Not Afraid of Life Read Online Free

realized I was supposed to talk in front of everyone, her face fell. She hadn’t prepared me for that. Her eyes were big with worry as I approached the kid-height microphone.
    They didn’t expect me to deliver the Gettysburg Address. All I had to do was walk up and introduce myself—basic stuff. I was supposed to say my name, hometown, age, and where I attended preschool. But when I got to the mic, I opened my mouth, looked out into the crowd, and froze. The only thing that came out was, “I’m . . . B-B-Bristol . . .”
    Then I was quickly overcome with embarrassment and walked off the stage.
    I walked out of the theater with the smallest trophy possible, and was the only contestant who didn’t get flowers.
    The lady who’d given me the trophy smiled—with perfectly applied lipstick—and said, “Thanks for participating.”
    The plastic gold(ish) trophy was meant to smooth over my terrible performance. But even though I was four, I knew.
    I’d bombed.
    Even though I wasn’t the pageant type, my aunt Molly, who had only a son at the time, loved to doll me up. Once I went to stay with her for the weekend so I could play with my cousin Payton, who’s two years younger than I am. Aunt Molly had so much fun spoiling me. She dressed me in sweet dresses and headbands . . . she curled my hair. That one visit, though, she got carried away, threw me in the car seat, and took me to get my ears pierced! I was only two and my mom was a little surprised when Molly dropped me off at our house with pink rhinestone studs in.
    “What did you do to my daughter?” she exclaimed.
    Aunt Molly, who’s now a pediatric dental hygienist, just laughed. Several years later, she had a girl of her own. McKinley just turned ten . . . and she still doesn’t have her ears pierced!
    “Hey, McKinley, wanna go get those ears pierced? I’ll take ya!” my mom frequently says jokingly at family functions.
    Mom hasn’t convinced her yet.
    I had a different kind of fashion mishap at my other aunt’s house. My parents were out of town, so we were being watched by my aunt Heather and uncle Kurt. I was only about seven or eight years old and had really long beautiful dark hair that I was always known for. It hung all the way to my waist.
    “Will you cut my hair? I want to look like Lauden,” I said, handing Uncle Kurt a pair of scissors.
    (I was always in awe of how beautiful my cousin was—still is!—and I wanted to look just like her!)
    Uncle Kurt didn’t hesitate. He just put all of that gorgeous hair into a ponytail—and cut the whole thing off. I loved my new short cut until I realized that it was permanent!
    My childhood was full of many funny moments like those with our family.
    On Sundays we went to church, which—of course—was less than exciting for a little kid. Mom would let me put my head in her lap, and she’d tuck strands of my hair behind my ear, over and over. I’d listen to the preacher talk about Jesus and forgiveness and love, but eventually his voice would seem to grow distant and I’d succumb to sleep right there in the pew.
    Sermon sleep is the best sleep ever.
    I always looked forward to communion, because after church they let me go through all of the aisles and pick up the little plastic cups.
    As I got older, I’d also volunteer to help in the nursery. Even though there were always a bunch of adults in there, I’d be the one who wanted to fuss over the babies and rock them. I just loved babies—real ones!—like most girls love toys or dolls. I’d even take Willow’s old car seat, stick a doll in it, cover it with a blanket, and walk around at parks pretending I had a real baby inside. (I thought I tricked a few people, but they may have just been polite.) On the morning of my ninth birthday, I even crawled into bed with Mom and demanded—quite rudely—“If you don’t have a baby, you better go rent me one!”
    With every year that I grew older, my mom grew more politically prominent. When I