Thirty Days

Today marks 30 days since we lost Ryan.  It doesn’t seem possible that this much time has gone by – maybe because I didn’t sleep for so much of the time.  The rise and set of the sun meant nothing to me for days.  I sleep better now, except for Fridays. I know that 3:48 am will come – that is when I received the first phone call.  Then the dreaded 7:14 pm – that’s when it all became final. 

People ask how I’m doing and I usually say that I’m doing better – but I don’t really know.  Better than what?  I was better when I had two children.  Now, I have one to touch, smell, talk to and only memories of the other.  I don’t mean to sound bitter, I’m just being realistic. People will say “Are things getting back to normal?”  There is no “normal” – I haven’t found my new normal yet.

Having the funeral did bring some peace.  You are no longer in that “limbo” phase.  It marks the point where you must pick up the pieces of your broken heart and move forward.  I have ordered Ryan’s headstone.  This was tough.  A monument is forever and I wanted to choose one that would have pleased him.  It won’t be ready for a few weeks but I think he would like it.

Going to his grave was anguish that I cannot even put into words.  JC and I went there on the Sunday following his funeral on Thursday and raked a little bit.  Last Sunday Mom and I went, removed the faded flowers and raked his grave.  I don’t even know how to articulate how it made me feel to rake clay mud clods and rocks off of his grave.  The pain in my heart was so bad.  Mom and I both just cried and raked.

I have written “thank yous”, returned dishes, and placed all the potted plants around my house.  I have re-read all the cards and letters and put them in a safe place.  I have looked at the registry book to see who all was at the funeral – I was in a state that didn’t allow me to take note of who all was there.  Forgive me, I am so very touched for each and every one who came to pay their respects and honor Ryan, but my mind was not focusing well that day.  I spoke with a friend yesterday who has also lost a child and she referred to it as being “in a fog.”  That is exactly how it is.  I remember nothing of some of the conversations that took place in the first few days.

Today, JC, Mom and I are going back to the cemetery to plant a weeping cherry tree that was given to me by the Junior High teachers at Gainesville.  I am choosing to plant it there rather than at my home so more people can enjoy it. 

I have tried to figure out what it is that we miss the most about a child that we have lost but I can’t say.   I miss Ryan’s laugh – it was infectious.  I miss the sound of his voice.  The first 3 weeks or so I would wake up to his voice singing.  It was so real but it was gut-wrenching.  That has stopped now.  I touch his things and try to feel his spirit.  I have a little bowl that he made me in second grade art.  His little finger prints are all over it.  I put my fingers on his finger prints and tell him that I love him.

I begged God for a sign that Ryan was in Heaven and happy.  One morning I was praying as I left my house for school and the little foxes that used to play in my yard ran across the road in front of me.  Ryan loved foxes – he had a fox tattoo on his arm and he bought Lily stuffed foxes as gifts.  He had seen my pictures of the foxes and was hoping he would see them when he came for a visit.  I felt better after I saw the foxes.

Last Friday something happened that brought me to my knees sobbing hysterically.  Back in November of 2011 Ryan had found a poem called “The Boy with the Too Big Eyes.”  He e-mailed it to me and then called me and we discussed it.  It was about a boy who grew up in a little town, moved to a huge city, and then realized that his life hadn’t worked out as he thought it would.  Ryan had been so much in the spotlight growing up and then in college but when he got to LA he realized that he was just one fish in a great big pond.  That hurt him.  On Friday, I had woken up at 3:48 and decided that I needed to stay busy so I wouldn’t think.  I went to my computer room and pulled out a plastic bin that had science labs in it.  I thought I might take some to school and try them with my students.  While going through the stack of science work I ran on to that poem.  I guess I had printed it and placed it in the tub 3 years ago – I honestly don’t know.  I re-read the poem, cried, and laid it on the dining table to later be put with all the other things that are special to me.  On Friday afternoon, Misty called me.  She has been methodically going through folders and files on Ryan’s Mac Book.  She said, “Mom, I found this poem on Ryan’s computer and it’s called “The Boy with the Too Big Eyes.”  I began to cry inconsolably.  Was this a message to Misty and me?  I don’t know.  I want to think it was his way of letting us know that he is OK.  We need to believe that our loved ones are at peace and happy.

One of Ryan’s friends from LA had a dream recently.  He said that he normally never dreams of people, usually things – but he dreamed that he was at a party and Ryan walked in.  He said that Ryan was so happy and he told his friend that he was in a really good place. 

