I Stood My Ground
© Robin Easton - All Rights Reserved
Little Robin, seven years old, wearing a birthday hat. She felt transformed into an elegant, beautiful woman. Who could not feel beautiful with a butterfly on their hat?
Lately, I have been remembering my seventh year on planet Earth. This was a pivotal year for me, a strong year of fierce independence, reclamation, and empowerment. Even at that young age, I felt very aware of my purpose, and aware of what was happening around me. I might not have had words to explain what I was going through, and even if I had them, I doubt I would have shared them.
My seventh year was a sacred, private experience I held close to my heart, like one who silently gathers their power. Holding the Sacred close was part of the reclamation of my soul. Even back then I saw everything and everyone on a soul-level. I consciously knew that I had always been keenly aware. It was a state of being that I could not escape, nor did I want to. I knew it was who I am. It was both deeply painful and startlingly beautiful…like Life itself.
My clear memories went all the way back to conception, birth, and onward. I never was without clear memories. I knew I was an observer of humanity and the world, I could feel that inescapable truth in my being, as if it was me. But in my seventh year, I understood something new. I realized I could be proactive about my place in the world, and my relationship with the world. People might not like me, see me, or hear me, and life might not always give me the results I wanted or needed, but I could consciously speak my mind and take a stand. I also knew I might rock the boat. There was no way of avoiding it…if I was to be myself.
My awareness of this shift in myself was not a flagrant, loud awareness, but rather a calm, steady, determined claiming of who I am….in a world I knew did not see me, a world that often does not see the fully developed wisdom and awareness of its children. However, I decided I did not have time to worry about that. I was far better off to focus on what I did have control over. That was where my strongest power surged.
There were many incidents that affirmed my durable inner self; some were comical, others profoundly beautiful. I remember one such incident when I commanded my entire second grade class. I don’t remember the day or month, but I do remember my pivotal moment of power.
Note: In this story, I have changed the names of my teacher and classmates to protect the innocent, the not so innocent, and whoever else needs protection.
My roughly thirty classmates and I were sitting at our desks in our classroom. It was probably the only classroom I ever liked. Instead of unforgiving concrete floors, this room had softly worn hardwood floors. And, huge, tall windows lined two of the sunny-yellow walls.
I looked out those windows and dreamed with the sway of leafy green maple trees, and the slow drift of fluffy white clouds across deep-blue sky, and tiny birds that flew from tree to tree. I envied their freedom and play. Cool autumn days turned summer’s green leaves to flames of orange and red. Later, I watched bitter wind strip the branches, until bony fingers reached into winter’s gray skies. I swore I saw little abandoned nests hidden among the crooks of branches. I longed to walk out the door, climb the trees, and peek inside those nests. No one knew how high I could climb, almost to the treetops. I never told anyone. Grownups would be angry and banish me from the trees. So I climbed when no one watched and went so high I swayed with the branches.
Bored with dry arithmetic and history, I watched, minute-by-minute as golden sunlight peeked over the lip of the windows, and crept like fingers across the floor, closer and closer…to me. I watched, riveted by this Living Being. I anticipate the moment it would reach my tiny legs and wrap itself around my ankles as if it knew me. I forget everything as it seeped into my bones. I closed my eyes and sighed with ecstasy.
As my teacher droned on and on, little did she know I had a secret love affair with golden light, just between me and the Sun. I was sure the Sun came into the classroom every day just to seek me out, only me. How could I ever explain that to an adult? I already knew such things held no value in the classroom.
Like a cherry atop an ice-cream Sunday, the largest clock I had ever seen hung high on the wall at the head of the class, like a benign eye overseeing the events of the day. That clock must have been a foot and a half across. It was white with black, sturdy hands and big, bold numbers, real numbers, not those weird Roman numerals my brother was learning in fifth grade. No one could miss The Clock. That benign eye taught me to tell time. We learned together how many minutes it took the Sun to reach my legs.
One day, as we sat at our little desks, our gray-haired, pleasingly plump teacher, Mrs. Thatcher, slowly wandered up and down the rows of wooden desks.
