Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: END (06/09/22)
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TITLE: Mile Markers | Previous Challenge Entry
By Jack Taylor
06/16/22 -
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Frankly, I don’t remember much about the first few mile markers. I’ve got a few scars, a few pictures, a few niggling faces and places lodged into my mind. Some carry emotional baggage hidden away in the trunk of my heart. Mostly, I’ve tried to leave those heavy things somewhere in the rear-view mirror.
The first clear marker came on a crisp winter morning. At my grandmother’s home. The white stuff blanketed the world I knew and drew me into the unmarred beauty of new life. I stomped in it, rolled in it, rolled it up into balls, threw it, tasted it, wrestled with my golden lab in it. A piece of cardboard at the top of a hill provided the thrill ride of a lifetime. Tumbling, fumbling, mumbling over and over again. Purple, unfeeling fingers stung as they thawed and it was exhilarating. Hot chocolate and marshmallows by the fire as my toes sizzled and my mind tried to forget that my dad wouldn’t be coming home again.
Another marker on the road of life was early in my educational career. A motherly teacher who opened up the world of stories and fantasy and new worlds at the touch of a finger. Bears, tigers, spies, pirates, mystical creatures and fairy tale princesses all lived during the hours away from reality. She had the most amazing red lips and raven-black curls. I giggled with others and clapped with the achievements of my classmates. All except for Benji and Barney. It’s hard to clap for those who wash your face in the snow, trip you into the mud, and laugh at the baloney sandwiches grandmom sent for lunch each day.
One marker was scratched and bent over as if it had been hit one too many times by passersby. The masked face of a nurse still haunts my dreams from my two-week stay in the hospital when I was young. She stuck me with needles, pushed and prodded and tested the quality of my casts. It wasn’t my mother’s fault. Without my dad, she worked two jobs and was tired as she drove us to the birthday party. None of us noticed the red light or the speeding truck. It took ages to believe that neither she nor my younger sister would ever come home again. The bed we shared felt cold at night. Grandmom tried to be strong but I’d hear her cry at night when she thought I was sleeping. I never did sleep a lot.
A special marker resembled a chess piece. I wasn’t the best in junior high but when I beat everyone, except Robert Shelly at our chess tournament, our club sponsor took extra time to share some books and to teach me more moves. I dreamed about chess until those pieces chased me through the halls of our school and into the alleys of our city. There were scary people who lived in those alleys. Jimmy, Benny and Lanny took me into those alleys one afternoon and they proved scarier than I realized. They told me how grown up I was looking but I don’t like how they showed it. I thought about telling my club sponsor but he seemed only to care about how I moved my pawns and pieces. I stopped attending.
Some markers are worth hugging. My neighbor paid my way to a camp one summer. It was the first time I heard about Jesus. I had trouble figuring out how the band playing, the speaker making us laugh, and the campfire making everyone throw pieces of wood in the fire fit with a God who took my mom and my sister. I went along with what was said, started going to a youth group with a girl I met and started a pen pal relationship with Larry Dean. It was a confusing, exhilarating, gut-wrenching time of my life. I kept writing to Larry even when he stopped writing me back.
Now, I sit in my rocker, watching the snow fall again. The miles have gone by so fast. The Bible sits open in my lap. At the end it’s good to have a friend.
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Mile markers was a great metaphor. Good job.