School became secondary and being at home watching television was what I managed. I would write my excuses and my mother would sign them. She was so tired from what she had to provide. If the school knew, they overlooked it or my mother went to bat for the poor widow’s daughter. Then the 11th grade teachers found me out. A 30 year old friend of my older brother, would come and be a teacher's aid, as he studied to be a teacher and he was good friends with me. I began to be motivated. I couldn’t stay home with Dick Clark and Father’s Knows Best having them become a role model at home watching for hours. I could do this anymore. I missed on an average of one day a week. Maurice Chevalier was my biggest life coach and his movies were my after school fun. I loved musicals and watched as many as I could of his. He was French and I would sing and try to copy his French accent. I still remember one or two songs and to this day I can speak a mean pretend French that I've been told sounds very real. I hung out after school and I can see myself sitting on his desk. I wanted to impress and get his attention.
My hiding was about to become impossible. I had taken an IQ test. I had no idea what that meant. They had told me at the Principal's office; I was not working up to my potential. Imagine they told me I wasn’t what I wanted to think or told. This was when I was told I was smart. My dramatic self found a moment of “I’m Smart''? My forehead and eyes squeezed as if to say; What! Or perhaps the hormones had finally reached my brain. My mother had told me; She had kept me under her thumbs until I was smart enough to get out from under them. My poor mother knew she was losing her daughter to the world of boys and fashion and fun. I think I even tried extra on that test because my brother's friend was a strong male, who gave me attention. This is what I think happened because I longed for the father I never had. I actually paid attention on the test and wasn’t gazing out the window or talking, passing notes, scribbling on notebooks. This was the beginning, I was not going to be quiet and pick at myself. I was going to have style like the Mod girls in England. My mother couldn't afford the current fashion so I dressed quirky and made my clothes in what was the Mary Quant style of fashion. I bought patterns and on my skip days I began sewing and still watching TV. I wanted to learn yet I was easily distracted by dramatic shows of fashion. Could I ever catch up? Could I ever overcome my negative voice that held me back for so long?
