41. You never know what you have until it's gone.

A little girl walks along a craggy, rocky shore with her grandfather. She is hopping along beside him, humming and admiring the waves. She has admired this rock from afar, and finally she's able to get a closer look. From the front yard of her Nana and Papa's house, she sees the rock all the time. It's huge compared to her, and it's the perfect shape of a heart on it's side.
Her grandfather strides along the shore; he reminds her to be careful, and that the rocks are slippery. She insists that she'll be just fine.
The wind picks up and blows her thick, bronze-colored hair all around. The sky is blue, and the crashing waves are the backdrop to their little walk.
She looks up and realizes that she's much closer to the heart rock then she ever has been before. She jumps up and down with giddiness.
"Look at how close it is, Papa! Look how close!" She says excitedly, jumping up and down.
Papa laughs, and they continue on.
When they get there, she realizes that the rock is massive. It looks so small from the front yard! It's covered in endless layers of seaweed, and barnacles have made the rock their home.
"Wow!" She cries happily. Papa lifts her up effortlessly and plops her on top of the rock. She giggles and looks down; her little legs are impossibly far away from the ground. She's never felt this high up.
Papa smiles, "It's your heart rock, Holli."
Holli looks up and sees her Nana, standing far away on the front yard facing the shore. The yard is on top of a cliff. She's waving and leaning on her cane. Holli waves back, and looks across the bay from on top of her heart rock. It was a perfect day.

***
A girl walks along the shore, alone . It's the first time she's ever walked to the rock without her grandfather. She was afraid she'd get lost, but she was excited that her grandparents finally were letting her go alone.
She's growing into a teenager, and her feet are too large for her body. Her feet get caught on the rocks, and she stumbles forward towards her heart rock.
It was like pulling teeth to get Holli to spend a weekend at her grandparent's old house on the bay. When she was younger, she faithfully stayed there every other weekend. She looked forward to it all week long. Naturally, as she got older, she started making more friends. None of her friends had to go and spend two nights with their grandparents once every two weeks. She missed out on school dances and sleepovers because her mother had insisted that she stay with her Nana and Papa at least once a month.
Holli sighed and walked onto her rock. Today was a bleak day; the sky was gray and the water of the bay matched. She looked behind her as she walked and saw that her grandparents were sitting on that old white bench that faced the bay. They were watching her as she walked to the rock.
She waved slightly and continued walking. Did it count as a visit to the rock alone if she was being watched so closely?
Holli finally got to the rock and realized that it was smaller then the last time she saw it. Perhaps she was just bigger. It was still covered in seaweed and barnacles. It looked exactly the same.
She loved her grandparents and her rock and even this old bay, but sometimes she wondered why she had to visit so much. She'd rather be at a friend's house, or even at home with Cindy or Donny. But she was here, and she was bored. She was too old to visit anymore.

***
A young woman with a big camera walks along the shore alone. It's a beautiful August day, and the bay was sparkling a million diamond's worth of light. Her curly and thick hair danced around her face, and her liquid brown eyes kept hiding behind the view finder of her camera.
The shutter went off and off as she shot pictures of the old shore. The rocky cliffs, the black seaweed, the tidal pools that served as tiny communities to ocean creatures. She hopped all around and took her shoes off as she spread her toes in the clay and the sand. She smiled and laughed as she chased seagulls by herself.
This is the first time in years that she's visited this shore, and it astounds her how little it has changed. Her old brick collection was still located under the boulder by the stairs her Papa built. The same spots that used to have soft sand still had soft sand. And, of course, her precious heart rock hadn't moved.
Her grandparents had moved some years ago, once her grandfather got too old to manage the place. They sold the beautiful old home to a rich man who never used it; and when Holli peaked in the windows earlier, she realized it looked almost exactly the same. The brown butterfly wallpaper in the den, the old brown shag carpet, the lamp her grandmother bought at a yardsale that looked like a lighthouse was still sitting on an end table in the corner where the TV was. Her heart ached at what a terrible shame that was; the old house she loved so much to be sitting all alone.
She pranced along the shore, taking pictures as she did, until she found herself to the old heart rock.
It amazed her how familiar it was, and a rush of memories exploded her mind. She sat near it and thought for a while. She snapped a few pictures of it for her grandparents. She was reminded of how much she loved this old rock, and how much she loved this old house.
As she leaned on the rock and watched the waves go in and out, she was consumed by guilt. Why didn't she visit more once she got older? This rock was her old friend and she left it. She didn't want to visit; it wasn't 'cool' to visit. But  now, it's far too late to spend a weekend here.
She remembered waking up to the sound of the waves and the smell of her grandmother cooking a three-course breakfast. She remember her Papa telling her she looked like 'Gravel Gurty' with her wild morning hair. She remembered the front yard in which she'd play soccer with her Papa, and the table where she did arts and crafts with her Nana. She'd sit on the steps her Papa built and write in her journal until Nana called her in for dinner, which was usually macaroni and cheese.
A single tear produced itself, but Holli blinked it away. Those days were so simple and happy.
When she was a teenager, a weekend at this house with her grandparents sounded like a wasted two days. Now, as a young woman a little lost in this world, that creaky old house on this craggy old shore, sounded like the perfect place to be.

