My name is Sylvia Stan. I was born on October 31, 1964, in Arizona. My father was French with Romanian roots. My mother was American. I had an older brother named Nick. My father was a very strict and conservative man. I had behavioral and social problems from an early age: I had no friends, no boyfriend. My first love was the school bully George, but he didn’t pay attention to me at all because I had a completely ordinary unremarkable appearance.
I was plain girl with a thin, almost boyish figure and 5’4” tall. I had dark brown thick hair of medium length (I think this is due to my Romanian-Gypsy roots), brown eyes and a little pale skin because I did not like walking in the fresh air. As a child, I had no interest in studying, drawing, or music. The only thing I loved was collecting little shiny stones that I was founding on the street when I was coming home from school. And I couldn’t explain my strange craving for shiny objects in any way. There was something inexplicable and at the same time beautiful about it.
I wasn’t liked by the school teachers, so I had to change three schools during my whole education period. My grades at school were average, I wasn’t stupid, I was more of a lazy pupil. I graduated from high school in 1983, but I had no idea about choosing my future profession. My only favorite subject at school was physical education. I loved sports madly in high school. By nature, I was given the skills of agility, flexibility and fast running. So, in the summer of 1983 I plucked up the courage and went to my father. My goal was to inform him that I wanted to try myself in the profession of an aerobics coach or a physical education teacher. I had a huge hope that he would not mind and therefore would agree to it.
“Hey, Dad, I’ve decided who I’m going to be,” I said timidly.
“I know that too. You’re going to be a chemistry teacher,” Dad replied.
“But… Dad,” I said indignantly.
“Sylvia, you have to be an obedient girl. This is a wonderful profession! I wish you the best,” He replied in an insistent voice.
I knew my father’s strict nature too well, so I had to agree. It was a loss for me. It’s impossible to try your hand at a profession that you don’t like. But I had no way out of this situation. All the following days I was carefully studying the names of chemical elements, formulas and reaction chains under the watchful eye of my father.
I was praying to God for deliverance, and probably my prayers were answered. One evening, the phone rang in the living room. My father picked up the phone, listened to something with a serious expression on his face, said something like, “I’ll definitely come up with something,” hung up, then turned around and looked at me.
“Sylvia, your grandmother is seriously ill. She needs care. You should move in with her in Los Angeles,” He said.
I cannot describe the full scope of my emotions when I heard these words. It meant only one thing: I would get out from under the watchful and all-seeing eye of my father.
“Oh… yeah. But what about my college admission?” I diligently pretended to be interested in my education.
“It’s not a problem. You’re going to California College.”
My move to California was an unforgettable event. If you lived in Los Angeles, San Francisco or Sacramento in the 1980s, you should know what an amazing sight California was at that time. It was a magnificent combination of a riot of colors, palm trees, salty sea spray and fresh wind. On a sunny July morning, my father drove me to Los Angeles. The first thing I did in my new territory was to take a full breath of air. It was a completely different air; it was as if it was woven from freedom, recklessness and fun. I immediately wanted to go shopping, or even go to the beach. But besides the new freedom, I also had a new responsibility in the person of my grandmother.
My grandmother was 65 years old, and she was quite a cheerful old lady, but by the middle of the summer of 1983, she began to have health problems, and she needed help with the housework and care.
My father explained and told me about various medications, medical care and other similar things, and then took my things to the second floor of the house and left back to Arizona. And I was left alone with my grandmother. I really wanted to wander alone through the streets of California, so on the first day I left my grandmother unattended and went for a walk. I had so many plans, I wanted to find myself a huge number of friends, and then fall in love with some guy and run away with him to the end of the world. I didn’t have a single thought about studying in my head. I got home early in the morning. I was very tired, but happy, and I was also damn sleepy.
“Where have you been all night, honey? I was so worried about you. Los Angeles is such a big city with so many dangers,” Grandma asked me
“I was just taking a walk.”
“Oh, I’m just worried about you.”
“I have already realized that,” I replied.
“Оh… okay. What are we having for breakfast?” Suddenly Grandma asked.
I wasn’t prepared for such a question. I was too lazy to cook anything after such a long exhausting walk.
“Sorry, I didn’t cook anything, but I promise I’ll cook something tonight.”
Then I left the room, went to my room, collapsed on the bed and fell asleep. My grandmother remained hungry. The next morning I did make her applesauce. Even though it was a very meager breakfast, she was still very grateful.
In the days that followed, I was busy preparing for college. Yes, I still managed to do it. Despite the fact that my name was last on the list, and the result was one of the worst, I was still happy about it. It meant only one thing: I could stay in California longer.