Shouting Secrets from the Mountaintop

I’d like to share with you a little secret to living a fulfilling life. There are only three simple ideas that will keep your path a satisfying and fulfilling life.

The first simple idea is to BE HAPPY. After all, isn’t that what life’s about? Finding and being happy? Now don’t get me wrong. There will be bumps and bruises, twists and turn, peaks and valleys, you get my drift. But, I guarantee you that along the way life is supposed to be enjoyable.

For those times (and there will be those times) when it feels like there’s a conspiracy to take you down, simply stop and tune in. Tune into all the good that is happening around you at that very moment. Notice the flowers. Notice the animals. Notice the laughter of other. Notice the kind smile of a stranger. Notice how life tries to remind us to be happy at every moment of every day. Even if we’re simply bound not to be….just stop and try. Those joyful moments are all around us every day. Finding those micro-moments of happiness will help us to slog through the tough times. Those moments of happiness will help us to remain positive in sometimes negative world. Most importantly, those small moments of happiness will help us become aware of and appreciate the good that surrounds us all the time.

Which brings me to my second simple idea…SAYING THANK YOU. Once we become aware of the good in our life, however small, we can begin to acknowledge it by simply saying THANK YOU. You got it in the bag. You might even say, ”My parents taught me gratitude.” And I’m thankful they did. But, here’s another secret they might have missed: Gratitude is the ultimate antidote for negativity. When you’re feeling bummed out, take a moment to find ANYTHING to be thankful for. Your shoes. Your bed. Your friends. FOOOOOD! Anything. When your energy changes and you begin to feel a little lighter, look for more significant things to be thankful for…even that one thing that put you in the bad mood in the first place. Yup, I just said that. Be thankful for the difficult times. It’s sooo easy to be thankful for all the good stuff in life, right? Well, we should actually try equally hard to push ourselves to be thankful for the bad. Remember, we come out stronger and wiser from adverse situations. That is how we grow. For example, if you’ve ever tried a new workout, or just started working out you know that there are painful, sore days as your muscles change and strengthen. Life is just like that. When we get pushed out of our comfort zone, we actually have to learn how to adapt. That’s growth. So always find reason to be thankful for the lessons you learn and the new wisdom you gained during painful, hurtful and angering situations, as well as the good ones. Gratitude is a fundamental key ingredient to finding happiness in life. Giving thanks to others and ourselves will help us to focus on the important things in our lives. Here’s the crazy thing…when we focus on the good, we’ll get more good.

Which brings me to my last point….DON’T BE AFRAID TO ASK FOR MORE! When life is going great, ask for more!! You deserve it. Do any of these phrases sound familiar? “You better enjoy it while you can,” or “better hurry and get yours while the gettin is good,” or “Early bird gets the worm….” Oh wait…sorry, that’s a whole other story. haha But, you get my point. We are taught by society, at a very early age that goodness and happiness is only available in limited quantities. That we have to use our luck wisely, so we don’t waste it all! Well, I’m here to tell you, that you’ve been hoodwinked. We’ve all been bamboozled! The reality is that we are products of our parents and a greater being/energy/power whose primary wish for us is to be happy. Somewhere along the way, we’ve learned that we have to settle. We’ve learned that that those awesome jobs, dreams and lives belong to someone other than me and you. We learn to settle for the cards we’re dealt. If you don’t hear anything else I’ve said, I want you to hear this: YOU DESERVE ALL THE GOODNESS, LOVE AND HAPPINESS IN THE WORLD. We ALL deserve the goodness life has to offer! GIVE YOURSELF A SHOT. YOU. DESERVE. IT.

You might be thinking right about now, “yea, this sounds like a lot of glitter and fairy dust to me.” And I don’t blame you. A lot of this is foreign to the way we think. But trust me, there are happily fulfilled people who understand how these simple concepts work and use them in their lives daily. I am living proof! So let’s put it all together. Be happy, show gratitude, and don’t be afraid to ask for more! More simply, use this catchy little mantra as a reminder, “HAPPY.THANKYOU.MORE PLEASE!”

p.s. This blog is so much better than the movie! 😉

Gratitude for the Journey

It’s been 29 years since the first fierce contact.

It’s been 27 years since I told the only other soul who knew of my “situation.”

It’s been 24 years that my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t grab the doorknob to open the front door to finally leave.

