#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 11 – Have you ever stolen anything? (Money, candy, hearts, time?)

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This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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Mom was the Terminator decades before the Terminator was a thing. If she said don’t do something, you didn’t. Period.

Walk into a store and steal? Nope. I wasn’t giving my mom a reason to kill me. I chose to live.

Daddy was Judge Dredd. His word was law. He said, “Go ahead, act a fool. Get arrested if you want to, but do not call me because I’m not coming to get you.”

I had eight siblings and that call never came from any of us. We knew Daddy was not to be played with. (Okay, there was that one time in the late 60s when my older sis took part in a some big street protest. The police herded all the students back into the high school, and parents were called. Daddy. Was. Not. Happy.)

While I never stole from a store, that doesn’t mean I didn’t steal. Five of those eight siblings were sisters, and four of us were close enough in age and size to wear some of the clothes.

Toss in a vat of PETTY and things “disappeared” all the time.

Wonder if Cleo still thinks about her favorite yellow sandals? 😀 😀 😀

Oh, and there was that whole thing with Napster and music downloading, but I’ll plead the Fifth.

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Image by jette55 from Pixabay

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 10 – Have you ever been genuinely afraid for your physical safety?

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This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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Boomers are the last generation to have enjoyed the freedom of an unfettered childhood, meaning, as long as we were home before the street lights came on, we played, explored, and visited friends without fear of murderers or sexual predators. Or maybe that was just my small mid-western town.

However, everything changed in the early 70s when a first-grader was grabbed off the street and murdered less than a mile from her home.

Panicked, parents arranged neighborhood carpools so children didn’t have to walk to and from school alone. Unfortunately, if you had after-school sports or cheerleading practice, you could end up walking home alone.

And I had both.

I lived just over a mile from my junior high school, all residential area, except for the last quarter mile past the Old Mill Pond. There were shoulders wide enough for a car to park and no sidewalks. It wasn’t a truly deserted spot as I could see my big blue house the entire way, but nearing dusk, the wind moving through the trees was spooky.

One evening I was half the distance past the pond when a car approached. I stepped farther onto the shoulder and the car continued past me. The old pukey, seafoam green station wagon was not a vehicle I recognized from the neighborhood. The car made a U-turn in the intersection behind me and came back in my direction.

I picked up a stick.

I kept walking but turned to watch the car approach. Tinted windows weren’t a thing then, but it creeped me out that as the car passed me, I couldn’t see inside. The car slowed but didn’t stop until it got to the corner just before my house. My heart raced as the car did a three-point-turn and started toward me, driving closer to the shoulder.

I’d just reached the spot where the sidewalk started—three-hundred-yards from my front door—and I broke into a sprint, never stopping or looking behind me. I collided with my brother at our front door. I guess I was a sight because he yelled for our parents. My family gathered around me as I tried to catch my breath. All Daddy had to hear was, “an old green station wagon kept driving by me,” and he and my brother were out the door. I didn’t know I was shaking until my sister brought me a glass of water and I couldn’t hold it.

Daddy didn’t find the car, which may or may not have been a good thing, nor did I sleep a wink that night. But my parents took me to the police department early the next morning to file a report.

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Image by Rudy and Peter Skitterians from Pixabay

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 9 – Has a teacher ever changed your life? How so?

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This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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I was fortunate to have many great teachers during my school years, but one will always stand above the rest.

Leon Buford – my fifth grade teacher, and my first African-American teacher.

He was an amazing teacher who not only made learning fun… and sometimes hilarious, but there was a nugget of wisdom and personal responsibility in every lesson.

It was Mr. Buford who first instilled in me not to react to the actions of others. He said people will use all forms of manipulation, even friendship and tears, to exercise control. We’re not responsible for their words and actions, only how we respond to them.

Those words are seared into my brain and not only guided my life decisions, but I passed them on to my children.

Mr. Buford passed away two years ago after teaching hundreds of children in the classroom, and continuing to serve their educational needs as a principal and district administrator.

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Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 8 – Do you think you’re currently operating at 100% capacity?

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This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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Are you kidding me? I’ve been running on coffee and Grace since May 30, 2019.

Some days I believe I’ve reached the acceptance phase of grief and it’s time to go to work, but then depression gut checks me and I’m back at square one which means no writing gets done.

