And the Cycle Continues.....

Last night I had the delightful honor of being present for my niece's graduation from high school. Given the fact that she lives about five states south of my home, that our school year is still in session and that my state testing scores need to be posted in the very, very near future, it was an honor the I don't share lightly. After the short and very official ceremony, I was ambling about the grassy lawn of Lander University 'people watching' as kids, their friends and families, teachers and acquaintenances enjoyed the dying evening sun as they snapped pictures and just soaked in their in their last moments as a school family. I had taken a couple of minutes to admire a beautiful 10 month old child newly arrived from China...the daughter of my sister's teaching partner. As we were headed back to the car someone else flagged us down from a parked car. A woman approached and asked if I was the 'famous sister she had heard so much about.' She was introduced as one of the high school teachers that had my neice and nephew as students in school. She proceeded to tell me a story that tugged at my heart strings and made my entire day....no week...um...maybe month.

She and her husband were parents of five children and had been going back and forth for a while about the 'wisdom' of initiating an adoption. One day in the last moments of a Science class, students were sharing pictures and my neice approached her to ask if she wanted to see a picture of her cousins and aunt. It was one of those 'teacher moments' she explained, when she had a six inch high stack of papers to go through quickly and would rather have not taken the time to look....but did. My niece handed her a photograph of her adopted Asian American cousins and went in their story...of how wonderful they were and how well their adoption experience had been for our family. And she said it was in that moment that she believed God had given her a sign that they should proceed with an internationl adoption. It has been three years. They are now the parents of seven - including two beautiful three year olds from Guatamala adopted at different times - and one more is on the way home from another South American country in another year. How wonderful that it was our adoption story that tipped this family in the direction of bringing even more into their loving circle. How wonderful for those three children that will grow up cared for and blessed and loved. You just never know when the hand of God is going to reach out and touch someone with your own life story......even if it's five states away.

Meet the Robinsons

Nina is the one that wanted to see it. She has wanted to see it for months. Daniel didn't. Neither did I. There was really nothing else showing, it was pouring rain and we had an afternoon off school together. I appeased Daniel by paying the extra bucks for a 3-D version. You know...the kind where they give you special glasses to use? Cost me the price of another ticket. Sigh. For a kids' movie. An animated one at that. I hate animated movies. But only because it's difficult to read their lips....something crucial that a hearing impaired viewer needs to be able to do. Actually the only animated feature I have ever been able to enjoy without interpretation was Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast'. Watch it some time and pay close attention to how well the words match the characters' lip movements. It's incredible. Haven't seen one like it since...and with two kids, we have seen them all. And so I resignedly settled into my seat, settled the 3-D glasses over MY glasses and prepared to snooze.

What a nice surprise. The movie was actually entertaining. The subject also - surprisingly enough - was one that is very dear to my heart. Adoption....and more specifically, older child adoptions. I didn't know why I didn't pick up on it sooner.

A little kid named Lewis, a brilliant inventor who was left on the door step of an orphanage as an infant, has entered a 'Memory Scanner' in the school's Science Fair. His reason for creating it is to find his birth mother so they can be a family again. Another character - Wilbur Robinson - whisks him into the future so they can stop another character from stealing the invention and save the future. Along the way Lewis meets and begins to care for the wierd and wonderful Robinson family. He learns that the future is rooted in his own present and affected by his actions. Along the way he has a chance to discover his birth mother and doesn't, finds a family and lives happily ever after.

I have read that adoption advocates do not support this Disney movie. They report that adopted children and their parents came away distressed about the scenes depicting Lewis turned down by 100 prospective parents. Birth parents have come away distressed that Lewis, when given the chance to reunite with his birth mother, chooses not to. I don't know really know how my own adopted sweeties took that aspect of the film. They never really talked about it. We've never really talked about birth parent abandonment at all. They thought it was a really, really good movie however - even Daniel.

I saw it as a story of a kid searching for a family and finding it in his own backyard. A kid who knew his potential, knew he was a genius and liked that about himself. He never blamed his birth mother for abandoning him....never hated her....and in the end, respected her decision to give him away.

