Preamble:
Have you ever wondered what event(s) in life set you
on the path you are on today? Did you have a choice? Or were you
predestined to end up where you are now? For me I think it was
already determine. The choice was made before I even realize that I
HAD choices.
Fourth grade was the turning point in my life. There
were three main events (school, Cat, and a TV show) that year that I
swear shaped who I am today and sent me down the path I followed.
Thank God I was only there a year...then it was to Germany...where
life was COMPLETELY different from Kansas...but I'm getting ahead of
myself...
So here's the story.
Fourth Grade: The Pivotal
Point in My Life
Move #Six (age 10)
I remember more of this year than should be humanly
possible…for a ten year old…it’s freaky! I can recall vivid
details, clear as a cloudless night sky. Losing my bike, sledding
down hills, the garage sell and my mom selling the car for $55...I
can recall more of my life when I was ten than of any other period
(not counting from college years onward).
Jumping right in! We moved to Kansas the summer
before I started Fourth Grade. We'd been living in Virginia for
three years before that so it was time to move on. Three years in
one place in the Army is a long long time.
I was moving on from Spanish lessons, tree houses
with booby-traps and mom putting her hand through a Plexiglas door.
(now if I had the previous chapters written you’d understand this,
but since I’m going out of order bear with me and just use your
imagination)
I had no idea where Kansas was or what to expect.
That was always the case though. Geography meant nothing to me
until we moved to Germany (which would be the following year). I
guess at eleven you don’t worry about places. You’re more concerned
with the fact that you’re leaving your friends and going to a new
school and finding a new piano teacher and things along those lines.
The one thing I knew about Kansas was that it was
home to the big Penitentiary of Fort Leavenworth. When you say Ft.
Leavenworth I think of two things: the prison and the base--usually
prison first. Probably because my parents used to tease (threaten)
me that they'd drop me off there if I didn't behave. One look at
Ft. Leavenworth Penitentiary is enough to make any child behave—I
was no exception.
At the time the prison had a bigger than life image
in my head. It was this place with barbwire and gates and bars. I
knew it was where bad people went, but my notion of bad didn’t
include murder, rape, stealing or any other crime of that
magnitude. I didn’t fear the men at the prison. I remember an odd
sort of fascination with them: the innocence of a child. I wish at
times I could have back that innocent, naïve view. The one that
didn’t make chills run down my spine—as does my thoughts of it
today.
My only experience with the prison was at the prison
shop (it could have been on base, but I can't recall). I remember
being in the shop with my Dad. He explained to me that all the
items in the shop had been made by the inmates. I know I probably
asked if they made money off it and what they could use the money
for, and why they had to make these items in the first place, but
memory has taken those answers away from me.
There was this tiny wood carving I wanted. I
actually got it, which was unusual, since rarely were our ‘wants’
given into. My parents lived on a fairly tight budget and I can’t
remember very many situations where begging for something in a store
ever yielded a positive result. I wish I knew what happened to the
woodcarving. It’s one of those childhood items I still wish I had.
The carving was of a bird--fitting in my eyes (now)
seeing how my life started to change that year--it was a new step,
my first flight into the big word outside of my little bubble. Once
I start flying I didn’t stop. This experience of flight wouldn't
leave me the same little girl I was before I came to Kansas. I bet
even the fact that I chose the bird carving was already predestined
for me.
So how did my life start to change? Well the first
major change: I was introduced to long division. It’s okay to
laugh.
SCHOOL
My Fourth Grade teacher was Mrs. Reed (the ONLY teach
I remember from grade school) and I’ll never forget her. I didn’t
like her and that’s being nice about it. I was always miss
goody-two-shoes. I never did anything wrong. EVER. I tried to be
the best student and never cause problems. I liked to fade into the
background. That was me. That's where I felt most comfortable. I
listened, always did my work, was never unprepared, was basically
the perfect student for any teacher.
I swear Mrs. Reed had it out for me.
We had some troublemakers in my class. I know every
class has a troublemaker or two, but we had FIVE. And why I was
chosen as the target to endure their teasing I don’t know. I know
everything happens for a reason, but I honestly still can’t find the
‘good effect’ it had on me.
The boys liked to pick on me: Pull my ponytails,
tease me, and call me names. I tried to ignore them. I told Mrs.
