Kindergarten

My big brother, Scott, who was in 2nd grade walked me to my classroom that was all the way past the office and down at the end of the hall to the right. Thank goodness he was there. I was scared to death. Scott was my savior in so many ways. I always felt safe by his side and this was one of those times when I truly appreciated the fact that he was so strong and brave.

I wore two long tightly woven braids. One on each side of my head with thick rubber bands tying them at the ends. I was probably wearing an outfit that used to be my sisters. Most likely I had on a bran new pair of tennis shoes that grandma had given me for my birthday a few weeks earlier. I would have bugged my mom for weeks to wear them, but they always had to be saved for the first day of school.

I hung my backpack in the hallway and walked into my kindergarten classroom where I instantly became best friends with Sunshine Dawn Scott. Sunshine and I were exact opposites. Where I was a little on the heavy side, Sunshine was a little on the slender side. My hair was dark brown, long, curly and out of control. Sunshine’s was dark brown, long, straight and silky smooth. I was a little on the pale side. Sunshine had olive skin. Despite our differences, we became friends instantly. Perhaps it was because we both came with unusual names. Two names that naturally should be brought together. Sunshine and Robin. It was just so natural.

My teacher was Mrs. F. She was young and tall. Very tall. Now I’m not sure if she was really that tall, or I was so short, but I’m sure she was tall. She had short dark hair and was the kindest most beautiful person I had ever met.

Mrs. F. gathered us in the corner of the room on the carpet by the piano where we sang songs and watched movies about the Letter People. Mrs. F. let Mrs. J. the school counselor would sometimes come in and stand in the front of the room and teaches about something with awesome puppets. Mrs. F. let me play in the sand at the sand table. Mrs. F. had the most awesome dress up clothes and she let me play house. She let me build with block and knock them down.

Mrs. F. was also pregnant. She had a baby that year and for the six weeks she was gone, Mrs. K. came as our substitute teacher. Mrs. K. was the exact opposite as Mrs. F. She was old and short and grumpy. Going to school those six weeks were pure torture. The worst was naptime. As we drug out our red and blue kindergarten mats and laid them on the floor, we were required to stay absolutely still. I tried so hard, but I just couldn’t. When naptime was over, Mrs. K. would go around with her long yardstick and tap the most still students first. I always seemed to be one of the last. I swear I almost died during those six weeks and was more than excited when Mrs. F. came back.

I remember the struggle and embarrassment when I wrote my name backwards. I only started writing it the right way when my sister teased me ruthlessly calling me Nibor. I remember in the coat closet the chart with all the stickers for the students who knew their address and phone number and I realized that almost everyone else had their stickers and it took me forever to earn mine. I remember getting lists of words that I was supposed to practice at home and Mrs. F. and I gathered at her big teachers desk and she timed me. I remembered it was so hard. I often didn’t pass and had to try again. I remember sitting at my desk filling out worksheets. Circling the pictures that had the same sound. I remember thinking it was easy, only to find out later that I had had no clue at all.

I learned a powerful lesson in Kindergarten. I learned that I was stupid.

1st Grade

I had wanted Mrs. R. to be my teacher so much. She was the cool teacher with all the animals in her room and she hatched chicks and everything. My big brother Scott had liked her and I was disappointed when I got Mrs. S., but the day I walked into the room I changed my mind in a second! I fell in love with Mrs. S. in about two seconds. And Sunshine was in my class, so I was ecstatic.

Mrs. S. gave me a love of reading. She sat us down on a run and read out loud to us. She read us the book The Box Car Children. In my opinion it was the best book ever. I wanted to read just like Mrs. S. so I could read the book too. Even today, that book is one of my very favorites.

I remember eating breakfast with Mrs. S. Everyone had the opportunity to eat with her one day and I remember how excited I was when it was my groups turn. It was one of the most exciting things ever!

1st Grade was the year I started Chapter Reading. I loved it. I got to leave the class during reading time and work with two ladies in a different room. When I was in there, I felt like I was smart. If I did good work we earned red, blue and white poker chips and we then got to go the store and buy prizes. But when I got back to the classroom the kids were checking out books from the classroom library to take home. I would try, but the books were so hard. They were all reading The Pig Can Jig and it was just so hard for me. The feeling of being stupid were only confirmed in 1st grade.

Mostly I remember getting sick in 1st grade. 3 times my mom had to come in and pick me up because I had vomited at school. I remember the last time so vividly. We were singing a very long Letter People song to Mrs. A’s class. We were standing in the front of the room singing our hearts out, but I just wasn’t feeling so great. I was near the end of the line and Mrs. S. was sending students to the library during our mini concert. I remember feeling hot, clammy and not at all well, but knew if I could go to the library and stop singing, I would be okay. Finally it was my turn and I went to the library. Getting out of the hot stuffy room made me feel so much better. I lingered in the library as long as the librarians let me hoping the song would be over before I got back. However, they were still singing the song, so I took my place back in line and started singing. The feeling came back instantly. While singing about W I finally couldn’t handle it any longer and I vomited all over my desk which happen to be right in front of me.

My mom came and picked me up. She had asked what I had eaten for lunch and I told her burritos. I didn’t like burritos, but Sunshine did. If you wanted to sit by your friends, you had to order the same lunch. So since Sunshine wanted burritos, so did I. My mom concluded that each time I had gotten sick, I had had a burrito.

In first grade I learned to stay away from burritos!

2nd Grade

Second Grade was rather uneventful. I was happy I didn't get Mrs. L. She was the yelling/screaming type of teacher that you could hear across the building. I got Mrs. A.

My brother had had Mrs. A. and had adored her. I did too.

Sunshine was again in my class. But I also was good friends with Bobby Watson. Bobby Watson was the brother of my sisters best friend. Bobby was goofy and fun to hand out with. Bobby was also the boy who always got in trouble. I helped Bobby stay out of trouble that year. I sometimes wish that as we got older Bobby and I would have been in the same class. Perhaps I could have helped him stay out of trouble more when we got older. He wasn't my "boyfriend", but I loved Bobby as much as I loved Sunshine. I just wish I could have been there for him when he needed me.

3rd Grade

There is so much to say about 3rd Grade. It was a year of agony and defeat.

First I had Mrs. T. My big brother had had her twice and I expected to love her. Scott had and I did like Mrs. T.

3rd Grade represented the year I missed everything that was important to me. You see I loved music. Each year we had 2 music performances. One at Christmas one in the Spring. I was ill for the Christmas performance and also again for the Spring performance. The spring performance was the worse. I had been selected to play an instrument for one of our songs. It hurt so bad to miss that day!

For Christmas we had prepared a play for the day before Christmas break. I had been given the part of a mouse and had a cool costume I was so proud of. I had memorized my lines and we were to perform for family and friends. The night before a huge snow storm came through and school was canceled. I was devastated. All break I held out hopes that we would do the performance after we got back, only for the hope to be ripped away during the first hour back to school.

Third grade was the year I got my first Secret Admire letter for a Valentine. It was the only year I actually read my Valentine's. I went home and compared my Valentines to my class list and found out it was Joe Hovet. Joe was the kid no one liked. I should say Joe was the kid who no one would accept. People teased him. People stayed far away from Joe. Joe spent recess driving around like a school bus stopping every once in awhile to ask if you wanted to get aboard. No one ever did. He was still doing this when he was in high school walking down the halls from class to class. Joe had no "reason" for doing this. He was "normal" by all other aspects. He had a twin brother Dan, who was "normal". Dan was quiet. Didn't say much. Sometimes it seemed he was Joes only friend. One of the only ones willing to get on Joe's bus. I think Dan had a hard time "fitting in" because he was in Joe's shadow. Their parents were quite older than most of her parents. I remember Joe's dad came in once to speak to the class about his job. We were amazed to find out that Joe's dad was blind and he fixed computers. He would fix all the little inside pieces without being able to see a thing. I was amazed.

I accepted Joe. Joe was a little odd, but he was nice. You could even say he was a friend in elementary school. In fact I was invited to Joe and Dan's birthday party once. I remember Joe's mom called and talked to my mom. She told her I would be the only girl. My mom asked if I wanted to go, and I said yes. I had a pretty good time.

I should have been excited about the fact that I was "graduating" for my special reading class. But I wasn't. I was devastated. I loved my reading class. I remembered what it was like trying to read with the rest of the class. I didn't want to go. I was given a week. That week I tried to "flunk" everything I did. I even had the two teachers questioning whether I was ready to reenter the regular classroom, until they worked with me independently and figured out what was going on. I've never been a good liar.

The week was over and I was placed back into the regular reading class. For reading practice We read SRA's cards and answered questions about the story we read. Mrs. T. asked Sunshine to teach me how. So Sunshine got a card out for her and a card out for me and told me what to do. I did my work and turned it in.

Mrs. T. called me up. I had missed a few and she told me that I had to start at the beginning. So I went back to the box and grabbed the first card. I raced through because I wanted to be caught up to Sunshine, and the rest of the class.

