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.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Tuesday, October 8, 2013
Sursumdeorsumphobia
By the title of this weeks blog you can guess that I am writing about a phobia or a fear that I have. The first part of the word may seem a bit confusing. In Latin, sursum means up and deorsum means down. So together sursumderosumphobia means fear of traveling up and down. In layman's terms I have a fear of elevators.
I am not afraid of heights. In fact I love traveling in an airplane (although my last airplane ride was in the spring of 1996 to Las Vegas) and seeing how beautiful the world appears in a bird's eye view. I can look over a tall hilly landscape and be mesmerized by the surrounding view. I am not afraid of tight, closed-in spaces. I don't seem to mind it in a bit. However elevators, after so many floors, makes my heart race, my breath to cease, and my head to spin.
I can probably trace my fear back to elementary school where in reading class we had to read SRA (Science Research Associates) stories that were color coded to our reading level. My reading level was in a rose colored section which meant I was an average reader. We would have to read so many stories, like 15 or 20, and answer questions about the story, then we could move up to the next color and set of stories. This one particular story had to deal with an elevator operator who died when his elevator plunged down some skyscraper killing him. On the eve of the anniversary of his death the ghost of the elevator operator reappears and recreating the tragic event. Sometimes he takes victims with him in his recreated event. People can hear the screams and the sound of the elevator swooshing through the vertical corridor as it makes its way to the bottom. I must of been in the first or second grade when I read this and it scared the daylights out of me. The hand drawn picture that was on my SRA story card was spooky enough. Chills ran up and down my spine and I read it. I don't think it was the ghost part of the story that scared me. It was the realization at such a tender age that elevators, and their cables, could break causing the elevator to soar to the bottom of the building. Thankfully I didn't have to go into elevator's that much.
Now I can handle going into an elevator one or two floors with no problem. I figure I have a better chance of survival from a lower height in case something does go wrong. Also, being closer to the ground if the elevator does plummet it would be a shorter fall time-wise. I probably won't have time to think about what just had happened. If I am 20+ stories high then I am going to have a moment to think, "Oh crap! I am falling to my death in a tin box!" I wouldn't want my last thoughts to be like that.
I never realized how bad my fear was until my senior class trip in high school. We went to Chicago and visited the Sears Tower, or what is now called the Willis Tower. It was the tallest building in the world from 1973 to 1998. It beat out the first World Trade Tower and was finally surpassed by the Petronas Twin Towers. The observation deck in on the 103rd floor of the building. An elevator can go from the ground floor to the 103rd floor in around a minute time. It is so fast that people can feel the pressure change as they go up.
Outside of the building I remember looking up, straight up, to see the height of where we were going. If I am ascending to the near the top of the tower in 60 seconds then how quickly would I be descending if the cables broke? How strong are the cables? Are the cables getting overused and worn down and going to snap during my rise to the top? These thoughts flooded my mind.
Our teacher ushered us inside and made our way through the zigzag of ropes and video stations of how the Sears Tower was made. Watching that only strengthened my fear. We neared the elevators. A fear like I had never known swept across me. I begged my teacher for me to stay back. He wouldn't let me. I was forced to go. I tried not to make a huge scene as I pleaded with the teacher that I could not do this. He didn't care. He couldn't let a student stay behind. I understand his point of view but how I wished there was an adult that would have stayed back with me. Several of my classmates and I crowded into an elevator. The doors shut. My eyes closed. I was near the side wall holding on to a railing. I had to remind myself to exhale slowly. I could feel the elevator starting to rise. The other students were having fun whooping it up with the feeling. Some thought it was fun trying to jump in the elevator. I could feel the elevator starting to sway and shake a bit. I couldn't tell if it was from the students or if it is was normal for the elevator to move like that. I crouched down on the ground still holding onto the bar for dear life. I started screaming, "MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! I WANT TO GET OFF!" Tears started to trickle down my face. I didn't care anymore about not making a scene. I was beyond petrified. Finally the elevator stopped. I couldn't breathe. The elevator moved down slightly to adjust itself. When I felt that downward motion I believed that the elevator was ready to make its way careening downward and I was preparing myself to be lifted off the ground due to the fall. I did manage to find enough to breath to shout out, "WHY DID WE STOP? WHAT'S GOING ON? WHAT'S WRONG?!"
