Snatched from Hell by God’S Grace: God's Love Unfolded

By Marilyn Overly

A uniquely encouraging story of a woman tragically injured in the prime of life and the many lifelong challenges she faced.
Marilyn grew up in the quiet countryside of Livonia, Michigan. Growing up, she saw her hometown virtually boom into a thriving community. Her wholesome family life laid the groundwork that gave her the courage to face lifes storms.
During her teen years she faced one night that ended in a tragic auto accident. God used it as a turning point in her life to totally change her perspective. Awakening to full paralysis from her chest down, she cringed from her doctors stinging words, Youll never walk again! She sought to discover why God had spared her life.
Through it all she has risen above adversity to successfully become a qualified teacher, coach, artist, loving mother, and wife. In Snatched from Hell by Gods Grace Marilyn Overly has shared insight from the many experiences throughout her life where God has shown repeatedly, that His unlimited grace and love are available to any and all who will ask.
A great inspirational read for everyone!
This is only the first part of the story. Read the sequel and final part of Marilyns motivational story in Fulfilling the Life of Grace through Him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453555101

Marilyn Overly

Marilyn Overly grew up in the quiet countryside of Livonia, Michigan, when the main businesses there were the corner grocery store, bakery, drug store, and bar. As she grew up, she saw her hometown virtually boom into a thriving community. Her wholesome family life laid the groundwork for her unrelenting personality that gave her the courage and tenacity to face life’s storms. During her teen years she struggled as most teens do, dealing with her peers, her family, and closest friends. That stage between child and adulthood has been a herculean task for all generations. At this time in her life, she unwittingly took a friendly challenge one night that changed her life forever. God used this horrendously tragic auto accident as a turning point in her life completely erasing any pride or arrogance she might have had. Through it she was snatched from Satan’s grip and from hell by the grace of God. Awakening to full paralysis from her chest down and cringing from her doctor’s stinging words, You’ll never walk again!, she resolved to discover why God had spared her life. Through it all she has risen above adversity to successfully become a qualified teacher, coach, artist, loving mother, and wife. Overly has shared insight from the many experiences throughout her life where God has shown repeatedly, that His unlimited grace and love are available to any and all who will ask.

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Contents

About the Author

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Notes

Dedication

I gratefully dedicate this book to my Aunt Adele and the many friends who encouraged me to write my life story through the years; also to my Aunt Florence, whom we fondly call Aunt Sonsie, who helped me with the details of the history of our family. I am especially thankful to Melissa Strehl for her tireless and expert help with editing and advising me on this work early on. Moreover, I humbly dedicate this book to the Lord, for it is His story of my unworthy life, and without Him I would have no hope or purpose in life. I pray the message within these pages will challenge anyone who ever thought of giving up, to stay the course no matter how grim the circumstances appear to be. We are, in fact, all in the hands of an almighty God, and He alone controls our destiny. The ultimate key is, to what extent are we willing to surrender to His will?

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About the Author

Handicapped in 1967 from an automobile accident at age nineteen, my life took a decided turn from that point on. Through it I became aware that God had miraculously spared my life for a reason. As a quadriplegic, I had resolved to find out more about His reason for allowing my accident. This is God’s story of my life as He lovingly guided me toward the Truth, and gave me victory through devastating tragedy. This marvelous verse was given to me at a time when I had felt all of heaven had abandoned me:

1 Peter 5:10 says,

But the God of all grace, who hath called us unto his eternal glory by Christ Jesus, after that ye have suffered a while, make you perfect, stablish, strengthen, settle you.

We go through our daily lives, busy with our chosen routine, never thinking things might change our course. Suddenly, without notice everything comes to a screeching halt when adversity strikes. It could be an accident, a major health crisis, or some family emergency. I have often heard it preached, that God sometimes allows us to be flat on our backs, so we can be still and hear His voice. After an emergency visit to the hospital on, December 27, 2002, and surgery on an abscessed pressure sore, I was sent home to heal. We often wonder why God allows trials in our lives. Why me God? is a question all too familiar to us. The answer, my pastor has preached on many occasions, Why not you? My recent cardiac arrest and subsequent surgery left me bed-ridden for two and one half months. Being a quadriplegic, this time was especially humbling and frustrating for me. Lying in bed, I am much more helpless, than when I am in my chair and more mobile. The long hours I had to spend alone while my husband and the kids were at school were distressing, depressing, and lonely. I spent my days watching television, sleeping, praying, doing Bible study via my computer, and surfing the internet; that is, until my dear Aunt Adele suggested I use this time of healing to write the story of my life.

