three dollars. I won the first real hand with a full-house. An hour later my three dollars was close to a hundred and I was pronounced the lucky winner. On Sunday after church I used that money to treat everyone to breakfast.Leaving the farm to go back to our small town was difficult for me. I would cry or throw up a fuss, stomping my feet, and refusing to leave. The times that our family only stayed for the day, Mrs. Tailor would volunteer to keep me over for the weekend and return me home on Sunday after church. I think she enjoyed my presence because all of her children had been boys. On occasions when it was impossible for me to stay, Mrs. Tailor would give me a comforting hug, and remind me that next week we would be back again. Those words soothed my discontent and solved any other matter that I suffered.Mrs. Tailor was to me what women on the cover of magazines are to most young girls today. I would attempt to copy how she walked; or how she would brush her long gray hair. I mimicked her words, as if by using them I would somehow be more intelligent, even if I didn't know the meaning of them. I even copied the way she dialed the phone with one of the extra rotary phones. I tried on her shoes prancing around pretending to be Cinderella at the ball or some other character from a story.Looking back at these memories now, I realize how I needed to have those good memories. Later, when my family was torn in many directions, I depended on these memories to get past the pain. I constantly tried to soothe my alcoholic and violent parents by reminding them of the good times. Sometimes my efforts worked other times my parent=s didn't even seem to care. It was the hope of the future and being able to reflect upon these memories that put a smile on my face when things seemed unmanageable. I knew that happiness was possible; I had felt it before. Those distant but vivid memories were all I had. During those times, I vowed...
