Disabled Angel

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.”

Khalil Gibran

Shattered Image by Dolly Parton  with Acappella  1987

I always believed that it did take a Village to raise a child but once I actually entered into motherhood, I am believing it less and less and in a different way. As smart and educated as I have always felt myself to be, I was not prepared for the oncoming “advice” that is handed out the millisecond one becomes a mother… At almost any and all opportunities. I now just nod and note what the advice tells me about the advisor. We all look through our own ‘unique’ lenses of our B.S. (Belief Systems). It took me a few years to realize that the “experts” who write the books are also just human beings…full of B.S. (belief systems).

Humongous Tree by the Barenaked Ladies on their Epic album “Snacktime”. The best children’s album I have ever heard. Children are like seeds. I am a humongous fan of the Barenaked Ladies. I often say “I want to be a Barenaked Lady”. A girl can dream…

I have two noteworthy examples of discovering the failings of the experts: How To Solve Your Child’s Sleep Problems by Richard Ferber, MD, and 1, 2, 3, Magic:  Effective Discipline for Children by Thomas W. Phalen, PhD. Elise being my oldest was the “guinea pig”. I somehow felt I needed to be “booksmart” in order to raise a child. In the end, my best advice came from my Mémé (grandma), “Each child will teach you how to raise them”. She was Oh. So. Right. But being Angèle, I needed to experientially learn for myself. I did not fully recognize the wonderful wisdom of Mémé – at first. Elise was a dream child. We connected very strongly and instantly. I always felt I knew what she wanted…telepathically. It came in very handy. It gave me great confidence as a mother. (I did turn away from that connection as I read all the books by the experts). Her sleep was like a dream. This enhanced the motherhood experience. I actually slept. I recall her sleeping through the night at 7 weeks of age. It was the same day that I put her in her crib for the first time. (Yes, I read that having your baby sleep with you was very good for the baby. It was not bad but she slept through the night the first night she had her own crib.) I had heard of the “Ferber Method”. Many weeks went by where I nursed her to sleep and then gently set her into her crib….Ahhhhh, slept like a baby. Until one day, she woke and was pretty upset at being left in the crib. It was the very day I decided, I will Ferberize her. Ferberize is to let the baby figure out how to soothe themselves and get to sleep – aka cry it out. It broke my heart but took only one night. I am not sure I could have handled a second night like the first – over an hour of crying. (And I know, this is nothing). I am a wimp when it comes right down to it. Or maybe I was just ‘connected’ to my baby. All said, the mother must look after herself first in order to best care for her baby. So each mother has to determine how to do this. Easier said than done…

Then there were the timeouts when she was four. I took what felt to be common advice. I reinforced it from Phalen’s book, 1, 2, 3 Magic. I will spare the details but after using it a fair amount, I determined that time-outs did not work with Elise. I abandoned them. They angered her and it just did not feel right. Brought me back to my own time-outs as a child where I developed the habit of laying on my bed, and then kicking the wall repeatedly as hard as I could until my anger settled. Eventually, I kicked a large hole in the drywall…which my parents delayed repairing as a clear signal that my actions were not appreciated. They won that one more than they originally knew because I was “terrified” of that hole – that some alien or monster would pop out of it. It was right beside my bed…..yikes!! Lesson learned, anger is “best avoided”.

At that point in my mothering career, I decided to start taking my Mémé‘s advice. I felt my daughter and I could communicate very well together. She astounded me with her grasp of complex/difficult issues and her maturity. I feel she is an “old soul”. Once I did this, our relationship strengthened. I had all the evidence I needed now. No “expert” would talk me out of my own wisdom as I had allowed in the first years of my dear little guinea pig’s life (Élise). The two sons that followed benefited from my connection to my own wisdom.  (Yes, I see how self-evident this all is.)  I am a slow learner.  Better late than never.

Fast forward to 2013.

