My Life as a B-Rate Super Hero

By TriXie

Life always proves to hold the unexpected. Outcomes somehow never truly match our plans, and our expectations often fall short. Yet, there is magic in the reality of what transpires. We just have to look for it. So it was for Trixie – a young lady who planned a life that turned out other than she expected. Her experiences and the people who touched her life made all the difference in who she became. Every experience doesn’t always have a happy ending, but at the end of every experience a lesson has been learned. This is the story of TriXie. Travel with her through the ups and downs of life and learn the power we all possess to make the world a little brighter.

TriXie’s Takeaway: “You can’t be what you can fully become without first seeing it in someone else.” That’s the true power of people!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Dec 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665547833

TriXie

TriXie is an educator and counselor who has dedicated the vast majority of her life in service to others. She values education and uses her knowledge to empower those she encounters.

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© 2021 TriXie. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  12/28/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4782-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4781-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-4783-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021925663

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Prologue

My Life As A B-Rate Super Hero

I.   She Never Backed Down From Danger

The Stand-Off

Fast Forward Ten Years

Truth Be Told

Abandoned

The Loss

II.   She Was Not Afraid To Speak Her Mind

The Good Old Days

A Twist Of Fate

Another Super Hero Bailing Me Out

Knocking On The Right Door

III.   She Is Loyal And Protective

Surprise On The Fast Food Line

Not A Shrinking Violet

Trapped In Texas

The Other Relative

Protected On The Other Side

Gussie

The Worn Steps

IV.   She Usually Got Her Way

The Christmas Miracle

V.   She Was Not A Helpless Perpetual Victim

The Priceless Gift

The Kindergarten Chase

Tragic

Cornelius And The Silver Spoon

The Nightmare

The Fall Of Pride

The Cell

T-Boy

Settling The Score

Asking Why

VI.   She Proved Herself To Be Speed Racer’s Equal

You Mean The World To Me

Letter To A Teacher

VII.   She Solved Problems

Brain Teasers

The Clinic

VIII.   She Protected The Public

Validation

The Harsh Reality

Carrying The Load

IX.   She Was Dedicated To Fighting Evil In Her Universe

Tear Drops

X.   She Battled Super-Villains

Two Is Stronger Than One

They Can Because They Think They Can

Taking The Blows

Sometimes We Have To Go Back In Order To Go Forward

Open Your Eye, And You Will See.

Two Sisters

Turning The Key

The Loaded Suitcase

XI.   She Just Had Dumb Luck Some Of The Time

The Empty Street

The Search Is Over

XII.   Lessons I Learned As A Super Hero

Flash

A CD On Repeat

Another Day In Paradise

Why Are You Still Alive?

The Betrayal

The Story Goes On…

Epilogue

DEDICATION

For Sr. Daniel Anne, my A-Rate Super Hero.

These stories of my life would never have happened

if not for having you in my life.

One friend can truly change your whole life.

With gratitude,

TriXie

PROLOGUE

My life forever changed the day I landed in Marsh Harbour, Abaco. It was August 26, 1985. I was right out of college, armed with my education degree, and headed to teach at St. Stephen’s Mission School as a missionary. At that time, I had no idea where Abaco was located. Even my travel agent, who travelled the islands extensively, had never heard of the place and wasn’t even sure how to get me there.

I had no idea what to expect when the seven-seater prop plane landed on the short runway. We followed instructions to clear customs and immigration in a small, one-room, pink structure that was smaller than most houses I’d seen in the States. As the principal drove me, on coral dust roads, to our home, we passed brightly colored houses, palm trees, and a strip mall. The most amazing teal-colored, blue, sea water peaked out in between the buildings. The only familiarity to my home in New Jersey was the Kentucky Fried Chicken sign with the Colonel smiling down at me.

The next day I headed to my classroom which was a small trailer with 18 desks and a blackboard. I was assigned Primary C which is equivalent to third grade. When I looked at my roster, I saw that I had 18 students, ages 6-14. Three spoke English as a first language, two spoke no English (only Creole), and the rest were bi-lingual. I learned our school was approximately 85% Haitian, children of undocumented refugees. A few brave students came by in those early days before school opened. They were as curious to get a glimpse of me as I was to meet them. I found them warm, friendly, funny, mischievous, and helpful.

Little did I know that those first few days and months on Abaco would change the course of my life’s direction. I was fortunate to have an amazing principal who just loved people. She went above and beyond every day and taught me how to be a skilled educator. In the process, I became a better human being. I sought out injustices and fought to fix them with whatever resources I had available to me. In turn, we were able to help many of our students and families overcome obstacles they encountered as a result of being undocumented.

Our families lived in squatter villages known as the Yards. This consisted of two major settlements called The Mud and Pigeon Peas. Hundreds of families lived in wooden houses with corrugated roofs. The one-room structures housed the children and parents. Their community had no electricity and no running water. Every family owned a metal tub, which sat outside their homes. This served as the bath tub, washing machine, and dish washer. It seemed as if all important family activities occurred around this metal tub.

