Dear Followers, I am reposting one of my older stories and taking a week off writing. Here is the link:https://susanaculver.com/wp-admin/post.php?post=4188&action=edit&classic-editor&classic-editor__forget
Susan A. Culver
Every time I think, I’ve written my last memoir about my experiences as a young girl who was raised as a Catholic and attended twelve years of Catholic School. I remember yet another experience that has lain dormant deep down in my oldest memories.
Catholic School Classroom in the 1950s
In fact, almost every experience I had up until my eighteenth birthday affected my relationship with the Catholic Church and the nuns that taught me everything from basic math to calculus, how to read and write English Grammar properly, and how to read Latin and speak French. I still retain the ability to read French after almost fifty years. Thanks to Sister Renard, my French teacher, for three years. And more than any other lesson I learned was self-control and knowing when to keep my mouth shut. And keeping a secret is not necessarily a lie.
I come from a fairly large Catholic family. I had five sisters and one brother. My twin sister and I were the youngest. We were born in 1951. And my middle sisters were seven and eight years older than me, and my twin. My older sister Jean was thirteen years older than us, and my brother was nineteen years older. Both my older brother and my sister Jean have passed away.
My next two older sisters both attended Catholic School through high school. I do not know how their Catholic School education affected them, but I do know how it affected me. Of course, since my older sisters and my twin, and I attended school, we were all affected and part of the baby boomer generation. After World War II there was a tremendous increase in the number of babies born after World War II when American soldiers returned from serving time in the military during WWII and the Korean War.
Elementary Catholic School classrooms were overcrowded. In first grade, I didn’t have my own seat. At first, I sat on the windowsill, and later I got my own desk and chair, but it was parked directly behind a large post that supported the ceiling. And I could only see the blackboard if I stuck my head out on either side of the pole. I could hear everything alright, but I could see anything but that pole, including what was written on the blackboard. At first, I would raise my hand to get the attention Sister John Michael’s attention, but she either couldn’t see my arm flagging her down, or she was intentionally ignoring me.
I was a quiet kid and tried to keep my head down and out of trouble for the most part. Really, the last thing you wanted to do was gain the attention of any of the nuns during your tenure as a Catholic School student. Because if you did, you would get your name written on the blackboard, and you would have to stay after school and do chores or write things like I will not talk during class one hundred times. I used to go down the page and write each word one hundred times and then do the same for all the other words until they were written one hundred times.
During my elementary school years, I had two lay teachers, Miss Norris and Mr. McElliot, my fifth-grade teacher. It just so happened that Mr. McElliot knew my older brother and had worked with him at the Maple Shade Post Office. And he told me that my brother was one of the smartest people he ever met. I had always been extremely proud of my brother, Harry, because he was the first person in my family to go to college and earned his Ph.D. in Psychology.
Later, my sister, Elizabeth, went to college. She earned a nursing degree and also taught high school. I went to college when I was thirty-six to the Tyler School of Art in Pennsylvania and earned two degrees in art by the time I was forty. My English teachers at Tyler always asked me if I attended Catholic School because of my grasp of grammar and literature. And the ability to write a coherent sentence and spell correctly.
Aside from learning reading, writing, and Arithmetic in Catholic School, I learned self-control. Because if you didn’t know how to sit quietly in the classroom, you would get your hand whacked with a wooden ruler with a metal edge. Over the eight years I attended Catholic grade school, I had my head bashed into the blackboard multiple times. Usually, it was for passing notes to other students. But, more often, it was because I had a difficult time doing math, especially the higher maths like geometry and algebra. You will be happy to know that eventually, I did finally grasps math. But, it didn’t occur until much later when as an adult, I decided to volunteer to teach basic skills to adults who didn’t graduate from high school and were trying to earn their GED. I purchased a math book and then went through it from beginning to end and finally taught myself math. And I was then able to teach that skill to my GED students. But, I really owed the nuns for their perseverance in trying to teach me math for twelve years.
