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Big and Ugly Enough - The story of Linda Schector
You’re big and ugly enough! I must have heard that a thousand times. You’re big and ugly enough. My father was a very tough man; he didn’t worry about your feelings, and he didn’t worry about how his brutal ways would affect your life down the road. Get it done, stay out of his hair, and don’t cause trouble. I wasn’t very good at any of the three.
So when Pa and I weren’t screaming at one another, I was trying to outrun him. The upside of that vicious cycle was that I became a very fast runner. A further upside was that I used that particular talent to win a million blue ribbons in school and to get myself out of several very spooky situations.
Sixty-one years later, I turned a two-person business with one desk and a typewriter into a $41 million dollar enterprise with 110 employees and 10,000 square feet of office space, but for the life of me I don’t know what happened to my cache of blue ribbons. I probably threw them away one day without really thinking. Now I wish I’d kept them.
It was a Saturday morning when I first outran Pa. I was all of 10-years-old. Pa had sired 20 kids. Except for Mikey, I was the only one he couldn’t intimidate. In 10 years, he’d never caused me to shed a tear, and it made him furious.
“It’s too hard!” I shouted. “I’m not gonna! Bully!”
I crashed through the back screen door at a dead run and sent it flying against the clapboard house with a sharp crack.
“Come back here!” Pa yelled. The screen door hit the side of the house second time. A split second later, I heard the rapid thudding of his shoes on the back steps. He was right behind me. I could count on a beating if he caught me, and I was still sore from the last one.
My bare, calloused feet pounded across bare earth and mowed weeds in the field behind the house. My yellow flowered dress, ingeniously sewn from a chicken feed sack, flew up to my hips as my browned knees pumped even more furiously. Pa was over 60 by this time and not quite the same man he was 20 years ago; if I could just outlast him. Finally, his footsteps faded behind me. When I reached the woods beyond the field, I felt brave enough to venture a peak back toward the house. He’d stopped, red-faced and gasping for air, his hands on his knees. It was over. I’d won. But there were no long-term victories around our house. I knew I’d have to answer for it sooner or later. Still, that fleeting moment of success whetted my appetite for winning, and it would serve me well throughout my 72 years.
My name is Linda Schector this is my story.
So when Pa and I weren’t screaming at one another, I was trying to outrun him. The upside of that vicious cycle was that I became a very fast runner. A further upside was that I used that particular talent to win a million blue ribbons in school and to get myself out of several very spooky situations.
Sixty-one years later, I turned a two-person business with one desk and a typewriter into a $41 million dollar enterprise with 110 employees and 10,000 square feet of office space, but for the life of me I don’t know what happened to my cache of blue ribbons. I probably threw them away one day without really thinking. Now I wish I’d kept them.
It was a Saturday morning when I first outran Pa. I was all of 10-years-old. Pa had sired 20 kids. Except for Mikey, I was the only one he couldn’t intimidate. In 10 years, he’d never caused me to shed a tear, and it made him furious.
“It’s too hard!” I shouted. “I’m not gonna! Bully!”
I crashed through the back screen door at a dead run and sent it flying against the clapboard house with a sharp crack.
“Come back here!” Pa yelled. The screen door hit the side of the house second time. A split second later, I heard the rapid thudding of his shoes on the back steps. He was right behind me. I could count on a beating if he caught me, and I was still sore from the last one.
My bare, calloused feet pounded across bare earth and mowed weeds in the field behind the house. My yellow flowered dress, ingeniously sewn from a chicken feed sack, flew up to my hips as my browned knees pumped even more furiously. Pa was over 60 by this time and not quite the same man he was 20 years ago; if I could just outlast him. Finally, his footsteps faded behind me. When I reached the woods beyond the field, I felt brave enough to venture a peak back toward the house. He’d stopped, red-faced and gasping for air, his hands on his knees. It was over. I’d won. But there were no long-term victories around our house. I knew I’d have to answer for it sooner or later. Still, that fleeting moment of success whetted my appetite for winning, and it would serve me well throughout my 72 years.
My name is Linda Schector this is my story.
235 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2014
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May 17, 2023
Family
This book was written by my Aunt Linda. I recognize all the names and some of the instances as told to me previously by my grandmother, her sister Mary.
I'm glad she wrote this. My family ❤️
This book was written by my Aunt Linda. I recognize all the names and some of the instances as told to me previously by my grandmother, her sister Mary.
I'm glad she wrote this. My family ❤️
Displaying 1 of 1 review