"We're clearly soldiers in petticoats and dauntless crusaders for women's votes; though we adore men individually, we agree that as a group they're rather stupid…"

--from Sister Suffragette in Mary Poppins

O$#&!$#&!O

You want to know my story? Well, needless to say, I'm surprised. I'm the little girl who was born about ten years too late to fit into her generation, the one who has the big, frizzy, curly hair that is too big for her head. Are you still interested? Alright then, but I did warn you—there's nothing very interesting here, except my peculiar love for England (and English boys, of course).

By all things holy and good or at least according to my father, my heritage alone should dictate a strict hatred for England and its domineering ways; however, my love for literature, history, and language overrules. When my mom discovered that she had bought four copies of Mary Poppins by the time I was two years old, she realized that... I was odd. For example, much to my Scottish father's dismay, whenever I got angry or confused, even as a small child, I spoke with an English accent. But because of da's fiery temper over this and other ridiculous things, I learned to watch my vocabulary very closely. Letting something as little as "bloody" slip from my mouth, when my da was in a bad mood, could sometimes lead to me being grounded for up to two weeks.

I even tried to drive on the 'wrong' side of the road during my driving test the first time. I was so nervous that I wasn't even thinking… which led to me driving on the left side of the road. It's a good thing there weren't any cars on that particular road that day.

It seemed I was finally being accepted for who I was by my da until about the middle of my senior year. I had never had very many friends, besides Kebra, because my father simply scared them off. He didn't mean to, sometimes, but his flaming red hair, unusual Scottish burr, and love for plaid kind of freaked some people out. That's not to say that any of those things is bad, or that all Scottish people had these same problems; I don't like to judge entire ethnic groups because of one person.

My mom was part German and part Native American, which means she was obviously gorgeous; her hair was wavy, dark, and long, her skin always an olive color with a hint of pink along her cheeks, and an exotic beauty to her that no one could resist, so naturally all of my friends loved my mom.

I finally did something rebellious, with the permission of my mom who was quite possibly my best friend, and applied for an English University in the middle of my senior year. I just knew my father would go through the roof, and I had a serious doubt that I would get in so I had no reason to tell him. Kebra kept urging me to tell him, because she knows how bad of a liar I am and how much I hate to keep things from him, but I just wasn't budging; if my mom approved, then I wasn't going to find a reason to tell him unless it was absolutely necessary.

Does anyone else find it sad that I couldn't decide to do something "rebellious" without the permission of my mom?