Saturday Morning Television

Heather watching tv in foster home. Probably around 6 years old.

As you can tell from looking closely at the photo above, the foster home my brother and I lived in wasn't a place of plenty. The tv in the photo was the family television. All of us kids, foster and biological, jockeyed for position in front of it, with the weaker kids on the edges giving up and wandering off.  If you weren't right in front of it, there was wasn't much to see.

 

My brother Ezra adored television and would camp out in front of the set all day. There were no chairs or sofas in front of the tv to sit on. The screen was too small  and grainy to sit very far away and still make out shapes. TV in the early 1970's required a level of patience and skill that I don't think people have anymore. I am surprised the photo doesn't show the essential rabbit ear antenna that protruded out of the back of the tv set. The antenna must have broken off by the time this photo was taken.

 

 Ezra, being by far the most advanced tv watcher in the foster home, was the designated channel man. When a show ended, he was the person who jumped up and changed channels, then fiddled with the extended tin foil wrapped rabbit ears to bring in the picture as clearly as possible. For a child who barely functioned in school and didn't master tying his shoes until well after 4th grade, he had a gift for getting good tv reception. That family job doesn't exist anymore, replaced by remote controls and cable tv that doesn't require antenna.

 

When we were adopted, the upgrade in television was a shock. The Spencer's had a color tv more than three times the size of  the foster home's black and white model. Ezra was no longer in charge of the tv. In fact, we weren't allowed to touch the television. The adults controlled when it was on and what was watched. That was a hard transition for Ezra. He tried to prove his worth by adjusting their antenna, but all that did was make our new adoptive parents angry. They had a fancy antenna mounted on the roof that did the majority of the work involved in getting a clear picture. The days of fashioning intricate aluminum foil extensions to the tv antenna were over, along with all freedom to watch hours of educational children's programing and cartoons. Erza was a boy forced into early retirement against his will.

 

It was heartbreaking to see him stare longingly at the blank tv screen, knowing that if he dared to turn it on, he would get a whipping. He quickly learned tv wasn't worth the pain.

 

The thing my brother and I mourned the most after we were adopted was Saturday morning cartoons. In the foster home Ezra got up early and started watching tv at 5am, when the daily programing began with a picture of the American flag waving and the playing of God Bless America. After the patriotic ritual, there was guaranteed at least 5 hours of cartoons before American Bandstand and wild animal nature shows began. That stopped the day we arrived at the our new adoptive home. They didn't believe in Saturday morning cartoons. Cartoons were garbage. Silly, time-wasting shows designed to rot children's brains. There were inside and outside chores to do and no Tom and Jerry cartoon was going to prevent us from working.

 

The only solace I have about being almost completely cut off from the tv at age 7, is that being adopted drove me and my brother into books. I don't think either of us would have developed our love of reading as deeply as we did if we still had unlimited access to tv. Instead, I predict I would have become the female version of Rodger Ebert. I would be a tv critic who could site every episode of Gilligan's Island ad nauseum. I would probably author books about television and be called upon to give lectures about it's influence on American culture. I would be quoted regularly on news shows and my work would appear in graduate students dissertations.

 

Since none of that happened, I can only surmise my current life occupation is good enough for the universe's happiness. Besides, anyone who knows me well, knows that if I were a world famous tv critic, my ego would totally take over and I would be an insufferable person to have around. I am mature enough to see the wisdom in how things turned out.

 

I love books and they love me. Tv is cool, too.

 

 



Dearest Rob, On the Occasion of Our 27th Wedding Day Anniversary

Our wedding day May 1987

Family photo taken with the extended Bingham Clan

 

 

After posting a Facebook entry celebrating another year of our marriage with a wedding day photo juxtaposed with a current photo of us, I realized that other than telling our children the long, twisted story of our engagement and wedding day, and once or twice forcing it down friends ears, no one knows the story of how we ended up together.

 

 I tried to put our full story into the book, Ezra and Hadassah: A Portrait of American Royalty, but I was dissatisfied with every attempt. Our story was so long and convoluted it was like one of those kitschy Russian nesting dolls, where opening one wooden doll just leads to another, to another and another and soon the whole story turned into another book far off course from the starting point. I decided to be brutal and cut us to the bare minimum, knowing full well we would need our own 250 pages bound in a separate cover and titled something like "Holy Cow, How Did This Ever Work Out?"

My plan is to make my next book the story of us and our family so we can finally agree on an official version of our romance, courtship and the day we became legally entangled together. I know we have some long-standing quibbles about how things went down between us, and I respect your right to a version that makes you seem better than you actually were. I also admit the possibility that my account portrays me as a long-suffering, patient girlfriend and fiancé of a conflicted man for much longer than we both know is within my physical capabilities.

 

Here are the facts that I think we both agree on:

 

1. You met me for the first time at a church dance, less than two weeks after you returned home from spending 18 months in the jungles of Mexico preaching the gospel to natives who had no problem with chickens and pigs running in and out of their mud plastered homes.

 

2. You took a vow with your buddies to not get married for a good long while. Basically, you formed a Woman-Hater's Club. As we all know from watching The Little Rascal's on tv, that meant you were doomed to fall in love. I was Darla, the girl you found irresistible and you were my Alfalfa, the boy who wasn't sure how to have both romance and the freedom of boyhood at the same time.

 

3. You proposed marriage during church, while we were singing the opening hymn, "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing." You hate that you did that.

 

4. During our six month engagement, you broke off our engagement three times. You kept saying, "I love you, but I don't know how I am going to manage school and marriage." Apparently, you knew intuitively I was going to be a full-time project.

