When Dad Didn't Get What He Wanted

             September 19^th, 1953. Dad helped Mom into their old jalopy. Then he popped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, shifted into drive, hit the gas pedal, and tore down the road. He was a man on a mission!

            You see, Mom was in labor.

            Four+ years earlier, Tom and Ruth welcomed their firstborn. A daughter—the apple of Dad’s eye. His song for her? “Daddy’s Little Girl.”*

            With their daughter being cared for, they were on their way to have a son, Thomas Archer Burns, Jr. After all, Dad’s married siblings all had either a son and a daughter or two sons, so Mom would certainly bring forth a boy-child.

            It only seemed right in this era: 1) Have a son to carry on the family name. 2) “Call it quits” after two children.

            Labor was longer this time for some reason (that’s another story), but eventually a nurse came with the long-awaited news.

            “Mr. Burns, congratulations! You have a daughter!”

            A what? Wait! This can’t be right. We already have one of those.

            Dad didn’t get what he wanted that day. Instead, he got me.

 

           So, what did he do? Much to Mom’s surprise, he went out and bought a brand-new Chevy. Hey, if Dad couldn’t get what he wanted from the delivery room, at least he could from the show room—something to drive in style as he toted around his female entourage!

            But that car turned out to be a lemon.

            And me? Did he get two lemons that day? Maybe he thought so … for a short time anyway. But …

            Dad was our provider and protector. I never once doubted that he begrudged his role. And many years later I’d hear this ’n’ that about how glad he was he had girls and not troublesome boys. He’d seen too many of those.

            I was browsing through my baby book several decades ago. There wasn’t much in it, but I did notice an entry in Dad’s handwriting. “Gave Sarah Ann her first N-M-A.”

            “What’s N-M-A stand for?” I asked Mom.

            She laughed. “Your dad never was a very good speller. He gave you your first enema!’

            That put us in stitches! Then Mom became somber. I’m not sure why she told me the next part, but she did.

            “Your dad didn’t have much to do with you when you came home from the hospital. I worried a lot about that. It wasn’t until you were about three months old when he held you and prepared your bath. Then I knew it would be okay.”

            Maybe that should have soured me and made me go semi-nuts, needing years of counseling. But it didn’t. Why? Because I never truly felt unloved or unwanted.

            In fact, my earliest recollections are ones where Dad sat me on his shoulders and carried me around the grocery store while I clung to him for life—my arms wrapped tightly around his forehead. And he had silly names for me like Lulu and Mary.

            It may have taken Dad a while to get use to the idea he’d never have a son, but he did love his daughters. I’d even venture to say he was proud of how we turned out.

            That Chevy was a lemon, but not me!

            We don’t always get what we think we want, but God knows what He’s doing and gives what’s best. Dad learned that, and my sister and I did too—perhaps from his example because our dad taught us to trust the One Who chooses best for us because of His great love.

            Maybe you were born into a home where you weren’t loved or valued. Some of you may have been abandoned. You may find it hard to grasp that you’re a gift, not a lemon at all. Guess what! God says this: “When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.” Psalm 27:10

            … like Dad carried me on his shoulders or a shepherd, his lamb.

            So good news, you who may think you’re a “lemon!” You’re not! There’s God in His Heaven Who loves you with an everlasting love and made a way for you to inherit that everlasting extension of His Love.

            He sent Jesus, His treasured Son, to die on the cross for our sins, raised Him from the dead, and welcomed His resurrected Son back into Heaven to prepare an eternal Home for anyone who accepts Jesus as their Lord and Savior.

            There’s NO WAY Someone would do all that for you without loving you with all His Heart! You’re not a lemon. No way! No how! YOU are like the apple of God’s Eye!

            As for my dad and his Chevy? He got rid of that thing! But he didn’t get rid of me! So, happy birthday to me!

“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday, ‘Lulu Mary!’ Happy birthday to you!”**

 

#happy birthday #1953Chevy #lemon #girldad #Psalm27:10 #valued #Godslove

 

Photo by Ryan Fincher, used with permission.

*Robert Harrison Burke, 1949.