The next day, Mrs. T. called me up again. I had missed a lot. She told me I needed to be on card 1. So, I went back to the box and looked and looked for the 1st card. I got a friend to help me look. We couldn't find it anywhere. Finally I had to ask Mrs. T. for help. She went to the shelf where the cards were kept. Then she realized that she had packed away the box that had cards 1-18 in them. She got the box out of a cupboard and placed it next to the second box which contained cards 19-36.

The next day I took card 1 and raced through it as fast as I could. I was the only one in box 1. I felt embarrassed. I quickly finished that card and went on as fast as I could. I finished a whole bunch and turned them in.

The next day Mrs. T. called me up again. She had graded my SRA's and they weren't pretty. She talked to me and told me that I had to slow down and do my very best. She told me if I missed too many, I had to redo them. So I went back to card 1 and tried again. This time I took my time. It took me SO long to read the card. Other classmates read them quickly. I couldn't usually get a card done, so the next day, I'd have to start over because I couldn't remember what I had read the previous day.

I was so discouraged. I was always trying to play catch up and never succeeded. Towards the end of the year, my classmates finished up their SRA's and I had to keep on going.

Third grade was the year I relearned I was stupid. The lesson that I took with me from 3rd grade was that I was stupid and there wasn't anything I could do about it, but that's not nearly as bad as what I took away from 4th grade.

And then I learned Sunshine was moving away...

4th Grade

4th grade was the worst year of my life. This was the year that the 3 elementary schools came together to one school. It was the year I had Mrs. S. She hated me. She hated everyone. She never smiled. She was always unhappy. For someone with an upbeat personality like me, it almost killed me.

I remember my mom coming home from the first parent teacher conference. We sat down at the table eating our lunch and my mom asked me what was wrong with school. I told her nothing was wrong and she knew I was lying because Mrs. S. had said I was quiet. You see, I was never "quiet". I broke down in tears and told my mom how awful it was.

I swear I would have died that year if I wouldn't have had an hour of reading class each day with Mrs. Hovendick, the most awesome teacher, and 30 minutes of Social Studies with Mrs. Ramsey who was pretty cool too.

The only really good thing about Mrs. S's class was my new best friend. Sunshine was gone and the first day I instintaniously became best friends with Heather. We shared a locker and that was reason enough to become best friends. That and we both loved horses.

Mrs. S. gave lots of homework. I sometimes forgot to do my homework and Heather would let me cheat off her paper. It was probably the third time that Mrs. S. caught me and embarrased me in front of the whole class. She gave me my very first detention and I won't ever forget having to go down to the office to call my mom. Tears flowing. My mom wasn't going to be happy. Mostly she wasn't happy because she had to drive into town to come pick me up. That wasn't the only time I got detention either. I forgot my homework a couple of times. The worst was when I got detention for kicking Tom.

4th grade was the first time I was ever harassed. There was this boy named Tom in my class and every seating chart except one that year I had to sit next to him. Tom would kick my shins under the desk. I wouldn't kick him back, but when I would tell him to stop, I got in trouble for talking. He would say mean, cruel things to me in the classroom under his breath. At recess, it was even worse. I did mention it to my mom, and she said that boys tease girls sometimes when they like them. The things he would say and do to me probably scared me for life and despite what my mom said, he didn't have a crush on me. Towards the end of the year I couldn't stand it any longer. Tom had been kicking me all day and I just snapped. I kicked him back. He tattled, I got detention. He snickered.

Perhaps I should have told Mrs. S. Perhaps I should have said something, but I was so scared of her. I was afraid to ask her a question. I was afraid I'd get in trouble for tattling. She smiled at me and said hello to me when I was 6th grader in the halls. She probably hadn't really hated me after all. I'm fairly sure that during that year I saw a kind, caring, compassionate side. I just seemed to always have bad timing.

I don't know what I learned in 4th grade. I just know it was the worse 9 months of my life.

5th Grade

5th grade was the year I made the first major decisions that probably effected my whole life.

In 5th grade I was in Mr. U's room and I liked him a lot. He was a good teacher and I had fun in his class. It was rumored that Mr. U came around and massaged girl shoulders to find out if they were wearing a bra. I never believed it, but he did massage the shoulder of girls. I did feel a little uncomfortable when he did it to me, but more because of the rumor, not the action itself. Heather and I were in the same class and we had the first real test of our friendship.

Of course we told each other everything and of course I had divulged the weekend before the fact that I had a crush on Brad Carson. He was so cute and we shared the same birthday. A match made in heaven. I sat next to Brad. Heather sat next to his best friend Steve. Heather decided to write on her book cover "Robin loves _ _ _ _" and of course, Steve guessed and Heather confessed.

I was so embarrassed. So embarrassed that the next day when I woke up I faked like I was sick and my mom said I could stay home from school. It was tough to pretend to be sick. Minutes after the bus left, I think my mom and dad figured out that I was playing hooky. I did my best job at pretending to be ill, but I wasn't a very good actress. That evening my parents decided to take us out to eat. It was kind of weird because we hardly ever ate out. We went to Hardees and guess who was there. If you guess Brad...you were wrong. It was Mr. U. Isn't that a coincidence that the day I did a lousy job at pretending to be sick that my teacher would happen to be at the same restaurant? I often wonder if my mother planned it.

The next day I wanted to stay home again. I was still so embarrassed, but I knew there was no way I would be able to pull it off a 2nd day. So I went to school. And Brad actually asked me if I liked him. Of course I denied the whole thing. There was no way he would like me back and I had to protect myself from the rejection, the humiliation. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I would have admitted to him I liked him. He asked, so maybe he did like me. It could have changed the course of the whole year.

5th grade was also a year when I remembered yet again I was stupid. This time for 2 reasons. I was in love with the TV program Little House on the Prairie. So naturally I wanted to check out the books and read them. Mr. U had them in his classroom library and I checked one out. I opened the book and I read the first page probably 100 times. I really wanted to read the book, but I could never make it past the 1st page. Eventually I had to check the book back in. I tried to check out and read the book several times that year. Each time remembering that I wasn't smart enough to read it.

The other reason I was stupid in 5th grade had nothing to do with academics and still today I don't think it was stupid despite what everyone else says. You see, I was never a small girl. Short, but not small. But there was a girl in our class, Carrie, who was at least twice my size. She had been picking on me an so I challenged her to a fight after school, across the street in the alley behind the church. You see I was smart enough to know you got in big trouble if you got in a fight on school property. The only real stupid thing is that I wrote my challenge in the form of a letter and Carrie gave the letter to Mr. U. Mr. U. laughed but had to contact my mother, who also thought it was a little funny. My mother of course talked to me, but mostly asked what I was thinking. Proclaimed that Carrie could just sit on me. I however still believe I could have taken her out. I was faster, stronger. I know I could have done it. No one else seemed to think so, but I sure did/do.

The biggest life altering 5th grade decision I made had to do with Sunshine and Heather. You see, midway through 5th grade, Sunshine moved back. I had to make a choice. I could be Sunshine's best friend or Heather's best friend. I couldn't be both. You see at recess there were 2 crowds of girls. There were the girls who played soccer and the girls that jumped rope. Sunshine tried to jump rope and fit in with that group, but it wasn't her. She tried to get me to go and play soccer with the guys and I thought about it. We had been best friends for 4 years and Heather and I had only been best friends for 1.5 years. I however had never played a sport in my life. I didn't know how. Sunshine told me I didn't have to know how that she would teach me, but in the end I chose to stick with Heather. Even though Sunshine and I had 4 years together, Heather and I had 1.5 years of spending the night at each others house (which I had never done with Sunshine). We had surviving 4th grade with Mrs. S. together. By the time Sunshine had moved back, Heather and I were pretty much inseperatable.

In many ways that decision shaped the rest of my school career, if not my whole life. You see, even in 5th grade it was formed that the "popular" kids played sports at recess. If I would have played soccer, I would have been best friends with the prettiest girl in our class and would probably have been "popular" too. It would have changed things, but I will never regret my decision to stay with Heather.

6th Grade

6th grade was the first year I ever felt smart. I had the most awesome teacher in the whole world. Mr. W. was tall and nice and wonderful! I practiced my spelling words, I studied for tests all because if you got a good great you made it into a spelling club or science club and then you got to have pizza for lunch! It was the most awesome thing ever!

Sometimes I felt bad that I lied to Mr. W. You see, each week we were supposed to have our spelling lists signed by an older sibling or a parent. Well, sometimes I forgot and so I would forge my older brothers name. All I had to do was write sloppy. You see Mr. W. had my older brother in class two years before and he knew he had sloppy handwriting. He never questioned me once.