When I look back at the twelve years that I spent in Catholic School, the year that stands out the most for me was fourth grade when Sister Joseph Catherine was my teacher. My fourth-grade class was held in the basement of the Catholic School on the stage. Because the school was so overpopulated by students that they ran out of classrooms. Sister Joseph Catherine was petite. In fact, she was only a few inches taller than I was at nine years old. But within her small stature was hiding a whole lot of repressed rage and anger. I have no idea what she was so mad about, but it was clear to everyone that had ears and eyes in their head that they better not cross her. Keep your head down and your mouth shut.
But for no reason that I was ever able to discern Sister Joseph, Catherine picked me to be her constant companion and slave. Everywhere she went, I went. And I had to carry her books and whatever else she needed to be transported from one place to another. In class, it behooved everyone to do as she told, or there would be hell to pay. I can not remember what I did in her classroom to aggravate her, but one day she called me up to the blackboard to solve a math problem. As I have mentioned, math was not a strong point for me. So, Sister Joseph Catherine wrote a problem on the blackboard with chalk and called me up to solve it.
Of course, my mind went completely blank, one reason being my difficulty with math and, secondly, because she was standing behind me berating me at the top of her voice about how stupid I was. This did not encourage me. I just stood there dumbfounded, my mind blank, shaking like a leaf. She came up behind me and banged my head repeatedly into the blackboard in front of the whole class. Who for once was completely silent. Not a word was said. I don’t remember how the incident ended. I did know that my days of being her slave were over. And I refused to follow her around and carry her stuff. When I went home, I told my parents what happened, and my mother said she was going to go and talk to Sister Joseph Catherine. And I begged her now to because I thought it would get worse for me in the classroom.
Looking back on it, I think I should have let my mother have a word with her, a harsh word. Maybe it would have prevented all of Sister Joseph Catherine from physically attacking any future students. Fortunately, the following year in the fifth grade, I had Mr. McElliot as a teacher. And he was a great teacher that made learning fun and interesting. He encouraged us to ask questions and have opinions. Needless to say, I did much better in his class. And he encouraged us to go to the library and read and learn about the world. And that is exactly what I did for the rest of my life.
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Sara had always considered herself to be an optimist. She looks forward to each new day as a new beginning. And an opportunity to do better than she had the day before. She is one of those people who always see the light at the end of the tunnel. Each morning when she wakes up, she looks out her bedroom window, and rain or shine, she is happy that she has the opportunity to begin a new day.
Princeton University
When Sara hits any roadblocks in her life, she finds a way around it and believes she was better for having overcome them. Her confidence in herself grew and grew. She had always been an independent person who prided herself on her ability to create her own success and not rely on other people.
Sara is a person with a big heart, and she is always willing to lend a helping hand to anyone who needs it. Sara has always set goals for herself from the time she was a little girl playing hopscotch on the sidewalk in front of her house. She wouldn’t give up until she hopped all the way to the end of the hopscotch and back again without touching her other foot to the ground. And when she succeeded, she would smile from ear to ear and jump up and down. Her girlfriends always laughed at her for getting so excited over a game of hopscotch.
As Sara grew up, she set higher and higher goals for herself. She always wanted to have the highest grade point average in her class, and she was the president of her class all through eight years of grade school and four years of high school. She was the valedictorian of her senior year in high school at graduation. And she was accepted into every college she applied to during her senior year. She decided that she would only attend the best university in the USA. She was accepted at Harvard, Princeton, and Yale. She decided on Princeton University since it had the highest rating of all the universities in America. She was offered a full scholarship.
Girls Dorm Princeton Univesity
Sara had a lot of girlfriends but hadn’t dated at all during high school since she felt her education was more important than dating, which she considered to be a waste of her time. She had no plans to get married any time soon, if at all. Her parents had divorced when she was in the third grade, and her memories of the time before that were of her parents arguing and disagreeing with each other all day and night. She had no desire to replicate that experience in her own life.