It’s been 24 years since I had the courage to tell my family and my little world of my reality.

It’s been one day since I heard another woman’s story of fear, hurt, and pain that reminded me of my own.

 

I don’t often talk about this part of my life publicly. I was raised to keep my private life…well, private. But, honestly, it’s mainly because it’s too difficult consoling others because of the pain they feel for me. BUT, I do share my story with other women, and a few men, to help them see hope.

You may be thinking, “How on earth did Lori end up the victim of domestic violence (DV)?” It may not seem plausible, possible, true. But, it is, it is, and it is. And it falls right in line with the current statistics that, according to the Indian Law Resource Center, three in four US Indigenous women are victims of DV and one in two will experience sexual violence in their lifetime.

I was 18 when I first met my abuser. He was the apple of my eye, the object of my affection…he became my everything. I learned later that it was my ambition and confidence that attracted him. It was also my ambition and confidence that was the impetus of his rage. Regardless, I fell hard without even knowing what was in store.

We struggled to be a good, faithful, church-going family. On the outside, we were winning and had it all handled. Behind closed doors it was another story. We struggled with a slew of baggage.  Him: a dry drunk¹; bi-polar disorder; and youth. Me: co-dependency; a fixer; and youth. The combination was toxic.

For five years, we lived a classic abusive relationship. For five years, only one other person outside of our relationship knew. For five years, I was ashamed that I couldn’t fix it; that I couldn’t leave it.

My tipping point was seeing the fear in my child’s eyes. The fear when his anger pummeled me into the tub and was then turned towards her, a 4 year-old child learning to fix a situation that was not hers to fix. A 4 year-old child learning to protect her little sister and her mother, who should’t have needed her protection. He caught himself before he actually hurt her, and realized he had gone too far. I think about that moment sometimes and know that my prayers and protectors were present as he ran out of the door in shame.

I’m crying as I type this. I’m relieved as I type this. I’m thankful as I type this.

I thankful that am sitting here as a survivor. I know many Native women’s stories are not like mine. I don’t take my safety, security, and survival lightly. I’m thankful every single day.

I’m like a lot of the Native women in this world. Raised knowing that we are the backbones of our families, our communities and our nations. We are the ones that will rise up and to whom the world will listen. It’s already happening all around us.

We are aware that it is a lot of weight to bear at times. The pain when we read of another one of our sisters hurt, stolen or killed. The pain that can be a reminder of our own stories.

But, it is that pain that summons up the strength to join another march, or to make another sign, or for some of us to publicly speak about this painstaking subject…yet again. We do it because we know it’s up to us to speak for those that can’t. It’s because we KNOW that the violence needs to end. We know that our women need to feel safe as we walk in our own world.

There are times when I hear stories and think of my girls. I told my husband the other day that sometimes, when alone, I break down in tears with fear wondering if I prepared my daughters enough to be out in the world. Did I teach them enough to be able to physically protect themselves? Did I teach them enough about the pitfalls of being a co-dependent? Did I teach them to sense the danger in another person, and then to trust yourself enough to walk, or run away? I told him that when I go there, I panic. I want to bring them back to me forever to keep them safe. Then I wonder if my non-native, or white friends have the same intense thoughts and feelings that I’m tortured with….

But this is exactly why we speak about the violence within our Native communities. We attend the awareness events. This is why we seek non-native friends and allies² to move them to become co-conspirators³, or accomplices ⁴ in the quest to make our world a safer place for our matriarch, and matriarchs we are raising.

I tell my story to give hope to another woman, or man struggling with violence. I tell my story to remind them that we have survival woven into our DNA. When you need someone to look to as proof that your life can be different; then look to me. I’ve cried your tears and I have felt your pain. Please know that you can live the same life I live now- one full of security, hope, support, love and gratitude.

I share my story with you as a way to show my own gratitude. I never wish my life was any different; I’m thankful for my struggle. I use the strength I gained, the knowledge I acquired to help others. I am thankful that I’ve taken one of the places in our grim statistics – one that doesn’t have to be put on the backs of my daughters, our sisters, our mothers, our aunties, our grandmothers. I’ve lived it; it’s done.

And finally, if you’ve been moved within the last few days by stories, songs, or something you’ve read/seen on social media, then please reach out to find a way to stand with us. Our voices quiver at times and having yours in unison keeps the chorus loud.