On Ryan’s Mac Book, Misty found a series of blogs that Ryan had written.  He writes about family and it leaves no doubt that he loved his family very much.  It was a gift to us to find and read them.  He had also made an audio recording of Reid and him.  Ryan was having Reid identify pictures on flash cards.  Reid’s little toddler voice is so cute and if you listen closely you can hear Ryan chuckle in the background.  This must have been important to Ryan because he placed it in a file to keep.

I wish there was some miracle potion that would make all this pain go away, but there isn’t.  I also know that I hurt so much because I loved him so much.

I also know that in so many ways I am lucky.  I’m lucky for the 38 years that I had with him.  I have many pictures, videos, and audio recordings that allow me to see and hear Ryan at all stages of his life.  Every time I want to have a pity party session I remind myself of Colleen Nick.  For 19 years she has suffered not knowing what happened to Morgan.  I remind myself of the mothers of those young men murdered by ISIS – what horror.  I cannot imagine their pain.

People have been so generous with monetary donations.  I have a good start on Ryan’s Memorial Scholarship Fund.  I will be having a webpage created soon and will share that once it’s done.  Ryan valued education and he would encourage anyone to follow their dreams and not get discouraged.  I hope that through our loss we can make positive impacts on others.  Ryan was a truly amazing person and touched many lives.

Ryan’s best friend from Flippin couldn’t be at his funeral but he sent this letter to be read.

I first met Ryan across a table in Mrs. Wade’s room. We wrote journal entries abut our mornings and mine was probably something about eating cereal and brushing my teeth.  Ryan skipped the mundane and regaled us with a tale of waking up early to climb a tree and drop a whipped cream water balloon on his sister, Misty.  I was impressed.  He seemed like the most sophisticated person I had ever met.  We were ten years old.

My family had moved to Flippin and I was still trying to figure out how to fit in.  It was hard, since I didn’t care much about sports or bow season.  I thought I had to pretend, until I met Ryan.  Here was a kid who didn’t fit the mold, and didn’t even try.  He taught me that the best thing you can be is yourself.

Like a lot of us who grew up in the Ozarks, Ryan didn’t start out with many advantages.  But he had a talent for turning nothing into something.  One day he was an awkward 6^th grader in an itchy band sweater tapping out “Go Big Red” on a snare and seemingly overnight he was the most amazing drummer we had ever heard, sitting behind a full kit making the rest of us look like a bunch of horn-tooting amateurs.  One day we were videotaping silly infomercials in my kitchen for a project in Mrs. Melton’s class, and seemingly overnight he was the star of the school play, with the rest of us in the cast watching him in awe from the side of the stage.

Ryan always had an unparalleled wit. He was never without a hilarious comeback or quip for any situation.  “I may have been born yesterday, but I stayed up all night,” I remember him telling me.  Of course, later he’d confess that many of those zingers came directly from his mom, Shelley. He also had quite a few sayings from his dad, Dody, but those are probably best left unrepeated.

Not all of Ryan’s decisions worked out for the best. I recall him wearing a red plaid jacket to prom one year which in hindsight may have not been the way to go.  But his decision to invite me into his life as a friend is one I’m very glad he made.  When there was no place for me, he made room. He did the same for all who were privileged to know him.  For someone who didn’t always fit in, he fit perfectly into our hearts, where he will always remain.

Christopher Martin

Love and Loss

Over the past two weeks people have told me how strong I am; have compared me to other strong women; and asked me how I can be so strong.  I don’t know.  I don’t think mothers know the capacity of their strength until they are faced with the unthinkable. 

When I received that 3:48 am phone call that Ryan was extremely critical and that I must get to LA, I went on autopilot.  I’m a task oriented person and I began a mental checklist of what I needed to do.  I couldn’t get a morning flight because we live so far from any airport – I couldn’t physically drive to any of the airports in a 150 mile radius in time to make the earlier flights.  My hands shook, I sweated and my mind raced as I checked Orbitz, Priceline, Travelocity…all the websites to find a flight.  The only one I could make was from Springfield to Chicago and then to LA – hours of wasted time.  The trip to LA is still somewhat blurry but yet somewhat vivid.  There was an elderly lady in the Springfield airport who hugged me tightly and held my hand until we had to board our flight to Chicago.  Chicago was a blur – I got news that no mother ever wants to hear as I sat in the gate area.  I kept thinking that maybe they were wrong.  I would get there and Ryan would be sitting up in bed laughing.  Our minds trick us that way to handle the pain.  On the plane to LA I was seated next to a beautiful young woman that told me she was an OBGyn.  She talked me through the 5 hour flight.

