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I'm sitting at the ball park sipping Mountain Dew and Sprite--
In hopes the ball game of my son will somehow turn out right.
We brought his "best Bud" with us. We take him when we go.
His mom was killed just three months past--car accident in snow.
Well, as I sat here thinkin' 'bout my life--the greatest joys.
I note how it's ironical, I'm always with the boys.
I grew up in a neighborhood, a western Utah town.
In every house upon my street one'ner more boys were found.
And on the street adjacent, the same thing did unfurl--
For much to my unplanned delight, I was the only girl.
So what the boys did, I did. Most often good--some bad.
But always that I was a girl made me feel very glad.
I somehow gained their honor, a favorite trusted friend.
No matter what the boys did--a helping hand I'd lend.
We hitched cars on the icy roads--stole guns from somone's farm.
Sometimes a contest proved just who wet highest on the barn.
At graduation I'm ashamed I hid their booze, by heck.
Then stayed on hand to drive them home, so no one would suspect.
And through it all they treated me like genuine fine pearl.
None dare defile me--after all, I was the gangs "sweet girl."
College didn't change my life. P.E. became my feat.
So who were all my classes with...the college athletes.
I practiced dance with Cornell Green of Green Bay Packers fame.
And Merlin Olsen hurt my toes dancing much the same.
I taught next in Seattle--scuba diving in the sea.
Members: Boeing Sea Horses--27 men and me.
And then I married, had a son, so where next did I go?
T Ball--Little League--Babe Ruth. The places boys can grow.
I had three girls in between--then one more precious boy.
My girls turned out to like the things their brothers both enjoy.
By now I'm well along in years, not much surprises me.
The bishops calls me in and asks--"Scouts...new responsibility?"
I swallowed hard and told him "Yes". I took it in my stride.
And find that more than every now, the boys in me confide.
And then I chose to work again. Eagle Rock's assigned to me.
And when I get there, it's the same. The men, the boys--and me.
There's Conitz, Hunter, Schooler--chorus, orchestra, and band.
There's Hillman and there's Schroader, the craft and artists hand.
My first year's Checks, Cambodians--all boys, both short and tall.
The second--WOW! FOUR GIRLS!--and 14 boys in all.
This second group is quite unique. Boss says, "Please be real cool.
The problem with this cultural group's, we can't keep them in school.
They're awfully tough and think to quit is perfectly all right.
Or they're so low, they start to sluff, or end up in a fight."
"We're hoping for a miracle to hold at least a few,
So get these attitudes in line is what you have to do."
Well boys most oft relate to me, and so with hidden fear,
I devise a clever plan to work throughout the year.
I opened up a music room, and that meant Hunter's desk.
'Twill give a place for social life. (For Dave 'twill be a test!)
I'll never speak their native tongue. They never will suspect.
From their own mouths comes what I learn. Their problems I'll detect.
And while they visit socially, unfinished work I'll see.
Together sharing paper tasks--grades should come up with glee.
The small but sound-proof practice room between the choir and band,
Gave this small group of toughies a place they could command.
The men, the boys, the sound-proof room, the double desks and me.
Sometimes a Sousa March or two mixed with the Women's Glee.
The time turned out to offer trials with ev'n a murdered peer.
A second teacher took his life in Eagle Rock that year.
And then there was the day the call said, "Oops! My locker jammed.
I had a snake inside it, so could you give me a hand.
I know to bring a snake inside..it wasn't very cool.
But if you can't remove if first, I'll be removed from school."
Our progress moved forth slowly, though I did things quite unique.
Sometimes I even left the room to drag them from the street.
But F's soon seemed like history. D's did become quite rare.
Attitudes were changing, and fights...they wouldn't dare!
The patience of my office mate, caused him to flinched with pain.
But bless his heart, not even once I heard his mouth complain.
I must admit, occasionally, his desk had held spilled pop.
And once a half-eat tuna, my students must have dropped.
And yet the year flew rapidly. Their music lifted souls.
With men on every side off me, they helped me with my goal.
My "tough guys" image softened, the weapon's were in my range.
And then one day, things weren't the same. The music teachers change.
I couldn't help but feel the loss. Shock that one so fine--
Would let desires in personal things, his life with sin entwine.
