Charles, Jr. ~ The Drowning of a Toddler

Our family was on a road trip to Disneyland in a rented RV. It was a vacation, including six teen-agers, two of who were Ross, my deceased brother’s, kids. Spencer, our son, was two-and-half years old at the time. I remember my mother telling me, I ought to have my head examined for attempting such an excursion. As it turned out, this journey was a memorable one.

            We made several stops along the way to various sites, such as Hearst Castle. We rode horses at a dude ranch and spent the night at a hot springs “resort” for RV drivers. Did you know the smelly waters of hot springs could turn even your most precious jewelry a greenish black?

            At last, we arrived at Disneyland and checked into the Disneyland Hotel. The teen-agers were excited to get onto the rides. They were given their passes and off they ran. I stayed with Spencer, while my husband caught up to the others to enjoy big-kid rides. It was early in the afternoon when Spencer and I took the tram to Disneyland.

The intense Southern California sun was relentless. I pushed Spencer’s covered stroller to a water fountain, lifting him out so we could splash water on our faces. We were at the fountain approximately 10 minutes when a tall, blond, handsome fellow in his early 30’s, approached. He commented on how much fun we were having, watching us with envy and sadness. I looked closely at this man’s face and could see an empty, faraway look in his eyes. What was he thinking at this moment? What happened to this gentle-faced young man? I took the time to listen.

Holding Spencer’s hand, I asked this man why he approached. He said he had a son, Charles Jr., who was also two-years old, with blond hair and blue eyes. I told him I was enjoying my life with my son, feeling blessed having him. Charles Sr. pulled out of his wallet a well-worn photograph. A smiling boy, sitting next to the edge of his swimming pool, was wearing only a diaper. It was then the man began his story.

Charles Sr. was from Mariner’s Cove, the Hawaii Kai side of Oahu, Hawaii. I told him I lived on Oahu eight years, having attended the University of Hawaii. I spent a majority of my time in Mariner’s Cove with a family who accepted me as their calabash, or adopted daughter. I knew Hawaii Kai very well and even knew of the street on which he lived. What a twist of fate he and I should meet today.

One day, Charles Sr., and his young son were in their fenced backyard, sitting by the pool, playing. Thirsty for water, Dad carried Charles Jr., outside the pool area, setting him down near the gate. Dad had an eight-foot high, security-alarmed gate surrounding the pool, with a lock on the gate. After a mere two minutes, Dad returned to the pool area, calling his son. No answer. As Dad rounded the corner, to his horror he discovered Charles Jr., face down in the swimming pool, with his water-filled diaper visible.

Dad dove into the pool, pulled his son out of the water and administered CPR. With his portable telephone nearby, he dialed 911. The paramedics arrived, also administered CPR, only to deliver the most shocking news to Charles Sr., “I am sorry, Sir, we are unable to revive your son.”

Spencer and I stood quietly.  Charles Sr. broke the silence by telling me no matter how much security I think I have; never turn my back on my young son when he is near water. I nodded in agreement. I thanked this man for approaching and sharing his story. He told me the likeness of my son to Charles Jr., was so overwhelming, he felt compelled to talk with me. To this day, when Spencer is near water, I look back into the eyes of Charles Sr., and am reminded of his beautiful young son.

Charles Sr. has a gorgeous blond daughter now, whom we met. He displays a tremendous amount of devotion to his young daughter.

We do not know what awaits us around the corners of our lives.  We can, however, recognize and acknowledge the precious treasures we are given. When I look into Spencer’s eyes, I know I do. 

As the Crow Flies ~ Sex Education Was a Nightmare

Sex education is never a joy-ride for a 13-year-old. I especially scoffed at the fact one even had a body, let alone certain parts. I dealt with the birds and the bees by covering my ears hollering at my mother, “I don’t want to hear it!”  

I began my new school in early September as an 8^th grade student at Parsons Junior High. I saw my class list and instantly became horrified when I read in bold letters, “Sex Education, Period 3, Mr. Crow.” Racing home, I told my mother she needed to sign a paper to get me out of this class. She waived her arm in the air and said, “Honey, you’re 13 now and the time is right.” I exclaimed, “But, Mom! I barely even have anything yet – it’s too soon!”

The first day of the deeply-dreaded class, I chose to sit as far from Mr. Crow as possible because he was the teacher of that class. I hoped to get through this year without being noticed, surrounded by my classmates.

