Special School

So this is (unfortunately) a true story of how I was
accidentally sent to a school for the mentally retarded when I was 11 years
old. This occurred in the year of 1978
when those in charge began to realize that all children did not necessarily learn
at the same pace or by the same methods.
Well, for whatever reason(s), the PR peoples of Waldorf decided to scour
the Rio Linda School District in order to find the most advanced students so
that they may send their (students) parents to Los Angeles for a free seminar
on the benefits of Waldorf schools….
Yes, I was chosen for my advanced reading
capabilities so they whisked my Mom off to L.A. (she got to stay in the Bonaventure
Hotel no less), where she listened and learned as to how there are some
children who have the aptitude to catch on and learn more quickly than
others. It is vital for you to note here
that in that day and age, people referred to bright and gifted
children as special. Hence the speakers for Waldorf would
frequently use this term of special
when referring to children who excelled quickly in class.
After three days of enlightenment, my Mother
returned home with high hopes of enrolling me in the Waldorf School in Fair
Oaks, California. She and I soon
attended an open house and we were both overly ecstatic from our experience and
anxious for my enrollment to begin. But
alas, the price to attend was astronomical and unobtainable due to the fact
that we were barely getting by on welfare and food stamps (to this day, I
cannot understand why such an expensive school would solicit such a poverty
stricken area). Here the nightmare of an
eleven year old begins.
My Mother (bless her heart) spent days, which soon
turned into weeks, calling every educational facility found within the entire
Sacramento County in search of a facility that accepted government funds and
followed Waldorf’s values. Finally, she
received a response, and they wanted me to come in to take an aptitude test as
they only taught 7th through 12th grade. Well, I passed with flying colors. As a matter of fact, my test scores showed
that I tested at 12th grade levels!
With these high results, the institution decided to let me enroll and
begin with 7th grade studies and excel at my own pace. The next day my Mother dropped me off; both
of us were super excited!
I had only one class, and the classroom contained no
individual desks, but rather one long table in which we students all sat around
and interacted. For my first assignment
I was given a very thick textbook teaching me how to count money (really?); I
was sure I would get into the 8th grade within the week and felt so super smart at having finished the
textbook and then helping the others.
Then Kenny came in. Kenny was a
student arriving late apparently because he had his arm cast removed. When the teacher declared very loudly and in
an exaggerated baby voice how delighted she was that he had his cast removed
and all the other students clapped in acknowledgement, I noted to myself the
oddity of this occurrence. Before I was
able to dissect this peculiar incident, we were all dismissed for lunch.
This is where everything came together for me; like
a whirlwind and not unlike the Twighlight Zone.
Almost everyone in the grassy lunch area donned an orange helmet and there
was a crazy mixture of havoc created from instructors and aides exasperating
themselves in coaxing children out of trees and pulling them off of
fences. Yes, I did return to class (had
I possessed a cell phone, I would have quietly retreated) and finished the day
with helping the other students count money.
When the school day finally ended, I waited outside in tears, far from
the campus, and thoroughly reflected on my diminutive life trying desperately
to discern how I became mentally retarded, when everyone became aware of it,
and what was it that I missed in knowing this.
I recalled a time in the third grade when I was late for school….
My Mother had written a note to explain why I was
late. I opened the note as soon as I was
out of her sight and it read, “Please excuse my daughter Cindy for being tardy…”,
and that was as far as I read. My heart
stopped at the word tardy. I had yet to learn the meaning for this word,
and the only closest meaning I knew of was retarded. I stood there frozen, in front of our
neighbor’s retaining wall, not knowing what to do. Had everyone thought (known) that I was
retarded? And if so, for how long? And why wouldn’t they just tell me? I honestly do not remember my actions after
that……
So my Mother finally arrived to pick me up and I was
beyond tears; I was in full hysteria mode.
Being that our Mother-Daughter relationship was previously unstable, it
went to full throttle: all out screaming (from me). It turns out, during this era, when one uses
the word special (especially) in
regards to their child, it will most likely refer to a child who is mentally
retarded.
It took many years for me to truly accept that my Mother
did not do this on purpose; I now look back and laugh…….REALLY laugh!! The one word that enabled me to be in this situation
was special. However, special
also meant gifted (as in smart, bright, and talented).

THE
END

YUCK......THIS DREAM IS GROSS!!

