That August, Eddie called me from Sturgis, South Dakota, where he was spending the week with a few buddies at the Harley motorcycle rally. “Throw a few things together, and I’ll fly you out tomorrow morning so you can join me,” he pleaded. “Eddie,” I protested, “I have kids to think about and a job I love. I can’t just leave on the spur of the moment.” The loneliness in his voice startled me. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Every guy here has his girlfriend along except me,” he pouted, “and when I wasn’t looking, someone put a teddy bear on the back of my bike … and that made me think of you.” Well, I thought, the infallible player has finally met his match! Then he surprised me again by suggesting I move in with him when he returned. “Just get some stuff and stay at the house for a while and see how it goes,” he said. “I can even decorate the spare bedrooms to make them more … well, more girlie.” I told him I’d think about it.
And for a few weeks, that’s all I did. In the meantime, Pat called around mid-August, wanting to stop by so he could take Demi shopping for a birthday present. Her fourth birthday was just days away. “She’d love that,” I said, suggesting he stop by later that day. They left and quickly returned. Pat walked Demi to the doorstep, then hastily retreated to his car. “I got to go,” he shouted over his shoulder. As he drove away, Demi burst into tears. Apparently Pat had asked enough questions to figure out that I was dating someone else, and he wasn’t happy about it. In the months ahead, I’d learn just how angry he really was.
Shocked and frustrated, I called Eddie in tears. “Bring the kids over to my house right now,” he insisted. “I’ll throw Demi a party!” And he did. By the time we showed up, Eddie was standing there with a silly grin on his face, a bouquet of Barbie dolls in his arms, and a party hat on his head. Lisa was there, too, holding a cake. It was one of the sweetest gestures anyone had ever done for us, and I knew right then that we had turned a big corner in our relationship. After all, how many bachelors drop what they’re doing to run to Toys“R”Us and shop for Barbies?
After that, I started spending more and more time over at Eddie’s, but I still refused to give up my apartment. “My goldfish lives there!” I exclaimed, as though a bite-size piece of orange sushi stood in my way. “I’ll move in when it dies.” We were a bit like Lucy and Ricky Ricardo in those days. I’d stay with Eddie for a bit, only to run back to my apartment every time we had a fight. Then I’d sit by the phone waiting for him to call and apologize so I could run back over. Our relationship was so different from my previous one that I had trouble sorting through all my emotions. And wouldn’t you know it, that little goldfish was like the Energizer Bunny—it kept going and going! By late October, I finally turned off the electricity, picked up my goldfish, and moved in for good.
And that’s when our family compass started pointing in a whole new direction.
The Colleyville Years
OCTOBER 1996 TO JULY 2008
“Love will find a way, anywhere we go…”
—“LOVE WILL FIND A WAY” BY TOM SNOW AND JACK FELDMAN
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Eddie was my knight in shining armor. I had been a single mom with two kids living in the ghetto, and he came along and took us all in, giving us a new life.”
Moving in with Eddie was like winning the lottery. I had never felt so lucky. If my life were a movie, it’s the scene where I’d cue the angels to sing in the background. Really, it was that magical. But if you’ve never struggled to pay your bills or tried to break free from negative patterns, you probably can’t appreciate how powerful an influx of love and financial stability can be. It was like entering my own fairy tale. I wanted to bottle up all that positive energy and keep it with me for the rest of my life.
It’s no surprise that Colleyville became my “safe place.” For starters, we were no longer confined to a two-bedroom apartment. Instead, we roamed about Eddie’s four-bedroom house like it was our castle. Though “playground” might be a better word. Within days, the one-time bachelor’s pool table became a tent for the girls to hide under and the double staircase in the middle of the house was transformed into a giant slide, perfect for anyone brave enough to ride the bumps in a sleeping bag. Kool-Aid and chocolate-milk stains started sprouting on the white carpet, while crayon marks dotted the walls. Eddie accepted every change with grace and humor. Well, almost. He wasn’t exactly calm when he learned about a hole I had made in one of the solid wood beams running across the formal dining room ceiling because I wanted to hang a piñata for someone’s birthday! But not even that could interfere with the strong bonds that held us together. When I reminded him of a question that I had posed years before about why a bachelor like him would live in such a large house, he grinned and said, “I built it for the day when I’d have a family just like this one.”
