Helping children discover purpose

The ultimate field trip most summers was a trip to my house.  When I was owner of The Children’s Center, our summer outings usually included a field trip to my house. 

The twenty minute ride to my underground home in the middle of forty wooded acres usually included a conversation about litter and the importance of keeping our good Earth clean.  The ride down Germantown Road also included taking in the bright green road sides and if we were in luck some of the black eyed Susan’s, one of my favorite flowers,  were in full bloom.

Part of the outing included advance preparation. Those in attendance were instructed to bring a change of clothes and a pair of shoes they didn’t mind getting muddy.  We would also start the adventure off with making sure the kids were ‘vaccinated’ with bug spray.  Dressed out in their play clothes and their kick around shoes, we set off to travel the shallow creek that runs in front of our house. 

A natural spring at the top of our hill feeds the winding creek that runs the length of our property and beyond.  Cutting through huge stands of pine trees and winding around massive beech trees, it’s a sight I have never gotten tired of in my more than thirty years here.

I would take the kids down the creek to a hilly area where some of the bluffs that line the creek made the perfect slide.  I remember Daniel Lee having the time of his life sliding down those bluffs to the shallow creek below.  He couldn’t get enough of it.  And then there was Paula Brown who didn’t like getting dirty but accidentally fell in the creek. 

While we were taking our little hike through never-never land, I would always engage the girls in finding young grape vines and wrapping them into fairy wreaths for their heads.  We would add some flowers or whatever they thought would enhance their earthly halo.

Once we made it back to the house, I usually had to wash a few clothes and shoes and the kids would put on one of Rick’s big tee shirts.  They loved sitting around in the den and admiring all the artwork.  And that usually gave me an opportunity to share a true story with them about a particular piece of art in our living room. 

Teaching kids to love and admire art was one of my passions.  I couldn’t understand sometimes why some of the kids didn’t want to paint or draw or learn about this wonderful world of creativity. I would often hear “do I have to?”  And “why do you want us to do this?”  In my effort to expose the children to as many art forms as I could would result in them asking why they had to do this on many occasions.  They just didn’t understand why I thought it was so important. I had always hoped that this field trip to my house would help them understand me and understand why I thought the arts were so important.

One of the most impressive pieces of art in our home is a seven foot wood carving of an old Indian woman.  Carved out of a huge walnut tree, the crippled Indian woman carrying a bundle of wood commands attention.  The kids would want to know who she was, what’s she made of and who made her?  Charles Widmer of Mountain View, Arkansas carved the massive piece around 1990.  How we acquired the piece is another story. 

I started this ‘show and tell’ time with who the artist was and then I would tell them about his childhood…. a story that Charles Widmer shared with us.  As the story goes; Charles ran away from home when he was only 13 years old. He joined a motorcycle gang and for more than twenty five years he would spend his youth traveling the country side trying to survive his chosen hand to mouth existence.  His time as a member of "Hell’s Angels” was not a proud time for him according to Charles.  He was hesitant at first to share his early adolescence with us.  As Charles would tell it, he was a troubled child and didn’t do well in school. In fact he was illiterate. But at some point in his young life he was given a rare opportunity to work side by side with an older gentleman who carved wood. He taught the young Charles to whittle.

At the age of 30 Charles made his way back home to his hometown of Mountain View, Arkansas and moved back in with his father. Without knowing how to read or write and having no skills at all, he struggled with employment.  His dad had mentioned to him that when he was young he seemed to have a talent for whittling and suggested that maybe he could make a living as a craftsmen.  And if you know anything about Mountain View, Arkansas, then you know it is the Mecca of folk art and mountain music.  Charles signed up for one of the wood carving workshops offered at the Ozark Folk Center.  And this is where I explain to the kids that his early exposure to wood carving sparked something in his brain and without knowing it; he was exposed to the one thing that would make him the man he would become. And it would later become his passion and his purpose.

Wood carving was the one thing that he was good at. And not just good, he was great.  As most artists in Mountain View, tourist season would offer opportunities for the locals to sell their art or craft.  Charles began to create and sell original carved creations.  President Jimmy Carter came to visit and happened upon the shop where Charles was selling his work.  President Carter was so taken with the artist and his carving abilities that he commissioned him to carve a life-sized Eagle for the Carter Library. The wood carver from Mountain View, Arkansas who couldn’t read or write was now getting national attention.

