I USED TO DESPISE THE COLOR PINK!!
CHAPTER ELEVEN OF MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY
(I decided not to change any names in this post.)
When we moved to Kentucky, we moved to a much more modern house than my parents owned in Georgia. Our first home was probably built in the 1950’s. It had wood floors and rugs. The home we moved into in Kentucky had carpet everywhere, even the kitchen, which my mom hated. The kitchen and dining room had a flat and rough, green plaid carpet that was hard to keep clean, but in the seven years we lived there she never asked my dad to replace it with any other kind of flooring; she just complained about how hard it was to clean. I think that was her indirect way of trying to communicate to him that she wanted him to take care of it, but of course he never did.
My parents didn’t communicate directly; they hinted at things to each other. I learned this way of trying to make my needs known to others which has gotten me in more trouble than I care to think about. Direct communication – say what you mean and mean what you say – that’s how I try to communicate now. But at times when I feel a little fearful about asking for something I need, I fall into the old habit of dropping hints. Not good! I’ve done this at Christmastime about things I want. I hope my husband gets my hints, but nine times out of ten, he doesn’t. So now as much as I wish he could read my mind, I’ve learned that if I want something specific, I have to tell him what it is! We laugh about it now, but the first few Christmases we celebrated together were disappointing to me, because of my inability to directly communicate with him.
Our new home in Kentucky had shag carpet all throughout the rest of the house. It was a grass green color in the living room, hallway and my parents bedroom. My brother Eddie’s room was a dark blue with heavy dark blue drapes and light blue painted walls. My room had the longest shag carpet that was a mixture dark pink, light pink and white. The walls were pink and the window had medium pink curtains that were drawn back with sashes and had a ruffle hanging over the top of them. I had to live in that pink room for seven years, so by the time we left to move to California, I hated the color pink. But what saved me from totally hating my room was all of the French Provincial furniture I bought from Sears. My mom got my bed and mirror for my dresser, but I saved up babysitting money for my desk, dresser, and nightstand. Here are some pictures I found on the internet of what my furniture looked like.
I didn’t even like for any of my clothes to be pink! It took me years to get that out of my system. My favorite color now is purple or any shade of it, but guess what color goes well with those colors? Yeah, pink. Oh well. I’m over it now.
I always had my own room growing up since I was the only girl. My brothers had to share a room until we moved to Kentucky. But there were still only three bedrooms until my brother Wade built his own room down in the basement. So I assume they shared a room until that happened, but I’m not sure. I have no recollection of whether they shared a room for awhile there. But they must have since I think they still had their twin beds when we left Georgia. By the time we moved, though, they were teenaged boys who needed their own space. They are only a couple of years apart in age, but have very different personalities. Wade only had one year of high school left when we moved, so he probably built his room that year. He started working after high school and had a different schedule than Eddie and I. We had a bus to catch in the mornings for school, so my mom didn’t have to take us to school any more. Riding a school bus was a new experience for us. My mom always dropped off and picked up all of us until then.
I remember feeling self-conscious about riding the bus. It was a new experience for me and just one more opportunity to have to be around kids I didn’t know yet and eventually deal with even more peer pressure. I know there were times if a friend was mad at me for something stupid, they wouldn’t save me the seat next to them; they would make sure someone else sat there just to upset me. I hated days like that. Kids made fun of other kids for the silliest reasons. But one particular winter day I was in for getting made fun of for something that wasn’t my fault at all.
We had gotten a ton of snow and the sidewalks were really icy. We had a front walkway that extended from our front porch to the sidewalk which was the path I went to catch the bus on our corner lot. That day I remember my mom telling me to be extra careful because the sidewalks were slick. I was being as careful as I could possibly be. I made it down front steps and the walkway. Then as I turned onto the sidewalk, I noticed all the kids were already on the bus and it was waiting for me. So of course they were all waiting for me. I felt like the world had its eyes glued to me. Just when I thought I was going to make it just fine, I slipped. My lunch and books went flying up in the air while I fell backwards landing hard on my butt. No one came to help me. I just sat there feeling really embarrassed with all the kids’ laughing ringing in my ears. Then I noticed that the bus was starting to leave, so I just sat there and started crying. Someone came out of the house to get me I think. I don’t remember much after that point. I think my mom just took me to school, because I had to go in and change my wet pants. But I was sore and had to hear the kids make fun of me all day long. Fortunately, it passed quickly. After that I never wanted to ride the bus again, but my mom said I had to. So for a long time I just kept to myself. It began to feel like the shell I had crawled into when we first moved just kept growing, adding rooms as the years went on.