I think I was in 8th grade at the time. I don’t know for sure. What I do know is, I was too old for white, rubber galoshes! But my mom made me wear them. Ok, well in all honesty, I really did need them. It was spring, in North Idaho, and spring means rain, and slush, and mud.
We lived on a road that at that time was still dirt, and when it rained, after the winter snows, it became mud…deep mud. So in obedience, and maybe some stubbornness, I wore those white galoshes to school. I say stubbornness, because I knew I would be made fun of for wearing them. I knew it was not cool. I wore them anyway, because I loved my mom. I would take the teasing if necessary.
I will never forget though, one time on my way home from school, I was wearing my white galoshes. There were several of us walking in a group, just before we would part ways, and I would eventually be one of the last kids heading east toward the mountain where the road we lived on, was still dirt…mud, on this day.
Sure enough, the comment came. Someone made fun of me in my rubber galoshes. I don’t remember who it was; I don’t remember for sure what was said. I don’t remember if I was about to defend myself with all the defiance of which I was capable. I just remember Ronnie. Ronnie was the most popular kid in our 8th grade class. He was 8th grade class president, he was cute, he was smart, but most of all he was nice; and he was nice to everyone.
This day, Ronnie came to my defense. “Well, at least her feet are going to be dry when she gets home!” he exclaimed to the offender or offenders. “Don’t let them bother you, Jan,” he said to me. “I would wear them too, if I had them.”
Wow, that comment made me feel good. I never forgot it. We parted ways there at the corner. Not sure if I thanked Ronnie. Not sure if anything was ever said again. But I never forgot that moment. I have thought of it so many times over the years. I loved Ronnie for that. I think I have always loved Ronnie…just the classmate, brother kind of love….maybe the “defender of the damsel in distress” kind of love. The kids in our little, country school got to know one another so well over the eight years we attended there together and I love them all and cherish the memory of each.
Ronnie’s behavior was always the same. He was always popular, he was always kind. Ronnie was always our leader and the defender of the underdog….if it wasn’t for Ronnie, I don’t think I would even remember those silly, white, rubber galoshes; but because of him and his kindness, it is another memory that I hold and treasure.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Spending Treasure - Part 1 - The Dance
I attended an eight year grade school, when I was little and I honestly don’t think I have a bad memory about that school. Well, probably if I searched and dug really deep, I could come up with a few; but for the most part, I loved my school, my teachers, and my classmates.
There are a couple of instances that took place there, though, that I treasure. I draw those memories out from the old memory bank, every now and then and I spend a few moments with a smile on my face, like I’ve just been on a feel good shopping spree.
I wouldn’t say I was one of the “popular” kids at the time; nor was I what some would call a “nerd”. I was just me. Though shy and introverted, I liked spending time with all the kids, and I made an effort to try to be nice to everyone. However, my older brother, Craig, was one of the popular kids. He was always in the starting line-up in any sports he chose to play, and he was our School President when he was in 8th grade and I in 7th. I don’t think there was anyone there that didn’t like him. He was somewhat quiet and shy, but he laughed a lot and was nice to everyone. Even recently, when he and I quite unexpectedly ran into a couple of his old friends from high school whom he hadn’t seen in more than 20 years, one friend’s comment to the other was, “Look at that! He’s still laughing!!”
Our school would host annual dances for the 7th and 8th graders, three or four times a year. It seems all my friends and classmates attended and looked forward to these dances. This time however, just prior to the dance, my brother had a friend (also one of the “popular” kids) over to our house visiting and we were sitting around the kitchen table talking about the upcoming dance.
“I think I am going to be the school wallflower.” I said to the boys. I was most likely thinking about the new eye glasses I had just acquired that were anything but flattering. I was shy, it was an awkward age, and I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to dance with me.
But the night of the dance came, and as was typical the boys lined up on one side of the gymnasium, and the girls on the other. The music for the evening was a stack of 45 records played on a little black phonograph that all the schools had at that time. To my surprise, when the first song was played, one of the 8th grade boys started things up by coming over and asking me to dance. It was one of my brother’s friends…one of the “popular” kids. That song was no sooner over, when another boy came, and another, and another. Then my brother’s friend that had been at our house came over and asked me to dance.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked. “You don’t look like a 'wallflower' to me.”