If you’ve been moved within the last few days by stories, songs, or something you’ve read/seen on social media about DV or sexual violence, AND you’re READY to make a change in your own life, please reach out. Find someone you trust to confide in. Tell someone you trust your story and find gratitude in the amazing journey you’re about to embark upon.

If you need help, please call/visit the following resources:

911 is the first step in a dangerous situation. If you’re in danger, don’t second guess calling help.

StrongHearts Native Helpline at 1 (844) 762-8483 during Monday-Friday 9am-5:30pm CST. StrongHearts Native Helpline is a culturally appropriate, confidential service for Native Americans affected by domestic violence and dating violence.

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233 (SAFE) or go to www.ndvh.org

Rape Abuse Incest National Network: 1-800-656-4673 (HOPE) or go to www.rainn.org 

Comprehensive resource list for alcohol, substance abuse, and suicide prevention:

https://aii.ou.edu/prevention-resource-center/comprehensive-resource-list/

Learn more about the #MMIW epidemic: https://mmiwusa.org/  or https://www.csvanw.org/resources/

 

NOTES:

1. Dry Drunk: “The term ‘dry drunk’ is used to describe a person who has stayed away from alcohol for some time but continues to behave as if he or she is still addicted…hasn’t made behavioral or emotional changes or has started to regress to old ways of thinking. (https://addictionresource.com/alcohol/effects/dry-drunk-syndrome/)

2. Ally: “a person who is a member of an advantaged social group who takes a stand against oppression, who works to eliminate oppressive attitudes and beliefs in themselves and their communities, and works to interrogate and understand their privilege.” (https://medium.com/@knit0371/making-the-transition-from-ally-to-co-conspirator-cc28a5752af7)

3. Co-Conspirator: “To be a white co-conspirator means to deliberately acknowledge that people of color are criminalized for dismantling white supremacy. It means we choose to take on the consequences of participating in a criminalized act, and we choose to support and center people of color in the reproductive justice movement” (https://medium.com/@knit0371/making-the-transition-from-ally-to-co-conspirator-cc28a5752af7)

4. Accomplice: “An accomplice will focus more on dismantling the structures that oppress that individual or group—and such work will be directed by the stakeholders in the marginalized group. Simply, ally work focuses on individuals, and accomplice work focuses on the structures of decision-making agency.” (https://www.tolerance.org/magazine/ally-or-accomplice-the-language-of-activism)

A By-gone Life at Haskell

I used to work at the Cultural Center and Museum at Haskell Indian Nations University.  I had worked with the Archives since I was an undergrad….a long time ago. My job consisted of making sure the research projects were completed; being a docent to museum patrons; and giving AMAZING tours to visitors.  I say amazing for a reason.

Most first time visitors to campus have no idea of the historic significance of the ground they are walking on.  I start most tours by allowing visitors to look at the beautiful exhibit in the gallery called, “Honoring our Children through Seasons of Sacrifice, Survival, Change and Celebration.”

Haskell Cultural Center & Museum

Next, we begin the journey back to a time before the doors opened at Haskell.  We learn to understand WHY our door were opened in the first place…as a response to the “Indian problem.”  I go on to tell them how our earliest students arrived at our doorstep…ripped from their families’ arms and thrust into a foreign world – alone.   When our students arrived on campus, they were not allowed to speak their tribal language, wear their traditional clothing, or fraternize with their siblings.  The youngest student was 3 years old – three. years. old. We then examine the starchy diet of mush, potatoes and gravy…every day.  It’s amazing how our students were being taught the art of farming…their goods sold or given to the local Lawrence community.

An unknowing  local community that celebrated with a parade the day that the City learned of their successful bid to land the NEW US Industrial Training School for Indians. It would be located on the 900+ acres that the school’s namesake, Kansas Senator Dudley C. Haskell had acquired.  It all seemed fitting, after all, the town’s founding “Free State” principles included provisions entitling all its citizens to fair education.

We move onto learn how families hunted for information for their children.  Many times, they searched without response from school or government authorities.  If they were lucky, they would be notified of their child’s progress, or death.  Students at the school had questions about the mysterious deaths…that went unanswered, as well.

Haskell Institute, circa 1889.

