I still remember how I reacted the first time I was put into a worldly environment. I didn’t exactly embody the Christian attitude. I had a bitter attitude towards everything. It was hard for me to accept the differences in people, and I started to question my faith. It didn’t take me long to get over my feelings once the experience had passed. I thought I had learned my lesson, but I hadn’t. Similar experiences came, always with the same feelings and thoughts of rebellion against God. I wanted to question God; I wanted to know why I was having such a difficult time. I knew something had to change. That’s when I decided to go to France. I came close to rejecting my faith then, but I could never let go no matter how hard I tried.
I had visited France once before and loved it. This time, though, my journey to Montpellier was not so pleasant. On the plane, I sat next to a very nice German man who had plenty of interesting opinions. I was not strong enough in my faith to witness to him, but we did have a few short conversations on government and life in general. He spent the rest of the eight or nine hours of the flight in the bathroom throwing up because he had drunk too much alcohol. Needless to say, he didn’t exactly have the sweet aroma of flowers upon him when he was sitting next to me. Inside I reacted as if a skunk had mysteriously appeared and sprayed the entire plane. This was not much of a difficulty in itself, but it did foreshadow what I would see in many of my fellow students once I got to France.
Bad omens seemed to keep coming my way. When I arrived at the airport, my hostess recognized me right away, but as soon as she identified herself, she started to walk towards the parking lot, not even giving me a chance to get my luggage. Later that week, I came back to the apartment to find I had missed dinner. Another night, my hostess welcomed another woman into the apartment as a tenant who was not even part of the school I attended. One time, she had family over, a daughter, granddaughter, and son. Her granddaughter would not leave me alone; she was annoying, but cute in her own way. The daughter and granddaughter left that night, but the son stayed. I did not exactly feel comfortable wearing pajamas at night when I knew he was there.
I did get my own room, however, and I was grateful for that. My first night I fell asleep right away, but awoke in the middle of the night disturbed by two things. The first was a small rumble coming from my empty stomach. I was so hungry I heard my stomach talking. It seemed to sound off like a pig, “oink, oink, oink, feed me.” The second thing that awoke me was the need to use the restroom. I was rather irritated that no one had awakened me for dinner. Even more irritating was the fact that I did not know where the bathroom was. Here I was, in a very small apartment, and afraid to look for a bathroom! I don’t know why I was afraid. The overall experience I’d had so far made me want to crawl up in a corner and cry. The only thing I could think of to do was call my mom. I spent the entire night on the phone complaining. I held my need to use the restroom for quite some time, but eventually I got up the courage to find out where the bathroom was. As it turned out, French homes have two separate rooms for bathroom uses: one for the toilette and the other for the bathtub, shower, and sink. In the apartment I was in, both rooms had signs on them to tell what they were!
The next morning, I met two other girls who stayed in the room next to mine. Our hostess slept in the living room. They both came from other countries but were in the same student exchange program as me. I thought this odd, but knew they spoke English, so it would not be too strange for them to take classes with me. They showed me the ropes: how to get to school, which was in a large town center much like the markets and squares of Italy. The school was on the fourth floor of an old building. We almost always had to take the stairs. For a plus-sized girl like me this became a difficulty in itself, especially considering my apartment was also four floors up. As soon as I entered the classroom doors, I knew things were not going to be what I had expected. I soon found that these classes were not for beginners. Although I’d taken one year of French, I couldn’t understand a thing because the teachers spoke only in French!
I did make a few friends at first but soon learned how worldly they were. When we started to talk about our worldviews, I didn’t have much to say in my defense. After that, no one really liked me. It didn’t help that I wasn’t willing to visit bars, drink, and smoke with the other kids. Many came from other countries where they used beer and cigarettes at a young age; and all those from America took the opportunity to drink and smoke legally. I was the strange American. Even the woman with whom I stayed pressured me to take part. On top of all this, I became very homesick and got into the habit of crying in bed every night. I called my parents as often as possible, wrote in my journal as a way of venting, and did my Bible study every night.
The various difficulties depressed me, but God found little ways to cheer me. I began to realize the importance of difficulties and the possibilities of what we can make out of them. I met with American missionaries who were very kind to me. Other times I explored the streets of Montpellier and found a sense of independence. God gave me strength to persevere. I was content in those few moments when I could stop to watch a street performer or sing along with a ministering church choir. It was encouraging. I had often thought I would fall away in my faith; that I would somehow lose it and come to believe something else – or nothing. I have doubted my beliefs as much as any other Christian. Having grown up in a Christian home, many would expect me to rebel against what I’ve been taught. Now I was thinking about it again, but something kept me going. No matter what I thought or did, no matter how empty I felt, I couldn’t be separated from God. Romans 8:35, 39 says, “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? Neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The difficulties I’ve faced have brought me to the point where I couldn’t stop believing in God or in His love for me; His love kept me going when I was in France.
When the end of my adventure came, my hostess refused to take me to the airport. I tried to call Dorcas, one of the missionaries, but couldn’t find her phone number. Next, I called the missionary pastor. He gave Dorcas’ number to me, but when I tried to call her, my cell phone ran out of out-going minutes! Throughout my trip I had come to depend on God to get me through the hard times, so I prayed. I was about to go find a pay phone when my cell phone rang. It was Dorcas! The pastor had called her to make sure everything turned out OK. She was happy to take me to the airport that morning. The Lord had prepared my way home.
I felt like I had wasted my parents’ money on my trip. When I came home, my parents inveighed against the program’s curriculum and organization, hoping to get their money back, but they were forced to accept what I had learned as reward enough for their money. I realized that this trip was meant to be. Just as those long stairways and walks about Montpellier exercised my body, the difficulties built up my mind and developed my independence. Most important, my troubles caused me to depend on God instead of on myself and pushed me to do my own research and form my own worldview, to learn more about what I believe so I can defend Christianity.
My faith was challenged, but I took the opportunity to confront difficulty and overcome it. Epicurus said, “The greater the difficulty, the more the glory in surmounting it.” During my trip to France, I grew spiritually, mentally, and physically because of the trials I faced. Difficulty taught me. I was its pupil. I‘m sure many more difficulties will come -- life is full of difficulties. The question is: How will I react when they do come?
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story. Show all posts
Monday, July 2, 2007
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Book Review of California Driver's Handbook
If there is any person qualified to write a book review of the California Driver’s Handbook, it’s me. No, I do not work for the DMV, and no, I am not a perfectionist driver. In truth, I am very afraid of driving. While still on my first permit, I got in an accident. With my driver instructor, my sandal got caught on the pedal and I pushed the gas pedal instead of the break. This caused me to get into a minor bumper accident, no damage. I cried when I got home. Needless to say time came and went and I did not go for my license. My permit expired. Since then I have taken the permit test two more times and gotten better at passing each time. I always passed, but each time the number of missed questions lessened. I actually was scheduled to take my permit test earlier this month for the third time, but my mom lost my passport. A weeks worth of reading was wasted. Luckily, this time I highlighted the important parts and when my mom found my passport a month later I only had to skip read the highlighted parts. Two days ago, on June 28th, 2007, I took the test and only missed two questions. My picture would have turned out good if my double chin had not shown up. It has a way of coming out like that. I hate being fat, I hope to lose weight. Nevertheless, I will not let my bad health drag me down. I did dream once that my double chin saved me from a man who tried to slit my throat. The knife did not go deep enough to kill me, although I did lose some blood. It’s a real dream I had. Anyway, back to the driving thing. As already stated, I hate driving. I’m always afraid I’ll do something wrong. I remember my first experience with driver’s rage. I pulled over to let people pass, but when I tried to pull back into the lane a driver got mad at me and followed me to my turnoff where he proceed to honk at me and flip me off. I eventually got over my fear and got back on the road, but then college came. When you live in NYC you don’t drive much. Thus, it has been over a year since I last drove and my old fears have returned this summer. Since I am attending a different college this fall, I will need to drive and I will need a car. Needless to say, I have so far avoided all my parents attempts to get me on the road, but I really do need to try. Maybe I should go back to that handbook for some help, but don’t expect a book review of it. I already hate it enough, I doubt I would be able to keep from becoming overly judgmental and bias.
Friday, June 22, 2007
The Free Iccee Man
Description:This is somewhat spiritual, considering it's introduction and ending, but if you read the story by itself, it's a short story. I based this one on a dream that I recently had.
The Free Iccee Man
My life is like a bed sheet or blanket. No matter how hard I try to straighten it out, there is always a wrinkle. Sometimes big, sometimes small. Big wrinkles are the worst. They make me feel like God isn't there. I think Satan likes to play with my mind. How do I get rid of Him? How do I resist temptation? Does God still love me even when I do the same wrong thing over and over again? What about when I do it so much I don't even feel guilty any more, I just feel empty? Every time I ask forgiveness, but then I turn around and do it again. I don't want to be a bad person. It's like this:
There once was a young girl. She loved icee cones, but they were never free. Not until this one man came and put on a contest for a free iccee. As it turned out, He was only going to choose a few out of many to get that free iccee. And those few would have to take good care of their iccee. They couldn't spill it, or drop it, lest they should lose the wonderful taste of the iccee. So, the time came for the man to chose the winners. The young girl wanted an iccee so bad. She just had to get that free iccee. She didn't have enough money to buy one from the other vendors, and even if she did, she knew the other icees were not nearly as tasty as the free ones. They were fake and icky tasting. The young girl knew this very well. Her stomach growled. She was hungry for an iccee all right. But how was she going to get it. Not everyone would get chosen. She had little chance. But low and behold her name was the first to be called when it came time to give away the free iccees. She jumped for joy. To think that she had been called, out of everyone in the entire area. And she knew that her iccee would be delicious. She slowly walked up to the man who was giving away the free iccees. "Why are giving me a free iccee?" she asked Him. "Because I love all the children of this playground," he replied, "And I would sacrifice everything to see them all smile. But they had to come to me first. They had to put their name in my box so I would know they sought my free iccees. Then they could win no matter what. You did that. You gave up everything else on that playground and all those other iccee stalls to come and receive my iccees. Now take you iccee and go. Tell the other children about me. But be careful. They may want you to get another vendor's iccees. They may want you to play on the playground when you have not yet finished your iccee. Take care of your iccee. Do as I say until you have eaten all of that iccee and then I will return to give you more when the time comes. That will be your reward." So the little girl went along on her way and sat down on a bench for a bite of her free iccee. It was delicious. She wanted to gobble it down fast, but she knew that would give her a brain freeze. She slowed down a bit. Across the way she saw another child with an iccee from one of the other vendor stalls. The other child called out to her to join him. "Come and try my iccee, it will be better than yours," he said. The girl knew better than to listen to the invitation, but the temptation was strong. A bit of another iccee couldn't harm her. She would still have her own iccee if she needed it. So, she went over to the boy. His iccee was good. The boy could tell she liked it, so he let her have some more. The second bite was even better. In no time the two had devoured the iccee together. The girl still had her free iccee in her hand. She hadn't eaten any more of it since her first bite. It was starting to melt. Another boy came over and said hi. He asked her if she would play with him on the playground. Well, this did sound tempting. The boy was very cute, and the playground looked like fun. So, she forgot she had the free iccee in her hand and she began to walk over to the playground. On her way over she tripped and the free iccee got all dirty when it hit the ground. The girl began to cry. She had forgotten how much she had wanted that free iccee. An iccee was starting to sound good again. She picked up the dirty iccee and began to study it. Slowly, but surely, the dirt disappeared as she picked it off with her fingers. Even still, there were some spots on it in the end. She tried her iccee, but it was even more melted now and the dirt had turned the flavor somewhat bitter. Not knowing that she could have just scraped off the top to find a fresh new layer, she sat on the ground, crying. The two boys from before and a few other kids came over to find out what was wrong. She told them. They tried to comfort her with their smooth voices and funny jokes, but nothing helped. She still felt empty. One child asked her to play on the playground. "It will make you forget your troubles and burdens," the child said, "you can be a beautiful princess and I'll be your prince charming." The young girl smiled. Being beautiful did sound nice. Maybe pretending to be a princess would make her forget how ugly she was. So, she went along with all the other children to play with them on the playground. But when the end of the day came, everyone had left and the young girl was all alone again. The next day came and went with no free iccee. The girl just sat there feeling empty inside. She tried different things in the following days, but none of them made her feel better. Then, one day, she remembered the kind man's words. He said he would come back, and she could have another free iccee. But she couldn't remember where in the park he was located. She searched for days and days until she finally gave up. The children of the playground invited her back. She tried that, but she just knew she would never find happiness in the playground. She had to search again. It was a big park, but she found that kind man and his iccee machine. He told her he had been wondering where she had gone. She confessed everything. To her surprise, he forgave her and gave her another free iccee. She knew she had to take good care of it this time. But temptation came again and she fell. She went back again and again to the kind man asking his forgiveness. One day she finally asked him, "Will the iccees ever taste as good as they did the first time?" "That's up to you," he replied. "I've been so bad," the young girl said, "and for so long. I'm no longer young, but am a young lady now. Can I ever change myself to be good again?" "That's up to you," the man said, "You must learn to have faith in me, and to no longer fall to temptation. You must turn from your sins." "Was I ever saved?" she asked him. "From the very beginning I chose you," he told her, "So, you figure it out for yourself. Remember, though, I am always here with my free iccees. You just have to come to me. Now go, and tell the others about my gift to them."
That's what my life is like. I know the truth and the facts that support the truth in my head, but my heart does not feel saved. I believe in my head but I feel like my heart does not believe. I feel empty. I know I shouldn't rely on my feelings, but what do I do? Even when I search I have trouble finding the Kind Man (God/Jesus). What should I do? Does God forgive me?
The Free Iccee Man
My life is like a bed sheet or blanket. No matter how hard I try to straighten it out, there is always a wrinkle. Sometimes big, sometimes small. Big wrinkles are the worst. They make me feel like God isn't there. I think Satan likes to play with my mind. How do I get rid of Him? How do I resist temptation? Does God still love me even when I do the same wrong thing over and over again? What about when I do it so much I don't even feel guilty any more, I just feel empty? Every time I ask forgiveness, but then I turn around and do it again. I don't want to be a bad person. It's like this:
There once was a young girl. She loved icee cones, but they were never free. Not until this one man came and put on a contest for a free iccee. As it turned out, He was only going to choose a few out of many to get that free iccee. And those few would have to take good care of their iccee. They couldn't spill it, or drop it, lest they should lose the wonderful taste of the iccee. So, the time came for the man to chose the winners. The young girl wanted an iccee so bad. She just had to get that free iccee. She didn't have enough money to buy one from the other vendors, and even if she did, she knew the other icees were not nearly as tasty as the free ones. They were fake and icky tasting. The young girl knew this very well. Her stomach growled. She was hungry for an iccee all right. But how was she going to get it. Not everyone would get chosen. She had little chance. But low and behold her name was the first to be called when it came time to give away the free iccees. She jumped for joy. To think that she had been called, out of everyone in the entire area. And she knew that her iccee would be delicious. She slowly walked up to the man who was giving away the free iccees. "Why are giving me a free iccee?" she asked Him. "Because I love all the children of this playground," he replied, "And I would sacrifice everything to see them all smile. But they had to come to me first. They had to put their name in my box so I would know they sought my free iccees. Then they could win no matter what. You did that. You gave up everything else on that playground and all those other iccee stalls to come and receive my iccees. Now take you iccee and go. Tell the other children about me. But be careful. They may want you to get another vendor's iccees. They may want you to play on the playground when you have not yet finished your iccee. Take care of your iccee. Do as I say until you have eaten all of that iccee and then I will return to give you more when the time comes. That will be your reward." So the little girl went along on her way and sat down on a bench for a bite of her free iccee. It was delicious. She wanted to gobble it down fast, but she knew that would give her a brain freeze. She slowed down a bit. Across the way she saw another child with an iccee from one of the other vendor stalls. The other child called out to her to join him. "Come and try my iccee, it will be better than yours," he said. The girl knew better than to listen to the invitation, but the temptation was strong. A bit of another iccee couldn't harm her. She would still have her own iccee if she needed it. So, she went over to the boy. His iccee was good. The boy could tell she liked it, so he let her have some more. The second bite was even better. In no time the two had devoured the iccee together. The girl still had her free iccee in her hand. She hadn't eaten any more of it since her first bite. It was starting to melt. Another boy came over and said hi. He asked her if she would play with him on the playground. Well, this did sound tempting. The boy was very cute, and the playground looked like fun. So, she forgot she had the free iccee in her hand and she began to walk over to the playground. On her way over she tripped and the free iccee got all dirty when it hit the ground. The girl began to cry. She had forgotten how much she had wanted that free iccee. An iccee was starting to sound good again. She picked up the dirty iccee and began to study it. Slowly, but surely, the dirt disappeared as she picked it off with her fingers. Even still, there were some spots on it in the end. She tried her iccee, but it was even more melted now and the dirt had turned the flavor somewhat bitter. Not knowing that she could have just scraped off the top to find a fresh new layer, she sat on the ground, crying. The two boys from before and a few other kids came over to find out what was wrong. She told them. They tried to comfort her with their smooth voices and funny jokes, but nothing helped. She still felt empty. One child asked her to play on the playground. "It will make you forget your troubles and burdens," the child said, "you can be a beautiful princess and I'll be your prince charming." The young girl smiled. Being beautiful did sound nice. Maybe pretending to be a princess would make her forget how ugly she was. So, she went along with all the other children to play with them on the playground. But when the end of the day came, everyone had left and the young girl was all alone again. The next day came and went with no free iccee. The girl just sat there feeling empty inside. She tried different things in the following days, but none of them made her feel better. Then, one day, she remembered the kind man's words. He said he would come back, and she could have another free iccee. But she couldn't remember where in the park he was located. She searched for days and days until she finally gave up. The children of the playground invited her back. She tried that, but she just knew she would never find happiness in the playground. She had to search again. It was a big park, but she found that kind man and his iccee machine. He told her he had been wondering where she had gone. She confessed everything. To her surprise, he forgave her and gave her another free iccee. She knew she had to take good care of it this time. But temptation came again and she fell. She went back again and again to the kind man asking his forgiveness. One day she finally asked him, "Will the iccees ever taste as good as they did the first time?" "That's up to you," he replied. "I've been so bad," the young girl said, "and for so long. I'm no longer young, but am a young lady now. Can I ever change myself to be good again?" "That's up to you," the man said, "You must learn to have faith in me, and to no longer fall to temptation. You must turn from your sins." "Was I ever saved?" she asked him. "From the very beginning I chose you," he told her, "So, you figure it out for yourself. Remember, though, I am always here with my free iccees. You just have to come to me. Now go, and tell the others about my gift to them."