The doors opened. The students happily made their way out of the elevator and onto the observation deck. I literally crawled on my hands and knees out of the elevator. I was so happy to be out of the can of death. My legs were so numb and weak they couldn't support me. I crawled my way to a bench and pulled myself up to a sitting position. I sat there for a moment while my body regained feeling and I was able to breathe again.
The view was stunning. On all sides of the building we could see forever. While looking around the different windows my eyes kept shifting around looking for an exit with a stair sign. I couldn't get truly comfortable because I knew we would have to be going back down the elevator. DOWN! I even asked the teacher if I could take the stairs and he laughed and said the stairs don't go that high. I didn't know whether to believe him or not and he probably thought I was joking. I really wasn't joking. I needed those stairs. I really didn't think my body would let me enter the elevator again.
The time passed to quickly and we had to enter the elevator. I found my position against the wall snuggling up against the bar that wrapped around the elevator. I knew if the elevator were to fall nothing, not even the bar, was going to save me yet grabbing it gave me a sense of control. Like normal students they had their fun jumping up and down as we descended towards the bottom. I scrunched down towards the bottom of the elevator murmuring under my breath, "Please, God, Please, God. Please, God!" Finally we were at ground level and the doors opened. I was so happy to be out of there.
About two years later my husband and I took a trip to Chicago with our infant son. Brian wanted to go up the Sears Tower. I didn't think I could do it again but I told myself I am a mom and I need to find the strength to go up to the top with my husband and son. It took every ounce of prayer to get me to the top but we did it. I was numb from doing it and my husband realized how much of a fear I have with elevators. We went back just after the birth of our third child in 2000. Brian wanted to go back up the tower but I physically couldn't handle doing that again. The fearless mommy superpower that I thought all mother obtained somehow passed me by. I was able to do it with my first born but as I got older I think the fear grew more inside of me and I could not do it.
One time my mother treated her children and in-laws out to a fancy restaurant in Grand Rapids. I am not exactly sure where we were at but we took one elevator upwards to view the lights of Grand Rapids. I was a little nervous going up high but I knew it wasn't like the Sears Tower. Going down we took a different set of elevators. This elevator had glass on the outside so you could fully see outside. I totally freaked out demanding that the elevator stopped and that I needed to get off. My family never knew this fear in me before and was totally shocked by my behavior, especially sense I was a grown woman. I apologized for my behavior when we reached the bottom as I didn't even expect to react the way that I did. It just happened. I had no control over the fear I was facing.
Last year when my mother-in-law passed away she was up on the seventh floor of the hospital. My husband asked me if I was able to handle it or if I would rather take the stairs. I wanted to take the stairs but time was our enemy and we had to reach the seventh floor quickly. I entered the elevator and took a deep breath. My husband would try to crack a joke to help calm me down and relax me. Mentally I would try to displace where I was at and not think about the elevator cables breaking and the elevator falling to the bottom. Maybe it was the realization that I was in a hospital and if anything were to happen to the elevator that would probably be the best place for it to happen especially with medical staff being right there.
Elevator accidents do happen. The Census of Fatal Occupational Injuries reports about 20 deaths per year related to elevators. Most deaths that do occur are mostly due to maintenance workers working on the elevators or careless reckless errors due to elevator riders.
The link below recaps 10 terrible elevator accidents. Perhaps after reading some you may find yourself suffering a bit from sursumdeorsumphobia.
http://listverse.com/2011/12/23/10-tragic-elevator-accidents/
I am not afraid of heights. In fact I love traveling in an airplane (although my last airplane ride was in the spring of 1996 to Las Vegas) and seeing how beautiful the world appears in a bird's eye view. I can look over a tall hilly landscape and be mesmerized by the surrounding view. I am not afraid of tight, closed-in spaces. I don't seem to mind it in a bit. However elevators, after so many floors, makes my heart race, my breath to cease, and my head to spin.
