The Stars were aligned with Mars

October 31, 2008 at 10:30 pm (Slice of Life Sunday, Sunday Scribblings, Writer's Island)
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This is an interesting week. The story I wrote for Slice of Life Sunday is also perfect for Writer’s Island and Sunday Scribblings. Writer’s Island prompt this week is “Mysterious,” with Sunday Scribblings offering “Scandalous,”  and Slice of Life Sunday featuring ”What was I thinking?.”

 

 

 

The Stars were aligned with Mars

For most of my life I have been a true Virgo. Although I have never put much stock in astrology, and I rarely check my horoscope, I would have to admit that I do possess the traits, from one degree to another, assigned to this sixth sign in the Zodiac: analytical, critical, insightful, precise, meticulous, orderly, methodical, practical, pragmatic, intelligent, inquiring, responsible, reliable, perfectionist, shrewd, witty, clever, conservative, conventional, polite, well-mannered, hygienic, reserved, cool, undemonstrative. No one who has known me for very long would ever assign adventurous, risk-taking, or spontaneous to my personality traits. But, I do have a period of time in my life when these alien traits mysteriously took over my body and I did something that my family and friends still to this day shake their heads in disbelief. The common consensus is I was either possessed by some unnatural force or temporarily lost my mind. I guess it was a little of both which led me to become the talk of the family.

It all began innocently enough during an online trivia game. I would come home after working a full day, make dinner for dad, perform my ritual cleaning duties I had assigned to each day of the week, take my evening shower, and settle in for the evening by playing a game of trivia on the computer. I liked this particular site because it was easy to participate and provided challenging list-type questions which many people could answer during the 60 seconds allowed. The challenging part was being the first to type in an answer that was on the list in order to obtain the point value assigned to the answer. More than one answer could be typed in, thus giving more of an opportunity to earn points. The questions were broad based so almost anyone could play. Once everyone had typed in their answer to a question, then we would have a few minutes to chat while the game tallied up the points. During these chat periods, people could either chat publicly on the main site or retreat to a private room for a personal conversation. I, being conservative and knowledgeable enough to know better, declined invitations for private chats. I just wanted to play trivia and not get involved in a silly online romance. I was actually pretty good at playing the trivia game and consistently gave one or more of the ten possible answers in which points could be earned. Being a human resource manager, I spent a large part of my day typing, so I had a major advantage over the average player. I could type in three answers before they could hunt and peck their way through one. Then came the evening when I mixed up the title to a song.

The question was, “Can you name a Jimmy Buffet song?” I immediately typed in Brown Eyed Girl, Son of a Sailor, and Hamburger in Heaven. During the chat period that followed, “Jackhammer” made a public comment to me, “LOL Cricket, don’t you mean Cheeseburger in Paradise?”  Of course he was right and his comment was followed by many other LOL’s. This began our online routine of meeting each evening to play trivia and chat. A few weeks passed and I accepted his invitation to chat in private. I learned he was both divorced and then widowed, a father of two married daughters, and a grandfather of two. He was employed as a truck driver for a local trailer factory in Elkhart, Indiana. A few more weeks passed and he gave me his phone number because I was being cautious and did not want to give him mine. A few more weeks of telephone conversations passed and I agreed to meet him. He wanted to come to Ohio but I decided I wanted to control the situation and said I would meet him. Using my analytical nature, I figured it would be safer if he did not know where I lived. I agreed to meet him at a restaurant on a Saturday evening in his hometown. I told him I would have to make a phone call every hour on the hour to my best friend who was against my meeting a complete stranger in another state by myself.  She was then going to call my son, who was also against the meeting, and who also had the name and phone number of the restaurant and the local police department in case I missed one hourly check-in call. Yes, Harvey, aka Jackhammer, thought I had all my bases covered. Of course, the truth was no one knew I was playing trivia online let alone planning on driving four and half hours to meet a total stranger.  What was I thinking?

