Faculty Childhood Memories

Students in Art 122: Illustration illustrated childhood memories shared by President John Byrd and various Simpson faculty. Faculty who wrote out childhood memories include Cory Harrigan, Emily Machen, Jan Everhart, Jennifer Nostrala, Pat Singer, Ron Warnet, Steve Rose and Todd Lieber.

David Wolf and Patti Young (along with her daughter Katie) had poems written that fit the bill and shared those.

Below are the stories and poems shared and their illustrations.

The actual illustrations and summaries of the stories can be viewed in Dirlham Lounge at Smith Chapel through April, 2008.

Mary Tharp - Pat Singer

tharp I was in first grade when something horrible – at least I thought it was horrible - happened to a classmate. Her unfortunate demise continued to plague me throughout my growing up. When I was in college I relived this story again and again in nightmares, except that I became the victim in my dreams.

In the fall of first grade we had a practice fire drill. When the fire alarm went off, we lined up in the classroom and quickly exited the building and moved to the playground. When the bell rang again, all of us filed back into the classroom except Chris-ann. She stayed outside and I remember seeing her face looking in the window following the fire drill. We had already settled back into our desks when her face appeared from outside. Our first grade teacher, Mrs. Ostegaard, left the room to open the doors of the school and let Chris-ann back in.

A few days later, an adult came into our classroom and gathered up Chris-ann and took her away. She never came back to our room. Several weeks passed and life in Mrs. Ostegaard’s class became normal again. Around thanksgiving time we made the prerequisite turkeys out of our hand prints, colored them, and taped them onto tongue depressors. We made pilgrim hats and bonnets as well. One day, we put on our hats and picked up our turkey-on-a-sticks and paraded out of our classroom and through the school to the last door at the end of a long hallway that I had never been down before. We paraded into the last room and there was Chris-ann sitting with a bunch of other kids, each looking deformed and abnormal. Chris-ann didn’t seem to fit into that group.

I was confused about why Chrisann was there and that confusion scared me. I thought Chris-ann was “labeled” because she failed to come back into the classroom after the fire drill. I thought she was horribly mislabeled. For years, I worried that I would do something that would “mislabel” me and would cause me to be shut away with other misfits in the last room at the end of a long hall.

I think that we all worry about being mislabeled by some unsuspecting act and suffering undeserving consequences from that mistake. In college I worried that I would be “labeled” intellectually inadequate to pursue a career in science and I connected my self-worth to academic performance. I don’t have those nightmares any more.

Ashley Drogo - Todd Lieber

drogo When I was 10 or 11, the boy who had been my best friend since we were old enough to have friends, moved with his family out of the neighborhood. We lived in older single, family houses that were pretty close together on a pretty typical, straight block in one of the older and close-in suburbs of Philadelphia. He (his name was John) lived on my side of the street, three houses up the hill from me. His house was the last on the block before an apartment house, which stood on the corner, and an alley ran between his house and the apartment house. His house had a flat front porch that faced the street to the front, the alley on one side, and his driveway on the other. It was surrounded by tall, evergreen shrubs that gave privacy. Anyway, when John moved away I was lost and heartbroken. One day in the short space between when his family moved out and the new people moved in, I remember sitting alone on the bare concrete of the now abandoned front porch of his house, leaning up against the wall of the house. I don't recall how long I sat there or why. Maybe I was trying to absorb some lingering spiritual presence of him that I thought might still be lingering around his house. Ironically, the family that eventually moved in there had two boys, just a year or two older than me, and eventually they became fast friends, too.

Sarah Keller - Jennifer Ross Nostrala

keller When I was in grade school, probably fourth or fifth grade, the school produced a madrigal dinner. It was going to be a major school event filled with music, costumes, food and various entertainment. The highlight of the evening was a play set in the court. Any student interested in being in the play could audition, but we had to specify the part we wanted. I remember that there was a queen and probably a princess or two, but the part that I thought was the best was the court jester. The court jester was clearly the character that had the most fun, playing tricks and generally amusing everyone. That was the part I wanted; so I auditioned.

