tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2390470473924634382.post-79865467531033327472008-04-04T12:20:00.005-05:002008-04-04T12:42:18.392-05:00<div><a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_k9lcnc5tklQ/R_Zk1iIua8I/AAAAAAAAAGc/YkwkwD8Kylk/s1600-h/meldotdress.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185442891822951362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_k9lcnc5tklQ/R_Zk1iIua8I/AAAAAAAAAGc/YkwkwD8Kylk/s200/meldotdress.jpg" border="0" /></a>I should take a moment to thank the academy... (and shoot whoever fixed my hair for this photograph).<br /></div><div>I love my birthday. I think birthdays should be national holidays. I never work on my birthday. Ever. So I have taken the day off (sort of - I've already balanced four checkbooks and done a bunch of blechy desk work), but as usual, I've forgotten to schedule a play date with anyone. So I will take myself shopping ALONE. What a loser. You'd think by now, I'd learn.<br /><br />Okay, back to the Melanie/Melissa thing. My mom - aka The Dot - wanted a little blonde-haired blue-eyed girl. The Dot has dark hair, olive skin, brown eyes. She looked like Cher when I was growing up. I'm not kidding. With hot pants and everything. My dad is blonde and blue-eyed. So they hedged their bets and went with Melissa if my hair was blonde and Melanie if my hair was black like my mother's. (Melanie means dark and mysterious. Clearly NOT a fit.) My grandmother took one look at me and said, "She looks like a little Mexican baby." It is my understanding that she did not mean this as a compliment. Classy, huh? This was the '60s, you realize. She wasn't terribly evolved, even though she made incredible fried chicken. </div><div> </div><div><a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_k9lcnc5tklQ/R_ZlbCIua9I/AAAAAAAAAGk/is4JOU0POvg/s1600-h/mel4thbday.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185443536068045778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_k9lcnc5tklQ/R_ZlbCIua9I/AAAAAAAAAGk/is4JOU0POvg/s320/mel4thbday.jpg" border="0" /></a>Anyway, I did look like a little Mexican baby, but as you can see, that did not last. Here's a picture of me sitting with Daddy-O at my fourth birthday party. I look smashing in my white dress and knee socks, don't you think? Shortly after this photo was taken, we found out Martin Luther King had been assassinated earlier that evening. I didn't get to eat my cake that year. It was a very sad day. </div><div> </div><div>Daddy-O is 65 and still has no gray. The Dot, however, was gray by the time she was 25. As a result of Daddy-O's good genes, and despite the fact that my name is not Melissa, I remain the only woman in the entire state of Texas who does not color her hair. </div><div> </div><div>Jesus was smiling on me on April 4, 1964. If only he'd let MLK off the hook four years later. I wonder where we'd be today?</div><div><br /> </div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div>Two girls were leaving Texas...http://www.blogger.com/profile/08440580407286095722noreply@blogger.com