Dare to Be Who You Really Are

by Pat Kelbaugh

Overview

Many years ago, as I was describing the latest saga in my bizarre life to a dear friend, she suggested I write a book about my life. Eventually, over a period of several years, I started writing down these short stories and finally put them together into a book. It was then that I realized that many of my life experiences had a profound impact on who I was and how I thought. I started out as a quiet, shy person who was unsure of herself and her abilities. Even though I had grown up attending church every Sunday, trying to follow the teachings of the Bible, I knew something was missing in my life. Eventually I married a United Methodist minister and we raised two children together. The challenges we faced during our years in the ministry allowed me to grow in strength and confidence. I was continually learning new life lessons as God put me in positions where I could be of help while caring for the needs and problems of others. As God led me to take on leadership roles, I found I could depend on His guidance and continual support. I was energized as He guided me to use my creative and artistic talents. Then one day the doctor told me I had a tumor and needed major surgery, all at the same time my husband was being put on trial by the church for behavior unbecoming of a minister. When you are down and out is when you find out about your faith and God’s power to turn things around. Never before had I envisioned the challenges I was yet to face. I knew that God was not finished with me and that I had much more to accomplish. Praise God!

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781452592206
Publisher:	Balboa Press
Publication date:	03/11/2014
Pages:	208
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.63(d)

Read an Excerpt

DARE TO BE WHO YOU REALLY ARE

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By Pat Kelbaugh

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2014 Patricia Kelbaugh
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-9218-3

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CHAPTER 1

Imagination and Innocence

It was a quiet summer day and my daughter Wendy was babbling a constant stream of dialog as she went about her usual playtime activities. We were living in an old country house along a main road in Parkton, Maryland right next to the United Methodist Church my husband was serving as pastor. Actually, there was a driveway that ran between the house and the church with a large parking lot in back. Directly behind our house was a long back yard that ran the length of the parking lot – all the way back to a small gravel road leading to a few small houses. Beyond that small road was a large hill, which became the reference point to my young son's stories about his imaginary friend who lived up on the hill. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. His stories came after his older sister finally went off to kindergarten. Right now he was a newborn and his sister Wendy adored him. She couldn't be more helpful, or so she thought. She wanted to share her every treasure with him; so much so that eventually I had to protect him from her.

While I was busy in the kitchen, Mark was in his baby carrier and Wendy would begin to bring her toys for him to play with. Eventually, I saw the potential disaster with Mark being smothered with her gifts. So, I put up a playpen and put Mark in his baby carrier all the way to the far corner of the playpen, so his sister could not reach him. That didn't seem to deter her. She found everything she could and came to the edge of the playpen, reached up, tossing in something to her tiny brother, "Here, Mark. Play with this!" Fortunately the distance I had put between them seemed to work and still gave her the satisfaction of "taking care" of her little brother. Actually that bond became very strong as they grew up. They were only 15 months apart in age and it felt like I was raising twins. At that point I didn't think I'd ever get out of the changing diapers stage. And after two pregnancies in a row, I was anxious to get my body back. My idealistic dream of having a dozen children (after having seen the movie "Cheaper by the Dozen") was quickly changed to "two's enough." After all, what more could I want? I have a girl and a boy and they are both healthy. At that time there was a movement called ZPG, which stood for Zero Population Growth. I felt quite secure in my decision to limit my family size. There was still so much more I was doing with my life besides producing children.

My children always did things together with Mark trying to follow in his big sister's footsteps. Life was a big adventure and he was not willing to miss out on anything. So, one day he just refused to take his afternoon nap. Later at dinner, however, his sleepiness overtook him. His head dropped into his dinner plate – right into the mashed potatoes.

