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The house I grew up in had a big front porch. We lived on the main drag and I spent many, many hours sitting there. Sometimes I wonder if that is a metaphor for letting life pass me by.

Let’s back up a little bit. First I have to tell you that I grew up in a small town. We had a big family, just like most of the families back then. Most of us were poor and that definitely included us. We went to public school and brought cold lunch. Mom sewed a lot of my clothes and I got the most beautiful hand-me-downs from my best friend, Mary Ann. She was a head taller than me so there was no waiting! We gardened and canned. Dad hunted. We cooked from scratch, including making bread, soup, and all our cookies, pies, and desserts. We never had potato chips; we never ate out unless it was from a bag lunch from home. We shared a couple of bikes or we walked everywhere, even in the dead of winter. I got my first job at 13 and I bought a new winter coat and a 10-speed bike. I never left the city limits until I was a teenager. We never took a family vacation. Heck, we couldn’t all fit in one car and we didn’t have two.

Sounds dreadful doesn’t it? By today’s standards, I’d say yes, but back then that’s how it was. My friends were just like me - pretty much - and we didn’t think too much of it. My mom was an immigrant and she and my dad had high school educations. Most of the adults in my hometown spoke English as a second language. I remember my second grade teacher telling me I wouldn’t amount to anything because I couldn’t write or spell very well. I had a terrible time learning to write cursive. That was a profound moment in my life - at age eight, my life was set in stone according to her. “You’re done. Pick up a broom or get married and be a housewife because you aren’t educable.” I don’t ever recall thinking, “I’ll show you, Miss Lorenzen.” I know I felt bad, but what could I do except shrug it off and go on?

I went to school and did my own thing, some of which was pretty cool. But I lived in the moment. I had no big dreams, plans or goals. I didn’t have a mentor or any adult in my life asking me, “What do you want to do with your life?” I had jobs, some of them I liked, some of them sucked just like everyone else. When I was a sophomore, I got a job as a DJ at the local radio station and I just loved it. I remember riding on the bus after a speech team competition and asking the teacher with us if he knew where I should go to college or what I should study. I was 16 and he suggested communications since I liked being on the radio and on the speech team, in drama, and all that. He told me about a state college that had a pretty good program if I was really interested in a hands-on education. In a twenty minute conversation, my future became locked and loaded. It was settled. I never thought about it again.

Have you ever heard the term helicopter parents? These are parents who hover so close a child could suffocate. They drive teachers and coaches absolutely nuts. Sometimes I wished my folks or just somebody was in the airport even looking for me.

What has all this got to do with front porches? Well, for me, sitting on the front porch was a pretty solitary, peaceful thing to do. I would study the world and think about things and make decisions on my own terms. Years later I figured out that my history is simply that. It’s not an excuse to misbehave or hold an endless pity party the rest of my life. It’s only an explanation for how I arrived. Sometimes I wonder if what my life would have been like; what it would be like if I had a mentor when I was growing up. What if I actually had somebody out there worrying about my future and helping me make good decisions about it? Maybe a better question is: what if I actually had the sense to ask? As I got closer to graduating from high school, I remember my mom telling me I had to go to college and get out of this town - there just was no future there. So I did that. What if I had gone to a better college? What if, what if? I think my mentor was the front porch. An empty chair was always on it, silently waiting for me but it never gave me any answers.

So, I’m duking it out, trying to do what’s right, trying to make some things happen and I get laid off. And the next thing I know, I’m writing a book and then I’m writing two books and a third. Becoming a published novelist is a pretty unique class to be in. I’m holding the first book in my hand and my name is on the cover. “I’ll be damned. Can you believe it?” was about the best I could do at the moment. Lots of people ask me if I dreamed about writing a book long before I ever tried. The answer was always no. Another teacher told me I was too lazy for it and since being in his class didn’t really light my fires, I believed him. Today, I’m not laughing at that guy. I feel bad that he and my second grade teacher had such small minds and closed hearts. I’m frustrated as hell trying to work through the revisions of Love Bites but I will figure it out and work on it until I get it right. I am very lucky to have a talented author and editor providing some direction to me. I had two other authors peeking over my shoulder on Avenging and Awakening and they always are quick to answer a question when I ask.

Are you peeking over anyone’s shoulder, giving them encouragement even if you don’t think it’s going to be a huge success or even get a passing grade? Ultimately insisting on coloring in the lines is useless. Thinking out of the box is what brings brilliance to the ordinary, life to the drab, resuscitation to the dead. Be a blessing in somebody’s life. Be a mentor.

Until the next time.
The Churchlady