I was thrilled when the music teacher posted the cast list and my name was listed by the court jester. My dream had come true. At music class that day she asked me to stay after class for a moment. She told me that I had done the best at the audition and that I would be perfect as the jester. Then she told me that I would only be allowed to perform the part at the school assembly and that my friend, Paul Zingg, would play the part at the two big evening performances. I am sure I looked disappointed and probably confused. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t going to play the part for the parents because she had just told me I had done a great job with the audition. She put her arm around me and explained that the court jester was really a part for a boy, so Paul would have to play it for the public performances.

I don’t think I cried when she told me but I do remember it made me mad. It didn’t make any sense to me. If I had done the best at the audition why would the boy get to have the big performance? I did do the performance for the assembly and I had a great time making the teachers and the kids laugh, but I had to watch from the sidelines when Paul did the night performances and all of the families cheered him on.

Denisha Fields - Jan Everhart

fields My earliest childhood memory features my grandfather. We were in the backyard of my grandparents’ house, picking tomatoes from the garden. He was a big man – 6’3” and large, not obese but substantial. He had huge hands that dwarfed the tomatoes. We came into the house through the back door into the small narrow kitchen, and with his big strong hands he lifted me up to the kitchen counter so that I could sit there as he put the tomatoes into a dish. I was 22 months old and this was the first time any of my grandparents had met me, since I was born in England during my parents’ three year stay there while my father worked on his Ph.D. When we arrived in Wichita, where all four grandparents lived, they had a hard time understanding my British English. Of course, I don’t remember all that – but I vividly remember the garden and the tomatoes and my grandfather’s huge reassuring presence. I had the sense that this big man utterly delighted in getting acquainted with me! Other memories, when I was just a bit older, include Grandad sitting in his big chair strumming his ukulele and singing songs of decades past. The ukulele looked so tiny but his big fingers could really make it sing.

Annette Scholten- Emily Machen

scholten When I was eleven or twelve, I began reading Laura Ingles Wilder books Little House on the Prairie, Little House in the Big Woods, etc. Wilder provided wonderful descriptions of rural life through the Midwest as her family moved from Wisconsin to Minnesota, then to South Dakota, Kansas and finally to Missouri in the 1880‚s and 1890‚s. As a rural country girl from Missouri, I really identified with Wilder‚s experiences, and I also became very interested in the way people lived in late nineteenth-century America. Wilder wrote about milking cows, making butter, and playing with corncob dolls during her travels around the prairie. I could imagine myself in her place except that my family bought milk and butter at Wal-Mart, and I played with Cabbage Patch Kids. Nonetheless, after reading her books I decided to try some of the activities she described.

When Wilder lived in Wisconsin, her family worked with their community every year to make maple syrup, and she provided elaborate descriptions of how the process worked. Making syrup is actually fairly complicated, especially for a twelve year old. You have to be able to recognize a maple tree, drill a whole in it and hang a bucket to catch the sap. Since as a twelve year old I didn’t own a drill, my grandfather offered to help. Missouri has maple trees, but we don't have the kind of maple trees that produce a lot of syrup. Nonetheless, my grandfather and I found a tree, we put the tap in, and we actually got a bit of sap. By the time we boiled the sap down to make it into syrup we had about enough for each of us to have one or two pancakes. Despite the small amount of syrup that we made, the process helped keep me interested in reading, trying new things, and in history, and looking back, it has helped me understand the power of imagination and curiosity for children.

Kate Teachout - CoryAnne Harrigan

teachout When I was four years old, I ran away from home—not because I hated my family, but because I desperately wanted to go to school. One morning, I got up very early—after my father was at work and before my mom was awake. I got dressed and packed a wicker basket with a book (it was my Little Golden Book edition of Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses) and a grapefruit, and I left our apartment in search of school. I remember walking around the cul-de-sacs of the apartment complex, not really knowing where I was going but not feeling afraid, either. A woman drove up next to me and asked me questions—she clearly thought I had gotten separated from my family somehow. At about that time, my mom showed up; she looked quite panic-stricken. She thanked the woman in the car for her help and took me home. I don’t remember whether I got into trouble for what I had done.

