At my lowest point in my life, where I had no hope for the future or my happiness, my dad gave me his advice that I will never forget. “If anyone, and I mean anyone teases you, you beat the livin hell out of ‘em. Promise me that.” I moved from Arizona to Florida and I ended up in Michigan, as if I were going through a detour to where I thought I truly belonged; in Arizona. Much like the Odyssey, Odysseus had to overcome an abundancy of obstacles to return home. My father’s advice has helped me immensely through my emotional journey on finding my home, wherever I decide where my home may be.
In the perspective of an enthusiastic child, my life began as the perfect storybook. Like my mom, I loved the dry heat and I was well aware at a young age that being brought up in Arizona was a privilege. While we had no beach or, “outstanding,” lake, California is about four hours away from Phoenix. I have memories of visiting California when I was four and cussing out the guy in the Woody suit for, “creeping me out,” but that’s a story for another day. Arizona did receive snow in the northern parts, and I specifically remember thinking as a kid, "not too much snow, not too little; just right." To my buoyant brown eyes I saw the entire world in Arizona; as if we had a little bit of everything
One of my fondest memories of living in Glendale, a suburb outside of Phoenix, was visiting my Great Aunt Linda in the rural outskirts of town. For the first time in the short period of life I had experienced, my great aunt gave us permission to climb the mountain in her backyard, up until we reached the cactus that looked vaguely like a palm tree. I would have long discussions with my older sister, Alex about the mysterious mountain (way past my bedtime I’m sure) until she would tune me out with her MP3 player. Never in my mind had I imagined the day arriving so quickly. It wasn’t a long trip, in fact it was at most twenty feet high. For a six-year-old however, this was to me, the equivalent to walking on the moon. To me, it was one small step for man, and one big leap for this tenacious six-year-old (or at least that’s how I adapted it at the moment.)
My other sister, Haley, and I trekked up the mountain, wearing knee and elbow pads as a request of precaution by our mother, and a helmet weighing us down. We were warned that naturally there would be dangerous creatures lurking through the crevices of rocks or burrowed into the sand. We both thought, no, knew, that we would be okay. Isn’t it funny how naive children can be sometimes?
Once we had reached the ironic looking cactus, I sat down on the surprisingly soft grains of sand and took a few deep breaths, reviewing the substantial amount of land that I have explored within twenty minutes, and revived my exhausted lungs. My sister, who was never very loyal to family as far as danger was concerned, ran away screaming, struggling to keep her balance as she escaped the steep slope. I immediately scanned the area but hadn’t found anything potentially dangerous besides cacti. A tickling feeling swept onto my right foot, and as I look over, a mandarin colored scorpion, almost the size of my 1.5 sized sandals, pierced its stinger into the thin stretch of skin that covered my foot.
Tears fled from my eyes and I ran down the mountain, wailing about the safety of my life. My mom, who was drinking a glass of lemonade at the picnic table, ran over and examined my swollen foot. As much as she reassured me that I would be okay, I continued to shout. I was carried into our minivan and my Great Aunt Linda hauled our family at eighty miles per hour to the nearest hospital. My cries drowned out the radio that was turned on in an effort to calm me down. Regardless, my heart synchronized with the fast-paced beat of the drums in the rock song that was playing. Beads of sweat emerged from the top of my forehead and I kept screaming that I didn’t want to die.
Once we arrived in the hospital, I had my blood tested and I was injected with some type of drug that I thought would, “turn me into Spider Man, but scorpion form.” In the active mind of a six-year-old girl who adored Spider Man, I had hoped that this drug would mutate my genes to where I would grow a stinger or shoot venom through my fingertips and toes.