The Indian carving in our living room called “The Burden” was carved from a story Charles’ father told him as a child.  The story was about an old Indian woman Charles’s father saw as a young man. The old Indian woman with one crippled leg would walk miles into the Texas dessert to collect fire wood and strap it to her back. She managed to eke out a living selling her wood….and now Charles was doing the same.

The window of opportunity for some of our children is small.  We don’t know what triggers the brain to accept a certain experience or skill.  But for Charles, that early exposure to wood carving hibernated in his brain and was awakened in time to bring him fame and riches.  Of course, his riches were modest but enough to sustain him and his wife.

In sharing this story with the kids that would visit my home, it was my hope that they would come to understand how important it would be in their life, to open their minds and open their hearts to opportunities for greater learning. "Be open to experience new things and learn new ways," I would tell them.  "Reading, writing and arithmetic are important but it’s passion that will help define your lives and give you purpose.  And there is great passion in the arts for those who are willing to open their minds to it."

Measuring success

I am not motivated by money. Never have been.  It is the success of the work or the passion for the project that drives me.  Even when I was an advertising sales person for the Minden Press-Herald, it wasn’t the commissions that drove me to sell more. It was the success of the ad campaign that I designed and the increased business for the client that brought me the most satisfaction.  

I have had many jobs in my life. My first job was with Ma Bell in Minden. I was a telephone operator and worked in the old South Central Bell building behind Minden Medical Center.  I had dropped out of college and sought full time employment.  In my more than one year on the job as a telephone operator, I challenged myself to beat the record for the number of calls completed in an hour.  As best I can remember the record was thirty something.  I had managed to exceed fifty completed calls in an hour.  My supervisors became suspicious. They began to monitor my calls and question my numbers.  I was young and did not realize that these supervisors were also operators at one time and it was their record that I was busting.  It became apparent that they were not happy with my performance and I had reached my goal and was now looking for another challenge.  So, I transferred to a sister company in Shreveport. 

This new job with Ma Bell consisted of reading the stamped time cards and placing them in one of more than fifty slots.  I set a new record there, too.  I left Ma Bell when we were transferred to Leesville. I could have transferred with the company but I was looking for a new challenge.  I eventually went to work for the Leesville Leader. It would be my first time as a sale person.  The managing editor of the Leader was an old newspaper man.  Jack taught me all the in’s and out’s of selling ads.  I not only sold the ads but I had to design them and construct them. I learned fast and before long I was leading the group in sales.  Jack took me under his wing and taught me all that he knew about the newspaper business.  His mentoring was life-changing for me.  I thought I had found my calling.

When we returned to Minden some four years later, I applied at the Minden Press-Herald and was hired on as the advertising manager. I was the first female to hold this position.  Even then, I was not driven by money. It was a good thing because the publisher of the paper  set my salary slightly lower than the salesmen who worked under me.  This was the first time that equality for women in the work place became an issue for me.  I approached my boss about the inequality and he did a very smart thing….he challenged me.  If I could increase the newspaper’s revenue from the previous year, he would raise my pay. I accepted the challenge and set out to break another record.  

I took on many jobs from working as the promotional manager for Channel 6 in Shreveport to in-house illustrator for a national manufacturing company. But it was the advertising and the marketing jobs that brought me the most joy.  So, I decided to start my own business.  I opened an advertising agency, Specialty Design. I had several clients and my success was measured more by the successful advertising campaigns I created rather than the size of my bank account.  And while I enjoyed self employment for more than two years, I eventually sought a more reliable revenue stream and accepted a newly created position as the marketing director for People’s Bank. 

Out of a personal need, I would eventually open The Children’s Center in Minden.  I needed to give my  5 year old son a safe haven for after school care, so Minden’s first afterschool enrichment center was opened.   This became my passion and my favorite job.   Providing a creative space for children set new standards for care for children.  And again I made it about the work and not the money.  I had to take on other jobs to sustain the business until it could sustain itself.  I truly believe that it was that mindset that contributed to the long running success of The Children’s Center. ..Now celebrating more than 25 years and in the hands of my dear sweet friend and former employee, Julie Vogel. 

In all my professional experiences, nothing has changed much.  I did discover my real passion was art and in particular children's access to the arts.  I now work part time as the art enrichment teacher for Glenbrook and love it.  My more than 200 young art students give me great joy and drive my desire to do more to advance the opportunities for children to express themselves.