I kept asking myself this question throughout the long drive to Elkhart. I had seen many news stories relating the demise of innocent, and dumb, women who had done what I was about to do.  “Are you crazy?” I asked myself, but I continued to drive. Looking back on this adventurous (?) time in my life, I now see where my lonely and monotonous routine of being a forty-seven year old divorced mother of two adult children with four grandchildren taking care of her aging father while working a non-challenging job with the highlight of my week being a night out with my best friend to play pool at the local watering hole led me into a mid-life crisis. My options for finding someone to spend my golden years with were very limited in the rural area where I lived. I wanted something more. I needed something more.  It was past time for me to take a chance, to think out of the box, to do something completely out of character. So I did.

I pulled into a parking space at the designated restaurant and sat in my car. I had just decided this was a mistake and started to put the key back into the ignition when there was a knock on my window. I looked up to find a man standing beside my car visibly shaking and sweating profusely. “You must be Cricket. I noticed your Ohio license plates.” he said through the glass of my window.  I slowly shook my head yes as I rolled down the window. “Are you Harvey?” I asked, hoping he was a lookout friend who was going to tell me Harvey couldn’t make it. Now, I want to say I have never been one to judge a book by its cover, but the man standing before me was not even remotely close to what I had pictured from our conversations.  He was sort of a John Candy look-alike but with really bad hair, very thick glasses, polyester pants, and really bad teeth.  And, as I said, sweating profusely. “Here, let me get your door.” he offered, as he pulled up on the door handle, but it was locked. “Oh my God, not in a million years. Start the car and get out of here.” I thought to myself. But, being polite by nature, I unlocked the door and walked into the restaurant with him.

Once seated, he apologized for being so nervous. The waitress took our order and then he said he had a confession to make.  It seems his best friend had decided to “check me out” and was actually sitting at a table across the room. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have her join us.” then he waved at her to move to our table. Sherry, and her son, reluctantly picked up their plates and moved to our table.  Introductions were made and we settled in to an awkward silence. Sherry finally said her ex-husband was from Ohio and asked if I had ever heard of Holmes County.  I was astonished and replied that was where I lived. As it turned out, her ex-husband was a friend of my ex-husband, and in fact had lived with us for a brief time with his first wife.  We laughed at what a small world it really was and everyone became more comfortable. An hour soon passed and Harvey reminded me I needed to make a phone call. “I wouldn’t want the cops to come bursting in here. “ he laughed. I got up and went in search of a pay phone to make a pretend call. I made two more such calls before Sherry announced she needed to go. I was sorry to see her leave as we had made an instant connection and she helped the evening to be one of enjoyment instead of what would have been a classic bad blind date.

Just before she left, Harvey had excused himself and Sherry took the opportunity to say, “I hope you will give Harvey a chance. I can see you are questioning whether you want to continue any kind of relationship with him. And I guess that is understandable. You are attractive, obviously successful in a professional career, and very sure of yourself. Harvey is none of those. But, I can tell you he is a wonderful person who has lived through a very difficult life. And he has you up on a pedestal. He has talked nonstop about you for months and now, that he has met you, I can see he is hooked. If you decide you don’t want a romantic relationship with him, I hope you let him down easy.”

By the time Harvey returned, Sherry and her son had left. We talked a few minutes then Harvey suggested we go for a drive so he could show me Elkhart. To be honest, my initial thought was to decline. This was not due to my being afraid to be alone with him, but more because I knew I would not be entering into a relationship with him. But, for a reason I will never understand, I said yes. We drove around for over an hour talking mostly about his life. He had been abandoned as a baby along side of a road. He then endured seven years in various foster homes before being placed in a home for boys, where he stayed until he turned eighteen. He married shortly after leaving the boy’s home due to an unplanned pregnancy. He and his first wife had two daughters and one son who died from crib death. Their marriage ended in a very nasty divorce. He met his second wife several years later and they were married after only knowing each other two months. They were married over 15 years before she died of cancer. We returned to the restaurant after our drive and I said my goodbyes with a promise to call him the next day once I arrived back in Ohio.  I checked into a motel for the night and spent the remainder of the evening thinking about how sorry I felt for him. The next morning he was parked by my car and offered to take me for breakfast.  He admitted he had followed me to the hotel and had actually gotten a room two doors down from mine because, “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” We spent the entire day together, but this time we talked about my life. Three months later we married despite protests from my best friend and my family.