We have a smidgen of information about Daniel's birth parents and nothing at all about Nina's. I wonder if they will ever feel the need to search for their biological roots? If that day ever comes we will do everything that we can to help them. But in the end, I hope they will know that their 'real' family is the one that has been in their backyard all along. The one that treasures their uniqueness and loves them....just the way they are.

Drive Ins

My son recently wrote a paper for his English teacher about the time honored classic novel, 'The Outsiders', by S.E. Hinton. Sheesh. I had to read the very same book for MY 7th grade English class...um....WAY too many years ago....when it was considered 'compelling contemporary literature'. Anyway, in one section of his paper he was to outline ways in which the book mirrors his own life. What did he say? "Pony Boy, Dallas, Soda Pop, Two Bit (etc.) liked to meet at the drive in. My family likes to go to the drive in too." Hee.

I am glad he remembers. It's kind of like passing down a family tradition. Thursdays were pay day for my dad and we always went to the bank to cash his check, paid some bills and went out to dinner somewhere. A lost tradition due to today's convience of direct deposit. Friday nights in the late spring and all summer were devoted to our family fixation with the movies. We would pore over the newspaper listings to see what was on, pick one and be ready to go after dinner at home. We would load the car with pillows and blankets, popcorn or chips, candy, a gallon jug of kool aid and off we would go.

When I was growing up, Waterford and outlying townships used to be a mecca of drive ins to choose from. It was our Friday night tradition in the summer. Two movies for the relatively cheap price of one. Kids under 12 could get in free. My sister was 'under 12' till she turned sixteen and finally put her foot down.

There was the Pontiac Drive In which had a very nice playground with a mini ferris wheel and boat ride for kids. The Waterford Drive In had a little train on a tractor that would wind it's way around the parking lot and another vehicle there would spew out choking mists of bug repellent on some hot summer nights. The Blue Sky and Commerce theaters were miles away from home which meant a longer drive till we finally stumbled from the car to our beds after going to the show. My sister was small enough - for a very long time - to make her bed in the back window of our car. She would cram a pillow under her head, wrap one arm around the dog and squeeze them both under the cool glass of the back window and leave the entire back seat of the car to me. On very rare occasions we were allowed to sit outside the car in folding chairs, huddled under a blanket,,,not to keep warm but to keep the mosquitos at bay. Sound came from a box on a pole that you would hook on the inside of your window - and risk popping out that window if you forgot to replace the box before you drove off. I remember hating the bathrooms.....at any of them.

There was generally a cartoon before the feature. If we were on the playground and the cartoons came on, that was the clue to race back to your car and not miss it. Sometimes the sun hadn't gone down quite enough and the cartoons were washed out, but that didn't matter. It was followed by a feature flick, then a ten minute refreshment time - complete with a generic 'commercial' for the refreshment stand. There were only a couple of different ones but the one that stands out most in my mind is one of two little space guys in flying saucers that zoom in for popcorn and coca-cola and then blast back into space. The screen was then filled with a huge clock marking 15 minutes - and a medley of calliope music that I can still hum today....mega years later. Every minute we would get an update. "Our show will start in 10 minutes....or nine or eight...." I used to hate that freaking clock. In all honesty, however, it probably served a good purpose in helping me learn to tell time!

Following the 15 minute break we would be treated to my favorite part of the night - COMING ATTRACTIONS!! I still love watching the previews at the movies...and so do my kids. The second feature is when we usually fell asleep. It was a rare occasion when we managed to stay awake during two movies. And if we actually did, the drive home would certainly do us in. We would carry pillows and blankets inside and drop onto our beds with our play clothes on.

I still remember some of the movies we saw at the drive in. I remember watching Agnes Moorehead and Debbie Reynolds navigate their way through wild river rapids in 'How the West Was Won' from waaaay back in the make out section. Got there kind of late that night, I guess. I remember watching 'To Kill A Mockingbird" from the back seat of the car with my Mom, her aunt Dort and Dort's daughter, Debbie. I had gotten lemon drops for a candy treat that night and heard the word 'rape' for the very first time in my life. I think I was about nine. Occasionally we would go and park next to a family or friend. I remember seeing 'Soylent Green' with Charlton Heston parked next to my Aunt Cleo. I remember taking peeks over at she and my Uncle Tom as they slept through most of it and left before the second picture. My dad was a war movie fan and we saw plenty of those....'MASH', 'Kelly's Heros'...to name a couple. We saw Elvis movies, Disney movies, Pink Panther, Beach Party movies,etc. I think the only genre that we didn't see were the slasher movies or horror flicks.