When I arrived in LA Wayne was in the pickup zone to get me and what would normally have been a short drive was a nightmare.  It was 6pm on a Friday night in LA – rush hour traffic – everyone wanting to get the freeway.  I barely remember going from the entrance of the hospital to Ryan’s room and then I had to face what no mother ever wants to.  I had to say stop the life saving efforts – there was no hope.  I can’t write about the next part.  It’s too private and personal.  But just know as a mother at a time like this, we don’t see in real time, we see what is in the depths of our mind and through our love for our children.  I felt weak – ice water in my veins and my mouth tasted like metal.  I know from my medical and science background that it was caused my neurons firing too fast – it is shock. 

Oh yes, I wanted to lie down and just lose control but then Misty arrived and I realized that I needed to be strong for her.  Even though I had just suffered an unthinkable loss, I am still her mom too.

Then began all the paperwork, red tape, whatever you want to call it - people in my face, papers to be signed.  Ryan’s apartment and personal effects had to be taken care of.  Then you remember that you bought a one way ticket – flights back home to be arranged.  You have no time to lose control.  It was four days later before Misty and I found ourselves alone in her home in Texas before it hit us full in the face. 

I’m past the lying on the bed, sobbing, crying gallons of tears.  Now the tears quietly stream down my face when I am home or in my car.  My heart hurts and I don’t sleep much.  They tell me that it will get better but you almost don’t want to get better because you’re afraid that means you don’t care enough.  Four of my sisters-in-law have lost children and they tell me that isn’t true, but the fear is still there.

Through this, I have seen the good in people.  The outpouring of love and kindness has been amazing.  We have received gifts of food, money, flowers...  There are a few things that have touched me deeply.  My cousin’s 90 year old mom cooked an entire southern meal for the day of the funeral. Ryan would have loved it.  One of my friends sent me a card with money but she also put a book of stamps in with the card.  She knew I wouldn’t feel like going to the post office to get stamps for thank you cards.  One of my friends brought me her laptop to use because mine is fried – she even brought me her wifi box.  My cousin who quietly went to the cemetery and cleaned it up without expecting any kind of recognition.  Another cousin who made sure the dirt road  to the cemetery was graded and chatted.  The amount of money that has been raised has been unbelievable – people that I don’t know have given so much.  Ryan had a lot of friends and I didn’t realize how many that Misty and I have too.

I can never repay my cousin, Wayne.  I called him at 4 am and told him to get to the hospital. I had to give permission for him to be the family member in charge at the hospital.  It was a horrible position for him to be put in.  He held me up at the worst moment of my life, helped me with all the paperwork, packing, flight arrangements, and other things that had to be done.  He is the one who made the call to Burns Funeral Home to see how to begin the long process of getting Ryan back home.  I need to clarify something here too.  I just thought all my friends from back home knew how Wayne and I are related but in recent days, I have found out that they don’t.  Wayne and I share a common set of great-grandparents.  His maternal grandmother and my paternal grandfather were brother and sister.  And as we say in the Ozarks, “we grew up just down the road apiece” from each other.

 I am not going to sugar coat everything though.  There have been things that have hurt me as well.  People that I thought were my friends that haven’t offered any type of condolence.  People that I see daily turn their head or hurry into another room so that they don’t have to meet my eye.  People who, again as we say in the Ozarks, “live right in my front door” have yet to acknowledge my loss.   Is it so hard to say simply “I’m so sorry” or put a card in my mailbox?  I don’t know their reasons but I pray that they never feel a loss this great and need the comfort of others.

I wanted to bring Ryan “home,” which for me is out on the Ott Family Farm.  There are now 6 generations of Otts in our family cemetery.  It’s a beautiful place and the view from the top of that hill is breathtaking.  He rests behind my Dad and next to my Aunt Opal.  She babysat Ryan from age 6 weeks until he was old enough to stay by himself before and after school.  Ryan called her Granny Opal and they loved each other very much.  It’s a place where it feels peaceful and the wind gently blows there no matter what time of year.  I may not have pleased everyone with my choices but I did what my Mom instincts told me to do. 

