area of the mall.  Hundreds of people walked past and none of them looked familiar.  Slowly I made my way out to the middle of the mall.



The layout of the Fashion Square Mall where I was lost at.
In the 1980's Macy's was Hudson's and the food court wasn't there.
I sat in front of one of the box stores debating which store to enter.
 

     I could see the fountain flowing in the middle.  It made a wonderful sound.  I walked towards it.  There was a ledge that surrounded it.  I stood up on it and walked along the ledge being careful to keep my balance.  I sat back down on the ledge and splashed the cool water for a moment.  I was hoping my grandpa or someone would find me.  No one did.  I looked around again and decided I would have to go through every store and see if I can find my grandpa or anyone else from my family. 

The texture of the seats
reminded me of this snack.

     I made my way towards one of the ends of the mall.  In the middle of the aisles sporadically spaced out where brown bumpy circular seats with trees growing out of the middle of them.  The texture reminded me of  the Star Cruncher snack you would buy at the store.  I climbed myself up on the seat, stood up and looked around.  I thought to myself if I do into this store he might come out of the other store and not see me.  If I go into that store he might be in the other store and still not see.  I didn't know which store to enter.  I was lost.  My stomach was all twisted up in knots.  All these people and I didn't know who to ask for help and none of them seemed to be my family.  It seemed as if time stood still.  In front of me was a big box store.  On the left and right side of the entrance of the box store were two other smaller stores.  Neither seemed appealing to go in to.  I tried to imagine which one my grandpa would be in, if he was in any of them at all. 

     "JILL!"  I heard someone yell.  I turn around in time to see my older sister grab my arm.  "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!   WE HAVE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU!"  she didn't see pleased.  Behind her was a policeman.  Suddenly I felt as if I had done something wrong. 

     The office talked with me.  I don't remember what he said but I remember feeling scared.  We had to follow him somewhere.  I tried to hid behind my sister so I wouldn't be close to him.  He would walk just a step ahead of my sister.  Occasionally he would walk just to the left of my sister.  I would scurry to the right of her.  He would casually walk to the right of her.  I would quickly move to the left of my sister. His steps seemed hard and quick.   I was starting to think I was better off being lost.

     We finally arrived to the destination to the middle of the mall's information center.  I thought I was going to be arrested and sent to jail.  There my mom, grandparents and brother were waiting for me.  Their looks of concerned quickly turned to anger as they thought I just waltzed off on my own.  My mom thanked the officer and she quickly ushered me off to the bathroom for a prompt spanking.  I probably wished at that moment that the policeman did arrest me and sent me off to jail. 

     I didn't understand why I was getting spanked.  I never moved from where I was at.  It was grandpa who moved away from me!  I was only trying to find them and here it felt as if I was in trouble. 

     It wasn't until years later and talking about this story with my mom that I learned at the time of my disappearance another story of a boy who was lost in the mall was making headlines in the news.  Adam Walsh.  A 6 year old boy who was kidnapped out of a mall in Florida and later on someone found his head in a pond.  At the time the kidnapper was unknown.  The media put fear into the minds of parents all across the country.   Now being a parent myself I could understand the fear my mother could have felt that day, especially since the story of Adam Walsh. 

     From what happened to Adam Walsh came about the "Code Adam" that most stores use today in case a child goes missing.  Their protocol goes as follows: 

1. If a visitor reports a child is missing, a detailed description of the child and what he or she is wearing is obtained. Additionally, all exterior access to the building is locked and monitored; anyone approaching a door is turned away.
2. The employee goes to the nearest in-house telephone and pages Code Adam, describing the child’s physical features and clothing. As designated employees monitor front entrances, other employees begin looking for the child.
3. If the child is not found within 10 minutes, law enforcement is called.
4. If the child is found and appears to have been lost and unharmed, the child is reunited with the searching family member.
5. If the child is found accompanied by someone other than a parent or legal guardian, reasonable efforts to delay their departure will be used without putting the child, staff, or visitors at risk. Law enforcement will be notified and given details about the person accompanying the child.
6. The Code Adam page will be canceled after the child is found or law enforcement arrives

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Code_Adam

 

 

     



Tennis Meditation

     We all have those special things in our lives that we all take pleasure in doing.  I remember the my grandmother (that would be my mom's mom) would have her morning coffee and cigarette she would also play a game of solitaire.  That was her time to sit and ponder about the day that lay ahead.  It was her moment of being tranquil with herself.  My brother would go outside from sun up to what it seemed as sun down and shoot hoops in the driveway with the jambox shouting out the sounds of Beastie Boys or Run DMC.  My sister preferred things a bit quieter by painting ceramics while watching the latest soap opera on TV.  When I was in junior high my serene moment came from playing tennis out in the back yard.

