I have always been a dramatic person. I LOVE a little drama. I have always envisioned myself as a rock star-except I can’t play anything and while my voice is okay, I come from the school of “If you can’t sing good, then sing LOUD”. I love to sing and I love music and I am amazing at music trivia and movie trivia. I was raised in a house by a Mom who was all about Old Hollywood and I can quote movie lines and song lyrics with the best of them. I’m all about escapism. One of my earliest memories, I had to be 4 or 5 was laying on my bed, I was supposed to be taking a nap, wondering if I was actually someone else having a dream about this little girl and I was going to wake up and find I wasn’t really me at all. Yeah, never happened
The earliest I can remember is falling out of the car when I was 3 or 4. We lived on South Olive Street and we were going to my Aunt Sandi and Cousin Leisa’s house. FYI-you’re going to hear alot about Leisa-she is 6 months older than me and my best friend since I was born. Anyway, Mom turned off of Hwy 72 into Green Acres and when she did the door flew open, the seat went forward and out I went-sliding across the asphalt on my hands and face. This would have been 1962-63 and even if the car HAD seatbelts no one used them. It was much better to just throw the kids in the backseat so they could be little projectile objects when you had to slam on your brakes. I’m sure my Mom was totally freaked out-I don’t remember. I remember my dad putting me in the floorboard of his Telephone Truck (He worked for United Telephone) and driving me to the hospital with me bleeding and crying and snotting all over his seat.
At that time the Emergency Room at the local hospital was only used when needed. You walked into a hallway and picked up a phone and told them you had an emergency and they sent someone down to treat you. We waited and waited and waited and I’m not sure how long-I’m pretty sure it wasn’t long-my Dad has never been a patient man and then he picked me up and we left and went to the Drs office where they proceeded to pull asphalt out of my face. I still have a chunk of it under the skin next to my right eye. My whole life people have accosted me with slobbery thumbs with a, “Hang on you’ve got something on your face…” ummmm, yuck and its not ON my face, it’s IN my face.
Shortly after that my Mom was at work at the Blackberry Patch and my Dad was babysitting all three kids. That translates to we were playing in the neighborhood and he was watching a baseball game or a football game and drinking beer . Except that I wasn’t playing in the neighborhood. I was in the bathroom, and I was probably about 4 maybe almost 5 years old. Anyway, this was back in the day when everyone used straight edge razors-not a single blade, but the double sided kind that you twist the handle and it opens up and you drop a blade in and twist it shut. And dad used a cup with a cake of soap and a brush and made the best smelling lather on his face and then shaved it off. So, I had my whole face lathered up and had shaved my forehead and before you think it the answer is NO. No, I didn’t think that girls didn’t shave and No, I didn’t think that you didn’t shave your forehead. I’m tell you I was 4 maybe 5 at this point. So back to the shaving. Humming as I shave my eyebrows off and coming down my cheek when all of a sudden “TRACEY!!” as my Dad hollers at me from the doorway and sideways goes the razor and Slice goes the skin on my cheek. Laid my cheek wide open. When you are little it covered pretty much my whole cheek now that I am old the cheek grew and the scar didn’t. I used to tell people that I got cut in a switchblade fight-seriously. A switchblade fight in Rolla Missouri….oh that was one of my better ones and there were LOTS of those. But I came by it honestly and making up stories where I was the victim was a specialty of mine. Trying to be special in a family where I felt like I really wasn’t. It took me a long time to figure out just how special I really am.
Probably the following summer (I’m guessing the summer before I started kindergarten) I was sitting on the front porch swinging my feet and my brother Donny was throwing a butter knife at a newspaper when Whoops! Overshot the newspaper and it hit my foot and went right in, butter knives are actually quite sharp-but then who knew? So another trip to the Emergency room and stitches in my foot. Geez. Add all that to the yearly hospital admission for pneumonia and double pneumonia and that was about all the fun one little girl could have. Then we moved to the country……but that’s another story.