I love you Ryan – a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.  Your memory lives on in your music, your artwork, photography and theatre work.  I will be setting up a scholarship fund for a graduating senior from Flippin High School who plans to major in the visual or performing arts.  Ryan loved the arts so much and I think he would be happy for me to help a deserving student pursue their dreams.

From Sea to Shining Sea

Sea to Shining Sea

This 2014 year has been a busy one for me.  I have checked a few items off my  “bucket list”, achieved a professional goal and made some new friends and colleagues.  It has taken me a lot of years, many mistakes, and missed opportunities but I feel that I’m finally settling in to a good place in my life.  In the months between April and July I traveled to Boston, MA for the NSTA Conference, to San Diego, CA to attend a Honeywell Conference, and to the Texas Gulf Coast for some family time.

A little background.

I went into teaching, not because I wanted to, but because I was in between the proverbial   “rock and a hard place.”  I had a degree in Nuclear Medicine Technology that was suddenly useless, unless I wanted to move across the US to work.  I was a single mom with one child that was about to start college and one starting her freshman year in high school and I was in “a pickle.”  My sister, Judith, is a long time teacher – beginning her 42nd year as a middle school history teacher.  She encouraged me to take my science degree and go into education.  I was living in Arkansas at that time and the Arkansas Department of Education has a program that allows an individual who has a Bachelor’s Degree to apply for a teaching license and obtain their training through workshop hours.  The up side is that you can start teaching immediately (if you can get a school to hire you), and the down side is – most schools don’t want you unless they're desperate to fill a position.  I applied for the program, was accepted, but was not able to get a job.  In order to keep my provisional license I had to sub at least 100 days per year.   That’s a lot of days with low pay.  In order to survive,  I worked multiple jobs on weekends and some nights.  After two years I was finally hired as a certified science teacher (I think they were desperate. LOL)  Once I got the job I made a promise to myself that if I hated teaching or if the students were not learning, I would leave the profession after a couple of years.  That never happened and I’m glad that Judith “twisted my arm” into beginning my teaching career. 

Professional Goal – Boston, MA

 Now to get to my point.  In Arkansas schools teachers are required to complete a yearly professional growth plan.  It is something that you want to accomplish that school year. Early on in my career they were simple – learn to make a Power Point presentation, use Excel – things like that.  Later it was to take a geology course.  As time went by, those goals accomplished, I needed new goals to aspire to.  I wanted to become a respected educator that could pass on information to other teachers that would help them in their classroom.  I needed a platform to do this and in the world of education, this is accomplished mainly through workshops.  But, once again, life intervened and I found myself teaching in Missouri.  The Missouri Department of Education is a bit different than Arkansas and I’m no longer required to complete a professional growth plan, but I decided that I wanted to go ahead and make one – just for myself.  I feel that I owe it to my students and my district to never stop growing as an educator.   Once again I felt the desire to be a workshop “presenter.” I had done some “local” workshops but nothing on a state or regional level.    A colleague, who was on sabbatical, approached me about a presenting with her at an upcoming conference.   We wrote a proposal, submitted it and were chosen to present at a Missouri statewide conference.  Other than a snowstorm that nearly prevented us from getting there on time, everything went well and it was a positive experience.   With that under my belt I was fired up to try for a national conference.  Over the years I have developed a strong networking system and made some great friends at Arkansas State University, Jonesboro.  Through my association with them I was asked to be a co-presenter at the National Science Teachers Association conference in Boston.  It was an amazing experience and I came home once again, fired up to do more presentations.   I have just begun what I hope will be a long and successful endeavor.

