Before I Was Free

I had hoped to have another post up this week, but it didn't happen. I have been writing posts for the A to Z Blogging Challenge and posting for this week got away from me. I promise this will be the last time I will use that challenge as an excuse. The challenge starts on Monday and I hope you will drop in every day to see what I come up with.

In the meantime, here is the post from one year ago today about me trying to escape from my family as a toddler. Tomorrow, I will post the results from this week's caption contest with Hitler.

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I like to think that I have always been my own person. I have my way of thinking, my way of acting and my way of doing things (even if they don't always work). While I can respect the wisdom and knowledge of people that came before me, I like finding my own way. This started at a very young age.

Never a slave to conventional dress,
I found my style early on.

Much to my parents dismay, the pastel colors and little duckies on my clothes just were not acceptable to me. After much deliberation (mostly on their part since I couldn't talk yet), I compromised.

I was gangsta,
before gangsta was cool.

At the age of 18 months, I began to change my own diapers. This was not a modesty issue. We know from past posts, I still don't have any modesty. No, this was part of my unrelenting desire to become my own man.

I demanded this freedom in other areas of my life as well. I knew how I wanted things and would accept nothing less.

Had Mother fixed the steak I asked for,
this would not have happened.

My parents, being appreciative of the freedom I was offering them by my new independence, took advantage of the situation. Since I could take care of myself, they could go out and not have to worry about me. It saved money in babysitters and further taught me self reliance.

Against my wishes, they later decided this was not a good idea.

I invited the neighbor girls over,
but their mom said they were napping.

The cop took this picture after pulling me over.
I was on my way to buy more booze.

After the run in with local law enforcement, my parents had me under their oppressive thumbs and my life was relegated to the boring life of a toddler once again. I endured this for a little over a year before I saw my opportunity to escape.

One Sunday, my family was walking in the pasture behind my great-grandfather's house. It was a beautiful day and the birds were singing. All that open air made me yearn for the freedom that I knew I deserved. After all, it had been over three years since I had escaped from the suffocation of the womb. How long should I be expected to play the part of cute pet? I knew today was the day and began looking for my opportunity.

As we approached the top of a hill, I observed a wide open space before us. This was the place to make a break for it. If I could make it to the tree line, I could disappear and live off the land.

Being acutely aware of my short stature (darn stubby toddler legs), I knew I would need a head start in order to not be caught. The large descent before me would give me the opportunity to gain speed quickly. If the parental units could be distracted for a few moments, I would have the edge I needed.

I pointed at a cloud and babbled in that way that adults think are so cute. When they looked up, I bolted for the bottom of the hill. I was able to get close to the bottom before they realized I was gone. Only a few hundred feet more and I would be free forever.

I looked back and noticed that they had taken pursuit and were screaming for me to stop. They must have been aware of my intentions because they were much more frantic than usual. My father was closing in fast, so I concentrated on my departure.

Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, I tripped and sprawled forward. My tumble caused a white hot dust to come out of the ground. I quickly found it difficult to see and began to cough. I then realized that I had been duped.

My great-grandfather had anticipated my plan the night before and laid out a trap. He had burned a large brush pile after clearing out some trees. Knowing this was where I would most likely make a run for it, he placed it in the valley before the trees.

The entire pile had been burned to the ground and the only evidence of the preceding days events was the white ash on the ground. In my haste to get away, I had not noticed what I was running toward. The fire was out, but the coals were still crackling hot. My hands were now holding up the rest of my body from being burned, but my center of gravity did not allow for me to stand up and remove my hands from the burning.

Was this going to be the end? Would I slowly disintegrate into the pile eventually engulfing my entire body? I had underestimated the deviousness of my guardians.

My father snatched me out of the fire. I knew they were disappointed that the trap had not worked properly. He was going to throw me in and finish the job properly. I held my breath and waited for the heat, but it never came.

My father ran back to the house as the heat in my hands began to grow to intolerable levels. After a quick clean up, they rushed me to a hospital. The doctor's did horrible things and then bound me so I could no longer cause any trouble. My parents' plan to end my independence was complete.

I could no longer change my diapers.

Without the use of my hands, I had to humbly allow my mother to feed me and take care of my bathroom issues once again. I couldn't even use my toys. My life was going to be dependent on them forever.

My dog didn't even respect me any more.

Two days later, I was returned to the hospital and thrilled to learn that they were removing the hindrances that had been placed on me. However, my hands and fingers had doubled in size and were covered in blisters that stood over an inch tall. My hands still didn't work. Then they held me down and bound me up again.

They teased me this way every few days. The doctors would take them off and then replace them. I finally understood. They were trying to break my spirit.

After a few weeks, I falsely admitted compliance. Satisfied that I would not attempt escape again, they freed my hands. It was several years before I tried again.

