A coworker was wearing a very cute dress today, I complimented her on it. She started to tell me where I could go to get it. I said, ‘well, I really don’t wear dresses very often.’ She acknowledged that I don’t, and asked why.
I told her: ‘Its just left overs from childhood.’
My mother had a ‘girls wear dresses’ kind of mentality. She was a 50’s era child, and I was a 70’s era child. Talk about a generation gap. I hated dresses. I could’t climb trees in them!!! My legs would get scratched up! (Needless to say, I spent a lot of years with scabby knees.) And it felt like someone forcing me to prim and proper…the last thing I have ever wanted.
Combine that with living in the country and having an outdoorsman for a father. I was destined to be a tomboy. My earliest memories, are watching dad skin rabbits after a day of hunting, or picking up empty casings on the rifle range. I skipped Sunday school regularly and went and hid in the Monterey Pines that grew all over the church property. (probably an early sign of my soon to materialize anti-organized religion status.)
I loved fishing with dad for rainbow trout, and if I couldn’t be found, I was probably wandering around in the woods by our house, in a tree, or busy collecting arrowheads, snails and caterpillars somewhere. I wore dresses to school and church – as required by parental law, but as soon as I was home, I stripped out of them, put on overalls and cowboy boots and went and played to my heart’s delight. My favorite toys as a child? My Tonka dump truck, my dime store plastic parachuter (the one you threw up in the air), and my bike . Oh and don’t forget…my tin foil wrist bands and my jump rope, that gave me wonder woman like powers. I could deflect bullets and make any man tell the truth with those things.
I had my hunting license when I was 8, and loved to target shoot. I loved horses, climbing up as far into a tree as I could get, and just staying there. I used to play smash the metal object with the trains too, and would run and hide in the storm drain and scream while the train went over my head. Picking berries from the bushes that grew along the railroad tracks and talking with the hobo’s that lived in the brambles there. I used to think they had the coolest lifestyle. They all knew my name, (so did every cop in town – I was the city managers daughter in a small town, so I was always being watched out for). Mom mother would scold me for speaking to the hobos. But they were really nice guys, were lonely, and their faces lit up when I spent a few minutes talking with them.
Those were the happiest days of my life.
My coworker told me to listen to this song.
It made me weep.
I’m glad I’ve preserved my tomboy as Mr Jones well knows..