When I was a Boy

When I was thirteen months old, my mother gave birth to a little girl. My new sister was named Mary Elizabeth, but everybody called her Molly. She was born early and had problems with her lungs so she had to stay in the hospital for a few weeks. But she got better and came home.

One evening I could hear her from her crib, and I told my mother, "Baby's crying." Molly was having problems breathing and my mother called my father who came home and rushed her to the doctor. Molly died that evening.

My parents decided that I was too young to go to the wake or the funeral and nobody knew what to say to me about what had happened so nobody said anything about it.

It wasn't until I was much older that I heard about my sister Molly. Her death has had a big impact and I continue to miss her.

My Turn to Share

What’s some stuff not everyone knows about me? Let’s see. For some reason, people usually express surprise when I tell them I was born in Vancouver, Canada. (That’s me in the picture with two of my “buddies” from the old days.) My family lived in White Rock, a quiet seaside community just north of the American border, until my father was transferred to Seattle when I was eight years old.

That’s not much of a revelation, though. So what else can I share? Well, I used to play saxophone in elementary and junior high. I was first chair in the stage band. I say this not to brag but to point out the reason why: practice. I had weekly private lessons and something my teacher once said has always stuck with me: “If I skip practice for a day, I can notice it. If I skip for two days, my audience can notice.” I followed this mantra to become a better saxophone player, and in the many years since then I have used it as a concise reminder of the value of diligence.

On a more embarrassing note, I’ll share a cautionary tale from my freshman year of high school. On the first day of school my English teacher told us to write a short paragraph about our favorite movie, television show, or book. Rather than applying myself or giving any effort at all, I goofed around gabbing with a buddy until five minutes before the end of class, at which point I dashed off a few sentences about the latest movie I’d seen. The next day, the teacher read off a list of names including my own. The chosen ones were escorted down the hall to a class for remedial writing instruction. As soon as I sat down and my new teacher asked us to read a sentence and figure out what was wrong with the first letter in the first word (it wasn’t capitalized), I knew I had screwed up royally this time. I immediately apologized and asked to return to my original class, but I hadn’t figured on how many times my new teacher had heard the line, “I don’t belong in this class.” So it took a week of pleading – “I’m sorry! I’m a goofball! I didn’t take the assignment seriously! Let me write another essay and prove it to you – pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaase!” – before the teacher finally relented and allowed me to remedy my mistake.

Thank goodness my parents never found out. Not to mention my saxophone teacher!

Timid Girl 2

As the youngest of three, I was definitely babied. I was pretty fearless at home, but once I left the safety of my family, I was a very timid child. I remember that a high school teacher commented that she had never heard my voice - which made me even more embarrassed and shy. It didn't help that I was taller than most everyone, especially the boys. I have no idea exactly when that shyness ended (I know that it still exists deep inside), but when it finally came time to make my own way in the world, I had to speak up for myself. My first time speaking in front of an audience when I was in my 30's was a huge flop, but surprisingly the world didn't end. When I subbed, I was constantly "on stage" and I came to enjoy the give and take with the students. Now I can speak to auditoriums of students with very little fear. I guess it proves that you can change your life, or maybe it shows that once you are able or allowed to exert some control in your own life, you can feel less fearful.

Monkeys and turtles and bees, oh my!

When I was a kid, I was afraid of everything.

I was afraid of bees (they can sense fear) and dragonflies (if they land on your face they can sew your lips shut).

I was afraid of water. My fear intensified after I almost drowned, accidentally jumping into the deep end of the Holiday Inn swimming pool when I was trying to splash my older sister.

I was afraid of donkeys. When we visited Reptile Gardens in South Dakota, my parents wanted a picture of me standing next to the donkey at the petting zoo. "He's going to bite me!" I said. "He won't bite you," my parents assured. They took the picture and the donkey bit me.

I was afraid of turtles. My fear didn't stop me from entering the turtle races during the Park and Rec summer program at the local playground, because I didn't have to actually touch the turtle, all I had to do was bring a dollar from home and a turtle would be raced in my name. Then one year my turtle won, which meant I had to carry the turtle home so it could race at the next level of competition. Gingerly I held the turtle by its shell and ran until it began waving its claws, then I'd drop it on the ground. That's how I made it home, about five feet at a time.