Week 9: Prompt One

42. Try one of these lists about yourself:

30 29 Holliann Facts!
1. If I could change my name, I'd change it to Olivia.
2. When I was a kid my imaginary friend was a T-Rex named Tina. My brother's imaginary friend was Cinderella. My sister never had one, but when we used to play the Ouija board, she would have 'ghost boyfriends'.
3. My cat's name is Pistachio because they're my favorite nut.
4. I actually really like my glasses.
5. I name my things. My car's name is Lola; my camera's name is Bertha.
6. I call my dad 'Fascha' because it's a Dutch slang term for 'Father'.
7. I'm sometimes very incompetent.
8. The first movie I can ever really remember watching was 'The Exorcist'.
9. My siblings and I weren't allowed to watch Rugrats when we were kids, but we could watch South Park, and clearly, 'The Exorcist'.
10. My favorite store is Goodwill.
11. I want my wedding to be a barefoot wedding, and I want to go camping for my honeymoon.
12. I enjoy learning, but I don't like the structure of school.
13. Photography is my favorite thing to do.
14. Before this year, I had never known how to change a diaper. I was actually pretty afraid of it.
15. I think the new style windmills are scary. Not the cute little ones you see in Amsterdam or on farms - but the massive white ones that sit up on hills all over Washington County. They're scary. I don't think that they're going to fall over or anything, but I can't even look at them without being creeped out.
16. When I get mad my eyes twitch.
17. I have problems with making eye-contact and I can't hold a conversation without fidgeting.
18. I'm not afraid of heights, but I am claustrophobic, and I'm extremely afraid of snakes.
20. Whenever I pump gas I turn off my cell phone in fear that, if it rings, the static electricity will cause an explosion.
21. I have a nose piercing that I got partially because my dad told me not to.
22. I have a Betty White calendar and a Marilyn Monroe calendar - for Christmas, my mom and I both bought each other the exact same Marilyn Monroe calendar, because we both find her very interesting.
23. I counted my movie stubs from the last year and a half, and since I moved to the Bangor area, I've gone to the movies 167 times.
24. Just this morning on the radio, I heard about one of my former classmates from high school. He stole a police car and intentionally drove it into a lake. I come from an area that is overflowing with drug use and crime, and tragically, a number of teenage deaths.
25. My mom calls me Stinky, Fluffernutter, Peanut Butter Jelly Sandwich, and a random array of other nicknames.
26. My grandfather used to tell us stories as kids about the Boogersnorts and the Whoppernoozies, two kinds of creatures who lived at my grandparent's old house that was on the bay. They both hated each other. The Boogersnorts lived in the basement and the Whoppernoozies lived in the forest. The Boogersnorts were nice but were ugly, and the Whoppernoozies were evil and ate children, but were small and fuzzy. I never even considered that these creatures weren't real. Whenever the heat would kick on, my grandfather would say, 'Oh! There goes those Boogersnorts'. It never occurred to me that my grandfather was just trying to keep us kids out of the basement and the woods. Well, it worked, that's for darn sure. One day I saw something move in the woods right off my grandparent's house, and I ran inside, afraid that it was a Whoppernoozie. Some day, I'd like to write a children's book about Papa's 'friends', the Boogersnorts and the Whoppernoozies.
27. Some of my fondest memories are ones that were spent huddled around a campfire.
28. My grandmother calls all of her grand daughters 'Sarah' or 'Miss America'. None of us are named anything close to Sarah, and none of us are involved in pageants at all.
29. I failed 3 classes in high school, and even though one was on purpose, I still don't like the fact that I had to repeat two classes and go to summer school.
30. I just realized that I never put a 19.

Week 8 Theme

Journal Entry

I've convinced myself that good things don't happen to me. Opportunities don't fall in my lap like they do smart people or overachievers. Never having making honor roll has pretty much convinced me that I'm no scholar. I pride myself in using and speaking in proper grammar, and I'm a pretty darn good speller, but I've never been an overachiever. And for the most part, I've always been okay with that. I figured that there was a life out there for me, where my imperfect academic career didn't matter. School was for some people. But I knew I
But then I had an interesting day on Monday.
Garfield has always been my favorite fat, orange cat. Orange tabby cats with big green eyes are my favorite, mainly because of Garfield. What a cheeky little cat. Have you read the one where he watches the toaster and Jon says 'You know, Garfield, a watched pot never boils?' and as soon as Garfield turns around and says 'Huh?' the toast pops up?
Yeah, it's a funny one.
Either way, Garfield seemed to be the first character to ever truly hate Mondays. It was then instilled in everybody's mind that... Mondays suck, so we hate them.
But this past Monday was a pretty damn good Monday. So good that I guess it's hard for me to get used to.
I work from 8 to 12 every weekday. I then leave and come back later to work again in the afternoon. It equals at least 7 hours a day, if not then more. But I always find something to do on my breaks. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have a class so I come to school. On the other three days of the work week, I usually take a walk around downtown with my camera, or run errands that I don't have time to otherwise.
This Monday, I was walking around with my camera (working on a personal photography project), when I received a call from the University of Maine at Machias, the college I have been dreaming about going to for a while now.
On the phone, the woman was cheerful but I didn't know what to think at first. Do colleges usually call for rejection? After being rejected from the University of Maine in Orono during my senior year, I'm convinced that all schools will reject me. Why take me when they could take someone smart?
"I'm just calling to congratulate you on being accepted to the University for the fall of 2012.." The nice lady on the phone said.
I honestly think tears came to my eyes.
I've always been the kind of person who believed that, if someone really truly wants and deserves something they'll get it. But my spirit was broken when I was rejected from 'the college of my dreams' (UMO) two years ago. But this made me rethink things a little. I didn't get into that school for a reason... Perhaps it's really not for me. I learned this past year that it certainly is not. But now I got into a college that I really think I'll love, and I'll be able to get out of an area that doesn't make me very happy. And happiness is key.
Either way, I was accepted into a good school, and it's a pretty cool feeling. I was awarded a helpful scholarship. Blissfully, I took my camera for a walk and took some pictures.
I got another phone call, this time from my mom.
"So, I got a call from your sister, and I could hardly hear her because of all the meowing in the background.." Mom said, instead of saying hello.
I was confused at first. I didn't know what she was referring to. But then I realized... Did my sister have Pistachio, my cat that had been missing for two weeks?
Sure enough, my sister went to the shelter (even though I've been checking and calling every day since she went missing) and my cat was there!
So, my missing cat was found, and I got into a college that is sort of perfect for me.
All on a Monday. Has Garfield always been wrong about Mondays? Are they really that bad?
On this particular Monday, I was pretty darn happy, even if I am an underachiever.
I have a friend who won an award for being 'Most Outstanding Girl'. She won an all-expenses paid trip to Washington DC with other 'Outstanding Girls', and met President Obama. She then took a trip to Norway, and climbed the tallest mountain in Norway.
She's two years younger then me, and already her life is significantly more impressive then mine.
The furthest I've been is Texas, for a rodeo. I've always believed in the simpler things in life, and as deeply rooted in Maine as I am, I still yearn to travel. I may not believe that a degree is everything, but I still believe that learning is incredibly important, and I want to be a teacher. But I honestly don't think I can do it. School has always bored me to tears - and most of the time, it's like the information just bounces right off my forehead. But I know a lot of things about the world, and I do read plenty, but for some reason, I don't do well in school. It's the way I've always been.
But getting into this college not only excites me but scares me. I expect a letter in the mail that says 'Whoops! We made a mistake'. Because... as I've convinced myself... good things don't happen to me. Opportunities don't present themself to me. My friend who won that award, she didn't even apply for it. It just happened. She doesn't know how.
Me... My opportunities are much more hidden.
But is that an absolute bad thing? I've accepted now that comparing myself to others isn't going to help. They work hard for what they have, so I can't take that away from them, and I can't be jealous if the same doesn't happen to me. But I still am.
I've done a lot of studying and thinking about the flaws in human nature. I think that all the seven deadly sins are almost apart of human nature. Being jealous is a little normal - the extent of your jealousy is what makes it a sin. It's normal to be proud of yourself - it's the amount of your pride that makes you a sin. And so on and so on.
So I've accepted that my jealous tendencies are... normal. They're not a redeeming quality, but I honestly think it's normal. The girl who has everything can still be jealous of the girl who has nothing. But I've also learned that it's impossible to truly know who has gone through what.
So here is my roller-coaster thought process:
Good things don't happen to me. A lot of good things happen to me. But not as good as other people. But I don't know their whole story. But I'm still jealous of them. Perhaps they're secretly jealous of me. Being jealous is a pointless feeling, but then why do I still feel it? I wish I was more like them. But I'm not, I'm more like me. Perhaps I am who I am for a reason; perhaps I just forget sometimes.
You see? Although my thoughts are hard to follow and understand, I usually go to bed at night okay with who I am. Last night, Pistachio slept at my feet, purring loudly. Even if I lose all reasons to believe in myself sometimes, I at least know that someone needs me. I won't go on and list those who need me, but I can say that I know at least Pistachio does.