Connor Moore - Steve Rose

moore In the summer of my 8th year I rode by bike to a spot near two fishing sand pits. One was owned by the junkyard dealer, whose Guinea hens would chase me on my bike as I road by. I parked in a “legal” place on public land but snuck into the junk yard family’s pond, and had great luck at least 15 fish including some bass and a couple of crappie. His bull, as mean as him or the Guinea hens (and a lot bigger), spotted me and chased me, but I got over the fence and went to the public pond, where I also had good luck.

I approached my bike which was leaned up against this huge electricity transistor complex, and was trying to figure out how to get all the fish + my rod and gear to balance as I road home—again braving the Guinea hens. At that moment I stopped and in a sense prayed. I realized that this was a perfectly marvelous day, as good as any I’d ever had in my life, and I told myself that life may never get any better. Looking back, I realize now that this experience marked the beginning of my entry into true humanity and mortality.

Ben Murga - Kody Dinsdale - President Byrd

murga I grew up in a family with a great love for outdoor activities. My father especially loved to hunt and fish. So it was no surprise that my brothers and I spent many enjoyable days trying to learn everything he could teach us about these two activities. At around the age of 14, I was learning to hunt for rabbits with my trusty 410 shotgun and our two beagles that enjoyed hunting as much we did. After a few times in the field I felt we knew just about every thing Dad could teach us. A hunting adventure for swamp rabbits changed all of that.

dinsdale On a winter trip to the Ozarks in southern Missouri my dad announced that we would hunt along the Current River for swamp rabbits—a much rarer and larger variety than the common cottontails we were used to hunting. In fact, I suspect we doubted that such a creature actually existed. As we started hunting it wasn’t long before the dogs were in hot pursuit of a rabbit. I had learned that rabbits generally run in a large circular pattern and had positioned myself where I might see it out in front of the dogs. Instead, the dogs stopped and stood barking into the end a hollow log. Dad announced that a swamp rabbit had hidden in the log and that we would have to “twist it out.” I stood in silence—and amazement-- as my dad located a limber 3 foot-long branch and cut notches on the end with his pocket-knife. He poked the branch in the log-- twisted it a few times—and then pulled out the largest rabbit I had ever seen!

We continued to hunt and it wasn’t long before the dogs were found barking into a hole at the base of a large standing tree. Dad informed us that the rabbit had climbed up the inside of the tree and we would need to “twist this one out” as well. A few moments later we had our second swamp rabbit and not a shot had been fired!

Over the years, I learned how to trotline, gig, snag, and shoot. But on that day, I learned just how little I knew and how much those who had grown up hunting for food—and not for sport—could teach us.

Karin Jackson- Ron Warnet

jackson When I was young, on a day weeks before Christmas each year the living room door was locked and none of us were allowed in. My parents told me that Santa needed time to get the living room ready for Christmas. This was quite something since we lived in a three room apartment in my grandparent's house. That meant I was confined to the kitchen or the bathroom or the bedroom I shared with my parents. One Christmas eve after what seemed like weeks of anticipation I wondered if this was the night we could enter the living room to see the tree and all the presents or if we would have to wait till Christmas morning.

The phone rang and my father said it was for me. It was Santa on the other end! I couldn't believe Santa had called me. He explained that this was his busy season and that he couldn't be there in person but that he had finished the work in our living room and we could now go in. But I said the door was locked and we needed the key. He chuckled and asked me to reach into my pants pocket. I did and there miraculously was a key. I tried it and it opened the door and what a sight. The Christmas tree was decorated and all lit up. It stood on a platform that took up half the living room and there was a Lionel train and a whole village set up. And there were all the presents Santa had left for me and my baby brother and my parents and my grandparents. What a night! To this day I still believe in Santa Claus because I talked to him on the phone.

Why Mommy, Why? by Patricia Ann Woodward Young and Emma Kathryn Woodward Young

woodward Mommy, my teacher read a book to us today. It was an exciting book about a boy on a WONDERFUL adventure! He was brave and fearless, Mommy! He saved a girl who was lost and afraid! … It seems lots of the books my teacher reads us are about brave boys and scared girls. Girls are brave too, aren’t they Mommy? Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, I watched a cartoon this morning. In the middle of my cartoon there was a commercial for an AWESOME set of racing cars! I’d LOVE to have them … but can I Mommy? The commercial only showed boys playing with the cars. There wasn’t even one girl! Right after that another commercial came on for a new doll. Only girls played with the doll. Can’t boys play with dolls? Don’t girls like cars too, Mommy? I do, but is it weird that I do? Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, can I get a kid’s meal for dinner tonight?

