Miss Unlikely E-Book

Betty Cantrell Maxwell

• Herausgeber: BroadStreet Publishing Group, LLC
• Kategorie: Religion und Spiritualität
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Seitenzahl: 294

Beschreibung

From a double-wide trailer on a farm in Georgia to the 2016 Miss America pageant, Betty Cantrell was not a likely contender for the crown. She won by being herself—mistakes and all. Miss Unlikely takes you through Betty's unconventional childhood, the surprising pageant journey, an incredible year as Miss America, a fairytale wedding, and everything in between. She offers wisdom on school, boys, self-esteem, choices, disappointments, insecurities, mentors, cyberbullies, and more. Behind-the-scenes moments and previously untold stories show how her faith and family ultimately carried her through difficult times. Betty's personal and sincere account will remind you the only way to get where you want to go is through God's unique plan. Find confidence in being you, and turn your dreams into reality.

Leseprobe

Copyright © 2019 by Betty Maxwell

BroadStreet Publishing® Group, LLC

Savage, Minnesota, USA

BroadStreetPublishing.com

MISS UNLIKELY From Farm Girl to Miss America

978-1-4245-5780-6 (softcover)

978-1-4245-5781-3 (e-book)

Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.

All Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright ©1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Stock or custom editions of BroadStreet Publishing titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, ministry, fundraising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email [email protected].

Agent: Steve Ivey

Cover and interior: Garborg Design at GarborgDesign.com

Cover Photo: Matt Boyd Photography

Printed in the United States of America

19 20 21 22 23 5 4 3 2 1

This book is dedicated to anyone who has ever felt alone.

Anyone who has ever been told they’re not good enough.

Anyone who has ever felt like a failure.

Anyone who feels lost or surrounded by darkness.

My hope is that this book gives you the confidence to love

and be yourself. This world needs you and your unique gifts.

God created you perfectly in his image

—you have a purpose on this earth.

I love you, and I believe in you!

CONTENTS

A Note from Spinny

Foreword by John Kirby

Introduction

Chapter 1: Family, Farm, and Faith

Chapter 2: A Social Butterfly with a Flair for Drama

Chapter 3: Growing Pains

Chapter 4: There’s No Place Like Theatre

Chapter 5: Born to Perform

Chapter 6: Meeting “the One” on the Way to Miss Georgia

Chapter 7: A Long Way from Georgia

Chapter 8: There She Is, Miss America

Chapter 9: A Year Wearing the Crown

Chapter 10: Find Yourself a Spencer

Chapter 11: Life as Mrs. Maxwell

Chapter 12: Above All, Be Yourself

Chapter 13: Lucky #13

Acknowledgments

A NOTE FROM SPINNY

From the second I met Betty, I witnessed the inextinguishable light that lives within her. It is a light that inspires, guides, and shines brightly even through the darkest of times. Her story is one of unwavering tenacity.

As human beings in an imperfect world, we all face negativity, rejection, and criticism—some of us more than others. I’ve watched Betty overcome all of these things with a superhuman ability to focus on the positive and a relentless dedication to follow her heart. Despite the forces in life that try to hold us back from doing what we’re truly meant to do, Betty has relied on her family and her faith to succeed, always trusting in God’s plan for her.

I fell in love with Betty before she won Miss Georgia or Miss America, and I can say with complete confidence that through it all, she has remained just Betty: a normal girl from a small town in Georgia with a humble heart and down-to-earth spirit.

My hope is that you witness that same light and feel inspired to find your own. Let Betty’s story be a testament that you can find the confidence in yourself to achieve your dreams. I know her well enough to know she’d tell you this: if she can do it, so can you.

—Spencer Maxwell, aka “Spinny”

FOREWORD

John Kirby

When I first heard the name Betty Cantrell, I knew I’d be hearing that name for years to come. I was in Winnipeg, Canada, at the time and on the set of DeVon Franklin’s film Breakthrough to coach its star actress, Chrissy Metz. My associate, Nathan Nesbitt, told me a manager named Steve Ivey was on the line and wanted to discuss having me coach Betty, a former Miss America. Of course, the name Betty conjured up in my mind the image of a perfect, all-American housewife baking an apple pie.

Steve said he did his research on me and was aware of the many careers I had developed and launched and that I came highly recommended by a dear industry friend, Suzanne Niles. Hearing his Nashville sound took me back. It had been a while since I’d been down that road. Nashville is dear to me and a place where I had worked with so many wonderful country music artists.

