During my school years, I never enjoyed writing. In fact, I dreaded every writing assignment.

Currently, I am teaching in a Dallas elementary school. Two years ago, my principal asked me to teach a second grade class instead of music. Prior to the start of that school year, I enrolled in the New Jersey Writing Project. It lasted for three weeks and for eight hours each day. My expectation was they would teach us how to teach students to write. There were projects and tips for teaching students, but the primary focus was having us write using the tips. I was surprised and nearly panicked the first day when they said we could write for the next hour and a half. Later that afternoon, we were told to write for another hour and a half on a certain subject. That seemed like having to write for an eternity! However, by the end of the first week I was coming around and enjoyed the challenge of writing.

The following year my principal needed me back in music. This year, they asked me to teach the Talented and Gifted Program. Several weeks ago, the fourth grade classes were taking a practice-writing test prior to taking the state test. One of the fourth grade teachers was unable to be at school that day. I was asked to monitor her class during the test. In the afternoon, the students' writing prompt was "My Favorite Month Is..."

After the students started writing, I decided to write with them. Several weeks later, the idea of developing the topic and posting it on the NCHS61 web site occurred to me as an interesting project to attempt, thus the motivation for writing "My Favorite Month."

Each month of the year is special to me as I ponder over all the significant events and memories I can recall. As I look forward to my anticipations of the pleasures and joys in the coming months, to decide my favorite month is an overwhelming task. Dodging or ignoring the posed question will not solve my forced dilemma.

After deliberating, December was declared "My Favorite Month." The conclusion was obvious after focusing on the experiences and principles of my life. The core influences in my life are strongly connected and interwoven in numerous Decembers.

In my community, Christmas and December were nearly synonymous during my early childhood. The season was enjoyed with my family, my classmates, and friends at church. Like most children, opening Christmas presents was one of the highlights of December. Of course, I still cherish December 25. Opening and giving presents, being surrounded by the distinctive music, and knowing that "Jesus is the reason for the season" will always position December in the warmest place in my heart.

Music has played an important role in my life. Mrs. Davis, my piano teacher and the music teacher at Smith School, chose me to play a piano solo to begin the 1951 Christmas program. I was in third grade when she gave me that honor. The program, a joint venture between Field Elementary and Smith, was presented in the auditorium at Normal Community High School. The enormous auditorium even had a balcony.

Let me help you grasp or remember what a contrast there was between the size of the NCHS auditorium and the size the Smith "gym". The gym at the antiquated Smith School was part of the basement with a slippery concrete floor painted gray. The ceiling height was adequate for third graders, but it forced my father and others adults to stoop to prevent injury to their heads by the low ceiling joists and big round heat ducts. As I remember, the large gym must have been 20 by 30 feet! Just the stage at NCHS was a full-sized basketball court. Various lighting combinations were created with different colored bulbs in the floor, overhead floodlights, and a balcony spotlight. Lights and the gigantic navy curtain enhanced the performances presented at NCHS.

Despite my protests, my mother put a little powder, rouge, and a little lipstick on my cheeks before the program so the lighting would not wash out my face. As I played the opening piece on a grand piano the lights were focused on me. The applause, the new green sweater from JC Penny, and of course, time missed in Miss Riddle's third grade class during the Field School rehearsal, may have outweighed the embarrassment of all the girl stuff on my face.

As with various delightful experiences, often there may be a painful side. The embarrassment of having some make up on my face went the to the lowest depths of humiliation. Since we lived only a half-mile from NCHS, I could endure a few more minutes of discomfort. With only one block away from freedom, my mom told dad to stop at Grandpa's house so he could see my new sweater. That was another 10 minutes away.

Often when we visited my grandfather, one or two of my uncles and my aunt would be there. To give you a snapshot of what I was about to face, please allow me time to develop examples of my uncles' antics. When Uncle Benny was only three, he went crying and screaming to my grandma, "Charlie painted me green!" In fact, Benny was green from his head to his toe. Years later my Uncle Floyd drove a truckload of cattle to the Chicago Stockyards. As he was turning his semi into the stockyards, a mail truck pulled out in front of him. Uncle Floyd smashed into the mail truck. The mail truck driver jumped out of his truck and charged towards my uncle, "You can't hit me because I am a US Postal driver." Uncle Floyd yelled sarcastically, "Do you want to back up and try again?" Once a person was defeated there was no mercy.