I can? Yeah, Mommy, Yeah!!!!! Let’s go drive-through so we can go home and eat!

Mommy, why did the drive-through voice ask if the kids meal was for a girl or a boy? Then when you said,“Pardon me” they asked if you wanted a “girl toy” or a “boy toy.” What is a “girl toy” and what is a “boy toy”? Are girls supposed to like only some kinds of toys and boys other kinds? I know they have cars and dolls to choose from, why didn’t they just ask if I wanted a car or a doll? Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, Mommy, our science teacher brought COOL bugs and animals to share today! My favorite was the hissing cockroach! It was HUGE and made the most awesome hissing sound! My science teacher said he came from Madagascar. Why did my science teacher call the hissing cockroach “he”? Why did my teacher call ALL of the bugs and animals “he”? Aren’t bugs and animals he’s and she’s? Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, I REALLY had FUN at Daddy’s office today! I got to make a bunch of copies and type on the computer while he was in his important meeting with the other bosses. Mommy, it’s funny … all the bosses in the offices next to Daddy’s are men and all the people who answer the phones and type are ladies. Can I ever be a boss and have a cool office all my own or will I have to answer phones and type for other people? Can’t I be anything that I want? Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, today my teacher said that she needed a bunch of strong kids to carry some big boxes down to the basement. Mommy, most of us girls are taller and bigger than the boys but she picked all boys to carry the boxes! I don't understand. Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, do we HAVE to listen to Allie’s stupid little kid music in the car? All those songs are about silly animals. I especially hate the one that goes, “Mary had a little lamb, his fleece was white as snow…” Why is the lamb always “he” in that song? Why are all of the characters in the whole tape “he”? There’s the man in the moon, there’s Mr. Sun, there’s a spider on my head … then “he” jumps off, there’s the man on the flying trapeze, there’s ten little Indian boys, there’s the one about the walk outside when a boy finds four animals … a gray squirrel “Earl,” a lost pup who’ll be his pal “Al,” a snake “Jake,” and a lost duck “Chuck.” He, he, he … everywhere I hear he! And no where do I hear she. Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, today my PE teacher handed out a sheet about after school stuff. There was one sheet about football and one about cheerleading. Mr. Scott gave the cheerleading ones to girls and the football ones to boys. I told Mr. Scott that I wanted to play football ‘cause I love football and I want to play in college like my Uncle Mike. Mr. Scott laughed and said he was sorry but they don’t let girls play on college football teams and that this sheet was just for the boys. Why Mommy, why?

Mommy, at school we have been learning about all the presidents. Some kids are working on memorizing their names in order. I started to but then all I could think about was why all of our presidents – even our vice-presidents - have been men. Why hasn’t a women ever been president? Can’t a woman be president? Aren’t women smart enough? Do most people think they aren’t smart enough? If I wanted to be president, could I? Why Mommy, Why?

Maneuvers by David Wolf

wolf I grew up in a house with seven TVs.
I liked it when the heroes got it in the end.

When my grandmother came to sit
she’d line up three sets in a row
and watch three different channels at once.
I’d kneel beside her
and slap the fat on her arms for fun.

Summers when the reruns couldn’t hold us,
my brother and I would hunt each other down
in the woods behind our house,
armed with the latest toy weapons
or Dad’s .45 without the clip.

If you got hit you were dead for 60 seconds.

One night I didn’t get up.
My brother never returned to finish me off.
I lay there watching the darkness close down the view,
thinking of the release that always fell
over the unshaven faces of heroes
dying in the arms of some full-figured woman.
I lay there letting the mosquitoes fill with blood,
trying to slow my heart to starve them off.
I lay there in the swell of the locusts,
trying to make it real.


