611 DIGNITY UNDER FIRE WHILE LEADING MY FIRST PARENT'S NIGHT IN 1966

By jove!  I've finally got it!  I've figured out why I can tell you stories about my life before high school and after high school, but not during high school, which proves curious for this reason:  Lots of funny high school stories line up inside my mind.  This suggests that my mental block against telling high school stories must rooted in some dark experience locked inside my subconscious, and here comes the reason why I can't write around it:  That experience, so fearsome as to have been banished from my conscious mind, might sneak out and attack my state of well being as subconscious fear has been wont to do while I'm sitting here writing innocently about other things.  And thus in fear of unresolved trauma grabbing hold of my mind, my defense system blocks my thought processor from opening that entire block of time until I muster the courage to steady my conscious mind to unlock the door to a haunted room in my memory bank and withdraw the ghoulish ghost that's played hide and seek with my self trust for most of my life.

As instinct suggests we leave that dead weight inside my mind to rest in peace at least for now, let's high tail it back to September of 1966, where we can imagine a twenty-two year old woman, standing before a black board, facing a group of adults, seated in child sized desks, who, being older than me by at least a decade, need not do much of anything to intimidate the self confident stance of their children's fifth grade teacher, on this, my very first parents' night ...

Having worked to achieve my share of Girl Scout badges, I am every bit as prepared to lead this group of parents as I prepare lesson plans in a well organized fashion, day after day.  On the other hand, this is my very first time leading a room filled with accomplished adults, who hang on my every word, so I am praying that all goes well.  And as all does go well, I am close to being off the hook until it's time to ask for questions, and one father raises his hand...

Upon seeing a hand in the air, I direct a friendly, authoritative nod toward this thirty-something year old guy, and when my smile signals him to ask away ... ask away he does:

So ... some of us are wondering if your maiden name is Howard? 

As this question swerves off the beaten track, the rookie is taken aback, kind of thrown off her game.  I mean, why in the world does so-and-so's father care to know my maiden name?

Uh ... no, responds the rookie, as curiosity, spilling out of my mind, takes a swing and a miss at the ball.

At this point, instinct suggests that the rookie shorten up on the bat to steady her aim in case her mind has to keep swinging at curves, because Mr. Frick has just asked, Then what is your maiden name?

Though curiosity muddies my mind with confusion and I can't for the life of me fathom why I feel as though we are duking something out ... in retrospect, I felt baited, because tension has hot wired every brain in the room ...

Ummm ... I'm a bit confused ... can you tell me why we're discussing my maiden name?

Thank goodness, Mr. Frick's wife, who occupies the desk next to her husband's, shoots him a dark look, and as father number one clams up, father number two, who proves bolder by far, picks up the baton ...

Well, with your dark hair and blue eyes, some of us have been wondering whether you might be Ann Howard.

So here it comes, the moment when I chomp down on the bait and fall into the trap ... Who is Ann Howard?

With tongue in cheek Mr. Frack replies:  Ann Howard is a Playboy Centerfold ...

At this, the power of suggestion grabs hold of every mind in the room, including mine, and I go from teacher to stripper in a flash.  Though steeling myself to look Frack straight in the eye, every atom inside me is dying to look down to reassure myself that my clothes have not dropped to the floor along with my jaw.  I mean really—what in the world can this room full of people be thinking of me???  That I teach by day and pole dance by night???

When it comes to jaw dropping contests it's safe to say that no jaw has ever hit the floor as fast as mine did on that evening when this rookie was pitched a fast curve as hot as that one proved to be.  Even so, while blood surges through me so hotly that my mind is blown senseless, my composure is seemingly maintained.  Within seconds, I hear light-hearted laughter, breaking through the pregnant pause electrifying the air, and as that sprinkle of laughter is my own, I create a comfort zone, which invites everyone's sense of humor to join in.

 In truth, I am so light headed as to be unable to catch my breath, and as shock knocks memory out of the ball park, I can't fathom how I'd managed to segue toward the rest of my presentation ... though segue toward regaining control is exactly what ensued.  With no clue that good natured, leadership skills had instinctively saved this rookie from striking out, my self confident stance was secretly shaking, right down to my core when I respond ...

If you think a Playboy Playmate is teaching your kids, please think again  ...

Well ... counters Mr Frack, still looking like the cat that ate the canary, just asking ... and thank goodness—that's the end of that!

On the up side, I had no need to entertain this room filled with my students' parents, because two clowns had managed to turn our evening into a three ring circus, early on.  And looking back, it's great to know that this rookie, wearing a ring master's hat, did not bomb.

Upon deeper reflection, Frick and Frack did a twenty-two year old, dark haired, blue eyed, fledgling woman a huge favor:  You see, in the aftermath of that stunning encounter, which challenged an inexperienced rookie to hold her own under fire, no one—throughout the years of my teaching and speaking career—has ever tossed out a question that I couldn't handle with aplomb :)

PS  Once again, all names have been changed to protect the not so innocent :)