It didn't take me very long to figure
out that I was hanging out with a bunch of straight-up alcoholics and
there was nothing anonymous about them. Kay drank only on the
weekends, usually. There were, however, a few times, actually more
than a few in the 3 years we lived together that she would call in to
work “sick” (code for hungover). She actually lost a couple of
jobs over doing that. If she had just stuck to Fridays and Saturdays
religiously she would have been fine or a least remained employed.
No one wakes up one day or has a life
ambition of becoming an alcoholic or drug addict or both. Some
people get hooked by their first drink or drug. I, like many people
I know in recovery, got hooked over a long period of drinking with my
new girl and my growing circle of wonderful (seriously!) alcoholic
friends.
For the first several months of my new
relationship with Kay we were very happy. However, her violent side
that would rear it's ugly head at times aimed straight for me one
Friday night in January.1984. She had been drinking, I think with Bubba
at his house. I just know that I must have said something very wrong
in her book and the reason I knew that is because all of a sudden she
rared back her fist and hit me hard on the right side of my head and
I was on the ground. I cried and cried and cried! What did I say
that was so wrong? I have absolutely no idea. The years have long
ago taken that part of the story from my mind. I had never been
hit...IN MY HEAD! I hadn't even had a spanking from Walter since I
was probably 5 years old. I could not wrap my head around how
hitting someone would be something anyone could possibly do.
Of course I got in my car, driving and
crying. I love crying in my car because I can wail to the top of my
lungs and that somehow allows whatever pain I am experiencing to sort
of flow out of me. If anyone actually heard me, even my family, they
would take me to the closest psychiatric facility and that would be
Whitfield and I do not want to go there.
Really cannot write any more about this
now. It's hard to relive a lot of this. I'll be back, though. Love
y’all!
For those of you who do not want a run-down on the different types of gay women – STOP READING NOW! But it could be educational and fun so read on, wusses! These are only MY observations so you can't Google them or look them up in Wikipedia.
There are of course masculine and feminine “lebanese” (code word, if I had meant the nationality I would have capitalized the “l”) but you really have to break that masculine part down into a couple of different categories. There are certain masculine lebanese women who wear the golf shirts, the plaid golf shorts, have short hair, etc. They think they have a set! The only thing that would keep you from thinking they are men is their breasts, which for some reason almost always seem to be large. Don't ask me why because I do not know. That might be something you can Google or look up in Wikipedia. Let me know what you find out.
The next category is your redneck lebanese. They also think they have a set! Again, with the short hair sometimes mullets but they tend to go more for Levi's and cowboy boots. And caps. they love caps! They're beer-drinking, good ole girls but they are were never interesting to me. I could go on and on but you get the picture, right?
What was interesting to me was the woman standing on the other side of Bubba's bed that morning. For privacy issues I will refer to her hereafter as Kay. She was masculine but in the coolest way unlike any one I had ever seen. She was indescribable but I will do my best. Almost shoulder length brown hair with bangs, she wore jeans and tri-colored Converse high tops. She wore button up the front shirts, usually untucked, and mens coats in cold weather or when we would go out. That woman loved her some coats! She adored Joni Mitchell and Stevie Nicks but most lebanese do. But her taste in music was very broad and interesting and, as time went on, I was able to integrate some of my music into her huge library of albums. This is the best description I can come up with.
It so happened that I was off that whole weekend. What was really nice was that Kay came back over later that morning. Bubba went to the restaurant he worked in and got (stole) 2 huge boxes of butterfly shrimp. So we proceeded to have a glorious stolen shrimp fry! Kay, as I found out, lived next door to Bubba in a small duplex apartment. Their friendship went way back and they loved each other dearly. That didn't mean that on few occasions they wouldn't get really, really drunk, disagree about something one or the other said and just BEAT EACH OTHER DOWN, but we'll get to the violence later.
Kay and I were immediately attracted to each other. Can't explain it if you held a gun to my head. I had never looked at any woman “that way” but it was definitely not her first time at the rodeo. She had been in a 4 year relationship with someone that she dearly loved. When it was over she found a random young girl to live with her but there were no feelings there and I think Kay did it out of sheer loneliness. You couldn't even call it a rebound relationship and in fact, the girl was moving out that weekend. Yay!
We were pretty much inseparable after that weekend. But there was still the grueling task of telling her about my condition. You would probably think that telling another woman about it would have been so much easier. To the contrary! Several tall vodka cocktails didn't even help with my courage! Imagine that! The saddest part of this little story is that I made her call Rebecca so SHE could tell her! What a wuss I was! Yet again, it mattered not in the least to her and we were on! I will not go into the private parts of our relationship too terribly much but we were together for 3 years so we must have been doing something right. Go ahead and get your typical “sex between two women picture” in your head. Got it? Now, throw that picture out of your head and stomp on it! The only thing she would allow me to do was kiss her. All I had to do was lay back and go to Heaven! Worked out perfectly for squeamish little me, don't you think? Why she would not allow me a fuller role I will never know. It was just her thing.
Are you still breathing? Pick yourself up off the floor and relax. Have you deleted me as a friend yet? If not, hang on for some more in my next post.
As I mentioned earlier, I barely
darkened the door of any of my classrooms after Rebecca and I moved
in together in Clinton. I can't remember if she was as much of a
truant as I was, but she was a truant none the less. I was still
working at the grocery store and Coming Attractions and, of course,
going out at least 3 nights a week. I was definitely busy, just not
busy doing the right things. I NEVER skipped a class in junior high
or high school! But, you know, when you are in college they don't
call your mama when you do not show up for class. My grades came to
my address so I rode that wave as long and far as I could!
There was a revolving door of friends
at our place, too. There was a lot of drinking going on but at that
point addiction to alcohol never entered my mind. I didn't wake up
in the morning with the shakes having to drag myself into the kitchen
to make my first cocktail of the day. Addiction can lay dormant for
years before it has you in its grasp or in the case of some people
who are born with the disease of addiction, who never touch alcohol,
drugs, cigarettes, etc., addictive behavior may never manifest
itself. At that point, I was addicted to the party not the beverages
consumed there.
We made friends with another little
straight girl named Roseanne. She was 2nd generation
Puerto Rican and had the most beautiful olive skin. She also could
not have been any sweeter. Roseanne came over to our place several
times a week and we would also go out together.
A little while after we met Roseanne
another woman came into our lives, more specifically, my life. I
cannot tell you about her without telling you how we met. There was
a guy who you could not help but notice that was at the bar a lot.
