The Rambo Barbie

Donna Reed was never my hero. When I was a little girl living in Slidell, Louisiana, my father and I would watch action movies that came on TV every Saturday. Sure, I played with Barbies, baby dolls, and other nomal "girl" toys, but not in the normal "girl" way. Barbie canceled her date with Ken because she had to break a smuggling ring. Instead of being the mommy who lovingly nursed her children and cleaned house, I would be the Chuck Norris-like secret agent carrying some political person's abducted children to safety. And I never quite got the hang of making pancakes and bacon.

Of course, my adventurous personality caused some friction with my peers and some adults. I had trouble relating to my girl peers because I hated playing house unless the house had a bomb in it or one of the family members was being held hostage. My boy peers did not play with girls, even when the girl wanted to wrestle or play football. I did not fit the mold some adults tried to put me in, especially my mother's. When a child about my age was abducted in my community, my mother tried to curb my extroverted personality as a means of protection. Despite my mother's near-paranoia, I managed to make a few good friends who shared my taste for adventure. But as soon as I made friends, my father got transferred with his company. We moved eight times before I even got to junior high. Moving around and my parents' overprotection made me very withdrawn into myself.

My parents could not understand why I was not popular with my peers. As a means of making me more extroverted, my parents tried to turn me into a debutant. Of course, this didn't work because I preferred being Rambo to Donna Reed. I wanted to be accepted and I honestly tried to be the person my parents wanted me to be, but I could not deny my true nature. When my family finally settled down in Timberlake, North Carolina, I made friends who accompanied me in war and assisted me on missions to blow up secret enemy military bases. But as we started junior high school, my friends lay down their guns and picked up their diaries and dating books.

My own growing femininity caused the magic of violence to loose its appeal. I scanned my fantasy battlefield and saw that it was empty. I finally resigned myself to the fact that my war days were over and lay my gun beside my those of my peers. I entered the strange world of reality and found it harsher than the empty wasteland of the quiet battlefield. I was totally unprepared for this alien world because I had to be a rich Barbie or Shirley Temple clone to prevent redicule. I had a miserable time trying to conform to the standards of my peers. I finally gave up on trying to fit in and, like the outcast leper, watch everyone else be friends and have fun. When I started high school, I met many other people who accepted me even though I was not a clone, but I remained suspicious of anyone's intentions of being my friend. When I started learning taekwondo, I lost this suspicion and appreciated the acceptance.

I started taekwondo when my brother's principal suggested to my mother that my brother go to summer school. My mother almost fainted when she found out that there would be high school students also attending. She asked her sister about a fairly new taekwondo school in our community so my brother could learn how to defend himself from the "threatening" high school students. In March of 1995, my mother took us to Fuller's Taekwondo for our first lesson. My mother's original intention was to only let my brother take the lessons because of the self-defense he "needed" in summer school. When I expressed my desire to learn the art, she thought I would be the first to drop out. I proved her wrong by attending classes faithfully and quickly advancing through the ranks.

My studies in taekwondo have reignited my adventurous nature. I have developed a "Devil-may-care" attitude because I refuse to live in fear as my parents would have me do. Taekwondo has returned the self-respect I lost from my parents' overprotection, moving around, and the abrupt end to my fantasy adventures. I still have trouble relating to my peers because I would rather talk about how to break someone's arm in three places than how to highlight my cheekbones. Guys still do not talk to me much, but only because I would not think twice about breaking a purposfully misplaced hand. I do not care what people think, and I can often be seen practicing my techniques at home or before school. I have been often asked to demonstrate my techniques, but I have refused each time I was asked. I have not been challenged to a fight since I have started my studies in taekwondo, but would decline if I ever was. I have nothing to prove.

And I still do not cook pancakes and bacon.