That time I was the homecoming queen..

Summer before my senior year I had an opportunity to be a lifeguard at the Hollandale swimming pool.  Take what you know of public pools, and erase it from your memory.  The Hollandale pool was (I use past tense, because it is no longer) not in Hollandale.  Oh no, drive out of town to the country about 2.5 miles, turn down a few dirt roads and amid the corn/soy bean fields you will come to a LARGE hole in the ground.  The hole in the ground had been cemented in, had a sand bottom, a lifeguard tower was put in, as well as a diving board, and infamous floating raft in the deep end.  Add a fence, and some porta potty's and you've got Hollandale's pool. Of course turtles and other various wildlife wandered in on occasion, but that was all part of the charm!  It was a stellar summer job, I got the best tan of my life, and I worked with one of my Hollandale buddies.  We were quite the pair he and I, we taught swim lessons, pulled pranks on each other, and had a fun summer out there.  No one even drowned..which was kind of a miracle.  Looking back on all of my summer jobs, that one was by far my favorite.  I didn't have to work until noon, was done at 8:00pm, and was then free to lolligag around Albert Lea with  the peeps that had become 'my posse'. 

 

Headed to the Senior dance for Homecoming week. That van saw a lot of action that year..

My posse my last years of high school, interestingly enough, was comprised of mostly males.  I considered myself a bit of a chameleon, and could blend with whatever group I was with for class or activities..but my core group of friends....well, there's no way around this: we were a real shit show.  We had many, many skills.  If there were gold medals in toilet papering trees and saran wrapping cars, we would have been on the US Olympic team.  I'm not sure how we all found each other. (Actually I am, but the story is way to long to put in here)  We had a couple hockey players, a pretty boy, the student council president, various girlfriends that would float in and out with the changing weeks, a couple of younger classmen..and then there was me..funny girl, sister to my boys, and the voice of reason.  (Feel free to refer to me as Christ.  Just kidding, don't get get your undies in a bunch..) 

As summer drew to a close we knew this would be the start of a great year, and we were going to need to make it memorable along the way.  It was a beautiful fall that year.  Took in football games every Friday night, stayed out until all hours having bonfires, sneaking beers, and just talking about what the next step would be for all of us the following year. I felt so close to these guys, none of us made a move to do anything until we checked with the others.  We were our own little family, and that is the first time I realized how important friends were in my life. 

 

My escort for Homecoming.  Also, best hair in the class of 2000.

Before I knew it, homecoming was upon us.  I knew that I loved homecoming every year, because it involved shortened school days, and a chance to talk with all of my friends instead of being in class, and a week to dress up like idiots.  (Pajama Day, Toga Day, Rock Star day..etc.)  Being on the student council I was always able to plan all of the activities for school functions.  I especially liked that my senior year because, being the control freak that I was, (am) I was able to make sure homecoming was perfect for my class.  From the t-shirts, to the buttons, to the decorations for homecoming court, to the parade, by God it was going to be perfect.  A crazy thing happened a couple weeks before homecoming.  This chubby girl was nominated for homecoming queen.  Since I hadn't slept with anyone...I was a little confused as to how I got nominated.  I had been nominated for snow court/heart court (or whatever made up royalty we thought of for dances)..and I feel like may have won one of those at one point...but everyone puts homecoming court on a pedestal, which I will never completely understand.  I was thrilled when the announcement was made not that I was on the court, but that one of my oldest, and best friends was going to be there along side with me.  Anfinson and I had been pals since 6th grade, we went on vacations together, we spent nearly every weekend having some kind of a slumber party, she was the sister I never had.  (Fun fact, she still IS my sista from another Mista!) So we had a blast getting ready for that week together.  The homecoming court was an interesting mix.  The men had the usual: football players, various athletic guys..and then remember my little nerd prom date Junior year?  He was on there too, just hanging out with jocks, loving life.  It was pretty funny to see...though I suppose, it was funny to see what the ladies of the court brought to the table: Cute, cuter, cutest, ME.  I don't want to brag, but the queenly royalty were a bunch of frickin' hotties.  And I had no idea what the F#$*K I was doing there. 

At that point in my high school career, I had clearly become the class clown.  Not the moron, that says stupid stuff and everyone laughs at in class, and then doesn't talk to outside of the school walls...but the one that had off handed comments to say, that some teachers didn't always understand, but thought I was pretty harmless...and I was the one that peeps wanted to sit by because they knew we were going to laugh for the entire class period. However,  I was not what the pedestal of homecoming court should have been....

Next thing I know, I'm in my junior year prom dress, walking down the aisle of the school auditorium, to photos of me growing up with sentimental music in the background flashing on the big screen, my parents and all of their friends in the front row, awaiting the announcement of 1999's homecoming queen.  Talk about nerves.  I thought I was nervous for the Potato Queen coronation???  Shit.  To this day, I don't think my knees have ever shook as badly as they did at the moment before I was supposed to walk from the back of the auditorium, to the front, walk up the stairs to the stage and then stand there for how ever many minutes.  All the candidates got to choose their escort to the stage, and of course I picked one of my brotha's from another motha, to escort me.  I was petrified I was going to fall, and then take him with me.  He was just a little guy, if I went down, I was clearly bringing him with me, and thus ending his short existence.  Well, I hiked my fat ass down the aisle of that auditorium, and hung out on stage with those hotties...and for just a minute...I think I honestly believed I was just as hot as they were...suddenly a crown was on my head, I was confused, being shuffled toward a wicker chair to sit in...and the moment of believing I may be just as hot as my homegirls, was taken away as I was praying that little wicker chair wouldn't collapse under my massive fat ass.  Good news, those chairs are way sturdier than they look!