Week 8 Prompts

31. Eeenie, meenie, minie, moe, catch a rabbit by the toe....

"You're it this time!" She cheered as she finished the rhyme.
"Nuh-uhhh!" I cried back, "That's no fair. You know that game doesn't work."
"You're it." She said again and stuck her tongue out at me.
I sighed and ran to the porch and started to count. My friends shuffled outside, and I could hear them whisper as they hid. I counted to 50, and I ran outside.
"Ready or not, here I coooome!" I called out into the darkness of the night. Considering this was my backyard, I knew the best hiding places. I knew that Felicia would be hiding with someone else, considering that she is blind at night.
I started to inspect the perimeter of my dad's truck; figuring that someone would be hiding in the bed.
I stood up on the tire and poked my head over so I could see.
As I expected, Felicia and Nicole were crouched down inside the bed of the truck.
"Awwww, man!" Nicole said as I found them.
I smiled, "Haha, you guys are it!"
Nicole scoffed, "Big deal. I like being it."
"I can't see anything." Felicia said as she carefully climbed down from the old GMC truck, "Maybe I shouldn't play anymore."
"We've been playing for a while," I said as I helped her down, "We can go inside and watch that scary movie my mom rented."
Felicia made a face at that, "I'll try and watch it. I usually get pretty scared of those movies."
I called, "Olly olly oxen free!"
Slowly but surely, all of my friends and my little brother emerged somewhere from the darkness of my over sized backyard. As to be expected, they were all sick of playing too. We had been playing since after dinner. So we all retreated inside, laughing with each other, our pigtails bouncing as we walked.


35. Three of them sitting there in complete silence.
Felicia, Damien and I lay on the pavement at the basketball courts and stare up at the sky.
What were they thinking about as we watched the cumulus clouds slowly travel by?
Personally, I was thinking about how I wished Felicia was gone, and how I wished Damien liked me more then her.
I was awkward with glasses and my baby fat was still lingering about. I hadn't grown into a woman like Felicia had. In my class, I was the girl who never had a boyfriend, never had sleepovers, and the one who learned how to complete the newest math problem only when it was time to move on. I had always done things a little slower in life, and making a move on boys was definitely no exception.
I tucked my arms behind my head and bit my lip. Should one of us say something? Silence bugged me. It meant that there was nothing to say, but there always was something to say.
My eyes wandered to the old basketball hoop that was bent from years of kids hanging from it. How many times had I been to this old basketball court? Trillions. It was where I learned so many of life's valuable lessons.
I sighed and looked over at Felicia and Damien. Felicia had brown eyes that were larger then mine, and she had developed the body of a teenager years before I would. I looked like I was wearing a barrel. My face was as round as a basketball, and acne decorated my rosy cheeks. I wore sweatpants and a hoodie every day, and I never thought I'd be pretty like Felicia.
And Damien... He was so cool, I felt lame even being in his presence. His parents were divorced and he was always home alone, he would drink beer with his mom's boyfriend and he never had to tell them where he was going and what he was doing. I had to be home by dark and in bed by 9 every night. My parents always had to know where I was and what I was doing. 
How could I even kid myself into thinking that Damien would ever like me over her? I was a fool for even hoping.
"Well..." I said sighing, "I better go. Mom's making an early dinner."
"Okay..." They said together. I stood up and said goodbye to them, leaving them alone. I got on my bike and yelled that I'd see them tomorrow morning on the bus.
As I sped off down the road, I knew that they'd kiss or hold hands as soon as I left. I didn't know if it should bother me or not; they're both my best friends. I should be happy for Felicia and I shouldn't like Damien at all.
Even if it shouldn't have bothered me, as the wind blew my hair behind my head on my ride home, I knew that it did.

37. Down in the boondocks.

The canoe ride out was full of laughter and jokes. I splashed Laura with my paddle, and Gilman splashed me with his. We had sodas sitting at our feet, and a canoe full of camping gear. We were headed out to a sandy island for a three day camping trip that was going to rid me of the blues I was feeling.
The hot August sun was pounding on my back, and I knew I'd wake up with a sunburn. I didn't mind though. A sunburn was a sign that you had a good time.
"The place we got is perfect," Laura said as she paddled, "It's really sandy and we found a perfect little clearing in the thicket where we set up the tent. It's really great. The only thing is, a bunch of people left tents and other gear out on the beach. Felicia called her step dad and said that people do it all summer long to keep people away."
"That's so ignorant." I said, scoffing, "How much stuff is out there?"
"At least 10,000 dollars worth of stuff, I'm not even kidding," Gilman said, "There's a bunch of deep-sea fishing gear. This is West Lake.. the most shallow lake around... Why would they need that?"
"There are radios and coolers and at least seven tents." Laura went on, "It's absolutely ridiculous. We've been here since 11 this morning, and no one has stopped in."
Suddenly, Gilman's phone vibrated from the pocket of his lifejacket and he answered.
"Hello? Oh, okay. They keep coming up to the shore? That's weird. I don't know. Well we'll be there in about half an hour. The wind is against us this time. Okay, bye." He hung up, "That was Felicia. She's got a fire going and is waiting for us, but she says there are people who keep pulling their boat up the shore and looking at the island."
"That's weird," I said, "Maybe they are looking to see if anyone's there?"
"Well, people around town know about the gear that's left," Gilman said, "This happens every year. People swipe stuff, but I don't blame them."
Laura, Gilman and I paddled on. They had been here since 11 that morning, but I had to drive from Old Town to get here. I had the weekend off, and my brother and parents were out of town, so I was going camping.
Once we got to the island, I realized that they weren't kidding.
"There is so much stuff over there!" I cried as we hauled the canoe onto shore. Over on the other side of the island, there were enough tents to house 30 people. All the tents looked nice and expensive, and it pissed me off that people could leave it all there.
"If you go over there and look, there is no sign of recent life." Laura said, "It's creepy."
Felicia emerged from the clearing where our tent was kept, "Hey guys! Took you long enough!"
We laughed, "Sorry. It was windy this time!" Gilman added.
Felicia waved a hand, "It's not a big deal. I had time to start a fire. Come and check everything out, Holliann." Once we unloaded the gear, we flipped the canoe upside down to get the water out. Gilman and I put up a clothes line (which came in handy, considering it poured that night and collapsed our nice 6 people tent, making the 4 of us huddle together in a 2 person tent), and Felicia and Laura started on dinner.
Once it was dinner time, we all sat around the fire and relaxed under blankets and stars. It was a clear, and perfect night. Across the lake, another camp sight was shooting off fireworks. We all watched as we ate fire-grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. It was nice to sit and talk with them, and none of us mentioned our problems.
We talked about this trip, and how much we all needed it.