	Programs Beyond the Classroom Resources Faculty Student Portfolios
Faculty Childhood Memories Students in Art 122: Illustration illustrated childhood memories shared by President John Byrd and various Simpson faculty. Faculty who wrote out childhood memories include Cory Harrigan, Emily Machen, Jan Everhart, Jennifer Nostrala, Pat Singer, Ron Warnet, Steve Rose and Todd Lieber. David Wolf and Patti Young (along with her daughter Katie) had poems written that fit the bill and shared those. Below are the stories and poems shared and their illustrations. The actual illustrations and summaries of the stories can be viewed in Dirlham Lounge at Smith Chapel through April, 2008. Mary Tharp - Pat Singer I was in first grade when something horrible – at least I thought it was horrible - happened to a classmate. Her unfortunate demise continued to plague me throughout my growing up. When I was in college I relived this story again and again in nightmares, except that I became the victim in my dreams. In the fall of first grade we had a practice fire drill. When the fire alarm went off, we lined up in the classroom and quickly exited the building and moved to the playground. When the bell rang again, all of us filed back into the classroom except Chris-ann. She stayed outside and I remember seeing her face looking in the window following the fire drill. We had already settled back into our desks when her face appeared from outside. Our first grade teacher, Mrs. Ostegaard, left the room to open the doors of the school and let Chris-ann back in. A few days later, an adult came into our classroom and gathered up Chris-ann and took her away. She never came back to our room. Several weeks passed and life in Mrs. Ostegaard’s class became normal again. Around thanksgiving time we made the prerequisite turkeys out of our hand prints, colored them, and taped them onto tongue depressors. We made pilgrim hats and bonnets as well. One day, we put on our hats and picked up our turkey-on-a-sticks and paraded out of our classroom and through the school to the last door at the end of a long hallway that I had never been down before. We paraded into the last room and there was Chris-ann sitting with a bunch of other kids, each looking deformed and abnormal. Chris-ann didn’t seem to fit into that group. I was confused about why Chrisann was there and that confusion scared me. I thought Chris-ann was “labeled” because she failed to come back into the classroom after the fire drill. I thought she was horribly mislabeled. For years, I worried that I would do something that would “mislabel” me and would cause me to be shut away with other misfits in the last room at the end of a long hall. I think that we all worry about being mislabeled by some unsuspecting act and suffering undeserving consequences from that mistake. In college I worried that I would be “labeled” intellectually inadequate to pursue a career in science and I connected my self-worth to academic performance. I don’t have those nightmares any more. Ashley Drogo - Todd Lieber When I was 10 or 11, the boy who had been my best friend since we were old enough to have friends, moved with his family out of the neighborhood. We lived in older single, family houses that were pretty close together on a pretty typical, straight block in one of the older and close-in suburbs of Philadelphia. He (his name was John) lived on my side of the street, three houses up the hill from me. His house was the last on the block before an apartment house, which stood on the corner, and an alley ran between his house and the apartment house. His house had a flat front porch that faced the street to the front, the alley on one side, and his driveway on the other. It was surrounded by tall, evergreen shrubs that gave privacy. Anyway, when John moved away I was lost and heartbroken. One day in the short space between when his family moved out and the new people moved in, I remember sitting alone on the bare concrete of the now abandoned front porch of his house, leaning up against the wall of the house. I don't recall how long I sat there or why. Maybe I was trying to absorb some lingering spiritual presence of him that I thought might still be lingering around his house. Ironically, the family that eventually moved in there had two boys, just a year or two older than me, and eventually they became fast friends, too. Sarah Keller - Jennifer Ross Nostrala When I was in grade school, probably fourth or fifth grade, the school produced a madrigal dinner. It was going to be a major school event filled with music, costumes, food and various entertainment. The highlight of the evening was a play set in the court. Any student interested in being in the play could audition, but we had to specify the part we wanted. I remember that there was a queen and probably a princess or two, but the part that I thought was the best was the court jester. The court jester was clearly the character that had the most fun, playing tricks and generally amusing everyone. That was the part I wanted; so I auditioned. I was thrilled when the music teacher posted the cast list and my name was listed by the court jester. My dream had come true. At music class that day she asked me to stay after class for a moment. She told me that I had done the best at the audition and that I would be perfect as the jester. Then she told me that I would only be allowed to perform the part at the school assembly and that my friend, Paul Zingg, would play the part at the two big evening performances. I am sure I looked disappointed and probably confused. