A score minus four years ago today

Leave a reply
Always loved those cheeks!

Always loved those cheeks!

Sawyer:

Sixteen years ago, I woke up that morning after a fitful night of sleep to put on my warmest clothes, grab a suitcase, and head out into one of the coldest days I had ever experienced.  We arrived at the hospital a little before 7 AM, and we were getting ready for a potentially long day or days.  Back then the maternity floor only had one birthing suite, and we were there getting settled.   When all of a sudden in came a former doctor who staked his claim, and we were booted to the less fancy room down the hall. The morning nurse apologized over and over . (All I kept thinking was “Of all the nerve!” If it wasn’t such a big day, I probably would have told him off. As far as this Mama Bear goes, it shows his lack of class.)

I was there for a scheduled inducement as I was a full 10 days past my due date.  They hooked me up to all sorts of things, and then we waited. Of course, Reed (also induced) took a long time to arrive; so I planned on making this a couple day thing. One of the things I remember clearly was how incredibly hungry I was, but ice chips and popsicles were all they offered.  (I do remember more than once trying to convince your dad to sneak out and get me some little chocolate donuts. He didn’t, and I asked him whose team he was on anyways.)

Boredom eventually overtook us, and I asked if we could at least walk around that floor of the hospital.  With pull cart in tow, Dad & I made enough laps around the hospital that I earned the amounts needed for the health and fitness challenge at work.  I even tried to convince them later that giving birth should count as work-out points. (I must have been convincing because I won the most creative work-out that year.)

Eventually I started to feel some pain, and man, you would have thought a visiting army was coming into town.  I scoffed.  “We aren’t having a baby yet.  It’s only four in the afternoon.”  A classmate’s mom, who was our nurse that day just smiled and said, “Well, it’s better to be prepared.”

Within in an hour, Dr. O was there and between pushes, he and Dad were watching television.  Strangely, I can remember that first, the weather man brought a cup of water outside and threw it into the air.  It was ice before it hit the ground.  There was also a terrible violent gang act on the news, and all of us had a conversation about how we were so glad we didn’t live there.  The news was finally over, and the guys switched the channel to golf.  I was too busy with other things – like pushing – to protest out loud, but in my mind, I was thinking of all the things to watch – GOLF!

Sometime in there, a call was made to one of your sets of godparents who brought Reed and Grandma Sheran to the hospital for the big arrival.  They were right outside the door the moment you arrived.  6:18 pm – Nannie loved that number because those numbers were the same as her birthday.  And there you were!  It was love at first sight.  Well, at least for most of us, Reed who never liked to be dirty, proclaimed, “Eww (with wrinkled up nose), is this my new baby brother? He needs a bath.”

Eventually, I walked to the regular room which earned me quite a reputation for being one tough momma.  The truth is that had more to do with you.  You were just plain amazing.  Easy delivery . . . easy to raise, and for that we are blessed.

It’s like the card we gave you this morning says, “Every hold my breath moment has been worth it.  You have grown into an AMAZING young man.”  We are so blessed and honored that God chose to give you to us!

By the way, I did get my little chocolate donuts that night, and every time, I have one I think about one of the most wonderful days in my whole entire life.

Happy Sweet 16th, Sawyer!  Even though, I didn’t know what lie ahead for us all those years ago, I do know one thing for sure.  God has mighty and amazing plans for your life!

I love you!

A cross-country love . . . the last Reed’s Run

Leave a reply

amy1I will be the first to admit that social networking has its pitfalls.  I will stipulate that Facebook, Pinterest, and Twitter can be huge time drainers.  However, with eyes open wide to the pitfalls (of which I am prone) I also believe that my life has been enriched by the somewhat instantaneous connections with friends and family flung far and wide.  I love relationships and that feeling of connection.  I know it isn’t face to face conversation, and I agree cyber hugs pale in comparison to real embraces.  Yet, I love that in the past few years I have reconnected with family and friends that I haven’t seen in person in many, many years.

Several of those relationships have evolved over the years to being some of my sweetest friendships.  One of those sweet blessings is the deep friendship and adoration with our cousins in Washington.  Long distance, we cheer each other on through all of life’s ups and downs. Our relationship has gotten so close that we have even started our own language, recently coining the term “Pray-paring” in relation to how we should get ready for anything life.