Week Seven Theme

Every day, I woke up slightly dreading going to school. I wanted to see my friends, I liked lunch time and my study hall. But geometry scared me, and chemistry made me see stars, in a bad way. But I had a few classes that seriously sparked my interests.
My favorite class was English. As much as I liked the material we covered and the books we read, my favorite part about English was my English teacher.
I'm convinced she's the coolest person on the planet.
She lives in a stone house that she built with her husband; they dug up old boulders from the ground and bought a plot of land. They built their own house, and lived in a shack for three years while they built this house. She had copper rings that she wore every day, and she said she made them out of copper pipes that were replaced. Her choice in clothing was always very practical, but she wore a pair of white and red Chuck Taylor high-tops, almost with every outfit. Her wild and bright blue eyes shone behind her glasses, and even though she had a head of white hair, you could tell she was still very young in spirit.
I'll never forget the day in freshmen year where Mrs. Foley told us she liked to bike 18 miles, and then she showed us her bicep muscles. How could such a short and petite woman have such large muscles? I quickly learned after that that everything Mrs. Foley did was a little different then whoever did it before her.
I had her as a teacher for three out of my four years in high school. I'd have her for all four if I had the choice. She was the smartest person I had ever met; there was no way you could bullshit this woman. She'd call your bluff, correct you, and then find someway to pay you a compliment. As fair as can be, she would fail students, even if they had a 69.4. She wouldn't round up, not even for the girl's basketball star. (Oh, wasn't that a scandal. Mrs. Foley had parents banging on her door come tournaments time.) If you showed up and did your work, Mrs. Foley liked you. Even if you slept all class, she liked you. The only way she didn't like you is if you showed disrespect.
One specific boy comes to mind.
Senior year, this boy went to jail for a month, got arrested for having drugs on him, and almost didn't graduate. When he was out of her class, Mrs. Foley asked why.
"Where is Mr. Ralph today?" She asked, peering up from the attendance list.
"He's in jail." A girl who was close friends to him, Ashley, said, "He will be until May."
Everyone sat very still and looked at each other. All the other teachers said things like, 'He deserved it', 'It's about time!' or 'I knew he would be there someday'. This boy was the definition of a high school bad boy, only the crimes he committed were dangerously more serious. The teachers poked fun at him to get a rise out of him, and the students cheered him on because they thought it was funny. He didn't have many people in his life who he could trust.
Mrs. Foley blinked a few times and set the attendance list down, "Well, that's no good. How will Mr. Ralph graduate?"
Ashely put her hands up, "I have no idea. And he has no one who will bail him out this time. I bailed him out last time and I'm too broke to do it this time."
Mrs. Foley took her glasses off and set them on the table, something she didn't do very often. Only when frustrated or when she was thinking. She rubbed her forehead with her aged, but graceful, hand, "His parents can't help him in any way? His father is a police man, isn't he?"
Ashley nodded, "He is, but they won't help him. They haven't talked to him in months. His grandparents kicked him out. He has no one."
Mrs. Foley sighed loudly and put her glasses back on, "Well. We'll have to find a way to get his homework to him so that he can pass somehow. This is such a shame. He's a very smart boy."
My eyebrows raised. I wouldn't always call Chris Ralph a 'smart' boy. His acts were so ridiculous and stupid that... I think of him as a bad influence and a lost cause. But Mrs. Foley can see the good in almost anybody, unless she had a reason not to.
Ashley scoffed, "You're the only teacher who would say that. Our own vice principal thinks he's a joke. Mr. Noyes called Chris a 'girl' the other day at lunch and told him to move from the table he was at. Chris wasn't doing anything wrong. Chris told him to stop but Mr. Noyes didn't. So Chris threw his chair across the gym and stormed out, throwing his tray too. Why did Mr. Noyes have to do that if he knows that Chris clearly has a problem with his anger?"
I remember that day. It was just last week. During lunch, Chris flipped out, and threw his chair. It only skimmed past me; it almost knocked me right over as I was walking to my table.
Mr. Foley sighed again, "I respect Mr. Noyes, but he's a bully. Chris has never treated me that way or even spoken back to me in the four years I've known him."
"Because you don't treat him that way." Felicia piped in, sitting directly across from me on the other side of the classroom, "You should see the way the other teachers talk to him. Like he's an idiot."
"Chris knows that none of those teachers care about him, so he doesn't care about them." Ashley added.
Mrs. Foley folded her hands, "This boy needs help. I hope he gets everything sorted out and gets himself under control, because he has great potential. Not only is he an extraordinary athlete, but he is intelligent, he just doesn't use it."

I remember when the conversation ended and we went back to learning about Tristan and Iseult, all I could think about were Mrs. Foley's kind words about Chris. It's true though; he was never disrespectful towards her, because she was always kind to him. He may not have had the best record of passing in homework on time, but he always had an opinion during class. And he's always had nice words to say about Mrs. Foley.
Mrs. Foley could be the thing I miss most about high school. When I worked in the local grocery store, she came in every Saturday to go grocery shopping. I was always excited to see her. She always said hello and struck up conversation with me. Her warm, enthusiastic disposition was something that always inspired me to do better. She thought education was important, but she never pushed that anyone had to go to school, the way most teachers did. Mrs. Foley believed in personal research; learning things because it was important and because you wanted to learn.
She was a small woman, about 5'1, and even though I only saw her for less than an hour a day, five days a week for three years, she amounted to be one of the most inspirational people I have ever met.
Her wild stories were always my favorite. She'd jump up and down and get students to lay on tables as she's 'execute them'; she'd sing randomly; she came in wearing a black hood that covered her face when we studied The Minister's Black Veil; she used to draw pictures on my corrected essays; she had a crush on Tom Brady and loved football; she read the bible over and over, even though she openly never has believed in God. The worse thing she said she ever did was open the emergency exit door on the school bus. She told that story on the first day of class I ever had with her, and then told us why The Cat in the Hat is actually about the Cold War.
The last day of my high school career, Mrs. Foley gave me a Most Improved award.
"This girl came in and, even though she clearly had a talent in writing, she didn't really apply herself," Mrs. Foley said over the intercom during the senior class assembly, "But you wouldn't even recognize her work now. She's come so extremely far, and I'm incredibly proud to call her my student."
When she called my name, I went up and accepted my award from her. Impulsively, I pulled her into a big hug. I can remember there being some tears in my eyes as the entire school cheered for me when I accepted the award. Why I had tears I'll never fully know. I was happy that I had made Mrs. Foley proud. I was proud of myself for receiving the award at all.
But mostly, I knew that I'd miss Mrs. Foley very, very dearly.

