Side Roads: Lights, camera, drama queen

For the first few years of her life, my daughter's name was "young lady."

It was always, "You get back in here right now, young lady," or, "I'm going to give you something to really cry about in a minute, young lady."

She wasn't so much rebellious as she was adventuresome. A couple of her favorite television shows come to mind, when she was only about 2.

There was "Bomba, the Jungle Boy," which would explain my discovery of her slinking along the back of the couch with panther-like stealth, stripped down to her panties, which she had fashioned into a makeshift loincloth, with a toy hunting knife tucked into the side.

"Lassie" was another favorite. What ideas could she possibly get from that trusted, family hour show?

I found out when I saw her carrying her cereal bowl into the living room after she'd eaten the cereal and only a bit of milk was left. She set the bowl on the floor, laid down on her stomach and started lapping up the milk.

And oh, the drama of it all. It was on her third birthday that I was made especially aware of her capabilities as a drama queen. Something upset her, and there she sat at the kitchen table, crying her little heart out. I felt horrible as she sobbed away, still wearing her pretty birthday dress (white with red trim, and a matching bolero).

I walked over to comfort her, and that's when I saw the hand mirror she was holding, closely observing every tear that streamed down her beautiful little face, and all the heavy-lidded anguish she could muster.

It got even better. One night something happened - I have no idea now what - and I chastised her. No tears this time. Just a slow, deliberate walk in her long pink summer nightgown (with pouf sleeves and matching robe), up to the first landing of the stairs. Turning, she said, with the tragic air of a disgraced Southern belle, "I must throw myself down."

The stairs, she meant, except she was staying far back from that first step off the landing.

"Young lady, you get down from there right this minute," I said, tapping my foot angrily. No swan dive, of course, just a sauntering stroll back down.

With school came a new source of entertainment - gossip. Coming home from school one day, she was eating a bowl of soup and I asked her how her day had been.

"Jus' awful," she said.

Before I could ask what happened, she told me, with obvious relish.

Flinging her hand out from her wrist with a flourish, she said, "Mommy, when we were outside today, I looked around and every boy on that playground was figh-tin'."

Then she took another sip of her soup.

It's been a while since those days, and sometimes I miss my little drama queen, but I admire the kind of human being she has grown up to be.

Young lady, don't you ever change a thing.

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Persinger is community editor for The Tribune. She may be reached at (812) 523-7063 or jpersinger@tribtown.com.