When we first announced registration for Reed’s Run 2012, these same cousins became the first to register, albeit with a twist.  They were going to run the race remotely.  We were open to the idea, and we happily mailed them their t-shirts.  One of our cousins was so proud of her t-shirt; she immediately wore it to school the next day. (Again thankful for Facebook because that is where I saw the evidence.) They inspired a few more cousins and friends to do the same.  Their willingness to participate (in whatever fashion) made our hearts soar.

The night of the run, my sweet Amy, penned us the following letter to tell of how they had spent the day and how the remote run went.  She included all the pictures here.

Kandy

                It is with joy that I write to you to share about our Reed’s Run here in Washington.

                It was like waiting for Christmas morning.  The countdown began & quickly, day by day, it got closer.  The questions began. “Where should we run?” “When should we leave?” “What do we wear?”  Then the preparation began.  We got our light sabers first.  (We had to have them to bring the boy in Reed, the playfulness into our home.)  We got Gatorade ~ like it would somehow fuel our feet.  I think it was then that I realized I had “pray-pared” a lot more than I had prepared.  My heart was ready – the love overflowing – the joy and excitement contagious, but preparing physically – not so much.  Kayla hurt a tendon earlier in the week at drill practice & Sam came down with strep.  We wanted to do it as a group so we walked most of it & I was glad we did.

                I woke up Saturday morning to a grey sky & wet pavement.  Evidence of rain.  We have not had rain in about 2 months which, in Washington, is unheard of.  That is when I knew it was going to be a great day.  Courtney (Sam’s girlfriend) came early with donuts.  You need carbs to run you know. J I asked the children to help me with our “numbers”.  Because we weren’t in Minnesota, we decided to use the names of Reed, Emilee, Hunter, Jesse, and our flag as our race numbers.

                We drove to Ruston Way. A beautiful and most important flat road next to Puget Sound. J It was 67 F and sunny.  We prayed by Kelly’s truck as a group and started on our way.  I was surprised by the number of people who stopped & asked us what we were walking for.  (So I thank you with all my heart for the shirts).  It was an honor to share about Reed’s Run with them & everyone was touched by Reed’s life & his story.  We finished with tired feet but joy filled hearts.  What a gift it is do something nice for someone else.

Kelly & I took a few pictures & are sending them to you and your family.  We want you to have an idea where we were.  We wanted to bring a part of us to you. 

                I know that this is the last Reed’s Run, but I hope that you realize because you allowed us to be a part of this – we are forever changed.  We will now look for simple ways to bring God into others’ lives by showing others His love.  And every time we pick up our light sabers we will remember Reed. 

                Memories are beautiful part of God’s love & we have a beautiful memory of our special Reed’s Run day.

Love,

Kelly, Amy, Sam, Courtney & Kayla

amy2

Those that know me know I was a puddle of tears after reading this letter.  I still choke up reading it.  Of the multitude of reasons is the fact that our cousins love us and Reed enough to want to be a part (even their own special way) of our day.  But more so, they were an embodiment that Reed’s story (which is ultimately God’s story) has a far and reaching effect.  From what seems so senseless this side of heaven, God is using in ways that we can only imagine.

This time He used our cousins to help us see His bigger picture.

 

Note – the emphasized words in Amy’s letter are mine.  However, I truly believe that is the heart of healing.  Realizing that God has a purpose for us and often that purpose is to serve others may just be the secret to healing broken hearts.

 

sawyer's flagWhen we first envisioned doing something to fund the Reed Stevens Memorial Scholarship, we never saw an event as big as what Reed’s Run became.  The four runs produced many different results: some expected and others pleasant surprises.  The obvious by-products were a successful fundraising venture and a community event enjoyed by many. Among the unexpected were the blossoming of friendships and the renewal of friendships from long ago.

One of those friendships was rekindled in those early days in the hospital when Sawyer was still in the Intensive Care.  It was something akin to the proverbial blessings that those who have walked through tragedy really have eyes and hearts open enough to see.  The connection was with one of Sawyer’s godmothers.

As the days drew closer to the final run, we realized that we were going to have a house filled with loved ones as well as a few hotel rooms with other loved ones.  For those travelling from far away, we decided to send out an agenda of what we would be offering in the way of entertainment.  After working set-up all day Friday, a break would take place to cheer on Sawyer and the Lakers with a September/October birthday party at the fire pit in Reed’s garden afterwards.