He had gorgeous shoulder length brown hair that looked quite a lot
like mine, actually, but definitely not as big as mine. He wore
Levis that fit perfectly and tee shirts with the sleeves cut off that
exposed his well-defined arms. Think Pilates not weight lifting. I
never saw him wear anything but boots. He looked very, very much like
Mick Jagger only without the gross, big teeth. He was beautiful. I
begged someone to introduce me to him. Can you imagine the person I
just described having a handle like Bubba? But, amazingly, As I got
to know him well, the name just seemed to fit him.
The same night “drunk girl”
unzipped my dress on the dance floor, I had a zit on my shoulder
(don't you hate those things?). Of course it was covered by my long
hair otherwise I would not have been seen in public. Another factoid
about some gay bars is that the guys use the ladies room as often as
the mens room and, to a slightly lesser extent, vice-verse. Straight
or gay it just didn't matter. I was in the mirror fooling with the
volcano on my shoulder when Bubba walked in. He saw what I was doing
and said “Come on, girl, I got something at my house that'll fix
that right up!” and off we went to his North Congress Street
Apartment. It was on the bottom floor of an old Victorian-era house
that has since been completely renovated and is now somebody's law
office.
Coincidentally, “Drunk Girl”, who's
name I shall not reveal, lived in the same building upstairs. In
fact, she and Bubba had been friends since their childhood.
“Drunk Girl” was actually very sweet and had this very feminine
soft voice when she was sober.
So, I'm sitting in Bubba's living room
visiting with other friends who came along who were no where near
ready to call it a night. Bubba walked into the living room with
cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, and an X-Acto BLADE! So he did
surgery on my volcano and took care of that situation quickly! He
should have been a surgeon!
I was a little inebriated myself so I
decided to stay at Bubba's house. He gave me his bed and I think the
rest of the crew carried on until dawn. I was awakened by someone
plopping down on the other side of the bed a couple of hours after I
went to sleep who immediately started snoring. I peeked over to see a
girl with red hair who's name I will not reveal. Early the next
morning I was awakened by a woman's voice asking my unsolicited bunk
buddy if she could borrow her car keys to jump off her car as her
battery was dead. I looked over and saw the woman I was to spend the
next 3 years of my life with.
Remember the penance that I knew was
coming after my sneaking out escapades came to light? It was the
stiff penalty of returning to MC for school. At least I had my car
on campus so I wasn't just stuck there. My resolve was to focus my
attention on school and maybe find a new place to hang out on the
weekends. The Lamar was in full swing so, never having been there
before, I thought I would go see what was going on down there. And,
as a side note, MC also had a very conservative curfew. I can't
remember what it was now but it was as if I was back at home. Also,
the men had no curfew! But, if any of my readers ever lived in Mary
Nelson Hall, ya'll know the back door, the sort of door you see as
entrances to stores, if you pulled on it just right it would pop
right open and we could run up the stairs like bunny rabbits and
scurry into our rooms before the lame security guard could make his
way around to see why the alarm was going off.
The Lamar was all right but it was a
straight bar. I loathed straight bars before I ever set foot in a
gay bar. Every guy and his daddy was after one thing and I think we
all know what that was. I always felt like a piece of meat and, it
seemed, everybody wanted a bite. In a gay bar there's is absolutely
no harassment from men. The “queens” would ask to borrow my
clothes or high heels but I always wore sizes way too small for any
of them so they would walk away with their heads hung low in
disappointment. The women were not aggressive, for the most part,
unless they are very, very drunk. I never felt pressured at all.
Except once, a very, very drunk girl walked up behind me on the dance
floor. I worked at Merry-Go-Round and Coming Attractions at Metro
Center so I was always wearing something pretty skimpy. This
particular night I had on a strapless mini dress with no bra and
“drunk girl” walked right up behind me and unzipped the back of
my dress! Everyone got an eye full whether they wanted to or not!
Yep, I'm sure many a gay mans retinas were burned through clear
through to the back of their heads that night!
I'm back at MC doing what I was
supposed to do. Stopped going to bars altogether and went to class.
Until (ya'll knew there was an “until” coming soon, didn't you?)
I was in the cafeteria at lunch one day looking for a place to sit
when I heard a female voice whisper loudly “Hey! Hey! Come here!”
I walked over to see what she wanted. I didn't recognize her but
she recognized me from Emerald City. She looked straight so I wasn't
concerned about any advances. Apparently all the boys sitting at her
table were EC regulars, too. So I'm sure you know that, the girl,
Rebecca, and I became fast friends and moved into a dorm room
together the next semester. And the going out to Emerald City
started right back where it left off and it hooked me once again. I
guess you could say that Emerald City was my first drug!
I would have to start another blog to
tell you all the stuff Rebecca and I got into. We ended up getting an
apartment together while still going to MC but class became less and
less a priority for both of us. She'll show up later in my story but,
suffice it to say, we had a GOOD time. Who knew that when drinking
Everclear trash can punch you wake up the next morning with carpet
burns on your nose? Well, you do, I can testify!
My friend and I continued our treks to
the club as often as we could over the next couple of weeks. I was
due to move to Oxford and attend classes in theater department at Ole
Miss. My director from MC, Judy, was leaving MC to finish her MFA
there. I had basically done everything I could do at the MC theater
department and there was no room for growth. So we agreed I should
tag along with her and get my feet wet in a serious college
theatrical setting.
I kept I-55 HOT! I came back to
Jackson every weekend to go clubbing. Jackson was not large enough
to support more than one, possibly two gay bars, so when a new club
opened and people stopped going to The Other Side, we followed the
yellow brick road, North State Street, to Emerald City. The fun just
never stopped! I certainly was not
the only straight person in these bars. There were many who came
because it was just the most fun club experience in Jackson.
I
neglected to mention that I didn't always let my folks know I was in
town. In fact, to the best of their knowledge I came home once a
month. In high school I had a curfew of midnight and my folks simply
would not budge on a later curfew even when I was in college. Their
home, their rules. Their favorite saying was “Nothing good goes on
after midnight”. That may be partially true but, unlike clubs like
Zoli's, gay bars didn't even get rolling until, at the earliest,
11:00 PM.
I
decided to sacrifice my dignity and become the only 20-year-old
having to sneak out the window of her parent's house. This was quite
a feat in hose, stiletto heals and a skirt that barely covered my
behind. But I was very careful when I left to put the window screen
back into place. Glad we just lived in a one story house. My friend
would be waiting in his car in front of my house and away we would go
until I got a little sloppy with my screen repositioning skills when
coming home. My folks and I were coming home from church one Sunday
and there was my window screen on top of the shrubbery outside my
window. Nothing was said but my folks exchanged that “I know she's
up to something but I don't know what it is YET” look.