I can probably trace my fear back to elementary school where in reading class we had to read SRA (Science Research Associates) stories that were color coded to our reading level. My reading level was in a rose colored section which meant I was an average reader. We would have to read so many stories, like 15 or 20, and answer questions about the story, then we could move up to the next color and set of stories. This one particular story had to deal with an elevator operator who died when his elevator plunged down some skyscraper killing him. On the eve of the anniversary of his death the ghost of the elevator operator reappears and recreating the tragic event. Sometimes he takes victims with him in his recreated event. People can hear the screams and the sound of the elevator swooshing through the vertical corridor as it makes its way to the bottom. I must of been in the first or second grade when I read this and it scared the daylights out of me. The hand drawn picture that was on my SRA story card was spooky enough. Chills ran up and down my spine and I read it. I don't think it was the ghost part of the story that scared me. It was the realization at such a tender age that elevators, and their cables, could break causing the elevator to soar to the bottom of the building. Thankfully I didn't have to go into elevator's that much.
Now I can handle going into an elevator one or two floors with no problem. I figure I have a better chance of survival from a lower height in case something does go wrong. Also, being closer to the ground if the elevator does plummet it would be a shorter fall time-wise. I probably won't have time to think about what just had happened. If I am 20+ stories high then I am going to have a moment to think, "Oh crap! I am falling to my death in a tin box!" I wouldn't want my last thoughts to be like that.
I never realized how bad my fear was until my senior class trip in high school. We went to Chicago and visited the Sears Tower, or what is now called the Willis Tower. It was the tallest building in the world from 1973 to 1998. It beat out the first World Trade Tower and was finally surpassed by the Petronas Twin Towers. The observation deck in on the 103rd floor of the building. An elevator can go from the ground floor to the 103rd floor in around a minute time. It is so fast that people can feel the pressure change as they go up.
Outside of the building I remember looking up, straight up, to see the height of where we were going. If I am ascending to the near the top of the tower in 60 seconds then how quickly would I be descending if the cables broke? How strong are the cables? Are the cables getting overused and worn down and going to snap during my rise to the top? These thoughts flooded my mind.
Our teacher ushered us inside and made our way through the zigzag of ropes and video stations of how the Sears Tower was made. Watching that only strengthened my fear. We neared the elevators. A fear like I had never known swept across me. I begged my teacher for me to stay back. He wouldn't let me. I was forced to go. I tried not to make a huge scene as I pleaded with the teacher that I could not do this. He didn't care. He couldn't let a student stay behind. I understand his point of view but how I wished there was an adult that would have stayed back with me. Several of my classmates and I crowded into an elevator. The doors shut. My eyes closed. I was near the side wall holding on to a railing. I had to remind myself to exhale slowly. I could feel the elevator starting to rise. The other students were having fun whooping it up with the feeling. Some thought it was fun trying to jump in the elevator. I could feel the elevator starting to sway and shake a bit. I couldn't tell if it was from the students or if it is was normal for the elevator to move like that. I crouched down on the ground still holding onto the bar for dear life. I started screaming, "MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP! I WANT TO GET OFF!" Tears started to trickle down my face. I didn't care anymore about not making a scene. I was beyond petrified. Finally the elevator stopped. I couldn't breathe. The elevator moved down slightly to adjust itself. When I felt that downward motion I believed that the elevator was ready to make its way careening downward and I was preparing myself to be lifted off the ground due to the fall. I did manage to find enough to breath to shout out, "WHY DID WE STOP? WHAT'S GOING ON? WHAT'S WRONG?!"
The doors opened. The students happily made their way out of the elevator and onto the observation deck. I literally crawled on my hands and knees out of the elevator. I was so happy to be out of the can of death. My legs were so numb and weak they couldn't support me. I crawled my way to a bench and pulled myself up to a sitting position. I sat there for a moment while my body regained feeling and I was able to breathe again.
