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myABBAsheart's Blog

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Magic Tree


myABBAsheart

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Do you remember my tree? It was strong and steady. It was something I always could count on. It was not so much a secret as it was smack dab in the front yard of my home. However, it was mine and no one could understand or feel it's beauty as much as could. I had other issues that I discussed with this tree. It was a place I was able to let go of my worries, I felt great every time I put my thoughts at the foot of this tree.

When I was in the fifth grade, I had a teacher that loved my brother, whom he taught a couple years earlier. He was happy to have me because he stated that my brother was smart and I probably was too. I knew I was slipping big time. My heart was just consumed with things. I felt disconnected. I knew we were barely hanging on and our home life was day by day. We also lived in a run down area and had what is known as a welfare hotel next door to us. I had ALOT of fears and insecurities. I was scared of everything. There was always some sort of direct or indirect crime that targeted the area. You really could not walk down the street without watching your back. However, with that there was something protecting our street and there was that sense of community to look out for each others children. We made the rounds in our street. There were the elderly, whom we made sure we visited promptly after school. They loved all of us, and they rewarded us kindly with candy to keep us coming back. We did, but it was not for the candy. One of the homes, were owned by Mr. and Mrs. Ryan. He would hand out Blow-pops to us. They had gum inside and were awesome. When he died, we all went to his funeral. The neighborhood kids placed Blow-pops in his jacket pocket. Mrs. Ryan hugged us and sobbed. They really did mean the world to us. We made sure to still keep visiting her.

There was a sense of evil around us. Remembering what I felt, there seemed to be a battle between good and evil. We found comfort in each other as neighbors; a street that consisted of over twenty homes. We knew each and everyone that lived on our street. We knew when we something was not right and we were taught to keep alert. We were almost kidnapped, we were stalked, and we did at some point get the crap kicked out of us for having something that someone else wanted. Our house was vandalized on Halloween. I laugh at it now, I just remember not understanding why someone would be so cruel as to smash my pumpkins that I carved. I hated Halloween ever since. We knew what drugs were, we knew what stolen goods were as well. The game was to see how much we stolen items we could find around the block. Our houses were broken into, arson, and we could not play at the park across the way at the lake. It instantly became polluted with leftover drug needles and paraphernalia. I went to sleep every night to the sound of gang fights and watching the view from my bedroom window of the VFW having bonfires. It really became a place for motorcycle gangs to hang out and party. The FBI used my room to stakeout and investigate a murder. It just so happened that we were at my fathers when this occurred. Scary thing is, my brother and I went exploring back there one day, I thought I saw a body against our fence. Wild imagination....who knows!

I loved being outside. We did not have television, or video games. We were sent outside until that street light came on. I enjoyed being outside and feeling free. I hated school. I felt lost and confused, my head hurt when I was there. I just wanted nothing more than to be with my mother. The more I was at school, the more I became lost. I loved art class, and my fifth grade teacher would play the piano for us throughout our day. Those things I loved. I felt alone at times and not really understood, in as much as not feeling worthy. My teacher seemed like he was good. He noticed my daydreaming. He noticed I was not interested. He tried in his own way. He nicknamed me "airplane". He laughed at me to get the other kids to laugh at me and pull me out of myself. I would just sit and smile. I hated every second of it.

He was nothing like the teacher in my third grade, who loved me and understood me. She was my favorite teacher whom said I was different and made me feel special. She would separately pull me up to her desk during assignments and help me one-one. She listened and cared. One day she did not come back. She was sick. We had another teacher, whom I could not connect too because I would not allow myself to get close to anyone. I was hurt and felt abandoned. I would send notes and tell the substitute to pass messages to her. I for some reason cannot remember my teachers name. My brain works that way, I remember every detail of her manners and face. Not so much her name.. She was my favorite teacher though and she allowed me to finally look forward to school. She saw potential and saw me differently. She always hugged me and gave me kisses on my head. She took so much hurt away. However, she got sick a lot. We were told that one day she would be there when in fact she go too sick to come back. I look forward to hearing updates on her. I was so excited to hear her come back to school after Christmas holidays. I could not wait. She never came back. I remember the last thing she wore. was devastated. The updates stopped coming. I asked one day and we were only told she was very sick. We were told that she loved us so much. I remember thinking all kinds of things. The substitute pulled me up to her desk after class one day. Told me that my teacher had spoke a lot about me. The substitute (instantly blocked her name) told me that my teacher loved me and that if I needed anything to ask her. I was so hurt, and pushed her away. I was just a kid feeling and did not understand. It was a hard year and I just stopped trying. The substitute won us over in time. I told her at one point that I thought she was a great teacher, although deep down I knew she could not compare to my favorite teacher. What I did see, is her understanding our feelings and helping us all through this. and towards the end of the year, I opened up to her. She did hug me and told me how she appreciated me sharing with her. I knew my teacher would not be returning. I am not sure I knew that she died of cancer in the middle of the school year. I was not told the details until years later. Funny, I felt her prayers when she was sick. I felt her presence over our classroom. She was a great teacher and loved children. My fifth grade teacher was nothing like her. He antagonized me and made me feel like I was stupid .I will never forget the name of my fifth grade teacher, because I despised him.

