My eighth-grade teacher once said that a crucible was a really tough situation where guys with serious attitude issues go up against each other, but something good usually comes out of it. Well, looking at it like that, I’d have to say, I’ve done serious time in a crucible of my own.
In eighth grade, I couldn’t decide whether to go onto high school or drop out entirely. I wasn’t a great student. Not the worst—but failing on my own terms, if you know what I mean.
My sister went into the Navy, and my older brother, J. J., was into stuff. My little brother was toddling about the place, and mama was still carrying the baby on her hip like a sack of groceries. She wanted me to go on in school and told me to get extra help. I wasn’t about to ask for any, but then my teacher told me that there was this college lady, Kelsey, who needed to earn points or something for her teaching degree. She needed someone to tutor, and he thought I could use the practice.
The first day Kelsey came after school, I was a little nervous. She was a bookish type—short hair, glasses, dark sweater, and a real stiff handshake—though nice enough.
We went to the library, and Kelsey asked me what I liked to read. I pulled out a book about a sports hero, and she smiled. I can still remember that smile. We met after school for weeks, and every day I read a little better. She’d asked me questions—what I thought about a character or what might happen next. She didn’t seem to care that I skipped over some of the words, or that I couldn’t pronounce the names. It was about getting inside the writer’s head and figuring out why the story mattered. I liked that. Understanding the whole point made it work for me. Kelsey would say, “Motivation is everything, James.”
One day, I had to hurry home. There’s been trouble between Mama and J. J., and I was worried, but Kelsey said she’d come with me so that we could read at home. I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea. My house was on the other side of the river, and I doubted she’d ever been in that part of town before. But Kelsey said she’d be okay with it. So—we went.
Mama greeted Kelsey like a long lost cousin, all smiles, and a big slapping handshake. I looked around for J. J., but he was nowhere insight. The baby was sweating in her diaper, and Mama went back to fixing supper. Kelsey and I sat at the kitchen table, and we started on the last chapter of the book. I had already figured out the ending; I had kinda looked ahead a few days back. I also knew that this would be our last meeting since Kelsey had graduated and taken a job in the northwest.
Suddenly, J.J. stomped in and started yelling—screaming his head off. I didn’t know what had set him off this time, but his glazed, red eyes and waving arms told me all I really needed to know. Kelsey rose to her feet like she was expecting to be introduced, but J.J. got in her face and screamed some more.
“Why didn’t nobody ever help me? What’s so damn important about James that he gets all the attention?”
Kelsey stood her ground, but she couldn’t break through. She said she’d help him if she could, but I knew it was hopeless. J. J. didn’t want to read.
After a bit, J. J. blew out of the kitchen as fast and furious as he had blown in.
Mama went over to Kelsey and lifted a big, black skillet she had in her hand. “I would’ve banged him over the head if he’d have taken another step.” Poor Mama was shaking all over—from rage or fear I didn’t know. Probably both.
Anyway, I knew our time was over. Kelsey had given me her best effort, and I appreciated it, but it was time to move on. Her last words that day were: “Don’t forget the last chapter, James; it’s often the most important.”
I can’t remember the last chapter of that sports book. It didn’t matter much. But the skillet in Mom’s hand and Kelsey’s courage did. I found a job working across the river and, though it took me some time, I did make it through high school. I never went to college, but I got a good job. J.J. did some time in prison, and then one day my sister found him od’ed in his room.
When I think back to all the things I’ve done, the people I’ve known—like Kelsey and mom—and how things turned out for J. J., I’ve got to say that something good came from my crucible. I started reading my life, and I got motivated to write a really good last chapter.
Soooo, speaking of sleep deprivation… We were speaking of sleep deprivation weren’t we? Since it feels like my obsession these days, we must have been.
I love history and I enjoy looking back at where we’ve come from – be it the 1660s with Samuel Pepys and Charles II or the 1770s with Jane Austin and her clear-eyed look at the sense and sensibilities of those around her. Every time I reencounter humanity, no matter the age, I reencounter an aspect of our larger culture as human beings.
Dead 2 April 1st, 2016.
Mama cat with her four adorable kittens has taken serious offense at Red Hen’s incursions into their food bowl. While I watch the unfolding power-struggle, I have to smile at the innocence of animals struggling for their place in the world and attempting to protect their own. I can solve the problem with a broom, ushering Red-Hen back toward the chicken yard and calming the cat with a few soft words. Tragically, the larger world cannot be so easily appeased.
When I pondered what to write about this morning, I considered all the beauty in my little world: the late summer flowers coming into bloom, the antics of young animals at play, the enticing challenge of teaching young minds to read and write, the adventure of new recipes, and how my third daughter made the most delicious “sand-cookies” and how she almost convinced the little ones that she really did use sand. All these are worthy topics, but how can I justify my public time and attention on the good and the beautiful, while tragic and terrible reality exists along side, creeping up behind?
The quote attributed to Pope Frances saying, “God always forgives, man sometimes forgives, but nature never forgives…” seems very apropos today. The whole concept of forgiveness is a rather celestial one. From debt forgiveness to nature’s revenge, what can we take away from this assessment? How do we direct our lives toward forgiveness and being forgiven in a world born of both natural and super-natural truth?
For the past several summers, I have made the same mistake. At some point in late summer, I forget the tortures of past experience, and I step into a poison ivy patch or cut down what I consider some harmless vegetation, and I end up with miserable itching for weeks. Is there a statue of limitations on my experiences? Yet, as the memory of my suffering decreases, so my reckless boldness increases.
As the hot sun beats down upon us, lush 9 foot corn stalks breathe out their earthy, green scent, and humongous humidity make me wonder if rural Illinois should be called the biggest-corn-growing-jungle-of-the-world, I am trying to wrap my mind around the fact that a new school year and all of winter’s thrills stands just before us. We best be ready.
Neb the Great – Shadows of the Past by A. K. Frailey: Neb fears his own passion; he must love someone. When he finally meets his match, it almost destroys him. The innocent are never truly alone and the guilty are never really free. Neb the Great battles for souls as well as power. 
A World Such as Heaven Intended by Amanda Lauer: In “A World Such as Heaven Intended,” Amara McKirnan and Nathan Simmons share a devotion to their Catholic faith but their loyalties lie on opposite sides of the conflict. Dedicated to the Confederate cause, Amara offers to help out at her uncle’s makeshift hospital in Atlanta. Fate brought Nathan to their doorstep and into Amara’s life. 
A Catholic Gardener’s Spiritual Almanac: Cultivating Your Faith Throughout the Year by Margaret Rose Realy: The first book to offer gardeners spiritual resources and creative projects that connect a love of gardening with their Catholic faith. Margaret Realy, master gardener, retreat leader, and writer, presents this spiritual companion that follows the natural and liturgical seasons and offers gardening tips and easy-to-do projects for each month of the year. 