Steve told me of Betty’s singing career and suggested I check out her winning the 2016 Miss America pageant. When I watched the replay of her victory and heard her incredible voice sing, it dawned on me: of course, I remembered her. I remember having stopped in my tracks on the night she had won to listen to her extraordinary rendition of the operatic ballad “Tu, Tu Piccolo Iddio.” The girl had amazing range and sang with emotional freedom and power that flowed out of her—not at all like Betty the homemaker I had imagined in a kitchen. Betty was the real deal: exceptional and fearless.

My growing up in a show-business family helped me build a strong work ethic, and I’ve always been fortunate to attract actors with the same discipline—those who want to dig in and truly do the work. This discipline is rare when so many young people today want to be famous without putting in the time to be exceptional.

I sent Betty an emotionally charged monologue to prepare for our first meeting, and when I had the opportunity to watch her perform it, it became clear to me that Betty’s work ethic mirrored mine. I could see she was both willing to learn and willing to reveal so many parts of herself from within. She did a nice job, but I could tell she was still approaching it as if for the stage, and as we worked on my notes for her, we quickly developed a mutual trust and respect. She was honest in life, and her ability to bring that truth into her acting was going to put her way ahead of the game.

Our beginning to work together was a divine appointment, and we continue to work consistently around her busy schedule of raising up women to be the best they can be, encouraging strong values in honoring God, recording hair and makeup tutorials, and recording her YouTube series with her phenomenal husband. Together, they help young men and women meet the slings and arrows that life throws at them—from marriage to grief to following your dreams.

Betty’s journey from the farm to the Miss America crown is quite inspiring, especially as she works with such discipline and continues to break new ground in her craft. It’s exciting to walk with her as she journeys toward living out her dreams of acting in television, film, and under the bright lights of the Broadway stage. Her career continues to soar, and the industry continues to take notice.

You can take Betty out of the kitchen, but you can’t take the heart of the farm girl out of Betty. That’s what makes her so lovable. America’s already fallen in love with her, and it would be highly unlikely for this American Miss—with her incomparable talent and beauty—to accomplish anything shy of captivating audiences from all around the world for years to come.

—John Kirby

Hollywood’s premier acting coach and founder of The John Kirby Studio

Introduction

“We’re down to the final three,” announced Chris Harrison, the host of The Bachelor and The Bachelorette. It was Sunday, September 13, 2015, and the final night of the eighty-ninth Miss America pageant. I stood next to two incredible women on a stage inside Boardwalk Hall in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in front of a live audience of nearly 15,000 people with 7.9 million viewers watching from their homes. Chris was moments away from announcing 2016’s Miss America. Only one of us would be crowned.

“You know what? Let me take a second here.” He walked toward us, prolonging the already painful suspense. “How are we doing over here?” He placed his microphone in front of me.

“I’m having bad luck with my earrings tonight. One fell off just now and one at top fifteen. I just—I don’t know what that means!” I couldn’t help but laugh. I wouldn’t be Betty if I hadn’t had some kind of mishap.

“That’s good luck. It’s gotten you this far.” Chris Harrison extended his microphone to Miss Tennessee and Miss South Carolina who stood next to me. “What could possibly be going through your minds at this moment?”

Both women expressed their gratitude and shared heartfelt, thoughtful responses. I couldn’t help but wish I had said something meaningful too. Then cohost Brooke Burke asked Kira Kazantsev, Miss America 2015, how she was feeling. Kira reflected on her year and her excitement to pass on the crown, and Chris Harrison reminded the live audience and viewers of the prize: a $50,000 college scholarship. I huddled closely with Miss Tennessee and Miss South Carolina—our arms around each other and our eyes downcast in anticipation. It was finally time to announce the winner.

“Here she is …

Your new Miss America is …

Miss Georgia! Betty Cantrell!”

***

My life changed forever the moment Chris Harrison announced my name as Miss America 2016. People often ask me what went through my mind when he announced my state, and my answer is probably disappointing. The truth is that my mind went totally blank, and I lost control of my body. I started crying, and I almost fell to my knees on stage. I was just completely shocked to have heard my name. Miss South Carolina and Miss Tennessee both helped me stand up and get into position for the crowning.