The idea intrigued me and I mapped out a plan to launch it. This project consumed my days and drew me even closer to the Lord, as time virtually flew by. People had urged me many times through the years since my accident to share this story.

It is my hope and prayer that it may show how I was Snatched from Hell by God’s Grace. All verses throughout this book were taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Jeremiah 1:5 Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.

While this verse was given to Jeremiah, I strongly feel that it is written for all of us. God knew each of us before we were formed. He knew what we would do, and what we would experience and become. God has a plan for our lives. We grope and stumble through life, while God oversees and guides our every step. Each of us is given the opportunity throughout our lives to seek and find His Truth. The most important thing to consider is what will we do with this Truth once we have discovered it?

Something to note: In writing a book of this nature. I felt a need to change the names of certain characters where the subject of their part in my life might cause embarrassment or be derogatory in nature. These are characterized with an asterisk* when first mentioned.

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Introduction

Everything went black! The terror I felt inside was consuming, broken only by the sounds of glass shattering and the groans of metal being contorted and twisted from its original form. Just as suddenly, the deafening noise stopped. Now, alone in the haunting and fearsome darkness, I heard a sickening hissing sound, and an agonizing pounding began to plague me. Was it coming from the car or my own body? I smelled gasoline. Were those sparks I heard? Could the car burst into flames at any second? Would I be burned alive? I could not move. I needed help—immediately! Where was my friend Pat? He had been in the passenger seat. Was he dead? I screamed, Pat! Pat! Where are you? I kept screaming—

God used a horrendously tragic auto accident as a turning point in my life. Through it I was snatched Satan’s grip and from hell simply by God’s grace. The months and years following changed my life forever. This is the story of God’s wondrous and magnificent grace as He worked in my unworthy and insignificant life.

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Chapter One

My Early Years

A Fresh Start

My Dad, Joseph M. Govan, was the sixth born out of nine children, and was known by his friends and family as Milt. This he took from his middle name Milton, not wanting to be known as Joe. Dad was drafted into the Army straight out of high school and was proud to serve his country. He was a survivor of World War II’s Battle of the Bulge, which was fought in the Ardennes Forrest in Belgium and Luxembourg near the end of the war. It lasted from December 16, 1944 to January 28, 1945 and was the largest land battle of that war. That fateful battle took the lives of many soldiers when Adolf Hitler’s German troops surprised and overwhelmed the American forces. Within two weeks, the Americans, led by General George Patton, stopped the German advance near the Meuse River in Belgium. More than a million men fought in this battle with 81,000 U.S. casualties with 19,000 killed, 1400 British casualties with 200 killed, and 100,000 Germans killed, wounded or captured.[1][2]

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Ready to serve our country

Dad’s platoon was in the middle of Hitler’s last ditch effort to save face in the war he was losing. Dad took a hit that pierced his helmet and grazed his skull, rendering him unconscious. He was one of three men who survived that battle in his platoon, and he believed the enemy missed him after the slaughter because he was unconscious. These soldiers were a tough breed and did not give in to report minor injuries that were not life threatening, because they were there to do a job. Dad did not want to be sent home because of a mere scratch. He was awarded the Purple Heart for a shrapnel wound to his head.

Another valiant portion of Dad’s war effort was the liberation of the Buchenwald Concentration Camp in Germany on April 11, 1945. His squad happened upon the camp purely by accident. As the American forces moved ahead, they came upon the huge doors that entered the camp, and broke them down. To their amazement, they stood face to face with thousands of skeletal-like humans. Not quite knowing what to do, they called the company commander who sent the necessary help. This camp was one of the largest concentration camps in Hitler’s Germany. In it, under Hitler’s orders, some of the most grizzly and heinous crimes were committed to its prisoners. Thousands of its prisoners were tortured, mutilated, experimented upon, and murdered through the years of its existence from 1937-1945. Between 1939 and 1945, at least 70 different medical-research projects took place in concentration camps by the Nazis. More than 7,000 people were part of forced-experiments which broke all the rules and norms of medical research. About 200 Nazi doctors participated in this cold-blooded and inhuman work.

