Gary believed he was superior, so it was imperative that the world see his daughter as superior too.īehind closed doors it was a different story. Gary was a narcissist, and narcissists view their families as extensions of themselves, as trophies. Not because he actually thought I was gifted or talented. To the other parents, I suppose it seemed that Gary was harmlessly lauding his new daughter. After that, I was given the lead in all the school plays that he directed. Gary was among the judges who awarded me first prize. On the night of the show, various kids performed their acts, and the winner was chosen based on audience response. He signed me up for his drama club too and encouraged me to sing in the school talent contest. This was a real convenience, as he demanded I join his, and only his, after-school clubs. Then, based on his findings, he labeled certain kids - the kids he liked and wanted to spend more time with - as "gifted." Instead, he gave kids a short multiple-choice test, the Mickey Mouse kind sold in bookstores. Trouble was: Gary had no real training or authority to be administering IQ tests. The gifted and talented club was invitation only - Gary's invitation, that is. Some days Gary would oversee an after-school activity. Inevitably, a few of his favored 10-year-old students would still be hanging around - joking with him or sitting on his lap. Every day at 3 p.m., as soon as the bell rang, I was expected to climb those stairs and report to Gary's desk. My classroom was on the first floor of the elementary building - just a staircase away from Gary. Being polite means keeping one's mouth shut.Īnd so I, the newly minted Mooch Lundquist, became a third grader at Delaware Township School. But social norms dictate that we do not insert ourselves into other people's personal lives. No one seemed to care that my school records displayed a different name or that Gary was not my legal guardian. In 1976 no one seemed to question any of this.
Now, with the flick of a pen, I was Mooch (a nickname) Lundquist, daughter of Gary, new student at his out-of-state school. Since birth, I had been Michelle Brechbill. It's guys like this that really give truckers a bad name.In Michelle Stevens' powerful, just-published memoir, Scared Selfless, she shares how she overcame horrendous child sexual abuse and mental illness to lead a satisfying and happy life as a successful psychologist, wife and mother. It's guys like this that really give truckers a bad name. He shows no shame, no embarrassment out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he just continues to lay there, staring at me. I pull the old "quickly look in another random direction" move and start backing up as fast as I can. So as this is happening, he looks up and immediately catches my eye. I think anyone can guess what he must have been looking at on the computer screen.
The bottom 60%, including what I presume was a very unimpressive central section, was obscured by his dashboard. Thankfully, all I can see is about the top 40% of the entire scene. At nighttime, when it's pitch black outside. There, in the sleeper berth, I see an obese, pale-skinned, middle-aged man with glasses, laying on his side on his bed with his head propped up on his arm, staring at a laptop computer screen. It takes my mind a moment to realize what I'm seeing, but when I finally do, I almost start gagging. Then, as I turn my head and roll down my window in preparation for the backup, I see it. Nice and easy.Īs I pull past the spot and come to a stop so I can start backing up, my tractor comes to rest in front of a parked truck with the sleeper light on. It's not that busy out here so I see 3 open spots next to each other and decide I'm going for the middle one. Anyway, I'm driving along the lane, hugging the left side as I go and scanning the aisle for my chosen spot. Grand Junction, CO in case anyone's wondering. So it's around 7:30pm and I'm pulling into a Love's parking area. Ok so I just have to get this off my chest, probably one of the grosser things I've seen out here.