Poem: Daily

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Another poem I wrote in college. It’s an overly simplistic view of certain situations, but it was meant to illustrate how heroes come in many different forms. There are many ways we can step in and help those around us. Even a small gesture can make a huge difference. You never really know how your actions can impact others for the better.


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Why are school dances so awkward?

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Movie: Napoleon Dynamite

Seriously? Why are school dances so incredibly awkward?

If it’s not completely segregated with boys on one side of the gym/cafeteria and girls on the other for a full hour, then it’s a matter of dancing with someone with two feet of space between you.

Or maybe the space thing had to do with the Catholic school dance experience. You have to “leave room for the Holy Spirit,” after all.

I was not comfortable with my body, comfortable in trying new moves. I was the self-conscious kid who very much didn’t want to look stupid.

And yet, I did show up. That’s something. I didn’t just avoid these experiences altogether. (Good job, young Lindsay, for pushing yourself and testing out different environments!)

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The rowdy school bus

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Our bus never did any two-wheeled turns, but it was crowded.

Last year I read “Sensational Kids” where, among other things, it gives a day in the life of five students, one typical child and four who exhibit different characteristics of sensory processing disorder. The idea is to illustrate how each child encounters similar environments.

One girl had sensory modulation problems, like me, and she was hypersensitive to sounds and light, touch etc.

She was overwhelmed on the bus because of all the loud noise from the other children talking, she didn’t like being crowded on there with extra touching. Basically riding the bus further stressed her out before school even began.

It’s an interesting comparison.
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So much music

 

636243282134517774-314545726_music9Seventh grade was the year of music. I feel like I finally started paying more attention to the radio and what was playing. I’d been around music before, certainly. But the radio was just a tool for offering songs. Songs were enjoyable but not identity-defining. No compulsion to memorize lyrics. I could just passively enjoy it.

My earliest memories of music involve listening to the record player. My parents had plenty of albums by The Beatles. We’d play those or other records (I believe there was a Sesame Street one in our possession, too) and I’d dance with Dad. I think the first attempts at dancing meant my feet placed on top of his. But music was fun; there were no expectations.

Before public school or being this particular age, I listened to music more out of enjoyment. There was no need to know the names of bands and song titles or lyrics. I liked the song and that was enough. But now? Now there seemed to be more emphasis on joining in with the shared knowledge. If you can’t reference a song or band, you can’t join in the conversations. You can’t discuss things. You need to know what people are referencing.

Now I was spending lots of money buying blank cassettes at the Dollar General near my house and spending hours listening to the radio and recording on the tapes, taking diligent notes of what I was recording. The New Years Eve countdown was more about listening to the top songs of the year and recording a copy for myself than actually enjoying the year in review.

New friends meant being introduced to new music. I began listening to country more as well as top 40 radio.

The biggest surprise of the year was the debut of “MMMBop.” Yes, the end of seventh grade meant the arrival of Hanson on the music scene. And man, did I love their sound. It was a band of three young brothers with a lead singer my age. What’s not to like about that? They wrote their own music, played instruments and sang.

You could call me obsessed about the band. I was. Some friends and I grew to really like their music and got involved in the whole fan fiction side of things. No story was really worth the light of day, but it kept us entertained. We were shaping characters after the members of Hanson, later Backstreet Boys and NSync, but it also meant coming up with different scenarios and problems and just plain exercising our abilities to craft fiction. Writing was a good outlet, and it was a nice way of bonding together. Some friends call each other up to talk about what they’re going to wear to school the next day. We discussed potential plot ideas.

Over the years, I’ve come to deepen my respect for Hanson. They were faced with social backlash where it became unpopular and people faced ridicule for liking their music. They didn’t give up. Their label started causing problems for them. They didn’t give up. In fact they launched their own label. Their music didn’t receive much radio play. They didn’t give up. They’ve maintained a loyal following through their own website, fan club and social media.

And that’s a great lesson in itself of not letting obstacles defeat you. As I’ve learned and reflected on my experiences with sensory processing disorder, I’ve come to realize that I’ve been doing just that: overcoming many different obstacles. Of course a lot of it was unknown to me at the time, but that doesn’t diminish the victories.

May 2017 marks 20 years since “MMMBop”, and Hanson came out with a new song “I Was Born.” This new song is full of hope and wonder, and about how there is so much possibility out there. And how we all have the potential to be trailblazers in our own way. So if you haven’t listened to it yet, check it out. Below is the official video which adds another dimension by featuring 11 of the band’s 12 children.

Becoming a Lady Ram

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First, I need to offer a glimpse of playing basketball during sixth grade. It was pretty routine with practices and games. I do remember jumping the bleachers. Seriously we jumped from the floor up to the next bleacher, and then continued jumping up.

It looked something like this video, except we were jumping on bleachers and not the stairs. It required a higher vertical jump. And the part I remember most is how scary it was; I was afraid of completely missing the next bleacher. I never did miss, but that scared feeling never went away.

The highlight of the year was participating in the Catholic diocesan tournament. Schools from all over the state met in Charleston for the big showdown. I remember being so much taller than the opponents and yet not completely sure how to handle that. While on defense, there would be a short girl dribbling in my direction but focusing on the ball. So when she looked up to shoot, you could see her eyes widen in panic as my arms were fully extended and she had no view of the basket. Yet, despite the edge in height, I never took full advantage. I grabbed rebounds and had trouble keeping the ball above my head; I always wanted to bring it down. It took quite a while to learn that part and, I guess, build up the muscle memory in the arms. But that tournament was a lot of fun. Our team won first place!

