a surreal world

i had stepped into a dream. or a nightmare, maybe. i had received a call that my daughter, 21 year old summer, needed a ride home from the tattoo parlor, punktuer (pronounced puncture), in joplin, finally getting her much desired tattoo. i knew where she was going to have the tattoo done and she had checked them out for cleanliness and inspection status. while i might be willing to push the limits and rebel against society and the accepted norms, i'm not willing to tempt fate by exposing myself to disease.

the first problem was that the tattoo parlor itself, even though it was in good condition, was location in a part of town that i (we) didn't frequent. that part of town w/ bars on the windows, visible alarms systems, the homeless shelter for vagrants, bars of every kind, and huge locks on every possible entrance. this section of town was well-lit at night, but not a car or person in sight on the street except for a couple cars in front of punktuer. i parked, moved anything of obvious value into the back seat where it would be harder to see (steal) through the tinted windows. i also took everything out of the front seat or off of the dash that would identify me or where i worked. no reason to let anyone who didn't know me know where i worked and any other info about me.

when i walked in to punktuer, i was taken back to another place and time -- my childhood. the time when i first noticed the world of amusement parks, carnivals, and "carnies" as a different culture. the place was painted in wild, psychedelic colors and patterns, depicting clowns, jokers, demons, dragons, and designs w/ blurred images depicting ecstasy of some sort. also displayed on the walls was a huge collections of designs for possible tattoos and pictures of completed tattoos on previous customers; a couple of long, waist-high glass counters contained jewelry for purchase for those customers who were there for piercings.

i had just come from school, so i was dressed in a very conservative matching two piece outfit, w/ hair styled and makeup done. i was obviously out of my element and looked out of place. the man at the counter asked "may i help you?" as i walked up. i could tell from the look on his face that he thought i was in the wrong place or something. i said, "yeah, i'm summer's ride home. is she where i can see her?" he pointed me to the room where my daughter was, already in the process of being tattood.

i was rather surprised at the look of the man doing her tattoo, as he was clean cut w/ short hair, no strange piercings, and no visible tattoos except for his forearms. if he had a long-sleeved shirt on, he would look like any average joe walking down the street. certainly didn't fit the image of the other guys hanging out in this shop or the other customers walking in. i talked to summer a bit, looked at what he had done so far, asked some questions, and then moved a chair in so i could talk and keep summer's mind busy.

as i sat there, i was totally taking in my surroundings. it was like a funhouse that had been in a trainwreck. disjointed scenes in this style and then that style had been painted here and there on the walls. where the different scenes met up, someone had made crosshatches to make it look like they had been stitched together. the huge smiling face of a joker, the queen of hearts and alice and wonderland, a curving, swirling snake, clouded/misted spirals descending into nothingness, rainbows of dark colors, dragons of chinese heritage, animae, and more swirls and geometric designs.

the music was blaring, too. so loud it was hard to carry on a conversation and definitely made it hard to think. fitting the image of this establishment and the people within it, the music was also fringe music. not something listened to by the main stream. not even the main stream any sub-culture! groups like primus, marilyn manson, and worse things i had never heard of. and i like all kinds of music, but i was having a hard time identifying this as music instead of just noise. annie lennox' "sweet dreams" sung off-key by a man and slowed down after recording, like the batteries were running out of juice and fading away (but just not fading fast enough for my tastes!). when that cd of hellish noise was over, another one was put in -- a never-ending cacophany of audio distress.

then add to that the people (men) who were working in there -- long-haired, not well-dressed, tattood all over, pierced, just the overall grunge, dregs of society look. i didn't have a problem w/ them, as they were all very nice, kind, and polite in the one-on-one situation. but the lifestyle they chose to lead (or felt pressed into) was not one accepted by society. especially in the middle of the redneck bible belt of america. i'm always curious about people and what makes each one "tick." i covertly studied each human speciman there, watching his demeanor/personality/attitude displayed to help understand these individuals. none of these men were intimidating to me on a personal level, but if i were to meet several of them in a dark alley i would be leary. mainly because i knew that this sub-culture has a tendency to partake of activities that i don't believe in and don't condone. i realize that not all people in that subculture do those things, but that is the accepted belief. but in all honesty, i would be leary of meeting any group of men in a dark alley, so what makes a group of guys like this any different in that situation?

i'm not condemning any of those people, nor do i think poorly of them for being who they are. i try to not judge people and allow them to be who they are -- just like i want people to do for me. but as i sat there, i wondered . . . "if someone in 'my group' of society looks at someone like that and thinks 'freak,' then what does someone in that group of society think when he or she sees someone like me?" i'm well-groomed, well-dressed as a professional, no visible tattoos, obviously have money in what i wear and what i drive (meaning i'm not poor), speaks using correct grammar, well-educated, intelligent, doesn't use profanity in public, happy attitude, self-confident. do they look at me (or someone like me) and think "freak" or "stuck up bitch" or "normal" or "dull" or what? or do they even notice those people who are not a part of their society? do they view their group as "the norm" and the rest of society as the sub-culture? i wondered "what made you become what you are today?" as i considered some possible things that might have lead them to become who they were.

summer's growing tattoo was really a very small part of the overall experience for me. the final product was a beautiful depiction of 3 tiger lilies across the lower back. the artwork was amazing -- top notch. it was painful for her, especially after he had gone over several areas multiple times putting in the details. i kept up a running line of chatter to occupy her mind, but i was more interested in the people around us and what their motivation was for submitting themselves and their minds to this world. i wondered what kind of person was happy in this environment, or were they ever really happy but just less miserable? i wondered if they had to take drugs to deaden their senses to this numbing environment or if they had nothing left to feel numbed.

when summer reached the point of having the tattoo pictured and paying the tab, i headed on out to the car. i was fairly surprised that i still had hubcaps and that no one had spray-painted graffiti down the side of my car. i checked the back windows as i walked around the car, unlocked it and climbed in, shut the door again and locked it. i just sat there in the dark silence, still feeling numb from the 3-hour assault on my senses. i was exhausted and feeling fairly stressed from long-term societal discomfort. i thanked God for my world of unconditional love, security, and acceptance. i was reminded of just how blessed in life i am. my life may not be the perfect life, but it is the perfect life for me.

i've never been tempted to try drugs, but i realized as i sat there in the dark silence of my car in the wrong part of town -- if i was ever tempted to try acid or meth, all i needed to do was come back to punktuer and immerse myself in the environment there for the same effects. not an enjoyable experience overall, so not any more temptation than i've ever had to try that lifestyle.

as i am applying the experience to my outlook on life, i wonder if i have students who feel this out of place in the classroom. who in my classes is so distressed in the "normal" classroom, surrounded by kids of "normal" society. they may not have the strength to think about why they are stressed or what they can do to lessen the stress -- they only notice the stress and don't know how to combat these stressful feelings. how many kids have homes that are similar to the environment i was in last night that feel uncomfortable in the silence of the classroom? how many kids have such messy or cluttered lives at home that the organized and structure classroom makes them uneasy? i know i'll be watching for these signs now w/ more empathy. if i can find the right key, i can unlock the potential and ability for each student to learn. that's what drives me on in my career -- to be the teacher who made a difference in each student's life.

my true love

i had turned 4 the last thanksgiving, so i wasn't very old when we met. who would've thought that our meeting would have such an impact on my life? now i look back over the last 35 years of my life and realize that day was a major turning point in my life -- i was in love. not just a crush and not just puppy love, but real love. unconditional love, given w/ the knowledge that i might get hurt at some time, but that didn't matter.

i wanted to ride the bike so bad, but kirk wouldn't let me. it was his motorcycle, and he wasn't about to share it. he said it was too big for such a baby, but he always said that when he didn't want to share. i liked to ride w/ him, but he didn't have time for that very often. i didn't like for him to know how bad i wanted to ride because i didn't want him to tease me. he had something i didn't and he could do something i couldn't. that was bad enough without him teasing me about it.

i thought if i could just ride by myself then i wouldn't have to wait on him. i would have my own freedom. i could come and go as i pleased. ride when and where i wanted. i would be big. independent. not a baby anymore. i knew how to start it, how to shift gears, how to speed up, how to steer, and how to stop. i knew i could do it. i had been watching just what to do, and i knew how.

it was too big for me, but dad would've said, "that's no hill for a climber." that meant that if i wanted to do something bad enough, there was probably a way to figure out how i could do it. that's what he always said when he figured out a way to fix a problem. well, my problem was that the bike was too big; i couldn't get on. well, i could get on and reach the foot pegs, but i couldn't put the kickstand up and get moving. i was pretty sure i could kick start it, too, from standing on the foot pegs.

i had been watching the bike for several days, trying to figure out how i could ride it by myself. this particular day i found the inspiration that i needed. it was parked close to the back porch. not right next to it, but close enough to it to make me realize that if i was standing on the porch, i could get on the bike by myself. ta-dah! this climber had reached the summit.