I went to the Yards often. Most days I walked my students home and played ball with them until dinner. Sometimes, I would return at night where I would find them sitting under a street light studying or reading. Sometimes I would hear a child, who was up in a tree, calling down spelling words to someone who had a test the next day. In some strange way, this strange place, where English was not the first language, felt like home. It was the heart of the people that made my heart beat a little differently than it had where I grew up in New Jersey.

MY LIFE AS A B-RATE SUPER HERO

My name is TriXie. I was named for a superhero character from the 1960s TV cartoon, Speed Racer. I was born in the 1960s, the last of the Baby Boomer generation, so it makes sense that I bear the name of a character from that time period. When I was growing up, superheroes were a big part of a kid’s life. Batman, Spiderman, and the Hulk were the most popular of the group. As a young girl, it was only natural to gravitate towards Wonder Woman - the goddess of female superheroes. She was powerful, beautiful, and without a doubt, the idle of every girl. There was no way that she was a B-Rate superhero.

So, what really is a superhero? And is it Super Hero or superhero? Merriam-Webster defines hero as an illustrious warrior; one who shows great courage; a person admired for achievements and hobbies; someone endowed with great strength or ability. Super means a person or item of high grade or quality; someone or something that is large or powerful; or someone or something that has the potential for excessive danger. Put those together and you have a superhero – one who is exceptionally skilled or successful. Believe it or not, this word first appeared on the scene in 1899. Obviously, there have been superheroes ever since.

But what about a Super Hero? Could it be someone who is a courageous person of high quality? Could it be a powerful warrior? Or perhaps, could it be a person of great strength and ability who can create danger? My vote would be a person who uses their talents and gifts to achieve great accomplishments for the sake of others. That’s where I come in as a Super Hero. For as long as I can remember, I have been committed to helping others. I wouldn’t necessarily say I have fought off evil, but I have gotten some people out of bad situations. Despite some successes, I wouldn’t classify myself as an A-Rate Super Hero because I didn’t make the cut for any rich and famous, top important jobs. I merely live my life quietly and do my small part to make the world a little better.

In today’s real world, I would call Mother Theresa, Nelson Mandela, Oscar Romero, and Dorothy Day A-Rate Super Heroes. These were people who really took their whole heart and soul, and fought the good fight, continuously. They each had their own super powers. For Mother Theresa it was love. She approached everything with love, despite the odds. For Mandela it was freedom. His quest for equality and freedom defined his purpose. For Romero, his sense of justice for the oppressed dictated his actions and eventually led to his death. For Day, it was a spirit of compassion that enabled her to sacrifice her own desires to aid the struggling.

It’s important to have A-Rate Super Heroes in our lives. These folks serve as models of who and what we can become. Although we can never live someone else’s life, we can look to their goodness – their powers – and give it a shot in our own lives. In Catholic terms, these A-Rate Super Heroes are known as saints. Their lives stand out among the billions of people who have gone before us. I like to challenge people to find their A-Rates and identify why these people are their Super Heroes.

I didn’t mind being named after a B-rate Super Hero. I also don’t mind being a B-rate Super Hero. There’s less pressure to perform, and it’s nice to be able to hide in the background. Yet, somehow, my role is always important if I want to fight the good fight and come out on top. I have come to accept that my life is B-rate. It’s taken me a long time to realize that being B-rate is not a bad thing. Being the support person has its perks. Back up is good.

There are thousands of Super Heroes in today’s world. Some are good. Some are bad. Some just exist and show up when needed. Mostly all of them possess a supernatural quality that makes them transcend humanity and become superhuman. Their powers help or hinder; heal or hurt; solve or create problems. As a result of their actions, we either love them or hate them. But either way, their role impacts our culture, and in some way, touches our lives. Maybe it is their powers – the unattainable strength, wisdom, or determination. Maybe it is their personality – the confidence, the optimism, the pride. Maybe it is their courage in the face of adversity and their ability to persevere despite the odds. Whatever it may be that touches us, we long to hold onto a piece of their power. Perhaps we do, more than we know.

When I was about 5-years-old, I started watching Speed Racer. It quickly became my favorite cartoon, beating out the more popular Tom and Jerry, Road Runner, Porky Pig, and Bugs Bunny. Although some saw Speed Racer as boring, I liked the excitement of the chase. Perhaps that is why my life has always been about the chase and what’s coming up next.

So let’s get back to TriXie. For a 1960s gal, she was not what one would expect. While her initial claim to fame was her special position as Speed Racer’s girlfriend, there is much more behind the girl. As a product of the 1960s Women’s Movement, TriXie was a true leader. First off, she flew around in a helicopter and kept a close watch on situations. Secondly, she posed as Speed’s spotter during his car races. TriXie proved worthy to help in a crisis; not only could she solve one, but she could get out of any tricky situation. This made her competent and effective.