6th grade was the first time I felt dumb in math. I was in the higher of two math groups and so I had to go to Mrs. V's class for math. I didn't jive with her teaching style, or the amount of homework, so I didn't do so well. I was getting a "C" in math and at Parent Teacher Conferences Mr. W. said I could move to the lower math group if I wanted (I had wanted to almost the entire year because I didn't really like Mrs. V.). He didn't really think I should, but it was an option for me. I think I even remember him talking to me about it too. However, we were finally studying something I totally understood, fractions, and I wanted to do what would make Mr. W proud, so despite that fact that I really would have rather been in his class, I stuck with it and got a B in the end.

Thanks Mr. W for believing in me and giving me the motivation to be my best. Thanks for making me think that I was smart.

Junior High

Lets see...Junior High....

Well, in Mr. E's literature class I learned how NOT to read. Since reading wasn't the easiest task for me, when given a book to read, I skimmed...at most....and was able to get a C on the daily quizzes based on the classroom discussion before the quiz. Then as long as I paid attention in class, I get an A on the test because we had covered what the book was about in our class. So, I got a B for the class. Pretty good grade for not having read a single book in his class the whole year.

Mrs. W. taught English and I became an expert at congregating sentences. I can still congregate with the best of them. I guess you could say I learned that in school. But I never use the skill and don't even know why it was so important. I'm just not asked very often to identify the noun, verb, adjectives, adverbs and prepositional phrases very often. What I'll always remember about Mrs. W. was my campaign. You see, Mrs. W. let everyone choose their own seat when she made a seating chart. One day when everyone moved, but I stayed in my seat in the front of the class. I kind of liked the space. But then Justin, moved into the seat behind me. Justin and I had a love/hate relationship and the minute he sat down, I tried to move. Mrs. W. wouldn't let me. I pleaded with her for about 10 minutes, but she wouldn't let me move. The next day I came with a little flag on a stick that said, "Let Me Move". I said nothing. Just placed the little flag on my desk. As Mrs. W. took attendance she caught sight of my little flag. The next 10 minutes of class were lost with her laughing hysterically. She was laughing so hard that Mr. E from next door came over to see what was happening. He also thought it was quite humorous and Mr. E. didn't really think anything was too funny. Still, Mrs. W. wouldn't let me move. The next day Mr. E. tried to help me out. He gave me a piece of paper that said "Moses said let my people go" and a piece of tape. So the 2nd day of my campaign I had my little flag and Mr. E's. sign. Once again, a good 10 minutes of class were wasted. My fellow classmates were loving it! On day 3, I had to resort to bribery. I had the flag, the sign and a Snickers. The minute she saw the Snickers, she let me move, and I had won!

Mr. P was a good pre-algebra teacher. Loved his class. Mr. C was a find social studies teacher, but I didn't ever read the text book. I had an awesome Earth Science teacher. I can't remember her name, but I think I liked her content. We studied space. I remember Mr. R's science class...once again, textbooks and I didn't get along, but diecting a worm was cool, at least the 1st day before it was all dried up. Mrs. R. the gym teacher never could get me to figure out what a double dribble was, but she tried.

I joined KICK club, but didn't really fit in because it was all "popular" people. But we put on dances and I liked helping decorate.

Travis dropped a bag of some white powder in the hallway and no, it wasn't baking soda!

That's about all I can remember about Junior High.

High School

High School....

Lets see...9th grade I was hit hard and made some mistakes. My GPA took a nose dive with 5 D's. in Algebra, Science, History, Spanish and American Lit. I didn't read. I didn't study. I was too busy with drama and scouting and of course, I had my first car. I just didn't have time for school after school. Mrs. O tried so hard to get me to a C and I ended up getting one in the end, even though I don't think I deserved it. She knew I had really tried my best. I had the process right...I just never go the right answer. 9th grade was the one year though that I took the 1 class that I actually use. Keyboarding. I learned to type 60 wpm that year and that skill is something I use every day and is invaluable to me now as an adult. I tell my students that often to show how important it is. I think I've convinced quite a few skeptical elementary students. I had my 1st real boyfriend this year. Robbie was a year younger than I was. We wrote long stupid notes to each other and passed them to each other as we passed in the hall. Things were going well until Heather's brother Brad let me know that Robbie was spreading rumors about thing we had done...The relationship ended pretty quickly from there. Another good friend of mine ended up dating him and kept it a secret for awhile. She thought I'd be mad if I found out, and when I did, I could have cared less.

10th grade I got my act together and did much much better. A's and B's and only a C in Spanish. I took Geometry with out Proofs with Mr. R. It was suggested that since I didn't do well in Algebra, I should take the easier Geometry. Well, that ended up not being the right choice. I was a 10th grader in a class with a lot of seniors that had to pass the class to graduate. I was the smartest person in the class and ended up tutoring most of them. Mr. R. came to depend on me. He was a pro at wait time. He would ask a question and wouldn't go on until it was answered. Well, I usually knew the answer, but eventually I got tired of being the smartest and I wouldn't raise my hand all the time. Sometimes though the wait time drug on...I'd be staring at my paper or book, but couldn't stand it any longer. I had to look up at Mr. R. As soon as I made eye contact, he knew I knew the answer. Sometimes he couldn't wait any longer either so he'd call on me anyway, or I'd give up and raise my hand. I think I might have been the only reason Mr. R. survived that year. Mr. R died a few years ago and I wish I would have had the chance to thank him for making me feel smart again and encouraging me to continue my math.

11th grade was the year I lost Heather. She didn't die. She didn't move. I just lost her. I tried so hard to hold on to our friendship. We just were heading in two different directions. No longer on the same path. For the next two years I didn't have a best friend. No one to really confide in. In many ways I was lost. I had a bunch of girl friends. Amy, Misty, Amber, Carrie, Breah, Dawn, Shari, Erin, Francine. They were never the same as the friendship Heather and I had though.

My senior was pretty uneventful. I went to homecoming dressed in my dad's suit with a friend who the day before had been dumped. I went to prom with my girl friends. I was that girl hoping to have a guy ask me, but of course, no one did.

High school was a time for crushes on Scott and Jira that I was too chicken to act on. It was also the time when Todd asked me out and after 2 days I was too embarrassed by the harassment my brother was giving me about getting a phone call from a boy, that I dumped him.

I joined speech and loved it. Went to speech contests. Got 4th at state. I wrote/recorded a speech for a local contest and my teacher Mrs. N. was 100% sure I had won. She even told my mom that she was sure I had won. When the results came back, I hadn't even placed. The whole class was amazed and Mrs. Nielsen pulled me aside sometime later and explained that she didn't understand why I hadn't won an apologized. I really wasn't all that crushed. Surprised, but not crushed.

High school was the time when my Spanish teacher accidentally had my poster for a poster that I had worked a gazillion hour on thrown away. The 2nd year after another gazillion hours, she forgot it at school and didn't remember until we were an hour away. I knew I shouldn't have trusted her, but she refused to let me take it myself.

High school was volunteering at the homeless shelter every Thursday night. High school was spending summers as a camp counsellor. Living in a tent. I wasn't around much for parties. Cruised a little. Just wasn't much to do in that small town. The movie theatre and skating rink had gone out of business. The bowling alley had burnt down.

For 4 years I was involved in every play that was produced. Practice or set work every night of the week till 10 and every Saturday that I wasn't busy with a scouting thing. My senior year I stared in our One Act. When I went to check the wall to see who was casted for what part I was obviously excited to get the part. Mr. A. was standing there. He quietly said to me, "You know why you got the part?" I said no. He said, "You were the only one bitch...I mean witchy enough for the part." The sad part is I took it as a compliment. After 4 years of many hours together, I was pretty close to Mr. A. We performed the one act locally and at a few contest. We performed at the state thespian conference and were even invited to perform at the National conference in Indiana, but the other co-star was leaving for the military right after graduation, so we had to decline the invite.

I'll never forget one night the only people working on the set was Mr. A, myself and one other person. Mr. A asked me what I was going to do after high school and I said go to college. He asked me what I was going to be. I gave him my normal reply of "I don't know". You see, I had decided to become a chef, but very few people knew about it. I just don't think any of my classmates/teachers would understand my love for cooking, so I just thought it would be best if I just didn't tell anyone. He then asked me if I was just going to college to get my M.R.S. degree. I had no clue what he was talking about. He repeated himself again and when I still didn't understand he asked me if I was going to college to find a husband. I denied it. I told him the true reason I was leaving. Told him I had to get out of this town. Apparently he thought this was good enough reason, because he didn't say anymore. And that was probably my main reason for college. I had to get out of that small town.

But before I left, there was Tony. Tony was a Junior in College and wanted more than I was prepared to give him. When Tony couldn't wait, I decided I couldn't stand the town any longer so I packed my belongings and moved away.

College Years

College years were some of the best times of my life. I have to admit sometimes I'd love to do them over again. I wouldn't change much, but knowing what I know now, I might do more, risk more. Too bad youth didn't come with knowledge. I'd love to blog about them, but let's just say if I did, I would no longer be eligible to run for President of the United States. I was probably heading down a road I didn't belong, so it's probably a good thing the fun ended before I really even got started.

Tony, Tori, Eric, Jason, Laura, Jessica, Tim and Red Headed Guy I can no longer remember your name.... Thanks for the fun. Thanks for the memories.