i waited until after dinner to try out my idea. mom would rest a bit after cleaning up from dinner. she made me lie down w/ her, but if i kept still, i could sneak out as soon as she dozed off. my brother said she did it on purpose and that she wasn't really asleep, but just wanted some peace and quiet. whatever. i didn't care. i just liked having some freedom.

kirk was in the field on the tractor, mom was resting, gary was loading grain, and dad was working in the shed. everyone was accounted for and i was ready for my adventure. i pushed the bike over to the porch and leaned it up against the porch so i didn't have to put the kick stand down. i climbed up the 3 steps and then on the bike.

i just sat there for a bit, getting the feel of it. trust me, it felt good. i tried to kick start it easy, because i didn't want to tip over. that didn't work, so i had to keep jumping up and down on it a little harder each time, balancing more to the porch side. it finally started and i was ready to pull away. i had my left foot resting on top of the gas tank until i was away from the porch since the bike was resting against the concrete.

i put the bike in gear and pulled slowly away from the porch. i was going. on my own. riding the bike on my own. i shifted gears, gave it some more gas and crept out in the driveway. our drive was u-shaped w/ a huge area at about ten o'clock on the u-shape where the equipment was parked and the fuel tanks were. i had a huge open area to ride in since there was nothing parked there this day.

a few seconds later, i realized that i didn't know how to turn. i mean, i knew how kirk did it, but i didn't know how to do it. i was afraid to lean because i didn't want to tip over. i knew that i couldn't turn the handle bars too much or i would fall over the other way. i didn't want to land in the rocks because that would hurt something fierce. especially on my knees! i decided to just try to turn the handlebars just a little and see if i could turn that way. it worked, and i started making a huge, curving turn in the drive.

i rode around for a long time in the lane. probably not, really, but it felt like it. i was having such fun and i was so excited that i could ride by myself. now i could ride whenever i wanted and i wouldn't have to wait on someone else to take me. i was imagining how wonderful that would be and just couldn't wait to tell dad that i could ride the bike by myself. then i realized that i would have to tell dad that i had already ridden the bike, and he was not going to be happy about that.

i decided that i had probably better put the bike back before i got caught. no sense borrowing trouble! i turned another wide, banking turn toward the house and realized i had another problem. i couldn't stop. i knew how to stop, and i could get the bike to come to a stop. then i didn't know what to do because i couldn't reach the ground and i would tip over. i knew i couldn't ride the bike back up to the porch and get off the way i got on, so i was really in trouble now.

i was on a moving motorcycle w/ no way to stop it and get off without having an accident. i kept riding around the lane, trying to figure out what to do. suddenly this wasn't so much fun anymore. i figured i had 2 choices -- i could lay it down and then be in trouble or i could yell for help and then be in trouble. either way, i was still in trouble. the difference was whether i was hurt or not. i didn't figure there was any way out without being hurt or in trouble. of the two, i would rather be in trouble than hurt, so i guess my choice was made.

i rode closer to the shed and then started yelling for dad at the top of my lungs. "dad! dad! help me! dad! da-a-a-a-a-d! he-e-e-e-elp me! dad!" i yelled on and on. i didn't know where in the shed he was working, and i didn't know if he could hear me over the motorcycle, but i was still trying. i thought i would just keep riding and yelling until somebody came running to see what was the matter w/ me.

at the start of my third yelling circle, dad came running out of the shed, stripping out of his welding gear on the run. equipment, gloves, and helmet tossed here and there as he ran toward me. i was afraid to get too close to him because i didn't want to hit him, but i needed to get close enough to him that he could grab me. he was running to catch up to me and i was trying to watch him and watch where i was going. as i got more excited, i was giving the bike more gas on the right hand grip. i must have been pulling harder on the right, too, as i was steering away from dad all the time. i was still circling in the "holding pattern" i had been riding in while i tried to figure out how to get out of this mess.

he was yelling instructions to me, but i couldn't hear him because i was yelling for help and the bike motor was noisy. i knew he was talking real loud, though, because his face was red and he opened his mouth really big when he was talking. that was a sure sign that whatever was being said was being said loud. he kept running after me, on the outside of the circle i was turning, for almost a hundred yards. i was getting scared now because i couldn't get the bike to quit turning and i really wanted off of it. when i turned to look at dad, my right hand slipped on the handle bar and i lost my grip for a second. i didn't lose control (as if i had control to begin with!), but it did slow me down a little bit.

that break in speed was enough for dad to grab hold of me and pull me off of the bike. which went a few feet further on its own and then laid over on its side in the rocks. the motor was still running and the wheels were still turning, but it was laying in the rocks. i knew that i would've ended up in the rocks w/ it if dad hadn't run out there and caught me. that didn't bother me, really. those things happen after all.

dad gave me a hug, checked me over to make sure i wasn't hurt, then gave me a shake. as if my brain must have not been working properly before this stupidity and a good shake would give it the jump start that it needed. a pull-me-back-to-reality-shake. a what-the-hell-were-you-thinking shake. a no-more-nonsense shake, a don't-scare-me-like-that-again shake. finally, i got "the talkin' to" where dad let me know he wasn't happy w/ this business. that was usually the worst, though, because i didn't want dad to be disappointed in me.

i told him how much i wanted to ride that bike, and i could really ride that bike on my own. it was only the stopping part that was the problem. it wasn't even the stopping part, really. but the getting off after it was stopped part that was the problem. my feet just wouldn't reach the ground. i was strong enough. i was smart enough. i was brave enough. i just wasn't tall enough. it just wasn't fair!

i had the fever now. i had ridden the bike on my own, and i wanted to do it again. the problem was that i was still too short. i hadn't grown enough in the last 3 days to make a difference. i fussed at dad because i wanted to ride the bike and couldn't. i really wanted to cry about it because i was just that sad, but only babies cried about things. that's what kirk said, anyway. so i didn't cry, but i tried every other tactic i could think of -- i begged, i pleaded, i bargained, i promised, i fussed, i griped, i guilted, i pouted, i told grandma. i couldn't focus on anything else other than getting back on that bike.

dad knew that he would have to do something or i would try it again. of course, he could just order me not to do it, but he probably knew that wouldn't work. i'm sure he could see that i was determined to get back on that bike. kirk was mad at me for riding his bike without asking him. really i think he was just mad that i did ride it. if i had asked, he would've told me "no!", so that wouldn't have done any good.

i wanted to ride that bike. problem was, i couldn't find the bike now. just to make sure i wasn't trying to ride it again, dad and kirk kept it hidden. that way, dad didn't have to worry about me getting on it when no one was around to come rescue me. bad thing is that i probably would've done just that. i had done it once and knew i could ride it; i would try it again. it wouldn't have taken me long to figure out that laying it down in the grass wouldn't hurt that bad.

over the next few days, dad was working on building a wooden rack in the shop. i didn't know what it was, and i wasn't going to ask him. i was mad at him for not letting me ride the bike. no doubt i was probably mad at myself some, too, for not being able to make him do what i wanted. but i understood that i needed to have a way to get off of it, though.

well, dad solved that problem for me. he built a little ride-thru landing for me. a wooden design that looked like a box about a foot thick w/ a trough right down the middle of it, w/ the idea that i could ride the bike in the trough-like part and put my feet on the sides that were built up. i could also leave the bike propped up there for the next time i wanted to ride. dad put "jill's landing" right out next to the loading dock at the shed. if the bike was in the shed, i was strong enough to push it to the landing to get on.

that wasn't the worst emergency that i've had on a bike and i'm sure it won't be the last. that day gave me the burning desire to ride bikes and that feeling has never gone away. i love the feeling of freedom, the peace, the solitude, the serenity. it's so rejuvenating to my soul. there are days when i can just go outside, stand facing the wind, and take a deep breath to remind me of how much i enjoy the sun on my face and the wind blowing through my hair as i ride through the countryside. unfortunately, i've had to give part of that up as i now wear a helmet, but the ride is still well worth it.