The view was stunning. On all sides of the building we could see forever. While looking around the different windows my eyes kept shifting around looking for an exit with a stair sign. I couldn't get truly comfortable because I knew we would have to be going back down the elevator. DOWN! I even asked the teacher if I could take the stairs and he laughed and said the stairs don't go that high. I didn't know whether to believe him or not and he probably thought I was joking. I really wasn't joking. I needed those stairs. I really didn't think my body would let me enter the elevator again.
The time passed to quickly and we had to enter the elevator. I found my position against the wall snuggling up against the bar that wrapped around the elevator. I knew if the elevator were to fall nothing, not even the bar, was going to save me yet grabbing it gave me a sense of control. Like normal students they had their fun jumping up and down as we descended towards the bottom. I scrunched down towards the bottom of the elevator murmuring under my breath, "Please, God, Please, God. Please, God!" Finally we were at ground level and the doors opened. I was so happy to be out of there.
About two years later my husband and I took a trip to Chicago with our infant son. Brian wanted to go up the Sears Tower. I didn't think I could do it again but I told myself I am a mom and I need to find the strength to go up to the top with my husband and son. It took every ounce of prayer to get me to the top but we did it. I was numb from doing it and my husband realized how much of a fear I have with elevators. We went back just after the birth of our third child in 2000. Brian wanted to go back up the tower but I physically couldn't handle doing that again. The fearless mommy superpower that I thought all mother obtained somehow passed me by. I was able to do it with my first born but as I got older I think the fear grew more inside of me and I could not do it.
One time my mother treated her children and in-laws out to a fancy restaurant in Grand Rapids. I am not exactly sure where we were at but we took one elevator upwards to view the lights of Grand Rapids. I was a little nervous going up high but I knew it wasn't like the Sears Tower. Going down we took a different set of elevators. This elevator had glass on the outside so you could fully see outside. I totally freaked out demanding that the elevator stopped and that I needed to get off. My family never knew this fear in me before and was totally shocked by my behavior, especially sense I was a grown woman. I apologized for my behavior when we reached the bottom as I didn't even expect to react the way that I did. It just happened. I had no control over the fear I was facing.
Last year when my mother-in-law passed away she was up on the seventh floor of the hospital. My husband asked me if I was able to handle it or if I would rather take the stairs. I wanted to take the stairs but time was our enemy and we had to reach the seventh floor quickly. I entered the elevator and took a deep breath. My husband would try to crack a joke to help calm me down and relax me. Mentally I would try to displace where I was at and not think about the elevator cables breaking and the elevator falling to the bottom. Maybe it was the realization that I was in a hospital and if anything were to happen to the elevator that would probably be the best place for it to happen especially with medical staff being right there.
Elevator accidents do happen. The Census of Fatal Occupational Injuries reports about 20 deaths per year related to elevators. Most deaths that do occur are mostly due to maintenance workers working on the elevators or careless reckless errors due to elevator riders.
The link below recaps 10 terrible elevator accidents. Perhaps after reading some you may find yourself suffering a bit from sursumdeorsumphobia.
http://listverse.com/2011/12/23/10-tragic-elevator-accidents/
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
The Impact of Salem's Lot
My details of the movie may have been vague as I was a young child watching this. Salem's Lot was probably my first horror movie that I watched. I have seen others throughout my lifetime but none had left such an eerie impression upon my life. After that when my sister had to watch me she would find it amusing by telling me that the creatures were outside ready to get me. She would have my older brother hide outside my window and knock at it making me think the creature was actually there. To make me stay in bed she would tell me if I got out of bed the creature would get me. In terror I would hide under the covers, as if the covers had some magical protection powers of their own, and refuse to come out of the bed. I wouldn't even dare to stick my hand or foot over the bed's edge in case the creatures would pull me under the bed and devour me. When my sister would be in a real playful mood she would go into the other room and scream like she was being attacked and I would freeze in horror on my bed with the door shut praying the morning would soon come and mom would be there giving comfort to the home.
For the longest time I couldn't look out the window at night. I still find it difficult to do so. When I walk around the house my eyes avoid the window's in fear of finding a face staring back at me. I have become so used to not looking at a window at night that I don't have to remind myself not to look. It just comes naturally.
