Forgiveness Comes Later

I came across an article on The Christian Post website which got my dander up a bit.  It gave a synopsis of ideas about bullying from author Wendy Cooper Starr.  The article made several points.  The first one, I agree with -- I don't think anti-bullying policies are the path to reducing the amount of verbal bullying in schools.  My agreement with the article ended  at this quote:

“Children need to learn bullies are being controlled by Satan. They need to learn forgiveness. They need to learn how to do good things for bullies.” 

I was a Christian child bullied in Christian schools by Christians.  I don't think my bullies were controlled by Satan.  I think they were bored, spoiled kids who, despite the Christian surroundings, had not been trained to be kind to others.

It's not going to stop the bullying to "do nice things" for the bullies.  The doing-nice-things approach can work in conflicts between peers where there is a basic equality and the problem is a personality conflict or a quarrel.  I don't consider those situations to be bullying.  I define bullying as a concentrated, ongoing harassment where there isn't equality -- due to shyness, size, vulnerability, or a child who is outnumbered, a child who is isolated by peers.  A kid who is bullied is so beaten down, mentally or physically, that it is a tremendous accomplishment just to function from day to day without cracking up.  A bully is an abuser.  Expecting an emotionally battered child to try to "do nice things" for their abusers is a good way to lock them into the victim mentality for life. 

It is premature to talk forgiveness while a child is being bullied.  Survival is the issue of the moment. God and the Bible can help the child endure, but forgiveness is an issue you deal with later while dealing with the long-term effects of bullying, as you piece back together your shattered sense of self and figure out how you can possibly fit into this world.  And the biggest challenge may be to forgive yourself for being the sort of kid whom others would bully.  Self esteem isn't something Christians seem comfortable with teaching, but it is there in the Bible.  When you love your neighbor as yourself, that means that it is right and proper to love yourself.  And loving self will be the most challenging lesson a bullied child will have to learn.

Church School Bullying

This candid photo shows the isolation I felt in academy. I'm the kid standing alone in the doorway, trying to figure out what do do with my hands and arms, nothing feeling natural. I've rooted myself. against the door frame, unwilling to commit either to coming into the room or remaining without.

I've got a bad case of the Church School Blues.

Is CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES the only book around that tells the story of bullying in a religious school setting?  In my search, I am finding many books on bullying in general, and a few documentaries about the subject of bullying in churches and religious schools, but other than that, BLUES seems to stand alone.

It's not the first time I've stood alone.  

So perhaps I shouldn't be surprised that BLUES is alone on the shelf.

Although I wonder.

Are religious schools still in denial that bad things can happen there?

Bullying in a secular setting is one thing.

Bullying in a religious setting is another.  Why?  Because it isn't just a matter of not fitting in with a social group.  It is a matter of fitting in with one's religious group.  If one doesn't experience belonging there, eventually, one leaves to find some place where one can fit in.

That's what I did.

Thanksgiving with CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES

Thanksgiving excerpt from Church School Blues, Chapter Four

Meanwhile, Daddy has been working steadily at his new job as a diesel mechanic. Even so, the money isn't coming in as quickly as it is going out. We were so tight for a while this past summer, we didn't have anything to eat except spaghetti. Fortunately I love spaghetti, but even I was glad when we could add something else to our diet.

I wish I could sell enough pop bottles to pay for my Christian education since that always comes up as being a drain on our household resources. But it isn't just the monthly tuition that is a burden. My school is expecting my parents to shell out extra money for "activities." Like the Thanksgiving play.

Elder Hargis says everybody has to be in it, no excuses. Not that I get a part in the play. I'm just supposed to get an Indian costume and walk around being an Indian, sitting in a tepee and string popcorn. And that means I have to have an Indian costume.

Well, I don't put things off. I face them right away, so I brace myself and give Mother the news that I have to have a stupid costume.

“Oh, honey,” Mother says (just like I knew she would). “We can't afford it!”

 “Just get me some feathers or something. If I stay in the very back, nobody can see what I’m wearing.”

That makes Mother feel guilty and she apologizes about not giving me more in life—as if I ask for more of my own free will. "I don't care how it looks," I assure her, "as long as it gets past Elder Hargis."