"you be it"

that doesn't sound like much, i know, but "you be it" when said by my grandmother meant a whole lot. that was the order i was given that sunday morning when i arrived at church. as always, i went to greet my grandparents at church, giving hugs and kisses and catching up on any family news before the service started. i normally sat in a different section, and my parents were in another section as well.

there was a young woman seated over a ways from my grandmother, and i noticed her because she was a visitor. we went to a very small church, and i had known everyone there for forever. but this new person was someone i had never seen before. my grandmother leaned close to me and said, "you see that girl? her momma and i are friends and have been for years. she needs a friend in life right now. you be it."

that was the end of it. grandma decreed that it should be, and in her mind, it was a done deal. there were 4 ways to deal w/ grandma -- 1) just do it her way, 2) just ACT like you were going to do it her way and then hope she didn't notice that you didn't, 3) avoid her and hope she forgot in a year or so, or 4) defy her and prepare to get blasted for it. right now, none of these options were looking very appealing to me. even worse, my options were looking fairly pathetic.

after all, you can't just force someone to be your friend. grandma acted like this girl was just sitting there waiting on me to show up and be her friend. it didn't quite work that way in life. even though i didn't want to, i went and said hi to the new person. it was easier that having grandma on my butt indefinitely about it. i casually walked over and then said, "hi, i'm jill. would you like to come and sit w/ me and the youth group?"

she looked up, surprised, and shook her head as she said, "no. thanks." and put her head back down. her voice was emotionless and disinterested. she was plain looking, simply dressed (but clean), she wore no makeup and wore her hair long and straight. she seemed to have no personality and no desire to meet anyone. i walked away and thought, "cool. that was easy." and went on about my business.

grandma asked me about it later, and i told her what happened. she wasn't bothered by it, though. she just looked at me and said, "try again next week." no ifs, ands, or buts about it. no questions about whether i wanted or needed another friend. no concern that maybe i might be embarrassed to be forced to make friends. no thoughts that i might not like my grandma picking my friends for me. she had said it and it would be done. as long as things continued in this pattern, grandma would be happy.

the next sunday came and went much the same. i was "reminded" that the new girl needed a friend and told "you be it." again, i went and asked if she would like to come sit w/ me and my friends. again, she told me "no. thanks." so i continued on my way. grandma put me through the inquisition after church about it, just to make sure i was doing my part, i guess. after i answered all her questions, she said, "try again next week."

this went on for 3 more weeks, almost word for word the same conversations. grandma didn't think i was putting enough effort into this project, and i probably wasn't. after all -- it wasn't something that i wanted to do. it was something i was ordered to do. you can't just order people to be friends. problem was, no one told this to grandma. in fact, very rarely did anyone tell grandma that something was not going to go her way.

grandma leaned up real close to me and looked me in the eye and said, "i told you that she needs a friend. now, you be it. you do what it takes, but you be it." i could tell from her voice that she wasn't going to be taking any excuses on this, either. i wasn't sure why it was so important to her, but now i knew that i couldn't fail in this because it was so important to her. well, that and she would be on my butt something fierce if i did!

instead of giving "the new girl" the chance to turn away my offer of friendship this week, i walked up and said, "hi, i'm jill. since i always ask you to sit w/ me and you say 'no' and then sit here alone. i'm just going to sit w/ you." i said down in the chair by her and she just looked at me in shock, complete w/ her mouth hanging open. i turned around to make sure that my grandma was seeing this -- that i was sitting w/ the new girl and trying to make friends. i had the distinct feeling that she didn't want my company or my friendship. that was ok, though, because i really didn't want hers either.

i carried on both sides of the conversation, mostly, as all she did was mutter "yes" or "no" or "uhm" and then look down. that was ok w/ me, though, as i could chatter on about nothing when i needed to. i usually talked during church or wrote notes if i was close to getting in trouble. i knew when i started getting the looks from my parents when i was getting close to having made too much noise. so when my friends sat down next to me, i introduced them all to my new "friend," debbie.

she said hi and then ducked her head. she was terribly shy and quiet, and i could tell that she felt uncomfortable w/ people talking to her. so instead of addressing her, we just carried on our normal conversation and debbie was a listener. as we went on about our conversation, debbie started to pay a little more interest. when we left church, i told her "goodbye, see you next week." she smiled and waved when she answered "goodbye."

the next couple weeks went pretty much the same as this pattern. she was there and seated by herself when i arrived. after greeting my grandparents, i moved on over to "be it". i still wasn't happy w/ this assigned duty, but it was livable. i guess i could talk to a wall, if i had to, and this wasn't much different. fortunately, she started to get more personality and more interest in life.

she drove a hotrod, and that's what finally broke the wall down. it was s plymouth fury, maroon in color, and jacked up on wide tires. it was totally cool looking. not the normal hotrod or muscle car. maybe that was part of the appeal of it -- it wasn't the typical hotrod. it had loud pipes and really made an impression, even when she rolled slowly up to a parking spot at church and the blub-blub-blub-blub-blub filled the air.

the youth group was going to a concert at a local christian college one sunday afternoon. some new person, an up-and-coming star, named amy grant. i was going because i went to all the youth group stuff, but i wasn't really "in" to christian music. i asked debbie if she wanted to go, and she said she did. i said, "cool. i'm riding w/ you." it was a beautiful summer day, great for cruising w/ the windows down and the radio blaring. she didn't listen to anything but christian music, and i didn't listen to christian music -- that's how we ended up talking hotrods.

that was a topic that would keep her talking all day -- hotrods. this was the person that couldn't string a 3-word sentence together a month ago, but she could explain all about her car and tell me all that she had done to it and had planned to do to it. this was kind of tough for me, because i'm not mechanically inclined at all. i just followed the "smile and nod" method of communication here. she didn't notice, i guess, as she kept right on talking about her car. it was her passion and all that she had to show for her life at this point. her baby. her pride and joy. she was 24 and i was 14, so she didn't have much to show for herself at this point.

despite the age difference, we always got along just fine. i was always more comfortable w/ people older than me, and she was a little immature for her age. our friendship easily progressed from sunday friends through church friends through real friends to best friends. it wasn't too long before we went everywhere together. she began working for my parents as a farm hand, staying at my house many nights, and running around w/ me when she wasn't working. she loved my family dearly, as her own family was abusive and dysfunctional. she didn't know families like mine existed, but wasn't about to give it up now that she knew. i didn't know families like hers existed, and i avoided all of them but her mother every time i got the chance.

i was quick to point out to grandma that she could lay off now because debbie had a friend and i was "it". it didn't bother grandma any that i was annoyed w/ her for making me be friends w/ debbie. after all, she was sure that she was doing me a favor anyway. she always asked about debbie and how she was doing. grandma told me that debbie's mother was the sweetest person she ever knew and she always felt bad for her being married to debbie's dad. he was someone who needed taken out behind the shed for a "talkin' to" every now and then, but no one ever did it. so he was an abusive husband and father.

as my friendship w/ debbie grew, i learned some amazing things. about her, about me, about life, about what God can do. debbie came to church because she had just gotten out of rehab for the second time. she was a heavy drug user and had overdosed. she had been involved in drugs so long and so heavy that she was "stealin' and dealin'" to support her own habit. she smoked, she drank, she used -- she shot up, she dropped, she inhaled, anything and everything. life meant nothing to her, and death meant nothing worse. she felt she had no reason to live, so no reason to make changes. this whole lifestyle horrified me. i mean, i knew it existed "out there" but i didn't want to believe it was here near my world. she had lived experiences worse than most people's nightmares.

fortunately for her, mothers love deep and strong. her mother loved her just as much when she was a user as she had before, but she wanted so much for her to get away from it. after the second overdose, a new preacher came to visit their house and talked w/ debbie. he convinced her to try coming to church, to get rid of all connections to her previous life, to make effort to build a new life -- she agreed.

she came to church and she sat there. she didn't talk to anyone and she didn't interact. she didn't know how, really, as she hadn't been drug-free for 12 years. half of her life. she couldn't carry on a conversation and she didn't have any self-esteem. all of her bravado in life had come from drugs and alcohol. she didn't have the inner strength built yet to make up for that.

after a couple months of hanging out together, debbie told me that the day i sat down w/ her at church was going to be her last day there. she had already decided that she wasn't coming back. she wasn't making friends and this really just wasn't what she was looking for. she wanted friends, but didn't know how to go about interacting. if she hadn't stayed in church, she would've gone right back to her druggie friends and her old lifestyle.

the funny thing was that i really annoyed the heck out of her. i talked even though she wasn't talking to me. if she didn't answer, i went on as if she did. she couldn't understand how to deal w/ someone who was being nice to her for no reason and no obvious personal gain. well, she didn't know about my grandma and her plan for making me sorry later! when i told her about my struggle w/ grandma and the order for me to be debbie's friend, she was just amazed that someone other than her mother cared enough about her to make the effort. i'm sure she was talking about grandma, because i had done it for selfish reasons to begin with.

we were best friends for many, many years. we took a few years off from our friendship as we both married and moved on separate directions in life, but that didn't last. when i moved back home in 1992, i called her house and left a message that said, "hey, it's jill. i'm back in town if you want to meet up some time." it wasn't long before we were great friends again.

our personalities and our lives have changed greatly over the years, but we're still great friends. i always know that if i need a friend, she is there. in fact, if i were ever in a position to choose one friend to base my survival on, it would be her. for many reasons, really. she reads people really well, and she's been in some nasty, unimagineable places. but deep down, i know that she doesn't care whether she lives or dies and that she's not afraid of death.

