When you have a little sister, going off to school for the first time can be traumatic for both sisters. I remember my first day at CSOS. Nick Price was my only little friend until he told me to say the “F-word” to our teacher. Mrs. Carson sent me to the Principal’s office. Nick Price was not my friend anymore. We graduated together in 2005, and I still hold a grudge after he put that blemish on my sparkling first grade record. Emily would be so excited when I would come home from school. I miss the days that her whole adorable little face would light up when she saw me. We would set off on new adventures that lasted until bedtime, and sometimes well into the night.
When Emily started 1st grade, I was in Mrs. Roberts 5th grade class. I would walk by her class room any chance I got to check on her. I took every opportunity I could to pound on anybody who messed with her. There was a little brat named Cassie, who used to throw basketballs at Emily’s head, and Mrs. Hale, who wouldn’t let her go to the restroom when her nose was bleeding buckets, and a freak named Christian who would pin her against the wall and threaten her. From yelling at Cassie, to mouthing off to Mrs. Hale, to slamming Christian’s head into a locker, I had my sister’s back. I wanted to protect her at any cost. Even as an adult, I want to protect my sister from all the hurt and pain that comes with growing up. I want to shield her from the lies and deceit. The same way I do for my Princess Z.
It’s so hard to protect the ones you love when you have absolutely no control over this world. I can’t control the outcome of our foster care situation anymore than I can control a tsunami. The biggest struggle that I have with being a foster parent is the need to control the situation, to do what’s best for Z. I sit and listen to lawyers and social workers decide what’s to be done and inside I’m screaming for justice. All I want to do is protect this child, this perfect gift, who I don’t even know how long I get to keep. My heart bleeds for her.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Saturday, August 27, 2011
What made me who I am
In Coquille, Oregon, where I was born, there is not a whole lot to do besides chop trees and make mud pies from all the swampy puddles that the rain brings along with it. A small logging town, most of the people are as backwoods and backwards as Goober Pyle and Earnest T. Bass. It’s endearing, really. You roll into town in a rental car without duck tape as a seat belt and both headlights and people stare like the Queen is driving by in her royal carriage.
The town library smells of mildew and old books, and the sound of the dial up internet connection drowns out the soft piano music coming from a tiny boom box on the check out counter. I remember coming here with my grandmother to read stories and then going out back to the community pool in the 68 degree summer weather. The Bible Baptist Church is where my whole family spent a lot of time, where I was dedicated to God and baptized when I was 5. I remember Pastor Gil asking me if I believed that Jesus loved me, died for me, rose again and had a plan for my life. I grinned and nodded my head expressing my excitement over this revelation. My cousins and I would run the halls and hide in the bushes after church, chasing, screaming, laughing til we cried.
When I was 4, my parents got me 2 goldfish. Jeffery and Mr. Fish. Poor Jeff only lasted overnight. Mr. Fish lived to be 16 years old. My grandmother had an in home day care, and raised just about everyone in that town born after 1960. I remember her kids she had when I was little. Amy, who was a chubby little snot nosed kid and her brother, James. Paul, who was the first to inform me that boys and girls are very, very different. Jamal, my first little black friend. And Jake. Oh, Poor Jake. I cracked his head open when I was five. (Yes, I hid in the corn field after that.) Grandma was patient with her kids up until a certain point and then, WATCH OUT!!! I laugh when I imagine her grabbing a kid up by one arm and whacking their hind end because she had to tell them one too many times. My sister, Emily, and I never experienced Grandma’s wrath, Thank God. Em and I would crawl up in our Papa’s lap and he’d sing us old country songs, his deep, smooth voice and the scent of his sweet, smoky chewing tobacco wafting together through the house. Memories of children all around my grandmothers house make me wonder if this isn't where the desire to adopt came from. Maybe in a small way it was.
I roamed the mountain we lived on with my cousin, Mac, and played tea party with my best friend, Brittany. I learned to ride my bike on the storage property that my parents managed. I flew around the world on the tire swing in my cousins field and rode horses with my friend, Geri. I always wondered why her parents gave her a boy name. That little town was home for me until I was 6 years old.
We moved to Springfield, Mo in May of 1993. I was 6 and Emily was 2. I lost my first tooth on the trip. I remember also losing a tire on the interstate. A man who looked as though he may be an escaped convict stopped to help us. My mom video taped the whole thing in case he tried to murder us. As I write this, I smile to myself, because the poor guy probably had a tattoo and a pony tail and we, being conservative baptists, thought he was a felon.
Moving into our new house, which was a lovely mustard yellow with white window shutters, was quite an adjustment. My sister and I still shared a room, even though there was a spare bedroom, which I never really understood. We would pull out three huge boxes of barbies and create a whole town. Our huge backyard was a new adventure waiting to be explored. But unlike the huge mountain we were used to having, this flat, rocky terrain was also an adjustment. You look straight ahead and see all there is to see. The day we got our swing set installed was the greatest day. Emily and I would start at the slide, climbing up instead of sliding down, and swing along the bars, trying to make it across the slide, swings, monkey bars and double swing without touching the ground.
