My name is Sandy, and as an author, I write under the name of Sandra K. Marshall. Under my façade of laughter and fun, I’m mostly a serious person; therefore you’ll find that most of my stories deal with serious issues.
As a child, I often wondered about people and what their lives were like. For instance, in the eighth grade, I often watched a friend of mine and wondered what she was thinking as she stared out the window. There was something about her that caused me to worry about her even though I didn’t know why. She was a cheerleader and very popular, but she was very kind and not one of the mean cheerleaders you hear about today. We moved to another town that year, and I learned a few months later that Barbara had been diagnosed with Leukemia. Had she known? I believe she had a premonition that she might not be on this earth long.
Going back to that small town for holidays, I would call Barbara to talk to her, and she would talk about her visits to the hospital for treatments. The last time I talked to her I could tell that it might be the last one, and I was right. A couple of days later she was taken to the hospital and did not come home. Her family distraught over their loss moved away a year or two later.
When I started working for an airline in 1962, after a couple of years of spreading my wings and having fun, I decided there were more important things to do than have fun. I thought about the type of volunteer work I would like to do and decided I wanted to work with orphans. Not knowing of any orphanages, I looked them up in the telephone book and found one not to far from where I was living, east of main street. I called to make an appointment to visit, and when I went there I learned it was an all black orphanage. The man who ran the orphanage asked if it made a difference to me. I said, “no” as I’d had a close black friend in high school.
I got involved with reading programs at the orphanage, took the girls on excursions to movies and museums in an attempt to show them there was more out there than what they had experienced so far. I was able to teach these kids a lot, but they knew so much more than I did in certain areas of life. Many of these kids had been abused sexually, beaten physically and mentally. These kids didn’t open up immediately; in fact they challenged me, wanting to know why a white girl would come into their lives. All I could tell them was that I was meant to be with them for a time.
It turned out to be a short time too, because not many months after that the riots started in our city. One day after they started I was at the orphanage, the guy who ran it pulled me aside to tell me, he didn’t want me to come back. He felt it was too dangerous, and he couldn’t be responsible for me. I had had a good day with the girls and didn’t want to tell them good-bye, so I told him I would be back one more time in order to explain to the girls why I wouldn’t be working with them any more. However, I never got a chance to explain because of something that happened when I left there.
At a stop sign, a few blocks from the orphanage, a group of men stood on the corner with angry faces. They started toward me and a couple of guys started pushing my car, and I hurriedly stepped on the pedal and took off. Some of them chased me, and it made me fearful to go back.
(One of these days, I'm going to blog about something pertaining to this section of my post, but it's controversial and though it's on my mind I've been putting it off. I'm sorry for being such a chicken).
None of these things have deterred me from wanting to do something to help others. Now, in my stories, I hope some day to make a difference. I will always write about topics that concern me.
Okay folks, you’ve learned a little more about what makes me tick. Have a good week, and I’ll see you next Sunday.
Remember as always, all comments are welcome even if you disagree with any of my opinions.