Remember Mother's Ingenious Compromises? Next thing I know, she has done a loo-loo of an Ingenious Compromise. When I come home from school the next day, I find Mother fiddling with two burlap sacks on the kitchen table. I love gunny sacks because they remind me of Grandpa's sheds back home, all grainy smelling and rough to the touch. Not wanting another go-around about What I Do and Could Not Possibly Remember, I don't mention this fact to Mother.

"We can't afford to buy a real costume for you," says Mother, "but I think I can make you one out of these."

Unlike many Adventist mothers, my mother doesn't sew as a rule, but I don't have the slightest doubt that she can make something if she says she can. So I calmly go off and do my homework, until about an hour later she calls me to come take a look.

Can you spell flabbergasted?

This has got to be her top Ingenious Compromise ever!

My mother has taken an old gunny sack and made it into something that is not only beautiful, but looks as natural as if it was made out of deerskin—even to the fringe which she has created by pulling the strings at the openings of the sacks—around the hole that is the neckline, the holes that are the sleeves, and the bottom of the skirt, all fringed.

"I found some plastic beads on sale from Halloween," she says. "Look here." She turns the blouse around, and it has the most lovely decorations sewn around the neck!

"It's gorgeous!" says I.

"Try it on so we can see if it fits." She makes a tuck around the waist and it's a perfect fit. "Indians often went barefoot, so I decided you'll be fine without moccasins. We'll dress you warm till we get to the school, and then you can go barefoot on all that carpet. And, guess what else I found on clearance?"

At this point I am willing to believe almost anything. Mother reaches into a store bag and pulls out a wig with long black hair. Crazy as it may sound, I'm almost looking forward to the play now!

Whether I'm looking forward to it or not, the night of the play is upon us and my transformation is complete. Mother braids the wig and wraps a band around it, topping it with a mockingbird feather I found out back. Now for the really dark make-up. Whoa! I didn't know I had inherited Mother's cheekbones, but I sure look like an Indian tonight. And that stoic thing I've been doing with my face lately fits right in. Only the green eyes give me away—and, oops, I can't help it, I'm grinning ear to ear and that ruins the whole effect.

"Don't smile," says Mother. Well, not smiling won't be difficult once I get to school.

School looks strange at night, and the presence of so many parents tones down the Dodos. They seem to be on their best behavior. They're staring at me, though. I can feel everyone staring at me as I stealth in on bare feet.

"Wow," says Fiona. "You look like a real Indian."

Fiona sure doesn't. She's wearing a full costume that looks super expensive, but it's obviously plastic, and the feathers are dyed chicken feathers. I walk among my staring classmates, assessing each one, and they all fall short of my mother's magic touch. I feel my back going straighter and my chin tilting proudly, and none of the corners are itching. I wish I could wear this costume every day. I could be myself again if I could always come to school in bare feet with my hair hanging long, with feathers.

I can't believe how polite the Dodos are. It's almost scary that several of them say how cool I look. Jill looks startled when she sees me, but she doesn't say a word about my appearance. She gets funny like that sometimes. Part of the time, she's about my only friend, and part of the time she's laughing at me along with the Dodos. I think I understand her, though. She really likes me, but can't stand being unpopular, so there are times she'll turn against me when she thinks it might help her status.

Then sometimes, when the real me shines through like it is tonight, she gets an expression like she is afraid that I'm going to keep on shining and rise up in the world. And when that happens, she thinks I'll leave her behind with the Solos. But I wouldn't do that to a friend, honest.

Over yonder, trying to disappear into the wall, is Belinda. She has one of the plastic costumes, and no one has tried to disguise her blonde hair. It is plastered close to her head and her bangs are wet. Her nerves are probably in high gear. If I've been dreading tonight, it's nothing compared to what Belinda is going through.

As we line up on the stage to sing about the first Thanksgiving, I make sure I am standing next to her. She is shaking all over with stage fright even though we are in the back row. I reach out and take her hand. It is sopping wet. By the time the singing is over, she is finally calm enough to sit beside me and string popcorn by the paper teepee.