Once my sister and I couldn't get in for free any more, drive in visits were fewer and farther between. One summer when I was home from college and my sister was working at McDonalds, we went to the drive in together regularly for kicks. And I almost kicked out the dash board of her little car watching 'Jaws'. I didn't go in the water for the rest of that summer either. We saw every kind of movie possible....including the slasher/horror thing my parents always avoided. That was the movie about some 'fry kids' that developed 'special skills' because their school bus went through a radio active cloud of some kind of chemical. Eeeew. Probably the single reason neither of us can stand black nail polish as that was the clue that you were about to be 'fried'. And one night we took my dad's van, backed it into a spot, opened the doors to get a better view, wrapped up in blankets and promptly fell asleep till the end of the second movie. Kinda scary when you think that anyone could have jumped in there with us. LOL

Every one of the drive in theaters of my memories are closed. I drive by their locations occasionally. The Waterford Drive In is just a big open field. The Pontiac has been sealed off and the Commerce just had their big screen torn down. It had been closed for years and years. But my children have drive in memories. They actually prefer the drive in over the multiplex theaters of their world. We just happened to learn about a semi-local drive in and went for a lark one weekend a while ago. We just keep going back.

Our trips to the drive in involve a 55 minutes drive and a stop at a gas station for jumbo sized Slurpees and candy bars. Sometime we pop popcorn or buy chips but in the interest of supporting this little piece of Americana, we buy our popcorn there. It's expensive.

Going to the drive in is still fun. Ours is a double screen - which means screens are facing each other and one screen shows one set of movies and the other shows another. You get the sound for which ever screen your vehicle is facing. There is still an interesting comraderie with drive in patrons. People still chat, share snacks, walk their dogs, open the back end of bigger cars to get a better view. My kids still occasionally sit outside in folding chairs huddled in a blanket to keep mosquitos at bay. Playgrounds are not there but kids still play in the drive way while they wait. Frisbees, baseballs, soccer balls...you name it. My son made a couple of bucks one night by washing windows of cars while we waited for the show to start. He was doing ours and people on either side asked him to do theirs. He talked about going into business doing that for a while.

Kids are no longer free but the admission price for 'under 12s' is minimal. There is rarely a cartoon before the show. Sometimes the movie starts before the sun goes down and it's hard to see on the screen. They still have a 15 minute refreshment break between features. And they still play the same basic medley of calliope music. They still screen 'Coming Attractions.' One really nice improvement is that movie sound now comes from your radio speakers. And I still hate the bathrooms.

The World That I Teach In

I am staying away from the television and newspapers today. Everyone else seems glued to the news of another shooting on another college campus. But I prefer not to hear one more thing about violence in a school setting. I am a Teacher.

In one more month I will be marking the 30th year since I graduated with a degree in Elementary Education from Oklahoma Christian College and began my teaching career. Those thirty years have seen a drastic change in Education. Curriculums have changed. Textbooks have changed. Testing measures have changed. Classroom designs have changed. Playgrounds have changed. School lunches have changed. Public attitudes have definitely changed.

Along with correct drinking fountain skills, jump rope rhymes, learning to get along with others, planting seeds in paper cups and an ever broadening spectrum of formal academic skills, I am now required to have my Kindergarten class participate in 'lock down drills' as well as tornado and fire drills. We must teach anti-bullying lessons in our classrooms. Parents need to report to the office for a 'visitor' sticker before coming to a classroom to help. Birthday treats need to be scanned for peanut/chocolate/lactose and gluten allergies. Our office staff will soon need medical degrees for all of the medications they dispense during the day. And we need to ease worries about gun toting citizens storming into schools. Did we really worry about that 30 years ago? I wonder if I would have proceeded down the path of a teaching career had someone given me a look into a crystal ball. Probably.

