My sister Sandie started blogging a couple weeks ago. She's 50 you know, (which is much older than me. Just say'in....)
Today she writes about something every parent or caregiver of a child needs to be aware of. Please go read.
Of course, I cried for my sister. I knew the same people, though I was much younger than her I went to the same school(s). But someone else came to talk to me at school. Mr. Hoppe (pronounced Hoppy) He was a very nice man, and was a psychologist. Of course, when I was 9 I didn't know that detail. I just knew that he came to visit me in school many times. And I remember one time my parents took me to his office.
What I don't remember is why Mr. Hoppe came to visit me at school. Reading my sister's blog post makes me glad I don't remember.
I think I know why I don't remember.
It was 4th grade, and I had Mrs. King for a teacher. I loved Mrs. King. She was a very nice lady; kind and gentle. You could feel that she cared about each of us.
In Mrs. King's room, in the reading corner, there were these long orange pillows that 2 or 3 kids could lean on at one time. I don't remember anything from 4th grade after a specific moment in time, but I remember those pillows.
Mrs. King stepped out of the room.
I remember that a couple of the boys...I can't remember their names, but I remember their faces...got a little carried away and started swinging those giant orange pillows around in a kind of pillow fight on steroids.
I remember getting a drink at the fountain in the sink.
And then I was sitting in the living room with my grandma playing chess....and we were half-way through the game. I'm told that was three days later. I remember being confused and wondering how I got there, and how I could be playing chess and not know it. With my grandma.
Grandma said to me, "Well! You're back!"
And I remember the headache.
And I remember that I couldn't see very well.
The kids who were there in the classroom at the time later told me that when the boys were playing with the pillows, I stood up from the drinking fountain and turned around just as a pillow came swinging at me. My head hit the concrete floor with a loud "CRACK" sound. One of the girls screamed because she thought I was dead. Mr. Gilbert, who you read about in my sister's blog, ran into the room and carried me, to the nurses office. He ran all the way and he was scared. Mrs. King cried.
I have an excellent memory for lots of things, including small details, but 4th grade is gone; wiped clear from that crack to my head. The crack to my head that damaged my vision ( I would later suffer two more head injuries, each one damaging my vision a little more because apparently there is one part of my head that tends to hit first!) So to, was my memory of Mr. Hoppe damaged. Why did he come to visit me?
After reading my sister's blog post, I'm pretty sure there were other memories lost as well, and I think I'm glad.