It was a hectic, crazy moment. I felt completely overwhelmed with gratitude, and if you watch the YouTube video of these few minutes, you’ll see that the only words I could utter were thank you. Thank you, God. Thank you, judges, for choosing me. The sash was draped over me, and the three rows of crystals that bordered the edges made it surprisingly heavy. Pageant crowns usually have an elastic band around the inside, and bobby pins are used to secure the elastic to your hair. But the crown was missing the elastic band, so Kira had to pin the crown to my head by poking bobby pins through little holes around the rim while I continued to sob and shake. Once I was able to think again, I thought, What is happening to me right now? I was handed the scepter, which had gorgeous, long-stemmed roses attached to it.

When the time came to take my first walk down the runway as Miss America, I hesitated for a moment. Am I actually allowed to walk down this? Only Miss America is allowed to walk down this runway, and it still hadn’t sunk in that I had won! I touched the sash and felt the crown on my head and realized it was all really happening. I started to walk and wave at the crowd, and I vividly remember thinking, My life will never be the same. My hair kept getting caught in the stones of the sash, and the crown was barely attached to my head, but I didn’t care. I saw my mom and dad at the end of the runway, where the organization allows the winner’s parents to stand. When I reached them, I bent down and hugged them, thanking them and telling them I loved them.

I finished my walk down the runway, and the entire 2016 class of Miss America contestants mobbed me. We had our own hug-fest right there on stage. I think everyone who wins a pageant title worries she’s going to see a picture or video from her crowning moment where someone in the background is rolling her eyes because you won, but I felt like my class was truly happy for me, and I’m so grateful for that. It truly is a sisterhood, and I know I would have been genuinely happy for any of my Miss America sisters to have won. Somehow, the crown stayed on my head through it all. Between the walk and the endless hugs, it absolutely should have fallen off. It may sound cheesy, but I like to imagine God’s hand holding it in place for me. I certainly felt his presence that night.

After the pageant was over, I was ushered backstage and into a room to prepare for a press conference immediately following the pageant. Luckily, someone had elastic hair ties, so we cut them up and tied them together to create a makeshift band for the crown. The crown stayed like that throughout my entire year as Miss America and miraculously remained secure at every event.

A representative for the Miss America Organization was in the room with me as we haphazardly fastened my crown, and she asked, “Is there anything you need to tell me?” Prior to the pageant, the organization informed us that the winner would be taken into a room and asked if there was anything they needed to know. In essence, they want to know of any skeletons in your closet that they should be aware of so they can get ahead of potential bad press. I was so nervous about this question. I wracked my brain trying to think of anything I might be forgetting, but all that came to mind was an unpaid speeding ticket. The representative chuckled when I told her about it. Then I scanned my mind from as far back as I could remember and answered, “No, nothing else.”

I was so excited to begin my year as Miss America. I knew I would be performing at events, making appearances, and traveling roughly 20,000 miles every month for the next year. What I didn’t know was how that year would set into motion my lifelong dream of starting a career in singing and acting. I didn’t know I would marry the man who had stood by my side during my year as Miss America. I didn’t know I would go on to meet my incredible producer, record my first album, sign with a talent and modeling agency, celebrate my fairytale wedding, or buy my first home together with my new husband.

It sounds like a perfect, amazing life—and don’t get me wrong, in many ways, it has been. I recognize how incredibly blessed I am. But there’s so much about me and my journey you don’t know, and I want to share the whole story with you—all of it—the awkward years and the not-so-perfect parts too. My year as Miss America was by far the toughest of my life, and without God, the man who would become my husband, and my family, I don’t know how I would have made it.

As surprising as this may seem, I was never the little girl who dreamt of wearing the Miss America crown. The thought literally never even crossed my mind growing up. Ever since I was three years old, I wanted to be a singer and an actress, and to be honest, I didn’t exactly know how I was going to make that happen. Maybe you have a similar story. Maybe you have a lifelong dream, and you wonder if you’re ever going to get where you want to be. I’d like to think this book is not just an opportunity for you to get a behind-the-scenes look at the life of an unlikely Miss America; it’s also a chance for me to share some of the lessons I’ve learned along the way. Lessons I learned from growing up on a farm. Lessons I learned from being raised in a strong family with a strong faith. Lessons I learned about boys, choices, disappointments, mentors, and so many other things.

My prayer for you is that when you finish reading this book, you are filled with hope for your future. We all come from so many different walks of life. We all have struggles and challenges. And we all have dreams. I want you to know that if a girl as unlikely as me can turn my dreams into a reality, you can too. You just need the right tools, people who love and support you, and a whole lot of faith.