My
next trip home my friend and I had our usual plans laid so I exited
my window, carefully replacing the window screen on my way out. We
went out, had our usual blast, and slowly rolled, headlights dimmed
as always, in front of my house. I was never drunk, in fact, I drank
water or nursed the same beer whenever we went out, but I was going
to make darn sure I got that screen in securely on my way in.
However,
that thought left my mind immediately when I got one leg over the
window and into my room. Walter was always an asshole and he always
carried a gun. The minute my foot hit the floor, my overhead
bedroom light suddenly was switched on and there was Walter pointing
that gun in my face, yelling “Stop! Thief!” with my mother
standing in the doorway like friggin' Barney Fife. She did not have
a gun.
In the
all night (what was left of it) lecture that ensued they tried to
pretend they actually thought it was a burglar. What a load of crap!
But I just went ahead, told them what I had been doing and it was
their stupid curfew issue that made me feel I had to sneak out in the
first place! Nothing was decided or accomplished so we all went to
bed until about 3 hours later when Walter ordered me up and out to
pull weeds in the flower beds. He knew this was my most hated thing
to do in the world and it made me sneeze. There would be more
penance to pay later but after that day it was not mentioned again
until months later.
Where
there is a Denise, there is a way! I just completely stopped coming
home when I came back each and every weekend. I just stayed with
friends.
It was
at Emerald City that I was spotted by a blonde, blue-eyed, tanned
young man. Think Brad Pitt in “Thelma and Louise”. I cannot
remember the details of how we actually got introduced but the next
thing I knew we were on the dance floor. His best friend was the DJ
and remember these were the days before computerized mixing. This
was straight vinyl. He had orange crates packed with records
organized by beats per minute. Best DJ ever and he played whatever
we wanted. RIP Lin.
So
Brad Pitt and I started seeing each other. As I came to find out
Brad was straight, sort of. On rare occasions he would drift over the
other way. AIDS was not on the horizon in Jackson at that time but
was definitely at the fore front a couple of years later. It never
dawned on me, or probably him, that we were engaging in very risky
behavior.
Have I
told you that I never told any of my high school boyfriends about my
condition? Well, I had not. Luckily if things went beyond petting
you were not required to take all your clothes off in the back seat
of a car. Please don't get the wrong idea. That may have taken
place twice. I was not, and never have been, a girl that was
promiscuous. I believe God may have given me my little secret
safeguard because He could see the big picture and knew that I might
just be a bit promiscuous, so there! Situation under control.
So now
I was faced with telling Brad Pitt because his mother didn't really
seem bothered by what he did in his room. We also visited his friends
homes sometimes. We were at one such residence when it was now or
never. He never gave me an ultimatum or anything even close to that
but I wanted it. If I couldn't muster all my courage and tell him
that night, I would have had to walk away because I knew there were
plenty of other fish in the sea for him.
My
courage came in the form of 2 bottles of white wine. It still took
me hours to tell him. I was petrified of rejection. I was telling a
man about my ostomy and had maybe a 50/50 chance of having hot sex with Brad Pitt. The chardonnay told me it was worth
the risk. So I told him, my condition didn't matter in the least to
him and we proceeded to have the aforementioned tryst. Like a start
at dawn and into the afternoon tryst. It was pretty glorious!
We
carried on our relationship for the next two or three months until a
situation occurred where I had to make another very tough life
choice. We were already on a downward spiral in the relationship and
this just tore us apart. Saying goodbye to Brad Pitt was hard but I
had always known there was a beautiful little girl a year or so
younger than him that had been in love with him since junior high
school. He always knew she was the one he would marry. I think he
was just sowing his very wild oats for a few years. They are a
precious couple who live far away but Brad's wife and I keep in touch
through Face Book. They have been married for more than 20 years and
are as happy as any couple I've ever known.
First, get your mind out of the gutter! It will get there soon enough.
I had a friend from college who was
funny, personable and I honestly thought he had a crush on me. How
naive I was! One Saturday night in late summer of 1982 I was working
at the grocery store. I had a long line of at least 4 people with
huge buggies of groceries. When I looked up there stood my friend at
the end of the long line with a candy bar in his hand. There were at
least a 7 or 8 other registers open with fewer customers in their
lines. My friend obviously wanted me to ring up his candy bar!
Finally my friend got up to my register
and wasted no time in asking me to go somewhere with him: a bar. It
was the weekend so I called my folks and told them that my friend and
I were going out to “get something to eat”. There were no
protests from them so off we went to downtown Jackson.
We parked across the street from a
place that in no way looked like any bar I'd ever been to. As I saw
of the few of the people lined up to get in, I asked my friend “Is
this the kind of bar I think it is?” He grinned big, came around
to open my car door for me and off we went across the street to “The
Other Side”.
It was the other side, all right. A
side of life I had never seen up close before. Beautiful women who
turned out to not be women. There were interesting looking women who
actually were women. Plus the best dance music I had ever heard. We
ordered cokes and headed to the packed dance floor. The beat was
hypnotic and, thanks to my recent dance training as a Natural (I knew
that would come in handy one day), my friend and I were burning up
the floor. Another way to burn up the dance floor in a gay bar is to
spill “poppers” (alkyli nitrites) and accidentally throw a lit
cigarette on or near the spill. We're talking Japanese Hibatchi grill
flames but very brief. It was at that point the DJ would quickly put
“Burning Down the House” by “Talking Heads” on the turntable
and the place went wild!
Lucky me, there was a drag show that
night, starring the inimitable “Angel Austin”. She looked
similar to, but more beautiful than, Pat Benatar. As the lights came
up she was sitting on stage in a chair with a set of old window panes
in her lap. She was looking through one of the pieces of glass as
she began “singing” “We're the Kids in America” smashing the
window on the dance floor in front of her as she began. Stunned and
excited do not even begin to explain what I felt as I watched her
show.
Yes, it was true. I had found a new
favorite place to be at “The Other Side”.
My life at MC was full and very
enjoyable. There were choir practices, The Naturals performed for
nearly every Baptist church and Rotary Club in the Southeast, and
then there was, of course, the perfunctory going to class and
studying. My thoughts for my future were to become a psychologist.
Am I the only one here who thinks that's the funniest statement so
far in this entire blog? After the first week of sitting through
Intro to Psychology made it abundantly clear that I was barking way
up the wrong tree. However, there was a cute boy who wore Evan
Picone cologne that sat behind me and that made my time in that class
visually and aromatically tolerable.