That's what my life is like. I know the truth and the facts that support the truth in my head, but my heart does not feel saved. I believe in my head but I feel like my heart does not believe. I feel empty. I know I shouldn't rely on my feelings, but what do I do? Even when I search I have trouble finding the Kind Man (God/Jesus). What should I do? Does God forgive me?
Drowned by Memories
J.M. Barrie once said, “God gave us our memories so that we might have roses in December.” Our childhood memories, particularly, tend to follow us throughout our lives. Whether bad, or good, we cannot help but looking back at times. Every once in a while, memories will bring comfort in times of trouble. Childhood memories tend to be what shape us as we grow older. They make us who we are. Lydia Sigourney said, “In early childhood you may lay the foundation of poverty or riches, industry or idleness, good or evil.” I have several memories that would illustrate this point.
When I was about three years old, my parents signed me up for a parent-child swimming class at the YMCA. My dad gently held onto me in the water. He was careful to hold on tight; he knew that he held a precious life in his hands. All was going well until he accidentally slipped on the floor of the pool, causing him to drop me for only moment so he could gain his balance. Even though it was for such a short time that I remained underwater, and though I was only three years old at the time, I have remembered this childhood incident to this day. It has affected me in every way possible and led to a part of who I am today.
Ever since that “near death” experience, I have hated swimming. It took my parents a while to get me back in the pool again. Once they did, I was older, and still reluctant to swim. I hated holding my breath and going under water. I took a few lessons, but was the lowest in my class. I distinctly remember crying because I was afraid of just putting my face in the water. My swim class teacher picked me up and held me, face towards the water. I had to put my face in and out of the water and kick my feet at the same time as the instructor walked around the pool. I was afraid of being dropped; I was afraid of drowning.
Since then, I have learned to enjoy swimming at a slow pace. Water aerobics can be a good work out. I often go to the gym for that purpose. I also enjoy swimming on my back, backwards. However, I still will not go underwater without goggles on that cover my eyes and nose. I can swim underwater with those, but am still a terrible swimmer.
The childhood incident of almost drowning has followed me for my entire life. Now, I look back on it and laugh, as I do with many other memories. I often remember tough times I spent with my friends and how they shaped me. I went on vacation with my best friend once. It was the worst vacation ever! I was very selfish, and we did not get along at all. Since then, we have become good friends again and have learned to put up with each other. That fateful summer brings chuckles to me every time I think about it.
I cannot wait to pass these memories on to my own children. My parents have told me so many stories of their past. When I was younger, I would look forward to them as bedtime stories. Some day, I hope to bring this joy to my own children. Rosa Parks said, “Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others.” My memories, even bad ones such as almost drowning when I was three years old, have followed me all my life. I have laughed about them, cried about them, and been indifferent about them. It is all the same. I cannot help but reflect on them at times. They have made me who I am. They brought me up. Anne Rice puts it well in saying, “No matter how long we exist, we have our memories. Points in time which time itself cannot erase. Suffering may distort my backward glances, but even to suffering, some memories will yield nothing of their beauty or their splendor. Rather they remain as hard as gems.
When I was about three years old, my parents signed me up for a parent-child swimming class at the YMCA. My dad gently held onto me in the water. He was careful to hold on tight; he knew that he held a precious life in his hands. All was going well until he accidentally slipped on the floor of the pool, causing him to drop me for only moment so he could gain his balance. Even though it was for such a short time that I remained underwater, and though I was only three years old at the time, I have remembered this childhood incident to this day. It has affected me in every way possible and led to a part of who I am today.
Ever since that “near death” experience, I have hated swimming. It took my parents a while to get me back in the pool again. Once they did, I was older, and still reluctant to swim. I hated holding my breath and going under water. I took a few lessons, but was the lowest in my class. I distinctly remember crying because I was afraid of just putting my face in the water. My swim class teacher picked me up and held me, face towards the water. I had to put my face in and out of the water and kick my feet at the same time as the instructor walked around the pool. I was afraid of being dropped; I was afraid of drowning.
Since then, I have learned to enjoy swimming at a slow pace. Water aerobics can be a good work out. I often go to the gym for that purpose. I also enjoy swimming on my back, backwards. However, I still will not go underwater without goggles on that cover my eyes and nose. I can swim underwater with those, but am still a terrible swimmer.
The childhood incident of almost drowning has followed me for my entire life. Now, I look back on it and laugh, as I do with many other memories. I often remember tough times I spent with my friends and how they shaped me. I went on vacation with my best friend once. It was the worst vacation ever! I was very selfish, and we did not get along at all. Since then, we have become good friends again and have learned to put up with each other. That fateful summer brings chuckles to me every time I think about it.
I cannot wait to pass these memories on to my own children. My parents have told me so many stories of their past. When I was younger, I would look forward to them as bedtime stories. Some day, I hope to bring this joy to my own children. Rosa Parks said, “Memories of our lives, of our works and our deeds will continue in others.” My memories, even bad ones such as almost drowning when I was three years old, have followed me all my life. I have laughed about them, cried about them, and been indifferent about them. It is all the same. I cannot help but reflect on them at times. They have made me who I am. They brought me up. Anne Rice puts it well in saying, “No matter how long we exist, we have our memories. Points in time which time itself cannot erase. Suffering may distort my backward glances, but even to suffering, some memories will yield nothing of their beauty or their splendor. Rather they remain as hard as gems.
Family Reunion
A Family Gathering
From the moment we start to exist, we belong to a family. Small or large, blood-related or adopted, our family influences much of who we are and what we experience in our lifetime. Before December 2004, much of my family didn’t know me. I had only met a few of my relatives when I was younger. The visit of my great grandmother for Christmas that year brought about the opportunity to meet several new family members.
Knowing how much it would mean to my great grandmother (whom I call Grandma Luellen) to see her brother Ernie and sister Ruth, my mom and dad arranged with my great, great aunt to have dinner with them and to let my grandma stay with them for two days. When the time came, it took us about an hour to drive to their home in Oakley, California. The outside area of their small farm home had a good first impression on me, although it was hard to see because rain clouds darkened the evening sky. There were two houses, one in which my great, great aunt and uncle lived, and the other in which their daughter lived with her family. Once inside my uncle’s house, my mom, dad, and I met the family. There was Grandma Luellen’s brother, Ernie, and his wife, Louise; Grandma Luellen’s sister, Ruth; Ernie’s daughter, Sandy, her husband, Rick, and their daughter, Megan.
At any family gathering, you will find that talking and “chit-chat” is a major pastime. With the snap of a finger, we all found ourselves snacking away while we talked about various things. We got a tour of the house, and soon sat down for dinner, accompanied by more discussion. After a meal similar to Christmas dinner, we all sat down to talk some more.
It was very interesting to hear my great grandma, great, great uncle, and two great, great aunts talk about life during the Depression, but after a while, I got bored. Unfortunately for me, when I get tired or bored, it is very noticeable. Rick seemed to recognize this, and, in a kind effort to cheer me up, he offered to take us on a tour of his house. First, we went to his office where he kept his bird, Sunny. He had Sunny shake hands, and, along with a few other tricks, even had him poop on command for us! He also had a salt water aquarium filled with all sorts of marine life. Rick showed us the rest of his house and let us pet his black, curly-haired dog. As it began to rain again, we trotted our way back to the other house where everyone still chatted.
Even with the excitement of the “party,” there always comes a time to say goodbye. We were leaving great grandma behind. I knew I would miss her. Leaving, no matter how badly you want to go, is always a hard thing to do. We discussed many last minute topics such as my great grandma moving to South Dakota, and getting together again. It was late and raining outside; and after a few final farewells, we left.
Even with the hard, pouring rain, we managed to get home safely, and I went to bed thinking about the wonderful time I had had, hoping to do it again soon. It was a significant change for once, to know some more of my family. Still, I was not as close to any of them as I was to Great Grandma Luellen, but more of these family gatherings would surely change that. It had been a gathering to remember.
From the moment we start to exist, we belong to a family. Small or large, blood-related or adopted, our family influences much of who we are and what we experience in our lifetime. Before December 2004, much of my family didn’t know me. I had only met a few of my relatives when I was younger. The visit of my great grandmother for Christmas that year brought about the opportunity to meet several new family members.
Knowing how much it would mean to my great grandmother (whom I call Grandma Luellen) to see her brother Ernie and sister Ruth, my mom and dad arranged with my great, great aunt to have dinner with them and to let my grandma stay with them for two days. When the time came, it took us about an hour to drive to their home in Oakley, California. The outside area of their small farm home had a good first impression on me, although it was hard to see because rain clouds darkened the evening sky. There were two houses, one in which my great, great aunt and uncle lived, and the other in which their daughter lived with her family. Once inside my uncle’s house, my mom, dad, and I met the family. There was Grandma Luellen’s brother, Ernie, and his wife, Louise; Grandma Luellen’s sister, Ruth; Ernie’s daughter, Sandy, her husband, Rick, and their daughter, Megan.
At any family gathering, you will find that talking and “chit-chat” is a major pastime. With the snap of a finger, we all found ourselves snacking away while we talked about various things. We got a tour of the house, and soon sat down for dinner, accompanied by more discussion. After a meal similar to Christmas dinner, we all sat down to talk some more.
It was very interesting to hear my great grandma, great, great uncle, and two great, great aunts talk about life during the Depression, but after a while, I got bored. Unfortunately for me, when I get tired or bored, it is very noticeable. Rick seemed to recognize this, and, in a kind effort to cheer me up, he offered to take us on a tour of his house. First, we went to his office where he kept his bird, Sunny. He had Sunny shake hands, and, along with a few other tricks, even had him poop on command for us! He also had a salt water aquarium filled with all sorts of marine life. Rick showed us the rest of his house and let us pet his black, curly-haired dog. As it began to rain again, we trotted our way back to the other house where everyone still chatted.
Even with the excitement of the “party,” there always comes a time to say goodbye. We were leaving great grandma behind. I knew I would miss her. Leaving, no matter how badly you want to go, is always a hard thing to do. We discussed many last minute topics such as my great grandma moving to South Dakota, and getting together again. It was late and raining outside; and after a few final farewells, we left.
Even with the hard, pouring rain, we managed to get home safely, and I went to bed thinking about the wonderful time I had had, hoping to do it again soon. It was a significant change for once, to know some more of my family. Still, I was not as close to any of them as I was to Great Grandma Luellen, but more of these family gatherings would surely change that. It had been a gathering to remember.
Friendship
Although life is full of joys, it can be sad and discouraging as well. It can drag some people to the bottom of a pit, one that seems to have no end. Such is the case with many people, one inparticular. Although Life is not always that bad, this person had not yet learned that, and she did not believe in herself as much as she should have. Thank goodness for best friends.
The girl sat there, she was staring out the window next to her bed. She hated remembering, there were so many painful memories. She knew that there were good memories too, some were even within the bad memories. Much had happened that made her sad, so much that made her feel worthless inside. So she just sat on her bed and stared out the window. She had to remember, no matter how painful it was.
The thing that was caught up in her mind was the conversation that she had had with her mother a few days earlier. They were sitting in the family car and had been talking about the vacation that they were going to go on a few weeks from then.
They planned to drive to Oregon and do things on the way. When in Portland they would stop for a short while to visit her grandma and would then head for Seattle, Washington and do things in that area. After this they would go back to Portland and her mother would judge a pageant there. Once that was over with they would drive along the coast until they would get to their turn off to head home. Her friend, Lynn was going to come along for fun.
In the car her mother and she began to talk of the fun they would have while on vacation. The disturbing conversation that came up was started by this talk of vacation.
“Renee, you are not going to be offended when we are there, are you?” her mother gently asked.
“Why would I be offended?” Renee questioned in reply.
“You won’t get sad when you look back at your memories and remember Sarah,” Melody, her mother answered.
“I suppose not,” Renee replied silently.
There was a moment of silence between them, as her mother continued to drive.
“Have I made you sad, honey? About Sarah?” Melody asked.
“No,” Renee paused, “ I do miss her though,” she said with a downward cast look on her face.
“She does not deserve to have you as a friend, you are too good for her,” her mother told her.
“I saw a picture of her a couple weeks ago. Kelsey showed it to me, Sarah is very pretty, you know,” Renee told her.
“I bet she is, she has always looked nice, even though she is a little buff,” Melody mentioned to her daughter.
“It is hard for me,” Renee started.
“What is hard for you?” her mother asked.
“To know how well she has kept in contact with Kelsey and Karina, but not with me,” she answered.
“Her parents are different, that’s all,” her mother reminded her.
Renee remembered that letter that had come in the mail so long ago, the one that had said that they had spoiled Sarah too much on their last trip to where Sarah lived and that her parents, who wrote this letter, were disappointed that they had spent less time with family while visiting. It was obvious that Sarah’s parents had some disliking for Renee and her mother and father.
“Why does it trouble me so?” Renee asked.
“Don’t let it, I know you will be a little distressed when we go near where she lives and when we go to places that you visited with Sarah,” her mother told her.
“Yes, it is true that I miss her. That letter, it was so awful,” Renee said to herself.
Renee continued to gaze out her window and remember her old friend Sarah. now she went back even further into her memories. She began to think of the last tie she spoke to Sarah.
It had been two years ago, she and her mother were on vacation in Oregon where Sarah lived. They had taken Sarah with them to many places and their vacation was almost over. They were originally planning to go to Oaks Park the next day and bring Sarah along, but that night they had received a call in their hotel room.
“Hello,” Melody said answering the phone, “It is for you Renee, it’s Sarah.”
Renee took the phone from her mother and spoke into it.
“Hello,” she said into the phone.
The words that struck her were painful, but set in a bad way.
“Hi, Renee. I can’t go with you tomorrow, OK. I am sorry, but, well, I just,” the voice told her.
“Sarah, why?” Renee questioned.
“I have stuff to do at my house, and my parents say that I can not go with you because of that,” Sarah told her.
Renee hung up and told her mother what she had been told by Sarah.
Months later they received a letter in the mail from Sarah’s parents. It stated that they believed that Renee and her mother had spoiled Sarah and made her temporarily a little bit selfish and bad tempered. They said that that was the reason for Sarah not being aloud to go with them that last day of vacation.
Renee stood up and looked out the window again.
“I’m bored, I wish Lynn was here,” she said to herself.
She picked up a notebook of hers and flipped through it. She came upon a picture that an old friend, Saido, had drawn when they had first met. She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing a phone number.
“Hi, Saido, I am sorry that I could not get a hold of you,” she started, she had gotten the answering machine, “I know that we have not seen each other very often lately. We have not been that great of friends and all but, I was just thinking about you and the first time I met you, and I just thought I would call, so.. call me back, OK,” she finished.
Renee hung the phone up and went back into her room to think. She found herself thing about, yet another friend. Melissa, had been a best friend of hers for a short time but she had then found the truth.
