When I Was Seven...

Inspired by the 7-Up documentary series, I've been wanting to share with you my journey from 7 to 14 to 21 to... well, you can do the math. Unfortunately, the best photo I have from age 7 is still in Kelowna, locked in an old green suitcase somewhere in Jay n' Cheryl's garage. (At least I hope that suitcase is there, because it's not here...)

I asked my mom to send me a copy of my second grade photo. But rather than scan it, she opted to take a photo of it, which explains why the quality is shit. So here it is in all it's low-res, blurry glory. Yours truly at age 7...

As you see, my hair is cut like a boy's, courtesy of my father. And I am wearing the most hideous green dress eva, courtesy of my mother.

It's funny the childhood memories that scar... I mean, linger into adulthood. I have a very clear memory of fussing n' crying when my mom made me wear that dress to Sunday school. She told me that it was from Germany, as if that was some big selling factor, because German dresses were all the rage among seven year olds in 1986... I have no idea who brought it back from Germany, but I remember wishing that they would've left it there. I'm sure it was probably brought overseas about 10 - 20 years before this photo was taken, as the style seems more 60's or 70's than 80's. Too bad the retro look wasn't cool yet.... at least not among second graders.

A few days before picture day, I can recall that dress hanging on the back of my bedroom door, taunting me in all it's nasty green glory. I sat on my bed staring at it in defeat. I totally remember thinking to myself, "They're gonna make you wear that dress on picture day, you know. There's no fighting it. You will never win." And sure enough, when picture day came my mom made me wear it. I swallowed the bitter pill that day and forced a smile for the camera... of which the sad photographic evidence remains. :P

When I asked mom to send me a copy of the above pic, she said, "I thought you really hated that dress. What do you want the picture for?" Ha! Oh well, twenty-four years later and she finally apologized for forcing it on me.

But life when I was 7 wasn't all about ugly German dresses. It was actually a pretty big year for me, for it was the year I got my feet fixed. When I was born, my feet were turned slightly inwards. There was some speculation that it was because I was born two weeks late, but I doubt that's why. So up until that time, I had to wear my left shoe on my right foot and my right shoe on my left foot. Believe me when I say that this completely messed me up for years to come!!

For this reason, I wasn't able to wear flip flops, because of the way they're shaped. This was always a big disappointment for me in the summertime.  I really wanted a pair of flip flops, and my lil' mind couldn't fully comprehend why I wasn't allowed to wear them. I have another vivid memory of being about four or five, and standing next to a bin at Woolworth's, trying to convince my mom to buy me a pair of orange flip flops that had a lion on them. When she said they wouldn't fit me properly, I put them on the wrong feet (as I had to do with all my shoes) and danced around the bin, demonstrating how I could very easily wear them. I remember my mom's face looking sad, conflicted. She relented and bought me a pair, but as she suspected, they tripped me up. I could never wear them properly. :(

With annual visits to CHEO (Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) since birth, I always knew that when I turned 7, I would finally have my operation. It felt like a lifetime away. (Funny how time crawls as a child...)  However, I wasn't afraid. Instead, I just accepted it as a part of life and even looked forward to my surgery.

Actually, a quick side note, I remember once using my surgery as an excuse in kindergarten for why I was crying. I twitched during a "stand still" game and was eliminated. For some reason that made me upset, and my eyes began welling up with tears. Another student noticed and kindly shouted out, "Melodie's crying!!" Too embarrassed to admit that I was crying because I lost the game, I said that I was afraid of the operation I needed to have when I turned 7. Everyone seemed to buy it, including my teachers. What a manipulative little brat I was, huh?

Anyway, below is a photo of me (in the middle, in case it wasn't obvious) looking pretty happy on my seventh birthday. (Completely unrelated, as kids my sister n' I always got our cousin Jodie's hand-me-downs, and in this photo she is wearing her fabulous popcorn dress. I remember being sooo excited when I finally got my hot little hands on that dress. The pieces of popcorn puffed out, which I thought that was pretty nifty.

Anyway, getting back to my feet fixin'... A month after I started the second grade, the big day finally came. The surgeons made three incisions on each foot, in order to break all the bones in both my feet. They inserted long pins that stuck out on either sides of my feet to hold the bones in their proper place. I can't tell you how much it freaked me out at first when I peered down into my cast and saw those metal sticks jutting out of my feet! Gross! I worried they'd be there forever.

After my surgery, I spent about a week in the hospital while my folks stayed at the Ronald McDonald house next door. One day some of the Ottawa Roughriders came to the arts n' crafts room, doing a little P.R. I was the only kid in there, so they all took turns signing my casts for the cameras. The news reporter asked if my daddy liked to watch the Roughriders play football. I answered honestly - "No." My mother quickly corrected me, "Oh yes! All the time! All the time! He never misses a game." Ha ha. I never got to see if we were ever on the news, but if they left our part in, I'll bet it would've been pretty funny. :)

Because I was in a wheelchair for 6 weeks and on crutches for another 6, I couldn't go to school. (And when I did return f/t, the school made me take the short bus to and fro for a month, even though I only lived 3 blocks away. Over protective much?) During that time I had a tutor, the principal's wife, come to our house every day for a couple hours. I don't think I learned a single thing in that time. We just made crafts n' did insanely easy flash cards with words like boy, girl, dog, etc.

One day she brought me to the school to say hello to my classmates. Everyone crowded around me from all directions. People kept saying, "Do you remember me? Do you remember my name? Who am I?" Maybe they thought I suffered a head trauma or something? (That didn't happen until I was 8... ;) Everyone in the class also made me get well soon cards. Some people gave me buttons, erasers and pocket change. It was the peak of my popularity, I tells ya!

Once the bones in my feet had properly set, the doctors told me that they were going to remove the long silver pins from my feet. I screamed and cried, thrashing in my wheelchair insisting that they leave them in. I'm pretty sure I frightened all the children in the waiting room as they wheeled me over to "The Body Shop", where all the casts n' pin-pullin's were done. I was absolutely terrified that it was going to be painful. Instead, when the moment came for them to pull the pins out of my feet, I think it was harder on my dad than on me. After they pulled the first pin, I happily exclaimed, "That didn't hurt at all! It feels cool! I can feel my bones moving!" My dad turned green and sat down.

Six months later, technology advanced, and they found a way to do the same surgery using lasers. CHEO wanted my parents to bring me to Ottawa for a medical presentation, where I would be the effed up "before" picture of how feet looked after doing the surgery the old way versus the new way. (Not that I have mutant feet per se -- like my charming ex used to always call 'em -- but my feet almost look like they have bunions on the sides where the bones were re-set. Except unlike bunions, they're not painful at all, just unattractive... or at least unattractive to me. Although, I've pointed out my ugly feet to many people, who all insist that they don't know what I'm talking about. So it's probably mostly in my head....) Anyway, my parents refused to participate in this presentation. Since I was only 7, they never consulted any of this with me, but I overheard a couple conversations they had with others. I think they were pretty pissed off about the idea of their child being the ugly before picture. But of course, what parent wouldn't be protective or offended?

Anyway, I think that's about all I can remember from when I was seven.