Another turning point — A fork stuck in the road

On any given day … at any given time … if I am flipping through channels on the TV and I hear the “bah-bump” tone from the Law and Order theme song, I will immediately stop on that channel. It doesn’t matter what version it is – “Criminal Intent” … “SVU” … etc.; I will watch. I love TV dramas that highlight solving crimes and trying cases in a court of law. I make a great armchair lawyer! However, there was a period of a few years where that was not the case and I could not watch any such show as I had an inside peek as to what life was really like during a homicide investigation.

Sixteen years ago, a very close friend of mine was brutally murdered in her home. Kathleen Heisey was not only my friend but also my boss and principal of the school where I taught at that time. I had not known Kathleen for a long period of time but we became very good friends almost instantly. At the school where I taught, I had been the mentor teacher (an extra duty outside of my instructional day) when she was moved from the district’s continuation school to the elementary school. Given the enrollment and era, there were no other administrators assigned to our site, so I became her go-to girl in figuring out all things elementary as well as becoming her personal confidant – a status that we often kept well under the radar.

Kathleen had the unique ability to bring out the best in any person – from a small child to a grown adult. Professionally, I learned what it meant to be an instructional leader from her and how the focus always has to be on the kids and not the adults. At that point in my career, I had not really given much thought about leaving the classroom and doing anything else outside of teaching, especially delving into school administration. One of my first tasks as the mentor teacher under Kathleen was to set up some desktop computers that had been purchased with class size reduction monies. As I had an interest in technology and computers back then and I had a title and time that could match the task, this duty was added to my list. The first problem I faced during this set up was that I quickly realized that the video cards for the computers had not been installed in the factory so it would be my job to remove the case and seat the cards into the hard drive. I had not opened a computer up before in my life! I was frightened! “I can’t do that!,” I lamented. “What is your worst fear?”, she asked. “Ummm, I might break the computer!”, I replied. “Well, if you break the computer, I will just buy another one. Here is a screwdriver, now get busy!”. And, while she was watching I gingerly removed each screw, lifted the case, inserted the video card, put everything back in place, hooked up the wires … and … Presto! … When I turned on the computer and monitor, the DOS screen appeared and whirled through its routine of numbers and letters. Success!

This was just one example amongst countless of our interchanges where she truly mentored and guided me. And, it was not just myself; I witnessed similar interactions between her and others throughout our time at Browning Road.

On July 1, 1998 she was discovered in her home, brutally murdered. Today … Sixteen years later, this crime is still categorized as “unsolved”. I had spent the previous Friday with her on a shopping spree to buy school materials before the end of the fiscal year, June 30^th. We had a great time, buying all sorts of books and other resources. One of my last, fondest memories of her was sitting at McDonald’s with my three kids (who were in tow for the shopping trip and were ages 6, 4 and 2). They were tired and cranky after hours of in and out of the car and in and out various stores where they heard the word, “no”, almost every two minutes, so Kathleen sprang for the Happy Meals, including one for herself. Instantly, the kids quickly forgot all about being hauled around from place to place. The prizes at the time were wind-up toys commemorating the Disney movie, Mulan. She was right in the middle with them, laughing and playing along, quickly rewinding each toy when it slowed down or stopped. She adored my kids and they adored her; I am saddened that she never had the opportunity to meet her own grandchildren.

The day before she was discovered I had called her home phone. I was at Browning Road, leading a computer training for Migrant Education teachers, and I noticed that her car was not in the school parking lot. She had told me that she was going to be at school that afternoon and I didn’t need to worry about locking the gate. Locks on gates were relatively new concepts back then. All the teachers had left and I was left alone in the parking lot, staring at the empty space where she always parked. I had a nice, modern-for-the-time flip phone and dialed her number. The answering machine picked up. “Kathleen … are you there?? I am at the school and I don’t see your car. Did you decide not to come out to school? Hellooo?.” BEEEEP. No answer.

The next day, we all heard the news that was impossible to believe. Immediately, some of us began talking to homicide detectives. I quickly learned that “Lenny” and his partner (whoever the current handsome guy is under contract) do things the Hollywood way, solving crimes in an hour and taking notes on small little note pads. In reality, you are asked questions, documented on the computer, asked questions again. Then, your words are read back to you. Again … and again … And you sign each statement that what you said is true and factual. And you wait … and wait … And you live in fear that you may be next because of what you may know … or have heard … and you wait some more …

It has been sixteen years since I have seen the smile on my friend’s face, heard her laughter, or had one of our deep, revealing conversations. Currently, I am only four years removed from her age when she was killed. At the time, one of her children had recently moved away to Washington State and her son was in college; similar situation I find myself, currently, with the three children who were at one time long ago playing with Happy Meal toys with Kathleen. Now divorced, I am in a similar life position as she was at the time and I see things with a different perspective than I did back then.

I hope someday the mystery is solved and the person who committed this crime is brought to justice. My heart goes out to all of those survivors who called Kathleen “mom”, “sister”, “friend”, “principal”, etc. The list goes on and on. At her memorial service, one of the songs played was Green Day’s, Good Riddance /“Time of your Life”. Interpreting the song more literally than sarcastically, I often associate the song with Kathleen because of that fact. It’s something unpredictable, but in the end is right,

I hope you had the time of your life.

I miss you, friend!!!!!

 

Looks Like We (She) Made It!!!!