You see, one thing has not changed in 30 years. The mind of the child. The mind that yearns for stimulation and fun. The mind that very literally soaks up the information that is tossed their way, processes it and then tosses it back out into the world with their own stamp of approval. The mind that looks for a reason behind everything and tries to make it fit in the world they know.

Childhood has certainly changed...just as education has. Our children have seen the very news reports and written pieces that I am avoiding today. Even five year olds know about war in far away places. They know about food kitchens and children who do not have socks to wear and blankets to wrap up in. They know about allergies and illnesses that could take their friends away forever. Try as we might, we simply cannot keep them in their own little bubble of innocence any more. They will see....they will know....and ultimately they will change the world we are handing over to them. It is our job as Teachers...and Parents....to give them the tools for change.

So....we will teach them to read and to write and to measure angles and sort things with common attributes. We will keep them safe with lock down drills.....and teach them to problem solve. We will guard them from peanuts and chocolate and lactose and gluten and bee stings and strangers......and teach them to take care of their bodies. We will toss worms back into the grass after a rainstorm and capture spiders in our classroom to be released to safety outside. We will teach them to guard the gifts of the earth. Guard them very carefully. We will keep singing songs about vowels and bubble gum and monkeys jumping on the bed....and teach them to laugh. We will encourage them to collect cans for food kitchens, blankets for shelters and pennies for the Leukemia Foundation. We will cheer as they jump for the American Heart Association. We will keep the world of gun men and wars and hunger and sick at bay for a while every day.......and give children the innate self esteem to know that they have the power to change things. We are Teachers after all....and that is what we do. Every single day in this crazy world. We teach.

NYC

When I was eight years old, my parents left my sister and I with Aunt Cleo to spend a week in New York. They were participating in a reunion of my dad's WWII army division, the Golden Acorn 87th. When they came home my mom was full of tales of cab drivers that cursed one another, buildings so tall they blocked the sun from the streets, the Statue, the UN building, the World's Fair, wonderful people, the hustle and bustle and exciting sights. My little head was fairly bursting and filled with a longing to see the city myself. I read everything I could about the city...every fictional kids' book I could get my hands on that was set in old New York and new New York. Anyone ever read 'The Magic Tunnel'? I think mine was tattered to shreds.

As I grew, so did my desire. When I became enamored with play writing and theater as a pre-teenager, it blossomed even more. The fact that Broadway, Off Broadway and Off Off Broadway were in NYC made it even more enticing. Only a short plane hop away, right? But, always, always 'life' stepped in to divert time...and money.... elsewhere. My children have learned to love Chicago, as it is a city closer to us. It's their ultimate vacation spot. My husband rankles at the thought of crowded streets and traffic jams. But my heart still longs for the streets of New York.....just once.

Last week my younger sister , who - ironically - has never wanted to visit there, came home from chaperoning her daughter's high school band trip...to New York. Heh. Pay backs for her childhood 'enlightenment' to the existence of Santa and the Easter Bunny, no doubt. She came home with tales of crowded streets, hustle and bustle, flowers in street stands, buildings so tall they blocked the sun from the sidewalks, tributes to the life changing 9/11, astounding architecture, testy food, tour guides with sass and memories of a life time. Sigh.

And so the pictures are hers....and readily shared with me. But there is still hope for my ultimate vacation after all. My daughter's scout troop is contemplating next year's end of the year event as a 'weekend in New York'. Loose in New York with a gaggle of 12 year olds? I will be SO there as a prospective chaperone. Till then....and I know it's trite but.....give my regards to Broadway!

Update....The troop decided that a weekend in Chicago was the way to go. Still had a great time though. I think that I am a TOTAL city bird!

Pink Elephants & April Fools

April Fool's Day passed in a relatively quiet manner this year. It was Sunday and the kids were roused with a 'we're late for school!' call. Not funny as they stumbled out of their beds....for about 30 seconds. Then there was the telephone call to Non and Pop in Florida. Snow storm in Michigan and the kids were out playing in it. Foot and a half of snow was dumped over night...easy. Naw, they said. Bantering back and forth for about 10 minutes as the sun flooded in the bedroom window and the kids were stuffing blankets in their mouth to keep from laughing. Finally, just as we were to hang up and I had Non hooked...line and sinker...I said 'April Fool's'. It was a funny, funny scenario in my kids' eyes. One we tried to copy later with Aunt Darcy...but lost it in giggles too soon. Oh well.

