Up to Our Knees in Trouble

Our subdivision was actually a small peninsula with the Fox river on 3 sides.  One of the benefits was that it remained a small community without the threat of urban sprawl.  One of the drawbacks was that when the river flooded, it swallowed all of the low lying property, covering the road right up to our driveway.  We were lucky to live on higher ground so the floods became just another fascinating part of living by the river.

Fish of all sizes and shapes would swim in the shallow flood waters so it was like a giant interactive aquarium.  We begged our parents to let us wade in and try to catch the fish with our nets.  We were allowed to go into the water with strict instructions to stay on the road so we could tell how deep it was and always wear our rain boots.  We didn’t mind staying on the road because it was easier to see the fish where there was no mud or grass but we hated wearing our boots.  We wanted to go barefoot because we knew that we could go into the deeper areas where the larger fish seemed to be.

The giant aquarium eventually became too much of a temptation and we took our boots off to wade barefoot in water just behind the garage where we couldn’t be seen from the house.  We had a great time chasing fish and looking for floating treasures.  Afterwards we put our boots back on and went back to the house with plans to enjoy our covert activities again the next day.  Unfortunately, our parents had a very good reason for telling us to wear our boots.  Fish were not the only things that filled the flood waters. By the end of the night we were all horrified to find a large, itchy, red rash covering our legs right up to our knees from the bacteria in the water.  There was nothing worse than our painful self-inflicted punishment except maybe watching our parents try to stifle their laughter as they applied the first aid.

And Then There Were Two

                Registering for my Senior High School classes was something I had dreamed about all summer.  Most of my required courses were done so I would be able to enjoy choir and art, as well as participate in a jobs program.  As soon as I got there I headed straight for the English Department table to sign up for 3^rd hour with my favorite teacher.

                I told the girl behind the table my name and she fingered through a box of index cards.  She couldn't find mine so she checked her class lists and said that I had already been there because I was signed up for 4th hour.  Telling her that I just walked in the door I handed her my ID thinking she might have misheard my name.  My maiden name is Polish and it was often misread and mispronounced.  After checking her list again she told me that the person signed up for 4^th hour had the same first, middle and last name with the exact same spelling. The only difference was that she was listed as a junior.

                I was getting frustrated having to explain at every table that there were two of us.  When I reached the last table and handed in my course cards the registrar was waiting for me.  She asked for my Mother’s first Initial and when I said that it was E everyone at the table laughed.  Amazingly, although the names were different, her mom’s first initial was also E.  The registrar needed something to add to our computer records to tell us apart so she finally settled on our mother’s maiden names.  Secretly I felt as though my identity had been stolen and I wondered if she did too.  I guess I will never know because as close as she seemed that day I never met her face to face. 

Double Vision

                Living in rural area meant long bus rides to school and back.  I was one of the first ones on in the morning and the last off at night.  I had my pick of seats but usually sat alone because none of my friends rode the same bus. Sitting in the back was a disaster because the cool kids would tease me to try and intimidate me into giving them the seat.  Even in the middle seats I felt like I was breaking up a group so I ended up in the front just behind the driver.

                  I rode the same bus for 11 years and had the same bus driver for most of them. I had discovered that the front seat had a great view not just from my window but over the drivers shoulder through the large front window.  Over time I knew every house, farm, and field on the route including the horses, cows and dogs that lived there.  I noticed what kind of flowers grew along the road during what season and anticipated them each year as well as new generations of livestock each spring.

                   I was thrilled when I saw wildlife along the way and one day after seeing a large buck I glanced up into the driver’s rear view mirror. He nodded and smiled directly at me and I knew that he had seen it too.  We never had a conversation but I knew that he and I shared a special knowledge of the route.  We began to automatically exchange glances whenever there was something special or new along the way. During the winter it was harder to see through the slush coated windows.  One day when I got on the bus I found that the slush on my window, and only my window, had been cleared off in a neat circle.  I looked up and saw the driver grinning but he didn’t make eye contact.  From that day forward I always had a clear view and I never even thought about being alone or unpopular again. 

She Had It Coming or I Guess I Showed Her

No one hated PE more than I did. By senior year I had survived gymnastics, rope climbing and field hockey humiliations of epic proportion. I was chosen last when the teams were picked and was usually the first one on the bench.  The only thing that kept me going was knowing that all I had to do was make it through 4 more semesters and I would never have to suit up and suffer again.

 I would have made it too, if it hadn’t been for her. Petite and popular she was a solid mass of competitive muscle with an arrogant attitude. Time and time again I found myself the first to fall at her feet. Reaching my breaking point I decided that if it was the last thing I did I would find a way to beat her at something.

The opportunity came when my long stride advanced me to the finals of the hundred yard dash.  Bursting off the line with 3 1/2 years of pent up humiliation fueling my feet; I put my head down and ran as though my life depended on it.  The sound of my cheering classmates drowned out the coach shouting at me to pick up my head and breath. The next thing I remember she was bending over me asking if I thought I could make it to the nurse’s office. I had blacked out and literally fallen over the finish line. It wasn’t technically a victory because my feet never made it over the line but not even my opponent had  the heart to say so.  The cinders still embedded in my knees are a reminder of the price I paid for vengeance. I remain to this day a very non-competitive person.  What happened to my archrival?  She became a PE teacher.

The Tallest Girl in Class or Nadia I'm Not

It wasn’t bad enough that I was the tallest girl in class, I was also clumsy.  A fact that quickly put an end to any basketball aspirations I might have had.  To survive humiliation in gym I was determined to find a sport that would teach me grace and coordination.  I naively chose gymnastics because I was fascinated by the gymnast’s graceful motions and seemingly effortless command of their bodies.  I spent hours in front of televised competitions imagining myself in complete control of my long, ungainly limbs. Somehow I never noticed their petite size.  

 As hard as I tried I failed at even the most basic elements of trampoline, balance beam and tumbling.  My long limbs seem to have a mind of their own.  Still determined I was convinced that my length would be an asset on the uneven bars. I stood on the low bar and threw my long body over the top of the high bar ready to swing back up in one graceful motion.  The loud slap could be heard across the gym as I found myself standing flat on my feet with my hands still gripping the bar.  The PE teacher apologetically explained that she could not adjust the bars for just one student and the height was sufficient for everyone else.  Somehow that didn’t help.

 Vaulting was my last chance.  Surely long legs would not be a problem for jumping, I told myself.  They still talk about the tangled mess of legs and arms they found that day on the far side of the vaulting horse.  The minute I was upright again I ran for the door as fast as I could.  I would love to say that I discovered my track and field ability at that moment but the track cinders that are still embedded in my knees are evidence to the contrary.