Elementary Years

I found the meaning of freedom from dictionary.com. The word freedom is a noun which means the state of being free or at liberty rather than in confinement or under physical restraint.
This description was how I was feeling when I no longer wore those horrific shoes. I felt "normal", not different. Being different was hard, still is hard, to accept. It seems I have had to fight all my life for "my freedom". On the outside, to others, I had/have everything but inside my inner most self, I didn't have everything. I wanted to do what others were doing, play what others were playing, and climb stairs like others were climbing. I didn't have physical strength like all my friends but, at least, I was walking!

I was very petite all through school. When I graduated from High School I was 4'11", wore size 4 petite clothes and weighed 85 pounds. I had two things to fight against, my handicap & my size. Well, I compensated it with my mouth and my stubbornness.
My family always went to church, rather, me, my mom & siblings attended. Dad didn't go except for special occasions like plays we were in, or other occasions. He didn't mind Mom taking us. After church, most of the time, we spent with Dad. We went for long afternoon rides, sightseeing or visiting relatives who lived way out in the country. One Sunday a girl, my age, showed up in church. Her name was Brenda. We became very close. We were soul mates! If she wasn't at my house, I was at hers. My mom inherited another daughter. Brenda was my very best friend. She never acted like I was different! She played games I could play. Brenda & I did everything together. She made me feel "normal". I remember the day Pres. John Kennedy was killed. Brenda saw me in the school hallway, she ran to me, put her arms around me, she was crying as much as her heart allowed. I did not cry. Crying, in front of others, was something I hardly would do but I did cry alone on many occasions. When others were around I watched Brenda play physical games and I was her private cheerleader. I remember her doing the limbo; she always won because she was very limber. We stayed very close friends until I had to attend a different high school, which I will be discussing at a later time.
Meanwhile, a friend of my mom's, from church, told her about a place, in Florida, for children like me who had physical needs. She thought Mom should send me there to see if this facility could help me physically. (I can only imagine what Mom was feeling) She replied to the lady that there wasn't anything anyone could do & she would take care of me as long as she had a home for me. Mom loved me. She made me feel secure. I could tell she was concerned about me but my "strong will" wouldn't allow her to hold me back. Mom was, and still is, a very wise lady and loves the Lord. There is not a time I can remember her not having time with God. Late at night, I remember her going in the bath room, with her Bible, to have her time with God. She would be praying for her family. Mom was a living sacrifice and gave up her self for everyone else. I will tell her story at another time.
Back in school, I remember sitting and watching others play during recess or PE. Another friend, Susan, sat with me because she couldn't participate either. Susan had a hole in her heart. We didn't let it bother us too much. We usually sat & talked, played jacks or cards. There were times I felt left out, pushed aside, different.

Around the 3rd grade I was tired of watching everyone having fun so I told the teacher I wanted to join in. Wow, if you could have seen her face! That's when I started coming up with solutions and ideas on how I could join the rest of the class during "activity" time. I remember one game I played at school and my neighborhood------baseball! I would bat, hit the ball, someone else would run for me. No one minded playing this way. If they did no one said anything. Around this time I became a problem solver. When others would tell me I couldn't do something, then I would ask why not! Now, I knew, within reason, what I actually could not do physically, like running marathons or jumping hurdles but if there was a solution, I found one.

Talking was my past time in school and out of school. I know; it still is my favorite thing to do! I was always full of questions, argumentative, and always full of comments. I was always trying to be like everyone else. If ADHD (attention deficit hyperactivity disorder) existed then, I would be my parents ADHD child. The doctor prescribed something to help me sleep at night. He said I wasn't physically able to get tired enough to sleep. Hmmm, little did he know.........I couldn't be still; I always had to be doing something, even if it was talking!

