Protector

I must remind you of a statement from my last post.

I watched affection being given to others and measured what these people did to get it. I tried to emulate them, but I was usually unsuccessful. It was difficult to compromise my belief system, even as a second grader.

Most of the time, if I felt someone was getting more attention and affection than me, I blamed my hair. Red hair does nothing for second graders. Even though Grace was in my life, always showing me how beautiful and popular a red head could be, I wasn't wise enough to see it yet.

So, Christmas of 1982 was a little upsetting. We were at my grandpa's, and my uncle hadn't listened to directions, and brought every present he'd bought for his kids to our Christmas Eve celebration. Therefore, most of the presents under the tree were for my cousins. I, in my young mind, thought I'd done something wrong.

I did my very best not to cry. How selfish and lowering; to cry because you weren't getting as many presents as your cousins. The action of holding in my sadness caused that pain in my side to come back.

I laid on the brown shag carpet, doing my best not to alarm anyone, but curling into a fetal position only served to draw everyone's attention. I did cry then.

My eldest cousin hurried over to me. He picked me up and carried me into a bedroom. I told him about the pain. And that all I needed to do was sleep. My parents came in, wondering if they should take me to the doctor, but I told them no. I just needed to go to sleep.

They left the room.

My cousin did not.

He took off his black leather jacket and covered me up. And he stayed with me until I fell asleep. I shall always and forever remember that Christmas Eve.

My protector. The defender of my heart.

And so, his name shall be Alexander...the defender of mankind.

Serious-Minded Child

Probably you see me as a "live for the moment" person. I certainly tried to enjoy every minute of every day in spite of those who blocked my path with things like piano, math, dishwashing....ugh.

However, I had a rare understanding that the world would keep turning, and I would get older. At some point, I would be an adult with my own home, children, a husband, and a job.

I also understood that bad things do happen, and they can happen to those I love.

Most children -- especially teenagers -- don't realize or contemplate the risks involved with particular actions. I did.

In fact, I took pains to keep bad things from happening. I tried to anticipate these events and stop them.

1) When we went places, I walked behind everyone. If someone was going to be kidnapped, more than likely they would be taken when we weren't looking. So I put everyone in front of me. If someone was going to be kidnapped, it should be me. I could take care of myself.

2) After "The Bully" kicked my sister, I made sure I was beside him in line whenever the kindergartners filed past us. I also took to watching him like a hawk, and if he was mean to someone else, I became their champion whether they wanted it or not.

3) The creaks and groans that occurred in the night would wake me up, and I would get out of bed and check on everyone. I had to make sure no one snuck in through a window.

4) I watched affection being given to others and measured what these people did to get it. I tried to emulate them, but I was usually unsuccessful. It was difficult to compromise my belief system, even as a second grader.

All this contributed to one thing....

While I was playing kickball, baseball, dodgeball, singing, jumping off the stairs, and other physical activities, in the back of my mind I knew....this too shall pass. This too...can be ruined.

Control became a very important thing in my life.

Chosen Profession

It's career day at school.

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" the teacher asks.

All the children's hands shoot up but mine. I listen to them shout out different answers. "I want to be a nurse!", "I want to be the president!", "I want to be a teacher!"

A teacher?!?!? You've got to be kidding. Whoever that was was obviously insane.

I didn't have an answer. Well...that wasn't true. I knew exactly what I wanted to be when I grew up. It wouldn't be easy, but I was prepared for the mountains I had to climb.

Let's all remember what my favorite shirt promised, "Anything boys can do, girls can do better."

I believed that with every ounce of my heart and fiber of my being.

My classmates didn't know it, but they were looking at the future second baseman of the Houston Astros.

Yep, that's what I was gonna do. Playing baseball all day? Yep. Absolutely. Sign me up. I had it in the bag. Luke and Han were teaching me how to play, and I was good. Really good.

So...not a problem.

Yeehaw!

Click on the link below:

Yeehaw!

Day: Friday
Time: 8:00 p.m.
Channel: 11
Kara: rear in front of television
Jack: rear also in front of television

The Dukes. Had to love 'em. I wanted to drive that car and fly on my own.

I used to try to get my mother to do a General Lee jump. There was this big hump over by the movie theater. I'd holler at her, "Step on the gas, Ma!"

No such luck. I'm sure you aren't surprised.

Bo Duke was my first major crush. Boy howdy was he a looker. Maria liked Luke...weird child. Jack liked Daisy and eventually, when all us girls started wearing Daisy Dukes, he had a nick name for each one of us. I was Daisy, Maria was Daisy Dukey, and Roxi was Dukey Daisy.

Bill had all the cars. He loved those cars so much, Mom had to carry an extra set in her purse. He'd play with them at church. (Let's not discuss how often I tried to play with him and got into trouble for it.)

Yep, I was influenced. I decided then that the best lookin' guys were the ones with mischievous grins and come hither looks in their eyes.

YEEHAW!!!!!

My Right Hook

The blinding heat of the sun burns my skin and causes sweat to form on my upper lip and forehead. As I wipe it away with the back of my hand, I walk to the batter's box. In a semi-squat, I raise my bat, ready to smack the ball to Kingdom Come.

