Throughout my life, I have had two hairstyles: bangs and no bangs. When I was a baby my hair was dark and crazy. As I grew, it tamed. Soon, I got bangs. It was the start of a lifelong hairstyle.

I hated getting haircuts. They were a type of change, and I didn’t enjoy that. When I was three, my mom wanted me to get a haircut and I fought the idea. Finally, after much contention, my mom convinced me to go, under the condition that I’d get to pick out a Barbie afterward. After the haircut, Mom took me to the store and I, naturally, picked out the expensive Mariposa Barbie. Mom never made a similar deal again.

In second grade, for some crazy reason, I grew out the bangs. I also didn’t have my two front teeth, so it was truly a wild period of time. When I got my bangs back, I remember looking in the mirror after and thinking, I’m ugly now. I came out of the bathroom with tears in my eyes. My mom assured me that I would get used to them, and I did.

I haven’t changed my hairstyle since then.  The thought of losing the bangs scares me. One thing to remember, I hate change.

I was born in Illinois. My parents were college kids, married three years ago. They were smart and waited to have children, the headache we are.  Frankly, I don’t remember anything from Illinois. I only got two years of freedom before my sister, Campbell was born in Illinois too. Many pictures from that time show me as a toddler with my dad. The pictures include me leaning over a table Dad was seated at, scribbling on a piece of paper, while Dad has a thick binder by him. In this picture, I am “helping” him with his homework. I can only assume I was a large distraction to my parents in their studies.

Chicago was always my family’s city. Everyone in my family loves Chicago. My Dad went on his mission there. For those who don’t know, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints mission is when you take two years out of your life to go somewhere with a stranger called your companion and spread the word of our church. A mission consists of much rejection, service, and near starvation. My Dad remembers the apartment having cockroaches everywhere. He once told us that when he turned on the light in the bathroom cockroaches would scatter everywhere. I shivered at the thought.

In one of the pictures from Illinois, I am merely a baby. My dad holds my arms as I splash in the water of the fountains in Millenium Park. I have many fond memories from that park.

After Illinois, my family of four moved to Milwaukee. Our small cape cod house was big enough for the small family we were. We had a backyard with a large tree. My parents strung up a swing on the tree. The rope was white and purple striped. My dad would push me on that swing for as long as I wanted, which I’m sure was a very long time. It seemed that I would swing as tall as our house. I would grab the leaves and drop them on my dad’s head. “Here, some chocolate leaves,” I would tell Dad, referring to the chocolate leaves from the show Dora.  

That swing was also a source of stress for me. When the wind blew the swing would move. This was not okay for three or four years old me. I would watch the swing and grow more anxious. I was unable to do anything else besides watching the swing and freak out when this happened. Eventually, my parents put a bent nail into the tree and hooked the swing on it when we weren't using it.

Stress gone.

Or so I thought. One day my dad was cutting wood on his table saw by out detached garage. I was watching closely. My dad told me to move around the table to the other side. I obliged. My dad started cutting again. A woodchip flew into my eye. I blinked. My eye hurt. I cried for my dad.

Next thing I knew I was at a doctors office. The office was white and frightening. The doctor inspected my injured eye and concluded I was to have an eye patch. The eye patch wasn’t a cool pirate eye patch. It was a patch taped to my skin around my eye. It was horrible. Moral of the story: wear eye protection.

After two years my family moved again, this time to lovely Iowa. The drive there consisted of corn, corn, and more corn! Moving to Iowa was an adventure. A new house with bare floors, blank walls, and cardboard. Lots and lots of cardboard.

First, we moved into a rental house. In that house, we had many adventures, two bats in the house, goat babysitting, and bunk beds. We didn’t stay in that house for too long. Leaving the rental behind, we moved into the house we would live in for the next six years.