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t going to play the part for the parents because she had just told me I had done a great job with the audition. She put her arm around me and explained that the court jester was really a part for a boy, so Paul would have to play it for the public performances. I don’t think I cried when she told me but I do remember it made me mad. It didn’t make any sense to me. If I had done the best at the audition why would the boy get to have the big performance? I did do the performance for the assembly and I had a great time making the teachers and the kids laugh, but I had to watch from the sidelines when Paul did the night performances and all of the families cheered him on. Denisha Fields - Jan Everhart My earliest childhood memory features my grandfather. We were in the backyard of my grandparents’ house, picking tomatoes from the garden. He was a big man – 6’3” and large, not obese but substantial. He had huge hands that dwarfed the tomatoes. We came into the house through the back door into the small narrow kitchen, and with his big strong hands he lifted me up to the kitchen counter so that I could sit there as he put the tomatoes into a dish. I was 22 months old and this was the first time any of my grandparents had met me, since I was born in England during my parents’ three year stay there while my father worked on his Ph.D. When we arrived in Wichita, where all four grandparents lived, they had a hard time understanding my British English. Of course, I don’t remember all that – but I vividly remember the garden and the tomatoes and my grandfather’s huge reassuring presence. I had the sense that this big man utterly delighted in getting acquainted with me! Other memories, when I was just a bit older, include Grandad sitting in his big chair strumming his ukulele and singing songs of decades past. The ukulele looked so tiny but his big fingers could really make it sing. Annette Scholten- Emily Machen When I was eleven or twelve, I began reading Laura Ingles Wilder books Little House on the Prairie, Little House in the Big Woods, etc. Wilder provided wonderful descriptions of rural life through the Midwest as her family moved from Wisconsin to Minnesota, then to South Dakota, Kansas and finally to Missouri in the 1880‚s and 1890‚s. As a rural country girl from Missouri, I really identified with Wilder‚s experiences, and I also became very interested in the way people lived in late nineteenth-century America. Wilder wrote about milking cows, making butter, and playing with corncob dolls during her travels around the prairie. I could imagine myself in her place except that my family bought milk and butter at Wal-Mart, and I played with Cabbage Patch Kids. Nonetheless, after reading her books I decided to try some of the activities she described. When Wilder lived in Wisconsin, her family worked with their community every year to make maple syrup, and she provided elaborate descriptions of how the process worked. Making syrup is actually fairly complicated, especially for a twelve year old. You have to be able to recognize a maple tree, drill a whole in it and hang a bucket to catch the sap. Since as a twelve year old I didn’t own a drill, my grandfather offered to help. Missouri has maple trees, but we don't have the kind of maple trees that produce a lot of syrup. Nonetheless, my grandfather and I found a tree, we put the tap in, and we actually got a bit of sap. By the time we boiled the sap down to make it into syrup we had about enough for each of us to have one or two pancakes. Despite the small amount of syrup that we made, the process helped keep me interested in reading, trying new things, and in history, and looking back, it has helped me understand the power of imagination and curiosity for children. Kate Teachout - CoryAnne Harrigan When I was four years old, I ran away from home—not because I hated my family, but because I desperately wanted to go to school. One morning, I got up very early—after my father was at work and before my mom was awake. I got dressed and packed a wicker basket with a book (it was my Little Golden Book edition of Robert Louis Stevenson’s A Child’s Garden of Verses) and a grapefruit, and I left our apartment in search of school. I remember walking around the cul-de-sacs of the apartment complex, not really knowing where I was going but not feeling afraid, either. A