I would like to report our marriage was one for the record books of successful marriages began while meeting on the internet. But it wasn’t. I married Harvey for all the wrong reasons. Sherry was right. He had not only put me on a pedestal, but worshiped the ground I walked on. He was extremely romantic and I had never received so many flowers delivered to my office in my life. My shattered ego from my first marriage absorbed the attention like a sponge. My best friend tried to warn me all this attention would eventually suffocate me. I had seen warning signs during our brief courtship but chose to ignore them. When I said “I do” on our wedding day, I knew I didn’t love him. But I did know he loved me and I thought that would be enough. I did care about him and wanted to make his a better life because he loved me.  And, I will have to admit the sex was great. We spent the next four years trying to smooth out the edges of a rocky marriage. He was a pathological liar, a very bad gambler, extremely jealous, a bit on the lazy side, and very messy. Definitely not a marriage made in heaven or even by the stars.

Mid-life crisis affects people in many ways. I should have bought a red Corvette and saved us both a lot of heartache.

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The Ghost of Aunt Sarie

October 26, 2008 at 2:05 am (Slice of Life Sunday, Writer's Island)
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It is not often I write a story that falls into a couple of writing prompts, but this is an exception. Writer’s Island has “breaking 

through” as this week’s prompt. Slice of Life Sunday features “No Stone Unturned,” which my story was orginally written for. I’m not going to say I believe in ghosts, but I leave my options open at the end of this slice of my life.

So many wonderful writing blogs to choose from. I am hoping to get a story done for Sunday Scribbings this week also once I decide what to “brag” about. 

 

The Ghost of Aunt Sarie

 

Aunt Sarie was 99 years old when she died in my grandma’s living room on August 12, 1959. She came to live with grandma at the beginning of summer following the death of her only spinster daughter. I went to live with grandma for the summer the weekend after school let out in early June, as always. I was sitting on the front porch when a sheriff’s car pulled into the driveway. I ran to the backyard to tell grandma a policeman was in our yard. “Oh, that’s probably Aunt Sarie. Her daughter died a few weeks back and she has no one to look after her. Poor old soul, she’s in such bad shape.”

Aunt Sarie was my grandma’s great-aunt and my grandma was her sole living relative. She was very ill and spent her days confined to a wheelchair or the twin bed placed in the living room for her. I can’t recall her actually speaking words, but only making humming sounds. I was given the job of looking after Aunt Sarie when grandma had outside chores. It was a very easy job as Aunt Sarie never tried to move without grandma’s help, just only sat in the wheelchair or laid in the bed. In the beginning, I was kind of afraid of her because she was so silent and still, and white, and very, very wrinkled.

Aunt Sarie always wore nightgowns and towels for a diaper. I would peek around the door from the kitchen when grandma was changing her and hold my hand over my mouth so grandma wouldn’t hear my giggles. Of course one time she did hear me and I had to stand in a corner for disrespecting my elders. “It is not nice to make fun of old people.” Grandma said. “Aunt Sarie can’t help the shape she is in. It is my honor and privilege to take care of her. Maybe someday someone will need to take care of me when I am old. It would really hurt my feelings if some little whipper snapper laughed at how bad off I was.”

For the next two months, I spent my time watching Aunt Sarie by reading to her and coloring in a coloring book. She liked seeing my pictures and would make her humming sound with a funny looking smile. Grandma taught me how to feed her and I would feed her lunch each day. I was getting used to the very slight movements she made which signaled she needed a drink or wanted to be pushed outside on the front porch. We were getting along very well, that is, until my sister Toupey came on Sunday, August 9.