Her Freshman year at Princeton was challenging, to say the least. Princeton had a beautiful campus, and only the cream of the crop was accepted as students who would be expected to direct all their energy and time to their studies which were a preparation for their future. Sara had planned on her future being driven by her desire to make new strides in Biological Research. Sara believed that biological research helps us understand all of the living world and its many species, including humans, to function and evolve. And ultimately will advance improvements in medicine, biotechnology, and many other areas of biology, which will improve the quality of life for all the life on our planet.
During her third year at the university, Sara had to declare her major. This was always a stressful time for students since it was not unknown for students to be conflicted by their many interests, and picking one major was a kind of litmus test to see which students had evolved enough in their years at the university to make adult decisions about their future lives. And how they wanted to use that time. Sara had always known what she wanted to do with her life. But still, because of the high pressure, Sara found herself questioning her choice to the point that she was having difficulty falling asleep in the few hours of sleep that she allowed herself. And in addition, she found her appetite had decreased to the point that between little rest and poor appetite, she had lost considerable weight and energy.
Finally, one of her friends at the university stopped by Sara’s door room and ask if she could take a few minutes out of her studies for a short discussion. Sara looked at her friend and thought that she must be having some boyfriend issues. Sara had no experience with boyfriends since she didn’t date and had no desire to waste her time on the drama of young love that she saw all around her at the university. When her friend, Miriam, ask her if she could come in, Sara sighed and said, “Well, just for a little while. I just started doing the research on my thesis, Miriam.”
“Well, you are probably not going to like what I have to say, but here goes. I and the rest of your friends are concerned with your well-being. You don’t get much sleep, you never do anything that is fun or relaxing, but most of all, you are concerned about how much weight you have lost. Are you eating at all? Have you developed some sort of eating disorder? You know that the university has people that can address issues like this. What do you say? How about we go set up an appointment and see if there is a real problem or you just not getting enough sleep and not eating regularly?”
“What, I don’t have an eating disorder; I’m busy. I have a lot of work and research to do in a short amount of time. I supposed I do forget to eat occasionally. But it’s not a big deal. I’m young, and I will rebound, and in time I will finish my studies and move on to the real working world. Which I’m sure will be even more challenging than going to university, don’t you think?”
Miriam responded,” Could you please just stand up next to me and look in the mirror? If you remember, we were both about the same weight and height when we arrived here on campus three years ago. So, would you please come to look in the mirror?”
Sara hemmed and hawed for a moment, and then she said, “Alright, but this better not take too long. I have a great deal of work to do. And then she walked over to the mirror and stood next to Miriam, and looked into the mirror. They both looked in the mirror and then at each other. And Miriam said, “Well, how do you think you look?”
“Well, if I were, to be honest, I’d have to say that I do look somewhat thinner. But that’s not surprising; I have been working night and day. And so do most of the students here that wish to excel in their studies. Their futures depend upon it. “ 
“Do you notice your clothes are hanging off of you? How about how thing your face is compared to mine? Your clothes are falling off of you. You don’t eat much, you rarely sleep. How do you expect to excel at anything when you’re starving yourself and not sleeping at all? And you work night and day. You never take a break, ever.”
“Yes, I can see I lost some weight, and we are all tired. But, we are working towards our futures, and that takes time and lots and lots of effort, sometimes going without sleep.”
“Yes, but how far are you going to get if you are starving yourself and not sleeping? Shouldn’t your health and well-being be the number one priority?”
“Yes, but sometimes I just don’t have enough time to think about eating and sleeping.”
“How about if you make a compromise? How about if every morning you come down to the cafeteria with me and eat a light breakfast, and then at dinner time, we go down and eat dinner together? Maybe once in a great while, we can splurge and go out for pizza or something. What do you say?”
“Breakfast and dinner too, oh come on, that’s too much. And then Sara began to laugh. “OK, OK, breakfast and dinner, and once in a great while, go out for pizza. But that’s it.”
“Awesome, let’s celebrate by going out for that pizza right now. What do you say?”
“ I say, I’m slammed but OK, but then I have to come right back here and get busy working on my research paper, deal?”
“Yes, deal, so throw on some shoes, grab your purse, and let’s get that pizza with all the toppings. What do you say, Sara?”
“OK, let’s hit the road and get a pizza. I can almost taste it right now.”