We string and string as the people with real parts dominate the stage, and I wonder if they are listening to the story they are telling. It is a story about people who were very different from each other, and they had this meal and became friends. It's a nice story, but it's not the whole story. I've watched Bonanza and Daniel Boone on television, so I know how things went later on with the Native Americans and the settlers. They didn't stay friends, but people still tell the story of Thanksgiving as if that one dinner is important. And it must be important or we wouldn't still tell it every year, would we?

I guess it's kind of like the Dodos and me tonight—me walking proud and them being nice. For a short time, we're just people without castes or races or other silly labels. That's important because it means it's possible for people to get past all those prejudices for the space of a meal or a play—and if we can do it for an hour or two, maybe we could make it last longer.

But don't think I've been fooled by the Thanksgiving story. I know that when school starts up again, we'll be back in the wild frontier.

Friendly Former Adventist

Author as a teenager in front of Collegedale Academy.The second part of Church School Blues is set at C.A.

Sooner or later it's going to come out.  The writer of Precious Jewels, A Seventh-Day Adventist Family Saga and Church School Blues is a former SDA.  It might be later.  My short stories and articles were published for years in Adventist publications with no one the wiser (as far as I know.)  I was even approached as an editor candidate for one of their leading magazines, and they were still none the wiser.  Once, I did get unmasked by a student intern at Insight Magazine who asked me the innocent question on the phone, "Where is your home church?"

I told her the truth, expecting that would be the end of my career as a writer in Adventist publications, but she either didn't tell the management or they didn't care.  Why should they?  At that time, there was a dearth of good writers for Adventist publications, and my stories were exactly what they were after.  My material pushed the boundaries -- they published my stories on racism and child abuse and bullying.  They allowed me to give voice to the fact that these things happen in Christian circles, which to me was a huge and long overdue progression from what I had seen in their magazines while growing up Adventist. 

But there was only so far and so long that I could remain with them and write true to myself and still write true to the requirements of the Adventist publishing industry.  So I published independently when I wrote my books, but I'm still in the very odd position of a former SDA writing for and about Adventists. 

I have always been different -- being different got me bullied in Adventist schools, and now being different gets me criticized by other former Adventists who think I should be on a crusade to unravel Adventism.  I have no desire to unravel Adventism.  My roots are Adventist, it is my history, and in many ways I am still Adventist, my diet being the most noticeable thing about me that is Forever Adventist.  I'm no longer a believer for several reasons -- one big one, I suppose is that I lost a sense of belonging at a critical time in my development.  The other reasons have to do with intellectual/spiritual disagreement which I won't go into  (See above: no desire to unravel Adventism.)

Some of the most colorful, fascinating, heroic people I've ever known were Adventists.  My great-grandmother's story is classic Adventist -- A plantation owner's daughter, who converted to the ministry of Ellen G. White's son Edson White when he came down the Yazoo River with his Morning Star riverboat ministry.  Pearl Holt, my great-grandmother gave up everything -- husband, comfortable life -- and went on an amazing religious odyssey with her two small daughters.  The daughters, Ruby and Grace, grew into fascinating people as well, and it was Grace who had such an impact on my own character.  Such a family legacy, dovetailing with the history of Adventism in the American South, just had to be written -  so last year PRECIOUS JEWELS, A SEVENTH-DAY ADVENTIST FAMILY SAGA was published.  I wrote it as they lived it and wrote it as they would have wanted me to tell it.  I wrote it like an Adventist.

My most recent book is also about Adventists.  It is my story, about a kid who was bullied for six years in Adventist schools.  Some people are disappointed that CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES isn't an exposé of Adventism.  They wanted to see me blow the lid off some conspiracy about Adventist education -- well, there isn't a conspiracy as far as I know.  I honestly believe that I had the bad luck to have been placed with some uncommonly horrid folks that weren't typical of the Adventist school experience.  And yet, I have heard the experiences of enough other people who were bullied and abused in SDA schools to know that this is an issue that the faculty and the families need to be prepared to confront. 

If you are an Adventist, CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES could make you uncomfortable because it is clear that being bullied does something to a person's religious experience as well as to their social experience.   My transition from being the grandchild of one of the most amazing Adventists who ever lived to an adult who no longer believes began in the BLUES years. 