Little Robin’s thoughts: She dresses like Grammy. That looks like one of those flowered house dresses. Grammy told me older women wear those. House dresses? Hmm, does that mean they’re shaped like a house? It looks like our little pup-tent. Or maybe, it means you’re only supposed to wear them in the house. Is Mrs. Thatcher wearing her pajamas to school? I wonder if the principle knows. Maybe she’s tired. Ya, that must be it. Grammy said old people get tired and don’t really care what they wear. I don’t really care what I wear, and I’m not old.
Story continues below photo.
Dad took all six of his kids into the woods. It was fall, so we all wore something red. “So hunters can see you,” Dad said. I don’t know how he managed all six of us, but he did. He looks tired in this photo, but he still took us with him. It remains the biggest gift I have ever been given…The Wild. Thank you, Dad.
Back wandering the rows of students, Mrs. Thatcher stopped at each desk and asked, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”
It went much like this:
“Jonny, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A policeman,” Jonny said proudly.
Mrs. Thatcher smiled, clapped her hands together as if in prayer or delight and said, “Well now, that sounds like a wonderfully noble profession.”
Jonny’s chin lifted a bit higher, and his nose went into the air as he beamed around the classroom, obviously pleased with himself. Then just as suddenly his brow furrowed with confusion.
Little Robin’s thoughts: I bet he doesn’t know what ‘noble’ means. Daddy always says we should act nobly and with character. I think it means like the characters in a book. But it has to be a good book, like the Bible or Napoleon Hill’s books, or that Gandhi guy Daddy reads about. Ya, all those books he reads to us kids. Daddy likes those books. Ya, he says we should always stand tall. Well, I already stand taller than both Sam and Jonny, and they’re the two tallest boys in my class. I’ll have to tell Daddy.
“Uhhh, Mrs. Thatcher, what does ‘noble’ mean,” Jonny mumbled.
Little Robin’s thoughts: Yup, I knew it. Daddy could tell him what it means.
But it was too late, Mrs. Thatcher had already moved on.
“Sam, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
Sam darted a ‘I’ll-top-you’ look at Jonny and said, “I want to be a fireman.”
“Well, that should be a worthy career,” said Mrs. thatcher. “You might even save some lives.”
Sam looked smugly at Jonny and said, “Yes, Mrs. Thatcher, it’s a very noble profession.”
Jonny shot killer darts at Sam who smirked and lifted his nose in the air.
Little Robin’s thoughts: All this nose raising won’t get us anywhere. That’s what Mama always says. “You might as well get your nose out of the air, right now. It won’t get you anywhere.” Whoa, Jonny and Sam look ready to spit. There’s gonna be a fight at recess, that’s for sure. Yup, if they don’t knock it off, heads are gonna roll. That’s what Daddy says to us kids. Oh well, I hope Mrs. Thatcher has hydrogen peroxide and band aids like Mama uses. Doesn’t she see what the boys are doing? Nope, guess not. Okay, what’s the next noble profession?
“Susie, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A nurse,” Susie said sweetly.
“Oh, now isn’t that beautiful, so nice. Yes.” Again, Mrs. Thatcher clasped her hands as if in prayer.
Little Robin’s thoughts: Being a nurse...beautiful?! Mama was a nurse once. That’s not what she told me…all those poo-filled bedpans, all that puking, and blood and guts, and needles, and yucky stuff. Beautiful?!! I don’t think so. Oh well, she’ll find out the hard way. That’s what Mama said, she found out the hard way. I wonder what the easy way is. Nobody ever talks about the easy way. I’m not sure grownups are as smart as they pretend to be.
Mrs. Thatcher chattered on and on, up and down the aisles of desks. With each step the thick heels of her sensible, brown, lace-up shoes clunked on the wooden floor.
Little Robin’s thoughts: Oooh, I like that sound. I’ll have to try that when Mrs. Thatcher goes to lunch. I don’t know though; I don’t think my sneakers will clunk. I gotta tell Mama to get me some big boots. I bet they would clunk.