Élise, 16 years old, continues to thrive – in so many ways. I am in awe and so pleasantly surprised. (Not biased at all..haha).  People often talk about the “terrible twos” and then a girl as a teenager as difficult times. For me, I do not agree. It seems that these common beliefs are associated with times when a child may have ideas that differ from the parents (culturally ingrained B.S.). I have a guilty pleasure – not that guilty- in enjoying the occasional psychic reading. Just prior to starting this story, I met this particular psychic man for the first time (my 3^rd Psychic at the Russian Tea Room here in Edmonton). So he read Tarot cards, my palm and 3 Destiny Cards. Fun to have these readings done. This time, he surprised me by starting first with my kids. Elise being the very first. Here I am ‘reprimanded’ by the psychic in how I am raising Elise. He tells me I need to “reign her in”. Hmmmmm….I noticed my own reaction instantly resists this. There is no harm in  taking a look at it. Elise has a busy lifestyle…of her own choosing. I have often felt it to be a bit busy but as we discuss it, she is inspired by all of her activities. She has achieved a Brown Belt in karate (which is phenomenal). She volunteers extra time to the program without hesitation. That is how a good dojo runs. The higher belts help in the training of the lower belts. It is something she enjoys. Her Sensei is one of the most inspiring young women I have ever met. So I cannot fault Elise in following in her footsteps. Sensei is a Nurse Practitioner and a former Squash Champion, Tennis Champion and just finished a couple of years on the National Karate Team. A Superstar…and a wonderful person. I have a lot of hobbies I have accumulated over the years. I passed on the one of “Cake Decorating” to Elise. We have all the tools and gadgets. Some amazing cakes have been created in my kitchen. This organically led her into a special program of Culinary Arts in a nearby High School. Which resulted in a lovely summer job as a Chef Apprentice. This was part of her schooling and brought her great joy every day.

Watching You by Rodney Atkins.

She also enjoyed playing Badminton/ Swimming on the school teams. To top it off, she even started dating:  worrisome to many parents, but not me. Been there. Done that. Hard to control authenticity. Why would you want to? Seeing who my kids really are is the very best part of parenting. I love to ask for their viewpoints. I honestly believe that I could not be who I am now without their wisdom. Their views shook me loose from some of the B.S. (Belief Systems) I had taken on. They even have the lingo. I hear them ask, “Mama, is that not just a Belief System?” I have enabled some very Beautiful Souls in this world…

There’s A Word For That by the Barenaked Ladies (Snacktime Album again). Love how the kids teach the guys…Anatomy no less.

As I review the advice the psychic gave, I learned that my friend feels the same way. Hmmmm…. I realize that I have heard many “warnings” from friends and family. Each of them is afraid (maybe concerned is a better word) that she will get pregnant. As I tease through the various discussions, they always end up here. Teenager… leads to sexual urges… which are explored and then ….result in intercourse…. which leads to the risk of pregnancy. I am always pretty leary when fear is at the forefront of decisions. And what exactly am I to do anyway?  I love to ask my critical commentators what they advise.  Most people just encourage me not to “make it easy” for her to have time alone with her boyfriend. Does not sound like a solution exactly.  Never go out?  Sexuality does not necessarily mean intercourse…not that there is anything wrong with that.

What a Good Boy Cover  of A Barenaked Ladies tune by the Duke’s Men of Yale A Cappella Group

I am brought back to a time before I had any kids. I was a very keen Family Doctor with a passion for the underprivileged. One of my patients was the Principal of a School located on an Aboriginal Reserve. She described their issues relating to teenage pregnancy and sexuality. She asked if I would do a talk for the Grade 8 group. (Now my own son, Jacques, is in Grade 8). Seems surreal to me as I think back to it. I welcomed the chance to see if I could help in any way. So I put together a little talk about sexuality. Birth Control was a part of it. The teacher had foreseen that the kids would never open up in the group setting so they were offered one on one time with me, in addition to writing questions on little slips of paper that would be anonymously answered to the group. The questions actually embarrassed me. They taught me more than I taught them, let me assure you. They were mostly asking what is this and what is that sexual behaviors. Being the “expert” of course I did not know the answers to most of the questions. And if I did, I was reluctant to answer them. Ha ha. I was left with homework. What were those things? I did not talk as dirty then as I do now apparently. I learned a very valuable lesson through this whole experience. I ‘judged’ their behavior as ‘problematic’ but actually it was not to them. Following this humbling experience, tail between my legs, I entered into discussion about the community. I listened. Ideally this should have occurred before I came in to “teach” them what I thought they needed to know. The teachers and I felt they had a problem but in their culture, having a baby was the highest achievement they could expect. It made perfect sense to me why the girls would want to get pregnant. Their mothers were extremely proud when they were grandmothers before the age of 40. Children are blessings…and they knew it. The teenaged births were celebrated by the family. I was embarrassed for myself as I realized my own B.S. (Belief System) made no sense to them. This feeling also describes why the Medical System itself often fails. The Patients and the Doctors do not share the same B.S. There is remote hope in holistically beneficial outcomes when the Patients and Doctors do not share the same “raison d’etre”. Motivations and expectations are not a match. I guess that is part of what I meant when I felt I was “spitting into the wind” with my Medical work. Unless the two groups are willing to get onto the same page, there will only be frustration on both sides.