week seven prompts

30. Take a look at a photo of a person. What do you see?

The way the eyes crinkled because of the big smile showed that she smiled a lot in life. The bright eyes, generous lashes and a few liver spots here and there. Leaning on a cane and wearing a hat to cover his bald head, my grandfather looked incredibly happy.
It's almost like you could see the kindness in his old green eyes. He lived a life that wasn't full of luxury, but you could tell that he still really enjoyed the life he did have.
My grandfather is one of the most generous human beings I know. He won't give me money so that I can go to the mall and splurge, but he has no problem helping me with school and with anything else I need help with. He only asks that I not get into any kind trouble and that I do what makes me happy. He's constantly telling me this:
"I was a banker for 40 years, and I hated every day of it."
He wants his grandkids to be happy, and he's happy when they're happy. 
He has the romantic soul of an artist, and you can see it in the way he dresses. He always looks clean and presentable; like every day is a church Sunday. He has a hat to go with every one of his ties, and every one of his shirts matches perfectly to a pair of pants. The cane he carries is one that my Uncle, his son, made for him. He carries it every day.
In his picture, he's posing with his grandkids. My sister, my brother and I.
I can remember him talking about his childhood; about how poor he was and how he learned to cherish everything he had in life after that. Including his relationship with his grandkids and his kids. He's very involved in our lives, more then some parents are involved in their kids.
I'd never change that for anything.

31. Who's the first person you remember?


His smile has always made me giggle; the way his mustache covered his upper lip, making it oddly look like he had fuzz where a lip should be. His glasses were half the size of his face; his hands the size of baseball gloves and his feet the size of flippers.
He scooped me up and we danced around the living room; him singing off-key and off-tune, as always. My dad loved to sing more then anyone else, even though he was pretty bad at it. I was laughing so hard that my tummy ached.
Mom took out a camera and took a picture of my Dad and I. We both smiled goofy grins.

I ran outside barefoot to my dad's garage where he was fixing his old tractor. He was wearing torn-up jeans and a ruined navy blue shirt.
"Daddy!" I yelled, as I found him underneath the jacked-up tractor.
"What?" He replied in his 'I'm clearly busy' voice.
"What are you doing?"
I could hear his wrench stop tinkering and he paused before he answered, "Holliann, what does it look like I'm doing?"
I made a face, "Sorry. I'm just trying to be nice." I sat down cross-legged on the ground, "What's wrong with Grampy's tractor?"
Dad snorted, "Lots of things."
"Will you be able to fix it?"
"I think so. I just need a few parts."
"Well you can still use the yellow tractor, right?"
"I can, yeah."
"Do you like this one better?"
Dad paused, "Holliann, why are you bothering me?"
I shrugged, "I just wanted to... hang out."
Dad laughed, "Well, I'm a little busy."
"I'll watch." I replied quickly.
He sighed, "Fine. Will you get me a screwdriver?"
"Yep!" I said happily and stood up quickly, "Phillips head?"
"Yeah."
I found the screwdriver on his tool table and handed it to him. His hands are, to this day, permanently stained with oil.
I sat back down and continued to watch him work, "Let me know if you need anything else, Dad."



"You wore this for Cindy's graduation, too." I told Dad as I straightened his tie.
"I know." He replied, "And I'll wear it for Donny's too. I'm not leaving anyone out."
I laughed. This same button-up royal blue dress shirt was one of Dad's only formal piece of clothing. He was wearing it with the same brown suit with elbow-pads that he's worn to every important event he's ever gone to.
I finished putting my dad's tie on and stepped away. I gave him a thumbs up and he smiled, walking away.
I went upstairs and pulled on the flower-print dress that my uncle bought me for my graduation today. It wasn't exactly my favorite dress; it wasn't what I would wear if I could choose, but I knew it meant a lot to my uncle that I was wearing it.
I looked in the mirror and ran a brush through my hair. I had straightened it, but either way, the graduation cap I was going to wear all day was going to ruin it.
My parents were both pretty prepared for this. Cindy was already gradated; Melissa's graduation was a few years ago. They've gone through it before.
I, on the other hand, wasn't ready at all.
I came downstairs and my dad was waiting for me with my cap and gown all ready, he was smiling happily.
Even though it was the third graduation for him, and he still had Donny to come, Dad was very proud of me.

33. Imagine someone you know is taking this course and has decided to write about you. Write their piece for them!

Naturally awkward and shy, she usually hides behind a camera or a pair of glasses. She has a lot of thoughts, and shuts people out far too often. She enjoys many things about life, but all she ever thinks about is fast-forwarding through the next three or four years until she can be done school. She wants to be a mother and a wife, when she's barely had time to be a kid. Even though she has plenty of people who love her and cheer her on, she still wonders if anyone really cares very much about her. She has trouble doing homework and she can't understand basic math. Her favorite thing to do on the planet is take pictures outside. She enjoys working more then school; it's less vulnerable, she says. She doesn't feel stupid at work, she usually feels stupid at school. Learning and growing as a human being is extremely important to her, but she's always felt that school was rather unimportant compared to other things in life.
Sometimes she gets really quiet, as if her thoughts are racing. Her job stresses her out, but she knows she's making a difference in the lives of children. All she thinks about is moving home next summer. No matter where she is in life, she has trouble enjoying the now, but she loves the idea of the later. Never really being very comfortable with her looks, she always puts a lot of thought into her appearance - always to be sure she looks presentable, because she doesn't think she's naturally very pretty. Her sister once told her that she 'hides' behind her clothes and her jewelry, and she doesn't allow anyone in. She has trust issues and issues with being vulnerable
But she's also extremely kind; she's always thinking of other people. She cringes and says a tiny prayer when she sees road kill. More creative then any of her siblings and most of her friends, writing and art has always come very easy to her. But Holliann is always comparing herself to others, and when she sees the 4.0 GPA's that most of her friends have, she gets upset with herself. One friend used to be jealous because she'd work hard on a photojournalism assignment and she'd get an 'it's good' for feedback; Holliann would slap something together last minute and get an 'it's wonderful!' for feedback. Writing and photography has always come very easily to her. Every thing in her life she's ever cared about, she pours her heart and soul into it, which sometimes isn't always a good thing. An excellent work ethic, she's held a job since she was sixteen, and even before that she did plenty of babysitting, blueberry raking and tipping (collecting pine tree branches for wreaths). She feels every emotion so deeply, she's afraid of ever actually falling in love, because she knows the kind of damage it'll do.
Her favorite holiday is (of course) Christmas. She has all of the name of her children planned out; her wedding is mapped out in her mind. She knows everything is subject to change, but she knows she has to have a rough draft. Her favorite music artist is Frank Sinatra; her favorite actor is Dick Van Dyke; her favorite movie 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang'; her favorite book is 'The Outsiders'. American History has always fascinated her. She failed three classes for the half year, meaning she had to take them over. One of them she failed on purpose to get kicked off the basketball team. For this class she went to summer school, and had the highest average in the class. She thinks her old English teacher is one of the coolest people she's ever met, and was extremely honored one day when said teacher gave her a hug and a 'Most Improved Award' right before graduation. This same teacher also said that Holliann was 'smart as a whip when it came to writing'. Holliann knows she has talent, but she has very little courage when it comes to showing her writing. This blog makes her feel vulnerable; people can read her deepest thoughts and judge them. Knowing that someone is reading her writing makes her nervous, because it's one of the only ways she truly expresses herself.
Holliann is a lot of things. She's dramatic, she's random, she's spontaneous, she assumes things too quickly, she cries at every sad movie and she is way too hard on herself. But she is constantly trying to better herself. When things are hard, she can sometimes get pretty down and depressed, but she always feels better when she watches The Golden Girls (her favorite show), or calls her Mom. She takes her coffee black. Someone once said that you can tell how old a person is by how they take their coffee; the darker, the older. Even though Holliann is only nineteen, she's an old soul. She likes to have fun just as much as the next person, but it's hard for Holliann to ever be completely content with her life, even though she's young and has so much to look forward to.