“Me, too. Let’s hit the road.”
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I guess you could say I’ve always been somewhat of a loner. Although throughout most of my life, I’ve always maintained a “best friend.” My best friend has not always been a fellow human being. Currently, my best friends are my dogs. And so far, they have proven to be the most loyal and loving, and accepting best friends. I suppose my peculiar ways have a tendency to “put people off.”
Watercolor I painted of my house where I grew up in and the Catholic Church that defined who I became as an adult in many ways.
Oh, you’re wondering what traits I have that put people off. Well, my sense of humor. I have to admit I’m a sarcastic person. Not mean sarcastic, but funny sarcastic. Although not everyone ‘gets” my sense of humor. I have something of a trigger finger when it comes to responding to people’s comments. It’s no sooner out of your mouth than I have a sarcastic remark to counter it. I think I’m a riot, but not everyone would agree.
And then there’s my almost total lack of interest in my outward appearance. Especially if I’m at home and working around the outside or out in the garden, I will definitely be wearing my oldest, most worn-out clothes I own. So, you happen to come over to my house without forwarning me. Well, you can expect me to look pretty much like I haven’t showered or washed my clothes recently. If you let me know you are coming in advance, you can be sure that I will take a quick shower and change my clothes. And I will have something for you to eat when you arrive. Without warning and I most likely will have an empty fridge, and you’ll be lucky to get more than a glass of water or tea. What can I say?
Downtown Maple Shade in the 1950s
Oh, there I go off the track again. I was explaining how I am somewhat of a loner and usually only have one close friend at any given time. And in recent years, most of my closest friends have been dogs, cats, and birds. And they may not even be my dogs, cats, or birds. They could very well be my neighbor’s pets. In fact, my best and closest friend when I was a young child was a stray cat named Strottles. He was an ancient orange cat. He was covered with scars from his many battles with neighbors’ male cats. He came to our side door every day and would meow until I came outside and gave him his share of hugs, scratches, and petting.
And in addition, I befriended all the neighbor’s pets, including cats and dogs. I went out of my way to talk to all the older people in the neighborhood, who often lived alone. And they were more than happy to make my acquaintance and befriend me. I found that they were good listeners and were never in a hurry. And they always seemed entranced by the stories I would tell them about the adventures I experienced in our neighborhood and the rest of the town that I lived in as well. My parents gave me full rein. As long as I was home for lunch or dinner on time, all was copesetic. In fact, they rarely asked where I had been or what I had been up to in fact. Even at the age of six, I was allowed to go out on my own as long as I wasn’t late for meals or bedtime. I kid you not.
I met some interesting people on my excursions. And once I was old enough to ride a bike, there was no stopping me. I traveled to all the surrounding towns on that bike. There was no stopping me. And like I said, my parents never asked where I had been or what I had been up to. Go figure.
My family in the 1950’s
One of my favorite haunts was the local library, which was only two rooms. I used to go there at least once or twice a week, even before I was old enough to get a library book. I would pick out a bunch of books and spend several hours perusing them from the front cover to the last page. Sometimes, the librarians would greet me with ‘Oh boy, do we have a book for you.” And then I would be in book heaven for the next couple of hours. I made friends with all the local merchants. Needless to say, the local bakery and its employees became best friends of mine. I was their official taste tester. I can’t express just how much I loved all things sweet, from cakes to pies, to cookies.
And then there was the shoemaker. His shop was right around the corner from the Ben Franklin 5&10. I’ll tell you about that later. Anyway, Tony the shoemaker was one of my favorite people to visit because he was always happy to see me, and sometimes I brought him a treat from the bakery. He came from Italy, and I loved hearing him talk with his Italian accent. He liked to hear all my stories about the people I talked to around town. He knew most of them as he was the only shoemaker in town.