I would hide everyday under my tree and just let my heart flow again. I knew there was something in me that needed help. I pleaded to my tree to help the adults of this world understand what is going on the minds of children like me, especially those children who just can't. There was a child I had known through the years in elementary school. He was severely hyper and would just eat everything even if it was not food. No one knew what was wrong with him. I used to sit and just watch him. I would also talk to him time to time, and sometimes I could not because he was like a rubber bouncing ball that got loose from your grip. It was hard to contain him once he was in this mode. The thing was, he was typical at times. I knew about handicaps and mentally retarded individuals, I went to visit my new aunt in her facility. She had TB and became mentally handicapped from loss of oxygen as a child. I like going to her group home. Sometimes it was hard to bare though. I went to my tree and begged my tree to allow people one day to see how children learn differently, think differently, to see what was on the inside. I begged my tree to one day change this and allow us to see it. I was told to be patient. I wanted to see it in my lifetime. That I did want.

The pain this teacher put me through was heartbreaking. It made me cry and not want to go to school. My teacher went from what seemed like trying to pull me out, to downright cruelty. He would make the other kids point and laugh, and make them isolate me. He was ignorant as a teacher. It never occurred to him, that I have been tested for a learning disability. I had a lot of headaches, and well to be honest, was not eating properly. I had allergies then, that I know now were the cause of my spaciness. I was also consumed with hurt and emotional distress when my dad would not show up, or act like an animal towards my mother or someone else. I felt very lost and alone in school. Not one time did my teacher care how I was.

We had open house one night at school and I was excited because my father was going to come. He told me straight to my face, that I was liar because I did not have a father. He announced it that way to the class and told the class that I was acting like an airplane again because I told everyone my father was coming. He was antagonizing and asked how that could be, I don't have a father and my mother is not married. The whole class laughed at me again. I would just take it every time. I took it again, I knew what I had, he could not touch. What he did was tell me all my brain was good for was flying around in the air full of clouds. That is all he saw in me. I saw right through him after that. I would take it and smile and nod because I knew more than he did. He wanted to dress nice and act like a hot shot, so be it. He had beady eyes and looking back reminded me of an Italian Hitler. I smiled and nodded.

What he did not know was my mother remarried during the summer to my stepfather. I asked my stepfather to go to open house, and he said he could not. He would if he could, however he had military duties that required him to be gone Thursday to Sunday. I was hurt, but I knew he would if he could. I trusted my stepfather completely. I begged him though and he just said he could not. I understood this. I so wanted my teacher's approval. To see that I mattered too. I could not understand why my teacher hated me. My stepfather assured me that was not the case. However, I knew my brother was smart and I hated being compared to him. I hated it because my brother was mean to me too. He loved this teacher and I hated this teacher. I was told that I was the problem. I just went to class and sucked it up....besides it was only for a few months until I was away from him. I always went to my tree, I knew it understood without words.

Open house in Elementary school was my favorite time of the year. We had our science fair and art exhibits all at the same time. I loved it and looked forward to it. I was however, not looking forward to what my teacher would tell my mom about me. I just knew I was not keeping up and could not compare to the others. I really felt inferior and intimidated. I had no confidence left either. I felt shame and hurt. I went to my desk and watched all the parents, moms and dads, be present for this. I felt alone and happy for them. I knew I had my stepfather, I did not need to prove myself to this joker. I'll just make the best of the remainder of the year. My mom left me in the classroom and she told me she would be right back. She tried to understand this teacher at times and thought I was just a deep child who was imaginative. It hurt that she could not hear my pain, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Plus, she was the happiest I had ever seen her in such a long time. Maybe she was right...... Who would believe me anyway?

My mother came back in with my stepfather. I was puzzled and ran to hug him. He had surprised me. He had managed to take time to come and see my brother and I. He was still in his uniform, big black boots and all. I was so touched and excited. I shot such a look at my teacher and told him, "see I do have a father". My stepfather stopped long enough to see how I was doing in school and talk with the teacher. I was not made fun of after that, not to that extent. The teacher did try and stopped himself at times. He did not stop and I just smiled and nodded at him. I knew I had something higher. I told my tree again what had happened. Happiness flooded me. Hope flooded me. My heart swelled with love. If ever I am reminded of being in fifth grade, all this comes to mind. My stepfather was like a super-hero to me. He still is!

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StarMountainKid

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How touching. Children go through a lot of pain growing up, unknown to their parents or adults around them.

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