This 'holiday' has never been one that I took particular delight in. I don't like being the fool. And unfortunately, being a too trusting and somewhat naive individual, I was usually...the fool. It is a day however, that never passes without thoughts of pink elephants.

When I was growing up, our telephone would ring on April Fool's Day and it would be my Grandmother. "Quick...run to the back door," she would say. "There are pink elephants flying over your house!" And I would do it. Every time. There was a year or two when I would argue and she would insist and I would always check. And then there was the year (I was in college, I think...) when I called her to tell HER to run to the window to see the pink elephants. The tradition continues.

My Grandmother died last summer. She was 97 years old and still living on her own in a nice little house in Florida. She lived for long drives in the car, flea markets and meals eaten at restaurants with the best senior citizen discount. She was fortunate to have her children - a tremendous support system - around her to help her sustain that life style. They drove her here and there, ate with her in restaurants and looked after her daily needs. Even in the end, she was lucky. We were all there. Admirable. Ninety seven years old and taken out by a careless driver in a head on collision. She hung on for several days....surrounded by her children, grandchildren and four of her great-grandchildren. Lucky her.....

My Grandmother and I had a complex kind of relationship. I was never an easy child. Big for my age, cloddy, loud, occasionally obnoxious (okay...maybe more than occasionally), heavy, hearing impaired and introspective, I had been born smack in the middle of my Grandmother's 'favorites'. One was a cousin two and a half years older that she helped raise and the other was my sister, four and a half years younger. Her computer screen name isn't 'litte ray of sunshine' for nothing. It is a childhood nickname that stuck. Sigh.

I never, ever felt like I quite measured up in my Grandmother's estimation. She was a stern task master and demanding individual. When I spent the night at her house I puked on the inside of her brand new van. When I went shopping with her we would always buy my clothes in the fat lady section....no matter how much I argued. I broke a glass figurine that was displayed on her glass table. I consistently fought being seated at a 'kids' table'... especialy when the afore mentioned cousin made the move to the 'big table'. I was always too loud...or too boisterous...or too...whatever. Hungry for attention from someone that didn't have it just for me. So I thought...as I grew up.

Oh, I have great memories because of her as well. My family camped on weekends with my grandparents as I was growing up. We spent many holidays at a special restaurant in Frankenmuth with them....and when we celebrated at home her cole slaw was the best tasting ever. And I never got her recipe. There were birthday cakes with quarters wrapped in plastic and stuffed inside the birthday kid's piece. There were chins dripping with peach juice from the fruit grown in her backyard. There was money that turned up in surprising amounts in surprising places. She took my sister and I to Hawaii the Christmas after my Grandfather had died. An unbelievable and treasured time. I will never forget the look on her face when we hung a filled stocking for her to find on Christmas morning that year...in the hotel shower. We continued that tradition for her for a couple of years after.

I was in my 20's when my Grandfather died. He was the third of her four husbands, the Grandpa we had grown up with and her undeniable soul mate. It was a difficult, difficult time for her. For all of us. As we were filing into a pew for his funeral service, my Grandmother unexpectedly slipped between my sister and I to sit. That was the first - and only - time in my life when I ever felt like I was able to please her. We held her hands that day. I prayed...long and hard and passionately that she would find peace.

That day passed and we moved on with our lives. She moved many states away to Florida. We didn't see much of one another. She loved the fact, however, that I loved to write. It was probably the one thing we had in common...aside from our prickly personalities. A traveler with good memories of trips to China and Korea, she delighted in the fact that my children are Asian.

We forged a relationship of respect....but never one of real friendship. That relationship belonged to the 'little ray of sunshine'. Heh. I am fortunate that I have gotten to know my Grandmother better through my sister and her sharing. And I am fortunate to have been there in the end. My children have several days worth of memories with 'the freaking OLD people' as my Grandmother and her entourage babysat for me while my mother was in the hospital last summer. Those will be memories that stick with them for a long time.

