Welcome To My Life

It is 1972. My parents meet on a blind date.

In 1973, he spends the summer in National Guard training. Driving a huge humvee, my dad sneaks off to meet my mom for a date. The day after he got out of the Guard, he asks her to marry him: “so, here’s my planner… pick a date to get married.” Oh how romantic! She says yes.

On June 15th, 1974, they are united in marriage. They live in Brownwood where my dad taught high school ag and my mom worked for GE. In 1976, they moved to Lubbock, where my dad’s parents were. They build their dream house from the ground up and settle in to life in Lubbock.

My dad goes to Auction school in Missouri, while my mom starts law school at Texas Tech in 1978. Shortly after, my dad’s father suffers a massive heart attack and dies. My parents inherit much of his debt from the family home building business while my mom excels in law school and my dad begins his own company, which he names Bobby Fletcher Auctioneers.

By the time my mom is eligible to sit for the State Bar of Texas, she is 8.5 months pregnant with their first child. The year is now 1981. My mom takes the bar while carrying their first child and living in a constant state of sheer exhaustion. Add in a part time job to help cover monthly expenses. She questions many a time how she made it through. Nevertheless, she took the bar and passed with no problems. She is sworn it with a three month old and begins as private counsel for Furr’s Cafeteria.

A few short years later, they are pregnant again. She miscarries.

Two years later, there is another bun in her oven. His auctioneer business is flying high and she loves being a working lawyer mom. The year is now 1985. Michael Jackson has the song of the year.

On December 2, 1985 they welcome me into the world. I share a birthday with Britney Spears. Although my parents were thrilled, my sister was bitter. My mom put this poem on my birth announcement:

‘Twas the 2nd of December, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

Except Mom and Dad who were up and about
A certain arrival to personally check out.

The doctors were scrubbing up with great care
In hope that this baby would soon appear.

When what to all wondering eyes should appear
But a precious little girl at this special time of year.

With then fingers and toes all wondrously intact,
A great set of lungs and all parts, in fact.

There’s one little problem of which school to favor,
Dad says it’s Tech, Mom says its Baylor.

Christmas 1985: I have a terrible case of colic and scream “literally the entire time”. Nothing helps. Desperate, my mom mixes wine with my formula and finally everyone sleeps (but not before the New Year begins). My dad accuses her of turning me into an alcoholic. She doesn’t care. A new mom can only handle so much screaming. I make a speedy recovery and maintain my halo-worthy existence.

Not long after, my dad takes my sister and I on a plane ride by himself while my mom attends a CLE (Continuing Legal Education) conference in Austin. We meet her there for a weekend of family fun after her conference. He runs out of diapers for me and ends up reusing them by scooping out their contents until he can buy more diapers. My sister also acts like a terror because I get too much attention. He has never flown solo with us again.

In early 1987, while attending a work function, my mom sits down to dinner with Frank Newton, the then-Dean of the Texas Tech Law School. Before the night is over, she has a job offer as an Assistant Dean there. The decision was easy; she joined the law school faculty as an Assistant Dean. Now able to be at home more with my sister and me, her routine begins and she loves her new job.

It is now 1988. My parents begin to notice that my pinkies have a very strange bend in them. I go to see a child specialist in Fort Worth because they thought I might be a freak for life. The doctor informs them that I have Camptodactyly. Although surgery is an option (they could have broken the bones and hoped they grew back “normal”), the doctor insists I will have normal pinky function my entire life so it is nothing to worry about. Being the good people they are, they don’t break my fingers and I still have crooked fingers. My crooked fingers have not hindered me in the least.

Their family is complete. My sister starts kindergarten while I go off to daycare. I am still my sister’s little rag doll. I receive a “talking baby” baby doll for my third birthday and never put her down. She has clothes, diapers and even says “Mama” when squeezed in the belly. This dog drives my sister batty. I still never put her down.

While visiting for Christmas at our grandparent’s house in Tyler, my sister decides she would like to learn to drive. Although there were no keys in the rental car, she is able to change gears and the car starts rolling backwards. My grandmother and I are playing in the direct path of the oncoming car. Had she not scooped me up, I would be dead. The car rolls in to their creek and my parents have a hard time explaining THAT incident to the rental car company. Thanks, big sis.

I start kindergarten in 1991 and love school.

We take a family vacation to Walt Disney World. My “talking baby” rides every single ride with me and even poses for pictures. My sister’s hatred grows. I still don’t care. My doll must be sent to the doll hospital after I put applesauce in her eye and it falls out. I cry every day and feel confident I just can’t live without her. My sister does a happy dance and I cry some more.

My parents buy us a four wheeler to ride around the neighborhood in. I’m not allowed to drive, but my sister is. We have tons of adventures. She throws me off of the ATV and I land square in the concrete and hit my head HARD. I sob. She cries because she feels bad. I sleep the pain away in my dad’s arms and make a full recovery. I start first grade with a huge knot in my head but no lasting brain damage.

For my mom's birthday, we take her to Shogun, a Japanese steakhouse in town. Early on, foreign foods aren't my friend. Ever a trooper, I eat some rice and fried fajita-ish meat. I spend that entire night pewking my brains out. I haven't eaten rice since and I despise Oriental food of any kind.