I flat out refuse to watch that movie ever again. My sister will call me and tell me when it is playing on a certain channel to tease me. That fear and terror that was inside of me was too intense to ever want those feelings again. I have watched other horror movies growing up but none has left such an effect on me. But I am going to overcome my fear. Just today, actually, I stopped at a yard sale and they had the Salem's Lot movie. I purchased it. Thirty years later I am sure I will look at the movie differently. I probably will realize that the movie really isn't all that scary and it is probably cheesy with the old film technology. I just need the courage and the endurance to watch it.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Abandoned Cemetery of Evart
A driver drives slowly on south River rd. in Evart. The mighty Muskegon River is just to the right of them. A car turns left unto a gated overgrown 2-track road and parks in front of the steel gate. There is a gap on either side of the gate where a person can squeeze on through and walk up the path up a little hill. The sounds of twigs snapping and leaves rustling adds to the symphony of birds chirping in the distance. The sun tries to shine its light through the trees casting a myriad of rays to help illuminate the area. No signs are present to say where you are walking to but you know what lays up ahead. The old abandoned cemetery in Evart, Mi., otherwise knows as the Holy Cross Cemetery.
I love walking through cemeteries. There is something peaceful about it. As I walk past tombstones I look to see who the person is and how long they lived. Unfortunately I will sometimes walk past a grave of a young child. I look at the year and see 1918. I realize a large flu epidemic was sweeping across the nation at that time. Could this young child have died from this flu? I ask myself. I stand at the gravesite and look around. 95 years prior this child's family stood on this same piece of Earth mourning their loss. I look at the surroundings and take note of the trees. I try to imagine some of the younger trees gone and the older tall trees to look smaller. Was there a reason the family chose this particular spot to bury their child? Is this child still remembered even after all these years or is the grave and name forgotten about? I will stand and ponder some of these questions. I will walk around and note some of the other graves that might have a memorial plaque next to them that says they served their country. I will look at the dates and see if they died after they served or was their life ended early by the horrors of war. Some headstones will have neat sayings on them, pictures (either carved into the stone or actual photographs) and some I have even seen with their children's names on the back side of the stone. Our headstone is one of our last tangible item we leave for others to know that we were here in Earth at one point in history and most of the time we pass away leaving that part up to living family members to decide what to put on it.
It was a few years after we moved to Osceola County that I read a newspaper article about an organization trying to fix the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery that sadly slipped from many residence's memory and forgot about. In the article they talked about how many of the stones were so old that the names and dates were hard to read. I became very curious to where this cemetery was located and I wanted to check it out for myself. My husband and I asked around a few businesses to see where the cemetery was located. We got some help from the library and another place of business gave us a good indication of where to look. We eventually found it and took the children to go see it, as they also have an enjoyment of visiting cemeteries.
Walking up the hill we soon start to see headstones popping out from the tall weeds as if they were greeting us on our arrival. We started walking towards a tombstone when we stumbled into a dip in the ground and lost our footing. We gained our balance and noticed the unnatural rectangular shape to the dip. We soon realized that the "dip" in the ground was from the decomposed casket and body. We quickly stepped up on higher ground. We looked around and realized there was a whole row of rectangular "dips" that were missing the headstones. These people are now forever nameless and forgot about. No one can go back through their genealogy and claim them as a past ancestor and visit their final resting place. It's sad. No one should be forgotten about.
How was it that this cemetery be forgotten about? Good question. Evart was a logging, transient type of town that was organized in 1872. Different logging companies would come in, cut their wood and eventually move on. Some bring their families with them and other set forth on their own. People died. If the person was working with the logging camps around the late 1800's and a person perished with no family around they cannot send the body back home. Refrigeration wasn't that good back then and the body would spoil. That would not be a pleasant thing for a grieving family to have to deal with. So they would bury the body in a nearby cemetery. The area was a new area. If a husband or wife passes on and they don't have outside family around then the living spouse might take the remaining family back to where they came from to get help in raising the children. So they move away leaving the deceased loved one behind with no one to tend to the grave.