Not exactly wealthy, the girls and I felt rich in so many ways. We waved good-bye to our secondhand clothes and bought preppy new outfits. We went to the beauty parlor for decent haircuts and splurged on trips to the movies. On Christmas morning, the girls got their first bikes to ride through our safe, new neighborhood. It was as if that “perfect life” I had always dreamed of had suddenly materialized. I didn’t have plans to quit my job, but I was grateful, just the same, that Eddie so willingly wanted to take care of us.
I certainly didn’t marry Eddie for his money, though. What was most attractive to me was his brain. I loved that he was smart. Being handsome, as well as sensitive and ambitious, was an added bonus. One of my greatest joys was, and still is, having intelligent conversations together. It reassured me that no matter what came along in our lives, he could figure it out because he was that smart. Little did I know that we’d have so much to figure out as the girls got older. Of course, I also thought that our safe and perfect life in Colleyville would last forever.
* * *
One of the first hiccups we encountered happened shortly after we moved in. Wanting to “give Dallas her own space,” Eddie cleaned out the spare bedroom and brought in a set of white wicker furniture. But Dallas refused to sleep there, telling us the room was haunted. Although Eddie and I had suspected as much, we never shared our suspicions with the kids. As stranger and stranger things started to happen, we couldn’t deny it any longer.
One morning, the kids and I searched high and low for a specific pair of Eddie’s socks, turning every one of his drawers inside out, only to find those very socks an hour later, neatly folded and lying on his bed. Another time I was awakened at 2:00 a.m. by something licking my hand. Startled, I awoke to see Trump, our black cocker spaniel, gnawing at my fingers, which wouldn’t have been so strange, except he was an outside dog. Every evening I’d check on him before bed and lock the door behind me. Then there was the morning I awoke to find my downstairs bathroom sparkling clean after I had told myself the night before that the mess could wait until morning—and I was the only one in the house all night! But it was the voice wafting from the closet between Dallas’s and Demi’s rooms that set all our nerves on edge.
One afternoon, Demi finally identified our mysterious houseguest. I was in the kitchen sorting through some newly purchased picture frames when Demi passed by. Inside each frame, there was a typical generic photo, but one in particular caught Demi’s eye. “Oh, that’s Emily,” she said, staring at the black-and-white photo of a young pioneer-looking girl wearing a long dress, button-up boots, and a hat. “I see her upstairs in Dallas’s room sometimes,” she added.
Her words made the hair on my arms stand on end. It certainly was all a bit freaky, especially after we learned that our house sat on a piece of land that was once part of the Trail of Tears, but we gradually got used to Emily’s presence. After all, it’s hard to get upset with a ghost who pitches in to do chores! In time, we even enjoyed sharing our ghost stories with visitors, but no one ever did volunteer to spend the night in that bedroom with the cute, white wicker furniture. Not Dallas, not Demi, and not even Madison when she came along.
Pe
rhaps it was the ghost who poked our spiritual curiosity, because shortly after accepting Emily’s presence among us, the girls started begging to go to Fellowship Church again. Since the church had expanded and moved closer to us, I agreed to take them. Pastor Ed Young was so popular that he often spoke at four different services to accommodate the crowds who wanted to hear him. It was easy to understand why. “We had so much fun,” the girls shouted after every trip. I had to admit, I loved the place as well.
Although I had never stopped believing in God through the years, going to church hadn’t been a priority. Even after discovering Fellowship Church, I couldn’t seem to go consistently. Mostly, it was because I felt I couldn’t live up to God’s standards. If all those fiery sermons in my youth had taught me anything at all, it was that one sin or one bad thought would send me straight to hell. And who needs to be reminded of that? But my perspective slowly started to change. With all the love I felt at home and at church, I started to think about rededicating my life to a spiritual path. Before making a commitment, though, I decided to take membership classes to find out more about the church’s beliefs.