Reed and she did nothing about it. They tormented me ALL the time
and Mrs. Reed never saw it. What she did see though was me breaking
down every now and then and calling them a name back. Hello
punishment! Right away I got in trouble—not even a warning! Tell
me that's normal? Didn't think so.
This treatment was not what I needed because I
started to shut myself off from the world around me. I was a good
girl, but I wasn’t quiet or reserved. I had friends and I loved
participating in things, until 4th grade. I think this
is the first time I remember retreating to my own world. Something
I still do today, a habit I’ve not been able to break. Suddenly
this lively girl became much less lively. Friends were made, but
good friends were few and far between from that point on because I
found it safer to live in my world where others couldn’t reach me,
couldn’t get me in trouble.
Anyway: Imagine a tic-tac game. There are nine
squares formed. Imagine a desk in each square. I was in the
center. This was one of the many configuration of ‘desk layouts’ I
was in throughout the year. (Mrs. Reed liked to constantly change
where everyone sat). Now not only was I in the center I had FOUR of
the troublemakers surrounding me because Mrs. Reed always sat us
boy, girl, boy, girl.
One day she left us alone for five minutes working on
long division. The boys decided to play a game. Remember the
chant…“Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you have a cootie shot.” The
boys would grab my hand and draw two circles and two dots in my hand
then close it into a fist as they said this. When someone did this
to you, you weren’t allowed to open your hand unless you touched the
‘butt’ (as we called it way back when) of the opposite sex.
Of course I ignored them, but the guys did it to each
other as well so they were after my ass. (I should feel honor
huh?) Anyhow I was trying to do my long division (which you’ll soon
learn was VERY difficult for me) and not get my ass touched. And of
course Mrs. Reed walks in right as I push a boy away. She was
furious with me. ‘Jennifer you’ll stay after class’. Okay, fine.
I’ll stay and explain what was going on, but what about the
boys…well that’s what I wanted to say. The boys got off scot-free.
That day I did something I’ve only ever told one
soul. I’ve felt guilty for years over it. It was wrong but I felt
like Mrs. Reed had been so unfair. And, mostly, I didn’t want to
get in trouble at home.
So I stayed after class. I remember standing there
in complete silence as Mrs. Reed wrote a note to my parents telling
them about my constant misbehavior in class. She gave me the note
and told me to give it to my parents. So I started my walk home. I
cut through the woods, going the back way because I didn’t want to
see anyone. I held the note in my hand and stared at it for the
longest time. Finally I opened it and read it.
I don’t remember what it said other than I was having
‘behavior issues’. I knew if my parents saw that I’d be dead meat.
I made a decision, an impulsive, irrational decision. Mrs. Reed
hadn’t asked for my parents to sign the note, so I crumbled it up
and stuffed it into the branches of a bush on the ground. I went
home that night and when my mom and dad asked how school was I said
fine.
The next day Mrs. Reed asked if I’d given the note to
my parents. I said yes. I was so sullen and non-interactive that
day and for many weeks after she much have believed my parents had
given me the yelling of my life. It was really guilt on my part. I
felt awful for weeks. I still feel guilty when I think about it.
I often wonder these days if my parents didn’t
somehow find out about the note, because there were parent-teacher
meetings all the time, and so many events parents came to. I mean
Mrs. Reed could have mentioned this to them at any point. Yet they
never said anything to me, never lectured me…
I walked by that bush where I had stuffed the note
almost everyday. Through the rain, the sun, the wind… It never
moved. I watched it fade, watched the paper yellow, and everyday it
was a reminder of the awful thing I’d done. I never again kept
anything school related from my parents. Even if it meant being
grounded, getting in trouble or whatever other punishment they might
bestow, because what ever they did could never be worst than the
guilt I felt over NOT giving them the note.
Now on top of the troublemakers there was Cat also
known as Adam H. I don’t remember his last name. I just know that
it came right before mine and so whenever we were lined up
alphabetically I got stuck next to him.
So Cat was your average looking eleven-year-old boy.
Average height, blond hair, a smile, and a bit of mischievous in his
nature. The only thing different about Cat from the other boys was
he thought he was a cat. I’m serious. He acted like a cat. He
pounced, jumped, ran, but never walked, and PURRED. I refer to his
as Cat because that’s what everyone called him, not Adam.