The 1999 Homecoming Court...Note tacky decor and wicker chair I was sure I was going to break.


The rest the day is a blur, just like the rest of senior year.  From that day I remember: lots of hugs, my parents crying, more hugs...hugs...and then realizing the next few days were going to be crazy, and all I really wanted to do was go home and take my bra off for a little bit.  No time that day, or that year for that matter.  I had more school activities to attend, plays to be in, another prom to go to, and I needed to co write the speech for commencement. Not to mention my parents decided we needed to celebrate graduation by taking me on a week long cruise to the caribbean!  I'm not sure I was bra free all year...It was a great year though, one I wouldn't take back, and one that set me up for my future. 

My brotha's

                                                

I was onto bigger things the following fall, or a small, private, Catholic college, in Southern Minnesota.  Either way, the wheels had been set in motion that year for me to bring Megan E. Radke to a whole new audience.  That little college campus didn't even see it coming...

Coming into my own.

 My birthday, being in September, meant I would be one of the first people in my grade to get my drivers license.  I wanted no part of it.  I was nervous behind the wheel of the car.  My dad took it upon himself to try to teach my how to drive.  Probably not the best idea, as we both have tendency to fly off the handle.  Oh, and he is convinced women are the worst drivers in the world, so needless to say, Driving 101 with the Mayor, was my least favorite pass time. While, I didn't care about getting my license, my parents informed me if I was going to be involved in so many activities at school, I was going to have to get it, as they were tired of being my chauffeur.  After dad didn't have too much luck as my instructor, mom gave it a whirl.  But it's hard to take lessons from a woman that shouts, "Oh my God!  How fast are you going?!  It looks like the world is just whirling by!!"  When I would just go 55 mph on the highway.  Clearly my drivers license was going to be a challenge.  I would have passed the road test the first time, if the State of Minnesota hadn't added the 90 degree back in parking maneuver the year I turned 16.  At that time, you had to do that park job in one fluid movement.  I hit all 3 cones and was back to the courthouse in 8 minutes.  By the second time around though, I was ready, and passed with flying colors.  My first car was a white, 1989, Sable.  It was sensible, reliable...and my parents also got me my very first cell phone!  It was about 24 inches long, and plugged into the cigarette lighter of the car.  I was only to use it in emergencies because it cost something ridiculous like $3.99 a minute. I had the world by the tail. 

Sophomore year of high school was a real learning experience.  Now with the freedom to drive anywhere, I was signing up for all kinds of extracurriculars.  Speech team of course was still part of the daily grind, as was show choir, choir, student council, and something new: The fall musical.  My Sophomore year ALHS was to put on The Music Man.  I went into the auditions with no real expectations, just hoping to be in the chorus somewhere so I could go to rehearsals and be with all my friends.  I was the only Sophomore to receive a speaking part.  Every other part was upper classmen.  I was thrilled.  My first play, AND to make it even better I was going to be married in the play to a Senior that I had a major crush on!  I was in hog heaven.  I played the part of Eulalie Mackecknie Shinn, the Mayor's wife.  Looking back on the part, I was definitely type cast.  Eulalie was loud, boisterous, over the top, a smidge gossipy, and somewhat abrasive.  All adjectives that at one point or another could probably be used to describe me.  (Let's face it, HAVE been used to describe me.)  I looked forward to every rehearsal as I was just sure that time spent with my 'husband' on stage would bring us closer together and he would fall madly in love with me.  Again, not the case.  But I had a great time with that cast, and it opened another outlet for me to be a scene stealer/spotlight whore.

Mr. & Mrs. Shinn, The Music Man.

I would also like to take a moment to talk about Show Choir.  Show Choir is nothing like what you see on Glee.  Matter of fact, the reason why I think I hate Glee is because it is nothing like what Show Choir really is.  We had a musical director that screamed at us and scared the crap out of us, more like Sue Sylvester's character than the teddy bear, Mr. Schu.    (Love you Ms. Heaney!)  We had a choreographer, that would teach us the dances, then we would never see him or her again...it took MONTHS to learn the set for competition, let alone to be able to dance and remember your vocal parts?!  Let me tell you something Mr. Schu, you and your little Glee choir on FOX, couldn't last in an all day Saturday rehearsal with us.  You would have gone home crying from exhaustion and lack of self esteem when our director was done with you.  So suck it, Glee kids...

 Last show choir performance.  I'm a vision in blue and sequins.

There is much to be discussed throughout my high school career.  I don't want to bore you, so I'm trying to hit the highlights/low lights as much as possible.  My junior prom was a train wreck.  If I could have just gone to prom with all of my friends I probably would have, but having to have a date was the thing to do..a very nice boy from my choir/theater connection was my date.  He was a perfect gentleman.  And I wanted to kill him.  He opened all doors, was thoughtful, considerate, and attended to my every need all night long.  By the time we got to the dance I was exhausted from his perfect manners, I ran over to one of my friends just so I could explode into a series of expletives so I didn't have to feel so lady like.  Talk about a release...I only feel somewhat bad that every time I saw my date coming for me when a slow song came on I grabbed the nearest human being and forced him...or her for that matter, to dance with me.  Such a great guy my Junior year date was, funny thing: he's a Pastor now for a church in Northern Minnesota.  Yup, I corrupted a Pastor.

