On a
September morning in 1973, a group of San Diego children
began their journey on a very special first day
of school. The vast majority were minority children from
the inner-city as participants in a new voluntary
integration program to provide them with a chance for a
better education. I say voluntary because it was not
a government mandated program. The information was given
to parents and they were asked to discuss it with their
children and enroll them if it was something in which
they wanted to be involved. But I was living in my
mom’s home. She felt I would get a better
education than what I could receive in the then decaying
inner-city schools. So, I was enrolled. The
debate ended before I was allowed to render my argument.
And on
that September morning, our wonderful bright yellow
bus made its way through the streets and on the freeways
of San Diego to our new school:
John J. Pershing Middle School. Our wide eyes stared out of the
windows as our familiar surroundings changed.
To say
that first year was filled with tension would be
an enormous understatement. Not only were mean and
hateful words exchanged, but fights broke out
constantly. One broke out when one white kid spit on a
black one. During the year, a so-called mini-riot broke
out. The police were brought into the situation because
it was reported a firearm was discovered in one of the
student lockers. This situation had to be squelched
immediately or this “experiment” would have ended
very soon.
Then something happened to me that on the
surfaced looked like the most devastating event
in my life. Some test I had taken showed that I
had a reading deficiency. That meant I had to be
placed in a remedial reading class. I was
crushed. Now it wasn’t just the bigots who were
judging me as “inferior.” Now, the education
system made its decision. I can remember that first day
trying unsuccessfully to fight back the tears as I
walked through the door.
Then,
she appeared. My 7th grade remedial reading
teacher:
Ms. Davila. That is when this
devastating moment became the most important
moment in my life. She not only gently and
patiently guided me through the process of improving
my reading, but she learned something about me that I
didn’t know. She discovered I could write.
Imagine a kid from the inner-city who had a reading
deficiency being able to write.
Once
she learned this, she gave me an assignment to write one
new essay each week. I loved it so much, I wrote
three or more. My life’s passion was revealed to me
and it has stayed with me to this day.
But it
did so much more. It gave me a reason to believe I was
worth something. That I had something to offer this
world. And what was the most excruciatingly painful
experience become so different. The 50 minutes in that
class was my escape from the turmoil of the outside
world. And when the bell rang and it was time to leave,
I really hated to do it! Often, I was late to my next
class because I wanted to discuss my next essay idea
with
Ms. Davila.
And
there was a hidden treasure in this experience. I cannot
remember any of my teachers being anything but
professional and kind under what must have been a
pressure-cooker for them. But Ms. Davila became the
catalyst for coming to the correct conclusion about what
was going on outside the classroom.
Not
all white people will hate me. Not all white people are
evil or bad. Some are nice. Some are really nice. Some
are willing to help me if I am willing to put in the
work.
I just
had to learn to find the good people of all colors and
kick the twigs to curb.
And
Ms. Davila was more than just nice. I’ve had several
teachers who have shaped my life in a positive way, but
Ms. Davila was definitely the most inspiring. She
is the main reason I’m a writer today and that
will always make her one of the most important people
in my life.
Something else special happened that first year. One
day, I came home from school and found a wonderful
surprise sitting on the desk in my bedroom. My mom and Moma
(her mother), who was an avid garage sale sleuth, found
a second-hand Remington manual typewriter. I now
had an instrument to craft my ideas. I even took typing
class the following year.
My life
has taken quite a few turns:
-
I
spent four years in the US Air Force, most of it in Germany
-
I had 20 years in the real estate/mortgage business
-
I
had a
near-death experience that almost ended my dream
-
I've had stories published in
numerous popular books and periodicals
-
I've had stories published in 4 books
in the best-selling
Chicken Soup for the Soul series
-
I was the featured speaker at the
National Association of Professionals Mortgage Women
(Victorville chapter)
-
I
was a featured author for numerous book signings for
a major US book chain
Today...I can say with great pride...I am a
published
author! I’m not only proud, but so grateful. I
worked hard to achieve my goals, but how many
people work hard and don’t accomplish their
dreams? I’m very grateful for what I have
received and I believe the best is yet to come!
Currently, I live in the town of Bensheim, Germany.
I’m on a personal journey of rediscovery as I edit my
first novel and outline two others.
I’m in a
different location, but I’m the same
writer. |
