Marie Austin
When I was 15 my mother was on her third husband, 5th “guy” for me as she lived with 2 other men in between marriages. I had already been molested by one of them. I smoked cigarettes when I could, experimented with marijuana, and took speed on the few occasions I could find it. I had slept with a couple of boys, and even given shoplifting a try. Through all of it, I was “clever” enough that I never did get caught.
I was a smart kid too, a member of honor society, as well as an early entrant into college at 16. Quite the contrast to my other behaviors. When I think about my youth, it seems to me that the negative influences in my life, and my own poor choices, were constantly engaged in a tug-of-war with my abilities and achievements.
What kept me from going over the edge? Well, it may sound to some like I did go over the edge, but I always had one desire that kept me from that. The desire to be cared for, and to be worth something to someone. To hear that I did well, or that I should try for something even if it seemed tough.
So, just when things might begin to take a downward spin – say my mom would pop me in the mouth or something – there was often a teacher, a counselor, my grandmother – someone would take the time to tell me how much they cared, or that they noticed what a great job I was doing, or that they saw my potential for something. I always took these observations to heart, and tried to do them justice, even if only for a little while.
When I left home at 17, I left behind a great deal of day-to-day stress and influences. I had lived with them for so long, I didn’t even see them as problematic. It was during this time, away from home, able to control my own choices for the first time (well, without having to result to poor choices), that all those caring people came back to me. No, not literally, but I really did remember their words and actions.
Mr. Gilbert in 5th grade who realized about 30 minutes before the class Christmas party that I was in the girl’s room crying because I had no gift for the exchange. He went to McDonald’s on his lunch break and brought back gift certificates for me to give as a gift.
My birth father ( a wonderful man who I am now quite close to), who – even though he was denied custody or visitations, found ways to see me, even if I didn’t know who he was. He told me this at my high-school graduation – when I finally did get to see him.
Mr. Allen, who in 10th grade told me “life is short” and you don’t realize it right away. That I should respect myself and use the life I’d been given fully and joyfully.
Mr. Eagle, who nominated me for an award which resulted in my spending a few summer weeks with a terrific group of young, intelligent women – and which resulted in my entering college early.
My grandparents, who tried so hard to find a way to raise me, even though my mother would not let them. They are the foundation for the values and beliefs that I uphold as an adult. They were always there to tell me the bright side of even the darkest happenings.
Mr. Kline, who throughout Jr. High and High School, would read my writing and poetry when I brought it to him, and give me feedback, as if I would truly publish it all some day.
Mr. Frugala, who encouraged me to take wood shop when I showed an interest – even though girls just didn’t take wood shop back then.
Mrs. Ellsworth, who taught me piano – free – just because I wanted to learn (and had no money).
Mr. Luce who gave me the chance and taught me to sing and act on stage during summer theater (even though my audition was hideous).
Mr. Durkee, who let me take an electric piano home for the summer when he heard I did not have a piano of my own.
Mrs. Mellon, who saw me tearfully trying to repair a tear in a dress (I was a wood-shop girl, remember), and kindly took it from me and fixed it.
Mr. Coresetti, who would bring me “back to reality” by walking up behind me and saying “Shawn Cassidy” instead of yelling at me or chewing me out.
There wasn’t a “single person” who made the difference for me, there were many. Each of them showed me a kindness (and I think taking the time to help and talk with youth is definitely a demonstration of kindness) that left a cumulative mark. It’s not so much the time they spent with me, but the opportunities they shared, that made the difference.