Then, I would stop at the Rexall Drug Store and then the 5&10 cent store where you could actually purchase things for a nickel or a dime. I liked to collect foreign stamps when I was a kid. And you could buy a whole bunch of used stamps for fifty cents or a dollar if you had that much money. There were so many treasures to be found in that 5&10 store. I could spend hours in there just walking up and down the aisles. Sometimes, I would find some coins on the sidewalk when I was walking around downtown, and then before you could say whoop de doo., I would run down the street to the 5&10 and spend that money like it was burning a hole in my pocket.
Saint Mary of the Angel’s Academy, where I attended high school.
Oh, but the best thing of all was the Roxy Theater, where every Saturday, you could watch a movie for twenty-five cents. I used to go with all my friends, sometimes school friends, and sometimes neighborhood kids. I would bring my lunch with me in a brown paper bag. My best neighborhood friend lived three houses away from me. We did everything together. At least everything during the summer, but during the school year, she used to sleep in late on Saturday morning, and then she would have to clean her room. So, I didn’t usually see her until we went to the children’s mass on Sunday. I was always talking and laughing during Mass and causing some kind of ruckus, and getting in trouble with the nuns.
After Mass, I would run home and eat a big Sunday breakfast with my family, and then I would be off on my bike. On Sunday,I spent most of my time alone because my friend’s family spent the day together. I didn’t have to be home except for breakfast and then at dinner time. I spent Sunday riding my bike around or taking long walks. Where I would stop and visit all the neighbor’s dogs and cats. And sometimes, I would go and visit all the older people in my neighborhood who lived alone. They always seemed happy to see me, and sometimes they offered me cake. And you know, I never said no to a piece of cake. And they all loved hearing my stories about the people in town, sometimes, I embellished the stories somewhat, but that just made them more interesting. I guess that’s when I began my journey of being a storyteller.
One time during Summer vacation, all the neighborhood kids were all outside playing Hide and Seek, and I was with my best friend. And I decided to tell her a story. I told her that I was actually an alien from outer space and came from another planet. And I was going to take her back with me to my planet. Apparently, I told the story so well that she believed me. Even though she knew me all her life, anyway, she said she didn’t want to go live on another planet, and she started crying buckets of tears. I couldn’t calm her down enough to tell her I was just telling a story. And it wasn’t true.
So, I had to take her home so her mother could calm her down. I tried to explain to her mother that I was just telling her one of my stories, but she was mad all the same. I have to admit I never told my mother and father about making my best friend cry. Because they had told me many times that one of these days, I was going to get into trouble for telling my tall tales.
I became friends with the old lady that lived across the street from my house. She was a widow and lived all alone. My best friend and I used to go over to Mrs. McFarland’s house and play with our dolls on her big swing. Once, Mrs. McFarland brought her childhood doll outside to show us. It was made of China and had real hair on its head. I loved Mrs. McFarland because whenever I came over to her yard, she would come outside and talk to me and tell me stories about her life. Mrs. McFarland only had one and a half arms. She told me that she was born like that, and her one arm only went down as far as her elbow.
But that didn’t stop Mrs. McFarland. She took care of herself and her house and did all the gardening in her yard. Her favorite flowers were roses and tulips. She used to tell me all the names of the flowers and how to take care of them. She inspired me to become a gardener when I grew up. And here I am, the age she was when I first became friends with her. And now I am a gardener and like nothing better than spending the day outside, tending my flower. Mrs. McFarland had a gigantic Weeping Willow in her yard, and she used to let me climb it. And now I planted a Weeping Willow in my yard here in North Carolina. When I was about sixteen years old, she passed away, and every time I looked across the street at her house, I missed her.
Over the course of my life, I have always found my own company to be satisfying. And I have always had many hobbies and interests. I love to read, draw and paint, and make things. I made all my own clothes for years and my children when they were young. When I was thirty-six, I made the decision to go to college and learn how to draw and paint. I graduated from college when I was forty with a degree in Art Education and a Bachelor of Arts Degree. I taught art for years, and often my students would sit out in my garden and draw or paint pictures of my plants and flowers. Along the way, I started writing short stories, and when I retired here to North Carolina, I decided to start a writer’s blog on the internet that was six years ago. And here I am, still going strong. You never know what life will have in store for you and where it will take you. I have lived in New Jersey, Florida, California, and the past eight years in North Carolina. I met some interesting people when I was working for the Elizabeth Warren Campaign. And at the Animal Sanctuary, I have been volunteering for the last eight years, three mornings a week.
