The Fairy Tale Version of Me

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a princess who was known for her intelligence and her uncanny ability to keep her cool under pressure. Of course she wasn’t always this way. Our dear princess used to break down under the slightest pressure and constantly doubted her intelligence. It never mattered how big or small the problem was it was always too much for her to handle. The intelligence was hardly a thought in her head; she was way too busy crying over split milk or some such thing to realize that the brain is a terrible thing to waste.

So she went about her ordinary life, doing ordinary things, and barely holding on to reality. It just so happened that one sparkling day the planets aligned, lady luck looked her way, and the gods smiled down upon this princess. A prince rode into her life in an old beat up Subaru wagon and asked her out to dinner. That certainly was a blessed day for our distraught princess for at that moment, she chose to let someone help her. Now we all know that circumstances don’t magically change overnight, but what this prince did was show the fair princess that things could be different and ultimately much, much easier.

Our dear princess starting breathing in and out and not fall to pieces over the split milk’s in life. As she became calmer and more centered, she began to realize that some part of her was being neglected-her brain. With encouragement from her precious prince, she summoned the courage to make a drastic change in her life and in the lives of everyone in her dear little family. Our princess walked up the terrifying steps of the local community college and enrolled. She was much older than most of the other students, had a very different background, and was fairly unsure of herself. With the help of her professors, and the prince of course, she gained confidence in her abilities and most importantly she found self-worth in her intelligence. And it was all thanks to a little push from the amazing prince and her amazing family.

While I’m not sure that I always believe in happy endings, the prince and princess are working ever day at making their own happily-ever-after.

Running Home

This is supposed to be my 9th grade post but it has grown into something more. Rather than dragging out my dirty laundry and sharing these next painful years, this will be my last post. There is also an issue of time; I am a Senior in college and started back this week-so no more fun time.

The way I choose to tell my high school years is not year by year.

I was a lost child during High School and I don't know why, but I had definitely lost my way. I grew out of the life that I should have been living. Writing about the years leading up to this time I can see where and how I broke down and how I should have changed and it has been painful.

I turned my back on my family and my beliefs and started a life with people I had no business being with. This lead to me being a pregnant Junior and very much alone. I had a beautiful baby boy, finished my Junior year, dropped out of High School, and got my G.E.D. Instead of a Senior year in high school, I had a Freshman year at a local community college which ultimately did very little to improve my decision making skills. I found myself once again with child while I still was one.

At 19, I had an infant, a toddler, I was the sole caretaker to a man, my young son's father, dying from Leukemia, and was taking care of his young boys as well. After he passed away my life tail spinned even more. I continued to make poor decisions, I engaged in unhealthy relationships, and I was taking my boys along for the ride. Of all the things I've done and all the choices I've made that it what I regret the most. They may be stronger for they've seen and done, but they shouldn't have to be.

I'm been married for almost 5 years. The marriage has had some crazy ups and horrible downs. But I think that we are all in a more stable place now. Through this marriage I have been able to find out more about who I am and what makes me work. I am fulfilled through my work at college and highly anticipate the job that will come with the completion of school. My boys are more amazing than I deserve and I don't know how they got that way--probably the village that has helped raised them.

I hope that this is a new chapter in my life, that I can use my past to strengthen me and not to hold me back. I hope that my children look at what I was and choose to be nothing like that. I hope I never forget the love from my family that got me to where I am today. But my biggest hope is that my heart will remain open to the changes God makes in me every day and that I remember that I am running home to Him and that I will run with the faith of a child.

The next year

8th grade! Big fish in a little pond!

Started the year with cute haircut, contact lenses, and no braces on my teeth. Life looked good.

I had some good classes that year.

US History with Mr. Jack Rushton, who very recently passed away. Mr. Rushton is really one of the reasons I want to be a teacher. The passion he felt for the subject washed over all of us--imagine a room of 8th graders fighting for the top grade in any class. He made us want to learn and that is a very hard thing indeed.