CHAPTER 1

Family, Farm, and Faith

I was born on September 1, 1994, in Warner Robins, Georgia, a town located in the center of the state about one hundred miles south of Atlanta. According to my parents, Anastasia and Michael George Cantrell, I was born screaming. They tell me I was a notoriously loud baby and toddler—so much so that they would call me “Miss 60 D” since every sound I made was at a minimum volume of sixty decibels. I was simply incapable of whispering or using an “inside voice.”

My parents named me Baciliky (pronounced “Vah-see-lee-key”) after my grandmother on my mother’s side of the family, which is full-blooded Greek. She passed away from stage four breast cancer when my mom was only eight years old, and my mom always said she would name her daughter after her. So that’s me, and like my grandmother, I also go by the American nickname “Betty.”

I have two siblings. My brother, “Mikey,” was named after my dad and was two years old when I joined the family. Mikey was excited when I was born and called me his baby. He loved to hold and help take care of me. And as I grew older, we were instant playmates, spending our days entertaining each other. Then, when I was five, my mom became pregnant with a third child. She and my dad had decided not to find out the sex of the baby until the birth, so Mikey and I took bets on whether the baby would be a girl or a boy. I, of course, was hoping for a sister, and Mikey wanted a brother. It was clearly more of a battle of the sexes for the household majority, and the girls won! Sophia was born, and because she was so much younger than us, Mikey and I both felt like she was our baby.

I was blessed with two incredible parents, both of whom are strikingly beautiful. My dad’s fair skin and strawberry blonde hair are evidence of his Irish heritage. He has a square, Germanic jaw, and his physique reveals his past as a former bodybuilder. My mom is Greek and has the hallmark olive skin and thick, dark chestnut hair. Her smile radiates warmth. Whenever my friends met my parents for the first time, they would always comment on my parents’ good looks. They were also smart and driven. They owned a successful physical therapy practice, renting office space early on in their business and later building the Cantrell Center in Warner Robins.

Growing up, my dad was the strict disciplinarian, and my siblings and I had a healthy fear of him, never wanting to disappoint him or get into trouble. Whenever one of us kids was upset over something, he would say, “There are only two ways to go through life: happy or sad. So, what’s it gonna be?”

Reluctantly, we’d answer, “Happy.”

“Okay,” he’d say. “Then be happy, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

He was a no-nonsense parent and never coddled us. At the same time, though, he was impulsive, fun, and always the life of the party. He loved to hunt and tend the 675-acre farm we lived on. He built deer stands and laid trails throughout the woods that he named after us: Mike Street, Betty Lane, and Sophia Island. He’d also name them after characters that appeared on The Andy Griffith Show, like Andy Griffith, Opie, Goober, and Gomer. He planted food plots for the dove and deer hunting seasons, and he taught us how to hunt, skin, and clean deer, doves, and rabbits. We were always helping Dad with chores around the farm. If he wasn’t on the tractor, we were. And there was no such thing as “man’s work” according to my dad. Sophia and I were just as involved with the manual labor of the property as Mikey was, and I am so grateful that my dad gave us the same amount of responsibility and trust with farm work.

My mom, Anastasia, goes by Tassie, and she’s known for her kindness and her beauty. She was extremely cautious, prone to worry, and endearingly overprotective—as so many good moms are. She was also careful and smart, and she’d think through things from every angle before making a decision. I couldn’t simply go to the movies with friends; she had to know who was going, if there was going to be an adult present, which movie it was, how long the movie ran, and at least fifteen other things. She was also a disciplinarian, but we never took her as seriously as we did Dad. But if Mom was truly upset, we knew we must have done something bad because she was always more of the peacemaker. And like many mothers, she was our dedicated taxi driver. She took us to school and to the majority of our extracurricular activities—dance classes, ballet recitals, soccer practice, musical theater performances and rehearsals, Boy Scouts, Brownies, tee ball, and gymnastics—somehow managing to balance it all with her own career. Looking back, I can only imagine how hard it must have been to coordinate schedules for three kids, and I can’t give her enough praise for that.

My parents purchased our farm in Fort Valley, Georgia, a rural town about twenty miles west of Warner Robins, when I was a year old, and it was a huge investment given its size. Until they could pay off the property and build their dream home, they decided to purchase a double-wide trailer for our family to live in temporarily. Later, they built a barn as well as a new physical therapy practice, which further delayed the building of our home. So, what was meant to be a temporary solution ended up being the home I lived in my entire childhood until I left for college.