As I percolated with my experience trying desperately to be an expert on the Aboriginal Reserve, I also wondered how to generally impact a teenage population. I came up with the concept that I declared I would teach to my own kids (and I have to Elise). There is no form of contraception that is 100% effective, so if you are going to have intercourse, consider if your partner is someone you would want to raise a child with. Also, use two forms of contraception. (Sounds a little fear mongering doesn’t it? I was a Doctor. What more can you expect of me?) With my new spirituality, I relax that a little. Not that it does not serve a message. I think about the idea that the more we fear something, the more likely we attract it into our reality. I don’t know. So I cannot lead myself to “fear” Elise becoming a mom. She has declared that she has no intentions of ever becoming a mom. I will not hold her to that but that has been a consistent message from her. I strongly believe that sensuality and sexuality are normal. How we handle our natural urges is a choice. A teenager in touch with themselves will know when they are ready for what. I feel I did. So how do I handle my daughter’s freedom? I find myself trusting in her. (Gasp) I recall my own experiences at a similar age. Freedom to explore was very much appreciated. I feel my daughter is educated and I trust her to make the choices that serve her in her life. My relaxed attitude does not sit comfortably with many. I guess that is their problem… I am not afraid of normal. I love kids!! Ha ha.

I was forever changed by my experience with the Aboriginal Community.  Seeing kids through their eyes was a Beautiful experience.  I am Grateful for the expansion of my perception.

The book I wish I got my hands on way back then is “The Idle Parent:  Why Less Means More When Raising Kids” by Tom Hodgkinson.  It was published in May 2010 so was not available in my day.  I have not read it but I like the sound of it.  Somewhere along the way, I chose to change from a “Fast Parent” to an “Idle Parent”.  It feels great.  My second psychic reader compared my youngest child, Jean-Luc, to a “self watering plant”.  Absolutely true!   Found this article, “Slow, Free-Range, Idle Parents Can Increase IQ and Happiness”. 

Cat’s In The Cradle by Ugly Kid Joe.

I often sang this song, just the chorus, to my former husband:  just one of my many endearing traits.  A lot could be said with this little snippet.  Sometimes it would continue on to him saying, “We should just hire some more help”.  Answered by my, “You cannot hire someone to live your life for you.”   I always thought he was a tad of a workaholic.  Ironic that he worked with his Dad… and as a result often had no time for his Dad.  As he would remind me, my buddy was far from the only one “living the life”…

Remember that fun old mom saying:  If your friends jumped off a cliff, are you going to go and jump off a cliff too?

P.S. – Just as I complete the first draft of this story, my 13 year old asks me to come and see “something”. I do not like the sound of that. Apparently, my 8 year old has thrown a ‘javelin’ (some implement pretending to be a javelin) at him. He sports a laceration near his eye (gasp) that I would pop a stitch into if it were at hand. Ironic timing.  Bleeding has stopped. Amazing. I have steri-strips for just this occasion. Done…

Warning: This is not intended to be Medical Advice. I write stories….please do not forget. But it would take a whole lot of blood to drag myself or family member to the Emergency Department. The human body has phenomenal healing capacity…

Started writing September 2, 2013

Back to Grade 8 Outdoor Education weekend trip to get me to one of the most humbling moments of my life. My picture speaks volumes. Seems so funny to me now. I have come a long way. No beauty queen here: bad perm, braces and an eye the size of a baseball… A Kodak moment.
Ok, I am caught red-handed exaggerating this time.  It had been years since I looked at this picture.  Maybe my eye was just a little swollen…