The pitcher sends his best fast ball my way, and I let the bat fly, connecting with a gratifying crack. The ball shoots over the outfielders' heads and lands behind second base in fair territory. I take off running.

But before I can get to first base, a whistle is blown, and everyone is running to line up.

Utterly disappointed, I kick at the dirt as I trudge to line up. As usual, my fun is ruined by school.

Standing with my arms crossed, I wait for the teacher to escort us inside. The Kindergarten class comes out, excited for their turn on the playground.

Maria skips by me. "Hi, Kara!" she calls.

Seeing her smiling face brightens me a little. I accept her hug as the kid in line behind me asks, "Is that your sister?"

"Yep," I answer as I release her.

"How sweet," the kid mocks. "Does the baby have to hug her mama?"

I frown at him. "Be nice."

He sticks his tongue out at me and turns back to Maria. "Are you a baby? I bet you cry at night 'cause you're afraid of the dark."

Maria stares at this kid, her eyes wide in sadness.

"Look here," I say, "you leave her alone. Stop bein' mean."

His answer is to kick my sister -- hard -- right in her legs. She goes toppling over, crying.

I launch myself at him, knocking him in the face, and sending him sprawling into the dirt. He only laughs, but I don't let that stop me. I fall on top of him, kicking and snarling.

A teacher separates us. She can't get a word in because I'm screaming at the kid at the top of my lungs. "Don't you touch my sister again! I'll make you sorry you did! If I see you go near her, you'll get a punch in the face!"

I look over at my sister who's being comforted by her teacher. I'm so livid, I don't even realize I've shocked all my classmates. They are quickly ushered inside as the mean kid and me are given a talking to.

I don't remember if I was sent to the principal. I do remember his very round, scratched-up face, and the "dare you" expression in his eyes.

That was it for me. He was dead meat from that point on.

Woe Is Me -- Part 2

In the spirit of the season, a Christmas story for you:

I was an angel in the church Christmas pageant. (Don't laugh.) I had silver tinsel for a halo, and a white robe.

My mom directed it, which makes Big Idea Number 4.

Our last song was "Mary Had A Baby". We sang it as we processed out of the church.

"Mary had a baby, yes, Lord. Mary had a baby, yes, my Lord. Mary had a baby, yes, Lord! The people keep a comin' but the train done gone."

This is the last thing I remember before waking up in a orange-yellowish plastic chair in the parish hall. I opened my eyes to see Maria sitting across from me looking very afraid. "Kara?" she croaks at me.

"Kara, honey? How are you?" my dad asks.

"What happened?" I struggle to say, trying to figure out why I wasn't running around with all the rest of the kids.

I must've blacked out again because I don't remember getting into Noah's car. He was driving, my dad was in the passenger seat, and my mom and I were in the back.

"Kara, say your ABCs," Mom orders me.

"I know my ABCs. I don't need to say them," I argue.

"Say them anyway," she commands.

I guess I did, I don't remember. She had to keep me awake. Apparently, while having a jolly time running around the parish hall, some kid ran into me, and I fell backwards, smashing my head on the ground. I was knocked out. Maria saw the whole thing.

They took me to the hospital, which was about a 15 minute drive from the church. Noah made it in 5.

I threw up once they got me into the examination room. On that day, I felt like a I threw up a thousand times, and every time I did, they had to move me to a different room.

This isn't true, of course. I only threw up once while they examined me. I was okay, but my mother was given strict orders to wake me up every hour for the next 24 hours. I don't remember that, either.

I'll tell you what I do remember about being knocked out. It's kind of odd.

If you ever pick up a koozie, squeeze it -- just once. It probably won't give you a headache, but it does give me one. For a long time, I didn't know why that happened, but at some point I realized that when you squeeze a koozie, that's what your brain feels like when it collides with your skull. A squishy, weak mass capable of being demolished by one good smash.

Woe Is Me

I got on the bus one afternoon with a knifing pain in my side. When it came, I doubled over, holding my stomach.

I laid down on the seat, knowing Maria watched me with wide and fearful eyes. I didn't know what was wrong, so I couldn't ease her worry.

The pain came and went, came and went. I huddled in the seat, praying to God to make it go away. It didn't.

Somehow I walked home. I don't remember the trek.

When we arrived, I stumbled into the house and fell onto the couch. I begged my mother to take me to the doctor. The shock on her face was comical, but I was in too much pain to enjoy it.

She put me in the car and drove me to see our doctor. I don't remember the examination. I only remember lying in a ball and working through the slicing pain -- my eyes squeezed shut, my teeth clenched tightly.

I fell asleep.

I don't know how long they allowed me to sleep. I woke up on my own, still in the room. When I went outside, I saw the doctor sitting in chair close by.

"You're awake?"

I nodded.

"How do you feel?"

I waited for the pain. "Fine," I finally answered.

He smiled at me. "I think you can go home. I'll fetch your mother for you."

He called it atypical appendicitis. I call it ulcers. I'll explain later.