The Stubborn Little One

Where does one begin to tell a bit about her life as a daughter.I remember being the little girl who always loved to see her daddy. My dad was the sun rise, sun set in my eyes. I remember being approximately 2-3 yrs of age and sneaking behind my dads rocker recliner, and reaching for his glass of coke/pepsi. I remember him telling me no a million times if not once, that I couldn't have a drink because it had alcohol in it. Me not understanding what he meant by this continued than and many more times after that day to get a drink of whatever he was drinking. Well I succeeded, but to my wondering taste buds I was sadly disallusioned to find out it wasn't tasty afterall, in fact it certainly wasn't what I was used to. So after taking a sip, and nearly gagging, I placed the glass back. He heard me sit it back down, and called me over to him to ask me if I had taken a drink. I said yes, and he asked me "was it worth it?".. and to be honest no it was distinctively gross.

At age 3, I was finally broke from it, not by them, but by myself. I was told not to touch my fathers drink. Did I listen? NO. My parents this particular day had a few friends over and they were playing cards. Us kids were told to stay in the livingroom, or our rooms and play. Well, I was a very stubborn 3 yr old. Telling me no, was like telling me go ahead. So, I gathered my little thoughts, and my eyes beamed on this glass. It looked so yummy, so delicious, so very tempting. With one brow down and the other arched up, my eyes peeled on this glass. It was those tall glasses that you could buy through Hardees that had looney toon characters on it. It was filled with coke/pepsi again. I thought myself okay I want a drink (dink at the time). That's all I could think of was to get my hands on the glass and start guzzling. So I climbed up the chair, and while my dad wasn't paying attention, I slowly but successfully reached for that glass to take a sip of whatever was in that glass. Unfortunately, my knees slipped off the chair, glass went down, standing straight up, I came tumbling down and the front of my face and head it the top of the glass. Never once did the glass break, otherwise it would have killed me. My mother came to my rescue, picking me up, panicking, wiping the tears and blood away. My dad felt horrible, guilty, but yet angry, because he had told me time and time again not to touch his glass at any given time. They immediately took me to the Naval Hospital. I ended up having a gash on the right side of my eye/eyebrow and ended up with 3 stitches. After that, I can and will admit I never ever touched another glass. Just one of many stories to come ..