Mr. Crow began by asking the class various questions about our summer. I remained silent,  however, we had to introduce ourselves and raise our hand if we were new to the school. My hand went up and so did the bottom of my white sleeveless top with tiny embroidered strawberries. Mr. Crow made an immediate bee-line through the desks to be at my side. He hollered, “Debbie Patterson, if I see your belly button one more time, I’ll put masking tape over it!” Admittedly, my favorite shirt was becoming too small, however, I adored this gift from my mother. When I defiantly said, “You touch me and you’re in big trouble, Mister”, he marched me to the front of the class and slapped a piece of masking tape over my belly button!

Sitting quietly at my desk one day in Mr. Crow’s class, he began frantically tapping his pointer on the chalk board. “Can anyone tell me the meaning of Cooper’s Droop?” From the blank stares of the students, it was clear none of us knew the term. Mr. Crow explained it was droopy breasts. He thundered, “It’s what happens when girls don’t wear a bra!” Snickering to my friends, I told them he had horrible handwriting and it appeared he’d written, “Cooper’s Poop.”

As if by magic, he was standing next to me again! Fearful he would grab me, I leaned far away, fell out of my desk chair and crashed to the floor. The class was in hysterics while Mr. Crow pointed his stick for me to stand next to the chalk board and give my explanation of Cooper’s Droop. I crawled to my feet and slowly walked to the front of the class with steam pouring out my ears. I boldly announced, “Class, I don’t believe Cooper’s Poop is even in the dictionary.” The class screamed in laughter while Mr. Crow aimed his pointer at the door. When I asked, “What for this time?” he told me to go to the principal’s office. When I protested, he said, “Tell your mother to get you a training bra or I’ll wrap them with tape!”

The principal called my mother at work and she picked me up. In silence we headed to Sears for my first training bra and she handed me six boxes of size AAA teeny-weeny training bras. She told me to go into a dressing room and get the tightest one. I continued slinging the items over the door and finally marched out with one. I begged, “Oh, Mom. Please don’t make me wear this ugly thing! It looks like two Doritos with strings.” She said, “Just get through school, Honey. What you wear at home is your business.” My Raisenettes and I moped behind my mother to the cash register. The next afternoon I was walking down our dirt road when I heard the sing-song of Greg, the 15-year-old neighbor boy, “Debbie’s getting boobies, Debbie’s getting boobies.” Horrified, I turned around and raced back home to put on my trusty new training bra.

Recently I emailed Bernice, one of my sweetest classmates, from Parsons Junior High. I asked whether she remembered my adventures in Mr. Crow’s class. She responded, “Hi Debbie, you were my first friend at Parsons from the first day of school. I will never forget having my first rebellious friend I ever experienced, who refused to wear a bra. Mr. Crow threatened to wrap them up with tape. It is amazing Mr. Crow touched you so much.” 

Today I won’t go outside without my trusty support system, keeping Cooper’s Droop at bay. My shirts are long enough to cover my midriff. As for the crow and how he flies, I now take the sensible route to my destinations.

Debbie, 1973

Wearing the Infamous White Top

Posted to Facebook:

Terri Christensen Tracy I too have a few pretty horrific memories of Mr. Crow...I wasn't quite as confident in my independence....Funny the things we never forget... 

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Deborah Gilson I remember you back then, Terri Christensen Tracy, as if it were yesterday and yes, some memories stay with us forever, it seems. 

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Roxanne Loerzel He would never make it in today's class room!

Ann Dunbar Sison What a classless CREEP

Bernice McHale Corey Debbie I just love your writings. Yes we will never forget those days with mr. Crow and his inappropriate ways.

Leslie Lel Guddat Munn

This is rather hilarious as I read this!! Debbie, the minute I saw your class picture, I immediately recognized you. Did you transfer to Sequoia Jr Hi or Shasta High at some point?

Leslie Lel Guddat Munn 

Yes, a creepy teacher, but your way with words is funny!

Deborah Gilson @ Leslie Lel Guddat Munn ~ After junior high, I attended Nova and then Enterprise High School, graduating in 1978! 

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Leslie Lel Guddat Munn 

So it just must've been Nova... I graduated from Shasta in 78'. 

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Ryan McHale

Don't remember Sex Ed class's ladies, but I have to say, I agree, sounds like a serious creep, would and should of been busted for sexual harassment if it was today.

Rhonda Platt This made me laugh out loud Deb, as I do remember Mr. Perverted Crow, and I STILL think if he thought he could have got away with grabbing your girls, he would have went for it! He is lucky he's too old or ....dead now to teach, jail would be where he would land! Much Love and Hugs to you D Lou. I will in box you soon. I'm heading to NY next week to finally meet my new little grand daughter....SO EXCITED! XOXO