Kicking at the Tall Grass

So when I was in high school, I was a major nerd, a band geek, an innocent wall flower (until my parents moved out of state).  Wasn't in the popular group, wouldn't have ever made homecoming court (well, I didn't, so that's a fact) and got dance invitations by default (until they made me that fake ID in my back yard. What was my 'new' name?  Oh, just 'Jenifer Cox' - they thought it was a joke, I took it on as a lifelong challenge.  I KID I KID I KID...just a challenge for after my 40's)). That's what I remember, so that's what's gotta be true. Right?

The past is truthfully depicted in this artist's rendering:

Please notice the look of sad angst on the Wallflower's face as the popular kids (with the big hair) dance around her.

But then, a ghost from my algebraic past, a dude (not a dude-ette) who knew me before I started putting out (the garbage and doing other daily chores), told me there may have been another version to the story.  Something along the lines of this:

Please note the extra detail in the stick people.  The artist is quite proud of this. (And yes, the artist may have been a little soccer-player-obsessed back in the day.)

My Daddy putting a (non-violent but totally intimating) field around little old me?  His oldest daughter?  The one he thought would be virtuous until she was 35? (Hmm...42 now, subtract, carry the one...)  Say it isn't so!

Yet, I know it to be so.  Or at least I can move along that way of thinking.  Exhibit A is the above testimony.  Exhibit B is the testimony I received on a hot night in August, the year of 2007.  I was wearing a really crappy peasant blouse that did nothing for my figure.  But who cares.  The Class of 1987 was at Ziggy's celebrating their 20th.

Gratuitous shot from that night...I'm on the left...Yes, I have cured that problem and have eaten 200 sandwiches...(I also got rid of the shirt)

I ran into a guy I hadn't seen for...well, over 20 years.  Had thought about him here or there, but to tell the truth, at least the truth my friends remind me of, we pretty much couldn't stand each other at the end.  BUT.  Over lukewarm beer in plastics glasses (OOOOOOHHH.  Sing to the tune of  "Short skirt and...long jacket" by Cake!! LOL!), I was told a sordid tale.  One of misery caused by intrigue.  One of two parental units stopping at another parental unit's house and telling her, in no uncertain terms, that her son was to stay away from their daughter.  Well, THAT sucked.  That dude gave me my first French kiss...oh.  Maybe that's why.

Parents are sneaky as shit.  I didn't hear about Exhibit A until this past weekend and proved it by water-boarding my dad.  Nah, I just texted him:

Gotta Love a Wise-Cracking Dad! :)

Exhibit B was 6 years ago. Could I hold anything over my kids' head that long?  Would there be a time when I'd go behind their back to change what was happening in their lives?  Would I?  Would you?

I don't have girls.  Thank the Dear Lord in Heaven.  (SOMEONE loves me!) The hardest job I have is to raise decent boys and make sure they know how to give a compliment, how to work hard at what is right, how to show true affection, how to put the seat back down and what a condom is, when and if the time comes. The oldest knows that I can't be a grandma before I have sex again (...and the way that's going...)

Did Daddy save me or not?  Maybe I should go back and give it a shot with the ones he swore off....or maybe all of this was like rustlin' up 'sum 'rattlers in the tall grass.

Make sure your boots cover ONLY where you don't want to get bit.

Oh, and all artist renderings are on eBay.  At least until the 7 year old gets up and sees them and laughs me out of the house!