My name is Idaho, after the state where I was conceived. This is my 17 year on God's Earth, that is to say, I'm 16-and-a-bit years old. My parents are what most people would call hippies. I'm what most people would call a "waste of space", if I'm lucky. "That whore," if I'm not. I'm not usually lucky. My mama is exactly who she says she is, no more, no less. My father is exactly what he says he's not. Just a hint; he says he's the only man that ever slept with ma. He also says that there aint no way I'm any other man's little girl but his. That's okay though. In my eyes, your father is the man that kisses you goodnight when you're little, and teaches you everything you know when you've aged up a bit. I know how to pluck a chicken, jump-start a Ford pickup truck, and how to turn cartwheels. I know spelling, typing, counting, astronomy, and a couple others. I don't never mess around with that geometry stuff though. Don't have much use for religion, either.  My hair is still as long as anything, as no one's ever taken themselves a pair a scissors to it. It's brown, though, the color of muck, so it ain't much use. I keeps it tied up and away most days. Mother says that the day I was born, all the stars  of the sky fell down into my eyes, and all the soil of the Earth rose up and colored my hair. That's her way of sayin' I have dark blue eyes that are my best feature, and mud-brown hair that isn't. I also have myself a pair of long legs, which keep me away from the chickens, and a flat chest, which keeps the boys away from me. That suits me just fine.

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