That 1967 Freshman Class Christmas Party Nov 19 '00    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet PROLOGUE: Saturday evening, I was doing one of my favorite things:  Hanging around the 29th_Section of Epinions.com to see what was new and different there in the way of comments. (I don't suppose any of you are too surprised that I'm also informed by e-mail when the same has said something profound--or said something, period--in other areas of our unique village. C'mon! Admit it! I'm certain that at least a few others are guilty of indulging in the same pleasure!). Anyway, I happened to come across a meanspirited comment to him that was very inappropriately-placed. The person who had made that comment was one I'd taken a liking to after she had said some nice things about my own writings. I would soon find out a couple of things from her in regards to Jim: (1) She had felt put down by him in the past; and (2) Seeing different things I'd written about him had made her take a closer look at him. She told me in an e-mail that she wasn't up to really liking the guy yet, but, after reading what I wrote, at least no longer hated him. Well! That's a start, anyway! But the comment she'd left for him was made before she had read what I had to say about him. So I guess, in some small way, I've made a positive difference. I became a part of this village in late June of this year, and I've found it, for the most part, to be a friendly, peaceful place to reside. However, I've also seen cases of friction that have gotten so severe that it's like witnessing a shoot 'em up between the Hatfields and McCoys. The first time I experienced this side of Epinions.com was when I was reading the works of an Epinionator who had become a favorite of mine. I noticed that there was this other person who seemed to be stalking him for the purpose of putting him down and NRing him. He was giving it right back to this person--which, at the time, I thought he had the right to do. After all, why cower in a corner when somebody is attacking you!?! I was pretty curious about just what kind of person the other guy was and decided to check out his section. I was expecting to find somebody who wrote 100-word Epinions consisting of a repeated two-word sentence (e.g. "It rocks!"). And I expected to see a profile picture of a spaced-out-looking person whose About Me section would express a wish to win the lottery so he'd never have to work again and could spend the rest of his life getting drunk. Instead, I found a guy who was totally with it and who looked like the wholesome family man that he was. His Epinions were also top-notch. In the comment section, I found digs at him by the first writer--who also was habitually NRing what he wrote. I couldn't believe it! Two perfectly-good people who could have become good friends were wasting so much of their energy putting each other down! I tried to point that out to them. Although they were both very nice to me in regards to this, neither was ready to back down for the other one. Since that time, I've seen other examples of this here and there. Maybe because it's getting close to Christmas--not to mention that the story I'm about to share with you is one close-to-my-heart at ANY time of the year--I started thinking of something special that happened to me in 1967 as I read the hurtful exchange between Jim and this other person while remembering what this other person had recently told me about how reading what I wrote about Jim had made her like him at least a little better. To be a peacemaker and a promoter of good feelings is, in my opinion, an important part of developing an Epinions Personality. I'll be the first to admit that I haven't been perfect at this either, but I try. You'll notice on my profile page that I've listed It's A Wonderful Life in my "Love It" column--but I haven't yet reviewed it. I'll be reviewing it very soon. Part of what I'm writing here today, has made this movie seem extra-precious to me. Each life DOES touch other lives and leave important impressions, some good and some not so good. Today, I want to express my thanks to a high school guidance counselor named Joe Jackson for making a wonderful difference in my life by helping me to see Diana in a new light. That's right! Diana. Michelleweaver's mother, and a treasured friend I've mentioned so many times in both Epinions and comments. Mr. Jackson--if you happen to read this--I just wanted you to know that you should join our village, because you've proven to me that you have a great Epinions Personality! There will be no epilogue to follow this story, because I believe that the story will speak for itself. So, before beginning this story, I just want to say one more thing to anyone out there who might be tempted to try my pencil trick at home or anywhere else: Please Don't! It Wasn't One Of My Best Moments! Now, on with the story. . . When I began my freshman year at Markleville High School (Note: For those who thought I went to Pendleton Heights High School, I did. But it wasn't built until my junior year, so Markleville H.S. and Pendleton H.S. hadn't yet consolidated to form it) back in 1967, the World Series was still being played and broadcast during the day. It was playing on the TV in study hall. Now, it was time for phys.ed. class, and we were told not to bother