     I couldn't wait until the spring air melted most of the winter snow away.  If the weather was nice enough I would shovel off the back patio to clear away the snow and remove the wet, soggy leaves that nestled in near the back of the garage from the previous autumn.  Our garage was attached to our light yellow house in Saginaw.  Behind the garage laid a sun-faded red and white checked board style patio.   Two wooden black birds were nailed to the siding forever posed in flight.  To me they were targets waiting to be wacked over and over with a tennis ball as I learned to control where I send the ball after I hit it with the racquet.  If my brother didn't take over the jambox for his music then I would sneak it outside for my tunes of Bell Biv Devoe or Milli Vanilli  It didn't matter much to me because my brother and I did have similar taste in music.  If the music was pumped up with loud bass we were happy. 

     Feeling the warm sun upon my face I would slowly unzip the black jacket of my racquet and remove my metal framed Wilson racquet.  My right hand would grip firmly around the handle as I took a few practice swings and felt the wind swish around it.  I would reach down and pick up one of the tennis balls that I brought outside with me.  Standing near the corner of the patio I would bounce the ball off the ground and tap it with my racquet.  The ball would fly up and smack against the side of the garage with a thunking sound.  The ball would bounce back onto the red and white patio squares and I would swing my arm around to hit the ball back to the side.  I would work on my swings of back hand and forward hand.  I  pretended that I was Steffi Graf, effortlessly going after the ball and hitting it back to the other side.   I had to be careful of where I sent the ball because there was a window towards the side of the garage that I didn't want to hit.  Occasionally the ball would tap into the window and I would hold my breath waiting for it to break but it never did. 

     There was something about the rhythm of the ball plunking the racquet, thunking on the siding and plopping on the ground that gave me a calming effect.   PLUNK!  THUNK!  PLOP!  PLUNK!  THUNK!  PLOP!  PLUNK!  THUNK!  PLOP!   Over and over the sounds sent me into deep thought.  My body would carry out the actions while my mind would start to analyze my frustrations, plot out the "what if's" in my life, or plan a story outline of something I wanted to write about.  Even with the music blaring in the background my thoughts came across loud and clear.  At that moment there was clarity in my life.

     My  mom knew how much I enjoyed tennis and set me up for lessons through the township.  I would walk over by Zaul Library to the tennis courts to take my lessons.  I would convince one of my friends, Keisha, to join me over at the courts to play one on one.  One time there were older teenage boys playing and they asked us to join them for playing doubles.  It was her and I against them.  I can't remember who won or lost but I can still recall giving each other a high five when they would miss the ball and we would get the score.  I even signed up on the White Pine Middle School intramural tennis team after school and did quite well with it.  

     Soon my attentions were drawn away from tennis as I got older.  We ended up moving to a new house and I didn't have my patio to practice on anymore.  I have taken my children to the tennis courts we have in town and gave them a chance to play.  They tried it but they didn't have the passion for it like I did.  There are days where I long to hold the racquet and have a good game of volleying the ball back and forth over the net, running up and down the court after the ball and feeling the force of the ball up against the racquet as I swing to hit it.  Maybe it is the carefree moments of swinging the racquet and hitting the ball up against the house that I miss.  Maybe. 

    

Just Say No Rally

Nancy Reagan promoting
Just Say No

     Lately it has been a tradition for a president's wife to take up a campain or promote an awareness while her husband is leading our country.  Barabara Bush supported literacy, Pat Nixon highlighted volunteering, Betty Ford was for women's rights and our current First Lady, Michelle Obama advocates for childhood obesity.  Since I grew up in the 1980's we heard a lot about Nancy Reagan's campain against drugs with her slogan "Just Say No!" 

    

    

Every time you turned on a television set there would be an anti-drug commercial. 

