When I was in second grade, a new family moved in behind us. Our neighborhood was one that still had the metal gates that let you see into your neighbor's yards, not the wooden 7-footers that surround the back half of your property like a fort. There was even a gate that went between our yards so there was easy access to go play.

A couple of weeks before school started, this new family was taking a walk on our street when they stopped to talk to my sister and I who were playing in the front yard. They introduced me to their daughter, Jamie, who was going to be in the same grade as me and from that moment on we were like best friends.

Jamie and I were never in the same class the next few years we went to school together, but we always managed to pair up during recess and anytime outside of school. I can't remember being inside my house except to sleep and eat because I was always outside playing. We would play soccer with all of our friends in her back yard or everyone would be in our yard jumping on our trampoline. On other days, we would find creative ways to make a buck or two by selling lemonade or collecting recycling to take downtown. With our hard earned cash, we would ride our bikes to the gas station about a mile away and buy a soda or candy. It's strange how times have changed because kids aren't even free to be in the front yard now, yet back in the early nineties, I was gone from sun up to sundown and nothing ever threatened my safety.

The ironic thing is that although this girl was my sworn best friend for life (remember how you would spit on it?) I never told her how complicated my life was. Maybe her parents knew and that's why they always offered to have my sister and I over at their house.

During these first few years with my father, we played the joint custody game. Most kids have to play a two-way game. I had to play a three-way version. Not only did we go back and forth between my dad and mom, we also went to my grandparents' house as well. That meant that the first weekend every month was spent at my mom's, the second and fourth at my dad's, and the third with Mamaw and PaHoney. Needless to say, I had to miss out on slumber parties that fell on alternate weekends.

With all of this custody battling going on, it is needless to say that there were the child psychiatrists involved. But I will say it with anger: I had to go to a child shrink. I went to two different ones. The first one was an older woman who's office was an old fashioned two story house that had been remodeled into a place of business. I remember that she always had Wheat-thins in her office and we got to snack on those. She was a very friendly lady and one time we even got to stay overnight at her house! (This was a disguise for "overnight evaluation")

The second doctor was a man in his fifties who had false teeth. I remember he would take them out just so me and my sister would laugh at him. His office always had a lot of books and so I occupied myself by reading most of them while my sister and I waited to be called in.

These visits were always just the doctor, myself, and my little sister. We were asked questions about what we were dreaming, how we feel, what makes us sad, if either party had done anything to upset us....basic potentially damaging evidence against one party. I'm not really sure who's side these doctors were on. I just assume that they were court appointed. I do know that Mamaw and PaHoney loved the first lady, but apparently she had a falling out with my father and that's why we had to change doctors.

I never really knew that this was abnormal when I was kid. I assumed other kids had three-way joint custody games to play and doctors to go see. It never really clicked until I was older that not every kid had to go through this routine. I gradually started getting angry.

Well not every story is going to be about V--. First of all, she was never a fundamental part of my life, and secondly, she does not deserve the privilege of being listed several times in this long tale. I will refer to her a few times, but you can pretty much tell from the previous story what she was all about.

So first grade started that fall and my dad enrolled my sister and me in a public school down the street. He took us a week before so we could meet our teachers. I instantly fell in love with mine.

She was a wonderful young woman, maybe twenty-four or twenty-five. She must have graduated not too long before because she told my father that this was her first year teaching. She had the friendliest smile and blond hair. The classroom was decorated in every color imaginable and she was busy putting name tags on all of the little desks. She showed me around the classroom and let me know that she was excited to have me in her class. I couldn't wait to go to school!

School started a week later and I still remember what I wore that day. This is 1991 so be careful before you start to laugh. I had on a knee length denim dress that fitted my little body but had a denim ruffle around the hip and puffy short sleeves. It was splashed with neon colors and was paired with a pair of white socks and pink Keds. My hair was in one of those lovely early nineties side-ponytails with a huge pink bow. My hair was curled which completed the look and made me catalogue ready for the little girls department.

I remember sitting down next to a boy who I thought was way cuter than my Ken doll. He was shorter than me because at this time I was one of the tallest kids in my grade, a trait that didn't disappear until almost high school.

