Janet Cain

How can you ever forget the person who introduced you to Harry Potter? I was about 15 when my mother and I went to Driggs Idaho to visit my Aunt Janet and her family. She is a teacher, and was quick to find me a few good books to read. She went on and on about how much I would like the Harry Potter books, and to my own amazement, I spent the majority of my stay curled up in her leather recliner with the first volume. When it was time to go home, she set books 2 and three in my luggage and made me promise to mail them back to her when I was done.
It seems like a trifle, but to me it was some much needed attention and understanding form a relative that didn’t want anything in return. Aunt Janet has always been like that – excited, passionate, loud, and happy, and completely at ease to let you be who you want to be.
When I was four years old my Mother and Father decided they had had enough of each other and split up. Everything was chaotic. Law suits were filed, custody was battled, and we five kids were stuck in the middle of it. Janet took us all for a little while. I don’t remember how long, but I do remember staying g with her in the log cabin house in Driggs. It’s a very pleasant memory for me. I loved going for walks in the shadow of the Teton Mountains. I loved playing with my cousins. I loved that there was a peaceful atmosphere in the home. I do remember my cousin Kim and me dancing for Janet and Richard (my uncle) and how proud they were of us. They went on and on about how good we were. I just loved and craved that attention and praise.
Dad won the custody suit, and I went to live with him. Once he remarried, I lost contact with my mother and all of her family for six years. – including my Aunt Janet. But when we were all reunited it was like there was something stronger than time and hope that had kept us close. It was just as easy when I visited with Mom to play, relax, and enjoy the peace that comes with Janet’s place.
It may be just a bunch of simple little memories, but Janet has always been consistent. And for a girl with a very inconsistent childhood, Janet is an angel.

Brother White

In Utah the high school children are privileged enough to be excused from regular classes to attend religious classes for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. One of my teachers in the Seminary program was Brother White.
I had just moved to a new school at the beginning of my junior year. I knew no one, and had left behind all familiar family. Seminary quickly became the place where I felt at home. I love religion. It sings to my heart and calls me to a place where I didn’t know I belonged. I had several teachers during my junior who taught me the gospel and helped me in various scholastic, emotional, and spiritual ways.
My senior year presented a change in the basic program. Usually all the grades were taught from the same course of study. But when I was a senior the officials changed the program so that each grade studied a specific book of scripture. This left the seniors in a position of having never studied the Doctrine and Covenants. Brother White took on a special class just for the seniors, in which we covered the Doctrine and Covenants.
Being in a seminary class with only seniors, and only seniors who wanted to be there, was an amazing experience. The level of spirituality and scholarship in the classroom was amazingly sweet. Every day Brother White had someone share a “sweet fruit”; an experience that strengthened faith and testimony. I loved the sweet fruits. Sometimes people would share experiences of spiritual promptings; others would share special times when their testimony was strengthened. All the sweet fruits were very personal. I loved learning about the gospel in such an individual way.
Brother White advised the seminary council as well. I was a member of the 20 or so students that made up the council. For training one fall Saturday Brother White took us on a hike to the top of the Wellsville Mountains. He made the entire journey an allegory, stopping every so often to make some simile or other to the gospel. Before long the rest of us caught on and began making parables of the mountain - problems that look huge at first end up looking small as you press on – sins are like rocks in the shoe that need repenting of – God’s gifts are not always visible at first, but after some experience we understand them better – enduring to the end will win the prize – helping others along the way is what the Lord wants us to do – and on and on we went.
Some things I will never forget about Brother White. He loved his wife. He often talked about her when he taught, and he told us once tearfully that he never knew that he would love her so much more now than he did when they got married. I was impressed by that and wanted to find someone I could feel that way about. He had an infectious laugh, and smiled very easily. He loved to hear a good joke, and loved even more to hear a touching story. He never has forgotten my name. I still see Brother White every now and then, just by default of living in the same community. And even though it has been over ten years since that special senior’s seminary class, he always remembers my name and wants to know how my life is going. That is a special talent, and an impressive one. I’m glad I had the example of Brother White, as well as his advice and friendship during that critical year of my youth.

Mrs. Kendrick

I’m slightly surprised and amused to find that many of the people on my influential list are teachers. Most of these have been teachers of mine through my growing years, but one is my son’s Kindergarten teacher. Having a child enter the education system gave me a whole new appreciation for the role of a teacher in a child’s life.
Joshua was late for his first day of Kindergarten, so I sent him in ahead at a run. I followed, just to make sure he had gotten to the right classroom, and when I peeked into the room I saw Joshua holding Mrs. Kendrick’s hand and engaging her in conversation. I loved that my son was so independent and friendly, and I loved that his teacher was so friendly and attentive.
Mrs. Kendrick is built like a pixie – slender, graceful, with distinguished features and beautiful long chestnut hair. She can hardly keep up with her own enthusiasm, and keeps her kindergartener’s busy first bell to last. Joshua was often late coming out of class because they just had to finish up this or that.
I helped in the classroom for a couple hours a week helping with centers. I loved being a pseudo teacher to the little tykes. Mrs. Kendrick always had stimulating projects for us to do with the kids to help them understand concepts. Once we played with water and dyes, pouring them together to make new colors. Once we went on a scavenger hunt for the gingerbread man all through the school, so the kids could practice their reading and reasoning skills.
I loved seeing a woman with such enthusiasm and love be in charge of my child. Passion can accomplish so much.