Finally, I had danced so many times, I was very tired, I had to tell someone no. I can’t remember who that was. I always worried that I might have hurt his feelings when I didn’t dance with him. But anyway, that is how the night went. It is just another one of those times that I don’t remember anything else about it. I don’t remember what my friends said. I don’t remember what they did when they saw that I was somehow, “the belle of the ball”. I do remember looking over at my brother a time or two throughout the evening, and him looking at me…laughing. Not a malicious laugh, but an “I am happy for you and getting a kick out of it” kind of laugh.
I don’t know if I understood that night what had happened. I believe I was an adult before I looked back and remembered those words that I had said to my brother’s friend about being “the wallflower”. It was only then, that I understood that this friend had instigated the whole situation for my benefit. He had told all the boys in the 8th grade class to dance with Craig’s sister…and they did.
It’s no wonder I loved that little grade school and all the kids that went there.
There are a couple of instances that took place there, though, that I treasure. I draw those memories out from the old memory bank, every now and then and I spend a few moments with a smile on my face, like I’ve just been on a feel good shopping spree.
I wouldn’t say I was one of the “popular” kids at the time; nor was I what some would call a “nerd”. I was just me. Though shy and introverted, I liked spending time with all the kids, and I made an effort to try to be nice to everyone. However, my older brother, Craig, was one of the popular kids. He was always in the starting line-up in any sports he chose to play, and he was our School President when he was in 8th grade and I in 7th. I don’t think there was anyone there that didn’t like him. He was somewhat quiet and shy, but he laughed a lot and was nice to everyone. Even recently, when he and I quite unexpectedly ran into a couple of his old friends from high school whom he hadn’t seen in more than 20 years, one friend’s comment to the other was, “Look at that! He’s still laughing!!”
Our school would host annual dances for the 7th and 8th graders, three or four times a year. It seems all my friends and classmates attended and looked forward to these dances. This time however, just prior to the dance, my brother had a friend (also one of the “popular” kids) over to our house visiting and we were sitting around the kitchen table talking about the upcoming dance.
“I think I am going to be the school wallflower.” I said to the boys. I was most likely thinking about the new eye glasses I had just acquired that were anything but flattering. I was shy, it was an awkward age, and I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to dance with me.
But the night of the dance came, and as was typical the boys lined up on one side of the gymnasium, and the girls on the other. The music for the evening was a stack of 45 records played on a little black phonograph that all the schools had at that time. To my surprise, when the first song was played, one of the 8th grade boys started things up by coming over and asking me to dance. It was one of my brother’s friends…one of the “popular” kids. That song was no sooner over, when another boy came, and another, and another. Then my brother’s friend that had been at our house came over and asked me to dance.
“Are you having a good time?” he asked. “You don’t look like a 'wallflower' to me.”
Finally, I had danced so many times, I was very tired, I had to tell someone no. I can’t remember who that was. I always worried that I might have hurt his feelings when I didn’t dance with him. But anyway, that is how the night went. It is just another one of those times that I don’t remember anything else about it. I don’t remember what my friends said. I don’t remember what they did when they saw that I was somehow, “the belle of the ball”. I do remember looking over at my brother a time or two throughout the evening, and him looking at me…laughing. Not a malicious laugh, but an “I am happy for you and getting a kick out of it” kind of laugh.
I don’t know if I understood that night what had happened. I believe I was an adult before I looked back and remembered those words that I had said to my brother’s friend about being “the wallflower”. It was only then, that I understood that this friend had instigated the whole situation for my benefit. He had told all the boys in the 8th grade class to dance with Craig’s sister…and they did.
It’s no wonder I loved that little grade school and all the kids that went there.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
A Simple White Hankie
It’s just a simple, white, cotton hankie with pretty, pink embroidery around the edges. My mom gave it to me, tucked inside a hand-made card of congratulations when Matthew was born.
I thought it was a sweet gesture of kindness and I loved it because it was a gift from my mom.
I didn’t realize the meaning behind the gift until some time later. Ok, I guess I am not the swiftest duck in the pond, because it took me a few trials and tears, before I realized my mom knew exactly what she was doing when she gave me that hankie at the birth of my first and only child.