Here enters cardboard. To a four-year-old cardboard opens a world of playing opportunities. The living room had two sets of windows, so during the day, it was the brightest room in the house. I have many fond memories in that living room. One of them includes taking all the large cardboard pieces from our move and creating walls of a house. Then, Campbell and I would take all our stuffed animals and playhouse. The location was California, due to the sunny room, and sometimes I could feel the warm breeze on my skin as we played. This game lasted many days, and I never tired of it. If you gave me cardboard now and went back to that living room I would gleefully set up the house. But, alas, we no longer live there.

Another change in Iowa was the birth of my baby sister. I remember before she was born I was obsessed with the movie “Prince of Egypt”. As a result, I would often put my baby doll, Marco, in a trough-like baby doll bed and push him across the living room as if he was Moses and I was the river.

When Taite, my baby sister, was born a new world of fun was opened to Campbell and I. This new world also included getting used to sleeping while across the hall Taite was crying like her arm was being torn off. This is a skill I am extremely happy to have gained. Campbell and I simply doted on Taite. She was a cute, little, precious baby. We would place little toys on her belly or swaddle her up in blankets.

While this was occurring, I was in first grade, and in first grade, we had this unit named Kid Town. In Kid Town, you were given fake money, jobs, and punch cards. I had a little woolen purse with wool flowers on it that I used to hold my money. The job I was given was a waitress/cook at a little restaurant we had. I had wanted this job with all my heart because of the new Disney Princess movie of the time, “The Princess and the Frog”. Though the movie scared me at first, I quickly gained a love for Tiana. Tiana was a waitress. I was a waitress. I got to put Easy Cheese on Ritz crackers. It was a dream come true.

In first grade, I was in the reading group that needed a little more help than average. In this group was my best friend for the grade, his name was Carter. Now, if you go to little rural Maquoketa, Iowa and ask the people from my grade who was my best friend in first grade was a girl named Faith would raise her hand. First grade me begs to differ. Faith was my only friend I played with on the playground, but Carter was the friend I laughed with in class. Once in class, our teacher called Carter and me to come with her. We went with her to the copying room and helped her. Later, while walking back to the classroom, she told us to tell everyone that we had gotten in trouble. We found this funny because we were the two best students in the class. I can say that now because it’s true. First grade me might be humble and say no. First grade me is wrong.

Our house in Iowa was on a golf course. This was a kid’s dream. Even though our backyard ended at the little hill, you could still keep going on the soft grass. This backyard was my grove of inspiration. Inspiration for what? For games to play, of course! Now, my sisters, friends, cousins, babysitters, or whoever was willing to play with me didn’t get to play normal games. Nope, we played imaginary games. There was a time when my Dad got a hammock. This hammock was the perfect boat for a game. My sisters and I spent many days in that hammock pretending we were sailing the seas. To any outsider, we would look like three girls swaying in a hammock crazily. To us, we were on the ocean, running out of food, and having an adventure. Those days spent in my backyard are some of my fondest memories.

The schools were split up into two elementary schools, Cardinal was grade K-2. Briggs was grade 3-5. Class was never my favorite time, no, I loved recess. In third grade, I would walk and talk with my friends. In winter, my friend Kallie and I would construct chairs and get our snow pants soaked, so much so that my pants would get wet. I didn’t often feel too safe in that class. The teacher was strict, she liked me, but still, it was a little stressful. I was horrible at math. We were memorizing our times' table and I just couldn’t do it. Forget learning my multiples of 12, I had a hard enough time with nines. I was tutored by my mom’s friend, who was a teacher, for two years after that.

Once in class we were taking a test, our cardboard folders hiding our papers from our neighbors. Suddenly a noise came from down the hallway. It was a student’s voice, shouting. The voice grew louder. Our teacher, Mrs. Penningroth, quickly left the classroom. I heard the door to the outside close. A teacher spoke into a radio. Then all was quiet. I got so afraid about what had happened I folded my arms, lay down my head on the desk, and prayed.

I was a nervous child. Going to sleep was a struggle. I would hear voices from outside my room and my imagination would take a left turn. Everything and anything remotely negative or scary made me freak out more. One place my anxiety spiked was the YMCA. My mom worked there, and I hated that place. I was on swim team there. I did volleyball and dance there, but still, it freaked me out. In the evenings Mom would do Zumba there. While she was taking Zumba, my sisters and I went into this small room that was “daycare”. It was free, with membership, and it was torture. It was always stuffy. I felt like I was trapped, but I didn’t want to leave either. Outside was much more frightening. I just didn’t feel safe.