                                                  One that would focus on the parent:

One that would focus on the teens:

And one that focused on everyone

and pretty much a favorite:

These commercials, and a few others, were drilled into our heads in between our favorite shows and MTV music video's.  Schools pumped into our brains the risks and dangers of using drugs and tobacco.  Everyone knew the phrase "Just Say No".

     It was the spring of 1988.  I was 11 years old and in the 6th grade at St. Thomas Aquinas.  I was the only kid in my neighborhood that went to a private school.  The local public school, Weiss Elementary, was planning to participate in a "Just Say No Rally" on Ojibway Island in Sagianw.  My best friend Sara asked her teacher if I could come with them to participate in the rally.  The teacher gave me the okay to attend as along as my mom signed the permission slip, which she did. 

     We boarded the yellow Saginaw Township Bus and made our way into downtown Saginaw for a brief march.  The bus dropped us off at Hoyt Park on Washtington Ave.  Different school gathered in their groups to line up for the march to Objibway Island.  Green Balloons and white T-shirts with the phrase "Just Say No" were handed out and each school made up their own banner.   We had to think of a cheer to yell out as we marched south onto Ezra Rust Dr (Court St after you cross over the Saginaw River) and entered the island.   The chant we came up with was "JUST SAY NO - NO!"  We repeated it over and over.  One school a head of us had a little ditty with a side step and a spin to their marching chant.  I guess we weren't that creative. 

From L. to R:  Tammy V., Me, Danny F., Sarah B.
and in front my best friend Sara W.

On our march from L. to R.  Sara W., Kelly, unknown, unknown (Matt I think his name was), unknown

     We finally arrived on the island and made our way to the north side where a bandstand was set up for motivational speakers and local bands to play.  We found our wooden steak pushed into the ground with a sign on it saying Weiss Elementary School for our group to be located at.  We danced, sang, and listened to the speakers.  It was a fun time.  A lot of media showed up like WNEM TV News 5 and a popular radio station WIOG 102.5 with their giant jambox.  We were briefly shown on the news marching down the street and we all felt like we were celebrities being shown on TV.   

On Ojibway Island, stage is on the right side of the pic

WIOG 102.5 Giant Jambox - a popular gimmick among the younger crowd.

     Nancy Reagan's effort to promote the hazzards of drug abuse still linger on today.  Most people who were around in that time era of the 1980's remember the phrase well - "Just Say No".

The Bridge Built With Glue

1978 press photo

     If you live around the Saginaw, Midland, Bay City area of Michigan right away the title makes you think of the Zilwaukee Bridge.  This bridge is on I-75 just 5 miles north of Saginaw.  Before this bridge was built a draw bridge was used in its place.  I can remember when I was very young my Aunt Cindy was up visiting from Tulsa, Oklahoma.  She was engaged and my mom, my Aunt Joyce and I went to Bay City to look at wedding dressing or other wedding items.  I remember stopping at the draw bridge.  It might of been my first time seeing a draw bridge.  As a child is was so neat to see the road just raise up verticle to let the ships go through.  Even though I enjoyed seeing the draw bridge I never thought that I would probably never see that draw bridge again over the Saginaw River.  The Zilwaukee Bridge was built to help ease the highway congestion that the draw bridge created. 

     My grandmother's farm is set behind the Z-Bridge.  Thinking real hard I think I can still picutre going out to the farm and seeing cranes high up in the sky looming over the trees in the distance building the Z-Bridge.  Again, I didn't take too much notice to them as I was a child and busy playing but I did love the landscape out at the farm and I knew there was something huge far off in the distance that was being built. 

     Growing up I would often hear talks about the Zilwaukee Bridge.  I remember people talking about how a section of it came crashing down and rumors were spread that it was built with glue and the glue didn't hold.  I would think of the cow on the elmer's glue bottle and picture a tanker truck spreading this white sticky glue over everything. 

     Obviously, rumors are seldom true.  Back in 1982, a section sank 5 feet in the wet boggy ground while the other side of the section rose up three and a half feet.  In doing so it caused major cracking to the pier footings.  MDOT ended up firing that contractor and hiring a new one to finish up the already over budgeted project. 

     Highway I-675 was built to help route traffice around the Zilwaukee Bridge to help ease traffic from the draw bridge.  It also was helped loop traffic through the downtown Saginaw area.   