My mom is not one for symbolism or drama; just plain, old, this is the way it is….words rarely spoken, but more often feelings told in actions. So this should come as no surprise that this was her practical way of telling me: welcome to motherhood, with all the tears of joy, love and sharing; but sometimes tears of pain and sadness that being a mother is bound to bring you. I just didn’t recognize that at first.
I placed that dainty hankie on the bedroom dresser. It made such a pretty old-fashioned display there and it was a reminder of my mom’s love. However, it wasn’t long before I began to think of that little hankie in a completely different light.
When it was time for Matthew’s first immunizations, and I heard his cry of pain, I cried. No, not running-down-your-face tears, just the kind that well up inside of you and you fight to hold back, so the nurse doesn’t think you have emotional issues or something. But I wished I had brought that hankie with me.
Baby dedication; didn’t bring it. I most likely didn’t even think of it; but it was a moving ceremony beginning the days, turned to years of constant reminders that Matthew did not really belong to me. Reminders, that most often require hankies.
I cried the day I saw Matthew run after his daddy’s semi-truck, as his dad headed down the road on his next long-haul run. Matthew was just little and his heart was breaking as he saw his dad leave one more time. This was his effort in a last good-bye. I remembered my little handkerchief.
I thought of that hankie when alone one night, I cried out to God in grief and frustration over my son’s heart, wounded by “friends” that were less than kind, often making Matthew the brunt of their jokes. “I know your tears,” the Lord said to me. “But be thankful he is the one being made fun of and not the one that is making fun.” I was comforted by that, thereafter and that little hankie remained on my dresser.
When we had to put two of our dogs to sleep, I thought of my little hankie. When we attended the funerals of our neighbors who were like grandparents to Matt; I thought of my little hankie. Why didn’t I bring it?!
Then the biggest tragedy of my families’ life occurred, which brought grief and sorrow to deep to write. This time, as I headed out the door to my nephew’s funeral - my brother’s son, Matthew’s cousin and best friend - I grabbed that little hankie as I thought about tears,heartbreak, and much, much more. Matthew and I both needed it that day.
From that point on, the little hankie became more than a symbolic act of love. It was a much needed item to endure motherhood. I needed it when Matt lost his Lady. I needed it when he told me life plans, and heart issues.
I carried it with me, when Matt was promoted to Commander of his Civil Air Patrol Squadron. I was not certain I would need it then, but I carried it just in case. When the Ceremony of Change of Command was finished and they spoke those words, “…by order of Captain Matthew C……” my heart leaped, tears sprang, and I reached for my little hankie.
Now as my son’s high school years are about to come to an end; and he begins to make plans for his life, I think of that simple, white handkerchief quite a lot. I know I will need it at his high school graduation…and it is for sure I will need it if Matt is accepted into the Coast Guard Academy. But then again, I will also need it if he is not accepted.
Hopefully, there will be another graduation, other promotions, a wedding, and grandkids, and many, many tears of joy and celebration. I don’t want to think of any other kinds of tears. My hankie has done its job. My mom knew what she was doing and I love her so much for that. That awesome thoughtfulness on her part always makes me smile. That’s my mama. Someday, I hope to pass on a dainty white hankie to another very special mommy; but first, I am going to hold on to my son’s transition from childhood and that hankie for just a bit longer.
I thought it was a sweet gesture of kindness and I loved it because it was a gift from my mom.
I didn’t realize the meaning behind the gift until some time later. Ok, I guess I am not the swiftest duck in the pond, because it took me a few trials and tears, before I realized my mom knew exactly what she was doing when she gave me that hankie at the birth of my first and only child.
My mom is not one for symbolism or drama; just plain, old, this is the way it is….words rarely spoken, but more often feelings told in actions. So this should come as no surprise that this was her practical way of telling me: welcome to motherhood, with all the tears of joy, love and sharing; but sometimes tears of pain and sadness that being a mother is bound to bring you. I just didn’t recognize that at first.
I placed that dainty hankie on the bedroom dresser. It made such a pretty old-fashioned display there and it was a reminder of my mom’s love. However, it wasn’t long before I began to think of that little hankie in a completely different light.
When it was time for Matthew’s first immunizations, and I heard his cry of pain, I cried. No, not running-down-your-face tears, just the kind that well up inside of you and you fight to hold back, so the nurse doesn’t think you have emotional issues or something. But I wished I had brought that hankie with me.