He attached himself to me. I swear it was fate.
First day of school we get lined up alphabetically and it just
happened to be me next to him in line. I bet if any other girl has
been next to him they would have suffered this fate.
He attached himself to me. He followed me. He sat
next to me. He PURRED and rubbed himself up against me. My dislike
of boys started right then and there and lasted until about 7th
grade. You have to understand. He followed me everywhere. He was
attached to me for all practical purposes. I had two shadows that
year. (Thank God I was only in Kansas for a year)
We made cook books for our mom’s that year. Everyone
had to bring in a recipe from home and a picture of themselves.
Then our teach made photo copies with our picture and recipe on the
page and we all went through and took a sheet of each student and
put it together into a cookbook. Well the next day a friend comes
running up to me and goes “Jennifer Jennifer! Guess what Cat did?”
My dearly beloved Cat (and I say that oozing with sarcasm) had taken
an extra copy of my recipe, cut out my picture and pasted it above
his bed (he was currently in the process of telling everyone in my
class what he’d done.).
Oh and it’s not over. Cat kissed me! TWICE! Now if
I hadn’t been in 4th grade I might have found this
attention to be much more flattering, but when all my girlfriends
screamed and made gagging sounds when Cat kissed me I didn’t find it
amusing, or flattering.
So the first time he sneaked up behind me and got my
back as I turned away. The second time I wasn’t prepared at all or
quick enough cause I got a great big smacking kiss on the cheek.
Mortified isn’t a strong enough word to describe my reaction.
AND to top it all off…Mrs. Reed, forever changing up
the seating arrangement, decided about halfway through the year to
start seating Cat next to me. You can imagine how that went over.
I was ready to pull my hair out by the end of the year.
While we’re on the topic of school I might as well
tell you about the talent show.
Talent Shows + Me = Rejection (The first of many more
to come)
I think this solidified my need to be behind the
scenes. I liked being in a shell—my shell was safe...and well I
stayed in there for a good long time…probably a bit too long...I
still retreat to that safe haven sometimes.
I was never any good at getting up in front of a
group…I’m still lousy, but I’ve gotten better. See I had this issue
called NERVES and SELF-DOUBT. You’d think after five years of
project presentations for studio I’d have gotten used to it, but no
not me. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable in front of people.
I love to run things, but let me be in the
background. I don’t need the spotlight. I discovered soon after the
Talent Show audition that I liked to be involved in things (which is
why I worked up the nerve to audition) but the place for me wasn't
in front of the group, but behind the group...directing (or as my
Dad says ordering). Yes I can be bossy sometimes. Blame it on the
oldest child syndrome...). When someone needs something to get done
they put me in charge, because they know if I say I'll do it, I'll
do it and I'll do it to the best of my abilities and usually then
some.
So the talent show was the first of the many
rejections. You always remember the first—at least I’ve never forgot
it—but it was a lesson learned. I figured out where I was most
comfortable and where I could be the most help. When you put on a
play the 'Star' isn't the only one who makes the show run smoothly.
Everyone is a piece of the whole and I found my 'piece'.
And lastly on the topic of school: Why I became good
at math.
Math + Dad = Jennifer in tears.
Dad was the Engineer. He was the science and math
person. Mom didn't get Math. When I had a problem it was always
'Talk to Dad'. Those became the most dreaded words to me for most
of grade school, middle school and even into High School.
For whatever reason this is how it worked (and I
wonder often if God did this for enjoyment...or maybe just to
torture me): Dad explained Math, Jennifer didn't get it. Dad
RE-EXPLAINED. Jennifer started to grasp it. Dad RE-RE-EXPLAINED
it...starting to get hyper now. Jennifer started getting
frustrated. Dad RE-RE-RE-EXPLAINED, all patience gone. Jennifer
now in tears, but she finally understands the problem. She gets mad
at Dad and goes running off to her room to finish her math on her
own.
You know this never would have had to happen if I
hadn't started long-division! Another new thing Mrs. Reed
introduced to me that year! You see why I didn’t like her!
TV SHOW
This was the beginning of the end. What? You ask.
It doesn’t make sense. Let me explain.
In fourth grade I used to watch this painting show.