Map of where I-675 loops around I-75 to avoid the Zilwaukee Bridge

     At the end of the everything the bridge is about a mile and a half long and raises up about 125 feet above the Saginaw River.  There is epoxy that is used as joint sealant and when it hardens is stronger than concrete.  Perhaps that is where the saying of "made with glue" comes from.  After over 20 years of planning and building the bridge was finally open to the public in 1988.  Sadly, my grandfather (on my mother's side) who enjoyed keeping track of the building of the bridge died a few months before it opened.  My grandmother (also on my mother's side) vowed never to go across the bridge made with glue as she was worried it would fall. 

     That summer her health was failing quickly.  With my sister driving my mom, brother, Nonnie (that is what we called my grandmother) and I all piled into the Cadillac for a scenic drive.  Nonnie was in the front seat when she noticed a huge bridge up a head of her. 

     "MICHELLE!" she bellowed out to my mom.  "YOUR DAUGHTER IS DRIVING US OVER THE BRIDGE!" 

     We all laughed with delight as Nonnie was powerless to stop the car from going over.  I think the whole time she held on to the car door handles screaming until we got to the other side.  I will never know if she truely enjoyed it and was glad she did it or if she was glad she was on the other side.  A few months after that she, too, passed away.  I am glad of having that memory of her going over the bridge when it was newly opened.  It makes that bridge a bit more special to me.  I was 11 years old. 

     Since that time between I was 11 and 14 I had been across that bridge many times and I loved it.  I loved the part when near the top you could look over the edge if you sit up tall and see my other grandparents farm and see the barns.  I loved how being up so tall you can see forever it seemed.  I never thought twice about that bridge that is until I was 15. 

     I took driver's training through Sears Century Driving School at the Fashion Square Mall in Saginaw.  I will save my driver's ed for another blog but for my instructor everyone had to cross the Z-Bridge but it was unannounced to us.  After one day of driving around Saginaw my instructor told me to get on the highway and head north.  I was a good driver and had no problem in doing so.  Suddenly we round a corner and there stood like a huge dinosaur was the Z-Bridge.  It never seemed so big and terrifing before.  But I had never been behind the wheel before going over the Z-Bridge either.  I seen an exit right before the bridge. 

     "You want me to exit here?"  I asked the instructor as my hand was getting ready to push the turn signal upwards for the right blinker to come on.

     "Nope,"  he says calmly, "Go up and over the bridge."

     I couldn't breath.  My hands gripped tighter around the steering wheel.  I slowed down to the point where the instructor had to tell me to go a bit faster.  I wanted to shut my eyes but I couldn't.  What if Nonnie was right?  What if the bridge is built with glue?  What if another section comes crashing down below?  It seemed like forever before I came to the other side of the bridge.  After I was off the bridge it felt like I could breathe again.  My fingers relaxed around the steering wheel.  I did it!  I would tell myself over and over. 

     A year later I had moved to the other side of the state and never really had to deal with the Z-Bridge again.  I have been over that bridge a handful of times since I was 15.  When I get near that bridge as I make my way back to Sagianw my breath stops again and I can't start breathing again until I get to the other side.  My kids find it funny that I don't like that bridge.  However, if I am not driving, I still find myself sitting up a little taller to catch a glimpse of my granparents farm off in the distance. 

Aerial view of the Zilwaukee Bridge.
Courtsey of Mlive.

Remembering The Pussy Willows

    



     One of the early signs of spring that I enjoyed watching come into bloom is the pussy willows.  As a young child I remember a huge pussy willow bush on the left side of the enterance of my grandparent's (that would be my mother's parents) apartment.  I would get excited walking up the long sidewalk to the main door and looking over and seeing the pussy willows start to bud.  Soon, I knew the fuzzy plant would emerge out into the sun.  On another visit I would run over and take a look and see the blooming buds showing off their fuzziness.  When we were done visiting it seemed to take forever for my mother and Nonnie (that is what we called our grandmother) to say goodbye.  I would stand there outside picking off the buds just to feel the soft velvety texture between my fingers.  Sometimes I would take my fingernail and pry apart the bud to see what was inside of it.  We never had a plant like that anywhere around our home and it was so unique.  At times Nonnie would see me pulling off the pussy willow's soft bulb ends and quickly tell me to quit it.  She didn't want me pulling off all the ends.  The bush was huge and I couldn't possibly see how I could pull them all off but I tried to obey her.  But it was hard to resist. 