**Now public domain.

The Teacher Who Made a Difference

            With the exception of kindergarten, up until the fifth grade my teachers failed to understand learning disabled students. Okay. I give them a pass in that, during the 1950s and ’60s, there wasn’t much “out there” about this topic.

            I was one of those kids who just didn’t learn like everyone else. If there was a sound in the room, I was off task immediately. I processed information slower than most other students. Oh, there were one or two others who the cruel kids called “retarded.” (I didn’t endure that until a few years later.) I couldn’t read well nor remember how to spell words, and I constantly mixed up the letters “B” and “D,” the words “was” and “saw”—things like that.

            In fourth grade I was tested by a speech teacher. I’m not sure why, but that’s who did the testing. I don’t know if this was initiated by my teacher, my parents, or both. Maybe they thought I had a hearing loss to go along with my severe nearsightedness. And I was told I would be repeating the fourth grade.

            I was totally dissolved with this news. My utter distress caused my teacher to send me on to fifth grade, ready or not. I wasn’t ready, but I only saw that in hindsight decades later.

            But then I was given a gift! Miss Oberlies! She was as beautiful a teacher as she was compassionate. And perceptive because, what other teachers missed, she caught onto. My encourager! My educational heroine! I did my best to earn her praise.

            I didn’t realize then, but Miss Oberlies used my strengths to overcome my weaknesses. She recognized mine were in music and art. I had school violin lessons, so that was taken care of. Thus, she pegged me for my art ability.

            Miss Oberlies may have grasped hold of this idea to help me from the apples I brought her. Yes, bringing the teacher an apple was still “a thing” then. I didn’t bring just any old apple. My apples were dressed in construction paper outfits fit for whatever season we were entering. Thus, my first fruity gift to her wore a Halloween costume.

            I also drew beautiful maps, ornately colored. I loved doing those!

            It wasn’t long after that, Miss Oberlies approached me. “Sarah Ann (what I was called then), the big bulletin board in the hallway needs something special for Thanksgiving. I think you would do a wonderful job. How about I ask the principal if you may do that?

            I was THRILLED! This wasn’t any old bulletin board like the smaller ones in our classroom. This was IT! I’d made the big time! There was a catch, though.

            Miss Oberlies continued. “You’ll need to try really hard to have your regular classroom work done to be able to do the hallway bulletin board. Do you think you can do that?

            “Sure!” I exclaimed, smiling ear-to-ear.

            I still stumbled through much of my work, and I still didn’t ace those grades, but what Miss Oberlies did was give me the encouragement to try and the gumption to give it all I had.

            Sometimes I stayed after school to finish (for other reasons too, which we won’t discuss here), but I earned the reward of doing that bulletin board! Some of my construction paper creations were even 3-D. Those Pilgrims and Indians (as we called them then) “popped!”

            My teacher didn’t cure my learning difficulties, even though she patiently worked with me to improve my reading, etc. But she didn’t degrade me publicly or privately as some other teachers had and would.

            A student who’s lifted up will likely do better (or at least try) than one who is shot down.

            Now is the time of year when students have entered classrooms. In the south, the school year’s already begun. In the north, you’re just getting started.

            Teachers, YOU make a difference! So do the rest of you who work in our schools, be they public or private. Bus drivers too! How you teach your students—and I don’t just mean the academics—through your demeanor and attitude toward them could make a life-changing difference in some.

            Miss Oberlies was my teacher such a long, long time ago. But I will never forget her. She saw potential in this awkward gal and pulled the positive from me instead of “slapping” me with the negative. I only wish I could thank her one more time.

            Did you have a teacher who made a difference in your life? If so, you, too, were given a gift. If those teachers are still living, maybe you could jot them a note. They’ll be grateful to know they impacted your life.

            For those who may be wondering how to determine your student’s/child’s strengths, may I introduce you to Dr. Kathy Koch’s book, 8 Great Smarts? Dr. Kathy shows ways to use those smarts (every child has one or more) to draw out the best in your students/children.

            Here’s the link to a neat, encouraging kids’ song, I Am a Promise by William & Gloria Gaither:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DQnJ-mxzZGI

 

#learningdisability #teachers #8greatsmarts #learningstyles #drkathykochphd