Baby dedication; didn’t bring it. I most likely didn’t even think of it; but it was a moving ceremony beginning the days, turned to years of constant reminders that Matthew did not really belong to me. Reminders, that most often require hankies.
I cried the day I saw Matthew run after his daddy’s semi-truck, as his dad headed down the road on his next long-haul run. Matthew was just little and his heart was breaking as he saw his dad leave one more time. This was his effort in a last good-bye. I remembered my little handkerchief.
I thought of that hankie when alone one night, I cried out to God in grief and frustration over my son’s heart, wounded by “friends” that were less than kind, often making Matthew the brunt of their jokes. “I know your tears,” the Lord said to me. “But be thankful he is the one being made fun of and not the one that is making fun.” I was comforted by that, thereafter and that little hankie remained on my dresser.
When we had to put two of our dogs to sleep, I thought of my little hankie. When we attended the funerals of our neighbors who were like grandparents to Matt; I thought of my little hankie. Why didn’t I bring it?!
Then the biggest tragedy of my families’ life occurred, which brought grief and sorrow to deep to write. This time, as I headed out the door to my nephew’s funeral - my brother’s son, Matthew’s cousin and best friend - I grabbed that little hankie as I thought about tears,heartbreak, and much, much more. Matthew and I both needed it that day.
From that point on, the little hankie became more than a symbolic act of love. It was a much needed item to endure motherhood. I needed it when Matt lost his Lady. I needed it when he told me life plans, and heart issues.
I carried it with me, when Matt was promoted to Commander of his Civil Air Patrol Squadron. I was not certain I would need it then, but I carried it just in case. When the Ceremony of Change of Command was finished and they spoke those words, “…by order of Captain Matthew C……” my heart leaped, tears sprang, and I reached for my little hankie.
Now as my son’s high school years are about to come to an end; and he begins to make plans for his life, I think of that simple, white handkerchief quite a lot. I know I will need it at his high school graduation…and it is for sure I will need it if Matt is accepted into the Coast Guard Academy. But then again, I will also need it if he is not accepted.
Hopefully, there will be another graduation, other promotions, a wedding, and grandkids, and many, many tears of joy and celebration. I don’t want to think of any other kinds of tears. My hankie has done its job. My mom knew what she was doing and I love her so much for that. That awesome thoughtfulness on her part always makes me smile. That’s my mama. Someday, I hope to pass on a dainty white hankie to another very special mommy; but first, I am going to hold on to my son’s transition from childhood and that hankie for just a bit longer.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Meet Jake
For someone who writes, there is always a person in our life that is so colorful one can’t help but believe that they must have been born for no other reason than our character sketch. Our farrier, Jake is just one such person. Now obviously I don’t believe that is the only reason for his life, but it is for certain, I had to write about him.
Jake was recommended to us by a friend that had often used him to shoe her horses over the years. I will never forget her description of Jake. “He’s this big, huge guy, with gigantic, tattooed muscles and to tell you the truth, he is a little scary when you first see him; but he does a really good job!” she said. Now my friend is just a little thing, so maybe that is why Jake seemed so huge to her…I have a nephew that is 6’8”, one that is 6’5” and a son that is 6’3”, so when I finally met Jake, he didn’t seem so big to me. Scary? Uh uh. Well, maybe if I met him in a dark alley, he might seem a little intimidating.
Jake is a Sioux Indian with dark skin and a long pony tail, which without, he would not be true to his heritage and identity. Yeah, he has a few tattoos and he might be a little gruff and rough around the edges, but underneath it all, we have learned this guy has a heart of gold.
I will never forget the first time he came to shoe our horse, Lady. The people that we bought Lady from warned us that Lady didn’t typically like men. She was a lady’s horse, they said. Over time, we learned this was indeed true. We always believed the reason she took to Matt so well, was because he was young when we got her, and he didn’t yet seem like a man. But right off the bat, I knew Jake and Lady would do just fine when I saw Lady giving him soft nuzzles while he talked to us about what he would be doing. Seeing this big, tough guy reciprocate those nuzzles revealed a great deal about who this man really was.
