Part 1: The North Carolina Years (1-12)
Well, hello! Glad to meet you! Since this is the beginning of something new, I’ve decided to start at the beginning. I just want to share a bit of my background, so you understand why YES has come to mean so much to me over the years. Throughout these next few pieces, see if you can spot where I took on yes to step out into the unknown.
I was born in Virginia, and raised until the age of 12 in Greensboro, North Carolina. This gorgeous part of the world impacted me for a variety of reasons. The oldest of 3 siblings - a sister and youngest brother born right in a row - I was diagnosed early on with ADHD. In my experience, this neuro developmental disorder made it hard for me to focus and gave me a constant yearning for more. I was always on the move, so, it was a good thing we had a beautiful little wood next to our house to explore, and loads of neighborhood kids to hang out with.
I would get lost outside in all that green for hours, with its gentle change of seasons, burning and gaining energy at the same time. Nature has forever been my friend.
My mother was mostly a single parent - a rarity in the early 1970s. My father, heir to a well-to-do family of entrepreneurs and professionals, turned to an unfortunate life of white-collar crime that devolved into petty offenses. Not the greatest thing to recommend you in a smallish town. My inability to focus got me into endless trouble in school - my poor mother! I just couldn’t sit still. And I suppose I was a leader, or at least had the skills of a pied piper, always able to inspire others to follow my slightly anti-social lead.
Greensboro in the early ‘70s also shaped my world view. From the sit-ins, to busing, to rioting, racial tensions were running high. My mother taught us that we were all created equal in God’s eyes and that the color of our skin didn’t and shouldn’t define us. We were encouraged to see things through other people’s eyes, not to judge, and to help where we could. Our resources were a tad bit limited then. We were living on government assistance, food stamps and welfare checks, and it struck me that the office buildings that catered to the poor were always unkempt. In my young mind, poverty and beauty never went together.
We were lucky, however. We had back-up. But that always made me feel badly for people who didn’t have a family waiting in the wings. We also had church. My mother met a beautiful group of Christians in a park one day who became a second family to us. They were always there for us when we needed it. This is where she got her hope, and how she kept our small family thriving instead of just surviving.
And this is where I got my faith that no matter how bad things seemed, there was always something bigger than me and my circumstances that I could lean on for help, guidance, and a general sense of wellbeing. No matter what it looked like, all was well.
Growing up in this type of environment was alternately exciting and scary. I was sad that my father was most often in jail - sad and embarrassed. I was afraid that the bottom was going to fall out of our lives, and we wouldn’t be able to make ends meet. I was upset at myself for constantly getting into trouble at home and at school because of my hyperactivity. But even with these hurdles, I was also always (and I mean always!) excited about a new day. To me every day brought a new set of possibilities.
My mother’s artistic nature also helped us rise above what might have been a dismal existence. We were struggling financially, but she was able to bring beauty into our lives. Though we didn’t have a lot of money to go around, she knew how to make simple things special. Everyone wanted to hang out at our house because she would make fun treats to eat or come up with fun things to do. She created a swing out of cast-off plywood or would take us berry picking. She taught my friends how to draw, she made all the birthday cakes on the block because she knew how to decorate them with an icing tableaux. And we always had the latest fashion (bell bottoms!) because she could sew - like a pro. My mother used her ingenuity to enrich our lives and it made a huge impression on me.
For most of my childhood, and not necessarily for the wrong reasons, I had a lot of people telling me no - teachers, my family, friends’ parents… just about everyone. I get it now, looking back. But I had the insatiable desire to experience everything I could. Adventure, as far as I was concerned, was everywhere. I wanted to try everything, to live a big life. I decided early on that I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I was going to search out the yes, find a way to make things happen. Honestly, I must have been a pain in the backside. But I didn’t care; there was something in me that kept seeking out the new thing. And that desire carried into the next phase of my life, in interesting, and sometimes intense, ways.