A Name For Me

Always the one with dirt under her fingers and bruises on her legs, looking at her, many would refer to her as a ‘tomboy’. Others, ones that knew her family, would say she is ‘Mike’s little sister’. A name of her own was the quest that drove her. Sweet and pretty still through the cuts and sweat, three decades to realize that no one will take her seriously with her sun-kissed hair, rosy cheeks and piercing blue eyes. “You are too pretty to play with the boys...too pretty to play rugby…too pretty...” Nip here, tuck there, conforming to a social level she overcame. Natural, at times, unkempt, these deterrents did not work.

What made men swoon for her also drove them away. Independent, determined, intimidating...adjectives she heard every time a relationship was being to crest. “But this is who I am. How can it be too much of a ‘good thing’?” Deflated and overwrought with sadness, a low that in turn stirred even more determination. This last rejection fueled the endless fire of her being. It was her moment of clarity, a name to be revealed at last...