Ninth Grade
"It was a note scribbled on an intentionally crumpled piece of paper.
No purchased card could have captured the essence of that note, or of
the crumpled course my life must take."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ninth Grade
Through the years I began to observe the mannerisms and personalities
around me with fascination, watching conflicts with casual objectivity
as rivals floundered in their own short-sightedness. I watched also,
as people mocked the less fortunate, who unknowingly attracted such
treatment like a magnet through their own erring behavior or ungainly
actions. Some people were simply difficult to abide; often those
individuals did not even realize their high "avoidance factor" despite
continual, and sometimes abrasive, repulsion. I observed the tensions
between parents and children as the latter reached the restless age of
rebellion and need for individual freedom. I could understand both
sides of many arguments or confrontations, and often empathized with
each opinion.
Through surveying the world from a distance, I learned invaluable
lessons. I hoarded reactions to various personalities and situations
and studied them intently in retrospect. In gathering such information
as human responses, I began to realize why I disliked certain people
and ways of life, whereas previously, I had merely felt inexplainable
disgust or anger. More than anything, I learned that people generally
did what they wished to do, barring few exceptions, and true kindness
was a rare commodity. That which I saw was real; it was not an
impressionistic ideal of life, for personal interaction could bring
dejection as well as elation. Far from being cynical, I came to
believe one was his own best friend. I remember that I began to feel
sorry for Todd. He seemed lonely, separated by a societal barrier
which was invisible to him. Unaware of the reason for this unseen yet
impenetrable wall, Todd sought to find suitable ways around it, which
consequently resulted in forming my most pungent memory of my oldest
brother through its emotional impact on me. Although I was yet in
grade school, the incident was unforgettable, and forever marked my
heart.
It was a blustery winter evening when Norm and his friend were
preparing to depart for his house. With an air of determination, Todd
informed them, "You're not getting away from me this time," and set
about dressing himself to meet the harsh winter chill. Meanwhile,
tired of waiting, the two dismissed the scene for their destination as
Todd continued to dress.
Once fitted for the elements, clad in his orange snow-suit and boots,
he trudged up the silent, snow-blanketed avenue as I watched through
the kitchen window. Before reaching the house, he stopped and
resolutely turned toward home, not desiring to undergo further pursuit.
I felt my heart break for him as my eyes welled up with tears. How
lonely the world could be! I decided in an instant to meet him at the
door, clothed in my winter coat.
Together we took a long walk in the snow, heading down a wooded path to
the quiet street below. We spoke of many things, gently laying the
foundation for a night that I would never forget. I believe our
stroll, although spurred through loneliness, was the most relaxing
interlude I have ever shared with Todd.
As time progressed, the gap between our personalities widened. When
engaged in a serious conversation, I found the time thus spent to be
exhilarating, for Todd's intelligence was of great merit; it was
increasingly difficult, however, for me to accompany him to various
functions as I failed to understand the reasoning which prompted some
of his actions and behavior. Desiring to blend with the crowd rather
than direct its attention, I was flushed with embarrassment at any
mannerism which was apart from the ordinary spectrum of social conduct
as I saw it to be.
Everyone views life through his own eyes, and although the ideas of
individuals coincide at various points, it is virtually impossible to
assume that which is "right" for someone else at a given point in time.
This was another area in which Todd and I differed considerably, yet
here I was able to comprehend the motive behind his good intentions.
Because Todd declined invitations to attend outings early in life, he
later found he was no longer asked to join in a group's activities. As
a result, he eventually forced himself to become involved in multiple
organizations thereby making up for those he had missed; he evidently
enjoyed the bustle of activity which the groups provided, and was soon
absent from the house nearly every night.
When Todd saw I was declining offers to attend parties or dances, he
thought I was following similar actions which had introduced alienation
into his life, and I would one day discover that I was not only alone,
but lonely.
Mar. 23, 1977... (A boy) called and asked if I could go to the dance at
his school. When I called him back, he was really discouraged and mad
that I didn't want to go. But, man, he's so gross! Never ever combs
his hair. How sick. Todd really lectured me on how I should go 'cuz
he didn't when he was my age, but I can't relive his life! He makes me
mad sometimes.
He pressured me to accept these invitations despite my reasons for
desiring to stay at home. Consequently, it made me become leary to
divulge any plans to him for fear I would find myself in a situation
that I detested; his arguments were fierce and unyielding, and I sought
to avoid them whenever I could. Moreover, I wanted to form my own
decisions and began to resent such stubborn, relentless interference.