I also got to take advanced Home Economics which was a really big deal--this teacher had petitioned to teach this class to us because she liked us so much as seventh graders. I remember that Mr. Rushton came to class that day and made us all hush puppies and fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, all the while telling us stories about Elvis! We made Quillos- a quilt that folded up into a pouch and made a pillow! And that has been the extent of my sewing adventures. I figured I slip out of the  grind of the sewing world gracefully. I might still have that blanket around somewhere, but I probably lost it in a move. But more than anything, I remember a teacher who cared about us enough to give up her free time to take care of us.

And then there was English, not one of the good classes. Mrs. Brown, the teacher who only wanted to teach Drama but was made to teach English as well--or at least that's what her attitude said. I did learn in that class though. I learned the word juxtaposition that year and I still think of her when I read it. I learned that no matter how much I disliked Robert Frost that I could not memorize a Walt Whitman poem instead and expect to get a passing grade. I remember writing a short story where "and then I woke up" was the ending and thinking that I was a creative genius! Mrs. Brown didn't think so. But I did find that there was some kind of writer in me after I got a poem published in an anthology.

And then there were the other little things that made up the year. The not having many friends part. The feeling alone part. The classmate who's father the police officer was killed (I hadn't ever given much thought about parents being mortal). The field trip to the High School where I threw up all over the bus, and I was sitting in the front. Going to church and loving the people there who cared about me. A mother who gave me  more space and freedom than I can find to give my boys. Failing a 6 weeks of Math class cause I didn't do my homework.

And Oh My Stars, and am ever glad that I'm not there again!!

Hmmmm....

Here's the fun today. I'm sitting here trying to rite about the 7th grade and just this week, my oldest child started the 7th grade. I was hoping that going to his school, smelling the building, hearing the sounds would kick me back and I'd be able to write some amusing, funny, or even painful tale.
But it didn't work.
It's kinda like 7th grade didn't even happen.
I can't remember any teachers, I don't know what classes I took, or who I was friends with.
I can see the hallways of the school and even remember which part of the school all the 7th graders were in, but that's about it.
I do have dreams about being in those hallways. I finally quit having "stuck in high school dreams," but the hallways of 7th grade haunt my dreams. The usual, I'm sure-- don't know locker combination, can't find my classes, don't know the material on the tests.

I think that's the year we changed churches, from a Baptist church way across town to the cute little Methodist one right on the corner. I have lots of youth memories, but they really don't come into play until 9th/10th grade.

When I asked my mom about my seventh grade, she drew a blank too. So I think I'm going to believe that it was an ambiguous year with no big events and therefore has no reason to be blocking up my mind-I need the space for lots of other things anyway!

What's in a Name?!

So let's be honest here. Most of middle school/junior high is all a big blur. I can't differentiate memories very well for those three years. But there are a few things that stick out as being very 6th grade.

I mentioned last week that I was starting to get in the habit of not doing homework. 6th grade didn't cure this. In fact, I bet it made it a little worse.

Oh yeah, I was so challenging authority. And I got away with it a lot. I still made decent grades, A's, B's, the occasional C.

But there was that one subject. The subject I got busted in. Spelling.

Ms. Aadams.

The brand new happy perky idealistic cheerleader coach spelling teacher.

My worst nightmare. (I wasn't a fan of the cheerleader type.)

Well, spelling was not my favorite subject and I decided to not put forth any effort. Especially when it came to homework.

I'm not sure exactly how it came to this, but I had to get something signed by my parents due to my lack of homework doing. Of course I didn't want them to know that I was slacking so I did the only logical thing.

I forged my mother's signature.

In retrospect, very very stupid move, but I thought I was brilliant at the time.

So I turned in this forged paper and thought I was a big dog.

Until the next day.

She called me to her desk and told me she knew that my mother hadn't signed the paper.

I was shocked!! How did she know??? (Duh, the 6th grade handwriting!)

Well, another note came home and I had to tell my mother what I had done. I was sure I was dead. Big, big, big trouble here!! Until my mom started laughing. See, this note said that my grade was in "grave jeopardy." And my mother was tickled by this. She asked if I even knew what "grave jeopardy" was. Well of course not! To me, jeopardy was something that came on after Wheel of Fortune!! So the jokes started about "grave jeopardy" being the round after "double jeopardy." And I'm sure I did get in trouble. And my grade was no longer in grave jeopardy. And maybe, for a while, I did my homework for that class.