Some of our conversations have helped us understand Jake is a man that cares greatly about his craft, but also about his customers and most of all the horses. Another time I was able to see this side of Jake was when he proudly showed us a piece of jewelry hanging from the rearview mirror in his truck. The daughter of one of his customers had made it for him offered with some kind words that caused him to hold on affectionately to that item. He proudly talked about it to us and others as well, I am sure. When Matt was younger, Matt had made a horse shoe belt buckle for Jake for much the same reasons; and Jake accepted the gift in the same manner of appreciation.
Jake is one of the best farriers we have known. He is one of the few that the local vets request due to his experience and knowledge. He is thorough, quick and neat. He can do a horse’s shoes in about a half the time as anyone else and the horse's feet will look much better!
Like most people, he admits to little patience with knot-head horses, so I was somewhat worried when it was time to call him to come trim Skeeter’s feet. Matt has been working with Skeeter so he will become more accustomed to having his feet worked on, but Skeeter is still not quite ready to be shod. I was afraid Jake would be disappointed after being so impressed with Lady. When Matt called him, I realized my fear was in vain as Jake assured Matt he wanted to come when he had plenty of time to spend so as to allow Skeeter to get to know him. He also wanted to have the time to try some things that would help Skeeter through it. I should have known. I love to see that kind of commitment to ones job.
Skeeter was trimmed up in no time, and as we suspected, Jake recommended we wait on the shoes, offering Matt some tips to help Skeeter get ready for it. This type of professionalism and dedication is exactly what makes us so glad my friend recommended the “scary guy with the tattoos” …and the heart of gold.
Jake was recommended to us by a friend that had often used him to shoe her horses over the years. I will never forget her description of Jake. “He’s this big, huge guy, with gigantic, tattooed muscles and to tell you the truth, he is a little scary when you first see him; but he does a really good job!” she said. Now my friend is just a little thing, so maybe that is why Jake seemed so huge to her…I have a nephew that is 6’8”, one that is 6’5” and a son that is 6’3”, so when I finally met Jake, he didn’t seem so big to me. Scary? Uh uh. Well, maybe if I met him in a dark alley, he might seem a little intimidating.
Jake is a Sioux Indian with dark skin and a long pony tail, which without, he would not be true to his heritage and identity. Yeah, he has a few tattoos and he might be a little gruff and rough around the edges, but underneath it all, we have learned this guy has a heart of gold.
I will never forget the first time he came to shoe our horse, Lady. The people that we bought Lady from warned us that Lady didn’t typically like men. She was a lady’s horse, they said. Over time, we learned this was indeed true. We always believed the reason she took to Matt so well, was because he was young when we got her, and he didn’t yet seem like a man. But right off the bat, I knew Jake and Lady would do just fine when I saw Lady giving him soft nuzzles while he talked to us about what he would be doing. Seeing this big, tough guy reciprocate those nuzzles revealed a great deal about who this man really was.
Some of our conversations have helped us understand Jake is a man that cares greatly about his craft, but also about his customers and most of all the horses. Another time I was able to see this side of Jake was when he proudly showed us a piece of jewelry hanging from the rearview mirror in his truck. The daughter of one of his customers had made it for him offered with some kind words that caused him to hold on affectionately to that item. He proudly talked about it to us and others as well, I am sure. When Matt was younger, Matt had made a horse shoe belt buckle for Jake for much the same reasons; and Jake accepted the gift in the same manner of appreciation.
Jake is one of the best farriers we have known. He is one of the few that the local vets request due to his experience and knowledge. He is thorough, quick and neat. He can do a horse’s shoes in about a half the time as anyone else and the horse's feet will look much better!
Like most people, he admits to little patience with knot-head horses, so I was somewhat worried when it was time to call him to come trim Skeeter’s feet. Matt has been working with Skeeter so he will become more accustomed to having his feet worked on, but Skeeter is still not quite ready to be shod. I was afraid Jake would be disappointed after being so impressed with Lady. When Matt called him, I realized my fear was in vain as Jake assured Matt he wanted to come when he had plenty of time to spend so as to allow Skeeter to get to know him. He also wanted to have the time to try some things that would help Skeeter through it. I should have known. I love to see that kind of commitment to ones job.
Skeeter was trimmed up in no time, and as we suspected, Jake recommended we wait on the shoes, offering Matt some tips to help Skeeter get ready for it. This type of professionalism and dedication is exactly what makes us so glad my friend recommended the “scary guy with the tattoos” …and the heart of gold.
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