Day Eighteen of Lent-The Tree Fort

Have you ever had a special place to hang out with friends? The park? The alley behind your house? Your friend's house? How about a tree fort? When I was in grade school my dad and older brother, Matthew, built us a tree fort. Except it wasn't really in a tree; it was on stilts.

As far as I can remember the whole fort was about 5 feet by 10 feet. It contained a ladder leading up to a trap door in the corner of the fort. Two of the side windows were permanently open because of the slant of the roof. The other two windows were hinged and could be held open by a board pried into place. There was indoor outdoor carpeting that completed the homey feel. I remember chasing Nathan and his friends out of the place with a broom and threatening to lock them out if they didn't clean up after themselves. I now find irony in this statement coming from the child whose parents nicknamed her 'Pigpen.' Remember I was a challenge growing up.

I can remember hanging out in the fort and having sleepovers in there with Julie McComber and Nita Norton. On more than one occasion we would sneak out and meet up with other friends from school, who along with us, weren't opposed to breaking their parents rules. One night we got caught on St. Theresa's property by a police officer. I talked the cop into speaking with my older brother who was 18 and a legal adult rather than talking to my parents about the whole ordeal (in the middle of the night). I'm not sure which was worse...having to wake Matthew up and allow him to hold this over my head for the next 4 years or listen to him complain as he drove everybody to their respective homes at 3:00 A.M. Remember, I was a challenge growing up.

The party life in the tree fort came to an abrupt halt one summer afternoon. Nathan and his friend, Kevin Watson, were playing up in the fort...with fireworks. Well, I suppose you can just about guess the rest of the story. The fire truck came and doused the tree fort as well as the side wall of our house that luckily did not get hot enough to catch fire. Apparently, my little brother was a challenge growing up, too!

It seems about the same time the tree fort burnt down, my relationships with those friends cooled until the embers were finally extinguished. I've always wondered if it was because they attended Gerard High School and I went on to Arcadia High School? Or if their parents wised up and told the girls they weren't allowed to hang out with me anymore..remember, I was a challenge growing up.

Day Seventeen of Lent-The Good, Bad and the Ugly of Jobs

Polyester uniforms, funky brown visors. No, it wasn't the wardrobe at St. Theresa~those plaid skirts were at least a cotton blend~No, the polyester pants and shirt were the garb required at my very first job: Burger King-whose slogan remains to this day, “Have it Your Way.”

Certainly the designer of those fabulous threads realized they were far from flattering. Far worse was the fact they were dark brown and absorbed the smell from the fryer like a thirsty sponge. I can't remember what my wage was, but I am certain is was not more than minimum wage. But don’t forget the added advantage of one meal a shift at half price. My usual meal was the chicken sandwich, breaded and deep fried, of course with bacon and cheese added-for a little extra protein. Add on an order of onion rings (must stay away from those unhealthy dreaded french fries) and a diet coke (wouldn't want to overdue it in the calorie category) to fill out the meal.

My how things have changed from my first job~27 years later I am once again preparing to enter the workforce. The fast food arena is a little too fast paced for me at my age so I've chosen a job where I still deal with people. And thankfully when it comes to my wardrobe, though mandated as business casual, I get to choose the fabric blends and styles. No chance of a hearse coming through the drive thru now, but most definitely a possibility each of my clients will one day find themselves getting a ride in one.

I will still be dealing with people, but hopefully I will have more maturity and wisdom when dealing with cranky people 27 years ago. But when I think about it, most of us, no matter where we are still just want to "have it our way."

Day Sixteen of Lent-Dill Pickles and Ruben Sandwiches

What do dill pickle juice and Ruben sandwiches have in common? They were the staple of Beth McWeeney and I every Saturday of our 7^th grade year. I'm still not a big fan of Ruben's but I definitely still love dill pickles (not so much just drinking the juice~insert shutter here). And when pomegranates were in season we would add them into the mix and make a mess in the backyard. Looking back, now that I am a mother, I'm pretty sure Beth's mom was pleased that the mess was kept outside.

When we weren't eating Beth's parents out of house and home we were using our imaginations to the hilt. Whether Barbies or baby dolls our days were filled with adventures in imaginary worlds. There weren't any other girls our age who were really into playing with dolls or barbies so we kept to ourselves when it came to our weekend play dates. Were we stranger than the other girls, or some might say simply late bloomers? When I was eleven I'm not sure I even contemplated what a late bloomer was let alone ruminated on whether or not I fit the category.