My dad worked 2 jobs and went to school full time. My mom stayed home with us girls. My mom always read to Emily and I, which is something I love doing with Princess Z, (My foster daughter) and Tatum and Jayme. (my god-daughters) As kids, we would put on shows, make movies and write stories and record them to send back to our family in Oregon. We were quite the little performers. Always out to get a laugh. Some things never change.
The town library smells of mildew and old books, and the sound of the dial up internet connection drowns out the soft piano music coming from a tiny boom box on the check out counter. I remember coming here with my grandmother to read stories and then going out back to the community pool in the 68 degree summer weather. The Bible Baptist Church is where my whole family spent a lot of time, where I was dedicated to God and baptized when I was 5. I remember Pastor Gil asking me if I believed that Jesus loved me, died for me, rose again and had a plan for my life. I grinned and nodded my head expressing my excitement over this revelation. My cousins and I would run the halls and hide in the bushes after church, chasing, screaming, laughing til we cried.
When I was 4, my parents got me 2 goldfish. Jeffery and Mr. Fish. Poor Jeff only lasted overnight. Mr. Fish lived to be 16 years old. My grandmother had an in home day care, and raised just about everyone in that town born after 1960. I remember her kids she had when I was little. Amy, who was a chubby little snot nosed kid and her brother, James. Paul, who was the first to inform me that boys and girls are very, very different. Jamal, my first little black friend. And Jake. Oh, Poor Jake. I cracked his head open when I was five. (Yes, I hid in the corn field after that.) Grandma was patient with her kids up until a certain point and then, WATCH OUT!!! I laugh when I imagine her grabbing a kid up by one arm and whacking their hind end because she had to tell them one too many times. My sister, Emily, and I never experienced Grandma’s wrath, Thank God. Em and I would crawl up in our Papa’s lap and he’d sing us old country songs, his deep, smooth voice and the scent of his sweet, smoky chewing tobacco wafting together through the house. Memories of children all around my grandmothers house make me wonder if this isn't where the desire to adopt came from. Maybe in a small way it was.
I roamed the mountain we lived on with my cousin, Mac, and played tea party with my best friend, Brittany. I learned to ride my bike on the storage property that my parents managed. I flew around the world on the tire swing in my cousins field and rode horses with my friend, Geri. I always wondered why her parents gave her a boy name. That little town was home for me until I was 6 years old.
Moving into our new house, which was a lovely mustard yellow with white window shutters, was quite an adjustment. My sister and I still shared a room, even though there was a spare bedroom, which I never really understood. We would pull out three huge boxes of barbies and create a whole town. Our huge backyard was a new adventure waiting to be explored. But unlike the huge mountain we were used to having, this flat, rocky terrain was also an adjustment. You look straight ahead and see all there is to see. The day we got our swing set installed was the greatest day. Emily and I would start at the slide, climbing up instead of sliding down, and swing along the bars, trying to make it across the slide, swings, monkey bars and double swing without touching the ground.
My dad worked 2 jobs and went to school full time. My mom stayed home with us girls. My mom always read to Emily and I, which is something I love doing with Princess Z, (My foster daughter) and Tatum and Jayme. (my god-daughters) As kids, we would put on shows, make movies and write stories and record them to send back to our family in Oregon. We were quite the little performers. Always out to get a laugh. Some things never change.
A little about me
Growing up, my mother always told me I was special. That one day I would do big things. My dad took every opportunity he could to tell me I made him proud. When I was 12 years old, my pastor told me that one day God would use me even bigger than I could imagine. I think that most American kids grow up with some sort of encouragement in that way. We are taught that we are unique, to follow our dreams, that one day we will go somewhere incredible and do something magnificent. But I remember sometimes thinking: “What if I don’t? What if I can’t do those big things that I’m supposed to do?”
I have distant memories of hiding in our corn field as a six year old when I was deciding if I was going to sneak and do something naughty. I remember the pressure in high school to be the perfect little christian girl, as to not disappoint my parents, teachers and peers who, I felt, expected as much out of me. Inside, I was so scared to let down the people I loved, and even the people I didn’t. As I was thinking about how I wanted to start my story, I realized that I’ve been very wrong for many years. Those people really didn’t care if I was perfect. They didn’t really expect me to save the world. I did. I put these expectations and pressures on myself.
I am still a people pleaser, to the enth degree. But I have finally realized that I don’t have to go somewhere incredible to do something great. I feel like my life is pretty normal. Un-Spectacular in every way. But for some reason, I have the desire to share my life in this cute little blog. So I’ll start at the very beginning. I’ve heard that’s a very good place to start.
I have distant memories of hiding in our corn field as a six year old when I was deciding if I was going to sneak and do something naughty. I remember the pressure in high school to be the perfect little christian girl, as to not disappoint my parents, teachers and peers who, I felt, expected as much out of me. Inside, I was so scared to let down the people I loved, and even the people I didn’t. As I was thinking about how I wanted to start my story, I realized that I’ve been very wrong for many years. Those people really didn’t care if I was perfect. They didn’t really expect me to save the world. I did. I put these expectations and pressures on myself.
I am still a people pleaser, to the enth degree. But I have finally realized that I don’t have to go somewhere incredible to do something great. I feel like my life is pretty normal. Un-Spectacular in every way. But for some reason, I have the desire to share my life in this cute little blog. So I’ll start at the very beginning. I’ve heard that’s a very good place to start.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)