As we search our childhood memories for unfulfilled dreams and disappointments, the true architect of our individual markings often surface. They serve as gentle influences - brilliant imaginings of how lives might be - if only. The "if only" is like a long, lazy day in bed with the flu- there are aches and pains, but also the delicious joy of hiding under the blankets and sipping a hot cup of broth - nourishing the body and the soul.

When I want to call up who I really am - not who I play at being, I tap into my bank of memories. My memories have helped shaped me into who I am today. One such memory is of when I was eleven years old and played beautiful music and wore a dress fit for a princess. And while the ending was not a "living happily ever after", it was a meaningful childhood event, lining my journey to womanhood.

To have music blend into a household of five children and two angry adults, positively stretches the imagination. The anger from my mother was encased in struggle - the struggle to keep her family fed and clothed. My dad fought the devil of alcohol and the constant battle left him angry at all that surrounded him. And, with very little money for anything but clean underwear and a basic winter coat, a dress for a special occasion parts a line to endless possibilities

At this impressionable year of youth, a teacher encouraged me to take up a musical instrument. She said things like "you have the personality for music" or "I think you would find music a lot of fun" - or "you must play the piano with those long delicate fingers of yours." For a short time, I played the coronet. My mom said I had the perfect mouth for the coronet. I think she meant that kindly as I have a very full mouth. But the coronet did not make the romantic sounds I visualized a musical instrument should make.

So, begrudgingly, my mother took me to the music store to look into renting a musical instrument that I would enjoy playing. We left the store with an accordion, pearl white with a soft gray whirl running through the casing. It had a "diamond" in the front that shined when touched by light - brilliance and drama all rolled in to one instrument. The radiant shine of the diamond made the accordion appear more romantic and intriguing. I am sure the stone was not really a diamond, but to an eleven year old girl - it seemed only fitting to think the small tiny stone was just that and nothing else.

It was an odd instrument for a bony, tall adolescent girl. My arms were long, long enough to encircle and embrace the accordion easily. When I tugged and pressed on the accordion to urge out it's beautiful sound; my whole body moved with the musical sounds. I took lessons after school and practiced even more when I got home from the lessons. I was devoted to the music and fascinated with the way my hands looked when they stroked the keys. And, I could feel the warmth of the diamond casting rays of beauty up through my hazel green eyes.

And, when I was playing my music, I felt as if I were an Easter Lilly breaking through the earth for the first day of spring.

A special opportunity came my way that made my music making even more special. I was asked to play in a school program, as a soloist - shining alone on a stage - watched by admirers. An announcement went out to all families in the school that I would be the featured musical student at the upcoming school program.

I don't recall what song I played or how well I performed during the program, but I know it was dramatic. I only played dramatic songs, because drama was my girlish mainstay.

The date for the program was set and I was nervous because there was nothing in my closet that I could wear to such an event. There was very little money for school clothes since there were five of us in school and my mother was pregnant with a sixth child. Most of the time I wore my older brothers blue jeans and shirts.

The worry about what I would wear filled me to the top of my ears - brimming over sometimes into tears. My mother told me to quit worrying, she would try to pull something together. That worried me worse.

Most of my clothes were bought at the local Goodwill store, ten cents for a pair of panties and one dollar for a pair of jeans. This fit nicely into a budget strained by my fathers drinking - dollars going to his partner in alcoholism: a bottle of any size, make and model t0 help him overcome the daily fight with the devil of drink. My wardrobe was made up of clothes other people donated for poor people to buy. I always fretted that I would be standing on the street, dressed in my Goodwill clothes and someone would come up to me and say: "you are wearing the old brown sweater I gave away." So, I worried my mother would buy my dress for the school program at the Goodwill store and that my musical talent would be overcome by my posture of poverty.

My excitement was enhanced by the fact that my dad had promised to come home early from work to take me to the concert. Even with the alcohol often rendering our father-child relationship tenuous, I truly loved being with my dad. He was tall and so very handsome. Even though my dad was known to be married with a family, he was a rowdy bar room prowler that attracted the local women.