As long as my heart and mind are still working, I will keep active and motivated to learn, meet new people, and grow as a human being. Life is short and goes by quickly, so whatever you do, make the most of it. Be kind to all you meet along life’s highways and byways. You never know what life has planned for you. Keep an open heart and an open mind, and a smile on your face.
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I had moved out of my parent’s house the Summer I turned eighteen and graduated from high school. I had planned my exit for years since I was a Junior in High School. My parents had a volatile relationship. By that, I mean they argued night and day. And often, the verbal arguments turned physical. I can not begin to count the number of times that I came downstairs to our kitchen and found my mother sitting at the kitchen table with an icepack on her face. 
My mother would look at me with a weird grin on her face. I never understood what she was smiling about. When I was younger, I would run over to her and say,” Mommy, are you alright? What happened? Did you fall down again?” She always told me she tripped and fell and hit her head. I couldn’t understand why she fell down so often. Then I would hug her and say, “Mommy, please be careful and try not to fall down.”
Of course, as I grew older, I realized that all the yelling and screaming every night was followed by my father hitting or punching my mother. And in the morning, the trashcan in the kitchen would be filled to the brim with empty beer bottles. At first, I thought it was just my dad drinking a lot of beer. But at some point, I think about the time I was going to Middle School, I realized that they were both drinking beer or wine every night. And that is when they would start arguing. And the arguing evolved into knock-down, drag-down brawls in the kitchen or sometimes in their bedroom. I didn’t know anything else. I thought everyone’s parents had verbal and physical fights every night.
When I was a sophomore in high school, I was invited to a birthday party that was also a sleepover at my best friend Kathleen’s house. Six other girls from our class were invited. We had so much fun playing games. And watching a scary movie and eating junk food until we felt sick, screaming and hitting each other. But they never did. In fact, Kathleen’s mother brought tray after tray of food and sodas and, finally, the birthday cake for all of us to eat. And she smiled and hugged us and said, “Thank you, girls, for coming to Kathleen’s birthday party, and thank you for all the wonderful presents. 
I didn’t have any money to buy Kathleen a present, so I made her a present. It was a drawing of her and me playing at the park, swinging on the swings, and going down the slide. When we were little. Kathleen gave me a big smile when she opened it. And said, I love it, Coleen. I will treasure it always.”
All the other kids had brought games and toys for her. But my father yelled at me when I asked him for a couple of dollars to buy my best friend a birthday present. He said,” What do you think that we are made of money?”
Around ten o’clock, Kathleen’s mom said, “ok, girls, it’s time for everyone to go to sleep. If anyone has to go to the bathroom, now is the time to do it. We were all sleeping on the living room floor in sleeping bags that Kathleen’s mother had laid out. We didn’t go to sleep right away. We whispered to each other and laughed. I kept waiting for Kathleen’s mother or father to come into the living room, yell at us, and tell us to shut up, but she never did. After a while, we all quieted down and stopped talking. But I laid awake for a long- long time waiting for the yelling and screaming and fighting to begin, but it never did. It was so quiet I had a hard time falling asleep since I was used to yelling, screaming all night long. Finally, I fell asleep, and for the first time in my life, I slept all through the night without being afraid or crying.
In the morning, Kathleen’s mother crept into the living room and said, “OK, sleepyheads, time to come into the kitchen for a special breakfast. We all slowly woke up and stumbled into the kitchen. Kathleen’s mother had made special pancakes with smiling faces on them and magic candles in the middle that looked like they were burning, but no matter how many times we tried to blow the candles out, they wouldn’t blow out. The pancakes had blueberries in them, which were my favorite fruit, and I gulped them down. And Kathleen’s mother said, Coleen, there’s more where that came from, so take your time. And she smiled at me and patted me on the head. I ducked because I thought she was going to hit me. But she didn’t. She just gave me another blueberry pancake.