For that reason if for none other, CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES should be read by Adventists.  If Adventists want to keep their young people (and their adults who used to be young people) they need to be alert to circumstances of neglect and abuse which alienate their members.  This is not a uniquely Adventist problem (see above: no exposé.)  It is a human problem, and the challenge for Adventists is to acknowledge  that they are still in The World and that the World's problems come through their doors and dwell among their members, just as they do in that other church down the road.

Bullying Vs. I Don't Like You!

In both FIREFLIES and CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES, the storyline involves kids who have conflict with one another, but only BLUES is about bullying.

In FIREFLIES, the conflicts and changes in the relationship of the little girls of Willow Haven isn't bullying. Disagreeing, quarreling and even some name-calling isn't, in my opinion, bullying. Reena and Kittie disliked each other, Daphne and Rhoda had their own dance of admiration vs. jealousy, and eventually Daphne ended up with Rhoda's best friend, but none of that is bullying.

Bullying isn't about people disliking each other or even dumping one's best friend. It isn't about coming to blows over who gets to sit by someone they both want to be friends with. Bullying is behavior that is persistent and focused on taking away someone else's power. 

Bullying is vampiric behavior. The bully feeds off the fear and pain that they cause in the kid who is vulnerable to them. The bullies in CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES were bored people who craved excitement. Bullying gave them a rush, which they were unable to experience in any other way.

I think this distinction is important while our society is so focused on the issue of bullying.  It is important that people understand the difference between bullying behavior and other behaviors that reflect conflict between personalities.  We don't want to fall into the pitfall of branding kids who misbehave as something they aren't.  The absence of bullies in a school doesn't mean that there will never be a fistfight, or that people won't get their feelings hurt by rejection and snide remarks.  Bully behavior may include the use of fists and the use of rejection and hurtful remarks, but it is more than that.  It is relentless, obsessive, and may continue for years as it did in CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES.

In my other book, PRECIOUS JEWELS, A SEVENTH-DAY ADVENTIST FAMILY SAGA, the Purcell couple had characteristics that fit my definition of bullies.  They were relentless and obsessive in their determination to destroy the reputations of schoolteachers Grace and Ralph Denton, and they continued their campaign from Minnesota to Carolina to have them removed from church membership and barred from teaching in the schools.  Not even the intervention of the highest church authorities in the Dentons' behalf deterred the Purcells from their decades-long efforts to destroy them.  

Granted, the Purcells seemed to me to be more than bullies -- since they were adults, their relentless obsession seems pathological.  With kid bullies, they may grow out of bully behavior when they learn less destructive ways to feel alive, while the Purcells never gave up their craving to consume and destroy.  

  

In Danger of Being Different

Writing Church School Blues gave me new insights, not only into myself, but into those who lived in my world with me.  One mystery that may be partly solved through the process is the mystery of Monique.  Even then, I thought that the intensity of her apparent hatred of me was odd since I had never done anything to her to inspire a grudge.  I could understand why she looked down on me -- everyone else did!  But why the rage?  The others were mean to me, but Monique was obsessed.

It occurs to me now that perhaps the thing about Monique that was so fascinating to me was also the reason she vented her anger upon me: Monique was different, too.  She communicated with her parents, not through voice, but with her hands.  While I thought it was no end of cool that she could talk with her hands, and while she used her ability to further her social goals, is it possible that she feared it could backfire on her?  She made her abilities a thing of admiration in what seemed to be a celebration of her unique family situation.  But perhaps a part of her was ashamed that her folks were different.

So to make sure that it doesn't occur to any one else that she is different, she takes charge of the group of mean kids and marshals them on her crusade against others who are different -- and who, unlike her, cannot talk back either with hands or voice.

She doesn't dare let up, because if she does, she might end up walking in my shoes.

Zoe, The Wild Child in CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES

Zoe wasn't a natural born Dodo.  She had to teach herself how to be mean so that she could join them.  I will say that she was a quick study, for next to Monique, she was the worst enemy I ever had.

But Zoe had a heart which is something a mean kid would do well to be without, because hearts get in the way of things, if not sooner, then eventually.  That is what happened with Zoe, although her heart took over too late to benefit me.