To be honest, we didn’t think many would take us up on the offer for the football game.  To our surprise, there were 15 people that comprised the cheering section for number 74.  One among our group was Sawyer’s little god-brother, S, proudly clad in Laker blue and waving homemade flags emblazoned with Sawyer’s name and school “mascot”. S cheered on the team, and more than once he wondered aloud why the team or coaches weren’t listening to his flag as the score did not reflect his impassioned cheering. Sadly, Sawyer didn’t play for three fourths of the game, and for a while I felt like we had asked these loved ones from Georgia, California, western North Dakota, and Florida to come for nothing.  Then in the final few minutes, Sawyer and the other Junior Varsity guys went in.

All of a sudden an amazing tackle happens, and over the loudspeaker we hear, “Tackle made by Sawyer Stevens.” (This, of course, reads better if you do the loudspeaker echoing voice out loud.)  The Sawyer Stevens entourage cheered exuberantly, but none compared to little S.  He jumped up and down, declaring for all who would listen, “Sawyer listened to my flag. I knew it would work!”  I don’t really care what others would call the play of that game.  For one sophomore player, that was definitely it.

For the trip to the birthday bash, Sawyer rode with his god-family the 30 miles back to Marshall.  Even though I wasn’t there, the story told by his godmother about the trip home was priceless.  Huddled together in the back of the car with their heads touching were two brothers (one in high school and one in elementary) deep in conversation and game playing.

For the one who misses his big brother every day, it was a model example of brotherly love and what used to be.  For the rest of us, it was a reminder that even though the circumstances aren’t what we had planned, God’s vision of family is BIGGER than we could ever imagine.

Just the other night at the hometown football game . . . the last Reed’s Run

Leave a reply

lakeview football

The Garth Brooks song, “Unanswered Prayers” has always been a perennial favorite of mine.  It didn’t hit me until the night before the last Reed’s Run that I was living out a line of the song at a Lakeview football game.  Different from the lyrics, it wasn’t a long-lost love with whom I reconnected that evening.  I am sure if anyone paid attention to what happened on the sidelines, there would have been rumors flying in the small towns that night.

It really all unfolded much earlier.  About two years ago, I found my high school best friend on the internet.  We connected very briefly through an email and later on Facebook.  Then one day, I started noticing all the posts of remembrance.  I knew my friend Matt had only one son (and several stepchildren).  I literally shook as my hands did a quick Google search.  When my husband found me crumpled on the floor sobbing a little while later, he knew something was terribly wrong.  My worst fears regarding those messages were confirmed when I found the obituary of one sweet, Big A.

I cried.  I felt crushed in spirit.  “Oh, dear Lord, NO!” I cried out over and over. How could this be?  Why was this cup not passed from not only my son, but my friend’s son as well?  I just didn’t understand.

I wanted our bond to be shared memories of the past – the glory years so to say – but not THIS!  Not a shared bond of grief and loss and of despair and heartbreak.

I did the only thing I could. I reached out electronically and shared about Reed.  In the end, I told of Reed’s Run and asked if we could remember Alex at our final run.  I was expecting an affirmative response because I know that lingering fear (of no one remembering their child) all grieving parents share.  What I didn’t expect was the news that my high school best buddy and his wife were going to come and run the last run.

Back to that football game. When I received the text message that they had arrived, I bolted out of my seat to greet them.  I ran and literally jumped into Matthew’s arms. What I haven’t shared previously is we hadn’t seen each other in twenty-three years.  It was a wonderful (and long over-due) embrace.

My heart leapt with joy at finally being in arms reach of him, and my heart soared to finally meet his beautiful bride.  We watched the game and cheered on one number 74.  Since 74’s fan section was huge, we had three cars in convoy on the way home.  I rode with Matt & Kimberly, and we shared the stories of our boys.

Sadly, neither of us ever had the opportunity to meet the other’s child.  Back at home, we sat in the rental car, talked and cried, and cried and talked.  With each story they told of one amazing young man, I began to feel like I was being handed the equivalent of a newborn baby swaddled in love and care of sweet memories.