“Debbie, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A teacher like you, Mrs. Thatcher.”
Mrs. Thatcher smiled and simpered over her new protégé. A sacred bond was formed.
Little Robin’s thoughts: Oh, give me break! She’s just trying to be teacher’s pet! She’s so transparent. That’s what Mama says, “You are so transparent, Robin.” Well, if I’m so transparent, Mama, how come you don’t understand me when I tell you I wanna go live in the woods, and that school is so boring it’s killing me!?
“Jean, what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“A mother,” Jean said piously as if she was aspiring to be the Virgin Mary or Mother Theresa. (Dad had read to us kids about Mother Theresa. As to the Virgin Mary…well, everyone knew her.)
“Yes, yes, wonderful,” Mrs Thatcher cooed. “I bet you’ll make a very good mother.”
Little Robin’s thoughts: Are you kidding me? A mother?!! Does she even know what it’s like to live in a house with eight people and six of them kids? I sure do! A mother?!! Ya, right. She’s an only child. I bet she never tried to sleep with screaming babies, or had to change poopy diapers, or clean up puked baby food, like mashed bananas. Boy, that stuff is so slimy it’s like boogers. Oh well, like Mama says, ‘She’ll find out the hard way.’
Story continues below photo.
Robin, her five siblings, and a cousin having a lunch of sandwiches and handpicked wild strawberries. (Robin is the one at the back in the white and orange flowered dress.)
“Robin, what do you want to be when you grow up? Robin? ROBIN!! Pay attention!” Mrs. Thatcher’s wooden ruler smacked down hard on Robin’s desk, and snapped her to attention. But still, there was a long pause of consideration. And then, calmly…
”A helicopter pilot.”
Dead silence.
“Now, Robin, you’re a girl and I seriously doubt that you even know what a helicopter is, let alone whether you want to pilot of one,” said Mrs. Thatcher with her hand on her hip and a sigh of disgust.
Little Robin’s thoughts: Ya right, like Sam knows what it’s like to be a fireman, and I’m sure Jonny knows all about police work. Do you seriously think Jean is ready for all those poopy diapers? At least I’ve seen and smelled them. I’ve changed way too many poopy diapers to wanna be a mother. Baby poo is the stinkiest poo of all.
Suddenly amidst her thoughts, Little Robin realized that Mrs. Thatcher had just attacked her dream. You didn’t attack anyone else. Why me? There had been one too many times when Mrs. Thatcher ridiculed Little Robin in front of the whole class. Today would be the last time. Something fierce and final rose up in Robin, and she knew this called for action. She leaped to defend herself, and said “I do too know what a helicopter is! I’ve even flown in one.”
“Now, now, Robin, you be quiet. You’re barely seven years old, you can hardly have flown in a helicopter. Even I have never flown in one. We mustn’t lie, Robin.”
With her mouth agape, hackles raised, eyes shooting flames, Little Robin burst forth in one mad, defiant gush, before she lost her courage. “I do so know what one is. I flew in a helicopter with Daddy and another man. I flew over this school and the lake and the whole town. If you don’t believe me, ask my daddy. I even got to steer for a bit. So, I have flown a helicopter already.”
Mrs. Thatcher’s eyes bulged wide and round. I had the whole class’ attention, even the boys. All faces turn to Little Robin.
Suddenly, Mrs. Thatcher, snapped out of it, as Jonny, the policeman, and Sam the fireman started shouting, “Robin’s lying, Mrs. Thatcher. Liar, liar. She never rode a helicopter. She’s lying. Stop her from lying.”
Little Robin lifted her nose in the air and proclaimed , “I never said I ‘rode’ a helicopter, I said I flew in one. You don’t ride a helicopter. It’s not a bicycle. And, you have to duck way down low when you get in and out so the blades don’t chop off your head and you end up running around squirting blood like a chicken with its head cut off.” (We had chickens at home, and I knew all about chopped off heads.)
Now, Little Robin had everyone in the palm of her hand, hanging on every word, at her command.