Resistance cells were formed from the first years of the camp’s existence. At first, the aim of the resistance cells was to plant their members in the central posts available to inmates, to support one another, and to have a say in developments in the camp. In 1943 an underground movement was formed to help carry out sabotage and smuggle arms and ammunition into the camp. These brave resisters had infiltrated the camp to work for freedom from within. On, April 6, 1945, when the German SS learned the American forces were approaching, they began evacuating the camp. An estimated 25,500 prisoners lost their lives through this evacuation. By April 11, most of the SS (Nazi military police) men had fled from the camp. The underground did not wait for the approaching American forces to take control but did so themselves, together with armed teams of prisoners, in the process trapping several dozen SS men left in the camp. On that day, April 11, some twenty-one thousand prisoners were liberated in Buchenwald, with four thousand Jews among them, including about one thousand children and youths. Though this was a great victory and honorably done by the American forces, Dad was never able to forget the nightmares he had witnessed at that camp. From the horrific piles of dead bodies, the skeletal-like bodies of those who survived, along with the stench of death all around, these images haunted and scarred him his entire lifetime.

In 1947, thirty-one members of the Buchenwald staff were tried for their crimes by an American court. Two of the accused were sentenced to death, and four to life imprisonment. [3]

I am extremely proud of my dad and his part in the war effort. God had spared his life through many adverse situations. Throughout my life at home, I witnessed some of Dad’s anguish through various behaviors he displayed. I never fully understood why he had these problems from the war, until I researched the Battle of the Bulge and the Liberation of the Buchenwald Concentration Camp for this book. Dad talked very little about his grim war experiences, because the memories were so painful to him. After viewing actual photos taken at Buchenwald at the liberation, I saw second hand some of the horrors my dad witnessed while he was there. I had nightmares after reading the story behind it, and seeing those horrendous photos on the internet.

Dad, along with many other U.S. soldiers, remained in Germany for nearly two years until things settled down after the war. They spent time trying to help the people of war torn Germany with food supplies, clothing, and rebuilding. When he arrived back in the states, there was no fanfare, no crowds cheering, just a very uncertain future. After getting his feet on the ground he met a beautiful, dark haired, vibrant, young woman. They both worked as clerks at the New York Central Railroad in Detroit where they met. It wasn’t long before they fell deeply in love.

My mother, Rosemary Kudirka, was one of six children. She had been born into a wealthy family in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, and lived on Notre Dame Avenue. They were accustomed to having maids and servants take care of their every need. A deeply religious family, they were very strong in their Roman Catholic beliefs. It was important to Felix Kudirka (my grandpa) that his children go to St. Catherine’s Catholic School for the best education available and to provide them with continued religious training as an extension of their home. The Great Depression affected everyone after the horrific stock market crash in 1929. Mom’s family suffered great financial losses during that depressed time. With these monetary setbacks, her dad was forced to move into a smaller, less formal home on Pennsylvania Avenue and forgo the maids and servants. Mom and her older brother Robert were sent to live with relatives in Canada for a time, but were later called back home. After Mom and Robert graduated from St. Catherine’s, Felix transferred the younger children to St. Eugene’s Catholic School for a while. Even this was too taxing for his waning financial situation, thus he was forced to place them into public school.

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Mom and Dad happily married

At this point Dad was ready to settle down and get married, and Mom was eager to get on with her own life. On February 13, 1947, the two newlyweds emerged from the St. Catherine’s Church doors. Mom, a radiantly beautiful blushing bride, glided eloquently down the pedestal-like church steps in her flowing white sequined wedding gown trailing a long elegant train. Dad escorted her, looking equally dashing, a fine figure of a man with his dark wavy hair and his stunning black tuxedo. They hurried as family and friends showered them with rice and well wishes for their future ahead. Off they went into their 1935 Ford V-8 which Dad had hidden behind Mom’s house so no one could tamper or play practical jokes with it, like tying tin cans on it. As it was, some girls got a hold of their luggage and smeared lipstick all over Milt’s shirts. Money being scarce, they had a small reception at her dad’s house, and spent a couple nights at a nearby hotel for a brief honeymoon.

