Terrible Teacher?

 

Hogland Elementary, my first school.  It was small, rural, and comfortable.  I remember the hallways, the round dome windows you could actually climb into, the humungous art room, the long, white cafeteria, the faces of my former teachers and the playground.  What a playground!  When I was 16 I went back there with two friends from those years.  We were amazed because the whole area  seemed to have shrunk.  No equipment was missing, but it was like we were giants in a little people’s world.  I always thought I might teach there one day, but life hasn’t taken me back there…yet.

All of my teachers were special to me.  My first grade teacher taught me to read well.  My second grade teacher believed in fashion and friendliness.  My fourth grade teacher was not like all the rest, he was a man and all of us loved him.  He was kind and knowledgeable.  He took us to a fort once to spend the night just like in the “olden days” and we had to pretend we were soldiers from the war and stay up for an hour of watch by the fire.  Being a teacher myself now I can really appreciate all the time and effort he put into that trip for us.  It was even more special because it was on my 9^th birthday.  One of my best birthday memories ever!!

However, it was my 3^rd grade teacher, Mrs. McMann, that I most remember today.  She taught me multiplication, how to spell together, and compassion.  She was grouchy, irritable and had little patience.  Tall, pale, dark- haired, never wore makeup, and rarely cracked a grin. That was the year I loathed going to school. I just knew she hated kids. Most of my friends got the other teacher, the really, really nice one. What did I do to deserve her?  I kept secretly hoping she would have a substitute one day or maybe just quit teaching altogether since she disliked it so much.  Unfortunately, she never missed a day.  During class, when we asked her questions she would roll her eyes or let out deep long sighs of frustration.  Although I was doing poorly, I never raised my hand during math. I hate being in trouble and I felt it best to stay quiet and under the radar. I continually feigned illness (with no luck) to avoid third grade.

By October, I was long over this year.  Hopeless and destined to be my worst school year ever, my only escape was the library visits.  They became my safe haven.  One day as I was sitting in front of the folktale collection on the shelf, I overheard two other teachers talking about my teacher.  I heard the words “miserable since she lost her husband” and “feel so sorry for her.”  What was that?  Husband lost…like died?   My heart sank. I knew she didn’t have any children, but I thought it was just because she didn’t like them.   Now she was all by herself.  I began to feel huge guilt for all those names I had called her under my breath.  How lonely she must be without anyone.  No wonder she seemed to hate life.

When I got home that day, I told my mom what I had heard and she gave me some great advice that I still use today.  She said, “Love her through it, Amy.”  I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to love the teacher who seemed to hate kids.  What if she yelled at me or just rolled her eyes again?  Or even worse gave me extra math work?  Over the next few days I mustered up all my courage and at a time during quiet work, I bravely and solemnly walked up to her desk.  “Mrs. McMann,” I said, “I am sorry about your husband.  I wish I could help.”  (Kind of gutsy, huh?)  She looked at me in shock as if to say how did you know?  Then with a small smile and tears in her eyes she gave me a gentle hug, looked down into my eyes and said, “Thank you, Amy.  Now go finish your math sheet.”  I could hardly believe it! A hug!  Tears?  All eyes were upon me as I walked back to my desk.  Some jaws were definitely to the floor.

After that day I would love to say she wasn’t grouchy anymore, but at least I could understand the reason why and sympathize with her pain.  I gave her grace and she gave me her time.  She didn’t give up on coming to work each day, although I bet she wanted to. And I came to school with a different attitude changed by perspective.   Every once in a while she would give me that quiet smile when no one else was looking and I knew I helped her somehow.

Life lessons can occur at any time.  Watch for them. They become keys to unlock doors.  It was this same year I decided I wanted to become a teacher.

Marvelous

All the rivers run into the sea, yet the sea is not full. To the place from which the rivers come, to there and from there they return again.

(Ecclesiastes, 1:7)

It’s one of my favorite quotes.  When I think about it I can’t help but be in awe of how this doesn’t happen.  I am inspired to believe that God is a incredible planner.  There is nothing that takes Him by surprise.

There is no need to worry or fear, but that is always easier said than done…  Valley experiences are the hardest.  Getting stuck in a valley is the worst. There sometimes seems no way out and the mountain top impossible to reach. Yet, He promises to see me through all the valleys while leading me onto the mountain tops. I have experienced this several times before.  I learned when my life seems to be in disarray to stop and reflect upon the words of the verse.  From the very beginning of creation God planned that all the rivers would flow into the sea, but the sea would never become full.  It gives me this certain peace that I don’t need to understand “the whys” anymore.  There is an order to life and things are already taken care of.  God becomes a perfect constant that I can rely on.