In high school our heartstrings were tied as two kids who loved to laugh and who loved a good adventure, especially in historic Pensacola.  But now on a crisp Minnesota fall night, we were inexplicably bound by the loss that no parents should ever have to feel.

However it wasn’t unanswered prayers like that old song, it was the unshakeable faith of two dear friends that our children’s deaths were not in vain.  It was the prayers that we prayed during their lives that sustained us in their deaths.  It was the same faith that compels both families to give back in the way that would be most honoring to each boy.

But the biggest bond each family shared was the sustaining power of prayer, amazing love, and extravagant grace that over the years and across the miles both of us were held right in the palm of God’s hand.  It is the confidence of knowing that neither family said good-bye, because someday I am going to get to meet that sweet boy and Matthew’s going to meet mine.

Sliding into home . . . the last Reed’s Run

2 Replies

For those that personally know me, I hate good-byes. Given the story of my life, that isn’t all that surprising.  Reed’s Run has come to an end.  It was a wonderful four years, and the success of those four runs continues to inspire myself (and hopefully others).  There is much more to the story than the countdown blogs that occurred before the run, and I feel now is the appropriate time to share them.  But somehow, I just can’t just the word good-bye when describing a labor of love for the last five years.

It all started two days before the actual run.  My parents, sister, brother-in-law, and nephew had arrived, and we were all in final countdown mode.  I received a somewhat intriguing call from one of my “besties”.  Her call was that she was leaving work now, and she needed me to meet her at the street because she had something really important for me.  I knew that she was struggling with some health issues; so, I was nonplussed at the request for the espionage style hand-off.  In my mind, I thought she had a donation from her employer whom we had asked for a sponsorship for the run.

When we met for the transfer next to the mailbox, I knew immediately it wasn’t a donation.  She doesn’t have much of a poker face.  Her grin from ear to ear said it was something much more significant.  She told me that she had a story to tell before she gave me the surprise.

It started with a reminder that a gal with whom she works was having a garage sale today.  Okay, no big deal.  Then it transpired into details that another gal (also in on the sale) brought a big tub of toys for the sale.  Earlier they decided that the best approach for all those toys would be to dump them en masse on a big table and to offer a certain price for each item.  As the garage sale gals were sorting and arranging, one item jumped out at them.  The co-worker stood speechless.  She proceeded to grab the item, jump in her car, and head to work.

She pulled aside my bestie and asked, “Could it really be?”  To which my friend said, “It has to be because no one else in this town has this name and after all, that’s Kandy’s handwriting.”  Standing barefoot in the driveway, my hands received a gift straight from heaven.   With tears streaming down my face, I lovingly held Reed’s t-ball mitt, emblazoned with “R. Stevens” in my penmanship on the side.

At that point I knew that Reed’s Run was going to be a huge success because we were given a love token straight from Reed that day.  It was the boost we needed to finish out all of those last minute details.

It wasn’t Reed, but it was a piece of his story.  The memories we had with that glove, which was faithfully used for a few years until he outgrew it, came flooding back .  Eventually, we gave it to friends who must have given it to someone else until it landed in that garage sale.

The mitt’s history didn’t matter at that moment because the best part of the story was on a sunny September day, it slid right on home.

Reed's t-ball glove on his bed.

Reed’s t-ball glove on his bed.

How can it be five years? A letter to Reed

8 Replies

Reed70To my sweet boy –

Reed, I woke up yesterday strangled by my emotions. Before I even lifted my head, I could feel that old familiar ache.  My heart literally hurt.  I longed to just hear your voice, to experience your laughter, to see the world through your beautiful blue eyes.  All the things I get to do with Sawyer, Erin, and Clo and I love each shared memory. Yet, I feel like the whole world can see the hole in my heart whenever I wish I had those moments with you.

Then come other times, when I really am truly happy. I almost surprise myself, because it’s at those times I feel guilty because I wonder if I am ever supposed to be happy again.  Conflicting emotions that don’t mix with what I know to be true.  You would never want us to be forever sad this side of heaven, but more importantly neither would God. Simply, He would want to remind us that this is not our forever home.  It is a lesson that we couldn’t forget if we wanted to, simply because even though we can’t deliver mail there we know your permanent address.