We knew Mark was very smart, but he kept a lot of his thoughts inside. During his first two years, as he was learning new words, he would say a word only once, and then not use it again. Wendy, being the helpful sister, would frequently speak for him. One day I realized that her vocabulary at age one and then at age two was much larger than his. He seemed to understand, but he did not verbalize any more than was absolutely necessary. So, the next time he started banging his sippy cup on the tray of his high chair, I pretended I had no idea what he wanted. Just as Wendy was about to speak for him, I put my hand over her mouth and said, "Let Mark speak for himself." Shocked, he just looked at me silently for a few moments. Then he burst forth loudly with, "MILK!" So from then on, we encouraged him to share with us in words, what was on his mind.

Wendy, who had a passion for learning, had gotten impatient that I had not taught her to read before she was old enough to go to kindergarten. So she gathered all of her Dr. Seuss books and diligently studied them by herself until she could read all the words aloud. She had been concerned about not knowing enough ahead of time, because she wanted to do well when she got to school. I tried to explain that this is why we go to school – to learn. However, now that she could read she felt better prepared. She also had planned out her school years and wanted to know when she is a junior in college, would Mark be a sophomore or a freshman? After attending the parents' meeting with the kindergarten teacher, we knew the teacher would have her hands full when we heard her pronounce kindergarten as if it were kindeygarden. Wendy would probably be quick to correct her, saying, "No. It's kin–deR–gar-Ten." Eventually the day came for Wendy to climb the steps of the big yellow school bus as she proudly went off to her first half day of class. Mark and I stood on the curb, waving goodbye as she waved back to us through the bus window, with a big smile.

I was a little concerned how Mark would fare after his big sister finally went off to school. He and Wendy had almost always been together, and now he would not have anyone to play with. In short of no time, he created an invisible playmate. One day he took all of the cushions off of the sofa and chairs and arranged them on the floor. He started jumping from one cushion to another, and then up onto the sofa and chairs and then back to the cushions. He seemed to be talking to someone and having a great time. After a while, my curiosity got the best of me, so I asked him about his adventures. Immediately, he starting telling me all about his invisible friend who lived up on the hill behind the church. They were fighting off wild animals in the woods.

After starting school and learning to write, Mark made a wonderful book complete with pictures, all about Sleeping Beauty. He even included the romantic scene where Prince Charming found Sleeping Beauty and "kissed her on the kisser."

In first grade he went with his class on a tour of a local bakery. The assignment when they got back to school was to draw a picture and write a short story about their trip at the bottom of the page. Reverting to his earlier mode of limited communication, his story was very short: "We went to the bakery." Mark's teacher, who was anxious to get him to share a little more, felt that he just needed a bit of encouragement. So she asked him to write more in detail about the trip. His response caught her somewhat off guard. "Why" he asked? "You were there." He really was not trying to be flippant; but he just did not see the need to explain further, since she had been there and saw and experienced all that he had. So, she did not have much luck un-locking his thoughts. He kept them to himself.

Throughout school, you could tell that Mark was beginning to develop a very practical entrepreneurial ability. One day he asked his father to buy him an over-sized pack of gum, and unknown to us, took it to school, selling individual sticks at an inflated price to his classmates. Eventually he asked for a small zipped bag we thought was for his pencils, but later found out it was for him to keep all of his money. While out on the playground, he would see that the other kids were dropping pencils, erasers and other school supplies on the ground while playing. So, again, seeing this as an opportunity, he collected them up and sold them back to the kids once they got back into school. He also sold sheets of notebook paper at marked up prices to kids who were not prepared. Even though he had shown initiative and had developed quite a business, we put a stop to his moneymaking activities after we found out about them. That was not why he was in school, and he needed to focus on more wholesome activities. His purpose was not to take unfair advantage of his classmates. Eventually he turned to soccer and found out that he was really very good at it.

CHAPTER 2

The Kite

Living in Parkton raising two small children was a wonderful but very poor time of my life. A parishioner had given up part of his garden space for me to raise vegetables. Do you know what the yield is for a dozen tomato plants? I learned to bake and cook and can vegetables. I was quite the homemaker. But, too late, I discovered I had way too many tomatoes for a family of four!