My sister took an instant disliking to Aunt Sarie, mostly because so much of everyone’s time had to be devoted to her, instead of Toupey. As soon as grandma would go outside to do her chores, Toupey would start making fun of Aunt Sarie and giving me a hard time because I wouldn’t go outside to play with her. Grandma knew better than to trust Toupey to look after Aunt Sarie, which only increased my sister’s dislike for the frail little woman. Looking back, I guess grandma and I both should have known a time would come when Toupey would have an opportunity to inflict her vengeance on poor old Aunt Sarie.

On Tuesday afternoon, grandma went out to hang clothes on the line. She hadn’t been gone very long when I needed to make a dash for the outhouse. When I returned, Aunt Sarie was gone. I asked Toupey where she was. She said grandma had come in and had taken her out to sit on the front porch. “Grandma’s going to watch her now, so let’s go down to the springhouse to play.” We went out the side door and ran to the springhouse. The bottom of the springhouse had a water pit that was fed by a spring. It was always cool and damp down there, so we played in the top part of the house. We had been playing a good half hour or so when I heard grandma calling for us. I immediately knew something was wrong by the tone of her voice. We started to run for the house when Toupey stopped and yelled, “You’re gonna be in trouble now.” I kept running towards the house, knowing somehow, someway, Toupey had done something that she fixed so it would look like I did it.

When I got to the house, grandma fearfully asked, “Where is Aunt Sarie?” I looked around the porch and replied, “I don’t know. I thought she was with you. Toupey said you brought her out here so we could play.”

“No, I didn’t. I came in a while ago and Toupey said you took her outside to sit on the porch.” grandma said. I explained I went to the outhouse and when I came back Toupey said we could go out to play since you took Aunt Sarie outside. “Toupey! Toupey come here this minute.” Grandma screamed.  Toupey finally came running, “You need me grandma?” She so innocently asked.

“Where is Aunt Sarie?” grandma demanded. “ahh, ahhh, I don’t know. Cricket said you took her outside to sit on the porch so we could play in the springhouse.”

“That is a lie Toupey. You tell me right now where she is!” grandma insisted as she grabbed Toupey by the arm. “But, grandma I don’t know. Cricket was watching her. I don’t know what she did with her.” She responded as she began to cry.

Now grandma grabbed both of her arms at her shoulders and shook her. “Stop your lying. Tell me right now what you did with Aunt Sarie. She is old and very sick. Tell me right now or as God is my witness, I will beat you until an inch of your life!”

“I didn’t put her anywhere. But Cricket said she put her in the broom closet because she was tired of watching her all the time.” Toupey no more than uttered Aunt Sarie’s location than grandma was off running back into the house. I followed close on her heels. Sure enough, there she was, her wheelchair stuffed into the broom closet. Toupey had taken the assortment of boots, shoes, buckets, brooms, and mops out of the closet, pushed the wheelchair in, and then put all the things she had taken out of the closet on top of and around Aunt Sarie as she sat huddled under the debris, humming.

“Oh dear Jesus, how can one child be so evil?” grandma cried as she began removing the mops and brooms. She finally got Aunt Sarie out of closet, telling her how sorry she was that this happened to her. Aunt Sarie kept humming and grandma said she must be in shock for having something so horrible done to her. I helped grandma get Aunt Sarie into bed and cover her with blankets. Toupey sat on the couch, and for once in her life, kept her mouth shut. Grandma washed Aunt Sarie’s face and hands with a warm cloth until she fell asleep. Then she took Toupey into the kitchen and washed her mouth out with soap for lying. Her punishment for being so mean was being sent to bed for the rest of the day and evening, with no supper.

Aunt Sarie woke up at supper time but didn’t want to eat. After the dishes were done, I sat by her bed and read to her. Then I colored a picture with a dog and a cat and gave it to her. She smiled her funny smile but did not hum. She fell asleep with my picture lying on her chest. The next morning she didn’t want to get out of bed and only took a sip of water. Grandma called the doctor because she said Aunt Sarie didn’t look good. The doctor said he would be by around lunch time.