The farm is in the middle of nowhere. We didn’t have neighbors nearby for me to compare my house to, so our double-wide trailer never bothered me. I never felt like “trailer trash” or weird, poor, or lesser than my friends. The farm—our own huge playground where we had the freedom to explore, imagine, and learn—more than made up for the fact that we lived in a trailer.

As I said, the farm is made up of a vast 675 acres. The dirt driveway stretches for three miles and is a straight shot to the house. As you’re nearing the house, the driveway is lined on either side by row after row of pecan trees and then the orchard ends at a clearing. Dead center in the clearing sat our double-wide trailer (now replaced by a permanent home). A large barn stood to the left of our trailer, and to the right was a second trailer. Woods surround the entire property on all sides with trails snaking their way through the dense trees.

I absolutely loved growing up on the farm; it truly was the best part of my childhood. I was always outside getting dirty and experiencing things that the world couldn’t teach me. It’s so easy nowadays for families to tune each other out and spend their time together just scrolling through their phones or staring at devices. But my parents were intentional about giving us a love for the outdoors and maintaining closeness within our family. My dad helped us build our beloved treehouse where I hosted tea parties. My mom would prepare tea for me, and my dad would join me and eat the jelly beans I served my guests. Mikey, Sophia, and I explored the extensive trails that my father created on our golf cart or four-wheeler, and we memorized every square foot of the land that became so much a part of who we are.

My dad’s mother, Lottie Cantrell, also lived on the farm in the second double-wide trailer that sat to the right of ours. She was our “Omi,” a nickname coined by Mikey that’s derived from the German word for grandma. We loved having her nearby. Omi had grown up in Germany during World War II. She was proper, smart, and sophisticated, and she’d jokingly refer to me as “James” whenever I drove her around the property in our golf cart. “Take me to the barn, James,” she’d say in her fancy accent, and I’d listen obediently as if I were her driver. Though she passed away when I was only twelve, I always held so much respect for her and felt her loss once she was gone.

As far as childhoods go, ours was pretty sheltered. The expanse of our property naturally isolated us, and my parents were much stricter than most. We didn’t even have cable television. Instead, we watched DVDs of old shows like The Andy Griffith Show, Gilligan’s Island, and The Wild Wild West. My parents were careful about what we watched, who we played with, and how we spent our time. While they gave us free reign on the farm to explore and run free, they were ever present in activities off the farm. I’ll never forget my first sleepover with my best friend, Natalie, when I was five. Before my mother would ever allow me to go, she had to get to know Natalie’s parents first. Finally, once she felt confident in their devout Catholic faith, she said I could spend the night but with one stipulation: that she spent the night too. Thankfully, at five years old, I didn’t mind much, but looking back on it, I can’t help but laugh at my mom’s fierce protection.

We were a close family, and given our tight living quarters, we had—and were allowed—very little privacy. There were times when I just wanted to go to my room, but I couldn’t because we were having family time. I’d often ask my parents why my friends could have televisions in their rooms but I couldn’t. Their response never wavered or changed: “We do things as a family.” Nights and weekends usually meant we were watching movies together or playing Andy Griffith Trivia. We played that board game nonstop, and it was always our goal as kids to beat Dad (I think all three of us have successfully beaten him at least once by now). Mornings were spent eating cereal together while watching an episode of The Andy Griffith Show, and we always ate dinner as a family. I have very few childhood memories, if any, where I was alone or isolated. My parents and siblings were always present, always close.

Every Sunday, we’d pile into the car and head to the Holy Cross Greek Orthodox Church in Macon, which was a forty-five-minute drive from our house. Attending church was always important to our family. Holy Cross wasn’t a huge church by any means. There were only around fifty people in the pews on any given Sunday. The Greek Orthodox church doesn’t exactly appeal to the masses because it’s steeped in tradition and requires a lot of its parishioners. But our family loved this faith tradition, and every Sunday we’d put on our “Sunday best,” which meant suits for my dad and Mikey and dresses for my mom, Sophia, and me. Some Sunday mornings, my parents would take us to Krispy Kreme for donuts before church. We would stand with our faces pressed against the glass window and watch as the donuts moved down the conveyor belts and were bathed in sugary glaze. This was a big deal for us as kids because in the Greek Orthodox church, you fasted on Sunday mornings before taking communion. And while my parents always modeled this sacrifice and later expected it of us, they also let us be kids when we were younger.

At Holy Cross, my brother was an altar boy, and our family sang in the choir—so much so that people called us the Von Trapp family singers, the real-life family that the movie The Sound of Music was based on. And if we couldn’t make it to church for whatever reason, that usually meant there was no choir. This was where my love for music and singing began. Keep in mind, we sang old, traditional Byzantine hymns in Greek—not the popular praise and worship music you hear in many churches today.

