This Was Me

This was me.

As a child, there was never a moment when I wasn't a total mess. I distinctly remember at a very young age my mother getting me ready for church or to go out and she'd say to me, "Now go sit on the couch and wait for me and on the way there do not touch anything or do anything. Just go straight to the couch and sit there until I come get you." Inevitably, every single time, by the time she got to me I'd have holes in my tights, a missing button or two, hair a mess and possibly some dirt or stains on my clothes. Of course I'd have no idea how any of it happened.

I was a rough tumbler. I loved to catch bugs and climb trees and rummage through the garbage dumpsters. At every meal, and I do mean every meal, no matter how hard I'd try not to, something ended up spilled all over me or the table. As young as age 5 I was climbing trees that towered over a 2-story building. I loved to make forts and climb things and if there was ever anything too daring for the other kids to try, I'd be the first one to step up and volunteer. My friends and I once made an Evil Knievel ramp (out of an old discarded coffee table) and my first attempt at it landed me in the ER. In fact, many of my childhood escapades landed me in the ER beginning with my very first trip at age 2 having my stomach pumped after eating paint. I did many things my parents don't even know about to this day such as using the pipes in the basement as monkey bars (good thing I was a tiny little thing -- I used to hang from the pipes by my knees and swing back and forth to gain momentum then jump down and land on my feet) or climb out of my second story bedroom window not to sneak out but just for the adventure of it (hang out the window, drop down onto the porch overhang, step onto the mail box then onto the porch railing then onto the front porch --simple!). I'd gather the neighborhood kids around and say, "Wanna see me climb out that window?" I couldn't have been any older than 6 or 7. There was a restaurant that was off a main road from our house --I knew how to get to using the "backway" and even though I wasn't allowed to play there, I'd often find myself sneaking off anyway because the building had these huge beams on an angle from the ground up to the roof -- and I loved to climb up them and get onto the roof and walk all around the roof and go all the way to the very edge and peer over at my scary-cat friends looking up to me from the ground. On the playground I could climb the swing set and sit on the very top bar. That skill often came in handy when we wanted to lower or higher a swing --I'd climb up and rearrange the chains accordingly.

I hated wearing shoes and even if I was made to, as soon as I got out of sight off they come. I took pride in the fact I could walk across hot pavement barefoot or run lightening fast across the gravel. At the end of each day my feet were black as night. My knees were always skinned and I hated band aids so whenever my Mom would put on on me, I'd go outside and rip it off and sometimes blood would trickle down my leg and dry that way --never bothered me!! My mother always kept my hair cut boyishly short and no doubt because she got tired of having to rip through the tangled mess each day. After lunch and until I bathed for the night, I always had a kool-aid mustache on my face and much of what I had eaten that day on my clothes. Dirt and I were best friends --I could wallow in it like a pig.

Everything had a multi purpose to me. A sleeping bag could be slept in or -- you could go down the wooden stairs in it at roller coaster speed. A roller skate could be a roller skate or -- a car for your Barbie to ride in. A kitchen cabinet door could be a door or -- --you could open it and sit on it and pretend you were sitting at a food counter at the dime store. A canopy bed could be a little girl's fantasy room or --- you could swing on the poles like a fireman's pole. A coconut shell could be just a shell or -- you can use it to store treasures such as Cracker Jack prizes and trinkets from the gumball machine. Mom's flower garden could be the results of her hard work and labor to make our front yard beautiful or -- it could be a jungle you had to hack your way through with a stick to escape the pirates that were chasing you. Crayons could be used for coloring or -- as silver bullets to be "shot" at the vampires that were after you.

It wasn't that I didn't enjoy being a girl because I did but even with my adventurous spirit and dare devil ways, I was anything but athletic --not very sporty at all so often the boys didn't want to play with me, "You throw like a girl!" Sports were really of no interest to me and despite my inability to keep my clothes pristine clean like my sister did, I loved dresses and pretty frilly things. My very favorite thing to wear was my black shiny shoes. I loved how they clicked on the ground when I walked and I loved how shiny and pretty they were. Yes, I hated to wear shoes but I did make an exception for my pretty black shiny shoes. Playing "house" was one of my favorite past times and I always always was underfoot when my Mom was cooking. It was a thrill for me when she'd pull a chair up to the stove and let me stir something in the pot. I loved playing with baby dolls and when I didn't have one to play with (probably because I lost or broke the ones I had been given), I'd pretend my pillow was my baby doll and I'd rock it to sleep or sing songs to it.

Growing up I suffered greatly from Middle Child Syndrome of course, due to my birth order but also in part to my God given personality. I guess "suffered" is quite a strong word and perhaps better stated, experienced MCS. Born 2 years and 2 weeks after my older sister, I was the child that came along to break the molds. The second born to my parents and the 3rd born to my family (3rd grandchild on my Dad's side), I was unlike either of the two oldest whom were both the picture of perfection in every way. I doubt either one of them ever had a speck of dirt or dust on them. Their long curly locks stayed perfectly in place all the day through. They could quietly sit for hours on end looking at books or quietly entertaining themselves. They could sit at the table most prim and proper never ever spilling a glass of milk. For everything they were, I was not. For much of my childhood, it often felt to me like my parents and other adults were trying desperately to conform me into another Marsha or Val. And then, 4 years and 7 months after my birth, another one came along. My little sister was born and she was the most adorable baby our family had ever seen. She was cute and smiley all of the time.

And there I was sandwiched in between perfection and absolute cuteness. And there I was -- skin kneed, kool-aid mustache, spaghetti stained shirt, dirty feet me.

What does any of this have to do with my Army days or even Staff Sergeant Newsome?

Absolutely everything.