recall 75 memories and lessons I learned from them

8. We had to put my dog to sleep in March 2003.

There has always been a dog in our family since before I was born. My parents got a dog when my mom was pregnant with me. They named her dork because she would always jump up on the picnic tables when she went logging with my dad. She was part miniature collie and part everything else. Mom rescued her from a cardboard box outside a supermarket one hot summer day. Dork was in a box with several other puppies. Some of them had already died due to the heat and no shade or water. Dork was lucky. She had a great life. As Dork entered her senior years, I was nearing my adolescents. Around that time, mom had heard about a dog that had been abused and was not being taken care of by its owner. They were ready to get rid of it, so mom and dad decided we might be able to handle another dog. Sadie was a purebred registered boxer. She was the runt of her litter and had a cast on her front paw from being kicked. She had been sleeping in an unheated garage in the cold of the winter and had not been potty trained. We felt pretty lucky to have her, but I can only imagine how happy she was to have found us. She was young and rambunctious and quite the excitement for me and my sisters. We were too young to remember the prime of Dork’s life, but now we had Sadie to enjoy during those early years. She went everywhere with us and did everything we did. She was great. We loved her and wanted to do everything we could for her. Early in her life, Sadie was diagnosed with a thyroid problem. She required medication every day for the rest of her life. We all took turns giving her those 2 little pink pills in the morning. Not long after that, she completely lost her sight. She got around pretty well, as long as we didn’t move the furniture. Nonetheless, she continued to do everything with the family. There are very few vacation, Christmas, and graduation pictures that Sadie isn’t in. She aged with the rest of us and was there for all of us through middle school, high school, and most of college. I’ll never forget the day mom called me to tell me Sadie was nearing the end. She had lost control of her back legs and her bladder and bowels were beyond her control as well. She cried at night because she was in pain and most of the days were spent being moved around and spoon-fed by mom. She didn’t like to be left in a room by herself, had she been human, would have been a top candidate for a nursing home or in-home nurse. I broke down and cried. I hadn’t cried since I was in elementary school, but at age 22, I bawled for quite some time. I assured mom I would drive home the next day to be there. I left work not knowing when I would return. All I knew was I needed to be with my dog. I got home to find Sadie in worse condition than I had imagined. It was hard to see a member of the family in that state. I did my part of moving her around, feeding, and medicating her. I stayed up all night with her trying to make her as comfortable as possible. After 2 days and 2 nights with her and only winks of sleep as she slept, we realized that the time had come. Mom decided she wouldn’t be able to make the phone call, so I wiped my tears and tried to find a voice to set up an appointment at the veterinary clinic. It was a tough decision. I felt like we were playing GOD, but hoped this was what she wanted as well. One more night with her exhausted the remainder of my tears. The next day, I took my sister to take her driver’s test. I had every intention of making it back to go with Sadie, but the driver’s appointment took longer than we had anticipated. I arrived home to an empty house and memories of Sadie in every room. Her dishes still filled with water, her bedding in numerous corners of the house and a pile of Kleenexes from a night/morning filled with tears. Her extra leashes hung in the front entry way and her nail clippers sat just inside the basement door. The towel we had used under her belly to help her as she moved around with only her front legs lay in the dining room and her medication sat above the sink. Her bathtub stood upright in the laundry room and family pictures with the 6 of us and Sadie were found in every room. I wanted to get back in my car and drive out to the clinic myself. I wanted to be there, not only for Sadie, but for my mom. I know how hard it must have been. I struggled with the thought of the end. I ran through the house gathering all Sadie’s things. I didn’t want anyone else to come home and look around to see the things I had seen. I put everything away and lay on the couch trying to think of anything but what was happening. Mom came home and told us how nice the staff at the clinic had been. She was there until the very end.

I’ve shed quite a few tears since I’ve sat writing this. It’s probably one of the toughest memories for me to recall. Sadie was there for every critical moment of my life from age 10 to 22. Mom has her ashes upstairs in the cabinet with the family photos. It’s kinda strange, but I guess this way Sadie has, in a way, been laid to rest where she most enjoyed her life. I think the lesson I learned from this event was the power of love. I’ve been fortunate to grow up and mature with everyone from my family still around. Sadie’s death was the first death of anyone close to me. I can only hope I will have as great of an impact on the life of another as Sadie had on my life and that someone will have as much love for me as I had for that beautiful boxer.