All of the plays, activities, stories, and friends were leading up to one of the most interesting years of my life: Senior Year.  I was pushing 18...I was on the cusp of becoming a full blown adult, and what a year it was going to be....

Potato Royalty.

Freshman year of high school (or Junior High, as the case was..) flew by.  I started getting involved in any and all extra curricular activities.  As mentioned before, I joined the very small speech team...and in my first year as a little freshman, made alternate for state with my dramatic duo partner.  I joined choir, show choir...really anything arts related...started MCing events at school...if there was a chance to get a laugh I was going to take it.  I was a laughing whore.  I loved to laugh, make jokes, and surround myself with people that did the same.  The only thing I didn't partake in was athletics.  I hated physical activity then, and I hate it to this day.  If I break a sweat, you better be able to find me a bar with a cold beer in about .10 seconds.  Though while I was a Freshman, it was a delicious can of Cherry Coke, of course. 

Summer was upon me.  I weeded farmers fields in Hollandale to make some change.  (It was literally change, I was paid $4.75 an hour, minimum wage at the time.)  I can't say I liked the job because you guessed it: I had to sweat.  It was a fun time though as I was working with a trio of sisters from Hollandale that made the time go by fast, and we could discuss all things pop culture and boy related.  Even then I was learning the importance of having fun with your co workers. 

Every other year then, Hollandale had a big festival.  Hollandale Harvest Festival.  Initially it was meant to be had in the fall as a celebration of the crops and the fall harvest.  There was a parade, royalty, and a massive meal with the bountiful harvest.  Over the years there were changes made, and by the time I knew about the festival it was in the summer time because the fall got too busy for all the farmers.  The festival kept its original name as "Harvest Fest" even if we were having it in July.  There was still a parade, royalty, but now there was a small kiddie carnival and fried foods that were not farmer approved.

I was pushing the ripe age of 16 that summer when I was approached by a local business and asked if they could sponser me for the Queen Coronation that is part of the Harvest Festival.  Local businesses would pick girls from the town and surrounding area to sponser for the event.  Of course I was pumped because a lot of my Hollandale friends were going to be part of it..and more importantly, I got to be in a PARADE!  I said yes immediately.  I had no shame that the business I was to represent was that fabulous John Deere dealership that my dad worked for.  (Shout out to Ag Power Enterprises!  I like to think getting mentioned in my blog is a big deal, and who doesn't love free publicity, even if it's in the form of a blog that about a dozen people read.)  I was just glad I got to be part of the queenly activities.  Here's how the judging goes in Hollandale to be the queen: A business needs to sponser you, you go to a 'tea' where there are judges.  You interact with the girls, play some games, get interviewed, then show up on the day of the event, go to the coronation, announcement made, you ride in a parade as the queens/runners up.  Pretty simple and basic.  Just like Hollandale. 

The night of the tea came...yes, I said night because Hollandale is a town of pioneers, they will have tea whether it's the afternoon or not.  I got there STARVING because it was around dinner time...and get this...there was minimal food.  I played a few games with the other Queen candidates, as I recall, I was dominating in the game of Scategories...or Taboo..can't remember.  When suddenly it was my turn to be interviewed by the judges.  Oh dear, I was having so much fun playing the games and filling up on lemonade (Yeah, no tea either...lemonade!) that I forgot what I was really there for!  People were going to judge me.  The walk down the hallway to where the judges were felt like a walk on death row.  I opened the door and there sat 3 judges.  2 females, and a dude.  They motioned for me to sit down, and I did.  The next half an hour I just talked my head off!  They wanted to talk about my best subject.  ME.  I rambled about school, my 15, soon to be 16 year old philosophies on life, what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I had them doubled over in fits of laughter...I walked out the door, and knew, there wasn't a chance in hell I was going to be the Queen. I had just blacked out for half an hour in a talking frenzy with 3 perfect strangers. I was pretty sure even Queens, that were to rule over a land of delicious vegetables, wouldn't be laughing at her own jokes...maybe there was some kind of a court jester I could win!  I went back to the game...and finally cake and ice cream was served.  I proceeded to have 2 pieces of cake and 3 bowls of ice cream.  It was late by then and I was hungry. 

