Tag Archives: Tyler Shool of Art

OH HOW TIME HAS FLOWN BY

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     It seems my life has flown by in the blink of an eye. I can clearly remember my childhood experiences growing up in Maple Shade, New Jersey. And the eight years I spent at Our Lady of Perpetual Help School. And the four years I spent at St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy in Haddonfield, New Jersey. I can’t say that all my experiences attending Catholic School were all good ones. However, I made a lot of friends. Not to mention, I learned all the basic skills, like reading, writing, and arithmetic. The nuns were strict, and I’m not exaggerating. Suppose you spoke when you were not allowed to or were caught looking at someone else’s work. Well, woe be it to you. You were going to pay a high price. I learned a lot while I attended Catholic Elementary School. But not all of it was good. But it wasn’t all bad, either. And then there were the surprises if we got too much snow on a winter’s day. The school would be closed.
On the other hand, we only lived two houses down from OLPH School. And if the dear “sisters” saw us (my twin sister and I) out playing in the snow. We would be dragged into the school to do manual labor, which could be anything from cleaning the blackboards to cleaning the desks, etc.

When I graduated from grade school, I had to take entrance exams to attend the Catholic High Schools in the area. Somehow, “by the grace of God.” I passed the exams and was invited to participate in Holy Cross High School or St. Mary of the Angels Academy. My parents decided it would benefit them if we attended an all-girls school (St. Mary of the Angel’s Academy). I enjoyed my time there except for Math Class, which I barely passed. In fact, “by the grace of god that I passed.” I didn’t learn higher Maths until I was a grown adult when I decided to learn all Maths, which started with adding/subtracting, multiplication, and algebra.

Why, you may ask? Because I decided I wanted to teach people struggling with math how they, too, could learn. In addition, I taught writing skills and reading. And prepped them to pass the GED class and eventually be able to earn “their high school diploma..” It was one of the most rewarding experiences I have had. I felt a great accomplishment to give someone a hand-up in their lives. The only problem I encountered was when one of the students who wanted help learning to read or write in English didn’t speak English. She was Japanese, and alas, I didn’t talk, nor could I write in Japanese. So, I had to search for someone in my area to help them, and after quite a while, I found a good teacher for them.

Tyler School of Art at Temple University

It was about this time, I was thirty-five, that I decided I wanted to go to college. I had two young children. Who were six and three? Luckily, I had a good friend who lived a couple of blocks away from me who agreed to watch my little girls if I would babysit their daughter during the Spring Holidays and all Summer. And that is what I did for the next four years until I graduated from Temple University, Tyler School of Art in Philadelphia at forty-one. The only student of non-traditional age. Those four years at Tyler were stressful and exciting; I have always looked back at that time as a success. I graduated at the top of my class Magnum Cum Laude with two degrees and teaching credentials. The final reward was that my graduating class gave me a standing ovation when I received my diploma.

And then I got some bad news: Communities all over the area had stopped funding elementary and high school art classes. I have to say that it was a devastating ending to my teaching art in public schools.

That was when I decided to look for a big house with many rooms where we could live, and I would have plenty of space to teach both children and adults. We found a beautiful old house built in 1910. It had been empty for eight years. It was in great need of repair, both inside and out, including a new roof, new heater and air conditioner, and on and on. But my husband and I decided this was the house for us. It was perfect because it had three rooms that had been used by the previous owner, who was a doctor. We attended an open house and decided to buy it. And the rest is history. We could not sell our smaller home and ended up renting it until we could find a buyer. The rent went towards the outstanding mortgage payments until it was paid off.

Our New plus 110-year-old house, although neglected for many years, was a dream come true. Over the twenty-four years we lived there, we renovated the house from top to bottom, redid the hardwood floors throughout, repaired and replaced the roof, and painted the wrought iron fence. In fact, by the time we finished all the work, it was almost time for us to retire.

