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Prologue to Assignments From My Daughter
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Prologue to Assignments From My Daughter |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States 
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Prologue to Assignments From My Daughter By Larry Chadwick It is Father’s Day and my mind naturally turns to my children. Defining moments, I always thought, were adult experiences. But not for Ginger. When she was two years old she disappeared and thirty minutes later we found her eight blocks away by herself strolling next to our little version of Main Street. She showed no signs of distress. When next she decided to leave home it was done with a dramatic and emotional announcement. In fact I helped her pack her suitcase. It is important to understand the needs of a three year old when packing things for their first solo journey. So patiently I placed each item in that small case. It is amazing how many stuffed animals one small travel bag can hold. I offered food but she declined. I held the door open on a world that was on the brink of dusk hoping she would stay, an option she declined. Boldly she stepped onto the porch and proceeded without any physical signs of hesitation. Daddy’s confidence did not equal hers. So in the growing darkness I slinked along from tree to pole to pole. I moved quickly as her three year old stride was packed with determination. She was off to Jennifer’s home on the far side of town and she was in a hurry to take up permanent residence there. Two blocks and a left turn. Up the hill past the school where her mommy was the first grade teacher. Not a twinge of guilt as she strode by. Past great-grandma’s house without even a pause. After seven blocks she took the appropriate left turn onto Fourth Street. Upon reflection I believe her hesitation was not emotional but rather physical. Fourth Street hill was long and straight and looked like it was a march into a dark tunnel. Her steps faltered. I ducked behind a tree as she paused and turned. She was flooded with doubt and regret and immediately burst into sobbing. In only seconds I had her in my arms. How I relished that long walk home. If only it were that simple now. It was that same year that Ginger accepted the position of teacher’s aide in the first grade classroom at the public school. Labor laws were skirted as she was working with her mommy. But she was faithful daily in her responsibilities. And throughout her illustrious career managed a steady flow of pay increases. Fortunately her initial pay had nothing to do with minimum wage scales. Her appetite for the classroom was truly both genetic and ingrained. So it was an oddity when in the third grade she began to be routinely ill at the moment it was time to leave for school. In just a matter of days her illness advanced to vomiting. The conflict was with her teacher. There is no rational defense for the theory of jealousy. A twenty-nine year old woman should not be intimidated by a nine year old. And even less so by a nine year old who is madly in love with school and classrooms and learning. But Ginger was absurdly accused of standing at the head of the desk and interpreting the teachers grade book via her skills of reading upside down and backwards. It was never clear as to why this information would be desired. But it served as a premise for undeserved discipline and abuse. At the threat of placing her in public school a transfer was made to Mrs. Lang’s multi-grade classroom. At the feet of this model woman and model teacher Ginger’s natural desires were nurtured to their full potential. And the morning illnesses vanished as instantly as they had begun. Her compassion for students, I know without a doubt, began in the third grade. I have had to say some early good byes. It is a sobering irony. Back when she was eleven I had been gone for the weekend on a rare business trip. When I returned home on Sunday, March 17, 1985, she was the only one there. Ginger always handled whatever life would deal to her. It turned out that her fourteen year old brother was off on some project with his friend Joel and her mom was at school working hard on her first grade class room. I always enjoyed my time alone with Ginger. The conversation lapsed for a moment while I began to unwind from the rigors of my travels. “Dad, mom really cleaned your room,” she said without insight. Instinctively I knew as I headed quickly down the hall. Our bedroom had been purged…of me. My drawers and closet rod were all empty. Replaced neatly by a stack of boxes in my closet. Though near by the trip to the little public school was a long ride. Uncharacteristically there was no drama. JoAnne asked that I move out and I requested that we go home and tell the kids. When we soon arrived at home they were both there. And so we had our last family meeting. I explained to the children that based on circumstances it would be best if I moved out. Mom and dad were getting a divorce. Often I reflected on that event trying desperately to understand what our failure had done to our children. But always I am distracted by how it ended. I stood to hug my children, pack my guilt and leave. When in defiance of all reason Ginger was told by her mother, “Ginger, you better hurry up and do something or your dad is going to leave and never come back.” Four lives instantly were redefined. It sealed a disastrous moment, with unnecessary feelings, prematurely ending an otherwise naïve childhood for two children. By genetic history and family placement my experience in relationships was reasonably un-dramatic and typically rewarding. But now I began the unexpected journey of rebuilding my connection to both of my children. It was to be an arduous and painful journey. At the age of thirty-five I too closed the chapter of my life on naïveté. For most of the next year my children were combative and disrespectful. Placed in the middle of an adult battle, where lies were used as weapons of manipulation, they floundered. But so did their parents. In December my broken home experienced another purging. Bearing both my name and my personality Larry Jr., at fifteen, was thrown out of the house as unceremoniously as I had been. Oddly some healing, though slow, began that day. But employment requirements pushed me, with my son, to move. We left Washington state on our new journey to Michigan. Money has the ability to define life. And