Etiwanda
I went to Etiwanda High School.
Sometimes I forget I was once a student there.
In fact, as odd as it may seem I don't have many memories of my 4 years in high school. It's as though the memories, one by one, started to vanish.
The people from high school that were once my friends are now my adult friends and so it is even difficult to remember them, as they were, back then.
Sometimes my adult, long-standing friends help me remember moments, events, people, classes and things that had long since been absorbed in my mind and replaced with more current events.
But the only person that would remind me I went to Etiwanda High School for 2 summers would have been my dad, and he is now gone.
As I made my way through a long windy road to work today I suddenly remembered the long, windy road to Etiwanda many early mornings.
My dad drove me. Every day. 5 days a week for... perhaps 6-8 weeks.
I'm not sure I ever said, "Thanks, Dad."
Not that he minded.
But I mind now that I didn't mind then.
I am sure I probably felt annoyed and somehow entitled to his efforts to get me to my Geometry class on time.
As a parent now I realize the depths to which I will go for my child to have the best of learning opportunities, and that is what my dad did for me, then.
I wish I could retrieve the memory more clearly. I wish I could remember exactly how tired I must have been and how tired he must have been each morning when he turned the key over.
Despite being summer, I vaguely remember that many mornings were cold, and our truck didn't have a heater, so I was doubly irritated.
I remember he never complained about gas money or gas prices even though Etiwanda was a good half hour drive each way.
I do wish I could remember if he yet smelled of his morning cup of McDonald's coffee.
No.
No, I think he got his coffee after he dropped me off...
Because he put me first.
Of that I am sure.
Although I can feel so many memories fading away over time the one thing I can't ever manage to forget, for better or worse, is the way people made me feel.
My Dad made me feel loved and important.
In the beginning,
and the middle,
and the end.
I hope, for so many others,
Though they may not remember what we laughed about, or hugged about, or cheered about or rolled our eyes about,
Their memory of the way I made them feel,
Is that they were loved and important to me.
Sometimes I forget I was once a student there.
In fact, as odd as it may seem I don't have many memories of my 4 years in high school. It's as though the memories, one by one, started to vanish.
The people from high school that were once my friends are now my adult friends and so it is even difficult to remember them, as they were, back then.
Sometimes my adult, long-standing friends help me remember moments, events, people, classes and things that had long since been absorbed in my mind and replaced with more current events.
But the only person that would remind me I went to Etiwanda High School for 2 summers would have been my dad, and he is now gone.
As I made my way through a long windy road to work today I suddenly remembered the long, windy road to Etiwanda many early mornings.
My dad drove me. Every day. 5 days a week for... perhaps 6-8 weeks.
I'm not sure I ever said, "Thanks, Dad."
Not that he minded.
But I mind now that I didn't mind then.
I am sure I probably felt annoyed and somehow entitled to his efforts to get me to my Geometry class on time.
As a parent now I realize the depths to which I will go for my child to have the best of learning opportunities, and that is what my dad did for me, then.
I wish I could retrieve the memory more clearly. I wish I could remember exactly how tired I must have been and how tired he must have been each morning when he turned the key over.
Despite being summer, I vaguely remember that many mornings were cold, and our truck didn't have a heater, so I was doubly irritated.
I remember he never complained about gas money or gas prices even though Etiwanda was a good half hour drive each way.
I do wish I could remember if he yet smelled of his morning cup of McDonald's coffee.
No.
No, I think he got his coffee after he dropped me off...
Because he put me first.
Of that I am sure.
Although I can feel so many memories fading away over time the one thing I can't ever manage to forget, for better or worse, is the way people made me feel.
My Dad made me feel loved and important.
In the beginning,
and the middle,
and the end.
I hope, for so many others,
Though they may not remember what we laughed about, or hugged about, or cheered about or rolled our eyes about,
Their memory of the way I made them feel,
Is that they were loved and important to me.
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