When I was around eight years old, I wanted to go to Disney World. Of course, I wanted to summer with Mickey and Minnie! What a fabulous idea! But, for whatever reason, my parents shot me down, told me no, maybe next year. Well, that wasn’t good enough for me, so I launched a campaign for the summer vacay of my dreams. Nothing sophisticated; I just took a bunch of posters and copied paper listing the reasons I had to be at Walt Disney World that July and strategically placed them around my home and in my parent’s cars. My crusade lasted a little over a month. I believe the “ad” that ultimately got me to the sunshine state was in their shower. Yes, I had taken a ladder and duct taped a poster that promoted the Walt Disney Resort right there on the ceiling above the tub. You’ve got to admit that was crafty for an eight-year-old. An eight-year-old who went to Disney that summer! Holla!
I guess I must have been about twelve when I wrote the Declaration of My Independence. See, my grandfather was right when he said I was grounded more than American Airlines back then and on this particular occasion, I believe I was extra grounded because I had rolled my eyes at my mother and told her I hated her spaghetti. But I needed to be emancipated because there was a super cool lock in at the skating rink where all of my friends were going to get pink eye that weekend. If I was going to have any shot at conjunctivitis, I had to get creative, so I took one of our nation’s most precious legal documents and rewrote it to benefit myself. It worked, and I ended up with a stomach virus, but still. Kudos to pre-teen me getting all legally blonde and into amendments and all.
Let’s skip to freshman year in high school. We were at my best friend’s home painting signs for the homecoming game, and I needed a sweatshirt for the next day’s theme wear. I was too tired to walk down the hill, so I grabbed some kid’s bike and the next thing I know I’m toothless in the ER. You see, as I was not accustomed to riding a bike with handle brakes, and I must have squeezed them too early because I flipped the bicycle and the handle went through my mouth breaking my two front teeth off. Now, this occurred two days before the formal dance, so there was no time for dental work, and my Jessica McClintock dress wasn’t going to wear itself. I had two choices; sit at home and be a victim or attend my first formal dance sans teeth. Guess who had soup at the four-star restaurant that evening? This chick.
Do not ever count me out.
Let’s see, oh yeah, I was hit by a car in Target parking lot when I was around 28 years old. As in, I was walking into Target, and this girl was talking on her cell phone and slammed her green Taurus into my person, and I flew onto her windshield. I got to ride in an ambulance but did not require hospitalization for that one. I was back in the gym that week.
I swear I’m the terminator, y’all.
After my son was born, I ended up with an EPIC case of pneumonia. After a couple of trips to the Dr, one ER visit and one semi-incompetent hospitalization experience, I ended up in another town’s hospital with three pints of blood and a chest tube with matching vacuum pack to suck the junk out of my collapsed lung. Believe me when I say this is not a great way to spend the holidays. But you know what?
I am stronger now.
You know why?
Because I do not quit.
They call me… relentless.
My children, especially my son with autism, deserve a relentless mother.
And a relentless advocate.
Merriam-Webster defines relentless as continuing without becoming weaker.
Somebody do me a favor and pass this on to anyone who may not know who I am. Just in case they are wondering…
I am relentless.
This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday (FTSF) with Finding Ninee. Each week on FTSF we receive a sentence to finish. This week’s sentence was They call me…