ZORRO was my hero up until the 3rd grade or so. There was always something about his "uniform" I liked. Looking back, I was a lot like Zorro. I hid behind a mask of feelings. When I put my "uniform" on I was stronger, felt important. I "always" took up for the underdog! I would always "fight" for them (with my mouth of course)! He always wore black so he could hide from his enemies. Was that what I was doing? hiding? God was my hero too and He was one to fear. I feared Him a lot. See, I grew up thinking if I didn't ask God to forgive me I would go straight to hell. I didn't ask Him to forgive "my strong will power" because I didn't think much about it at the time. I didn't go down to the altar a lot at church because I didn't want others to know how bad I was behaving on the inside. I wanted all the adults to keep patting me on my head and telling me what a beautiful, nice daughter my parents were raising! Except one time at church (I can't remember what I did) I received a spanking from Mom. No, it wasn't my first one, nor was it my last! Anyway, someone asked Mom, “Do you spank her? Why?" Mom replied "Of course I spank her! I spank her because she has been bad!" "I treat her like any other child who acts out." Looking back, I'm glad she did. I also had long, dark hair. In fact, it was so long I was able to sit on it sometimes. My long hair did not make me weaker........ I don't think it did, anyway. Someone asked Mom about my hair and why she didn't have it cut short to save my strength. Mom replied, "Samson's strength came from his long hair. Vicky's hair is her strength." Isn't my mom wise? All I could think of is how stupid people are and how could they ask so many stupid questions! I thanked God for my parents on many occasions. After all, if He had allowed these other people to be my parents, I would have lived in Florida with short, dark, hair! Not to mention that I'd be separated from my family!
I don't remember when I asked Christ into my heart. What I do know, I always thought of myself as a Christian. Granted, I wasn't always living for Him and I did ask for His forgiveness on many occasions! I didn't ask to be saved over and over again. All I wanted was just to be forgiven. Man, if I asked Him to save me every time I sinned, I would have been saved at least 1,000 times or more! I don't want to get into theology, I'm just telling you how I felt! I always talked to God, especially at night. There were many times I would argue and ask "why". Why me Lord? I fell and hit my head again today, Lord. It really embarrassed me. Why did you allow it to happen? Everyone thinks I can't do anything. They laugh at me. They feel sorry for me. They don't want me around them. Lord, I don't want to be weak, I want to be strong! Why Lord? Why?
As I walked, my legs would buckle and I would fall down. This didn't happen all the time but usually happened when I least expected. Sometimes when I fell my head would go back and hit the floor. In order to get up I used my hands to push against my thighs to straighten up. Sometimes someone would help me get back on my feet. This was always a humbling experience. I had a speaking part during a Christmas recital at church. The choir & speakers were behind a curtain on stage. My turn came up. Yep, I fell as I was walking across the stage. My mother came & helped me up. I continued as if nothing happened. Usually I would laugh and go on but inside I was so embarrassed. Girls wore dresses all the time during my elementary years, so you can only imagine how I looked on the floor!
I started taking piano lessons in the 2nd grade. I loved the piano. Did I practice all the time? No! My teacher, Ms. McCoy was the greatest. I took lessons from her for 17 years. She stuck with me through the good times and the bad. She helped me start a teaching career when I graduated from High School. When I felt lonely or depressed I would play. It was my way of escaping from.........me!

God was teaching me humility; He was teaching me to realize He made me. This realization took a while but I do know He placed me in His story so I can bring Him glory! Remember this was my elementary years, there is still more to come.

Beginning Years

First, I would like to apologize to all journalists, writers and English teachers for my penmanship. I am not a professional writer. I am here to talk about my life as a woman who has to use a wheelchair in order to live her life.




