My place in history defines me. I was a teenager in the 1960's, so everything that entered into the psyche of the baby boomers of that decade, entered me. I am a product of my youth. I lived in a rural community, and went to high school in a small city. I was neither a rebel, a rabble rouser, or part of the whole free love and drug culture, but I loved the music. I still love the music. The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, The mamas and Papas, Elvis Prestley, Gordon Lightfoot, The Monkees, Pete Seeger, Simon and Garfunkel, Ian and Sylvia, Arlo Guthrie. Folk music, and rock and roll. I have them all on LPs - the original 'vinyl' records. I own CDs of modern folk music too, so I'm not totally stuck in a music mindset of fifty years ago.
I was quiet and shy as a kid and teenager, so I didn't socialize a lot. Also, I was stuck in the country without a vehicle or the ability to drive, so I spent a lot of time at home. I read a lot. I made up entire epic novels in my head, without writing them down. I wish I had, now. I remember snippets of a couple of them that weren't half bad. In high school, I was not popular, so I was verbally picked on a lot. I cried everyday, over almost everything. I took offense easily. I had a few friends my own age who were neighbours, but the kids in my class from town, were hard on me. I hid my hurt and my heart, in books. They were my sanctuary.
I was made to believe that I was the ugliest, stupidest, rottenest, and most unlovable kid in the universe. When I was sixteen, I met a boy that truly cared about me. He helped me see that none of those negative feelings I had about myself, were true. He helped me through the worst period of my life - autumn of 1968. My dad died on my seventeenth birthday, and my mom died two months later. My sister was the only one of the four of us, who was over 21, and considered an adult. She was going to teacher's college 300 miles away, so my two brothers and I lived with a relative until my sister came home the following June.
I married the boy who helped me stay sane through all of that, when I was 19. I divorced him when I was 22. He was a good man, but I wasn't mature enough to make the marriage work. In the end, I found a man who was right for me. He was funny, smart, good looking, and he wrote me poetry. We married when I was 25. I'm still married to him, 33 years later.
I am no longer the shy, quiet, unassuming teenager. Somewhere along the the way, I developed a back bone. No one gets away with stomping on my feelings, anymore. That's not to say I'm hostile or belligerent, not a bit. I'm usually easy going, and happy. I love to laugh, and I feel very lucky that I am able see the humour in even the most painful circumstances. I learned that from my husband. I also learned that I was smart, beautiful, witty, thoroughly lovable and that it was essential to be near him.
We were never blessed with children, but my five grown nieces and nephews mean the world to me. My two great nephews are precious to me. We have a cat and a small dog. The cat weighs one more pound than the dog. The dog doesn't bother the cat.
I am who I am, and I'm very happy with that.