     My grandparents died in the late 1980's.  We didn't have a reason to come to the apartment complex anymore and we stopped seeing the pussy willows.  I didn't think much about it at the time.  I was growing up and getting older.  New things preoccupied my thoughts and time.  It wasn't until a few years ago that at a local store they were selling clippings of pussy willow's.  I had to have them.  Cheerful memories flooded back into my mind as I held this twigs showing the pussy willow parts.  I slowly twisted one of the fuzzy bulbs off with with fingers and rolled it back and forth reliving a part of my childhood in my thoughts.  Unfortunally, God did not grace me with a green thumb and the plants died. 

     In a way I am glad they didn't survive.  I don't want to get used to them around the house where I don't think much of them.  Now when I do see them it is so rare that I have to stop and look at it.  I don't pass by it like how we pass by McDonald's because we see it everywhere.  I am able to take a moment and thank God for the wonderful creations He has given to us to enjoy the different seasons He created for us. 

Impulsive Actions Leads To Self Discipline

     I was in my Junior year of at Heritage High School in Saginaw.  I was starting to turn my rebellious ways around and I was finally making honor roll at school.  Most of the classes came easy for me except one, geometery.  I never could understand the point of knowing how to prove theories and studing theorems.  I daydreamed of taking those shapes and figures and using them to create a device specifically to torture the greek mathematician Euclid, the father of geometery.  

     It did make it easy that my old science teacher from Nouvel Catholic Central transferred over to the public school to teach and he was now our geometery teacher.  I remember before school started I looked at my schedule and seen Talbot as to who teaching the course and thought to myself, This can't be the SAME teacher I had before.  Sure enough on the first day there was Mr. Talbot up at the chalkboard in a shirt and tie.  He looked refreshed to see a familar face as well.  He used his knowledge of me to help pass out papers or to run errands.  Unfortunally, he would also call on me often for answers to geometery problems.  Overall, I think I got a C+ that year in his class which I was happy with.  He wasn't a boring teacher.  He did try to make his class fun as much as he could. 

     As you walked in the door the chalkboard was straight to the front.  To the right were 3 rows of tables and to the left were also 3 rows of tables.  Four student's would sit to a table.  Mr. Talbot's desk sat in front in the middle of the walkway to the chalkboard.  I don't know if it was the layout of the classroom or the students in it but it was a very comfortable class to be in.  For the most part we all got along with each other. 

     I sat in the front row on the right hand side when you walked into the room.  To my right sat a guy I was dating at the time and to my left sat a freshman boy named Mason.  Mason was such a smart, sweet kid who wouldn't harm a fly.  He was short and kind of on the chunky side.  He was the type of person that everyone considered as a brother.  There would be times we would be bored and doodle on each other's papers or try to stomp on each other's foot to see who would make a noise and get into trouble.  He was fun to goof off with.  However, if I did need something to be explained in my homework he was always willing to help.  He was very kind in that way. 

     One day Mr. Talbot was trying to teach us something difficult.  I must of been tired that day because I wasn't in the joking around mood.  Mason would try to poke me with his pencil and laugh.  Looking back I know he was trying to make me smile but I wasn't in the mood at the time.  I asked him to stop.  He did stop for a little while then I would feel a poke in my side from his pencil eraser.  Then another poke.  I firmly told him he needed to stop and that I was trying to pay attention.  A few moment's later - poke, poke, poke.  The eraser jabbed at my side again with Mason giggling thinking he was getting away with something.  Without even thinking the back of my hand reached around and I backhanded him across his face.  The sound of my hand smacking across his face echoed across the room.  It was followed by a few gasps from students who witnessed the event.  Mr. Talbot turned around to see what happened.  Mason quickly got up and ran out of the room.  For a second I was numb.  It seemed surreal that I did such a cruel and hurtful thing. 

     "I can't believe you just did that!" came from Jason, the guy I was dating.  He, then, got up and dashed out the door to find Mason.  I sat there for a moment, eyes closed with my head down.  Remorse sat in.  I had never struck anyone like that in my life before.  Mr. Talbot was still speechless.  He was probably trying to make sense out of what happened as his back was turned when I backhanded Mason.  It seemed like a minute had passed when I knew what I needed to do.  I had to find Mason and apologize to him.  I looked up at Mr. Talbot with a look that told him that I needed to remedy the situtation.  Leaving my books on the table I got up and left the room in search of Mason. 

