I was transplanted at a young age and grew up in the hollows of South Eastern Kentucky. Immersed into the heart of coal country and surrounded by living, breathing hillbillies my childhood was chock full of experiences that would forever leave a mark, make a funny story or vividly tell a painful truth. We were so far into the depths of the dry county buried in the Appalachian Mountains; the nearest mall was hours away and modern civilization seemed surreal at times.
My father traveled all week long to financially support his three girls meaning, my sister, my mama and me. With very limited entertainment options my sister and I were in gymnastics and dance at a local academy. I was able to take art classes from a local artist. We lived in an affluent neighborhood but it was far away from any schoolmates. I learned to fend for myself and created countless imaginary friends, usually finding the inspiration for them within the hundreds of books I read. I was an avid reader. I had read the entire library of fiction books in the library at my school before the end of my third grade year. I had a wild imagination to go with that thirst for books so I don’t remember being lonely when I was alone.
Us girls would watch our father play softball, volleyball and bowling when he managed to be at home. My sister and me, all the while, being sweet, well-mannered, little daughters that he could show off like cattle at the 4-H. Occasionally, we would get to go roller-skating at Sweet Hollow.
My mom was, and still is, an avid Winter Olympic supporter. Even after many years that memory is crisp and clear where some become faded, like an old Polaroid photograph. Blurry in the mind, as the memory fades further away, we forget who was there or where we were but the smell or sounds we hear may trigger a part of the memory to brighten and the “edges” become less faded somehow. As girls, we watched the ice-skating on the winter Olympics. We knew their names and would pretend to score the men, women and couples.
I wondered if I would be able to merge my love of dance with ice-skating. I was confident I could use the frozen pond behind our house. A cow farmer owned the acreage and woods. His property also included the pond to the right of our yard. This pond appeared to be frozen every winter, according to my young, blue, eager and naïve eyes. When I got an idea into my head, regardless of how far-fetched or ridiculous or impossible to achieve, I would obsess about it, making myself nearly crazy at times. That is still true about me, even thirty years later. I wanted to dance on water.
I began to merge my talent for drawing and painting to create something amazing. I read even more books. I researched inventions and possible patents for young inventors. I wondered about grants and copy write laws. I believed I would make it possible to combine my love of dance with skating on that cow pond. I could dance on water. I could be an Olympian.
When our father had come home after a long business trip, we were leaving church (another requirement for Southern pass times) and we passed by Sweet Hollow. I asked if we could go skating and was quickly denied. They were closed for the season, my dad told us. I took this as the opportunity I needed to explain my invention.
I proudly told my parents about my drawings and research in detail. I explained that the skates, would be just like my roller-skates in basic design but the wheels were thinner and lined up on the center of the sole of the “skate”, similar to the blade on ice skates. Then, I explained, it would be possible to “ice-skate” any time of year! It didn’t depend on weather, or seasonal anything to be used. Brilliant, I thought! Didn’t they agree? I could make millions and my dad wouldn’t have to travel anymore. This would be a physical activity or at least a more “sporty” one, than I had ever shown any interest in. My invention was something that could propel athletes from the Winter Olympics into the Summer Olympics, too. I was even appealing to the interest of both my parents in one invention. I explained my invention and marketing ideas quickly and with minimal interruption.
I was practically strangling on the flow of words coming out of my mouth in anticipation of being interrupted or shut down before I could even catch my breath. As we rode closer to our house I remember the snow melting on my window and making droplets that were sliding down as if it were raining outside. I was ecstatic, nearly manic mode at this point. I held my breath in anticipation of my dad’s response. Eagerly praying and hoping for his approval and support of my brilliant idea! I had invented something that was amazing and he could even financially support this endeavor, easily. I was going to put this hillbilly town on the map and be a famous inventor.
As the sign for Sweet Hollow sign faded in the rear window and the droplets of melted snow streamed down the side of our truck, an elated little girl waited for her daddy’s approval and commendations. He used his left hand to turn the wheel of his truck into our neighborhood. In the silence, I remember hearing my dad’s laughter getting louder and louder. At first, he covered his mouth with his right hand and tried to silence his laughter, probably due to a dirty look from my mother since she was always the encourager of dreams. My dad said my skates were “the stupidest idea” he’d ever heard of. “Ice-skates with wheels? Just stupid,” he said.
We rode past the neighbor’s houses and I remember focusing on the streams of melted snowdrops on my window while the tears streamed down my cheeks. He was really laughing at me. My invention was a joke. Like I was a joke. I felt like a fool. As we rode past Sweet Hollow I’d never felt so bitter and disappointed. My heart felt hollow inside and my dreams had just been shot out of the sky right in front of me. In a matter of seconds I was crushed by the very person I thought believed in me most.
Us girls would watch our father play softball, volleyball and bowling when he managed to be at home. My sister and me, all the while, being sweet, well-mannered, little daughters that he could show off like cattle at the 4-H. Occasionally, we would get to go roller-skating at Sweet Hollow.
