365 Days…

Some days can seem so very long, the click of the passing minutes echoing like a time bomb. On those days I think, “I just want this day done”! Other times, the moments slip through my grasp like tiny grains of sand. I want those moments back, but they are gone forever. 2018 will be complete in just a few short hours. As I think back over the months that created the year 2018, I smile and I cry. There were wonderful times and hard times. Nothing special and everything special, because isn’t that just life? Filled full of both good and bad. And yet, moments that instantly turned to memories, and I don’t want to forget.

On this New Year’s Eve I don’t want to write about parties or plans.

I just want to reach out and touch your hand.

I don’t want to worry about pain or age.

I am just happy to turn the next page.

As this year comes to an end, I want to think about how words can mend…

How love can heal, how God is good, knowing what is real, and doing what I could.

I want to consider what I can do to make 2019 better for you.

Before And After…

This Monday, October 10th, would have been my late husband’s 50th birthday. He passed away almost 16 years ago, just a few weeks after he turned 34. The old saying about how time stops for no one, really is true. A lot has happened in the years since his death, much has changed.

Sometimes on special occasions or during certain events, I am reminded of the hands of time. My husband, a huge Dale Earnhardt fan, didn’t know his NASCAR hero died in the last lap of the Daytona  500 in February of 2001. He never watched in horror, as the Twin Towers fell, and thousands perished on that fateful day in September. He wasn’t there when our son was baptized, or when he graduated from high school. He didn’t vote in the last few elections, and never got to see his grandchildren be born.

For those of us that have lost a loved one, a strange thing happens. Life becomes a series of, “before’s and after’s”. Remembering what happened before that person passed. And, what has happened since?

Thinking about Kennis today. Looking at pictures and noticing his lopsided grin, that lives on in our son. Reading the words his daughter posted to me, about missing her Dad. At certain times, the embers of remembrance are stirred until a bright flame breaks through the darkness. A time comes when one starts celebrating the life that was, instead of mourning the death that occurred.

However, as it is written: “What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived” — the things God has prepared for those who love him–       1 Corinthians 2:9 NIV

 

 

 

Challenge #13, A Toy Story

Today’s challenge is to remember one of my favorite toys as a child……

One of my favorite toys as a child, was my Mrs. Beasley doll. She was Buffy’s beloved doll on the TV show, Family Affair (aired on CBS, 1966-71).  When Mrs. B was new, she was a large doll, her soft body was blue with white dots. She had little plastic glasses, a dotted collar, an apron, and yellow feet (which I think were supposed to be “shoes” that were sewn on to her). Oh, and she had a cord that I could pull to hear her talk. Of course, as many dolls from childhood past, the talking dolls never talked for long. The sound was loved right out of them! Mrs. Beasley was a constant companion, and my mom had to perform several “surgeries” on my friend to properly reattach and restore an arm or neck. Somehow (I don’t remember when), my doll ended up with blue magic marker on her face. I’m sure I was attempting to give her some make-up. I still have Mrs. Beasley, although her glasses, and original clothing are long gone. To a toy collector she wouldn’t be worth much, but to me she was, and always will be priceless.

The Children That Changed Me–The Wrap Up

 The series that I’ve blogged on for the past several days has been a stroll down memory lane for me. I have had many, many students over the years and more stories than I can possibly tell in just a few short days. Even now, I continue to add new stories to my memory book. Each of my students touched me. Each of them special in their own way. I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to meet them. Being a special education teacher has been an adventure. An adventure I am still on. Most of the time when people ask me what I do, I reply “I’m a wife and mom with all the challenges that come with that, a home school teacher, and I teach in special education.” Then a lot of the time I get this response… “Oh, it takes a special person to teach kids like that.” Hmmm…… I’ve given that response some thought.  I don’t consider myself all that special because I teach individuals with special needs. The truth is I feel blessed to have had the opportunity.  It sounds like a pat answer, but it isn’t. I truly mean that. I’m not perfect by any stretch of the imagination….and there were many days that were frustrating and I felt like giving up…but than again nothing in life of any real value comes easily, does it?

Unfortunately, over the years, I’ve had educators tell me that they didn’t really see the point of having my students in their classrooms. “They aren’t going to learn anything anyway.”   “I don’t know what to do with them.” (As if they were a thing, instead of a person!) At first I found it extremely frustrating. After awhile I realized, if the teacher could not look beyond the disability to see the child, then it was their loss. Not all teachers were that way. Thankfully, there were many, many who reached out, worked hard, and met the challenges that special education entails. Both the students and the teachers walked away from the school year having learned something new about each other.  I’ve learned that special education isn’t perfect. It’s a lot of trial and error. Sometimes it’s going back to the drawing board and figuring out something new to try. It’s about not giving up.