Week Six Theme

Shaking and puttering as we bounced up the steep and unkempt mountain, the truck roared with exhaustion. This thick and wild terrain was barely a road, but to us it was one. We were driving very slowly, not by choice. The road was so rough that this was honestly as fast as we could go.
We were driving up Musquash Mountain. Musquash mountain was located right next to Musquash Lake, which was a lake that I grew up swimming in. Everyone had their camp on Musquash; everyone went fishing on Musquash. It had a pretty hefty trout and bass population. On top of the mountain was the only cell phone tower for a 35-mile radius, a few old buildings and an old fire tower. Local people were constantly going up this mountain during the summers. I don't really know what everyone did up there. Someone told me once it was the best place to watch thunder and lightning storms from; they said that it's almost like you could 'feel God's power'.
Today it was a beautiful August day, and we were just riding up the hill to take a ride.
It was a haggard path that traveled up a thick forested mountain.
The ride was a little long; long enough to make me feel motion sick because of the bumps we're hauling over.
Once we got to the top, we pulled into a flat clearing. The cell phone tower was intimidatingly tall. The fire tower was clearly very unsafe. Rusted, tall and visibly rickety, it'd be really unintelligent to climb it.
But we did.
One of my friends stayed at the bottom of the tower, "I ain't climbing that thing." They said, waving their hands.
The rest of us began the climb up. The stairs beneath our feet creaked and grumbled underneath us. Slowly, we all made our way up the tower.
The sky was as blue as it could be, and the clouds were white and happily puffy. As we climbed up, we all stopped every once and a while to observe our surroundings. The fire tower shook slightly at the weight of four grown people climbing up it, but once we rested for a few minutes, it stopped and we continued on, laughing with each other.
At the top of the tower was a small building. Carefully, we all climbed into the building.
Almost as if the entire world had been unveiled in front of my eyes. I could see for miles and miles. The bright green earth thick with trees met with the clear blue and white horizon. I saw green trees for miles. It was unlike anything else I had ever seen. It was never ending. Could I actually see the curve of the earth? It seemed that I could, but I was probably just convincing myself of this. Musquash Lake looked incredibly smaller then it actually is. Other mountains and hills also jutted out of the earth, but none of them to be as high up as we were right now; how close we were to the sky.
"Hellooooo!" I yelled out the window of the old fire tower. My three friends laughed as I did this. Down on the ground, the friend who was afraid of heights called up to us and waved.
Carved into the metal of the tower were initials and names of others who had visited the tower. Some dates were all the way back to the 80's. I saw a lot of things like 'Greg loves Jenny' and 'Tom and Barbra forever'. Some names I actually recognized. I saw many carvings that read 'Rest In Peace Donald Phelps'. Donald Phelps was a boy who lived on my road who drowned about 4 years ago now.
I found a nail laying on the ground and I carved 'Holliann Bergin, 2010'. I made my mark in this tower and wondered silently how many people would read my name and wonder who I was, just like I'm reading this names and wondering who they are.
A gust of wind shakes the tower, and we all stop and stay very still. We laugh afterwards at how unsafe this tower is, and how it didn't stop us from climbing it. It crosses my mind briefly that my father will probably kill me when I tell him I climbed the tower. He's told me more then once not to do it.
This wasn't the first time I had been to the top of this tower or this mountain. But I remember this visit the most vividly. I did come up here once during a sunset, and that was absolutely gorgeous. The red and orange sky looked like liquid fire that was ready to engulf us.
I stuck my head out the window and looked around. I was above the birds. I was above the tallest of all the trees.
This place became instantly special to me after that. It made me see how small I really was. Not small in a negative way. I'm only one person and outside of that fire tower was the whole world. From here, I could see just how huge it was, and this wasn't even close to the whole world. This was my world. This forest and that lake, these people, the rust on the tower. It was all apart of my world. Appreciating an old tower, admiring some trees, enjoying the company of some misfits. The simplicity of it all... that's my world. Places like this, surrounded by this overwhelming wilderness, paint the canvas that is my life.
Someone told me once that the people and the place you're in doesn't determine how happy you are; you determine how happy you are, but I've always disagreed. I could be with one person in Bangor and be so unhappy I want to rip my eyes out. And then I'm with these people here in the woods and I'm so blissfully happy it seems unreal. I've always believed that your location has a lot to do with your happiness. I think that the place can make the person.
Places like this helped me become who I am.

Week Six Prompts

26. You haven't been there since you were little. Now you go back....

For Donald Edward Bergin Sr. 