One Sunday morning, listening to their teachings, I heard the most amazing words: “You don’t have to be perfect to please God.” What? I don’t have to be perfect? My mind reeled. As I listened some more, I began to realize that I wasn’t a failure in God’s eyes, because everyone sins. Everybody does wrong. It’s part of being human. And that’s when I decided it was time to invite Jesus back into my heart. So I prayed the Sinner’s Prayer, just like I had years ago, but with a new understanding of what it meant, knowing this time I wasn’t backing out of the deal. It was time to deepen my relationship with God.
Funny thing was, it also deepened my relationship with my girls. Riding in the car one afternoon, Dallas, Demi, and I decided it was time for the three of us to get baptized together. A few weeks later, standing single file and squinting in the bright sunlight, we waited for our turn to be immersed in the pool behind Fellowship Church. A few relatives—Eddie; his sister, Debi; and her daughter, Bryanna; as well as my sister-in-law, Kerissa; and our cousins, Aris and Braeden—watched from the crowd around us. As we neared the water, the girls started giggling with excitement. I smiled and reached to squeeze their hands. Then—whoosh—it happened. The Holy Spirit’s presence was upon me. In a rush of God’s glory, I felt like an army of angels suddenly wrapped their arms around me.
That day would mark the start of a spiritual awakening in each of us that would continue to deepen over the years in surprising ways. But on that day, I was simply happy to be part of a vibrant faith community. It felt good to be going to church again.
* * *
Life was changing in other ways, too. As Christmas season approached, the girls and I were sailing down the highway when we heard about a contest sponsored by a local radio station. “Give us your best imitation of Elmo’s laugh,” the radio announcer urged, “and the winner gets a Tickle Me Elmo doll!” Considering not a single store could keep the toy in stock, we decided to give it a try. We drove to the designated parking lot at a local mall where a large tent had been erected and the station’s bus was parked. As a small crowd of shoppers gathered to watch, Demi stepped up to the microphone and gave it her best shot, throwing off a deep, hearty laugh. A few onlookers nodded in approval, but it was Dallas who nailed it. When it was her turn, she stood in front of the crowd, composed and confident. Before starting, she took a deep breath and paused to look at everyone. When Dallas opened her mouth, a trail of high-pitched syllables flowed out that trembled and vibrated like a silly monkey trying to attract attention. It went on and on, earning the coveted prize. “We have a winner!” the radio host shouted as people applauded. The thrill of it all triggered something inside of us.
Later, as the girls were watching Nickelodeon, the station announced an interesting challenge: Create a character and present it at an open audition. The temptation was too much. Both girls went to work, writing sketches and practicing. Although nothing came of the audition, neither wanted to stop trying. They had caught the audition bug.
When an open audition for Barney & Friends was advertised that summer in the Dallas Morning News, Dallas insisted we go. “Remember how much fun we had a few years ago at the Little Rascals audition?” she squealed. And I did. Dallas had thought she’d make the perfect Darla. Of course, so did I. And she nearly got the part; at least that’s how we saw it. She earned a callback on that first try, and the young boy standing next to us—one with hair so thickly gelled that it stood straight up in the air—actually landed the role of Alfalfa. “It’s a sign,” I said. “Good things are on the horizon.” That flurry of hope was once again stirring, telling me that my baby was going to be a star.
The one prerequisite for the Barney audition was a mandatory age of six, because reading was required. Dallas was nine, so that wasn’t a problem, but Demi was only five. Because she was going to have to spend the day with us anyway, I figured Demi should try out, too. “It’ll be good experience,” I told her. “And if someone asks, just tell them you’re six.” Besides, the initial audition wouldn’t involve scripts.