Mrs. Thatcher abruptly slapped her ruler on Little Robin’s desk and said, “Robin! That is enough, and no more lying and talking about helicopters and heads being chopped off.”
Outraged, Little Robin jumped from her seat, braced her legs for the onslaught, and blurted in another mad gush, “I went to the county fair with Daddy for the very first time in my whole life. Like Daddy said, it was a big deal. He paid a man $5.00 to take Daddy and me in the helicopter. Mama didn’t go because she was too afraid, but I wasn’t afraid of having my head chopped off. I went with Daddy and the man, and we flew so high above the whole town. You all looked like tiny ants. (Little Robin giggled thinking of them all as ants. At this stage she was ready to pull off all their antennas and watch them run around in circles, just like she’d seen the neighborhood bully do.)
By now, Mrs. Thatcher had lost total control of the class. Mayhem and shouting ensued. The fireman and policeman had just been ousted from their top noble professions by a female helicopter pilot, and were now vying to fly fighter jets and spaceships.
Mrs. Thatcher shouted, “Sit down! Everyone, sit down and be quiet! Now!”
Little Robin felt totally set free. She knew there would be no more ridicule of her dreams. This was the first time since school started, that she had stood up for herself. This time, this one time, she had found her voice and not remained fearful and silent in the face of Mrs. Thatcher’s ridicule. The helicopter ride with her Daddy had been way too precious to be ridiculed.
There now was a line in the sand, and Robin could feel that Mrs. Thatcher knew it. No more would Little Robin remain silent when someone accused her of lying…when she was telling the truth. With absolute calm and dignity Robin looked directly at Mrs. Thatcher and spoke one last time. “Mrs. Thatcher, all you had to do was believe me. I did not lie. You believed everyone else. Why not me? Call my daddy and ask him. I know his number at work.”
Little Robin’s thoughts: I hope she calls Daddy. He’ll tell her the truth. He knows we flew and I wasn’t afraid of having my head chopped off. Then Mrs. Thatcher will feel really bad for calling me a liar.
Without looking at Little Robin, Mrs. Thatcher dismissively said, “That won’t be necessary, Robin.”
Little Robin’s thoughts: What? No sorries? You aren’t going to call Daddy? Why aren’t you excited about me being a helicopter pilot? Isn’t it noble? Just think, if your boat sinks in the ocean, I could hover over you and throw a rope down so you could climb up before the sharks bit off your legs. Why won’t you call my daddy? He would tell you it’s noble.
But…Mrs. Thatcher continued as if nothing had happened. How many children have been enrage and gone insane from that kind of selfish withholding? Blessedly Little Robin took a stand, and for her, that was all that mattered. Nothing could diminish that accomplishment, or her ride in the helicopter. Mrs. Thatcher had lost her grip on Robin’s soul.
Next…
“And Nora, what do you want to be when you grow up,”
“A secretary,” said Nora sweetly.
“Oh, I bet you’ll be so efficient. You might one day work at this very school,” Mrs. Thatcher said as if offering her a job.
Nora’s face lit up as she giggled nervously. A job offer at seven years old was a daunting prospect for shy Nora.
“Linda, what would you like to be when you grow up?”
“A hairdresser like my mother,” Linda said.
“How nice, maybe I’ll come and have my hair cut, ” said Mrs. Thatcher as she patted her gray curls.
Linda giggled and happily swung her legs.
And on and on it went….
I had already learned not to take the world of ‘school’ too seriously. I couldn’t, not if I wanted to stay sane. It was not my place of reference, nor my gauge for self worth. I also knew Dad believed in me, because he had chosen me out of his six kids to fly with him. In those days, with a family of eight, Dad could only afford one ride. Only one of us kids would fit with him and the pilot in the two-seater helicopter. I felt so special, so important as he firmly held me on his lap while we flew over the town. Everything looked like the tiny train-set-villages I had seen in toy stores. High above our town, I saw the top of the church steeple, the little yellow school house where I attended first grade, and all the stores on Main Street. Dad even pointed out our house and the street where we lived. But the biggest event was when we flew over The Lake. I could see the entire seven-mile lake all at once. It looked like a long mirror. Little did I know that The Lake would soon become a mirror for my soul.
