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.