Ever since I had lost my mother, music helped me cope. I didn't have very many friends at school. I got bullied a lot, and more so after my mother's death. The only consistent friend I had was my best friend, Barry. He was there for me during the funeral and everything. One day, he said, "Well, it's been two months, hasn't it?" I said, "Yeah." He said, "I know it's been painful and difficult for you." I said, "Yeah, I miss my mother very much, but I'm doing okay." He said, "I can't imagine what that's like, but if you need to talk, I'm here." I said, "Thanks, Barry." Even my friends in Sunday School were turning their backs on me. Phil would often say to me, "Why are you still grieving? You know that can't be healthy." Grandma was no help either. It seemed that losing her youngest daughter made her bitter. Grandpa even became cold and distant. The only family members who were able to provide comfort were my aunt and uncle, my brother, Daniel, and my cousin, Barbara Ann. It seemed that I had a good support system. One day, my uncle said, "Erin, I've noticed that you haven't been reading the Bible. Are you okay?" I said, "No." He asked, "What's going on?" I said, "It doesn't mean anything to me anymore. No matter how many times I read Psalm 23, I still feel empty inside. Music fills that emptiness." He said, "I understand how you feel." I said, "No, you don't." He said, "No, hear me out. When my father was killed in Vietnam, I began questioning my faith, too." I said, "You did?" He said, "Yeah, and years later, I learned I was agnostic. I believe in God, but not in the way the church does." I said, "I don't know what to believe anymore." He said, "It's okay, Erin. You have time to decide. After all, you're only twelve." I said, "I think I'll go for a walk for a while." I went for a walk to clear my head. I realized that I was confused about my beliefs. I began to wonder, "Do I really believe what Grandma and Grandpa taught me to believe, or am I lying to myself when I say I do?" I wasn't sure. One thing was for sure, I was old enough to start thinking for myself.
To be continued
To be continued
When I had entered the fifth grade, I was dreading it. I had heard rumors that the teacher was really mean. When I met her before school started, she seemed really nice. On the first day of school, I was wearing one of my Beatles t-shirts. She noticed it, and she said, "Darling, I love you already!" I said, "Okay, then." She would take up for me all the time. The other kids often called me glasses. She heard them and said, "She has a name, guys. Her name is not glasses. It's Winter." There was one day when another girl kept picking on me. I finally had enough and said, "I might look sweet and innocent, but that shit is for suckers, and I'm no lollipop." I looked at the teacher. She winked and said, "I heard nothing." I would have had her for the sixth grade, too, but unfortunately, I moved to Tennessee as soon as the school year was over. We both cried. We promised to keep in touch with each other, and we've kept in touch to this day.