Associations

I just came back home from three weeks on St. Croix (in the U.S. Virgin Islands), where I had a wonderful time.

The initial reason for the trip was to photograph the wedding of a friend’s daughter.

When she asked me to do it, I eagerly agreed. A week back home in the islands! Of course you could count me in! Then I figured if I was going to go for a week, might as well make it worth my while (and the cost of the plane ticket) and stay a couple of additional weeks.

I was ecstatically happy at the prospect. My jealous roommate not so much. And my very affectionate cat, who is extremely attached to me, even less so.

Because, you see, Spookie thinks he’s a dog – or maybe even a human. He comes when he’s called. He lies down on command. He runs to answer the phone when it rings. When the dogs get leashed up to go out and do their thing, he runs to join the troop and joins them on their journey.

Well, as much as he is like a dog, he also thinks he’s human. He talks to me. If he’s talking to me and I ignore him, he reaches out a paw and taps me two or three times to get my attention – just like the kids did when they were little. And if he doesn't get his way, he often will go sit on his scratch pad and actually pout.

He steals straws out of drinks - but only the red ones. And most peculiarly of all, he loves jewelry - especially sparkly, dangly things. Necklaces, dangle earrings…

When he is in a frisky mood, he gets up on the desk and reaches up to my jewelry box and scoops off anything I’ve carelessly left on top, rather than put away.

He’s even been caught trying to pull open the jewelry box drawers on occasion to get at the things within when I haven’t left anything out.

I have quite a collection of single earrings whose partners have inexplicably disappeared.

Well, he also gets into the jewelry when he’s mad at me. And he certainly showed his displeasure with my vacation while I was gone.

It started when he saw the suitcase come out. He instantly became sullen; lying inside the suitcase in hopes it would prevent me from putting things in it (on top of him.) And once it was packed, he lay on top of it, daring me to try to move it.

While I was gone, to register his protest, he got into my necklaces.

He carried one out into the living room to his favorite scratching post. He put two more in my bed, and yet another in his litter box. The rest, he just scrambled up into knots and left on the desk and the floor.

I guess he thinks of them when he thinks of me. There is a definite association in his mind. (I’ve not yet checked the rest of my jewelry for missing pieces.)

We all have certain associations we make with others: things, actions and feelings associated with them.

While in St. Croix, I attended the huge Good Hope vs. Country Day championship soccer game.

Some things never change. That was the big rivalry when I lived on the island decades ago.

It is something akin to our version of the USC vs. UCLA rivalry.

Sitting there watching the exciting game, I was surprised when my friend, Daisy, leaned over and said to me, “You see that ref – the tall one out there? That’s Mr. Frederick!”

“You mean Luke B. Frederick?” I asked, stunned.

“Yep.”

“Nuh uh!” I said. “Luke B. Frederick?”

She laughed at my denial and assured me it was.

The reason I was shocked was that Luke B. Frederick had been our 5^th grade teacher! (And our 8^th grade teacher.) Mr. Frederick, the tall, dashing teacher who demanded respect.

He expected you to have your homework done in your copy notebook.

And as he came up and down the aisle checking books, if he found an empty page where homework should have been, he was known to take the offender’s notebook and throw it out the 2^nd story window. We learned to do our homework.

If he was writing on the board and heard someone whispering in class, he sometimes would give you a verbal warning without looking back.

And other times, he would whirl around and fling his chalk at the offender with deadly aim. We learned not to talk in class.

But this man who fervently demanded respect had a heart of gold. He is the one who finally convinced the nuns to allow us girls to play interscholastic sports.

And then he provided the matching T-shirts that became our volleyball ‘uniforms,’ and provided transportation to the game for those of us who had none.

Afterward, he would take us home – even if we lived way out to the end of nowhere as I did.

So I had an incredible respect for this man. In fact, he was one of the two teachers who most influenced me.

I’d always thought it would be wonderful to be able to tell either or both of them how much they’d meant to me.

Especially after becoming a teacher myself. I still love it when my former students come back to touch base with me, or ask me the name of that book I read to them, or to share their latest news or accomplishment.

I finally ended my thirty-year search for Sister Antoinette Gallatelli (my 8^th grade homeroom teacher) not too many months ago when I finally found an obscure mention of her on line. A sole, almost too blurry to recognize, photo of her at a 50^th high school reunion in Albany, New York.

After thirty years of searching, it was such a wonderful thing for me to get in touch with her and catch up. But more importantly to thank her.

And now, completely unexpectedly and without effort, here was my chance to see the other person on my very short list of most influential teachers!

As soon as the game ended, I quickly made my way down onto the field fearful he might get away in the crowd. Wading through the revelers, I finally reached him.

“Mr. Luke B. Frederick?” I asked in my best Crucian accent.

“Yes?”

I told him I wanted to shake his hand and thank him. He looked puzzled – understandably so – and asked why.

I told him it was because he’d been my teacher 40 years ago and he’d taught me a lot about values and respect.

He was so surprised that he grabbed me and paraded me around telling everyone he knew that he’d been my teacher 40 years ago. Only once he ran out of people to tell, did he stop and ask me what my name was.

Bless his heart. I thought that was sweet of him pretending he might remember me.

And when I told him “Liz Carson,” he could have won an Oscar!

His eyes popped out and his jaw dropped. It did my heart good to see him trying to make me believed that he remembered me.

But then he startled me by exclaiming, “Oh my Lord! No!

Not little Lizzie Carson with the long, blond hair who talked too much!?”

(He also remembered that I lived out on East End, and that I loved horses. And he later mentioned that I was always one who was cautious to let people in.)

It was then my turn to have my eyes bug out and my jaw drop.

I had my picture of him. I associated him with passion and kindness and values and respect. And even after all these years, he still had his picture of me. I had long, blond hair and a big mouth! (Better to be a big mouth and be remembered than never to be remembered at all, I guess.)

Things haven’t changed all that much. I still like to talk too much, but the blond has turned brown and grey.

His fiery passion seems to have been replaced by patient commitment, but he still seems to be a kind man of values and respect.

The one association that I was surprised to find changed was the age difference.

Now this man who was a feared and admired pillar of adulthood was a charming man who was only a decade older than me.

He tried a couple of times, during the rest of my stay, to get hold of me, but to no avail.

And he finally got in touch with me two days before I left the island and said he’d love to get together for dinner or something.

So on the last night I was there, he picked me up and took me out to dinner. It was nice to talk about old times, and very briefly about the intervening years. Then to talk about our shared passion for helping others – especially children.

He still helps support children’s sports programs (much like he did when he fought for us to play volleyball.)

He just got new uniforms for the island’s AYSO soccer team that is headed to Miami next month, and is going along with them. And he has volunteered for the Special Olympics for many years.

It was interesting to me how the things with which we associated each other were so accurate - even after all this time.

We had a nice time, and he was chivalrous and charming. It is a shame we hadn't gotten together sooner and had more chance to talk.

I had such a wonderful stay on the island. And it was so nice to find that so many of the associations I had of so many former friendships were still accurate.

Luke B. Frederick is still a kind, chivalrous guy.

Jack is still boisterous and the memory keeper of the group. (Though Luke remembers at least as much, and occasionally more accurately than Jack!)

Jamie still stands, arms crossed, and observes for a while before joining in the conversation. And he still has that great laugh.

It was so good to see so many old friend, and make so many new ones.

I already miss the island terribly, and am really looking forward to a possible return trip in November or December for a book signing.

(Well, except for things from poor Spookie's point of view. And he made his feelings quite clear on the matter on this trip!)