We went outside to play during P.E. class that day, during which, I had to go to the restroom. I ran back into the school to go do my thing and returned momentarily. When I came back, I noticed that all of my classmates were gone. I politely asked another kid on the playground if he knew where Mrs. Martin's class went. The kid pointed to the gym and told me that everyone had gone back inside. Annoyed, I had to walk all the way back by myself to track down my classroom. I think the moment of embarrassment I felt pretty much set me up to not like school anymore.

Now, I was considered way ahead of my class when it came to smarts. I surpassed all of my classmates in reading and writing and was already through all of my readers by Christmas. My teacher had to give me second grade work the rest of the year so I wouldn't get bored. But despite the fact that I never got in trouble, made flawless grades on my report card, and received all kinds of praise from teachers and other students, I never wanted to go to school.

I still can't to this day figure out why I didn't want to be there. I had tons of friends that always asked me over after school, but the thought of being at school suddenly scared me. It's like my self confidence was flushed down the drain.

I would fake being sick to get out of going, and when that didn't work I would get "sick" at school so I could go home. My dad was so frustrated with me as was my teacher because she could not figure out what was wrong. She called him into conference one day and asked if she could put me in second grade because maybe I would be more comfortable. My brilliant father refused because he wanted me to stay with my friends that were my same age. You can tell he was looking out for my education right??

One day, my dad had called the school and told him that he was running late from work and would be about a half hour late picking me up. The office notified my teacher who told me not to worry because she had a special treat for me.

After school let out and everyone else left for our designated pickup spot, Mrs. Martin told me we were going to get a treat. We walked down the hall, through a brown door, and into a room that every student fantasizes about: The Teacher's Lounge. In there, she bought a Diet Coke and a bag of chocolate chip cookies. We took them back into the classroom and we ate on that and talked until finally my dad walked in to collect me.

Ever since that day, I never had a problem with school. I think the fact that I got to do something special with my teacher bumped up my confidence and made me feel special. Sadly, it was a trend that started where I always needed that extra push of confidence for me to know that everything was ok.

Well V-- turned out to be a bust very quickly. I think this woman was borderline bipolar, and when I say that I mean the borderline of bipolar and needing to be off of the streets.

Remember how I said that she was all nice upfront? I can always read people like a book. I know your story before I open your cover.

V-- did not like me as much as my little sister. I still haven't figured out why but I have been told that people often equated my shyness with snobbery. Maybe she just assumed that since I was older, I was on to her and my sister was still young enough to be persuaded.

We had our first argument not long after the move in. Can you imagine a thirty something year old trying to have a grown up fight with a six year old? Mind you, I was well versed, but what grown woman would waste her breath with a child. I am twenty three and four year olds test my patience to converse.

I honestly do not remember what started the argument, I just remembered her telling me that in addition to making my bed I also needed to do the stuff that my sister normally did just fine on her own. I looked at her very matter-of-fact and stated that "I am not your maid".

Basically, that led to a dialogue of me being an "ingrate" and "spoiled brat" and that "whether she (my sister) likes her and I dislike her, that we both have to do as she says."

I think I dismissed that comment as quickly as the bad hairstyle.

I never told my dad about the conversations because she always got to him first and twisted everything around. This led to me getting lectured on how I need to be nice to V--. I don't think she needed my friendship as bad as that of a therapist.

So, I know it's been a while since I've posted, but life happens and now I'm ready to get back to it:

I finished one semester at that school and then the news came. My sister and I were moving to our father's house. Apparently, there had been this ongoing court battle for custody of the two of us and at the end of it all, my father had won.

He had remarried and I had met the woman and her son once before. They had taken us to the zoo and she seemed overly friendly. But I've learned that the people who come on like that are the exact opposite deep down inside.

I don't remember anything about packing clothes or anything. The first memory I have is of the both of us walking into this new house I had never seen and led down this long hallway to my new bedroom. This new stepmother of mine, we'll call her V--, came in to our room to help us get situated and we my sister and I opened gifts for this was shortly after Christmas.

We played with Barbie and the new three story mansion we had for her.
I didn't know then that this plastic doll had it better than I did.