Not long after my parting with
psychology, I noticed a flier about auditions for a play called
“Angel Street”. So, at the appointed time, I showed up in the
basement of Aven Hall to audition. A little background about the
theatre department at MC. It was small and the department heads were
Doctors Hollis and Julia Todd. Very sweet people who were relics of
a time when only religious dramas were allowed to be performed at the
school. There was also a college radio station in Aven with the call
letters of WHJT. Slowly more modern day productions crept their way
in. The drama teacher/director extraordinaire was a woman named Judy
Lewis who is still a dear friend today.
Let me put this story in reverse for
just a second. It might make, at least this post, a little easier to
understand. For his horrendous behavior on the night on my high
school graduation, Walter sent me to the dentist and had veneers put
on my gray/green/gross teeth. I had long before, with my babysitting
money, bought my first pair of contact lenses. My hair was big, my
make-up was heavy and I thought I was fine. Certainly not the finest, but for the first time
in my life, I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw.
Back to my audition. I have no idea
how many others were auditioning for the role of “Nancy”, the
housekeeper. Probably at least 2 or 3 (small school, remember?) so I
was nervous. There was no singing in this play so I had to rely on
my acting skills. But, when you think about it, my acting chops were
probably the best talent I had. All my life I had to act like I
wasn't wearing an ostomy bag on my side, acting like I didn't have a
bi-polar step-father at home who made nearly every day of my life as
miserable as he could and acting like I had a mother who would stand
up for me.
So when it came time for me to read I
went up on stage with all the confidence I had. I was reading with a
tall, dark, handsome man. It was a little difficult to do a cold
reading and try not to stare at him. He was now my new crush! I
found out later that he was a very talented graduate assistant,
elusive and, of course, gay. Somehow that did not deter me at all.
Weird, but true. For some crazy reason it made me even more
determined to get to know him better. I was also sure I would be the
ONE who would “turn” him, we would be married and live our lives
out in absolute bliss. I have mentioned I was crazy, right?
Amazingly I got the part! It was a
period piece set in the late 1800's. It was made into a film called
“Gaslight”. I wore a long-sleeved, full-length black dress with
a white apron. Sort of an Amish French maid's uniform. Scott played
the diabolical master of the house who was slowly trying to drive his
wife insane. His character was also carrying on an affair with me.
When I say affair it was basically just a couple of kisses but the
audience got the picture.
The night of dress rehearsal, Scott
colored in his already short beard, mustache and eyebrows with a dark
eye pencil. Our director, Judy, was a complete purist in that a
dress rehearsal was an actual performance. She brought in 7 or 8
folks to watch so our nerves were a little on edge. When it came
time for Scott and me to kiss for the first time we pulled away from
each other with our eyes meeting and he burst into uncontrollable
laughter. It seems that the color he had penciled in his mustache
and beard with had made an exact color impression around my mouth.
It was as if we were both wearing Scott’s facial hair! Of course I
went haywire, the audience nearly fell off their chairs and Judy
Lewis was not pleased with us at all! Throughout the rest of the
play's run Scott made sure he sealed his facial hair because, after
all, the play was not a comedy.
This has been a very strange day. I've
been on my computer for much of the day but have not gone near Word.
I have a feeling of trepidation I have not felt since I started
writing my story last Monday. I've remembered so many things I had
forgotten about growing up and, no, it's not a repressed memory
thing, just a bad memory thing!
I believe we left off with my very
memorable graduation from high school. I worked that summer at the
grocery store where I had worked since I was 16. I worked at
Warehouse Food Center and, believe me, I could write a blog just
about my experiences working there.
I had been accepted to Mississippi
College, a small, but very well respected Baptist college. MC was
known for it's strong academic programs. Believe me, my ACT score
barely got me in there and classes started around mid to late August.
Prior to that there was a music camp for those interested in music
education, church music or vocal performance. The very first day was
the first round of auditions for “The Naturals”. This group sang
popular tunes from the day set to choreography. The were well known
and well respected throughout the South East. It was a tremendous
honor to be chosen for this group and my stomach was tied in knots
most of the week of music camp. I had the pipes, and I always
thought I could dance, but I had never taken a dancing class in my
life so this was very discouraging to me. Surely they wouldn't want
Miss Moose up there singing and trying to not to stumble over her
uncoordinated moose feet. But, amazingly, after a pretty grueling
week of auditions, not only for The Naturals, but for the Concert
Choir, we all raced downstairs in Aven Hall to see who had been
chosen. My name was on the list of those chosen for the group which
meant I was automatically a member of the Concert Choir. I'm not
sure I had ever been more excited about anything thus far in my life!
Up until this point in my life I had
never given my parents any reason not to trust me. I NEVER skipped
school or even a class!. Unless you count that one day my senior year I drove . I worked nearly every day immediately after
school usually until 8 or 9 PM during the week and until 11:00 PM or
Midnight on Saturday and Sunday nights. When I first started working
there “Blue Laws” prohibited the opening of all retail and
grocery stores on Sundays. Some restaurants were open where
people could go and have a nice Sunday lunch after church. There was
also a convenience store here and there but, if they sold alcohol,
that part of the cooler had a tarp over it. Not only could you not
buy or drink the beer, you couldn't even look at it!
They would not allow me to live on campus.
So I commuted for the first semester. Anyone who has been a commuter
will understand why I always felt like someone on the outside looking
in. You can't get fully involved in activities. At MC, we did not
have sororities or fraternities. If The Naturals had a performance a
few hours away from Jackson that meant me driving home on some pretty
deserted roads sometimes as late as 2:00 AM.
Because of some ancient rule that I
never really fully understood, MC, did not have sororities or
fraternities. We did, however, have Social Tribes for the ladies am\nd
Service Organizations for the men. In 1980, the biggest and best
social tribe at MC was Kissimmee, followed closely by Nenemoosha,
Laguna came in third and Swananoa rounded out the the four. There
are many folks that will read this and might be offended. When I say
“biggest and best” Kissimee had the largest number of members,
the most campus leaders. All the tribes were full of outstanding
young women or they would not have been at MC in the first place.
Thirty years later all that has changed and I believe Swananoa is the
biggest and best, then Laguna, etc. Nothing stays the same forever!
