Education Interrupted
by Claire Butler
I grew up a child of the ‘60s in Dayton, Ohio, in a sleepy little suburb called North Riverdale. Our family home was a 1200 square-foot, two-bedroom bungalow in a quiet neighborhood. It was not a place of happiness for me or my two much younger siblings. Mom was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was seven, and later my father with manic depression.
My parents fought endlessly. Mom, the meek one, spent years off and on in a mental hospital. By the time I was twelve I could fend for myself, but my siblings got little attention. No regular meals, no discussions about school, homework or bedtimes. No tenderness—only yelling, humiliation, threats and tyranny from our father. And he made it perfectly clear that I would not be going to college because Mom’s hospital bills were putting us in the “poor house.”
During that time, I was often in the company of my paternal grandmother. Gramma was a skilled seamstress who made dresses and suits for the particular, was a gifted baker, cake decorator and cook, and she helped my grandfather run the family grocery on West Third Street. She did not believe in leaving things undone…ever. To this day I strive to be like her.
Before I knew it, fall of 1970 was upon me, and I was a fifteen year-old sophomore at Patterson High School. I studied typing and shorthand so that I could apply for co-op work at the end of my sophomore year. I was one of the lucky ones who secured a job at NCR, a national company that began by making cash registers and later diversified to ATM machines and UPC code readers.
By the time I was seventeen, five months before graduation, I knew I had to do something about my home situation, so I rented an apartment and took the bus to school and work. Upon graduation in 1973, NCR hired me full time as a secretary in their advertising department. Advertising was fast-paced and exciting, but my dream was to attend college, somewhat in defiance of my father’s refusal to help me. I learned that NCR had a tuition reimbursement program for subjects related to our jobs, so I enrolled at Sinclair College for evening classes in shorthand and typing. I fell in love with the campus, the learning experience and the promise of a stable future.
In two years, I had saved enough money to put a down payment on a three-bedroom home. My objective was to provide a safe haven for my siblings when they weren’t in school—somewhere they could let down their hair without fear of having a heavy, glass ashtray hurled at them—my father’s modus operandi. My tuition reimbursement privileges at NCR were exhausted, so I forfeited my education to pay the mortgage. I believed this a temporary setback, and it was in my siblings’ best interest.
A year later, a friend of mine told me that law firms were hiring and that they paid way better than NCR. I applied to one of Dayton’s top firms, and they gave me a typing test and hired me on the spot. They did not offer a tuition reimbursement program and, although my new paycheck would support enrolling again at Sinclair, there was a complication.
Working for trial attorneys presented a steep learning curve, and the litigation team worked long hours preparing for court—sometimes working through weekends. During trial, we often worked until one in the morning only to be back in the office by six. The work was thrilling, but there was no time to attend school. I continued this type of work until 1980, when I married and we moved to Cincinnati.
My first order of business was to enroll at the University. I was working full time as a legal secretary, but not for litigators, so I attended evening classes. My goal was to eventually attend full time, but one year later we had an unexpected surprise—I was expecting the first of our two children. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom to give my child a better childhood than the one I had experienced. My education was again on hold…and at times I honestly felt like giving up. It remained on hold for twenty years, until our two children left for college. Then all I could think about was returning to school myself.
But then Mom passed away. Shortly thereafter, I was awakened by a dream that I was an artist painting a portrait of a girl shielding her younger brother in a rain storm with a large umbrella—all in shades of gray except for the orange cap on the boy’s head. The dream was symbolic in so many ways, and it was so vivid I could not shake it. Mom was an accomplished still-life artist before shock therapy destroyed her memory, and as a four-year old, I sat by her while she painted at her easel.
I was moved to buy supplies to recreate the image in my dream, to what end I did not know, but felt strongly that I must do it. The painting was fair, but I didn’t think much of it until the next day when I collected our mail—on the cover of a catalogue I did not subscribe to was a field of tulips all in shades of gray except for three orange tulips! I stared at it in shock. I kept the catalogue.
From that day, I devoured one painting book after another. I found a talented local artist who agreed to take me on as a student, and by September of 2007 I had opened my own studio. Soon, I was receiving commissions and selling my work. Finishing college seemed a dim memory.
In 2017, I was still painting. I decided to enroll again at university part time. But then in late 2019, Covid hit. With only a little over a year to go—how could this have happened? The university responded to Covid with Zoom classes, but I preferred the classroom experience. I desperately wanted to finish my degree, but I just did not want to learn via Zoom. Again my education was interrupted.
Today, I have a successful painting career, and have published one book with another in revision. And yes! I still want that diploma. When I mention my desire to finish, my friends and family ask, “Why? You don’t need a degree, you are already an accomplished artist and writer. Why do you want to complicate your life now?” I suppose the answer should be that I love to learn—and that is true—I do.
I am nearly seventy, and it probably does seem somewhat silly to those on the outside that I want to return to school. Maybe it’s my grandmother’s influence from above, or maybe I just simply wish to finish what I started. Many years ago, I saved a Chinese fortune that I found in a cookie: “Don’t wait for your ship to come in. Swim out to it.” I’ve waited so long for that ship. I think I’m gonna start swimming now.
CLAIRE BUTLER lives in Cincinnati, Ohio with her canine co-writer Tilly. She is a forever student, an artist accomplished in painting oil on canvas, and a writer with one published book and another in revision. In her spare time she studies French and reads, and she loves to entertain in her home. Life is good!