“Renee, I can I talk to you?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Renee replied.
“Renee, my parents, they don’t think that we should be friends anymore, they think I should only hang out with people my age,” Melissa told her.
“But I’m only 2 years older than you, what is wrong with your parents? I want to be your friend, how can they be OK with this?” her mind flew wild with questions.
“What if I am OK with it?” Melissa questioned.
“No,” Renee whispered, backing away.
That was it, the most recent bad memory. There was also Karina who had broken up with her a week after her birthday 2 or 3 years before. They had been friend since kindergarten and were now in 9th grade. They had gotten back together eventually, but things never were the same.
There was so much for her to think of, she was not very good looking and had few friends, but there were those who meant everything to her. Lynn was one of those few, along with Charity, Melody (her mother), and Rick (her father). There were friends other than these such as Kelsey, Karina, and Saido. These friends had once been the people whom she would spend time with and talk to all the time, but they had turned into plain acquaintances. Those who were left she trusted with her life, especially Lynn.
Her other best friend was Charity, whom she had met less than a year ago. Renee was home schooling for 9th grade and had become part of a journalism club that was directed by Charity’s mother. The two had soon become great friends and spent much time together, even after Charity moved to Tulare, a two hour trip from the small town that Renee lived in.
When Charity first met Lynn things were a bit awkward. It came about by this: Renee had invited Charity to come with her to church on Monday night youth group meetings.
“Hey, Lynn, this is Charity,” Renee said introducing Charity.
The night went by slowly but was soon over. Renee could tell that there was something between Charity and Lynn that was not quite right, but she could not figure it out.
Thinking of these things, Renee took out a CD titled Essential Baroque, put it in the Stereo that sat on her desk, and pushed play. She laid down and continued to think of all these things that she was remembering. The things that were locked in her memory forever.
“Oh, how I wish Lynn were here,” she repeated to herself.
The music comforted her and helped her to relax, but the thought of what friendship meant to her stayed fresh on her mind.
The thing that came to mind this time was the conversation that she had with Lynn one time. Ever since Lynn had met Charity she had made an effort to spend more time with her, Renee had not noticed this.
The conversation that took place was what made Renee realize why things had been so strange and shy between Lynn and Charity that night. She had made many efforts to get the two friends together, but to no success. After this day she knew things would be different.
The day that it happened Renee had stayed the night at Lynn’s apartment and they went swimming in a pool that was located there. They were all alone, no one else was near. They began to talk and soon went into a conversation.
“Renee, can I trust you with what I say?” Lynn asked.
“Yes, I suppose, what is it?” Renee questioned.
“Well, we are always going to be friends, right?” Lynn asked.
“Of Coarse,” Renee replied, “In fact, you should get to know me more, and Charity..”
“Yes, but what about us?” Lynn interrupted.
“You are my best friend,” Renee told her.
“And I love to hear that, but what about Charity?” Lynn questioned.
“She is my friend, but I have known you longer and have come to know how great of a friend you really, truly are,” Renee told her.
“Can I tell you something?” Lynn asked.
“You already asked that, Lynn and my answer was of coarse,” Renee replied.
The water around them was steady and they floated about the pool until they reached the deep end.
“Renee, when I first saw you at church with Charity I...” she paused.
“Yes, you..” Renee whispered.
“I was kinda, sort of, jealous of her,” she gave a great sigh, “When I saw you with her and how great of friends you were becoming I just, I got jealous. I guess it made me realize that I wanted to be your friend and that I cared about you and wanted to spend more time with you,” Lynn finished.
“Wow, jealous, for me, of her, because of me, this is so strange, yet amazing,” Renee told Lynn.
“I know it is, but still, what I want to know is, I have given you my secrets and I want to know how you feel, can I trust you?” Lynn questioned.
“Lynn, you are my best friend and you have no idea what you have done in my life. I know how much you have gone through, and I have gone through a lot as well, this conversation has made me realize what you realized long ago, you are my best friend and I will be forever grateful to you,” Renee told her.
As this memory was thought about, Renee wished she could have said more that say.
“Renee,” her mother said, entering the room, “I just talked to Lynn’s mom and she says that things are not going too well.”
Lynn’s parents had gotten divorced long ago and her father had always just tried to use her, not love her. At that moment Lynn was in Louisiana with her sister-in-law. She was staying at the base camp for her brother for a month and a half. Things did not go well there. Her sister-in-law’s father was dying of Liver Cancer and was going to die any day.
“Her sister-in-law’s mom invited her dad to visit. So Lynn is distressed because Shannon, her sister-in-law is pushing her to make up with her dad because she knows what it feels like to be losing a father but does not realize how Lynn feels,” Melody finished.
“I should call her,” Renee mentioned to her mother.
Renee picked up the phone and called the number that had been given to her to call when wanting to get a hold of Lynn.
“No one is there,” Renee told her mother.
“Well you can try back later, her mom said that they have been getting back late from the hospital lately, and they are two hours ahead of us, remember that,” her mother told her.
Renee went back to he room and began to think again.
“Poor, Lynn. I wish she was here. I wish there was something that I could do to make her feel better,” she said to herself.
She stood up and sat down at her desk. She took out a pen and piece of stationary paper and began to write.
“Dear Lynn,
I have just heard of what is happening over there and I am so sorry. I have been thinking for so long, remembering and looking back at what you have done for me. I wish there was something that I could do to help, something to make you feel better. You have done so much for me. You are my best friend. Remember that day at the pool? I will always be your friend and you mine. You are the best friend that a girl like me could have. I am afraid that this all I can think of to say. I wish there was more. I wish I could cheer you up. I wish you were here to cheer me up. Everything is so dull without you here, so boring. There is no one to talk to, all I can think of is my friends, old, and new. I even think of Melissa and how she broke up with me but then signed my yearbook signing it, ‘your friend, Melissa” and underlining the word friend. You are my friend, Lynn and I will never forget that. I hope that everything will be all right. Your best friend,
Renee,” she finished writing and put it in and envelope.
“I miss you Lynn,” she whispered quietly to herself.
Renee was up until midnight that night trying to get a hold of Lynn, but she knew that she had to go to sleep eventually and stopped trying.
The next day Renee’s mother would send the letter she had written Lynn in Louisiana.
She continued to lay on her bed and remember. She looked out the window and took in the memories.
“I can’t wait until vacation, Lynn. You have done so much for me, you have made me smile. You are my best friend,” she said, laying her head down to sleep.
The girl sat there, she was staring out the window next to her bed. She hated remembering, there were so many painful memories. She knew that there were good memories too, some were even within the bad memories. Much had happened that made her sad, so much that made her feel worthless inside. So she just sat on her bed and stared out the window. She had to remember, no matter how painful it was.
The thing that was caught up in her mind was the conversation that she had had with her mother a few days earlier. They were sitting in the family car and had been talking about the vacation that they were going to go on a few weeks from then.
They planned to drive to Oregon and do things on the way. When in Portland they would stop for a short while to visit her grandma and would then head for Seattle, Washington and do things in that area. After this they would go back to Portland and her mother would judge a pageant there. Once that was over with they would drive along the coast until they would get to their turn off to head home. Her friend, Lynn was going to come along for fun.
In the car her mother and she began to talk of the fun they would have while on vacation. The disturbing conversation that came up was started by this talk of vacation.
“Renee, you are not going to be offended when we are there, are you?” her mother gently asked.
“Why would I be offended?” Renee questioned in reply.
“You won’t get sad when you look back at your memories and remember Sarah,” Melody, her mother answered.
“I suppose not,” Renee replied silently.
There was a moment of silence between them, as her mother continued to drive.
“Have I made you sad, honey? About Sarah?” Melody asked.
“No,” Renee paused, “ I do miss her though,” she said with a downward cast look on her face.
“She does not deserve to have you as a friend, you are too good for her,” her mother told her.
“I saw a picture of her a couple weeks ago. Kelsey showed it to me, Sarah is very pretty, you know,” Renee told her.
“I bet she is, she has always looked nice, even though she is a little buff,” Melody mentioned to her daughter.
“It is hard for me,” Renee started.
“What is hard for you?” her mother asked.
“To know how well she has kept in contact with Kelsey and Karina, but not with me,” she answered.
“Her parents are different, that’s all,” her mother reminded her.
Renee remembered that letter that had come in the mail so long ago, the one that had said that they had spoiled Sarah too much on their last trip to where Sarah lived and that her parents, who wrote this letter, were disappointed that they had spent less time with family while visiting. It was obvious that Sarah’s parents had some disliking for Renee and her mother and father.
“Why does it trouble me so?” Renee asked.
“Don’t let it, I know you will be a little distressed when we go near where she lives and when we go to places that you visited with Sarah,” her mother told her.
“Yes, it is true that I miss her. That letter, it was so awful,” Renee said to herself.
Renee continued to gaze out her window and remember her old friend Sarah. now she went back even further into her memories. She began to think of the last tie she spoke to Sarah.
It had been two years ago, she and her mother were on vacation in Oregon where Sarah lived. They had taken Sarah with them to many places and their vacation was almost over. They were originally planning to go to Oaks Park the next day and bring Sarah along, but that night they had received a call in their hotel room.
“Hello,” Melody said answering the phone, “It is for you Renee, it’s Sarah.”
Renee took the phone from her mother and spoke into it.
“Hello,” she said into the phone.
The words that struck her were painful, but set in a bad way.
“Hi, Renee. I can’t go with you tomorrow, OK. I am sorry, but, well, I just,” the voice told her.
“Sarah, why?” Renee questioned.
“I have stuff to do at my house, and my parents say that I can not go with you because of that,” Sarah told her.
Renee hung up and told her mother what she had been told by Sarah.
Months later they received a letter in the mail from Sarah’s parents. It stated that they believed that Renee and her mother had spoiled Sarah and made her temporarily a little bit selfish and bad tempered. They said that that was the reason for Sarah not being aloud to go with them that last day of vacation.
Renee stood up and looked out the window again.
“I’m bored, I wish Lynn was here,” she said to herself.
She picked up a notebook of hers and flipped through it. She came upon a picture that an old friend, Saido, had drawn when they had first met. She went into the kitchen and picked up the phone, dialing a phone number.
“Hi, Saido, I am sorry that I could not get a hold of you,” she started, she had gotten the answering machine, “I know that we have not seen each other very often lately. We have not been that great of friends and all but, I was just thinking about you and the first time I met you, and I just thought I would call, so.. call me back, OK,” she finished.
Renee hung the phone up and went back into her room to think. She found herself thing about, yet another friend. Melissa, had been a best friend of hers for a short time but she had then found the truth.
“Renee, I can I talk to you?” Melissa asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Renee replied.
“Renee, my parents, they don’t think that we should be friends anymore, they think I should only hang out with people my age,” Melissa told her.
“But I’m only 2 years older than you, what is wrong with your parents? I want to be your friend, how can they be OK with this?” her mind flew wild with questions.
“What if I am OK with it?” Melissa questioned.
“No,” Renee whispered, backing away.
That was it, the most recent bad memory. There was also Karina who had broken up with her a week after her birthday 2 or 3 years before. They had been friend since kindergarten and were now in 9th grade. They had gotten back together eventually, but things never were the same.
There was so much for her to think of, she was not very good looking and had few friends, but there were those who meant everything to her. Lynn was one of those few, along with Charity, Melody (her mother), and Rick (her father). There were friends other than these such as Kelsey, Karina, and Saido. These friends had once been the people whom she would spend time with and talk to all the time, but they had turned into plain acquaintances. Those who were left she trusted with her life, especially Lynn.
Her other best friend was Charity, whom she had met less than a year ago. Renee was home schooling for 9th grade and had become part of a journalism club that was directed by Charity’s mother. The two had soon become great friends and spent much time together, even after Charity moved to Tulare, a two hour trip from the small town that Renee lived in.
When Charity first met Lynn things were a bit awkward. It came about by this: Renee had invited Charity to come with her to church on Monday night youth group meetings.
“Hey, Lynn, this is Charity,” Renee said introducing Charity.
The night went by slowly but was soon over. Renee could tell that there was something between Charity and Lynn that was not quite right, but she could not figure it out.
Thinking of these things, Renee took out a CD titled Essential Baroque, put it in the Stereo that sat on her desk, and pushed play. She laid down and continued to think of all these things that she was remembering. The things that were locked in her memory forever.
“Oh, how I wish Lynn were here,” she repeated to herself.
The music comforted her and helped her to relax, but the thought of what friendship meant to her stayed fresh on her mind.
The thing that came to mind this time was the conversation that she had with Lynn one time. Ever since Lynn had met Charity she had made an effort to spend more time with her, Renee had not noticed this.
The conversation that took place was what made Renee realize why things had been so strange and shy between Lynn and Charity that night. She had made many efforts to get the two friends together, but to no success. After this day she knew things would be different.
The day that it happened Renee had stayed the night at Lynn’s apartment and they went swimming in a pool that was located there. They were all alone, no one else was near. They began to talk and soon went into a conversation.
“Renee, can I trust you with what I say?” Lynn asked.
“Yes, I suppose, what is it?” Renee questioned.
“Well, we are always going to be friends, right?” Lynn asked.
“Of Coarse,” Renee replied, “In fact, you should get to know me more, and Charity..”
“Yes, but what about us?” Lynn interrupted.
“You are my best friend,” Renee told her.
“And I love to hear that, but what about Charity?” Lynn questioned.
“She is my friend, but I have known you longer and have come to know how great of a friend you really, truly are,” Renee told her.
“Can I tell you something?” Lynn asked.
“You already asked that, Lynn and my answer was of coarse,” Renee replied.
The water around them was steady and they floated about the pool until they reached the deep end.
“Renee, when I first saw you at church with Charity I...” she paused.
“Yes, you..” Renee whispered.
“I was kinda, sort of, jealous of her,” she gave a great sigh, “When I saw you with her and how great of friends you were becoming I just, I got jealous. I guess it made me realize that I wanted to be your friend and that I cared about you and wanted to spend more time with you,” Lynn finished.
“Wow, jealous, for me, of her, because of me, this is so strange, yet amazing,” Renee told Lynn.
“I know it is, but still, what I want to know is, I have given you my secrets and I want to know how you feel, can I trust you?” Lynn questioned.
“Lynn, you are my best friend and you have no idea what you have done in my life. I know how much you have gone through, and I have gone through a lot as well, this conversation has made me realize what you realized long ago, you are my best friend and I will be forever grateful to you,” Renee told her.
As this memory was thought about, Renee wished she could have said more that say.
“Renee,” her mother said, entering the room, “I just talked to Lynn’s mom and she says that things are not going too well.”
Lynn’s parents had gotten divorced long ago and her father had always just tried to use her, not love her. At that moment Lynn was in Louisiana with her sister-in-law. She was staying at the base camp for her brother for a month and a half. Things did not go well there. Her sister-in-law’s father was dying of Liver Cancer and was going to die any day.
“Her sister-in-law’s mom invited her dad to visit. So Lynn is distressed because Shannon, her sister-in-law is pushing her to make up with her dad because she knows what it feels like to be losing a father but does not realize how Lynn feels,” Melody finished.
“I should call her,” Renee mentioned to her mother.
Renee picked up the phone and called the number that had been given to her to call when wanting to get a hold of Lynn.
“No one is there,” Renee told her mother.
“Well you can try back later, her mom said that they have been getting back late from the hospital lately, and they are two hours ahead of us, remember that,” her mother told her.
Renee went back to he room and began to think again.
“Poor, Lynn. I wish she was here. I wish there was something that I could do to make her feel better,” she said to herself.
She stood up and sat down at her desk. She took out a pen and piece of stationary paper and began to write.
“Dear Lynn,
I have just heard of what is happening over there and I am so sorry. I have been thinking for so long, remembering and looking back at what you have done for me. I wish there was something that I could do to help, something to make you feel better. You have done so much for me. You are my best friend. Remember that day at the pool? I will always be your friend and you mine. You are the best friend that a girl like me could have. I am afraid that this all I can think of to say. I wish there was more. I wish I could cheer you up. I wish you were here to cheer me up. Everything is so dull without you here, so boring. There is no one to talk to, all I can think of is my friends, old, and new. I even think of Melissa and how she broke up with me but then signed my yearbook signing it, ‘your friend, Melissa” and underlining the word friend. You are my friend, Lynn and I will never forget that. I hope that everything will be all right. Your best friend,
Renee,” she finished writing and put it in and envelope.
“I miss you Lynn,” she whispered quietly to herself.
Renee was up until midnight that night trying to get a hold of Lynn, but she knew that she had to go to sleep eventually and stopped trying.
The next day Renee’s mother would send the letter she had written Lynn in Louisiana.
