As mentioned in previous blog entries, I hail from a family of seven hearty siblings. Remote farm living, no television, lots of love. This so describe Mom and Pops. Momma was married at 18 and had her eight kiddos in a nine year span. Yes, by the time she was 27, Momma had called it quits to enlarging her brood any further.  

First and foremost was baby number one, Miss Claudia. Born in February 1951, she would lead the pack. Proud and independent, Claudia would serve her attributes well. Walked early, talked early, a true first child.

Twelve short months later, six pounds of love entered the world.  Curly locks, saucer brown eyes, I had arrived! Not certain there would be a son, I was graciously named after Pops. Christened as Francine Anne, Francie would be my pet name for life.

Two sweet daughters and dozens of diapers. No time for breastfeeding. Momma relied on cow’s milk sweetened with a little maple syrup to nourish her girls.  Whether or not that was a common formula for babies, it became our staple nutrition.

Not surprising, by June 1952, Momma and Pops proudly accepted a third child to be born the following February! Three babes, three years. Momma could only imagine more diapers.  Daddy envisioned future help for the farm. Life was in full bloom so to speak.

Mid December, Momma was readying the house for Christmas. Baked goods, new nighties for her girls, dollies, and the tree. A whirlwind of activity. Suddenly a tinge warned her something was amiss.  Labor had begun and nothing could be done to stop it. Pops quickly rounded up a sitter, readied the car and rushed Momma to the hospital.

Baby girl number three easily made her entrance two months early. Angela weighed in at a hefty “premie” weight of seven pounds, three ounces!  In addition, baby girl number four was shortly behind! Beautiful Zenia graced the scales at an even seven pounds. Everyone was taken by surprise as tests were not available to determine Momma was expecting twins. Overwhelmed, but joyous, Mom and Pops were now the proud parents of four beautiful, healthy daughters in just 2 years!  Diapers, diapers, bottles, and more! “Help, Help, Help”, they screamed! Life in the fold was ever increasing.

To the rescue family and friends came to support our growing household. Within weeks, home had become a walk-in nursery. Clotheslines traversed the living room and hallway. Diapers and sleepers filled them daily. Formula and bottles cluttered the kitchen.  Mayhem became the norm.

Newlywed neighbors, John and Lizzie, visited often to offer loving arms and help as needed. Lizzie had taken a special interest in one of the girls. She had a nest of curly locks and was so very tiny in stature. Her big, brown, begging eyes, made for easy loving. She and John were naturals and their hearts were available.

That lucky and blessed girl was ME! Sandwiched between Claudia and the twins, I must have looked the neediest soul. Not yet walking, potty trained or talking, John and sweet Lizzie became instant parents. I was taken into their childless home and given the love and cuddles of which Momma and Pops had short supply. Two families, twice the love! Lucky me!

Weekends found me sleeping between them in love and warmth. She and John often reminisce about the missing “pacifier”.  A standard nighttime solace was a nipple securely attached to my finger. Several times during the night it came up missing and my cries could not be soothed. Lights on, bedding dismantled,  as they searched in vain for my comfort. They provided and I readily I absorbed their love.

Off and on I stayed with them to help relieve Momma of her overwhelming duties. I visited relatives far away. I slept in crib-like drawers. Life was full for the three of us. Over the years, their family grew and I continued to be a large part of their clan.

Reflecting on this unconditional support, Lizzie often remembers that loving me was easy. To this day she reinforces that I was happy, easy to cuddle, easy to please and just a delight. I feel so blessed that they were such a sustaining part of my early years. Ever grateful, I am ever thankful for Lizzie and John.

Lessons Learned

The middle is often the best!  Lizzie and John provided unconditional love, during my “in between” life of four sisters under the age of two. I continue to keep them dear to my thoughts and prayers. I am very blessed indeed! God Bless Lizzie and John forever and always.

Love is the greatest gift of all. Nothing more needs to be written.

Thanks again for reading!

B

Antics on the farm were aplenty. It did not matter your sibling in crime, there was always a cooperative companion.  With two lively brothers and five sassy sisters, adventures awaited every waking day. Being a sister to this loving brood, I was seldom alone or lonely.