     I rounded the halls in the circular building and found Mason sitting on the floor leaning up against the brickwall, his head buried into his knees that were pulled up to his chest.  Jason was already there consoling him.  Jason took notice that I was there and gave me a disgusted look.  The look he gave me was granted.  I deserved it.  He tried to shoo me away but I couldn't leave.  I needed to make my peace with Mason. 

     I sat down next to Mason and put my hand on his shoulder.  I never felt so horrible.  I was ashamed of my thoughtless actions.  All three of us sat out in the hallway talking and working things out.  The bell to signal the changing of classes rang.  We got up and gave each other a hug.  All was well between us.  We entered back into the classroom and Mr. Talbot looked at us wondering what happened.  I apologized to Mr. Talbot for disrupting the class and for striking out at Mason.  I think Mr. Talbot knew that doing such a thing was out of character for me and he knew we handled it.  By all rights I should of received a detention for striking another student and I would of accepted it but I never got one.  I believe Mr. Talbot seen our maturity in how we handled the situtation and  he knew I was very remorseful for my actions. 

      Mason and I both agreed that we both were wrong that day.  He said he should of stopped bothering me when I asked him to but that still was  not an excuse for my actions.   I never lashed out at anyone like that again.  I am not proud of my actions that day in class but I have learned from them.   I learned to check my actions and not be spontaneous with my emotions.  I learned to own up to what I had done and to know to seek and apology without someone guiding me to do so.  I did a lot of growing up that day. 

     I ended up moving across the state at the end of that year.  I will never know what ever happened to Mason or if he even remembers this situtation.  But I still remember and I still regret my careless actions. 

Memory Of A Song

     Have you ever heard a song and flashed back to a memory from when you were young?  I believe certain songs, when heard at the right moment, helps create a special memory that is forever stored in a file located way back in the corner of our brains.  I have several songs that when I hear them I am catapulted back in time to relive the moment in my thoughts. 



     It was the summer of 1992.  I finished up my freshman year of high school at Nouvel Catholic Central in Saginaw.  Unfortunally, I enjoyed many other things rather than school and my grades suffered because of that.  Since my grades were well below "f"antastic I had to take a few classes of summer school at Arthur Hill High School. 

     It wasn't so bad taking summer classes.  Some of my friends that aided in my dimishing grades were the same ones in my classes at "The Hill".  Personally, I think we all corrupted each other and we enjoyed it.   Before school and out on breaks we would gather in packs out in the parking lot to see who has cigarettes and some would be passed around.  Sometimes the security guard would even walk over and smoke with us.  He would never give out one of his cigarettes but he would offer his zippo for anyone who needed it. 

     One beautiful warm summer day we were tired of sitting in the classroom.  We passed notes with each other daring to just get up and walk out.  Finally, my friend Shannon and I decided to go for it.  Right in the middle of class we packed up our stuff and just blatantly walked out of class.  We went out to the parking lot for a cigarette and to decided what to do next.  Soon another friend, Erin, joined in with another girl from class.  FREEDOM!  We decided to call a friend of ours ,Scott who just graduated from another school, to come and pick us up.   We walk back to the school parking lot to wait. 

     Scott pulls into the parking lot in his pick-up.  He brought along his friend Joe.  Shannon shouts out, "SHOT-GUN!" and squeezes her way between them in the front.  Erin, the other girl, and myself climb up and over into the bed of the truck and make ourselves comfortable in the corners of the truck resting our arms on the side.  We took off.  The music was loud and we were young and carefree. 

     Scott turns down the radio and hollar's out that he has a new song for us to listen to.  He opens up the cassette case and pops a cassette into the player in the dash.  We start to hear the lyrics:

Blame it all on my roots

I showed up in boots

And ruined your black tie affair...

We all started to groan and scream, "NOOOO!  IT'S COUNTRY!  WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO COUNTRY?!"  But Scott was persistent that we listened to it.   

     The song grew on us.  It wasn't long after that we were wanting to listen to Garth Brook's "Friends In Low Places" song.  By the time school dances came around we all had the song memorized and we would sing along, badly, with the lyrics. 

     This was my first exposure (besides Kenny Rodgers but everyone loves his classic songs) to country music.  His album "No Fences" was enjoyable.  To my suprise the album came out 2 years prior.  I still prefer other methods of music genre over country music but I can tolerate some country songs. 