Do we allow children to be themselves? Or do we put them into categories and treat them accordingly? The jocks play together. The mods dress together. The drama geeks act together. The video gamers XBox together. But, are we all really that different? Certainly we all have at least one common interest we can banter back and forth about. As adults, does a conversation about the weather indicate we don't think we have anything in common with the person we are interacting with at the moment? How do we break the ice, come out of our shells, and reach out to those who we are most unlikely to ever spend time with? You never know~you just might meet an amazing person you eventually wonder how you ever lived without them.

Day Fifteen of Lent-Father George

May 19, 1983 was a historical day that will forever impact my life. What? You don't recognize it? It's not a day that rings a bell? Not like April 10, 1912? Or December 7, 1941? Or September 11, 2001? Although at the time, May 19^th was like any other day and I had absolutely idea how the events would affect my life. As I look back it, the events of that day and night are seared in my mind.

May 19, 1983 was the Diaconate Ordination of Mr. George Bredemann who would, from the ceremony forward, be addressed as Fr. George. I was at the ordination because my best friends and myself, Beth McWeeney and Michelle Whisler, helped Fr. George with the handicapped ministries that was sponsored by St. Theresa School. Every week we gathered at Feeney Hall and did activities, hung out, and basically befriended mentally handicapped students. A few times we went to where they lived. That was always an interesting experience. Once, we even went on a camp out together. I still remember thinking something was not right...but, I was only twelve at the time. And, what does a twelve year old know? Right?

Fast forward to 1988. News broke in Phoenix that Fr. George Bredemann had been arrested on charges of sexual molestation. WOW. I was in college at the time and was certainly perplexed. I remember talking to my husband about it. When I called my mom and asked her what she thought, I remember her telling me that my brother, Nathan, had come home from school one time and said Fr. George had changed in front of him and it made Nathan very uncomfortable. This interaction with my mom brought up memories from the camping trip with the handicapped kids. But, still-I had only been twelve, right? Would I have remembered correctly?

Fast forward to 2001. I was talking to someone who stated, “I see your faith is very important to you. How do you feel about men being priests?” My instant response was, “man wasn't designed to be alone. Very few have the actual gift of celibacy.”

Once again the wretched night on the camping trip came back to the forefront of my memory. Looking back now—and because of the fact George Bredemann was found guilty-- I'm pretty sure I know what happened to that boy in his tent that night. If I saw a picture of the young man, I'd know him in an instant—the event left THAT much of an impression on me. A kind of an impression that the sinking of the Titanic, Pearl Harbor, or the attack on the Twin Towers can evoke. I was only twelve, but that day is locked in my memory. It shook me to the core as I thought of how I believed in Fr. George and trusted him. It made me reconsider who my role models are in life. Do my role models deserve the pedestal I put them on? Am I a role model to anyone and do the little things in my life really affect others.

Day Fourteen of Lent-School Talent Shows

Schools have this tradition of having Talent Shows to showcase their talented students and unfortunately, their not so talented students.

One year that St. Theresa had one such showcase of talent my friends and I had decided to write a play. Well, let me rephrase...my friends and I did a short play for the talent show and I was the one that wrote the play. Having been a sickly child from many bouts of tonsillitis I was home many a day watching TV. Gilligan's Island was one of my favorite shows so I wrote a little vignette based on Gilligan's Island. I remember Alan Bray played Gilligan. I can't remember who else joined our motley crew but I know I still have the program up in the attic. I have this terrible obsession with keeping things. Not ALL things just things that have special significance to me. Birthday cards from my childhood, for as long as I can remember, up until my last birthday. Not just any card...just the ones people took the time to actually write something other than their name inside.

A year or so ago I found the program. Being a sucker for taking a walk down memory lane, I opened it up and read through the skit. My lands! How anyone sat through our performance without laughing hysterically at our pathetic attempt I'll never know. I bet you can guess the ending of the performance, though? Yes, Gilligan messes up their rescue attempt once again.

I suppose writing a play that bombed might be better than the dance performance I tried my hand at the year before. I remember Eric Rouna encouraging me when I was so wrought with stage fright~just imagine the audience is in their underwear. I didn't know if that was allowed going to a Catholic school and all!