Educator Opportunity – San Diego, CA

Late last winter I was alerted to an educator opportunity.  The Honeywell  Corporation sponsors a Green Boot Camp for teachers of mid-level grades.  I love environmental science so I jumped at the chance.  I was chosen to attend and I have to say – this is a conference that all teachers should apply for.  Many of the eco conferences that I’ve attended in the past consisted of a lot of handouts/note taking from PowerPoints and “here’s my e-mail address if you have questions later.”  Boring!  This was not the case at all.  The teachers became the students.  It was all hands-on, and we were presented with activities that we can actually use in our classrooms.  We were treated with respect and that’s something that teachers don’t get enough of.  The trip was fully funded, airfare, a room of your own (I’m used to sharing with 2-4 other teachers), meals, a flash drive with all the lesson plans, activities, power points, etc. ready to use in the classroom.  We were taken on field trips and sight-seeing tours, and fun activities.  I can’t say enough good things about Honeywell and the Green Boot Camp.  There were 70 teachers from 12 countries in attendance and that is a lot of networking opportunity.  We have a Facebook page where we share lessons, ideas, upcoming workshops and camaraderie.   I made friendships with amazing teachers that I hope will last a lifetime.  These are the kind of people that hugged you when we parted and said “If you’re ever in my area of the world, call me and we will show you around.”  It made a lasting impact on me and provided insight as to how workshops and presentations need to run.  It made me more aware of how I could become a better presenter.  Another plus that came about from this trip was a visit from my son and my cousin.  My son, Ryan, lives in the Silverlake area of LA and my cousin, Wayne , lives in West Hollywood.  They drove down and stayed the night in San Diego.  We went to George’s at the Cove at La Jolla for an amazing dinner.  The sun was just setting over the water when we were seated.  It was absolutely beautiful and a memorable experience.

Family Time – Port Aransas, TX

I have 3 grandkids of my own and they are the world to me.  They live in McKinney, TX, which is a 9 hour drive away.  I don’t get to see them very often and they grow so quickly.  My husband and I have always taken a yearly vacation.  We’ve been fortunate to be able to travel within the US from east to west and north to south.  Three years ago I asked my daughter if her family would like to vacation with us.  It would be a chance to kick back and relax and spend time with the kids.  They agreed and we chose Port Aransas, TX which is on Mustang Island as our destination.  It’s an 8 hour drive for them and 16 for us but we usually have more time to spend on the road than they do.  This was our third summer to vacation there and I can’t imagine a beach vacation now without the kids.  I think that when the kids get older they will look back with fond memories of the beach vacations with Nana and Papa.  JC and I love the Texas Gulf Coast.  It’s not as pretty as AL or FL but there’s just something about it that lures us there.  Each year on the drive home we contemplate what it would be like to buy a winter home in one of the harbor towns.  We love Port LaVaca and Rockport and maybe someday we can become a part time resident.

It wasn't an intentional plan to travel from the Atlantic to the Pacific and to the Gulf all in a 4 month period but I’m certainly glad that these opportunities allowed that.  I love life and try to live it to the fullest and hope that I have many more years to enjoy all that it has to offer.

The Wal-Mart Chronicles

Wal-Mart, love it or hate it, for me it's a weekly event. It's a study in human behavior and I try to make my shopping trips as painless as possible.  Today's trip, though, was a test of my patience.  I generally go to Wal-Mart early on Saturday mornings. I know and accept that there will only be a couple of lanes open for those that can't use the express or self-checkouts.  I typically get in a line, browse the magazine covers, drool over the chocolate bars, and wonder why people stick meat and dairy products that they've decided not buy in the candy rack (go figure).  If I'm super bored I will get my phone out and peruse Facebook until it's my turn to unload my cart.

This morning, I realized when I pulled into the parking lot at 7:45 that the store would be much busier.  There were a lot of cars and I chalked it up to the weather forecast.  I grabbed a cart and my list and went to work (I'm not a browser or impulse buyer at Wal-Mart.  I treat it like a job - just get this done!).  I had a lengthy list that required me to visit most departments and I did notice that there were more stockers than usual and they were busy stocking items that most people buy when there is an impending ice storm.  The employees were courteous and moved their carts out of the way for people to get the needed items. 

I checked the last item off my list and headed for a checkout.  There were four open and there were long lines at each one.  I figured that any one lane was as good as the other so I pushed my cart in to the closest one and settled in to wait.  This lady (with a sour expression) pulls up behind me and says to me. "Can you believe this?"  I thought maybe she was talking about the weather and I commented that I was tired of the bad weather and she says, "Oh I'm from Mass and lived in Colorado for years.  I can drive on anything.  I'm talking about the fact that there are only four lanes open."  I just nodded, thinking to myself that four is more than normal.  She then leaves her cart and stomps off looking in all directions and mutters something about looking for a supervisor.  While I was waiting I got a text message so I pulled out my phone and answered it.  Then the lady says, "If I had my cell phone I would call the manager."  I got a sinking feeling that she was going to ask to use my phone or for me to call (panic set in - I don't like confrontation).  Luckily about that time a former student walked by and yells "Hey, Mrs. Ledbetter, How are you?"  I told him that I was fine and asked how his classes were going and he asked me how school was.  After he left, she asked me if I was a teacher.  I told her yes and she says, "Well you better hope you never meet my daughter.  She would have a few things to say to you about teachers and the state of public education."  I asked her if her grandkids went to school in this area and she said "No, they go to school in Garland, Texas."  (I made a mental note to send the teachers and staff of Garland ISD a sympathy card).  Finally - it was my turn to check out and I ignored her from that point on.  When I was finished I turned to her and said, "I hope you have a nice day."  She replied, "I probably won't after the day starting out like this."  I thought to myself, "There are some people that you can't please, no matter what."