Toupey helped grandma fix lunch while I sat by Aunt Sarie coloring. Once lunch was ready, Toupey came into the living room to get me. I told I would be in as soon as I finished my picture for Aunt Sarie. Toupey, obviously aggravated by my wanting to finish coloring, came over and grabbed my arm to pull me up off the chair. Then the most unbelievable thing happened. Aunt Sarie’s arm came up off the bed and her hand grabbed Toupey’s wrist. Her bony, white wrinkled fingers clenched Toupey’s wrist and she would not let go. Toupey started screaming and grandma came running from the kitchen. I was so startled, I fell off my chair onto the floor. Grandma’s eyes were wide open in disbelief at what she saw. Aunt Sarie who didn’t have the strength to even feed herself somehow was able to grab Toupey.

“Get her off me! Get her off me!” Toupey cried. But Aunt Sarie continued to hold tight, her eyes glaring at Toupey while she hummed. Grandma tried to get her fingers loose from Toupey’s wrist and was completely amazed by her strength. Then grandma tried to get Toupey to calm down and stop screaming. All of a sudden, Aunt Sarie let loose of Toupey’s wrist, her arm dropping to the side of the bed. And then she went to sleep. The doctor walked in a few minutes later to find the three of us standing in the center of the room. Grandma was still trying to calm Toupey down and I just stood there looking at Aunt Sarie’s still, silent body. He went over to the bed, sat the chair upright that I had knocked over, and sat down to tend to Aunt Sarie. Grandma told Toupey and I to go into the kitchen and eat our lunch. Just as we walked through the doorway, the doctor said, “I’m afraid it isn’t going to be long now Martha.” Aunt Sarie died three hours later while my sister and I played in the springhouse.

For many years after her death, Toupey would wake in the middle of the night screaming Aunt Sarie wouldn’t let her go. Since we three sisters shared a bedroom, I was always the one to get to her first; telling her it was alright, that she was just having a bad dream. One hot September night, after I had returned home from spending a week in the hospital due to having my appendix removed, I had a difficult time falling asleep. We had the only window in the room open to let in any possible breeze, although there didn’t appear to be any air moving that evening. I always slept on my right side facing out towards the room, but due to the surgery, I now had to sleep on my left side facing the wall. Between the warmness of the room and my unusual sleeping arrangement, I couldn’t seem to fall asleep, even with taking the pain medication the doctor had sent home with me. I had laid looking at the wall for sometime when I realized Toupey was humming. I though it was odd she would be humming since I had never heard her do that before. Then she began screaming and thrashing around in her bed. I slowly and carefully turned over, the incision on my right side prevented anything else, and looked in the direction of her bed. I saw what appeared to be a white nightgown blowing in the window. Toupey was really screaming by now, but I could not just hop out of bed as I had done in the past. Everything seemed foggy to me and I didn’t have a sense of balance. I guess the pain pills had taken hold of my system. Before I could get out of bed, mom was there, trying to calm Toupey down. Toupey was sobbing hysterically, “She wouldn’t let go of me! Aunt Sarie won’t let me go!”

I have thought about that night many times. Did I see a nightgown moving in the window? Or was it the curtain moving in a breeze? But, it was so still that night. I have always wondered which it was.

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What is the world seeking?

October 25, 2008 at 1:17 pm (Search Engine Stories)
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Selma in the City has a new blog, Search Engine Stories. Each Saturday she gives a writing prompt for us to use our creativity to write a poem, a story, a non-fiction essay, a photo essay, a piece of artwork, or a song. Be sure to stop in and be inspired! This week, she gave us something that provoked a little deeper thinking for me: “What is the world seeking?”

Miss America hopefuls are seeking world peace.

The wealthy are seeking tax breaks.

Brides are seeking a beautiful day for their wedding.

Political candidates are seeking election.

Students are seeking to pass their exam.

Aspiring actors are seeking the roll of a lifetime.

Businesses are seeking customers.

Childless couples are seeking a baby.

The unemployed are seeking a job.

The homeless are seeking a home.

Starving children are seeking a meal.

What should the world be seeking?

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Skeletons in Her Closet

October 24, 2008 at 1:16 am (Search Engine Stories)
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Selma in the City has a new blog, Search Engine Stories. Each Saturday she gives a writing prompt for us to use our creativity to write a poem, a story, a non-fiction essay, a photo essay, a piece of artwork, or a song. Be sure to stop in and be inspired! This week, she gave us several colorful prompts. I chose “sex red female.”

