There will be no talk of war for me today because it is my birthday. I’m 26 today, and I can’t help but think about the road that has gotten me here and the people who have helped to shape who I am. My birthday wish is to remember those times and people and how I’ve got where I am.

I look at myself and wonder about how I came to be the loud-mouthed columnist that you have come to know and love. Truth be told, I was the closed-mouth, shy girl who sat in the back of the classroom in her frilly dress and Mary Jane shoes. I was the girl whom most people never noticed. I was the girl who excelled in academics but wasn’t very social. In short, I was the little girl most of us were.
Then came my time to blossom. I remember it distinctly: My mom came to my room and said she’d entered me in a beauty pageant. I thought it was a joke because my self-confidence was lacking. Even though my parents constantly told me to go for the gold, and to follow my dreams, I never thought I was good enough. Well, thanks to the Irish stubborness of my mother and the fabulous person she is, I competed and became a finalist.
After that first taste, I entered three more times and was slowly pulled from my shell of shyness and low self-worth. I was beginning to feel like somebody. After that I wanted to join everything; I wanted to do it all. That was my first step to independence and my own identity.
My eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Halter, sparked my interest in writing and made me strive for greatness. She told me I could accomplish anything I put my mind to. She took each student and treated him or her as an important individual, not just a number. Oh, but that was only a taste of what I was looking for.
My freshman year in high school, I joined our newspaper and yearbook staff and was sucked into the vortex of writing and taking pictures. These were always my hobbies — but to do it as a job? It didn’t stop there, oh no.
My sophomore year in high school, my drama teacher pulled what was left of me out of my shell by giving me the opportunity to lead students in our yearly “spookhouse” and direct student plays. I never looked back. I loved the spotlight.
Then my fatal downfall: I fell in love my junior year in high school, and nothing else seemed to matter. I could have attended the Art Institute of Seattle, but he wanted me to stay with him. He made me believe I wasn’t good enough for him, and he was doing me a favor by staying with me. He made me believe I couldn’t make it through college.
I became afraid of being alone, of being without him. So, I didn’t go; in fact, I waited three years before I made it back to school and even longer to get out of the shell he had shoved me back into.
In May of 1997, my younger brother was troubled by all of the “no skateboarding and rollerblading” signs and went to the city council for a solution. They told him they’d agree to get a skate park made in Molalla if he came up with a proposal.
My brother, then 14, didn’t know what to do, so I stepped in. That month, I established a non-profit organization whose primary mission was to build a skate park. The park opened June 24, 2000.
I got involved because I saw a lot of myself in my little brother — I could see a great drive in him, a drive that at one time I was too afraid to follow through on, a drive that will propel him to do what he wants with his life and not let anyone hold him back. Way to go, Tim!
It might take a lifetime for most people to know even half of this information. I’m telling my story so everyone might stop and think of the people and circumstances that put us all where we are. Regardless of whether times were good or bad, they were defining moments. Had it not been for all the twists and turns in my life, I wouldn’t be here, “Saying it loud.”