Early Literacy: The Equation

There is one equation that one should know to understand my childhood.
reading + nightowl tendencies + 1 college babysitter - a flashlight = 1 belligerent child ready for war
Yeah, and that belligerent child? That was me. And that college babysitter? Totally unaware of said nightowl tendencies.
It started with the plot setup of the hard working mother who always had meetings and worked late, so dedicated was she to her work. Then we have the string  of college babysitters, none lasting longer than one school year. Before we start thinking about Nanny Mcphee which leads us to Colin Firth, which takes us to him walking out of that pond in Pride and Prejudice... but that is much later in my life. We might have a chance to talk about that later.
So the night was young and I was ready for bed. Well, I had my pj's on and my teeth were brushed. That doesn't mean I had filled my quota of books or ways to escape going to bed yet. I was a girl on a mission. I pulled the cup of water, the going to the bathroom "just ONE more time to be sure," the need of a snack, and of course the ever so popular, "My parents let me go to bed later than this."
With little help from my older sister, the babysitter managed to get me into bed. Then came the toughest batle yet. "Pick a book," she said.
Pick a book? Pick a book? As in singular, pick a book? I quickly set her straight. I would accept no less than three books and I had to choose them. From there we bartered, there was some begging, bribing, and pleading, but with some input from my sister I got my three books. The reading went rather quickly. No voices, no questions answered, she just read the book. Do I need to point out that I was disappointed?
So she went downstairs thinking all was well and I would be asleep soon enough. HA! Fooled by the ever safe turning off of the lights. But I was ready. I was prepared. I had the one thing that would save my cause and win the battle.
I had my puppy dog flashlight.
With a defiant click, the mouth opened and I was rewarded with the glorious light coming out of my puppy dog's insides. FYI, it was a dalmation flashilight and I had it until I was about twelve.
Happy in my own world of "The Magic Schoolbus" (BEST books ever), I did not hear HER coming back upstairs. I was admonished, and pretended to go back to trying to fall asleep. As soon as she as downstairs I was back to reading, this time under the covers. Such covert operations had to be treated carefully.
But before I could finish my book (the tally is at five now), the babysitter was back upstairs. This time she did the unthinkable.
She took, without any hard feelings, my dalmation flashlight.
She took my flashlight.
Remember that equation? Well here is where we get our answer, our one belligerent child.
I was prepared to do my worst. There were tears (didn't do anything), there were pouts (stil nothing),and  there was pleading (nope). So I went back to phase one.
A glass of something preferably drinkable that would get me out of bed and make her more frazzled. Lucky for her at this point my mother came home, found me up and was completely unsurprised. She sent me upstairs with a hug, a kiss, a glass of orange juice, and a promise.
I was going to get another book reading.
My battle was won.

The best poem ever...

A few years ago (and by a few years ago I mean last school year) I sat down with my parents one Sunday night and began watching a movie with Morgan Freeman playing the role he was meant to play and Matt Damon being extremely blond and full of optimism.
That movie was "Invictus", which was named for the poem in it, entitled "Invictus", by William Ernest Henley.
This is the best poem ever.
"Out of the night that covers me,
Black as a pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.
And in fell circumstances I have not winced nor cried aloud,
Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears,
Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet, the menace of the years finds,
and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how straight the gate,
how charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul."
When I first heard Morgan Freeman reading those words, the poem hit and stuck with me. voer the next few days the last two lines kept resonating in my head. It still does. I walked into the AP Literature exam with these lines being chanted in my head. Though in my life I have not been beaten, bloodied, or truly scared of "the horror of the shade", I have experienced trouble, and times where I've not been confident of comfortable with the choices I made. But I have had times where I am able to say proudly that "this is my choice, and I am sticking with it."
Sometimes I see people- and I do not exclude myself here- blaming their shortcomings, their troubles, their anger, their, well anything, on someone else. What many people, old and young alike, need to realize is that they need to take charge of their lives and if that means admitting that they made a mistake somewhere along the line then they need to.
So when I walked out my APs and my SATs knowing that I had made mistakes and looking at (and very much avoiding" that pile of college "stuff" on my desk, I know that I am the one who has and who will be in charge of what has and what will, happen.
 I am the captain of my fate. I am the captain of my soul.