As time passed, I dealt with the seizures as they came. Normally they would occur at least four nights out of the week and the fear that kept them going seemed to be more persistent as the days passed. My mother tried changing routines to shake off the feelings that were constantly weighing on us. Since everyone in my family were baptized Lutherans, she made an effort to go to a local church and enroll me and my brother in Sunday school. The Sunday school teacher read a few biblical stories and handed each of us a picture to color. The worse thing she said trying to give us instruction through her own inspiration was "Do your best to try to turn this into something amazing." We were probably the only kids ever thrown out of Sunday school after our first day of attending. The teacher took great offense at the amount of pride my brother had after he turned her color page into a well constructed paper airplane. I understood the reason why he was proud and took offense at the teacher for scolding him. Apparently, we were too sacrilegious for her liking and were banned from attending Sunday school there.
By the end of summer, my parents separated and my mother took us to Midland to live with her parents. They lived in a two story bungalow with a full unfinished basement. The household consisted of my grandparents, my mother, three aunts, two uncles, my brother and myself.. and a testy little chihuahua named Peppy. Ten of us all living under the same roof and only one bathroom in the house. Sleeping arrangements were just as crazy since there were only four bedrooms. Three of us boys shared one bed, which always led to the nightly discussion of who was going to sleep in the middle before we turned in. The eldest of my aunts finished school the previous year or so and moved out a short time later.
My grandparents were strict and avid Lutherans who kept extremely active in the local church they attended. My grandmother continuously volunteered to help with social functions, while my grandfather taught bible study classes and maintained a position with the board of elders. The church already had more of a connection to me than I realized. It held the events of my father's confirmation, my parents wedding, and the baptisms of my brother and me. Sunday mornings were treated as a day of obligation, almost in the same manner as going to school or work. No excuses held enough validation to stay home and not attend. The only acceptable options became the decision between attending first service or second service. Since we boys held the lowest authority due to our ages, we complied to expectations made for us. Being such a sizable family, fitting all of us in one vehicle always became an issue that ultimately led to a simple solution. Half of us attended the first service, while those who couldn't fit in the car went to the second service after the first group returned home. The distance between the church and my grandparent's house was roughly only about six or seven blocks away, but promptness maintained to be one of the most important virtues in the family. Tardiness deemed to be a reflective form of laziness, that felt like a committed sin to the hapless soul who faltered and fell from grace when making an appearance to any scheduled event in an untimely fashion. For being such a religious family, it seemed ironic how easy it was to catch hell for some things.
My first day of school came faster than I anticipated. Since the church we attended every Sunday was also a parochial school that taught kindergarten through eighth grade, if felt welcoming since some familiarity already existed. The morning came in its usual manner, but felt different, almost in an enlightened, uplifting sort of way. It seemed curious enough in the months staying with my grandparents that I never had a seizure, but I no longer experienced the onslaught of the fear that sent me into them either. I felt protected with the people around me and by a greater force I couldn't recognize or understand at the time. Even the rays of the sun felt like a cloak of warm hands on my shoulders that shielded me with a peaceful acceptance. My two youngest aunts, uncle and I finished breakfast and walked to school together. It felt like I was following three mentors who were leading me to a world of great experiences. I entered the kindergarten classroom and for the first time, met with the classmates, some of whom I would eventually grow up with for the next nine years. Initially, the focus for the classroom was basically for us students to get to know each other. After the initial ice breaking session was over, we colored pictures. The table section where I sat had no pencils or crayons available, though everyone else seemed amply equipped. The teacher asked for someone to share with me, and then out of nowhere.. I spewed all over the table. Not exactly a positive way to start making first impressions. She sent me outside the door with a small wastepaper basket where I sat and hurled, occasionally greeting a few hapless people who happened to walk by, as I waited for my mom to pick me up and take me home.
By the end of summer, my parents separated and my mother took us to Midland to live with her parents. They lived in a two story bungalow with a full unfinished basement. The household consisted of my grandparents, my mother, three aunts, two uncles, my brother and myself.. and a testy little chihuahua named Peppy. Ten of us all living under the same roof and only one bathroom in the house. Sleeping arrangements were just as crazy since there were only four bedrooms. Three of us boys shared one bed, which always led to the nightly discussion of who was going to sleep in the middle before we turned in. The eldest of my aunts finished school the previous year or so and moved out a short time later.
My grandparents were strict and avid Lutherans who kept extremely active in the local church they attended. My grandmother continuously volunteered to help with social functions, while my grandfather taught bible study classes and maintained a position with the board of elders. The church already had more of a connection to me than I realized. It held the events of my father's confirmation, my parents wedding, and the baptisms of my brother and me. Sunday mornings were treated as a day of obligation, almost in the same manner as going to school or work. No excuses held enough validation to stay home and not attend. The only acceptable options became the decision between attending first service or second service. Since we boys held the lowest authority due to our ages, we complied to expectations made for us. Being such a sizable family, fitting all of us in one vehicle always became an issue that ultimately led to a simple solution. Half of us attended the first service, while those who couldn't fit in the car went to the second service after the first group returned home. The distance between the church and my grandparent's house was roughly only about six or seven blocks away, but promptness maintained to be one of the most important virtues in the family. Tardiness deemed to be a reflective form of laziness, that felt like a committed sin to the hapless soul who faltered and fell from grace when making an appearance to any scheduled event in an untimely fashion. For being such a religious family, it seemed ironic how easy it was to catch hell for some things.My first day of school came faster than I anticipated. Since the church we attended every Sunday was also a parochial school that taught kindergarten through eighth grade, if felt welcoming since some familiarity already existed. The morning came in its usual manner, but felt different, almost in an enlightened, uplifting sort of way. It seemed curious enough in the months staying with my grandparents that I never had a seizure, but I no longer experienced the onslaught of the fear that sent me into them either. I felt protected with the people around me and by a greater force I couldn't recognize or understand at the time. Even the rays of the sun felt like a cloak of warm hands on my shoulders that shielded me with a peaceful acceptance. My two youngest aunts, uncle and I finished breakfast and walked to school together. It felt like I was following three mentors who were leading me to a world of great experiences. I entered the kindergarten classroom and for the first time, met with the classmates, some of whom I would eventually grow up with for the next nine years. Initially, the focus for the classroom was basically for us students to get to know each other. After the initial ice breaking session was over, we colored pictures. The table section where I sat had no pencils or crayons available, though everyone else seemed amply equipped. The teacher asked for someone to share with me, and then out of nowhere.. I spewed all over the table. Not exactly a positive way to start making first impressions. She sent me outside the door with a small wastepaper basket where I sat and hurled, occasionally greeting a few hapless people who happened to walk by, as I waited for my mom to pick me up and take me home.