this is not much different than she was when we met, but the reasons are different now. she knows where she will go when this life is over, so she has no reason to fear death. her ultimate goal would be to protect me from harm because she feels that i am the person who saved her from the life of a drug addict. my friendship, my determination to not use, my stubbornness on choosing friends, my choice to be "clean," my personal integrity. she was able to pull from me until she built up the confidence and strength to stand on her own and face the world. so, if i ever need anything, i know that i can look at her and say "you be it".

i'm on fire

sometimes when i start a project, i'm more excited about it than others. sometimes inspiration comes later. sometimes i just finish it through dogged determination. right now, i'm truly inspired to work on writing. i'm on fire. i'm motivated. i'm driven. i'm consumed.

i started into this blog business to get some writing done and to write some things from my childhood that i want to pass on to my children. the more i think about the things i want to write, the more things i think to write about. it's like a never-ending vicious circle. chasing my tail around and around and around.

i've started a list of topics to write about and carry it in my calendar. i have the things that i want to tell my kids how i feel now or how i felt then or just some of the crazy adventures that i've had. sometimes it's the little things that we think will never matter that make the best adventure.

last night when i was talking to scott about some things, i told him that i wasn't too excited to go to an upcoming concert event w/ summer because i'm not crazy over the performer. he asked why i was going if i didn't like the singer, and i said, "because your sister and i are going on an adventure." he laughed as he readily agreed, stating that anytime we did anything it was an adventure.

i think that totally expresses our view on life -- it's an adventure. there are many parts of this adventure for me that my children don't know. some things they will love, some things they will hate, and some things they will find amazing. some things i don't care if they know now, but other things i would rather them not know now. some things they would understand and other things they wouldn't. some things they would be proud of and some things they wouldn't be proud of. but all of these things, as a part of my life, provide their family history.

for years, i've put off writing these things. i know that my family just cringes and lives in fear when they think i'm writing, especially if it is about them. my mother has always been someone who nosed through my stuff and searched through my personal papers. that's why i learned to not keep anything written down when i was little -- because i would have to answer for it. as an adult, i haven't written because my mother finds it so upsetting to know that there are things that i did that she didn't know about and/or didn't approve of. hello? welcome to life! i was a kid, and my job was to push the rules and tests the limits. it didn't mean i didn't have good parents or that i wasn't a good kid. after all, inquiring minds want to know . . .

because of some things that have happened w/ writing in my adult life, mainly being published and seeing how upset my mother was, i have not written or posted anything that would upset my mother. at least, anything that she knows about! that limitation has often totally halted my writing capability. my freedom and flow is restricted. it's not that i care what other people think, but out of respect for my mother's feelings i have chosen to not cause her that stress. i prefer to have my mother present in my life, physically, rather than have the satisfaction of the writing being known to others. she finds it upsetting for other people to read about the things that i did or the choices that i made. like they might not think we were the perfect family after they read those things. and let me tell you -- until then, we had them all fooled.

i would like to someday publish a book, but we'll see how that goes in the future. i don't have the drive to do that as much as to get these memories down for my children's future reading pleasure. i would also be interested in teaching some classes on writing memories or creating memoirs. i think in the near future, there will be a big demand for just this type of class. but to teach someone else, i have to be good on my own and feel secure in my ability -- so we'll see.

for now, i'm content to work on these things for my kids. well, content wouldn't be the right word here, because it's not a feeling of relaxation that i'm having now. it's pushing me, pulling me, keeping me awake, urging me forward, making me deal w/ sitatuions and emotions from childhood that i haven't dealt w/ or haven't faced for years, demanding my time and attention, compelling me to rethink my views on life and many issues, forcing me to analyze who i am and what i stand for. it's exhausting. it's rewarding. it's a heirloom that i'm preparing for my future generations. it's up to them to assign worth to it.

crop circles

that sounded like a good explanation to me. crop circles. they had them other places. why couldn't we have them here? i knew we didn't have them and wouldn't have believed somebody if they had told me that we did, but someone was saying that we had crop circles. like usual, there were probably people mouthing when they didn't know what they were talking about and/or it was none of their business.

the problem was -- i knew what they were talking about. i didn't tell anyone, though. after all, they might not be talking about what i suspicioned. it might have been a coincidence, too. i didn't want to seem too interested and didn't want to attract any extra attention about it, but tried to listen to the talk of crop circles as much as i could.

i guess there was a local pilot who was sure he saw a crop circle when he was up flying. he wasn't a reliable sort, so no one paid him much attention. he was convinced that he would find it again, but he couldn't seem to locate it. probably not, because he was looking on the west side of pittsburg and the field he wanted was on the east side of pittsburg.

it wasn't really a crop circle, though, but circle crops instead. in my mind, there was a big difference. a few days later, there was a picture in the paper of this field of circle crops. when i came out to breakfast, dad was reading the paper. he cleared his throat and asked if i knew anything about a picture in the paper. i didn't, as i didn't keep track of what was in the paper at all, so i said, "no."

he looked at me w/ a real stern expression on his face and said, "are you sure?"

i again said, "no, i don't know anything about a picture in the paper." and i truly didn't. well, i didn't know anything about it until he showed it to me. then i recognized it immediately. it was a picture of his field that was fairly small and kind of odd-shaped and right next to a pond and meadow way back in the middle of the section . easily identifiable as "his field". anyway, it was pictured in the paper because somebody had planted the field in a circle.

that's right. a circle. a huge circle starting at the center and spiraling out to the edges. really quite beautiful in the overall scheme of things, but not really very practical from a business sense. that was my piece of artwork, although i wasn't thinking of creating art when i did that. i was just thinking that i was sick and tired of driving back and forth in a straight line, knowing that whoever ran the cultivator was going to gripe because the rows weren't straight enough.

well, i had fixed that issue. there was nothing for the cultivator person to gripe about. of course, the cultivator person wouldn't be able to cultivate this field anyway. still, in my mind, the problem was fixed. i was entertained w/ something different and the cultivator person wouldn't be griping. killed 2 birds w/ 1 stone w/ that decision! since dad usually gave us each a field to be responsible for, he made that field mine.

when it was time for everyone else to be spraying, i didn't have much to do. after all, i couldn't spray my field. i was standing out at the shed talking to dad when a plane flew low over the house, dipping its wings back and forth and back and forth before flying on over the section. it dipped out of sight for a few seconds and then circled up and around, only to disappear again. this went on for about 5 more times before the plane flew low over the house and "waved" its wings goodbye.

dad didn't say anything about the plane, and i didn't either. i didn't know what to say, because i didn't know anything about what he was doing. later that evening, jim (the airplane pilot) dropped by the house. dad went out to greet him, mainly because my ornery little dog always snuck around behind jim and bit him on the ankle every time he stopped to visit. i ran outside to get my dog before she got in trouble, and dad was asking him about what he doing out in our area today.

jim just pointed at me and said, "jill and i had an arrangement to get her field sprayed. i brought her bill by." he handed me my statement, totaling $1 for goods and services. he had a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes, as if he was winning a long-standing game. i told him to wait just a minute while i got my money and then ran inside. i dug out $1 from the money i was saving for july 4th and ran out to pay him. he handed me the ticket, marked "paid in full" after taking my money. he later told dad that he had a little spray left over from another job and that he donated his time and equipment when he heard that dad made me responsible for the field. said it made him feel young to see someone having fun in life.

when we harvested that year, my field made as much profit as anybody else's field. i'm sure that's not what dad intended to happen. in fact, i'm fairly sure that dad intended for me to do a lot of work and not make much money that summer to show me that there were consequences for my actions. i'm sure he also wanted to drive home the idea that my actions could cause myself and others around me a great deal of stress. what i really learned -- sometimes it just pays to be different.

child abuse -- pending

she was really mad this time. probably the worst i had seen. so mad, she wasn't going to deal w/ it until we were home, she said. really i think she was just wanting dad to take care of it. that way she didn't kill me on accident. but the ride home was long and silent. and the silent treatment was rough, complete w/ deep sighs and rolling eyes. amazing how 10 miles can seem like a thousand, depending upon the company.

of course, she had every intention of telling dad when we got home. that was the worst part. listening to her tell dad the whole story. i knew i had better tell the story when we got home, because my version wouldn't be as pitiful as hers. he would be more understanding than she had been, but he was still going to be irritated w/ me. he didn't like it when mom and i were butting heads. probably because she fussed at him about it. so far, that was about all we had done all day tpday -- butt heads. it wasn't really that much of a contest, though, as i was more stubborn than she was.

i didn't want to go to town that day, but instead i wanted to stay home and ride my bike. i don't know why she was so determined that i had to go w/ her, but it wasn't a good day. if she had explained some kind of reason for it, that might have helped. the old "because i said so" didn't mean spit to me. ranked right up there w/ "well, that's a 'do-as-i-say rule' instead of a 'do-as-i-do rule.'" yeah, right. let me get in line to sign up for that plan. let's see -- go to town w/ mom or ride my bike all day. yeah, i wonder what the choice would be!

