Holes and Fires

I actually own the movie book cover.

I don't think most of my friends from college know why it's such a big deal that Holes is one of my favorite movies.  I mean, it's a funny movie, lots of people like it.  It completely makes sense someone my age would like it.  I read the book when my best friend sent it to me for my birthday or Christmas or something, and then my family bought the movie.

And I fell in the movie just as much, despite the changes that were made.  I was nearly fourteen when I watched it, and from the first viewing, I was convinced it was one of the best movies ever.

But there was a several month period when I couldn't bring myself to watch it.  I can't believe it's been seven years since that time period.  I mean, sometimes I forget that time happened.

When I was a junior in high school, I woke up one morning to find out someone had set my school on fire.  I mean, it wasn't really my school because I was being homeschooled in Japan six thousand miles away.  But it was the school where my friends went, where some of the best memories of my life were.  I had most recently attended it the school year before--my sophomore year.  That was a fun year.  Anyway, the good news--if there was any--was that the school didn't burn all the way thanks to the flame retardant carpet.  "Only" two rooms were burnt.

As the full story began to transpire, I don't think I can say I was surprised to find out who set the fire.  The hardest part for me was that one of the guys involved--the guy who actually set the fire--was the younger brother of a guy who I had a crush on.

I remember kneeling next to the heater a lot for most of that day, blinking back tears.  No words could express how I felt that day.  Everything just felt wrong.  I woke up three or four times during the night, unable to sleep for more than a couple hours.

And then, a week and four days later, I wrote the poem:

Nothing is right anymore.

Things shall never be the same.

And old era is gone.  A new is begun.

Much is the same, but some has changed.

Some is the same, but much has changed.

It all depends on who you are,

And how much you know.

I wish life could be good again

That I knew smiles would last.

But every day my mind reminds me

That things have changed forevermore.

But someday things may be right again

Although the scars remain.

Such hope can still last in this world

Although everything seems wrong.

True enough all things have changed,

And they shall never be the same,

But in eternity this just might be

A small trial preparing me.

Who knows what the larger trial shall be.

Only God can see that near or far.

But looking back I then shall see

That through it all, God was preparing me.

Yeah, not my best poetry looking back on it, but it expressed exactly how I felt that day.

Was it a few weeks or a couple months that passed?  I can't remember.  Anyway, of course, a couple of the guys got put in jail or something, including the younger brother of the guy I liked.  I don't remember a ton anymore.  I think I tried to forget at times.  It's still hard for me to talk about.

Well, one day, my other best friend came over to visit, and she wanted to watch Holes because she knew how much I loved it.  I eagerly put it in into my bedroom DVD player that night, excited to share one of my fictional worlds with someone else.  But then, part way through a movie about boys at a prison camp, I couldn't take it anymore.  I went downstairs to my mom in tears, triggered by watching one of the scenes where the guys were shoving each other around.  I got worried something like that would happen to the guy I knew.  Mom prayed with me,and we turned the movie off.

And it stayed off.  For months.  I would look at its case and wish I could watch it again.  I wanted that to happen.  I wanted to move on.  I wanted everything to be normal again, where I could watch Holes and just enjoy it for the movie it is.

And so, a few weeks after this guy was released, we watched Holes.  Before this happened, I read all the way through the book for the eighth time or so, and I made it just fine.  And that day, as we watched Holes, although it wasn't easy still, I made it--no tears.

Every single time I watch it, it gets easier.  After graduating college, I found the movie in the five dollar bin at Walmart and eagerly scooped it up, ecstatic to be able to pick up such a great movie for so cheap.

So where am I at compared to seven years ago?  Sometimes, I can make it through Holes just fine--not even thinking about the experience I went through.  Other times, like today, I go back.  But no more tears, no more fear.  Holes once again is one of my favorite films.  I can quote it with you like crazy and laugh or be emotionally touched by the story of Miss Katherine and Sam:

"Once upon a time, there was a magical place that never rained.  The End."