She continued to lay on her bed and remember. She looked out the window and took in the memories.
“I can’t wait until vacation, Lynn. You have done so much for me, you have made me smile. You are my best friend,” she said, laying her head down to sleep.
Life on a Plantation - A Journal - written for 10th grade English
Ninth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
Father gave this journal to me today. He says that it will always be there for me to put my feelings into, on account that often in life I won’t be able to express myself, due to the order and way of things. I would much rather tell people my feelings, than a book, but pa says that in certain times it would be forbidden. Such circumstances would include what happened today. I suppose I must start at the beginning.
Since I was young, I was taken care of by a nanny, one of the house slaves. Her name was Sarah, but I just called her Nanna. She watched over me and made sure I kept to my mother and father’s rules. There were few times when I was not with her. She left to do other chores when I was with mother, who taught me to knit, play the piano, and sing. We were very close, nanna and I.
One day, about a week ago, Nanna came to me and asked, “Miss Anna, if’n I was ever t’ go ‘way, you’s wouldn’t forgets me, would ya?”
I, of course, told her I would never forget her and began to ask questions.
“Just promise me this: if’n I goes, take cares of my Ida. You's and hers is friends. Please’m, be kind t’ her like you is to me,” she said.
I promised, and she changed the subject, but I kept on questioning her and she finally admitted.
“I knows how t’ read and write, Miss Anna. And I thinks they’re mighty suspicious. I been teach’n it too’m. I wishes now I never knowed or teached it.”
I told her there was nothing wrong, but she kept insisting it was “bad of me's to knows it and teach it t’ others.”
Well, today, Nanna didn’t come. I sat and waited until my father came and apologized. He said that there was some business he had to tend to before I could go downstairs.
It was very awkward at breakfast. Mother kept quiet and father stumbled over his words. When the kitchen slave came to serve us, he trembled and shook; his words were stiff and full of fear. Then all of a sudden, father and mother stood up.
“Anna, you are almost thirteen now, and… well, we feel it is time for you to start your tutoring with a governess,” father told me.
“Where is Nanna?” I asked.
“Sarah has been sold, dear,” mother replied. “You will begin your tutoring within the month.”
“What about Ida?” I asked.
“Ida has been sent to work in the fields. You do not need a playmate any more,” mother answered.
“According to this letter,” father said, looking down at a letter he had been reading, “Mrs. Tucker will arrive on the 21st of the month, twelve days from now. Here child, you may read it yourself.” He handed it to me. “Perhaps you will learn a little about your new governess.”
The day continued as any other would. I spent time with my mother learning music, knitting, spelling, and a bit of poetry and history.
Around sunset, father called me to the sitting room. He explained to me that Nanna had been found to have the ability to read and write.
“It is illegal for a slave to know these things,” he told me, “I had to sell her to set an example.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I know this is hard for you. This is the way things are, however, and they are not meant to be changed. Nanna is a slave, mere property, just like all the rest of those things. She is like a dog that has to be sold or die. They don’t have real feelings. We are superior to them, whether we like it or not. This is the way things are. You can’t change them and someday you will have to learn to accept it.”
It was then that he gave me this journal and dismissed me to go back to my studies or playing. I just don’t understand it. I just don’t.
Love, Anna
Tenth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
My days are the same here. There is not much to talk about what happens during the day, but at night, there is.
Tonight I snuck out to see Ida. Oh, how I miss her. Carrying a small candle, I found my way to the slave’s quarters, but was attracted to another area, the praise house. I could hear the men shouting and singing and the women saying “praise the Lord!” I peaked through a window and saw that there were slaves gathered, worshiping. After a few minutes, the singing stopped and a man stood up. He began shouting and yelling, lifting up a book in his hand, and saying how it was the answer to everything. He read from the book, which I then realized to be a Bible. The passage he was reading was one I had not heard before, about Moses and how he freed the Israelites. In the corner, I could see Ida, curled up. She did not look very happy, but by the end of the preaching, she had a smile on her face.
I hid in a bush as the slaves left to go back to their huts. I did not manage to find Ida among the crowd but once everyone had left, I went inside to look around. It was a small room, only enough seats to fit about 100. There was a stage in the front of the room, and a table next to it. On the table, I found a Bible. I flipped through its pages. There were a few notes written here and there. It was a rugged, old Bible, dusty, with ripped and folded pages.
A noise came from outside, so I put the Bible down and ran outside and back to the house where I climbed the stairs to my room and sat down to begin to write. I will have to put my candle out soon, before father wakes up and finds me awake. I am curious about such things as I just saw. It seems to me that I can recall father saying that such late night meetings were not allowed, and the preacher had been reading.
Love, Anna
Eleventh of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
A very interesting thing happened today, and I’m afraid to tell father about it.
I was walking about, during my free time. I thought I might go and say hello to Ida. So I went to where the slave huts were and no one was there. I went inside one of the huts, only to discover a horrible thing. There was only one room in the hut and there was no furniture at all except for about seven or eight bunk beds. I can’t imagine it, ten to fourteen people living in one, single, measly, terrible hut. It was dirty, dust was everywhere. The beds were made of hay and had no pillows; only one, small sheet. I left right away and headed towards the fields.
“Miss, you aint suppose’ to be here,” one slave told me, “These is the cotton fields. Goes back to your sweet gardens and comfy house.”
I could not find Ida, so I turned and went back towards the house. On the way, I passed a few slaves who were talking. Father said the slaves weren’t allowed to talk, so I listened. They said something about running away in a day or two. They were making plans and I knew! Now what was I supposed to do?
I think I will tell father tomorrow. I hope he doesn’t send them away like he did nanna, but I know it is the right thing to do. For mother says it is a sin to help slaves, and I would be helping those slaves by not telling father about their planning to run away. I don’t want to sin.
Love, Anna
Twelfth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
I told father today about the slaves I saw planning an escape, and the meeting I had seen in the praise house. He was furious and this afternoon he called everyone on the plantation to come to the back of the house where he said there would be a demonstration.
I looked at the faces of the slaves and saw Ida: she looked terrified. But there was a man standing there holding her tight. He was one of the two I had seen the day before plotting an escape. When father had me point out the slaves who I had seen in the fields, I almost felt sick, but I did it, and felt bad for it, too, for the man holding Ida turned out to be Ida’s father.
Father took the two slaves I had pointed out and had them stand in front of everyone.
“Let this serve as an example,” he said. “These slaves were planning an escape, as seen by my daughter. For this attempt, I must see to it that they are punished. One of them will be whipped and hung, and the other whipped and sold.” He motioned for one of the slaves to come to him and said, “Fetch us a carriage to take these men to town.”
Ida’s father ended up being hung, and I was dead sorry for it. As I watched the whipping go on, I could not bear the sight, and poor Ida crying. Father noticed my face and said, “This is the way it has to be. You may go.”
The preacher I had seen was also called up, before I left, to be beaten. He was found to be carrying a Bible on him. I stole the Bible from father before he could do anything with it. I keep it under my bed now, and pull it out every once in a while to read, and remember.
Love, Anna
Sunday, Fifteenth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
Today I went to church with mother and father. I though it would be a great relief. Ever since the whippings of those three men, I cannot help but think of the way slaves are treated. They work all day and get little rest. Once a month they are allowed to have a supervised church gathering, without any reading. Father says that a lot of them are starting to go back to their ancestor’s ways. Their rituals scare mother a lot. She keeps demanding that father put a stop to it, but father won’t. He says he prefers voodoo over Christianity for the slaves. It means we don’t have to feel like we are spiritually equal to them.
As for me, I care about the slaves. Mrs. Corbett, our neighbor, says they have souls too, and therefore should be evangelized. Father says that there has been a growth in black preaching lately. He says that people from all over, blacks and whites, come to see them. Today, the church was allowing for blacks to come sit in the back to watch a black man preach. Father feels ashamed that they are being more lenient to them. He says that the abolitionists in the North are enough trouble as it is. I suppose I enjoyed the sermon. Father would not let any of our slaves come. I wished Ida could have come, but she probably hates me now.
When I got home, I wrote a letter to Mrs. Tucker, my soon to be governess. I told her a bit about myself, and how I was looking forward to her coming. Then I sat down in the drawing room to knit for a little bit.
The rest of the day was boring. It was a normal, relaxing Sunday. Still, when I went to bed, I could not help but pulling out that Bible and giving it one more look before putting the candle out.
Love, Anna
Twenty-First of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
The house was full of energy today. All the house slaves were busy getting ready for the arrival of Mrs. Tucker. Father says she is a good teacher, and that she will have a great influence on me.
Around noon, my new governess arrived. She was an elderly, quiet woman, quite a radical, though. She was one of few working women at the time and believed strongly in it. She seemed to take well to me. I like her. Although she is quite like father in that she believes in slavery, she believes in treating them well.
When mother claimed that one of the house slaves stole her necklace, father ordered that the slave be whipped and gagged to go without food for three days. Mrs. Tucker, however, was quite against such a large punishment and convinced father to let the slave get off with a short whipping and a warning. I do not think mother likes her very much, but she seems pleased with the education I will be getting, so she makes no complaint. Lunch was delightful with Mrs. Tucker, and so was dinner. She brought conversation to our table. I am very excited now and cannot wait to start my first lesson tomorrow.
Love, Anna
Twenty-fifth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
Mrs. Tucker is wonderful and so are my lessons! No day is boring with her about the house. Today, she took me out on a walk and educated me on the way things are done in both the South and the North. Everything sounds lovely. Then she took me inside and had me read poetry to her. Next, I had a spelling lesson and then math.
I am learning to accept the way things are. I do not think of slaves as property, but consider them lower than me. Still, I cannot help but hope that one day we will be equal. Father says I am beginning to think like a young woman and mother says her influence is rubbing off on me. There is going to be a ball next week. I am excited. It should be lovely and I will get to meet all of mother and father’s friends. It will be my first party with so many people.
I looked out my window this morning and saw the slaves hard at work. There was Ida, picking cotton. I could smell the breakfast being made down in the kitchen. In the slave huts, a few slaves were just leaving. Some of the house slaves were leaving their huts as well. Some of the slaves were in the slave garden where they would grow food that would provide a healthier nutrition. The trees’ leaves swayed in the wind and there was mother, walking in the gardens. It was a mixture of both terrible and wonderful sights. But I knew I had to get on with my life. It is a shame that some of us are forced to wear such masks.
Ida got sick today. Father is forcing her to work. I didn’t complain. I know the facts now. Many women, even pregnant women, are whipped for their disobedience. They are forced to work in the hardest conditions while us, whites, just sit and walk about, as happy as can be. Father says this is the way things are, but he doubts it will last much longer because of more and more abolitionists on the move and Lincoln running for president. He says that the conditions of slaves are kept to keep the slaves below us as they should be. Mrs. Tucker says that slaves who get sick and are forced to work, often die. I am worried.
A few more slaves were caught reading today. They were whipped and sold.
I wonder where Nanna is right now. I often wonder about the way things are, but I guess that they just are.
Love, Anna
Dear Journal,
Father gave this journal to me today. He says that it will always be there for me to put my feelings into, on account that often in life I won’t be able to express myself, due to the order and way of things. I would much rather tell people my feelings, than a book, but pa says that in certain times it would be forbidden. Such circumstances would include what happened today. I suppose I must start at the beginning.
Since I was young, I was taken care of by a nanny, one of the house slaves. Her name was Sarah, but I just called her Nanna. She watched over me and made sure I kept to my mother and father’s rules. There were few times when I was not with her. She left to do other chores when I was with mother, who taught me to knit, play the piano, and sing. We were very close, nanna and I.
One day, about a week ago, Nanna came to me and asked, “Miss Anna, if’n I was ever t’ go ‘way, you’s wouldn’t forgets me, would ya?”
I, of course, told her I would never forget her and began to ask questions.
“Just promise me this: if’n I goes, take cares of my Ida. You's and hers is friends. Please’m, be kind t’ her like you is to me,” she said.
I promised, and she changed the subject, but I kept on questioning her and she finally admitted.
“I knows how t’ read and write, Miss Anna. And I thinks they’re mighty suspicious. I been teach’n it too’m. I wishes now I never knowed or teached it.”
I told her there was nothing wrong, but she kept insisting it was “bad of me's to knows it and teach it t’ others.”
Well, today, Nanna didn’t come. I sat and waited until my father came and apologized. He said that there was some business he had to tend to before I could go downstairs.
It was very awkward at breakfast. Mother kept quiet and father stumbled over his words. When the kitchen slave came to serve us, he trembled and shook; his words were stiff and full of fear. Then all of a sudden, father and mother stood up.
“Anna, you are almost thirteen now, and… well, we feel it is time for you to start your tutoring with a governess,” father told me.
“Where is Nanna?” I asked.
“Sarah has been sold, dear,” mother replied. “You will begin your tutoring within the month.”
“What about Ida?” I asked.
“Ida has been sent to work in the fields. You do not need a playmate any more,” mother answered.
“According to this letter,” father said, looking down at a letter he had been reading, “Mrs. Tucker will arrive on the 21st of the month, twelve days from now. Here child, you may read it yourself.” He handed it to me. “Perhaps you will learn a little about your new governess.”
The day continued as any other would. I spent time with my mother learning music, knitting, spelling, and a bit of poetry and history.
Around sunset, father called me to the sitting room. He explained to me that Nanna had been found to have the ability to read and write.
“It is illegal for a slave to know these things,” he told me, “I had to sell her to set an example.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I know this is hard for you. This is the way things are, however, and they are not meant to be changed. Nanna is a slave, mere property, just like all the rest of those things. She is like a dog that has to be sold or die. They don’t have real feelings. We are superior to them, whether we like it or not. This is the way things are. You can’t change them and someday you will have to learn to accept it.”
It was then that he gave me this journal and dismissed me to go back to my studies or playing. I just don’t understand it. I just don’t.
Love, Anna
Tenth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
My days are the same here. There is not much to talk about what happens during the day, but at night, there is.
Tonight I snuck out to see Ida. Oh, how I miss her. Carrying a small candle, I found my way to the slave’s quarters, but was attracted to another area, the praise house. I could hear the men shouting and singing and the women saying “praise the Lord!” I peaked through a window and saw that there were slaves gathered, worshiping. After a few minutes, the singing stopped and a man stood up. He began shouting and yelling, lifting up a book in his hand, and saying how it was the answer to everything. He read from the book, which I then realized to be a Bible. The passage he was reading was one I had not heard before, about Moses and how he freed the Israelites. In the corner, I could see Ida, curled up. She did not look very happy, but by the end of the preaching, she had a smile on her face.
I hid in a bush as the slaves left to go back to their huts. I did not manage to find Ida among the crowd but once everyone had left, I went inside to look around. It was a small room, only enough seats to fit about 100. There was a stage in the front of the room, and a table next to it. On the table, I found a Bible. I flipped through its pages. There were a few notes written here and there. It was a rugged, old Bible, dusty, with ripped and folded pages.
A noise came from outside, so I put the Bible down and ran outside and back to the house where I climbed the stairs to my room and sat down to begin to write. I will have to put my candle out soon, before father wakes up and finds me awake. I am curious about such things as I just saw. It seems to me that I can recall father saying that such late night meetings were not allowed, and the preacher had been reading.
Love, Anna
Eleventh of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
A very interesting thing happened today, and I’m afraid to tell father about it.
I was walking about, during my free time. I thought I might go and say hello to Ida. So I went to where the slave huts were and no one was there. I went inside one of the huts, only to discover a horrible thing. There was only one room in the hut and there was no furniture at all except for about seven or eight bunk beds. I can’t imagine it, ten to fourteen people living in one, single, measly, terrible hut. It was dirty, dust was everywhere. The beds were made of hay and had no pillows; only one, small sheet. I left right away and headed towards the fields.
“Miss, you aint suppose’ to be here,” one slave told me, “These is the cotton fields. Goes back to your sweet gardens and comfy house.”
I could not find Ida, so I turned and went back towards the house. On the way, I passed a few slaves who were talking. Father said the slaves weren’t allowed to talk, so I listened. They said something about running away in a day or two. They were making plans and I knew! Now what was I supposed to do?
I think I will tell father tomorrow. I hope he doesn’t send them away like he did nanna, but I know it is the right thing to do. For mother says it is a sin to help slaves, and I would be helping those slaves by not telling father about their planning to run away. I don’t want to sin.
Love, Anna
Twelfth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
I told father today about the slaves I saw planning an escape, and the meeting I had seen in the praise house. He was furious and this afternoon he called everyone on the plantation to come to the back of the house where he said there would be a demonstration.
I looked at the faces of the slaves and saw Ida: she looked terrified. But there was a man standing there holding her tight. He was one of the two I had seen the day before plotting an escape. When father had me point out the slaves who I had seen in the fields, I almost felt sick, but I did it, and felt bad for it, too, for the man holding Ida turned out to be Ida’s father.