Dad’s father, Edmund Govan Sr., was a mason contractor and named his business Govan and Sons. He struggled in this effort during the war, and was forced to seek work in Ohio for a while. It became an honest, promising brick laying business, once the war was over. He had learned the trade from his father and in turn, taught the trade to his sons. Dad and his six brothers inherited the business when their father retired. This provided a modest, but growing income for Dad’s new family. He worked hard and became very good at his trade, thus building a good reputation for quality work at a fair price.

Dad learned from one of his war buddies that a new GI Bill offered war vets zero money down to buy a house. He realized that now he needed a home for his new bride, so they bought a modest two bedroom ranch home on Riverview Street on Detroit’s west side for sixty-seven dollars a month. They rejoiced when they discovered a baby was on the way, and expecting a first child is a very fulfilling event to any couple. Dad and Mom were no exception, as Mom busied herself preparing things for the baby’s arrival.

For years the Kudirka’s had been warned by the doctors that Lillian, Mom’s mother, had a bad heart. Bearing children endangered her health, but being faithful in their religious beliefs, they did not believe in birth control. She had given birth to six children. On July 15, 1947, their seventh child, Mom’s youngest sister, Margaret Mary was born. She would be my aunt, only two months older than me. On August 1, 1947, Mom’s mother passed away in her sleep from a massive heart attack.

I was born slightly premature on October 3, 1947. I weighed 4 pounds, 7 ounces, and had dark wavy hair like my daddy. Being so very small I spent the first few weeks in an incubator, but I was my parents’ pride and joy. Mom filled a photo album with my enchanting pictures.

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Mom, Dad, and me at the lake

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Daddy’s Girl

Soon Dad found building houses was easy and he had quite a talent to design homes as people liked them. His business and reputation were beginning to thrive as economy began to spiral upward after the war.

When I was a little over a year old, my mom became pregnant with their second child. Donald Joseph Govan was born about two years after me, on September 30, 1949. He was a chubby little baby with very little hair. It was evident that our growing family needed more space and more bedrooms because my parents planned to have more children. Using his building savvy and money he had saved through his business, Mom and Dad decided to build a larger two story brick home with a basement about one block away on Hazelton Street. It was the largest house on the block.

About this time Grandpa Kudirka’s health began to fail, so it was necessary to seek medical help. The doctor diagnosed him with a perforated stomach ulcer and put him on a strict bland diet. After three years of excruciating pain and suffering, it was discovered that he was suffering from cirrhosis of the liver. The diet used for his misdiagnosed ulcer had caused severe liver damage. Because of their father’s failing health, most of the children were placed into St. Vincent de Paul Foster Homes. The years following wore hard on the Kudirka children with them split up into different homes, apart from each other.

It was a warm day in 1951, on the thirteenth of July, when my sister, Carolyn was born. She was the only one of our brown eyed family to have hazel eyes. That was the same year when Aunt Adele, my mom’s sister, came to live with us. Thus began an arrangement that led to many happy memories of my childhood. After their mother’s death, she had lived with her sisters and their housekeepers for a while. Then, when their father became seriously ill, she went to live in the St. Vincent de Paul’s Foster Home in Fair Haven. She was bounced around several foster homes until she was nine years old. She liked only one of these homes, because they fed her mashed potatoes, which were her favorite. She was not there long before they moved her into another place where she was very despondent. Dad and Mom went to this foster home to visit with Adele, because they were concerned with her happiness there.

Dad said, We can do better than this! She’ll be happier with family and those that love her. Both he and my mom agreed that Adele would be much better-off living with us and made the necessary arrangements.

While the rest of the family lived on the first floor of our house, Aunt Adele and I shared a huge attic bedroom upstairs. From our attic window we could see our entire backyard and the rest of the neighborhood.

Aunt Adele showed me how to open the window and go out on the flat roof outside, but she cautioned me, You must never get close to the edge, because you might fall and get hurt, or even die.