    

    

Storms: Fear to Fascination

                                               

     As a child I dreaded storms.  It terrified me.  Looking back now I think maybe it was when the lights would go out that would terrify me more.  It seemed with every strong storm our lights would go out leaving us in the dark.  I would cry and be in such a fright that I could barely move.  I would freeze up.  When WNEM TV 5 out of Saginaw would interrupt a show forcasting a storm I would start to get nervous.  I ran around the house gathering up all the candles, batteries and flashlights and placing them on our coffee table.  My sister would grab blankets and pillows and have them ready in case a tornado was spotted and we had to make a mad dash downstairs to our creepy basement.  As much as I feared tornado's I think I feared our basement more.  It would be a hard decision on what I would rather had to deal with. 

     I remember hearing a story of how a tornado came across Saginaw and damaged the huge concrete blue whale at the Saginaw Children's Zoo.  I loved that whale.  At our cabin at Houghton Lake we would see boats that broke loose from their anchors or docks float on by.  Trees would bend and break.  My grandpa would drive us around afterward to survey the damage and to see if anyone needed help.  I even recall a time when a tornado has been spotted in Houghton Lake and we had to run across to our neighbors to take shelter.  As a child that can be scary. 

     One day I was reading a Highlights magazine.  In it was a poem from a child about how he looks at lightning storms as God's fireworks for us to enjoy.  That really hit me.  I loved fireworks.  How could storms be much different.  I was looking forward to the next lightning storm.  I don't remember how long I had to wait but I knew I would look at it differently.  I still gathered up the candles, batteries and flashlights for same measure.  

     From that point on I fell in love with the storms.  Each lightning strike was unique in its own way.  Even the thunder was interesting to listen to.  Some would start out with a low crackling sound and roar its way to a loud boom.  Some would give no warning before its blast that would shake the whole house.  Before I would know it I could hear the faint sounds of thunder fading away in the distance and the rain would slowly come to an end.  Even the power of the wind was amazing.  Trees that have been planted in the Earth for years can bend over in the sharp wind and some can even snap.  There is an awe about it.  Hail was a special treat because we didn't see that too often.  The fun part was when the storm was done my sibilings and I would dash outside and collect all the hail.  My mom would stick it in the freezer to save it for us.  I am sure she took it out when we stopped thinking about it. 

     It was a real treat when I was dating Brian and we would drive off to Saugatuck, Mi. and head to Oval Beach and watch the storms come in from across Lake Michigan.  The lightning would stretch out its fingers across the dark cloudy sky and light it up.  Some streaks would dip down and touch the lake.  It was a beautiful sight.  I find the storms so inspiring and peaceful.  

Picture by Wunderground.com  Lightning over Lake Michigan.

Photo by JessicAllen in the News Sun Times looking over Lake Michigan.

     Once we had children I wanted to pass my love of storms down to them.  They get excited when they see storm clouds coming.  We can see the storms coming in from the west.   At times, in our location, it seems as if the storms split in two and avoids teasingly.  Some of the dark clouds will dip south and heads towards Mt. Pleasant and other clouds will head north around the Cadillac area and persue east from there.  We can stand outside and hear the thunder booming around us while looking up and seeing blue skies.  

     One particular storm I remember where an F1 torando came across Osceola County knocking down trees to Spring Hill Camp.  The kids and I were expecting my mom, my sister and her children to swing by on their way from Houghton Lake.  She said the wind was so fierce on the highway that they had to pull over and go into a ditch while it poured rain and and hailed.  She was probably 15 miles from our house.  She gets to our house and looks down at our gravel driveway and noticed that it was completely dry.  My children were outside looking at the dark swirling clouds to the north and not very far away.  The storm missed us by a few miles. 

     Another time we just got chickens and put up a metal shed to turn that into the chicken coop.  No more than a month later a severe wind storm came across.  No rain, just wind.  Brian and I were watching TV when we looked out the picture window and see our shed breaking apart and blowing across the yard.  It was like seeing something out of the Wizard of Oz.  We ran outside to catch it.  A few of our older children came out also to help.  It took four of us to grab a hold of the roof that detached itself from the walls to pull it back to where we had our chicken coop set up.  Amazingly there wasn't a single chicken that was injured or killed during that event.   

