P.S.

I lied in my last post.


I did have a moment of glory before the 2nd grade. It was in Kindergarten. I took piano lessons, and had to perform in the school piano recital. The piano teacher let each student choose what song they would like to perform from their song books.


I, however, told the piano teacher that I didn't want to play a song from any of my song books. I wanted to play my own song, one that has been passed down in my family for generations. (That may or may not be true, but my cousin did teach it to me.) So, I played the song for her.


The teacher listened to my song, and told me that piano recitals do not usually include singing. But, she could tell there was no stopping me, so she didn't put up a fight.


There is a home video of the actual performance somewhere, but I am far too lazy to go looking for it, so I have taken the liberty of reenacting my song for you. I do not own a piano, so I used an organ, which, believe it or not, was easier to come by than a piano in Isla Vista.

I know, I know, it's a masterpiece. This was a big hit at my piano recital, I swear. I stole the show with "I Dropped my Dolly in the Dirt". Oh, the glory days. 

P.P.S. This dynamic duo performs it much better than me. (Besides the fact that my piano skills are far superior...)

Moment of Glory

I was a very strange child, which I think most of us were. 

If you were not, than something went wrong with your development. Or you are an alien, sent to this earth to spy on us - I can always spot them. They have none of the characteristic irrational and insane human behaviors. Aliens do animals wrong too. For example, my cat is an alien, (it likes water). But this is all besides the point, this entire paragraph is irrelevant. And I completely made up the first sentence (the rest is true). 


I very much loved to put on plays, fashion shows, etc. as a young little sprout. I regularly blessed my family with these spectacular performances. (My sister, however, did not get the fortunate opportunity to witness these productions as an audience member. I forced her to participate in my shows, usually making her play about ten different parts. I didn't think this was much to ask for in support of my superior talent.) 

Rehearsing. My sister not cooperating - I am pretty sure this was a serious piece.

As I was saying, my family had to endure these events, for which I was excessively dramatic and enthusiastic, putting all my focus and energy into my performance. Yet, in spite of my extreme intensity and dedication during these masterpieces, the general public did not get to experience my giftedness.


I was as shy as they come in front of all other people that were not in my immediate family. I think I actually had multiple personalities. All people - adults and children - frightened me extremely.


Example: During a school performance in preschool, instead of standing up and performing the clapping and singing routine I had practiced with the rest of the kids, I chose to remain in my seat and stare out into the audience in complete terror. It actually wasn't a choice at all. My body was literally paralyzed. I could see all the other children prancing around the stage, and it looked somewhat enjoyable. But I was frozen in place, making myself the only child who wasn't participating. I tried so many times to lift my little butt off that chair, but my panic had super-glued me to it.

As soon as the show ended, I switched from panic to humiliation, and immediately ran to my dad, bursting into tears. 

What no one knew, however, was that all I wanted was to be running around on that stage, all eyes on me. But, I was too shy to ever attempt anything like this in public. My brain was confused on what type of personality it wanted me to be. 

Fast forward several years later to me as a 2nd grader. My brain had still not decided, I was exactly the same. My school was holding auditions for the Christmas play - a Jesus version. The scenario reminds me of an episode of 'Raising Hope', except I was too old to audition for the part of Jesus. 

(Raising Hope: Toy Story)

Anyway, all the girls in school were auditioning for the part of Mary, the most coveted female role. You had to sing a solo for the audition. Not my thing, unless it was in my own theater bubble. My mother, however, forced me to audition. While I was waiting for my turn to try out, everyone was talking about how exciting it would be to play Mary. The room was buzzing with commotion and anticipation. 

I sat in silence and fear. Thank the Lord for me, the auditions were held in a private room with just the music teacher, one of the only reasons I agreed to my mother's prodding. I eventually got called in, and I did my thing. I was scared to death, but I managed to squeak the song out for my audience of one. 

So, I didn't get the part, and I told this story for nothing. 

Not. I got the part! It was the best feeling in the world. I was overcome with shock and joy. All the other girls at school were jealous of me, which is every elementary school girl's biggest dream. 

Yes, I did actually go through with the play, despite my phobia. The only way I managed it, was because the auditorium was dark, and I couldn't see anyone in the audience. I just pretended I was by myself. It worked like a charm. 






I did my little solo, (everyone, of course, loved it), and life went on. But I had finally gotten my moment of glory. And have never had one since, because I chose to major in Biology instead of moving to Hollywood and becoming the sensation that I was meant to be.

I also thought I was a model.

I Am Going to Be a Great Mother.

I was approximately 10 years old. One night our family decided to lend a hand and babysit my cousin, Shalya, who was about 6 months old at the time. And to clarify, by “our family” offered to babysit, this meant that my 8 year old sister and I were left responsible for a small infant, because who knows where my parents were. This night went wonderfully. 

As an example, an empty bottle of wine was sitting out, and coming from the alcoholic family that we are, Shayla, of course, found the bottle. 

(Side-note: Shayla’s mother used to sneak beer into my apple juice to get me to stop crying when I was a baby. This is one of the many reasons why I may now be an alcoholic. In her defense, she just wanted me to fit in.)

Anywho, we couldn’t pry Shayla’s lips from the wine bottle for what I remember as hours. And my childhood memory is foolproof, besides the random clips from dreams, (both from sleeping and daydreaming), that have been inserted in throughout the years. I do remember finding Shayla's leech-like attachment to the wine bottle very amusing, so I let her continue to suck the bottle of any life it had left for most of the evening. 

Later that night I was holding Shayla, who was very bubbly and happy (probably from the droplets of wine that she had managed to slurp up), and wondered what would happen if I suddenly roared as loud as I could like a lion. I did this. She immediately started crying.

This is the exact image I had in mind during my roar.

I am pretty sure I scarred her for life and ruined her entire childhood. If I went back in time and changed this moment so that I thought better of my actions and did not turn my curiosity into reality, I do not think Shalya would be the Shayla I know today. She does seem to be a completely fine and normal 12 year old now, but I know I had to have messed something up. The look on her face was pure horror. I can only imagine the tricks that were played on her maturing baby brain.

Another time I was playing with Shayla at my grandmother’s house. Yet again, I was trusted to be alone with an infant. She was my doll as far as I was concerned, but she was way cooler because she was alive. Like Toy Story. Anyway, I was playing salon with her, so I set her on the bathroom counter, and began styling what little hair she had. I turned around to get a brush, turned back and whooooooop, Shayla is falling off the counter, head first. It was all in slow motion. I was just watching her fall, in full panic mode. 

But, by some miracle, I caught her before she hit the ground. This time, though, she didn’t seem phased at all by her near death experience. There was no lion roaring, so everything was fine. She just looked up at me, completely at ease. There may have even been a smile on her face.

I, however, was traumatized for life. I had almost killed a baby. It was at this point that it struck me that she was not a doll, but a real human being. Never again did I put her on any surface elevated from the ground. Nor did I tell any adult, or anyone for that matter, about how I almost dropped Shayla on the bathroom tile floor. 


(...I guess its out now.)