12 of My Favorite Books Written By Disabled Authors

971 words

8 minute read

I'm a big reader, if you can't tell by the copious amount of book posts that exist on this blog.  I also review a lot of hideous media about disabled people.  I've gotten a fair few requests that are like: "Do you know of any good books, actually written by disabled authors?"

Well...I do, in fact.  And here they are:

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1. Know My Name by Chanel Miller (Memoir, 2019)

Chanel has the most soothing, comforting narrative voice I have ever known.  She desires to comfort survivors and that is exactly what she does with this book.  She is authentic and genuine.  And I love her book more each time I read it.

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2. Free Cyntoia by Cyntoia Brown-Long (Memoir, 2019)

I really cannot tell you how much I loved this book.  It's incredible and so very necessary to read.  It's a complex story beginning with trauma and identity issues around adoption as well as undiagnosed disability.  

One of my favorite things about the book was when, during a court proceeding when Cyntoia's (previously unknown, even to her) disability was outed using offensive language, Cyntoia did not hesitate to address this.  

I think what I loved the most about this book, though, was that it gives the reader a rare and fully dimensional view of a Black disabled woman.  Seriously, everyone should read this book.  I'm not kidding.

[Image: The cover of Cyntoia Brown-Long's book, Free Cyntoia]

***

3. Messenger by Jeni Stepanek (Memoir, 2010)

This is one of my all-time favorite books.  I've reread it a few times since its release in 2010, but it's a tough one to get through.  

Mainly, I love the openness and honesty with which Jeni shared the reality of her situation and that of her kids.  I loved seeing how, though Mattie's life was very hard and full of medical and other kinds of uncertainty, he was beautifully emotionally supported.  I love the respect that so obviously existed between parent and child.  

I loved seeing disability culture represented and so normalized in this book.

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4.  An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon (Science Fiction, 2017)

Honestly, some of the best disability representation I have ever read.  I cannot recommend this book highly enough.  I shared some thoughts on it after I read it the first time.  You can find those here.

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5.  Disability Visibility by Alice Wong (Anthology, 2020)

A must-read.  Check out my Twitter thread for a more comprehensive review.

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6.  Rolling Warrior by Judith Heumann (Nonfiction, 2021)

This book was so good and so relatable!  As a disabled reader, I was so right there with the author as she detailed all the steps it took to go to her friends' house, being excluded and facing ableism, that feeling when you must ask friends or family for help doing things you need to do for survival, as well as just how loaded going to the doctor is.  

I was unsure I'd be able to grasp all the governmental lingo and details of the sit-ins just because a lot of that stuff is complicated for me, but this book explained everything in a super approachable way.  Definitely recommend for older kids and teens (heck, any age person would enjoy this, disabled and nondisabled alike, I think.)

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7. The Chance to Fly by Ali Stroker (Middle Grade Fiction, 2021)

A really solid OwnVoices book. I'd definitely recommend this for middle graders readers and beyond. As a lifelong wheelchair-user myself, the reading world is seriously lacking in books that accurately portray what it's like to be a chair-user, and this book does.  Check out my Twitter thread for a more comprehensive review.

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8.  Mia Lee is Wheeling Through Middle School by Melissa Shang & Eva Shang (Middle Grade Fiction, 2016)

I read this one for the first time in 2017.  (You can find my thoughts on it here.)  And it really does stand the test of time.  So good.  You can always tell when a book comes from an authentic place, versus when it doesn't.  (The main author has the same disability as her main character, and it shows!  Yay, authentic representation!)

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9.  Reflections of a Peacemaker by Mattie JT Stepanek (Poetry, 2005)

I really enjoyed this book, and felt it gave a really full picture of Mattie as a poet.  There are several favorite poems of his, but especially Purple Moon.  I was also struck by Steps of Heaven as well.  A great portrait of a young poet and what mattered to him.