It didn't go well either.

You Can't Get Away From Your Family

I like to think that I have always been my own person. I have my way of thinking, my way of acting and my way of doing things (even if they don't always work). While I can respect the wisdom and knowledge of people that came before me, I like finding my own way. This started at a very young age.

Never a slave to conventional dress,
I found my style early on.

Much to my parents dismay, the pastel colors and little duckies on my clothes just were not acceptable to me. After much deliberation (mostly on their part since I couldn't talk yet), I compromised.

I was gangsta,
before gangsta was cool.

At the age of 18 months, I began to change my own diapers. This was not a modesty issue. We know from past posts, I still don't have any modesty. No, this was part of my unrelenting desire to become my own man.

I demanded this freedom in other areas of my life as well. I knew how I wanted things and would accept nothing less.

Had Mother fixed the steak I asked for,
this would not have happened.

My parents, being appreciative of the freedom I was offering them by my new independence, took advantage of the situation. Since I could take care of myself, they could go out and not have to worry about me. It saved money in babysitters and further taught me self reliance.

Against my wishes, they later decided this was not a good idea.

I invited the neighbor girls over,
but their mom said they were napping.

The cop took this picture after pulling me over.
I was on my way to buy more booze.

After the run in with local law enforcement, my parents had me under their oppressive thumbs and my life was relegated to the boring life of a toddler once again. I endured this for a little over a year before I saw my opportunity to escape.

One Sunday, my family was walking in the pasture behind my great-grandfather's house. It was a beautiful day and the birds were singing. All that open air made me yearn for the freedom that I knew I deserved. After all, it had been over three years since I had escaped from the suffocation of the womb. How long should I be expected to play the part of cute pet? I knew today was the day and began looking for my opportunity.

As we approached the top of a hill, I observed a wide open space before us. This was the place to make a break for it. If I could make it to the tree line, I could disappear and live off the land.

Being acutely aware of my short stature (darn stubby toddler legs), I knew I would need a head start in order to not be caught. The large descent before me would give me the opportunity to gain speed quickly. If the parental units could be distracted for a few moments, I would have the edge I needed.

I pointed at a cloud and babbled in that way that adults think are so cute. When they looked up, I bolted for the bottom of the hill. I was able to get close to the bottom before they realized I was gone. Only a few hundred feet more and I would be free forever.

I looked back and noticed that they had taken pursuit and were screaming for me to stop. They must have been aware of my intentions because they were much more frantic than usual. My father was closing in fast, so I concentrated on my departure.

Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, I tripped and sprawled forward. My tumble caused a white hot dust to come out of the ground. I quickly found it difficult to see and began to cough. I then realized that I had been duped.

My great-grandfather had anticipated my plan the night before and laid out a trap. He had burned a large brush pile after clearing out some trees. Knowing this was where I would most likely make a run for it, he placed it in the valley before the trees.

The entire pile had been burned to the ground and the only evidence of the preceding days events was the white ash on the ground. In my haste to get away, I had not noticed what I was running toward. The fire was out, but the coals were still crackling hot. My hands were now holding up the rest of my body from being burned, but my center of gravity did not allow for me to stand up and remove my hands from the burning.

Was this going to be the end? Would I slowly disintegrate into the pile eventually engulfing my entire body? I had underestimated the deviousness of my guardians.

My father snatched me out of the fire. I knew they were disappointed that the trap had not worked properly. He was going to throw me in and finish the job properly. I held my breath and waited for the heat, but it never came.

My father ran back to the house as the heat in my hands began to grow to intolerable levels. After a quick clean up, they rushed me to a hospital. The doctor's did horrible things and then bound me so I could no longer cause any trouble. My parents' plan to end my independence was complete.

I could no longer change my diapers.

Without the use of my hands, I had to humbly allow my mother to feed me and take care of my bathroom issues once again. I couldn't even use my toys. My life was going to be dependent on them forever.

My dog didn't even respect me any more.

Two days later, I was returned to the hospital and thrilled to learn that they were removing the hindrances that had been placed on me. However, my hands and fingers had doubled in size and were covered in blisters that stood over an inch tall. My hands still didn't work. Then they held me down and bound me up again.

They teased me this way every few days. The doctors would take them off and then replace them. I finally understood. They were trying to break my spirit.

After a few weeks, I falsely admitted compliance. Satisfied that I would not attempt escape again, they freed my hands. It was several years before I tried again.

It didn't go well either.

Teething Toddler Tantrums - Kids Are So Immature

Summer is slowly ticking away and I look forward to school starting in the fall. In August, I will be starting my Master’s Degree in Teaching. I have no clue what to expect, but am excited to get started. I will also be substitute teaching in the public school system. However, I have some concerns.

