Hookers, Midgets, and Fire Trucks: An Invitation to Our Party

Warning Label

As you can see from the title, this book is politically incorrect and quite possibly offensive to some or even most. For that reason, I felt it necessary to begin with a warning and an apology.

Our family, although not completely normal by most people’s standards, is real, and the events that unfold are true. Some names and locations have been changed to protect the privacy of the not so innocent.

My apologies to all prostitutes, little people, and firefighters if you find the title offensive. As you will discover in the pages of this book, you are exceptionally near and dear to my heart, and no malice was intended in the role you play in our wacky world.

Disclaimer

The nutritional and medical advice mentioned within the pages of this book is either anecdotal or being passed along to you from my own readings. While all the books mentioned are included in the resources, I am not a doctor or a medical professional and cannot vouch for the accuracy of medical information. Always consult your own doctor or a healthcare or nutrition specialist about your individual situation or concerns.

Acknowledgment

When I think of all the people who helped in the creation of Hookers, Midgets, and Fire Trucks, I am so appreciative of my editors. First, I thank Peggy Stautberg, who got me on the right track. To Aabha Brown and Heather Watkins, your input was invaluable. Aabha, thanks for helping me search my soul. To all my friends and family who read all or parts of the book and gave me both criticism and encouragement, I am indebted.

Thank you to the most wonderful son-in-law and smartest man in the world, Chris Travis. The cover rocks! I thank my Creator every day for your wisdom, sense of humor, and the fact that you are my daughter’s husband and the father of my grandchildren. Our whole world is better because we have you.

Thank you to my sister, Denise King, for helping me share our story. If even one person is helped from the writing of Hookers, Midgets, and Fire Trucks, we will not have walked our path in vain.

Thank you, Hailey Williams, for your creative genius and outstanding work on my Web site. Auntie Linda thinks you are amazing.

I am so fortunate to have met Scott Corron, my photographer, fellow seeker, and all-around wonderful person. Scott, you did a super job for me. You and your extraordinary experiences have enriched my life.

Lynn Williams, also known as Tammye Toe, my sister-in-law, this acknowledgment would not have been complete without mentioning the person who introduced me to Mike. Thank you, sweetie … what a ride!

I would like to take this opportunity to thank Dwan Coleman for being the best friend Mike could have ever had. Thanks, Dwan, for your unwavering support. Mike loved you with all his heart. I appreciate you more than words can explain.

Denis and Diana, how could we have possibly made it without you? The blocks under Mike’s wheelchair tires were a little cold, Denis. Sorry about the leather coat!

To my Ruthie Beaman, best friend, co-conspirator, and laugh machine: thanks for your unyielding support, for believing in me no matter what, and because you let me use you and supplements as my personal science experiment.

Tiffany Lynn Travis, my editor, my task master, my critical genius—your input made our story! You have been a pain in the ass, my publicist, my friend, my daughter, and my champion. I am amazed at your talent, tenacity, brilliance, and beauty (inside and out). I have been so blessed that you have made this trip with me. I love you, Mom.

Contents

Warning Label

Disclaimer

Acknowledgment

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

LINDA, THE BEGINNING

CHAPTER 2

A GROWTH SPURT

CHAPTER 3

THE LICE INCIDENT

CHAPTER 4

ENTER: DON QUIXOTE

CHAPTER 5

A LITTLE MINOR SETBACK

CHAPTER 6

A PROMISE

CHAPTER 7

TOUCH A SPOT

CHAPTER 8

THE MIAMI PROJECT

CHAPTER 9

BATHING WITH THE NEIGHBORS AND A TOPLESS DONUT SHOP

CHAPTER 10

BUNGEE-CORD ME TO THE MAST

CHAPTER 11

OUR FAMILY, IT’S ALL TRUE

CHAPTER 12

WHY? WHERE? HOW?

CHAPTER 13

MESSAGES FROM THE OTHER SIDE

CHAPTER 14

A BEGINNING

CHAPTER 15

THE LAST WINDMILL

CHAPTER 16

DIVINE INTERVENTION

CHAPTER 17

SHE’S BACK

CHAPTER 18

THE BEGINNING OF WISDOM

RESOURCES

PROLOGUE

Since I believe that life, love, laughter, pain, and sorrow are our best teachers, I would like to share with you my life filled with both the highest highs and the lowest lows. This journey on earth has given me love beyond compare and has sent me spiritual soul mates with whom I have shared so much joy and laughter that I am sure no human being could be more blessed than I.

I have also spent eighteen of the toughest years of my life as the caregiver for a quadriplegic husband, followed by one catastrophic blow after another. Grief has been an important part of my destiny.

It is when we reach the bottom that we receive the gift of learning the greatest lessons. Clinical depression and the events that gave it birth sent me on a desperate quest. My spiritual growth and firsthand experience with miracles and angels are a direct result of my darkest hours. I was reborn with the understanding that I am wonderful, you are wonderful, we are all one, and happiness is attainable even in the midst of life’s worst challenges.

As you will see in the following pages, pretty much all of my life lessons I have learned the hard way—by plunging in headfirst! But I’ve come out on the other side of so many difficult, and just as often joyful, experiences, that the lessons I’ve learned are deeply felt and universal enough that I want to share them within the pages of this book.

To the millions of you who struggle with depression or know people who do, I have traveled that hard road; it is my hope that by reading about my path back to joy, you may find some answers for yourself or someone you love. It is also my fervent desire that if you have lost a loved one, you will glean hope from the miracles I share and perhaps even seek a miracle of your own.

