The 19 Cent Millionaire

Section 1… pg. 1 Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blur of gold just before I felt the impact. Our van was hit with such force that the car instantly began to flip. I don't really know what happened next or how long it took; but eventually the car came to rest on all four wheels. After what seemed like an eternity of squealing tires and the pounding and scraping of metal on pavement, all I could hear was the crying of my children. I looked back to where Sydney, my two-year-old, was supposed to be. I saw her still buckled in her seat, but obviously scared to death. She was crying at the top of her lungs and was looking frantically around for me. I looked to where I had last seen Hunter, my four-month-old. Luckily he was still in his car seat, but his carrier top covered him completely. With intense fear, I slowly lifted the cover off of his body. No blood. No obvious injuries. No deafening silence. I immediately saw this as a good sign. Shaking, I looked around the car. Our groceries: cans of soup and green beans, lay in the seats, the floorboard and on the dash. Not one of the van windows was still intact. My eyes then focused on a pencil that had been driven through the one piece of the windshield that still hung in the frame. Having difficulty moving about, I slowly unfastened my seat belt and began to try to comfort my children. The impact of the initial hit came on my side of the car and I realized I could not open my door. It was then that angels in the crowd of people, who had obviously witnessed the wreck, began to come to my aide and try to get my door ajar. I thought I heard them saying that the van had flipped three to five times, but its final resting place was on all four wheels. I couldn’t help but sense that God had personally offered His hand to protect us all from what was sure death. The 16-year-old who had run the red light was unharmed and came to check on us. When the paramedics arrived, they examined each of us before transporting us to the hospital to make certain we had no internal injuries. But how do you really know what is wrong with a four month old or a two year old who has just learned to talk? Those minutes, that became hours, were agonizing. The accident was a turning point in my life. In a marriage that was already traveling down a rough road, the accident proved to be something of a prophecy of my life over the next few years: blind-sided and hurling head over heels, but with God’s grace, landing on my feet. Section 2…pg.171 Eventually, lying starts to take its toll on you. For all of the mistakes I have made in my life, I have never been a liar. I have been naive; I have taken “this” road when “that” road might have been best. I have failed in three marriages. I stayed with an abusive alcoholic, I have taken my clothes off for money, but I have never been a liar. Therefore, lying about stripping was really hard for me and ultimately became unbearable. In 2008, Sydney and I were watching television together. Joy Behar was on The View. I remember looking over at Sydney and saying “it’s time to write the book!” She looked at me and said “OK, mama, do it! I know you can do it!” On the family chalkboard, which was just outside the entrance to my bedroom, I wrote in bold letters, “2008, This is our year!” I talked to Mick about writing “The Nineteen Cent Millionaire,” and he sent me the sweetest email, saying he would buy me a laptop to help move the process along. I talked with my entire family about what the book would mean: people would know the truth. People would know that I was an exotic dancer and we might lose some friendships. I began to experiment with telling strangers. When they asked me what I did for a living, I no longer lied. I told them flat out: “I am a dancer. I dance at The Cheetah in Atlanta.” I was surprised by people’s reactions. Maybe they were just being polite or trying not to be judgmental, but for the most part, everyone treated me with kindness. Section 3….pg 221 Even if you are not a person of faith, you have to admit that unforgiving people are hard to be around. Nothing is sadder than a bitter person bent on revenge. Maybe because I was always so aware of my own shortcomings, I've always understood the need for forgiveness for the "forgiver" and for the forgiven. The truth is, I was always so eager to please others most of my life, that I could never stay mad at anyone long enough to have to work too hard at forgiving anyone. I will confess, I did have to pray to find forgiveness for the man who abused me, but I thankfully never had to really struggle with deep bitterness towards him. Instead, I chose to concentrate on the positive and though he was not a good father, he had given me the 3 best gifts I could ever ask for: my children. Anything after that was pure gravy. I was just glad to be free of his reign over me and to be free of him.