I cannot recall the circumstances of why I was in this place of deprivation nor what part I played in it. What I do recall is being with a family that consisted of a young (23?) mother, her husband (and father of her children), and her three young children. This family was living in shambles and the husband worked as an upholsterer in some abandoned warehouse. He (the father) went into work on a Saturday to catch up on a project and suddenly heard a loud noise banging against the corrugated bay door in the recesses of the makeshift shop. I was with him the entire way; however, whether he noticed me or not is up for speculation. He (we shall name him Sam) yelled out in his raspy tobacco ridden voice for a reply. There were none. He pulled on the rusty and poorly repaired chain to raise the corrugated bay door and discovered that someone had abandoned a garbage dumpster minus the trash, but containing a feral dog and her six pups. We gathered them up and took them all to Sam's house, where all of the children blanketed their new found friends with their innocent laughter and abundance of unconditional acceptance into their family. So this is when it gets weird; really weird. The dog and its pups all turned into kittens; very healthy kittens. We (dad, mom, and I) were all gathered around them on the back porch both reveling in their innocence while discussing where our next meal was going to come from. This family had been living on questionable drinking water and fresh grass stalks which had begun to grow in their basement after the explosion; they were starving and their children even more so. I remember that we all looked in each other's eyes and we understood what must be done, but no one said a word. Sam and I walked away as his wife picked up a sledge hammer. We heard no cries of pain nor any suffering, just a heavy thump of the hammer. When we returned only a few moments later, mom had the kitten skinned and filleted. She dipped the meat into a flour and continued on to fry it in a crude oil source. The last thing I can remember is taking a bite (while I was totally grossed out, I was also starving), and wondering what cat would taste like. It was incredibly disgusting! I chewed it like three times and then spit it out while dry heaving.....bleah! And that, my friends, is one seriously weird ass dream!

Another Wierd Dream

So last night I dreamed that I was some kind of freaky super hero unlike the one's in which we are used to. No Superman, Wonderwoman, Spiderman stuff, more really really weird. I was like a micro-organism; I could see everything in true scale to life, but was living as some kind of micro superhero (along with all of the others). My powers were psychic and the ability to to fly, as well as being able to switch from human form to microscopic form. My mission was to destroy the ones who were sent out to destroy me. The geographics were contained to one planet. The bad guys had certain powers beyond what I was trained for, however, I found their weakness: an electronic field surrounding the perimeter of their world. There were like four others on my team as well, and we would radio each other our positions and report any enemies in which we took out. What it came down to was that we had to figure out a way to temporarily shut off the energy field so that we could fly out of it while luring the enemy into this non-electro field because that was the only thing that would kill them. One of our team member's powers was being able to do wonders with electronics, and he was able to shut down a partial electro field allowing me to escape. But one of their bad guys was able to get through it as well. So there we were, fighting like both ninjas and knights in an electric field outside of the atmosphere.

SO SO SO weird. And there's a lot more to add, but I'm kind of getting creeped out just getting this far!

Why I gotta have these far out and freaky dreams!?

Memories Part IV

So yeah, sister passed out cold once we got her butt in the cab. I rode in the sleeper (but I didn't pass out). Once we arrived at our stop, friendly Mr. Truck Driver pulled over to let us off, but my sister would not wake up or come to or whatever. Mr. Truck Driver Guy was beginning to panic for some reason and told me to do what the f%&^# ever it was that I had to do to get her moving. So I first (very) gently slapped her face while yelling out her name like super loud. Nothing. Trucker guy is becoming more agitated so I slap her face harder while still yelling out her name. Still nothing. Finally, Mr. Trucker Dude is ready to just throw her out and I totally remember looking at him with my hand raised as high as my arm would reach to smack her as hard as I possibly could, and I kid you not, on the down-swing she suddenly opened her eyes. I will never forget that moment.......I felt so bad in having to do it and I really really did not want to, but the guy was all antsy and getting really stressed out. She came to and we disembarked the big rig pulling three trailers and everyone was happy (except my sister). Once back in Hell.....uhumm....I mean Utah, I think we snuck into our friend's house for a few days before we got caught by our friend's parents. I do remember turning ourselves in and being detained for quite a few hours in some stinky 4X8 room with 2 school desks chained to the floor. I also remember acting like I was claustrophobic and throwing a major fit (I jumped up on the desks and started popping out the tiles in the dropped ceiling). So my Mom finally arrived with her hubby and after some lengthy questions, we were released back into their custody. It took some time to convince them (the po-po) that we had no intentions of shooting any officers of any kind. One would assume that we were home safe and sound. However, it was home which repelled us in the first place. The end.