Dad loved flying, and his excitement on the helicopter ride flooded into me making the trip one of my most cherished memories. Much later in his life--when I was off traveling the world--Dad took flying lessons. Because of my father, I grew up thinking I could be anything I wanted to be.
That day in class, for one brief moment I created mayhem and glory. I commanded the entire second grade…even the teacher. Legs braced against the onslaught of ridicule and shame; I stood my ground. And, I could feel the rightness of it coursing through me, a feeling I would not forget. I also knew, if I wanted to pilot a helicopter…I would.
Later that night, when Dad arrived home from work, I told him of the day’s events. His handsome face looked both sad and frustrated. I felt it and saw it in his eyes. It was one of those times he spoke such powerful words that I carried them with me throughout my life.
“Robsy, it can be hard for some people to believe in or even dream about something they have never experienced or felt, or even something they might want to do, but don’t yet dare to do. But Robsy, you have great dreams in you, and strong courage. You’ve only lived seven years on this planet, and you’ve already flown a helicopter. More importantly, you stood up for yourself today. Robsy, don’t forget that you’re a flyer, just like your name, ‘Robin.’ Remember, birds are meant to fly.”
Story continues below photo.
My grandparents camp on The Lake, later became our camp. From age seven to age eighteen, when I left home, I spent my springs, summers and falls nestled in the woods of Lake Pennesseewassee.
Even after school let out, my year of power continued. As if by a miracle, I finally was able to live in the woods. I found my ‘right’ place. My grandparents bought a cottage on ‘The Lake’ and I spent the first of many summers (springs and falls) deeply entrenched in the woods of Maine. That first summer, I ran wild and barefoot, as I fell in love with tiny blue violets, sweet wild strawberries, and newly hatched peepers barely bigger than my thumbnail. I roamed wild and free until I knew every square inch of those one-hundred acres of woods and streams. The whispering sound of towering white pines imprinted my soul, and still they whisper.
Story continues below photo.
Dad canoeing Crooked River in Maine. This canoe is one Dad made when he was a boy. It lasted his lifetime and is now used by one of his sons, and his grandsons.
That summer I confessed to my dad that I was terrified of water. Without any ridicule he simply helped me outgrow my fear, until being in, or on, or near the water became one of my life’s most passionate experiences.
From there he taught me how to handle a canoe. Dad was an expert canoeist in both calm and whitewater. He had paddled all the great rivers of Maine, the St. John, the Allagash, and more. By summer’s end I handled a canoe like any adult expert. Dad showed me how to paddle and steer “like the Indians did,” without ever taking my paddle from the water. For miles, I paddled and steered all in one smooth continuous stroke. And…I was fast, strong, and steady, even in tough currents, wind, and large waves.
My father once told me, “If you can handle a canoe with confidence, you’ll be able to handle life with that same confidence.”
That summer, I also learned which plants were poisonous, and which ones I could eat, and how not to harm them in my pickings, and which ones were in danger of extinction and must be protected. I ate many meals from those woods.
Dad taught me all these exciting skills and more. I learned how to shoot a bow and arrow, straight and true, and how to start a fire in the rain. I learned all the things my soul hungered to learn, things I never learned in school. For me, this was life-giving nourishment that made my soul strong and connected to all that really matters…to me.
I finally was able to experience who I really am. And, I recognized myself in those woods and on the water.
I never chose to fly choppers, but at age eighteen I chose to become an Explorer of the Human Soul, spelunking deep into Shadowed areas where I discovered Light like I had never known before. For years, I chose to become an Adventurer who lived in (or traveled through) thirteen countries, and many different cultures. I chose to relinquish all I owned and wander naked in body and soul through some of Earth’s remotest places.
I did not seek to find ‘some’ truth. After my years on The Lake, I knew Truth already exists. I sought only to Experience it. Become it.
Love,
Robin
The canoes of my youth, like old friends, never forgotten.