The reinvention of Leah Marie Sadowski

I have never wanted to be me. Not for a split second. Not that living the glamorous life of a child from Minnesota isn't something that we all wouldn't have bragging rights to, but I have always had this sense that there was something that was missing. This isn't something I just came up with on the spur of a moment. On the contrary; the reinvention of Leah is an underground, progressive movement that has been around since the beginning.
I suppose the first sign of sickness was when I no longer wanted to be called by my name. Not the change from Leeeeeah to Leaaaaah but the change from Leah to Maria (make sure to roll a sufficient amount of 'R's' when pronouncing Marrrrrria). I was convinced that I was someone's lost Mexican child because I liked Taco Night so much. My people would come for me and we would eat Tacos every night and have a piñata for the dessert hour. It was all just a waiting game.
"Leah come over here and grate the cheese for the Tacos" my Mom would instruct.
Nothing; I would budge for nothing other than my Hispanic name.
"Maria come over here and grate the cheese…"my Mom would say with an ever slight tinge of disgust in her voice.
My eyes would light up. She was obviously in tune with my apparent Hispanic Heritage, I would think to myself.
Mom-0, Maria-1.
"Well a little too soft but overall I give it a B+!"
"Leah Marie Sadowski you grate that cheese and you grate it…NOWWWWW…"
Well, well, well. She could at least call me Leah MARIA. I imagine to myself that when my Mama and Papa came on the mule (that coincidently would look like Eeyore) to pick me up they would be so happy that I was so in tune with my heritage. They would then chastise my Minnesota family for not giving me the freedom to express my inner-self and for imposing slave labor cheese-grating on their poor lost chica. I wore my traditional Spanish dress every single day one summer just in case they showed up earlier than expected. It's so weird that they never did.

I gave up on my family in Mexico as I grew older. There were so many other possibilities of who I was and where I came from that could not be overlooked. It was a fortunate turn of events otherwise I would have never come to the conclusion that I was separated from my African Tribe. They knew about me, I decided, they just couldn't get to me yet. Why else would I be the only child out of four children in the family that had an African American Cabbage Patch Kid? Think about it. It only makes sense. My Minnesota family just wanted for me to feel comfortable with my heritage and the transition back to my tribe…whenever that was going to happen. I still blame my Minnesota family for moving to the suburbs during my high school years. They obviously threw my tribe off the trail.


High school years were sprinkled with a variety of reinventions: everything from the actress Leah whose name was none other than Venus Lopez to the days of singing into my hair brush as the amazing Mandy Lauper. You name it I did it.
I even had a vision that my calling was to be the next Pinky Tuscadaro—enter the moped era.

I imagined myself as an outlaw of some sort on my moped that cost a whopping 25 cents to fill. I would race circles around the high school yelling at everyone to save themselves. All dreams were tragically shattered when my Dad imposed the "bright yellow, open-faced helmet with white racing stripe" law. As an exceptionally short teenager I met and knew the bullies pretty well. Chrissy Zanabowski once offered up a knuckle sandwich for my homework and the yellow helmet; in return I had to offer up arms and teeth. Luckily for the open faced helmet I could take a couple of chomps out her arm while she swung me around the parking lot by my chin strap. Not until that exact moment did I understand the importance of an open-faced crash helmet.

I never quit chasing the idle dreams of reinvention of Leah the Great or finding out the reason why I've been told that I am a "dog of my own trot".

I moved across the country with $100 dollars, a lot of ramen noodles and the hopes of a better life. I posed as an athlete, a Game Show Contestant and an ESPN Dog Trainer although I've never owned a dog that knew how to fetch. I even passed myself off as a college graduate that could do algebra. Boy did I fool them. Who knows what the next reinvention could be—I am actually leaving this next one up to the reinvention Gods. Apparently my "gut feelings" have not been as intuitive as I had hoped. The ironic part is that my Minnesota family still seems to claim me as one of their own. Looking back I think they deserve a medal of some sort for not killing me. Leah was a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to live there. Through all the trials and tribulations I thank my dear parents for the exceptional Taco Nights, the African American Cabbage Patch Kid and of course for imposed crash-helmet laws. I will still love them as my own—even when my tribe comes a knocking.

xoxo

lms