"But if you forget to come back for Madame Zeroni, your family will be cursed for always and eternity."

"If only if only the woodpecker sighs, the bark on the trees was as soft as the skies..."

"I don't smell anything!"

"I can fix that."

But sometimes, I'll still pull back a bit--there's certain parts that can be especially difficult still--but that's okay.  I'm okay.  I can't let something that didn't even directly involve me hold me down forever and keep me from enjoying what I love.  I'm going to keep moving forward, and although I will probably never forget how I felt during that time, I can't let it define me forever.

The Journey of a History Person

It all started because of Toy Story.  What an unlikely place to start a journey that culminated in me preferring to listen to men talk of tales of war than listen to women chat about normal, nice boring things other teenage girls would prefer.  But, yes, the story of this history person starts with Toy Story.

Like many families, my family got caught up in the Toy Story merchandise craze.  My little brother had Buzz, Woody, Rex, Slinky, Mr. Potato Head, etc. on down the line.  And I, desiring to be thorough, donated my Raggedy Andy doll to the mix because you need Andy if you're going to play Toy Story.  But something was missing:  Andy's little sister.

So I told my parents we needed Molly.  All I meant was we needed a doll I could name Molly, so we could have all the Toy Story characters.  In my six- or- seven-year-old mind, this was a logical request.  Next time we went to Toys R Us, we could get a Molly.

Instead, my mom came up with something better.  She reminded me how my friends (who were older than me) had American Girl dolls, and she somehow knew one of those dolls was named Molly.  I already had received a copy of Meet Samantha from a pen pal in America, so we did what one had to do back in the days of dial up connection and snail mail catalogs:  we tore out the order form and requested Pleasant Company to send us our catalog in the mail.

The day it came, and for many days and months afterward, I spent hours pouring over that catalog and the catalogs that followed.  But I always came back to Molly.  This was my dream doll.  My mom kept trying to redirect me to Kirsten because Kirsten looked like me.  But, no, I insisted I had to have Molly.  And all the books.  But for a doll, I needed Molly.

I saved up all my money for Christmas.  Every dollar that ever got sent to me, I turned right over to my parents saying it was for Molly.  Two dollars here, five dollars there.  I doubt I really raised most of the $80 it took to purchase her, but Christmas morning, I opened up my Molly doll--the most precious doll of my life.  And, furthermore, as I began reading through her books, I became slowly immersed in the era of World War II.

Granted, as I said, I'd already read Samantha.  But I didn't have a Samantha doll.  I had Molly.  So it is not Samantha's fault I was gradually sucked into the world of history.  It was Molly's.  World War II became the most important event in the history of ever, and as I read more American Girl books, things only got crazier as I began to ask questions like, "Is anyone still alive from the Civil War?"  (If people were still alive from World War II, then why couldn't people be alive from another one of the wars I'd learned about?)

Historical fiction became my favorite genre, although history was not my favorite subject in elementary school.  I much preferred reading.  History was okay, but it was little more than a footnote in my school day.

And then came junior high.

I flicked on my Bob Jones HomeSat videotape and within days found myself in love with my history teacher Mrs. Fagan.  Until college, no other history teacher managed to get me that invested in my history class.  No other teacher through twelfth grade could ever compare.  But after her, the teacher wasn't necessary.  I was hooked.  History gradually overtook reading as my favorite subject as I found myself enjoying, dare I say yearning, to learn more and more about this wonderful world.  The past drew me in like a fisherman with a hook.  I took in my lessons like a sponge.

My parents only encouraged me, especially my dad, who watched History Channel with me and introduced me to World War II films.  I was enamored with the past in a way that only other history people would understand.  I found myself more comfortable in a discussion about history than yet another boring conversation about whatever it is women talk about.  Honestly, half the things we women talk about when we're together is so boring, I forget it all.  But tell me a story of history, and although I may not remember our exact conversation, I will remember it was fascinating and intellectually stimulating.