7. I threatened to transfer colleges during my sophomore year because I believed I was part of a corrupt system.
My freshman year at Dakota Wesleyan University was great. I was part of the volleyball and track teams and got involved in several organizations and projects throughout the year. I loved DWU. I loved the people that worked there. I loved the people that attended and I loved the atmosphere created by everything on campus. I set out to do even more during my sophomore year. I applied for the job of Resident Assistant (RA) and was lucky enough to assist the freshmen on my floor with my duties. The year started off great. We had a fresh new season to work on some more wins in volleyball and my class schedule was looking good. RA training prepared me for a year with new faces and the issues that can sometimes arise and gave me a new understanding of how college can be quite a different journey for some students. My first semester as an RA took me through several trips to the emergency room, numerous late night calls to pick up intoxicated residents and a fire in room 225. Each of these events seemed to create a committee to analyze the issues. As the volleyball season came to a close and we neared the end of the first semester, I received news that our campus pastor was going to be leaving us. Joel, as all the students called him, was a great guy and involved in just about every aspect of DWU campus life. It was hard to imagine the place without him. Joel’s departure left the need for yet another committee to get together to find a replacement. I found my way to this group as I had the previously mentioned ones. Each committee was comprised of individuals from all aspects of the university. I met with the vice president, board of trustees, campus life, fellow students, staff, and community members on numerous occasions. Each of these meetings led me to question policies, personnel, and the overall structure of the university. I found myself getting angry about the chaos of the system I was a part of. I engaged in heated discussions with students in the cafeteria surrounding issues of the college and refused to be a Student Ambassador for the university because I couldn’t justify selling a place I was no longer passionate about. I struggled most of the next semester with my thoughts on whether or not to transfer to a different school. That summer, I stuck around and got to interact with a few people who understood the business of the university, but continued to pour love into it. I came to realize that every organization has issues, but not every business has a great group of people to get them through. I am fortunate to have been part of something that had people like that. I am one of those people. I received a great education from my professors at DWU, but I learned a lot about the world and how it works from the experiences I had and the committees that analyzed them.

6. I didn’t want to play basketball during my junior year of high school because I disagreed with how the program was run.
I’m the type of athlete that everyone says would make a better coach than player. I didn’t know how true this was until my junior year of high school. I was a junior varsity starter and an occasional substitute for the varsity team. I played the guard position and worked my butt off in practice. I loved the game and even enjoyed the people I played with. Our coach was a guy who had coached me in my earlier days of basketball and had really taught me a lot about the game and how great it can be. I was excited when the head coach position opened up and he stepped in to fill it. Little did I know that he had changed and so had his idea of the game. The squad I was on routinely beat up on our varsity starters. We knew how to outsmart our varsity opponents and had the quickness and muscle to back up our game. We had all hoped that our hard work in practice would pay off for some varsity minutes. Unfortunately, our coach had his varsity starters picked long before the season began and let us know that our only role was to make those girls better. I’m all about helping teammates and putting our team in a position to be the best we could be, but I knew there were other girls that could step into those roles and put forth our best game. I had discussed this theory with most of the girls on the JV squad and even a few on the varsity team. We were pretty much in agreement about what we thought should be done. One week, the JV squad was really putting the varsity squad to shame. Our tally showed we had beaten them in 13 consecutive drills. We were undefeated in our season and really feeling good about our game. Towards the end of the week, while the varsity squad was getting ready to get another loss handed to them, our coach stepped in and blew up at the “jersey’s”, (as we were called because we had to wear colored jersey’s during practice to identify our squad from the varsity players). He told us we were not to be adding anything to the textbook plays. We were to stick with the basics and not get tricky. The drill was a defensive one for the varsity girls. After a couple more times through the drill, we were again stopped and directed to run only one play and to run it repeatedly. We scored only once more before the defense was now a step ahead of us and our basic play. I could tell that my teammates were not impressed with the direction we were given and looked to lack interest in our game as the offensive. I picked up the ball and looked over at coach to share my thoughts and what I believed to be the thoughts of my teammates. I told him I didn’t believe we were doing our varsity players any good in letting them know the play and then running the same thing over and over again. I didn’t believe it to be realistic to what was going to happen in our next game. He didn’t address anyone else on the team, but pointed at his office and told me to sit in there and await his guidance. I dropped the ball and headed to his office. I sat down with all the confidence in the world and knew that I needed to share my thoughts and that I would endure any consequences that he gave me. Not more than 2 minutes later, he entered the office and slammed the door. He proceeded to tell me that I had undermined him and that he was the coach and knew exactly what he was doing. I assured him that I wasn’t pointing out that he didn’t know what he was doing, but that he didn’t let us know what he was doing. From our point of view, it looked like he was trying to shatter our confidence and make the game easier for our varsity team that appeared to be in a bit of a slump. I shared my thoughts about playing time, positions, and attitudes. His anger towards me never let up. If anything, it continued to build with each word out of my mouth. Out of lack of anything else to say, he told me the team didn’t need me and would be better off without me. He sent me to the locker room to gather my things and then to the hallway to wait for my ride. I did as he directed. As I sat in the hallway, I remembered thinking that it was weird that I couldn’t hear the sound of the ball hitting the floor. After only a few minutes, coach came out and asked me what I was doing. I gave him a “duh” look. He raised his voice and told me to get back in the gym. I didn’t question him this time. I knew I had shared what I needed to share and that it was going to stick in his mind. I went back in for the girls on me team. We ran some more drills, shot some free-throws, and broke to the locker room. Everyone wanted to talk about what coach had said to me in the office. I didn’t say much but that he and I had different views on the same game. It wasn’t until the ride home with a couple of the girls that I found out what else had happened. When I was sent to the hallway, the girls inquired about where I was. Coach said I was no longer part of the team. The girls didn’t understand. One of the varsity girls asked if it was because I was the only one big enough to share the views of the team. Coach questioned the girls and wondered if they had the same feelings. It turns out that many of them did. The varsity girls felt like they were being babied. They knew we had girls on our squad better than them. As much as they wanted that spot, they new that, for the good of the team, someone else needed to be in that position. From there, I guess coach new that the conversation would eventually get back to me and that he really didn’t have any grounds for kicking me off the team. A few things changed, but not for very long.