it all started at the mall. well, it actually started when she made me give up riding my bike for the day and follow her to town. but my plan for payback started in the mall. my plan was to make her sorry for dragging me to town against my will. i'd say i succeeded, w/ flying colors. but i had to wait for the perfect moment to put my plan into action. i walked just a little bit behind her. when she turned around to talk to me, i put my hands up in front of my face and flinched like i was just about to be slapped. the look of horrified shock on her face almost knocked a laugh out of me. the rest of the way through the mall, if she turned toward me or raised her hand for any reason, i held up my hands to protect my head and flinched as if i was so used to being slapped it might happen at any second.

now, just for the record -- i had never been abused in my life, so that idea was totally preposterous. i had my fair share of swats, smacks, and thumps -- but i never had one i didn't deserve. in fact, i'm sure i didn't get as many as i did deserve because i didn't always get caught in my orneriness. she was SO angry at me that she probably felt like slapping me until i saw stars. but of course she couldn't or she would have just confirmed what people were thinking -- that she was a child abuser.

she was embarrassed and couldn't hardly hustle me out of the mall fast enough. we had our silent ride home, and then we would parade my sins before dad. all i could think of was that my forced servitude as shopping partner would be over and i could head off to ride my bike for the rest of the day. well, i didn't get to ride my bike that day. instead, a cleaning rag and a dirty parts bin had my name written all over them, punishment for embarrassing my mother in such an awful way. i knew if i finished w/ that too soon, another miserable task would be set for me.

thankfully, my father was an ornery child, so i knew he would see the humor in it even if he didn't show it in front of mom. he definitely wasn't happy w/ me for upsetting mom, and he wasn't happy about having to deal w/ the situation. as we walked out of the house toward the shed, he looked me and said, "you're a pill!" as he hooked his arm around my neck and gave me a hug and a shake at the same time. when he released his hold on me, i stepped back and looked up into his eyes. when i knew i had his attention, i held up my hands to protect my head and flinched. when i saw the look of shock on his face, i broke and ran for the shed and his laughter followed me all the way.

10 things people are shocked to find out

10 things people are shocked to find out about me . . .
(especially those who have known me a while but not well)

1. i have a tattoo on my body
2. i have my eyeliner tattooed
3. i have children in college (ages 21 and 19)
4. i have my first grandchild
5. i'll turn 40 this year
6. i work 2 jobs to support my family
(and have worked as many as 5 at once)
7. i was married to a preacher's son
8. i'm working on my 2nd masters degree
9. i ride a motorcycle
10, i have my cosmetology license

whinging persimmons

whinging -- that's the technical term for "throwing a really long ways" and i used a limber, green switch to perform that magnificent feat. that's what i was doing that day -- whinging persimmons. we all have to have a purpose in life and need something to occupy our time. that day, the summer before i turned 10, i was running short on things to do and didn't have much purpose in life, so whinging persimmons fit right in my schedule of events. since i didn't have any specific responsibilities at the time, i was expected to stay out of trouble while the older and more responsible people on the farm were working. that in itself was often a challenge!

it was a nice, hot summer day. i had ridden my motorcycle in the morning and found a persimmon tree down in the pasture. persimmons are about the size and consistency of a golf ball in late summer. we usually kept fairly good track of where the persimmon trees were because they were the most awful tasting things you could imagine. we always fed them to visiting city folks, just for kicks. persimmons were so tart and sour that a person's mouth just puckered up and went totally dry. like all the saliva in your mouth was suddenly sucked out, leaving a dry acidic taste. what people didn't realize was that persimmons are really delicious -- after the first freeze. then they are ripe, red and juicy and sweet. of course, those people who tried a green persimmon were not about to take a chance and try one again!

i picked a shirt-full, all that would fit in the front of my t-shirt w/ the bottom folded up. then i gave my shirt another roll up and tucked it tight around me to transport my treasure back to the house. when i arrived, i saw that a road crew was taking a break in our lane. they had a long-standing tradition of parking their trucks in the far driveway under the huge catalpa trees and resting in the shade for breaks and lunch. sometimes they even left their vehicles there overnight or over the weekend.

most of the guys on the crew knew my parents and had been there several times before. i didn't have anything else to do, so i decided to show off in front of the road crew and spend some time whinging persimmons. i was in the other yard, w/ my sharpened, green switch and a pile of persimmons. it's important to have a green switch when whinging persimmons, because the bendable limb provides the best whinging performance. the sharpened end made stabbing the hard, green persimmons easier. with a little luck and considerable skill, i could whing persimmons about 100 to 150 yards or more, over the highway and into the neighbor's field. that was what was so amazing about whinging persimmons -- they flew forever!

i was just getting warmed up, had a few good throws, and had the attention of a few of the workers. they had called out greetings and waved, just like normal. after a couple more throws, something unusual happened. right after i threw, one of the guys just dropped flat. he was an older man, the crew boss, and the other guys thought he'd had a heart attack. i was quicker than that, though, as i was fairly sure it had something to do w/ the persimmon that i had just thrown.
i took off running for the house like my butt was on fire, and i was pretty sure it would be if that man lying on the ground had anything to do w/ me and my persimmons. i raced in the back door, to get out of sight quicker, and then went on about my normal activities. i never mentioned the fallen man or the possible misplaced persimmon. no need to go looking for trouble, as it usually had a pretty good idea where i was at any given time.

nothing was ever said about the persimmon episode or the man who had collapsed in the front yard, so i assumed everything was cool. like i said, no need to go looking for trouble. what i didn't realize was the fallen man knew my parents and knew them fairly well. a couple months later when we were at the county fair, he happened to bump into my parents and did he ever have a funny story to tell them! or so he thought -- as my parents didn't see much humor in the story.

i was to meet my parents back at the pta stand, which is probably where they spent most of their night catching up w/ old friends and hearing the news. the problem was that they were hearing news they didn't much care for while the rest of the crowd was having a real knee-slapping guffaw out of it. after they had said their hellos to friends and neighbors, the road crew boss came up and started telling a story about how he had been out working near the campbell's last summer and just collapsed on the job. he told of how all his crewmen thought he'd had a heart attack and was dying. the crewmen were starting to get really worried, as they couldn't rouse the man at all, when one of them picked up a persimmon from the ground near the fallen man. as they looked up, they saw a little kid running for the house. they put the clues together and figured out that the persimmon had come from the kid throwing them in the yard. the fact that i was running to the house confirmed their suspicions. the persimmon that i had thrown had struck him in the left temple and knocked him unconscious. he had fallen right where he stood. looking at the shocked looks on my parents face, he realized that i had never told them about the incident, and then he thought it was that much funnier. he was not the least bit angry about the incident, and he thought that i was quite the intelligent (but ornery) kid to keep that information to myself!

i didn't know yet that i was busted, as i was off running around w/ my friends riding the rides. when i showed up at the pta stand, i noticed how my parents didn't look quite as happy to see me as everyone else, but i didn't know why. i ordered a hamburger and drink and sat down to eat. when i was done, we loaded up in the car and started home. i guess my parents figured 40 minutes in the car on the way home was enough to take care of my behavior discussion, so they didn't say anything about it until we were loaded up and on our way.

i was seated in the back of the car and it was dark, thank goodness. my dad said, "is there anything you'd like to tell us about?" and i was thinking "what kind of a stupid question is that?" if there was anything i wanted to tell them, i would've told them already, so i said, "uhm, no." so dad encouraged me to think real hard about something that i had done and maybe not told them about. the problem w/ that suggestion was that there were several things i had done and not told them about! i wasn't about to start confessing to things when i didn't know what they were fishing for. i had a whole list of things to choose from, too.

dad went on to tell me that they had met up w/ mr. simons at the fair, but that meant nothing to me. then he related their experience of mr. simons telling them a story about their kid hitting him w/ a persimmon, knocking him unconscious, and then running in the house. he also pointed out how embarrassing it was for to be told this story when he and mom had no idea what mr. simons was talking about. i didn't buy it, though, because i didn't think dad would've been too happy w/ the story told whether he knew about it in advance or not, but i decided not to argue that point right now. i was thinking, "i don't know why you're embarrassed, i was the one about to get into trouble!" dad was starting to see the humor in the situation, but i don't think mom saw the humor for several years. that didn't mean that i wasn't still in a heap of trouble for that escapade, but at least i had one parent was NOT set on killing me that night!

school started the next week, and i had a new teacher -- mrs. simons, the wife of the persimmon victim. of course, she had heard the story since the day it happened, and she knew that her husband was getting quite a kick out of the fact that i was in her class. after all, he could hear about my antics all year long! whenever he came to school for some reason, he always went out of his way to talk to me. i apologized for hurting him, as that was never my intention, but he was not upset over it.