The hours before an audition were always the same—rising early, ironing outfits, fixing hair, and adding the right accessories for that “cute factor.” In our case, that usually meant brightly colored bows in the girls’ hair. Our number-one priority was always to arrive early so we wouldn’t have to wilt in the Texas sun, but the line at KD Studio that morning was already long when we got there. Even so, it was thrilling to stand with thousands of others hoping for a chance to be discovered. It would be a Cinderella story if it happened, and we were eager to give it a try.
Once the girls were handed numbers, the butterflies set in. Fear, nervousness, and excitement rattled around inside us, making us as giddy as kids on Christmas morning. As the line slowly inched forward, we dreamed out loud about landing a part, which got Dallas so excited that she couldn’t stand still. Please God, I prayed, if she’s ready, let her get the part. When someone finally called their names, my girls went running. Always the cheerleader, I shouted after them, “You can do it! I know you can!”
Dallas later told me that she refused to be separated from her sister. “We played charades a lot,” she said, “like, pretend your dog is on a leash and it just got loose or act like your best friend just invited you to a sleepover.” It was a way to spot the kids with big personalities and lots of self-confidence. Then, one by one, each girl entered a room and sang “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” By the time my girls came back outside, they were exhausted, but they still managed to talk nonstop the whole way home. Oh, how I hoped that we’d hear something positive.
About a week later, the phone rang. Dallas’s eyes grew wide and her hands started to shake. But it was Demi they were interested in.
“Oh, my,” I said. “What do we do now?”
Dallas, who had started to worry that she was too old to appear on Barney without getting teased by her classmates, looked relieved. She also knew the next phase would involve a script. “Let me work with Demi,” she begged. “I’ll get her ready.”
Looking back, I can see it was the first glimmer of Dallas’s true passion, which is coaching. Dallas worked with Demi for days, creating a series of emoji-like characters that helped Demi remember her lines. When we returned for the second audition at Las Colinas Studios between Dallas and Fort Worth, we were starstruck to see the giant sneaker on the lot that had been used for the 1992 comedy Honey, I Blew Up the Kid.
Things started off well as Demi rattled off her part like a pro, but when new lines were tossed into the mix, the judges quickly caught on and dismissed her. The ride home was rather quiet, except for one comment that made my heart soar. “I want to keep doing this,” Demi stated rather boldly, which prompted Dallas to chime in, “Me, too!”
I was happy to oblige.
* * *
“Dianna? You there? Pick up the damn phone,” Pat ranted on the mes
sage machine. His explosive tirades never ended without a string of obscenities. “Bitch … whore … slut…” The list was endless, and the longer it went on, the uglier it got. Pat’s contact with me came in spurts. Sometimes he’d call every few days, sometimes every few months. The downward spiral of his attitude seemed to stem from my decision to move in with Eddie. Would the madness ever end? I wondered. The uncertainty of when and where he’d let loose rattled my nerves.
Shortly after celebrating our first Christmas together, Eddie and I went out one evening after asking Jenna, who was like an older sister to our girls, to come over and babysit. Halfway through our meal, she called. “I answered the phone, and it was Pat,” she rambled. “He screamed at us and said he’s coming over to get his kids. I don’t know what to do!”
“Not while we’re not there,” I exclaimed, telling her to take the girls to an upstairs bedroom. “Pretend like you’re not there—lock every door, every window, and turn off the lights.”
By the time we got home, Jenna was trembling. “We were upstairs, and Dallas was able to peek through a window and see him,” she said. “He was pounding on the door and yelling all kinds of garbage, like ‘I know you’re in there’ and ‘I have a right to see you.’ Then he got really mad and yanked the Christmas wreath off the front door and threw it in the yard.”
Apparently, Pat stormed back and forth across our property, cussing and screaming, until he finally got back in his Trans Am and peeled out of the driveway, leaving tire marks on the concrete driveway that are still visible today. It was behavior that would continue off and on for years. It was clear that although I had left Pat and had an official divorce, he wasn’t out of my life. And that meant I wasn’t out of danger and neither were my kids. Over time, our contact with each other became less frequent because it was the only way I could protect my family from his volatile behavior.
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