Shirley Temple was born April 23, 1928. I was born January 11, 1928. That makes me older than that pint-sized movie star. Hold onto that thought and backtrack a bit. Popular names come and go. Shirley was a popular name for girls and boys, too, at the time. I went to school in Joliet, Illinois with four other Shirley's in my class. I even dated a guy named Shirley. He preferred to be called Bill.

Where am I going with this? I am glad you asked. Growing up, whenever I met an adult, the first thing they would gush is “Oh, you were named after Shirley Temple. How sweet.” No, I wasn't named after Shirley Temple. I was born before she was and I'm not sweet.

Let's compare the two of us. She had beautiful Shirley Temple curls. That's what they called her hairstyle. She had lovely thick lustrous blonde hair framing her beautiful face. My hair at the time was thin, painfully straight and mousy colored. She had sparkling eyes. I had an astigmatism and saw double some of the time. She could dance. I couldn't put one foot in front of the other without tripping. She could sing. My bucket had a hole in it. I usually mouthed the words so as not to throw everyone else off-key. To add insult to injury, I wasn't pretty. I looked like my dad. My mother was pretty.

I loved paper dolls. Every Christmas my brothers would decapitate my dolly and pull off her arms. Who wants to play with a headless, armless dolly? I turned to paper dolls in desperation. I would use my school scissors (with blunt points) to carefully cut out her and her paper clothes. Usually the only paper dolls Mother would buy were Shirley Temple paper dolls. They were so popular back in the day.

I developed an intense dislike for goldy-locks. Being compared to her at every turn did nothing for my self-esteem. However, I got even. Could she run as fast as me? Probably not. Could she climb a tree? Probably not. Could she beat up her siblings. I could and often did. I said I wasn't sweet.

Here I am at 90. My mousy thin hair has turned a forgivable grey. I walk with a rollator when out and about. (I wall-walk at home.) When I was saved, our Lord took away from me the need for makeup. So I'm really plain. It has been said that even an old barn looks better with paint. I don't think so. I like the rustic look. I still can't sing, and yes, look more and more like my dad every day.

Am I bitter? It sounds like I am, but not so. I learned to excel in other directions. I could lay a respectable looking stone wall. I could build most anything out of wood. I can still write a decent poem, sometimes. Best of all, I can cook and make quilts. So there! Shirley Temple. Curl your hair around that. I now like me.