Father took the two slaves I had pointed out and had them stand in front of everyone.
“Let this serve as an example,” he said. “These slaves were planning an escape, as seen by my daughter. For this attempt, I must see to it that they are punished. One of them will be whipped and hung, and the other whipped and sold.” He motioned for one of the slaves to come to him and said, “Fetch us a carriage to take these men to town.”
Ida’s father ended up being hung, and I was dead sorry for it. As I watched the whipping go on, I could not bear the sight, and poor Ida crying. Father noticed my face and said, “This is the way it has to be. You may go.”
The preacher I had seen was also called up, before I left, to be beaten. He was found to be carrying a Bible on him. I stole the Bible from father before he could do anything with it. I keep it under my bed now, and pull it out every once in a while to read, and remember.
Love, Anna
Sunday, Fifteenth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
Today I went to church with mother and father. I though it would be a great relief. Ever since the whippings of those three men, I cannot help but think of the way slaves are treated. They work all day and get little rest. Once a month they are allowed to have a supervised church gathering, without any reading. Father says that a lot of them are starting to go back to their ancestor’s ways. Their rituals scare mother a lot. She keeps demanding that father put a stop to it, but father won’t. He says he prefers voodoo over Christianity for the slaves. It means we don’t have to feel like we are spiritually equal to them.
As for me, I care about the slaves. Mrs. Corbett, our neighbor, says they have souls too, and therefore should be evangelized. Father says that there has been a growth in black preaching lately. He says that people from all over, blacks and whites, come to see them. Today, the church was allowing for blacks to come sit in the back to watch a black man preach. Father feels ashamed that they are being more lenient to them. He says that the abolitionists in the North are enough trouble as it is. I suppose I enjoyed the sermon. Father would not let any of our slaves come. I wished Ida could have come, but she probably hates me now.
When I got home, I wrote a letter to Mrs. Tucker, my soon to be governess. I told her a bit about myself, and how I was looking forward to her coming. Then I sat down in the drawing room to knit for a little bit.
The rest of the day was boring. It was a normal, relaxing Sunday. Still, when I went to bed, I could not help but pulling out that Bible and giving it one more look before putting the candle out.
Love, Anna
Twenty-First of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
The house was full of energy today. All the house slaves were busy getting ready for the arrival of Mrs. Tucker. Father says she is a good teacher, and that she will have a great influence on me.
Around noon, my new governess arrived. She was an elderly, quiet woman, quite a radical, though. She was one of few working women at the time and believed strongly in it. She seemed to take well to me. I like her. Although she is quite like father in that she believes in slavery, she believes in treating them well.
When mother claimed that one of the house slaves stole her necklace, father ordered that the slave be whipped and gagged to go without food for three days. Mrs. Tucker, however, was quite against such a large punishment and convinced father to let the slave get off with a short whipping and a warning. I do not think mother likes her very much, but she seems pleased with the education I will be getting, so she makes no complaint. Lunch was delightful with Mrs. Tucker, and so was dinner. She brought conversation to our table. I am very excited now and cannot wait to start my first lesson tomorrow.
Love, Anna
Twenty-fifth of September, 1860
Dear Journal,
Mrs. Tucker is wonderful and so are my lessons! No day is boring with her about the house. Today, she took me out on a walk and educated me on the way things are done in both the South and the North. Everything sounds lovely. Then she took me inside and had me read poetry to her. Next, I had a spelling lesson and then math.
I am learning to accept the way things are. I do not think of slaves as property, but consider them lower than me. Still, I cannot help but hope that one day we will be equal. Father says I am beginning to think like a young woman and mother says her influence is rubbing off on me. There is going to be a ball next week. I am excited. It should be lovely and I will get to meet all of mother and father’s friends. It will be my first party with so many people.
I looked out my window this morning and saw the slaves hard at work. There was Ida, picking cotton. I could smell the breakfast being made down in the kitchen. In the slave huts, a few slaves were just leaving. Some of the house slaves were leaving their huts as well. Some of the slaves were in the slave garden where they would grow food that would provide a healthier nutrition. The trees’ leaves swayed in the wind and there was mother, walking in the gardens. It was a mixture of both terrible and wonderful sights. But I knew I had to get on with my life. It is a shame that some of us are forced to wear such masks.
Ida got sick today. Father is forcing her to work. I didn’t complain. I know the facts now. Many women, even pregnant women, are whipped for their disobedience. They are forced to work in the hardest conditions while us, whites, just sit and walk about, as happy as can be. Father says this is the way things are, but he doubts it will last much longer because of more and more abolitionists on the move and Lincoln running for president. He says that the conditions of slaves are kept to keep the slaves below us as they should be. Mrs. Tucker says that slaves who get sick and are forced to work, often die. I am worried.
A few more slaves were caught reading today. They were whipped and sold.
I wonder where Nanna is right now. I often wonder about the way things are, but I guess that they just are.
Love, Anna
The Woman
I was driving downtown the other day when I saw something, or rather someone, that quite surprised me. At first, I thought the woman was just an old, unhealthy smoker, talking to a homeless man sitting on a bus stop bench. Soon, however, I figured her to be much more. She didn't quite look like a woman. When I first saw her I thought she was a man. Her hair was short blonde, colored with a bit of gray and black in it. It was tattered and messes as though she had come out of a tornado. The hair was a tornado itself. Her clothes were basic denim pants, a button up shirt, and a vest. The clothes were baggy and dirty. For a moment I thought I saw a ame tag on her. Perhaps she did come from a care home. After what happened next, it seemed highly possible. It became evident that she was a woman, or at least was trying to be one. She thrust about from place to place. Here a thrust, there a thrust. Every once in a while she would pose, and thrust again. It was like she was trying to be picked up by some sick, perverted person, man or woman. Then, like a snake, she stuck her tongue out. But she did it randomly in the open. There was nothing sneaky about her. She was right out in the open. I thought it obscene, but a touch of compassion reached my worn out heart. I couldn't stop, though. The light had turned green and I had to continue driving with the rest of the traffic. I left the crazed woman behind, but she remained on my mind for days to come.
"If She Were Still Alive"
I often dream of my Grandma Geri - what she looked like, how she acted. I wonder what her personality would be like if she were still alive today. I wonder if she would be proud of me and the person I am today. You see, I was only about a year old when she died of cancer at the age of 46. I do miss her terribly. The only memories I have of her are pictures and videos that my parents recorded when I was young. My mom has a ring that belonged to her. She says that Grandma Geri wore it all the time when she was alive. She was even wearing it when she died. My mom says that I can have it when I am older.
I know that she was a Christian, and I am very happy to know that. My mom, dad, and I are good Christians, too. She had a sad life, though. She was still an unmarried teenager when she had my mom at age 15. Because she was young and pregnant, people didn't treat her very well at church and so she stopped loving the Lord. But when my mom was older she wrote a letter to Grandma Geri that told her how worried she was about whether she would go to heaven or not. So my Grandma renewed her relationship with God and once again became a Christian.
I am now 12 years old, and about a year ago I did a walk-a-thon in which the money that I paid to walk went to children, men and women that have leukemia. There I heard a man named Mr. Townsend sing a song that he dedicated to his daughter, who had died of leukemia at a young age. When I heard this, I was touched, for I, too, have suffered the loss of a loved one to cancer. I miss her dearly.
I know that my Grandma struggled a lot when she had cancer. The medicine she took made her hair stop growing. Therefore, she was forced to wear a wig. She coughed and sneezed a lot because the cancer had also spread to her lungs. By the time the doctors had found her cancer, it had already spread throughout her body. I imagine that it was like playing tug-o-war for her. She was on the side that had all of the hard and rough rope all by herself, other than the medicine that did not help much, and the cancer was on the side with the smooth and easy to pull rope along with all the other germs in her body.
I know that she loved me because she left me a large amount of cash, which we used to help us buy our home in Modesto. She was always thinking more of others than herself. Before, we had lived in the noisy and rowdy town of San Jose, California. I know that she and I would be very close friends if she were still alive. My mom tells me of when she was little and how my Grandma Geri was strict but loving and gave her many things when she hinted for them, but she was not spoiled by Grandma Geri.
I can just see it now if she were still alive. Every summer my mom and I would go up to Washington and visit her. While we were up there we would go on picnics and go skating in the park. She would not spoil me, but rather, get me a scoop of ice cream. Then we would sit down and tell each other about what has been happening lately in our lives.
I wonder what it was like for her to go through all those rough times. I wonder many things, but I know things, too. I know that I will see her again some day, and then I can ask her my questions and we can go skating down the golden streets of heaven and sit down and talk. For in heaven there will be no more pain and no heartache. I look forward to that day.
I know that she was a Christian, and I am very happy to know that. My mom, dad, and I are good Christians, too. She had a sad life, though. She was still an unmarried teenager when she had my mom at age 15. Because she was young and pregnant, people didn't treat her very well at church and so she stopped loving the Lord. But when my mom was older she wrote a letter to Grandma Geri that told her how worried she was about whether she would go to heaven or not. So my Grandma renewed her relationship with God and once again became a Christian.
I am now 12 years old, and about a year ago I did a walk-a-thon in which the money that I paid to walk went to children, men and women that have leukemia. There I heard a man named Mr. Townsend sing a song that he dedicated to his daughter, who had died of leukemia at a young age. When I heard this, I was touched, for I, too, have suffered the loss of a loved one to cancer. I miss her dearly.
I know that my Grandma struggled a lot when she had cancer. The medicine she took made her hair stop growing. Therefore, she was forced to wear a wig. She coughed and sneezed a lot because the cancer had also spread to her lungs. By the time the doctors had found her cancer, it had already spread throughout her body. I imagine that it was like playing tug-o-war for her. She was on the side that had all of the hard and rough rope all by herself, other than the medicine that did not help much, and the cancer was on the side with the smooth and easy to pull rope along with all the other germs in her body.
I know that she loved me because she left me a large amount of cash, which we used to help us buy our home in Modesto. She was always thinking more of others than herself. Before, we had lived in the noisy and rowdy town of San Jose, California. I know that she and I would be very close friends if she were still alive. My mom tells me of when she was little and how my Grandma Geri was strict but loving and gave her many things when she hinted for them, but she was not spoiled by Grandma Geri.
I can just see it now if she were still alive. Every summer my mom and I would go up to Washington and visit her. While we were up there we would go on picnics and go skating in the park. She would not spoil me, but rather, get me a scoop of ice cream. Then we would sit down and tell each other about what has been happening lately in our lives.
I wonder what it was like for her to go through all those rough times. I wonder many things, but I know things, too. I know that I will see her again some day, and then I can ask her my questions and we can go skating down the golden streets of heaven and sit down and talk. For in heaven there will be no more pain and no heartache. I look forward to that day.
A Mother Daughter Thing
Her brow sweat, it was the last inning and Miranda was tied with her opponent in their game of baseball. The score was 19 to 19, there was an easy chance of winning for her, she was up to bat and all she had to do was hit the ball far enough that it would give her time to run all four bases and make her final, triumphant score.
Miranda pulled back her thick, brown hair into a scrungy while stepping up to base. Picking up the bat she leaned forward into position, ready for anything. The Pitcher through the ball, it came at her like a giant tornado, spinning constantly. In a moment the ball was there for her to hit. She swung at it with all the might that she had left in her. The small crowd was silent as the girl hit the ball right across the street.
Miranda's mom ran after it but was too late. When she returned to the front yard her daughter had already reached home, making it a home run!
"Great game honey, I really thought we were gonna win, but you proved me wrong." Rick, Miranda's father congratulated her on her victory.
"It was tough, but I got through it. I wouldn't have if you hadn't showed me the correct position for batting, but if you really want to give me all the credit for my win then go right ahead." She replied.
"No that's aright, go ahead and give me some credit."
"Well, you see I would if it weren't for the fact that you already gave me all the glory"
"Oh, Really."
"Yes, you see I won and you didn't so you're just jealous that you weren't on the winning team."
"Of course, I guess I'll just have to join your team next time playing against you poor mother..."
"Yep."
"And not to mention that you would share half of your credit with me."
"No, that's O.K."
"Excuse me…" Melody, Miranda's mother, interrupted, "But how about we stop joking about your poor mother and come inside for a victory dinner."
"Food!" They both yelled and ran off into the house.
"What about my little old kiss…" Melody mentioned "And who's going to pick up this mess? Not me, no dinner till the mess is cleaned up."
" You'll still help won't you?" Miranda asked.
"Dinner won't fix itself, I think the corn is getting cold." Her mother replied.
" I'll bring something in, but you brought the stuff out and forced us to play so you put it away." Rick told her as he picked up the baseball bat and ball.
" But I'm spoiled." They all laughed at Miranda's comment and walked inside for dinner.
Inside Miranda put away the sport equipment while her mom put their food into separated bowls and on different plates for them to eat.
"Be sure to wash your hands." Her father reminded the family, as he usually did.
Miranda's family wasn't exactly normal but had a special relationship that kept them going. They had a schedule that was loose but kept well. Every day Miranda went to school and her parents off to work. Her dad woke up early every morning around 3:00 to get ready for work and catch a vanpool to where he worked in San Francisco and her mom worked at the church next to her school in the Music Department. After school she would meet her mom in her office at the church and from there Melody would take her daughter home. Her dad would get back in town around 4 in the afternoon and then would normally head to the gym. They had a family membership there and so Miranda would go every once in a while. Her dad would get home around 7:30 and then they would have dinner which was basically getting your food and watching t.v or going on the computer while eating. Then after doing whatever they felt like they would go to bed.
Miranda's favorite time of the day was in the car on the way to school or on the way home. Her mother and she would always talk about what was going on in their lives at this time or whatever was recent in the news. But most of all it was the love of her mother that she enjoyed. Miranda's best friend was her mother, the first person she ever looked to for help, the loving mother that was always there for her. There was a love that existed between them that they knew could never fade away, and that was her reason for being with her mother all the time.
Earlier she had gone shopping for groceries with her mom. They needed food for dinner and it was Saturday, Melody had to buy some snacks for the choir at church. Miranda remembered it perfectly, for it was just that afternoon.
They had walked around the nearest Save Mart and gotten all of what they needed. As they stood in line Melody put her scarf on because it was cold outside. She flipped her light brown hair with small gray streaks back and gave a last thought to whether she had everything she needed or not. As she looked around she saw the Woman's Day magazine in a nearby rack. Melody quickly grabbed it and then moved forward in line.
When they got home they brought their groceries in and Melody laid her magazine on the counter.
"What magazine is that mom?" Miranda asked.
"Women's Day honey, you can look at it if you want. There are some good diet ideas in there, why don't you give it a look." Melody finished as she walked out the door to go unload more groceries.
Miranda picked the magazine up and walked into the living room where she plopped herself down on the couch and turned the TV on. As she looked through the magazine she noticed a small article that seemed worth reading. It read: My daughter and I didn't connect with each other very well for a long time. One day I came up with an idea that I hoped would improve our relationship and help us along as a family. I picked out a special journal book that had a nice cover and back on it along with a lock. The next morning I laid it on her pillow with a note asking her to respond to what I had written inside and also to write down a few of her own concerns or problems. I told her that this is one I can bond with her in our spare time. That night, when I went to bed there it was on my pillow with a note of X's and O's attached to it. Inside she had written out her feeling and given me something to think about. We are now bonding with each other more and progressing towards spending more time together.
Miranda had read the small article many times that day before and after playing baseball with her family. Miranda had many thoughts cooped up in her mind that she wanted to tell her parents about, including how she felt about her relationship with her mom and dad, she knew this might be a way to help them along.
After eating she read the article again and considered showing it to her mother, but was afraid of what she might reveal if they decide to do it. Finally she set the magazine down and went to get ready for bed.
"So, are there any good diets in there for us?" Melody asked her daughter while Miranda passed her.
"Mom, you know I don't like talking about my weight. Besides, I didn't finish looking through it, I was mainly looking at the pictures." Miranda replied, raising her voice while she said it.
"Goodness me, it wasn't a very long magazine, and you were reading it all day. And please don't raise your voice at me." Melody calmly mentioned.
"Does it really matter?" Miranda yelled.
"Of course our weight matters, Miranda, you know that. That is what is holding us back from doing more active things."
"Stop It!" She screamed and then ran to her room where she jumped onto her bed, looked out her window, and cried.
"You know you really should learn how to choose your fights." Melody said gently as she opened the door to Miranda's room.
"I'm sorry momma, it's just that…well…I want to try but…" She stuttered.
"Shh Shh, you need to rest, lay down your head." Melody motioned for her daughter to lay her head on Melody's lap.
"Mom?" Miranda softly murmured.