And, though most of the women he danced and drank with were married, he was still considered a looker, a smooth talker, a drinker and a home town boy. And, until he got in trouble and ended up in jail, looking for bail, it was good enough for everyone. Of course it added to my mothers sadness and humiliation, but as I look back on it - she often seemed to tired to fight him on this count.

There had been other special times my dad had promised to come home and take us somewhere - the movies, out for ice cream, for a Sunday drive, or to a school program. But disappointingly, he often did not make it home....at least until many hours after the event had come and gone. And, on some occasions when he did make it home on time, he came home drunk. So, now I had another worry.

I became more afraid - that if he came home drunk, I would be taken to the concert by the spirit of alcohol and everyone in my school would know our family shame. Two very big worries for a child.

The day came for my solo presentation. My dad did make it home on time- showered and shaved and put on a freshly ironed shirt and jacket. He splashed old spice cologne on his face and neck and ran his cologned hand through his wavy hair. He was truly my white knight - the real dad. The sober dad.

He handed me a shopping bag that contained a blue dress with a white satin bow that tied in the back. Tucked in the bottom of the bag was my first jewelry, a plastic blue pearl bracelet. I knew these were my gifts for being something for our family to be proud of.

We even went to the corner drug store to have a soda before the concert. My dad held my hand and smiled at me. All my friends saw him and said he was a handsome and very nice dad. Yes, that day he certainly was.

I was center stage, in my satiny blue dress, with my bracelet circling my fragile left wrist. I stood tall and my music rang out through the auditorium. Everyone smiled and mouthed "she is very good."

When I got home, I hung up the blue dress in the closet. It was the only dress hanging there. I hid my pearl bracelet where my younger sister could not find it. I knew she would pull the pearls apart and I would never see my jewels again. I slept very well that night. My dreams were calm and happy. My brothers and sisters were envious. What a wonderful day.

But, I learned that there are disappointments under the rug of happiness in every room of life. My opportunity to play a musical instrument was not something my parents could afford. The satin blue dress and pearl bracelet were returned to the store the following Monday - as soon as my mother realized my dad did not have money left over for the rent after his alcoholic binge, which filled the remainder of the weekend.

And, the following week when I went to music class, my instructor called me to the side and leaned down to speak to me softly, gently, with her hand placed lightly in the small of my back. She said my parents had not paid the payments on the accordion and I would have to turn it in. I went home right after school, no need to stay - music class was over for me. But, I still have the memory of the weekend and the private time with my dad, sober -hanging in the closet of my mind and it shimmers with beauty.

Reflections

Girlhood is like a caterpillar coming out of its cocoon to form a butterfly and womanhood is the peacock, a shower of a thousand colors. In these colors lie the hues of tomboy blue, princess pink, scholarly yellow, and worldly white. The shades of color from the influences of our childhood, our upbringing, our heritage.

My blue dress was just one of the colors that formed my girlhood and this experience taught me disappointments are only as harsh as you allow them to be. I did have many disappointments from my fathers drinking - they punctuated our father- daughter relationship for many years, yet I never stepped away from a deep and powerful love for him. These disappointments taught me to be prepared to go the party alone and alone is perfectly all right if it is all you have. You only set on the sidelines when you allow yourself to be sidelined.

Goodwill continued to be a part of my wardrobe for some time - in fact I wore a suit from Goodwill as a Homecoming Attendant my freshman year in High School. Goodwill was my clothes alma mater - today it is Nordstrom's or Bloomingdale's… by choice.
Today I don't stop at garage sales or shop at basement sales in name brand department stores. Yet, I do donate my slightly used good clothing to The Salvation Army, Goodwill or Volunteers of America so that others can make do until they do well. It's like borrowing a cup of sugar and replacing it with two cups - just as a way to say thank you!

I don't play any musical instruments today - no matter; it seems the pen serves as my violin - stringing words together to form poems, stories, love letters or notes of "wishing you well" to friends. I recently bought a pair of diamond earrings in honor of the diamond in my accordion. Never forget to celebrate!