Five years ago, I never thought I would be sitting where I am now.  I want to be getting ready for your second prom, planning your graduation party and trip, and buying all the great things that you would need for college.  It just wasn’t meant to be a part of your story.

Just as grief is now a part of mine.  Heart crushing, sneak up on you when you least expect it, grief.  A pain so deep you never knew your heart had so many crevices and could hurt so badly.

But when things get so painful, I remember a sweet, red-headed boy whose whole life was defined by hope.  Not just a temporary hope. Oh no! A hope rooted in a love greater than any love that I have ever given. Inspirational was a boy who believed that love was greater than hate.  A boy who believed that turning the other cheek wasn’t just a saying. A boy who believed that those who hurt others were hurting themselves taught me a lot in just twelve short years. A deep faith, overflowing with love defined your life.

Sometimes, I think that you knew you were only going to be here for a brief stay.  You did nothing half-way.  You didn’t just read books, you devoured them.  You didn’t just learn something, you consumed it. And, you didn’t just love, you loved with abandon.

It is that hope, love, and faith that has helped us to remember, to cope (and sometimes heal), and to keep alive your legacy.  So that someday, we will all get to meet the ones whose lives your brief life touched.  Standing in the glorious, shining light of heaven, I can only imagine then that it will all make sense.

Waiting to hug you and hold you again, but always carrying you in my heart – Momma

Raised on PBS and Little Debbie . . . Part 3

2 Replies
A 4 year old me & Mr. McFeely

A 4 year old me & Mr. McFeely

As much as I love Sesame Street, it wasn’t the only program that I enjoyed on public television.  Another favorite was Mr. Rogers Neighborhood.  Whenever I see a trolley or a pair of navy blue Keds, I am transported back to being 4 years old and soaking up every minute of his show.

There were several aspects of Fred Rogers show (and life) that were just plain magical to me.  I adored how he focused right on the kids at home when he shook off the burdens of the outside world while changing into his beloved cardigan and sneakers.   The feeling that he was excited to be home to see me is a lesson that I have never forgotten. Of course, that routine wouldn’t have been complete without feeding the fish in the aquarium. A simple act of love reinforced by repetition.

I think my love of documentaries was forged while watching MRN, because I am still riveted by the episodes where he took us to the factories that made toilet paper and crayons.  Seeing how something was made, really helped me to look at the world in a different way. In my grown-up hometown, we actually have a company named SpeeDee Delivery, and every time I see one of their trucks, I think of Mr. McFeely (more on him later) and smile.

Yet it was when he sat by the bench seat next to Trolley’s tracks that I loved the most.  Even today in my forties, I sincerely wish I could travel on Trolley to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe.  As long as I can remember I have had a wonderful imagination, inspired by Mr. Rogers and nurtured by my parents.  My imagination has been one of my very best friends, keeping me busy on many adventures throughout my life, and Mr. Rogers had a whole world of make believe.

In the land of Make-Believe, I developed deep fondness for several characters, but I must admit, I wasn’t all that crazy about Lady Elaine.  As a true Southern girl, I always wondered who did her make-up, and I knew I didn’t want to grow up to be a schemer like her.  Daniel Tiger just made me smile, and I always wished he would learn to be bold.  Henrietta had a “paws-tively” charming effect of slipping “Meow” into just about every sentence.  But my true love was X the Owl.  His love of inventions and Ben Franklin, in particular, were right up this future science and math teacher’s alley.  Everything X did was exciting to this little budding scientist.

In my childhood hometown of Pensacola, a few years ago the PBS station was celebrating 40 years of broadcasting.  I was asked (because my mom had connections) to come and be a part of a panel of speakers regarding how much that station had shaped our lives.  (Life circumstances didn’t work out; so, I didn’t get to attend.)  If I had, I would have shared some of the stories I am sharing in this series, along with this little nugget of trivia.  Almost 40 years ago, I had a brush with my favorite mailman and another friend from MRN, Purple Panda.  They came to Pensacola, and I had the opportunity to meet them and interact with them.  I think I might have even been featured in the News-Journal as a photo all those years ago.