With two children of my own, it was easy to remember when I was their age, the second of two children. World War II was ending and we were living in a newly constructed housing development, made affordable by the government for people who had been in the military service. Most folks didn't have a lot of money during those days, but we didn't know that we were poor. The community was called Armistead Gardens, named for the armistice peace agreement after the war. Our house on Hoffman Street was a brick row house on a cul-de-sac. There were lots of little children in the neighborhood, most of whom were close to my age. I remember the feeling of not having a care in the world and looked forward to every day. Actually, some of my fondest childhood memories happened during that time. Ah, the innocence of childhood.

This was during the days of early television and families were just beginning to get their first black and white set with a round screen. It was a regular occurrence for a group of 8 to 10 of us kids to sit huddled in front of the television late in the afternoon to watch shows like "Howdy Doody" and "Paul's Puppets". We all knew the tunes they sang and looked forward to the fun adventures each day. So that no one family would be over-burdened with having so many kids in their living room every day, we rotated from house to house. The mom on duty would bring us snacks as we laughed and enjoyed the merriment. I'll never forget the antics of Clarabell the clown, or the adventures of Princess SummerFallWinterSpring. Howdy and his friends were marionettes, and we enjoyed watching them prance across the stage as their stories came to life. The leader of the show was Buffalo Bob, dressed in buckskin, and there was a small audience of children right next to the puppet stage. The kids were referred to as the Peanut Gallery.

There was a long lawn that bordered a creek just beyond the fence to our back yard. It was a common area shared by all of the neighbors. One day my dad decided to teach us how to make a kite. We used balsa wood for the frame and newspaper for the body. Then we used rags for a tail to weigh it down. We would run across the field out back and try to catch the air with the kite. Eventually after several tries the kite would begin to lift off the ground and take flight high above us. It was great fun! And then, of course we would be disappointed as the air current would take a sudden turn and sharply send the kite crashing to the ground. I think it was something about the open area and the creek that made it a good place for air currents. We learned about patience and try, try again. There was a little sadness and disappointment to see a broken kite after spending so much time constructing it and trying to get it up in the air. But once it was up, it was such a thrill to see it flying. It was like part of us was up in the sky flying with it.

I also remember as a child having dreams about flying. It felt so natural and effortless. I understand that it is not uncommon for children to have dreams about flying. Some people think that it's because they are closest to the time when they were free-flying spirits before they were born. I remember in those dreams that I had no weight and that I could go anywhere. I could feel the breeze blowing my hair and I felt light as a feather. It was exhilarating. What fun!

Since I was very quiet and shy, frequently I would hide behind my mother's skirt as she would step forward to do the talking and make the decisions. She always seemed to be confident and know all the answers about the world. She told me what to do, how to act, what to believe, where to go, and not to go, what to say and not to say. Also, Mom was always so busy. In addition to being a wife and mother, she was a night nurse, a homemaker, and a Sunday School teacher. Both she and my grandmother were perfect examples of overwork. I remember one time Grammaw came to visit when I was about kindergarten age, and she insisted that my mother give her some work to do. Otherwise she was going to go home. I thought that was curious at the time.

CHAPTER 3

To Live Is To Dance

When I was five years old my mother took me to my first dance lessons held in a small studio not far away from our neighborhood. The classes were instructed by a husband and wife team, Mr. and Mrs. LaMotte, both of whom were retired acrobats from the circus. From the moment I stepped onto the dance floor I was keenly aware that my inner spirit soared with joy. I loved every moment of it. We learned ballet, tap and acrobatics. Back then there were no costume companies. Each mom was given some fabric and a pattern to make our costume for the performance. We even were given loose sequins that were to be individually sewn onto the costume. They had given my mom a design to follow. Also back then, many moms knew how to sew. Unfortunately, there were many variations of the costume design when all the finished costumes came together at rehearsal. From this I learned if you want a new outfit you simply had to sew it yourself. Most of us could not afford ready-made outfits very often, so we wore a lot of hand-me-downs. Since it seemed that sewing skills were passed down from generation to generation, I assumed that I would also sew one day. It never occurred to me that outside of my little world of reality that indeed there were many people who had not learned the needed skills or just were not very good at them.