When I advertised the Grand Opening of “THE ART ROOM. “ This was in 1994.I had an open house. Almost all the people that lived in Pitman came to see our home. Over those many years, I taught everyone from the age of five to senior citizens, including my next-door neighbors, Marie and Bob Batten, a retired dentist and his wife. We became close friends with them over the twenty-four years that we lived in Pitman. Practically everyone in town came to our Grand Opening since they wanted to see what it looked like. The previous owners kept to themselves for the most part, save for the previous owners who used to see the Doctor who owned the house for whatever ailments these people suffered.

In the ensuing years, I taught art to people of every age and had the pleasure of meeting their families. As the years flew by, I realized that once Bob and I retired, we would not be able to afford to live in Pitman or anywhere in New Jersey, as we were paying $40,000 a year on real estate taxes.

So, it was with a heavy heart that we put our house up for sale and started looking at the South for a place to retire. After several weeks of investigating what state would be our best place to retire, we decided that North Carolina was definitely an option. We made plans to drive to North Carolina and see if we were making the best decision. And so, here we are nine years later, retired and living in North Carolina. Retired.

After we got settled here at our new home, I decided that I was going to look for a volunteer job so that I could continue contributing and make a difference. I decided that since I had spent the last twenty years teaching art or working as a counselor in Social Services positions at Ranch Hope. It was located in Alloway, NJ. I was caring for and supervising at-risk male youth who were adjudicated by the courts to live there until they reached eighteen. I worked there for five years. It was not an easy job, nor did it have great hours. In addition, I was the first woman hired to work with these boys, and until that time, it was all me. After they realized that I was quite capable of counseling these boys and keeping them, for the most part, out of trouble. More women were hired.

For the most part, I would say my time working was the most rewarding position I ever held. I came to love all those boys with my whole heart.

In addition, after I left Ranch Hope, I worked for the Center for Family Services in Camden, New Jersey. I worked with five of the churches in Camden, matching adults from the churches to mentor the at-risk youth who grew up with one or more of their parents being incarcerated. I worked there for several years. And I came to love the people who lived in the city, a city that was often in turmoil because of drugs and violence. I usually had to visit the parents of these at-risk kids in their homes in center-city Camden. It was not a safe place.
Nonetheless, I found that their parents were good people who wanted the best for their children. At times, I had to visit one of their parents in the prison where they were incarcerated to talk to the parents about our programs for their children. I have to say I was somewhat afraid at first to go to all these prisons, but over time, I realized that these were just human beings who made mistakes in their lives. Some huge mistakes, like murder, drug dealing, etc. Nonetheless, they loved their children and hoped and prayed for a better life for their children. I made every effort to be respectful to those who were incarcerated. Yes, they were flawed humans, but they were still people who had difficult choices and few opportunities in life. However, as a whole, they all wanted their children to have better lives than they had experienced. It was an experience that gave me more empathy and understanding of people who make poor choices in their lives. And we’re paying a high price for their mistakes. And unless you or I have experienced growing up in a ghetto, in poverty, just trying to get from one day to the next, we can’t possibly know what their lives have been like. And we can’t compare their lives to their own.

I have learned a great deal about life from my experiences, and I regret nothing I have seen or experienced. I had the opportunity to work with Wilson Good, the former mayor of Philadelphia—the first black Mayor of a major city in the United States.

I am retired and living in North Carolina, but I have volunteered at Animal Edventure, an animal sanctuary in Coats, NC, for the past eight years. I take care of birds. Yes, that is a big, giant step from working with at-risk youth, but I’ve been an animal lover for as far back as I can remember.

I don’t know what the future will hold for me, but I know I’m not one to sit in front of the TV all day watching soap operas. I look forward to whatever adventure comes my way.

THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF MY LIFE

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FIRST APARTMENT

First Apartment

I quietly rolled the car down the driveway and into the street before pausing for one last look at my old bedroom window. It was a difficult decision to make. I lived here my entire life. But it’s time. Time for me to finally become independent. But still, it was hard. I love my parents. And I know they love me, but they are so overprotective. They make me feel like I’m incapable of making the smallest of decisions on my own.

They don’t feel like I’m ready to live in the big, bad city. They’re afraid I might get raped, robbed, or murdered. They kept reading me articles from the newspaper reporting the high incidents of drug addicts waiting on every corner of downtown Philadelphia who will rob you.

I assured them that I had been going to Tyler School of Art every day for the past two years and somehow survived without a bodyguard. I’ll be fine. My apartment is only a block away from school, and I can take the bus or the subway all around the city. And all my friends live a bus stop away.

I remind them that I will see them when they come by my apartment in a couple of days because they are coming to Philly to pick up my car and take it back home since it is too expensive to keep a car in the city.

As I pull out into the street, I see my parent’s faces pressed up against the kitchen window and waving frantically at me. I wave back with a big smile on my face. I see my mother wipe a tear from her cheek. That tearing rolling down her face almost makes me change my mind. I’ve never been able to bear seeing my mother cry. But this time, this time is different. I grit my teeth and wave again. And I don’t look back. I head towards the Ben Franklin Bridge and my future as a newly semi-independent adult.

After being stuck in the morning traffic jam for a good half hour, I cross the bridge and head towards my apartment, which is within walking distance of Tyler. It’s an old building, everything around it looks old. There are beautiful sections of Philadelphia, but this isn’t one of them. I manage to get a parking spot across the street from my new apartment, which is a miracle. Apparently, one of the overnight parkers just left as I drove into the lot. I see this as a good sign. Owning a car in the city is expensive. It makes more sense to take public transportation than pay through the nose to park your vehicle overnight. That’s why my car is going to be living at my parent’s house.

I will have to make several trips from my car to my apartment. I have all my clothes, and books, and art materials to bring inside. My parents helped furnish the place with stuff that they bought at yard sales and estate sales. They are good at finding bargains. They even got me dishes and silverware and kitchen stuff. When I arrive at the steps to my apartment, I see what appears to be a homeless guy sitting on the stoop. He moves to one side when he realizes I am going up the steps. I say,” hello. He asks do you have any spare money?” And I say, “Sorry, I’m a student and don’t have any extra money.” I unlock the door and head up the steps. I see a discarded needle on the top step. I’m so glad my parents didn’t come with me today, or they would have dragged me home.

By the time I arrive on the third floor, I’m out of breath. I promise to start exercising as soon as I get settled. I know at twenty years old, I shouldn’t be getting out of breath after only going up two flights of steps.

I have a little trouble unlocking the door as it’s an old building. And probably built at the turn of the century, and the door looks it. I finally jam the key in and manage to turn it. I have to pull the door closed with both hands. I shove all my stuff in with my foot since I had to put it down to unlock the door. The guy in the apartment next to me sticks his head out. His hair hangs down to his waist, and he has a beard almost as long. Oh, my mother is just going to go nuts when she sees him. The whites of his eyes are blood red. He looks like he hasn’t slept in ten years.

“Hey, welcome. My name’s Steven Corson. I work at night and sleep during the day, so I would appreciate it if you kept the noise down.

“Well, I’ll be at school during the day, but I can’t promise there won’t be any noise since my friends from Tyler School of Art will be visiting me because Tyler is right around the corner.”

He nods at me and says, “good luck. I hope you’ll like it here.” And he pulls his head back into his apartment and closes the door, and I hear him slide the deadlock in place. That reminds me that I need to do the same once I get all my stuff up here this morning. I think I’ll get an extra key made so one of my friends can hold it just in case I lock myself out or lose my key. I would get one made for my parents, but I don’t want to come home to find them sitting in my living room.

