While scanning this and that for Mag#52, I was happy to find subjects that piqued my interest. The list of talent is prodigious, old friends, new names.
I found this interesting proposal, part of Free-Write February. On a new discovery, RAD , a blog that poses this question:
" How did you handle unhappy days as a kid"?
Depending on what caused my unhappiness, whether a school related irritation, or outrageous demands by my parents, I somehow survived by taking a deep dive into fantasy. Standing in front of the big mirror in Mom's room, I soon started to resemble Rita Hayworth, Lana Turner, or on a very good (or bad) day, Ginger Rogers, dancing backwards, in high heels, with Fred Astaire. Becoming a star in my own mind rescued me.
Being pushed face first into a snow bank, strangely led to my first Valentine's Day card. I was sworn enemies with that know it all, Marlon, and I found him following me home from school on the day after a messy New York snow storm. I think because I got a perfect grade on a test and he didn't, it definitely drove our emnity over the edge. I stuck my tongue out at him. That sealed my fate.
He tackled me in front of the A&P. I fought to win, kicked him in some private parts, and spit snow in his face. Old ladies emerging from the A&P yelled at him to leave this poor little girl alone. Bully! I ran away, backwards, (just like with Fred Astaire), dodging snow balls.
St. Valentine's Day was on a Sunday that year, and the doorbell of our apartment rang at about 10:00 AM. We were in the kitchen at a late breakfast and The New York Times, becoming more crumpled by the minute, slipped out of my startled Dad's hands. What the...!! He called to my Mom to "get it".
She came back with a smile on her face. "A boy is here to see you". I was 9, and my Mother looked as if might be possible after all that someone would want this skinny minny.
"His name is Marlon and he wants to give you something, go to the door". I dove under the table and fell on the Arts and Leisure section of the Times, my Mom's favorite, which lay on the floor. "No no no," I stage whispered. "He's going to kill me"!
On the contrary, Marlon handed my Mom an icky, sparkly card that showed his embellished wishes for me to be his Valentine. Please 'splain love to me!! I promptly and wildly ripped the card in half. Marlon didn't witness his love torn asunder, having been asked to leave, as poor Linny wasn't feeling too well. My Dad peered over his glasses and said, "Someday you'll be looking for one of those". Card, guy??
That was a day that I danced a lot with Fred.
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