During those years there was also limited knowledge as to the harm that could be caused if a young dancer were put on her toes in pointe shoes too young. Because of the pliable bones it actually can cause deformed feet. I later learned that a child's bones do not harden until between the ages of ten and twelve. Children should not dance on their toes before then.

The next year my dance teachers thought I was ready to dance on my toes. Unfortunately I was only age six. At the time I was a little chubby and of course knew very little about proper muscle usage. It did not take very long to discover that dancing on my toes was very painful. So I quit altogether. It was not until I was age 13 that I resumed dancing. My younger sister Sandy had joined some local dance classes and due to sister rivalry, I refused to let her get ahead of me. As it eventually turned out, she quit because she was more interested in boys and I continued on through the rest of my life.

At first I had forgotten my former passion for dance. But quickly, with renewed energy and a new perspective, I couldn't learn enough fast enough. Eventually my ballet teacher asked me to be her student assistant. What a wonderful opportunity. There is no better way to learn how to teach than to be an apprentice.

CHAPTER 4

Going Back

There are many strong memories of those early years in my old Baltimore City neighborhood that have remained with me my whole life. So, a few years ago while attending a Dance Masters workshop that was held not too many miles away from where I had lived, I decided to take a drive and see if I could find my old house. I had never really cared to go back before since I had always been focused on moving forward. My mother had always wanted us to strive for more, to better ourselves. Armistead Gardens was mostly a laboring community with a limited income, not that there is anything wrong with being poor, especially since I've not had much money most of my life. But it seemed that not many people there showed interest in a higher education to improve his or her quality of life. I have found that many folks would rather keep the status quo, even though they were not happy, rather than take a risk, to step out of their comfort zone in order to try something else that might eventually be better. But this time, there was a tugging of curiosity inside that propelled me to go back and see it again.

I knew if I could even find the community, most everything about it would be different. "Who knows," I thought, "after so many years, it might have been torn down." But the names of the main streets were clear in my memory, and the layout of the area was very specific with my old street connecting to an access road off the main highway. I knew as soon as the road I was driving on became a divided highway, I was almost there. In short order I saw the street sign, Hoffman Street. I had lived at 42 East Hoffman Street and there it was!

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from DARE TO BE WHO YOU REALLY ARE by Pat Kelbaugh. Copyright © 2014 Patricia Kelbaugh. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Foreword, ix,
1. Imagination and Innocence, 1,
2. The Kite, 6,
3. To Live Is To Dance, 10,
4. Going Back, 12,
5. The Darker Side, 19,
6. Scouting and Camping, 23,
7. Life With The Foxes, 27,
8. Silenced and Betrayed, 33,
9. The Rude Awakening, 38,
10. That First Big Step Into College, 40,
11. English 101: The Blind Leading The Blind, 43,
12. Liturgical Dance, 49,
13. God Gives Us The Lesson We Need To Learn When We Need To Learn It, 51,
14. A Music Surprise, 59,
15. Let Them Speak, 62,
16. Dance Masters of America, 65,
17. Lucy, Fred and Ethel, 69,
18. Happy Birthday, 75,
19. Passing The Torch, 80,
20. Vacations At The Beach, 85,
21. The Cripple, 91,
22. Mark's on Crutches Again?, 93,
23. The Beginning of the End, 95,
24. The Turning Point, 104,
25. Starting Over, 108,
26. Expanding The Family and The Business, 113,
27. Finding Your Passion, 120,
28. Mind Over Body, 126,
29. The Connection, 138,
30. Turn Around, 142,
The Photo of Three, 151,
Photos of the Older Generation, 155,
Messages to my Grandchildren, 158,
More Photos, 190,