Author: Dot

Moore, Oklahoma, was my “home town” for 14 years. We moved there in the Sixties, during a housing boom. Just across the Canadian River from Oklahoma City (and into another county), Moore was a small town affected by the white flight and various transitions of that decade. The population rose so rapidly from 1960-1970, that the city fathers called for a special census in order to adjust their school tax base.

The first year we lived in Moore, we bought our children’s text books and the PTA organized a used book program. Those who could afford it were encouraged to donate their used texts to the system.  At one point, the largest employer – the entity that employed the most people – was the Moore Public Schools.  You might say Moore’s GNP was children.

I loved that. And one of the main reasons we moved to Moore was that Moore High School’s Homecoming Queen was not the banker’s daughter or a teacher’s kid (not that there’s anything wrong with that).  But that year Miss MHS’ dad was a school custodian and her mother worked at the Methodist Day Care Center.

Moore, called a blue collar suburb, retained it’s small town charm into the Seventies when it had grown from 2,000 to 25,000. From all reports of the past week, little has changed even now that 55,000 live there.

Yes, there was a tornado in Moore while I lived there. An F1-or-2 hit a mobile home park a couple of miles from our house. A baby died. We suffered broken car windows and found a piece of McDonalds’ sign in our yard. We cried and prayed and did what we could for those who lost their homes.

Last week, May 20, an early post on facebook said “Shelter and help at First United Methodist on Main Street.” Of course. The church I attended. Where I grew as a Christian. Where I worked and where three of my children stood at the altar and accepted Christ. Of course my church family would be some of the first to help.

In January, 1999, a tornado took the house in Beebe, AR that had been my parents’ last home. Memories of Holidays spent there, grandkids picking up pecans under the big tree, enjoying visits with Grammy and Poppy.

Then in May, 1999, a storm took the house in Moore where my children had grown up. Where we hosted ‘afterglow’ for the UMYF, I sewed prom dresses and cheerleaders practiced tumbles.

When I was able to visit these towns, months after the events, I could hardly find the spot where the houses had been because even the landmarks were gone. The tornadoes had taken everything. Or had they?

As we heard repeatedly this week:  We haven’t lost everything. We still have family, friends … and memories.

May is “Motorcycle Awareness Month” in Arkansas. You’ve heard the public service announcement, “Look twice and save a life.”  Then the more graphic one on the radio:

“You look to the right, all clear. You look to the left, all clear. Then you pull out. KAPOW!!  Look twice.”

Ohmigosh. Where did you come from? How did you reach the intersection in the time it took for my head to do a 180?

Now, I am willing to look as many times as needed to avoid hitting a cycle. I had a near miss several years ago and still remember it vividly. It was the late Seventies, but I was driving a 1963 Buick LeSabre. (FYI, those cars were made of steel.)  Cruising through a residential neighborhood looking for an address, I had my eyes off the road occasionally, but was still watchful for the cars parked in the street. As I rounded a sweeping curve, I met a motorcyclist.

Neither of us was traveling very fast, thankyoulord.  His bike ended up under the front end of my car and he on his hands and knees a foot or so away. We were able to extricate his bike and go our separate ways none the worse for wear, other than my heart rate and blood pressure.

Oh yes, I’m in favor of motorcycle awareness and safety and I will do what I can to be a part of that. But can we make a pact? I’ll do my share and  you’ll do yours.  While I watch out for you, snapping my head this way and that as many times as I need to, will you do a couple of solids for me?

1. Wear a helmet. I know it’s all part of the macho scene, riding along with bugs in your face and wind whipping your hair. But, I’ve ridden in the back seat of a convertible and that hair whipping thing isn’t all that much fun. And they make some real cool headgear… Oh, just wear a helmet.

2. Signal when you change lanes. I know this is a lot of trouble when one changes lanes as often as you do but, seriously, I need a little heads up on where you plan to be.

3. Choose an appropriate spot to hang out. Okay. I’m trying to make positive statements here but basically this means: Don’t ride in my blind spot. I know I should check my blind spot before I change lanes but let’s not play hide and seek. Not at 70 mph.

I imagine everyone reading this knows and possibly loves someone who owns a motorcycle. You are wonderful people who do kind things as groups and individually.  We want you to stick around for a long time.