I believe it is better to "let be" than to stray beyond one's bounds
into the gray and scarred battle ground where individual decisions are
waged and won; it is prudent to counsel, but never so to force.
Todd was unbelievably innovative. He could construct posters and cards
having multiple moving parts without losing any degree of his
meticulous patience. The quality of perseverance was a further boon to
his imaginative efforts, and he created countless fascinating objects
dating back to my earliest memories. I received a greeting from Todd
during my long stay at Mayo. It was a note scribbled on an
intentionally crumpled piece of paper. No purchased card could have
captured the essence of that note, or of the crumpled course my life
must take. Todd always had time to take a walk or to play a game. He
never forgot a birthday... with gifts he was equally creative. One
birthday I received a huge balloon (a factory reject) which was a
source of awe and amazement for us all. We filled it with the exhaust
end of the vacuum cleaner since no one had lungs with the capacity for
inflating that monstrous thing. Another year, short of funds but long
on loving thoughts, he collected a wide sampling of floral and tree
seed pods. For me, that meant endless possibilities in creating.
Toward the end of 9th grade, I had gained a fair amount of confidence.
I was amazed to note the way in which the improvements in my health and
appearance affected my self-worth; I no longer felt like a helpless
child clinging to my mother's skirt or father's pants leg for
protective solace. I was less reserved, feeling that my opinions were
just as valuable as those of others, and decisions, though sometimes
tempered by my parents, belonged to me. Life was not merely passing
by; I possessed both the ability and the will to actively pursue the
means toward a hopeful end. The variables along the way would affect
the resulting success or failure, but that, I knew, was simply a part
of life's uncertainty.
Academically I improved as my physical strength increased. In
reflection, it was obvious that my tutor had not over-taxed my
capabilities during the previous year; I was grateful that she had not,
for the nature of my illness was such that I was forever unsure of the
state of my health. Upon my reappearance at school the extra effort
required for 9th grade curriculum initially demanded more of my time
and mental exertion; when I finally redeveloped my listening,
comprehension and study techniques, however, I felt less hampered by
the work load.
In addition to the basics, I was able to take a course in woodworking.
Happily, I was not the only girl to have fostered such a "sexually
uncharacteristic" whim, and the two of us felt less ridiculous seated
among our masculine counterparts, knowing our endeavor was not entirely
foreign to the minds of other females. My apprehension was unfounded,
I discovered, for in time I saw that my work exceeded that of many of
my classmates; I was more particular, concerned with the appearance of
the finished product and willing to direct effort toward the perfect,
rather than haphazard, completion of a project. Moreover, I had a
natural love of wood and wished to acquire certain skills therewith,
reasoning that one day I would rebuild or at least refinish antique
pieces for my own home. I was no advocate of women's liberation;
I simply found interest in many activities and subjects. I had to
prove nothing to anyone but myself.
After finishing a class project to my satisfaction, I began earnestly
on a project of my own design. That which I determined to make was a
cedar chest, and looked on excitedly as the instructor pulled a stack
of cedar boards from the storage closet and placed them on one of the
work tables. The first course of action, he said, was to glue the
smaller boards together, after which the uneven width would be
surgically altered in the planer. I noticed several imperfections
(worm-eaten tunnels) in certain boards, but the teacher was unmoved.
"Those can be filled with wood filler," he replied, walking off. I
gazed after him doubtfully wondering how I could trust a man who, in
one hour, had to coach his 25 students through their 25 different
projects. Nevertheless, I started my work, trying to envision a lidded
box in the stack of wood which had probably been intended for a bonfire.
Meanwhile, other school-related activities gathered momentum as the
academic year drew ever closer to its end. As one of the art editors
for the yearbook, I was instructed to design several covers for
possible use. My effort resulted in developing four options ranging,
in my opinion, from "nearly philosophical" to "cute"; I placed my
endeavors on the desk of the teacher whose spare time was choked with
yearbook duties. My designs would not necessarily appear on the
yearbook cover, but I was satisfied that I had succeeded in creating
original ideas.
Mar. 31, 1977... We had a band concert in the aud. and during the middle,
Mr. C. got up and read off the nominee for HALL OF FAME and I was one of
'em! (A friend of mine) wasn't tho, and she didn't even congratulate me.
April 20, 1977... I was nominated for American Legion! I didn't really
know 'til homeroom, when we were to vote on it!! (I voted for me!!)
There were 5 boys and 5 girls altogether.
Mr. Cox took a photograph of me for the special American Legion section
of the yearbook so that my grotesque photo, taken when I still had no
hair, would not, at least, appear in the separate section. I was
relieved and quite thankful to my understanding instructor.
