I recently conducted six professional development sessions on homelessness in a single day. I was sent the written comments from the evaluation forms, and I am thankful that they were all positive. At least I assumed they were. From what was visible on the email, it appeared one person wrote, “Ronnie is the dud” (the printed version of the email did read “dude”). Thank goodness for the power of positive thinking!

In the summer of 2004, Maynardville Elementary had just received the Reading First grant from the State of Tennessee. I was somewhat instrumental in writing that grant, and even though I have just shredded three garbage bags of out of date material from my office, I cannot bring myself to destroy that document.

I spent the last three weeks of my one year as the assistant principal at Maynardville Elementary almost day and night on writing that grant. During that time, my Aunt Fleetie passed away, and I can remember nervously standing at her graveside thinking about how many minutes were being used other than beating the grant deadline.

When it was time for the grant to be presented to the state, I personally drove it to Nashville. I left an additional copy in Union County with instructions that should something happen to me before the grant was delivered that another designated individual could make sure it was received by the state. After I delivered the grant, I stopped at a cheap motel (it was the middle of the day) and rested for a few hours before returning home.

That three week period was the last three weeks my mother spent at home before she went for a month’s stay in the hospital. She never returned to her earthly home. I received the news during her receiving of friends at the First Baptist Church of Maynardville that Union County had been awarded the grant.

It was not long after Mother’s burial that Maynardville Elementary’s faculty attended the first Reading First conference in Chattanooga. I roomed alone, and one night I dreamed that Mother was standing on the bed on her knees. She was trying to tell me something, but it was as if she were gagged. I asked, “Mother, what’s wrong?” She then vanished from my sight. I don’t exactly believe in ghosts, but let’s just say I slept lightly for the rest of the night.

A day or so later I was walking with some of the female teachers along the Chattanooga waterfront at dusk. We passed some questionable characters who made some kind of comment, enough so they could be heard but not plainly enough to be understood. The women wisely decided that it might be best to return to the hotel. One of the women said, “Oh, we’ll be all right. We’ve got Ronnie to protect us. You’ll take care of us, won’t you?” I told them I most assuredly would—I’d run for help just as fast as I could!

What could they have expected from a kid that was afraid of the pencil sharpener in his first and second grade (maybe third, also) classroom? I used to be covered in graphite by the end of every school day because I chewed my pencil when it needed sharpening.

I was also afraid of heights. I remember finally working up my courage to climb the ladder to the top of the slide. Once I got there, I was afraid to slide down, but someone was behind me, so I didn’t have much choice. I started down that hot metal surface, and I pushed the palms of my hands against the outer sides of the slide to slow my descent. I got blistered palms for that one, and never again slid down a slide.

I did love the swings, though. I love all swings, both on playgrounds and porches. The only time it bothered me to swing was if I went so high that the chains got slack and jerked when I started to go backwards.

All of these things I no longer fear. What is interesting is the things that I now fear that did not bother me when I was younger. The best example is a rollercoaster. I have even ridden the rollercoaster at King’s Island. But every time I rode a rollercoaster I got more and more afraid of them, especially when I heard news stories of horrific accidents on amusement park rides.

The last three times I rode a rollercoaster was the Blazing Fury at Dollywood. The main thing that bothered me was the darkness. On one occasion I expected to be jerked sharply to the left, but was jerked sharply to the right. On the next, I expected to be jerked sharply to the right, but it was the left. The final time I rode the Blazing Fury I was expecting to be jerked either to the right or the left, but was instead plunged straight down into total darkness!

I don’t often make vows to God, but on this occasion I did. I promised the Lord that if he let me live to get off that thing alive, I would never again ride a rollercoaster. And I haven’t.

Next week I’ll share with you some food likes and dislikes.