At this point, many of you may be wondering, What do hookers, midgets, and fire trucks have to do with depression, grief, and spirituality? Is this just one woman’s ramblings, or is it comedy, spirituality, tragedy, satire, or smut? You see, in my life, it’s actually all of the above. I’ve learned you never know what or who life is going to bring to the party.

To all of you who are seekers of truth, love, and laugher, I give you the story of a family, my life, and the lessons I have learned along the way. This is your invitation to our party.

CHAPTER 1

LINDA, THE BEGINNING

I WAS BORN LINDA GAYLE KING on August 14, 1949. It was a time of innocence. Ed Sullivan was the hit on television, but we didn’t have a TV. Perry Como crooned the beautiful love ballad Some Enchanted Evening on the radio. We never heard a four-letter word. The new toy was Silly Putty—no sex or violence there. Did the censorship help us or hurt us? I don’t know. What I do know is that I was born with the great fortune of having parents and grandparents who loved me, and our home was usually filled with fun and laughter. Even considering their human qualities, mistakes and all, as far as earthly angels are concerned, I attribute much of my joy to my parents, Warren and Bessie King, and to my paternal grandmother, Lola Olivia King, whom I called Granny. I vividly remember sitting on Granny’s sunny front porch at age eight with giant purple hydrangeas in the flowerbed beside me, and it occurred to me: I am the happiest person on earth.

We were a typical middle-class family in the fifties. My parents, who both worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad, were raising two kids in a modest home in Bellaire, Texas. My sister, Denise, with her beautiful, dark brown ringlet hair and large, expressive hazel eyes, came along almost seven years after me. Our life was golden—which had nothing to do with money. Mama quit working when I was three, and although Daddy never missed a day’s work, I can still remember Mama saying, Eeney meeny miney moe, letting fate decide which bills got paid each month. Even in a golden world where the happiest person on earth resides, innocence has a way of slipping away when no one is looking.

It was September of 1961, and Hurricane Carla was in the Gulf. The ceiling fan in the hall sucked air in through the windows that were cracked open one or two inches all over the house. It was hot and humid. The wind was blowing hard, dark clouds rumbled, and lightning streaked across the sky.

Daddy, Mama, their friends, Jerry and Maddy, Denise, and I were watching the weather. The Citizen’s Band (CB) radio droned and buzzed its alerts. The small, white three-bedroom, one-bath frame house we had been living in from the time I was born creaked with the onslaught of wind.

I was twelve, a really gawky, skinny girl, stuck in that awkward in-between stage, but I was mostly kid, still innocent. I did everything I was told, respected my elders, said yes, sir and no, ma’am, and above all never questioned anything Mama and Daddy ever said. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t frightened as I peeked through the venetian blinds to see garbage cans flying down the street of our neighborhood, which included lots of other small, wood-framed houses. My parents weren’t worried about the storm. Why should I be? Heck, they were playing cards with their friends.

Jerry stretched his arms, leaned back in his chair, and said in an annoyed tone, Y’all mind if I move that CB to the back? I can barely hear myself think. The other three adults nodded in agreement and continued arranging their cards. Our house only had a small kitchen, a dining room open to the equally small living room, where the bridge game was being played, a hall, and three tiny bedrooms. Jerry moved the CB to the middle bedroom, Denise’s room, and closed the door as he came back to join the game.

Slanted, driving rain battered the windows, and Mama looked up from her card game to see the hardwood floors getting wet. Girls, go around and close all the windows, and then, Denise Kaye, it’s eight o’clock—time for bed. I was older, so I got to stay up till ten.

Denise whined her usual complaint, Why do I have to go to bed and Linda gets to stay up?

Because I said so. Mama’s response never varied from one night to the next, but I guess when you’re five you still have to give it your best shot. Mama never vacillated and came out the victor every time. Denise and I closed the windows. She gave hugs and kisses to our parents and then the customary I love yous were exchanged. I marched her back to bed to tuck her in.

Seven years is a pretty big age difference. I always felt more like Denise’s mother than her sister. The CB radio crackled. I turned the volume down. As I pulled the covers over Denise’s chest, she pleaded, Linda, please let me sleep with you tonight.

Denise, you know there’s nothin’ to be afraid of. Carla’s a long way away—all the way to Galveston.

No, Linda, it’s not that. I just don’t want to sleep by myself tonight. I won’t pee the bed, I promise.

Denise, you say that every time, and every time you pee all over me.

No, really, Linda, Mama just gave me honey. I won’t pee tonight. It helps. It really does.

Denise, I’m not sleepin’ in a wet bed tonight. Now go to sleep. I turned off the light, walked out, and closed the door.

Mama served chips and Cokes. The card game continued, and Jerry got up occasionally to get updates on Carla. The wind howled. Denise got out of bed several times and got in big trouble.

Daddy stepped in, saying, Denise, you get out of bed again and you’re gonna get a whippin’.

Daddy and Jerry won a game, and the ladies shuffled and dealt. Jerry got up and went into Denise’s room.

Denise yelled, Linda, come ’ere!

Daddy and I exchanged glances. It’s okay, Daddy, I’ll check and see what she needs. Maybe she’s scared of the wind.

I walked into Denise’s room and flipped on the light. Jerry was in the corner, kneeling down by the CB. Denise was in her bed. The static from the storm update crackled. Denise’s huge hazel eyes were filled with raw fear. She threw her arms around