“Up” by Shania Twain

At my Junior High School (slated for $10 million renovations I read on my first boyfriend’s Facebook post the other day. He is a Member of the Legislative Assembly remember?) Grade 8’s were treated to an overnight trip at a nearby site outside the city. There was a lodge with bunk houses, kitchen, common dining room and activities like archery and horseback riding. Being the blessed girl that I was, when I asked for horseback riding lessons at the age of 5, my parents happily complied. We lived in Calgary at the time. A suitable stable was found: heaven for me. Riding horses became a family activity.  One dramatic memory I had from that era proved how well I listened to the rules when I was inspired to do so. I was 6 years old (?). We were instructed to lead our horses to their stalls holding their reins, walking ahead of them. I felt very empowered handling horses.  Of my group, I was the only one who was taking charge of her horse….which landed me surrounded by untended horses. I was trapped in a small space, crowded in a canyon of horses. I ended up getting kicked (little ankle kicks, not sure how to describe it) many times but nothing a little “tincture of time” could not heal. Interesting metaphor to my mind…

So I was pretty excited about riding again at this Outdoor Ed. Trip with my longstanding love for horses.

The wrangler picked out a horse for me. I noticed it had a huge gash on its forequarter. I pointed it out. I softly requested another horse. Request denied. I was not very assertive so thought twice before asking again. A little more emphatic, “please give me another horse this one is hurt”. Still no. I debated whether I should refuse to ride the horse. My enthusiasm for riding overruled my sense that I should not have ridden that horse. Was that intuition? Off the group went. But it was not truly riding horses. We sat on horses that were going for a walk – follow the leader. The lead horse made the trail that all the others followed. Mostly, the rider just had to hang on. They were not controlling the experience. A tad distasteful but I was happy hanging with horses nonetheless. The strangest thing happened next. There was a dead tree. A horse a couple ahead rubbed gently against it. It moved slightly. The next horse rubbed, it started to fall. It felt surreal as the scene moved in slow motion. Reining in my horse had no effect. It had made another decision…to run quickly under the healthy sized falling log before the log landed on the ground.  It was not being controlled by the rider, it was following the leader. Horse was successful. Rider: not so much. I caught the tree in the eye leaving a gash just under the eyebrow. Cool experience. I felt absolutely no pain. Slow motion persisted. I felt like I was falling into the largest pile of feathers. I sensed the pile was 5 feet high. So when I landed on the ground, I was very peaceful.

Not sure if I was unconscious right away but I was extremely sleepy. I could not keep my eyes open. It was determined that I would be brought back to the main lodge and then driven to the nearest emergency department. I could hardly walk for the sleepiness. One of the adult chaperones lost their patience with me. Told me that the other eye was fine just open my eye. It was challenging to stay awake, even while walking. It is easy to forgive the layperson, she did not know any better. The doctor, on the other hand, likely should have known better.

So off to see the rural Doctor in Emergency. He examined me physically. My biggest memory was of him prying my eye open and testing my vision. Aaaah, big relief. “She can see” – as long as you pry open the swelling. I was discharged promptly. The concussion and head injury were undiagnosed – oh my!! Back to the lodge we went. My memory from this time was very sketchy. I was in and out of consciousness for the remainder of the weekend trip.  I laid unconscious in my bunk.  It was the coolest sensation. Lights on. Lights off. I fondly remember my first boyfriend (no longer a couple by that time) being part of a group coming into my room. They checked in on me repeatedly, loud and boisterous. Lights on.  They would ask how I was doing.  Heard me answer.  Then they would leave. Lights off again. Intuitively, they were following the instructions for concussion. Those smart kids! Leave them to their own devices and look what they did. You would almost think they went to Medical School. They were not worried: could see that I was fine. They were just following their instincts. Usually, the Doctor would recommend waking the patient up to ensure they are rouseable every couple of hours or so.  That was the care I received from those playful teenagers.  If a slow bleed was accumulating in the brain, it might have required lifesaving surgery. No worries, I was being looked after. I seemed to come around just in time for the bus ride back to St. Albert.

My mom was a law student at this time. The word litigation was cast about. No long term damage was apparent. (Ha ha!  Who knows?) She was pretty upset that she was not notified of the accident. Truly I would have been better off at home. Happy ending none the less.