Sometimes on a warm summer night, we went out there in our pajamas, laid on our backs, and looked at the billions of stars studding the night sky like diamonds.

She said, Look! There’s the North Star, and over there the big and little dippers.

Silence filled night air, only broken by the chirp, chirp of a nearby cricket, or the random call of the nightingale. On some nights, I do not remember climbing back into our room. I must have fallen asleep, for when I awoke, I was snuggled in our bed next to Adele. Reflecting back to this incident, to this day, I am still in awe of the splendor of God’s wondrous diamonds placed so carefully and yet perfectly into a clear night’s sky. Aunt Adele had introduced me to this marvelous part of God’s creation.

One beautiful summer morning, as Mama was hanging clothes in the backyard, I donned my ballet slippers and a frilly white petticoat my mother had bought me to go under my pretty new Easter dress. I began to dance gaily around the room. Feeling so graceful in it, I imagined myself as a famous ballerina dancing for the queen. I had been taking ballet lessons and my teacher had told me that I was very limber and showed promise. As I opened the attic window, I felt the sweet morning air gently brush across me. I just could not resist the temptation to dance on that inviting stage that lay before me. I stepped bravely onto the roof outside my window, took a bow, and then proceeded to do a wondrous ballet rendition complete with jumps and pirouettes.

My dream world was shattered by Mama’s screams. Marilyn, don’t move! she ordered.

She dropped the laundry she was hanging, and ran toward the house. As I turned to go back to my window, I was greeted by my mother’s tear filled ashen face, as she grabbed me and held me tight. Relieved that I was safe in her arms, she kissed me repeatedly. Being a mother myself now, I can only imagine the terror my mother felt at that moment as she envisioned the possibilities of what could have happened to me should I have ventured too close to the edge of the roof. I could feel her body trembling as we embraced. I cried with her though I did not know or understand at the time what she was so upset about. She held me for a long time.

Then she turned to me and said a little more composed, Don’t you ever go out on that roof again. Don’t you realize you could have died if you slipped off the edge?

I stammered, A-Aunt Adele t-taught me I must never go close to the edge and I listened. I-I stayed away from it.

She asked as she muttered something about Aunt Adele, What did you think you were doing out there on the roof? Then she noticed my attire and started grinning.

I turned and pirouetted for her with a graceful bow. I was dancing for the queen, I grinned sheepishly.

Mama touched my petticoat, And this, I presume, little missy, is your tutu?

I nodded and broke away with a few twirls, ending in another pirouette with a bow. Mama applauded, grabbing me up again. She cautioned, Well, in the future young lady, the roof is off limits, AND let’s keep our ballet renditions in safer territory, okay?

I agreed and never broke that promise to her. Mama always had a way with handling adverse situations. I grew to respect this quality in her. This was just one of the crazy adventures I embarked upon under Aunt Adele’s influence.

It was a very cold, gloomy day that, March 5, 1953, when Grandpa Kudirka succumbed to the inept practices of his doctor. His two eldest children, my Aunt Lillian and Uncle Bob, were at his bedside at the time of his death. His end was nightmarish, with blood oozing from all openings of his body. At five and a half years old, I remember Grandpa’s death. The whole house seemed shrouded in foreboding darkness that sad day. Everyone was heartbroken and crying, so I was miserable along with them, not fully understanding why. Many people came to our home that depressing dreary day, but few said anything to me. People were hugging and crying and I just sulked about feeling their intense grief.

This was my first experience with the reality of death, though at this young and tender age, I could not fully comprehend our loss. I would not again have to deal with death, or any other great tragedy, until I was much older. It was several weeks before our home was happy again. I knew things were better when I again heard Mama singing while she did the dishes. Her voice was so beautiful; I told her, Mama, you should be a movie star or a famous singer. Your voice is so pretty!

Mom colored slightly, Thanks Sweetie. Actually, when I was a young girl, a talent scout came to our school and heard me sing. The nuns in our Catholic school had trained me well, and he offered to make me famous. I was ecstatic and very flattered that he had chosen me out of hundreds of others. After thinking about it for a few days and talking it over with my family, I decided I didn’t want the glitzy movie star life. My parents pointed out to me that most movie stars and singers have very unhappy lives outside of their stardom. I didn’t want any part of that. I dreamed of the day when I would get married and raise a family. I simply wanted to be a mom.