The beach is one of my most treasured places on earth.  One day I will live there.  Every time I sit by the ocean, I am reminded to live my life compared to the way the waves flow steady upon the shore of the ocean.   Their uninterrupted tempo is always constant. Sometimes rushing in to cover new heights causing spectators to respond and other times not quite reaching to the places they have been before, but never stopping.  Faithfully moving to the same rhythm continuously, being consistent even at low tides and only resting when the moon allows a calm sea.  Even when the moon is hidden from view the waves still obey its gravitational pull. They are commanded to by a natural order and they do not complain, worry, or doubt.  Just persistently doing what they know to do. Watching the waves flow makes me wonder why I take my eyes off of the goal so often…

And how peaceful is it to hear the waves of the ocean?   So calming and marvelous.  It’s no wonder these sounds are used as music to relieve stress.  How pleasing it must be when we sound this way to God. What a blessing it must be to our Creator when we move in His way.  We listen, obey, and follow. And when we flow, we know peace.

Bridges

We agreed to meet at lunch that day.  Does God plan for things to happen?  Do angels orchestrate “chance events” in our lives? I think yes.  As he strolled towards me on the sidewalk, he smiled a smile that I have come to love and cherish. We were only in Jr. High.

We became fast friends as we grew past our shyness.  Very compatible and, at only 15, I started making plans.  He told me once that I shouldn’t because I had no idea what God had planned for his life. Little did he know that it was on that same night I began to pray for God to make him my husband.  Through the ups and downs and trials of marriage, sometimes I secretly wished I could take that prayer back…

Why are the 30’s so difficult? More and more I notice friends at church and at work seem to hit these horrible snags in their marriage while they are in their 30’s.  Financial problems, stress of children, and working non-stop to make ends meet put enormous amounts of pressure on a marriage.  Husbands and wives don’t take the time out they need to work on their relationships. Being broke and seeing no way out doesn’t help, either.

To be at the most stressful part of a marriage is so exasperating. We were there when my husband was trying to get his car detailing business up and running.  That was what we were doing for a living at the time. I hated the work. My fingernails barely survived. I couldn’t even enjoy the day with him because I was crazy thinking of what my babies were doing in daycare and how we were going to get out of the mounds of debt we had created.  I was completely selfish and desperate. For a little while, I actually considered divorce.  Not in any spectacular fashion, but it did stay on my mind.

Trying to get through this time was like walking across one of those rope bridges. You know, the ones about to collapse with missing or broken boards stretched between two surely- this- will- bring- me- to- my death canyon tops.  Looking down was not an option, scary beyond all reason.  I didn’t expect to make it to the other side. Did I even want to try?  Yet, there was still a chance I could. “Do you love him?” I heard the words of someone wise, “Cause if there is still love between you both, together can make it through anything.”  Love…?  That was the answer…???

Just then, I looked up and he was already at the other end of the bridge, safe on the other side. I became angry. Why didn’t he wait on me? He had made it, but he didn’t bother to help me across. Was he leaving me? He then turned around and waited patiently, quietly.  He loved me. I could see it in his eyes.

God was making me choose. I was fighting more than just our relationship. I was fighting the statistics of my generation and the footsteps of my parents.  It became completely up to me to walk towards him or turn around. But everyone always told me backwards was the “wrong way”.  As I came to myself, I searched deeply within.  Letting go of this was not an option. There was no choice. I made a promise. We had the rest of our lives to forgive each others insecurities, fix the wrongs, and keep trying to make it right.  And, even though I was afraid and angry, I did still love him so very much.  So I closed my eyes to the fear, worry, and doubt and in faith I walked on to meet him. The walk was incredibly difficult. Steady on with my mind closed off to the dangers around me.  I chose not to listen to the negative. I just focused on the goal of getting across one step at a time.

I will never regret making that walk.  It strengthened me beyond belief.  There are many times in relationships, men and women start to walk on their bridge and the pain of walking across becomes too great. One or the other usually gives up.  But aren’t there certain tests in life we can’t escape from? Inevitable  trials we all have to walk through to make us stronger?   I see people everywhere having to cross bridges like these eventually. Sadly, some choose to go backwards every time and spend the rest of their lives trying to get across just one bridge.

Today, every bridge we come to, we walk across together holding hands and facing the challenge head on.  Our relationship has matured into something incredible, more than I could’ve ever dreamed or prayed for, something that was worth working for.  He has become the man I always wanted, respectful, kind, sharing the same goals. We are on a new level.  It seems our life and our love has begun anew.  I find myself dreaming blissfully of the days to come, when the kids are grown and developing families of their own.  I can’t wait for all the things we will be able to get into as best friends.  I am in love with him more than ever before.  Extremely grateful I didn’t give up.

Peter, Peter Pan?

Peter… Peter pan. Peter Parker. Peter Gabriel. Remember that song, “Sledgehammer”? What a great jam! The Pied Piper of Hamlin, pretty sure his name was Peter (if not it should have been.)  Faulk, Boyle, Graves, Sellers, and Ustinov… just a few of my favorites.

But my most favorite, Peter Trepak, my dad.

