well, here's my story*. I hope you find it informative and entertaining.
It all started way back in June of 1960, during a rather nasty and unexpected June thunderstorm in Houston County, Tennessee. My dad was at work at the Ford dealership in town, and my Mom was trapped at home with her two young daughters. The girls, the oldest a rambunctious toddler, and the youngest just learning how to walk, were quite a handful. Rain and hail were falling all around the area, and one of the neighbors had just told my mother that a tornado had been spotted near the road toward town. so Mom bundled up the girls and headed down into the tiny basement of the house. it was barely bigger than a closet, but it would have to do, as there was nowhere else to go. Both my sisters, Jerri and Aleita were restless, and a bit scared, so the situation was somewhat tense for my Mom.
Well, to make a rather long and somewhat uneventful story short, the tornado that had been spotted didn't touch down, and everyone was safe. Well, ALMOST everyone. Needless to say, Mom was a bit miffed about her current conditions, and Dad, not having been home to witness the occurrences, was less than sympathetic. the ensuing fight was, to all accounts, the "Most exciting thing Houston County had experienced in 30 years". But the fight I refer to is only important to the story in a very small way. you see, while the argument was supposed to be a real doozey, the making up was (according to Dad, at least) even MORE spectacular. That was where I came in.
In time, I was born, and my Mom learned that her life was forever and irrevocably changed, though for better or worse was yet to be seen. First off, I was a large baby, and my Mom, at the time, was not. This was NOT good, but we hardly need to go into the details, do we? I was also a very inquisitive and adventurous child, and this caused no end of hardship and heartache to BOTH my parents.
As I grew, I became more and more independent, and it seemed that, even at an early age, I was determined to be different from the rest of humanity. I can remember very clearly an incident that points this out clearly. We were walking in an area with a lot of shops and stores, and we were coming up to where Santa was sitting on his throne, talking to children, one at a time. The line of kids was long, and Dad said we didn't have time to talk to Saint Nick. Being the logical, if naive, individual I was, I pointed out that there WAS no line on our side, and immediately ran up to talk to santa. Of course, the fact that I was using the exit didn't bother me one bit, since I was gonna talk to chat with the Claus-meister. Alas, a pair of strong arms grabbed me at the last second, and I was tossed over Dad's shoulders, kicking and screaming, "I wanna see Santa! I WANNA SEE SANTA!!!"
Bits and flashes of memories taunt me as I write this, and yet refuse to form coherent stories, worthy of setting down. Vague images of me walking to school in Pomona, California, swiping pomegranates from a neighbor's bush and getting to school soaked in the juice, flying a kite near the LA County Fairgrounds, only to have the wind blow the kite into the path of an 18-wheeler on Interstate 10, my two brothers and I finding a shopping cart near our house, pushing it to the top of a hill nearby, climbing in and trying to get it to go down the hill without tumbling over and over, spilling us everywhere. These flashbacks and others fill my brain...
*Note. When reading this, please bear in mind -= Rule #1 of Dealing With Dave =-
"NEVER take Dave seriously!"