Kind of like pink elephants flying over your house.

Mabel Elizabeth Green
Thayer McLeod Mattoon Hawkins
1909 - 2007

The Evolution of a 'Ryter'

I have always been a voracious reader. I read everything I can get my hands on. I have also always been a writer. Fortunately I have had parents and teachers that supported this endeavor.

In third grade I wrote my first play. It was a story about a teacher with an unruly class. I wrote it, directed it and starred in it. Unfortunately I had a 'cast' of friends who decided to make up their own dialog as we performed. Not a good experience. In fourth grade I wrote a holiday play about Santa and his elves. This time I was a much sterner task master...er...control freak...um... director. Our play went off without a hitch. We performed it for our class and several younger classes as well. The only thing I remember is that we all fell on top of one another behind the piano (our 'back stage' area) in the Music Room at the end of the performance. Giggling, laughing and SO glad it was over. Fourth grade was also the year that I wrote my first melodramatic fiction story. It was a story about a little girl who had lost the use of her legs and became the poster child for the Easter Seal Society. It was entitled 'Amy's Legs' and Mr. Dieck gave me an unofficial 'A+' for writing it. Again, the thing I remember most about that story was snitching a piece of green yarn from my mother's knitting bag to hold the multitude of loose leaf pages together.

Fifth grade was devoted to book reports of every size, shape and length. Sixth grade was devoted to reading again. My Teacher was a stickler for the classics, Greek mythology and history. Mrs. Schultz was a 70ish traditionalist who was teaching for her very last year. She read aloud every single day. She read only Newberry Award winners (with the exception of 'Boy of the Pyramids' because we were studying Egypt at the time) and I can still name every book she read to us. Seventh grade was totally devoted to survival of the first year of jr. high. I do remember that we were introduced to journaling and that Mr. Pritchard was a little freaked that my entries read like magazine articles and book reviews instead of 'personal recollections'. Always thinking outside of the box. Heh.

Just for 'fun' I was writing scripts for my favorite television shows. My friend, Linda Sue Nutt, was the first one I ever allowed to read those. She read them as fast as I could write them. My younger sister became a fan and favorite critic. She would read things as they were being written...chapters always out of order. It used to make her crazy. Still does. Once, about seven years ago, we decided to pass the time on a mutual family campout by creating a plot and group of characters, going off to our campers to write and then meeting later to compare. She finished her story in several pages. Mine had twice as many and was only the first chapter. Still working on that one!

In tenth grade I was a lonely only sophomore in a Journalism class and wrote copy for the high school year book. It was quite heady to have upperclassmen seek me out for captions for photos or pages of photos. My very first published poem is in that book. My 'scripts' were also circulating amongst the other kids in that class. My Journalism Teacher recommended me as the school reporter for the local newspaper. It was a job I held for the next two and a half years. In fact, my byline was a regular fixture in THREE local newspapers during that time. All for the 'experience', of course. On second thought, I think the Lakeland Tribune paid me a nominal fee for each 'feature' that I wrote. That paper became defunct when I was in college.

As a senior I was taking an 'Exploratory English' class. We basically met with the teacher and determined our own course of study. Since I was reading...alot... during the second marking period and didn't have anything to turn in for a grade, I hastily finished a little ditty I had started writing for fun during the summer. It was a lengthy novel that evolved from an essay I had written for English the year before. The exercise in 11th grade had been to write a theme with a character - as unlike us a possible - in a situation we would never be caught in. I think the purpose of the exercise was for us to come to the realization that no matter what, our fictional characters always carry a bit of us. My essay was entitled 'The Decision' and the follow up novel was entitled 'The Crystal Image'. It was about a girl and her family coming to terms with an illegitemate pregnancy, birth and subsequent return home with a child. A hot topic in the early 70's. It was a smash....much to my dismay. My teacher loved it. My friends read it and loved it. It was entered in a short story contest for an out lying college. It was one of twelve stories selected from high school entries to be part of a short story symposium with invited published authors. The authors would be on campus for a week working with college students prior to our little symposium.

