My Life

My first day of school at Catholic Kindergarten.  I was a timid little girl, and yet entering school was not difficult for me.  I loved it.  At first.  It was taught by a team of nuns.  I watched in fascination as mothers dragged their children...sometimes kicking and screaming and/or sobbing...puzzling to me.  The nuns, matter-of-factly put all of the screamers and criers in the back row of the room.  They were tended to by one especially compassionate nun.  There were 55 students in the rather large room.   I bit my nails and listened, as the "lead" nun recited the long list of rules and behavioral expectations.  As I looked around, I noticed my surroundings...particularly the large raised stage in the back of the room, complete with heavy brown velvet curtains.  Every inch of wall space was covered with pictures of Jesus and other religious displays.  There were also the entire alphabet, complete with Phonics signs.  I already knew how to read.  I had taught myself the previous year.  This was going to be exciting.

*Please note that the upcoming posts on this blog will contain certain disturbing verbal images.  This is where it starts getting graphic*

My Life

I remember the summer of my 4th year as one of the happiest summers of my life.  My mother would drive us out to the club every day.  While I was taking my swim lesson with Chuck, my mother would watch my older brother in the junior pool, and play with my one year old sister in the wading pool.  By August I had learned a decent freestyle, and was working on my breast-stroke and butterfly.  Chuck had singled me out, and taken me under his wing.  We would eat lunch at the club, and stop by the library on the way home.  I spent long afternoons reading under the big maple tree in our backyard. Paradise.

My Life

It was a very hot, humid day in Indiana, as I walked in to the pool area in my little red swim suit.  My father had a firm grip on my hand.  The pool was huge, and I sensed a difference in my father's touch.  As we approached the lesson area, his grip became hard.  He then picked me up and hurled me into the deep water. "Time to learn how to swim, Julie!"  Luckily, the chief instructor/head lifeguard/head swim team coach grabbed me before I sank.  Words ensued between between my father and my savior (whom I would eventually call Chuck.) My father stalked off, and I took my first swim lesson.  I learned to float on my front and back within 30 minutes.  Chuck hugged me and told me that I learned very quickly for a four-year-old.  My swim career had begun.

My Life

The cold water enveloped me like a cloud as I drifted downward.  I don't remember feeling fear.  I looked up and saw the bright light of the Miami sun.  Then I saw a long arm reaching down to me..and felt a sharp tug under my arm.  This memory is as clear to me today, as if it had happened yesterday.  I did not cry.  I was four years old.  The arm belonged to my father.  This was the first and last time my father was my hero.