Yearbooks

The last week of school was always a little bittersweet for me while I was growing up. If it were an option, I would have gone to school all year round. Though, making friendship bracelets and exchanging phone numbers at the conclusion of each grade was something I looked forward to each spring.

Along with the end of the year came yearbooks. I loved yearbooks before I even started kindergarten, as my mom was a yearbook advisor for oodles of years. I remember being a kid and poring over the many black and white pictures used in the layouts, the pica rulers used to line everything up, and the pages and pages of clipart of every category in the thick books of images.

At the first opportunity, upon entering middle school, I knew I wanted to be on the yearbook staff. By that time, the majority of layout design was done on the computer, rather than by hand. I continued to be on staff throughout the next few years, and my passion for yearbooks grew during my four years of high school.

I remember I still loved going through photos, color by then, and by graduation, I knew almost every person in the building by name, due to the amount of time spent looking at and laying out page after page of photos and names. To this day, when I see old friends on Facebook or other social media, I can still picture in my mind what their school photo looked like in 2001.

I have every yearbook, from kindergarten through my senior year of high school, on shelves at home. My son likes to pull them out each year and compare how he looks to the way I did when I was his age. Each time, I’m reminded of the memories I have from so long ago, and the friends I have since forgotten but remember when I glance at their photo.

Being the editor of a community newspaper is not much different than being the editor of a yearbook. Though my work is now published weekly, I still tell the stories of my neighbors and "classmates," and I still very much enjoy going through photos from events, though digital now. This newspaper is like the weekly yearbook to the community, and I still approach the job with as much passion and love as I had when I was just a preschooler sitting on the living room floor surrounded by photos.

After Third Grade, You'll Know Everything

I loved school as a kid. I loved everything about it: my teachers, my friends, new dresses and school supplies. Granted, I was there for more of the social aspect than to learn, but I managed to do well enough. I was teacher’s pet and desired to make everyone proud.

Once, while I was in kindergarten, at home around the dinner table we were discussing our days. I’m unsure of what transpired, but I imagine the conversation was driven by my not having a great day at school. My brother, wiser and three grades above me, said, “Just wait, Mary. When you’re in third grade, you will know everything and your whole life will change.”

This quickly became a phrase that is said often in the Davis house, to this day. So much so, that my own third grader has heard it. With just over a week left of school to go, Michael almost has another year of education under his belt. He started the year off informing me that third grade is going to be a snap and when it comes time for statewide testing, “I already know it all, anyway.”

Turns out, he may have been onto something. Standardized testing has come and gone, and he said the tests were easy. His grades have been near-perfect all year, and on Friday of this week, he’ll be inducted into the National Elementary Honors Society. To say I’m a proud mom would be an understatement.

So it seems the third grade mentality of knowing everything there is to know is a common thread, at least with the boys in my family. I don’t remember anything significant about third grade, or my life changing for the better or worse that year. Michael’s had his share of changes in the last year, yet he continues to succeed and amaze me. He teaches me lessons every day, and I’m incredibly honored he calls me “Mom.”

Race and Riots

When I was growing up, I don’t remember seeing color differences until I was in about third grade. I grew up in a pretty diverse community – this one, as a matter of fact – and the reality that some people are different than me because of their skin color was not something that I heard in the house I lived in.

When I was two years old, I met my favorite childhood friend. Brandy lived behind us, and we played outside most every day until my family moved from that home after sixth grade. At my birthday party while we were in third grade, Brandy gave me a small token of our friendship that I still display on a shelf to this day. It was a small plaque with a picture of two kittens on it – one black kitten and one white kitten – with a quote that reads: "How nice they always seem to be, the times we share, just you and me."

Upon opening the gift, Brandy, with a huge grin on her face, told me she picked it out because the kittens on the picture looked just like us. My little third-grade mind was blown away, as this was the first time I remember realizing that I do, in fact, look different from my best friend.

My own child is now the same age as I was when I had this revelation. Just the other day, in the car on the way to school, Michael informed me that another little boy in third grade called him the "N" word. Thinking I hadn’t heard him correctly, I asked him what word he was referring to. Sure enough, the other little boy didn’t call my son nice, neat or even nerdy.

I attempted in the best way I could to explain to Michael the significance of the "N" word, and why he, along with any other person, black or white, should not say it. After the conversation, he was full of questions, the same questions I continue to ask, the questions that I’m not sure there are answers to. Such as explaining away the rioting that transpired in Ferguson, and most recently in Baltimore. Why do people feel the need to go to extreme measures to prove a point? I don’t have the answer for that. But, the way I can do my part to prevent a future of civil unrest regarding race in our community is to raise a son who more than tolerates other races. I want my son to become best friends with all kinds of kids, regardless of race. I want him to see people the way I see people – not what color they are, but what qualities they bring to my life.

Peanut Butter Sandwiches and Chocolate Chip Cookies

When I was in grade school, lunch was likely my favorite part of the day. After sitting quietly (or as quietly as I could) throughout the morning, I finally had the opportunity to talk with my friends over our midday meal. While school lunches have changed over the years due to governmental regulations and guidelines, I’m fairly certain that this tradition of relaxation and camaraderie with classmates remains the same.

