She came.........May 14th, 1972.  With her dark skin and dark hair, a total opposite from my pale Irish complection and red hair.  She was an intruder, come to take the limelight off of me and turn it upon herself..............I was bitter.  Glacinda was her name, a combination of my mother's name, Linda and my maternal grandfather's name, Gleason.  She was adorable and completely annoying.  I was a rebel in a foreign land of aliens who were no longer completely bowled over by my dancing antics and my evil ways.  I would have to concoct other means by which to get the attention that I so deserved.

So, I started kindergarten and became a hypochondriac.  As a toddler I had been rather sickly, so I decided to carry this over into my rather grown up life as big sister and kindergartner.  I was surely going to die on a daily basis.  Every scrape or bruise was most definitely melanoma.  Bumps were of course cancerous tumors and I was convinced (with my grandmother's help) that if I did not eat all of the food on my dinner plate that I would develop leukemia.  I of course had no real clue as to what these diseases were, only that they killed people.  People like my Papa Majors who passed of stomach cancer.

I hated school, worse than Kiddie Kollege.  I didn't want to sit in a circle indian style for book reading time.  I didn't want to fingerpaint or play with blocks.  I wanted to be home, searching my body for discoloration and watching the Mod Squad!  This school thing was not for me!  My mind was too creative for this, it kept wandering, making up stories, my soul craved drama and I was not finding it here........that is until Brian Blanco decided to stick his hands down my pants one day during storytime......

Now let me tell you about my grandpa.  He was a 6ft 5" Dutchman with hands the size of hams.  He served both in the Army and the Air Force.  In the Air Force he was an airplane mechanic and continued on in that profession during his civilian life.  He had a tender, heart of gold, but that all changed when Brian Blanco's fingers did the walking.  He called the school and demanded a meeting with a mortified Mr. and Mrs. Blanco and my teacher.  He dragged me along with him and I had to stand there and listen as he pointed his large finger into the faces of Brian's parents and demanded that if they didn't do something with their little pervert, that he would.  And then, he turned on the teacher and demanded that Brian not be allowed within spitting distance of me in the future.  From then on, Brian was always on the opposite side of the circle during story time.

I adored my grandfather.  He would go to the store almost everyday to pick up things my grandma needed and always returned with something for me.  He would take me way out onto the country backroads, set me on his lap and let me "drive" his old Pontiac.  He would lead me around his farm explaining to me about all of the animals and the things growing in the garden.  He would take me into the garage and try to explain to me about how the engine in the car worked, as though I understood or even cared.  He was my hero and Brian Blanco's worst nightmare.

   

So, yes, this was my life, a life of table dancing, modelling, tv watching and attempted smoking.  I was a rebel, a loner.

As time would have it my hair began to grow, and let me tell you, when it began, it did not stop!!  It grew until I could sit on it.  As homely as I was, I must say that my hair has always been my shining glory.  Everywhere I went people would stop and look on in awe and my booty length, thick auburn curls.  I can remember my grandmother washing my hair in the sink.  I would stand on that vinyl kitchen table chair, bent over at the waist listening to my grandma mutter under her breath about how she had never seen so much hair on one person in her whole life!  It was at least a forty five minute ordeal as she would wash and condition one section at a time.  Then would come the combing which brought about more muttering and fretting.  Finally, she would sit me on the den floor and put my head under one of those old fashioned hair dryers that they used to use in the salons and such.  I would happily sit there and watch scooby doo, all snug as a bug in a rug as my hair dried.  Hours later I could often be found sound asleep under that warm dryer, hair still damp.

I LOVED being at my grandparents!  They had a small farm with goats, chickens, a horse and a bull that my grandpa had purchased to slaughter for the beef.  Unfortunately, my grandfather was an animal lover and named the bull, and we would walk out to the pasture, pet, feed and talk to said bull.  I will never forget the day that the butchers came to the farm, strung up our pet bull and slaughtered him.  My grandmother's freezer was full of what was left of what's his name.  It was tense and awkward as my family sat around my grandparents dinner table, pushing the steak around on our dinner plates.  It was dead (no pun intended) silent.  Finally, my grandmother spoke up and asked, "Does this beef taste a little gamey to you"?  I sighed in relief as one by one all of the adults agreed that the beef did not taste right at all.  It was quickly thrown into the trash, and so was the rest of what was left of what's his name in the freezer.

Thruout my life I came into contact with a bevy of animals.  We always had dogs, cats, or as I stated previously, animals on my grandpa's farm.  Which is why it was so exciting for my parents to take me to a local petting zoo. I walked among all the cute little animals petting the goats, pigs, ponies and a variety of other farm animals.  I was especially intrigued when we came upon the Llamas.  They were so funny looking and fun to pet.  I stood there stroking the nose of one particular llama as my mother and father explained the odd animals to me.  Suddenly, the llama reared back, made a strange noise from the back of his throat and let loose with a geyser of green slime.    

I stood stock still, mouth and eyes clamped shut, trying not to breathe for the odor.  And suddenly, I hear laughter from onlookers as my parents swooped down upon me.  I was literally covered from head to tow with llama loogie.  It was everywhere, in every nook and cranny.  My ears, my nose, down into my shoes and between my toes, and all thru my hair.  And the stench!  Oh my word it was awful.  I can remember people laughing at pointing at llama snot girl as my parents raced me to the car, removed my clothes and tried to clean me as best they could.  Once home, I was quickly immersed in the tub and scrubbed until my skin shown red.  The hair was a different story altogether.  As thick as it was it literally took weeks to get all of the green mess and stench out of my hair.  Needless to say, I have steered clear of llamas ever since.

It was around this time that the Lord began to deal with my parents about returning to church and raising me in the house of God.  And, my mother became pregnant with my sister Cindy.  Now what a way to go and mess up my perfect, only child, ultra spoiled, heathen life...........