I walk through the thick woods, shoving my hands in my pockets. The October air is thick and cold. And yet, the air is so brisk it makes me feel alive. My footsteps are slow, even though if you were to watch me walk to class or down the busy Bangor streets, you'd see that I walk quick and I stare at the ground. Here, I look up, and I walk slow. In a place like Bangor, I feel forced to match the quick pace of life. In Bangor, I wear sunglasses to hide my eyes.  Here, I can absorb everything slowly and with uncovered eyes, like I prefer to. 
I'm far in the woods behind my house. The farm house looks tiny in the distance as I continue down the old hunting path. I pull my hood over my head, and I enjoy the peace and the quiet. 
My bank account balance is negative, my heart aches, and I could possibly be failing a class or two. I'm pushed to my limits by the battles on the exterior of my world, and the interior. 
Walks have always helped me, in many ways. Physically, of course. But mentally and emotionally too. 
The sky is a clear blue, and only a few puffy white clouds float by. The leaves of the trees surrounding me on either side are the magnificent colors of fall; warm oranges, royal reds and bright yellows.
As I walk, I sift through all of the trouble I've gotten into, and I try to organize my ridiculous thoughts. My cat's been missing for a week, and it caused me to cry myself to sleep most nights this week. My job is draining my energy and my patience, and it'd be a brutal lie if I said that I was being paid enough money for what I do. Writing has been hard for me, when it's something that's never been hard for me to do. I'm broke on Friday when I got paid Wednesday. 
It's one of those weeks where it feels like nothing could possibly go worse. 
So I drive home for a weekend, and I take a walk. 
I decide to visit a place that I haven't been to in a long time. 
This path is so familiar to me that I easily wind forward; these trails was where I spent my childhood. 
I cross a small swamp on my right, the way it looks is so eerie I have to stop. 
Tall, thin trees with leafless branches that wind and stretch decorate the swamp. Weeds that were probably as green as emeralds during the summer are now brown and dying. 
I look away and continue on to the place I haven't been to in so long. 
I enter a cleared out field. My home used to be a farm when my father grew up here. I wonder what was kept here. Was it just where the horses grazed? I'd have to ask him. 
The dead grass crunched under my feet as I continued on. Up ahead in a thicket was a bench, a small American flag, and two grave markers. 
When I approached my grandfather's grave, I sat down on the bench that my Dad put here fifteen years ago when he died. Up on the tree above the grave was a small birdhouse that my grandmother made and painted for Grampy. 
I was four when he died, but I remember a lot about him. He had more black in his hair then gray. He smelt of wood stove smoke and peppermint. He loved to drive my grandmother crazy. He'd sit me on his lap and bounce his knees up and down, which I knew probably hurt him, because his hip was useless by the time he was 21 due to arthritis. 
I had always wanted him to live to be older then 63. So young to go. I've always wondered if he'd be proud of me. 
Next to the grave that said 'Don Bergin' was the grave that said 'Shadow'. Shadow was my grandfather's German Shepherd. My mom always told me that Shadow died days after Grampy did, and that he died of a broken heart. Seeing this made me feel better about being so lost without my cat Pistachio. One of Grampy's last wish was to have Shadow placed here with him when he left too. 
Suddenly, the wind blew hard enough to knock my hood off my head. Some leaves that were on the ground lifted in the air and traveled away. I looked above me; the trees that towered over me created a safe cocoon for the place where my grandfather and his dog's ashes were resting. These trees protected this resting place. It was so peaceful and quiet surrounded by all of this rustic nature. 
I used to come here at least once a week to visit Grampy. Whenever I had a question I needed answered, I'd come here, hoping he'd hear me. I didn't want him to get lonely. I'd bring books and read to him. I'd bring one of our dogs to visit Shadow. I used to make it a point to do this; once a week, every week. 
Then I grew up, and everything changed. 
These 96 acres of forests and fields were my safe haven as a child. I never had to go any further then my own backyard. 
Everyone I had ever met who knew my grandfather always said, 'Do you remember your grandfather? He was quite the man'. And I knew he was. He was Irish, a smart ass, he was hard-working, and he loved his family even if he wasn't always the best at showing it. Behind him and his dog's resting place was a huge pine tree, which held my grandmother's birdhouse, that was once a bright robin's egg blue was now a faded gray. 
Pine trees are my favorite kind of trees. Maple trees are beautiful too, but they change and phass. Sometimes they're full, sometimes they have nothing on them, sometimes they're green sometimes they're red and yellow. They are constantly changing, like this world and like my life. 
But pine trees stay the same. They don't change. They stay that same deep shade of green all year round. They never drop their leaves. They're never vulnerable like bare maple trees are. 
I wish life was as predictable as a pine tree.
I pull my legs underneath me on the bench and start talking to Grampy. It's hard at first, but suddenly it starts pouring out of me. How long has it been since I had done this? Years? 
I do this until I tell a story that makes me laugh. I do this until I tell a story that makes me cry.
When the sun starts setting behind the mighty pines of my beloved forest, I tell Grampy goodnight. 
"Goodnight, Grampy." I say quietly as I stand up to leave, "I love you. I'll come back more often, I promise." I smile, "Tell Major Murray I said hello." 



27. The safest place in the world....




Sometimes life scares the shit out of me. Correction, it pretty much scares the shit out of me all the time. 
As I drive to work some mornings, I realize that I could possibly die today. This thought creeps through my mind at least once a day. I'm not sure why. I suppose it's good to be thankful for being alive. 
We humans are at danger everywhere we go. We could catch the next black plague. We could get hit by a bus. Anything could happen. Every day leads up to our eventual demise. 
But there is a certain place where I feel so safe, this inevitable truth doesn't even scare me. 
On Christmas Eve, I snuggle up with my sister and my brother in one of our small bedrooms. We do this every year. Usually, it's the room that my sister and I shared for all of our life when we lived at home. We stay up late giggling, even now that we're all grown. 
When it comes time to wake up, Donny is almost always the first one up. Next he gets Cindy up. Then he has to shake me awake and shake me an additional few, and more violent, times just to keep me awake. I have had plenty of issues as a person, but I rarely have trouble sleeping. 
At the foot of our beds (or at the foot of your sleeping bag, if you're sleeping on the floor like Donny is), we find our stockings full of candy, trinkets and whatever else Mom thinks we'd like. 
It's still dark out the bedroom window, and snow is falling lightly. We sit up and eat some of our candy before waking Mom and Dad up. 
Downstairs, the tree is lit up beautifully. My father picks trees that are too tame for Clark Griswold, so they're always either too tall, too full or not full or not tall enough. 
I took a blanket and sat on the couch and waited for whenever Donny got my parents up. 
It was warm in the house with the wood stove going, and I was wearing my favorite pajamas. 
Cindy came and sat with me. I put my head on her shoulder and waited. As always, Mom said that she'd wake up once we made coffee, so Donny would hurry to get a pot going. Once everyone was awake, we'd sit in a circle and Donny would pass out gifts. 
What's in the wrapped boxes was never very important to me. What always was was the comfort and warmth I felt from being surrounded by the four people who always kept me grounded. Four people whose love was so unconditional, I wondered if I even deserved it. 
I'm a person who wants to be needed. I love my cat so much because I know that when I wake up in the morning, she'll need me there. I love my family so much because I know how deeply they need me. I dream about moving closer to home so that I can be there when they need me. Last year, one of our dogs was hit by a car, and my mother said that my father cried himself to sleep for weeks. She said he caught him punching the wall one night; telling himself that it was all his fault. 
I learned about it in a text message from Donny saying: 


Holli, Abby died. 


That was it. She was my dad's dog, for sure. They had a bond much like Grampy's and Shadow's. He was heartbroken. I was two hours away while all of this happened.  I wasn't able to comfort my dad after he buried Abby and placed a heart-shaped rock over her grave in the field. He buried her under a huge pine tree. He took me to it later that month. 
This feeling of love and content, this unbreakable bond, this is the safest place on earth. 





