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MAY 2005 ISSUE HOMEPAGE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
A Breath of Fresh Air
A Merry Heart
A Woman's World
A Word in Season
Acting Up
As I Imitate Christ
Cyber Walk
Faith Seekers
Golden Apples
Heaven Bound
Just Between Men
Take it to Heart
Teen Truth
The Joy of Family
The Parents'
Survival Guide

The Rhythm of Life
The Treehouse
Through Their Eyes
'Tis the Season
We Are the Church
Well Read


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ĎTis the season to appreciate Teachers and celebrate all of the wonderful ways they impact our lives!


Being Different
By Marina Rojas

I vividly remember fourth grade at Eagle Mountain Elementary School in the southern California desert. Our tiny elementary school was set up against the mountains, quite near the iron-ore mine where our fathers would head off to work every morning.

There was one teacher in particular that had caught our attention. Her name was Mrs. Anderson. We all noticed something different about her. Some of the girls said she was a freak. Others said she was a space alien. All I knew is that I did not want to ever be in her room. I had seen her hands. They were different. The fingers on her hand grew progressively smaller, looking like little plump balloons hanging at the end. I was glad she was not my teacher. Her hands made me scared.

My classroom teacher was Mrs. Moen. She was a total disciplinarian, rapping her students on the head in an instant with her ruler for any trespass of the classroom rules. Didnít do your homework? Whap! Chewing gum? Whap! Talking in class? Whap! Most of us sat still in silence, full of terror of being on the receiving end of the old womanís ruler.

One day we were told to bring a map of California to class. My Dad produced one from his glove compartment. I put it in my bicycleís basket, making sure I didnít forget it. Ever diligent against the wrath of the ruler, I was relieved to have the precious map in my possession.

In the morning, I rode to school as usual, picked up my friend Marilyn, then pedaled up the long street to school. As we parked our bikes in the bike racks, I picked up my notebook, then double-checked for the map. It wasnít in the folder! I looked all around, panicked. I couldnít find the map! I must have dropped it on my way to school! I thought of the consequences with the ruler and I began to cry.

Marilyn tried to talk me into going into school, to tell my teacher what happened. She thought Mrs. Moen might understand "just this once". I knew different. She would be more than delighted to punish me in front of the whole class, since I had never been a source of any problem prior to this. I grabbed my bicycle holding on for dear life, wailing. Marilyn began to cry, too.

I felt someone touch my shoulder. I turned around. Oh no! It was her! The teacher with the ugly fingers was standing behind me. Being in trouble with my mean teacher, and now being touched by this one was more than my little fourth grade heart could stand! "I want to die!" I cried.

"Oh, no, honey, no you donít," the finger-teacherís voice was so soothing. "Tell me, whatís wrong?" She ran the stubby fingers through my hair. Well, they feel just like regular fingers, I thought as she tried to calm me down. But theyíre alien fingers; they will take me to Mars. She noticed me looking at her fingers.

"Arenít these the strangest looking things?" She held up her fingers for me to peruse, "My fingers are this way because of a birth defect. Remember when we collected dimes on a card, for the March of Dimes?"

I sniffed, nodding yes. Iíd had a good time begging everyone for dimes to fill my card.

"Well, they help find out how birth defects happen, so they can help other children not to have them." She sighed, smiling, "They just didnít have any medicine to help me, when I was a little girl."

For the first time, I looked at her face. Her beautiful green eyes seem to sparkle with love. "So, why are you crying?" she asked.

I spilled my guts, telling her everything. Grabbing my hand with her stubby fingers, we walked over to her car. She reached into the glove box and handed me a map. "When youíre done with this, return it to me. You never know when Iíll need it." Winking, she squeezed my hand. I thought about how soft her little fingers were. Giving her a big hug, I ran to my classroom.

I did return her map. Eventually, Mrs. Anderson and me, we became good friends. She helped me to learn early that different can be good.
Marina Rojas is a freelance writer, humorist, and cartoonist who has written for various ezines, both Christian and secular. A mother, grandmother, a church Prayer Partner, and full time civil servant for the State of California, Marina's desire in life is to touch people's lives for the plans and purposes of the Lord.
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