to dress for gym, because, for the next few days, we would be watching the World Series instead. Fine by me! This was a nice thing for all of us to do together--and certainly beat having to deal with the frequent arguments between my phys-ed. teacher and myself re: why I couldn't do this or that activity. In order to be excused from activities, they had to be listed on a doctor's excuse. Because our family doctor was hesitant to excuse me from phys.ed. class entirely--saying that he believed exercise was healthy--he asked for specific ones that we might be doing that wouldn't be good for my trick-knee and listed those: cartwheels and jumping on the trampoline. With the other ones--e.g. touch football--that neither my doctor nor I thought to mention, there was always friction between my teacher and me. It was like I would tell her that I wouldn't be able to do such-and-such--to which she would tell me that such-and-such wasn't listed on my doctor's excuse. To which I would tell her that I didn't need any doctor's excuse to know that such-and-such wouldn't be good for my knee. To which she told me that, if I didn't do such-and-such, she would have to take points off. To which I told her that it was more important for me to have my knee stay in place than to worry about whether or not I'd be having points taken off. Thankfully, she'd let it go at that (taking off points, of course). Now, for the next few days, I'd be spared going through this. Watching the World Series seemed like an easy-enough "assignment"--Was I ever wrong! Let me describe what watching the World Series was like, phys.ed.-class-style! We were all seated in one area of the bleachers and so close together that we were like sardines. The TV that we would be watching was one of those Japanese types that a chihuahua could stand beside whenever he wanted to pretend he was a great dane. The teacher gave each of us a pencil and a piece of paper with a grid pattern on it. When she told us what she wanted us to do with this pencil and paper, it made every dream I had of being a bleachers potato go POOF! We were to record the various happenings (e.g. getting to this or that base, making a home run) by drawing various symbols that looked like Chinese characters into these teensy-weensy grid spaces. If she didn't actually have symbols to mark down for spitting, scratching, and cutting the cheese, she came pretty close. I was doing my best to try to keep up with this hectic activity--and was unaware that I was shooting a beaver until the teacher glared at me and told me to close my legs and sit like a lady. For those of you who also have "thunder thighs," you know that this isn't the easiest thing to do at times. But I tried. From behind me came a voice that whined in keeping with the irritation of its owner: "Would you quit crowding me!?!" The voice belonged to Diana! What a piece-of-work she was! I had gone from first through eighth grades at Fall Creek Heights Elementary. Diana had done her first eight grades at Markleville Elementary, because she lived in the district. Therefore, we had only recently become fulltime classmates. However, I'd known her from 4-H, and I wasn't impressed. She struck me as a snob who thought she was better than everyone else because some of her projects had gone all the way to the State Fair. And she had this condition called epilepsy. I didn't know what epilepsy was, but I'd been told by another 4-H member and her mother that Diana was always passing out--supposedly from an epileptic attack--whenever it was time to take a test: thus giving her the advantage of another day or two to study for it. This didn't surprise me at all somehow. It all fit the picture of the impression I'd developed of her. In my mind's eye, I saw tests being passed out and Diana throwing a Southern-Belle-Style faint and getting coddled. In time, I would find out that epilepsy was much more than that. Over the years, I would see Diana have several seizures of the grand-mal type--one of them causing her to bite her tongue so hard that it turned a blackish-purple color while doubling in size. It took two strong men--her husband and Mark--to spread her mouth open enough to release her tongue before she bit it off. Even though I thought she was being unnecessarily whiny, I changed my position to try to make Diana more comfortable. "Would you puhl-EEZE put your legs together and quit exposing yourself!?!" I attempted to obey the pompously-booming command from the teacher--only to be whined at from behind again. Attempts to make Diana more comfortable resulted in having the teacher come just short of calling me a loose woman. Back and forth it went a few more times, and I was quickly getting enough and lost my temper. "I've had enough of your whining!" I hissed at Diana while jabbing her in the leg with my pencil. "So just shut up!" It's a miracle I didn't break her skin, though my pencil point definitely left an impression. As I look back on this incident, I realize that it was also a wonder that I didn't get drafted into a meeting with the "board of education" to where I wouldn't be able to sit down, ladylike or otherwise, for a month! And so it went. Like the time that Diana came to home.ec. class upset about something (nothing major like death or illness but just something frustrating--which I can't