The cemetery didn't start at this location on S. River rd. The church burned down but the cemetery remained. In the 1950's GM built an auto plant, Ventra, where the catholic church used to be but the cemetery had to be moved for the parking lot to go in. Loved ones were contacted to help move the bodies. Many couldn't be contacted. Some of the names were misplaced with moving of the bodies and no one was there to help name them. Whether some remained on that spot and was paved over is unknown but it does leave it up to imagination of what if. The bodies were then moved over to the spot where they rest now on S. River Rd. ( N 43° 52' 59.99" W 85° 17' 30.01" (43.88333, -85.29167))
I still am baffled at how a cemetery that was moved in the 1950's could be forgotten about so quickly. In the article about the abandoned cemetery it mentioned why the catholic church wasn't tending to this since it was the catholic cemetery. If I remember correctly the catholic church lost or didn't keep the records of this cemetery and they didn't know they were responsible for it.
The best time to view this cemetery would be early spring when the grass is still short and the leaves aren't fully on the trees yet so the sun can shine brightly on the ground. It also makes it easier to see the "dips" with the grass and weeds kept low. If anyone does venture out in that direction I ask that you please be respectful and not touch the stones as they are fragile with their age. Thank you.
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| The entrance to the abandoned cemetery. |
I love walking through cemeteries. There is something peaceful about it. As I walk past tombstones I look to see who the person is and how long they lived. Unfortunately I will sometimes walk past a grave of a young child. I look at the year and see 1918. I realize a large flu epidemic was sweeping across the nation at that time. Could this young child have died from this flu? I ask myself. I stand at the gravesite and look around. 95 years prior this child's family stood on this same piece of Earth mourning their loss. I look at the surroundings and take note of the trees. I try to imagine some of the younger trees gone and the older tall trees to look smaller. Was there a reason the family chose this particular spot to bury their child? Is this child still remembered even after all these years or is the grave and name forgotten about? I will stand and ponder some of these questions. I will walk around and note some of the other graves that might have a memorial plaque next to them that says they served their country. I will look at the dates and see if they died after they served or was their life ended early by the horrors of war. Some headstones will have neat sayings on them, pictures (either carved into the stone or actual photographs) and some I have even seen with their children's names on the back side of the stone. Our headstone is one of our last tangible item we leave for others to know that we were here in Earth at one point in history and most of the time we pass away leaving that part up to living family members to decide what to put on it.
It was a few years after we moved to Osceola County that I read a newspaper article about an organization trying to fix the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery that sadly slipped from many residence's memory and forgot about. In the article they talked about how many of the stones were so old that the names and dates were hard to read. I became very curious to where this cemetery was located and I wanted to check it out for myself. My husband and I asked around a few businesses to see where the cemetery was located. We got some help from the library and another place of business gave us a good indication of where to look. We eventually found it and took the children to go see it, as they also have an enjoyment of visiting cemeteries.
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| My daughter, Ashton, trying to figure out one of the hard to read headstones. Pic taken May 2009 |
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| Pic taken May 2009. My son Halvor and Christian in the background. |
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| Pic taken May 2009 |
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| One of the family plots. Pic taken May 2009 |
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| Pic taken May 2009 |
It was easy to tell where a family plot was located by bricks that made a huge square around an area. Some headstones were still erect within the stone square but others were broken or missing. One area was even loosely fenced in and a military plaque was placed next to one of their headstones. One headstone was even handmade which made me wonder if the family didn't have enough funds to purchase a proper headstone. Ironically, the homemade headstone looks better than the proper made ones.