But my biggest fear was a statue that my mother had in the living room. It showed a monkey sitting on a pile of books written by Darwin, examining a skull. I'm not sure which scared me more, the monkey, or the skull. In order to make sure that this evil monkey didn't do anything bad to me, every night when I went to bed I had to honor that statue by going to sleep facing it. I went to bed facing the same direction for years.

Thank goodness those fearful days of childhood are over!

My Biggest Childhood Fear...

I grew up in south Florida, and I often hopped on my bike and rode three miles to the beach. So you'd think my biggest fear might be the occasional alligator that I encountered stretched across the bicycle path OR the nearly 9-foot lemon shark that swam within a few feet of me when my father and I were standing along the seawall. Yes, these were a little "off putting" to say the least, but the creatures that gave me nightmares were the giant blue land crabs!

Whenever we had a heavy rain, the land crabs were flooded from their shallow holes, and they came out snapping. I hated going out my front door on a rainy morning because the crabs often took refuge on our front porch--not just one, but sometimes four or five. They were blue and white and pink and sometimes spanned more than a foot with their claws outspread. I could hear the clicking of their feet on the terrazzo floor of the porch, and their claws looked strong enough to snap off a toe or a finger. There was a nearby park where my family often went for picnics, but I always avoided the sandy/muddy area sloping down to the pond. It was pockmarked with holes, often with large eyes peering out at me and with a claw ready to attack. No, I was never actually grabbed by one of those claws--except in dreams.

Would one of these scare you?

So Many Secrets

I was born so blond you couldn't see my eyebrows or eyelashes. Soon my hair grew brown but for a highlight in front of my head that stayed blond. I didn't like it because people asked me why did my mother dye my hair. Worse yet, on the first Friday of the month the nuns, who were my teachers at Academia Santa Maria, made those students whose uniforms didn't fit the code stand in front of the whole school. It didn't fail. No matter how much my mother said that my highlight was natural, the nuns insisted that it wasn't. Now imagine that for a girl who was timid.

People think I am bubbly and energetic. Little do they know that those same teachers wrote home saying that I was too timid. Timid, believe it or not, I was. On top of that, my classmates had been speaking English since kindergarten. I was just learning. And did they laugh! There are certain words I still cannot say, like sheep. It comes out as "ship." Now take that last word and end it with a "t". I always say linen, never "sheet."

Speaking of cows. . .

When I was eleven I was a cow. Actually this is only half-true because I was only half a cow. My best friend, Leslie and I created a joint Halloween costume. We used a grocery bag for the head, added on ears and even curly paper eyelashes. We painted big brown spots on a sheet, braided yarn for a tail, and wore a cowbell. The best part was that we practiced walking in step, sitting and crossing our legs simultaneously. Leslie was the tallest girl in our class, so guess which half she got to be? And that meant all the kids at school felt entitled to slap me on the behind. It was worth it though. Sharing made for the best Halloween ever. My daughter was inspired to have this experience too. Here she is in '05 as Dolly Llama in a costume I created for her and her friend. She's lucky; she's the tall one.



More stuff you never knew about me:

I used to wake up in the dark and change into my school clothes then get back under the covers until it was light. I wanted to be ready. My father caught me at it one time and told me it was only 1:00AM. I'm the most eager person you're likely to meet.

I was hit by a flying saucer while walking my pet skunk. Wait—do you already know this story? Stephanie does because it shows we were meant to collaborate on Elizabeti's Doll. In Massachusetts, my father built stonewalls surrounding our land and flanking the steps that zigzagged up our back hill. I claimed a striped stone for my own, wrapped some rope around it and dragged it behind me—Pepé Le Pew. It was a windy day in early spring. Our aluminum snow saucers still leaned against the cellar door. One caught the current, flew across the yard, and hit me under the nose. You can still see the scar from the stitches. In high school I found an advertisement in a magazine from some children's book institute. I sent in a variation on this story and received a letter back assuring me I could have a career in children's books. Guess you could say I was marked for this.