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CHAPTER 1
I Was Born to Move Free — and So Were You
When I first began sharing my new life mantra, moving free, in my writing, I believed my journey began with my separation from my husband, my mother's death-bed declaration, and the wake-up call I experienced following my cancer treatment. And indeed, each of those moments bolstered my desire to liberate myself.
In retrospect, however, I have come to realize that I was born to move free and to illuminate others' journeys to find their own path toward freedom. Holding up the light for others through my writing is my life's purpose — the reason I am here on earth this time around.
The things we love as a child provide clues for our desired direction as adults. Although I was bound by the rigid familial and societal restrictions inherent in the 1950s, I felt an innate yearning deep within my spirit to liberate myself from those limits. We are all free spirits when we are young children. Certain activities and interactions particularly excite us. Recalling our fondest memories is not only a joyful exercise; it also reveals our natural talents and passions. As you read about some of my fondest memories, allow your own childhood memories to flood back in.
Mud Pies in the Backyard
Our family moved to Great Bend, Kansas, when I was four. I spent many hours making mud pies in the backyard of our new home. I can still feel the gooey warmth of the damp mud in my tiny hands. I molded it into perfect pancakes and left them on the step stones to cook in the blazing sun. I recall playing with the neighbor kids with not a care in the world. I also remember (or perhaps my mother told me) that I insisted upon wearing clean, ironed dresses to go outside to play, but on mud pie days I must have thrown caution to the wind and moved free from my littlegirl dress code. Fully immersing myself in these carefree outdoor pleasures was a welcome release from the rigidity of our home. Escaping into nature remains an important way to ground myself even now.
Chartreuse and Purple Outfits
Wearing the brightly colored matching outfits my mother and Aunt Jeanne made for my cousin Kathy and me was another special treat. They featured peasant blouses and tiered, gathered skirts outlined in rickrack. We refused to take them off, ignoring the popsicle stains and sweat, until our mothers insisted it was bath time and snatched them away.
When I was older, I took sewing lessons, which spurred me on to design and fabricate clothes and pillows. Perhaps this was an indication of my independent fashionista tendencies, my earliest appreciation for color, design, and creation. As an adult, I've come to justify my colorful, Bohemian wardrobe as an undeniable artistic expression. My current penchant for creative dressing and design can surely be traced back to those beginning attempts to move free of the style boundaries of the times.
Magical Moments with Pappy
In my early childhood I adored spending time with my paternal grandfather, Pappy. I was sheltered from my maternal grandfather because he was a hoarder and an alcoholic. Since my maternal grandmother died when my mother was young, and my maternal Gammy died when I was three, Pappy was the only constant grandparent in my life. He was the polar opposite of my father, who was a strict disciplinarian. I felt cherished and loved by my Pappy right up until his death.
He lived in a modest home in Wichita with a splendid backyard featuring a garden, a graceful weeping willow tree, and a soothing glider. I was allowed to sleep on the screened-in porch. In the early morning, he would bring me one of his crisp white dress shirts to wear as a robe. We'd head out to the sunny backyard to tend to his black-eyed Susans and other flowers. We would often sit silently on the glider together. After dinner, he took my brother and me on walks, during which we always enjoyed the guilty pleasure of chewing Juicy Fruit gum. Combining this with my middle name, Duér, he created his pet name for me: "Deborah Du'air with gum in her hair." He called my brother, Timothy Michael, "Timothy Mickle, the Great Bend dill pickle," because we both adored the huge kosher ones he bought for us at a local deli. When I recall those idyllic visits, I feel aglow with the light he brought into my small, difficult world. To this day, I find it soothing to garden and take walks with my loved ones.
Bonding Times with Timmy
Timmy was a loving older brother. He made me feel protected and admired. He was stricken with polio at the age of four, which forever changed the course of his life and that of our family. He had to endure multiple surgeries and wear braces during most of his childhood. My mother naturally expended a great deal of energy and time caring for him during his illness. As a result, she might have over-mothered him. They remained closely bonded, right up to the moment she passed on.
Timmy and I were very different in our interests and abilities. He loved to read and learn and was an A student. He spent a lot of time making very detailed drawings of buildings. He enjoyed both competitive sports and intellectual pursuits, including basketball, tennis, science fair competitions, and debate teams. He had some close friends who shared his brilliance and interests.