 

I first heard the term, “skeletons in your closet,” many years before it took on a literal meaning. To be honest, my family had many secrets hidden beneath our “average American family” persona.  A manicured lawn, pretty flowers lining the sidewalk, and a porch swing which received a fresh coat of paint each spring all served to disguise family turmoil inside the front door created from alcoholism, manic-depression, and child abuse. Our family secrets were closely guarded and I have come to describe our family as the family who put the “fun” in dysfunctional.  Who would have ever thought the one pillar of strength and virtue in our family had a secret life. A life that was discovered shortly after her death at age 85, hidden in a trunk in her closet. Yes, Grandma too had skeletons in her closet.

I, along with my mother, was the ones to unwrap grandma’s secret. As I held the mementoes of her past in my hands, my mind could not fathom the implications they created. From my earliest childhood memories to the day she died, my grandmother was the poster child for the term “grandma.” She was a farmer’s wife who baked bread every morning in a wood-burning stove; who raised chickens and exchanged eggs at the local general store for flour, sugar and coffee; who washed her laundry on a washboard; who gave handmade quilts and ragdolls for Christmas presents; who made a pot of home-cooked chicken soup and carried it two miles to a sick neighbor; who taught all her grandchildren a hard day’s work provided a good night’s rest.  No, these images of my grandmother could not be connected in any way to the shameful find in her closet. No, it was absolutely impossible my grandma had been a bathtub gin drinking, cigarette smoking, hot jazz dancing, bobbed-hair, black-stockinet, painted up, fringed-spaghetti-strapped sex red female flapper!

But, as grandma was known to say, “the proof is in the pudding,” or in this case, hidden in a trunk in her closet. Beneath several scrapbooks, many pieces of material saved for a quilting project, and grandpa’s army uniform was a fairly large hat box. I was surprised to find a hat box as I had only known grandma to wear scarves, not hats. Inside the box was a package wrapped in butcher’s paper that had been firmly taped shut.  Once the tape was removed, we opened the paper to find the contents had also been wrapped in tissue paper. I began to anticipate what could have been so important to my grandma for her to have painstakingly packed it away. As we peeled back the layers of tissue, we found a silver-sequined 12” cigarette holder, a black satin elastic headband with one large and two small black feathers, a pair of real silk black hose with a thick band of elastic at the top of each legging, a small black sequined handbag attached to a very long braided shoulder strap also covered in sequins, a pair of size 9 black patent Maryjane 4” heels, and the reddest of red authentic flapper dress. The dress was a straight line style of silk slip-like material covered with seven layers of red fringe cascading from top to bottom. The spaghetti straps were covered in red sequins. I was stunned and totally unprepared for my mother’s words of disgust to our discovery, “I can’t believe she kept these things all these years. It’s like she was proud of her sinful days.”

Sinful days? Grandma? What in the world was she talking about? I should have known better than to ask, particularly since mom was obviously displeased by our find, but, of course this grandchild had to know how the items I clearly recognized as flapper fashion from the 20’s were possibly related to my straight-laced, virtuous grandmother. And mom was more than willing to share the sordid secrets of a woman scorned, especially if it meant her tale would take my grandma off the pedestal I had placed her on.

As the story goes, my grandma was wed at age 16 to a man she did not know. It was a marriage arranged by her father to cover a debt. Her new husband was from a wealthy, abusive family. She had been married for just over one year, when she found her husband in bed with her best friend the day after they buried a stillborn son.  She had as much as she could take from his physical abuse, and his infidelity and lack of concern for the loss of a child was more than she could swallow. In the wee hours of the night, she packed a few belongings into her husband’s 1923 Buick Roadster, stopped to pick up her cousin, and headed north to New York City. She lived in the city for three years, working as a waitress by day and obviously enjoying the nightlife as a flapper by night. She returned home when she became too ill work. Her husband had moved away shortly after her departure three years before. She moved back in with her parents where she remained until she became the “common law wife” of my grandfather. Actually, my grandparents were never able to marry as she never received a divorce from her first husband. Thus, the reason for my mother’s distaste for what the flapper clothes represented – she and her two brothers were bastard children.