This is dedicated to Mom for teaching me unconditional love and that I am special in the eyes of Christ. Psalm 31:10-31(NIV)

This is also dedicated to my husband & best friend, Jay, for loving me unconditionally. Ephesians 5:25-28 (The Message)



I was born in Asheville, NC, Oct. 5, 1953 to a full time Army career man and a full time homemaker. At that time my dad was stationed in Germany. Up to then, he had fought in 3 invasions. One evasion was on D-Day (not saving Pvt. Ryan but the REAL D-DAY) fighting to keep America's freedom. His last invasion was fighting in the front lines of Korea. My mom grew up with 1 brother and 3 sisters during the depression. They both grew up during hard times, seeing a lot and learning how to survive.



When I came into this world, I had 1 sister, Brenda. Brenda was a month away of being 5 years old. She was born before Dad went to Korea, I was born afterwards. This will be mentioned again at a later time. So look out for Korea again!



Mom named me Vicky and spelled my name with a "y" instead of "I" or "ie" like everyone else was spelling the name because.........ho hum.........the doctor spelled it that way on my birth certificate!

No, my name is not a nickname from Victoria. Ta dah.......See, from the very beginning, God was starting to make me different than anyone else through my name! To this day, I have to tell others it is with a "y" not "I" or "ie"! The origin of the name Vicky is Latin which means conqueror; victory. Hmmmm!



2 years passed and I was starting to learn how to walk. Mom started noticing the way I was walking, climbing stairs and getting up off the floor when I would fall down. It was different than the way my sister learned to walk and how other children walked. When I climbed the stairs I had to hold on to something or someone to take a step up. When I fell down on the floor I would walk up my legs, with my hands, in order to stand up again. When I walked, I would walk on my toes. Maybe, I was learning how to ballet. After all, I do love the art of dancing!



Of course my parents had me examined and analyzed. I spent some nights in hospitals. The only thing I remember from one stay is I had shared my room with other children who had their own crib. It was a coed room because across from me was a blonde hair, mean, loud, obnoxious boy! (My 1st encounter with boys) He kept yelling at me, calling me names and throwing things at me. Not a good impression...huh!



When Dad was stationed at Ft. Bliss, Texas (El Paso), the doctors diagnosed me with muscular dystrophy. Back then, scientists and doctors did not know much about the disease. They knew my muscles would be weak, I wouldn't live to be old and I wouldn't function, physically, like other children. The doctors prescribed me shoes with a bar between them. I was to wear them while sleeping. It was suppose to help my feet grow correctly. I also had to wear these brown, heavy, ugly, oxfords during the day. These, oxfords, were so heavy I could hardly lift my feet. For the life of me, I can never understand why people running have to put weights on their ankles! It was miserable!



My brother, Jimmy, was born in November, 1960, in Texas and at that time, Dad retired from the Army. By next February, we moved back to Asheville, NC. We traveled in a black, Impala, with a front floor air condition and blinds in the back window, luggage in the back and all kinds of things tied on top. Jimmy was 4 months old, Brenda was 12 years old and I was 7! Besides, 2 adults, a baby, 2 girls, there was a white chicken (my pet, of course) named Princess and a parakeet. We really looked like Ma & Pa Kettle (the Real McCoy’s for those who were born later). One thing I do remember about our trip is while we were in a motel, Dad called me over to see a new show on TV, "The Flintstones". Dad was excited at a cartoon which was airing on primetime TV. He loved cartoons!



I finished out grade 1 in a small, private school. The school only went through the 1st grade so everyone I knew had to attend 2nd grade in another private school or go to public school. Mom wanted me to attend the Catholic School because it was the only private school around. Remember, this was the early 1960's and private schools were almost non-existent. Only the upper crust went to private schools or so I thought. Anyway, Mom wanted me to attend a private school because she thought it would be the best for me physically. Needless to say, I said "NO, I want to go to a public school where my friends are going!" I also said "I do not like these shoes & I am not wearing them anymore!" Well, I TOLD her! Hmmmm, do you think I was a little demanding? I never took "NO" for an answer (still don't) so I ended up attending 2nd grade at Aycock Elementary School with my friends. Also, I no longer wore those ugly torture shoes! I was free or so I thought!