remember what it was now). "Oh. . ." she whined. "Oh. . ." I mimicked her while snickering with some of my friends at the table were were seated at. "Oh. . ." she whined again. "Oh. . .What's the matter NOW?" My friends and I were snickering in a big way and rolling our eyes. Diana mentioned what was upsetting her, and I mimicked her again. The other girls and I were having a heyday by now--until our teacher told us all to be quiet because it was time to start class. Then, it came time to plan for our class Christmas party--and that was when Mr. Jackson decided to appoint Diana and me to serve as the refreshment committee. Deep down, I was happy about this, because it would give us a chance to know each other better. I didn't really like being at odds with Diana and thought this just might give us the chance to become friends--and I was right! By the night of the Christmas party, we had become really chummy. The first part of the party involved a bus trip to the skating rink in Maxwell. Diana and I sat together giggling whenever we crossed a bridge or railroad track, because we were supposed to lift our feet off the floor so we could keep our boyfriends. We really didn't believe that superstition. It was just something fun to do. We remained close at the rink. Diana wasn't that great of a skater and didn't get out on the main floor. Because of my knee, skating was out-of-the-question for me. So she did a little skating in a little area off to the side while I stayed close-by to catch her whenever she was about to fall. On the bus ride back to the school, we sat together again--still raising our feet off the floor for railroad tracks and bridges. And a new form of "entertainment" had been added to our lives. One of our male classmates was seated across from us (we were in the seats at the very back of the bus) and he was intentionally producing SBDs and fanning the odor our way. We were giggling and waving our hands in front of our faces. Then, it was time to serve the refreshments we'd prepared earlier. This was just the beginning of a beautiful friendship that has lasted to this day. Diana and I don't always find the time to pal around as frequently as we used to, but, when we get together, it's like we never were apart. In the summer of 1985, Diana had brain surgery, freeing her from the frequent seizures that she'd experienced since the age of four (seizures that not even all of her medication could completely control). She and I were amazed to find out that all of her trouble had been caused by a defective bit of brain tissue no bigger than a fingernail! She remained totally seizure-free for many years after that and was able to do things she'd once only wished she could, among them being able to drive a car and hold down a fulltime job (along with her already-established career as an SAHM). A few years ago, concern over some problems in the lives of a couple of her kids caused her to have some episodic seizures--but those were taken care of by medication, and she still drives and works at the local hospital. I'm thankful to have been used to bring this about. Many of you already know the story but, for those who don't, I was in class back in 1980 and heard a presentation given by a classmate who had developed petit-mal epilepsy after being hit in the head with a baseball at the age of eight. Seven years before this day in class, he had been operated on in Canada and hadn't had any problems since. When he opened the floor for questions, I asked him if this operation would work in the case of people with grand-mal epilepsy. He told me that it was only being used for cases of petit-mal epilepsy at the time he had it--but, he added, "It HAS been seven years, so I imagine that, by now, it very well could be!" I could hardly wait to get out of class and get in touch with Diana! She asked her neurologist about it the next time she had an appointment, and he told her that he'd never heard of such an operation--but it would be worth looking into. It wasn't long before the doctor called her with some very good news: The operation had been successfully used with grand-mal epileptics; it would be coming to the United States before long; and he had put her on a waiting list so that she would be among the first to receive it! After her operation, several epileptics were instructed to call her while trying to make a decision about whether or not to have the surgery. She advised them to go for it--and they did, with great results! While I was recovering from my knee-related mishap back in 1989 (read Sleepless In Anderson, Indiana for details), Diana and I happened to be talking on the phone. "You know," she told me, "at one time, I thought that you were just making it up about having a trick-knee to get out of doing things in phys.ed. you weren't good at." "And I thought you were just pretending to have seizures to get out of taking tests," I replied. I never realized back then what all she had to go through--not just the seizures but, also, the teasing of kids who didn't understand her condition. For this reason, she had developed this "I'm so cool!" side to her personality that I'd mistaken for being full of herself. What a lot I would have missed out on if not for a very perceptive guidance counselor named Joe Jackson!

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