Maybe that explains a little of how I came to be who I am. A little head injury: what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Isn’t that what they say?

December 1, 2014 I insert:  Attended my 30 year High School Reunion recently.  A Beautiful Soul was recounting the memory of kissing me on this Outdoor Ed. trip 34 years ago now.  I did not remember it at all.  I think I had a good excuse.  So funny, he did not recall the head injury.  Really wonder if it was a case of mistaken identity.  We are all the authors in our own stories, I guess.  End insert.

Horses made me think of country music.  A favorite song of mine is Go Wherever You Want To Go by Patty Griffin.    Maybe better described as Country Folk…

Moral of the Story:  Follow the Leader at your own risk.  This can leave you powerless when field conditions require individual action.  Wait a minute.  There was that time when I was the only one in control of my horse and I still got hurt. But I was the only one following instructions of the leader. Hmmmm…. Maybe not black and white.  What do you know about that?

“(Sh)It Happens” by Sugarland.

We are all connected.   Empowered cooperation … has a nice ring to it.

I used to say that my lesson from this experience was that horses are big, strong and stupid.  But my perspective has changed with time.  For years, I avoided riding horses.  Summer of 2012, I was back in the saddle again in Otavalo, Ecuador.  A short spell in a canter and I was hooked again.  Nowhere to go but up from here!

I just completed “The Cheese Stands Alone”, a story from my 12 year old days. This story’s title popped into my head following my very first Astrology session back in September 2013. In that session, it was relayed to me that in the year 1966, my birth year, many revolutionaries/visionaries were born. I instantly thought of “my first boyfriend”. His birthday is the day before mine. He recently held a big, fancy title as the Deputy Minister of a Provincial Government Department. Inspiration hits:  I sent a Facebook message “requesting his audience” with a short explanation if he would care to chat. I enjoyed a coffee catch up visit shortly thereafter in his constituency office. So weird… It is very hard to see him as a Politician.  He just does not seem to be the type.  I am not the first to mention this to him.  He is such a “regular guy”.  I mean that in the biggest way:  a huge compliment.  I left our coffee talk thinking to myself, he is like a brother.  He recounted a story of our shared experience that I had never heard before. I nearly single-handedly ended his career as a trombone player back in the day.  (Gasp!!)  I am. So. Sorry. He forgave me. Whew… Short version: Two Grade 7 Bands. He played trombone solo in one. I played trombone with a comrade in the other. Christmas concert. The 3 trombone players unite! Two trombones play “in unison”. One trombone player has his own ideas- his perception.  I did not notice or I completely forgot.  We can laugh about it now.

Sesame Street – One of These Things Is Not Like the Others (Music 0:29).

OK, I do not think that comes from the Official Sesame Street Channel. Whoops!

When you are 12, the term boyfriend is a bit of a big label for the role. In my day, one or the other in a couple would ask, “Will you go out with me?”. I cannot say that I remember “who asked” in this incident. If I were to guess, I would guess me. Whoever did, we probably had a friend do a reconnaisance mission to see how well received the question would be first. The crush began long before the big ask. Well, when the yes came, both wondered, “now what?” But we were bigger versions of our former selves. Validation was enjoyed. Our ‘relationship’ highlights were going tobogganing with a large group of kids but ‘as a couple’. There was “a kiss” too… That was hard to forget. He was (and is) very funny: one of his endearing qualities. I always thought he could make a living at comedy if he were to choose. I was laughing all day around him. Well after our first kiss, he pretended that he got his lip caught on my “braces”.  I was both laughing and mortified. Another example of my humble beginnings. He was instantly forgiven. Gotta luv ‘im.  He was/is such a cutie.

Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer

My ‘first boyfriend’ was handsome, athletic, nice, funny, smart. Everything that I was attracted to then and still am. I was so surprised when I first told the other girls about my crush. They were shocked. Was I not concerned that he wore glasses? No. What about his “mixed race” ancestry? What of it?  All the more interesting. He had good energy. Still does. I run into him regularly enough and it is always a pleasure. It is delightful what great mutual respect we have always shared. The special little bond between us is pleasing. It was his own proclamation to my brother whenever they would meet (as adults) that I was his “first girlfriend” that reminded me that, yes, I guess he was my “first boyfriend”.  A cute exaggeration.  I wear my title proudly. I was so happy for him when he found small scale fame in University. It seemed that now everyone saw what I noticed back when we were 12. I have always said I can see the god in people. Well he played Volleyball in University (and was a serious hotty – long curly, dark hair, tall and muscular) and I am not sure if it was “Sun God” or some similar nickname that he was branded with. Maybe that is just what I called him. All the girls were noticing him then, probably still. I recognized his brilliance long before. I pride myself in that.