Despite our differences, we had a pleasant sibling bond and enjoyed horseback riding, visits with Pappy, and church youth group activities together. Following in Tim's scholastic footsteps, however, was no picnic. Many of my teachers were excited when they learned I was Tim Vaughan's little sister. They must have been disappointed when they realized I did not have Tim's passion for scholarly pursuits. I studied just enough to make Bs. My preference for physical freedom and daydreaming took precedence over learning.
As high school came to a close, I rebelled yet again and chose to attend Kansas State University rather than the University of Kansas, where Tim was studying. This came as quite a shock to my father, since I was born in Lawrence while he was a student at KU, and he fully expected me to continue the tradition.
Carefree Escapes
Peggy, my best friend since age eight, was my partner in crime and innocent play throughout my childhood. When my Dad bought horses, she always tagged along on horseback rides and family trips to horse shows. We would laugh so hysterically together that we would end up with our mouths wide open, emitting no sound whatsoever. Although my Dad had a short fuse for most noise I made, even he couldn't resist the laughing fits Peggy and I shared. For me, they provided a welcome break from the countless moments of walking on eggshells in my father's presence.
Peggy and I had a secret hideaway a few blocks from our houses. We would pack a lunch, jump on our bikes, and head to this spot after school or on lazy summer days. It was only a small, shaded vacant lot, but it was a delightful retreat for us. Here we could invent a pretend world and play without restrictions for hours on end.
I often escaped to another sanctuary to get away from the discord in our household, a sheltering weeping willow tree a few houses away. It was the perfect size for climbing, so I settled into its branches for solitude from time to time. My current need for road trips in my Mini Cooper and my love of weeping willow trees hearken back to such pleasant childhood escapes.
Dancing – Sweet Liberation
The dance groups I joined during junior high and high school provided yet another turning point in my early march toward moving free. These dance lessons and parties were provided by Hazel, a brilliant woman who taught ballroom dancing in her basement studio directly across the street from my school. I not only shone as a natural dance partner, I even garnered some ribbons at the monthly dance contests. This prepared me for the homecoming dances, proms, and cheerleading that would become highlights of my high school years.
It followed that all my boyfriends in high school and college had to be good dancers. I was shy and awkward on first dates, but once I stepped onto the dance floor, my light shone brightly. Besides, dancing often led to kissing. My husband Craig took me out to dine and dance on our first date. The kissing wasn't bad, either.
To this day, I love to dance, moving freely in dance clubs with girlfriends or Craig. Sometimes I take our cat Boo for a whirl around our kitchen island, but he finds the dizzying experience to be frightening and quickly escapes my grasp.
Happy Horsey Days
My Dad had always wanted a horse when he was a child, and he purchased several when I was seven. Later he fulfilled his lifelong dream of owning a place on the outskirts of town with a barn and horses grazing just steps from our back door. I loved having the horses so close at hand and did my part with the chores. I spent so much time petting and bonding with one of the colts that she actually followed me into the house one day.
During junior high I took riding lessons from Sandra Bess, a young woman from New Mexico, who worked as a trainer at an Appaloosa ranch owned by the Townsley family. I worked out on the horses three hours a day in rain, shine, or snow in preparation for traveling with Sandra and the Townsleys to show horses. During several summers, we loaded up people and horses and trekked to shows in New Mexico, Missouri, and Iowa. For the first time, I experienced the joys of being part of a large, raucous family. Sandra had a strong influence on me during those early teenage years. She became the big sister I never had, as well as my coach and mentor. She taught me to focus on one thing at a time. Her guidance and acceptance made her a welcome and positive presence in my life. Visiting different states also broadened my world-view and spawned my lifelong love of travel.
On a trip to New Mexico, a jockey at one of the horse shows befriended me. We had much in common, and talking to him was effortless. Although we may have kissed a few times, I had no idea he was actually falling for me. Several weeks after I returned home, he and his sister showed up at the Appaloosa ranch one afternoon just as I was finishing my workout. I was completely shocked and unsettled to realize that he had taken our harmless flirtation seriously. My father had a stern discussion with him, and he and his sister left the next day. For once my Dad really stepped up and rescued me, and I was touched by his concern. It was a rare moment in which I felt unconditional love from him. This incident revealed my small-town naiveté and taught me to be more wary of young men.
For the most part, my travels with the Townsleys were lighthearted and rewarding. The teamwork and mutual admiration of my fellow equestrians gave me a sense of belonging. The comfort of that family feeling warmed my heart. At the same time, my horseback riding escapades enabled me to fulfill my desire for freedom.
