Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Poedy: The Story of a Pencil-Princess.

My, how the little princess has grown. This is me when I was four years old. I found this picture at my mom's house yesterday. She is in the process of moving and it's funny-the stuff that floats to the surface when personal belongings are shuffled around. This photo was one of those things.

So, here I am. There couldn't be a more perfect symbolic image of me in the world than this old photo. The clothes? I pretty much wore this outfit (well, this style of outfit) my whole life. My mother always got annoyed with me when I was a teenager because I wore men's baggy jeans all the time in a family where all the women wore dresses. Then I see this picture and I see where this particular brand of fashion sense came into my life...She is the one who started it all in the first place! I seem obviously happy here. In fact, the look on the face of this little kid is me, through and through, when I am happy and silly and sweetly rebellious, the classic baby of the family. That is, when life isn't driving me around the bend.

These are the days when my family called me Poedy. Jody Poedy (ya gotta add the e to ensure it's pronounced properly, am I right?) or sometimes just Poedy. Or Pode. Or Jo.

I cannot remember a time in my life when I didn't draw. When I turned five, I won my very first art contest. It was an Easter Contest about "What does Easter mean to me?". Well, being very soft-hearted towards the story of Jesus and the crucifixion even at this age, I drew Jesus on the cross, Mary Magdalene at his feet, weeping, as I remembered the story. I drew a Roman soldier in the distance based on something I had seen in the Ten Commandments. This was while I attended school at Woodstock Centennial Elementary. Other kids drew Easter eggs and bunnies. Not me. The irony here is that I won an Easter Bunny as a prize...Go figure, eh? Anyway, my personal prayer is that I can be true to this open-hearted, silly and happy little girl. It looks to me like she deserves it.

The boys in my class, when I was in grade one, called me short stuff. Did that ever piss me off, even if I was less than a meter tall.


  1. Somehow the child inside of us knows. What a cuty little Po was. (and is).

  2. It's so true. I feel it more and more everyday. Thanks, Alice.