Money still does not define me.   I know that most people don’t understand that and don’t understand me.  And because of that, my intentions are sometimes misunderstood.  My non paid  job as the executive director of Cultural Crossroads has laid before me the most challenging body of work. With unlimited artistic license, I am challenged to lead a group in the development of a four acre festival site known as The Farm.   But I can’t complete the body of work without money.  The four acre homestead was donated to Cultural Crossroads by my friend Zenobia West.  In 2000, she offered our nonprofit organization the opportunity of a lifetime.   Her desire to create a haven for children and a playground for creative expression has been my greatest challenge.  I promised her that I would see it through.  This sounds a little egotistical and that is not my intention. I don’t mean to discount the many wonderful volunteers who help us drive this project or the many wonderful people who have served on the Board of Directors.  And I don’t mean to discount the many individuals and corporate partners who have contributed funds to this twenty-two year old organization.  However, I do feel an enormous responsibility to make Zenobia’s dream a reality.

Her dream has now become mine. 

Someone once said:  "So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable and then when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable."

Anger Management

When we returned from Paris, France in 1965, I was a freshman in high school.  Moving back to Doyline from Paris was a huge adjustment, to say the least.  I was so nervous the first day of school.  I remember looking at the old yearbooks from my earlier days in Doyline when I was in the 3^rd to the 6^th grade. I looked at the teenagers in the yearbook and I thought that I had a jump on their fashions by wearing a pair of bobby socks with penny loafers. I didn’t realize that times and styles would change.   

It didn’t take me long to figure out that I missed that by a long shot. I quickly took the socks off and went bared legged the rest of the day. It was a horrible first day.  As I got comfortable with my new surroundings, I brought my own style to Doyline all the way from Paris, France. I started wearing earrings and so did they. I started wearing fishnet stockings and so did they.  I was feeling pretty good about everything.  I was starting to fit in.

The cafeteria at the school was included in the same building that housed the gymnasium.  We were lining up for lunch one day and I happened to be on the opposite side of the gym door.  I overheard Coach Roach speaking to another teacher.  Coach Roach was a wonderful basketball coach. He took the basketball team all the way to State that year.  Everyone liked him. He had such a kind demeanor.  I thought the world of him.

As I stood at the door, I could hear their conversation. It was about me. I was excited at first. And then I heard Coach Roach say “Christine would be a fine student if she didn’t have such a bad temper.  She is such a hot head.”  Those words stung. I pretended that I didn’t hear them. It was hard finishing out the day at school.  His words kept playing over and over again in my head.

When I got home, we had supper and I went to my room to cry.   I was so hurt. How could he say those things about me? I thought he liked me? I thought I had a great relationship with all my teachers.

Doyline had some wonderful teachers.  Miss Mary Stone, my typing, bookkeeping and shorthand teacher; Jimmy Smith, my English and drama teacher; Mrs. Carolyn Burton, my home economics teacher; Mr. Bill Crider, my math teacher; Miss Eloise Sanders, my history teacher; and Coach James Roach, my PE teacher.  I could not have been luckier to have had these fabulous teachers guide me through high school.

While lying in bed that night, I couldn’t help but think that maybe he was right about my temper.  He wouldn’t say anything unkind about anyone if it wasn’t true.  I cried myself to sleep that night still pondering what I could do to correct this obvious flaw in my character.

The next morning I got up and began to think what could I do to change?  I picked up a rubber band off of my dressing table and put it around my wrist.  I have a great idea I thought. Each time I see myself getting angry, I’ll pop myself with the rubber band and count to 10.

I went to school that day on a mission to change my behavior.  From one incident to another, I caught myself in time to pop the rubber band and count to 10. I was successful that day and for the next two weeks. 


At the end of the two weeks, something surprising happened.  I had dressed out for PE like I had for the past year.  At the end of the class, Coach Roach approached me.  He put his arm around my shoulder, looked down at me and said, “Christine, I don’t know what you’ve done these past two weeks, but you are a different person.  You have turned into a sweet girl. Keep up the  good work. ”

That was it! I had succeeded in managing my anger. I had turned a corner.  

