“Never change Caryn, never change”. This is something I have heard over and over again year after year from the mouth of my father. Perhaps this could be what gives me hope, encouragement, and confidence in some aspects of my life.
June 28, 1957 Cindy Sue Levine was born, she is my mother. A year later August 7, 1958 Rondle Dale Creviston was born, he is my father. They met at Anderson University, fell in love and married in the year 1980. Two years later October 20th my mother gave birth to Susan Marie, my sister. Three years following that on March 12th Adam James was born he is my brother.
October 1, 1986 at approximately 12:30 a.m. my mother began experiencing some sort of pain in her stomach area. My father was more than slightly concerned, he immediately began packing bags and gathering my mother to begin their journey to the hospital. All the while my mother is insisting that it is not time yet, and she should just go back to sleep, however my father would have no such thing. So they arrived at the hospital, lo and behold I am born two hours later. Caryn Michelle Creviston ( I have grown up always correcting the pronunciation of my first and last name.)
I remember the first house I lived in a two story, white house with a screened in porch on the side, and sits right off of Range line Road in Carmel, Indiana. This would be the house that provided a basement full of daddy long legs ( I never went in that basement because of this), and the house that I would unwrap my first Christmas gifts in, the yard I would catch and bury fireflies in with my brother, the house I would begin a chewed gum collection in. It would be the house my parents would fall out of love in.
As a child I was ecstatic to be alive, to play, to dance, to sing, just about anything made me happy. Now, that is not saying I did not have my “bad” days. Every child has to be sent to the corner, or bent over their parent’s knee at some point in their life, but I was happy for the most part. I was carefree. I had the biggest imagination, and nothing could ever tear me away from my make believe world when I was so focused on being a princess in a far away land.
At about four years old my mother signed me up for ballet lessons at Jordan Academy. I remember feeling so proud of myself when I was in that class. Looking back, it was probably one of the only things (at the time) that I can say I was really, truly good at. I continued taking ballet lessons for the next five years. The year after I began ballet, 1991, my parents decided to move into a larger house. It was time to move on to bigger better things I suppose. So they found a house, not too far from where we were living at the time. 11224 Woodbury Drive Carmel, Indiana 46033 was my new address. I will never forget the day that we moved into that house. My mother escorted me to what would be my new OWN room. It was the smallest room in the house, possibly the smallest room I have ever seen in my life, but I did not care one bit. She took me upstairs and showed me which room was mine, then continued moving more furniture inside, leaving me to become acquainted with my new nest. I stood in the empty room soaking it all inside as slowly as possible. Then I immediately went to the closet, sat down in the small corner and closed the door slightly to inspect the room some more from a different perspective. There were crayon markings all over the walls of my room and in the closet from the previous owners of the house. I remember thinking what misbehaved children they must have had. This would be the room that I would find myself in, the room that would provide comfort and safety when I was upset, the room that would hold my most cherished possessions as a child.
I have always taken such care in the appearance of my room. A person’s bedroom says a great deal on their personality. I became very organized as a child, and took much delight in cleaning and organizing my room and toys. By the time I was in junior high school I began to organize my clothes by color. I might even go as far to say that I am obsessive compulsive about cleaning. I find cleaning to be relaxing, and therapeutic. The results of cleaning and organizing provide me with a lot of comfort and satisfaction.