One must not forget the time we were all in the play Wizard of Oz. I was one of the munchkins. I really wanted to be Dorothy...even back then I had high expectations for myself and was shattered when things didn't go my way. I have that program, too. Perhaps to remind myself that life doesn't always happen the way you desire it to happen. But, that's okay. I wouldn't be the person I am today but for the things that make up the history of my life. So today, be thankful for even the painful things in your life knowing without them, you wouldn't be who you are today.

Day Thirteen of Lent-Nature Vs. Nurture

Do you ever wonder why you are the way you are? Your personality~is it a combination of both of your parents or part of your genetic DNA? For me, I know I have my mother's eyes, and am built like my dad's mother. But personality wise? I think I am more like my dad than my mom.

Why am I more like my dad and his mom? The summer we moved from Illinois to Arizona my dad, my little brother, and I lived with my grandparent's, while my mom and older brother, sold the house in Illinois. I learned an amazing amount of things that summer as a 9 year old. My grandma taught me to do laundry, iron, how to properly set the table, and how Polish Perogi is made from scratch (she'd have none of that purchased in the freezer section where an assembly line has haphazardly thrown together!)

While my grandmother and I spent time together I learned many things about her family, herself, and my father. What did I learned? Red carnations were her favorite flowers. She had a green thumb and easily grew roses and taught me that in Arizona, the first week of February is when you prune them. When she spoke of rough patches in her marriage I asked why she stayed married all these years. Her reply? “When you made your bed you had to lie in it. Divorce is not an option.”

Grandma told me funny stories about my dad and uncles. When the boys were little they wanted to wear knickers because all the other boys were wearing them. Apparently my grandfather, did not have the same affection for knickers and thought they were for sissy's. Grandma said my dad asked if he and his brothers could wear the knickers; grandma reminded little Brian how Papa felt about the fashion faux pas. My grandfather owned several drug stores and worked a hideous amount of hours. I guess my dad was well aware of that fact because he explained to his mom that it would be okay because pop is never home and “he will never know.”

One day my grandmother told my dad that he needed to get down in the basement and get all of the toys cleaned up before his father got home from work. My dad replied, “What? Do you think that I am an octopus?” She thought it was adorable years later, but I'm not sure how she felt about it or responded when he said it as a little 4 year old that afternoon. She told story after story of my dad's Boxer, Binx. If I remember correctly, my dad said they got rid of her as a punishment. Looking back, that might explain why my dad thought it perfectly appropriate to get rid of my dog, Heidi, or why it was okay for a parent to do such a thing to a teenager.

It sounds like my dad was creative in his thinking, adventurous in spirit, and not afraid to say what he thought. Yep~I think I'm going to have to admit that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree and I am more like my dad in many ways. But, that is okay with me.

Day Twelve of Lent-Is Saturday Cleaning Day at Your House, too?

Our family was pretty predictable growing up; we ate out on Friday nights, cleaned house on Saturday and had roast on Sunday. Friday night dinners out usually consisted of eating at Red Devil, That's Italian, or Pancho's. Saturday we all were required to help dust, vacuum, mop, laundry and do yard work until it was done. A couple times a year my mom would have me vacuuming the furniture and anything else she could finagle me into cleaning. Dusting included dusting the legs of the dining room table, the chandelier and the rows and rows of books and nick knacks on our book shelf that spanned the entire wall of the family room-floor to ceiling!

The good thing about cleaning on Saturdays in the summer was that we knew once we were done, the afternoon would be filled with swimming at my grandparents house. They lived in an adult only neighborhood with a community pool. The only down side to the pool was that most of the elderly women who came in the afternoon while we were there had just had their hair done for the week. Considering they wanted their hair to look it's best for Sunday church they always complained about us kids splashing. My thought as a kid was, “why on earth would you go to the pool if you didn't want to get your hair wet?” Nevertheless, my brother and I made sure to keep our distance from the hair-do ladies and all was well in our universe.

Does it seem ironic to you that I craved the structure in my life of cleaning house on Saturday's because it provided stability for me yet I loathed the structure of the hair-do ladies' lives and considered them party pooper's at the pool? I get so frustrated with myself when I discover that I am not being fair to people in life by having expectations that I don't live by myself. I'd love for someone to point these areas out to me when I do them but I get so mad that they're pointing them out~it's a vicious circle in life. Can anyone else relate??