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10.  You Get Past the Tears by Hydeia Broadbent & Patricia Broadbent (Memoir, 2002)

I grew up seeing Hydeia on TV.  HIV and AIDS were far less scary to me because of seeing her and reading this book by Hydeia and her mother, Patricia, provided a lot of insight into their lives and family dynamics.

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11.  The Pretty One by Keah Brown (Memoir, 2019)

I was so beyond excited to check out this book!  It was the first time I'd ever gotten to read a book written by someone with CP, that's actually about how it feels to have CP (at least in part.)  I related to a good portion of Keah's essays, and you can read a full review of her book here.

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12. One for All by Lillie Lainoff (Historical Fiction, 2022)

As I'm a disabled reader, I'm always on the lookout for OwnVoices books and One for All definitely fits the bill. While it isn't exactly my cup of tea and I had trouble following the French and old language and swordplay, the disability issues threaded throughout were powerful. And on a non-disability note: I loved when the Musketeers tried coffee for the first time, and Thea ran around screaming: "DUEL ME! DUEL ME RIGHT NOW! I HAVE SO MUCH ENERGY!"

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

Disuphere (Disappear) series by me (Disabled Fiction, in progress)

The Avoiders, as they will come to call themselves, know that it is their right to leave unsafe people, places and situations...but as disabled people...it's not always possible.

Join disabled friends as they journey from isolation to community, to form a chosen family all their own. As they protect, accommodate and adapt for each other, supporting each other through the perils of ableism.

...As they love each other, not in spite of disability, but because it makes them exactly who they are.

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We Belong by me (Middle Grade Fiction, finished 2020)

Nine year old twins, Jesse and Lexie Martin, have just moved to a new neighborhood, and away from their cousins and grandparents.  Soon, it's clear, the move is the least of their worries.

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The Kindness of Strangers by Katrina Kittle (Fiction, 2003)

While the author does not have experience with complex trauma (as far as I know) this is a book I've reread once a year for over a decade.  (Some years, I reread it twice, in fact!)  

That's because, in my opinion, this book is the best representation I've yet to read on how it feels to grow up traumatized.  I'd recommend this book to anyone whose loved ones have experienced trauma (and caution those of us who have to read with care.)

***

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I Need The Media to Stop Normalizing Abuse of Disabled Children

1,961 words

15 minute read

TW: PT on an infant

A friend just told us that she happened to sit through an old episode of Desperate Housewives where a character imagines one of her twins is born with CP.  She sent us the scenes.  There were three of them.

One turned out to be our limit.

Because a 14-month-old baby is enduring hamstring stretches as he screams in pain.  His mom backs off and says she does not know if she can do this (keep stretching him.)

PT says they'll take a break. Mom worries about milestones the baby is not reaching.  Dad holds the baby and then goes after Mom when she leaves.  Mom is overwhelmed and does not know if any of what they're doing is helping.  Dad thinks it is, but says, "even if it's not, this is what there is to do."

Back in the living room, the PT has begun stretching the baby again as he screams and cries in pain.  He has not been able to be soothed or allowed to get his breath or calm down.

Mom steps in and takes over the therapy.

This would be disturbing enough as a scene from a TV show set in the 40's or the 80's...but this scene was from an episode of a television show from 2010.

No one would dream of doing what was shown to a nondisabled baby, especially if that baby was in obvious distress.

They talk about his high tone.  How important it is to stretch so it will not worsen.  They imply that he has already received Botox injections. (But you know what else contributes to high tone?  Distress!  Being in unrelenting pain.  Being unable and unallowed to calm down.)

"This is all there is to do," Dad claims.

But here's the thing: it's not.

Give your baby a warm bath. Try gentle massage.  Those are two ways you can help relax tight muscles that don't involve causing harm.

I'm not sharing the scene because, frankly, it's triggering as hell for me.

But trust me.  

Painful therapy?  Injections?  Surgery?  That is not all there is to do when your baby has CP.

Related: CP and Therapy

***

TW: Emotional abuse of a child

Truth time?

It took me until 2:30 AM to watch the second scene -- which, we were warned, could be triggering -- and well....yeah, it is.