At High Grove Elementary School in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s when I attended, one face remained constant every day during lunch. Mrs. Thompson would be behind the counter, busily preparing trays and offering a warm smile as students passed through her line. I remember I always tried to make a point to say something to her as I walked by: "Mrs. Thompson, the cookies smell delicious today," or "When is the next pizza day, Mrs. Thompson?"

Each time I interacted with her, she would look at me and smile, wipe her hands on her apron, come around to the other side of the counter and embrace me in a big hug. I remember her smelling of peanut butter and flour, likely from all the peanut butter sandwiches that were popular and her famous chocolate chip cookies.

Mrs. Thompson recently passed away, and when I read through her obituary (above), all the warm memories of her smile and grandmotherly manner came rushing back to my mind. I’m sure my young self thought of her as just that: another grandma who enjoys spoiling her kids. She was the beginning of my favorite part of my day growing up, and I have never forgotten her kindness.

It’s hard to believe that after all these years, I have such vivid memories of someone I hardly knew, other than in her work environment. But her love and care for me and the hundreds of kids she served at High Grove with a smile made her someone important to me. We never know the impact we have on others, and sometimes just a smile and a hug are all that is needed to boost someone’s day or lifetime. Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, for loving me and all your kids at High Grove. You’ll be missed.

Tears, Trials, and Truth

Divorce is hard, no matter how you look at it or how it directly impacts you and those you love. Unfortunately, sometimes there are things that happen in a marriage that cause it to fall apart, despite the wishes of one or both of the parties involved. Throw in a child or two or more, and the decisions of the adults directly impact the children.
  

Two months ago, my divorce was final. It’s not something that I’ve talked about publicly, and those who know have either heard from word-of-mouth or I have told individually. My personal life has always been just that - personal.

As the last several weeks have passed by, I have been asked more and more about my relationship status, as it has apparently become clearer to people that something was amiss (like my wedding ring, for instance).

I still love my ex-husband, as I spent the last seventeen years with him being a major part of my life. We will forever be united in our love for our amazing son, and through all the struggles that we have dealt with over the months leading up to the divorce, Michael has remained our priority.

There have been a lot of tears, but change is always a scary thing, even if it’s change that you asked for. I didn’t come from a broken home, and I was always told that divorce was not an option. The vows you make when you get married are sacred -- 'til death do you part. Taking back those vows was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

So, I thought it was time to come clean, and let all of you know that I’m okay; I’m happy, even. Life sometimes throws you curve balls, and this one was definitely a doozy. What’s done is done, however, and sharing the truth with all of you was important to me. Thanks for all of your love and support.

The Olden Days

 

Let’s face it: kids these days have it pretty good. They have the world at their fingertips, and information is as accessible to them as sunshine, practically. Everywhere they look, and everywhere they go, they are bombarded with applications and status updates and “selfies.”

So, it should come as no shock, that during a recent conversation with my own child, the topic of cell phones came up. He asked, “Mom, when you were my age, what did you do with your cell phone while you were at school?”

After laughing hysterically, I explained to him that I didn’t have a cell phone when I was nine. Instead we had a phone, with a cord, that was attached to the wall. The kid, needless to say, was completely dumbfounded.

“You mean like those phones you see on old TV shows?” he asked, to which I nodded in agreement. “Oh, right! Like in the olden days!” he added.

Now, I’m aware that I’m not getting any younger, but to think that in my child’s mind I lived in the “olden days?” Well, that just didn’t sit well with me. When does that new Apple watch come out, so I can feel young again?

Heart Month

Every February, for as long as I can remember, in every magazine and in several commercials, we are constantly reminded to be heart-conscious. Whether it’s the cereal we eat, the exercises we do (or don’t) do, or whatever is determined to be good for your heart, advocates for healthy hearts are everywhere.

A few years ago, I was young, and sincerely thought that heart issues were for older people. I thought, “I’m young, my friends are young, we’re healthy, we have nothing to worry about!” I was wrong.

In 2011, my best friend, Danielle, gave birth to her second child, a healthy and adorable boy named Charlie. Two months later, while at a benefit walk, she collapsed. Several days after, it was determined that her heart stopped beating for too long, and her husband and family made the hard decision to remove her from life support. This was truly devastating, and a complete shock.

Witnessing something like that, especially someone you are close to, really makes you open your eyes to things, making you hug those you love a little tighter, and count your blessings like never before. Danielle left a legacy in her two handsome boys, and I see her in their eyes.

She left me with memories, but also left me with the knowledge that our time spent on earth can be cut short in an instant. This February, I will focus on my own heart, and those who I hold so close to it, and I will be reminded that heart health is so much more than whether or not my heart is pumping blood through my veins. It’s about family and friends, laughing and enjoying life. Because that’s what’s truly important, and that’s the kind of exercise I can do without breaking a sweat.