1993

1993 is the year we moved to small town Arkansas.  About 1,800 people lived in our town.  The school was my third 1st grade that year.  That takes a toll on a kid.  I went to school everyday and cried all day.  I cried during the pledge, spelling tests, recess, walking down the hall, just about anytime someone could cry.  It's a pretty sad existence for a six year old.

My dad was away working so I didn't see him much at this point.  I blamed my constant tears on that fact.  I never knew why I was so sad.  Years later, I realized I probably suffered from childhood depression.
My mom decided to have me compete in a pageant.  Yeah, I know, you're thinking about Toddlers and Tiaras and Jon Benet Ramsey.  It was not that kind of pageant.  My mom rolled my blonde hair up in those awful pink sponge rollers and I had to sleep like that.  She sprayed a ton of Paul Mitchell hairspray on my hair.  I still love the smell of that stuff because of the good memories.  We borrowed a dress from Mrs. Donna (yes, Mrs. Donna, you use a Mrs, Ms, or Mr in the South because that's how it should be).  Everyone who wore this dress had won.  It was a pretty pink with lots of satiny ruffles and sparkles.  Mrs. Jeannete did my make up.  We practiced at the high school auditorium, where the pageant would be held.  They told me how to walk, turn, keep eye contact with the judges, and smile the entire time.

The night of the pageant came and I was excitedly nervous. You know when you're little and everyone just tells you something is going to be great but you aren't quite so sure?  Well, with risk comes reward.  I walked across the stage smiling and keeping eye contact with the judges.  I played with the ruffles of my dress the entire time, a huge pageant no-no.  After they said what my favorite food was, I walked off stage.

Then, came the line up behind the curtains to announce the winner.  They called all the other girls to line up.  They were all pageant professionals.  I was the only pageant virgin.  I was getting nervous that everyone had been called but finally, I was the last to be called.  All the other girls said in their sweet little Southern voices, "You won! You won!"  I was excited but didn't really believe them until they called the first girl in line onto the stage as third runner up and so on and so on.

I was Petite Miss of the town.  I got to ride in the parade in my teenage cousin's convertible.  That made me feel so cool.  My mom put a huge Southern bow in my hair and I waved my practiced pageant wave to all the parade spectators.  It was fabulous.

I never cried after that.  People can bag on pageants all they want but that pageant gave me something to feel good about.  I wasn't all dolled up like an adult's baby doll.  I looked like a little girl playing dress up. I went on to lose the county pageant, which didn't feel so great but I made to second grade a happy kid and that was just fine with me.