Next thing I knew it was the day of the coronation.  I was wearing a slenderizing black sleeveless dress...then realized I was going to have to act lady like as people watched me cross the stage.  Shit.  If there was one thing I wasn't (nor am I today) is graceful.  Up to that point, I had a blast, chatting with the other girls, meeting those nice judges...I just had to make it across the stage and say in the mircrophone my name and who my sponser is...WAIT I forgot the BEST part!  The coronation is done on the back of a semi truck bed!  Yup, pulls right up to the park, they throw some make shift stairs up by it, and the girls in their dresses hike on up to the semi truck bed.  Only the best would do for the royalty.  Up I hike to the semi bed...dress didn't get caught on the stairs, focused on not falling down, and finally I was in position and ready to hear who the Hollandale Harvest Festival Queen was going to be.  They called the second and first runner up...and I was excited for them, with anticipation growing about who the Queen would be...I knew who I thought it was going to be...getting ready to watch her face, and see if she does a Ms. America teary break down....drum roll please............."This year's Harvest Fest Queen is: Megan Radke!"  Wait..why is everyone looking at me?  Oh...F*&%K.  They just said my name didn't they?  Wait...Is that a microphone that guy is holding out to me??....I slowly walked towards it...Missing the fact that they wanted to put the crown on my head, because all I could think of is that the entire town of Hollandale is my audience, and I was getting a microphone to talk!  Don't know what I said, tried to remember to thank my sponser and encouraged everyone to go to them for the John Deere needs...but for those few minutes I could tell I had Hollandale loving my crazy antics.

Potato Queen Radke, with runner's up and the previous queen of veggies.

So began the reign of the German/Norwegian Queen, ruler of potatoes...and all things Dutch.

The creation of a monster.

I apologize to my faithful followers (all 8 of you) for not getting another post up toward the end of last week.  I know you hang on my every word..okay, you don't, but I can tell via my audience tracker on here, that I have had 10 people in Russia that read this blog, so I'm sure it's only a matter of time before complete world domination.  Alrighty, where did I leave off in this bizarre, no holds barred, look into the life of a chubby girl making her way?...Ahhh, yes...

9th grade.  At that particular time in Albert Lea, 9th grade was still located in the Junior High School.  Which I was thankful for.  The thought of being in that big, old, high school, was terrifying, so I was more than content to putter my way around the Junior High.  I was pretty pumped as the year started because this was the year I finally upgraded to contact lenses!  Obviously, with my lack of  my Sally Jesse glasses, and perm, I was bound to be making the boys swarm.  Again, incorrect.  Boys were now just deciding that girls were pretty hot, and if they weren't hot, they could at least be friends with them.  The latter is the catagory I fell in.  Which, to this day, I can't say I'm upset with.  It gave me a good look into the male brain, and down the road I would be able to go to them for advice, as well as save me time in not having to over analyze every one of the dumb things that they say or do in regards to future relationships.  (No offense gentlemen, nothing but love for you.)  Not to mention, dudes are not catty.  They call a spade a spade, it is black and white, and you never have to wonder day to day where your friendship lies with them, it will be the same every day.  Which at the awkward age of 15, was refreshing.  I also suspect this is where my potty mouth comes from.  Of course girls swore, but boys could really thread a tapestry of curse words together to create descriptive adjectives that I didn't know were possible.  I tip my hat to you, good sirs. 

I digress...So here I am, first day of 9th grade, glasses-less, perm free, and my first class is the dreaded, speech class.  As soon as I saw my schedule, I suspected I was going to hate that class.  I was going to have to stand up in front of an entire class while they just stared at me?!  My friends were aware of my zesty sense of humor...but I certainly didn't want to do something stupid to embarrass myself!  As we all got situated in our seats on the first, sweltering day of 9th grade, I took a look around the room.  Everyone dressed in their first day of school clothes, not to be out done by anyone.  I had a handful of good friends in the class, and I immediately clung to them for dear life, praying that the teacher wasn't going to make a seating chart.  Mr. Brist had just started teaching the year before.  The class ahead of us was crazy for him.  He was fresh out of college, young and hip, (He wore Girbaud Jeans at least 3 days a week..which as you may recall, was very trendy then.) and I was sure I was going to hate him because he was going to make me talk in front of the class.  The first few days came and went without any big to do.  But by the second week it was time to work on our first speeches.  I don't recall what they needed to be about, probably because I was ready to pass out from anxiety.  I didn't sleep the night before the speech.  Woke up that morning with a stomach ache.  I had practiced my speech a million times because I wanted to at least know what I was saying, unlike the others that had gone before me in class and read off of the index cards word for word.  I of course, silently judged them.  Knowing that I didn't want to do that, but that no matter what, I was bound to take this speech to Suck Town.   As class got started there were the usual announcements, pledge of allegiance, (because we still did that daily) then it was time to start the speeches.  I prayed each speech to last long and that we would run out of time to get to mine.  Not so lucky.  Before I knew it, it was my turn.  I remember my face feeling really hot, and my limbs feeling tingly.  Knowing that the boys I had been day dreaming about making out with, would never be interested as soon as they heard the verbal diarrhea that was about to spew forth from my lips.  I, to this day, can't remember what I said, but it got a big laugh in the class.  I think I paused for a solid 10 seconds after that and just stared at the class in shock because I couldn't believe they found what I had to say as humorous.  The first laugh was a planned joke.  So, getting bolder, I threw in a few off handed comments..More laughter!  Holy Crap!  I'm frickin' hilarious!  And I didn't care who knew it!  I finished the speech, sat down...and it was at that moment, I knew I needed people to know that I had things to say, and damn it, they were really funny.  The monster had officially been formed.

