Wednesday, October 21, 2009

The New Girl

So there’s a new girl in town named Shelley. Shelley was born in Oregon but moved at an early age and spent the majority of her life in Arizona. I haven’t been there (or the southwest for that matter) myself – it’s on my list – but from what I’ve gathered, while the desert does hold its own unique beauty, there is not much in the way of color or change of seasons. Oh, and the heat, I’ve heard her mention the heat.

Although I don’t know Shelley all that well yet, she is my Facebook friend. I’ve been noticing her status updates, especially over the last month. The reason I bring this up, I’m from the Midwest. I’ve had the opportunity to do some traveling and I always marvel at how stunning nature is at the different locations I’ve visited.

The last time my family came home from a trip, I mentioned to my husband that we need to find something beautiful about Indiana (aside from the people – I love my peeps) that we’re just missing because we’re too familiar with the scenery. Of course, he scoffed. He’s a lifelong resident of Indiana. He’d move to Florida in a heartbeat if it wasn’t for his family living here.

Back to Shelley’s updates. She seems enthralled with Indiana’s weather. For example, we had rainy days; she loved them. Last weekend we had frost. Her post? “We are so excited to wake up to the first frost! It sparkles!” She took lots of pictures of trees and bushes changing colors, commenting she’s soaking it all in. And get this, her friends were excited right along with her. I’m assuming these friends are also from Arizona.

I enjoy the changing colors, but I’ve been paying more attention this year.
Shelley’s opening my eyes to that something beautiful in nature I’ve been craving here in Indiana. I hope her enthusiasm for that first snow will get me through the icy temps and slush that inevitably follows. Shelley, will you invite me to go sledding?

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Memories of a Mentor

“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” ~Maya Angelou

Do you remember two adults, excluding your parents, who made an impact on your life as a young person, positive or negative? I participated in a mentor training class over the weekend and that was a question the trainer asked. I remember one of each.

Let’s get the negative out of the way first. My high school guidance counselor was reviewing some test results and told me I was not college material. I left his office feeling stunned, later angry, and still later wanting to prove him wrong. So even though the guy was a jerk, it pushed me harder to succeed.

Now for the positive, Mrs. Sepich, my typing/shorthand teacher. When I first met her, she seemed a bit grouchy and intimidating. From what I remember, her mouth was set in a frequent frown, and her classes were run in a no-nonsense style. This is my perception - I could be wrong on that frown memory - because as I look through my yearbook, I see a beautiful smile. But I vividly remember I was going to mind my Ps and Qs. Thankfully I loved typing and shorthand classes so no trouble was coming out of me.

She wasn’t a grandmotherly/soft-spoken type of mentor. Being on the receiving end of a smile made me feel I had achieved success. When she gave me assignments from the school office, like typing up the rosters for the basketball home games, it made me feel competent and trusted. Getting involved in a regional shorthand/typing competition at her prompting helped me build confidence in my skills.

Mrs. S helped me by submitting my name for a scholarship, as well as helped me get a job at the courthouse in the city where I would be taking my classes. When I decided not to continue my education (I had this new job after all), the next time we met, she urged me to stay in school. When I traded in my goal of becoming a legal secretary for a court reporter, again, the smile. Her support instilled that I-can-do-anything-I-put-my-mind-to feeling.


I had a successful 20-year career as a court reporter. Now I’m moving on to try new ventures. As I write this, I realize 25-ish years later she still impacts my life. Thanks, Mrs. S.

Monday, October 5, 2009

It Takes a Neighborhood

The neighborhood we lived in until I was seven felt like its own little world. I remember playing well with my brothers, making mud pies, smuggling sugar snap peas from a neighbor’s garden, lying on the ground and trying to decipher the shapes of puffy white clouds. I learned to ride a bike in that neighborhood, as well as ride with no hands. I was quite the showoff, riding up and down the street.

I changed my dress multiple times a day, but I did not care for hairbrushes and face washing. Early one morning I could not find a clean pair of underwear, but I still chose to wear a dress. I remember shifting from one fanny cheek to the other while sitting on our frigid cement front stoop, waiting for my friend to come out and play.

The coolest kid on the block, whose first name was Kirby, came complete with leather jacket and mini-bike, and I pondered whether he was related to the Kirby name on my mom’s vacuum cleaner. I was thrilled when he came to my older brother’s pirate-themed birthday party and oh how I hoped he would notice me.

The woods behind our house was thick with sections of trees and berry bushes and was our place for adventure. We would run straight to the fort with a friend’s older sibling’s Mad magazine or comic book, clueless on what we were reading. There would be dares to try an unknown potentially poisonous berry. The real thrill was keeping an ear out for bears – an unsubstantiated rumor.

We played until dark or until we couldn’t take any more mosquito bites. My habit was scratching until they were oozing, and the remedy was cotton balls soaked in alcohol held on by Band-aids. After the initial urge-to-scream reaction, the bites quickly stopped itching and healed. I haven’t found a better remedy yet – although my son has no interest in trying this method.

These memories conjure up feelings of safety, happiness, high self-esteem, being nurtured, and I’m not talking just from my parents. Neighbors were an integral part. Neighbors looked out for each other. If a family had to rush one of their children to the hospital for an emergency, the siblings went to a neighbor’s house for the night. If a kid was down the road causing some trouble, an adult knew who the culprit was and yelled out, “I’m calling your mother.” No police, just calling the parent.

Is it any more dangerous for children now than it was then? I don’t know. We have more media coverage and awareness. But what I have noticed and have been guilty of is there isn’t a lot of neighborhood support, neighbors knowing neighbors. The neighbors down at the end of my street wouldn’t recognize my kid in a lineup, nor would I know theirs (no pun intended).

For me, this is a call to balance out my time on the back deck with some time on the front stoop (underwear included) and spend time getting to know these kids. From what I’m learning in the mentor program with which I’m involved, lives are easily touched by interactions with adults. I’m in!