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Like Washington State's dysfunctional weather, my childhood in Washington was pretty much the same and it wasn't filled with many warm memories as well. That'e me, the smallest little girl with dark brown hair. I was the youngest of three girls.

My dad was an alcoholic and my mother was always busy all the time and somewhat distant from us girls and although I grew up with my two sisters, Marie and Lynn, we were unable to build any lasting bond.

We grew up in a really nice home my dad Ralph built with his bare hands, but he also built himself an early grave as he was an alcoholic for most of his short life. He drank himself to death with the excuse, "It's my life and I can live it anyway I want." So, at only 56 years young, which is the average life span of an alcoholic, he died before my two sons were born, and so he never knew the two precous joys of my life and my wonderful husband George. But what if I'm wrong what if he asked God for forgiveness and although my husband and sons didn't know him and what if he keeps watch over them because after his death mom found a cross in his camper which she never knew he had. Although not one word of faith was ever mentioned in our home we did watch movies about Jesus and the Bible like Moses but not one word came from his mouth to further the conversation. I wish he had.

My mom many years after my dad died told me he was taken to church by his grandmother so he knew church. You know I was thinking, my dad was the ninth child born to an Alocholic father and lived through the Great Depression.

There were a few good memories, for once my sister Marie taught me how to tailor and sew clothing when I was in the sixth grade. Lynn, however, was much like mom and kept pretty much to herself and her friends. As I look back, everyone was not really rejecting each other, but just caught up in their own lives and we had no religious up bringing which I believe might have bonded us more as a family.

Flying Away

As the youngest girl in my family, I eventually was alone, and I could not wait to leave and be on my own. In Washington State, I grew up on Boeing hill, watching airplanes fly over. When it came time for me to escape, at the first chance I got, when I was 19, I headed for the Airlines to be a Flight Attendant for TWA. Even though I had left my life back home, I always longed for a phone call from my family—at least on the holidays—but the calls never came. They must have had better things to do. I did call and travel home as much as I could afford back then.

Before I joined the Airlines, my family told me that they believed no one would hire me. They thought I was too short and stupid. However, I took this as a challenge. To be sure I would be accepted, I put my hair in a pony tail, twisted it and pinned it above my head, and put a really nice wig that was mom's on top, and it helped me reach the 5' ft. 2". Then I went to downtown Seattle to the appointment, which was in the old Benjamin Franklin Hotel, and the only other girls there were so tall, that I would need a ladder just to talk face to face with them! I would say there were about 4 or 5 of them. They didn't look down at me, and I surely didn't look up at them. I thought to myself, "What have I done, they won't hire me if this is what they are looking for." But no, I was hired, and with other girls about my size, they the really tall girls were not hired. They were way over the height requirement.

A Barber Shop on Boeing Hill

During training, they were going to check our height and weight and health. The girls in training were separated into two different groups, and the group I was in was the first to get our height checked. As it turned out, there were about 50 girls who thought they too were under the height, and were as scared as I was to get checked. They parted our hair and made us stand under the measuring rod in bare feet. I and about 10 other girls were immediately fired. Later that same night, I went to the apartment manager in charge of all the girls, and I told her how I had sold my brand new car my dad bought me, and I was so upset, I told her that "my dad was a big shot at Boeing", and then I left and went to my apartment to pack.

I was really upset, thinking my sisters was going to have a wonderful time telling me they told me so. But later that night, the phone in the hallway rang, and Jerry, one of my roommates, who was also packing to go home, called me to the phone and told me that the President of TWA wanted to have a word with me. I said, "No, I just want to pack and get done with it". She pleaded with me, and so I went to the phone. The man said he was the President of TWA and that I could stay, and I told him there were about 50 girls also under the height requirement, and some a little over who were scared, and they needed to stay a well. He said yes, they could stay too, and then he said something really funny to me. He said, "Please don't tell your dad about this". When I became strong in my Christian faith, I asked the Lord to forgive me, for I lied because I was so upset at the time, and I just wanted them to know how upset I was for being sent home.

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