When I am finished with my schooling, I will be a high school teacher. I relate better with teenagers than younger kids. I have done youth ministry for many years and almost always work with the high school youth.  I occasionally venture into the junior high crowd, but not often.  I have a real problem working with younger children.

I was reminded of this two weeks ago when our church had VBS. Due to my work schedule, I could not be there the entire week. I was only available for two days.  Because of this, I could not get plugged in early and pick the job I would like to do, which is usually to take pictures of the event. I told Mandy, the coordinator, what nights I would be there and she could stick me wherever help was needed. 

On the first night that I was available, Mandy sent me to work with the 2 and 3 year olds. I was not excited about this assignment, but it was where they were short-handed for the night. Luckily, I was just there to help and not actually lead anything.  Give me a group of small children and I can keep them entertained for about 30 minutes, but nothing constructive will happen. I have no idea how people can teach a group of small children. It just does not work for me. We spent most of the evening coloring, cleaning up messes, and holding the ones that started crying.

Kids really seem to like me, but I have no idea why. Most of them I am simply tolerating until my time is up. Every now and then, there will be certain children I enjoy, but generally, I am not a fan. I even feel this way about babies.

I know most people just go ga-ga over a baby, but not me. I never have. Every time one of my friends has a baby, eventually they ask, “Would you like to hold him?”  I politely decline, and they say, “It’s alright. Here,” and then hand him to me anyway.  I know it’s alright. That is why they asked me to begin with. They had already approved the action before they asked. However, since I said no, I had not. Somehow, I always end up with the baby anyway. So, I bounce and sway and look at it until it starts to cry and then hand it back, grateful that we got that part out of the way.

It's OK. Barney scares me too.

I also do not believe that babies are very cute. They usually have splotchy skin, mis-shapen heads, and smell funny. They cry and sleep and poop. I do not see the fascination. As they get a little older and I can play with them, they begin to get a little more interesting, but even then, it has it’s limits. It is empowering to be thought of as the coolest person on earth because I can bounce a ball against the wall and catch it again. I feel so superior when I successfully roll a ball to a toddler but he cannot get it back to me with the same dexterity. However, sooner or later, he will cry for no apparent reason or fill his pants with putrid sludge. Since, I am very careful to never be left alone with small children, when these problems arise, I can easily escape responsibility for fixing it.

Dealing with older kids is a much different story. I have some sort of connection with teenagers I have never been able to understand. I like kids that age and they seem to like me. When I had my own business, it became a hangout for many of the local teens. When I was the pastor at Bakerville, many of the teens in the church would drop by my house, just to ‘hang out.’ I had no problem with that, I just couldn't understand the draw.

My favorite part about teenagers is the fact that you can talk to them.  By that, I mean have real conversations. They have been in the world long enough and their intellect has developed to the point that they can make meaningful observations about the world around them.  They have opinions and can usually explain them. However, they still need guidance, but do not just want someone to simply tell them what they need to do or think. They can appreciate the discussion and reasons behind why something is done a certain way. I remember being a teenager and thinking I had the world figured out, but I was still seeking answers and there were not a lot of adults who would really talk to me.

At my shop about two years ago, one of my co-workers was commenting to a customer about the number of teens that had started coming to the shop since I started working there. The customer asked me why teens seem to gravitate to me and I told him I had no idea. I really didn’t. I had asked myself that question many times. However, one of those teens was sitting in the room and she blurted out, “I know why.” My ears immediately perked up. I wanted to know this as well.  She told us, “It’s simple. You talk to us.” I pointed out that I can't be the only adult that talks to her.  She said that other adults simply acknowledge her and a few might try to make small talk, but none of them really seem interested in what she has to say.  She said, “You actually talk to me and then listen to me. We have real conversations about important stuff.”

I had to think about this for a long time. The concept is so simple. I screw up a lot of things in my life, but this is one that just comes naturally to me. I pay attention to teenagers because I like them. I enjoy talking to them. I like going to video game parties and just acting goofy. Maybe it is because I have a teenage mindset. I don’t know, but I enjoy their company and being part of helping to shape their minds as they are growing into adulthood. As a teenager, I sought out those adults who would truly listen and I had the privilege of growing up to be one of those adults.

I am really looking forward to completing my degree and then getting to be in the classroom every day sharing in their lives and helping to prepare them for the world outside. The high school years are a very important time in a person’s life. It is during the teenage years that they are forming what type of person they are going to be. Loyalty to friends, work ethic, outlook on life and various other qualities are formed during this period. I revel in getting to be a part of it.

During the education process I will have to do assigned field experience. I do not get to pick the age group for these assignments and am quite nervous about having to interact with small children for a grade, but I will push through. In the end, I will get to do what I love the most: teach and work with teens. Plus, I will have summers off.