Jessica and Jacks

No one in the public school system will care about your child more than you do.  We learned that with Jessica.  As a three-year-old, she was already reading complex books for her age.  At four, she read “Girl of the Limberlost”, with 425 pages (a feat doubted later by her Kindergarden teacher), and was doing advanced math for her age.  As a first grader, we had her in a class with a woman who was a seasoned teacher with just one year left before retirement.  We knew Jessica was advanced, but at parent-teacher conference, her teacher told us she “was about average” and was adjusting to fix in with her peers.  I was perplexed, so one day I went to view her class through the door window at her school.  I saw her teacher hovering over Jessica’s desk, giving her a hard time because she wasn’t as coordinated at bouncing a ball and counting Jack’s on her desk like the other kids (as a math project I suppose). I suddenly realized the teacher was the average one who didn’t like dealing with a problematic brilliant student in her class.  Something flipped in me, and I vowed that was her last day with that teacher.  I marched down to the Principal and demanded my daughter get tested.  They performed a battery of standardized tests, and the principal nervously called Kathleen and I to a meeting.  Remarkable, Jessica had tested in a post-graduate level in two subjects, and had excelled in all others. The Principal was concerned because it showed they should advance her to the third grade, but suggested just going to the second grade so it wouldn’t be socially awkward.  We did so, and Jessica blossomed from that point on by being at the top of her class.

LESSON LEARNED:  Public schools are not equipped to handle students that are significantly below or above the average.  Parents need to know they have to closely monitor the education of their children.

FEEDBACK:  HAVE YOU EXPERIENCED ANYTHING LIKE THIS BEFORE?

The Haunted Shack

Lagoon Amusement Park was the place to hang-out when I was a kid.  For $10, you could get an all-day ride pass, and in the summer, we and our friends definitely took advantage of it.  One place to visit at Lagoon was the Haunted Shack.  It was a two-story building with a self-guided walk in the dark through a maze of rooms, detours to get you lost, and scary workers that would pop out at you when you least suspected it.  It was definitely not my favorite place.  On one occasion when I was about 10, I was coaxed by my brother Doug and another friend into the Haunted shack, but I got separated from them.  As I tried to made my way through, I keep going in circles and panicked trying to find the way out to catch up with them.  In my tears and plead for help, a voice in the darkness next to me told me not to worry and introduced himself to me.  It was a man on a date with his girlfriend who sounded older and knowing, but was probably just in his early twenties.  He took my hand and with his date, we traversed the rooms until he eventually got us out.  I have always remembered the incident as one of kindness when I felt really alone and afraid.

LESSON LEARNED:  Each of us will be the recipient of an outstretched hand to some desperate outcry in the dark.  We will also have opportunities come our way to reciprocate the favor.

FEEDBACK:  WHAT MEMORY DO YOU HAVE OF RECEIVING GUIDING HELP DURING A TIME YOU WHEN YOU FELT LOST OR ALONE?

Ice Hockey Stadium

The mission office elders in our Stockholm mission all got turns to drive the mission van. It was a huge vehicle intended to accommodate large groups of missionaries to and from the airport on transfer days. On off days, though, it was fun to zip around in this oversized American monstrosity with just you and your companion. One freezing evening in January, Elder Braithwaite and I had been tracking an apartment complex and were on our way home. In an effort to get on the freeway, we saw a sign entrance that said “Is Hockey Stadium” (Ice Hockey). Knowing that the Ice Hockey stadium was the name of a freeway entrance, we turned into it. Unfortunately, it was the actual ice hockey stadium parking lot. And amazingly, the second we pulled into that icy, snowed-in lot, a line of cars suddently appeared behind us, blocking the one-lane entrance. It was a real mess, as every vehicle was sliding this way and that. And two people were unfortunately driving the large American monstrosity. A game was soon the start, and since the cars kept flowing in, it was all we could do to just keep circling round and round the small lot and try and keep out of others way and from getting hit. All of us were sliding, getting stuck in snowbanks, and it was a miracle there were no accidents. It seemed that cars were stopping and just parking wherever they wanted, since no one could see the painted stall lines under the icy, snow-covered base, and we panicked we would never get out. After what seemed an eternity (it was probably about an hour), the inflow of cars started to dissipate. Thankfully, Elder Braithwaite and I were able to thread the van through a passage that allowed us to get home before having to stay the night in the stadium. 

LESSON LEARNED: Lots of funny, memorable things happen on missions that aren’t so funny at the time.  But the memories are so worth it.

FEEDBACK: WHAT HILARIOUS MEMORIES DO YOU HAVE FROM YOUR MISSION?

Family Mafia Story

Last night, a friend of my son’s asked me to tell her our family mafia story.  It reminded me that I have never recorded it, so here it is.  My mother’s parents (Antonino Lucera and Josephine Zaby) are both from the village of Corleone, in Sicily, Italy.  It is located in the heart of mafia country, and is famous for where the mafia began, unfortunately.  When grandpa was a boy (as I was told by both my grandmother and my aunt), members of the mafia came to the family in Sicily with a proposition.  That being, the family either join their organization or lose their family farm to the mafia.  I don’t know how long they contemplated the decision, but I am told the “simply gave up the farm and moved to America”. How grateful I am for that simple decision and its lasting impact. The family made a lot sacrifices in order to do what was right. Grandpa Tony was trained as a craftsman in the making of fine leather saddles for horses.  I remember seeing one of his last saddles, with the extensive leather work and decorations he put into it.  Unfortunately for him, along came the car, which put him quickly out of business.  But he adjusted and became a repairman of leather shoes.  He ran a little shop in Inglewood, Los Angeles until his retirement.

LESSON LEARNED:  Each of our family histories contain little gems of provenance that help us appreciate the sacrifices of our ancestors.

FEEDBACK:  WHAT STORIES OF SACRIFICE DO YOU REMEMBER FROM YOUR ANCESTORS?