By the time we got to Grandpa's house, my eyes were full of tears. I did not want to get out of the car. I believe I was nearly dragged into the house. Unfortunately, Uncle Herb and Aunt Marsha were there. Uncle Herb acknowledged my mom and dad, and my sisters, Carolyn and Linda. I tried my best to use both hands to hide my cheeks and to stop the sobs and the flow of tears. Uncle Herb teasingly inquired, "Where's Jimmy?" Then grinning, he looked at me, turned to my mother and chuckled, "Who is this cute little girl?" For the next several weeks my uncle would always ask my parents what happened to their cute little girl. Although this is humorous now, at the time I was mortified

Years later, I was on the NCHS auditorium stage making music playing in the band and singing in the choir under the direction of Mr. Duncan Miller. Fortunately, I did not have to undergo a face enhancement! The summer before my freshman year, Mr. Miller convinced me that life would be great if I changed instruments and became a sousaphone (tuba) player instead of playing a trumpet in the band. He also persuaded me to be in the choir.

Preparing for and performing in December concerts always provided the supreme satisfaction of accomplishment. There were hours of enjoyable rehearsal time. Mr. Miller taught valuable and transferable life skills and principles that were embedded in my mind for which I will always be grateful. The process of learning and performing music was even more valuable to me when I became music major at Illinois State University. The four years were filled with hours of music, study, practice, rehearsals, and performances. The December choir and orchestra concerts again were the highlights. Without a doubt, being a performer in Handel's Messiah was simply awesome.

The December 2, 1961, blind date arranged by my best friend, Don Kinzer, was not just one evening of bowling and pizza. It was the beginning of a wonderful relationship between Joan and I. Countless dates resulted in our engagement. Graduation day played second fiddle to our wedding the following day.

Early in 1969, Joan and I met with Mr. White, the president of Citizens Savings and Loan, concerning our dream of a new home. We had the dream and he had the money. We discussed having a one and a half story Cape Cod style built with the second story left unfinished. We would finish the home at a later date to decrease the initial cost. By assisting others with various projects, I had gained a substantial amount of construction experience. Finishing a second story at a later date was not a concern for Joan and me. After presenting our plan, Mr. White suggested we build a house and only have the professionals do the work that exceeded our knowledge and capabilities. In his opinion, a sweat equity loan would be ideal because we could complete the home during the summer since we were both teachers. He suggested a company that would work with us.

The company was to shell erect the house by late May. We would have three months to put on the siding, put up the insulation, do the electrical work, run the water pipes, install the heating, hang the dry wall, paint both inside and out, install the flooring, hang the cabinets, and do all the trim carpentry work. Joan and I were all set to begin June 1. However, an extended construction strike caused the house not to be ready for us to begin our work until the 4th of July. When school started in the fall, the house was not finished because of the initial delay. Exhausting hours were spent at the yellow house after the school dismissal bell rang each day. As we were approaching the completion of our home, the stove was installed. The first food placed in the oven was a pizza, which reminded us of our blind date. As you probably already guessed, we moved into our charming home in December, just a few days before Christmas.

Prior to starting our home, Joan and I heard horror stories of couples who tried to work as a team to remodel or build a house together. Even the word "war" was mentioned as a possible outcome! I must say we enjoyed working together and there was no strain on our relationship. However, we certainly discovered why the loan was called a "sweat" equity loan.

As mentioned earlier, the foundations of my life are interwoven and connected to December. December 25 is the day set aside to celebrate the birth of God's only son, Jesus Christ. The Bible states, "For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life."

My recollections when I was four or five years old are limited. However, I can recall the day when I was in our living room listening to the radio. My mother frequently had the radio tuned to WMBI, the Moody Bible Institute station in Chicago. There was a preacher stating it was important to accept Jesus as your Savior and to ask him into your heart. After praying the prayer, I went to the kitchen and told my mom the decision I had just made. The joy of December is a celebration of that decision.

Everyday I am aware of how that decision has shaped my life and has given me a stability that is only found in Christ. When December comes each year, my heart is overflowing with the joys of the results of the blind date with Joan and our terrific relationship, the Christmas music flowing through my mind, and the focus on Jesus and His birth. December definitely is my "Favorite Month"!

A special thanks goes to Christy, who edited my writing. She is our son's girlfriend. Christy graduated from The University of Texas at Arlington with a Journalism Degree and is employed by the Dallas Morning News.