After that day, I saw the game differently. I didn’t look up the floor as a point guard. I analyzed our opponent to figure out what they had worked on and what they should have worked on. I don’t think I have ever loved to play as much as I did before that day. I still love the game, but from a new set of eyes. I don’t hate that coach. I thank him for helping me to find another part of who I am and for helping my teammates to grow with eachother.

5. My parents almost divorced when I was a sophomore in high school.
My parents got married because they already had 2 kids and one more on the way. They figured it was the right thing to do. I know it wasn’t easy for them. My dad was a farm laborer and the most cost-effective thing for my mom to do was to stay at home and raise my three sisters and me. Dad worked long hours and mom struggled all day with the kids and bills. We didn’t have a whole lot of money and some weeks we barely made it. We cut coupons, shopped the grocery ads, wore second-hand clothes and were part of the state food program at school. Dad worked to bring home as much as he could and mom did her best to stretch that dollar as far as she could. No dinner out. No evening at the movies. No concerts. Everything they did was for the kids. That couldn’t have been good for the marriage. They were pretty good about hiding the tension between them. Either that or I was just too young and innocent to notice. The day things really got bad came out of nowhere. The day I noticed they were having issues was the day I thought one of them was going to walk out the door and never return. I had been outside and came in for a drink. I walked into the living room to find my dad sitting on the loveseat and my mom in the dining room sitting at the table. They were facing each other and it was obvious something was in the air. I tried to sneak back out, but somehow got pulled into the argument. I had been pulled in and had questions fired at me by both mom and dad. It was obvious they were trying to get me to pick a side and see how wrong the other was. Had I been any less mature, I probably would have taken a side, but I managed to play more of a mediator than a teammate. I don’t know how long the discussion lasted, but it seemed like all afternoon. There were some very tense times. It was good for them to finally get everything out. There were obviously some misconceptions on both sides and pulling them out into the open seemed to be the right thing to do. After a lot of tears and frustration on both sides, mom got up to make supper. Rather than stay for a one-on-one with my dad, I went upstairs to find my sister. We are only 15 months apart and she was definitely someone I needed to spend some time with after the whole deal. I found her in her room with the door closed. This in itself was strange because we never closed the doors to our rooms. She was laying her bed and had obviously been crying. She had heard most of the dialogue from downstairs and was certain that our parents were headed for a divorce. I was still unsure, but terrified myself. We decided to maintain good behavior and do what we could to keep our younger siblings free from trouble and the reality of what had happened. That was it. Nothing else ever came of the day. Mom and dad are still together and I’m not aware of any other times when divorce was even a possibility.

I have learned a lot about relationships from my parents. Watching them as I grew up has been nothing but great for me. I honestly feel like I can handle just about anything a relationship can throw at me. I know that while my parents’ marriage came out of a predicament they had put themselves in, love found itself between them and has grown more and more during the course of their marriage. While my position as the marriage counselor for my parents was really hard for me, I know that it had to have been hard for them as well. I’m sure they looked back on that and realized that I probably shouldn’t have been put in that spot. As much as they needed me there, I know they probably discussed how that was not one of their finest parenting days. I love to live, but I’m starting to realize how I need to live to love.