Before the turn of the century, the school raised the age limit.  The young were too fragile and died too easily.

The majority of students acclimated to life at Haskell.  They engaged in their classes.  Their bodies adjusted to the diet.  The found a fondness in the lush green campus that sits in the shadow of the Ivory Hallowed Halls of KU.  This became home.  Home became Haskell.  Mutual love and surrender.

Over the years, thousands of students filled the campus with dreams learning trades and skills to engage in a quickly changing world.

 

Smiling souls

Give a look

­deep into a soul.

Then slowly…smile

teeth are a must.

Watch the reaction

uneasy at first.

Their eyes will avert-

don’t break the gaze

or the grin.

They will return a few quick looks, most likely.

Offer a “hello, or “hi”

or heck, “how’s it going?”

Shoulders will drop.

Eyes will soften.

Corners of the lips will curl.

a smile returned

a day made

souls connect.

No worries…no commitments

simply give the gift of…a smile.

Ohh…ouch…life.

I went for a drive one summer evening in New Mexico.  As I drove, I killed a million mice in the attic of my mind.  Yet, the same thoughts kept me captive.  I revisited memories of a few good friends, but no one in particular.  Just this mental collage of  “thems” and “theys.”

They push and pull through life.  They painfully grind through the silky fabric of their existence.  As I drove along, I felt an overwhelming urge to tell them…be…just be.

I understood this to mean:

There is no need to make life fit into your skewed little box, with all the rules that box you in and keep contentment out.  It’s OK to just let go of the control…and let it be.

For me, just the thought of such action created such a euphoric feeling…so free…so limitless…so happy.

What was interesting was in that moment of non-judgement of myself, I realized that that very lesson was actually…for me.

Can you imagine…

Can you imagine a bizarre world where your every thought can be instantly turned into reality?  Where just the simple act of thinking can bring a new reality into existence?  Can you imagine the idea that reality might only exist in word?  What if there are unlimited possibilities just waiting to be created?

For example:

If I stub my toe, I curse the day as a “Monday.”  I then can’t find my keys.  I miss all the green lights to work.  I forget about that urgent meeting at work.  AND then, I spill my morning energy all over my lap.

OR…for example:

I wake up 2 minutes before my alarm bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  I head to the local drive-up and I am rewarded for being a loyal customer.  I somehow get across town in 10 minutes…in morning traffic!  My favorite song is played on the radio…followed by my second favorite and my third favorite.  My email has a congratulatory message waiting for me about the coveted workshop that I was selected for.

Oh wait…

I guess the thought isn’t so bizarre after all.  REALITY is relative – the only constant in it is the way it is spelled. We live in a unshaped space that begs us to mold it into something magnificent with our thoughts, emotions and energy.

So, I guess the question is, “What can you imagine?”

Of youth

I was like most youngster in high school.  I listened to all the latests music.  Watched the matching videos on MTV (back when they played videos).  I also was a pretty good dancer.  Most importantly, I was “cool.”  I came to college and carried on in the same “cool” fashion.  I remember once being asked by an admirer, “where’d you learn to dance like that?”  I just shrugged as I broke into a another fit of rythm.  I took it as a compliment.

But, something happened when I had kids…I stopped dancing.  My inner Material Girl, gave way to Barney, Kidz Bop and Blacklodge Kids’ Pow Wow Jams.  I had stopped feeding the “me” that knew what cool was.  There was point at which I remember thinking “who are you and what did you do to that dance diva named Lori?!”  Yeah, it was bad.

My kids were in middle school when a friend invited me to go dancing with her at a local latin club.  That night, I danced and danced….so good!  It felt wonderful to find “me” again.  I didn’t stop.   I was there twirling and swaying on the dance floor as often as I could…and I looked and felt amazing!

There were times after that re-awakening that I used to try to teach my girls to dance.  Or, I’d tell them about how I used to dance like a maniac in high school.  They’d just giggle.  They didn’t believe me.   I don’t blame them…they hadn’t ever seen me “do” such things.   And they could hardly even imagine it either.

I saw a post card once that had a quote by William Purkey, ““You’ve gotta dance like there’s nobody watching, Love like you’ll never be hurt, Sing like there’s nobody listening, And live like it’s heaven on earth.”   There is only one part missing….make sure your kids see you doing it all….as proof!  haha

I wrote this poem back then about conflicting perceptions:  theirs and mine.  Today, they still giggle when I try to” bust a move”….if they only knew!

