Ask for What you Want..

 I grew up terrified to ask for what I wanted.
That's what spoiled, bad children did. Good children are grateful for everything they get and are only allowed to ask Santa for what they want once a year IF they are instructed to compose a letter to him by their parents. That's what I was taught. In school, at home, in church.

Church and religion class also taught me that it was better to be poor - a rich man had a harder time getting into heaven than a camel through the eye of a needle, etc. If I ever had a teacher I didn't like, it was my job to tough it out and be grateful I had any teacher at all. If my food was terrible ( and it often was growing up - money was TIGHT), I was to eat it anyway and be grateful. "There are children starving in Africa, Jennifer!" my father routinely barked at me.
"Well THEYcan have my food!" I thought, but didn't DARE say. I frequently imagined boxing up the dinner I was loathe to eat and sending it on a plane or a ship to some starving kids in Africa.

This lesson was pounded so successfully into my head as child, that I am beyond surprised (when I look back at things now) that that, along with a terrible fear of authority did not successfully trap me in Texas in some dead end job forever. Grateful for it, of course.

I don't really know where the little flare ups of rebellion came from. Starting as little sparks, then growing into bigger and bigger sources of energy. Maybe it started when my Grandmother took me to Broadway and showed me her secret ninja method of getting tickets to a sold out show. I was only 14 then. I had seen Patty LuPone sing 'Don't Cry for Me Argentina' on the Tony's, and after witnessing me weep and hearing me sing that song for days on end everywhere I could, she bought us a couple of tickets to New York.

At the Plaza Hotel, we asked the concierge if there were any tickets available for 'Evita'.
"Oh no, Madam." the concierge said wagging his head at us in the manner of talking down to silly Texas tourists who didn't have a clue. "It is sold out for MONTHS, Madam."
"Well, alright." my Grandmother said, clearly irritated with his attitude. "Come on. Let's go get changed for dinner, Jennifer." she then said briskly as she bustled my crestfallen face into the elevator.

At Sardi's, she said, "Well, if we just get a bowl of minestrone and some pie, we'll have plenty of time to walk over to the theatre."
I looked at her in disbelief. The thought briefly went through my mind the she might be losing hers. After all, it hadn't been that long ago that she had lost her husband and continued to talk to him every morning at breakfast. "Didn't you hear him, Granny?" I asked her gently, "It's sold out for months.We can't go."
My grandmothers eyes sparkled like  a million diamond firecrackers. "Well, we'll just see about that. He doesn't know everything - I have some tricks up my sleeve."
I sighed and shook my head a little, but I couldn't help smiling at her radiant spunk. I was grateful to be here. I LOVED getting soup and pie at Sardi's. If that's all we did the whole trip - I knew how lucky I was already. It seemed like WAY too much to ask to actually get into 'Evita', the show I was obsessed with beyond anything.

I followed my Grandmother over to the theatre and watched her negotiate with the young man in the box office. She looked so cute in her Chanel suit, but I could see the young man shake his head, 'No', even if I couldn't hear him. But Granny didn't seem disheartened one bit.
"I told him we'd be waiting right over here." she said confidently.
I was positive it was all for naught, but I was caught up in my own feelings of excitement to be this close to Patty LuPone, and biting envy of all of the dressed up people walking through those doors with tickets in their hands. Just when I thought the last person had gone through, the bells were ringing people into their seats, and we would have to go back the hotel - the young man waved us over.

My Grandmother turned to give me my ticket exuding happy triumph.
"Fourth row, center", she said, gleefully.
My jaw was on the ground!
 "What!? How did you..??"
"Come on. Let's get in our seats before the curtain goes up."

As we sat down in our fourth row center seats at my first Broadway show, I thought my heart would explode with happiness. I really did. It was the absolute highlight of my young life. I was so full of love and excitement and gratitude  to my amazing grandmother - I could hardly contain it.

She looked over at me as the orchestra started to play and patted my leg with her pretty, plump little hand. "Sometimes you've just got to ask for what you want, Jennifer." she said matter of factly. I looked at this little woman in awe. As far as I was concerned, she'd just pulled off a miracle.

She looked right into my saucer-sized eyes as if she were a great Ninja Master imparting the core of her secret wisdom.
 "Just remember to ask nicely. That never hurts."
The red, velvet curtains began to part. But before I could become completely engrossed in the magic  around me, I felt as if the curtains of my brain were parting and a great ray of golden light was pouring into it accompanied by the dramatic score of 'Evita'.

"Ask nicely." I whispered to myself.