had I possessed enough of it I could have redefined Ginger’s life. Hindsight suggests that would have been completely unnecessary. But my heart stills aches over that missed opportunity. She genuinely longed to live with her dad and brother. But disputed custody battles are costly, both financially and emotionally. So Ginger remained with her mom. The summer of her sixteenth year had potential oozing from every moment. When we retrieved her from Chicago O’Hare airport she was a skinny budding woman with hair longer than she liked. Her eager arrival felt much like what I had imagined was in her heart when I packed her bags with stuffed animals at the age of three. Lake Michigan was an attraction for us all that provided much pleasure and opportunity. So we made it our mission to shop for her first bikini. After all, it was her sixteenth summer. She modeled many suits. But when the right one came out of the dressing room none of us doubted the choice. Yet still things were not right for the beach. So we found the most obviously gay hair dresser available and confidently placed her in his hands. He was talented, fun and incredibly sensitive to her trepidation. Going from hair longer than she wanted to hair shorter than she ever had might have been truly traumatic. Except it was done by the right person. It was like releasing a sixteen year old girls personality from her childhood. Instantly she walked away a woman giddy with anticipation for what that meant. With high school graduation her goal she headed home so grown up and gorgeous that she did a little bit of modeling. But she had not lost her focus. It was a delight that her grandpa completed his first ever wood working project for Ginger, a gorgeous replica of a 1940’s child’s chest that functioned wonderfully as a night stand. A poignant analogy of the transition of her life from high school to college. And I built her a cedar hope chest to complete the day. I believe it was almost exactly ten years after her mother asked her to do something or her dad might leave forever that she took action. It is a painful truth that time and distance are hard hurdles to overcome and still maintain an intimate relationship. Daddy’s little girl was about to cease being daddy’s little girl. It was her 21st birthday and my gift and card were late. So I was forced to manage her birthday long distance with only a phone call. Her somber tone signaled trouble as she indicated to me that I had broken the rules of our relationship. And the announced consequence was that we could not have a relationship if I was not able to demonstrate how important she was to me. “Honey, before I go you need to understand just a couple of things. Daddy has his flaws and you know I’ve never hidden them. I am by nature a procrastinator and I am not proud of it. But you need to understand that you are not the first to bear the brunt of that reality. Your brother and both of your step-brothers along with all of my family have had to deal with late birthday greetings. I apologize but I have not overcome that problem. And before you go I want you to know that when you are ready I will always be there for you. I love you and I am sorry.” A quick goodbye and it was settled. It was a lonely and long year but she was on my mind daily. We were visiting Larry Jr. and having a great weekend. So it was not extraordinary that he was in an animated phone conversation. Distracted from whatever had occupied my attention he placed the phone in my hand. “Hello?” Ah, how easy she had returned to my life. Now it seemed as if only a moment had passed and that without incident. We resumed, from that day, where we had left off. She was still daddy’s girl. But fast forward five years. It was my birthday and even on that day I don’t do all that well at retrieving the mail. Ginger called. “Happy birthday pops!” Bubbly and sincere but followed with an explanation. “Uh, dad? You know teaching is really a lot of work. And it takes up so much of my time. It seems I don’t have a life. I did not forget your birthday but I have just been so busy. I mean, uh, I bought you a card and I even bought a gift. I am sorry but it is going to be late. I’m not sure how soon I’ll have the time to put it in the mail. But happy birthday and I love you pops.” Teaching was her life. Not once was I tempted with an “I told you so” but I did not deny myself the pleasure of the moment. Never had a late card or gift meant so much to me. And without saying it, she knew. Miss Chadwick was as unconventional in her classroom as she was in her life. Every day started with a cup of Starbuck’s coffee. And when her usual routine was interrupted one of her students pointed out how gross it was to see mold growing in her Starbuck’s cup. With the purchase of a new cup the old one was instantly a project. Starbuck’s cups hold a lot of mold. Regardless of when class was scheduled to start if a student needed attention they got it. However, she did not invest in her students indiscriminately. Every last pupil was respected and recognized. For several it was the difference between completing high school or dropping out. It was a game among the staff and her pupils to figure out her age. But because she started teaching at the age of twenty-three she refused to tell. She feared it would impact her credibility. So at the beginning of each year her hair was pulled back into a bun and she wore only the most professional suits to school. Then after she had established her authority in the classroom would her hair come down and her suits go back into the closet. But never did she tell her age. Her ability to manage tardies was unique. Randomly she assigned bonus points to all the kids that had been on time that day. Interestingly enough that was always on the days that certain students were late. As she intended their inability to be on time somehow improved. She was mischievous in her classroom to the point of violating school policies. A fact that shocked her vice-principal. Spring fever was running rampant and creating havoc in a majority of classes. It erupted to its fullest potential in her senior English class. Miss Chadwick discovered a squirt gun which she immediately confiscated. Oddly enough a second squirt was used in her presence. She took that as well and promptly shot the culprit. A brazen boy shot her from behind with a third water pistol and was stunned when she turned around to find the barrel of two squirt guns being emptied on him by his