4. I dealt with preschool boys and inappropriate touching.
I was a director of a daycare/preschool for 2 years. I dealt with quite a bit during that timeframe. I think the hardest thing for me to deal with was when 3 boys between the ages of 3 and 4 engaged in some inappropriate behavior while on the playground one day. We had a Little Tykes house where the kids liked to play. Their imaginations ran wild with what to do with that place. I “went through the drive-thru” numerous times and even went inside to “get my picture taken”. One afternoon, that little house was a doctor’s office. The 3 boys weren’t traditionally the mischievous type, but a close-knit group that enjoyed the company of the others. This particular day, they took turns listening to bellies and looking in ears. This memory wouldn’t stick out that much if that was as far as things went. It wasn’t until the next day that I found out what else had taken place. One of the boys had gotten caught by his mother as he was standing outside their house with his pants down. He was trying to figure out why one of the boys had mentioned the term willie when referring to his penis. From there, the story was told about the events in the doctor’s office. I was caught a bit off-guard when this was shared with me by the boy’s mother as she dropped him off the next morning. I was quick to alert the other parents of what had happened and made sure to share with the staff what needed to be done with the students. We made a point of discussing inappropriate behavior and what to do if they come across it. Standing in line for the bathroom became a “teachable moment” time for us to monitor conversation and give additional guidance on the topic. By lunchtime, we were confident we had handled the situation with the proper steps. Following lunch, however, one of the boys from the doctor’s office incident approached me as he needed some help in the bathroom. He was wearing a pair of overalls and needed some help with the buckles. On any other day, the next few steps would have been completely lost amidst the rest of the days happenings. This particular time, though, I had a million things running through my mind as I took his hand and walked toward the bathroom. Although I had helped him through potty training and had a close bond with him, I was worried about the experience this little boy had gone through and how he was going to react to me and helping him in the bathroom. I found my heart rate accelerate a bit and my fingers began to tingle as I struggled with the buckles. Not only did I have to help him before he used the john, but afterwards as well. During both encounters, he was just as chatty as he always was with me, but I struggled to maintain eye contact as much as possible and still complete the task. I was scared to death that he was going to be uncomfortable with the situation. In all reality, it never phased him. After a brief period of play, we got ready for naptime. It was usually no big deal. Again, this day was a bit of a mental challenge for me. We generally get the kids settled in and then move from child to child to be near them as they fall asleep. Some kids like their back rubbed while others like their hair stroked. A couple kids like to snuggle up real close….the boy I had helped in the bathroom a bit earlier was one of these kids. He mentioned right away that he wanted me to be with him for naptime. I spent some time with a couple other kids before moving to him. I hoped he would fall asleep while waiting for me. No luck. I approached him and lowered my self down next to his mat. He scooted right over and snuggled in as close as he could get. Again, I worried about how he was handling the situation. I didn’t want to put any other thoughts in his mind. While I worried, he grabbed my arm and pulled it over him as if it was a blanket. I continued to worry as he drifted off to sleep. As his mother came to pick him up that afternoon, I shared some of my concerns with her. I mentioned my fears during naptime and as I helped him in the bathroom. She hugged me and assured me that she had complete trust in me and that her son thought the world of me. Nevertheless, it was still difficult for me the next couple days with him.

This experience made me reevaluate a lot of the things we did at our center. We ran a Christian facility and my staff was fabulous, but this event really made us think about our words and gestures even more than we had before. Bathroom lines were monitored better, more distance was placed between children at the water fountain, and we came up with a list of things that needed to be mentioned to the students every week. This list contained things such as not talking to strangers, talking to parents about strange happenings, and inappropriate touching. Working with young children is a gift. I was blessed in getting the chance to be a part of their life at such an important age. I can only hope that the time I spent with them will bring back nothing but good memories for them