One such summer day I remember well. Momma had recently remarried after the untimely death of Daddy. Floyd was a loving man who would do anything to appease his new wife and her collection of eight lovebugs. He was a gentle spirit who was somewhat a jack of all trades. Bartering was a common method of payment for work done. As a result, we had our collection of used bikes, cars, and whatnots to last a lifetime.

A crazy trade with our neighbors, the Oakes’, we became the proud owners of a 1957 Cushman Eagle Motorcycle. Black, chromed, tasseled hand grips, cushy seat, and ready for smooth ridin! No one was too short or weak to either ride or maneuver this jewel. Rock, Paper, Scissors took only minutes to line us up for the chance to rev and ride.  With no license plates or driving permits, we took turns cruising the beast up and down our puddled, bumpy driveway. Heaven on earth as the wind blew in our faces.

With a little acceleration and release of the clutch, I was off on my maiden trek. The most difficult moment was slowing to a stop without throwing myself or anyone off. In addition, there was the usual balancing act of keeping this ebon monster stable. This bike was just too big, however, I would not cede adventure for safety.

Our day of activity had almost ended when I had a brilliant idea.  I want to ride a little longer and farther than the driveway. All I needed was an able-bodied soul. Ang and I quickly made a pact of camaraderie and unity.  We agreed to finish our chores, gather a few coins, and ride the jolly Cushman to a nearby small town for a soda. A mere five miles away, countryside driving. Easy peasy.

I would drive, she would ride. When it came time to stop, we would count to three and put our feet to the ground to balance the beast. One must remember, I was likely 16 years of age and Ang was fifteen. We both tipped the scales at barely 100 pounds and were just over five feet tall. Again, adventure was overridden by common sense and safety.

Within a half mile of the small berg of Melwin, Ang nudged my back. “Slow down, Francie. There’s a car coming behind us. Let them pass us.” I eased up on the gas and we began to slow. If I steered the bike to the road side, the vehicle would easily pass.

“Francie! Stop! Now!” yelled Ang. “It’s a policeman! His red lights are on! “One! Two! Three! Oh geez!  We’re going to jail! Stop Francie!”

My heart went into overdrive as I eased the Cushman to the roadside. The balancing act brought us to a safe stop. “Just breathe Ang. We are not going to jail. We have a lot of explaining to do. We need to be calm.”

“Hello ladies, and how are the both of you today?” quipped the officer. “Having a little ride I see.”

Ang was shaking and breathless, “Um, um, sir don’t ask us to turn off the scooter. We don’t know how to start it.  Umhh, it’s really hard to start again, and my brother isn’t here to help. Thank you sir.” Her wide glassy eyes begged mercy.

I nervously added, “We’re fine sir. We were just out riding our new scooter our stepdad got us. Just practicing until we get our license. Oh, and we don’t have any papers or plates because my stepdad traded it for some repair work he did for the neighbors. Sir, we’re not in trouble are we?”  Panting and heart racing, I knew I had said too much. More was better I assumed.

After obtaining minimal personal information, the officer kindly responded, “Ah, ladies you realize what you are doing is illegal and your scooter is also illegal.  I suggest you turn it around and head for home. I’m not giving any tickets, but you need to know the laws for driving on Michigan roads. Can you do that girls?” He then handed us a state issued booklet, Michigan Motorcycle Operation Manual. We nodded and nervously accepted his advice.

Ang and I took a deep breath, turned the black monster around and slowly headed home. There was no way to keep this failed adventure from Momma. Angels had been watching over us. No tickets. No arrests. No jail. And no sodas!

Lessons Learned

Honesty is the best policy.  Regardless the predicament, honesty is the best card to play. Innocence, truth, and luck proved themselves.

If you think something is wrong, it is. No common sense played into these antics. Momma was right once again!  

Another adventure, another happy memory.  Thanks for reading!