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| The writing is still there but it is started to look faded. Pic taken July 2013 Pic credited to L. Morrone |
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| Guardian Angel placed next to an unknown stone Pic taken July 2013 Pic credited to L. Morrone |
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| Time weathered away the name on this stone. You can kind of make out the dip in front of the stone from the pic. Pic taken July 2013 Pic credited to L. Morrone |
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| Top part of the grave marker vandalized. Pic taken July 2013 Pic credited to L. Morrone |
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| Unknown stone Pic taken July 2013 Pic credited to L. Morrone |
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| Another tombstone that weathered away who was laid at rest there. Pic taken July 2013 Pic credited to L. Morrone |
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| It was odd how the ferns grew up right over where the body would be. Pic taken July 2013 Pic credit to L. Morrone |
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| Someone has been maintaining this gravesite. Pic taken July 2013 Pic credit to L. Morrone |
How was it that this cemetery be forgotten about? Good question. Evart was a logging, transient type of town that was organized in 1872. Different logging companies would come in, cut their wood and eventually move on. Some bring their families with them and other set forth on their own. People died. If the person was working with the logging camps around the late 1800's and a person perished with no family around they cannot send the body back home. Refrigeration wasn't that good back then and the body would spoil. That would not be a pleasant thing for a grieving family to have to deal with. So they would bury the body in a nearby cemetery. The area was a new area. If a husband or wife passes on and they don't have outside family around then the living spouse might take the remaining family back to where they came from to get help in raising the children. So they move away leaving the deceased loved one behind with no one to tend to the grave.
The cemetery didn't start at this location on S. River rd. The church burned down but the cemetery remained. In the 1950's GM built an auto plant, Ventra, where the catholic church used to be but the cemetery had to be moved for the parking lot to go in. Loved ones were contacted to help move the bodies. Many couldn't be contacted. Some of the names were misplaced with moving of the bodies and no one was there to help name them. Whether some remained on that spot and was paved over is unknown but it does leave it up to imagination of what if. The bodies were then moved over to the spot where they rest now on S. River Rd. ( N 43° 52' 59.99" W 85° 17' 30.01" (43.88333, -85.29167))
I still am baffled at how a cemetery that was moved in the 1950's could be forgotten about so quickly. In the article about the abandoned cemetery it mentioned why the catholic church wasn't tending to this since it was the catholic cemetery. If I remember correctly the catholic church lost or didn't keep the records of this cemetery and they didn't know they were responsible for it.
The best time to view this cemetery would be early spring when the grass is still short and the leaves aren't fully on the trees yet so the sun can shine brightly on the ground. It also makes it easier to see the "dips" with the grass and weeds kept low. If anyone does venture out in that direction I ask that you please be respectful and not touch the stones as they are fragile with their age. Thank you.
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
50 Year Anniversary of Desegregation in Alabama
September 10, 1963, twenty black students were able to attend Alabama public schools for the first time. This is not the Little Rock, Arkansas that we are most familiar with but this is one of the milestones of the civil rights movement.
During the time of the 1954 Brown Vs. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas 17 states were segregated as well as the District of Columbia. These states were Delaware, Maryland, Missouri, Kentucky, Virginia, West Virginia, Oklahoma, Texas, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Massachusetts, North Carolina, South Carolina, Indiana, Louisiana, and Arkansas. The decision overturned the separate but equal ruling and declared that it violated equal protection of the 14th amendment. In short, blacks and whites should be taught at the same school.
As with all government actions things don't happen as quickly as they should. 1963 was the year John F. Kennedy pushed to desegregate the south. Eleven states and 144 school districts desegregated with out any problems. Birmingham, Alabama resisted as much as they could. Even the governor George C. Wallace was fighting to keep the schools segregated. Kennedy told Wallace that he was willing to use any armed forces necessary to desegregate the schools. Eventually Wallace backed down. Four days later on September 15, 1963 the 16th Street Baptist Church was bombed killing 4 young ladies. The violence in the south would get worse before it would get better. This was a dark time in America's history.
Could you image the feeling of these 20 students must of felt attending school at these institutions for the first time? They must of felt so alone and scared. But this needed to be done to help our nation unite. These children were picked out to lead others into becoming one school. It wasn't easy for them. They had to be guarded with our own military to attend class. Think about that for a moment. Today we take for granted of students of any race coming in and out of the doorways of the school without a second thought. But it was paved on the tears and fears of those students 50 years ago.