Or Pete as he would have it.

Growing up with Daddy was easy for awhile.  I owe him for my love of libraries, Indy car races, hockey, and NFL football.  His wisdom taught me to take things easy as they come. Don’t get too upset about what I can’t change or fix and always know somehow it will get better.

His vision was to see the joy in little things. Like fishing without catching anything, touchdown victory dances when the Bears scored, playing stupid silly made up games in the pool like ledge people, and photographing simple nature shots.

It was his wisdom that helped me through some of my toughest years.  Ironic that it was his alcoholic behavior that caused so much of my unhappiness.  His favorite gifts to give me were books.  One year for Christmas he bought me a monster-thick little book entitled, “14,000 Things to be Happy About.” It is filled with tiny, little lists of things to appreciate and smile about.  Over the years that book has been highlighted in so many colors. It has become a treasure in my library.

He had a beautiful, warm, and loving smile; a smile that suffered during his 2 tours in the Vietnam War.   After listening to his horror stories over and over again, I was convinced my dad never should have been a soldier in that war.  His selfless nature and kind spirit were never cut out for the Army and the heartache was so unbearable he used the alcohol to cover it up for the rest of his life. Little by little, it destroyed his marriage and eventually our family.

I remember being with him during his first heart attack. Of course he would deny it for years, but I knew what was happening. He was lying on the couch watching TV in his little apartment he rented after mom kicked him out for the last time. Stopping by to see if he had food in his cabinets, Dad said he wasn’t feeling well and when he told me his left arm was throbbing while his chest was squeezing tight, I was dumbfounded. He forbade me to call an ambulance because of his lack of insurance, so I held him and prayed harder than I ever wanted to for him not to die.  Two short years later he was having his first of two bypass surgeries. Eight years later, he was gone forever.

Those few years a whole lot of life went by and I didn’t see much of him. He had remarried and she “didn’t want anything to do with his daughters”.  Luckily, they got in a huge fight and he left her. A miracle in disguise! The last four months of his life were ours. My children finally understood the “dad” I used to talk about. He and my 5 year old (at the time) became great friends, reading books and jumping on the trampoline.  He spent from October to January, the whole holiday season, at our home.

My Dad, teaching my daughter to read.

The weekend before he died,  I told him he had made my dreams come true.  My wish was for my children to know the fun-loving, warm-hearted man the way I did.   In that moment I truly loved him more  than I ever did and was able to forgive him for any hell he ever put me through. That was on Saturday. On Monday he had a massive heart attack which left surgery hopeless.  I found it hard to cry at his funeral.  I was so at peace with him returning to us, my life was made complete. It has been seven years since he has been gone yet, peace still reigns in that place where I miss him.

Birds outside my window

Writing is something I have always wanted to do.  I want to be an author.  Since I was fifteen I imagined myself like Chevy Chase in the movie, “Funny Farm” quitting my day job, and sitting upstairs in my office typing with a bird singing melodiously outside of my window.  Yet, I always end up throwing my coffee on the bird before I even start.

When I was in my twenties I started a newsletter.  I got the idea from the local library where I checked out a book on small  home-based businesses.  I was a stay at home mom and bored.  But the newsletter was extremely successful.  I had over 200 subscriptions in less than 8 months.  I loved writing and sharing it with so many. Mostly, I loved knowing others enjoyed what I was writing. I wrote for a year then had my third child and life changed dramatically with her.

It’s been 15 years since I wrote that newsletter and the other day after moving I ran across a box of those publications.  Just then, blogging came to mind. I have never tried it before although I have read several. In my newsletter I wrote about several subtopics, but my favorite was the PMS moments column.  It just spoke my mind and it was healing to the soul.   While my biological, monthly, time-bomb ticked and interrupted me whenever it wanted, I tried to manage being a wife, mom and friend. Pretty hilarious times…

The idea of writing has always been a constant in my life even if I never finish any of the works I started.  I have 10 journals that have been stopped and started over the years, met 5 different authors, written three children books, started two novels, and recently pinned several offices modeling the ideal one I want to live in on Pinterest.  (Too bad pinning it doesn’t make it happen.)  But blogging… This could happen.  Just sharing and writing.  Yeah, this could work for awhile, who knows ? At least I’m writing again.

Middle children

Middle children don’t have choices like the rest of the outsiders do. They are sandwiched in-between siblings who are born first or last and always seem to have more options.

Sandwiched, squeezed, scrunched. Longing to find which path they fit. Always feeling pressure. Must be hard to stretch out.  Which direction do they go? To the right, left? No those paths are blocked… Must reach over and out, like… “Get out of here!”

This seems to be my daughter’s point of view.  She was born with unmatched  puzzle pieces and cannot turn enough to figure out how to fit in the middle of her older brother and younger sister.  I know God planned her to be part of this family, but how she thinks she lost her fitting along the way I do not understand. Life with three teens is trying us these days…