Talking baby returns from the doll hospital and I am once again a happy girl. My sister is STILL peeved.

I win the reading contest in second grade. My prize is a board game: Life. I hate that game. I don’t even think we played it through one whole time. I further my love of reading.

I get my tonsils taken out at the end of second grade. I have to get my blood drawn and beg my parents to sneak me out of the hospital. My Meemaw and Papa come from Tyler to nurse me back to health while my parents go back to work.

In the third grade, my paternal grandmother passes away; the beast of breast cancer is introduced into my life. I don’t remember much about her and I still hate it.

By fourth grade, my inborn hatred for University of Texas and Texas A and M is introduced into my life.

It is then middle school, and I am shy and awkward, but very smart.

By fifth grade, I have begun my personal walk with Jesus Christ. I’ll never be the same.

In 1993, we watch the Texas Tech Lady Raiders win the national championship in college basketball, beating Ohio State. We meet the team at the airport for the welcome home ceremony.


By junior high, the moles I’ve had all over my body became a concern at a yearly dermatologist appointment. I get my first batch of 12 removed. Cancer cells are in every single one. I hate my dermatologist (her last name WAS “Dr. Worts” after all). She took a mole off my back around my shoulder blade and I still have a disgusting and nasty scar. I never see her again.

I start high school at the same school my dad graduated from. I get contacts in ninth grade. I never wear my glasses, even at night. I’m waaayyyy too cool for that, after all.

The summer between my freshman and sophomore year, I go to London with my school. Eight days of bliss! I love every single moment. That same summer, my wisdom teeth are removed.

As a sophomore, I earn my learner’s permit and begin to drive (yes, I drove all over town with only my learner’s permit). I fall in love with my dad’s brand new Chevy pickup and “break it in” for him. He loves me.

I now hate OU as well.

That same year, more moles must be removed. Still bitter with Dr. Worts, my PCP recommends a plastic surgeon to minimize scarring (I had at least three spots in very obvious places). Round one: removal of 11. Round two: 8 more. Round two occurs in the summer; we had a pool. I was a fish and didn’t believe in sunscreen, so I get fried the day before the procedure, thinking I will simply get a lecture and be on my way. My surgeon delays the procedure (scheduled for the following day) and I get a lecture about skin cancer and such… blah blah blah. Nevertheless, the scars heal wonderfully and it’s very hard to spot them unless I’m freezing cold and my face is bright red. Some of the places had cancerous cells, some didn’t. We agree that I will monitor them closely and come in for twice a month checks for the rest of my life.

I start thinking about college during my junior year. Although I swore I would end up at Michigan State (it’s always so cold there; and think about it, if it snows enough, class is cancelled), I think deep down I knew I would always be a Red Raider. Everyone in my immediate family has a degree from there, and I would hate to let them down.

I hate my senior year of high school. Graduation can’t come soon enough. It arrives, I do a happy dance. That summer, I brace for college. Off to Tech I go.

I get a brand new car and laptop as a high school graduation present. My dad FINALLY gets to drive his own "new" pickup.

I start Tech the following semester and love it from day one. I start as a pre physical therapy major, but chicken out midway through my first semester. That German chemistry teacher really ruined it for me. I switch to elementary education, certain it will be so much easier. Not long after, I realize I would not be happy as a teacher of young children, so I change it again. I work once again toward getting into PT school at Tech.

I intern with a physical therapist that summer and like it okay. However, something told me I couldn’t do it forever. I hate seeing people in pain, and having been through therapy, pushy therapists SUCK.

The day before Thanksgiving of my sophomore year, I tear every ligament in my ankle. It requires surgery for total reconstruction. My family and I are unable to visit my family in Fort Worth on Thanksgiving Day; the doctor insisted the surgery couldn’t wait until finals and the holidays were over. I spend my 20th birthday with my friends at the movie theater watching Rent with 17 stitches and a huge cast. Somehow, I make it through that semester alive, with my GPA still intact.

I continue taking classes working toward getting in to PT school, although still explore other "after college" plans that don't include Physical Therapy.

Shortly thereafter, I meet “Mr. Wonderful”, my knight in shining whatever.

We watch Bobby Knight coach his last game as coach of the Red Raider's basketball team, after he breaks the record in Lubbock and becomes the winningest coach in college basketball history.




In the spring of 2008, my grandmother suffers a stroke. Once extremely healthy and active, suddenly she is sidelined and has horrible trouble talking and getting around. Suddenly, it hits me. I want to be a speech pathologist. It is now my passion.

That summer, my parents split.

On November 1, 2008, my dad gives my sister and I tickets to the biggest football game in Texas Tech history. It. Is. Amazing.

Check it out for yourself:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vqmlVLUBvbw

“Mr. Wonderful” turns out to be not so wonderful and breaks my heart. Into a trillion pieces. I realize that sometimes your knight in shining whatever really turns out to be an idiot in tin foil.

I get in to Speech Pathology school at the Health Sciences Center. I’ve never been happier; it’s my calling and has already completely changed my life.

I thank God every day that clearly, HE isn’t finished with me yet. Thank you Jesus!

It should be noted that "Mr. Wonderful" is said with EXTREME sarcasm.