we became good friends, and years later when i was in high school and a 9th grade starting player on the varsity volleyball team, he was my loudest fan. he always sat on the bottom row and near the door, probably so he could sneak out and smoke, and yelled and cheered like crazy as i was scoring points on serves. when i broke the state record on unreturned serves, he was the one keeping the count and pushing the coach to keep me in and substitute others out, especially those people that couldn't keep a volley going. he was my personal cheerleader!

when people expressed surprise that i could serve so fast and so hard that the other teams couldn't return them, he would just laugh and say "of course she can serve. she's been throwing persimmons like rockets for years, too. must have been good practice for serving volleyballs." then he would wink and give me the thumbs up.

by the end of my high school volleyball career, mr. simons was attending the games in a wheel chair. his legs didn't work anymore, but that hadn't dimmed his attitude, his excitement, or his determination. he was a great inspiration to me over the years, even though i didn't know him that well. i guess we had a special bond since he was the man i almost killed w/ a persimmon.

the tattoo battle

getting a tattoo is quite a decision. after all, this is something that will be on a person's body for the rest of his or her life. few things are more permanent than a tattoo. since i'm not a person who makes rash decisions or uncalculated moves in life, i spent a few years truly considering whether i wanted to get a tattoo. i knew i "wanted"one, but did i really want one bad enough to have one done and carry the stigma that goes w/ having a tattoo? that was the question.

i started considering a tattoo when i was about 25 and still married. i knew that it would be a huge issue, as his family was all about image. it didn't matter that they were "dirty underneath" just so as they were smooth as silk on the surface. i shelved the idea of the tattoo for the time, but it resurfaced after i was divorced. now i was only accountable to God and myself, and i really wanted a tattoo.

i researched the costs and the risks involved, plus i visited some of the tattoo businesses around here. they were called tattoo parlors, but the word "parlor" just reminds me of a bordello and i would rather not think of them such. i was 27 or so at the time, and still was unsure of whether i was willing to mark my body permanently or not. i knew how i felt about it, i knew what the Bible said about it, and i knew how my family would react. all very contradictory, too.

i kept pondering the idea and even designed the tattoo i wanted. i knew in my heart that some day i would get the tattoo, but now was just not the right time in my life. i had too many battles to fight right now to add another one to it by choice. but it was there, in the back of my mind, simmering. i had the tattoo, but the time wasn't right. time went on, and i kept considering the tattoo. i wanted it, but not enough yet to make the move to go get it. but times were changing. i was in grad school at this point in life (30 years old and in the fall of 96), and things were very stressful. my father was diagnosed with als (lou gehrig's disease) and not doing well, grad school was kicking my butt, and i was fighting a custody battle w/ my ex for the children and their visitation. i was totally stressed out. i was sitting in my office at school, trying to get something done, and realized i was just fed up. my stress valve popped, and i decided that i needed out of there. i decided that now was the time to go get that tattoo that i had been wanting, and i got up and left.

i went to body accents in joplin for the tattoo, but decided on the way that the one that i had designed was not right for this time of my life. i looked through all their designs in the shop, and none of those were right for me either. how ironic -- now i had the time for the tattoo, but the tattoo wasn't right. i knew that picking out a design or picture was not something to take lightly, and i wasn't about to chose something i wasn't sure of. i think i wandered around the shop for about an hour and a half before i made my decision. i took out my tube of desert rose lipstick, applied it w/ precision, puckered up, kissed a piece of paper, and handed it to the tattoo artist and said, "would you please put this on my backside?" he had a look of amused surprise on his face, but laughed as he readily agreed. now i had the right time in life and the right tattoo. a dangerous combination!

since the tattoo wasn't large, it didn't take too long. i was kind of worried, though, that i would wiener out b/c of the pain or something. fortunately, it didn't hurt much at all, but i still almost passed out. ALMOST, being the key word there. the tattoo artist had started on the tattoo and been working about 2 minutes when i suddenly felt very hot and a little woozy. i told him i thought i needed a cold cloth, and he quickly provided it and a fan blowing air in my face. turns out i wasn't really sick, but just so relieved that it didn't hurt like i imagined it would. he readily explained that it was a common reaction, as people often build it up to be much worse than it truly is and then are surprised/relieved after it starts. after that little break, we went on w/ the tattoo-ing process w/ no more holdups. before i left the tattoo place, i was given some ointment for the new tattoo and some instructions on how to care for it. it didn't hurt much, but it was a little tender. the toughest thing, though, was taking care of something that needs cleaned, medicated, and bandaged on your own backside! yeah, i could've asked for help, but i didn't want to tell anyone about the tattoo. i just had to figure out how to take care of it myself!

my decision to keep it private was for several reasons, but mostly b/c it was a personal statement. i don't have to wave a flag around just b/c i have one, and that's how i felt about the tattoo. it was my personal statement to the world, society, my ex, the court system, people who labeled kids of divorced parents as "at risk" and any other crap in my own life at the time. sort of like a private joke. i didn't tell anyone -- not my kids, my friends, my boyfriend (future husband), my parents. no one.

the other main reason that i kept the tattoo to myself was because i respected my parents and their views, which differed greatly from mine. i didn't fear them and i didn't feel the need to rebel against them. i didn't necessarily agree w/ them, but i had too much respect for them to flaunt my different views. i had made a choice that i knew they would not like, but i didn't parade that choice in front of them. as far as i could see, my tattoo was out of sight and could quite possibly go unnoticed forever in their lives. not often did they have the chance to see my bare backside after childhood! besides, my father was dying and he didn't need any extra stress. so, now i was tattoo-ed, marked for life. it was rather amazing, really.

i was terribly self-conscious about it for a while and knew that i needed to keep it hidden. i know you might be wondering how this could be a problem, but women often change clothes in the same area and i had children that were used to being in my space. there were opportunities where other people might be around while i was dressing. for several months, trying to make sure the tattoo was hidden sometimes stressed me out. the first time i really looked at it after it was healed, i was amazed that the picture was actually identifiably MY lips. until then, i hadn't thought a person's mouth was that definitive in shape. i mean, i knew there were different shapes, but i didn't think i could look at a shape and say "hey, that's (fill in the blank) 's mouth!" but i could definitely identify those lip prints! after a while, i became so accustomed to it being there that i hardly thought of it anymore. weeks or months would go by and i wouldn't even think of it or i would be surprised when i saw it in the mirror. that was a funny feeling!

in 1999, i decided to add to my tattoo list. i had my eyeliner tattoo-ed, both top and bottom. although permanent makeup is different, it still qualifies as a tattoo. it's not as deep and it's not permanent (lasts 5 - 10 years), but it's still ink implanted under the skin w/ a needle == a tattoo. there was no secret on this one, and even my mother was fine w/ it. but this was part of the image of a professional business woman. i guess because i had some logical reason for doing this it made this one ok. certainly different than a regular tattoo. so far, that one was still on the hush-hush.

around 2001 or so, both of my children started to express an interest in tattoos. it was quickly becoming the "in" thing. both kids were talking about what tattoo they would like to get, how much it would cost, and how much it would hurt. at this point, i decided to talk to the kids openly about tattoos. we always discussed things openly, and that always helped. i told them about my tattoo and they were both shocked that i had had one almost 5 years and they didn't know it. we talked about it being a life-long commitment, attitudes (likes and dislikes) that change over time, and artistic quality.

i knew at that time that both of my children would eventually have tattoos. i did not object to that, but did (and still do) object to people being stupid about tattoos! i talked w/ them about what and where was appropriate. i felt that if either of them was to get a tattoo that it should be something that anyone could see, but located where it could easily be covered up. society still has many preconceived notions about people w/ tattoos and will make decisions about a person based on the fact that he or she has a tattoo. for my family, that means people who have tattoos are military, white trash, whores, or some combination of the three. i felt that any time a person is dressed formally, the tattoo should not show. when and if it did show, it should not be offensive in nature or just plain ugly. after all -- this is a life-long thing.

summer is 21 and still does not have a tattoo, although she may get one next week. she has wanted one, but i would not pay for it. i feel that a tattoo is personal, and the owner should make the choice to do it and pay for it alone. it's no one else's responsibility or decision.

scott is 18, and he got his first tattoo in july of 2004. i say "his first" because he has plans to get more, although i'm not sure how many. he and i talked quite a bit on tattoos before he made his choices. he's a big boy, and he has a big tattoo on his right bicep. he designed the idea himself, and the tattoo artist did a great job of it. he has a celtic cross, dripping blood and overgrown w/ vines from an armband of the crown of thorns, that says "ONLY GOD CAN JUDGE ME". if a young man is to be tattoo-ed, a statement of his christianity is not a bad thing to wear, in my opinion. plus, it gives him an opportunity to talk about it, as most people are quite intrigued by tattoos.

he worked extra and saved his own money to pay for the tattoo. something that i feel is important for the individual's own self-satisfaction. plus, he also thought of the design himself. that makes his tattoo individualized -- not just a copy of some artist's drawing in a book. it looked good, and he was very proud of it. good thing, too, huh?