"Yes."
"Can I show you something?"
"Yes, anything." Melody replied.
Miranda slowly got up and showed her mother to where she had put the magazine down earlier.
"You can read it now." She said as she opened it up to the page that had the small article that she had read so many times on it. "Read it." She told Melody.
Melody quickly read it and gave Miranda a big hug full of love.
"Can we do it?" Miranda asked.
"It is a great idea honey."
"When can we start it?" Miranda said with excitement.
"Well we can't do it until we get a journal to write in, and that will be a few days."
"Why the wait, can't we start now?" Miranda had a disappointed tone. "You don't seem very enthusiastic about it."
"I'm sorry, but right now it is time for bed, no matter how early it is, you need rest."
"Mom, I'm hungry." Miranda quietly said.
"Your fit must be over then. That is what I always say when I am done crying." They both laughed. "Very well then, I'll fix you a sandwich. Then off to bed with you."
The day was over for them and even though Melody was not too excited about the journal she knew somehow that some good would come of it, and so did Miranda.
Miranda pulled back her thick, brown hair into a scrungy while stepping up to base. Picking up the bat she leaned forward into position, ready for anything. The Pitcher through the ball, it came at her like a giant tornado, spinning constantly. In a moment the ball was there for her to hit. She swung at it with all the might that she had left in her. The small crowd was silent as the girl hit the ball right across the street.
Miranda's mom ran after it but was too late. When she returned to the front yard her daughter had already reached home, making it a home run!
"Great game honey, I really thought we were gonna win, but you proved me wrong." Rick, Miranda's father congratulated her on her victory.
"It was tough, but I got through it. I wouldn't have if you hadn't showed me the correct position for batting, but if you really want to give me all the credit for my win then go right ahead." She replied.
"No that's aright, go ahead and give me some credit."
"Well, you see I would if it weren't for the fact that you already gave me all the glory"
"Oh, Really."
"Yes, you see I won and you didn't so you're just jealous that you weren't on the winning team."
"Of course, I guess I'll just have to join your team next time playing against you poor mother..."
"Yep."
"And not to mention that you would share half of your credit with me."
"No, that's O.K."
"Excuse me…" Melody, Miranda's mother, interrupted, "But how about we stop joking about your poor mother and come inside for a victory dinner."
"Food!" They both yelled and ran off into the house.
"What about my little old kiss…" Melody mentioned "And who's going to pick up this mess? Not me, no dinner till the mess is cleaned up."
" You'll still help won't you?" Miranda asked.
"Dinner won't fix itself, I think the corn is getting cold." Her mother replied.
" I'll bring something in, but you brought the stuff out and forced us to play so you put it away." Rick told her as he picked up the baseball bat and ball.
" But I'm spoiled." They all laughed at Miranda's comment and walked inside for dinner.
Inside Miranda put away the sport equipment while her mom put their food into separated bowls and on different plates for them to eat.
"Be sure to wash your hands." Her father reminded the family, as he usually did.
Miranda's family wasn't exactly normal but had a special relationship that kept them going. They had a schedule that was loose but kept well. Every day Miranda went to school and her parents off to work. Her dad woke up early every morning around 3:00 to get ready for work and catch a vanpool to where he worked in San Francisco and her mom worked at the church next to her school in the Music Department. After school she would meet her mom in her office at the church and from there Melody would take her daughter home. Her dad would get back in town around 4 in the afternoon and then would normally head to the gym. They had a family membership there and so Miranda would go every once in a while. Her dad would get home around 7:30 and then they would have dinner which was basically getting your food and watching t.v or going on the computer while eating. Then after doing whatever they felt like they would go to bed.
Miranda's favorite time of the day was in the car on the way to school or on the way home. Her mother and she would always talk about what was going on in their lives at this time or whatever was recent in the news. But most of all it was the love of her mother that she enjoyed. Miranda's best friend was her mother, the first person she ever looked to for help, the loving mother that was always there for her. There was a love that existed between them that they knew could never fade away, and that was her reason for being with her mother all the time.
Earlier she had gone shopping for groceries with her mom. They needed food for dinner and it was Saturday, Melody had to buy some snacks for the choir at church. Miranda remembered it perfectly, for it was just that afternoon.
They had walked around the nearest Save Mart and gotten all of what they needed. As they stood in line Melody put her scarf on because it was cold outside. She flipped her light brown hair with small gray streaks back and gave a last thought to whether she had everything she needed or not. As she looked around she saw the Woman's Day magazine in a nearby rack. Melody quickly grabbed it and then moved forward in line.
When they got home they brought their groceries in and Melody laid her magazine on the counter.
"What magazine is that mom?" Miranda asked.
"Women's Day honey, you can look at it if you want. There are some good diet ideas in there, why don't you give it a look." Melody finished as she walked out the door to go unload more groceries.
Miranda picked the magazine up and walked into the living room where she plopped herself down on the couch and turned the TV on. As she looked through the magazine she noticed a small article that seemed worth reading. It read: My daughter and I didn't connect with each other very well for a long time. One day I came up with an idea that I hoped would improve our relationship and help us along as a family. I picked out a special journal book that had a nice cover and back on it along with a lock. The next morning I laid it on her pillow with a note asking her to respond to what I had written inside and also to write down a few of her own concerns or problems. I told her that this is one I can bond with her in our spare time. That night, when I went to bed there it was on my pillow with a note of X's and O's attached to it. Inside she had written out her feeling and given me something to think about. We are now bonding with each other more and progressing towards spending more time together.
Miranda had read the small article many times that day before and after playing baseball with her family. Miranda had many thoughts cooped up in her mind that she wanted to tell her parents about, including how she felt about her relationship with her mom and dad, she knew this might be a way to help them along.
After eating she read the article again and considered showing it to her mother, but was afraid of what she might reveal if they decide to do it. Finally she set the magazine down and went to get ready for bed.
"So, are there any good diets in there for us?" Melody asked her daughter while Miranda passed her.
"Mom, you know I don't like talking about my weight. Besides, I didn't finish looking through it, I was mainly looking at the pictures." Miranda replied, raising her voice while she said it.
"Goodness me, it wasn't a very long magazine, and you were reading it all day. And please don't raise your voice at me." Melody calmly mentioned.
"Does it really matter?" Miranda yelled.
"Of course our weight matters, Miranda, you know that. That is what is holding us back from doing more active things."
"Stop It!" She screamed and then ran to her room where she jumped onto her bed, looked out her window, and cried.
"You know you really should learn how to choose your fights." Melody said gently as she opened the door to Miranda's room.
"I'm sorry momma, it's just that…well…I want to try but…" She stuttered.
"Shh Shh, you need to rest, lay down your head." Melody motioned for her daughter to lay her head on Melody's lap.
"Mom?" Miranda softly murmured.
"Yes."
"Can I show you something?"
"Yes, anything." Melody replied.
Miranda slowly got up and showed her mother to where she had put the magazine down earlier.
"You can read it now." She said as she opened it up to the page that had the small article that she had read so many times on it. "Read it." She told Melody.
Melody quickly read it and gave Miranda a big hug full of love.
"Can we do it?" Miranda asked.
"It is a great idea honey."
"When can we start it?" Miranda said with excitement.
"Well we can't do it until we get a journal to write in, and that will be a few days."
"Why the wait, can't we start now?" Miranda had a disappointed tone. "You don't seem very enthusiastic about it."
"I'm sorry, but right now it is time for bed, no matter how early it is, you need rest."
"Mom, I'm hungry." Miranda quietly said.
"Your fit must be over then. That is what I always say when I am done crying." They both laughed. "Very well then, I'll fix you a sandwich. Then off to bed with you."
The day was over for them and even though Melody was not too excited about the journal she knew somehow that some good would come of it, and so did Miranda.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Kindness
Kindness is a love that we show to one another every day. We have a choice on whether to use or not. Some choose to love one another; others decide they will do what seems best fit for the moment. I am here to tell a story about this. It is a short one. One that may not even seem to have much importance or great interest to you, but I believe that, when thought about, we can all learn something from it. For kindness can be something hard to share with others, but when shown, it can be a great honor to your heart; it is what we all know to be right, deep down inside of us. So let me tell you this story and we will just see what you partake of it.
There are many times in my life in which I have had to learn to be kind to a person who has hurt me; I have been hurt many times in my life, but when hurt greater things always seem to come.
I will start with my younger years. When I was but eleven years old, I competed in my first real pageant and surprisingly, won. From then on, I entered in other pageants here and there, never really winning anything because I was not as pretty as a person might think, nor am I even close to being as cute and as beautiful as the other girls; But I am beautiful in my own way and I know that now.
I continued in these efforts, having fun and making friends while I was at it. Some pageants were disappointing and made me cry. I did not feel pretty or like anyone considered some one my size to be beauty pageant material. I did continue, however, with my mother at my side and my father encouraging me all the way. I won a few things here and there, but there were a few experiences that stood out the most to me.
I do not consider myself“Ms. Congeniality”, but I did win the award once in Colorado. That was my favorite pageant ever and I had the most fun there. Other experiences are noteworthy and I would tell you of them, if it were not for the reason of this story being written in the first place.
The year was 1999, and I was off to Florida for two weeks. I was going to spend nine days at the pageant in Orlando at the Marriot Hotel, and another two days at another quaint hotel while visiting Disney World. The pageant: National Preteen. My title: Ms. California. I had a good time overall. I cannot say that I made the best of friends. In fact, I never kept in contact with any of my friends from pageants, unfortunately. The pool at the Marriot was very nice, half inside, half outside and everything inside and out was “fancy”. I must say that after all those years of pageants I do not think I will ever be able to go back to staying at Motel 6 and Days Inn.
At this pageant there were “queens” and princesses”, I was a queen for California. There were girls from every state and one girl in particular from Puerto Rico. I cannot recall her name, only that she is very important to this story.
The pageant went on; I cannot remember much of what happened. I seem to remember that I was disappointed a few times with things, but got over them.
When we went to one event, interview, we were able to vote for a Ms. Congeniality. Now, I have not told you that during this pageant I had no one in particular who I wanted to vote for and in no way was I going to vote for the girl from Puerto Rico, for I had taken a disliking t her. She seemed to my eyes, to be a rude and arrogant girl. Therefore, I voted for someone else and went on with the pageant.
Towards the end of the pageant, all participants began talking about the different awards. I did my speech, gowns, casual wear, talent (which was very hard for me, but I will save that for another story). Back stage there was many girls talking and enjoying themselves in between these events. Some time, for some reason, I took it into my head to do something I did not think I would do. Since the other girls like the girl from Puerto Rico so much, and I thought she was a shoe-in for wining Ms. Congeniality, I thought I would give her a chance. With this in my mind, I went up to her, and although she spoke very little English, said hello. I began to say a few nice things, of which our story is all about, kindness, and began to take her in. I told her how nice she was and how I was sure she was going to win Ms. Congeniality and in this, actually began to like her. All she could say in return was thank you and I could not help but like her then.
Soon it was time for awards. I was sure I would win something. However, when our little show off dance was over, and they began to announce the awards, I knew I could not have won anything. My only chance was for the title. Ms. Congeniality was awarded to some other girl and I was quite surprised too. It was then that they brought an award on stage, they were giving out, that I had not expected. It was called the Pageantry Magazine Spirit Award. The prize was being to someone who was kind, and showed love to others, and someone who the judges and pageant directors thought deserved something like it. To my surprise, the name that was called out was my own and I was awarded The Spirit Award (I later got my picture put in the magazine).
As it turned out, the judges had seen me being kind to the other girls and had decided that I was the one who should get the Spirit award. I would go on, but the rest of what happened matters little in this story.
Now, do not go away thinking that being Kind is something you should do just to get a “Spirit Award”. Being kind is something that comes from the heart and has its own reward in turn. I learned that the girl from Puerto Rico was actually a very nice girl and got a very warm feeling inside because I knew that I had done the right thing. Kindness, love, compassion, forgiveness, God gives us all these things, and has taught me over the years to use them. I think you should use them too. Be the person who stretches herself to do the right thing. God loves you, and so you should show his love to others. May he bless you with this story.
There are many times in my life in which I have had to learn to be kind to a person who has hurt me; I have been hurt many times in my life, but when hurt greater things always seem to come.
I will start with my younger years. When I was but eleven years old, I competed in my first real pageant and surprisingly, won. From then on, I entered in other pageants here and there, never really winning anything because I was not as pretty as a person might think, nor am I even close to being as cute and as beautiful as the other girls; But I am beautiful in my own way and I know that now.
I continued in these efforts, having fun and making friends while I was at it. Some pageants were disappointing and made me cry. I did not feel pretty or like anyone considered some one my size to be beauty pageant material. I did continue, however, with my mother at my side and my father encouraging me all the way. I won a few things here and there, but there were a few experiences that stood out the most to me.
I do not consider myself“Ms. Congeniality”, but I did win the award once in Colorado. That was my favorite pageant ever and I had the most fun there. Other experiences are noteworthy and I would tell you of them, if it were not for the reason of this story being written in the first place.
The year was 1999, and I was off to Florida for two weeks. I was going to spend nine days at the pageant in Orlando at the Marriot Hotel, and another two days at another quaint hotel while visiting Disney World. The pageant: National Preteen. My title: Ms. California. I had a good time overall. I cannot say that I made the best of friends. In fact, I never kept in contact with any of my friends from pageants, unfortunately. The pool at the Marriot was very nice, half inside, half outside and everything inside and out was “fancy”. I must say that after all those years of pageants I do not think I will ever be able to go back to staying at Motel 6 and Days Inn.
At this pageant there were “queens” and princesses”, I was a queen for California. There were girls from every state and one girl in particular from Puerto Rico. I cannot recall her name, only that she is very important to this story.
The pageant went on; I cannot remember much of what happened. I seem to remember that I was disappointed a few times with things, but got over them.
When we went to one event, interview, we were able to vote for a Ms. Congeniality. Now, I have not told you that during this pageant I had no one in particular who I wanted to vote for and in no way was I going to vote for the girl from Puerto Rico, for I had taken a disliking t her. She seemed to my eyes, to be a rude and arrogant girl. Therefore, I voted for someone else and went on with the pageant.
Towards the end of the pageant, all participants began talking about the different awards. I did my speech, gowns, casual wear, talent (which was very hard for me, but I will save that for another story). Back stage there was many girls talking and enjoying themselves in between these events. Some time, for some reason, I took it into my head to do something I did not think I would do. Since the other girls like the girl from Puerto Rico so much, and I thought she was a shoe-in for wining Ms. Congeniality, I thought I would give her a chance. With this in my mind, I went up to her, and although she spoke very little English, said hello. I began to say a few nice things, of which our story is all about, kindness, and began to take her in. I told her how nice she was and how I was sure she was going to win Ms. Congeniality and in this, actually began to like her. All she could say in return was thank you and I could not help but like her then.
Soon it was time for awards. I was sure I would win something. However, when our little show off dance was over, and they began to announce the awards, I knew I could not have won anything. My only chance was for the title. Ms. Congeniality was awarded to some other girl and I was quite surprised too. It was then that they brought an award on stage, they were giving out, that I had not expected. It was called the Pageantry Magazine Spirit Award. The prize was being to someone who was kind, and showed love to others, and someone who the judges and pageant directors thought deserved something like it. To my surprise, the name that was called out was my own and I was awarded The Spirit Award (I later got my picture put in the magazine).
As it turned out, the judges had seen me being kind to the other girls and had decided that I was the one who should get the Spirit award. I would go on, but the rest of what happened matters little in this story.
Now, do not go away thinking that being Kind is something you should do just to get a “Spirit Award”. Being kind is something that comes from the heart and has its own reward in turn. I learned that the girl from Puerto Rico was actually a very nice girl and got a very warm feeling inside because I knew that I had done the right thing. Kindness, love, compassion, forgiveness, God gives us all these things, and has taught me over the years to use them. I think you should use them too. Be the person who stretches herself to do the right thing. God loves you, and so you should show his love to others. May he bless you with this story.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
When Daddy Smiled
Everything seemed to be going so well. My brother got saved at church that Easter Sunday. Daddy was able to go too. Daddy was so excited about seeing my brother get baptised, but he was getting weaker. He was too weak to go to church. We doubted that he would last long enough to even be alive on the scheduled date. So we brought out a horse trough, filled it with water, and brought dad outside to see brother get baptised. Daddy's eyes were still closed. It would all be pointless if dad wasn't even concious of what was happening. When it finally took place, daddy stood up and opened his eyes. He didn't seem to care if people wanted him to stay sitting and resting. He had that attitude where he was determined that no one would get in his way. For the first time in a long while, tears of joy streaked down my cheeks. Our family was happy. Light seemed to shine from heaven. Daddy was looking better after that. His tumors didn't show so much. Our prayers seemed to be answered for a short while. It didn't last long though. Daddy died four days later. I sent my son home. Six is not an age to be troubled with such things. My sister brought her son to the funeral. I remember just watching him as he stood and stared at the vase that contained daddy's urns. Sis' sent him home after that. He was only five years old. Sis' wanted to put coffee beans in with daddy's urns. Daddy loved to drink coffee. When it got to where he couldn't drink it, we got him some coffee beans just so he could smell them. The funeral was beautiful. Daddy would have liked it. Still, no matter how sad things may have been, God had answered our prayers, just not in the way we had expected. I'll never forget that day when daddy opened his eyes, stood up, and smiled. Even though the happiness only lasted a short time, it was a happy time, and I'll never forget it.
