Chapter Three
A Place Called Paintsville
In 1986, Mom and Dad bought a house in Paintsville, Kentucky.
The house sat on a beautiful piece of property with a large field beside it and mountains rising behind it. To my brother Calvin and me, it was paradise.
We explored every inch of that property. Behind our house was a mountain, and on the other side we found a small pond. We'd grab our fishing poles, catch bluegill, and proudly carry them home. Mom would fry them for supper, and somehow they always tasted better because we'd caught them ourselves.
Just over the hill was the 201 Speedway. On race nights, the engines echoed through the mountains and became part of the soundtrack of our evenings.
One afternoon, Dad decided it was time for my first driving lesson. Looking back, I know I was much too young. He drove the car into the big field, showed me the brake and gas, and made sure I buckled my seat belt.
When he told me to go, I slammed my foot down on the gas. The car took off across the field.
“Hit the brakes! Hit the brakes!” Dad yelled.
I finally stomped on the brake. When the car stopped, there was a tree standing right in front of us.
Dad looked over at me. “Get out. You're not driving anymore.”
That was the beginning and end of my first driving lesson.
When school started, Calvin and I were the new kids. We didn't know anyone and had no family there other than Mom and Dad. But we settled in quickly, made friends, and before long Paintsville felt like home.
As a child, I was shy and loved being around my family and friends. I was more of a tomboy then, happiest outside exploring, fishing, and getting dirty without thinking twice about it.
That changed around thirteen. Somewhere along the way, the tomboy in me turned into a full-blown prissy girl. I started caring more about clothes, hair, and looking nice. Underneath it all, though, I was still the same shy Kentucky girl.
At the time, I thought life would always be that simple.
I had no way of knowing how much Paintsville would shape me.