Failure

I remember the first time I failed. Will never forget the first time I couldn't do something.  The first day I disappointed myself.

My brother, Scott, had been working for one of our neighbors, a farmer. I was a 5th grader and my brother came home and told me that I could come and work too. I was so excited. Scott warned me it was hard work and that I would have to get up early. I wasn't afraid of hard work and was excited about earning some money. I knew I could be as strong and work as hard as my big brother.

On Monday morning I started out a little blurry eyed, but ready to go. I was given a long corn knife and warned of its dangers and then sent out down a row to cut down any weeds that might threaten the beans from growing to their potential.

It was hot. It was hard work. At the end of the day my hands ached, blisters had formed and burst. I went home and went to bed right after dinner.

The next morning I got up, the ache had yet to leave my hands. Again we worked long and hard. Over lunch Mr. Navarude, knowing that I was in love with is horse, offered me his horse for a weeks worth of work instead of a paycheck. I was so excited.

I went home and my parents hesitantly said no. You see, my dad had promised me when I was little that I could have a horse when I could lift a bail of hay. I think he figured I'd have grown out of my desire for a horse by the time I could lift a bail of hay. But, I could lift a bail of hay now, and I still wanted a horse, so they actually thought about it, but in the end said no.

On day three I worked as hard as I could, but I just couldn't keep up with my brother. At the end of the day my whole hands were covered with blisters. I went home and wrapped them in ice. As I sat that evening in front of the television, not able to move my hands. I knew I couldn't go the next day. There was no way I could pick up a corn knife again. My hands hurt so badly.

As I cried myself to sleep, I felt worse. I had to admit to myself that I wasn't strong enough. I had to admit, that I had failed. I let myself down, but more importantly I let my brother down. I couldn't complete the job he had volunteered me for. I had failed myself and my brother. I couldn't complete what I had committed to. I didn't like that feeling at all. I vowed to never feel it again. I refused to ever fail again.

The Contest I Wish I Hadn’t Won

When I was in forth grade, I entered a Girl Scout essay contests. I had to write an essay about why I liked Girl Scouting. I remember my mom making me sit down at the end of our dining room table to write. As a young child, reading and writing were difficult for me, so I was reluctant, but motivated by the “prize” for winning.

It wasn’t long until I realized how easy it was to write about something I truly liked. I first brainstormed everything I liked about Girl Scouting. Then I wrote it down in sentences. I remember my mom in the kitchen cooking something and reminding me of things in Girl Scouting that I had done. When I was finished, she came over and sat down in the chair next to me to help me edit it. My mother was great at editing marks. I wonder where she learned them all! She corrected my spelling, punctuation and grammatical errors and showed me where my paragraphs should be. By the time she was done, my paper was full of red ink, but my ideas were still intact.

I sat down and wrote my final draft in my very best cursive handwriting on wide ruled loose-leaf paper. When I was finished, I was so proud of my piece. Here is what it said:


Why I Like Girl Scouts
I like Girl Scouts because it is fun. I like all of the special Service Unit and council events such as, Thinking Day, Juliette Low’s Birthday Party, the Banquet and Brownie Adventure Day.
Last year at Thinking Day we saw Danish Dancers. I like the film “The Golden Eaglet” that we saw at the Juliette Low Birthday Party. I like being able to entertain my mother and father at Banquet. At Brownie Adventure Day I have enjoyed seeing the puppeteer, clown and mime. I like the mime the best.

I like troop meetings too. During my five years as a Girl Scout I have enjoyed singing to senior citizens, having fun parties, learning about different people in other places and working on badges.

Through earning badges I have learned about other people, first aide, horses, traveling, different foods, dancing and computers.

I like camping the best. I like troop camping because I get to sleep in a tent with my friends. I like other Girl Scout Camps such as Day Camp and Resident Camp. At Day Camp I really like the crafts, games, hiking and cooking out. At Resident Camp I like horseback riding, archery and making new friends. I like Girl Scout because it is fun and it keeps getting better.


We sent the essay in and in a few weeks I was informed that I had won the contest. I received two “prizes”. My first “prize” was that I got to go and sit in the VIP section at the Star City Parade. My Girl Scout troop was winter camping at the Girl Scout lodge that weekend and I had packed for a weekend of camping, which would include my mother and I taking off in the brown, station wagon to Lincoln for the parade. When I got up on Saturday morning, I put on the best clothes I had packed. I really hadn’t been thinking that I needed to dress nicely to go to the parade. I put on a pair of hand-me-down, ugly, dark blue, denim jeans along with a hand-me-down, ugly, pink and blue sweater. None of which really fit me all that well.

When I went down the stairs, my mother was appalled at my appearance. She wasn’t a neat freak or a fashion queen and she knew I was the messiest kid in town, but she wasn’t happy with what I was wearing and asked if I had anything else to wear. I don’t remember the exact words she said to me, when I told her it was the best I had packed, but I remember it hurt that she was disappointed. I think I remember her saying she was embarrassed by my appearance. This is the only time in my whole life I remember disappointing my mother and I’ll never forget how it felt. Thank goodness it was a freezing cold December day and I had to keep my coat on the entire time. It helped hide half of the ugliness of my outfit.

We met a lady from the Girl Scouts in Lincoln (who was dressed very fashionably, but not practical for the cold temperatures). I remember sitting on the cold metal bleacher and watching the giant balloons go by. It was so cold though, that it was hard to enjoy the parade, but I did my best despite the freezing temperatures. I remember taking a break from the cold inside a near by bank to warm up a bit, but mostly I remember trying to pull down my coat and hide my ugly jeans from the pretty woman with the beautiful, long, auburn hair sitting next to me. Trying to make my mother less embarrassed by me.

The second part of my “prize” wasn’t much better. I couldn’t sleep the night before. I was just too nervous. I had to wake up early the next morning and again my mother and I traveled to Lincoln to make two Girl Scout cookie commercials at the capital. I had to wear my Girl Scout uniform, so no wardrobe malfunctions this time!

The first commercial was with a group of Girls Scouts from all over. We made the commercial on the steps of the capital building. It was a cold and windy January morning and I remember having to do several takes because the microphone wasn’t catching what the woman was saying against the whipping wind. It didn’t take too long however and it was really exciting. After that, my mother and I ate lunch. I don’t remember going out to eat. We didn’t ever go out to eat, so I think I would remember if we had. So I assume my mom packed a picnic lunch. It was probably tuna fish sandwiches. I’m sure it was good. Everything my mom made was good.

The second commercial was the horror story of my television career. You see, in November there had just been a governor’s election and I was routing for Helen Bosalis. She was a grandmotherly sort of person and a democrat. It was the very first political race I had ever gotten excited about, because I would be making a commercial with whoever won the race. Unfortunate, Helen lost and Kay Orr won. I was devastated. I was less than excited about making a commercial with the new governor, but my mother encouraged me through the whole processes.

The commercial taping didn’t go very well. First of all Governor Orr was late. Not just a little late, over an hour late. Then of course, before we could even start taping, she had to spend about half an hour fixing her hair and makeup. Coming from a family where hair and makeup weren’t important, this was hard for me to understand. It was getting to be late afternoon and I had been up for many many hours by the time we actually started taping. And then, I couldn’t believe it. Governor Orr kept messing up! We had to start over and over again. All she had to do was read a few lines off big white cards, but she couldn’t even do that. My job was to stand next to her while she talked and then on cue I was to look at her and smile. The rest of the time, in order for me to get proper eye contact with the video camera, they placed a Thin Mint cookie on a desk across the room and I was supposed to stare at it and not move. At first I was able to stare with a smile, but by the final take, I was so tired (and irritated at the woman for messing up so many times) that I could no longer smile. By the final take, my face looked blank and exhaustion had consumed me. On the way home, as I sat in the front seat of the big, brown, station wagon alongside my mother, I leaned my head on the car door and fell asleep.

The commercials aired on channels here in Lincoln. I never got to actually see myself on the television, but the pretty lady that took us to the parade taped them for me so I could watch them. I was pretty bad. Kay Orr of course was perfect. Sometimes I think back and wonder, what if I could have just smiled through that commercial. Would some talent scout have noticed me and then I would have become some famous movie star or something? My 15 minutes of fame…wasted on a commercial with a woman I didn’t like.

My picture with the governor and my winning essay were printed in the local paper and I was the star of the town for a short while. I still have the article and I share it every year with my students.

