namesake attained under duress

#20- the most memorable day of your childhood

I've tried to keep these blog postings light. But, today, we are going to go through something. This is going to be a long one. Ready? Okay. 

In my fourth grade year, I went to school in Sanford, Fla. with my father, Hamilton Elementary School. I think that is the right name of the school. I was with my father because my mother was getting her accounting degree at Alabama State University and needed some time for studying and focus so she could graduate. 

A couple of memorable things happened during my stay. Like I've said before, as a child, I was very quiet and observed everything. The Challenger disaster happened while I was in school. Being that NASA was in Florida, the principal allowed all the kids to come out of class so we could see the shuttle take off. The shuttle seemed so close. Well, we all know how that turned out. May they rest in peace. At the time, I couldn't grasp what those smoky clouds represented. It's like my mind wouldn't let me understand it. 

Soon after that incident, I got really sick. My father and my step-mother didn't know I had been sick for days. I never really told them, my step-sister told on me. The pain was so strong that I could hardly stand up. My teacher had to call my father so he could pick me up. I remember that day, we were watching a film and the room was dark. I had to keep getting up to go to the bathroom. 

When my father got me home, I could tell that he was nervous. He was carrying on like he did something wrong. The pain was so great that I screamed out in agony from the room I shared with my step-sister. All I could hear was banging pots and pans. The smell coming from the kitchen had to be take-out from some 5 star restaurant because my father never cooked. I looked up and I saw him standing there with a breakfast spread that had to be only served to champions. Great. I thought. The first time my father made me ANYTHING and I couldn't stomach to eat it. 

He knew I was sick. I don't know why he even listened to me plead with him not to take me to the doctor. Like, what did I know?! I was 8 or 9 years old. Finally he broke down and took me to the doctor. The doctor examined my abdomen. Before he could even touch me I was already screaming out in pain. The doctor turned to my father and said without hesitation  "You have to take her to the hospital right now! She has appendicitis." The urgency in the doctor's voice made me even more scared. My father did as the doctor suggested. 

I can't remember exactly what happened when we got there. I do remember being in a huge office that looked like it belonged to a Chief of Surgery or something. The man behind the desk was trying to convince my father that I needed surgery right away because my appendix had ruptured and that, "she could die!"  SAY WHAT?! Oh, that is what I said in my head, not out loud. Come to find out I didn't have health insurance and my father was worried about the cost. Word, dude?! Okay. Still to this day I'm hurt that I saw in my father's eyes that he was really debating if I should get the surgery even after the doctor told him adamantly that I would die without it. 

The next thing I know, I'm being rushed into the operating room. The doctors were running me in there. Yes, literally RUNNING! Yay! Daddy did the right thing saving me and all. I'm here. Yipee! Guess what the damage was?! All he had to do was change my last name to his last name. Boom, I was put on his health insurance. It cost him his namesake and a higher premium, maybe. A surname he never even attempted to give me before that day. Oh, and, he had to face my mother's wrath, of course. The man didn't call my mother to let her know her baby was in the hospital until a couple days after the surgery.

Today, I'm happy to say that I dropped his name. He didn't mean it. He only gave me his surname because he had to in order to save my life. Well, not really to save my life, but to save his lint filled pockets. He never wanted me to have it as far as I'm concerned. He can keep his stinking name. I don't need it now. I never did. Sorry, I didn't mean for this blog to end up here; yet, here we are.

pic above: I'm not sure if that was taken right before I went to Florida, during, or after. I know it was around that time. I was either 8 or 9 years old.