Memories Part III

Okay, so I probably had to let the memories fully sink in before my brain would let me remember the rest. And indeed I do now. So we stayed at another friend's house for a few days more until the head of household (my friend Suzi's boyfriend's older brother) found out we were wanted so we had to leave. The only thing we could decide on was to head back to Utah and try to explain the situation the best we could. In other words, we decided to face the music and take our lashings. Unlike our first return trip back to Utah, this time we had to hitch a ride back. I remember walking North on I-80 from exit to exit (like three I think), and finding a hippy guy about our age trying to hitch a ride in the same direction. Of course, me being me wanting to help everyone, I thought we would better his chances at getting a ride if we hooked up with him (no Tom, it wasn't sex; get your mind out of the gutter). So yes, it was not long before we got a ride (all three of us) but our ride was only going as far as Reno, NV. It was snowing like crazy, probably registered about 15 degrees farenheight, and our ride dropped us off in downtown Reno. Since it had been almost 24 hours that we had eaten, my sister and I decided that we would panhandle for change and get some eats. The guy we picked up had tried talking me into giving him my gun (ha ha ha) before we were dropped off and then he wanted to panhandle on the same corner as us. We said thanks but no (he seemed really leechy and stupid). We (my sister and I) were in front of Harrahs and he (the doofus) was catty corner from us in front of some other big named casino. Mostly we asked taxi cabs for change cuz they seemed to give us all of their change which was usually around three bucks. Times three that was enough to get us a breakfast sandwich each and have some left for emergencies. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that we soon learned how to take a casino bath (or nice public restroom shower). Just use the warm water and hand soap to wash up (even hair, but you gotta have a comb or brush for that one), and the heated hand dryer can be manipulated in many directions; just like blow drying my hair at home! Back to the panhandling thing. So a Paddy Wagon pulls up and totally arrests this guy that we were hitch-hiking with. Thank God we were not with him and decided that he should not be with us! Se la vi! Cum si cum sa! That's what he got for being a know-it-all and for trying to talk me out of my gun! And it was me who wanted to help him......hmmmm. So after that, me and my sis went and stuffed ourselves at Micky Dees and resumed our thumbing abilities at the nearest onramp to I-80 East. Our first offer was two guys our age in a Stingray (older Corvette). They were not going any significant distance towards our destination, but hey, they were cute and driving a corvette! So we climbed in (or rather lowered ourselves in) and ended up going to a mesa which overlooked the entire city of Reno and drinking a few bottles of wine. I had told them (after we had driven a bit) that I had a gun, and we all agreed since we were drinking and driving that I should stash it under the passenger's seat. I did. I think we went and ate at like BK or some sort of fast food chain after we drank the vino, and I remember asking them to drop us off at any Interstate 80 onramp. I absolutely recall that when they dropped us off, suddenly they could not find my gun under the passenger's seat! I totally called bullshit and physically jumped (dove) into the passenger's front seat and started digging around under the seat. Of course I found my gun. It was kinda like (really like) nice try guys; better luck next time! So there we were, trying to hitch a ride back to Utah on an onramp in the midst of Reno, Nevada. And it was freekin cold! I would guesstimate that it took only about fifteen minutes for someone to stop. However, this someone was a trucker hauling three trailers, and apparently when one (trucker) is hauling more than one trailer, it is (at that time) highly illegal to both pull over on an onramp or exit off of any major highway and illegal for any truckers (apparently from his company) to pick up hitch-hikers. Being that both me and my sister were quite tanked, I tried to boost her up into the cab first. There are these handles on semi's that help a person step up into the cab. However, I think my sister , at the time, thought it was some kind of gymnastics and/or circus bar. While she managed to get her foot on the step and grab hold of the handle (with the help of my head under her butt), I think she actually believed that she was a part of said circus because she started swinging back and forth from the hand bar (rail, whatever,....hand thingy works too) while yelling out nonsensical things (words meaning to be phrases I think). So meanwhile the driver is getting pretty pissed off cuz he is sacrificing his license to pick us up and yells at me to get her under control and into the cab.

