You’ve undoubtedly heard the figure of speech “Don’t cross the line in the sand” or in my case on the North Shore of Lake Superior “Don’t cross the line in the beach rocks.” Never was this truer than the hallways of Cook County High. CCHS was not unique as I am sure all small town high schools have their social lines that for whatever the reason, are never crossed…Though these lines are not visible to the naked eye, I am sure we’ve all had days when we wish they were. It would make life easier in some ways if we just knew who wanted to be friends and who could care less. As student council president and senior class vice president, I tried to avoid having any lines drawn around me that would make anyone feel unwelcome or at odds. A true politician with an open door policy.
It was always nice when I could find a way to cross a line, like the time I had a new lab partner. I found out the really smart guy was also a great dancer and loved music. Swish, line erased. New friend made.
One big line was around a girl in my senior class. She was not afraid to stand up to anyone, including the teachers. Even her boyfriend was a much younger man and this was unheard of in high school. She didn’t care who knew it and she would threaten physical harm to any girl who even thought about looking at him. Her name came from a Tarzan comic book for goodness sake! Needless to say, I was intimidated.
Smart cookie that I was, I avoided any contact all together. I am sure she thought I was “stuck up.” I didn’t care if it kept me from being smacked, even though I never actually saw her “hit” anyone.
After high school we both moved to the Cities. Our mothers, being friends, decided we should get together when they found we lived only a few miles from each other in Plymouth. “Why, why, why?” I would plead with my mom. “I don’t know her and I am sure she doesn’t like me”… to which my mom would say, “Ridiculous, you just went to school with the girl for the last six years!” Finally the mothers conspired against us and her mom asked me to deliver some cookies to her daughter. Now not only did I have to call her, but I had to actually go over to her house. This visit changed the course of my life forever. First of all, she was funny!
She had married her young high school sweetheart and was very, very pregnant with their second child when we got together that first day. Her little daughter was jumping on the bed in the other room. Her mom told her to knock it off and all we heard was this tiny little voice “No!” Can you say the apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree?
After a few weeks of hanging out together I admitted that I was afraid of her in school and she admitted that she thought I was a snob. We laughed because she said she still thought I was a snob and I ducked. She told me about a claims training class at Prudential. They were hiring 20 new recruits to pay medical claims for them and she had an interview. She convinced me I should apply too and luckily we both were hired. We turned the Dean Vaughn medical terminology training into a drinking game. She aced the 350-word test and I got one wrong with a score of 349. Never again will I confuse ptyalism with phagocytosis…one is excess spit the other is bacteria eating bacteria or something like that.
I worked in insurance for the next 17 years as a claims examiner and claims manager. I am so thankful I was forced to jump that line and make the friend I could have had all through high school. She clearly would have been great protection!
Preconceived notions are
the locks on the door to
wisdom.
Merry Browne
Taste of Home
columnist Sandy (Anderson)
Holthaus lives on an alpaca farm in South
Haven, MN with her husband, Michael, and their children Zoe,
Jack and Ben. Her heart remains on the North Shore where she grew up with
her parents, Art and LaVonne Anderson of Schroeder. She enjoys writing about
her childhood and mixes memories with delicious helpings of home-style recipes.
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