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Petunia in an Onion Patch

I am the sore thumb

By Tina D'AngeloPublished 10 months ago Updated 10 months ago 3 min read
5

Mornings began with Mommy and I walking my older sister to school. When we got back home it was my time, as my mother would be getting the house ready for the day. I was a very timid and tiny three-year-old. A magnet for neighborhood bullies and my older sister. When the bullies were at school I could finally relax and live in my own fairy tale.

Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Greenjeans never bullied me. They became part of my make-believe world and I would be sitting, still as a statue, in front of our forty-eight-inch cabinet TV with the eight-inch screen, every morning at nine on the dot. One morning, while I was hiding in my pretend life, Captain played the song, 'I'm a Lonely Little Petunia in an Onion Patch'. It caught my attention and brought me to tears. I remember it almost seventy years later as if I had listened to it just yesterday.

My older sister, Daddy, and the Petunia

There was a forgotten potted petunia plant on a windowsill in our living room, turning brown and crispy in the morning sunshine. I remember going over to that plant and telling it not to worry, as I would be its friend. I snatched it off the windowsill and sat with it in my lap for the duration of Captain's show. When my Mother came out and found me with dirt on my clothes and a mess on the floor she took my new friend and threw it away to the tune of my wailing and tears.

Always stubbornly loyal to a fault, I waited until she went back to her household chores and plucked my new friend out of the trash can. I ran to my bedroom and tucked the potted plant under my crib blankets, setting my biggest teddy bear on top of it to keep it safe from my wicked Mother. I can't remember how she finally found it. But I'm positive a spanking came with the discovery.

Little did I know that the song and its melancholy story would follow me throughout life. I was always the one left behind, left out, and just, well, different. I fervently felt things no one else could understand and believed in fantasies invisible to others. Growing up as an outcast was sometimes painful. But it also brought me a certain joy in solitary pursuits. Books, music, writing, and dance were my constant companions.

Throughout my school years, when loneliness took over my heart I would sometimes listen to soothing music, dancing alone in my room until the heartache left. My fantasy life was beautiful and I was always the star. No one laughed at me while I was alone.

I fit in no better at college than I did in my previous twelve years of schooling. Again, the odd man out. I didn't smoke, drink, do drugs, or date. I went to college to get a degree, not a wedding band. Clearly not a member of the 'in' crowd, I stayed by myself and hung out in the dance classroom on weekends, dancing my heart out.

It was the music and the movement. No other thoughts bullied me while I danced. Time stood still as I spun and kicked my way through the magical tunes, feeling something powerful and exciting, that I could never quite let go of.

Dancing is flying without wings

When I finally quit college to pursue a dance career in strip clubs, no one else could figure out what would make a good Catholic girl do such a thing. They couldn't hear the Captain's petunia song, which trilled in my head constantly and told me being different was just fine and that living out my fantasy in real life was more than perfect.

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About the Creator

Tina D'Angelo

G-Is for String is now available in Ebook, paperback and audiobook by Audible!

https://a.co/d/iRG3xQi

G-Is for String: Oh, Canada! and Save One Bullet are also available on Amazon in Ebook and Paperback.

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Comments (2)

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  • Mark Gagnon10 months ago

    Tina, great memoir! I started to think you were gone for good, which would have been a true loss. Hope the book is coming along.

  • Kendall Defoe 10 months ago

    This was a very beautiful story. Thank you for sharing!

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