Love, Pamela by Pamela Anderson EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Pamela Anderson
- Language: English
- Genre: Women’s Biographies
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I picture myself at 5 years old—
In detail—
I look at her from head to toe—
I watch her for a while
playing,
animated, ludic, theatric—
though on the beach alone.
I call her name to get her attention—
She takes a moment to recognize me
and then runs to me
with open arms.
I hug her tight
and swing her around,
while she smiles her electric smile
and giggles
with innocent
wonder.
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I tell her how much I love her,
How beautiful she is,
a wildflower,
and that I’m here for her,
And that
she’s going to be okay.
That she’s going to get through it all
with flying colors—
I kiss her strong on her sandy cheek—
She smushes up her face
and
wriggles away from me.
Of she runs
in her worn-out
apple-green
terry cloth bikini—
That’s trying hard to stay in the places
it is meant to.
She blows me kisses
and waves—
She hurries back to what’s important—
Mr. and Mrs. Crab
and
their jellyfish children.
The real me—
unpolluted.
I WAS BORN IN 1967, THE SUMMER OF LOVE. A CENTENNIAL BABY, arriving a
healthy seven pounds, seven ounces, on Canada’s one hundredth birthday. A
hundred years of what, exactly? A manipulated history. Vancouver Island
was formed by a volcano 150 million years ago, and First Nations people
lived there thousands of years before Columbus set foot on the island. You
can’t “discover” a land where people already live. History is often rewritten
to create heroes out of monsters. Or vice versa. The truth always comes to the
surface, eventually.
Will-o’-the-wisp . . .
My parents were young to have me, my mother only seventeen and my dad
nineteen. They met in early spring under a big blossoming cherry tree, just in
front of the church my mom’s family attended most Sundays. She was sitting
on the lowest branch, swinging her pretty legs in bobby socks, so the story
goes, when Dad and his friend walked by. Dad zeroed in on her and gave his
best buddy a quarter to get lost. Hey, angel, he said, leaning his arm against
the trunk, slicked-back hair and ocean eyes. She was smitten. They
immediately fell madly in love. A lightning bolt. Coup de foudre.
Their romance was like a 1950s movie. Think American Graf iti. Driveins, hot rods, burgers split at the local Wings Café. Dad wrote poetry to her
on long scrolls of paper lifted from the smelly Crofton paper mill, where he’d
worked for a time. He’d write my mom every day, and she’d run to the
mailbox after school to get his letters. Even though they lived only a few
miles away from each other, it was too far and too long to be apart.
Ladysmith is an old coal-mining town, a place of abandoned sawmills. A
fishing village proud with beaches, parks, and First Nations reserves.
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