I have sometimes wondered what became of Zoe after 8th grade graduation.  I wonder if she remembers me.  Wonder if she'd be surprised to know that I remember her and how well I understood the choices she made and why she made them.  She was the only one who asked me to forgive her.  That alone is reason to remember Zoe and to hope that life has treated her kindly.

Elder Hargis - A Bad Dude in Church School

Yes, Elder Hargis was a real person.  His name has been changed, as have most of the names in CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES, to protect the guiltier ones. I don't know what became of Elder Hargis after the scandal that removed him from his position at our school.  He wasn't much talked about afterward, probably because no one wanted to buy into a reality where the leaders of church schools couldn't be trusted with children.  The thing that makes scandal and bullying in church school a different topic than when it occurs anywhere else is that church schools make claims of being better, safer, kinder, more righteous places, and Elder Hargis is an indicator that the claims are just that: claims.

The fact is that there are human beings in church schools.  The fact is that you will find sick individuals in church schools just as they are found elsewhere.  CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES isn't anti-church school, although I realize that some may view it so because of the forthright tone of the narrator.  CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES is not written as an exposé.  In fact, I have watered down some of the facts in consideration of persons involved.  It is not written in anger, and if you read the book, I think you will agree that the narrative voice is not angry.

CHURCH SCHOOL BLUES tells the story the best I could tell it without causing more damage today.  I have retained the basic facts that were needed to keep the story's integrity; and that wasn't an easy task.  The story needed to be told, it needed told for years before I was able to tell it.  The reason it needs to be told is that kids in church school who have problems which are denied by the church community are trapped without a way to get help.  Bad things do happen in religious homes and religious schools, and I hope that in the years since I lived BLUES that the religious communities are no longer perpetrating the myth that they are immune to the tragedy of abuse in all its varied forms.

The Solos - The Bottom Caste in Church School Blues

I'm Jade in Church School Blues, the kid who was under the bottom of the bottom of the heap.  All Solo kids suffer, but I was focused on the most by the mean kids.  To this day, I'm not certain what it was about me that made them so angry.  Perhaps it was that I failed to respond to them, failed to cry, to scream, to run, and they weren't going to give up until they got a reaction, even if it took years.

Well, as I've said in a previous post, I haven't had a problem finding forgiveness for the Dodos.  The problem was finding forgiveness for myself for being vulnerable.  Writing Church School Blues was a way back to embrace the kid whom I treated worse than a Dodo ever did.  It was a way to get in touch with a kid who was a silent warrior.  She couldn't take up for herself with the flashing swords of the spoken word, yet she never backed down either.  Here are some passages from Church School Blues about Solos.

Even though, being eleven years of age, I am a lot younger than the other Solos in the room, we share too much ill fortune not to strike up a bit of a camaraderie, although I have to tell you that Solos tend to avoid each other. Sometimes I think that we Solos should band into our own Solo gang and be loyal to each other, and then it wouldn't be so bad, but the terrible thing is that nobody wants to be seen with a Solo—not even another Solo! Think about it. You hang out with the kid who is duck walking, or whose glasses are steaming, or who keeps touching the edges of stuff, and people start looking at you to see what you have in common with that person, and that's the sad truth --Church School Blues

She is one of those kids who is obviously a Solo on sight. It's the way she ducks her blonde head and slumps as if trying to be invisible. It's in the way that she doesn't seem to have the hang of walking, standing or sitting. Every movement looks awkward and unnatural. She is a silent kid.

--Church School Blues

The So-So's - Characters in Church School Blues

I think most of us are probably So-So's.  Reluctant to take a stand, lest we lose the little bit of ground we're standing upon. Avoiding confrontation if at all possible, looking the other way when we see injustice.

I know what you're thinking.  You're thinking that I'm going to sermonize about how being a So-So is wrong.  I'm not.  Being a So-So is sometimes necessary for survival, physically or mentally, in school, in the work place, wherever differences clash and intolerance intrudes.  Chameleons are So-So's in the animal kingdom, as are animals that change the color of their fur with the change of seasons, and those that blend into the barks of trees, or appear to be part of a plant.  Not everyone is equipped for direct confrontation, but as we mature we find that there are other ways to address injustice and intolerance.  As adults, we gain more tools to deal with our lives and the life we see happening around us.  That is the message of Church School Blues -- a kid may be stuck in a caste while at school, but it isn't a life sentence.