It’s the only show I remember watching. TV in our household didn’t
exist (for all practical purposes) so how I got to watch that show I
don’t know. My parents where not into letting the kids watch TV. I
can’t even tell you any cartoons I watched except Scooby Do and
Sesame Street.
Anyway, I remember this old man explaining how he
painted. He was painting a house set in the woods, surrounded by
trees and perfect blue sky and flowers. Yellow flowers. I remember
lots of yellow flowers. That’s when I decided I was going to be an
artist and create pictures just like that.
My mom laughed it off. What do you expect a parent to
do when their child declares that she knows what she’s going to be
when she grows up and she’s only ten years old?
I didn’t end up an artist, but my chosen field was a
close second, and the concept of artist is what I liked: the freedom
to create whatever the mind chose. When I said I was going to be an
artist it was the desire to create that determined the choice.
Now I changed my mind many times down the road. I
decided at one point I was going to be a housewife like Mom (until I
realized I wouldn’t get paid and I’d have to marry…) and then I was
going to be an engineer like Dad. The engineering phase didn’t last
long, when I realized what engineers did. My reaction was: "How
boring! I want to design the buildings not make them work." That’s
when I learned the word ‘architecture’. That was eighth grade. From
that point on I was going to be an architect. That was it. I made
up my mind and God help anyone who tried to change it.
Four years. From fourth grade to eighth grade.
That’s how long it took me to decide on a career. I started
thinking about it when I was ten. I stopped worrying about it when
I was fourteen. I was a planner. I like to, when I can and even
when I can’t, plan the future.
I often wonder what might have happened if I’d let
myself see what other career options where out there. I was so
interested in so many other things. There are times when my
decisiveness and determination can be bad. I never had a chance to
see what else was out there, but I guess some things just aren’t
meant to be. My path was already chosen and there was no going back,
no side paths to lead elsewhere.
Architecture takes a certain type personality to
succeed in. Creative, hard-working, slightly crazy, and a mind that
never shuts off. There’s no such thing as a 9 to 5 hour day in this
line of work. So maybe it was the right choice. Or maybe it was a
part of the path I have to walk and it might lead somewhere
else…that’s for the future to tell. All I know is that in fourth
grade I suddenly started to use my imagination and it became so much
a part of me, that whatever I was going to end up doing as a career
would involve creativity in some form or another.
And onto some random events of that year (that for
some reason unknown to me) I still remember:
My mom mad me a poodle skirt for Halloween that year
and LOVED the dress. I used to twirl around watching the skirt
float about me and I was in Heaven. It was my favorite of all my
Halloween costumes.
I was the Junior Bridesmaid for my Aunt’s wedding
that year. I remember my Dad and I went out to NY (or maybe it was
VA, they lived in VA, but I think the wedding was in NY). Anyway, I
think we flew, cause there’s no way with only one car we could have
driven…but I don’t remember the flight. It wasn’t my first time
flying…but the first flight I remember actually being on wasn’t
until that coming summer when we flew to Germany. Anyway I had this
teal colored dress and shoes dyed to match the dress. I went to a
hair dresser and watch the manicurist do my Aunt’s hands. I was
fascinated by the tools she used. That’s what I remember, not the
wedding or the wedding dinner or the reception afterwards, but the
trip to the manicurist. Life is funny in some ways.
My birthday gift before we headed over to Germany
that year was a tape recorder. It was pink and blue and totally
girly. I was so excited. I didn’t really listen to music that much
but I’d heard a Debbie Gibson song somewhere and wanted it so bad
(as bad as an eleven year old girl wants something like that). I got
two other tapes. Cocktail (I’d never seen the movie…hell I didn’t
see any movies or TV—zilch) because it had the song Kokomo on it and
an Elton John album. I think my parents were the one’s who wanted it
really, because I don’t ever remember listening to it until I was in
eighth grade, then suddenly I loved the tape.
It’s freaky how much I remember of this year. I can’t
recall half as many events from when I was twelve or thirteen or
even fifteen. I really think 1988 was a pivotal point in my life—a
turning point.
I came to a fork in the road and had to choose one
path and that path would—did—shape everything that was going to
happen in the future.
One year, twelve months of my life.
Three words:
Pivotal Turning Point.