I was a college dropout in my late teens. I didn’t know which direction my life was going and it felt like some aspects of my life were full of expectations of others and not my own. Since I’d been in the foster care system since I was 11-years-old, there were good and bad people who made decisions for me and it was evident, to me, that I needed to learn how to make my own decisions…knowing full well that I would have both failures but also successes.
After two years of college, I needed a change. I needed to find myself. I needed to get to know ME.
I found what I had been missing for half of my youth – my brothers. They were raised in Missouri (while I was raised in Iowa and Nebraska) and once I moved to Missouri, my life fell into place. All I needed was my three brothers in my life. From there, my life took on a whole new meaning. When you grow up for half of your childhood with four siblings and then are separated from them for the rest of your childhood…it’s hard to put into words the loss that you feel. No matter how good or bad the foster homes were, a huge part of my life had been taken away from me – and this was after our dad had died and our mom abandoned us.
Think about that for just a minute. We lost our father in February 1976, we lost our mother in May 1976 (first to abandonment and then her death in June 1977), then I was separated from all of my siblings and put in different foster homes than they were. This is not like being adopted and searching for your birth parents. This is growing up with four siblings and then losing them, through no fault of your own. This is how other extended family members made decisions for us. And this is why I needed some serious soul-searching to find myself.
But, college still beckoned to me. Or perhaps it is better to say that I had left one thing unfinished…and it was time to take the tiger by the tail (HA – Mizzou pun!) and get back to college. I needed to finish for ME this time, not for anyone else. I also had a small competitive streak, knowing that none of my siblings had even attempted college, let alone received a college degree. That higher education was finally important to me…and my older brother Mike was my biggest supporter.
With help from some very special people, I chose a department within the University of Missouri-Columbia, and then chose a major. I had two years and a couple of summers under my belt, but my biggest hurdle was increasing my GPA after my hours were transferred from my first college stint.
At the time, I was tending bar in a large honky tonk, making pretty good tip monies while working four late nights a week. I was also babysitting the boss’s daughter on the days I was off of school. With two not-quite-full-time jobs and a full college load, my life was hectic but do-able. Plus, I was still within a few miles of my brothers and that made all the difference in the world to me.
Toward the end of the 1989-1990 school year, I received a letter saying that I was chosen as the student of the year in my department. What? Me? Why? I asked some of my friends in the department and they didn’t have a clue whether it was ‘real’ or not but none of them had received a letter either. About a week before the presentation, I let Mike see the letter. He was a little irked that I had not shown it to him sooner but I honestly had no clue if it was legitimate or not! Mike gathers the troops (his wife and my other brothers) and decides they are going to the ceremony with me. You cannot know how my heart burst with love over just that little thing. I had earned something by being a non-traditional student (older student, if you will) and I had really worked hard to bring my GPA up to an acceptable level. I didn’t do it all by myself, but I did do it all FOR myself. But when Mike said they were attending the presentation with me – I realized it was not JUST for myself…it was for my family. My brothers. Perhaps others, too.
The morning of the ceremony, I was all dressed up and waiting for my brothers to get to my apartment. I had a hangnail and it was bugging me. One of the simple and silly things, but I needed to take care of it so it wouldn’t snag on my dress or hose.
Let me take a moment to go back in time. In my first foster home, my foster sister and I had gone swimming at the local YMCA. I was goofing around and had gotten under the diving board and tested myself to see if I could grab onto the underside of the board and hang on while kids took their turns on the board. BIG MISTAKE! I was pretty darned pleased with my 11-year-old self because I did it, I jumped out of the water and hung onto the board. The first kid to jump and dive was my undoing. I was too close to the edge of the pool. He jumped and I wasn’t able to hang on. Upon falling, I hit my mouth on the edge of the pool and took a pretty good chunk out of one of my front teeth. I bet I spent 30 minutes diving down in the deep end and then back up, gasping for air, trying to find that corner of my tooth. If I could find it, I planned to just glue it back in place so my foster mother didn’t know I’d been naughty. She was a tough one and it was not above her to put my head through a wall, lock me in the basement and even threaten me with a gun…so, I was not only scared for my tooth but also of the wrath that would befall me when my foster mother found out.
I dove to no avail. I couldn’t find the rest of my tooth. When my foster mother came to pick us up, I told her the truth – I chipped it on the side of the pool. I knew better than to tell her the whole truth, as she was angry enough at just my simple explanation. After two or three visits to the dentist, I was fitted with a cap for that tooth…and I’ve worn a cap on it ever since.
Back to waiting on my brothers. And that hangnail. I stuck that finger with the hangnail in my mouth and started chewing on the hangnail, trying to get it to come free without bloodshed or pain. One chomp. Two chomps. Three….uh oh. Oh my word. The cap on my front tooth shattered to pieces. Right there. Front tooth. Right before I was to receive an award that was a big deal. And my own tooth, which had been sanded down to a nub that was used to anchor the cap was black. I mean wicked witch of the west black. I grabbed some super glue and tried to at least glue the front of the cap back on – praying it would last long enough for the award presentation. R I G H T. The cap pieces became glued to my finger. Then, after freeing myself from that oopsie, I glued the pieced cap to my lower lip. So now I have a finger and part of my lip that are without skin…and still a black tooth.
I nearly had a come-apart!
Mike and company showed up and I told them what I’d done and showed them my little black tooth. Mike told me not to worry about it, just don’t talk or smile with my mouth open. HAHA Anyone who knew me back then would know I couldn’t possibly do either of those things!
But, the show must go on! We loaded up and went to the award’s ceremony. After we got there and seated, I finally understood what the ceremony was about – each department within the College of Human Environmental Sciences had chosen a qualified candidate as their senior student of the year. I was the one chosen by the professors in my department. How cool is that?! Guess I schmoozed the right people!
When my name was called to come forward, we were instructed to introduce those people who came with us. And then told to remain standing so photos could be taken.
R I G H T!
Have you ever tried to talk without opening your mouth? Have you ever tried to talk without moving your upper lip? Smiling I could do – talking I couldn’t. But, I tried to be inconspicuous and introduced my class friend and my family to the audience. And just prayed that no one saw my black tooth and no one took a photo of my opened mouth. As far as I know, everything went okay – at least no one told me if they saw my black tooth!
I graduated from Mizzou in December of 1990 with a degree from the college of Human Environmental Sciences, emphasis on Personal Financial Management (or Consumer Economics, I honestly cannot remember which). This time, however, I refused to ‘walk the stage’ and just had a nice meal out with my brothers to celebrate – and no more tooth fiasco’s!
As tragic as my tooth cap incident was, I have never chewed a hangnail or fingernail again. 🙂
btw – Dr. Weagley was one of my major professors that I still (sporadically) communicate with, hence the reason this story is for him.