An underdog -- in the caste called Solo in Church School Blues -- isn't doomed to be a Solo forever, and neither are So-So's, or even Dodos.  As we grow up, we outgrow the small world of school.  We even discover that there aren't just three castes, but many types of people that we didn't even meet in school.  Or, if we're really creative, we can create our own caste.

The Dodos - Characters in Church School Blues

I don't think I could have written Church School Blues if I couldn't draw.  Drawing drew the old me out.  Back then, drawing was a refuge away from the scenes described in Blues and now drawing was the vehicle I used to come back to them.

I have given a lot of thought to what motivated the kids that I called the Dodos.  I have concluded that bored personalities had a lot to do with it. Though they seemed of average intelligence there was a certain dullness of mind that made them unable to create or experience wonder.  Mischief wasn't enough to break the monotony for them.  They had to go beyond mischief to cruelty in order to feel alive.

Elder Hargis's Seating Chart & The Caste System

In Church School Blues, there is a definite caste system, which the narrator secretly names and defines.  The three castes are the Dodos, the So-So's, and the Solos. Elder Hargis, the teacher, uses the caste system to his advantage with his seating chart.

From Church School Blues:

"The main requirement for a kid to be a Dodo is to be bored to meanness. This type of kid craves excitement. Obviously they have never lived in a Roach Ranch next door to Catholics, kleptomaniacs and tomato-throwing boozers. Not to mention they've not come here from the Green Swamp where they would have known all sorts of unusual things and amazing people, most of whom Mother doesn't want me to mention to anyone since it would give the impression that we came from the back woods. The Dodos have lived pretty ordinary lives in comparison, as far as I can tell. The only way they get any thrills is by bullying the Solos.

The kids in between the Solos and the Dodos are in the caste I call the So-Sos. The main requirement to be a So-So is to naturally blend in with your environment so that you don't stand out as prey. Think white rabbit in snow, think turtle among rocks, and you'll get the picture. The So-Sos are good students, and usually polite to everybody. They aren't bored to meanness because they often have talents and hobbies (which they don't flaunt so that nobody notices too much.) The only time they act mean is when they laugh along with the Dodos at the Solos. They can't really help that. It's part of their camouflage.

Then there are the Solos. I have pondered at length what makes a kid a Solo instead of a So-So. (It isn't hard to figure out why someone isn't a Dodo, but it isn't always so apparent how a person fell down so far that they became a Solo.).

There are four of us Solo kids....

...Since Elder Hargis is the principal of our school as well as the seventh and eighth grade teacher, you'd think he'd know how to handle eight students. Yes, I said eight. The other nine of us don't need handling, but the Dodos can hardly sit still in between recess breaks. Sometimes I suspect Elder Hargis is afraid of the Dodos, but that can't be the simple truth or they'd have devoured him by now like a Solo. I think that the truth is not simple in this case, and that the non-simple truth is that Elder Hargis is bored to meanness just like the Dodos. But don't take my word for it. Let me give some examples.

Here's how he has handled the problem of the Dodos talking through class. Instead of giving out some teacherly punishment—like having to stay after school or write 100 times on the board, I will not talk out of order—Elder Hargis has resorted to strategy.

His strategy is a seating chart.

He has strategically placed each Solo kid so that they form a barrier separating the Dodos so they can't put their heads together and carry on a class-long conversation with each other. But you know what that means, right? Each Solo kid is completely surrounded by Dodos, which I assure you is not a pleasant position to be in if you're a Solo.

The seating chart is an example of why I say that Elder Hargis has a mean streak. He doesn't care that the Solos are tormented in his seating arrangement, as long as it keeps the overall noise level down. Since conversations between Dodos and Solos tend to be one-sided, you can see why the noise is less."

Ever seen or experienced a seating chart like Elder Hargis's Seating Chart?

   

Full Circle

Today I have a full-circle sort of feeling.  I rode a bicycle for the first time in many years, and my father rode with me through the streets of a small Carolina town.  In Church School Blues, my younger self is a bike riding kid who uses her bike to grab a sense of freedom even as she feels herself trapped behind an invisible chain-link fence of silence, far away from the Carolina home she yearns for.