In the next scene about a decade has passed.  Now around ten years old, this little boy with CP walks into the kitchen with the aid of a forearm crutch.  (The floors are wood laminate.  He doesn't have on supportive shoes.  It looks like an access nightmare.)

Related: Things I Want To Tell You, But Can't

We get close-ups on his crutch, his feet, his gait, his hands.  Everywhere you can "see" his CP.  (In quotes because it's pretty clear this actor does not have CP himself.)  It takes 30 seconds of this 3-minute scene for us to see this child's face.

He asks, "Can I have a sandwich?"

Mom tells him she just has to finish these dishes.

Her son (who is not once called by his name) says, "But I'm hungry now..."

Mom tells him: "Unless you want soap on rye, you're going to have to wait."

(This is where we see his face.  He's not happy.)

Now, so far?  The scene is okay.  There's nothing egregious.  (Except if you count the hideous access barriers...)  He's hungry, but Mom is busy at the moment.  She'll fix him a sandwich in a few minutes.

After a significant pause, and Mom regarding him, she says coldly: "Actually, why don't you make yourself a sandwich?"

Kiddo is a bit shocked: "But you always do it."

Mom: "And you always watch me.  So I know you know how."

***

Now, here is where I need you to pull up a chair and get comfortable.  Nondisabled parents raising disabled children need to realize there is a cultural difference at play.  Nondisabled kids may be able to learn things, having witnessed their parents doing them.

But as disabled people, we often don't know how we'll do a thing until we have the support we need to try it safely.  Watching a nondisabled person move around their nondisabled kitchen and seamlessly make a sandwich heedless of all the millions of access barriers that block us does not automatically translate for a kid with CP.

Just because we see you do it does not mean we can replicate it, because our bodies work differently than yours do.

A lot of times, growing up disabled means we grow up having adults around us help us with everything.  They do for us -- maybe to make it easier on us, maybe to save time -- and then one day, we are faced with a situation like this kid is: where a nondisabled adult in our lives (usually a parent) is like, "Do this yourself."

It's overwhelming.

Because we go from 100% help to 0% help.

There is no in between.

Just the expectation that, "Hey, you're however many years old, you should be able to make your own sandwiches."

***

"I'm tired," Kiddo says in response.

"So am I," Mom responds.  "I have to finish these dishes and do the laundry."

***

This is so often a nondisabled person's response to a disabled person's fatigue and / or exhaustion.  But it's especially damaging if that message is coming to you from your parent.  

Nondisabled kids get the message: "If you're tired, go rest."

But kids with CP (who use at least five times the energy of nondisabled people just to move around) get the message that everyone is tired and their fatigue is invalid because they are such a burden to take care of.

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"My arms hurt!  I had to swim today!" Kiddo insists.

Mom: "And you do that so you can get stronger.  So you can do things like make sandwiches!  Speaking of which, in the time we've been arguing about this, you could have -- guess what -- made a sandwich."

***

We've already seen in the earlier scene that since this kid was a baby his pain has been ignored.  It's no surprise that ten years later, Mom does the same.

And her claim that he could have successfully made a sandwich in the time they've argued grossly misrepresents the reality that those of us with CP need more time to complete tasks because they take more energy, thought, motor-planning, etc.

We cannot be spontaneous.

Whether she realizes it or not, Mom is asking for her son to be spontaneous here.

And it's not a fair request, on so many levels.

***

"So could you!" Kiddo pushes back.  "Jason's mom makes him whatever food he wants!  Even French Toast!"

Mom: "I would be happy to make Jason French Toast!  He always tells me how pretty I look!"

***

Okay, but this is some toxic crap right here, though.

Your child should not have to stroke your ego in order to get his basic needs met.  That's messed up.

Related: Disabled People, Our Right to Life Exists Even When We're 'Noncompliant'

***

Mom is still on about Jason, her kid's friend:

"Not to mention that Jason's in a wheelchair, so he can't reach the shelves in the fridge!  And you can!  Too bad you don't appreciate it!"