B

During 36 years of teaching disabled teenagers, a number of comical situations stick in my memory. Whether it was a result of personal “Lucille Ball” behaviors or the innocent, naive students themselves, I have a fond collection. Andy was one such student.  As one of my favorites, he spent four years under my charge.

Andy’s affable personality gave adults and peers reasons to like and accept him. He was a well-built, handsome lad, majoring in athletics and girls. As a freshman, he earned varsity status on the football and wrestling teams. With my academic support, Andy met the required grades to actively participate in these sports. However…….

Into his junior year, Andy had once again enrolled in Life Science. This ninth grade course became his nemesis and passing was impossible. Andy had taken this in stride and often came to my office to complete assignments.

One such day had arrived. I was occupied with three freshman girls that were completing a Shakespeare assignment. A light knock on the door and who should appear but Mr. Personality himself. Dressed in his varsity sweater and new jeans, Andy entered with his infectious smile, loving brown eyes and curly locks. He sauntered his way in and swooned, “Well, Hello ladies. How are all of you this fine day?” The girls blushed and giggled lightly.  “I dropped by to get this assignment done for Science. Mrs. Soandso, maybe you and the ladies can help me.” His Cheshire Cat smile and wink had the girls in awe.

I smiled, rolled my eyes and added, “Now Andy, this is your responsibility, not ours. The terms are here, the definitions are in the glossary. Just look them up, write them down, and you’ll be done in no time.” Again, the girls giggled as Andy offered them a nod. All returned to task.

“Mrs. Soandso, can I ask you a personal question? It’s not real personal, just kinda.” quipped a smiling Andy.

Looking at the girls, I agreed to his inquiry.

“So I need to know, are you Italian by any chance?” he asked.

“Ah, Andy, no I am not.”

“Then are you Greek or Jewish?” he added.

“Ah, no Andy. And why do you need to know?” I responded.

“Well, with your dark hair and all, I wondered when you were going to shave that moustache out from under your nose!” Andy roared with laughter.

Not a sound came from the girls. Their eyes popped. My eyes popped. “Andy, was that comment necessary?” I barked.

“Oh I was just tryin’ to be a little funny. You know to lighten up your room and make you laugh. Everyone in here is just so serious.”  Andy did not win the girls’ approval or mine. Back to work. Back on task.

Later that year, Andy had come to my office ghostly white and panting.

“Hey, what’s up big guy?” I asked.

“I just need a little fresh air and to sit here for a bit” he mumbled.

The truth squeaked. Andy had been in Life Science. Mrs. March had assured the students that the movie they were about to see might be difficult for some. It was optional and if they chose to leave, a pass to the library was in order. Repeating this class for the third time, Andy felt he had the “maturity” to handle anything. After all, this was just a movie about “Live Birds.” He had casually taken his seat and assured his freshman classmates that the movie was nothing to be stressed. As he relaxed, the movie began.

“Whoa! Mrs. Soandso it was not what I expected! The movie was right to the point. It was not about “live birds” at all. It was a LIVE BIRTH! I saw everything close up! It was gross! I just about passed out in there! I can’t believe that’s what really happens to a woman havin a baby!”  Asked to be excused to my office, Andy avoided embarrassment and preserved his manliness.

After his third attempt, Andy passed Life Science.  Having to watch “Live Birth” as a senior was enough to assure he would not repeat the course. Andy graduated on time, with his class. He left me with several comical, typical boy tales and a warm place in my heart. God bless charming Andy.

Lessons Learned

Roll with the punches.  Teens, particularly boys, will try your patience and gullibility. To survive, one must be ever present and lighthearted.

To get respect, one must give respect.   We all deserve respect, but must earn it. Showing my trust and heart, others return loyalty and respect. This statement continues to serve me well.

Thanks for reading and sharing a giggle or two!

Thirty-six years is a long time. Day in and day out. Whether in the employment rat race, marriage promises , or family rearing, it is a long time. I’ve been there for all.

Education beyond high school was a far fetch. Living on a small dairy farm with a family of ten, it was apparent we were not a family of means. Love and food on the table were our financial payloads. With the encouragement of a most positive guidance counselor, I attended university and achieved a Bachelor’s degree. The Kennedy Administration guaranteed that all children regardless of ability, would receive an education. As a result, I earned a teaching certificate and was certified to educate students identified as Mentally Impaired.