The Two Roads
I never knew I could paint abstract before that moment. One could assume I knew how to paint. I had painted other things, but I had never tried abstract before. I was never that good at painting realistic pictures. But I did paint. My heart and sould screamed out through my paint brush. Who can describe the feelings an artist had when he first puts paint to canvas? Paul Cezanne knew all about that. He studied his subjects for hours before putting one stroke of paint on the canvas. Even once he had painted one stroke, he would stop again to continue studying before applying any more paint. He must of had a lot of dedication and patience. I've never been that dedicated. Painting is just a hobby for me. Besides, I'm not very patient. Neverthe less, I am a painter, and on that fateful day, I learned to blend colors, lines, and shapes to create a painting with much meaning. It was of the country side leading into the city. Like much abstract art, it had great mmeaning to me. Or did it? Now that I look back, I'm not sure what it meant to me. Which college was I meant to go to? I know I chose the one in the city, but should I have gone to the one in the country? It stops me in thought, remembering what it was like. All the memories of college years, everything I had made myself. I am a city girl, I was a city girl then, I just didn't know it. I always told myself I was a city girl. I said, "I am torn between the country and the city." I am two different people in two different locations. But who am I really, as a whole? I sweetly remember the painting now. Every detail, every color, shape are vivid in my mind. The city was dark and gloomy. Just the presence of it darkened the sky. A main road led to the city, but there was a side road, a dirt road. It led t o the country, where everything was light and beautiful, pleasant. The sky was blue. It beckoned you to risk the old, dirt road for a better ending. I recall finishing the painting. I looked at it intently. It seemed unfinished, but I was happy with it and left it as is. I sat down on my couch to think. Did the colors represent my mood and the way I really felt? After all, the painting was nothing like I had first intentioned it to be. I had thought the road to the city was the rough road. Was the painting innacurate? Was it just a painting? Or did it have meaning? Did it really come from my heart? I started to cry at that point. My tears ran down my cheek and onto the floor. I bent over and put my head in my arms, saying a little prayer. My tears hit the floor. That would be my next painting: a puddle of tears. Did I make the right choice? I'm still not sure. But God can use even the worst situations to His glory. Whatever His plan may have been for me, I'll never forget the day I painted that picture of the two roads, and which road I chose to take
The Moonlight Landscape - written in 9th grade
The moon’s glorious glow covered the beach and reflected in the river. Nothing stirred in the peace and quiet; I could only hear the sound of my mother’s voice hushing me, saying, “Be quiet, my dear boy, else someone shall hear you. We are going on an adventure. Mr. Henson is kind enough to lead us, and we must keep quiet in return for this favor.”
It was the middle of the American Revolution and the Brits had taken over our small home, threatening to hurt us if we did not comply. My mother’s cousin had lived in England for some time and we thus discovered that he was an officer in this group of Brits. He had arranged our adventure.
“See how the moon shines on everything around us. It would be dangerous to stay any longer. Someone may see us,” Mr. Henson said.
It was true: The moon sent out a filling light that almost covered the entire area. I knew not my mother’s and father’s reasons for hushing me. Being only a child and knowing it best to do what I was told, I remained silent, listening to the sound of nothingness that echoed through my mind as if I was in a place feared by all men that was suddenly interrupted by four, lonely strangers seeking a way to leave the wretched place that all people must fear.
“There,” said my father, gathering us three - my mother, himself, and I –and pointing out an image in the distance, “See the boat which will carry us to freedom.”
In the far way, I could make out the figure of a boat, beached upon the sand next to the river. My mother held tight to me, clutching me in her arms and pulling me into the warmth of her cape.
My father, who had left us to talk to Mr. Henson, returned and motioned for us to follow the elderly gentleman with gray hair and brown eyes, wearing a British, red coat uniform and hat, and sitting on a black, coarse-haired horse.
The old man dismounted his horse and, taking the reigns in his hands, turned to look at my mother. There was a look of a caring, sincere, loving person about him, a look that he had not taken to earlier that day. I looked up at my mother’s face. She had a gloomy, yet thankful, and loving countenance, one that – if the onlooker were to pass her by – a person would not be able to recognize for what it meant; for my mother’s demeanor was one that no one could know the truth of. Only the innermost thoughts of her mind could know its meaning.
“You see, now, where the boat is hidden?” Mr. Henson said; my father nodded his head, “Good, then you must be on your way before we are caught.”
“We thank you, dear cousin,” my mother said to him, “I know what a sacrifice this is. Will you not join us?”
“I cannot abandon my post. I will remain loyal to Britain all my life,” he hesitated, “until death, even.” He turned to me and looked into my eyes, and I into his. A certain air about him made me wish he would come with us; but I kept to what I had been told and stayed silent, for I was a timid child and wished little to take a chance at being shushed again for my childish comments.
“I thank you,” the Mr. Henson said, bowing to my mother, “for your encouragement, dear cousin. My best wishes to you and your family, especially the boy.”
“We must go quickly. The sun is rising and the troops will wake soon,” my father told us, and we began to head for the boat on the shore by the river.
Father huddled mother, himself, and I together as Mr. Henson grabbed the reigns to the horse and began walking; we followed.
“Mother,” I began to question, “who is that person there?” I pointed in the direction of the boat towards what seemed to be a small speck of a person, sitting near the boat.
“I see no one,” father said.
“Oh, but look dear. See there, a man. Cousin, did you hire someone to take us across?” mother asked.
“Not that I recall,” mother’s cousin answered. “Perhaps we had best hurry.”
As we grew closer, the man began to walk, and then run, away from the boat.
“We have been spotted then,” said the aging soldier.
“Yes,” said father, “see, now he makes for the camp where he will wake all the troops to come after us.”
“Let us move quickly then,” said mother.
We started to run towards the boat. In the confusion, and being only five years old, I did not realize the full extent of what was happening, but I made haste to follow closely behind them.
We soon reached the boat, but as father helped me and mother into the boat, there was a loud shot and the galloping of horses carrying Brits could be heard.
“Get down,” father told us.
“Now, George, don’t be going and dieing,” mother said, and father quickly kissed her.
“As the Brits approached, father pushed the boat with just enough force to get it floating towards the middle of the river. I stayed low as I was told, and could hear shooting, fighting, and the shouting of anger at Mr. Henson’s betrayal.
“George,” mother cried out, leaping into the river to splash towards shore.
A lonely shot rang out followed by one last splash; and all was silent again. Alone in the boat, I looked up into the sky at, what seemed to now be, a blood-red moon.
It was the middle of the American Revolution and the Brits had taken over our small home, threatening to hurt us if we did not comply. My mother’s cousin had lived in England for some time and we thus discovered that he was an officer in this group of Brits. He had arranged our adventure.
“See how the moon shines on everything around us. It would be dangerous to stay any longer. Someone may see us,” Mr. Henson said.
It was true: The moon sent out a filling light that almost covered the entire area. I knew not my mother’s and father’s reasons for hushing me. Being only a child and knowing it best to do what I was told, I remained silent, listening to the sound of nothingness that echoed through my mind as if I was in a place feared by all men that was suddenly interrupted by four, lonely strangers seeking a way to leave the wretched place that all people must fear.
“There,” said my father, gathering us three - my mother, himself, and I –and pointing out an image in the distance, “See the boat which will carry us to freedom.”
In the far way, I could make out the figure of a boat, beached upon the sand next to the river. My mother held tight to me, clutching me in her arms and pulling me into the warmth of her cape.
My father, who had left us to talk to Mr. Henson, returned and motioned for us to follow the elderly gentleman with gray hair and brown eyes, wearing a British, red coat uniform and hat, and sitting on a black, coarse-haired horse.
The old man dismounted his horse and, taking the reigns in his hands, turned to look at my mother. There was a look of a caring, sincere, loving person about him, a look that he had not taken to earlier that day. I looked up at my mother’s face. She had a gloomy, yet thankful, and loving countenance, one that – if the onlooker were to pass her by – a person would not be able to recognize for what it meant; for my mother’s demeanor was one that no one could know the truth of. Only the innermost thoughts of her mind could know its meaning.
“You see, now, where the boat is hidden?” Mr. Henson said; my father nodded his head, “Good, then you must be on your way before we are caught.”
“We thank you, dear cousin,” my mother said to him, “I know what a sacrifice this is. Will you not join us?”
“I cannot abandon my post. I will remain loyal to Britain all my life,” he hesitated, “until death, even.” He turned to me and looked into my eyes, and I into his. A certain air about him made me wish he would come with us; but I kept to what I had been told and stayed silent, for I was a timid child and wished little to take a chance at being shushed again for my childish comments.
“I thank you,” the Mr. Henson said, bowing to my mother, “for your encouragement, dear cousin. My best wishes to you and your family, especially the boy.”
“We must go quickly. The sun is rising and the troops will wake soon,” my father told us, and we began to head for the boat on the shore by the river.
Father huddled mother, himself, and I together as Mr. Henson grabbed the reigns to the horse and began walking; we followed.
“Mother,” I began to question, “who is that person there?” I pointed in the direction of the boat towards what seemed to be a small speck of a person, sitting near the boat.
“I see no one,” father said.
“Oh, but look dear. See there, a man. Cousin, did you hire someone to take us across?” mother asked.
“Not that I recall,” mother’s cousin answered. “Perhaps we had best hurry.”
As we grew closer, the man began to walk, and then run, away from the boat.
“We have been spotted then,” said the aging soldier.
“Yes,” said father, “see, now he makes for the camp where he will wake all the troops to come after us.”
“Let us move quickly then,” said mother.
We started to run towards the boat. In the confusion, and being only five years old, I did not realize the full extent of what was happening, but I made haste to follow closely behind them.
We soon reached the boat, but as father helped me and mother into the boat, there was a loud shot and the galloping of horses carrying Brits could be heard.
“Get down,” father told us.
“Now, George, don’t be going and dieing,” mother said, and father quickly kissed her.
“As the Brits approached, father pushed the boat with just enough force to get it floating towards the middle of the river. I stayed low as I was told, and could hear shooting, fighting, and the shouting of anger at Mr. Henson’s betrayal.
“George,” mother cried out, leaping into the river to splash towards shore.
A lonely shot rang out followed by one last splash; and all was silent again. Alone in the boat, I looked up into the sky at, what seemed to now be, a blood-red moon.
Snow White and the Seven Idiots - A story I wrote when I was in 6th grade
THE STORY BEGINS…..
Once upon a time, in a far-off place, there was a large castle that was hidden far away from civilization. But before civilization had even started, there was a young girl that was the daughter of an evil sorceress. And even though her mother was evil with magic, she was truly good in spirit. She was called "The Goodmother" and her daughter was called "Talina".
Every day Talina would leave in the morning to pick berries or have fun with the animals of the forest. One day she was skipping along when she found a young man, just about her age, and the two fell in love secretly. So they decided to be married. But when they told The Goodmother, she was not pleased and begged her daughter to reconsider, but Talina refused her mother's wishes and because of The Goodmother's anger, she became "Jackevil" the evil sorceress and put a spell on the two lovers that they may be forever enslaved in a large castle to never be found.
As time passed they had seven little boys: Jack, Pock, Pug, Hugo, Dapper, Pep, and Kismoe. When Jackevil learned of this, she was afraid of the knowledge that could destroy her, so she made the lovers deceased and left the seven children to be on their own. They would know nothing but how to take care of themselves. As for the two parents, first the mother died and then the father, but legend has it that the father may still be out there somewhere, touched with immortal life, and that the seven boys may have some of that in them.
HUNDREDS/THOUSANDS OF YEARS LATER….
"And that is the legend of the seven idiots."
"Hey, tell us another one Derick."
"Sure Tina. Now this one is about the monster of…."
Derick Latimer was the most popular kid in the entire school, and the cutest. He was also the boy that Snow White Henderson just happened to have a crush on.
"I can't believe you actually like his stories, or shall I say, creepy legends, Snow."
"Why Tasha, they can be fun…."
"…and freaky!" said Tasha.
"Hey, you're eighteen years old. You should be able to handle that type of stuff."
"Not really."
"Look, this is our last year of high school. I want to make a good impression on him, OK?" implored Snow White.
"You mean you're pretending to like his stories because you like him?" questioned Tasha.
"No….and yes."
"Come on. Get over him. He's got a girlfriend, may I remind you?"
"I know, but this weekend is the camping trip and I've got him as my partner."
"Yah, like that's gonna happen."
"Tasha!" yelled Snow White.
"I guess it could help," Tasha said.
"Tina's not his type," Snow said with certainty.
"How do you know she's not his type? You don't know either of them!" challenged Tasha.
"I will after this weekend."
"Hey, look! Here he comes!"
"Hi Snow White. I talked to the teacher and he said that Tasha and I can switch places for partners tomorrow," said Derick.
"Oh….ummm…..that's great…..ah…..bye!" Snow White said as Derick walked away.
"Yes, we're partners. What's wrong Snow?" asked Tasha.
"I made a total fool of myself."
"Don't feel bad. I'm sure it will turn out alright."
"Thanks Tasha."
"Welcome!"
That night Tasha and Snow White went to bed anxiously. They couldn't wait for their camping trip the next day. Snow White dreamed of snow in the mountains and a far off light in a distance. She walked toward the light in her dream. There was nothing around her but snow, but in front of her she could see the light, and in the light there were trees and a dark shadow behind it. Then she woke up, got ready, and headed off to where her class was meeting for the trip.
When they were about two thirds of the way to the camp, they stopped for a pit stop. As Snow White slowly got out of the school bus, she noticed that behind the small gas station and shop there was nothing but snow. However, on the other side of the road there were many trees. She noted to herself that it was just like her dream. So she told the teacher that she was going to the restrooms in the back, but instead she walked out on to the snow. She thought she saw a bright light, like in her dream. She began to walk towards the light. This time she got all the way to what seemed like a bright door leading to another world. As she reached the light, she figured that this was the end of the dream and that she would have to turn around. A teacher could be heard calling everyone else back to the bus, but before she could turn around, she tripped and fell into the light and when she stood up she looked around. She saw no light and no pit stop or school bus. She decided to keep walking forward. Strangely enough, she was now surrounded by trees.
"Where am I?" she thought to herself. As she walked, each footstep went deep into the snow. She had walked for hours it seemed, when she reached a giant castle. Once again she thought to herself, "Where am I?" The castle was surrounded by a giant gate that was shiny bright gold swirling and forming in all sorts of shapes. Inside the gate was a surprisingly beautiful garden with no snow on anything. Everything was colorful and the atmosphere was warm.
As she walked through the garden she noticed how dull the castle was with dark, ugly bricks. When she reached the door, she saw a sign. "NO SMARTIES" was written on it in a sloppy way. She then knocked on the door. The door slowly opened, but no one was there. She decided to go in and see what there was. There was a kitchen that was very dirty and a living room that had nothing but dusty chairs and tables in it, and then she found a small room with seven small beds in it. Each had a strange name on the end of it: Jack, Pock, Pug, Hugo, Dopper, Pep, and Kismoe. She remembered the seven names of the seven idiots from Derick's story, or so-called legend. Could it be true?
"Could these be the same people from the story? Am I in some type of fantasy land?" She thought many thoughts and many questions and decided to clean some of the castle for them and fix them food for dinner.
The dirty room soon changed from dirty to clean and beautiful. Once Snow White was done, she was very tired and fell asleep on a couch.
"Ah…what is it?" Hugo asked.
"I don't know" Dapper replied.
"Uh….it's a girl" Pep said.
"A girl? It couldn't be!" Pug screamed so loud that it woke Snow White up.
"Who are you?" Snow White asked, surprised.
"Uh, I'm stupid."
"No you aren't! You're Pock, stupid!"
"That's what I said, stupid!"
"I'm Jack, the smartest of us."
"And I'm Kismoe, the shy one."
"I'm Pug. I hate everything."
"And I'm Hugo. I'm always energetic."
"Ah, I'm Pep, and I'm tired."
"Don’t forget me! I'm Dapper!"