And then came age sixteen where I read the Cheney Duvall series, and I found myself drawn into the world of Reconstruction and thus the Civil War.  And that was the final blow.  At this point, I became a full blown history person.  I have remained a Civil War buff to this day.

In college, I found myself once again with an amazing history teacher, which turned into an amazing series of history teachers after I applied for a history minor.  Now I was no longer someone who liked history.  I could legitimately carry the title of history person.  I could go to the history movie nights and had legitimate reasons to make history references all day long if I wanted.

And now I find myself teaching history for half of my school day.  It is a wonderful job, and oddly enough, I may not have been fascinated with the subject I am if someone at Pixar hadn't decided to name one minor character in a movie Molly.

My Days of Piano Playing

Once upon a time, just like most people, I was six years old.  And when I was six years old, I started learning to play piano.

You see, we'd moved into this house that had a piano, so Mom decided to teach me.  Which was fine.  I wanted to learn.  Unfortunately, it didn't go over as a complete success, meaning after about three years and a move, I kind of stopped.  In those three years, I managed to get through one book and a bit into the next book.

Clearly, music was not part of my future career, although I did have fun sometimes.  The rest of the time was me getting frustrated because I couldn't just do this automatically.

Random fact:  If I don't get something automatically, I tend to get very frustrated and practically need someone to keep pushing me to keep going.

Anyway, I'm sure my musically inclined friends are interested in knowing what in the world this was like.

Well, first of all, I remember something about "All Cows Eat Grass," "Good Boys Do Fine Always," "Every Good Boy Does Fine," and "FACE."  However, if you want me to remember which ones belong on treble clef and bass clef, you will be left standing there for five minutes while I close my eyes and basically go into my deep thinking zone until I finally remember.  And don't talk or try to help while I'm thinking.

Seriously, though, I actually have more musical knowledge than I let on stored in my head.  I just pretend to be stupid because it wouldn't be fair if I appeared to be a genius about something I'm not even good at.  But I'm not kidding when I say I can't tell a violin from a viola.  That is the truth.

What is the difference?  Who cares?  Why can't I remember this for more than ten seconds?  I don't even understand how these are two different instruments.

Anyway, that is completely off topic.  Anyway, just know that the video evidence of me playing piano sounds writhingly terrible.  Seriously, I found the video when I was about 16 and wanted to plug my ears.  I was that terrible.

You know what made it worse though?  Sometimes, I just had to sing while trying to play.  Now, my mom told me, "This isn't something you should be trying yet.  This is difficult."  But, seriously, at age six, can you honestly play "Jesus Loves Me" without having to sing it sometimes?  Like, seriously, sometimes, I just had to sing the song.  And I couldn't just sing or just play.  No, I had to unleash my off-key singing and piano plunking skills at the exact same moment because I HAD TO SING!

So, in other words, another thing that probably didn't help was the fact I was too ambitious because I couldn't just keep quiet when I wanted to sing the song I was playing.  We do not have video evidence of me attempting this feat, but I assure you, it happened.

Anyway, as I said, when I was nine, we moved, and piano lessons kind of stopped.  After age twelve, I stopped almost completely.  Once, I even forgot where Middle C was.  I had to go and literally count how many white keys there were and then go back and count along half that many to find Middle C.  Literally, you want to talk about people who stink at music, and I will volunteer.  Basically, my musical knowledge goes something like this:
"List all the classical composers you know."
"Beethoven, Bach, Handel, Mozart, Mendelssohn, Brahms, Schubert, Liszt, Tchaikovsky, and...about half these guys are Romantic or Neoclassical, aren't they?  I KNEW IT!  Why can't I keep my composers straight?"

Look, it's a bunch of guys with funny hair!

Ahem, anyway, let's just say I have good reasons for quitting piano playing.  Trust me, the world is a better place for it.

Also, "glockenspiel" totally sounds like it should be some sort of German food and not an instrument that I don't even know what it looks like. *Googles

Wait, why isn't this a xylophone?  HELP ME!