***

But guess what?  Being able to reach the shelves in the fridge doesn't automatically mean your kid is going to be able to successfully navigate your hellish nondisabled kitchen to make himself a sandwich!

So, stop throwing your version of "access" in his face!

Also, he doesn't have to appreciate being able to reach fridge shelves!

Do you, Mom?

I didn't think so...

***

Kiddo's feelings are hurt, and he calls her out: "You're not really busy, you just don't want to help me!"

Mom:  "You know what?!  One day, I won't be able to help you because I won't be here!  And then, maybe you'll understand why I wanted you to learn to do stuff for yourself!  Or you wont!"

She turns her back on him here:

"But either way, I'm not making you a sandwich."

***

Let me tell you from experience that hearing these types of threats is absolutely terrifying as a disabled child.

As a parent, you may not realize it is a threat, but when a disabled child relies on you for basic needs, that's exactly what it is.  

I was almost six years old the first time I heard it: 

On an overnight drive, I had to pee. 

We stopped at a gas station and I was carried inside. I was roughly helped onto the giant toilet and then impatiently lectured:

"I'm not going to do this when you grow up!  You're going to have to do it yourself!"

I froze in terror.

How was I going to be able to use big people's bathrooms -- even accessible ones -- without help?

Really think about it.

How would that resonate if someone older than you, with more power, and with the ability to access what you could not said to you, "I'm not going to get you what you need," with zero warning?  Zero opportunities to practice?  Zero in between steps?

Now imagine you're five.

Or ten.

Could you handle this onslaught of emotional abuse?

Because many disabled kids have had to endure it -- and worse -- all in the name of teaching us to be self-sufficient.

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Kiddo now gets up from the table and walks to the fridge.  The door slams open and every single item he retrieves, he drops on the floor and must pick it up before bringing it to the table.  

We're back to seeing closeups of his feet.  His crutch.  His hands.  Never his whole self.

He struggles to open the bread bag.  We hear his frustration.

But the camera is focused on Mom and how she's clutching the sink.  Her hands shaking.

In less than ten seconds, Kiddo has successfully made a sandwich.  He seamlessly walks over to Mom with it.

She says, "That looks good.  Can I have a bite?"

[Tonia, age 6, far back in her walker, a disgusted look on her face.]

***

While this gives the broad strokes of what it looks like for a disabled kid to struggle in an inaccessible home, it doesn't give an accurate picture of how much time and energy this kid must spend just to make himself food, when he is already tired.

The fact that Mom is asking him for a bite when she made him work so hard for it just makes me irate.

***

In the final scene, we see that this kid is now graduating college.  And his entire speech is about his mom.  As usual, he can't even take credit for his own accomplishments, because it is all about her.

Again, while super accurate, it's not helpful to represent CP or parenting a kid with CP this way.  

We know the world will give our parents credit for our accomplishments.  We know we have to work at least twice as hard to earn half as much respect as our nondisabled peers do.

Even more disturbing is the comments underneath these videos.  It's the number of parents who applauded the sandwich scene in particular as representative of how it is to raise their "handicapped child."

Do you know how disturbing that is?

How normalized abuse is that a show like this (and countless before and after) are able to get away with justifying abuse of disabled kids on screen just because they are disabled.

I need the media to stop.

Stop normalizing abuse of disabled children.

Because it's only helping perpetuate it behind closed doors.

***

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Why Social Distancing is Ideal in My Disabled Friendships

549 words

4 minute read

Learning to bake soda bread was an adventure when we first tried our hand at it.

We were about a month into social distancing / quarantining, and were realizing that as great as grocery drop-offs could be, they were not ideal for those of us with a good bit of hypochondria on our best day - and in the middle of a pandemic at that.

But, back to bread making.

Tara and I determined quickly that so-called quick-breads were not CP-friendly, as they require speed. But when Tara's hands were covered in sticky dough, I took over and put it in the oven.

Earlier in the day, we'd received a video message from a dear young friend with CP like us. She recorded herself as she jumped on her trampoline.

