Ten Biggies

A meme tossed to me from Luz is a little late in completion, but this one is a head-scratcher since you are not allowed to use family members as inspiration. At first, I expected to head in a purely frivolous and humorous direction, but ended up at another life compass point entirely:

My Ten (Or So) Greatest Influences...(excluding family):

1. Minnie: the elderly lady who babysat my brother and me. She loved us, but ruled our rowdy selves with her special brand of discipline. I remember the old Model T car that gathered dust in her garage - the final reminder of a jilting husband who, as the church choir leader, ran off with the pretty lead soprano.

2. Aunt Evelyn and Uncle R.L.: Nope, I didn't cheat. They aren't blood relations at all, but I love them just the same. Couldn't ask for better role models. Have known them all my life, turned to them when my own parents were not the best choice of confidants.

3. Mrs. Niesen: An educator who loved teaching, she was my junior high Texas history teacher, moved to the high school where I had her for American history, government, and sociology. Always a lady, and with a humorous twinkle in her eye, she passed her loved of history onto her students when they weren't looking.

4. "D": The best friend who was responsible for my suffering from more than broken bones; living vicariously through her proved to be a bumpy road, but taught me more about the results of poor choices than my parents ever could.

5. Donald: The nasty boy who moved to our little elementary school in Poolville; he brought big city knowledge to us country bumpkin kids, including my first introduction to the original 4-letter word. Someone tattled on him, and he was marched to the sink at the back of the classroom for a mouth cleansing of soap given none too gently by Mrs. Waters, my third grade teacher (back when teachers were allowed to dispense such justice).

6. Carol: The friendly lady who washed dishes at my parent's cafe. My first personal contact with a mentally retarded adult; she taught me a lot about simple joys and the acceptance of people different from myself. After my initial distrust and pity, we became friends. It came as a shock to me that she lived in an "old people's home", a nursing home.

7. Sonny: The next door neighbor who, at 6 years my senior, embodied all my 13 year-old fantasies of the "older" man. He drove a motorcycle, wore a black leather jacket and was my first real crush. A nice Catholic boy, he confessed to me many years later of his own secret admiration of my sun-bathing habits (we were neighbors a long time, and no, he wasn't speaking of my 13 year-old self, but my later teen years).

8. Mildred Wirt Benson: aka Carolyn Keene, author of Nancy Drew Mystery books. If it weren't for her ability to draw me into the youthful adventures of Miss Drew, I might not have become the reader I am. Nancy Drew was how I escaped when big people life got scary.

9. Pat: My down-the-street neighbor who insisted and persisted in teaching me how to drive my first car: a standard, 3-speed in the floor, stick-shift Opal Cadet. The poor little Cadet had sat in our drive-way for 4 months before he pushed me in, locked the doors and said, "You can do it!". And I did.


10. All the children in the first grade class at East Van Zandt Elementary in 1972:
My first real out of high school job as a public school instructional aide found me assigned to an inner city impoverished neighborhood school - a rude awakening for this white bread, middle-class teenager whose only brush with the "other side of the tracks" was a class field trip to the county jail once. These children had seen more violence, heartbreak, and poverty than I could have ever imagined in my worst nightmare. Another teacher took me aside that first month as I struggled to pull socks away from impetigo-crusted sores on little legs and told me that these babies deserved more than my pity; they needed someone who cared enough about them to see that they learned to read, someone to teach them there is a different kind of life beyond the daily visions of addiction and crime. I will never forget the little girl who wanted to lift up my shirttail to see if I was white "all over", the young boy who did not have his own toothbrush, the child who saw his mother shoot his father full in the face and was being raised by a grandmother after the mom went to the penitentiary, and the over-powering stench of a child who did not ever have clean clothes - his siblings just tossed their daily clothing into a pile on the floor, and grabbed whatever was available from said pile the next day. These children taught me more than I could ever teach them.

I won't tag anyone to try this little soul exercise, but if you've a mind, then drop me a comment with a link...