After breakfast, Kathleen’s mother said, “ I have a surprise for you. We will all go to the roller rink and roller skating. Don’t worry about having skates because. We will rent them when we arrive. We’re going to leave in about a half hour, so everyone go and brush your teeth and comb your hair, wash your faces and get dressed. And then we’ll be on our way.”
Everyone started yelling and saying, “Hurrah.” I had never been skating and didn’t know how to skate. I went over to Kathleen’s mom and said, “I don’t know how to skate.” She said, “Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll show you how and we’ll start out slow until you get the hang of it. And I’ll hold your hand until you feel like you can do it on your own, OK.” I nodded my head, and she said now go get dressed so we can all be on our way and have a lot of fun. And you know what else? I’m going to tell you a secret. I was afraid of what she was going to say. But, she said, “We are going to skate until lunchtime, and then we are going to have a pizza party at the roller rink and have an ice cream cake after. How do you like that?” 
“I like that, and I love pizza. My father doesn’t like it, and he never lets my mother buy it. I can’t wait. Kathleen’s mother gave me a hug and said, Coleen, you are welcome to come to our house every time we have pizza. I know that Kathleen would love to have you come over since you are her best friend.”
“I’m her best friend, really?”
“Of course, Coleen. You’re her best friend. Now, let’s get ready to go. Shall we?”
And then I ran into the bathroom, washed my face and hands, and brushed my teeth extra long. Then I looked into their bathroom mirror and saw a smiling face looking back at me. And I was surprised when I realized it was my own face smiling at me. And then I ran into the living room and said, “Well, I’m ready.” And everybody laughed because I hadn’t changed out of my pajamas yet. So, I ran back into the bathroom and put my clothes on, and the next thing I knew, we were all pilling into the van and on our way to the roller rink.
It was the best day of my life. I know it was Kathleen’s birthday, but it felt like a gift to me. Roller skate with my friends, eat pizza, and drink sodas and then ice cream. I ate so much that I almost threw up after lunch when I started roller skating. Kathleen’s mom said, “Maybe we should wait a little while before we roller skate. So, our food will get digested. So, we all sang Happy Birthday to Kathleen and gave her a pinch to grow an inch.
At the end of the day, we were full of food, and our legs were tired from roller skating, but it was the best day of my life. And I knew I would never forget it. After we left the roller rink, Kathleen’s mother said she had to call my mother to make sure she was home. So, after a few moments, she came back to the van and said, “Coleen, your Mom had a little accident, but she is going to be OK in a few days, but until then, you will be staying at my house.”
“Is my mother going to be alright?” Yes, she will be fine in a few days, but your dad is not going to be home for a while. So, that’s why you are staying with us until your Mom is all better. Later today, I will go over to your house and get some of your clothes, school stuff, and anything else you need, you can tell me, and I’ll get that too.”
I knew my father had probably hit my mom, and I wished he would never come back. I loved my dad, but he was always mean to my mother and hurt her. Kathleen’s mom said, “After I see your mom, I’ll tell her you will be safe and sound at our house until she feels all better. And that she doesn’t have to worry about you.”
“Can I go see my mom at the hospital?”
“Of course, you can, but maybe tomorrow would be a better day after she rests for a while. But, if she is up to it, I’ll ask her to give you a call from the hospital. “
“Really, OK. Please tell my mom that I love her.”
“Oh, I know your mother loves you right back with all her heart. Everything is going to be alright.”
And everything was OK. I stayed at Kathleen’s house for two weeks until my mother left the hospital. I never saw my dad again because after he got out of jail, my parents got a divorce. I still missed my dad; even after all he did, I still loved him. But, after a while, my mom and I were alright. I don’t know if my father ever talked to my mother. If he did, she never told me.
Kathleen and I stayed friends all the way through high school. And we both applied to the same college and were accepted. We were roommates for four years. And when we graduated at the top of our class. Kathleen’s mother and my mom came together to watch us. They had become friends over the years. Sometimes, I think about my dad and miss him. But, I had to accept that everything in life doesn’t always have a happy ending for everyone. 
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