My mom was, and still is, an avid Winter Olympic supporter. Even after many years that memory is crisp and clear where some become faded, like an old Polaroid photograph. Blurry in the mind, as the memory fades further away, we forget who was there or where we were but the smell or sounds we hear may trigger a part of the memory to brighten and the “edges” become less faded somehow. As girls, we watched the ice-skating on the winter Olympics. We knew their names and would pretend to score the men, women and couples.
I wondered if I would be able to merge my love of dance with ice-skating. I was confident I could use the frozen pond behind our house. A cow farmer owned the acreage and woods. His property also included the pond to the right of our yard. This pond appeared to be frozen every winter, according to my young, blue, eager and naïve eyes. When I got an idea into my head, regardless of how far-fetched or ridiculous or impossible to achieve, I would obsess about it, making myself nearly crazy at times. That is still true about me, even thirty years later. I wanted to dance on water. I began to merge my talent for drawing and painting to create something amazing. I read even more books. I researched inventions and possible patents for young inventors. I wondered about grants and copy write laws. I believed I would make it possible to combine my love of dance with skating on that cow pond. I could dance on water. I could be an Olympian.
When our father had come home after a long business trip, we were leaving church (another requirement for Southern pass times) and we passed by Sweet Hollow. I asked if we could go skating and was quickly denied. They were closed for the season, my dad told us. I took this as the opportunity I needed to explain my invention.
I proudly told my parents about my drawings and research in detail. I explained that the skates, would be just like my roller-skates in basic design but the wheels were thinner and lined up on the center of the sole of the “skate”, similar to the blade on ice skates. Then, I explained, it would be possible to “ice-skate” any time of year! It didn’t depend on weather, or seasonal anything to be used. Brilliant, I thought! Didn’t they agree? I could make millions and my dad wouldn’t have to travel anymore. This would be a physical activity or at least a more “sporty” one, than I had ever shown any interest in. My invention was something that could propel athletes from the Winter Olympics into the Summer Olympics, too. I was even appealing to the interest of both my parents in one invention. I explained my invention and marketing ideas quickly and with minimal interruption.
I was practically strangling on the flow of words coming out of my mouth in anticipation of being interrupted or shut down before I could even catch my breath. As we rode closer to our house I remember the snow melting on my window and making droplets that were sliding down as if it were raining outside. I was ecstatic, nearly manic mode at this point. I held my breath in anticipation of my dad’s response. Eagerly praying and hoping for his approval and support of my brilliant idea! I had invented something that was amazing and he could even financially support this endeavor, easily. I was going to put this hillbilly town on the map and be a famous inventor.
As the sign for Sweet Hollow sign faded in the rear window and the droplets of melted snow streamed down the side of our truck, an elated little girl waited for her daddy’s approval and commendations. He used his left hand to turn the wheel of his truck into our neighborhood. In the silence, I remember hearing my dad’s laughter getting louder and louder. At first, he covered his mouth with his right hand and tried to silence his laughter, probably due to a dirty look from my mother since she was always the encourager of dreams. My dad said my skates were “the stupidest idea” he’d ever heard of. “Ice-skates with wheels? Just stupid,” he said.
We rode past the neighbor’s houses and I remember focusing on the streams of melted snowdrops on my window while the tears streamed down my cheeks. He was really laughing at me. My invention was a joke. Like I was a joke. I felt like a fool. As we rode past Sweet Hollow I’d never felt so bitter and disappointed. My heart felt hollow inside and my dreams had just been shot out of the sky right in front of me. In a matter of seconds I was crushed by the very person I thought believed in me most.
Today, we have in-line skates and participants use them on the X-Games. No one will ever know they were my idea. Yes, that is quite a stretch of the truth but as a child I had no way of fully realizing the impact of acting on a dream, until the craze of rollerblading began a few years later. This was also a harsh lesson in the way that men would laugh at women and the whole concept of the “Glass Ceiling”. Today, women still make eighty cents on the dollar that a man earns. “For example, a woman engineer in her mid-fifties, has an average annual base salary that peaks at about $62,000, about 20 percent less than the 875,000 earned, on average, by her male colleagues, according to the study by the Society of Women Engineers. The 1991 18 median annual salary for women scientists and engineers was 19 percent less than that of male scientists and engineers, according to the National Science Foundation.” [1] According to The National Research Council Staff, “Traditionally, scientists and engineers in the United States have been white males; and we know that, during the next decade in particular, the percentage of white males reflected in the net new entrants to the work force will be decidedly smaller than in the past. Thus, there is an important opportunity to meet the nation's needs for scientists and engineers by increasing the numbers of women and minorities receiving advanced preparation in those fields.” [2]
To this day, I have yet to dance on water or be involved in any sport. I have bitter memories of ice-skating and sharing any kind of dream with my father. I never became an engineer. I never invented anything else. I tried really hard to never let any man, even my father, make me feel that hollow again. I also try to push the limits of the glass ceiling when I think it’s necessary, but I am cautious. My dad hurt my feelings but I guess there’s always a way to keep everything “in line” after all.
[1] Gabor, Andrea. 1994. "Cracking the glass ceiling in
R&D." Research Technology Management 37, no. 5: 14. MasterFILE
Premier, EBSCOhost (accessed October 22, 2014).
[2] National
Research Council Staff. 1992. Science and engineering programs: On target for
women?National Academies Press.