Ironically, as I was leaving, guess who was pushing her cart up the center of the aisle so that a car couldn't get past her?  I slowly followed her (thinking evil thoughts), then I tooted my horn.  She jumped and whirled around.  I just gave her my biggest smile and waved, and chuckled to myself as I drove off.   
 

Kids caught doing good.

I have to be inspired to blog.  I could never be a "blogger on demand."  This morning I read two Facebook posts that inspired me to write.  One was the shared story "1 + 1 = ♥" and the other was a post by a friend about a former student whom she had encouraged to overcome adversity and accomplish her goals.  This got me thinking about my own students and classroom so I decided to share some of my stories about "my kids."

I teach in a very small rural school.  Our ENTIRE COUNTY doesn't have a stoplight, a Wal-Mart. a movie theater or a hospital. We have one fast food establishment (Subway) so the kids here don't have a lot of options for entertainment.  Yes, some do get into mischief but most of the kids play sports, ride horses, four-wheelers, go fishing and hunting, or just spend time at one another's houses.  Most of them are good kids.  Kids that will grow up to be good parents and good citizens.  Many will go on to college and pursue their dreams. 

I spend my days in the company of 7th and 8th graders.  I see them when they are going though all the awkward phases of puberty.  Their first crushes and heartbreaks, the growth spurts and the ones who get upset because they haven't had their growth spurt yet, the acne, the braces, trying contact lenses - all of the typical pre-teen woes.  But this is what I don't see.  I don't see our students making fun of other students, being mean to anyone OR ignoring those that are at a disadvantage.  I see clothes that range from your typical stores from the mall (yes it's an hour's drive away) to clothes from the Goodwill Store but I don't see anyone passing judgements on those less fortunate or bragging about what they do have.  I see those that need braces or acne treatments but again I never see or hear negative comments about it.

We have special needs students and it never fails to warm my heart when I see the students helping them.  We have a wheelchair bound student and I watch daily as our students carry her books, open the doors for her, happily let her be in their science lab groups.  Another special needs student receives their encouragement to try hard and they joke around with him and get him to feel a part of their student community.  Our science club was competing last week and the students had built mousetrap launchers with the objective of knocking over bottles of different weights with "super bounce balls."  I watched these kids help the special needs student set up and fire his launcher, all the while cheering him on as he competed and offering advice. 

In my classroom, I have a system I have used for several years to assign students to groups.  I have a fish bowl for each class period.  In the fish bowls are laminated fish with each student's name on them.  I draw for lab groups, cooperative learning, anything that requires a group.  This makes it random, fair, and forces the students to constantly work with kids they don't normally spend time with.  They never complain - they dutifully go to their assigned group and get to work.  If there is someone in the group that struggles I see the other students helping them.  It never fails to warm my heart.

I don't want to give the impression that we live in a fairytale world.  We don't and I witness the occasional episodes of hatefulness, but it's the exception rather than the norm. I have not written one office referral this  school year and I hope I won't have to.  Generally you can pull a student aside and talk to them and that will take care of any negative behavior.  The kids here still care about what the teachers think and they still fear disappointing their parents.

I hope that I never witness the types of behaviors and violence that seem to be in the news daily.  I hope I never see one of my student's pictures on the web or tv for anything other than their positive accomplishments.  If you get the chance to read the share "1 + 1 = ♥" please do so.  If you are a teacher or anyone who works with kids, get yourself a system for assigning kids to groups so that no child is left out or picked last.  It will make a difference and you will see so many good things start to happen.

So you think you know me.....