Then we shared we were baking bread.

Friend: Do you like dry ingredients or wet ingredients more?

Us: Dry. We love flour. It's so soft!

Friend: Also, tell me how yummy it is. Rate it from 1-10. 1 being, "This is the worst I've ever had!" And 10 being: "This is the best I've ever had!" Because I'm not there to try it. 😞

Us: We'd give it a 9! It's pretty good!

Friend: That's why I jumped. So we can basically both...like, I can be eating it, and you can be jumping. I love you guys.

[Image: Me, Tara, and a friend show our hands, with matching bracelets. Christmas, 2017]

***

The pandemic has meant that many have had to shift their usual way of doing things to rely more heavily on video chatting, messaging or using other apps to stay in touch.

For me, though, (and - I suspect - for many disabled folx) in a lot of ways the reliance on technology rather than in person interaction has been ideal.

First and foremost, we want to stay healthy.  Lots of us are high risk and we want to be alive, so for me, not interacting in person is a small price to pay.

To be honest, most of our friendships flourished online and over text even pre-pandemic.  

Our youngest friend (seen in the opening of this post) regularly sends us links to TikTok videos.  We keep up by text or Marco Polo.  We've even been known to motivate each other to do chores.  

We have our own Christmas traditions with our friend K, which have included helping decorate her tree via video chat for the last three years, watching Christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate together.  

We also know we can rely on her when we need something - she's sent us quarters on and off since March - so we can continue to do our laundry (in a building without a change machine that still requires its residents to pay to wash and dry clothes even in the middle of a pandemic.)  Thank you, K!

And we check in with our friend Alyssa nightly. We have Netflix parties and poll each other about what we'll watch.  We talk about deep stuff and momentary difficulties, like figuring out how to deal with a finding cat food in a pandemic.

So, while I don't wish pandemic life or illness on anyone, I do welcome the level of access it has normalized.

***

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When I Asked a Nondisabled Friend "How Does It Feel When You Dance?"

508 words

4 minute read

Last night, I dreamt that I could dance.  Like, really dance.  I dreamt I got to improv with somebody and it was so amazing.  I can still feel the air rushing around me the the floor underneath me.  I don't remember the song, but I remember the completely free feeling that I had, you know.  I never wanted to wake up.  It was the best dream ever.  And I still had Cerebral P.  But it didn't matter. 

How does it feel when you dance?

***

I still remember this dream.  I remember writing this message to a (nondisabled) friend of mine who was also a dancer, because the dream was so real.  It was one of the first dreams I can remember where I experienced freedom of movement, didn't have adaptive equipment, and didn't feel intensively vulnerable because of it.

Related:  Let's Talk About The Evolution of Dreams

I wanted badly to share this feeling with someone.  My friend who was a dancer seemed the closest fit.

But I was surprised when her answer came back a few days later.  While warm, and sweet, she never really answered me.  In fact, she seemed downright hesitant at the idea that I was really enjoying something that she did so easily.

It occurs to me now that this question may have made my friend uncomfortable.

How many times are we, in the disabled community, asked intensely personal questions about our bodies?  Try all the time.  (Even the old prompt from The Mighty that this entry is loosely based on is "Take an embarrassing question you are often asked and answer it.")

Um.  No.  How about never?

[Tonia - around the time I had the dream - my head is cocked and I am squinting, with a little smile on my face.]

***

It does occur to me now, though, ten years after the fact, that perhaps what I asked my friend had her feeling put on the spot.  

What I asked her was, essentially, a very personal question based on how her body naturally moved.  And maybe, the fact that someone outside her nondisabled community asked this had her feeling uncomfortable, and skirting the question.  Even though what I asked was an honest question, and even though it was based on a positive experience I had.

She wrote me back a few brief lines.

It was far from the total sensory description I was yearning for.

We missed each other.  And maybe it was a cultural thing.  Maybe being nondisabled, all she could gather was that I felt like I was missing out on what she was able to do easily - when in fact - I felt like, for a brief moment, we had something in common.