teacher. He fled across the room shooting in retreat and the battle was on. Never did one student expose Miss Chadwick to administrative discipline over that incident. A common technique in literature courses is to read a novel and then view the movie made of the same story. Or even to view a movie and critique the story. Her students were persuaded that only Miss Chadwick could find a legitimate reason to show the movie Legally Blonde in literature class. She maintained that it taught about the struggle between the social classes of the rich and the poor. While she had a sincere and light hearted approach to life and learning she expected her students to perform and learn. Her sympathies and understanding could not be manipulated to the advantage of a student. But even then her teaching was done in a manner that evoked interest. L.L. Bean wasn’t really her style. But then again that hat. She had to have that hat. It would work so perfect with her classroom. So she sat down at her computer and proceeded to write a whole sequence of topic titles. Relying on her kindergarten experience she got her scissors out and separated each title into a single paper strip. When they were folded in half they went into her hat. And the hat went to her high school English classroom. It would do her juniors and seniors good to write impromptu papers on random topics. And so it was that I came to possess that L.L. Bean hat with its random topics. For half a year it was just a sentimental object in my home. A gentle reminder. Then one day I sat down and began to unfold each piece of paper. Unexpectedly I found that many of the topics appeared twice. So I sat on the floor with my legs crossed with a pad of paper and pencil in hand where I logged all twenty-nine of her topics. It was only when looking at the list that I recognized this as a project. These were assignments from my daughter. How I wished that I had been in the presence of just one teacher like her when I was in high school. Strange that it took me over a year to finish all twenty-nine pieces. Does that make them late assignments? I guess I still have to work on that procrastination thing. Hopefully you won’t mind that I turned them in all at the same time… June 21, 2004 If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
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| © Copyright 2004 Larry Chadwick - All Rights Reserved | |||
Mysteria
since 2001-03-07
Posts 18328British Columbia, Canada |
Something tells me that you might be getting a gold star too  Enjoying this Larry, it's wonderful! |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I'll be back... this you can bet on. :squeeze |
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Sadelite Member Elite
since 2003-10-11
Posts 2519 |
That part of teacher can't be trained--it just comes naturally, Larry. (She sounds like a little chip off the old block. I see how compassionate and creative you are in your writing.) You do her proud. I couldn't put this down--an A+ for sure... |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
Thank Sharon, This project is nearing its close. I have the acknowledgements to finish and my desktop project is basically done.  JM, There is a holiday coming. I'll be moving so take your time. Thanks. Sadelite, Those are excetionally kind words. Thank you for your generosity. If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
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kaile
since 2000-02-06
Posts 5146singapore |
Strange that it took me over a year to finish all twenty-nine pieces. Does that make them late assignments? I guess I still have to work on that procrastination thing. Hopefully you won’t mind that I turned them in all at the same time… Never too late, Larry. this is a showcase of love. and love isn't governed by deadlines. and LOL at how you old habits die hard Ginger seemed to have maintained a delicate balance between putting herself on her students' level to create rapport (the squirt gun incident was hilarious! Love the way she justified Legally Blonde) and being firm so that her students would be motivated to learn. You are helping her create a legacy with your memories, Larry. i was captivated til the end and am learning many fine lessons from Ginger Congrats on completion!  |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
I recall reading (parts of) this before.. and considering how much I read in pips..that alone should tell you something about the impact of your writing and your muse's impress. While reading this I was taken back to so much of my own childhood...there were many mirrors in this...I'll have to tell you about the time I ran away at 5...with my kitten and my Alvin and the Chimpmunks album shoved in a brown paper Kroger bag. The divorce scene was all too familiar as well, but what stood out for me what the bond and the maturing of both father and daughter, the lessons of respect and how life changes us, while still allowing us to be connected us to our roots. I loved the parts about her teaching methods, her spirit shines thru every word. Thank you for sharing and for the memories that it stirs.  |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
kaile, Thank you so much. You have shared over the last couple of years in ways that have meant so much to me. It's nice to give back. Again thanks for your kindness. JM, Awww, it's fun to hear your stories. Hope you expand the details sometime. And glad you didn't mind a little repition. I am always touched that you read my writing and at your rich and meaningful responses. And now I'm impressed that you do recall it as well. Thank you for being you and in my presence!  If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
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ESP Member Elite
since 2000-01-25
Posts 2556Floating gently on a cloud.... |
So lovingly written. The warmth of your words is heartening. Good teachers are wonderful people. Lizzie. "Time has told me not to ask for more, one day our ocean will find its shore" ~Nick Drake |
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Larry C
since 2001-09-10
Posts 10286United States |
Lizzie, I wrote this and the epilogue in one sitting. It flowed. It also drained. I have this as a package in announcements with all the links though it needs some repair. And thank you for such kind words. If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again. |
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