Dear Grandma

June 19, 2006



Dear Grandma,
How’s it going up in heaven? You did so many good things in your life. I couldn’t imagine you anywhere else. Someone who takes care of their husband like you did for so long, deserves a spot in heaven in my mind. Not everyone can care for their bed-ridden husband like you did for so many years.
I’m writing this letter to ask you a question. Why did you choose to die? I really do think it was a choice you made. Your own mother had breast cancer and yet at the age of 65 you hadn’t ever had a mammogram. Your life had just begun again when grandpa died and you married Paul. You got to travel all over the world, and do all the things you couldn’t do when you were caring for grandpa.
But by the time you decided you needed to go see a doctor, the lump was too large and the cancer had most likely gone into your bone. As you laid in recovery, you had that stroke. That was the day you died for me.
I won’t let myself remember those last ten years of your life. You amazed the doctors when you began to walk and talk. I refuse to remember that woman you became. You might have become better, more like yourself if you would have done what the doctors encouraged. If you would have continued your therapy, but you and Paul decided to leave the hospital. You just wanted to go home.
I’ve thrown away all the pictures of you after the stroke. I won’t allow that image of you to penetrate my mind. My image of you will always be the heavyset woman always dressed fashionably in pink. The woman who always had the best manicured nail and went to the beauty salon once a week to have your hair done perfectly. I will only remember the grandma who took us to the zoo or to all the parades. When we came to visit you, we went out for dinner or played a game of croquet. We went to amusement parks, played board games, and took walks to the park. We’d go putt putt golfing and you’d always buy us neat gifts and treats. I remember the closet full of purses and before we could go anywhere, you had to find the right purse for the right occasion. We baked cookies and you told stories. You were the most awesome grandma.
Why did you decided to leave us so early. I really wanted you to see me on my wedding day. I wanted you to meet my children, so that when I talk about my grandma, they would know who you were. But you chose not to take care of yourself. When the cancer finally consumed your entire body, you suffered a slow and painful death. The weekend before you died, was the last time we saw each other, but I won’t allow that image of you to surface.
So if you have the chance, could you please let me know, why when your life was so good, why you didn’t take care of yourself. Why you let yourself die. You robbed our family of your presence and it makes me angry that you did. And when we meet in heaven, I’d like to slap you in the face and then embrace you because I know up in heaven, you are the wonderful grandma all dressed in pink that I remember.

Love,
Robin

The Begining

“Doctor, she’s having a seizure. Her temperature is 106.3.” an nurse frantically called. Immediately the climate of the delivery room changed from an excited mother and father to worried doctors, nurses and parents as the new baby was hooked up to monitors and placed in an ICU. Initial tests were done and the baby was diagnosed as having a type of spinal meningitis very rare in babies. So rare, that there wasn’t any prescribed treatment available. The doctors would have to guess on how much and what type of medicine to give. Twelve needles were placed in the newborn infant’s back and two in her temples to release the fluids and lessen the pressure on the brain. The doctors didn’t give the parents much hope that their baby would survive and if she did, there surely would be brain damage.

The medicine they knew was hard for anyone to swallow, let alone an infant, but the baby guzzled it down letting doctor help her cling to life through fever and seizures, and terrible amounts of pressure on that tiny little brain. She was a bigger baby at a little over 8 pounds and the doctors knew that was something in their favor. She wasn't giving up. She had survived much longer already than they had anticipated.

Each day the mother stayed in the hospital caring for her beloved child. Each day she prayed the 23rd Psalms in hope that her baby would recover. After long days at work, the father would care for the baby at night while the mother went home to her other children.

The grandparents of the baby asked that she be baptized immediately. They were Catholic and were convinced that if the baby died she would go to hell. The mother refused and said that her precious child would be baptized later and if something would happen, the mother and father knew that God would not be so cruel to send a innocent precious child to hell.

Exactly four weeks later, to the amazement of all the doctors and nurses, the baby left the hospital happy and healthy and ready to take on life, and yet, the parents left concerned that maybe their baby wasn't exactly perfect.

At a physical when the child was in 5th grade the doctor asked if there had been any side effects from the meningitous. The mother only responded jokingly, if being weird is one of them. The doctor said no. The child turned out normal. No brain damage. And when the child got older their last fears were taken away. She would be able to have her own children.

That was the very beginnings.

Unanswered Questions--Bad Poetry by Me

Why is it so hard to talk about?
Why haven’t you told me all?
Is it still painful today?
Can we break down this wall?

What were you thinking
When you prayed by my side?
Who else came to visit?
Who just stopped by?

Were you there every moment?
Were you always by my side?
Did you have to keep on working,
Or was work put aside?

How did you tell your family?
Were you scared when you left
That when you came back
You’d find me consumed by death?

Did you ever loose hope?
Did you cry a tear for me?
Who took care of Lisa and Scott?
Do they remember it as an emergency?

Did you tell them I might die?
Did they come to visit me?
Did they see all of the needles?
Did you tell them the whole story?

Did you leave the Catholic Church
When she said I’d go to hell?
I was an infant not baptized.
Please won’t you tell?

Did your business go under
Because of me?
Did I put our whole family
Into financial jeopardy?

Where did you get the money
To pay the hospital bill?
Was there any kind of charity
Or any free will?

There’s so much I do not know.
How you felt, I wish I knew.
What feelings does a parent have
When doctors don’t know what to do?

Did you worry over me
That first year of my life?
Were doctor’s visits something
That you truly did not like?

Did you remember that I almost died
When I was turning one?
Or when I went to school
To learn and have great fun?

As I hit major milestones
Did you look back and wonder,
“What if she had died?”
Was it something you ever pondered?

Why didn’t you tell me
That I may not grow?
Why didn’t you tell me
That I may not have kids of my own?

How did you feel
When you knew that I would?
When the doctors were wrong
And you saw that I could?

On my graduation day,
Did you remember my birth?
Did you think to yourself
About all my worth?

What about at my wedding
When you gave me away?
Did you ever look back
Or ever say…

We were blessed with this child
She’s brought joy to our lives.
Did you ever thank God?
For he was awfully nice.

When I had my first child?
Why did some things coming out?
Why are some things still hidden?
Is it too painful to talk about?

Did you ever stop and wonder
What life would have been like
If I hadn’t survived?
What if I had seen the light?

Do you ever wonder why
God let you keep me?
Did your life change at all
When God answered your plea?

Do you ever wonder if
This tragedy made me
Closer to God
Then all the rest of my family?

Was it because of the prayer
You whispered in my ear?
Did I get a glimpse God
Through your shinning tear?

There so much I don’t know
About that time of my life.
But mostly I wonder
What was it truly like?

When you speak about it today
There’s no emotion. No tears.
Does that really mean
There were no worries. No fears?

Is there more I don’t know?
Will you ever clue me in?
What role I have played,
What meaning have I been?


If you ever want to tell me
I’d gladly like to know.
All about my beginnings
And if my life has changed you so.

Daddy’s Girl

Dedicated to my Daddy!

I remember the day when everything changed. It was the day we laid the concrete. You were amazed at my strength. You knew I was a “Tomboy,” but I don’t think you realized how strong I had become. I could keep up with the guys and put in as much work as they did without complaint. You bragged about the fact that I could lift the 90-pound bag of cement and that my boy cousin, of the same age, could not. My heart beamed with pride. That was the day when I realized that all my life I had been my mother’s daughter, but I longed to be my daddy’s girl.

After that day, you seemed to smile at me more. Laugh with me more. Your eyes seemed to reflect pride in the fact that I was your daughter. After that day we’d take trips to the hardware store together. You seemed to want to show me off as your daughter. We work in the garage together. You wanted to teach me “guy” things. Trips to Minnesota to go fishing were different after that day. I would bait my own hook and would take off my own fish. You approved. Perhaps it was just because I was older now. I was almost 13. Maybe I was finally old enough that you felt like we might have something in common.

There are things you can ask me to do, that you would never dream of asking my sister. You never hesitate to ask me to help haul the wood, shovel the dirt, build the shed, re-roof the house, fix the cement slab, or put up the Christmas display. If it’s physical work, you know you can count on me. You know that I’m not worried about getting my hands dirty. Not afraid of a hard day or weekend of work. Not needing any payment. Just an approving smile or playful joke. Perhaps I have become “Daddy’s Girl.”

Last Forth of July you told me “You are your mother.” And I know that I am, but the shoe I’ve been trying to wear is “Daddy’s Girl.” Does it fit? Have I become who you have always wanted me to be? The look in your eye says that I have.

Ridin the Bus

I went to Kindergarten every other day all day and at the end of the day I rode a long bus ride home. Most of the time I fell asleep. Sometimes I wouldn't wake up when it came to my stop. Whether it was because of the inconsistent schedule or my brother and sister (who was a 5th grader) didn't feel it was their responsibility to make sure I got off, sometimes I rode for even longer. When the bus driver realized I was still on the bus at the end of her route, She would have to turn around and take me back home.

Memories of the Farm

Not everyone knows what “running around like a chicken with their head cut off” really means, but I do. Most little girls don’t have an old man as their best friends. I guess I was different. Most kids now don’t grow up needing their imagination, but I sure did. Very few kids know what it is like to grow up on a farm and what farm life is all about, but I do.

I was the little girl with the unmanageable dark, brown, curly hair that stuck out in all directions and a personality to match. My knees were always scraped, my feet always bare and my face always dirty. My mornings included watching Sesame Street before I headed to my kingdom outside until my mom insisted it was getting late and I had to come in for dinner. The following stories are my favorite farm memories and the lessons of life I learned on the farm.