In addition, TriXie had the following knowledge, skills, and characteristics:

1. She never backed down from danger.

2. She was not afraid to speak her mind.

3. She was loyal and protective.

4. She usually got her way.

5. She was not a helpless perpetual victim.

6. She proved herself to be Speed Racer’s equal.

7. She solved problems.

8. She protected the public.

9. She was dedicated to fighting evil in her universe.

10. She battled super-villains.

11. She just had dumb luck sometimes.

Every Super Hero has their weaknesses. Superman had kryptonite and TriXie had jealousy. She wasn’t necessarily possessive, but she did get annoyed if Speed spent too much time paying attention to other young ladies. However, because of her independence, she was able to get over it pretty quickly and without too much drama. This is the main reason I am glad to be named after TriXie. She had guts. She had glory. But most importantly, she had faith in herself.

How do you recognize a Super Hero? How do you even know if you are one? For me, I had to first see one in action. I was 22, had just graduated from college, and was headed to the Bahamas for a year of mission work teaching in a Catholic elementary school. The principal, Sr. Daniel Anne, met and hired me on the spot. However, it wasn’t quite that easy because I was a bit reluctant. Actually, initially, I wanted nothing to do with teaching in a Catholic elementary school. I really wanted to be in a public high school, or better yet, a place where I could be a counselor or social worker. But that didn’t turn out quite as I had planned.

I attended a Catholic, Jesuit College in New Jersey. I commuted. The first year was a little rough – you know trying to adjust to the freedom of it all. I also came from a small suburban town and the school was in a large city. I spent the first nine years of my education sitting with students who were predominantly Irish or Italian. I spent the next four years with Irish, Italian, and Polish students. By the time college rolled around, I knew that I needed more diversity. I found a college that offered it and one that I knew my parents would think to be a good fit. My older brother, whom I adore, had graduated from this college so I figured it would be the right place for me.

As the years moved on, I became more involved in college activities and sports. One activity was Campus Ministry. While I was not a rah-rah Catholic, I did take my faith seriously and believed in the mission. Aside from service projects, we held weekly Wine and Cheese luncheons. That’s right – wine and cheese on a college campus. At the time, the drinking age was 19, so any student sophomore year or older was legal. Although, I don’t think the Director cared if someone was a freshman and sampled the wine. Clearly, we were never proofed or carded to get into the meetings.

At the time, I worked in a cheese shop and my duty became bringing the cheese. But it wasn’t just any old cheese. It had to match the country we were exploring. The wine and cheese activity came under the How to Club that was sponsored by the Campus Ministry. Looking back, I think the directors just looked for an excuse to justify drinking during the school day. But it was a masterful club. Every month was dedicated to a different country. We learned about the food, wine, and cheese. Then we explored the culture. During the last week of the month, we traveled to New York City and ate at a restaurant of that particular heritage. Twice a year we attended a special, major, cultural event such as Frank Sinatra singing at Carnegie Hall, the Nutcracker Ballet, and the Philharmonic Concert.

One of the directors of the Campus Ministry was Sr. Pam. She was young, not much older than us, and we gravitated towards her because she was cool. Two weeks before graduation, she caught me in the hallway outside the Campus Ministry office. She asked what my plans were for after graduation. I had just had a phone interview with a residential treatment facility in the Midwest and was really looking forward to getting the job. This place had been a life-long goal of mine since I was 15-years-old.

She grabbed my arm and said, I have the perfect job for you. I politely said, Thanks, but I’m good. She continued, You would be great at this job. I thanked her again, broke free from her grip, and added, I really don’t want to work for a Catholic school and make $8,000 a year. At that I smiled and quickly walked down the hallway into the bathroom. Once inside the bathroom, I breathed a sigh of relief that I had escaped her claws. I picked up my head to check my hair in the mirror, and there she was, standing behind my reflection. It did creep me out a bit, and I wondered what this job was and why she was so adamant about signing me up.

Sr. Pam continued with her sales pitch – great place, you’ll be an excellent fit, kids are amazing (that’s what they all say), and you really are needed. Now why did she have to go and say that? With a slight tone of disgust and guilt, I said, Okay, tell me about the job. She smiled and said, It’s on the island of Abaco, in the Bahamas. That was the deal breaker for me. Who wanted to endure winters in the Midwest when I could be sunning myself on the shores of a tropical island? I wondered why she hadn’t started her pitch with that. Maybe she had a sense of how shallow I was!

We left the bathroom – she with a smile because she had a potential recruit and I with a smile because I was going to possibly live abroad in an exotic place. Having lived there for three years, I wouldn’t actually call the place exotic and I didn’t smile a whole lot the first year, but I learned valuable lessons that