Years ago, I began following politics. First as a Doctor in the Medical System with my patients in mind. Then as an Education Advocate once my oldest child started school. Next I became interested in Electoral Reform. My experience with the Education and Medical systems left me believing our current political system had no hope in improving anything with the winner takes all (First Past the Post) style of election. After my interest in Electoral Reform fizzled, I joined a newly formed Political Party. I donated money and walked side by side campaigning with the candidate. At this time, I was calling myself a “political intuitive”- just to myself. I seemed to know things before they happened. I received clear pictures of the political candidates. I had strong urges as to what would be best for the Province. I did not have a lot of confidence in this but it was a hobby of sorts. So the fact that “my first boyfriend” is high up in power with the Governing party holds some intrigue for sure. (I should note that my interest in Politics ended 2 years ago. Dropped like a hot potato. New passion: transform the individual, starting with myself, to the highest form of Self. As more people achieve this, the systems take care of themselves.)

One of my Medical School Classmates held a Deputy Minister position years ago, also. He was kicked out of the governing party for standing up against the Government in a medical issue. Many applauded him – including myself. Instead of joining my party of choice, he chose another opposition party. He went on, and continues, to lead that party. I spent a couple of hours with him over Bubble Tea right around that time. My intuition saw him as having his heart in the right place but was all in his head with his politics. Pity, the heart packs a way more powerful punch. I asked him why he did not choose “my party”? He said he asked his constituents. They said no. A good answer for a Politician… It was not the answer I wanted to hear. But who am I? I am the 1%. I love this joke. Others in my party did not seem to like it quite so much… To my surprise. (My party received only 1% of the popular vote in its first election.)

Be a lover of what is and the war is over. Byron Katie
One of my all time favorite quotes…

I often say, “I have friends in high places”. I love the double entendre. It can mean literally guys like these two gentleman now in politics OR the higher power/God. Cool when both perspectives are true.  I can only speak for myself…

Started December 18, 2013

Most of my stories are within my adult life. This one goes way back…to 12 years old. I was in Grade 7. This story paradoxically had a huge impact and yet, at the same time, had little impact. Paradox is a good sign in my books. I took in the experience. Learned from it. And moved right along. I did not skip a step. I did not even tell my parents about it. Somewhere in the last decade, something triggered the memory. I remember it as a story of resilience. How did a 12 year old girl have so much resilience? Who taught me that? Heaven only knows. (Love that!)

This tale offers an alternate view of the more common teenaged victim story. Victimhood is a state of mind. If you don’t have it, you just are not a victim. Suffering is optional. It is a choice – be it conscious or subconscious. Certainly, my 12 year old self taught me well. I love this story.

My brother was 3 years younger and attended the neighborhood Elementary School. My school was  brand new serving Grades 5-9. Lice checks hit the Elementary Schools and my brother was picked out. He had lice. He was sent home from school and could not return until he received treatment- special shampoo and laundering clothes/linens touched within 2 days.  Somehow we were in the practice of sharing bath towels, so seemed prudent for me to take treatment too. Recently I have received almost weekly notices that someone in my youngest son’s class has been found with lice. Please check your child for nits or lice …. Serves to prompt my memory of my own “lice story”. Back to the 1970’s. Once we educated ourselves as to what lice was…no big deal. Wash the appropriate items. Good to go.