By the end of first semester my folks
relented and allowed me to live on campus! I could eat in the dining
hall with everyone, stay up late, play pranks on other girls in the
dorm and all the cool things dorm life affords. Living on campus
also allowed me to go through 2nd semester rush which,
unfortunately, was not nearly as much fun as rushing 1st
semester, But I didn't care! I was a KT and proud of it!!
Mother, Walter & Me the Summer before I entered MC
Don't let the happy smiles fool you!
My room was my retreat from reality
Did I mention Walter was Bi-Polar? Oh,
yeah, I guess that's another wonderful situation my mother and I went
through. When he didn't take his medication he would get up, shower,
put on a jumpsuit (it was the 70's, o.k.?) and then proceed to lie on
the couch ALL DAY! When my mom got home from work, she would fix
dinner and he might come to the table and eat or pick at his food for
about 5 minutes. Then he might or might not take a shower, put on
his pajamas and went to bed. This at times would go on for 3 months
and sometimes as much as 2 years. But when he did take his
medication, that's when the real fun started. You see, Walter loved
to drink alcohol while taking his meds. Some nights he might not
sleep at all. He once bought a shopping center that we in no way had
the money for. He ran with a local Dixie Mafia/Club Owner/Loan
Shark/Bastard who only encouraged Walter's erratic behavior. This man
had a certified crazy running buddy who he could talk into anything
and none of these things were good. Walter mostly carry on affairs
with the “girls” from the aforementioned clubs his buddy owned,
bought rental houses and used cars which usually wound up in our
drive way. My mom and I could barely hold our heads up.
One night when I was about 16 mom woke
me up and told me to get dressed. After some pretty slick private
detective work on my mom's part she did she found out where 1 of his
girlfriends lived. So we hopped in the car and drove right over. We
had moved (thank goodness) to South Jackson by this time. She lived
in a house on Raymond Road, not far from the Dairy Queen where the
driveways to the houses were off a little ally in the back. I
reluctantly went to the front door with mother as she beat on the
door telling him to come out. Since I was about 10 I had started
calling him “Daddy” so she then put me up to begging “Daddy!
Daddy! Please come out!” So humiliating! He finally came home
the next morning which was a Saturday. He and my mom had a long,
heated discussion behind closed door that, try as I might, even
putting a glass up to the door, I couldn't hear many details of. All
I know is that when they came out of their room my mother had the
look of submission I had been used to seeing on her face for years
and he looked smug and triumphant.
Next, it was my turn. Walter took me
in my room and told me that for my part in the activities in those
earlier morning hours I was required to read a Proverb a day from the
Old Testament, paying particular attention to the passages about
honoring your mother and father. I was then ordered to write a
synopsis of the “Proverb of the Day” and include specifics about
how I had disrespected him over the years right up to present day. I
really liked it better when he just laid on the couch for years in
his jumpsuit!
Finally high school graduation was
coming up for me. I went to Forest Hill High School for my junior
and senior years. Yes, we had moved again! I had gone to Wingfield
High School my sophomore year and had many good friends, many of whom
I had grown up with. But, with absolutely no disrespect to my
classmates at Wingfield, Forest Hill just felt like home. I made and
still have dear friends from those days, I was in the concert choir
and my singing voice landed me the lead in my senior year school
play, “Calamity Jane”. O.K., you can laugh now! It was a great 2
years although I had to have a tutor for Algebra because I can't
formulate my way out of an extremely wet paper bag with holes already
punched in it! My child is acing Calculus 3 and I have know idea
where that intelligence came from.
Back to graduation night which was held
at the Mississippi Coliseum. My folks dropped me off at the south
entrance and went to park the car. I was given very specific
instructions to meet them immediately after the ceremony at that south
entrance. I was so proud of my diploma and, also, proud of myself
for completing the first major milestone in my life, with the possible exception of learning to put my own bag on when I was 9. I was beaming!
After waving good-bye to friends who were having pictures made with
their families, I made haste to get back to that south entrance to
make sure I was there for my folks to pick me up. I waited and
waited and waited for, what my watch said, 20 minutes. Maybe they
made a mistake and went to the entrance on the other side of the
coliseum. I RAN to the north entrance and there they were. I am
definitely not the sharpest tool in the shed but I knew where I was
told to be! Walter's wrath was the truly the worst I had ever seen
or heard and, after 14 years of living with him, I had been the
target of most of it. He was furious! He called me “stupid MF”,
“imbecile”, “idiot” and lastly said I was so stupid I didn't
deserve the diploma I was holding in my hands which by now had my
tear stains all over the outside cover.
As it turned out, he was late for a
“date” which my mom and I deduced when he just dropped us off in
the driveway and and sped off. I shall never forget that night for
as long as I live unless I get Alzheimer's Disease like my mom!
As many of you know who lived in
Madison County in 1975 and before, it was such the polar opposite of
what it is today. I would venture to guess at least 75% of it was
pasture. At least that is what I saw from my bedroom window in
Gateway North. We faced Old Canton Road and there was only vacant
land as far as my eyes can see. I had come from West Jackson, also
not what it is today, but at least there were shopping centers,
Shoney's, Capitol Music, a Krystal, etc., etc. Needless to say
moving to Madison County put me into at best a shock and at worst
depression.
There were many firsts in store for me
that year. I had never ridden a school bus, had not gone to a public
school since 1st grade and, since I had so many “beauty
attributes” as I have previously told you about, I was constantly
made fun of. Oh, and did I mention the joy of getting braces on my
teeth? That was just the icing on this cake. Put me right over the
edge into what I'm sure has been a character on “Tales From the
Crypt”. I may have even looked like the Crypt Keeper himself, I
don't know, I've tried to block the face in my 1975 mirrors from what
is left of my mind.
There were a group of kids that always
skipped lunch and went to a huge oak tree way in the back of the
school yard. One of them asked me if I wanted to come with them.
Believe me, I was glad for ANY invitation at that point. So off I
ran to the tree where there were about about 5 or 6 kids passing
around a joint. I had to ask what a joint was. I was so, so, so
naive! When it got passed to me I took a puff, held it in as I was
told to do and then exhaled. I felt nothing. But we did have a half
hour for lunch so after about the 4th time it was passed
to me (by this time a 2nd one had been lit) I was feeling
SOMETHING. Not exactly sure what I was feeling but it was definitely
different than anything I had ever felt. The 4th period
class bell rang to we all ran back to the school and I went into my
history class. Either that teacher's head was spinning around or
mine was. It was probably mine! I felt weird the rest of the day
and decided I would not be joining the people under the oak tree
anymore.
That same week my best friend from my
previous school was coming to spend the weekend with me out in the
boondocks! I was thrilled to say the least! We went to her West
Jackson neighborhood and picked her up on Friday night. We were so
glad to see each other!