What I remember from that day was how incredibly kind the characters were.  How could they not be?  They were a part of show created by one of the most loving, creative, and generous men to ever live.  A few years back, I read an article written by a reporter who had a friendship with Fred Rogers.  In the article the man shared how Mr. Rogers probably saved his life.  It was through the genuine interest and care given by Mr. Rogers that the author realized that he was of value, thus saving him from a life-ending choice.  The author shared that Mr. Rogers often ended his correspondence with four letters: IPOY.  After many years of curiosity, he finally mustered the courage to ask what the four letters meant.  The message was simple: I’m Proud Of You.

If I had been able to speak on the influence of PBS in my life, I would have shared how educational programming fostered my lifelong love of learning.  I would have told how I was encouraged to dream, to create, and to use my imagination.  Now, all these years later, I was utilizing those skills as a teacher and a mom to do the same for another generation of children.

And in my heart, I believe that if I had ever gotten to meet him in person, Mr. Rogers would have penned an “IPOY” note to me, as well.

Raised on PBS and Little Debbie . . . Part 2

Leave a reply
Photo property of Sesame Workshop
Photo property of Sesame Workshop

Photo property of Sesame Workshop

For most of my children’s lives, we didn’t have cable.  Instead, we had the $8.99 special.  We could receive local stations, PBS, and a few superstations.  That was it – period.  No, Disney. No, Cartoon Network. No, Animal Planet.  No, Nickelodeon. We didn’t feel deprived or missing anything.  As stated yesterday, we were raising a second generation of American kiddos who learned their ABC’s and numbers with educational programming.

Our love of educational programming continued even when we visited completely “caffeinated” television hot-spots like hotels or Grandma’s house.  The viewing mantra became, “If it ain’t PBS, you ain’t watching it.”  The “ain’t was used for emphasis and humor, but our kids got it.  That mantra became our family’s viewing guide.

The decision not to pursue cable had more to do with our desire to shield our children from unsuitable viewing and less to do with the financial savings of avoiding “bundling”.  I will admit that viewing any television was pretty slim pickings during the Writer’s Strike of 2007-2008 with our limited channel options.  But at least, PBS was still going strong.

It was during this same period of limited viewing that my first encounter with questioning PBS content occurred.  (My heart did flitter-flutters as my mind was reciting, “Say it ain’t so, Joe.”)  That particular year we had a 7th grader and a 3 year old.  On one cold late start morning, we were watching our beloved Sesame Street.

To give the setting, a few weeks prior our 7th grader had a spelling packet with plurals of words like sisters-in-law and sergeants-at-arms.  Again, it was not to my liking as Elmo stole most of the show, when on came Mr. Noodle and the other Mr. Noodle, (Mr. Noodle’s brother).  As Elmo was trying to convince the brothers of some thing or another, he kept referring to them as Mr. Noodles.  Did my ears perceive that small, but ever so slight incorrect placement of plurals?  I immediately pointed out the inaccuracy (it should be the Misters Noodle) to my 7th grade scholar. I just dropped a knowledge bomb up in here that was received with nothing more than a shoulder shrug and an eye-roll.

Oh no!  My childhood favorite is giving incorrect grammar to millions of children.  Whatever shall we do?  In reality, we did nothing . . . except my pointing it out every two years when that same spelling packet came home with the next two children in line in our household.  Again, the morsel of knowledge was met with uncharacteristic nonchalance by my other scholars, followed by an emphatic, “No!! I am not going to tell my Language Arts teacher about this, and neither are you!”

Well, I have one more student that may take up the crusade, but I have a few more years to drum up some support among my brood.  But in reality, she will probably fall in ranks with the others – proclaiming, “Let it go, Mom, because it is still a sunny day on Sesame Street”.

And thank goodness, they are right!

Raised on PBS and Little Debbie . . . Part 1

Leave a reply

super groverI have never been a sky is falling sort-of gal.  So, it came as a big shock to me following the sad and recent scandal involving the Elmo muppeteer from Sesame Street, when I heard a reporter speculate that the longtime program’s future was in jeopardy.  My first thought was, “What in the mayonnaise?”

I agree that the turn of events was heartbreaking, but to think that a huge part of American childhood was going to come crashing down over a personnel change was ludicrous.  I consider myself somewhat of a Sesame Street expert since our literal birth-days are ten days apart.  I really have grown up with all the characters, and I have loved introducing them first, to my much younger sister and then to each of my children over the years.