woman drove up next to me and asked me questions—she clearly thought I had gotten separated from my family somehow. At about that time, my mom showed up; she looked quite panic-stricken. She thanked the woman in the car for her help and took me home. I don’t remember whether I got into trouble for what I had done. Connor Moore - Steve Rose In the summer of my 8th year I rode by bike to a spot near two fishing sand pits. One was owned by the junkyard dealer, whose Guinea hens would chase me on my bike as I road by. I parked in a “legal” place on public land but snuck into the junk yard family’s pond, and had great luck at least 15 fish including some bass and a couple of crappie. His bull, as mean as him or the Guinea hens (and a lot bigger), spotted me and chased me, but I got over the fence and went to the public pond, where I also had good luck. I approached my bike which was leaned up against this huge electricity transistor complex, and was trying to figure out how to get all the fish + my rod and gear to balance as I road home—again braving the Guinea hens. At that moment I stopped and in a sense prayed. I realized that this was a perfectly marvelous day, as good as any I’d ever had in my life, and I told myself that life may never get any better. Looking back, I realize now that this experience marked the beginning of my entry into true humanity and mortality. Ben Murga - Kody Dinsdale - President Byrd I grew up in a family with a great love for outdoor activities. My father especially loved to hunt and fish. So it was no surprise that my brothers and I spent many enjoyable days trying to learn everything he could teach us about these two activities. At around the age of 14, I was learning to hunt for rabbits with my trusty 410 shotgun and our two beagles that enjoyed hunting as much we did. After a few times in the field I felt we knew just about every thing Dad could teach us. A hunting adventure for swamp rabbits changed all of that. On a winter trip to the Ozarks in southern Missouri my dad announced that we would hunt along the Current River for swamp rabbits—a much rarer and larger variety than the common cottontails we were used to hunting. In fact, I suspect we doubted that such a creature actually existed. As we started hunting it wasn’t long before the dogs were in hot pursuit of a rabbit. I had learned that rabbits generally run in a large circular pattern and had positioned myself where I might see it out in front of the dogs. Instead, the dogs stopped and stood barking into the end a hollow log. Dad announced that a swamp rabbit had hidden in the log and that we would have to “twist it out.” I stood in silence—and amazement-- as my dad located a limber 3 foot-long branch and cut notches on the end with his pocket-knife. He poked the branch in the log-- twisted it a few times—and then pulled out the largest rabbit I had ever seen! We continued to hunt and it wasn’t long before the dogs were found barking into a hole at the base of a large standing tree. Dad informed us that the rabbit had climbed up the inside of the tree and we would need to “twist this one out” as well. A few moments later we had our second swamp rabbit and not a shot had been fired! Over the years, I learned how to trotline, gig, snag, and shoot. But on that day, I learned just how little I knew and how much those who had grown up hunting for food—and not for sport—could teach us. Karin Jackson- Ron Warnet When I was young, on a day weeks before Christmas each year the living room door was locked and none of us were allowed in. My parents told me that Santa needed time to get the living room ready for Christmas. This was quite something since we lived in a three room apartment in my grandparent's house. That meant I was confined to the kitchen or the bathroom or the bedroom I shared with my parents. One Christmas eve after what seemed like weeks of anticipation I wondered if this was the night we could enter the living room to see the tree and all the presents or if we would have to wait till Christmas morning. The phone rang and my father said it was for me. It was Santa on the other end! I couldn't believe Santa had called me. He explained that this was his busy season and that he couldn't be there in person but that he had finished the work in our living room and we could now go in. But I said the door was locked and we needed the key. He chuckled and asked me to reach into my pants pocket. I did and there miraculously was a key. I tried it and it opened the door and what a sight. The Christmas tree was decorated and all lit up. It stood on a platform that took up half the living room and there was a Lionel train and a whole village set up. And there were all the presents Santa had left for me and my baby brother and my parents and my grandparents. What a night! To this day I still believe in Santa Claus because I talked to him on the phone. Why Mommy, Why? by Patricia Ann Woodward Young and Emma Kathryn Woodward Young Mommy, my teacher read