My friend had a boyfriend with a car!
We were 14 and he must have been 17 or so. My friend and I could get
pretty crafty when left to our own devices, by the way. She talked
him into coming all the way from where? West Jackson! He found us
and we found out how to sneak out my bedroom window. It must have
been at least 2:00 AM and my parents room was way at the other end of
our house so we weren't too terribly worried about getting caught.
You know, this guy could have been 17
or 23 for all I really knew. He did have a gallon of Canadian Mist
that he brought specially for cruising around the back roads of
Madison County. First he take a big chug, then my friend would take
a chug and when it was handed to me I took a big chug, too! Seemed
like the thing to do. Didn't want to offend anyone, right?
It's hard to describe the intermingled
feelings after that first chug (my first chug of anything alcoholic).
There was a horrible taste in my mouth, my throat felt like it was
on fire and my stomach started rolling a little. But it seemed the
more we chugged, the bad feelings subsided somewhat and there was a,
for lack of a better term, happiness that came over me. Over all of
us, really! We were jammin' to ZZQ, singing to the songs we knew and
laughing uncontrollably as we swerved around on those back roads. It
is truly God's grace that we were not killed or killed someone else!
However, the longer and more we
swerved, my head began to spin and my stomach started a rolling like
I had never felt. I spent the ride home with my head hanging out the
window, um...to put it politely as possible, relieved myself of all
the Canadian Mist I had ingested. Quite a week, first time to smoke
pot and first time to get sick off of alcohol! Good times!!
Don't think I have mentioned yet that I
went through about an 8 year “awkward” stage. Let's just count
all my beauty assets, shall we? Glasses, braces, acne and those
lovely tetracycline-stained teeth I sported from all the years of
antibiotics. I was a real looker, let me tell you! Fortunately I
did inherit some of my real father's humor and I always did my best
to be very kind to people. I will post a couple of photos of me from
this period but you have to agree not to sue me if your retinas are
burned out of your head, deal?
I went to a small, private Christian
school. I was almost voted class favorite a couple of times but was
inched out by a couple of votes by a beautiful, inside and out, dear
friend of mine. She went on to win most beautiful in high school and
who can compete with that? Certainly not me. She is even more
beautiful today than she was then, inside and out. Still love you
T.H.M!
I was in 8th grade and
actually made cheerleader! Well, there were only about 12 girls in
the whole junior high so... I was over the moon.
Ugly-as-a-mud-fence and I was going to be a cheerleader!
At the same time a well known African-American bought the house next door. I thought my mom's head was literally
going to pop off and roll around on the floor! Really! Looking back, I believe my mother fell under the "white flight" There was a
“For Sale” sign in our yard the very next day.
I was in no way
prepared for what happened next. Our house sold in 2 weeks. Walter promptly bought a
house in Ridgeland, MS, I was withdrawn from my school and enrolled
in Rosa Scott School in Madison. To say that I was devastated is an
understatement. I had to leave my friends, none of whom lived
anywhere near Madison County. And, worst of all, I never got to be a
cheerleader because we moved 1 week before the first football game.
Que Sera Sera, damn it!
We moved into a new house not far from
our old one almost right after my surgery. Age five was a pretty
significant year for me, come to think of it. My folks had asked the
housekeeper who came with Walter when he and my mom got married. What
she would do was wait until she was sure my folks were gone to their
respective jobs, throw me in her car then we went back to her house
for most of the day while she did her own house worker and, no, that
is not a typo. I think he was like her third nephew once removed or
some relationship just as appalling. I thought that was how it was
supposed to be. We'd come screeching back into our driveway about an
hour before my folks got home from week and she'd commence to
slinging pots, pans and pork chops around to have some semblance of
supper on the table by the time when the folks got home. In her
rushing around trying to be shady she would get rather careless at
times. Two particular incidents come to mind where she accidentally
hit my arm with a pot of hot butter beans and then there was the
unfortunate incident when she slammed a car door on three of my right
hand fingers. Let's just say, she was replaced.
That's when Eva came into my life. She
was a later middle-aged African American lady that doted on me every
minute, kept our house spotless and had a delicious dinner made for
us every night. She loved me as if I was her own child and I loved
her so very much.
With the new house, and Eva, came a new
piano and organ that might folks bough and plopped down in the living
room. They told me my first lesson was the upcoming Saturday at
supper on Thursday. Walter had found a dear, wonderful, immensely
talented teacher who agreed to take me on even though I was just 5.
Her general rule was not to take students until age 6 but with a
little coaxing on Walters part she took me on. She was the organist
at our church and could sit down and play any music ever written on
the spot! Can I just tell you that while I loved and admired her
very much I HATED piano lessons! They made me nervous and the
required hour of practice every day really bit! After a few years of piano lessons, my teacher asked me if I would like
to learn to sing. She was also a voice teacher. It was on like a
chicken bone after that! I was in heaven! I had some pipes! She
always had to transpose my songs into a lower key. Imagine part
Ethel Merman part Cher !? which thinking back know must have been a very strange combination combination of musical styles coming out of a 10-year-olds mouth). At the first recital where she let me sing
“Put Your Hand In the Hand” I got a standing ovation! Finally
felt my self esteem come up a notch or two.
Let's start putting things in a bit of
a nutshell so to speak, shall we? We adjusted, not always easily, to
my new “apparatus”. Through trial and error we found the right
supplies for me. Starting school each year my mom would meet with my
teachers (in elementary school) to let them know of my condition.
Yeah, there were several times right up through high school that my
bag failed and that left me hiding in the girls room until the office
could call my mom who would leave work and come to take me home to
take care of the situation. My mom was a rock!
Does anyone remember Parade magazine
that used to come in the Sunday newspaper? In the early 70's they
ran an article on Raquel Welch. One picture took my self esteem down
to less than zero and left it there for a very long time. In the
picture, Raquel was wearing a white, beaded bikini. We all know how
gorgeous she was and still is. But I fixated on her stomach. It was
tan and beautiful and perfect. My point is that I had no dreams I
would ever look like Raquel Welch, like, really, come on now! But
the thought hit me that I would never be able to wear a bikini.
Hell, at that point it was even hard to find one piece bathing suits
that didn't accentuate the hump on my lower back. I have vague
memories of some really horrible suits with skirts **shudder**! It
just stuck with me, honestly, even a little to this very day. Silly
maybe to some. I think this is where my self deprecation started
it's long spiral downward.
