From the beginning 

The Story of My Life

I was born February 14th, 1977.  Growing up I liked having a birthday on Valentine’s Day. It was fun being associated with red, pink, and hearts.  As an adult, my fiance and my family arranged to have Singing Valentines perform for me. They were done by quartets that were part of a barbershop chorus that my dad sang with. He also headed-up the committee for the Singing Valentines. The first time I got one was when they sang for my fiancé and me at a fancy restaurant. The next two times were at my parent’s house in Fairport, New York.  

Some of my earliest memories include riding on the back of my mom’s bike on a little metal seat with a blue pad. Mostly I remember riding to my preschool class at BOCES in Perinton. We lived about a mile from the village of Fairport in the town of Perinton. Our house was in a sub-division but it felt like our part of our yard was in a deep forest. We had some pretty tall trees.  A vestige of the original forest made up an area of land adjacent to our neighborhood that included trails and a creek. It was hilly and despite its small size it was easy to get turned around in. I had many adventures in the woods.

Back to my pre-school class. I remember how the room had giant blocks, and little tables where we had graham crackers and juice for snack. There was a big mirror on one wall that I later found out was actually one-way. The teachers would let the parents watch the kids during part of the class. I don’t remember how I found out my mom had been watching me.  Maybe I had suspected it and my mom told me about the mirror when I was older.

 When it was time for bed as a pre-schooler, my dad would be the seven-o-clock horsey (the time changed depending on my age). I got on his back and we went up the stairs to my room. The trick was for me to not let my dad turn off the light in my room as we passed under the switch. At least once we went back and forth past the light as I kept lunging at it. It was hard for me to stay on his back and accomplish this maneuver because I was giggling so much.   

Another memory is watching “Mystery” with my dad. The opening credits were illustrated with scary music in the back-ground and had a young lady sighing while draping herself over a parapet.

Playing “Pooh Sticks” with my mom is a fond recollection. We would walk down to the culvert pipe under the path on the 9th grade school grounds and throw sticks into the creek and watch them come out the other side. One of the roads in my old neighborhood connects to that path. One one side of the path is Hart’s Woods, on the other side is the school’s baseball field where the school’s team played and I had gym class. 

My dad made a tree fort for me out of a sheet of wood attached to four trees on the south side of our house near the garage. I climbed up its wooden ladder during three seasons of the year, spending many hours up there by myself and with friends. We would have snacks, and play with Barbies that we would launch off the side into a kiddie pool. We had them do fancy dives as a competition, often the dolls would hit the edge of the pool and we would laugh diabolically. I slept there on summer nights. 

When I was growing-up, it seemed like the 1980s were a transition decade; and also a cross between the 70s and 90s. Being in grammar school in the eighties I was influenced by fashion from the 70s. That fashion influence was reflected in how I dressed my toys. I had a pair of bell-bottom pants, red with big white flowers for my Barbies and my Kens took turns wearing a purple leisure suit. Those were some of my older sister’s doll clothes. I remember one of my Barbies coming with a peach-colored full-skirted gown. I had a light blue leopard print shirt with light blue short shorts for Ken that someone had bought for me.

Throughout the 80s and 90s I dressed myself in a variety of styles including; looking like a jock, a hippie, being preppy, kind-of-dorky, almost head-banger, popular. I wore long corduroy shorts with argyle socks, penny-loafers, and a cameo at the neck of my blouses. I wore mini-skirts and then a long stripped cotton skirt the next day.  I wore shaker sweaters with long beaded necklaces draped down my back and neon accessories. I remember one out-fit I had that was puffy olive colored pants and a red shirt. Someone at school told me I looked like a pimento olive. 

If you are ever wondering if it hurts to have your tongue stuck to something metal, well, it does. One day on a cold winter’s day when I was waiting at our bus-stop with friends, I said to my friends, “Do you dare me to stick my tongue on the pole of this street sign?” I had seen a movie where a kid had done that, and wanted to find out if it was true you could get stuck.  Also, show my friends that I was brave. Sure, enough it’s true.  After some panicking - hoping the bus wouldn’t come while I was stuck there, I finally got loose, minus some of my tongue. 

An on-going dare we had was to demonstrate our courage by riding our bikes around a certain circular driveway in our neighborhood.  It was in front of a house three doors down from my house. The owners were mean and scary, they would yell at us if they caught us in the driveway.  And the house seemed almost haunted.  It was dark in the front with big, over-grown trees. If you could ride your bike slowly, you got extra points on the dare.

Part Two

I took down-hill ski lessons on a hill in a county park close to us. When I got better, I skied on a slope with longer, steeper trails. My brother was a skier and we spent a lot of time together on the slopes. He taught me how to do the hockey-stop maneuver. We would abruptly stop right in front of our parents, who would be standing at the bottom of the hill, spraying them with powder. I think they probably had mixed feelings about us doing it as the fluffy ice crystals covered their feet. They were glad that we were having so much fun, but a little concerned that my brother’s influence was a little too dare-devil.

With ski poles, he set up side-by-side slalom courses where we would race each-other. After watching my brother doing impressive jumps, and him showing me how to do them, I was brave enough to launch myself in the air and attempt aerial tricks. I was able to do a simple jump off a small ramp, then eventually I could do a smooth Spread Eagle and stomp the landing. He encouraged me to try new, challenging things, while looking out for my safety. He focused on the importance of following the rules on the slopes; of respecting other skiers and the slope conditions. And how to check your equipment and how to fall correctly. My brother has a fun way about him. He would dress in different outfits while skiing. The memories of him going down a hill in a black suit with tails flowing behind him paints a picture in my mind of a time of freedom and exhilaration. 

Part Three

Our shady backyard was perfect for make-believing that it was a day-camp and I was a counselor at it. One tree had a root system that protruded from the ground in a v-shape where I made a campfire circle with small stones. I gathered twigs for a fanciful fire. There was a small evergreen that had sparse branches that drooped to the ground. Under the branches was another part of the camp. I would lead my imaginary campers around to different stations in the backyard. There were areas for sports, music, and learning outdoor skills in the remote-feeling backyard. It was quiet and peaceful back there. 

A little stream about two feet wide was at the edge of our property that my friends and I played a lot in. We would dam it up and make small waterfalls. I remember cool breezes going through the branches of the trees and sitting on the earth and feeling part of nature. 

The Crimson King Maple in our front yard made a great climbing tree. I would sit up there for hours - with friends or by myself ( alone time, watching the world go by).  It had a lower branch that was parallel to the ground that my friends and I used for gymnastics. We did flips and pin-wheels over and over again on that branch - until we got dizzy. 

I felt a connection to that tree. I would “hug” the tree and it would feel alive. My parents put a swing on one of the branches a few years ago. The kids had a blast on it. They are older now but still enjoy the rush of cool air, the brief second of floating before coming back down, and fooling around on the swing. The latest game they played was trying to tag each other with a ball when they were swinging.