Dad

He’d tell you the best day ever on the farm was the Christmas morning when we woke up, and it had snowed so much we couldn’t walk out our front door. We’d have to wait for our neighbors, the Wilsons, to come with their tractor to dig us out. We couldn’t go to Christmas dinner at my aunt’s house. We had to stay home, and he loved it. It gave him time to put together all those “some assembly required” toys that Santa gave us. We played and lounged around all day in our pajamas and robes.

My dad’s business, Ray’s Café, had failed and my dad had started a new job managing the Country Cheese Corner, a local dairy story. One of the “perks” about the job is that you got to rent a farmhouse and the rent was just taken out of your paycheck each month. So we moved from Marshalltown, Iowa to Blair, Nebraska. I was too young to remember the move. Dad worked all the time. It was fun to go visit him at the dairy store and sit at the lunch counter and eat the pink, bubble gum ice cream he’d give us. Sometimes we got to ride with him on milk runs in the refrigerated truck with the sliding, metal door between the cab and the cooler part.

After some years, the owner decided to close the store and my dad couldn’t find another job. Every day he dressed in a suit and headed out in search of a new job to support our family. He found a job working for Woolworth’s Department Store. He had to travel a lot and didn’t like being so far away, so he quit Woolworth’s for a new job at Wendy’s in Omaha. Dad worked many late nights and long hours. He worked split shifts, but couldn’t come home in between because Omaha was so far away. Lots of overtime hours. Not because he wanted to, but because he had to so we had enough money to pay the bills. He seemed to always be working and hardly ever at home.

Mom

She would tell you that the best day on the farm was when we moved out. The day she rid herself of Gene Flynn, the landlord. The day she stopped dealing with him coming into the house when we were gone. She was finished with waiting for repairs to be done and getting angry when he refused to fix things.

Mom was a stay-at-home-mom, but volunteered enough to consider it a full time job. She drug us along where ever she went. Maybe because we were always with our mom, is why it seemed like my dad was gone so much. Mom attended every school function and volunteered at classroom parties. When at home she spent her days working in the garden, doing crafts and trying to keep up with the housework but never making any progress. She was always ready to try my newest mud pie or play a game of hide and seek.

Lisa

She hated the farm and would tell you about her worst day on the farm, the day the septic tank backed up. She had her friend Amber over when the tanker came to pump. They ran around the house plugging their noses and screeching “pew, pew”. I think she was embarrassed of the retched smell and had to do something to redeem herself to her friend.

My sister, Lisa, is six years older than me, and when we moved to the farm she was already almost nine and in school. We didn’t spend much time together because she was in school all day. When she was home, she was always inside. She was either taking care of my baby brother, doing housework or reading a book. Outside was dirty, and dirty was something she didn’t like. So naturally, she didn’t like me. I was always dirty. She lived in the pink room all by herself and slept in the full sized, canopy bed, which had been my mother’s when she was little. A lot of the time she was in there with the door closed doing her hair or nails.

Scott

He’d tell you the best day on the farm was the day my parents threw out a pair of box springs into the yard for us to play with and we used it as a trampoline. Later he broke his toe on it, but the fun we had on it outweighed the pain. Or maybe he’d tell you it was that hot summer day when we filled the brown, heavy duty, plastic trash can up with cold, fresh water from the red, rusty, water pump by the house. He made a platform higher than the can and he was the first to jump in.

Scott is only three years older than me. He was almost six when we moved to the farm, but when he got home from school; he would play outside with John and I until dinner. When I had exhausted my ideas of things to do outside, Scott always had something new, fun and exciting to do. We shared the title of middle child, which created an unbreakable bond. Being my big brother, he protected me. He made me feel safe. He took me through the scary halls on my first day of kindergarten. We’d wrestle around and laugh together. As Scott got older and my dad was around less, he had work to do around the house and couldn’t play as much, but our relationship was always close.

John

He doesn’t remember much about the farm, but he’d tell you his favorite time on the farm was the day when we went into my room to play surgery on some of my toys. Many dolls and a few noise making toys saw their end that day as we took them apart to see how they worked. Or he might remember playing in my room building block towers and when they were about to fall, ramming them with a Hot Wheel car and watching the blocks tumble down. Then rebuilding all over again.

John is three years younger than me and he was born right after we moved to the farm. I vaguely remember the day he was born. Mom woke me up early and I remember sleepily kneeling before her getting my hair braided before Grandma arrived to take care of us. I’m sure mom was in labor as she pulled my hair into the right place before she left for the hospital.

When John was old enough, he was usually playing and fighting with me. If he wasn’t with me, he was probably doing something he shouldn’t.

My Best Friend

In loving memory of my very best friend. Ade knew me when I was real, before school and society changed me into who I became. I miss you Ade!

He’d tell you his favorite thing about the farm was when we fed the cows together. Every day I’d wait outside for him to pull up. He’d be wearing a pair of old, faded coveralls and a plaid shirt. Down the driveway he would drive with his dull, red, rusty, pickup truck filled with grain. He’d stop, get out of his truck, come over to the fence and ask me in his deep, raspy voice if I wanted to go help him feed the cows. I’d immediately say yes and each time he would make me run inside and ask my mom for permission to go, chuckling to himself as I sped away. Mom would always say yes, so I’d race back outside and he would put me in the front seat of the old, dusty, pick up.
Ade was the sixty-year-old farmhand who was my very best friend on the farm. We would ride out to the feedlot together listening to the old, country music playing on the AM radio. When we arrived at the feed trough, we’d get out and Ade would lift me up into the back of the pick up. I would help him scoop the grain into the feed bin. The cows would immediately tromp towards us. I was small, but fearless. I copied Ade’s movements and commandments to the cows. I wasn’t afraid of the large steers that were a million times my size. I bossed them around just as Ade did. “Yah, Yah” as I waved my hands wildly to get them to move away. I guess cows are pretty stupid, because they listened and got out of my way.
When we were all through, Ade would let me ride in the back of the pick up to the hayloft to get some hay down for the cows. I loved the wind blowing in my face. I loved it so much that I felt the need to undo my tightly braided hair so that I could feel the breeze blowing across my scalp. Ade blamed it on those darn rubber bands breaking. He took bailing wire and with his thick, wrinkled hands, he did his best to tie my hair. Sometimes I would purposely pull my braids out of the rubber bands, just so Ade would tie them back up in the bailing wire. He’d always blame it on those darn rubber bands and my mother couldn’t figure out why they kept breaking. They never seemed to break any other time. I suspect Ade and my mother figured out what I was doing, but neither of them said anything. Ade just kept tying them back up.
I guess I didn’t realize that an old man could be my best friend. As I grew up Ade and I always had a special bond. Every time we saw each other we would reminisce about those days on the farm when we fed the cows and he had to tie my hair with bailing wire. Ade passed away a few years ago. I never actually told him that he was my best friend. But he was during those years before I went to school and all summer long when you hoped school would start up again. Everyone except me. I'd rather spend my days with Ade.

Our House

Our home was a farmhouse about fifteen minutes outside of town on a feedlot. My sister said it smelled, but I never really noticed. It was a ranch home, white with red trim and a detached two-car garage to match. Originally it was just a two-bedroom house. Lisa, Scott and I shared the one small room (which eventually became my room) for a while during the construction of two additional bedrooms. We had a living room with a big cast iron fireplace, a formal dining room with a huge crystal chandelier and a family room where mom kept her pretty stuff. The carpets, wallpaper and window coverings were the disgusting colors of the 70’s. Yellows, oranges, pea green. It matched the hideous furniture that decorated our home.

My Room

I slept in a small bedroom that when you walked into, you immediately felt you had walked into one of those carnival fun houses. The foundation of the room was gone and it was gradually sinking. As you stared up at the ceiling you could see the slant. As you made the short walk from the door to the other end of the room, you really felt like you were walking down hill.

The carpet was lime green shag and the wallpaper was bright yellows and greens. The paper was a grouping of squares and rectangles. Almost a plaid of sorts. In some boxes there were just patterns filling the space, but in others there were animals. Lions, hippos and giraffes I remember. I had trouble sleeping in that room. Every night I would lay in my bed, with the yellow bedspread my grandmother had bought for me, and try to go to sleep. When I closed my eyes I knew the animals in the wallpaper came to life. I could hear them having a party all around me. I would open my eyes as fast as I could to catch them off the wall, but never could. This opening and shutting of my eyes went on for what seemed like hours.

At night when my mom had gone to bed, I’d get scared in the absolute quiet and stillness of the country. I was always scared a robber would break in. Since my dad wasn’t home, I decided Scott, my older brother, was strong and could protect me. I would creep out of my room and make my way slowly through the family room and kitchen to my brother’s room. I’d stop in fright when my imagination would make the dark shadows of the room look like the robber I knew was in my house. When I got to my brother’s room, (which he shared with my little brother John) I’d curl myself on the floor next to him and finally sleep peacefully until morning. Safe. Secure. Knowing my big, strong brother would protect me.