I made several trips from my car to the apartment, and when I made the final trip, I sat down on my new, old couch and took a deep breath. I say out loud, “this is the first day of the rest of my life.” And I smile. I look around my apartment. My parents came over one day and cleaned it from top to bottom. It will probably be a good month or two before I clean it again. And that’s me being optimistic.

I walk over to the kitchen if you can call it a kitchen. It has one counter with a refrigerator on one side, a hot plate and a toaster oven and a sink, no dishwasher. Oh, and a small cabinet under the counter for cleaning stuff. I look in the cupboards, and I see I have an old set of dishes, six glasses, and five used coffee cups. In the overhead, there’s cereal, dry potatoes, and some canned food. The fridge has milk, juice, butter, bread, cheese, and lunch meat, hot dogs and frozen hamburgers, and fudge bars in the freezer, which is my favorite dessert. I will have to thank my mom. As much as she gets on my nerves, she does more for me than anyone ever has.

I head toward the bathroom. It’s tiny, a standing shower, towel rack, sink, toilet, and a small cabinet under the sink with some cleaning products and paper towels. My mom left two sets of towels and washcloths. I go into the bedroom, and it looks even smaller than when I checked it out the first time because my parents brought my bedroom furniture over. Which include my single bed, dresser and side table, and a lamp. The living room has an old couch and my beanbag from my bedroom and my tv and computer. The closet is the biggest thing in the apartment, and hopefully, I will be able to fit all my art stuff and all my other junk. I will have to start looking for a chair for my bedroom on the street nearby. People in this area move in and out a lot. And often, they leave some of their furniture on the curb. I will have to keep my eyes open on my way to and from Tyler.

I spent the next few hours arranging things to my liking when I noticed that my stomach was growling. I stand next to the open door of the refrigerator to see if there is anything I want to eat. I was about to settle on a hamburger when I heard someone banging on the door, and then the banging got louder. I hear laughing. I two-time it to the door. Because the next thing I know, my neighbor will be complaining about the noise waking him up.

“OK, OK, I’m coming.” I unlock the door and pull it open, and what do you know? It’s three of my friends from Tyler holding a pizza box and a six-pack. “Come on in, but you have to keep it down cause the guy next door works at night, and he’s sleeping.”

They are laughing their heads off. They must have had some beer on the way over. I laugh at them. Then we are all laughing, and then I hear a banging on the wall from my neighbor, who doesn’t appreciate all the hilarity. I put my finger up to my lips. And then they start laughing again. “Come in, come in. Thanks for bringing the pizza. My stomach was growling, and I didn’t feel like eating a hamburger.”

They all start milling around the apartment. “Hey, this is great. We can crash here sometimes when we have a big project to do, and we have to stay up all night and work on it. And then we have to walk around the corner to school.” They all start clapping. The guy next door bangs on the wall again. They laugh. I laugh. The guy next door isn’t going to get any sleep today. Well, he must have been young once.

We decide to watch a movie on my computer. We settle on The Vast Of The Night, which is a scary- sci-fi movie. We start watching the movie and scarfing down the pizza, and guzzling the beer. We scream at all the scary parts and sometimes laugh hysterically. I’m laughing so hard that a piece of pizza shoots out of my mouth all the way across the room. And this brings on another round of hysterical laughter and banging on the wall.

After the movie, we decide to play Fortnite, and this is a game of elimination. The ideal ending is one character is left alive, and everyone else is murdered. We love this game and would play it all night if possible. In the middle of the game, my friend Jamie decides to get some more beer and snack food. When he returns, we start a new round of eating and drinking and laughing our heads off. My neighbor has given up on banging on the wall and has come to the door to complain in person.

He says, “Hey, I can’t get any sleep with all this racket. He looks furious, but when he sees that we are playing Fortnite, he says,’ excellent, can I join in? This is my favorite game.”

“Yeah, sure, and we just got more beer and snacks. Have a seat. “

And that, my friends, was the first night of the best three years of my life. And you only have one life. You should live it to the fullest. Whatever that means to you.”

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