It was naive.

I wasn't aware of disability culture (or my own neurodivergence) and how vastly different our takes might be - even on this common subject.

It was the end of July, 2010.  Nearly four years to the day before I would create this blog.

***

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When My Ableist Teacher Used My Report Card to Praise My Parents

721 words

6 minute read

People with disabilities often get the message that our accomplishments are not our own.  That we should be grateful for our parents' care and thank them for our accomplishing anything of value.

This was definitely the case on my fourth grade report card.  Now, fourth grade was not a good time for me.  My teacher was super ableist and no one noticed my slide into depression.

Related:  Growing Up With a Disability: The Elementary Years

A few months into the year, my grades came home to my parents.  I had the equivalent of As and Bs in most areas.  The areas I had what amounted to Cs were in places I struggled the most due to CP:  Physical Education, Reading, Completing Work on Time and Organization.  (Class Participation was also average as it was hard to feel confident when I faced ableism everywhere I went: home, school, out in the world.)

For a bit of history, this was 1990.  The ADA was passed in July.  This report card came out at the end of November.  My teacher was older, near retirement age, and it's very possible that I was the first student she ever taught who had a disability.

Her disability attitudes were super unevolved and they show in the way she used the GOALS / COMMENTS section of my report card:

***

Tonia has done above to good average work this quarter.  Her creative writing shows imagination, much effort and ability to express herself.  

Related: Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month: Day 9: Steps

Social Studies has high test scores.  Tonia's effort in every area is to be complimented.  Her parents strong support have contributed to completing work and top accomplishments.  As she grows older, she will be very grateful for your care.  Socially, she has many friends.

One goal I'd like to recommend for her is that she raise her hand more frequently, or that she ask the kids by her to help her get organized.  She needs to take the initiative to get herself together more.

***

This was not my parents' report card.  This was my report card.  But it's clear that if my teacher had to grade them, they would have gotten As.  None of this above-to-good-average stuff.  (The majority of my grades were As and Bs!  What the heck?)

My teacher praised my effort, but gave my parents the credit for my "top accomplishments."  The push to be grateful for the basics started early.  And I have to say, today?  It's hard to feel anything but trauma, having been raised in a house where I struggled to access basic needs, where I was abused, and where this continued into adulthood.

Her assessment that I had "many friends" was just plain false.  It's a mistake many nondisabled adults make.  They think if they see kids helping the disabled kid, they must all be friends.

But the truth is?  I had one friend.  One friend who I played with at her house.  One friend I hung out with outside of school.  That was it.

Also, she started out with one goal for me and ended up not able to resist adding another.  What elementary school aged child just knows when they aren't organized enough?  Just knows, "Hey, I should ask for help with this?"

I'll give you a hint.  It's not the one who was also in tons of trouble at home for accepting any help that was deemed unnecessary by nondisabled adults in my life.

Related: Parenting Kids with Disabilities: Advocacy

***

[Image: Tonia, in November of 1990, holding a pink balloon.  She's on her knees, which are set wide apart for balance.  Her crutches are on the floor on either side of her.]

I was 9 years old.  

An actual child, who wore pink nightgowns with teddy bears on them that said 100% CUDDLY.  Yet, all around me were adults that expected me to have this innate sense of how to navigate life and the world, without adequate emotional support.

My accomplishments were mine.  And I deserved more than a grudging acknowledgement by my teacher.  We don't deserve to be pushed into gratefulness for subpar care when we are still children.

But this is what many disabled people (children and adults) face on a daily basis.

***

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'My First Time' 30 Questions Tag

959 words

7 minute read

I'm always on the lookout for new blog post ideas.  I found this one here (and I edited a few so I'd be able to answer all of them.)  

***

First app you check when you wake up in the morning?

Facebook, I think?  

***

First surgery?

I was five days old.  I had heart surgery to close my PDA - a common heart defect in preemies.

***

First foreign country you ever visited?