I've been reading a lot of recent Facebook posts where you are assigned a certain number and you list things that people might not know about you.  It was fun and interesting to read them and realize that maybe we don't know our friends as well as we think we do.  I didn't get one of those numbers (not sure if that's good or bad), but it caused me to stop and think about things that those who are not in my inner circle may not know about me.

I'm a thinker.  My brain is always in overdrive - that's one of the reasons that I sleep so little.  If I wake up in the night my brain shifts into high and away we go.  I wish I knew how to change that but at this stage in my life, I don't see it happening.

I'm a list maker.  Lists are everywhere and I check things off as I go. My lesson plans for the entire year (both 7th and 8th grade) are in two giant 3 ring binders in the order that they are to be taught.  I color code and label everything.  If you came to my classroom you would find everything neatly color coded, labeled, and filed.  I never want to look unprepared in front of my students so I make sure that I can grab what I need without a frantic search.  I also require that my students keep binders and we number and file everything that we do.  If an upset parent comes in and asks why their child's grade is low I hand them the binder.

When I go to Wal-mart I try to always park on row 6. If I cannot park on row 6 I write down on my ever present list what row I parked on.  I know that's probably OC but that's just another layer of Shelley.

I  don't eat poultry (or any kind of fowl).  I never have and unless I'm dying of starvation and that's all there is, I never will.  I don't eat eggs either.  I don't know if there's a connection or not.  Another thing I don't eat is gravy and the thought of gravy, especially white gravy, initiates my gag reflex.

Seventy-five percent of the clothes in my closet are black.  I own 7 "little black dresses" and at least 10 pairs of black shoes.

I am allergic to yellow gold.  It gives me an itchy rash.

If I could bring anyone in the past back to talk to them it would be Amelia Earhart.  I love how gutsy and ahead of her time that she was.

One of my favorite authors is Jean Craighead George.  I love her books, especially Julie of the Wolves.  Her life experiences fascinate me.  I traveled to Barrow, Alaska once because her stories about Barrow inspired me.  I would love to go back there some day on a research project.  On a side note - wading out into the Arctic Ocean was one of my most memorable experiences.

I am far-sighted in my left eye and near-sighted in my right eye.  Because of this I have very poor depth and distance perception.

I have a degree in Nuclear Medicine Technology and get frustrated when I hear people pronounce nuclear as nuke-u-lar (thank you George Bush).  I also hate it when people ask me if I know how to make a bomb.  No I don't.

There is so much that makes me who I am and these are just a few little snapshots of who Shelley is.  So do you think you really know me?

Story of A World War II Veteran

When I was growing up it was common for most kid's dads to have served in the military.  When I would go visit my friend's homes there was usually a picture on a wall or mantle of their dad in his uniform.  Kids of the 50's were proud of their dad's military service.  Our dads taught us to be respectful of the flag and all that it stood for.  I would watch my dad place his hand over his heart for the pledge, remove his hat for the National Anthem and salute when the colors of a parade went by.  He also told us to respect our President, even if we didn't like the man, respect the office that he held.  He is in fact, Commander in Chief.

My dad didn't talk much about the war when we were kids and we were somewhat timid about asking questions.  We knew that bad things had happened and in our calm, quiet family way we didn't want to upset Daddy.  In later years he began to talk about the war - he seemed to need to talk about it.  I was privy to some of these stories but my Mom, Lou Ann Ott, told me much of what I am about to tell.

My Daddy was a Marion County, Arkansas farm boy.  He had four older sisters and was born late in life to Blufford and Ella Ott. His Dad died when he was 9 years old and so it was mainly he and my Granny.  My Dad was extremely smart and he told me once that he wished he had gone on to U of  A and become a lawyer.  But World War II happened and a lot of lives were forever changed.  Daddy graduated from Yellville-Summit High School in 1943.  He had gone to North Dakota to work the wheat harvest when he received his draft notice.  He told me once that he was only a short distance from the Canadian border and the thought of stepping across that border did cross his mind - but my Dad was an honorable man so he came back to Arkansas and said goodbye to his mother and sisters.  He boarded a train at Summit, AR and went to Camp Robinson at Little Rock where he was processed into the Army.  He then went on to San Antonio, TX to a training Center, The next part is a little confusing for me, he somehow went to Fort Hood because he has a diploma that says "Killer College" Killeen, TX.  (I have more research to do on this)  After his training in Texas he was sent to Ft. Meade, Maryland.  It was during his time at Ft. Meade that Franklin D. Roosevelt died and my Dad marched in his funeral procession.  He told the story of how they soldiers were not allowed to smoke for many hours and once the procession ended they all lit up and huge plume of white cigarette smoke went up into the air.