he showed up at the family reunion on july 4th in a sleeveless shirt, intending to show off the tattoo. his grandmother (my mother) looked at him, elbowed him, and said, "that's not real" and walked right on past him. of all reactions he might have expected, that one wasn't it! well, it didn't take her long to work her way through the crowd to pull me over to the side and ask if it was real and then to give me "what for" on scott's tattoo. when i tried to explain, she said, "we'll talk about this later!"

well, later arrived at 10 pm that night when we arrived at her house to shoot off fireworks. she was loaded for bear when i walked in the door, too. the first words out of her mouth were "why did you let him do that?" i was again amazed at her misconception that you can just make demands of a person and they will do it! this never worked w/ me when i was a kid; i don't know why she thinks it will work on my kids when they are technically adults! i calmly explained that we had spent quite a bit of time talking about the tattoo issues and scott decided that he wanted one. she said, "well, why didn't you just tell him that he couldn't have one?" i pointed out that he was 18, he used his own money to pay for it, he drove his own car, and that he could have one if he wanted it. she didn't like any of those answers until i pointed out that wearing a picture that proclaimed your belief in Christ and your accountability on judgment day was not a bad thing. in a regular t-shirt, it's covered up. hardly offensive to most people.

she groused around for quite a while, pointing out several of my faults as a parent and insinuated that i was just too easy on my kids. it hasn't occurred to her that i'm just more open-minded than she is on, oh, just about every topic under the sun. i might not agree w/ it, but i can acknowledge that someone has a different view on it and still show them respect as an individual. finally she said, "well, i would've just demanded that my kid not get one!" that was the final straw, as i don't believe that a tattoo changes the person wearing it anymore than ear piercings change the person putting the earrings in. i looked at her and said, "i thought my time was better spent discussing what and where was appropriate for a tattoo. besides, i didn't want my kid wearing a tattoo for 10 years w/o me knowing about it."

needless to say, that knocked the wind out of her sails. when it sunk in, she was floored to know that i had a tattoo and that i had that tattoo for 10 years w/o her knowing it. and for obvious reasons -- she wasn't open-minded enough to deal w/ it. at first she didn't believe me, and demanded to see it. considering what it was and where it was -- i was perfectly happy to show it to her after our previous discussion! i pointed out that i had been the same person over the last 10 years as she thought i had been before she knew i was tattoo-ed. then i went ahead and pointed out to her that 7 other people (both in-laws and outlaws) in my generation (on her side of the family, b/c that's the only one that mattered!) were also tattoo-ed. times were/are changing and she needed to catch up some.

she eventually got over the tattoo battle and even told other people that scott had a really nice tattoo. she never mentioned mine, and i didn't either. i figured it was too much for her to tell people that her daughter had a tattoo as well. after all, with it being her grandson (of divorced parents) she can put the blame for his rebellious nature on "the dark side" if she wanted to. it's not like anyone else would believe it all came from there anyway, but it might make her feel better!

well, the tattoo saga continues. i have my next tattoo picked out, but i have to earn it first. i set a goal to lose 40 pounds, and i haven't reached it yet. the last 18 months have been pretty rough, but i set this goal about 12 months ago. raven was born and had complications at birth, chris had left and we had divorced, i had a terrible experience teaching and walked out in october of the year, and i was staring bankruptcy in the face for "being so damned stubborn" (as my mother put it). i felt like my life was just sinking pretty low. on top of that, i had let my church life slide b/c of problems at church, dislike and disrespect of the clergy couple, and just plain self-pity on my part, probably.

in trying to get some order and control (and maybe a little motivation) in my life, i came up w/ the idea to lose some weight and reward myself w/ the new tattoo. the next step was to design the tattoo. well, that AND lose the weight! trust me -- designing the tattoo has been much easier! anyway, i wanted something that again made a personal statement. no one has to know about the tattoo, as i don't intend to flaunt this tattoo either. but it's documenting a phase in my life and significant events and feelings -- it's important. it's a permanent mark on my body.

the new tattoo, that i haven't yet earned, has 3 tiger lilies twined together, representing the 2 children and myself. i chose tiger lilies because you just can't keep them down. can't kill them, can't keep them from growing, can't control them, can't fence them in or out. i thought that was a good representation for us -- we're strong, we survive, we live, we succeed, we're a team, we stick together, we take care of our own, we thrive. we will come out of this situation and all others as a team, knowing that we always have the others to rely on in life. and because i don't want to leave raven out of this phase of life, a little butterfly fluttering around one of the smaller tiger lilies to represent her. she's all beauty and innocence and joy. that picture symbolizes a particular time period of struggle to success in my life -- w/ some major events going on. it's who and what i am and what i stand for.

i intend to have this tattoo by august 1, 2005. we'll see if i can make if or not. if not, i'll keep plugging away at it -- but i will get it sooner or later. the original tattoo that i had designed in 1995 is now known in my mind as the "perfect tattoo" and is still waiting for the "perfect time" as it must fit my life at that time -- when i have accomplished all that is really important to me. it is for when i am totally satisfied w/ my position in life and in all parts of life. then i will have that symbol put on my body. no one knows of this design, but i'll post it for all the world to see when i have achieved it.

trapped in the dark

cold . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . cold . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . silver . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . noise . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . .cold . . . . . . . . . . hear her calling . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . hear her . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . hear her calling . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . noise . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . .purple . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . nothing . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . .hear her . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . nothing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . hear her yelling . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . can't see her . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . cold . . . . . . . . . . hear her yelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . can't see . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . noise . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . cold . . . . . . . . . . . . hear her . . . . . . my name. . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . hear her . . . . . . . . . . screaming . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . can't see . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . screaming dad's name . . . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . can't see. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . . . . screaming . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . .. . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . her screaming . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . loud noise . . . . . . . . . . . . . dad yelling. . . . .. . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . hands . . . .. . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . can't see . . . . . . .. . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . .. . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . hands . . . . . . . . . my name . . . .. . . . . . . pulling . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . . her crying . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . . daddy . . . .. . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . talking . . . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . . . roaring . . . . . . . . . . squeezing . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . . talking . . . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . . running . . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . leaving . . . . . . . . . . crying . . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . motor . . . . . . . hand . . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . riding . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . .my name . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . . squeezing . . . . . . . . . . shaking . . . . . . . . . . . talking . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . running . . . . . . . . dark . . . . . . . . . swirls . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . .. . . . daddy . . . . . . . . running . . . . . . . . . . . yelling . . . . . . . . . hands . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . crying . . . . . . . .bright . . . . . . shining . . . . . .. . . . . . . scared . . . . . . . . . . . hurts . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . bright . . . . . . . . . my name . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . purple . . . . . . . . . . . black . . . . . . . . . . . . .

i haven't had the dream very many times, maybe 8 or 10 times in my life, and i only lived it once, but it still scares me. gives me the shakes and makes me sweat, followed by goose bumps -- the ones that tell me that i almost died and remind me that i'm not invincible. that's tough, too, as i like to think that i am. or maybe not think that i am, but more like just not acknowledge that i'm not. to just pretend that life will go on and on without an end.

that day started off just like any other day on my parent's farm -- play in the milk barn before breakfast, wash up, eat breakfast, clean up the table, pack lunch and head to the field. this was a better working day, though, as we were working at stella's house. i loved her just like a grandma, but she let me get away w/ more than my grandma did. stella couldn't hear well and she was very forgetful. that meant that she often forgot that she told me not to do something already, several times, so she would just tell me again. it was like a never-ending period of grace as i never reached the point of getting in trouble. i wasn't used to getting very many warnings from others before i had a firm reminder on my butt, but not from stella. well, when we worked at stella's house, i didn't have to go to the field that day but could stay in the house w/ her. i was so excited. it was like being on vacation. we watched tv, ate m & m's, colored, slid down the stairs in a box, drank koolaid, played w/ play-doh, and just had lots of fun. well, i say that "we" did, but it was really just me doing those things. but it was still lots of fun and it beat another day riding in the tractor or sitting in the truck.

i was all excited to stay w/ stella, but after i got over there i found out that she had a dr. appointment and was gone to town. that changed everything, as i was too young to be left in the house by myself. i had to go to the field w/ everybody else. just another day like any other day, i guess. everyone else was working on machinery and getting ready to go to the field as i went off exploring on my own. i didn't have any real responsibilities unless i was told to do something. mostly i was just expected to stay out of trouble. out behind stella's house, there was an old brick brooder house, a storage shed, and a huge forest. in my adult life i see that the forest wasn't so big, but back then it went on forever. it looked very much like the large, dark forest that hansel and gretel got lost in. it was dark and scary. i didn't like to go out there because the stickers hurt my feet. i didn't wear shoes and my feet were pretty tough, but i still didn't like stickers. i knew there were ghosts in the brooder house, so i wasn't going in there any time soon. i didn't like to be scared. i was searching for something else to do. nothing is worse than having nothing to do!

