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Oklahoma mosquitoes during damp weather are a nuisance if they aren't
controlled. However, their blood sucking ways are not more a trial than the
every-day problems and chores upon me around this place. No sooner have I
slapped one miserable little annoyance down when another attacks a different
part of my body of living until I am quite exhausted and cross-eyed with
unbelievable frustration. My steps are slow, thinking is not quick or with
inspiration and there is a general threat of feeling I must simply run for
high ground far away from the overwhelming menaces all about me.
The phone rings and a lilting voice at the other end asks; “Mrs. Flood
will you speak to our Library Science class in Perry, Oklahoma.” This could
have been an angel calling from a higher plane as far as I was concerned.
I'm thinking; “Can you kiss someone over the phone?”
But then, I remember my need to remain dignified as a grandmother who does
have a special interest in the well being of children.
“Sure! I all but gushed, “I will come as soon as you wish.”
So it is, in a couple of days I'm off and down interstate for the next
forty miles to this small town close by. The day is wonderfully warm and
balmy and sun coming through the window on my driver's side was warm. It
felt wonderful on my face and sinuses which had been aching. It was almost
like physical therapy and I imagined my self being gifted with some special
treatment. New roads during my life time made it an easy trip. Clear
directions were given to me by a classy sharp teacher, of whom I learned
was a person raised and educated in Dallas, Texas. I must say, upon learning
this, even a greater respect and admiration was mine, for her.
If only I could paint a picture, in words of what an inspiration these
11th and 12th grade students were to me. Their teacher arranged them easily
and casually in a semi-circle around the table where my easel held my
antique photographs of the Jones family. I knew I was challenging their mind
as we went from an early day picture of my grandfather's bicycle shop in
Perry to pictures of my Native American grandmother in the Gibson Girl style
of 1910.
Click on photo to enlarge:
http://www.electricscotland.com/history/america/donna/picturebook/122123124.htm
Turning again to more thought provoking material I showed her sisters with
their Pendleton blankets around them and the mark of the chief's daughter
tattooed on their forehead.
http://www.electricscotland.com/history/america/donna/picturebook/112113.htm
With an audience, especially one so youthful, it is difficult to see if
you are holding their minds or if it is only polite attention they give. It
was their expression, the look of on their faces as they leaned forward in
order to get a better view of the pictures that told me I had penetrated
some recess of their mind that had never been touched before. Even the
teacher had that same pensive, facial-feature. It was a sudden coming of an
awareness that there was a world never seen before and it was all around
them like a whispering ghost, invisible but definite in its force. When I
commented on the wealth of information at the Historical Society building
near the capital in Oklahoma City a look of quiet determination came over
the expression of the teacher and she said, “We need to save money for a
field trip.”
The next leg of my trip took me to an elementary school. It was here I
would speak to the second grade students. For this lady approaching seventy
years I have to admit the faces of those beautiful bright children will stay
with me forever. The presentation had to be geared down to their thinking
and was I in for a surprise.
When I asked the children to give a definition for the word respect and
one after another explained to me what it meant.
“Respect, means you must treat other people as you wish to be treated,”
the boy on the front row commented. His hair, healthy skin, eyes and
attitude made me aware of what a good job this teacher and his parents were
doing for his up-bringing. Another child told me, “If someone falls down,
you don't just laugh at them, you help them up.” One girl informed me,
“Respect means, you take care of other people's property.”
This was the thought to get me into showing them the old pictures and to
tell them not to bother their mother's pictures because then, when she gave
the pictures to them they would be in good shape.
These children were so totally attentive but, of course, I wondered if
they were absorbing any of what I told them, that is, until the floor was
opened for their questions. And here are some of their questions:
“Why are these children's feet so muddy in this picture?”
“Because there were no paved streets like you have today. The streets
were dirt and when it rained they became muddy,” I answered.
“Where did the Osage people get all that money?”
“From oil.” I told him. People need oil even today in order to run
cars, to create electricity for lights, and many other things.” I was heady
now, with my realizing of how much information they could absorb.
“If the Osage didn't know how much money something cost, why didn't
they?” The perplexed look on the boy's face told me he was very interested
in this.
“They spoke a different language, their numbers were different words
than ours. They didn't know the difference in a dollar or a dime. Their
money was even different and their way of buying and selling was different.
They couldn't say the numbers in our language.”
And then there was the ultimate, best question, “Mrs. Flood, back in the
olden days did you have paved streets when you were little?”
This was my call to ask the teacher how much time we had left. When she
said three minutes, I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Almost all the streets were paved,” I quickly ended the discussion with
a chuckle.
Once again as I drove into my drive and wagged my visual tools into my
house I was confronted by the mountain of laundry, dust from a carpentry
project in the house, the shawl hanging half-finished and somehow these all
seemed like such small issues. I walked straight to the washer and filled it
with clothes and soapy water. Dust cloth in hand made me a white tornado as
I plunged into the worst of it. Even the design on the shawl I had been
unsure about became clear and visually easily seen in my mind's eye. My
thoughts were no longer dim but were now free from any obscurities. Color
and design rested on the borders of the fabric in strong definitions with
abstract clarity in my planning. The minds of the children today had given
me freedom once again and so it is with the delicate balance between living
and loving.
Here is a very interesting read about the history of Perry, Oklahoma. I
hope you will be able to read it:
http://www.perryok.org/history.html |