We spent a wonderful day on that Sienna Heights College campus. By we, I mean my mother, my grandmother, my 'Literary Cheerleader'/English Teacher Sue Shipley, the other 'winners' and their various supporters. We met with an author in small groups of four. Our written pieces were critiqued. I was red faced and worried and so stressed by the time mine was picked up to be discussed. It was the last of the four in our group. I remember my head buzzing and my face burning....but this very distinquished, white turtle neck sweater/dark jacketed/stylishly graying/oh so handsome author (I wish I could remember his name!) picked up my submitted manuscript and said that he would absolutely love it if his students walked into a writing class with the kind of material he was holding in his hands. I remember that he began asking ME questions about how I developed my characters, how I decided my plot lines and chose my descriptive phrases. Not at all what he had done with the previous three stories. Yikes! It was a surprise only to me when I was declared the winner of a college scholarship for that story.

Did I mention that I have a hearing loss? Before my graduation I allowed the people that love me talk me out of going to school for a writing degree. "Get something that you can support yourself with" they said. They were my family, my friends, my school counselor. "Be a teacher", they said. "You can still write in the summer time." Did I mention that I had also been involved in available child development avenues for high school; classroom helper at the nearest elementary school, student aide the high school day care/pre school center, vacation Bible school teacher, etc? Elementary Education appealed to me and that is where I directed myself. Writing became lost in the shuffle, except for my own enjoyment or for the professors that read my term papers and exam essay questions. When I graduated from college Elementary Education allowed me to put all of my extracurricular interests into play. I wrote for my students. I wrote for my lessons. I wrote...I wrote...I wrote.

Real life stepped in. Multiple jobs to pay bills while I searched for a full time job in education to 'support' myself. I investigated teaching in the Los Angeles area to be closer to the entertainment world that I longed to write for. Too far from family. I got married and busied myself with my husband, home and two stepdaughters. I busied myself with my classroom. I busied myself with community theater, as a make up person, set designer/painter, costume cooridinator, producer, assistant director and finally director. I wrote copy for programs and press releases. I wrote newsletters for various purposes. I still do that. I wrote plays for school drama clubs to perform. I busied myself with my own son and daughter and their activities and their lives. And still I wrote. Nothing big. Nothing anyone else really wanted to read. Nothing I was really comfortable having outsiders read. Until I discovered fan fictions.

I posted my first chapter of my first fan fiction on line during a school holiday vacation in January 2006. People responded with 'reviews'. Well...that was fun, so I posted another chapter...and another and another. In the past fifteen months I have posted 15 different pieces with multiple chapters. Some are funny. Some are melodramatic. Some are just plain 'fluff'. Some follow the course of the show they were written about. Some are 'back stories' - or histories - for characters that appealed to me...answering questions that I needed answers to. Fifteen pieces have generated 140,890 computer hits at one site alone. Some of the stories have been posted elsewhere and gotten even more 'hits'. I have written several pieces for writing 'challenges' that have won their own little contests with readers' votes. I write a lengthy, detailed recap of a weekly television show for a friend's web site. I submit television reviews for another site and have my own little fan base. I have developed some very good friendships amongst my frequent reviewers. This writing has become a very ego building thing at a time when I really needed it.

This writing has also become an all consuming thing. I will never regret my life or my family. I will never regret what I have accomplished in my career. But given the fact that I am finding my all of my free time being sucked in to the time that I spend in front of my computer key board, I think I am always going to wonder what would have happened if I had followed my own originally charted path. I ran into my Literary Cheerleader/English Teacher, Sue Shipley, once about 12 years ago. We were at the grocery store. In the bread department. I was so proud to show off my husband and my too cute little son. She asked me what I was doing now and I still remember the disappointment in her eyes when I said that I was teaching first grade. She told me - again - that she was still holding out hope. That she knew I would make money as a writer some day. "I have always thought that you are able to write what people like to read," she said. "That's not an easy thing."

Write what people like to read. Apparently I still can. I am working on it. Still trying lots of different kinds of writing. Still trying to find that muse that always seems to elude me. I find that I like manupulating characters that are already defined. I am too old to quit what I am doing for a living. With two soccer stars to support, I am too poor to go back to school. Yet, I am too young to totally belie what I enjoy doing the most. It's a conundrum......but an evolving one.