29. When you finally arrived, it was nothing like you imagined....


I had pictured Timesqure to be the most beautiful place I would ever see. I though it'd be majestic, and breathtaking. It'd be bright in flashing technicolor. 
When I arrived there that day, I was taken aback firstly by the smell. 
It smelt of  hot garbage and body odor. 
Secondly, I was taken aback by how uncomfortably crowded it was. It was far too crowded for my liking. There were homeless people digging in trashcans, and people were yelling profanities. 
Maybe I watch too much Sex and the City, but I had always pictured New York as a glamorous, colorful, fascinating place. When I actually got there, it was dirty and crowded. It was smelly and smoggy. 
I looked back at my Mom, who was buying 'I <3 NY' sweatshirts and T-shirts from a vendor. 
"Do you think Dad would like the black or the white better?" She asked. 
"The black." I said, nodding, trying not to hide my disappointment. 
I also visited Timesquare at night, and it was significantly more enjoyable then. Against the starless sky, the bright moving billboards looked fantastical. It was nothing I could ever see at home. 
The next day, I visited Central Park. 
To my surprise, Central Park was nice. The trees were lush and green, the pathways were generally litterless. The water, however, was an unhealthy color of brown and green. I could tell by looking at it that one swim would give me a terrible infection of some kind. 
I hailed a cab on a busy street in New York; which is harder then you would think. It takes more guts then I have to jump out into that busy street, throw my arm out and yell. 
Overall, I thought that visiting New York City for the first time was an interesting experience. Initially, I was disappointed, but I'm really not sure why. 
I went to the largest city in our country. What did I expect? Clear air like you'd get here in Maine? Tall pine trees? I got what I was gunna get. 

Week Five Theme (sorry it's a little late!)

(names have been changed) 

When I moved to the Bangor area from home over a year ago, my sister set me up with a job at a place called Catch A Falling Star. I knew that this place was a childcare center for children who had behavioral problems. This place was in a group setting, but each child worked one-on-one with a specific worker.
I had no idea then how much I'd love it.
I thought it was just a gig. Something better then a retail job. But I honestly had no experience working with kids, nonetheless ones who had behavioral problems. My sister told me that most of them had Autism Spectrum Disorders. I was extremely nervous about this job.
Little did I know that it'd change my career path forevermore.
I can vividly remember my first day. A coworker first introduced me to a little boy named Andrew. Andrew said hello to me by touching my neck and mumbling. He had huge, blue-green eyes that were filled with emotions that I could tell were there, even if he couldn't share them.
I don't know if I'll ever forget that first meeting.
Before working here, I really didn't know much about Autism. I assumed that it was a mental health disorder, like mental retardation or down syndrome. I was wildly incorrect. I learned quickly that most people who have Autism are just as intelligent as a "normal" person, if not more intelligent.
Now it's been over a year since I've been employed there, and I learn more and more every single day.
A normal day at Catch a Falling Star is probably an abnormal day for someone who isn't used to it.
From 8 in the morning to noon, I work with William. William is two years old, and he's quite literally all over the place. He's developmentally delayed and may never speak clearly like you or I can. He doesn't understand much (on top of already being very young). He can say 'yes' and 'no' but most everything else is sounds and pointing.
It's stressful, to say the least. When he's not running around knocking things over and touching things that he shouldn't, he is stealing toys from other kids and laughing. Some days it's extremely hard to not get overwhelmed.
Sam, a little boy with a mood disorder, has a rough day almost every day. This day was worse then usual. William just watched with is big blue eyes as Sam rolled around on the floor, screaming and biting himself. When the smallest things went wrong, Sam responded violently. Sometimes he would kick or bite the woman who worked one-on-one with him, but usually he would bite himself on the arm or the hand. His mood was like a light switch. One minute, he'd be happy, and the next minute, he'd be acting like this.
William and I played with some age-appropriate puzzles in the next room and gave Sam his space.
 This happened every morning.
Throughout the four hours that I'm with William, he usually participates in group activities with the other kids. They will watch educational videos, do arts and crafts and work on their alphabet and numbers. In the morning, Catch a Falling star is a developmental preschool for children like William who have fallen behind in some way.
In the afternoon, I work with a boy named Nathan. Nathan is seven and has Asperger's Syndrome, anxiety and ADHD. He has low self-esteem and a horrible temper. He's also one of the smartest children I've ever met. He's like a sponge. He retains an unbelievable amount of knowledge for someone who is 7.
The afternoon program is for older kids after school.
Andrew, the little boy that I first met working there, still attends in the afternoon. Of all the children, he has one of the worst cases of Autism. He is almost 12 and can speak in full sentences now, but with help. Even though his communication is so delayed, he's still very smart and full of personality. Just last week, the keys to the medicine cabinet went missing. A couple days later, Andrew's mother brought them in. She said that they look exactly like the keys to his 4-wheeler at home, so he must've taken them from here thinking that they went to his 4-wheeler. There is one room that he's not allowed into at home, and one day he found a tiny screwdriver. His mom came up the stairs to find him with all but one screw off of the door.
These children are full of energy and spunk, and are much different then the 2-4 year olds that attend the morning program. These kids are more oppositional, more rebellious, and there is never a dull moment.
When I walked into work for the afternoon yesterday, Andrew was in the thinking time chair (or time out) for throwing wood chips out in the play space.
In the small playground outside, the kids were running around playing firemen. They were saving each other from the pretend fire that had apparently engulfed the tree house.
For me, there is nothing better then just observing those kids play. So much creativity and laughter. They could argue for ten minutes and five minutes later, they'd be best friends again.
At this childcare center, there are about 20 children who attend, and they're all boys. Which is interesting, because most of them have Autism, and boys are diagnosed with Autism about 25 times more then girls are. And there are so many different forms of Autism, that a child like Nathan has it, and a child like Andrew has it. Nathan is extremely verbal whereas Andrew can barely form a sentence on his own.
These children are what is keeping me at this job for so long. Where I'm a certified BHP (Behavioral Health Professional), I could get a job where I'm payed up to 19 dollars an hour. I'm getting paid 10 dollars an hour for a high-stress and high-demands job like this. But I can't imagine leaving those kids. Both Nathan and William have made such great strides while working with me that I can't imagine leaving now.
At first, I didn't enjoy this job at all. Now, I can't imagine my life without it.
For the longest time, I had wanted to be a writer. I still want to write, but my main plan is to work with children. Specifically children with special needs. It's the most rewarding thing I think I could ever do. Most of these kids come from poor homes and most of them have histories with profound stories of disappointment. Many were abused, many were neglected, many were left by at least one of their biological parents. A crazy amount of them have parents who come in smelling like marijuana and looking like slobs.
Some days, some of the kids will get upset and say that they hate Catch A Falling Star. But I've learned that kids say things that they don't mean when they're upset. When I see them screeching with laughter out in that playspace, enjoying each other as if they were born with no problems at all, I remember why they're here. I never forget how large of a role I play in their lives, and that gives me all the motivation in the world.