That first speech was like a drug addicts first hit.  (Well, I can only assume, a drug addicts first hit is like that, I gather that information from the tv show Intervention) I felt so high. I knew I wanted to always feel as great as I did when people were listening to what I was saying, and laughing at the subject matter, of course some of it was my comedic delivery they were laughing at...but if they were laughing at that, Lord knows they weren't laughing specifically at me, and I was okay with that. People came up to me after class and told me how great it was.  Mr. Brist wanted me to join the speech team (Nerds unite!)  And that my friends, is the day my life changed forever.  I knew what I needed to do for a laugh, and the further I could push the envelope, I would, because I didn't want to stop feeling that fantastic (non herb related) high.

Cacthing a high at Tiger's Roar, the yearly talent show.  Chappy and I were MC's.  :)

Valentine's Day = Baby Chi-Chi's Birthday.

Over the course of my life it is safe to say I have spent more Valentine's alone as a single person, than with a boyfriend.  I am 30 years old, I am a single woman, and I don't give a shit.  Every year around this time I get a wild hair that I should try internet dating because that's what people are supposed to do, people believe they have to have a significant other.  I have truly loved only one person in my entire life.  When things didn't work between he and I about 9 years ago... I'm not sure I ever fully recovered.  I gave and gave to this person, and he took everything I had.  Some days I believe I gave so much to him that I no longer have a love like that to share with just one person.  (I swear to God if you people leave me messages on here and send me messages via facebook to not give up, I'll punch you in the face.)  So this past week when I lasted on the internet dating site for 4 whole days, my longest stint yet, I was pretty pleased with myself.  In those 4 days I received many, many messages from men, I can put them in two catagories:
1.) Jewish, Gary Sinise look a likes, that are proud of their janitorial career.
2.) Men that want to bang a fatty.
By Sunday I had determined it was time to end it for another year on the ol' dating websites.  See you next year Plenty of Fish! 

I made the move to the Twin Cities one year ago next month.  In that time, I have added to my circle of friends, and today was really a realization of things for me.  Remember how I said I was going to change names to protect the innocent?  Yeah, that's not going to work.  I'll forget the names I make up for people, so I'll be using first names, don't sue me, there won't be anything too incriminating that I'll be writing.  ;)

It only took a few months to realize when I took my job up here, that I had found some people that could truly enjoy the essence of Radke.  Within a few months I had made a great group of friends at work, and I immediately considered them family.  When my office family member, Chanell, and her husband Matt announced they were expecting in the late spring,  the rest of my office kin was thrilled for them.  We are a unique mix of people, but myself, Chanell, and Kate are really a trio of sorts.  Being single, it was not unusual for me to invite myself along on Matt and Chanell's movie dates...soon, Kate wanted in on the fun..and before you know it, poor Matt and Chanell had 2 people tagging along.  It only made sense that Kate and I decided we should be their 'sister wives'.  Don't worry you perverts, not like the freaky television show, just in jest. 

Now, I've had plenty of friends get pregnant before but this time it was different.  I got to see the mom to be every single day at work.  We watched that little baby bump grow every, single, day.  It was their first baby, and she was excited to share all of the things she was going through.  I swear, by the last week I was even having sympathy sciatica pains right along with her.  Chanell sent us weekly baby updates from Baby Center to our work emails, we were all thrilled when we found out she was having a girl, we even named the baby "Chi-Chi".  This single gal helped to throw a baby shower!  Of course I was drunk for most of it, but I totally threw a shower.  A bunch of us from work use the 'Group Me' app, and if you don't have it, you should get it .  It allows one big group to communicate back and forth with each other via phones/texting...which would come in handy..

Today, Valentine's Day, Chi-Chi decided she wanted out.  Only in 2012, would a mother's water break and she informs the whole group of us with a text that says she's headed to the hospital...and then periodically informed us where she was throughout the day leading up to labor.  Let me tell you, it made the day a lot more exciting in the office when we would get those updates..a few of us suspected that she may have actually laughed the baby out because nothing is a faux pas with us.  We needed to know exactly how gasy she was, and then proceeded to have an extended conversation about flatulence via Group Me.  Late this afternoon, a beautiful baby girl was born to my Chanell and her husband Matt.  So tonight, when I got to thinking about what I wanted to write about, I knew I wanted to write about this Valentine's Day.  I have always known I love my friends.  But today in the midst of a day when people are obsessed with coupledom, I was a spectator via 'Group Me' while a baby was being brought into the world.  For some, love is only about couples, and a focus on romance is what this holiday is about for some.  But for me, and my single life, it's a day to reflect on the love I do have for my family, for my friends, and be thankful for the relationships that are in my life.  For many single ladies, being single is a death sentence.  But I know, I will never, ever be alone...especially when you have friends that are more than willing to discuss fart jokes with you no matter what state of emotion you are in.  My love, on Valentine's, to my family aka friends. 

PS: Tomorrow Baby Chi-Chi you meet your Auntie Megan and Auntie Kate, we have much to teach you young Jedi.