April 21, 1977... Mr. C. said my design would be used for the cover of
the yearbook!!
Perhaps all of the previous events were too much for me; I was suddenly
ill with migraine headaches in a manner which I had never before
encountered.
April 26, 1977... Got a migraine headache at 5th period. Didn't go
home though. Called Dad when school let out, but there was no answer,
so I had to walk home. It was hard, but I made it.
April 27, 1977... At 2nd period I got another migraine. It took a half
hour to get Dad 'cuz he was outside. Finally I got home. I felt bad!!
April 28, 1977... You won't believe this! I didn't! Well, I got
another migraine today right after lunch. Dad got me again. Slept
most all day.
After three days of head-wrenching, I decided to play it safe and
recuperate at home. I found I became paranoid concerning the multiple
headaches, and feared that my worry would result in more pain.
A week later.
May 5, 1977... Got a migraine AGAIN!!!!!... Dad got a prescription for
me and it said to take two capsules, so I did and a half hour later, I
got all numb...
How well I recall that incident. I was seated at my place at the
dinner table after having swallowed (miraculously) the pills, when I
suddenly was immersed in a bath of incredible, yet unfounded hilarity.
I began to snicker, then burst into a cascade of inexplicable laughter.
My family looked up from their plates and, because of humor's rather
contagious nature, broke into bewildered smiles and tried to detect the
source of my behavior. "Really..." I replied, "I don't know why I'm
laughing..." Then, just as rapidly as it had begun, the laughter
ceased and I was convulsed in a fit of tears. It was embarrassing to
me for I had no control over my emotions, and agitated, I fled from the
room. At length I was able to quench my strange and unbidden tears
while Dad sat beside me with a worried look on his face.
Afterward I marveled at a drug's ability to produce such startling
effects, yet I was equally startled by the fact that some people
knowingly swallowed pills to acquire mind-altered states of being.
Such was not my goal in life; self-control meant too much to my inner
presence to eradicate reality.
A week and a half later I had another migraine. It was full-blown; I
even had to vomit. I didn't, however, take another pill. Lack of
control was much worse than the presence of pain.
May 18, 1977... School. I got a trophy for doing the Vision cover and
also a certificate for (submitting) "A Friend" in "Accent on Ink."
Great!!
June 1, 1977... The 9th graders got yearbooks today. Everyone liked
'em... Dad got me and helped me take my cedar chest home.
June 2, 1977... Last full day!! We signed yearbooks all day.
The last day of school was always fun. It was a time for reflection
and reliving past events, and while in the midst of such activity, one
classmate turned to me and casually asked, "Laurie, you had cancer,
didn't you?" "Yes," I replied, and briefly related that which had
occurred to me, including my loss of hair. At one point in the
conversation, I noticed the teacher staring widely at me, as if in
disbelief. "You look healthy now," his face seemed to say. After the
conversation turned to a different subject, the teacher sat down on my
desk and asked more details of my experience. Suddenly, he began
lamenting his marital difficulties and personal problems. It was my
turn to listen in disbelief; it seemed odd to be selected as a
teacher's confidant. Although aside from teacher and student we were
both human beings, I did not feel comfortable with the conversation.
I tried to react as an unsurprised, objective listener; perhaps having
been subjected to pain, he felt comfortable and rather compelled to
tell me of his own. It was something I never forgot, nor did I
encounter such circumstances again.
The end had come of what, at first, had been an emotionally draining
year. I had experienced much kindness and cruelty, pleasure and pain,
yet I persevered through all the trials and returned all of the
smiles... and at last, the positive outweighed the negative.
As I left the hallways of the junior high school which had, only three
years before, appeared a massive array of corridors, I welcomed summer
with customary gladness and reveled in the freedom that greeted my
steps. My exit was not saluted with lengthy accomplishments or popular
admiration, and that did not mar my happiness; I cared neither for
applause nor popularity. I knew, however, that I had done my best and
touched several lives; making an indelible impression on someone's mind
was indeed the highest of compliments that I could have merited.
Directions
Directions are disturbing,
At least they are to me,
How anyone ever follows them
Is more than I can see.
They say to take notch "B"
And slide it into "F"
Or else to take the "right" side
And fold it to the "left."
Then in opening a band-aid
They say to pull a string,
Well I could pull and pull and pull all day
And never reach the thing.
And say you want some Pringles,
Preferably for Brunch,
But you couldn't get them open
Until it's time for lunch!
Directions are a problem,
(I think to everyone),
And it's comforting to know
I'm not the only one!
Lauren Isaacson
9th Grade
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