I still remember that day after I stopped nursing and my mother went back to work, when my father came home with a large cardboard box under his arm.  He slapped it down in the middle of the living room, took out what looked to be a big shinny black building block and proclaimed this is your mother now! As he and my birth-mother let out a peal of drunken laughter, I sat staring skeptically at the new member of the family.  I had wanted a little sister or maybe a Teddy Rupkins, but this thing did not look like it wanted me to feed it.  However my suspicion dissolved when my father pressed a button, the set became illuminated and I addicted to its light.

Of all my hours spent with my Telly, by far the most treasured were those watching Coach Hayden Fox.  Every Tuesday night at nine when my parents had passed out in their respective arm chairs, I would sit transfixed, studying the way in which the coach formed bonds with his players and smoothed things over when the misses got grumpy.  Coach Hayden Fox would put me to sleep every night and his beautiful visage would be the first to welcome me to a new day in the morning.  At five this was a mere juvenile-obsession, but by age six it blossomed into picture-book love.  When I told my father I wished someday to play for Coach Fox, he only laughed condescendingly, pointing out that Girls cant play sports, and my high level asthma that kept me from participating in contact sports. I immediately understood and shouted, 'Well in that case, Ill marry him!'  My dad laughed differently this time, said 'I hear those rich b*stards like em young' afterwards slapping my mother a high five.  I didnt understand what was so funny.  But to me that sure sounded like a yes!

The next eight years of my life were spent paging through the local delis Modern Bride to find the perfect dress, which of course would be dyed green and gold, and a veil which could be successfully inscribed with Screaming Eagles Super Fan.  92 was a tough year for me because it was the year that Hayden tied the knot with Christine. Only my parents constant usage of the words divorce and it would be best for Jessie if one of us takes total custody could keep me sane.  It wasnt until the spring of 97 that the bottom really fell out.  Coach went off the air and I sunk into a deep depression.  After two years of drug abuse and lesbianism, I was rescued by the premier of 'The District.'  The chiseled face I had grown to lust was back in syndication and I was back to wedding planning.  Though I know someday I will meet Mr. Nelson, I am for now comforted by the obvious need for paper filing at the DC based police station, thanks much in part to my Fathers assertion that 'chicks make hot secretaries.'