As early as three years old, I remember longing to become a singer. This was right around the time I stopped sucking my thumb. My dad would tell me, “It was like there was music bottled up behind your thumb.” So, when I kicked my thumb habit, my parents discovered that I could actually sing. And once I started, I couldn’t stop! But when they would encourage me to sing in church, I never wanted to. I didn’t like the spotlight or singing in front of our small church or for people I knew well. It made me nervous, but thankfully, it was something I was forced to grow out of.

Faith was the foundation of our family. From as early as I can remember, my parents instilled in us a love for God and a longing to serve him. They looked for ways to teach us and mold us. At one point, our parents decided we should have a family Bible study every morning at 5:00 a.m. to read Scripture together. Unfortunately, this stint didn’t last long because Mikey, Sophia, and I kept falling asleep at the table. I dreaded those early morning Bible studies at the time, but looking back, those mornings sent a meaningful message to me and my siblings: faith was a priority. My parents were so intentional about encouraging a deep faith in us—and with remarkable success because mine has never wavered. Without a strong foundation in Christ, I don’t know who I would be today.

My family, our farm, and my faith all had such a lasting impact on me. My parents instilled in me a profound gratitude for spending time with family—something that I want to nurture with my own kids someday. Our beautiful farm gave me a love for nature and the outdoors. It fed my imagination and gave me a sense of adventure and exploration that is so much a part of who I am. And my faith helped create the foundation for my values and beliefs. I would be nothing without my faith in God. So, yes, my family, our farm, and my faith are like the soundtrack of my entire childhood. Those three things played on through the good and the bad, the happy and the sad, and I consider them some of my greatest gifts from God. I can honestly say that they are what made me the down-to-earth, grounded person I am today.

CHAPTER 2

A Social Butterfly with a Flair for Drama

Just before I started elementary school, I had to be tested to see if I was academically ready. Since my birthday falls in September and is close to the cutoff for kindergarten registration, my test results would determine if I could start school then or if I’d need to wait another year. Fortunately, I knew my shapes and colors and passed the test, so my parents enrolled me in the same private Catholic school that Mikey attended. Every Wednesday morning, the entire school would go to mass at the church adjacent to the school. Even though we were a devout Greek Orthodox family, my Catholic school environment never caused me to question my own beliefs. That piece of my identity has thankfully always been strong.

From the time I could talk and express myself, I had a flair for drama. This side of me really came out once I entered school and was surrounded by friends—and especially boys. Even at six years old, I had a crush on a boy named Dominic in my kindergarten class. Unfortunately, another girl in my class liked him too. In my mind, my life was a movie, complete with a villain, a hero, and a heroine: me! That meant I absolutely, positively could not be friends with this girl. She was my rival. My enemy. But, as fate would have it, Dominic moved away in second grade, so that girl who had been trying to come between us? Well, we became immediate friends, of course.

My dramatic side would also come out during car rides home from school with my mom and Mikey. My mom would ask us about our day, and our answers were pretty telling of our personalities.

“It was fine. Just a normal day,” Mikey would say.

But when it was my turn, I gave my mom a full rundown, which usually sounded something like this: “Mom, you’re never gonna believe this, but Dominic smiled at me today! And my teacher was out sick, so we had a substitute. Natalie and I got to the swing set first at recess yesterday, but today we had to have indoor recess because it was raining. I had pizza for lunch, and there was spinach in it! It was so gross. Oh, and I was chosen to sing the solo at Mass next Wednesday!”

For me, school was an opportunity to socialize and hang out with friends. I was more of a social butterfly than a serious student. But I always tried really hard, and if I underperformed, I would go to great lengths to convince my parents otherwise. I never wanted to “bother” them with bad grades. My school’s policy for poor grades was that you had to take the assignment home, have a parent sign it, and then return it to the teacher to prove your parent had seen the grade.

In second grade, I was sent home with a red letter F at the top of one of my papers. I shoved the paper into my backpack and immediately began sweating over how I was going to present it to my parents. Then it hit me: I could simply forge my mom’s signature at the top and turn it in the next day. I wouldn’t even have to worry her with it. Brilliant! But this being my first experience with this sort of thing, I didn’t think to sign my mom’s first and last name. No. Instead, I signed “Mom” in black ink. Of course, my teacher sent the assignment back home with me, and I had to break the news to my parents.