I admire writers who continued to publish books in the last year and send them all big KUDOS! I’m just waiting for the day when I can join them again. 😉

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Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 7 – What was your very first job?

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This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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Like most teenage girls, my first job was babysitting… my five younger siblings; and no, there was no pay! 😀

But the experience paid off when my Mom recommended me to her coworkers, who in turn told their friends about me.

I was in business! LOL!

On a lark, I applied for a summer job at a day care center when I was fourteen… and got the job. The kicker is I kept the job right up to the summer I left for college, working summers and after school during the school year.

I didn’t forget about my private customers though, and my nights and weekends were often booked solid.

My name got around as a responsible babysitter who brought arts & crafts and books with her, and by the time I reached high school, I was babysitting for teachers, members of the police department and several of my Mom’s coworkers. I started passing jobs to my younger sister, and she would eventually pass on jobs to our younger sister.

I’m still in touch with several of the children I babysat for, and some are even Facebook friends, including the first infant I took care of… who turned FORTY last year. YIKES! 😀

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Image by Prawny from Pixabay

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 6 – What are you freakishly good at?

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This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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My sibs called me Spock (Star Trek) and The Professor (Gilligan’s Island) because I had a knack for organizing/planning/fixing things. From pranks on our parents to repairing (or hiding) damage done in their absence, I was the go-to fixer.

It carried over into adulthood and spread outside the family and I became “The Facilitator!” 🙂

Weddings, funerals, bake sales, t-shirt fundraisers, potlucks, I’ve done them all, big and small. I never turned down a donation of anything (had to get REAL creative with twenty-four bales of hay donated for a PTA picnic on country property), and I never went into the red on project or event.

I’ve also orchestrated quite a few adult pranks, but I’m not publicly owning up to which ones. Statute of limitations and all. 😀 😀

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Image from Quickmeme.com

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 5 – What’s the worst piece of advice you’ve ever been given?

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This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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My teacher pulled me aside one day, wearing a huge smile, and complimented me on my attention to detail and organizational skills. She then strongly recommended I reconsider attending a state university and instead enroll in the local business college because I’d make a fantastic secretary.

I felt confused and awkward…. because I was an honor student with a spot already paid for at a top state university. I was only in her Business Infrastructure and Office Machines class because, like many of my fellow seniors, I’d more than satisfied the credit requirements for graduation. Instead of a winter ceremony, we opted to take the legal class enrollment minimum (3 classes) so we could graduate with our class in the spring.

Her class was simply filler and she knew this.

She also knew I had a university spot waiting for me in the fall.

I told my guidance counselor and my mom, who both had words with her. She approached me two days later with the same huge smile (and what I now realize was fake sincerity) and said she hoped she hadn’t upset me but really did feel I’d be a great secretary.

Yeah. That was the apology.

I later learned she gave this same career advice to several other female students. African-American female students.

Microaggression, marginalization, and misogyny… with a smile, and I didn’t even know it at the time.

Wonder how many others were graced with her great advice?

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Oprah advice

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 4 – Are you living your life purpose — or still searching?

This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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I believe my life’s purpose is service to others and I’ve spent most of my life fulfilling it by organizing food drives, teaching adults to reading, visiting seniors in nursing homes, and even volunteering as a hugger for mentally challenged children and adults during public sporting events. I’ve gone from Trick or Treat for UNICEF (anyone remember that?) as a kid to writing and applying for grants as a parent to expand and promote art programs in schools, and buy technology for learning disabled students. I didn’t do these things for praise or profit, but to fill gaps created by budget cuts and short-sighted administrators/officials. My parents taught us that if one person suffers or goes without, it doesn’t matter how well you’re doing personally. We all suffer. We learned to pay it forward decades before the movie and movement, and hopefully inspired others to serve in similar ways.

I was sidelined by grief a couple years ago, and as I looked for ways to get out of my own head and help others, the pandemic and self-isolation arrived. I have a sis who also lives here in the same apartment complex. We learned early in the lockdown days there were disabled and senior residents who had no idea how to get groceries and medications delivered. We created lists of delivery services and their fees and added them to ziplock bags of fruit we put together and left them at apartment doors. The response was crazy! We not only helped people navigate quarantine life, but they shared the info with family and friends outside the complex, and we made a few new friends. 🙂

I believe all too often one’s life purpose is confused with one’s dreams.