One of my greatest treasures of the “special ed world” has been getting to know my student’s parents. Sure there have been some… um…..how shall I say this, interesting ones.  Yet, most of the parents I have met have been good people. I consider it a privilege to know them. Are parents of children with special needs perfect? No. Do they sometimes get angry, or frustrated, or feel sorry for themselves? Sure. They are human. Are they thankful, and happy, and see even the smallest improvement as something to celebrate? Yes. I don’t think parents are perfect. I do think they are real. Many of us will never know the pain of watching our child struggle to eat without a tube. We won’t understand the feeling of knowing that our child can’t be on the local soccer team because he/she can’t walk, much less run. We won’t be able to commiserate about what it is like to see our child struggle to read or write and not have them feel dumb or stupid….or different. Or what about the parent that has a child trapped inside his/her own head, who is smart and funny and creative–but is unable to communicate it, because autism has stolen that from her? Every time, over the years, that I met with a parent I kept this thought foremost in my mind. These parents love their child, imperfections and all. They are requesting my help because they want their child to meet his/her full potential. Whatever that may be for that particular child. They want a chance for their child, just like any other parent. That’s it. So, if there are any parents of children with special needs that are reading my blog today. Thanks goes to you. Really. You are the ones that deserve it.

The Children That Changed Me– The Memories Make Me Smile

The year is 1997. I’m still teaching in the same county, just a different school…one closer to my house. This would be the school I would teach in for the next ten years. I liked this school. I met many wonderful teachers and a lot of interesting students while there.

When I started at this elementary school I had seven years of experience under my belt and was fresh from the inner city experience. I felt like, since I survived that, nothing could slow me down now! The first day I met my new teaching assistant. She sized me up right away. Checking me out to see if I was up to par. I guess the “evaluation” turned out okay since we became fast friends both inside school and out. We were the dynamic duo of our little school….and boy, did we have some adventures together!

One little girl in particular always kept us on our toes. I will call her Vonda. I will not use her real name to protect the innocent or not so innocent as the case may be. She was EXTREMELY ADHD along with having learning disabilities. Now, I know a lot about ADHD…when I say she was EXTREMELY I mean it. This is the same girl that would walk around the room and touch everyone as I was trying to teach. I don’t mean a hand on the shoulder, or even a tap. I mean a full out ” squeeze you ’til your eyes pop out” hug. Or she might decide to give you a new hairstyle if your back was turned for a split second. The girl was constant motion. One day, right in the middle of a lesson, she jumped up, raised her arms to the ceiling and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Give it up for Jesus!” Okay. I love Jesus, but to be honest I wasn’t in a worshipful mood right then. I didn’t feel the need for a tent revival. I asked her to have a seat. My assistant told her to sit down….she did not. She bounced around praising Jesus instead of doing her schoolwork. You can imagine what the rest of the class looked like with her conducting her very own “come to Jesus” meeting and me attempting to have a lesson. All of them went wild, like monkeys at the zoo. Later that day, I informed her mother about the incident. Her mother apologized for her daughters impromptu church service…but she laughed. She said, “I have to tell you this story about Vonda.”

We were at church the other Sunday. Everyone was listening to the preacher, preach. We were all into the service, when Vonda started acting out. I didn’t want her to interrupt the service so I gave her “the look”. She ignored my “look” and continued to be disruptive. I whispered for her to sit down and be quiet. She looked the other way. I had, had it! She started in again and so I reached over and gave her a pinch on the leg to let her know I meant business. At this, she let out a loud, high pitched shriek. The congregation thought she was calling out because she was “in the spirit”. I just let them think that, as I gave Vonda another look. She was going to be “in the spirit” again if she didn’t quit!

I had a good chuckle over that story. Her mother and I bonded that day. We both knew what we were up against.

Not all my stories are easy to tell. Some hurt. Some stories I have chosen not to share because they still haunt me today. Stories of child abuse, drugs, and neglect…and a system that many times failed my students. My heart broke. My anger flared at the injustice of it all. When a person is passionate about something…sometimes emotions get in the way. Such is the story that I am about to tell……

I had a new student. I will call her Shelly. Shelly came from a home that was dysfunctional to say the least. Long story short it was all about neglect and emotional abuse. She had grandparents that loved her, but a mom that I don’t really think understood what real love meant.  I really liked Shelly a lot. She was a good kid except when she had “melt downs” and flipped desks and pulled over cabinets and threw things in a rage. You see Shelly was emotionally disturbed. She had a difficult time controlling her impulses….because mom saw fit to do drugs and drink alcohol while she was pregnant with her. She chose those vices over her own child’s health and well being. Shelly would never be “normal” because of her mother. The blame should be laid directly at her mother’s feet. Anyway, as a special education teacher I had to have meetings with parents at least once a year to go over progress.  I don’t know if mom was just having a bad day or what, but as we sat down at the table for the meeting she says to all the school personnel, “the fact that Shelly isn’t making much progress is YOUR fault.”  Now, I am usually a fairly calm and collected person. It takes a lot to get me truly riled up. At that moment I wanted nothing more than to come across that table at her. To scream in her face, “NO. It’s YOUR fault. YOU made the choice to do cocaine. YOU chose to DRINK. YOU chose this life for your daughter before she was even born. How dare you!! Go home and look in the mirror. YOU. YOU. YOU. Your daughter is damaged because you thought that YOU were more important than her and her future.”  I didn’t say this. Instead I just sat there and stared at her. I had to detach myself from it. From the situation. You see, over the years I learned that I can’t fix everyone. It’s not possible. Even though I wanted to help, I could only do what I could do,when my students were with me. Unfortunately, some times I had to turn kids over to situations that were less than desirable…because that is what our system says to do.