parked out near the trees was an old tractor of dad's. it was the only tractor he had that used gasoline. i liked the smell of gasoline and always tried to stand close when someone was using the tank at home to fill something up. it tickled my nose to smell it and it made waves in the air when someone was putting it in the tank. kind of like heat waves coming off the highway, but just waves over the tank. everyone who worked around our farm knew i liked the smell of gasoline. it was no secret, but it had never been a problem either. probably because i wasn't big enough to work the pump by myself. i never thought of smelling it on purpose; i just liked it when i did have to smell it.

dad didn't use the gasoline tractor much, and i'm not even sure why he kept it. but he always took care of his equipment and one of those things meant filling the tank up after each day's use. vehicles were always parked w/ a full tank of fuel, something about not getting water in the tanks and that would be bad. every night i stood w/ him at the tanks while he filled things up i asked why he did it. he had told me many times, but i had quit listening by that point. i mean, i heard his voice, but i wasn't paying attention to the words anymore. i was just interested in smelling the gasoline, i guess. so here i was, off exploring on my own and i realized that i could have a smell of gasoline if i wanted. no one ever told me not to do it or that it was bad for me. not that it would've made any difference, probably, but i really didn't know.

i climbed up on the old tractor and sat on the hood of it just like i was sitting on a horse. i scooted and scooted out the nose until i had reached the gas tank lid. i opened the lid and saw the waves come out. i leaned forward and put my nose in the rising waves. h-m-m-m, smelled good. full, tingly, strong, gasoline. i sat up and looked around. i was feeling pretty big; after all, i was sitting on top of a tractor, looking out over all of my world, and doing just what i wanted. i didn't realize that i was getting high, but whatever it was -- it felt good. i leaned over and took another big breath of gasoline fumes and sat back up. it was hot outside and the sun was bright, and the waves were coming up out of the tank. i was seated far enough back from the tank that i had to lean over to get a good smell. i was pretending i was riding a horse (because i wanted one really bad and couldn't get dad to buy me one) and smelling one of my favorite smells -- gasoline.

well after a few more big "schnooks" of gasoline, i passed out. problem now was that i passed out w/ my nose right over the tank. with the waves coming out in my face. that meant that the longer i was passed out the higher i got, and the higher i got the longer i would be passed out. kind of leading to a problem here, i can see now. unfortunately, it didn't seem like a problem when i headed into this mess.

my mom soon realized that she hadn't heard me for a while, and i wasn't generally into hiding or being too quiet. so she started calling for me. i knew that i didn't want to make her wait too long before answering or i'd really be in trouble. when i didn't come to her and i didn't answer her, she got worried and came looking for me, calling my name the whole way. i could hear her calling to me, but i couldn't do anything. it was like everything was happening far from me and in a dreamlike way. she totally went nuts when she found me -- passed out, unresponsive, and eyes rolled back in my head. she was screaming and dad and the guys came running. i know she thought i was dead or soon would be, and she just couldn't handle that. this was just about 15 months after chris' death. dad was calm, and i remember hearing him talk to me and hearing her screaming in the background. i was able to hear what was going on and understand some of it -- i just couldn't respond.

no one really knows how long i was in that position, passed out w/ my nose in the gas tank. i couldn't see, couldn't stand, couldn't talk, couldn't move. i was just barely there mentally. i was terrified. i was trapped in a dark place and i couldn't get out. dad pulled me down off of the tractor, held me to his chest, and ran for the pickup. he kept talking and talking the whole time, saying my name over and over. talking calmly, just like he did in the milk barn. i'm sure he didn't feel calm, but i didn't know that. he drove like a demon to the hospital in town. i remember feeling the pickup swerve and the feeling of being jostled around from it. he ran into the emergency room, carrying me and yelling for help. he talked the whole way there, saying my name lots of time to try and get my attention.

i could hear and i knew he was there. i didn't know what was happening or why, but i knew he was there and he would fix everything. that's what he did -- he took care of and fixed everything. he would take care of this, too. there was a lot of noise in the emergency room, voices i didn't recognize, things clanging together, voices on the speaker. i couldn't see anything still, and that made it feel more scary. i just remember smelling dad's aftershave and thinking that it didn't smell like gasoline. funny thought, really. it wasn't long before my head started to pound something fierce, like someone was hammering on the backside of my eyes. i imagined a miniature paul bunyon in my head, swinging a sledge hammer against the inside of my head. it hurt, and i still couldn't see. dad kept talking and talking, saying my name and trying to get my attention still. i felt so distracted, trying to concentrate on dad's voice, but also trying to figure out what was going on inside my head.

i had pancakes for breakfast that morning. my brother's favorite meal. i liked them ok, but i liked other things better. the pancakes were sitting heavy in my stomach right now, and really feeling like they weren't going to stay there. my head was pounding, and i wasn't sure what to do. i mean, i knew what to do but i just couldn't do it. i had no body control at all. so i just lay there, feeling my head pound and my stomach roll. i could feel myself blinking, so i know my eyes were open -- they just weren't seeing anything. cold air was blowing in my face and that helped my stomach. i didn't know that the cold air was from an oxygen tank, to help get rid of the lack of oxygen sooner than breathing normal air. my stomach was still churning, but i hoped it would settle down.

i finally woke up about an hour or so later and realized i was at the hospital. this caused a terrible scene, because i was terrified of the hospital. chris went to the hospital after the car hit him and he never came home. i thought bad things happened at hospitals. no one had ever told me that and i had never talked to anyone about it, but i knew. he left in the ambulance and he never came home. i had to get out of here and i wanted to go home. suddenly i was scrambling trying to get away. i couldn't believe dad brought me here. i squirmed and pinched, scratched, bit, scrambled, kicked, screamed, cried, hit, and carried on like a trapped bobcat. three nurses and dad couldn't hold me down. i was trying to climb over dad to get out of that room. my balance wasn't very good and neither was my coordination, but it didn't take much coordination to bite someone. i could tell from the voices that i was making headway. all except dad, who was still talking calmly and saying my name over and over.

i fought like crazy to get out of there until someone put something over my face and the world went black again. i remember thinking that i would be living in a black world now. i don't think i thought i was dying, but i knew things were not like they were supposed to be. i was scared and i didn't want to be there. when i woke up again, it was so bright in the room that the lights hurt my eyes. my body felt like it was heavy and stuck in molasses. i guess i had a shot while i was out to help keep me calm. dad was there talking to me the whole time and the nurses and doctors were moving around and talking. there was so much noise and it hurt my head. i wanted to sleep. i was so tired.

we went home in a few hours, but we had to go back everyday for the first week. we had to keep going back two times a week for the next six weeks, and every now and then after that. i had to stay in the house after we got home. i wasn't allowed to go out and play, ride my motorcycle, go swimming or anything. it was worse than being in trouble. i wasn't supposed to get too hot, which is impossible on a farm in the summertime. i was trapped in the house for weeks. what's worse, i felt like everyone was mad at me. it was one of those things where they were so relieved i was fine and then mad that i had put myself in danger and/or scared them so much. mom was definitely mad at me for doing "that stunt" and dad was just glad that he had his family home again.

sniffing gas was defintiely one of the more stupid things i've done in life, and don't think that my family will ever let me forget about it. an adventure that went wrong. an experiment that didn't work. a disaster that almost happened. whatever you want to call it, it was just another day on a farm for an adventurous kid. starting the next day, i thought everything was fine. unfortunately for me, my parents didn't see it that way. after that, i had "hawkeye" watching me. every time i was out of sight, i could hear her calling my name. i had about 10 seconds to answer or get "front and center" before all hell started breaking loose. took me a few times to figure that out, but i got it eventually.

still in life, if i do something that they consider stupid or make a choice that they don't approve of -- someone will make a joke about the "sniffing" incident. something pondering the number of brain cells that i might have destroyed or what i might have been w/ those extra brain cells. usually it's my brother. and despite the fact that he jokes about it now -- he was crazy w/ fear that day. he had seen his brother die the year before and now he thought he was seeing his baby sister die. for days after that, i would look up and just see him standing there . . . looking at me. he'd just smile and walk away, but he'd be back after a while to check on me again. he'd gripe about me being a baby that he needed to check on, but no one asked him to check on me and i already had a "keeper"! after that incident, it was a while before i was able to be on my own much!

in case you're wondering, i don't care for the smell of gasoline anymore. in fact, i don't care much for any of those kinds of smells -- diesel, kerosene, paint thinner, whatever. not only do i not care for the smell, i really can't stand those smells. even just small amounts of those things give me a pounding headache. must be something in my system that says "uh-huh, we're not doing THAT again!" fortunately for me, i'm a quick learner and it only takes one time for me to learn the lesson!