a book to us today. It was an exciting book about a boy on a WONDERFUL adventure! He was brave and fearless, Mommy! He saved a girl who was lost and afraid! … It seems lots of the books my teacher reads us are about brave boys and scared girls. Girls are brave too, aren’t they Mommy? Why Mommy, why? Mommy, I watched a cartoon this morning. In the middle of my cartoon there was a commercial for an AWESOME set of racing cars! I’d LOVE to have them … but can I Mommy? The commercial only showed boys playing with the cars. There wasn’t even one girl! Right after that another commercial came on for a new doll. Only girls played with the doll. Can’t boys play with dolls? Don’t girls like cars too, Mommy? I do, but is it weird that I do? Why Mommy, why? Mommy, can I get a kid’s meal for dinner tonight? I can? Yeah, Mommy, Yeah!!!!! Let’s go drive-through so we can go home and eat! Mommy, why did the drive-through voice ask if the kids meal was for a girl or a boy? Then when you said,“Pardon me” they asked if you wanted a “girl toy” or a “boy toy.” What is a “girl toy” and what is a “boy toy”? Are girls supposed to like only some kinds of toys and boys other kinds? I know they have cars and dolls to choose from, why didn’t they just ask if I wanted a car or a doll? Why Mommy, why? Mommy, Mommy, our science teacher brought COOL bugs and animals to share today! My favorite was the hissing cockroach! It was HUGE and made the most awesome hissing sound! My science teacher said he came from Madagascar. Why did my science teacher call the hissing cockroach “he”? Why did my teacher call ALL of the bugs and animals “he”? Aren’t bugs and animals he’s and she’s? Why Mommy, why? Mommy, I REALLY had FUN at Daddy’s office today! I got to make a bunch of copies and type on the computer while he was in his important meeting with the other bosses. Mommy, it’s funny … all the bosses in the offices next to Daddy’s are men and all the people who answer the phones and type are ladies. Can I ever be a boss and have a cool office all my own or will I have to answer phones and type for other people? Can’t I be anything that I want? Why Mommy, why? Mommy, today my teacher said that she needed a bunch of strong kids to carry some big boxes down to the basement. Mommy, most of us girls are taller and bigger than the boys but she picked all boys to carry the boxes! I don't understand. Why Mommy, why? Mommy, do we HAVE to listen to Allie’s stupid little kid music in the car? All those songs are about silly animals. I especially hate the one that goes, “Mary had a little lamb, his fleece was white as snow…” Why is the lamb always “he” in that song? Why are all of the characters in the whole tape “he”? There’s the man in the moon, there’s Mr. Sun, there’s a spider on my head … then “he” jumps off, there’s the man on the flying trapeze, there’s ten little Indian boys, there’s the one about the walk outside when a boy finds four animals … a gray squirrel “Earl,” a lost pup who’ll be his pal “Al,” a snake “Jake,” and a lost duck “Chuck.” He, he, he … everywhere I hear he! And no where do I hear she. Why Mommy, why? Mommy, today my PE teacher handed out a sheet about after school stuff. There was one sheet about football and one about cheerleading. Mr. Scott gave the cheerleading ones to girls and the football ones to boys. I told Mr. Scott that I wanted to play football ‘cause I love football and I want to play in college like my Uncle Mike. Mr. Scott laughed and said he was sorry but they don’t let girls play on college football teams and that this sheet was just for the boys. Why Mommy, why? Mommy, at school we have been learning about all the presidents. Some kids are working on memorizing their names in order. I started to but then all I could think about was why all of our presidents – even our vice-presidents - have been men. Why hasn’t a women ever been president? Can’t a woman be president? Aren’t women smart enough? Do most people think they aren’t smart enough? If I wanted to be president, could I? Why Mommy, Why? Maneuvers by David Wolf I grew up in a house with seven TVs. I liked it when the heroes got it in the end. When my grandmother came to sit she’d line up three sets in a row and watch three different channels at once. I’d kneel beside her and slap the fat on her arms for fun. Summers when the reruns couldn’t hold us, my brother and I would hunt each other down in the woods behind our house, armed with the latest toy weapons or Dad’s .45 without the clip. If you got hit you were dead for 60 seconds. One night I didn’t get up. My brother never returned to finish me off. I lay there watching the darkness close down the view, thinking of the release that always fell over the unshaven faces of heroes dying in the arms of some full-figured woman. I lay there letting the mosquitoes fill with blood, trying to slow my heart to starve them off. I lay there in the swell of the locusts, trying to make it real.
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