 

5. Your mother is the reason we got married. She told you to quit jerking me around and either marry me or pay my way back into school so I could get on with my life. You did the math and figured out it would be cheaper to marry me.

 

6. We had a huge fight the night before our wedding, ending with me saying, "Fine. If you don't like it, don't marry me." I have always had a flair for the dramatic.

 

7. You were an hour and 1/2 late for our wedding. I knew you took my final words the night before to heart and you weren't coming.

 

8. When you did show up, I could have kissed you and killed you at the same time.

 

9. When our wedding guests were separated in the temple and no one knew where everyone was in the building, the frustrated temple matrons almost forced us to get married without witnesses because we royally screwed up the schedule on the busiest wedding day of the year at the temple.

 

10. I got the world's longest, messiest bloody nose ever, seconds before we were supposed to get married.

 

11. I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion at the luncheon after our morning wedding. I think Stephanie has a photo of me passed out in a chair with my mouth hanging open, a sandwich dangling in mid-air from my clutched fist.

 

12. The air conditioning was broken at our evening reception at the church. It was over 90 degrees inside the building and everyone sweated to death. The icing melted off our wedding cake, thankfully after the pictures were taken.

 

13. Your friends put pebbles inside the hubcaps of your car and we spent our honeymoon listening to a horrible racket every time you drove under 40 miles an hour. It sounded like the engine was going to fall out.

 

14. The day we got married, we had $300 in our pockets, no jobs and one months worth of rent paid on a studio apartment.

 

15. We made it. Not just survived it, but in a stellar, both feet dug in the dirt, screaming wildly as we slide into home plate, we made it all the way.

 

I think that about sums up the outline of the next book. What do you think- do we have a best seller or what?

The Face of a Murderer

Harley Spencer II, Previously known as Eugene Columbaro  convicted of murdering Adam Clark. 

Adam Clark,  killed at age 6 1/2 years

It's time to get real. As in, sometimes there really are people in our lives who do the worst possible things.  It is terrible when the bad guys are in your life as a child because kids don't get to vote on who their parents choose spend time with.

I wrote about Eugene Columbaro in my book, explaining that my adopted sister and I testified at his first trial for his defense. That only happened because once again, as minors, no one asked us our vote on whether we thought he was a murderer or not. We were asked questions on the stand, we answered them. That is the way our justice system works.

Thankfully, the original detective involved in the case didn't let it go and 20 years later  he was able to find new evidence that proved Eugene did kill Adam.

To read more about this sad story, check out

a website created by Adam's older sister after his death.

http://www.angelfire.com/az/rememberadam/

For another perspective, Adam's mother wrote her own website at

http://www.fryedmarbles.comhttp://www.fryedmarbles.com

I have my own thoughts on this madness. Unfortunately, Eugene Colombaro was not the only person my adoptive parents had in our lives that did damage, some even closer to home than Adam's death.

 What I learned from growing up surrounded by seriously messed up adults, is that it is ok to have problems. It is fine to struggle and feel broken. That is part of the human condition. It is not ok to inflict your pain on others.

Adults first responsibility is to protect the children. Period.

Literary Inkings

This super popular book blogger, Casee Marie Clow, wrote a serious review about "Ezra and Hadassah: A Portrait of American Royalty" on her blog, literaryinklings.com

Tears. I read her review and I was bawling like a baby by the end, which is ridiculous because I Wrote the Dang Book! If anyone should be able to handle a review, it should be me. I just didn't expect such an in-depth, she got it, she really, really got it, kind of post.

You should read her review. It might make you cry in a happy, life-is-good sort of way, just like I did. And I don't know about you, but I always feel better after a good old-fashioned cry.

http://literaryinklings.com/2014/05/book-review-ezra-and-hadassah-by-heather-young/

Friends Make All the Difference



Left to Right: Me (who couldn't manage to keep quiet long enough to take this picture) Leslie, and Stephanie

Heather's high school graduation with Tom

I remember reading once that the biggest predictor if a kid was going to successful in life (measured by graduating high school, getting a job and being happy in relationships),  was if by the time the child was in 6th grade, they had a close friend who was a good influence.

 

Interesting.

 

It wasn't about standardized test scores, or having cool technology in the classroom, or even if there was a lot of homework. It was all about having a peer who liked them and made them feel good about themselves.

 

As you all know, I was very lucky in the friend department. First I had Leslie, who was my best girlfriend from 3rd grade until my adoptive family moved away at the end of my 6th grade year. We kept in contact through letters and the occasional cassette tape recordings even after I moved.

In 8th grade I met my next best friend, Stephanie, in Phys. Ed. class. We were in the same P. E. class again our freshman year of high school. Bouncing basketballs together kept our connection strong while we went through the trauma of transitioning from Jr. high school to Sr. high school. Usually that is the time when you dump all your "babyish" friends in hopes of making friends with the cool older kids. We stayed friends all through high school, which is a minor miracle.

 

Then there was Tom. I don't know if a boyfriend counts as a good influence/best friend, but in terms of helping me avoid the pitfalls of eating disorders, sexual promiscuity, addictions and feeling bad about my hair, he was aces. Every girl should be so lucky to have a boy who really was a friend.

 

So don't freak out about your kids grades (as long as they are reasonably performing) or if they don't do well on standardized tests. Instead, spend your energies encouraging your child to find that one special friend they can count on to help pull them through the rough days of adolescence. In my case, it took three close friends, my friend's parents, a wider circle of  a good kids, teachers and adult mentors to influence me to stay on the straight and narrow when it would have been so, so easy to jump ship into a pool of sharks.

 

I consider myself very lucky to have survived the trip.