Marjorie Broussard Remembered

“Take care of my granddaughter. She’s going to need your support,” was one of Marjorie (Margie) Broussard's last requests.  Margie was always thinking of everyone else.  When Rick’s mother, Margie, was sent home from the hospital to spend her last days at home, we all came to say our good byes. 

Margie was a wonderful mother-in-law.  She was so good to me.  The first time Rick took me to New Orleans to meet his parents, his mother immediately made me feel welcomed.  It didn’t take me long to realize that she and Rick had a very special relationship.  I can hear her voice now, “Rickey, whatcha want me to cook for you when you come down?”  Margie was a fabulous cook.  I remember spending one afternoon with her measuring and writing down all of the recipes she kept in her head.  We had such a wonderful afternoon cooking and laughing.  I later typed and printed all of her favorite recipes in a cookbook for all the family members.

Margie was diagnosed with Melanoma a few years before I met her.  They found a mole on her toe and the struggle to save her life included amputating her foot, then up to her ankle and then finally up to her knee.  She wore a prosthetic leg and wore it with such grace and humor.  She never let it get her down.  When Rick and I were married, we invited his Mom and Dad to join us on our honeymoon.  Now, I’m sure that most people would think that was very odd but for some strange reason, it sounded perfect for us.  She had always enjoyed Rickey (that was what she always called him) sharing his love for the Ozarks.  So, that is where we decided to go.  Our five day trip to the mountains would take us through Heber Springs, Mountain View and all the sights of the Ozarks.  We even took them to our favorite camping site in the middle of a 4,200 tract of land.  She didn’t let the mountains stop her.  She got out of the car and made her way down the mountain to an overlook.  She never complained and she never allowed us to help her. She was so independent and never wanted to burden anyone.

Rick and I were married about six months when I found out I was pregnant.  Rick’s mother was ecstatic. She immediately started crocheting animal toys and making blankets and getting ready for her third grandchild. Fanette Hodges hosted a baby shower for me right before Ben was born.  Margie made the trip from New Orleans to be there.  I was so happy to see her.  She didn’t tell me at the time that her cancer had returned.  I would learn this later.  Her doctor told her before she left to attend the baby shower that her melanoma had returned.  It would have been the fifth anniversary of her diagnosis.

After Ben was born, we spent many weekends in New Orleans.  On one of our trips, it became apparent that she was losing the fight.  She called each one of us into her bedroom to say good bye.  When it was my turn, I tried to stay strong but I didn’t need to because she was strong for both of us.  While I was lovingly stroking her arm while she was talking, she paused and said “Please honey, I love your touch but it’s really painful for anyone to touch me. “  The disease had made its way to her bones at this point. 

She told me how proud she was that Rick and I were together. She said she knew that we would be happy and that made her happy.  She said she regretted that she would not be alive to see Ben grow up but she knew that he would grow up to be a fine man.  She also shared with me that her long time prayer had been that Rickey would find someone who would love him for him.  Her prayer had been answered.

Her loving and caring nature included telling me that I needed to take care of her granddaughter because she was ‘special.’  I reassured her that I would and that I knew she was special. “No, I mean she is really special,” she said.  She looked at me and without saying another word; it was as if our minds were one.  I knew exactly what she meant.  Her granddaughter was gay.  We both knew it before Brenda did and before her parents would learn about it and try to come to terms with it. Brenda was a teenage at the time. I knew the first time I meet her that she was gay.  I had never spoke of it until that day in Margie’s bedroom.   

The years that would follow would include supporting Brenda.   As she struggled with her identity, so did her parents.  She finally decided to move to Arizona.  She worked as a park ranger at the Grand Canyon and sent home a video of her conducting a tour. I remember thinking to myself that Margie would have loved to have seen this. She would be so proud of her.   Brenda grew into a beautiful and talented young woman.  She is still dealing with who she is at times but aren’t we all? But her battle for acceptance is a little different than the rest of us.  I guess Margie knew that.  We love Brenda and her sweet and vivacious personality makes it hard not to love her.

Margie died in April of 1982. She was 65 years old. Ben was eleven months old.  Rick was with her when she took her last breathe.  She was buried next to her first born, Joseph Broussard, who had died at the age of 24 with the same disease.

Margie was always thinking of everyone else.  She was a perfectionist but she never demanded perfection.   She was so loving and tolerant and even when she knew her days were numbered, she spent the rest of her time thanking us for what we meant to her. 

Margie Broussard, we love you and miss you!