——————————————————————————

I guess I always thought I’d be cool
down with the latest dances
up with fashion
know the music scene
speak the speak
Apparently, I’ve been slipping a bit…
I step on toes
my wardrobe suffers from time warp
isn’t “Bow Wow” what a dog does?
…and COOL just isn’t cool for me to say anymore!

According to two young hip chicks on the verge of life…
I’m old…I’m outdated…I’m over!

But, little do they know…
when the night matures
I unbutton to please
and slip on my shiny, slick black heels
that move with ease
to the hot latin beat
that melts the years from
my mind…my body…my soul.

Making good on the promise to live

I’ve been fortunate to have had some amazing friends in life.  I’ve cherished every friendship (good and bad).  I believe we meet each other at the point in our lives when we need one another.  Even if the friendship doesn’t last, we come out having learned something about ourselves that we wouldn’t have if it weren’t for the relationship. 

There are times when friendships leave you speechless.  When I just can’t find the words to encourage, console, chastize.  This poem came from one of those moments. 

p.s.  Thanks to Kara Helena for the most amazing photo.

—————————————————————-

Red. Flesh. Soul. Pride.

She stands in her own existence

            Wavering on a ledge

            Peering into a painful past

                        And she hears a whisper

            So loud that she’s taken aback

                        But pain muffles the words.

Her gaze darts heavenward

            Beyond the impending agony

Shiny, stunning blade

            Sleek, intricate silver

Slices air toward the destination

            …or destiny.

            And in a flash the

Silver blade of integrity slices her soul

            And she bleeds

She bleeds

            Hot streams of pride

            Icy shards of selfishness

            Burning streams of jealously

            Razor shards of anger

And the air rushes in as the

            Toxic poisons pool at her feet.

She reaches for the wound

            Healed

            Healed

            Healed

            Healed

Her soul

            Quietly cries songs of joy.

And again she hears the whisper

            Louder…louder…louder

            Until the words are crisp and powerfully clear

“Breathe. Life. Into your Future.”

 

Seeking Serenity

This was written when I was in my 20’s.  I was not unlike a lot of single moms.  My saving grace was that I figured out that I didn’t have to feed the reality of the monster!    Enjoy.

—————————————————————-

My Serenity is repelled by my reality

I’m baffled

              When I actually have a moment to ponder

              Not sure how it can actually be true that

My ancestors lived their lives in harmony with

                Life

                Each other

                The world

                Serenity simply a daily companion

And here…I… am…

I fight, day in and day out

                Hoping to escape the jaws of a (not-so) imaginary monster that

                Threatens my own life if

                I don’t feed it

                                Paper green food or

                                Shiny silver snacks

But how?

How do I provide coveted little morsels to

                The greedy beast

                When I struggle to

                Feed my own?

Ah, yes…there it is

                The struggle

                That I share with the world

More and more these days, I find myself pondering

                The possibility of falling away

                Hiding out

                Running far, far away

                As we all do at some point

Slipping off behind the imaginary boundaries and into the solitude of Dine’tah

                Untouchable by the great white monster that

                Pushed us here in the first place

“Yes, sir!  I’ll go back to where I belong.  I’ll go back to where ‘my kind’ are.”

I’ll wait it out until

                The greedy beast stops growling and

                Slowly begins to wither with starvation and

                Eventually, dies

                            …Eventually

I’ll wait within the sanctity of Dine’tah

                Safe and protected

Live and learn to let my

Serenity find me.

A yeti named Nora.

I went to a rough elementary school in Albuquerque…imagine that?  If you recall, when you were in 3^rd grade the 4^th graders seemed like teenagers and the 5^th graders seemed like adults.  You had to respect their seniority.   Well there was a near-college aged girl in 5^th grade named NORA.  She was very respected…or feared.  In elementary school those two are synonymous.

The last day of school was a celebration when I was a 4^th grader…summa time!   I remember this day vividly.  Before beginning my walk home (about three miles…up hill), I stopped to race a few kids on the monkey bars.  I did a few tummy turning spins on the tire swing.  I watched some kids gather for some kind of sports practice on the other side of the huge playground.  And then, after exerting all of my energy, I wiped the sweat from my brow and began the long migration home with all of the other kids who lived in my apartment complex…including NORA.

