A beautiful gown can make any young girl feel like Cinderella, but when you are a seven year old tomboy, a dress shop is the last place you want to spend an entire
Saturday. As mom is telling me that this dress will be the one that I wear on one of the most memorable days of my young life, I’m just picturing playing on the big dirt pile across the street in the back of my mind. “This is so unfair,” is one of the phrases I have used many times today, but I still can not get my way until we find the “perfect” dress.

A month has past, since the dress store incident, and the day is finally here. All of my cousins that I never get to see are at my house, but I’m in this dull salon getting my hair fixed. Why do I have to do this? Nobody cares about what I look like! This is my mom’s wedding day and I am happy for her, but why does she have to torture everybody just so every thing will be so beautiful? These were the thoughts going through my mind as I’m sitting in a room under a hair dryer while all of my mom’s closest friends act extremely feminine.

As the day progressed I began to enjoy spending time doing “girly” stuff with my mom. “Maybe this isn’t so bad,” I told my mom as we started to take pictures as a group. I have finally gotten the hang of being the one in the dress instead of the jeans and dirty T-shirt, but when Nicholas, the closest cousin to my age, screams “Tag you’re it!” I couldn’t resist. I begin running after him with all the effort I have. I don’t see the potted plant in my way, and with a big scream I fall face first onto the concrete in my grandmother’s garage.

The well-pronounced cut on my face helps me walk down the isle with pride. None of the bridesmaids have this badge of courage on their face. The fact that I had lost a game of tag is eating me up inside, but as I slowing throw pedals I realize that today is more important than tag or getting all muddy. My life is about to change along with my name and I am very nervous. From this day on the teacher will not say Megan Butler during roll call; it will now be Megan Clark that I answer to. I am confused as to weather I should feel joyful or gloomy about this occasion. As I approach the man that is about to be my new father, I think that this is going to be a happy moment in my life because Mr. Trent is actually a pleasant guy.

Looking bay on the experience that made such a drastic change in my life, I think that I should have cherished that day more than I actually did. Some where down the line this man became more than the guy’s name that I am blessed with. Mr. Trent is my father in every meaning of the word. He has been the person who has sat threw dance recitals, softball games, and will one day walk me down the same isle that the seven year old version of me once walked.