Emily Nielson

Emily nielson, Emily Lloyd
Please look at me and see
How closely I watch, how much I enjoy
The you that is friendly to me.

You giggle with glee at a joke that I tell
Then cry at a silly romance
You stand for your rights like a pillar of steel
then bend at a whimsical glance

You radiate music and sunshine and grit
and sing when the soldiers are gone
a mother in longing - you wait and seem fit
though the months roll along like the song.

Victory’s tragedy brought to your eyes
sympathy’s deepest remorse
and caused you to fly to the heart of the ache
to give warmth where the blood had no course

You’ve taught me in patience a resonant touch
for bow and string of my own
a melody sweet and unfettered by fear
a lesson in reason’s deep tone

You in the north and I in the south
Feel close at the heart of our kind
I thank you for giving, and knowing , and being
The you that’s so precious a find

Jen Parr

The house next door is moved into and out of like the fast lane in a traffic jam. The Family that owns the house used to live there, before they flew off to their promised land of California leaving the house to the mercy of renters who come and go too often. Jen Parr and her husband were spiritual Christians, living each day by Christ’s teachings and praying each night for his love and guidance. “Church isn’t church without a drummer” Zach Parr told me more than once. “I don’t know how you can stay awake with nothing but an organ playing.” I, being a devout Mormon, found it very interesting to discuss religion with Jen and Zach. Zach was always afire, while Jen quietly and steadily obeyed God’s will.
Jen ran a daycare from her home. Her sons, Bubba and Binx, befriended my little Joshua immediately and gave Jen and me an excuse to spend time together almost every day. We made cookies, talked about discipline, planted gardens, and occasionally cried on each other’s shoulders. Underlying our friendship was always the issue of religion. Jen just couldn’t bring herself to befriend any other Mormon women, no matter how many times I invited her. She and her husband listened to the anti-Mormon rhetoric given to them by their pastor. It made it difficult sometimes to be friends. When Jen would ask me about certain aspects of my religion, I was amazed at how little they understood, and how little they wanted to. But one thing united us – we both were trying our hardest to be Christ-like. And so we learned to tenuously love each other.
After one year in the neighborhood the Parrs moved to California to join a congregation where they would feel more camaraderie and fellowship. I miss them often, and am grateful for the opportunity I had to be close to a family of similar and yet so different faith from my own. The Parrs still own the house next door, and when I think of them, I hope one day they may decide to move back into the ever-revolving house next door.