After Ft. Meade he left on a train and traveled to San Francisco, CA where he boarded a ship bound for the South Pacific.  It took 31 days to reach Lingayen Gulf, Phillippines.  Over 200,000 soldiers, many young farm boys like my Dad, landed on Palo beach over the course of a few days.  Daddy said that they were being fired upon when they reached the beach and they crawled on their bellies - many of them died on their first day of battle.  While in the Philippines my Dad fought in the Battle of  Leyte, Luzon and Mindanao.  These were horrible, bloody battles.  From here the 19th Infantry marched on for 17 days and 144 miles on foot, in the never ending rain - The Long March of the Philippines.  Daddy said that they were never dry.  They ate, slept, walked in the rain.  He said that the jungle was so thick that they used machetes to clear the way.  It was dark most of the time because of the canopy of trees.  He said that one of the Japanese tricks was for soldiers to hide up in trees and wait for the US soldiers to march under them.  They then would jump onto the last soldier and cut their throat.  The routine was that every few hours the lead man would move to the rear of the line - no one wanted to be the last man.  One night they were sleeping in their tent and a monkey got in the tent - the soldiers fearing it was the enemy were scared out of their minds. When my Mom was telling me this story I asked her if the soldiers killed the monkey and she said that they didn't and it followed their march for a while.  My Dad received a commendation and a medal (among others) for his part in the Long March.  He developed "jungle rot" on his feet while he was there and it plagued him for the rest of his life.  One of the many horrors that he experienced in the Philippines was during a battle he had to drop into a fox hole to keep from being shot.  When he got in the fox hole there was a dead soldier covered in maggots.  It was horrible and terrifying for him.  He would never eat rice because it said it looked like those maggots.

Following the Philippines Daddy was shipped to Japan.  The bombs had been dropped and the Allied Forces were occupying Japan.  At his point in time Dad's nerves were shot and he was sent to a rest camp in Nagasaki and later to Hiroshima.  He worked as an clerk/typist and earned the rank of Corporal.  It was during his time in Hiroshima that he got reunited with his first cousin, Fred Ott.  He and Fred were very close and they were both fighting in the South Pacific and were not able to communicate with each other.  Since Dad worked in an office now he learned that Fred was coming to Hiroshima but Fred didn't know Dad was there.  When Fred got there they almost didn't recognize each other - they needed haircuts and to shave - but when they did recognize each other, they hugged and cried.

Daddy was discharged from the US Army 24th Division, Company M, 19th Infantry on Nov. 20, 1946 at Ft. Sam Houston, TX.

 My Dad saw unspeakable horrors in the South Pacific but he didn't dwell on that.  He came home, met my Mom, and built a life and a family.  The war affected him though.  His hands always had a tremor and he suffered from nightmares.  Once he was dreaming that he was fighting a Japanese soldier and he hit my Mom while they were sleeping.  As kids we had questions but we never asked (though I think Bruce might have tried a couple of questions that were off limits).  This is what I came to realize.  War is Hell.  The things that a soldier sees and does are part of that Hell.  Men, like my Dad, who would never lift a hand to hurt another, outside of war, are forced to become someone else during battle.  Then it depends on the mettle of the man as to how they deal with that once they come home.

In spite of all he went though, my Dad was never bitter.  He served his country proudly and never asked for anything.  We went to the Branson World War II Museum shortly before he passed away and I held back tears the entire time.  He showed me a machine gun like the one he carried and used - it was nearly as big as he had been during the war.  I asked him how could he carry that gun and he said simply, "It was do it or die."  He called the Japanese "Japs" and he had some swords that he brought home as "souvenirs."  He talked about wishing that he could travel back to Japan to see how Hiroshima and Nagasaki looked after they were rebuilt.  He didn't mention wanting to return to the Philippines - too much horror there, I think.

When Daddy died his funeral was a military service with the flag, taps, and 21 gun salute. He would have liked that.  There are so many stories like Dad's story that need to be told.  If you have a loved one that served in the military, get them to tell you their story so that you may pass it on to your kids and grandkids.  They need to know how those before them served and honored the USA.

Saluting you Dad.

Daughter of a Soldier