School Daze

The last day of school finally came and went. It's official, we're on summer break in New York.


The last weeks of school were a blur of plays and parties. One of the highlights was getting to see our daughter, Lizzy, be the announcer of the third grade Rain Forest production. It's always a thrill to watch any of our children on stage, but when Lizzy went up to the microphone, alone, without her aide next to her, I couldn't help but swell with pride.


Being the mom of a child with special needs is a strange blessing because it's not easy to watch your child struggle, yet it's so exciting when they succeed. 

As I was sitting in Lizzy's school watching her play, I was reminded of my own school days. It seemed like a great time to take a second look at a post I wrote about a person that was in my life for a very short time, yet someone I think of every time I write the word "Love." 


This essay was first published under the name Past and Present on this site in February 2011. The dishwasher and I will be back with a new post next week.


When I became a mother, I figured I would lose some of my freedom and maybe even some sleep. I didn't know I would lose my once sharp memory.

There was a time I could remember things as insignificant as what someone was wearing on a particular day. Now I'm lucky if I can remember what my kids wore yesterday.

I could flip through my memory as if it was a photo album and recall what I wanted when I wanted to. Though those days are gone, there are a few memories that have remained crystal clear to me.

My friend Carol and I lived a few blocks from each other and were in the same afternoon kindergarten class. Carol was my ideal of what a girl should look and be like. Her long brown hair hung down to her waist, and she had the all-American face I wanted for myself. She always looked just right.

If Carol was a polished pearl, I was a diamond in the rough. I couldn't stay clean if I was kept under glass. Unlike Carol, I couldn’t color in the lines, glue anything neatly, or cut a straight line to save my life. School never came easy for me, and kindergarten was no exception. It wouldn’t be until years later when my dyslexia was discovered and I learned why everything in school was a struggle. But even at the age of five, I knew something was wrong.

I never felt like a misfit when I was with Carol. She liked me for who I was. If someone smart and pretty like her liked me, how bad could I be?

One day in class, we were working on Valentine's Day cards. I couldn't figure out how to spell the word love, and I asked her for help. With the skill and patience my teachers sometimes lacked, she taught me how to spell and write the word on my card. I never forgot how to spell it again.

There was another difference between us. Carol was Catholic, and I wasn't. I got mad at the Catholic Church when the following year she started first grade at Catholic school. We were never classmates again, despite living a few blocks from each other. We rarely saw each other from then on.

I can't remember if my mother used the word cancer when she told me Carol was sick, but I knew it was serious.

I can still see her that Halloween when she came trick-or-treating. Her beautiful long hair was gone, and she had a little granny cap on. But she was on my front stoop smiling and getting her candy like any other kid.

A few months later I went to her birthday party and brought her a Barbie doll. Since I ripped everything unceremoniously out of its package, I thought it was so odd that she wouldn't take the plastic off the doll's hair. Years later, I wondered if she was trying to protect the doll's hair because she couldn’t protect her own.

I was home sick from school the day my mom got the call that Carol passed away. I was in the third grade and hadn't seen her for at least a year, but I felt the loss. She must have been about nine. The same age my own daughter is now.

It's strange to watch your children reach the age you were when a significant event happened in your life. All at once you are confronted with your past, present, and future.

Carol was in my life for such a short time, but the impression she made on me was very deep. Forty years later, I still remember her every time I spell the word love. 



Hard to believe, but it's only three weeks until the premier issue of Bonbon Break, the online magazine I am starting with my business partner, Val Curtis. I really feel like I'm 10 months pregnant and am so excited.

I want to thank all of you for your support of me and my dishwasher as well as the support I have been getting for my new baby. If you haven't already, stop over at bonbonbreak.com and sign up for our weekly newsletter. This will ensure that you will get to be one of the first to check out a project I'm very proud of.