Alone in my own world, I sometimes pretended to be Shirley Temple. Her dimpled smile and blonde curly locks got her noticed. I imagined if I pouted like her and smiled like her, that I’d be pretty like her. But in the bathroom mirror, a brown-eyed, freckled-faced girl peered back. She had straight dark hair and dingy clothes that hung loosely over scrawny legs. She looked plain, clumsy, and insignificant. She was me.
I didn’t know we lived below the poverty line. I knew the hunger pangs that clawed at my belly. I remember eating cold pork and beans right from the can; it tasted really good with bread. I remember surviving for a time on government surplus with tins of soft butter, brick cheese, powdered milk, and creamy peanut butter. When we had it, smearing slabs of mayo over bread was a slice of heaven.
Food was scarce. Even after Daddy started sending money to Mama, I saw little food on the table. Liquor bottles and empty beer cans reeked and saturated the air. The constant bickering between Mama and my stepdad punctuated the tensions in our rodent-infested, cockroach matchbox. I’d see those creepy-crawlers on the walls, tables, and dirty dishes on the counter. I’d hear them scratching behind the walls or running across the linoleum floor. I could even smell them. Those pests were our relentless, unwelcome guests.
(Excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace)
© M.A. Perez 2013, All Rights Reserved
Note: “What happened to your bangs?” I am asked this question countless times. You will have to discover the answer to that question … but not until my book is published. 😉
From Heart to Heritage
Reflections From the Heart 