From Church School Blues:

"I feel like my life has become a Salvador Dali painting.

And another thing I've recently learned—I can stand persecution. I've mentioned already about how we Adventists have to be ready for the Great Persecution when The World will turn on us for being a Peculiar People. Well, I am being persecuted for being a Peculiar Person, so I am getting plenty practice in bearing up.

As soon as I'm away from that school, back on my bike in the afternoons, I start fitting back into my skin. I merge with the wind and let it take all that awful hairspray right out of my hair and lift me up so I feel like I am flying. I can really ride that bike. I cross my arms and steer with no hands, making the turns and everything just by shifting my weight a tiny bit. As long as I'm on my bike, I am still keen."  

Mother's Ingenious Compromise

One of the underlying themes of Church School Blues is the conflict between Jade and her mother.  Her mother is very concerned with external appearances and rising socially, while Jade prefers the rustic ways she learned from her grandfather.  "I see crumbling elegance where Mother sees shabbiness, I hear music where she hears noise."

Sometimes, Mother comes through in the narrative with an "Ingenious Compromise" that allows her to keep things picture perfect while allowing Jade some of the rustic things she craves.  In chapter one, as they prepare to leave the swamp country for a new life in the city, Jade is allowed to take with her a piece of driftwood she had found on the wild shores of Lake Waccamaw:

"I get to bring a few treasures with me to Chattanooga. My bicycle is of practical use as it will be my ride to school there just as it is here. More frivolous is the inclusion of a large piece of driftwood that I triumphantly dragged home from the shore of Lake Waccamaw a year ago. Mother thought it was a horrid rustic piece, but rather than make me get rid of it, she came up with one of her Ingenious Compromises. You never know with her. Her way almost always rules because she is the adult and has all the votes while I am supposed to grow up before I have the right to vote. But sometimes she comes up with an Ingenious Compromise that blows me plum off my feet.

While I was at school, she varnished and shellacked my driftwood until the wood grains shone with as much luxury and depth as the mahogany woodwork of her stereo cabinet, which is also loaded into the U-Haul. I was appalled to see my driftwood thus transformed, but I have come to see that she has created a conversation piece. I have yet to see another one like it."

I still have the driftwood, still with some of the shine that Mother added to it.  Trying to decide if it needs a new coat...

Church School Blues will be available on Amazon.com this week!

A Sense of Place

This post comes to you from Columbus County, North Carolina, land of Rhoda Bell in Fireflies, the winter's haven of the travel-weary family in Precious Jewels, and the lost home of a bullied child in Church School Blues.  It is official.  I have come home.  As I listened to the voice of my younger self narrate to me how she would never ever give up her Green Swamp no matter what, I was finally able to call to her across time, "I finally made it home."

Church School Blues will be released in a few weeks, perhaps less.  We are still in the process of all the activities related to moving, which is one of my excuses for the long break in posting.  The other excuse is that once I convinced my younger self to tell what happened in church school, she couldn't shut up.

Church School Blues

My current project has had me off my blog, digging through the old photographs, old stories, old poems and writings of a kid who served six years time in church school -- at least that's how it felt.  This is the hardest book I've written because it takes me to a time I have wanted to forget.  Through the years I wrote some of it as short stories, which were published in Insight/Out Magazine at various times.  My aunt kept urging me to compile these stories as a single work, but that would mean writing more.  I tried several times, but I just didn't want to be "her" again.

And that was the thing.  I didn't blame the bad teachers or the bullies.  I blamed me and rejected me. Eventually I became someone I like and respect, but I still could not embrace my younger self because she thought she was a failure and I could not forgive failure.  Gradually, I have become aware that I had become my own worst bully.  As an adult, I would never judge and condemn another kid the way I have judged and condemned myself for more years than I want to count.

Yet, I still could not revisit her, the younger me.

This year I had a breakthrough in communication with my younger self.  Maybe I have finally acquired enough years distance that I can begin to listen to her.  I let her have her voice, and once she started speaking, she held me mesmerized.  As she told her story, I remembered  what a colorful character she was -- even as the world around her tried to fade "all the colors out of who I really am."

We (my younger self and I) have completed the first draft.  We hope to have it available online by summer's end.