Tomorrow I will finish my blog series…my teaching-the later years.

Snapshots Of Life…Written In Ink

I am currently reading If You Lived Here, I’d Know Your Name by, Heather Lende. Mrs. Lende wrote about the ups and downs of life in small town, Haines, Alaska. I’ve really enjoyed seeing the world through her eyes.  My next reading selection will be Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon. I love books about small town life, and can get lost in them for hours at a time if left to my own devices. I love to read, I always have. I also enjoy writing. I was the child that always had a diary, then, as I got older, a journal. As a young child I made a family newspaper of all the happenings going on with my relatives. As a teen, I wrote poetry and nine years ago, I started this blog.

The other day I was looking through keepsakes. I have letters from my Nannan, from when I was in college. Her familiar handwriting allowed memories to wash over me, even though nearly three decades have come and gone since she was here. I keep notes and cards from my mom and read them over and over again when I need encouragement or reminders. I even keep snippets of paper that I’ve left simple notes on for the kids. Snapshots of life…written in ink.

Words…..

Reading.

Writing.

Meaning.

Memories.

Ah, The Romance Of Summer…

Today, I was reading through some of my old blog posts.

I came across this poem that I wrote a couple of years ago.

There is just something about summer time…

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Summertime Memories

Front porches, tree lined streets,

hometown parades, ice cream treats.

Lightning bugs, stars at night,

running barefoot, tea on ice.

Shucking corn, bumblebees

curtains blowing in the breeze.

Lemonade, country roads,

windows down, lawns need mowed.

Just washed linens smell like sun,

staying up late, having fun.

Coke in a bottle, feet in the sand,

old friendships, lots of plans.

Written by: Dawn Gibson

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Moments In Life

There are moments in life when you just know….know that this brief flash in time will forever be etched in the memory.

Times that are bittersweet.

When you realize at that very moment that everything will change.

Wanting just a little while longer…

but knowing it isn’t to be.

There is no going back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Today I am thankful for:

* clouds that scud across the moon

* watching the dark storm clouds pile up on the horizon

* waiting for the rain

* wispy fog hugging the ground

* the cry of birds in the early morning

* watching my son graduate

* tears of joy

* going out to eat as a family

* singing with my husband

* bouquet of roses

* cards from my husband and children

* love

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his love endures forever.  I Chronicles 16:34

 

 

 

 

When Did The Days Become Years?

Twenty-four hours, never seems like enough.

Don’t we all feel the way the moments of sand slip through the hour glass of time?

When did the days become years?

And why wasn’t I truly awake to see them?

Oh, my eyes work, but often times I miss what is right in front of me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Capture the pictures with eyes wide open.

Heart moments.

The moments that really matter.

The ones that will be remembered for all the times to come.

 

“But I trust in you, O LORD; I say, “You are my God.” My times are in your hand.” – Psalm 31:14-15, ESV

 

All Stories Have A Beginning

Today’s writing prompt is:  your story

 

My Story–Part 1

It is interesting, those things that we remember so vividly from our childhood. The things that we don’t think about very often, but are a part of us, woven into the very fabric of our lives. All stories have a beginning, they all start somewhere. My particular story has me going back to my Mid-Atlantic home state of Maryland. I grew up in a rural county, with rolling hills and farmland, away from the lights and noise of Baltimore and Washington D.C.. Most of my family lived close by and it was not unusual to have frequent family get togethers. Relationships were cemented during those early years. Time spent playing with cousins, going to church, riding my bike, and figuring out school life. Looking back, my school was quite the melting pot. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was nothing to have friends with last names like Slobodnik, Kavalish, Capporola, Modi, or Polignone. The school bus would let me off at the main road. I would walk the half mile back the gravel road that led to home. Funny thing, I remember those walks home as some of the best times. I would sing, pretend to have conversations and practice what I would say, talk to God,  pick wild flowers, stop and watch the clouds in the sky, and occasionally run into a ground hog that was surprised to see me on the road. Those quiet times allowed me the time to breathe and think and just enjoy. To this very day, I thrive when I’m allowed to carve out some quiet time in my otherwise busy schedule.  That is the way I am…the way God made me.

The days turned into years, and into the next stage of my life. The tight grasp on what was familiar, loosened. My path, after graduation, took me far from home…..and, I had no idea what lay ahead. It was probably better that way, the not knowing.

Tomorrow I will tell more of my story……