Sally Jesse Raphael

We all have those times in our childhood when we look back at the pictures over the course of the years and say to ourselves: "Why the hell did I think THAT look was a good idea?"  For some it's a brief year period...for others a tad longer, for me: about three years.  Elementary school was getting finished up, clicks of friends were of forming, boys were beginning to look cute and I decided I needed a new look.  So, the summer before 6th grade I took matters into my own hands.  I grew my hair to my shoulders and permed it.  I also was in need of some new glasses for the school year.  It was 1992 and Sally Jesse had a day time tv show.  She was known for her interesting topics and sassy interview skills, but also had a pair of large, red, plastic, framed glasses.  I decided I needed the same.  So off I went my first day of school, new hair do, glasses, and rocking the Eastland leather boots that were the craze.  With the boys slowly maturing, I was sure this new look was going to turn heads.  Incorrect.  Not being one to change for just anyone, I was sure this look would catch on. As I glance back at the pictures (Maybe sometime I'll get drunk and post some on here) I wonder why I didn't listen to my mother that suggested, maybe not perming my hair and a smaller frame on my glasses, would be a bit more complimentary.  At the time when we're kids we're just annoyed that parents think they don't know what's cool...turns out, they're thinking in the long term and realize that we will look back and be pissed that we decided to perm our hair.  What was cool about my parents, is that they never told me I couldn't do it.  They let me go ahead and make the mistake...for three years.  Then when I came to my senses they did the natural thing, and made fun of me for it.  It's because of those lunatics I am truly able to laugh at myself in any situation.  I'm guessing I burned most evidence.  I was able to come up with my middle school ID card, here I had swapped the sensible red Sally Jesse glasses for blue ones...

In the middle of experimenting with new looks, I was really coming into my own.  I remember that time in my life, going to middle school each day, and really enjoying it.  I had a little group of friends that I could count on, I was, at that point, still getting decent grades, and like all 'tweens' was totally self absorbed.  If bullying was happening then, I wasn't part of it.  The internet wasn't even around yet, and when it was, nobody could find a damn thing on it, so this cyberbullying shit the kids of today experience was nonexistant.  I find it odd that I was never really bullied.  You would think, growing up the fat kid (or the fat, Sally Jesse, if you will) I would have experienced some of it.  Maybe I did, and I'm still so truamatized I'm still blocking out that era of my life.  But my gut tells me, I'm not worse for the ware.  This is the juncture in my life that friends truly started being extensions of the Radke family.  Many slumber parties were had at my house, many prank calls were made to boys (No caller ID yet!  What up?!) (By prank calls I mean we would call and then just hang up the phone when they answered) and lots and lots of giggling was had into the wee morning hours.

Life was a simple time...but there was something inside of me that was screaming to come out.  At that moment I was playing it safe with my circle of friends, not trying to push the ballot, or stand out in any way whatsoever.  (How could I not, I was Albert Lea's version of Sally Jesse)  I was getting to a crossroads, where I felt like I was trying too much to just go with the flow, and hide all of the hilarity that I really wanted to share with people.  It was getting ready to bubble up and overflow just in time for the start of 9th grade....

Being chubby and playing tag...

Being an only child, friends, were always, and will always be, very near and dear to my heart.  Friends are truly an extension of my family, probably more so than some people realize, because I lack that brother/sister bond that many other people are fortunate enough to have.  When I look back at some of the best and worst times of my life, I think of my parents and then immediately, the friends that were there to surround me.  I think all of us want to make friends and keep them, but the realities of life happen, and windows open and close on friendships.  A friendship window is unique in that it can be opened or closed without any given warning.  Sometimes they remain open forever...or after a time in which you are sure they are painted shut, they open again one day, to reveal an evolution of friendship you didn't know was possible.  Sometimes however, without anyone's fault, they shut for good, and you are only able to look through the dusty pane and remember the memories that will be forever ingrained in your mind.  I, like all of us, have many variations of those types of friends in my life.  For those of you I don't communicate with, or have let the window close, I am sorry.  But please know, you have played an important part in making me who I am today. 

Thinking back as that first year in Hollandale grew to a close, the Radke's were experiencing all sorts of new friend encounters. As for me, one of my favorite new friend experiences was the birthday party.  I had them when we lived on the farm, and went to a few before I moved, but never as many as when I started kindergarten and onward.  There was only one thing I hated about birthday parties.  At that age kids have more energy than they know what to do with, and moms who just wanted to get out of the party without any broken family heirlooms or bones, knew exactly what to do.  So no matter what time of year it was, after the party games, after the delicious food, cake, and opening of gifts, I heard the dreaded phrase, "Go outside and play!"  Now, those of you that know me, and have known me since my youth, can understand why I hated this.  Playing outside meant, without fail, a game of tag.  I have always been, and probably always will be, pleasantly plump.  I don't like to run, I don't like physical activity, I don't like to sweat.  After consuming hotdogs, soda, chips/dip, candy and cake, the last thing on my mind was playing a rousing game of tag.  But without fail, the enevitable would happen.  We would be shuffled outside, playing happily on the swing set, and that skinny bitch would shout, "Let's play a game of tag!  I'll be IT first!"  I would roll my eyes, then promise myself I wouldn't give up this time, I would run with the best of them!  Who was I kidding?  within the first 3 minutes, I was it, and trying to catch those little broads, was out of the question.  I without fail would fake a side ache, "Ooof! Too much cake, I have to catch my breath!"  and then happily step to the side, knowing that the annoying part of the party was over...at least until the next birthday rolled around.  The below picture is one of my parties, we had a sensible water fight and then open gifts.  No tag whatsoever.