Night after night I did this. My mother finally gave up on getting me to sleep in my own room. She made my room a storage area and had my dad build a twin-sized bunk bed. I got to sleep on the top bunk and my two brothers had to sleep together on the bottom. I slept up there comfortably, peacefully for the rest of our days in that house. I kind of feel bad now that Scott and John had to sleep together in the small, twin sized, bottom bunk just because I was scared of the dark.

Bakery

In my mom and dad’s room there was a window that opened up into the living room. The living room had been added on to the house at some point and they left the window in the bedroom. It was perfect for opening up a bakery shop!

On rainy days John and I would get out the playdoh and play bakery. We used our mom’s cookie cutters and made cookies and other fancy treats. My specialty was cherry pies, complete with bottom and top crusts. I’d roll each individual cherry into a small ball and put them in the shell. When we had made all of our pastries, we’d carry them to my mother’s bedroom and set up shop. We’d display our goods on the sill of the window and then take turns being the customer buying the goods. This was really the only time John and I got along. Usually we were always just fighting. Too bad we couldn’t have baked together all the time.

Our Raccoon

We were watching television when my mom saw it out of the corner of her eye. There was something outside. She peeked out the front door to see a raccoon sitting on the black, cast iron railing of the front porch. He was just sitting there staring through the window watching the pictures on the TV flash by. Night after night, for quite a long time, you could find that raccoon sitting on the railing, peering in and joining the family as we sat down in the evening to watch our favorite shows.

Bath

I was always dirty. Dirty may be an understatement. I was a filthy mess and a bath almost every night was required. Mom found it easier when I was smaller to just give me a bath in the kitchen sink. I’d sit cross-legged in our large steel sink and Mom would wash the grime off of me. She’d wash my hair and when I was done, wrap me in a big towel and send me off to put on my pajamas. Baths in the sink were fun and I remember giggling a lot. I wish I still fit and I wonder if they still would be so much fun.

Cold and Hot

When the hot water heater broke it took forever for Mr. Flynn to fix it. For weeks we had to warm our water in big, metal pots on the stove for dishes and baths. Only weeks after getting the water heater fixed, something far worse happened. We didn’t have any cold water. It took Mr. Flynn even longer to fix that. We’d have to run the dish and bath water hours in advance so it would be cool enough to use. The water was scalding hot and my mother feared we’d burn ourselves. Somehow me made it through without anyone getting hurt. Often we are thankful for hot water, but I learned to be thankful for cold water during this time.

Confession

I remember writing my big brother’s name on the piano keys. The blue permanent marker was in my hands and since there was no paper handy I found the wood piano keys inviting. I knew I shouldn’t write my own name. Then they’d know I did it. I’d write my brother’s name. I would have liked to write John’s name. I didn’t care if he got in trouble, but I didn’t know how to spell John, so I’d have to spell Scott. I’d have to write messy. Scott’s handwriting was messy. Using five wood keys I wrote S C O…. I paused. I couldn’t remember if it was S C O T T or S C O O T. I finally decided it must be S C O O T.

When Lisa sat down to practice her piano that night, she discovered the graffiti and immediately hollered for my mother. I had spelled it wrong, but my mom was still convinced that Scott had written his own name and he got in trouble. That marker was still on those piano keys until a few years ago when my mom refinished the piano. I never did tell anyone it was me that wrote on the keys.

I didn’t know at the time, but I know now that times were tough on the farm. Money was tight and we had to rely on the simple things in life to get us by. But I was young and didn’t notice all that was going on around me. All I was doing was creating memories. My fondest memories of the farm were outside.

Outside

To the south of the house was the hayloft, pigpens, chicken coop and a big machine shed. To the north was a row of large pine trees planted as a windbreak and to serve as a boundary to the property, hiding it a bit from the county road that went by. To the east were our garden and the big red barn where we kept our horses. To the west was a large hill left for pasture, where the coyotes lived. This was my domain that I ruled from sunrise to sunset.

Mudpies

I am the best mud pie maker in the entire world. My days on the farm were filled with making thousands of mud pies. For me, throwing mud into a bowl wasn’t enough. My mud pies were gourmet and you would pay a pretty hefty price for them in any fancy restaurant.

First I would fetch cold, fresh water from the rusty, red, water pump in a silver bucket. Slopping water all over myself and my feet always bare, I’d carry the bucket to the sand pile, which was made with an old tractor tire to hold in the sand. I’d poor my water into a larger bucket and add sifted dirt. While letting that simmer, I would then go shopping for my ingredients.

My first stop would always be the honeysuckle bushes that grew in our backyard. I would fill a bowl with the bright red berries that were never to be eaten. Mom always said they were just for the birds. She told us they were poisonous and would make us sick. So I never ate any, because I was convinced I would die immediately. But they looked so good it was hard to never try just one.

After dropping the berries off at the sand pile, I grabbed another bucket and headed to the ditch in search for the other things to use. I always needed lots of spices to add for flavor. Mostly I’d use dandelions, clover flowers, the seeds of the long and overgrown brome grass (which I called wheat), and lots of the brown seeds of the sour dock plant (which I called barley). If it were a really special day, I’d get to put in the vegetables my mother had just thinned from the garden.

After filling the bucket with everything I needed, I headed back to the sand pile and continued my cooking. I’d find the perfect stick and stir as I carefully added my ingredients. Sometimes I’d add a pinch of sand here. Some extra dirt there. Sometimes I’d need a little more water, so I’d have to go all the way back to the water pump.
When it was ready, I’d spoon the batter into a silver pan with my hands. Then I’d smooth and pat the top. I’d then sprinkle it with sugar sand because all pies taste better with a little sugar on top. Then I’d put it in the oven. Mud pies only take seconds to cook. I’d serve it out onto little plates and we’d eat it up with lots of yum yums and comments about how good it tasted. Then I’d raced off to go and play, never having to do the dishes. That was the rain’s job.

Dukes of Hazzard

Have I ever told you that I am Daisy Duke? Yep! That’s right. I’m that tall, slender woman with the long, brown hair and short, cut off jeans on Dukes of Hazard. When I’m Daisy Duke, it’s not quite the same as the TV shows. When I’m Daisy Duke, Bo Duke isn’t my brother, he’s my boyfriend. I’m sure every little girl was in love with Bo Duke back then.

But sometimes I’m Luke Duke. I stand on the two-sided swing pumping it back and forth till it’s as high as it goes. Always pretending it’s the orange car with no windows and the doors that won’t open. Yelling “yee ha” as I soar over the big ravines and ditches trying to escape Roscoe and his gang. Then when the swing slowed down, I’d do it all over again.

Winter Wonderland

On those cold white wintry days when everything is frosted over, sometimes we would escape to Winter Wonderland. To get to Winter Wonderland all you had to do was crawl through the steel culvert under the gravel road to the other side. When you got there you found land that wasn’t farmed or mowed, just left for nature. The snow lay on the ground undisturbed except by a few paw prints of a raccoon or possum. The sun brilliantly hit the ice that clung to each limb and piece of dead grass.

Lisa was the first person to take us all into Winter Wonderland and the only time I ever remember her being outside with us. Winter Wonderland was a peaceful place where we didn’t play, perhaps that was because of my sister seriousness on such matters. It was a quiet place that you just watched and took pictures with your mind. In fact, we didn’t even walk into Winter Wonderland. We just stood in the entry and looked in awe. We didn’t want to walk in and ruin the beauty. We would talk quietly and point to the awesome sights there were to be seen but not disturbed. It was like entering a whole new world, which only the four of us kids knew about and were able to see. The times when all four of us went to Winter Wonderland were the very best times. As Lisa and Scott got older, they didn’t come with John and I and it was never quite the same without them. We never stayed as long because there just weren’t as many people to share the marvels of our special place.

The Tornado

I remember that day the tornado came. I was playing in the back yard when my dad came running and scooped me up under his arm, carrying me parallel to the world, as fast as he could to the cellar.

He literally threw me in the cellar and told me not to move and went to find Lisa and Scott. He left me there alone in that dark, dirt walled cellar dug out of the earth. I wasn’t scared of the cellar though. I liked the damp mildew smell of the place. I liked the spider webs. I probably would have made it a clubhouse or something if my parents had let me play in there. I was scared though. I was scared because I could tell my dad was scared. I obeyed and stood still at the bottom step of the cellar looking up at the light above, waiting for his return.

It wasn’t long before the rest of my family joined me in the cellar and we waited till the tornado passed. We were safe and all was well, but my dad had been scared. I knew he was, but I’m sure he would never admit it.

