Diary Entry: Why I Still Can't Walk In High Heels

The unusual thing about me is that for art lessons, my former South Vietnamese Army Colonel, POW father thought I should learn to copy and enlarge textbook maps. Also, he needed clocks and calendars in every single room. He always had a bunch of newspapers and books about politics, automobiles reviews and philosophy.

Sometimes we had two sets of calendars and clocks per room. The reason why is because of his POW imprisonment, after the Fall of Saigon. Also, I now need maps when I get anxious. If the world seems dim, I need to flip through an Atlas, look at a globe, or pick up the latest world map. Unlike him, I preferred to read the Washington Post, and USA TODAY every single day. Also, National Geographic, Smithsonian, Scientific American, and Scientific Mind.

To relax, I will critique my current road maps, and get a "better" one, that folds more easily, and is laminated. This is because of my father's neurotic map art lessons. I also, for some reason, dreaded wearing skirts, and dresses, for the many Asian-American, community celebrations during that awkward time as a thirteen year-old, and couldn't sit like a lady.

Plus in our neighborhood, and at school, we had no shin guards, unfortunately, which meant bruises and scabs all over my legs for indoor hockey. I hope they order some shin guards for Graham Road Elementary School, in Falls Church, Virginia. Someone needs to also tell them to rotate the soccer goalies, because I always got stuck with that position.

Now, I know to cross my ankles, in skirts, and appear more lady-like, but that whole time period (preteen through adolescence) was a fashion disaster for me. I was more used to coming back from playing field hockey, soccer, baseball, basketball, running, volleyball, or football with the boys.

Or I was at the playgrounds, parks, playing in the woods, canoeing, at the swimming pools, or arcades with neighbors/friends of mine. Around age nine, the boys started having those treehouse clubs with secret passwords and "no girls" were then allowed. I would beg to "tag along" but was never able to find out what their secret treehouse club involved, or its secret passwords.

When Bobby, a best friend of mine, came to visit me (he later died somehow, in a swimming accident, hitting his head, at 14), he always let me "tag-along." I went to look at frogs with him and we always talked. To this day, I still miss him, and he reminds me of two favorite childhood books: Bridge To Terabithia and Where The Red Fern Grows.

For a year, it felt like he wasn't actually dead, and was just somehow missing. That was a natural part of grieving, since we were going to start dating, at the time he passed away. Since he was from West Virginia, he always identified all the plants, trees and animals for me. We used to take off to climb trees together. I still love those Field Guides for all nature-oriented things, because they reminded me of him.

The key thing about Bobby was his gentle, and kind spirit. He was never mean, or violent. He enjoyed wholesome activities, with no addictions. I could always rely on him to be caring about everything. I now measure men by a "Gentle Bobby barometer" and if they're not behaving like he did, or doing something that seems the opposite of what he would want for me, then they're the ones who caused him to die (in some Butterfly Effect) also.

As a Virginian, the phrase "You're Satan!" is commonly heard (which was never voiced by any Virginian, only by those Yankees, in fact). Only Southerners, like Bobby, truly understood that feeling of smug self-righteousness, which is an ingrained, knee-jerk reaction to those who go against this Jungian archetype of a poor, Southern Baptist preacher man. There's a higher standard of civilized behavior, which non-Southerners seem to be lacking, if you're truly Virginian, which most individuals are not.

Too many of them (these non-Virginians, or fake Virginians/transplants/criminally stalking tourists) have lurked around the Pentagon, and gone against the Constitution nearby. Too many are not truly worthy of being around the U.S. President, Lincoln Memorial, the Monument, or the Vietnam Wall Memorial. They don't get to hover around the poor, Vietnam Veteran, U.S. Marines, selling KIA/MIA bracelets in D.C. or wear one at all.

Therefore, they will be considered too suspiciously close to the F.B.I. Director. They (as crude, unpolished, Satanic/Devil-worshipping Yankees) pose the gravest threats to national security, you see. Virginians can simply not allow those tall poppies to get carried away in D.C.

All Virginians feel their state should naturally be in charge of the entire country, without any democratic elections, since we already have the most U.S. Presidents from there. If the U.S. President is ever criticized in public, deep down, every Virginian reminds themselves that it's because he's not a Virginian, and rigged the elections.

Secretly, Virginians resent being in second place, and will always nurse a life-long grudge for it. They'll never gracefully accept the loss at anything. Everyday Virginians have to sternly remind themselves, "This can simply NOT be happening to me, as a Virginian. I can not allow this any longer, as a Virginian."

Texans do have a similar attitude about their state also. However, they seem much more laidback and less cutthroat, politically, than most Virginians. Every Virginian remembers a key detail about JFK's assassination: it happened in the very state of Texas, not in Virginia. Never can those types of things occur in Virginia.

Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords, and many victims would somehow have been safer in Virginia, instead of Arizona, even though I also condemn the violent criminals in that very state. My reasoning for that will always be that certain Virginians are just fake ones, some sort of vicious KGB spy, or Russian drug cartel thug, simply pretending to be a Virginian, in fact.

I've always been trained in Virginia to put those corrupt types into the Al-Qaeda list mentally. Excluding any politician wouldn't be Virginian, or West Virginian. A true Virginian can always appreciate Kenneth Star, and Anita Hill. The best thing in the world was seeing Clarence Thomas and Bill Clinton's self-inflicted scandals in the news. Tall poppies are just no poor, Southern Bobbies from West Virginia. Now, upon reflection, my other favorite childhood friends were:

Eleanora, the Mexican Consulate's daughter

Yasmina (pronounced Yasmeena), the Egyptian diplomat's daughter

Athir, and Saher

Jorge

Roberto

Carlos

Suzanne, and Connie, who were actually normal and healthy individuals

Roxanna

Susan was tiny, Saher's little sister, and I always admired her Muslim feminism, since she was always talking back to her brothers and was in charge of them, like a little, five year-old General