I couldn't help but give some thought to what an awful waste
Is put onto a human being by giving in to haste.
When haste becomes the habit, passions're uncontrolled.
Then sin becomes the master, and the master's very bold.
And then one day quite near the end another thing so grim.
My officemate bids me farewell. His problem's following him.
But as he talked to me today, a look came to his eye.
A lonely disappointed look that made me want to cry.
I saw a sort of agony--disappointment and alarm,
That persons who had meant so much could vanish without charm.
He willed to change the setting--with a new place and time.
I saw no maladjustment. Self-esteem seemed really fine.
What we had build was memories, and sometimes it is best--
With what we learned and what we are, to start again afresh.
But oh, how much I wanted to flap my 'elder' tongue,
'Bout what a good world lies out there for one so very young.
There're many friendly souls around with warm and tender youth.
Please find a soul who's willing to give new love a birth.
God gave his plan to partners, a true celestial joy.
I guess that's why I've always loved to be a round a boy.
But I must add one caution to one who hurts with pain.
Don't throw up wall reflectors afraid to try again.
Sometimes it's quite unconscious that prejudice in there.
But it affects the new friends, and those who want to care.
In my case being second, I know just how that feels.
You must forgive the first one, before true love reveals.
Well, game time's almost over. We have the leading score.
My boy has been the catcher. His run-in number four.
My pen must soon quit wandering, but as I do reflect.
I wonder 'bout the next year. Who knows what to expect.
I'll keep my low-key profile. My salary is the same.
But still there's satisfaction in the way I play life's game.
The boss said one male student came today fresh from Japan.
I guess again I'll work as usually helping him to 'come a man.
And if I have a last word for who've crossed paths with me,
I reminisce with reverence and with sensitivity.
Musicians are quite special. Fine teachers are so, too.
When both are found together. We have a precious few.
I'm glad for the acquaintances, the brief talks that we dared.
I'm grateful for patience in the room that we were forced to both share.
I'm glad my group of toughies academically conquered fear.
I hope I handled wisely all the challenges of this year,
And as I think of all these boys and problems they incur.
I'm more than ever grateful that I am a simple girl.
My "Sprite" and "Dew" are gone now. There goes the final score.
I'll put my pen back in my purse and close mind's ramblin door.
Note: I named this writing "Ramblin' Door" because it was written at a time when my mind was jumping into and out of thought in a very disorderly manner, yet with a central theme. The thoughts were scrawled on some paper scrapes while I sat in my car watching my son's ballgame. I seemed focused on the mood of my son's "Best Bud" who was having a very tough time dealing with his mother's death. I took this friend often to activities or into my home, but it never seemed to be enough. My mind noted and rambled that I seemed to have always been surrounded by boys or men--both troubled and untroubled. The people surrounding me at my present work place were young enough to be my oldest children--and all male. When assigned to be a migrant tutor at the Junior High School, two desks were placed in one of the practice rooms located between the chorus room and the band room. My students were allowed to hang-out in this room to keep them out of the halls as much as possible. I had been assigned a dozen of the most unpredictable and vulnerable boys in the history of the migrant program. No one seemed to know which way they would go because the odds were not in their favor. Shortly before I came to the ballgame, I participated in a conversation with my male officemate about the nasty divorce he was going through and the problems within the school itself. Our school had more than its share of serious problems that year. One of the favorite school teachers and a close friend and champion to the migrant students had been brutally kidnapped, abused, and murdered. A second teacher had taken his own life by overdose over the Christmas holidays. A third had become sexually involved with a high school boy and was sent to prison, a fourth was showing signs of a nervous breakdown, and my officemate was losing his children through the divorce. Sadness was everywhere. As I watched my young son and his friend play ball, the echoes of this sadness kept jumping into my mind which stirred thoughts of my personal conviction, belief, and response. As I scribbled these thoughts on paper scrapes, I wondered what it was I was sensing. Now, eight years later, three of the boys I worked with are serving prison terms--two drug dealing, one rape. Four graduated from high school and are happily married with children. Five others are single working citizens of the community. One I have lost track of. The teacher showing signs of a nervous breakdown took his own life two years later. Saddest of all, my son's friend ended his life March 27, 1991.