In honor of the religious holiday, the YA Indie Carnival sponsors are showcasing St. Patrick's Day excerpts.
As the parents of two beautiful strawberry blond-haired kids, my husband and I celebrate this holiday with a vengeance. In fact, we've all come to think of the day as one celebrating their most unique traits: stunning porcelain skin, light-catching copper highlights, and enviable sprinklings of freckles. My husband and I - who have dark-brown hair - still can't believe our luck (times two) and celebrate our good fortune by treating St. Patrick's Day like it's a March Valentine's Day. We shower our children with love for the Irish embedded deep within their genes and their souls.
Now, I can't say I have any sort of excerpts related to luck, but I do have those detailing the traditionally Irish physical characteristics of the heroine of The Warrior Series. Allison La Crosse's every trait was created to make sure my daughter - fourteen at the time - understood her looks were those of the gifted and special, and they should be preserved rather than hidden or covered up. My daughter just turned eighteen and - thankfully - she is very comfortable in her skin.
Enjoy the excerpt.
Rather than endure another reprimand, I kept my next round of thoughts to myself. I mulled over a few of the lifelong questions asked by friends and neighbors. Everyone always noticed I bore no resemblance to my siblings, parents, or relatives. As much as I hated to admit it, they were right.
Most of my physical traits were unique. Besides being distinct, they were puzzling because they were unheard of within the La Crosse or the Etue Families. I know this because my regular searches throughout the last one hundred years of my Indian and Cajun family ancestors have come up empty.
At 5’ 11’, I had grown taller than any woman in my immediate or extended family. The only visible quality shared with my sisters was the hour-glass shape and strong arms and legs. My thick, straight, strawberry blonde mane was inimitable. And, no one known by my family had the same light colored and sparsely freckled skin as mine.
“Remember when we were little and played dress-up? It was so much fun to make believe that we were different people,” I blurted out unexpectedly.
“Yeah. You remember how we thought you were really a princess because of your birthmark. I used to envy you for havin’ that. It’s so lovely. I’m still convinced there is some reason you have it,” she confessed, smiling in a fond and faraway daze.
She was right. I had a blood red, raised birthmark in the shape of a cross within the soft trough below my right hipbone. Given my last name, La Crosse (the cross), its presence seemed more purposeful than coincidental. At times, I felt special for having such a significant symbol naturally tattooed on my body. Other times – like now – it throbbed like it was a living entity. Today, I could almost feel its beat speeding up the closer we got to Galveston. The less of a distance there was between me and the island the more aware I was of its existence.