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This week has been a whirlwind of graduation ceremonies and activities. Last night, Thomas’ son, Andres, graduated from Downey High School with a class of over 1000 students. 1000 – almost unfathomable — but now that I experienced it, I now know what it can look like when you commemorate the ending of one era and the beginning of another on a scale of gargantuan proportions. Juxtapose Andres’ graduation with my high school graduating class that came in at exactly 40 – 20 girls and 20 boys and you have quite the paradox!

Last weekend, marked a first for my kids and I. Our first college graduation! My oldest daughter, Laura, graduated from UC Santa Barbara. The day began in typical “June Gloom” fashion – cloudy and overcast; however, such weather was quickly replaced with plenty of sunshine. It’s on the beach and in Southern California – of course it would be bright and sunny (and I still have the sunburn to prove it!). As her major was English and Literature, her particular school’s graduation was scheduled with other humanity majors so lots of words and quips were used through the various speeches, including some serious words in regards to remembering the victims and their families who were affected by the Isla Vista shooting. Isla Vista is the area where most of the UCSB students live and is the patch of land between the campus and the ocean. Continued thoughts and prayers go out to all those students and their friends and families. Collectively, as parents, we all seemed to feel a similar sense of empathy that results when one realizes how the 6 victims could have easily been our child who, with excitement, was about to commemorate a job well done after four years of hard work.

I am a very proud mom! College graduation – a dream that I had for each my children when I held them as little bundles of joy. And now, my oldest has been the first to check that goal off her list. The minute she came into view and ready to process into the sun with her fellow classmates, I felt my eyes fill with tears and my breath was taken away. There she was, cap on her head (complete with a Sylvia Plath quote), huge smile spread across her face, blonde hair whipping in the wind, all dressed in black. I was filled with such emotion. My heart was turning somersaults! As she moved towards the front to have her name called, we made eye contact and I could see the bright smile on her face. My eyes followed her exact movements and she moved across the front, shaking hands and stopping to pose for pictures. And then, after the 300 or so names had been called, all the students received the blessing from the Chancellor and were received as graduates. Tassles were moved across the caps and a few brave souls gave their cap a little toss. The pomp and circumstance was over.

Personally, I have experienced 4 graduations – 8th grade, high school, college, and graduate school (Masters’). I remember the joy and accomplishment that I felt during each of those ceremonies. I can still play key memories from those celebrations in the mind movie that plays in my head. However, I don’t remember the flood of feelings and emotions being the same during my graduations when compared to what I experienced during Laura’s graduation.

Once Laura and I were reunited after I made way through the sea of other parents, friends, and family members, I gave her a big hug. A huge smile was still plastered across her face. Looks like she made it!

I wear my sunglasses at night …

Perhaps the title would be better stated as I would wear my sunglasses at night if I could find them.  I am currently separated from my most recent sunglass acquisition which (quite wisely) was procured at Walmart.  A nice, five dollar pair of sunglasses.  This elusive pair of darkened lenses is now most likely hiding out in some sort vortex of lost things – perhaps nestled, quite comfortably, amongst a pile of sock singletons that are living the good life away from a dryer or sock drawer.

Obviously, this is not the first pair of sunglasses I have lost in my life.  And, it will probably not be the last.  I began searching for my sunglasses this morning, reminded of the fact that I will need them on Sunday as I sit outside in sunny Santa Barbara and watch my oldest daughter, Laura, graduate from college.  I have not seen them for a week, so it is almost time to call of the search party and make yet another trip to Walmart for another pair.

While checking through the corners and crevices of my car, I remembered quite fondly a few pairs of sunglasses I owned in the past.  To begin, when mirrored sunglasses were all the range, I had a pair that were not only reflective but also had a palm tree and beach scene on the front.  Because of the tinting, the printing on the lenses was not visible when worn.  I believe I was immortalized wearing these as I donned them for a senior picture that showcased all of us wearing “shades” because our “future was so bright”.  (Now, go ahead … put those two phrases together.  You can thank me later for yet another 80’s tune that runs through your head!)  Another pair that I remember fondly is my Brighton sunglasses I bought a few years ago.  Yes, with the name “Brighton” you can correctly assume  that I paid more than five dollars for them.  They were black with silver and rhinestone bling that added just a bit of pop.  I had them for over a year and was always quite careful with them.  In the car I was driving at the time, there was a compartment that was created specifically as a sunglass holder and I religiously parked my glasses in that compartment each time I left the car.  This plan was ultimately foiled when my car, parked in my driveway, was broken into during the middle of the night and my sunglasses were taken along with my GPS and a cup containing my rainy-day coffee money.  *Big, heavy sigh*. The last pair to escape me was a pair of Oakley sunglasses that my friend, Jill, gave me.  Jill gave me specific care instructions and strategies for not losing this pair of sunglasses (apparently my reputation with sunglasses is a bit notorious).  I lasted at least two years with this glasses, only to have “misplaced them” during our move.

In comparison, Thomas, my roommate, has had the same pair of sunglasses the whole time I have known him.  A pair of “legit” Ray-Bans as my daughter, Sammie, said once when she found them in my car. Thomas has occaisional moments when he and his sunglasses are briefly separated.  Frequently, I have heard the question, “Have you seen my sunglasses?”.  However, each time they have been reunited.  In fact, after his recent fender-bender and the air bags deployed, his poor Ray-Bans have suffered a bit of a spider web crack on the outside of the lenses.  Yet, he still is wearing them!

The mystery of the missing sunglasses continues.  Soon, yet another pair will be added to the mix I am sure.  As I wrote this, I realized that “sunglasses” could be a metaphor to facets of my real life – in particular, relationships. I’ll let you go ahead and connect the dots!