By – Blissimo. Visit They Call The Wind “Whacko.” for original post.
The problem with growing up on a farm is that when you try to go to school in anything other than blue jeans and flannel, you get labelled a whacko.
I was the school whacko.
That was aided by the fact I was not allowed to touch the cows. Do you have any idea of how you stand out, living on a farm where everyone is in 4-H touching cows all day long and you are cow-less? It was like wearing a giant red cow with a bar through it on my forehead. It is a wonder they did not rename me “Hester.”
I was never quite sure if the cow thing was a punishment, or what? I mean, was it that my grandfather thought I might break one of the cows? Or that I would not take cowing seriously? What if I named my cow and lost sight of the fact that it was destined to become steak? How embarrassing would that be? But then, maybe it was that I was so special, my grandparents knew I was destined for greater things and they were saving me from ever having to touch something as common as a cow. HAHAHAHAHAHA I only wrote that in case anyone from my family ever reads this, they will spew their wine all over the computer screen and start google searching for hit men.
No, it had nothing to do with me being great. Maybe my grandparents were protecting the community from my weirdness.
I liked fashion. I read fashion magazines and liked to develop the ideas I saw in there. When I braided my hair and wore a leather beaded headband they called me “Pocahontas” and laughed that I was dressing up like an Indian. When I wore clogs they asked if I needed to find a dyke and a windmill. When I wore bellbottoms I made by taking my jeans apart and sewing in some really funky material they could only stare and retreat behind the good old standby “weirdo.”
For years after I left the farm my cousin shared that people out there were still talking about why I dressed so weird and wore such strange clothes. You can imagine their struggle with hot pants. I left the wheat fields in complete shambles. I was the storm front that the village never recovered from.
I know some of you are weeping for the cruelty of it all but it was like water off a duck’s back (farm saying that I almost choked on as I typed). These are the things that you suffer in the name of fashion.
I checked out some of their Facebook pages recently. There they were, married to one another, wearing flannel and blue jeans, picking their teeth with a stalk of wheat, patting their cows. I waved.
I have a forgiving heart.
BODY PARTS: SLink
FEMALE (Av.Enhance) Hands and Feet
– dahlia dress
_Dolls Coll_Dolly Fur_