It’s just my opinion, but I believe dreams fulfill the individual while purpose fulfills others. Sometimes, they can be one and the same and that’s the perfect win-win situation.

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 3 – Do you believe in magic? When have you felt it?

magic book

This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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Magic as in abracadabra? No. While I do love a great illusion and took several trips in the 80s to see the shows of David Copperfield, for me it’s simply entertainment.

However, that doesn’t mean I don’t believe there are things science cannot explain.

Early in the summer I was fifteen, I dreamed of my maternal grandfather’s death and funeral service. It struck me as weird since he and I weren’t close. There were no ill feelings or anything like that. I thought my grandmother hung the moon and the stars, but could take or leave Granddaddy.

I didn’t tell anyone and forgot about it until six weeks later when the call came about Granddaddy dying from major heart attack at home.

From that point on, everything unfolded exactly as I’d dreamed. The trip from Michigan to Mississippi. The things which were said by some family members at the viewing and service. Even the dress I wore to the funeral which was not the dress I’d packed, but a dress Mom bought in Mississippi to go with the family theme and color scheme. (They do stuff like that for EVERY family gathering.)

But still, I kept my mouth shut.

It was weeks later in the fall when I finally told my best friend, Barbara, who to this day, forty-six years later, still calls me “Witchy” or “Witchetta.” Almost thirty years would pass before I told Mom… after my grandmother’s funeral.

It also took me weeks to sleep normally again, because while I never believed I was responsible for Granddaddy’s death, I didn’t want to dream of losing another family member… perhaps someone closer to me.

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Image by Yuri_B from Pixabay

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#MarchWritingChallenge – Day 2 – Do you have any irrational fears?

golden gate bridge

This March Writing Challenge of thirty-one questions is hosted by Marquessa, with questions from Alexandra Franzen‘s “100 questions to spark conversation and connect.

All are welcome to join in and a list of the questions can be found here.

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Where do I start? 😀

Suspension bridges.

I can barely ride over them without throwing up. Driving over them is out of the question!

As a passenger, my anxiety kicks in the second I see the bridge. All sound dissolves into white noise and I’m frozen in place. My sister swears I passed out crossing the Mississippi River on the way to a family reunion, but I’m not sure if that’s true. I have no memory of it. 😀

Fun fact – I may have nearly killed my family during a trip to my older brother’s in Delaware.

Okay, it’s not a fun fact, it’s true.

It was my turn to drive, giving my parents a break. Mom and I were laughing at the crazy songs my five younger siblings were singing, and Daddy was just irritated. LOL!

I saw the bridge spires in the distance to my right, but no big deal, right. The bridge was next to me, not in front of me. I didn’t have to drive over it, right? Because roads never curve, right?

Fifteen minutes later. I realized the highway was curving toward the bridge.

I was seventeen, but had been driving a couple years, and was a good driver. (I had the Drivers’ Ed trophy to prove it!)

I quickly assessed the situation. Clicking my turn indicator, I glanced over my right shoulder… and yelled, “MOVE!” as I veered across four lanes of traffic.

It was only Grace that saved me from causing a major accident. My next memory though is still Mom prying my fingers from the steering wheel, and my sibs doing what sibs do… laughing at me!

And Daddy? Oh man! I think he created new swear words that day! 😀 😀 😀

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san francisco

I also fear hilly streets. A fear I didn’t know I had until my late husband and I road-tripped from Pasadena to San Francisco while still newlyweds. He was born in Frisco and raised in Berkeley and was excited to show me his city.

Though I had limited knowledge of the area, I’d read enough books based in Frisco and seen enough TV shows and movies to know the area was hilly. Not to mention Steve McQueen’s Bullitt was a huge favorite of the mister’s.

Experiencing it was a different story.

The streets felt like one long roller-coaster ride… which I also fear!

I thought I’d braved the worst after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge—no, I wasn’t driving—but after turning onto dozens of streets that declined in near ninety-degree angles, I’d had enough and refused to leave the hotel. My poor husband took pity on me and found shows and sites within walking distance of the hotel (no hills).

Don’t give him too much credit, though. Over the years, when we’d fuss and squabble, he’d always through out a, “Watch yourself. Don’t make me take you back to Frisco!” 😀 😀 😀

I really miss that man! ❤ 🙂