Diamonds and pearls

After the job my dad was on in New Orleans was complete (which was actually a bridge in Chalmette, outside of NO. A town totally destroyed by the hurricanes in August 2005) we were on our way to Hendersonville, North Carolina. Now, Hendersonville is not far from Asheville and snuggled between the Smokeys and the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The park we lived in was friendly and there was a subdivision across the street that had many kids our age. My sister Micki had both feet into her teens and was taking them full steam ahead; I was teetering on the rim. Kevin was still a boy, playful and adventurous. In the subdivision across the street, placed there for our sole amusement, were teenage boys.....ooooooohhhhhhh.

We spent a lot of time on the road that ran between the park and the subdivision. Skateboards were still very popular and this road was a steep incline. We used to get at the top and skateboard down. There was a particular group of boys that hung out there at the top of the incline - they were daring and fun.

One boy had a brother with disabilities which I now recognize as being Cerebral Palsy...or CP. One evening as we were climbing back up the hill to go home we approached the boys walking towards us. For some reason I put my hands up, and the boy with CP took my hands and in typical boy behavior, started to turn them downward and to the side, twisting them. He was as stunned as I was when he heard my fingers snap. Letting go of my hands, we all stared at my now twisted fingers. He ran, I screamed, my sister punched his brother and Kevin...well, I’m sure he thought that was the coolest thing ever, to see my fingers laying this way and that. We walked home, me crying my eyes out and holding my mangled right hand in my mangled left, staring at the mess.

My mom was not pleased, my dad less so. This meant a trip to the emergency room and I had no business out there with those boys anyhow. We got to the hospital, Xrays were taken, fingers were straightened and splints applied, my left hand was not as bad as the right, the fingers having just dislocated, with the fingers moved back into place in the ER. The right hand had some breaks, and required splinting. Then the worse news. The doctor advised the perfect physical therapy in three weeks would be to do the nightly dishes. I don’t remember seeing the boy after that very much. It did a number on me though and I developed a fear for a while of people with disabilities, which I am happy to report was short-lived.

East Flat Rock Junior High, what a fun year we had there. Soon we were off to St. Paul, Minnesota. My brother, Darrell, was home on leave from the army and made the drive with us in January, 1967. I remember the Blue Ridge Parkway, which is always a beautiful route, and the views are spectacular. If you have ever been on that highway, you know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t, GO. The trees that crisp January day were covered in ice and snow, the sun was sparkling ~ like being in a forest of diamonds and pearls.