But I still giggle about it all.

Sure as heck didn't learn any lesson about homework!

But I never, never signed my mother's name again!!

Annie wins!!

So I don't feel like writing today.

I could care less if you know what my fifth grade year was like.

I mean, it was fifth grade, another year at school.

Hmm... seems like I'm channeling my feelings from my fifth grade year into this little blog here.

You see, fifth grade was the year I got tired of school. It wasn't a challenge, it wasn't fun, it was just school. Friendships were getting trickier, cliques were forming, and I usually felt like I was on the outside looking in.

 I feel like I just didn't (don't) see things the way other people do and I don't always care about the things my peers did. MTV was not my thing (actually, mom said we couldn't watch it and of the rules I might have broken, I never watched) so I wasn't sucked into pop culture. I didn't have to wear Guess jeans. I didn't want to be popular. I did want to be on the safety patrol though, but I just wasn't safety patrol material. (I'm guessing they sensed my inner rebel and knew that I'd create chaos at any given chance. Or maybe my grades weren't good enough....)

But more than that, my attitude changed. I started not doing my homework-and this was a major problem because my teacher went to church with us. Sunday mornings-- "Hi Annie! Have you got your fill-in-the-blank project done yet?" Me-- "mumble, mumble, mumble." Mom (tightly gripping my shoulder)-- "No, not done yet, but it will be." Or something very similar.

And have I mentioned before that I was (am) a talker? Well this held true for the fifth grade.

Got my first detention. For talking.

But here's the fun part.

Detention was served after school. Mom was in college and would be in class when detention was over. She asked the nice principal lady if she intended to bring me home afterward. Principal lady answered with a non-surprising no. So mom told them that they needed to figure something else out then. The agreed upon punishment was for me to serve detention during lunch. So I walked to the office during lunch, some other kid had to bring me my lunch (yeah, I was that important, in my head), and then I got to eat another crappy school lunch in complete peace, all alone in the cool, quiet conference room.

Another thing about me is that I'm a smiler.

I generally smile all the time, no matter what the situation. You know it's going to be ugly if I stop smiling. It's just who I am. So there I am, sitting all alone in this conference room enjoying my lunch when the principal lady walks by. I turn and smile at her. And this is my favorite part--- Stern face, frowning in my general direction: "I wouldn't be smiling if I were you young lady. You're in detention."

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. I try to look like I'm upset that I'm in detention. I did a good enough job I reckon because she firmly and authoritatively walked away.

And I felt like (knew) I had won.

The year the teacher didn't like me

Wow.

4th grade.

Can I really remember back to the 4th grade?

Challenger Elementary School. Mrs Rice- the first teacher immune to my charms. In fact, I think she really disliked me. Couldn't have been me! I was a delightful, sarcastic, questioning, never quiet, always moving little kid! Who wouldn't want that? And she was a teacher who maybe should have never been given a job as a teacher in the first place. I guess that's harsh, but to a kid, especially this kid, teacher's are supposed to know everything and love students.

 (Not really, but this is the emotion most remebered.)

You might be reading the writing of one of the world's worst spellers (thank goodness for spell check) and spelling was really hard in the 4th grade. And during spelling tests I moved my lips, it helped me see the words better. And she accused me of trying to cheat- like the C speller was giving answers to the A spellers!

And then maybe I was a little bit of trouble. Note passing, lots of note passing. Talking, all the time. Knowing when she didn't know an answer and asking questions anyway. Possibly being disrespectful, but never to her face. 

And maybe I helped my mother be a thorn in her side,too. I have this lingering memory of coming home with a less than stellar test, and while I'll admit now that maybe I should've studied more, I answered the questions that were asked. Her lack of grammatical correctness lead to my answers being wrong because I answered what she asked, not what she intended. And my mother might have corrected the teacher's grammar with a red pen and sent it back to the teacher and a few people higher up in the food chain.

But enough about that. I had a life outside of school. Friends, movies, reading, reading, reading, roller skating (but not at all night skates like some of my friends, which was secretly ok with me).

And there was probably lots more, but that's all I remember today.

 So that's the end of 4th grade!