Nora and her gang were way ahead of me.  She walked ahead of her pack of friends.  She looked more like a chaperone than a peer…kinda yeti-ish (not to offend yeti lovers).   I kicked rocks and tried to waste time so that they could get far enough ahead of me…just in case of…you know…anything.

I was told by my Mom, over and over, “do not go off of the normal way home.  Don’t use the shortcuts.”  I didn’t understand why it mattered.  I was gonna get home no matter what….right?   (spoiler alert:  always listen to your mother!)

By this point, I had let NORA and her pack of wild hooligans get so far ahead of me that I didn’t see them anymore.  I thought for sure I was home-free.  I also realized that I very late.  So, I took the short-cut.  I was the only kid walking that way and it was kinda nice.  I had the street to myself.  I could dart back and forth across the empty street if I wanted…but, of course I didn’t.

I rounded the corner to an open field that sat below the street level of the busy road that I had to cross to get home.   As I rounded the corner, I heard the sounds of kids talking and laughing.  I didn’t want to look…but I did.   And yes, it was NORA and her mad posse.  They were hiding in the bushes and trees…boozing and smoking I assume.

“What are you looking at?”  She yelled.  I replied in silence.  I turned my head and sped up my pace.  If you recall, I used all of my energy earlier, so my “speed” wasn’t quite up to par.   Regardless, I think I only sped up in my mind, because they caught up to me in a split second.  Have you ever seen the movie Lost Boys?  You know the opening scene where the pack of hot vampires swoops down onto a car with two teenagers in it and rips off the roof and then devours them?  Yes, that’s what happened…except there was absolutely nothing appealing about this pack of blood-thirsty animals and I wasn’t old enough to drive a get-away car yet.

It was swift and quick.  I escaped with a few scrapes, a little bloody and pretty shaken.  Apparently, I must “looked” intimidating, since they kept saying that I need to watch how I looked at people.  But, I think it was a lie.  They were probably done with their pack of smokes and bored.

The cross-guard came running to help me up the path that led to the street.  She held me for a little bit before asking me where I lived.  I told her that I could see my apartment building from where we were standing.  Then I ran home….to my Mom.

I remember telling my Mom all about it through sobs and tears.  And she just stood, holding me and making sure that I wasn’t broken, externally, at least.

Fast forward to summa time.  Me and my Mom were going somewhere…but, first we had to stop and get something to drink at the 7 to 11 on the corner.  We pulled up right in front and then I saw her….NORA!  I slid down in the seat as far as I could.  I knew that she’d attack us both if she saw me!   I didn’t want to tell my mom…but, I think she had an inkling that something wasn’t quite right.  I finally managed to tell her from my near-fetal position on the floorboard that the woman/child in the 7 to 11 was, in fact, NORA.

“Which one…which one is she?”   she demanded.  I felt like saying, “the tall furry one with fangs!”  But, instead I reluctantly pointed her out with trembling hands.  She was in the store with her aunt…who, actually looked quite normal.

I kept low…like literally low…in the seat of the car while my mom marched in and had a few words with them.   She was in the store for what seemed like forever!  And then… it happened.  I heard a knock on the window.   My Mom and the aunt were standing behind a sobbing NORA!  I slooowly sat up and rolled the window down even sloooower.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you.”   She said.  I was speechless.  All I could manage was a nervous half-smile and a shrug.

But, what I was thinking was, “WHAAAA???  My Mom made NORA cry?!  YEEES!”

Actually, what my Mom did that day showed me how fierce, passionate, strong and gentle a Mother’s love can be all at once.  She’s always in my corner.  She’s always “got my back.”  She’s a source of my strength.  That is what I’ve learned from my Mom.  If I can only be a smidgen of the same to my daughters, then I’ve been successful as a parent.

To this day, if I tell her about how someone/something “did me wrong”…she’s the first to say, “tell me who it is and I’ll show them!”  And, I’m not kidding.  But, then we both chuckle at the thought of my little 4’11” Mom coming to “show them.”

I never did see Nora again.  I’m sure she’s grown now and has a pack of lovely children.  Oh and my Mom let me go to Rehoboth the next year when I was in 5^th grade.  I eventually graduated from there with some wonderful memories.   Thanks, Nora!