The trip home from Baltimore was long
and tiring but we felt bright hope that maybe we had found God's cure
for me. We had about a week to rest up. Well, I rested up with my
Mamaw in her new apartment and my mom and Walter had to go right back
to work. The next week we headed to Oschner in New Orleans.
And so began a battery of tests to see
just what we were dealing with. The one I hated most of all was the
IVP where they injected dye into a vein in my arm and watched the
flow of the dye through my now flaccid bladder and kidneys. I so
hated those needles! They had to get my mom in the room to hold me
down and comfort me while they made the injections. No fun!
After the tests were completed I was
admitted to the hospital. There were preparations that had to be
made before the actual surgery. I was given 8 shots of Vitamin K in
my thighs each day to assist with blood coagulation. As soon as I
got over the trauma of one, here they came again with another. It
was tough. They also brought in a contraption that looked like an
open ended vacuum hose by the head of my bed that emitted a light
mist of more Vitamin K. They wanted my blood thick as a brick!
I did not remember my first surgery at
10-months-old so I was blissfully unaware of what was to come. They
took me to surgery. They removed my bladder and made a conduit
resulting in a 1 inch stoma that sat just above my lower abdomen. It
looked and still does look like a little red miniature tea cup rose.
The surgery lasted 10 hours and was a success! Now all they had to do
was slap an ostomy bag on me and I was good to go!
I remained in the hospital for another
3 weeks. I guess they did have me quite doped up with pain medicine
but I still remember being in pain for the next couple of weeks. But
I rallied and by the third week I was running up and down the halls
of my hospital floor IV pole in tow. I think they let me go home
just so I wouldn't run over someone in the hall!
When I was 5 I started getting very bad
and very painful kidney infections. The doctors in Jackson really
held out little hope, just continuing the daily antibiotics I had
taken since my first surgery at 10 months. Best case scenario was I
might live to age 10. That is when the long, both in time and miles,
journey started in search of a doctor somewhere who could help me.
We made appointments with urologists in every major city up the
eastern seaboard. Starting at Emory where they had no real answers
all the way to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. I don't remember the kind
doctor's name but I remember sitting in his office, after he had
examined me, with mom and Walter during a very complicated
conversation which went way over my head. He gave them the best news
they had heard. There was a procedure called a urostomy that they
were doing right there at Johns Hopkins with much success. However,
he told them there was a surgeon right in our own backyard at Oschner
Hospital in New Orleans. He highly recommended him and made a call
to him right then and made an appointment for us to see him. As the
doctor hung up the phone he looked over at me and burst out laughing
and pointing at me. I had gotten into my mom's purse, found her
powder compact and rubbed every bit of it on my face and no one even
noticed. Probably trying to be a Goth way too early!
During the aforementioned 5 years a
change came into our lives. That change was Walter Sinks. He was a
“nice man”, successful in business, attended Calvary Baptist
Church as we did, and just happened to live right down the block from
us. Someone introduced my mom to him and they began dating. I was
3-years-old at the time. I hated him from the start. My mamaw was
always jealous of my mother, in a way. She was jealous of my father
at first but after she saw what a wonderful man he was she loved him
dearly. Not so with Walter. She would refuse to babysit me if they
were going out on a date so I got drug along to most of them. I
really hated him and having any attention from my mother being taken
away from me when he was around. I remember I nearly kicked the
stuffing out of a booth at Primos Northgate until we were kindly
asked to leave. One mission accomplished but, what I did not realize
then, is there would be thousands of missions to come.
Come February 2, 1966 I got a step-dad.
Oh, how I cried! When he moved in everything changed - a lot! Not that it was stellar parenting on my
mom's and mamaw's part but they pretty much let me get away with a
lot. Like mom making me pancakes at 11:00 PM. I had never had a
bedtime and I'm sure there were many other atrocities I committed as
a toddler that they let slide. Not after Walter moved in! Bedtimes,
spankings, he yelled at me, screamed at me, told me I was stupid! I
was an emotional mess at 4 years old!
My Mom and Walter's Wedding
Have you ever seen a happier bride?
She should have run screaming from the room!
Then the ultimate betrayal came with
him making my Mamaw move out. If I had known about suicide at
4-years-old I would have found a way to commit it. She was my
Mamaw!! The person who I bonded with, the person that loved me so
unconditionally. I was lost without her.
I suppose you may be wondering where my
mom was during all this. I think she was paralyzed at the
realization of what she had done by marrying him and for once in her
life could not find the strength to do anything about it. I've long
since forgiven her having married a couple of really bad folks
myself. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
I am certain that the summer of 1962
was a strange, fly by the seat of your pants adventure for my mom and
mamaw. I'm sure they were scared they would hurt me somehow but that
fear probably went away rather quickly. I was definitely Mamaw's
baby! My mom took a 16 month paid leave from her job so I had them
both all to myself. However, if I got upset about something, it was
Mamaw's shoulder I wanted to cry on. We just had this connection that
I can't even try to explain.
They took me to a neurologist for an
examination after I was a month or so old. His theory was wait and
see. They wanted to see if the myelomengocele changed shape or grew
or possibly even something more drastic.
Meanwhile I was followed by Dr. Miller,
the sweetest, kindest pediatrician ever. He had actually been
present immediately after my birth. He was funny, non-threatening
and loved me.
So the months passed and I was a happy,
funny, entertaining baby, at least that's what they say. They could have been lying their asses off.
When I was ten-months-old at my next
neurologist visit the decision was made to do surgery to remove the
sac. And so it was done. Only they only took part of it leaving
part of the protrusion (about half) and a hideous scar down the
middle. We're talking Grand Canyon here, people! Those who have
been in my life for a very long time saw it and I'm sure had
nightmares for weeks after that!
I was in the hospital for a couple of
weeks. Mom said late at night after things got quiet on the hospital
floor some of the nurses would come in for “The Entertainment”.
I would laugh and play with them, blow kisses, give kisses. I was
probably high on morphine! I read my hospital records from that time
and there are several nurses entries like “sweet baby”, “very
happy baby”, “very playful and sweet tonight”. So at least it
is documented I was sweet at least at one point in my life.
But many nights were hard right after
my surgery. My mom and mamaw both stayed with me every night. I
would cry out both their names and throw my little hand out of the
rails of my hospital bed for them to hold it. I had drips in both
hands and one in my head. I'm sure it really took a toll on both of
them.
