To console me, my aunt arranged for my tv debut on the locally produced Flop Mop show.  Alas, no cyber memories of that show available to my knowledge. (Norm, did you read about how the poor boy in Japan was treated on Romper Room? I know you can relate :)

Would I say that my parents weren't exactly attentive to me and to my IMPORTANT needs?! No. They just knew that our neighborhood and our family offered an extended network of people for me to WORK my considerable charms on. In my neighborhood, I sometimes wish that I found it easy to identify the doctor, the doting retirees, the nurses, the police officers, the mail carrier, the teachers, the mayor....

I will post a photo of me at seven to show you how well my parents took care of my appearance (NOT!). In any case, I took the bus to school on some days, if I managed to wake up in time. One day, I didn't wake up on time. It was raining. I begged my mom (preparing for her substitute teacher gig at John Hays--dad was already long gone to work at the first shift Ford Motor Co.) to give me a ride. She refused.

Well, I showed her. I walked down to the corner house--white-haired retirees, always good for a cookie--and pulled out my best poor girl routine with tears thrown in for good measure. The retirees fell for it. I got a ride, but I also got a stern warning that if I tried it again, they would tell my mom (they told her anyway).

So, I learned to wake up and catch the bus (I put my clothes on before I went to bed!! Smart, huh?! When you see the picture, you will see the results). Lesson learned.