Amy Holyoak

I have three older brothers, the oldest of which is James. James is a full 10 years older than me, so naturally I have always thought of him as an adult. It’s strange to look back now and realize that when he first brought home Amy Holyoak he was younger than I am now.
Amy was James’ perfect match. Where he was quick tempered, she was steady. Where he was energetic, so was she. When he joked, she joined in and topped him. When he went too far, she steered the conversation in another direction and mended the hurt feelings with a kind word. Where he was emotionally volatile, she was as steady as a rock.
I remember Amy mostly from the standpoint of an 11 year old. I was living in a house with my father, stepmother, one brother, and three step siblings. I often got shuffled to the back of the line because I was a good girl and kept my nose out of trouble. The blended family took so much energy on the part of my dad and Diana that I was left a little starved for attention at times.
Amy was like a ray of sunshine for a needy 11 year old. When she would come over for a visit with James she would sit and really listen to what I had to say. My little step brother Jerry said to me once “I really like Amy. She actually listens to me. No one else does, you know?” I did know.
Amy had this wild orange and green shirt she would often wear, and always had on a pair of shiny black penny loafers. She wore her thick dark hair straight and curled under at her shoulders. She was a queen of simplicity with a colorful twist and her unique style set her apart. It was easy to see why James was so attracted to her - he rarely wore anything but Doc martins with blue jeans and a white t-shirt. With his handsome features and dark hair they were quite a couple.
The wedding reception was in our back yard. I remember Diana fretting over the yard before the wedding day. Amy had chosen green and “coral” for the wedding colors. Diana decorated the entire back yard with dark green and peach ribbons. Peach dresses for me and Trisa, peach flowers on the cake. When Amy arrived in her curve-hugging 1920’s style wedding dress and saw the decorations the depth of her gentle nature was evident.
She hated the peach. Her definition of coral was much more of a bright sunset orange. But she didn’t make a fuss. Instead she thanked Diana for her hard work and stood under peach-ribboned arch all evening to receive the guests. Diana felt a little bad about the mix-up, but like the rest of us she felt completely at ease with Amy and was relieved at her sincerity.
There are parts of this story that I cannot fill in completely. What I remember is this. For a while James and Amy would come over for Sunday dinners just like the rest of the older kids in our big blended family. And each time Amy and I would laugh and talk and grow closer. I idolized her as a big sister. But two short years later Amy started coming by herself to the Sunday dinners. And then she started coming late at night to sleep over without my brother.
Amy’s family was from Kansas, and I understand now that she had nowhere else to go when the marriage started going sour. I don’t know the details. I was 13 years old and no one felt I was old enough to be trusted with the kind of reality that was happening in front of me. But it wasn’t long before the official announcement was made that Amy and James were getting a divorce. I’ve since heard whispers of abuse and bruises, but I never saw any of that myself. I tend to think the best of people until proven wrong, and I hope to this day that James was never unforgivably cruel.
It was at this stage of things that I learned a valuable life lesson. Blood runs thicker than water. Even if water tastes better. Amy and I had a special friendship. After the divorce we continued to do things together. She would pick me up and we would have dinner at her apartment, or watch a movie. It never occurred to me that this friendship might hurt James. James and I were never particularly close, and I remember thinking more than once that if I had to choose between the two I would rather keep Amy. Keep in mind that I was 13 years old. I know much better than that now.
One day Amy and I went for a hike up past Sqaw Peek on Mount Timponogos. I remember how beautiful it was. We hiked to a meadow full of yellow wild flowers as bright as the sunshine. We read a book out loud to each other for a while – Amy liked to help me with things like reading – and then headed back. I remember that day so vividly because it was the last time I spent time with Amy Holyoak. When I got back to the house James was there. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but he was very hurt that I had been with his ex-wife, and very angry. He stormed out of the house without too many words. It’s the only time I ever remember James being angry directly at me.
Dad, Diana, and I had a good talk that evening. I really didn’t understand the emotions behind James’ reaction till that talk. I was still a child caught up in a painful adult battle. “James feels betrayed because you do things with Amy and not with him,” They explained. “Nothing is more important than family, and James needs us all to be supportive right now.” They were right. James did need the family. He was a complete mess. He was mean, and aloof, a nd completely confused as to where things had gone wrong. I didn’t like him at all. But like him or not, he was my brother and I understood then that his need for family support was greater than my need for a sisterly relationship with a woman who was no longer my sister.
So we all had to let Amy go. Jerry and I felt the loss very keenly. For the third time in my life I realized the pain that divorce brings. I also realized that our family was as strong as it was because we had decided to make it so – sacrificing loved ones all along the way.
A few years later an invitation came in the mail. Amy was getting married again. Heather and I quietly went to the reception without letting anyone know. This was the last time I ever saw her. We didn’t stay long. Just long enough to give her a swift hug and with her all the happiness in the world from our entire family. I was so happy to see her again, and hoped her groom was someone who would be good to her and always appreciate her. In her second wedding dress, at her second wedding reception, she hugged me with real love. Even after everything she had been through she still gave me that feeling that she really cared. I knew I wouldn’t see her again, and I knew it would be okay.
To this day I can’t see green and orange together without thinking of Amy Holyoak. To this day I remember the way she make me feel as a prepubescent insecure 11-year-old. And to this day I try to make other people feel the same way when they get to know me. I hope that somewhere out there Amy is still happily married and has a life full of love and adventure. I hope she still has her funky style and quirky sense of humor. I haven’t seen or heard of her for sixteen years now, but somewhere out there I hope Amy remembers me with a bit of fondness that hasn’t dimmed with time.

100 Influential People

It takes a village to raise a child. It’s a common enough phrase, and one that is heard often even in this modern world where villages have been replaced by cities, towns, and mega metropolises. But the saying is as true today as it was when villages were abundant. The fact remains that each of us are who we are because of a great many people who have shaped and taught us, lifted and inspired us, influenced and given to us, and occasionally wounded and hurt us. For example:

Who taught you to ride a bike?

Who was your first kiss?

Who rocked you to sleep when you were a baby?

Who helped you find faith?

Who gave you a job?

Who taught you to cook?

Who put food on your table?

Who had inmeasurable faith in you?

Who broke your heart?

Who is your best friend?

Chances are you are thinking of several different people who have been influential in your life. Well, I have been too – and this blog is a mode for me to offer my gratitude to some of them – 100 in fact.

Here are the guidelines for the "influential people" project. First I will make a list of 100 people who have influenced my life. Some are major players and others only impacted my life for a short time. That’s the nature of life though—often those who influence us are here and then gone so quickly, while others are ever-present. The list will not neccesarily be the 100 most influential, just 100 of who-knows-how-many people. Second I will put each name on a strip and draw a name or two each week to write about. By drawing names my entries will simply be in random order which will allow for balance in writing.

The purpose of these spotlights is threefold. 1) Explain who the person of influence is, 2) outline just how they have impacted and affected my life, and 3) create a record of my associations with the person as a means of creating a personal history.

It takes a village to raise a child. Though I am no longer a child, I still feel the effects of my village every day and I want to thank and remember them. This blog is my way of doing just that.