Holes (the end)

A few months ago, I got inspired to look for my sisters on Facebook.  Which is slightly dangerous, because I am friends with my youngest sister (who doesn't know about any of this) also.  But, I friended them.  They are gorgeous and totally growing into their own.  It's so crazy.  They are both in high school; the oldest will graduate this year.  They have tons of friends.

The older one posts so many photos.  Senior trip to Mexico.  Her walking in homecoming.  Her with the cheerleading squad.  Her getting an amazing new car for her birthday. (totally the car I have my eye on right now, too.) 

Basically having the life that I always wanted.  I wanted to be a cheerleader so bad.  SO BAD!  To the point that I was hanging out with some male cheerleaders in college and started working with them.  I learned how to do a walk-up and a few other things (until I jammed three of my toes while jumping around the living room at 2 a.m. like an idiot.  That's when I realized that dream had long passed.)  But, it makes me a bit sad to see how my life could have been, if it had played out just a tiny bit differently.  If maybe he hadn't gotten scared.  How instead of bumming a ride in my friends Nova, I could have been driving my own [insert fancyish car from 15 years ago].  Or how instead of standing in line for 'free lunch' tickets in the morning, I could have been hanging out with the popular kids.  I know that I have worked hard for everything I have, and therefore deserve it more.  But sometimes I think it would have been nice to just have it given to me.  Not always, just once or twice.  

OK, here is a weird detail that I left out about my father.  He is a professional bass fisher.

There.

I said it.

It's kind of an odd profession.  When I first met him, he showed me a video from ESPN of him winning the BassMasters Classic.  I tell you this because when I google his name, several of these articles pop up. (unlike my name, which links you to one story about myself and about 400 about some chick in Florida who is a writer for a local newspaper.- Yes, I've googled myself.  Don't act like you haven't!)

But these articles mention his family.  All of them.  Except me.  I don't count.  I'm not part of his family.  I belong nowhere.  

There's more.  So much more.  But, I fear that this story has stretched too long.  I open the floor for questions--I know you've got them!  I will answer in the comment section each one.