As federal legislation became the impetus for educating individuals with disabilities, my employment was guaranteed for the fall of 1974. Pre-teaching experiences were eye-opening and joyous adventures. I centered my talents with early and mid elementary students. A degree. A respectful job. The beginning of a new life as a teacher and wife.

Interviews had taken place and quite frankly, I could choose any district and grade level. My options were as open as a new box of chocolates. Rather than play it safe in an elementary setting, however, I chose a high school position as a Resource Room teacher. Students of various disabilities would be my charge as programming was beginning to take shape. Let the sweet love begin!

Not knowing this district or having experience with teenagers, I set the stage for anxiety and doubt. What had come of my rational decision making? What about my comfort and safety with elementary children? I had chosen the odd chocolate and now was the time to taste and experience.

With my ever present energy and knowledge, I welcomed this new challenge. Administration gave me full reign in developing curriculum that would prepare these teens for a high school diploma and the “world of work.” Having a summer to prepare, I planned curriculum, lessons, field trips and the like.

The day had arrived, Tuesday following Labor Day. Equipped with solid lessons, treats, felt markers and Kleenex, I entered my new confines with a smile and positive attitude. Bulletin boards up, check. Student roster in the record book, check. Treats in the jar, check. Ready and willing, check. I opened the door, smiled and eagerly waited to greet my new caseload of sweets.

Backpacks, squeaky shoes and bell bottoms arrived and took their seats. As the late bell rang, I closed the door and greeted, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Mrs. Soandso and I’m going to be your teacher this year.” Eighteen dull, unsmiling faces greeted me. Fourteen boys, four girls, grades ten through twelve. Not a great start, but I was not deterred. “So, let’s get acquainted,” I chirped. Not a sound or movement.

The slow-moving train continued to chug and sputter. My 18 charges had entered the new school year without schedules! Six hours a day would be spent in my room. The only breaks were a 25 minute lunch and five minutes of passing time between classes. Thinking fast, lesson plans were immediately changed up to meet and greet sessions. We spent time in small groups sharing ourselves and cooperatively learning to get along. The candy in the jar and box were quickly disappearing.

For my own sanity, I came to school an hour early for the next two weeks. With the help of each student and his/her counselor, we developed a workable schedule that provided academic choices that were of interest and achievable. Slowly, I ensured myself a planning period and class sizes would be tolerable. Baby steps to success.

Coursework was practical in nature as I attempted to add food and fun. Students were taught basic sewing and cooking skills, personal grooming strategies, and the usual reading, writing and mathematical skills necessary for basic survival. Attendance was above average and I was taking a liking to these sweet misfits.

We survived the year with minimal academic materials. Writing to companies such as Avon, Proctor and Gamble, and General Mills I requested educational and or free materials. They responded with kind hearts and loads of samples and lessons. Students improved basic letter writing skills by composing Thank Yous to favorite food companies. Surprisingly, they received personal responses and coupons for free products! Spontaneous ideas. Positive results.

All in all, this first year was not a nice, neat box of chocolates, however, the tastes and flavors added to my adventure. There were students identified as Emotionally Impaired that did not want any part of this “retarded” class. Others had minimal disabilities and joined in the frenzy of disagreement. As a result, some students were with me for one hour a day, while others with serious needs saw me for all academic classes. I simply gave respect and expected the same in return.

Yes, 36 years is a long time. I continued to teach at the same high school with the special needs population for the duration of my career. The personal rewards were endless. I never looked back to returning to an elementary classroom. When anyone would ask how I could work in this environment for so many years, I can honestly say it was a love for these teens. They all have the same basic needs as littles, to be accepted and respected. They are just a little taller, that is all.

Lesson Learned:

Do what you love and love what you do. I so loved working with young adults. To help form positive life-long behaviors and see the good in each of them was reward in itself. Many continue as friends today.

Thanks for reading!