Not all on the changes on my favorite street have brought bliss in my household.  I will never forget the debate that four-year-old Reed and I had about Snuffleupagus.  For the life of me, I could not understand how the grown-ups could suddenly see him, when he was “imaginary” when I grew up.  Reed, of course, thought I was the crazy one. Apparently a few things changed over my college years.

Don’t get me wrong the addition of new characters, such as Elmo, Baby Bear, and Abby Cadabby brought new life and angles to the show, but my heart was still wrapped around the originals: Big Bird, Bert & Ernie, Oscar, Count, and my personal favorite, Grover.  I still believe that Snuffey was better imaginary.  I can’t look at a rubber duck without breaking into song.  As a pigeon fancier, I convinced our kids to name our first female, Bernice, after Bert’s favorite. I have always wanted to take a tour of Oscar’s trash can, and frankly still do.   Even though, I can’t find it on the internet, the Count enumerating telephone rings complete with lightning and thunder will hands-down be one of my favorites.

With the arrivals of the new friends, my old friends seemed to get less “star” coverage.  The one I felt the most sorry for was Grover because he seemed to live in Elmo’s shadow.  As far as I am concerned, that loveable, laughable blue monster is the embodiment of Sesame Street.  Don’t get me wrong, Elmo is great.  I love him too, but who among us does not love a furry blue superhero who can exasperate a man with a fly in his soup.  Many of my childhood giggles came from his antics.  Thinking of them now, a smile breaks onto my face.

With all the other “junk” on television, I love that there is a safe place that my and my children’s imaginations to explore and grow.  I have never lived there or even visited, but one thing is certain, I don’t believe that Sesame Street is going away anytime soon.   I am hoping that someday in the far future, ( – just in case, my kids are reading today) that I will introduce  my grandchildren to my old friends, as well.  Along with all the other great lessons they will learn, I hope that they too hear, “I, Super Grover, am here to help.  And how can I help you?”  – just like millions before them, including me!

To infinity and beyond

Leave a reply
from nasa.gov

from nasa.gov

When I moved away from my college town, I took one afternoon to go around to visit my professors and to tell them how much their teaching meant to me.  I personally went to each one and thanked them for their dedication to shaping my future.  I wasn’t just a gesture for me.  The Doctors Lockwood, Johanssen, Lyng, and Landwehr are people that I truly admired, and still do, even though only one is still with us.  They taught me much about chemistry, mathematics, and literature/Latin, but more so about life.  Along with my family, they truly played a role in the person I am today.

I have reached that age where loss of that generation of individuals is becoming unavoidable.  I have been blessed to know all of my grandparents as an adult (along with many great-grandparents and even a great-great grandmother into my teen years).  Sadly, only one of my grandmothers is still journeying with me today.

When I hear of another loss of someone I admire (even though I’ve never met them), I really give pause to think about the influence that person had on my life.  One such loss occurred on August 25, 2012 with the death of Astronaut Neil Armstrong.  I was “present” at his and Astronauts Collins and Aldrins historic moon landing.  In actuality, I was in utero, but hearing all the stories passed through the years, I feel as if I had been sitting there riveted to Aldrin’s reading of the Bible while waiting breathless to see Armstrong take those historic steps.

What occurred on that 20th of July in 1969 allowed for a greater push in science and mathematics that allowed a little girl born at Bethesda Naval Hospital in November that year to grow up and believe that she too could be a part of that world.  Although my ultimate footsteps followed that of Christa McAuliffe in the world of teaching, the entire Apollo program was a catalyst for my future.  Because of that achievement, a whole new world was open to those of us who came after them.

Even though my faith differs from that of Mr. Armstrong, I do still admire his accomplishments and achievements. Similarly, I don’t really care about whether his famous quote was rehearsed or spontaneous. What impresses me is the way he lived his life.  By all accounts I have read, his humility and humble nature as a reluctant hero dotted his illustrious career.  He simply did his job without wanting the accolades while giving back to the community as often as he was able.  In a world full of instant celebrity, those character traits are rare to find these days.

I loved the classy statement given by his family following his death.  The words were humble and embodied what we as a nation will always remember about him. Armstrong’s family said, “For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request. Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink.” —  (Central Press/Getty Images) .

So, Mr. Armstrong, thanks for going to the moon and helping me reach for the stars.