Fourth grade I had one of my favorite teachers, she was kind and understood my suffering. I had a W last name. I remember one day she came up to me and said, “I understand having a W last name. I had a W last name.” I was comfortable in that class. It was a nice break.

Fifth grade was not my best year. I had been in the TAG (Talented and Gifted) program since first grade for writing. I was also there for math during fifth grade. It was my best time. In the normal classroom, I was seated next to the disruptive girl because I was the only one who was able to be unaffected by her, unaffected by the teacher’s view that is. I hated it. TAG gave me an escape. We had book clubs, reenacted some scenes in the book A Long Way from Chicago, did logic problems, and many more things. It was so fun. My two best friends from that grade were in TAG, Lucas, and Alex.

It is a worldwide fact that in fifth-grade girls get weird. Most girls that is, I didn’t. Lucas and I met through similar book interests. In all of the fourth grade, I strictly read Nancy Drew. That summer I read Harry Potter and Percy Jackson. Lucas and I bonded through “The Heroes of Olympus” series. At recess, we would play Heroes of Olympus. The playground castle was the Argo II, and we would go on missions to save fellow demigods. It was a game we never tired of.

Alex was another one of those girls that didn’t get weird. I knew her from band class. She played the saxophone. I played French horn. We bonded through TAG, and, like Lucas, book interests. She loved The Hunger Games and so did I. We had worlds of fun pretending to be Effie Trinket. With Alex and Lucas, TAG was a wonderful escape from boring and dreadful class.

Then we moved.

I found out on a car ride. We were headed up to my Grandma and Grandpa Stephenson’s house, cliffs made of “rainbow rocks” (as my sisters and I called them) were on either side of the road. My dad turned around to look back at us. “We’re moving,” he said. I’m sure he said more too, but that’s all I can remember.. After my dad assured us he was serious, Campbell and I promptly cried. We had friends in Iowa. We liked it. We’d be moving in the summer.

I told my guidance counselor when my grade went to visit the middle school. We were outside, waiting for the bus. It was a warm spring day. I sat on the bench with the guidance counselor. “I’m moving,” I told her with an introduction to why I won’t be attending the middle school next year. She answered with sympathy and encouragement.

Saying goodbye to my friends wasn’t too hard, they gave me their addresses so we could mail each other. I remained pen pals with a few of my friends before they stopped responding. It wasn’t a painful ending, just slow.

Next thing I knew, I was packed in the car with my mom and sisters. Dad was in the ‘77 Suburban with the cats and a lot of boxes. We were headed back to Wisconsin after six years in Iowa.

We lived at my grandparents when my parents went house shopping. My grandparents owned a sheep farm with sheep, goats, chickens, two dogs, and a few farm cats. I felt free and safe at my grandparents. Their farm was a place of peace for me.

Then we got our house. My sisters and I each got our own rooms. I picked the smallest room because it was painted blue. Even though I got the room of my choice, I still was nervous. School hadn’t gotten out there. My mom and I toured the Kettle Moraine Middle School. One of the guidance counselors led us. After the tour, she sat with us in her office. She told us of this new charter school called Create, it was a house for a new type of learning: independent learning. My mom and I knew of this house because three kids my age from church would be going in Create. They were the only people my age I knew in this new school. My mom asked the guidance counselor if I could possibly be admitted to Create if I could. The guidance counselor wrote down my name and that I wanted to be in Create. She told us she would try her best to get me in.

As school approached we looked on Infinite Campus, the system the district used and found out I was accepted into Create. A new chapter in my life was about to begin. I had moved. I was going to my first year of middle school, and I was going to be part of a new type of learning. I did not enjoy all this change. It swarmed me, frightened me. I moved from Iowa to Wisconsin. But I did it. I could be part of this change in schooling.

I could do it.