Memories; Part 3

So this perve dropped us off at a truck stop in the middle of nowheresville Nevada. There was a gas station (with showers), a souvineer shop, and a diner. Being that we had the twenty bucks from the very nice lady a Dennys, I decided to buy some Dexatrim cuz I heard it made you get wired. I took the Dexi and we sat in the diner drinking coffee in between hitching for a ride out of this hel-lwhole. We got harrassed by one officer and I told him that I was eighteen. He asked for my I.D. and I said that I had never learned to drive, so I did not bother to get an I.D. (or driver's license). Then I got sick, sick, sick! I could not stop throwing up (think it was the Dexatrim). So that kinda screwed up us hitching a ride on the interstate (80). Rather, we went underneath an overpass, to the top where there is a little pocket that keeps out the wind and some of the noise, so I could try and sleep it off. However, I was sooooo wired out of my mind (and still sicky) I could not sleep. I think that we were stuck there for like 16 hours before we finally got a lift. And lift is putting it lightly! The truck driver totally lo0ked like Klinger, except he wasn't cross-dressing. Anyways, things went pretty smooth until we got to Donner's Pass. On the downgrade he starts getting really crazy while insanely speeding and kept saying " betcha think I'm going too fast huh, well I'm not....but maybe I am......or maybe I'm not" and "look how I'm taking these corners, are you scared yet? Do you want me to pull over (HARDY SCARY LAUGH)" and "Do you think we'll make this corner? " He even said he felt crazy when he drove through the Sierras and wondered which turn would be his demise. Well, we made it to Sacramento and he dropped us off right at Madison and I-80......PERFECT!! We never felt so gratefull to be on solid ground (and it was raining). Honestly, I do not remember everywhere we stayed (ummmmm......couches we crashed on). I do remember having an emotional breakdown and did not understand it at the time. All I knew was that I could not stop crying (more like sobbing) for like 6 or 7 hours and my friends mom and older sister were totally freaking out cuz I couldn't stop sobbing enough to try to explain. And looking back, I don't think I would have been able to explain it. I did not understand crying and emotions; I was tough. I took care of everyone and everythig all of the time! I attributed this breakdown to taking the Dexetrim and nothing else. We were asked to leave (of course) and found some refuge with my long time friend Suzi. It was there that we had discovered that there was an All Points Bulletin out on us in Utah because the girl that was in the room (the county detention place) with us when we were planning our escape told the authorities that we were going to shoot every police officer we saw; and that she heard every word of it! Oh yeah, we were armed and dangerous too (she knew we had a gun and totally embellished our plan.........Biiaatch). We realized we were desperately stuck and had limited places to go for shelter.

Memories; Part 2

Yes, our best friend came and got us and snuck us into her bedroom for the night. Her mom actually found out in the morning but chose to take no part in it. We left her house and decided to go to Denny's (after begging for money outside of Shari's Restaurant), because we thought we could sit awhile and enjoy free coffee refills while making a plan on what to do next. I guess we were a bit obvious as run-aways because a lady approached us and asked if she could buy us a meal and sit down and talk with us. Of course we agreed (we were starving), and she turned out to be very polite and nice and really did not lecture us; she was merely concerned. Then this guy approached us (he said he overheard our conversation with the lady) and wanted to help us out as well. However, I was totally leary, but after talking a bit he seemed pretty up and up. This conversation ended up that he was willing to give us ammunition for the gun, and said he'd leave it in his mailbox for us (and of course he gave us his address). With full bellies (oh yeah, the lady who paid for our food also gave ustwenty bucks) we walked to the ammunition guy's house (it was like 4:30 in the morning). Once we found his house, we walked up onto the porch and sure enough found like 200 rounds of .22 caliber ammunition in the mailbox, just like he said! There was no pervey icky (which was what I was afraid of), in fact, we never saw him again! After I loaded the gun (yes, I left the first cylinder empty) we headed for I-80 to hitch hike back to California. We did happen to find a ride with a trucker almost immediately. (Did I mention that there was an APB out on us for armed an dangerous?) (Oh yeah, we found that out later). So this trucker guy picks us up, and as we pass Wendover, NV, my sister totally passes out in his sleeper and he starts telling me how much he wants to do things to me and describes these things in detail. I had my purse (containing the gun) to my right and was furiously and madly trying to get it out of its holster (yes, I had it in a holster.....dumb move) without alerting Mr. Perve Trucker as to what I was doing. I think he figured it out though cuz he turned on the interior cab lights and looked directly at my hand in the purse. He said something like, "are you cold?". Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that right before my sister passed out, the cab reeked with a smell of rotten eggs and this trucker dude kept doing some kind of inhaler thing. I always figured it was some kind of gas, and the reason I was not infected was because I rolled down the window and held my breath as much as possible. Regardless of all of this, once I had the gun free, I cocked it and asked to be let off at the next stop. I was absolute in that if he refused, I would shoot him in his overzealous private area. However, he did indeed let us out at a truckstop (which I had really thought was a city or at best a town). Although a big part of me had hoped to shoot the pervert, another part of me was thankful that it did not go there. Okay, this has been enough on my emotions, once again. It seems that here will be a part 3 to this saga. Tune in tomorrow when scary turns into concerned (LOL). Love you guys and goodnight!