When it came time to try out for the public school team, I was scared. There was a very healthy dose of fear that I wouldn’t make the team. Nothing was assumed. I knew being tall didn’t guarantee me anything. I still needed to demonstrate having talent and skills, and I wasn’t convinced I had those. I was still harnessing and finessing the fundamentals. But at tryouts there were two other girls who were closer in height. So I didn’t feel like such a freak show. (By the end of seventh grade, I recorded my height as 6 feet, so at some point I grew an additional two inches from sixth grade.)

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Crossover dribble

I remember a drill during tryouts where we went one-on-one against someone at the foul line. I didn’t feel real adept in the ball handling department. But over the summer during basketball camp we simulated this drill when we learned about the crossover dribble. I had enough awareness to realize the coaches wanted to see what kind of moves we would make, yet most of the others trying out just dribbled to the right and took a shot. My turn came and I did the crossover dribble for an attempted (and hopefully successful) left-handed layup. The coaches were impressed by this. I still wasn’t convinced it was an actual skill. Yes it occurred to me during a drill but it wouldn’t have naturally unfolded if it was a real pressure situation.  At least I didn’t think it would. The fact that I did it during tryouts seemed like a minor detail because I had time to think and strategize. (Owning and acknowledging abilities was still a challenge.)

But I did make the team. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise anyone. It was a great experience! Not the running part. We did more conditioning than I was used to. Suicide drills are a method of pure torture, in case you were wondering.

I had run them before in sixth grade, but we ran them more often in seventh. These were so tricky because it requires running as fast as you can to a certain spot and then bending down and touching the floor and then quickly turning to run back. That’s a lot of movement in a short amount of time. And getting my body to cooperate, especially at my height, was a challenge. But boy did it paid off! I was in better shape from the previous year. And that helped with getting up and down the court.

We had excellent, scrappy guards who made tons of steals. A lot of our points came from fast breaks. Although as a center, I still had to run down court in pursuit. Scoring wasn’t a guarantee because one guard in particular had trouble slowing down to shoot so sometimes those layups ricocheted off the glass.

The one play that stands out for me is when I actually made a steal! I was able to read the court and anticipate that the player was going to pass. I had an opening, so I intercepted the pass and went running down court at top speed. There was no way of balancing running and dribbling while also checking to see if anyone was following; I had to maintain tunnel vision on the goal. The internal thought process was merely: Make the layup, please make the layup, don’t screw this up.  It was totally exhilarating!

Being a part of this team brought a sense of respect in the school. We played very well. I finally felt like I had a place where I fit. During seventh grade, we were undefeated!! Not many teams get to say that.

 

 

Poem: Ten O’Clock on the Coast

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This is something I wrote as a junior in high school. It was during a weekend trip with my parents to the beach before wrapping up the school year. (And I have no idea what “western heat” is supposed to mean. Did I mention I wrote this in high school?)

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The overflowing book bag

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Heavy school bags (blog post)

Why does each teacher insist on their own 3-ring binder for class? I know it’s to keep things organized and separate. But that’s what dividers are for! I understand not using a 5-subject notebook for multiple classes because the established 70 or 100 pages for the section likely won’t be enough and you run the risk of merging notes. Well, if you were like me and diligently wrote down everything that was discussed in class and had no real way of distinguishing super important information from a useless detail, then the single-subject of space wouldn’t be enough. (Although I did realize later on that I learn best by writing things down, so I guess I can’t fault myself too much on this. I just needed help with knowing what should be worth recording.) If you were more selective about what you wrote down, then maybe the 5-subject notebook would work for you.

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The new girl at school

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Public school. August 1996 meant the beginning of public school.

Farewell to school uniforms, now nearly anything was allowed. I went from a small school of about 300 for K-8 to more than 800 for 6-8. That’s a big difference! It meant taking the bus to school, being around a wide range of students, new hallways to navigate. A school full of students I didn’t know. The first time I needed to wear an ID badge.

And yet, there was hope.

One of my aunts learned of my school change and knew of a girl who would be in my grade. She had Sarah keep an eye out for me.

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I became the chameleon: Missing out on community

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Artist known as Invisible Man

Upon reflecting some on what I wrote for sixth grade (read that here), it occurred to me that I had actually transformed into that chameleon that I so desperately wanted to be. (If you missed that one, you can find it here.)

I really thought I reached that level much later in life, but in all honesty, the proof is shown during the misery of sixth grade.

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Poem: Nobody (2 versions)

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This poem is a bit psychotic and probably sounds suicidal. While written during my second semester of college, it really channels the depression and isolation I felt in 6th grade (If you haven’t heard that post, you can see it here.)

I only went so far as to pick scabs in the way of self-harm. In no way am I condoning or encouraging self-mutilation. But to a degree I can understand what leads a person to that point. When you’ve been bullied physically, verbally and/or emotionally, you can feel powerless and that maybe if you’re the one causing pain, you can gain back some control. But you’re only sinking deeper into a dark place.

I’m not sharing this poem to glorify anything but to illustrate the emotion of this time in my life. If you or someone you know is suicidal or may be at risk of committing self-harm, please seek professional help to work through the problems. Help is available. Talk to trusted adults.

And if someone comes to you and shares about their problems, LISTEN! Listen and take them seriously. And seek intervention.

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