Well the next day at school, the lice incident was far from my mind. Been there. Done that. I appeared to be receiving some kind of silent treatment from all of the girls. Nobody was talking to me. I am/was pretty lighthearted (and intuitive). It did not seem to be a playful kind of thing. I truly did not exist to the group any longer. I had been shunned.  Similar to the Cheese Touch in the Diary of A Wimpy Kid.  After checking with many people receiving no response, I settled into the silent treatment. I was slightly annoyed but gave up trying to determine what was going on. Have always connected well with the boys so just enjoyed interacting with them. By about day 3, a timid little Soul approached me and told me what had happened. My brother’s best friend at school had a sister in my grade. Well, the story goes, her mother upon hearing of my brother’s case of lice instructed her daughter not to associate with me. The sister promptly reported to school and passed on her mom’s advice to all the other girls. Amazing how news can travel…

I clearly remember my eyes opened wide at hearing this news. I am not sure if I am building myself up here but I felt a strong compassion for the mother for being so ignorant and passing it on to her daughter. I perceived that I was more mature and educated than she was. (My bad, I was judging. Oh yes.) I was deeply disappointed in my classmates for not choosing a different choice. There was a sense of stability recognizing that truly, we each stand alone. It was a powerful experience. I believe I am honest when I say that I did not suffer by this experience. It felt clear that this was more about them than me.  Fine. Belonging to the group just did not seem that important when looked at through this lens.  They appeared ignorant and uncaring.  How sad for them.  I recognized my own self-worth independent of what my group thought. I valued my own judgment over theirs. Kind of a lifelong treasure to my mind. To give them credit – there was no Google in those days. If one had a query, it was off to the library. It was not in our nature to go rushing to the library to fill in all the missing pieces to our knowledge.  We are usually unaware of what knowledge we lack.  Oh, the irony.

Within minutes, I recall feeling secure in who I was and deeply disappointed in my classmates. It made me feel that their friendship was not very genuine if it could be so easily shaken. (Nobody even came to ask me about it- If it was even true!) My own company was the most reliable. Fierce independence, here I come. I moved even more fully into the lone wolf mentality. I carried on at school for weeks “without girl friends”. If news traveled to the boys, it did not show. I continued to enjoy their friendship. Nothing more playful than a teenaged boy. I have always liked the boys. I was not suffering, fear not.

Over time, I was taken in by two kind girls who hung with me through to the end of Grade 7. I appreciated their kindness and generosity. We all recognized we were not the most authentic match.  It was nice to try. In Grade 8, I found a kindred wild spirit who became my best friend. We found trouble together over the next couple of years. The fun kind mostly. One of our funniest was each sneaking out of our homes late at night after dark and meeting each other in the school field. We knew one of the neighborhood families with a pool was on vacation. Hey, you have got to try skinny dipping at least once. Right? When I sneaked out of the house, it was easiest to use my brother’s window and climb down the patio structure. Years later, he (parents also) was shocked that I did this as he did not remember. I had to step right onto the head of his bed to make my exit. I had thought he was truly awakened but I guess he is a deep sleeper.

Oh, and then there was driving without driver’s licenses at lunch: being spotted by teachers. When we had difficulty parking the manual transmission to return my friend’s parent’s truck, we went to one of the teachers for help. …and he did repark it for us. It was backed into the carport which then exceeded our abilities. And the teacher did not tell our parents. Those were the days. All ends well… I developed a taste for breaking the rules.

Which reminds me of the case of coming into possession of a key to the school. Seems it was a Universal key. It opened any and all doors. My lips were sealed. It was not premeditated but opportunity was recognized and could not be ignored. If you have ever seen the show Malcolm In The Middle (on Netflix now), I see myself in that Malcolm kid.  Love the Malcolm in the Middle Theme Song by They Might Be Giants. (An adolescent anthem – lyrics: Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know. Can you repeat the question? You’re not the boss of me now).  We were top students so academic mischief was of little use to us. Not that we did not explore that. Seeing a test ahead of time when you normally achieve near 100% on your own, makes little sense. We were very inspired, however, to get into the gym after hours. All the utility balls you could ever want. A large, well-maintained gym at your disposal. Lovely. The fact that it was equipped with a trampoline was just a great big bonus!

Junior High in a nutshell.

Reminds me of how thankful I am for my three kids. I have come to respect children as teachers. I cannot count the times I have been surprised by how wise mine are. As long as there is not an adult corrupting them… I say this lightly. Love hyperbole/exaggeration. Food for thought.

Wrote late 2013

P.S. – Farmer in the Dell – a 2:40 minute reminder of the old social game/song.  In the end, “The Cheese Stands Alone”.