CHAPTER 4
Now as I tell my life story, I am reminded of my first title—“Miss White Trash”. Let me explain. The entire time I was growing up, my mom, Betty Lee, and I went grocery shopping at A&P on Kenwood Avenue. A family of six was fed on $100 a week—really. My allowance for cooking and cleaning and doing dishes seven days a week was a weekly National Enquirer. Well, honey, I thought I was queen of the castle with my Enquirer. Little did I know what a queen I was!
 

The summer before the 6^th grade, Betty and I went to A&P for our weekly shopping trip. Betty was dressed as usual for a Saturday in August. She had bedroom slippers on, moo moo shorts and a “baby blue” tube top. As we walked up the parking lot, Mr. Toole, my future math teacher, came walking down. I said, “Mom, there’s my math teacher, Mr. Toole.” As he stopped to shake mom’s hand, I noticed that my mom’s tube top had fallen down and her left breast was hanging out as she puffed her Marlboro Light and said, “Hope this is the last time we meet.” I screamed, “Mom, your boobie is hanging out!” Mom so casually pulled her top up, kept walking and smoking and yelled at me, “Come on you som bitch!”

Well, the 6^th grade was okay, but I just did not fit in with my fellow pupils. Our neighbors, the Zillers, gave us a box of clothing and shoes. Well, let me tell you, I wore a pair of platform men’s shoes with my straight leg corduroy pants. I thought I was hot. I walked into Elmwood Elementary and Sheller’s, my soul sister, put her hand on her hip and said, “What the hell were you thinking this morning?”
 

Those were my elementary school years. Six years of schooling and I learned the following:
1.      I liked boys, but I was not allowed to let anyone know this.
2.      Never wear clothing that the majority of people do not wear.
3.      Never question mom and be proud to be her “som bitch”.