Old Santa Fe Rodeo Queen
Although my interest shifted from horses to boys during high school, my Dad was a director of the local rodeo and convinced me to participate in it my senior year. I had not ridden for three years, but I knew this was important to him, and it would likely be the last hurrah in my horseback-riding career. Looking back, some of the best moments in our father-daughter relationship happened during the time we spent together with the horses.
I borrowed a horse, took a short refresher course from my treasured mentor Sandra, and competed in the rodeo queen contest. What a dangerous and dramatic entrance I made that sweltering summer night. I'll never forget the rush of galloping at break-neck speed around the perimeter of the arena, as close to the fence as possible, when I was introduced during the competition. I leaned precariously out over the crowd, smiling and waving in a regal manner. I won the title of Old Santa Fe Rodeo Queen that year. Trying to make my father proud was often futile, but this time I struck gold. I don't think my father was ever more proud of me than the moment I was crowned. What a triumph!
It Wasn't Free and Easy at Home
Most families are dysfunctional in one way or another, and my family of origin was no exception. My father was very critical of my brother and me. His anger often bubbled over, and he sometimes became verbally and emotionally abusive, while my mother acted as the perpetual peacemaker. Although she was a good mother in terms of the trappings, her obsession with impressing others consumed much of her time. And my brother's polio challenges and her social obligations left little time to attend to me, her annoyingly independent daughter.
My parents always provided us with a nice home and financial security, which I don't take for granted. We had much of what we needed to flourish in terms of experiences and opportunities, thanks to my father's successful career. But my parents' relationship was sometimes tumultuous, and they divorced during my freshman year in college.
One of the most important life lessons for moving free is letting go of past woes. I may have carried this to an extreme in some cases by repressing bad memories as a necessary coping mechanism. But as a child who was always on high alert when I was in my father's presence, I began to hone my ability to flip to my other persona — the lively friend and bright student — when I left the house. I chose not to waste my time by dwelling on painful encounters with him.
Thankful for my more freewheeling, post-high-school life and having a naturally resilient nature, I tried to accept that my parents did the best they could, given their own issues. I sought intense counseling much later, which finally allowed me to release anger I still harbored for their shortcomings and to forgive them for the angst I had felt throughout my childhood. I've also come to realize how fortunate I was that the parents of some of my friends took me under their wings and modeled healthy adult relationships as well as the joys of good marriages and parenting skills. What would I have done without them?
Always Moving Free
Even then, against all odds, I chose to move free.
When he locked me inside his prison of intimidation,
He sometimes silenced my voice,
I stitched my craving for freedom safely inside my pocket of hope.
My fragile child-self always conspired to escape.
Whether galloping into the dust on my horse,
It's crystal clear to me at last.
Wild and Crazy College Days
I spent the last few years of high school anticipating and planning my escape from Great Bend and my family. Rather than being fearful of what the future held, I couldn't wait to spread my wings. Long before I discovered its true meaning, I had an undeniable urge to move free.
During my early days at Kansas State University in Manhattan, Kansas, dubbed "The Little Apple," it took some time to come into my own, given the many years I consciously self-edited my thoughts before I uttered anything to my father. Whereas I had been one of the cool kids in high school, safe within my clique, college was a bigger, more intimidating world. My friend Melodie, who had talked me into going to KSU and rooming with her, gave me comfort and direction. With her support, I could finally drop my guard and explore this exciting new world.
I made some interesting friends. College was all about dates with lots of adorable boys and playing bridge in the student union between classes. What a guilty pleasure that was for me. Pledging a sorority gave me a closer circle of security and many set-ups for blind dates. Looking back, on some level, I think I was particularly drawn to some of my sisters because they were already moving free. Those friendships enriched my college experience by allowing me to rediscover my natural playfulness.
Despite all these temptations, I attended all my classes and prioritized my study time. Melodie insisted upon regular study hours during the week, and I willingly followed her lead. As a result, I made a 3.8 GPA that first semester, a vast improvement over the B average of my high school days. It was a surprising accomplishment, and my sorority appreciated this contribution to our house GPA as well.
When I was deciding on a major, I reflected on my fascination with the mind and personality of others. Why was my Aunt Marcia so jovial and sweet? She had been raised in the same household as my brooding father. Why couldn't all men be as pleasant and accepting as my Pappy? Why did I always feel the need to play the role of therapist for my friends during high school and college? Why did I spend so much time writing poetry about my friends and boyfriends?
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Moving Free"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Inspirations Ink, LLC.
Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
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