While I was faking injuries at birthday parties,  mom and dad were really finding their niche in the community.  Mom had run across an old friend that lived in town from her elementary school days, and was being introduced to fabulous women that would turn into her 'birthday club' in later years.   Dad loved his job, the people he worked with, the town..there was just one thing that was missing, that could really give the town, and his family exactly what it needed...CABLE TELEVISION.  Yup, it was 1988 and Hollandale still didn't have cable.  He did what any American man would do, talked with the council about getting cable to Hollandale.  The councilmen, being a bit older, and conservative were not receptive to the idea.  That's when dad knew what he HAD to do.  He was going to run for Mayor.  His platform: Cable TV for all!  (I'm not making this up) He was elected that fall, and cable tv came about a year later.  He remains Mayor to this day.  Being a Mayor in Hollandale means you wear many hats: dog catcher, city maintance man, (at least initially) protector of the law, (unless it's serious and the sheriff needs to be called), and over all, taker of general complaints about everything.  Dad even got on CNN one time!...Unfortunately it was in the fall of 2004 when the entire town was nearly taken out by a flood, but he sure was the face of Hollandale for those trying hours.  But he wouldn't have it any other way.

All in all, those first few years in Hollandale were an adjustment to say the least, but looking back, this was when the roots of our little bitty family were really taking hold, and that's a good thing, because there would be tests along the way...

You're not much, if you're not Dutch.

As I write this, I know I will need to protect some people,  places, and things, to primarily, not get sued.  But some stuff, is just too good, not to actually use it's name.  Since I already teased you in the last post about Hollandale, I figured, it was safe to just go ahead and pray that the City of Hollandale finds this cute, and funny...and not offensive.  It's okay, I know the Mayor. 

A brief history on Hollandale: (Mind you, this is not entirely..if at all accurate.  I got most of my Hollandale history lesson off of old pictures that were hanging up in the town diner.)  Hollandale was founded by Dutchmen (No, it's not just a clever name) a long time ago... or at least around the time rail roads were still the main form of transportation. Initially the entire area was a marsh.  The dude that discovered the area found that the ground beneath all the water was great for farming vegetables, much like back in the 'old country'.  The ground itself is best for potatoes, onions, carrots, beans and corn.  In no time Hollandale's name was on the map for producing the most delicious veggies!  With that, the farming community was born, thus the need for farm equipment...which as you guessed it: Brings the Radke family into the picture.  Modern day Hollandale is a bit like Mayberry.  At the last census they had 303 people.  There are no stoplights, it's about 4 blocks long, and everyone knows everyone else. 

It was 1986, and the farm dad was raised on was going up for sale.  Dad and Mom knew it was too big to take on themselves, and didn't want to be tied to a farm forever.  It's a story like any other: dad knew a guy, who knew a guy that was looking for a semi truck driver, to help a John Deere dealership during the busy harvest time.  Dad needing the work, took the job.  This however, meant dad had to live in Hollandale, and mom and I were left back at home on the farm.  We would see each other on weekends.  Or my favorite, when mom had to work a weekend shift at the hospital I got to stay with dad at his apartment in Hollandale...which as you can imagine, was very bare, and man like..but more importantly I got to eat Dorito's, pizza and RC Cola all weekend long.  It was a child's dream.  The John Deere dealership liked dad so much that when the end of the harvest came, they asked him to stay on full time and the decision was made that the Radke's would move to Hollandale.  As you can imagine, there was not much prime real estate in the area.  The first few places that the realtor took mom to were questionable at best.  Places where former owners actually had kept a monkey, to a place where it was one big room with a toilet in the middle and you just pull the curtain for privacy.  Needless to say, Berde was not having this.  After the toilet house, mom literally grabbed the realtor by the tie and said, "If you show me one more piece of shit, we're not buying anything!"  Next thing you know, a quaint little 2 bedroom house popped up for sale, while mom wasn't in love with it, it didn't smell like a zoo, or have a toilet as the main focal point in the living room.  Mom was sold.  We moved in the summer time. 

In a town of less than 300 (they just burst through the 300 people ceiling a few years ago!) word got out quickly that a new family was in town.  It didn't take long for visitors to come by bringing plates of goodies, and offering play dates for me with other children.  (Which I LOVED!)  I liked Hollandale immediately.  It seemed like a Metropolis to a farm girl, and I could pretty much ride my bike wherever I wanted. Except for across the highway to the other half of town, I needed to be with a grown up on that adventure, at least until I was a little older.  People all wanted to know what our background was...lineage was important in this town, we soon heard the phrase, "You're not much if you're not Dutch!"  Initially we thought they were joking, but turns out...they really meant it!  I began to dread saying over the years that I was a boring Minnesota mix of German/Norwegian.  The Dutch families had cool things like Amsterdam, delicious candies, bakery items, and neat shoes.  What did I have going for me?  German's had that whole Holocaust thing, what a nightmare that turned out to be...and Norwegians...well they just had a goofy accent and ate lutefisk.  I immediately formed a complex, and now consider myself of a German/Norwegian/Dutch heritage. 

In the fall I started kindergarten in Albert Lea.  Mom put her little 6 year old on the bus, knowing that I was truly gifted, and the teacher was going to be working with a small child genius for the next year.  As she walked home, sobbing uncontrollably, people actually stopped her and said, "Berde, are you okay?"  She replied with, "I'm fine, I just put Megan on the bus, she's going to kindergarten!....She was just a baby!..."  I had no idea about mom's crying fit until years later, I guess that can be kind of a common thing among mom's.  Next thing we knew it was time for my first parent/teacher conference. 

