Fallen from Grace...

Having a middle name "Grace" is not particularly helpful when you are trying real hard to be one of the boys (growing up with boys as my closest friends this was something i tried very hard to do). You see... Grace is a very lady-like name… prim, proper and very dignified... not really qualities you can attribute to a tomboy who climbed trees and had a better eye for a catapult than some of the boys she hung out with. Sigh.. But those were the days alright. Of midnight ghost stories and cricket at 5 am… To being allowed to bat as long as you wanted because you were the only girl there... The only one who deigned to play silly boy games? Who didn't run home screaming to mummy when offered a frog (of course i would do that now) and who thought going snake catching was the coolest thing ever. But as bad as this may sound i wasn't the wild child i would have liked to be. I was still held back by some kind of inbred well mannered conscience to actually behave. Well I thought i was behaving… How was I to know that my mother despaired of the little hellion she had borne every time I wandered home with my latest black eye/bruise?

Despite these antics I was always mummy's angel and daddy's little princess… Might I add the only one who could poke him in the eye while he was sleeping saying "Dada.. You cheeping ?" and lived to tell the tale. And six years down the line the hellion to make all previous hellions seem tame in comparison-my baby brother- arrived. I will admit I was quite enamored with the white wrapped bundle my parents had brought home from the hospital. For around 5 minutes… He lost a little of his novelty when I discovered his antics were limited to gurgling happily at my nonsensical stories. After that my new favorite game became “lets see if Kurt can turn blue from screaming (loud enough to wake the dead)” although my mother soon put an end to that. Bah !

But I have to be honest and admit I never realized the brat had it in him. He faithfully carried my banner after I left home and proceeded to drive my family to the depths of despair at his complete lack of regard for anything that got in the way of what he wanted. (on occasion I have heard my mother tell an aunt or somebody “how I wish he wouldn’t be so much like his sister… one hell raiser was enough”) boy was she wrong…

It’s been 21 years now. And I still can’t bring myself to say I am 21 years old. I don’t feel old. Although I might dispute that statement when I am forced to see what the world looks like before noon... let me warn you now. Wake me up when I am meant to be asleep and I will not be held responsible for any kind of fatal damage I might inflict on you.

At the time of this post I am a dignified young lady (gag) who knows how far she can push the envelope without going completely overboard or getting in over her head. All that’s left to say now is adios and till next time.