I believe she could have been a professional singer (she’s that good!). I have to admit, it took a lot more courage for her to turn that opportunity down than to follow that dream. After all, I would not have been born, and my mom would never have met my dad, if that had happened.

I gave her a big hug, You’ll always be my star, Mama!

On one beautiful summer day, Aunt Adele rode me on the back of her big 28 inch bike. It had a little shelf on top of the back wheel for me to sit on. Perched behind her she warned me to keep my feet away from the back wheel, so I held my legs way out at first.

Wheee! This is fun! I shrieked as she peddled faster and faster. I could feel the breeze blowing my straggly curly hair as I held on tightly to the seat.

All of a sudden, and unexpectedly, my dangling shoelace was wrapped around the spokes. Without warning I was yanked brutally to the ground being dragged behind the bike. It was impossible to scream or cry out, the pain was too great!

Adele struggled, S-s-something’s w-wrong! This bike’s g-getting so h-hard to p-p-peddle!

She glanced back and shrieked as she saw my scraped and wounded little body. Throwing the bike down, she wasted no time freeing my tangled foot and racing me to my mom’s loving care.

She cried as she ran, Oh, Marilyn, I’m so sorry! I should have suspected something right away when I couldn’t peddle—

The rest was a blur. I awoke lying in Mama’s lap. Most of my body was covered with cuts and scrapes which she had lovingly smoothed with Vaseline Petroleum Jelly. She began singing softly with her melodious voice. Soon I was fast asleep oblivious to my pain and anguish. It took weeks for those scrapes to heal completely, but I was fortunate that there was no scarring. Soon I was back to myself rollicking around the neighborhood with my brother Don.

He and I got bold one day and ventured down our street. I was nearly six years old and Don would be four years old soon. I cautioned him, Mama said we mustn’t go down here, Don, it’s too dangerous because of the trains! They’re so big, and fast, they could squish us like bugs in a second! Don was always very daring, often taking chances. Being the oldest, it was my job to look out for him.

I know, but I just want to see ’em, he hastened ahead of me.

My heart pounded as we stole down the street. The train tracks were at the end of Hazelton Street. The trains were enormous and deafening as they roared down the tracks. Don saw something shiny lying next to the track.

As he ran to grab it, I shrieked, Don, don’t! It’s too close! I breathed easier when he raced back to show me. Another train screamed by. See, you could’ve been killed! That thought made me shudder.

I suggested, It looks like a flattened penny.

As we hurried back home, we looked more closely at the shiny metal piece Don found.

Someone must’ve put it on the track, and when the train ran it over, it flattened it. We must never tell about going near the tracks today, Don. This will be our secret, okay? Don agreed.

I do not remember ever going back to those tracks again. This was just another of the many incidents throughout my life where God’s Providential Hand of protection was upon us.

I remember the day I first learned to ride a bike. I was nearly six years old, and of course when you are a kid you think you can do almost anything. That day, I begged my dad to teach me how to ride Aunt Adele’s big bike. I was so small I had to stand on the pedals to reach. Astride that bulky, heavy, 28 inch bike, I was barely a wisp of a girl. I knew that I was safe because Daddy was running beside me. Or was he? Not knowing how to turn, I jumped off when I reached the corner.

When I looked back, Daddy was walking from the corner smiling, You rode most of the way yourself. As I joined him he hugged me, That’s my big girl! Now you know how to ride a bike.

In first grade Mama said I could walk to school by myself if I walked with the older children. My class that year was in a portable building separate from the main school building. The baby boomer’s population explosion between the years 1946-1964 left schools everywhere bulging at the seams. During this period, about 76 million children were born there. To accommodate the growing need for more classrooms, they placed portable buildings at the schools which were trailer-like affairs heated by a large potbelly stove. There were two classrooms in each portable. During the winter, we hung our coats, boots, and leggings in the vestibule on either side of a large, black, potbelly stove.