Mom walked into that parent/teacher conference KNOWING that the teacher would finally be confirming what she had known for 6 years, her one and only daughter, was destined for big things.  The first words out of my teacher's mouth were: "Megan refuses to learn how to tie her shoes."  Mom, shocked says, "What?!"  Mrs. F: "She said she doesn't need to learn how, that you would just buy her velcro for the rest of her life."  In my defense: that was a pretty good plan!  Obviously, if I wasn't going to focus on the childish task of shoe tying I would have time for much more complex tasks, like learning how to draw shapes, or getting some of the basic math down.  Needless to say, when mom got home from conferences we had a discussion about how when the teacher says we're going to learn things...I need to listen to the teacher, and while mom was going on and on about learning how to tie shoes, she told me I needed to focus a little more on listening, and not talking so much when in class. Who me?!  I finally had an audience of kids to talk to, they were worried I would be a loner, and now I have to shut up?!  This was a hard concept for me to grasp.  But after a few trying weeks of shoe tying, it was under control, and I was trying to keep the talking to a minimum, or at least whisper a lot more. 

Before I knew it my first year in Hollandale was almost over...and my life of Dutch goodness, was just beginning...

That time I lived in a trailer..

I didn't realize when I was growing up that being an only child carried a certain stigma with it.  I will probably work until the day I die attempting to have minimal only child traits.  My parents took me home from the hospital, knowing there would be changes in their lives, but not expecting what they got.  Aside from my poor mother's 16 hour labor, and multiple reconstructive surgeries she had to have following, to the months of colic I had...the initial year of my life, my parents (Probably more seriously than they ever let on) had many discussions about how, putting me up for adoption was perfectly acceptable.  A combination of a bad labor experience, a screaming baby for months on end, and trips with mom back and forth to the hospital for her surgeries, made having another child look less than thrilling.  This however, gave me ammunition in the years following to tell my parents that there was no need for another child, as I am perfection and they got it right the first time. 

We've all been asked what our very first memory is.  I've thought and thought about it for a long time, and I don't know if it's my first memory, or just the combination of how good I felt that makes it stick out in my mind.  It was a mild, summer day, I was maybe 4...I remember standing by one of the windows in the trailer (Yes, I said trailer!  No, not a trailer park.  My parents bought their classy, gold, double wide in the 1970's when trailers were the rage, and placed it on my dads parent's farm.) there was a summer breeze blowing in, Grandma Liz (my mom's mom) was standing next to me and we were watching my parents come up the driveway.  They had been away for a few days, I feel like it was my mom's class reunion they had gone to.  I was so excited to tell them all the things I had done while they were away with grandma...But more importantly I knew seeing my parents meant one thing: PRESENTS!  They had surely missed their only child, and had brought presents..there were a few gifts that day, but I only remember one of them.  Pink, sparkly, jelly shoes. I threw those new shoes on so fast it would make your head spin.  I believe it is because of those shoes I have a mild addiction and have currently 20+ shoes in my closet.  (None of the jelly shoe variety...and I think I may be low balling that number a bit.) 

Other memories from my childhood are a jumble...because I was the first, and only child, everything was an eye opening experience for my parents that they usually consulted my doctor about.  If there was one thing I LOVED when I was a toddler it was playing in the toilet.  I was like a dog, really.  Often times I would take my mom's pots and pans, head to the toilet and just start playing and splashing...which the doctor said was totally fine!  He only got a bit concerned when I started drinking from the toilet and the blue 2000 Flushes was like Kool Aid around my lips...Mom had this conversation with me weekly: "Megan?  Are you in the bathroom again?"  Me: "No...."  Dishes clanging wildly against the porcelain throne.  She would inevitably find me in the bathroom, which would lead to this convo: "Megs, have you been drinking out of the toilet again?"  Me: "No.."  "Mommy can see the blue toilet water around your lips."  Then I would burst out in fits of laughter, and be sent to the sand box for awhile.

Two major things I can't leave out of my years in that trailer: Star Wars on laserdisc.  (I can quote nearly the entire original trilogy word for word..nerd alert!)  I also believe my fabulous imaginary friend, Danny played a pretty big role in my formative years.  From about age 4-5 Danny and I had play dates daily, I made my parents have conversations with him, and usually he was able to stay for at least one meal with us.  Which of course, he had his own spot at the table set for him, and if dad would accidentally try to sit in Danny's spot?!....drama, drama, drama. 

This was also the time my sense of humor was forming.  I saw how everyone liked to laugh at my house.  I remember my parents having parties and people laughing at all the funny things my mom or dad would say.  So it was only a matter of time before I found a tape recorder and started sharing jokes and stories on the audio tape.  "What did the ketchup say to the fridge..Hurry up and let me out it's cold in here!"  Oh, you've never heard that one?  Yeah..all of my jokes were of that caliber, but I was my own best audience (and continue to be to this day). 

Myself in the trailer as Mr. T

My little world in the trailer however, was short lived.  My dad took a job at a John Deere dealership in little, bitty, Hollandale, Minnesota.  I was getting ready to start kindergarten...and my parents knew without a doubt, I was going to be the smartest, child in that kindergarten class.  Turns out...I had other ideas...