Radio Fame

I talked to Jay Capron on KXIC 800 am in Iowa City about Ezra and Hadassah: A Portrait of American Royalty. Our podcast recording is below. We had a great time and I made a new friend. Jay is a good guy and easy to talk to. And it was fun to spend time in a radio station again. I was a morning DJ on a AM station years ago. Good times, great memories.

Give Jay and I a listen while we talked about the book. You might hear something new. At the very least, you get to hear the local weather report and that is always interesting, especially when it isn't your problem to deal with.

http://www.kxic.com/media/podcast-your-town-yourtown/62314-your-town-iowa-city-author-24940373/

Super Star!

Hasassah (Heatherr), age 7

 

The photo above was taken in the months before my brother Ezra (Rex)  and I were adopted. The social worker who took this picture wanted to show me in my natural form. I assume it was shown to prospective adoptive parents, although the people who became our adoptive parents said they didn't see it. They chose my brother and I from school photos.

 

The things I love about this photo is that it shows so much that was meaningful to me. You can see my beloved waffle-stomper boots (the tread on the bottom made a waffle-imprint in the mud) that I wore constantly. I learned to tie my shoes on those red laces. The uppers were a soft blue leather suede, perfect for my top three favorite activities:

 

1. Tree climbing

2. Bike riding

3. Climbing the monkey bars on the school playground

 

When I was adopted, one of the first wars I fought with my new mother was over my waffle-stompers. She wanted me to wear new tennis shoes and I was determined to keep my boots. I wore them until I couldn't stuff my growing feet into them anymore. I begged for a replacement pair but my request was ignored. No adult in the foster home or my adopted home, could grasp the depth of my love of those boots. I have never been so attached to any piece of clothing since. RIP, blue suede waffle-stompers.

 

The pants I am wearing were my favorite Garanimal jeans. For those of you old enough to know, those were Giraffe jeans from the Granimal collection. I have no idea why I remember that, I just do. The other thing about this photo is that I am doing something I didn't do around adults of any kind. I let my shirt fall over my head, exposing my mid-section. My desire for the social worker to capture on film my amazing hanging-upside-down skills overrode my personal rule that I didn't voluntarily let adults see my body. People who have experienced childhood sexual abuse will understand.

 

The last thing to note about the photo is the sidewalk in the upper right hand corner. During the time the social worker was taking only my picture, all the kids watching the photo shoot had to stay out of the frame. They had been ordered off the sidewalk that ran next the yard I am in. I am proud of this picture because for the few minutes it took to get this, I also had the undivided attention of every kid on the block who was standing nearby. It was my first brush with fame, and I liked it.

Happy Graduation

Heather and Tom at her high school graduation

Heather, Stephanie and friends at Stephanie's (and Heather's) graduation party.

Stephanie's Parents

It's that time of year again, graduation season. I've seen adorable photos online of  preschoolers, kindergartners,  jr. high schoolers, and high schoolers all decked out in their caps and gowns. It is a momentous rite of passage in a young persons life. 

When I graduated high school, it should have been a big deal. It is a big deal for every student who manages to make it all the way through 12 years of formal education, especially in some of the rough and tough schools I attended on the west side of Phoenix, AZ. I knew things at our high school were bad when one of our security guards quit her job and went back to work in a New York school district because she said it was safer. We had security guards back in the mid-80's, years before it became standard in schools nation wide. The summer after I graduated, a 9- foot wrought iron fence was put up around the school and it became a "closed" campus, meaning everyone who came to the school had to enter through designated, manned gates and show proper ID. It was one step down from a juvenile detention center. I was glad I got out just in time. 

My graduation was a big deal to me on several fronts. First, it was the fulfillment of a promise I made to my beloved school librarian mentor, Mr. Gross. He made me commit to graduating from high school. At the time I agreed to his goal, in 8th grade, I had no idea how important our pact would be to me when the rough times of high school hit. I didn't want to let him down and that kept me motivated when nothing else did. Secondly, I showed my adoptive grandmother and mother that they were wrong. I didn't become a teenage pregnant dropout like they expected and I didn't become a drug addict, either. 

After our high school graduation ceremony was over, my best friend Stephanie invited me to her graduation party at her house. I was doubtful my adopted parents would let me go. For my parents, attending my high school graduation was a sacrifice.They hadn't attended anything at my school the four years I was there, so going to my graduation took a real effort on their part. My mother let me know how hard it was by complaining about the heat, having to sit in the bleachers, the crowds, the poor sound system, etc. They didn't have one kind thing to say about the graduation ceremony.

 I knew there was no celebration waiting for me at home, so I was stunned when my mother agreed to let me go to Stephanie's party. I suspect she caved to the peer pressure of Stephanie's parents assuring her that they really wanted me to attend. 

When I arrived at Stephanie's, I got the shock of my life. The graduation cake said Happy Graduation Stephanie and Heather. I almost burst into tears. They included me! Not only was that unexpected, I didn't even know I wanted to be acknowledged for my graduation. I was so used to being criticized and belittled at home, it didn't seem odd that my parents did nothing for my graduation. What would have been strange was if they had done something. 

When I blurted out something about how I couldn't believe Stephanie's parents put my name on the cake,  Stephanie's dad said, "Of course we put your name it. You are one of our kids, too. We wouldn't forget you." 

Then the tears came. I couldn't stop them. 

 Even now, as I type this 29 years after my graduation, I have tears in my eyes. My feelings of gratitude and love for Stephanie and her parents haven't dimmed one bit. 

If you have a new graduate in your life, make sure you give them a big hug for me.