     There is something, now, that draws me in to watching a good storm.  The smell in the air before the storm and after is refreshing.  You can't explain it but you know when that storm smell is in the air.  Maybe it's seeing God's force in nature that is amazing.  I am not sure.  But I do know that storms are a beauty in itself.

   

Imaginary Friends Don't Use Bathrooms

     There is a playful innocense in childhood.  Imaginations drift to their furthest potential in those young developing years.  Somewhere in time we lose that creativity in our minds.  We stop using that playfulness our minds can produce and replace it with an older way of thinking.  Here, I think back to that time when I was a young child who had fun with an imagination that was endless.

     I was the youngest in my family.  My brother is 4 years older than me and my sister is 7 years older.  There were times when I wanted to play a game that was more in my age range like Candy Land or Go Fish and no one wanted to play with me.  I would ask my mom but she would be preoccupied with something.  Often she would tell me to play on my own.  And I did.  I invented a friend.  Jody was her name.  She was about my age, dark hair and great at everything.  We would play games or Barbies, go on adventures outside, dance and even swing on the swingset.  I had a great vivid imagination and sometimes my imagination would step outside of the boundries and leak into the real world. 

     One day Nonnie, that is what we called our grandmother, was watching me.  I think my mom was at a school event for my brother and sister.  Nonnie was busy doing something and "Jody" and I were busy playing house.  We would act like we had important guests coming over for tea and we were preparing for their arrival.  We even dressed up for the occasion. 

     I excused myself to use the bathroom.  A pretend knock was at the door.  "Hang on, Jody.  I am almost done."  I would call out.

     I opened the bathroom door.  "Oh, You have to use it too, Jody?"  It may have looked like I was starting off into thin air but in my mind "Jody" was really there.  "Okay, you can use it now.  I will even lock the door for you so you can have some privacy."  I turned the lock and shut the door.   I went back to my bedroom and resumed setting my bed up to be used for the tea party.  We had very important stuffed animal guests that were to arrive at any moment now.

     Our house had 2 bathrooms in it.  Actually one was a half bath.  It was very small.  A daddy long-leg spider often camped out in a small web in the corner right above the toilet.  My sibilings and I avoided that bathroom because of it.  The spider could of used the advantage of us sitting on the toilet to swing down on its web and crawl into our ears and lay eggs.  It probably wouldn't of happened but we were young and we didn't want to take any chances.  Our main bathroom was the only door in the house that had a lock on it besides the doors that lead outside.  This was our main bathroom in the house.  

     Nonnie comes around the corner to use the bathroom and found out it was locked.  "Jill?"  she asks seeing if I was in there.

     "I am in here."  I call out to her from my bedroom.

     Confusion crosses her face.  "If you are in the bedroom who is in the bathroom?"

     "Jody is in there."  I state matter of factly.

     "Oh, I didn't know you had a little friend over.  When did she come over?"  Nonnie says as she is entering my bedroom. 

     "She's been over.  She's my imaginary friend!"  I said giggling. 

     Nonnie looked at me with her eyes popping out of her head, "Your IMAGINARY friend?"

     "Yep,"  I reply innocently back, "She had to use the bathroom." 

     "How are we supposed to open the door!?"  Nonnie asks the question out in the air rather than to me.  "I need to use it!"

     She quickly goes to use the smaller bathroom.  She came back with a coat hanger that was straigtened out.  She used one end and stuck it into a tiny hole in the door handle trying to unlock the door.  It wasn't working.  The lock was the kind that you had to push in and twist.  She ended up calling my mom's boyfriend to come over and see if he could do something to open the door.  He came over and they both pondered over the door. 

     I remember sitting on my bed, across from the bathroom, hearing them trying different techniques to open it.  I even heard talk of taking down the door.  As a child it sounded like a major project.  I felt horrible.  I didn't mean to cause such a commotion.  Nonnie somehow knew I was upset.  She came in to talk with me.  She told me that I should of known better than to lock the door with no one inside.  She went on saying it is fine to have imaginary friends but have them lock the door by themselves next time.   I remember laughing at that.  The door finally opened and all was well with the world again.  "Jody" and I resumed our tea party as we had our important guest waiting. 

     Somewhere in the time of growing up "Jody" faded away.   I cannot help but smile as I look back at my childhood and my over active imagination.