A few days after my surgery my mom
noticed that my stomach was getting very distended. I had not passed
urine for a while so she asked the doctor on his rounds what was
wrong. He said “Nothing this won't fix” as he pushed down hard
on my swollen abdomen and urine literally gushed out of me. I
screamed and my mom screamed at the doctor and told him to NEVER come
into my room again!
Here comes the fun part. They
catheterized me and I was continually, constantly catheterized until
I was 5 years-old. Every two weeks like clockwork we took a trip to
kindly Dr. Avis, a urologist, and he changed my catheter.
(L to R) Me, My Mother, My Mamaw, My Great-Grandmother
First Picture At Home Apparently Not Too Happy About It!
As the cold winter gave way to May 1962
my mother and Mamaw (did I mentioned she moved back to live with mom
in Jackson? Surprise! Surprise!) prepared for my impending arrival.
Mom started having labor pains on the night of the 17th so
they called, from now on let's just call him “Crazy Uncle Tommy”,
and off they drove to Baptist Hospital. Mom labored and labored but
with no result. They realized, almost too late, that I was breech
because they saw one of my feet coming out first. What would have been worse than just a breach presentation would have been if the foot they saw was actually attached to my head. I'm picturing Rachel Dratch in the
SNL skit where she and Jennifer Garner are conjoined twins and, well,
I would just have had a leg instead! So here we go to Plan B –
C-Section. I was born at 6:44 PM, May 18, 1962.
But, sadly something was wrong,
something was terribly wrong. I was born with a form of Spina Bifida
called Myelomeningocele. Basically my spine protruded at its base
into a sac. Mamaw's hand-wringing
started up with such a speed it is a wonder her skin didn't roll off
on the floor. My mom said they told her I might never walk, could
possible have water on my brain, all sorts of horrible things. My
mom has told me one of the happiest days of her life was when a nurse
came into her room almost jumping for joy saying “She's kicking her
legs! She's kicking her legs!” Bless that sweet nurses heart!
They sent us home a few days later with some appointments with
specialists. Again with the
Mamaw mantra which you should all remember by now. And, my tough as
nails mother said “We are going to take her home and love her and
do the best we can.”
My Precious Mama Rocking Me
Well, of course, my crib was moved from
my mom's room to Mamaw's almost before mom got me out of the car! And
there began the love affair between my Mamaw and me.
Of course my mom was devastated! The
police, the coroner, the neighbors who were their dear friends
swarmed the house and my dad's body was taken away. My grandmother
had moved to New Orleans to live with them and the only thing worse
than losing the love of your life while 3 months pregnant with your
child is having my Mamaw, who I ADORED, start wringing her hands and
sobbing and crying her usual mantra whenever there was a tragedy
“What are we going to do?! What are we going to do?!” And the
strong woman who is my mother said her usual mantra whenever tragedy
occurred “We are just going to do the best we can”. Their dear
next door neighbors, I think their name was Chauvan, were there and
Mr. Chauvan told my mother to write him a check for every dime they
had in the bank. He would be at the bank's door at 9:00 AM the next
morning to cash it before my dad's death was made public. It had
something to do with Louisiana’s Napoleonic Code and had he not
done that my mother would not have access to any of her money for a
long time.
My mom honored my dad's premonistic
wishes and took him back to Boise and buried him in the suit he had
asked her to bury him in. My mother could not view his body as she
did not want to remember him that way. A little back story here for
just a sec, my dad was the baby of his family with four older
sisters. And he was THEIR baby. My mom said it was like being at a
black funeral with all of the squalling, falling out on the floor,
What a sight! None of them were small women and, allegedly three
were mean as yard dogs but then there was an easier, softer one who
was very kind to my mother. I met one or two once or twice but I was
a young child and don't remember them very well.
Again, South Central Bell in Jackson
did not have a position for my mom to come back to right away. In
fact I think it was February before they had a spot for her. She has
told me of walking down Canal Street to catch the street car home
with all the Christmas music playing and street decorations lit with
her poor heart so very, very broken. Everyone else was full of
Christmas merriment but her world was falling apart. She would
repeat to herself the words from Isaiah 40:31 KJV-” But they that
wait upon the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up
with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they
shall walk, and not faint.”
Next was the job packing up to move
back to Jackson. I'm sure my Mamaw was some help with that after
coming out of her hand-wringing period. They came back to Jackson
where my mom bought a small little house in a pleasant West Jackson
neighborhood right behind Hardy Junior High School. Her crazy
brother Tommy (we'll get to him later) taught her to drive the
sky-blue Ford Fairlane she had bought. He would take her down to the
back parking lot behind McRae's at Westland Plaza in the evenings and
on Sunday afternoons when the lot was vacant and let her drive
around, in circles probably. I would love to have that on video
because by this time she was 7 months pregnant and barely fit behind
the wheel!
My story begins before I was born. This time has
a great deal to do with how my life has played out. My mother and
father were married in 1958. My father was divorced and they
actually had a difficult time finding a minister to marry them
because of his divorce. They finally found an understanding minister
who agreed to perform the ceremony. My mother was 30 and my dad was
34. My dad was a geologist with Texaco and was transferred to New
Orleans almost immediately after they were married. My mother worked
for South Central Bell and couldn't get a transfer to the New Orleans
office for a couple of months. Every weekend until her transfer came
through she would ride the train from Jackson to New Orleans so they
could spend their weekends together. They were absolutely,
blissfully in love. My dad was incredibly intelligent, very kind and
hilarious. In late summer of 1961 my mother became pregnant with me.
They were over the moon with joy. My dad had a
daughter, Judy, from his previous marriage that he completely adored
but only could see her for two weeks each summer. It is my
understanding that he and his ex-wife were not on good terms.
My Mother and Father on their wedding day - June 29, 1958
My dad loved Cajun food, having parties
in their home he drank a six-pack of beer every night but was
never a drunk. He also loved his cigarettes. For a couple of months
my dad had made statements to my mom about what suit he wanted to be
buried in and for her to make sure to take him home to Boise, LA to
bury him because he didn't want to be buried “underwater in New
Orleans”. She really didn't pay a lot of attention to those
requests at the time. He had also picked out my name “Sheryl Denise
Perkins, not Sheryl with a “C” but an “S”. He wanted me to
be called “Dennie”. Whew, thank God that stopped after I was
about 3-years-old!
On November 8th, my mom was
tired and Daddy told her to go on to bed that
he was going to sit up a while and watch television.
The next thing my mom remembers was my
dad falling over her in the bed. At first she thought he was just
playing and being a big kidder, as usual. She turned the light on
and my dad was lying there foaming at the mouth. He was dead from a
massive heart attack.