Playing House

One day John and I were bored and we decided we would play house. We went to the garage that was jam packed with stuff that didn’t fit into our house and started rummaging through the boxes trying to find things we could use to set up our make believe home. We some hodge podge dishes and we carried them over to the ravine that ran along side the property. In early spring it would have water running through it, but it was fairly dry now. We set up house and decided I was the mom and John would be the dad. I was in charge of the cooking and cleaning while I sent John to the “store” to get things I needed to make stew for dinner. Amazingly, the same ingredients go into stew as in mud pies. You just add more water! We played house like that for weeks and after finally getting bored and having acted out every family situation we could think of, we abandoned the house, leaving the dishes behind and only came back every once in awhile when we were out of other things to do.

Lilacs

The smell of lilacs in the spring is my favorite smell in the whole world and I think it is because it reminds me of those days on the farm. On the farm we had two huge, purple, lilac bushes that would bloom as soon as the last frost had passed, the robins returned, and the tulips started poking out of the ground. I loved to hold my nose close to the lilacs and take in their sweet scent. Sometimes, my mom would help me cut a few and we put them in a vase and I got to take them to school and give them to my teacher.

Tadpoles

In the springtime, when the rain fell, large pools of water would form in the low parts next to the cornfield. My brothers and I would hike up the hill carrying a bucket and check to see if there were any tadpoles yet. Most of the time there was, so using a small fish net, or just our hands, we filled the bucket with the small, slippery creatures. Then we would carry the squirming bucket home and put them in an old aquarium, hoping they would grow into frogs. One by one they died off. We never had any grow into frogs, but that didn’t discourage us. We always tried again the next spring.

Mulberries

I remember picking mulberries and eating them right off the tree. We would take a bowl with us, intending to fill it and bring it back to mom as a gift, but never came home with any. Instead, we came home with purple stained hands and mouths. We had two large trees that grew the plump, sweet, purple berries. The fruit was irresistible to little hands and eyes.

The Garden

The cows were in the garden again! One of the farmhands must have left the gate open and of course they headed strait for my mom’s garden. Mom would go chasing the cows out of her garden back through the gate. I would help her by yelling at the cows and waving my hands like Ade had taught me. When they were all back, we shut the large swinging gate and secure it with the chain.

I thought it was kind of funny when the cows got out. My mom didn’t think so. It happened so often, my mom decided to try and protect her garden by putting an electric fence around it. While mom weeded the garden, sometimes we would put long grasses on the electric fence and moving it up as far as we could until we got shocked.

Mom had a huge garden. It was right next to the pear tree that grew behind the garage. In the spring dad would till the garden and we helped mom plant the seeds and seedlings. Mom grew strawberries, peas, sweet corn, rhubarb, cucumbers, beets, pumpkins, and winter squash. Mom taught us how to weed the garden. She taught us which were plants and which were weeds.

I remember the first time I ever dressed myself. My mom was already outside working in the garden in the cool morning, so I put on my clothes and headed out. Apparently, I didn’t do so well, because she laughed hysterically as she saw I had put everything on backwards and my shoes were even on the wrong feet.

I loved eating the things we grew in the garden. Especially the peas. The best peas in the world are garden fresh peas that you shuck from the pods yourself.

Tire Swing

A thick yellow rope hung from a sturdy branch on the pine tree that grew right on the corner, next to the mailbox. Tied to the rope was a tire. As we waited for the school bus each morning we took turns swinging each other, Lisa standing nearby ignoring our shouts of laughter. And every afternoon, when the bus dropped us off, Lisa would head inside and my brothers and I would drop our book bags and started swinging once again. We could feel the butterflies float in our stomach, we soared as high as the rope would let us, until mom called us inside.

I was the queen of the outside world, and what I loved the most about being outside on the farm were the animals. But having animals was a bittersweet thing on the farm. I learned that death is just a part of life.

Animals on the Farm

My dad had just shot our dog! The bangs of the rifle were still ringing in my ears. I couldn’t believe it! I was standing right behind him. I saw it with my own eyes. I knew he had gotten the gun out, but I didn’t really think he was going to shoot Buckskin. Buckskin had been trying to run away. He must have sensed my father’s anger. I knew he was angry when we had drove in the driveway no more than five minutes earlier and he saw dead chickens everywhere. In Buckskin’s mouth my father saw the evidence needed to convict the culprit. I just thought he was going to fire a warning shot. I was wrong.
Dad and Scott took the lifeless Buckskin up the hill and buried him. They were gone a long time and when they got back, with tears in my eyes, I asked Dad why he did it. Why did he shoot the dog? He took me in his lap and he told me that he had to. That once a dog killed, he would do it again. He told me that Buckskin might have even tried to bite us because he had the taste of blood. And we couldn’t have him kill all of our chickens. The tears were dry now and I understood. Dad had to protect us and the chickens from the dog. I took comfort in the thought that at least he hadn’t shot Lucy.
Buckskin and Lucy were the first dogs that I remember. Buckskin was a yellow lab and Lucy was a black lab. They were good dogs and I loved them with all my heart. I tried to ride them like ponies. I loved every lick in the face they gave me. That day when we came home and found the dogs had killed chickens was the angriest I had ever seen my dad. I’ll never forget the look of rage in his eyes as he exited the screen door with his rifle in his hand. He had debated about shooting Lucy too, but decided not to because he didn’t know if Lucy had done any of the killings. A few days later we came home to more dead chickens and Lucy’s life was ended the same way. We buried her next to her brother, Buckskin, up on the hill.

Nipper

Nipper was the nicest horse a little girl could have! She was an old Shetland pony that had once served as a carnival ride. Hooked up day after day to a metal contraption that led her in circle after circle carrying kid after kid on her back. She was so old that they couldn’t use her at the carnival any more. She was just perfect for a little girl. When you got up on her back all she would do was go around and around in circles. I guess it was years and years of training that couldn’t be broken.



My cousins were over visiting our house one weekend and we went out to check on old Nipper. Immediately I knew something was wrong when I saw that she was lying on the floor of the barn. She was alive, but as we got closer we saw the dark, red blood streaming from her mouth and nose. I ran as fast as my little legs would carry me out of the barn over the large, metal, orange fence and into the house. In hysterics, I told my mother what I had just seen. She ran out to the barn to see for herself. After evaluating Nipper, she went back to the house and called a veterinarian. The only advice the vet could give was to try and get her back up on her feet, but that this was probably the end for her. All afternoon my cousins and I tried to get Nipper up. We did everything. We tried bribing her with food, but she wouldn’t move.

The next morning Nipper was dead. A truck came and picked her up. My mom said that she was going to the glue factory and they would use her to make glue. I don’t know if this was true, but I knew Nipper was gone and that I would never look at glue the same again.

Snowball

My dad called. He asked my mom if she wanted any more cats. My mom said no, that we already had plenty, but when she heard they would be put to sleep if we didn’t take them, she agreed. When my dad came home, he didn’t have any cats. Instead, he got out some chicken wire and some wood and built a cage. He explained that the two cats we were getting were wild cats and would run away if we didn’t keep them in a cage. We already had a lot of cats, but these two were going to be special.

The woman who worked at the local humane society hated putting animals to sleep, so whenever she had a cat that was about to be euthanized she would call on my dad to see if we would take another cat. We need a lot of cats to help with the mice and many didn’t make it because they would be eaten in the middle of the night by the coyotes that lived up on the hill. The next day when I heard my father pull up the driveway, I ran outside. When he got out, he had a gunnysack that was squirming all over. Our two new cats were screeching with anger from within. Immediately he took them to their cage and released them. We went in and had dinner and agreed that the calico cat would be Lisa’s and the white longhaired cat would be mine. I named her Snowball.

Every day I would climb in that small chicken wire cage and force Snowball to sit in my lap and be petted. She hated it with a passion. She would scratch and claw and do everything in her power to escape. After each episode in the cage, I came inside with scratches from head to toe and my mother would put band-aids on the most severe. My unconditional love for my new cat was unrelenting. Despite the pain that Snowball inflicted upon me, I crawled in time and time again. Eventually, it paid off. Snowball became very tame. She became a loved cat by all in the family.
One day I noticed that Snowball had a cold. We had too many cats to count and we didn’t take our animals to the vet. It was just too expensive for farm cats that could be alive one day and dinner for a coyote the next. But Snowball was special. I begged and pleaded with my father to, just this once, get medicine for Snowball from the vet. I offered to pay for the medicine. I didn’t have any money, but I promised the money I would get from the Easter Bunny that spring. I truly think my dad thought about doing it, but there really wasn’t any extra money for things like that. Every day I would ask my dad if he had gotten the medicine, and he would say “No. Maybe tomorrow.” It was looking like Snowball was getting better, but one day, Snowball was nowhere to be found. I called and called for her, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. I never saw her again. I knew she had died from that cold. I was so angry with my dad for not saving my beloved cat. I held that anger inside me for many many years. One day when I was in junior high school Snowball came up in a dinner conversation. It was then that I found out that Snowball hadn’t died of a cold. My dad had found her dead on the road and had buried her. He thought it would be best if the cat had just disappeared. He thought that the truth would have been too hard. If he only had known that I blamed him all those years for not saving her life.