The baby boom followed the hard times of the Great Depression, which lasted throughout the 1930’s; and America’s participation in World War II, from December 1941 to August 1945. During this time, many Americans delayed marrying and having children because of the poor economy and the wartime conditions. But the number of marriages and births soared after the war. Many new couples were barely out of their teens. At the same time, numerous older married couples who had delayed having children began to have them in great numbers, when the war ended. Thus, the postwar period featured increased births among both younger and older American couples.

The size of the baby boom generation also led to problems besides overcrowding our schools. At times, the baby boomers faced relatively high levels of unemployment because they had to compete with one another for jobs.[4] This had little effect on Dad’s business though. On the contrary, with the growth of families, and a general tendency for families to move from the city to the country, the need for his quality skilled trade soared!

Our first grade classroom was packed to the brim with children of all sizes, shapes, and races. The first grade classroom opposite ours was equally crowded. I felt very shy amid that sea of faces, but tried hard to be a friend to a few of the girls. As the year went on I became more comfortable and less timid. In reading we read from books about Dick, Jane, and Spot. See Dick run. See Spot run and jump . . . was read over and over as we were introduced to the many adventures of these characters. Recess and art were my favorite times. Even as early as first grade, my artistic talents began to grow. I loved to draw!

One day late in the afternoon, we were drawing a picture and coloring it with our crayons. My stomach was gnawing from hunger because I didn’t eat my sandwich at lunch time. I was very picky about my food. Mama had put jelly on my peanut butter, and I only liked peanut butter on my sandwiches. Jelly was okay on crackers or on bread by itself, but not mixed with peanut butter. Yuck! As I studied my box of crayons I wondered, How do these crayons taste? Does each color have a different flavor? Being extremely hungry, I began devouring my crayons one by one, but a little disappointed that they all tasted the same.

Suddenly, my friend Sarah, shrieked, Teacher, Teacher, Marilyn’s eating her crayons! It’s nasty, all over her teeth!

Miss Johnson’s face was kind, but dismayed as she quietly picked up the remaining crayons on my desk. She gently took my hand and walked me outside where she asked me to spit out the remaining crayon in my mouth. Why were you eating your crayons? she queried.

I hemmed and hawed for some time, then said softly, I-I w-was hungry. I-I d-didn’t eat my lunch.

When I started crying, she put her arm about me and said it was alright. We need to go to the office and call your mother.

Again, I started crying and imploring her, Please, please don’t call my mama!

She sat on the steps and brought me closer saying, Marilyn, you’re not in trouble. You’ve eaten a lot of crayons, almost your entire box. I’m not sure if this will make you sick. I must talk with your mother about this, so she will know what to do. Do you understand? I nodded slowly.

Miss Johnson asked the other first grade teacher to keep an eye on her class while we went to the office. I was sullen as we walked there, dreading my mom’s appearance.

The minutes waiting were awful for me as I imagined in my mind what might happen when Mama arrived. When she walked in, I began crying again. After a brief conversation with the Principal, she sat down beside me. Stroking my hair gently, she began to soothe my fears by saying, Sweetie, you’re not in trouble. Everyone’s just worried about you. How do you feel? Does your tummy hurt?

I whimpered, I’m okay. I feel fine. As we walked the three blocks home, I told her the entire woeful tale about my sandwich.

Mama laughed, I am so sorry, I made your sandwich the way Don likes it! I guess I just wasn’t thinking this morning. Would you like a little snack when we get home?

I groaned, No thanks, I’m kinda full right now, as I patted my tummy. We both laughed as we skipped the rest of the way home.

Do not ask me why I thought I could eat crayons. For some reason they sounded good at the time. Being a teacher now, I am amused with this episode of my life. I can only imagine that Miss Johnson must have had tremendous self-control for not bursting out with laughter at this shenanigan of mine. Children do strange and very funny things at times, many with no rhyme or reason. They are spontaneous! I know that is why I have loved this vocation for the last twenty-four years!

As a teacher myself, looking back now at this experience, it has given me a healthy respect for the manner in which Miss Johnson handled this delicate situation. She had not only protected my dignity in front of my peers, but she also refrained from scolding me for my unpleasant deed. My mom also had a way with erasing my