With that they all bowed to her politely.
"Well, you don't seem like the seven idiots" said Snow White.
"Well, they are, but I'm not as bad" said Jack.
"I can see that you're certainly taller and older than the other six," replied Snow.
"Yep, that's me, Miss."
"Where, uh, ya from?" Pock stupidly asked.
"From California."
"What?" They were all confused.
"The other world, I think. Unless this is a dream," Snow White said to help them out a little.
"We've been waiting for you for a long time," one of them said.
"You have?" said Snow White.
"Yep. We need you to teach us to be smart so we can get rid of Jackevil," Pep replied.
"I'll teach you, but first you must eat."
And so, it began, the teaching of the seven idiots. They promised to help Snow White find her way home if she would teach them things that would "give them knowledge".
The first week was very stressful and none of them learned a thing. The second week went better, they learned to count, and within two months they had learned almost everything.
Those two months were very stressful, so Jack took her out into the gardens, where they had picnics together and went swimming in a lake. Jack helped Snow White to relax and have more fun. One day they were sitting on a bench and they felt themselves being pulled together. Just before they could kiss, there was a loud booming sound and mist appeared all around them. Jackevil appeared before them, pushed Snow White to the ground, and took Jack in her arm and disappeared. This made Snow White cry, but she knew she had to finish the other boys' education. The boys protested, but she insisted that they continue lessons.
A few more months passed, and the teaching finally ended. She said her good-byes and went home while the six others headed to Evil Mountain to save their brother, Jack, and kill the evil Jackevil. But Jackevil knew of them coming and prepared a trap. When they arrived they were caught in a net and put in a jail cell.
"Now I shall make you all my evil servants." sounded Jackevil's horrible laugh.
There was a pause and she sat down in a large, royal like chair.
"Ahh, I do believe we have a visitor," she said.
"Not so fast!" Snow White ran in and began to unlocked the cells.
"You'll never get me. I have magic! I am stronger than you will ever be! Now leave us and I will spare you," claimed Jackevil.
"I have magic too," yelled Snow White.
"No you don't!"
"I suppose you're right, but Derick does, and this is what he gave to me." With that she took out a ball of white goo and then red goo, and mixed them together.
"White is for pure and good thoughts; red is for a heart of good" said Snow White.
With that she threw the goo at Jackevil, hoping it would work. Jackevil began to change. Her figure turned in to a more beautiful one. Her clothes changed from black to white.
"My name is Goodmother," Jackevil said.
They all cheered for Snow White, because no violence had taken place and no one was hurt.
Two spirits appeared to Snow White saying, "We would be honored to have you as our daughter in law with Jack."
Jack came up to her, and they finally felt their lips touch. Suddenly their wardrobe changed from plain to fancy, as if they were going to a wedding - in fact, they were dressed as the bride and groom! Snow White wore a crown upon her silky black hair and she smiled. She finally had her knight in shining armor. As for her friends at home, the two worlds were joined together and they visited each other regularly, but still no one knew of her castle and the true story of Snow White and the seven idiots….till now, that is!
THE END!
Once upon a time, in a far-off place, there was a large castle that was hidden far away from civilization. But before civilization had even started, there was a young girl that was the daughter of an evil sorceress. And even though her mother was evil with magic, she was truly good in spirit. She was called "The Goodmother" and her daughter was called "Talina".
Every day Talina would leave in the morning to pick berries or have fun with the animals of the forest. One day she was skipping along when she found a young man, just about her age, and the two fell in love secretly. So they decided to be married. But when they told The Goodmother, she was not pleased and begged her daughter to reconsider, but Talina refused her mother's wishes and because of The Goodmother's anger, she became "Jackevil" the evil sorceress and put a spell on the two lovers that they may be forever enslaved in a large castle to never be found.
As time passed they had seven little boys: Jack, Pock, Pug, Hugo, Dapper, Pep, and Kismoe. When Jackevil learned of this, she was afraid of the knowledge that could destroy her, so she made the lovers deceased and left the seven children to be on their own. They would know nothing but how to take care of themselves. As for the two parents, first the mother died and then the father, but legend has it that the father may still be out there somewhere, touched with immortal life, and that the seven boys may have some of that in them.
HUNDREDS/THOUSANDS OF YEARS LATER….
"And that is the legend of the seven idiots."
"Hey, tell us another one Derick."
"Sure Tina. Now this one is about the monster of…."
Derick Latimer was the most popular kid in the entire school, and the cutest. He was also the boy that Snow White Henderson just happened to have a crush on.
"I can't believe you actually like his stories, or shall I say, creepy legends, Snow."
"Why Tasha, they can be fun…."
"…and freaky!" said Tasha.
"Hey, you're eighteen years old. You should be able to handle that type of stuff."
"Not really."
"Look, this is our last year of high school. I want to make a good impression on him, OK?" implored Snow White.
"You mean you're pretending to like his stories because you like him?" questioned Tasha.
"No….and yes."
"Come on. Get over him. He's got a girlfriend, may I remind you?"
"I know, but this weekend is the camping trip and I've got him as my partner."
"Yah, like that's gonna happen."
"Tasha!" yelled Snow White.
"I guess it could help," Tasha said.
"Tina's not his type," Snow said with certainty.
"How do you know she's not his type? You don't know either of them!" challenged Tasha.
"I will after this weekend."
"Hey, look! Here he comes!"
"Hi Snow White. I talked to the teacher and he said that Tasha and I can switch places for partners tomorrow," said Derick.
"Oh….ummm…..that's great…..ah…..bye!" Snow White said as Derick walked away.
"Yes, we're partners. What's wrong Snow?" asked Tasha.
"I made a total fool of myself."
"Don't feel bad. I'm sure it will turn out alright."
"Thanks Tasha."
"Welcome!"
That night Tasha and Snow White went to bed anxiously. They couldn't wait for their camping trip the next day. Snow White dreamed of snow in the mountains and a far off light in a distance. She walked toward the light in her dream. There was nothing around her but snow, but in front of her she could see the light, and in the light there were trees and a dark shadow behind it. Then she woke up, got ready, and headed off to where her class was meeting for the trip.
When they were about two thirds of the way to the camp, they stopped for a pit stop. As Snow White slowly got out of the school bus, she noticed that behind the small gas station and shop there was nothing but snow. However, on the other side of the road there were many trees. She noted to herself that it was just like her dream. So she told the teacher that she was going to the restrooms in the back, but instead she walked out on to the snow. She thought she saw a bright light, like in her dream. She began to walk towards the light. This time she got all the way to what seemed like a bright door leading to another world. As she reached the light, she figured that this was the end of the dream and that she would have to turn around. A teacher could be heard calling everyone else back to the bus, but before she could turn around, she tripped and fell into the light and when she stood up she looked around. She saw no light and no pit stop or school bus. She decided to keep walking forward. Strangely enough, she was now surrounded by trees.
"Where am I?" she thought to herself. As she walked, each footstep went deep into the snow. She had walked for hours it seemed, when she reached a giant castle. Once again she thought to herself, "Where am I?" The castle was surrounded by a giant gate that was shiny bright gold swirling and forming in all sorts of shapes. Inside the gate was a surprisingly beautiful garden with no snow on anything. Everything was colorful and the atmosphere was warm.
As she walked through the garden she noticed how dull the castle was with dark, ugly bricks. When she reached the door, she saw a sign. "NO SMARTIES" was written on it in a sloppy way. She then knocked on the door. The door slowly opened, but no one was there. She decided to go in and see what there was. There was a kitchen that was very dirty and a living room that had nothing but dusty chairs and tables in it, and then she found a small room with seven small beds in it. Each had a strange name on the end of it: Jack, Pock, Pug, Hugo, Dopper, Pep, and Kismoe. She remembered the seven names of the seven idiots from Derick's story, or so-called legend. Could it be true?
"Could these be the same people from the story? Am I in some type of fantasy land?" She thought many thoughts and many questions and decided to clean some of the castle for them and fix them food for dinner.
The dirty room soon changed from dirty to clean and beautiful. Once Snow White was done, she was very tired and fell asleep on a couch.
"Ah…what is it?" Hugo asked.
"I don't know" Dapper replied.
"Uh….it's a girl" Pep said.
"A girl? It couldn't be!" Pug screamed so loud that it woke Snow White up.
"Who are you?" Snow White asked, surprised.
"Uh, I'm stupid."
"No you aren't! You're Pock, stupid!"
"That's what I said, stupid!"
"I'm Jack, the smartest of us."
"And I'm Kismoe, the shy one."
"I'm Pug. I hate everything."
"And I'm Hugo. I'm always energetic."
"Ah, I'm Pep, and I'm tired."
"Don’t forget me! I'm Dapper!"
With that they all bowed to her politely.
"Well, you don't seem like the seven idiots" said Snow White.
"Well, they are, but I'm not as bad" said Jack.
"I can see that you're certainly taller and older than the other six," replied Snow.
"Yep, that's me, Miss."
"Where, uh, ya from?" Pock stupidly asked.
"From California."
"What?" They were all confused.
"The other world, I think. Unless this is a dream," Snow White said to help them out a little.
"We've been waiting for you for a long time," one of them said.
"You have?" said Snow White.
"Yep. We need you to teach us to be smart so we can get rid of Jackevil," Pep replied.
"I'll teach you, but first you must eat."
And so, it began, the teaching of the seven idiots. They promised to help Snow White find her way home if she would teach them things that would "give them knowledge".
The first week was very stressful and none of them learned a thing. The second week went better, they learned to count, and within two months they had learned almost everything.
Those two months were very stressful, so Jack took her out into the gardens, where they had picnics together and went swimming in a lake. Jack helped Snow White to relax and have more fun. One day they were sitting on a bench and they felt themselves being pulled together. Just before they could kiss, there was a loud booming sound and mist appeared all around them. Jackevil appeared before them, pushed Snow White to the ground, and took Jack in her arm and disappeared. This made Snow White cry, but she knew she had to finish the other boys' education. The boys protested, but she insisted that they continue lessons.
A few more months passed, and the teaching finally ended. She said her good-byes and went home while the six others headed to Evil Mountain to save their brother, Jack, and kill the evil Jackevil. But Jackevil knew of them coming and prepared a trap. When they arrived they were caught in a net and put in a jail cell.
"Now I shall make you all my evil servants." sounded Jackevil's horrible laugh.
There was a pause and she sat down in a large, royal like chair.
"Ahh, I do believe we have a visitor," she said.
"Not so fast!" Snow White ran in and began to unlocked the cells.
"You'll never get me. I have magic! I am stronger than you will ever be! Now leave us and I will spare you," claimed Jackevil.
"I have magic too," yelled Snow White.
"No you don't!"
"I suppose you're right, but Derick does, and this is what he gave to me." With that she took out a ball of white goo and then red goo, and mixed them together.
"White is for pure and good thoughts; red is for a heart of good" said Snow White.
With that she threw the goo at Jackevil, hoping it would work. Jackevil began to change. Her figure turned in to a more beautiful one. Her clothes changed from black to white.
"My name is Goodmother," Jackevil said.
They all cheered for Snow White, because no violence had taken place and no one was hurt.
Two spirits appeared to Snow White saying, "We would be honored to have you as our daughter in law with Jack."
Jack came up to her, and they finally felt their lips touch. Suddenly their wardrobe changed from plain to fancy, as if they were going to a wedding - in fact, they were dressed as the bride and groom! Snow White wore a crown upon her silky black hair and she smiled. She finally had her knight in shining armor. As for her friends at home, the two worlds were joined together and they visited each other regularly, but still no one knew of her castle and the true story of Snow White and the seven idiots….till now, that is!
THE END!
The Drawing Room
After all of the happenings of the day, it had finally come. A little after four o' clock in the afternoon, a picture was being drawn: a mother, sitting at a desk writing letters, a father, paying bills, and the daughter, sitting in a comfortable chair, reading a comfortable book.
The daughter knew the reasons for her mother's letters. Although her mother hated doing this, she would, none the less, continue her daily routine of writing letters. The time would soon come when their connections and popularity in society would come to good use. Her daughter would no longer be a young lady, but rather, a woman. Marriage would become part of her daughter's life; the new woman would leave her parents for her handsome new husband. However, that time had not yet come. Her daughter was a mere 13 years of age, just recently introduced to society as a young lady: not yet a woman, but no longer a child.
So now we go to the daughter's point of view. They all sit in the drawing room, her father, thinking of bills and payments, her mother, thinking of her daughter's future, and she, thinking of how she loves this time when they all come together and do their part. This is the time of day to escape from the things around her. When reading her books, she imagines herself as part of the plot. All around her disappears, she becomes engaged in the different stories of
knights in shining armor, princesses finding love, and normal, everyday people finding out what means the most to them in life. As her mother writes, she cannot help but wish that her daughter would never leave her, never grow old, and that they will spend eternity together. Knowing how little time she has left with her precious daughter, she turns around, forgetting what she is doing, and says,
"Oh, Beth, you grow older every day. I fear that you will be leaving me all too soon."
Beth puts her book aside and looks at her mother. With a proper, loving voice she says, "I will never leave you, mother."
Of course there is always the father's opinion on things and suddenly he stands up, saying, "My darlings, we must all be proper here. This is not the time of day, nor any time at all for such talk."
Things quiet down, but the mother still has something to say, "My husband, may I be so bold as to ask how the payments are coming along?"
"Just fine, Mary, just fine," he replies, sitting back down to continue with the bills.
"And how is your reading coming along?" the mother asks her daughter.
"Just fine, mother, just fine," the daughter replies. "And your letters, mother?"
"Just as well as ever, my child. I am writing to your dear Aunt Josephine. What would you have me say to her for you?" the mother answers.
"Say to her that I am doing well and promise to always take care of her when she is too old to take care of herself," she answers with a chuckle.
The father, having had enough of this, stands again, grumbling, "You will bring us to ruin with such talk."
Such fooling around is the way of things between a mother and a daughter at this time of day in the drawing room. The mother returns to her letters, the father now engages in his studies, and the daughter turns to her book of lessons and fantasies. This relaxed time, about four o'clock in the afternoon, is the daughter's favorite time of the day.
Although her mother hates writing letters and her father hates paying bills, she still loves it with all of her heart. She loves her book, the break from the happenings of the day, and the moments that occur in this quaint drawing room, but most of all she loves her mother.
The daughter knew the reasons for her mother's letters. Although her mother hated doing this, she would, none the less, continue her daily routine of writing letters. The time would soon come when their connections and popularity in society would come to good use. Her daughter would no longer be a young lady, but rather, a woman. Marriage would become part of her daughter's life; the new woman would leave her parents for her handsome new husband. However, that time had not yet come. Her daughter was a mere 13 years of age, just recently introduced to society as a young lady: not yet a woman, but no longer a child.
So now we go to the daughter's point of view. They all sit in the drawing room, her father, thinking of bills and payments, her mother, thinking of her daughter's future, and she, thinking of how she loves this time when they all come together and do their part. This is the time of day to escape from the things around her. When reading her books, she imagines herself as part of the plot. All around her disappears, she becomes engaged in the different stories of
knights in shining armor, princesses finding love, and normal, everyday people finding out what means the most to them in life. As her mother writes, she cannot help but wish that her daughter would never leave her, never grow old, and that they will spend eternity together. Knowing how little time she has left with her precious daughter, she turns around, forgetting what she is doing, and says,
"Oh, Beth, you grow older every day. I fear that you will be leaving me all too soon."
Beth puts her book aside and looks at her mother. With a proper, loving voice she says, "I will never leave you, mother."
Of course there is always the father's opinion on things and suddenly he stands up, saying, "My darlings, we must all be proper here. This is not the time of day, nor any time at all for such talk."
Things quiet down, but the mother still has something to say, "My husband, may I be so bold as to ask how the payments are coming along?"
"Just fine, Mary, just fine," he replies, sitting back down to continue with the bills.
"And how is your reading coming along?" the mother asks her daughter.
"Just fine, mother, just fine," the daughter replies. "And your letters, mother?"
"Just as well as ever, my child. I am writing to your dear Aunt Josephine. What would you have me say to her for you?" the mother answers.
"Say to her that I am doing well and promise to always take care of her when she is too old to take care of herself," she answers with a chuckle.
The father, having had enough of this, stands again, grumbling, "You will bring us to ruin with such talk."
Such fooling around is the way of things between a mother and a daughter at this time of day in the drawing room. The mother returns to her letters, the father now engages in his studies, and the daughter turns to her book of lessons and fantasies. This relaxed time, about four o'clock in the afternoon, is the daughter's favorite time of the day.
Although her mother hates writing letters and her father hates paying bills, she still loves it with all of her heart. She loves her book, the break from the happenings of the day, and the moments that occur in this quaint drawing room, but most of all she loves her mother.
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