Canada, when I was eight years old.

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My first make-up item?

I used to use my mom's roll-on perfume...on my face...when I was eight.

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My first ever tape or CD?

The first CD I remember choosing for myself was Celine Dion's Falling Into You when I was fourteen.  (A tape I remember buying was the soundtrack to the movie Selena, around age 16.)

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My first adaptive equipment?

[Image: Tonia, smiling big at 11 months old, in a baby walker, decked out with a sticker that reads SUPER COUPE]

Before my first wheelchair at 7, my first pair of crutches at 6, and my first reverse posture walker at 4, I had this baby walker.  It allowed me to be supported sitting up.  To see things and play with toys.  I used it until I was 3 years old.

***

My first celebrity crush

Dominique Moceanu, honestly.  I had a poster of The Magnificent Seven on my wall, and an autographed picture of her.

***

My first cooking experience?

The first I can think of?  Tara and I and our BFF at the time made our mom a birthday cake when we were eleven.  It looked super sketchy...but we were very proud of it.

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My first ever friend?

A girl in second grade.  We used to go play at her house.  (Paperboy on Nintendo Entertainment System and we'd eat grilled cheese sandwiches with tuna, which is how her family made them and they were so delicious.)

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My first ever mobile phone?

Would you believe I was 25?  It was a flip phone with a purple case.

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My first fear?

Anything medical.  There are notes from doctors appointments I had at age 2 (a year after finally being released from the hospital) where I fought a doctor so hard that they were unable to complete their tests.)

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My first internet activity?

At camp with my disabled friends.  We looked up things related to bathroom humor - because we were like 13.  We got internet in our house at age 17.  I used it exclusively for email and to print out full page pictures of Dominique Moceanu.

***

My first job?

Babysitting at age 11.

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My first language?

English.  (I studied German for a year in middle school, and Spanish all four years in high school.)

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First experience in choir?

I was in church choir at 9 years old.  I liked singing, but it was a grownup choir.  The first time singing with kids my age in a choir, I was 11, and it was a revelation.  So much fun.  

***

My first pet?

Until we were 2, Tara and I lived at our grandma's house with our mom.  Grandma had a giant Great Dane named Auggie, who was super big.  He both terrified and intrigued me.

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My first piercing and when did I get it?

My ears, when I was four.  It was super painful and traumatizing.  

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My first tattoo?

Probably a stick on one my cousin put on me from a Poptarts box in my 20s.  I've never been a tattoo fan...

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My first soft toy?

Either a little pink beanbag bunny or an orange and yellow kitten.  (I decided they both wanted to go for a swim in the wading pool when I was 10, and they got ruined.)

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My first thought today?

"What time is it?"

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What day is it?

Monday.

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My first time on a ship?

My aunt and uncle's boat around age 4.

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The first book I remember reading?

My first favorite book was The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 were as close to twin representation as I ever saw.

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The first concert I ever attended?

I saw several Christian singers at age 21.

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The first film I remember seeing?

Follow That Bird was the first I remember seeing in the theater at 4.  I saw it maybe three or four times.

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The first person I talked to today?

Tara.

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The first text I sent today?

A message to one of my close friends.

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The first thing I do every morning?

Check my phone.

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The first thing I do when I get home?

Take off my bra.  So uncomfortable!

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The first time you ever tried alcohol?

I was 22, and got pressured into having blush wine with a friend while out to eat, since she was also feeling like wine.  I had two sips.  My lips and tongue got numb.  My CP gait felt super loose.  I felt so spacey.  I've never taken another drink, as I was not comfortable taking the first two.  In fact, I've always regretted it.

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When did you go to your first party?

I went to a classmate's birthday party when I was 6.  We all played Pin The Tail On The Donkey and I heard: "AND THE WINNER IS...TONIA!"

I was not happy at all.  

In fact I was concerned / traumatized because everyone was staring at me, and I felt SURE that I the game had been "fixed" so I'd win...and I had no way of really knowing if my win was legitimate because I'd been blindfolded.

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