I am reminded of a lesson a teacher taught us back in my early elementary years of segregation. We had a boys drinking fountain and a girls drinking fountain. She had the boys line up at the girls fountain and us girls had to line up at the boys drinking fountain for all of us to drink from. We giggled and jested as we took a drink from the other fountain. Obviously the water is piped in to the fountains by the same pipe but the only difference was they were a short distance from each other. None of us liked it. We preferred our own drinking fountain. It wasn't easy to do. After that experiment we still went back to our regular drinking fountain without a second thought.
I realize now that our teacher was trying to tell us that it doesn't matter which drinking fountain we drink from. They are one and the same. The color of our skin may be different but our pipes, or our inner organs are all the same. There isn't a difference.
There is a part of Martian Luther King jr.'s August 28th, 1963 speech of "I have a Dream" where he says, "...little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers..." Have we achieved that dream yet? Although the schools are now as one but there is still a separation of races within the schools. Take a look at any major school cafeteria at lunch time or a shopping mall. Generally you will find colored groups flocked around together whether it be yellow, white, red or black. Now there may be the occasional black person or two with a group of white people or visa versa but majority stick to their own race. That is not being as one as Martin Luther King Jr. dreamed of.
We have come a long way from 50 short years ago. It was just a short time in our nation's history that blacks couldn't share our drinking fountain or ride in front of the bus. Now look around at the change that has taken place. What will happen in the next 50 years?
During the time of the 1954 Brown Vs. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas 17 states were segregated as well as the District of Columbia. These states were Delaware, Maryland, Missouri, Kentucky, Virginia, West Virginia, Oklahoma, Texas, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Massachusetts, North Carolina, South Carolina, Indiana, Louisiana, and Arkansas. The decision overturned the separate but equal ruling and declared that it violated equal protection of the 14th amendment. In short, blacks and whites should be taught at the same school.
As with all government actions things don't happen as quickly as they should. 1963 was the year John F. Kennedy pushed to desegregate the south. Eleven states and 144 school districts desegregated with out any problems. Birmingham, Alabama resisted as much as they could. Even the governor George C. Wallace was fighting to keep the schools segregated. Kennedy told Wallace that he was willing to use any armed forces necessary to desegregate the schools. Eventually Wallace backed down. Four days later on September 15, 1963 the 16th Street Baptist Church was bombed killing 4 young ladies. The violence in the south would get worse before it would get better. This was a dark time in America's history.
Could you image the feeling of these 20 students must of felt attending school at these institutions for the first time? They must of felt so alone and scared. But this needed to be done to help our nation unite. These children were picked out to lead others into becoming one school. It wasn't easy for them. They had to be guarded with our own military to attend class. Think about that for a moment. Today we take for granted of students of any race coming in and out of the doorways of the school without a second thought. But it was paved on the tears and fears of those students 50 years ago.
I am reminded of a lesson a teacher taught us back in my early elementary years of segregation. We had a boys drinking fountain and a girls drinking fountain. She had the boys line up at the girls fountain and us girls had to line up at the boys drinking fountain for all of us to drink from. We giggled and jested as we took a drink from the other fountain. Obviously the water is piped in to the fountains by the same pipe but the only difference was they were a short distance from each other. None of us liked it. We preferred our own drinking fountain. It wasn't easy to do. After that experiment we still went back to our regular drinking fountain without a second thought.
I realize now that our teacher was trying to tell us that it doesn't matter which drinking fountain we drink from. They are one and the same. The color of our skin may be different but our pipes, or our inner organs are all the same. There isn't a difference.
There is a part of Martian Luther King jr.'s August 28th, 1963 speech of "I have a Dream" where he says, "...little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers..." Have we achieved that dream yet? Although the schools are now as one but there is still a separation of races within the schools. Take a look at any major school cafeteria at lunch time or a shopping mall. Generally you will find colored groups flocked around together whether it be yellow, white, red or black. Now there may be the occasional black person or two with a group of white people or visa versa but majority stick to their own race. That is not being as one as Martin Luther King Jr. dreamed of.
We have come a long way from 50 short years ago. It was just a short time in our nation's history that blacks couldn't share our drinking fountain or ride in front of the bus. Now look around at the change that has taken place. What will happen in the next 50 years?
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
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.
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.
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