3. I got detention for “uncontrollable emotional behavior”.
When I was in 8th grade, I received a detention from my PE instructor. We were playing badminton, (which wasn’t a whole lot of fun to begin with), when I got fed up with the terrible referee job our teacher was doing in the game. I argued a few calls with him and so did a few other classmates. Apparently, our teacher was already having a bad day. His voice got louder and louder and his words harsher and harsher. I didn’t back down when he continued to make bad calls in the game. After all, no matter what the game, the winners in PE had bragging rights for the rest of the day. I guess I got a bit carried away with my arguing and proceeded to throw my racket in the direction of the man who had many not-so-nice nicknames from students of all grade levels. It skidded across the floor and came to rest just as it slid into his feet. I’ve never been in that gym when it was so quite yet so full of people. The teacher turned around and stormed toward me as if I had just fired a gun at him. He grabbed me by the arm and sat me on the bleachers where I was to sit for the remainder of the period. I had the perfect vantage point from where I was seated, so I continued to make calls for the game. That might not have been the best move on my part. As the period came to an end, we filed out of the gym and to our next class. I figured I had escaped what might have been a great consequence for my actions. Two hours later, the PE teacher approached me as I was entering another classroom and handed me a detention slip. On the slip, it stated, “Molly must serve detention for uncontrollable emotional behavior during gym class”. My friends and I got quite a kick out of the wording. It was pretty ingenious for our PE teacher to have come up with such an excuse. I would have thought there would have been something about my trying to kill the guy with a racket, but apparently that wasn’t so much of an issue. I was to serve my detention on the following Thursday. That happened to be the date of our next volleyball game, so I used my once-a-semester change of date for a detention. I wasn’t planning on getting any other detentions. I was typically a good kid. I had never served detention until this particular time and I never served again.

As strange as this may sound, I guess what I learned from this incident was more about how to deal with my parents and the anticipated disappointment in me that was to follow when I shared my detention slip with them. I knew I didn’t have any emotional behavior issues and so did they, but they also knew that I know better than to put myself in a position to where I would even be a candidate for detention. I didn’t want to be a disappointment to my parents. I’m sure this little event isn’t even something that really sticks out in their mind. However, it’s one of those things that will always be in the back of my mind.

2. I kept a pretty good journal during my student teaching.
I really loved keeping a journal during student teaching. It was required by our professors, and usually dreaded by student teachers, but there were times when I found my reflection in that journal to be more of a learning experience than the teachings of the day. Prior to our student teaching, we were given a handbook and guidelines for the experience. Included in the guidelines was a list of questions/ideas to reflect on for each week. The list was merely a bunch of ideas for us to write on if we weren’t creative enough to come up with our own topics. I strayed from the list from the very start and continued on my own path through the entire experience. Our advisors made two visits to our classroom during the time we were student teaching. One visit was announced and the other was unannounced. We were supposed to be keeping up with our journal so it could be checked by them when they visited. My journal became the reason for the visit. I was well on my way as a classroom teacher, so my journal was more of a philosophy behind what I was doing. It became a short story about the experiences of a college student when presented with a group of adolescents in the school environment. It was full of laughs and true to the experience and those involved in the story. It was a work of art and something to be proud of. When I completed my time as a student teacher and turned in my journal, I felt like I was turning over a part of my life. It wasn’t a bad feeling. I wanted to share this part of my life with everyone who was willing to take time to read the stories. That journal is one of the only papers I wrote in college that will never be used to start the fire.

The incredible feeling I got from writing in that journal and the excitement that surrounded me as I retold the stories to friends and family got me thinking about my ability to share through my writing and with my words. I started writing more and have taken my educational career in a different direction because of the journal. I guess there is something to be said about a college assignment and where it can take a person.

1. I told my mom I hated her.
I’m not quite sure how old I was, but it was somewhere around that middle school/adolescent age. It was late afternoon in the fall and we were standing in the kitchen. That’s really the only thing I remember. I don’t know what we were arguing about or even who started it. All I remember was I HATE YOU . I blurted out those three words and then stormed out of the house. I ran to the edge of our small town, (which was less than a block), and dove into the shelterbelt. I sat amongst some trees and leaves with more anger than I have ever felt. My heart was racing and my facial expression had to have been quite terrifying. I stayed there for quite some time. I contemplated even returning home. I knew I didn’t hate my mom, but was happy I had told her. I wanted her to feel terrible. As the sun dropped lower and lower, so did the temperature. I started to chill in the t-shirt I was wearing and began to think more about how I was going to sneak back into my nice warm bed than what I had just done. Mother Nature got the best of me and I returned home as I started to see my breath in the cold of the night. I walked in, went directly to my room, and went to sleep as if nothing had happened. When I awoke for school the next morning, everything was the same as it had been every day before those three words. It was if nothing had happened. I know it hurt my mom, but I think it has really taken a toll on me. This is one my list as the stupidest thing I have done in my life. It is something I have regretted just about every day since it happened.

This event really taught me what is important in my life. Obviously, it was nice to return to a warm house and bed that night, but it was even nicer to wake up the next morning and know my mom still loved me. My mom is the defining female in me life. She has always been there for me and every day I live thankful she is in it one more than the day before. The fact that I still remember this event and think about it almost daily reminds me what regret is. Regret is something we’re all going to experience at some point, but one of those things that we need to do everything possible to try to stay away from.