NO LONGER A CHILD

"Words are said. Some would believe, that words are gone. For me, words live on and on." Author Unknown (paraphrased)

While in Junior High School, the slam tablets were passed around the classrooms. In case you aren't familiar with the slam tablets, let me give you a brief summary. Inside the handwriting tablet, there was a person's name that would be written at the top of a sheet of paper. Flipping through the handwriting tablet, each sheet would have a different student's name. Then, students would write anonymous remarks about that person.

As you can imagine, the comments were rarely funny, sometimes rude and others crude. While the comments were unkind, adults would say, "It was kids being kids!" Notably, the behavior was immature.

Is this the story? No!

In October 1962, for 10 days my world felt like it was coming to an end. It was the Cuban Missile Crisis. Remembering, it was the scariest time in my life. Naturally, the experience hasn't been forgotten.

That was a story! Maybe later! Not now!

On November 22, 1963, JFK was assassinated. It's been referred to as when America lost its innocence. Truly, the memory of that day is etched in my mind.

Is this the story? It's a story that will live with me forever. No! Not now!

Remembering 1965, a high school teacher, Mr. J., remarked, "You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." This was directed at me while leaving the classroom. Individual senior class pictures were scheduled. It was my scheduled time slot for pictures.

While it was extremely embarrassing, Mr. J. didn't give it another thought. Nevertheless, his unkind words have never been forgotten. Upsetting yes! Not devastating!

Is this the story? No!

Before all the above events, my dad was looking for land. Beginning his search after July 1957, dad wasn't looking for acreages but an acre at most. His plan was to build a split-level home. As a matter of fact, he located the perfect spot. Sadly, the owner refused to sell the desired piece of land.

Of course, this didn't deter, dishearten, or disrupt my dad's plan. With renewed interest, he confidently continued to search for land. It would take him approximately 18 months. Instead of the split-level home, dad's new plan was to build a one-level home with a basement. Persistence paid off! Indeed, he purchased an acre and a half of land close to the highway.

Next, my dad hired a company to dig the foundation. It was the first step. A major step in the building of our family home. Once the foundation was dug out, the footer could be poured and cinder blocks would be laid for the foundation.

Eventually, the owner of the excavating company approached my dad, informing him that the digging of the foundation was completed. Immediately, dad paid the amount agreed upon in cash.

Unfortunately, my dad didn't have a chance to inspect the foundation until a day or two after paying for the work.

Upon my dad's return home, he stomped into the house. His facial expression matched his walk. I could tell in an instant that my dad was angry. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out the dynamics. At the time, as an eleven-and-a-half child, I couldn't guess what had caused my dad to be so mad and so angry.

Right away, my dad started cussing. In between the cuss words, bits and pieces of the story emerged. Foundation **** Enormous boulders **** How **** ***** ****It's going to take****to remove the **** boulders from the****hole.

Hearing that the foundation wasn't ready and hearing that the boulders needed to be broken up and removed, the news was overwhelming and heartbreaking. The mammoth hole was filled with boulders. In order to start the building process, the foundation had to be cleared, removing all traces of the rocks and boulders.

Ultimately, it would take months and months of manual labor to clean out the boulders without power tools. Using sledgehammers, the boulders were broken up into manageable smaller pieces from the foundation. Working together, my parents broke up the boulders and all but the youngest helped remove boulder pieces from the foundation. The manual back-breaking work was dusty and dirty. Invariably, my mom would pack food or complete meals to be eaten at the construction site of our eventual home.

Of course, this was a big life-changing event. Truly, the change was monumental. From an eleven-and-a-half year-old child, who played outside her home and looked after her siblings, to a responsible pre-teen helping carry out rocks and helping to build our new family home. Amazingly, my life changed.

In addition, my distrust and mistrust of people, places, and things can be attributed to my dad's experience. Paying for work that wasn't completed, the event lead to months of manual toil and trouble and a long-lasting memory.

In the end, events, words, and actions were not forgotten. Helping to remove the enormous boulders piece by piece, this task would be one of the many tasks and responsibilities. Doing whatever was asked, my hands became extra hands to hold something, retrieve tools, or moving building materials about. Mixing mortar, carrying blocks, nailing the subfloor, carrying shingles, and much more, the responsibilities were taken seriously. As a pre-teen, I was no longer a child. Taking on adult-size responsibilities and contributing to the construction of our new home, I came of age.