That afternoon presented a bit of insight to my mother’s hateful nature that I had known all my life. I suppose for my mother’s generation, the state of her illegitimacy created many prejudices and heartaches. To be honest, I found myself applauding my grandma’s courage to stand up for herself and walkout on an abusive relationship.  I wanted to keep grandma’s treasures from her days of courage but my mother decided it was best to burn them. Best for whom, I asked myself?

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Controversy for the Sake of an Election

October 19, 2008 at 8:46 am (Writer's Island)
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                                                                                                                       The writing prompt this week

on the Island is Controversy.

 

 

America is the land of the free, the home of the brave, and the nation of controversy.  It is not surprising that along with freedom comes controversy.  After all, the embodiment of freedom is not only the right to have a different opinion, but the right to express that opinion. Many an election has been won and lost on a candidate’s stance on one controversial issue or another, and our approaching presidential election is a prime example.  I believe the exploitation of controversy in our elections has taken America from being the home of the brave to the home of opportunists seeking election.

To be brave is to show courage when faced with danger, difficulty, and I believe, controversy.  It is not courageous to exploit the heart wrenching abortion issue, which both of our presidential hopefuls have done.  Senator McCain hopes his campaign ads of the horrors of late term abortions will provoke the smallest sense of decency in a voter to cast their ballot for him, while Senator Obama hopes his campaign ads of losing the right to have an abortion if a woman is raped or facing personal danger to her health will instill even the smallest sense of fear of losing a freedom in a voter to gain his or her vote. Yes, both candidates are exploiting the abortion issue, as have every candidate since the 1973 Supreme Court decision in Roe vs. Wade. This court ruling has divided our country and has paved the way for many politicians to exploit that division.

Instead of hearing the personal stance on abortion from our presidential candidates, I would rather see either of them stand up and say our Supreme Court overstepped its boundaries as governed by our Constitution.  Our forefathers carefully drafted the governing document of our country to be strong enough meet the needs of our nation while being flexible enough to guarantee the individual rights of its citizens. Thus, three branches of government were created to ensure both.  The Executive Branch is governed by the President and his or her purpose is to enforce the laws of our country.  The Legislative Branch is governed by Congress, who are state elected members of the Senate and the House of Representatives. Their purpose is to make the laws of our country. The Judicial Branch consists of the Supreme Court and the lower federal courts.  Their purpose is to hear cases that challenge or require interpretation of legislation passed by state and federal government.

Until Roe vs. Wade, the legality of abortion along with any limitations was governed by individual state laws. Our Congress never passed a federal law either allowing or disallowing abortion because it believed the issue was a state matter. The abortion law of Texas in 1973 disallowed abortion except on medical advice for the purpose of saving a mother’s life.  The Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v. Wade, which began as a court case in Texas disputing its abortion law, legalized abortion across the United States, thus it became a law making branch of our government instead of the law interpreting branch as designed by the United States Constitution.  The Supreme Court did not act to interpret the Texas abortion law, but overruled the law and made one of its own, for our entire nation. I fault both President Richard Nixon and members of Congress in 1973 for not immediately denouncing the Supreme Court’s ruling based on the fact that it had overstepped its boundaries.  A Texas Federal Court had ruled the Texas abortion law had been justly applied. The Texas Federal Court did not assume the duty of deciding whether abortion should be legal or not, but rather performed its obligation as assigned by the Constitution.  It was also not the Supreme Court’s obligation to decide to legality of abortion, but whether a state’s Federal Court had equally and justly applied a state law.

Being an undecided voter in this presidential election, I am fed up with both candidates exploiting the abortion controversy.  Instead of broadening the separation which the issue of abortion has created in our country, I believe a President should seek to end the controversy once and for all. How brave it would be to have a candidate promise to end the abortion controversy by stating he would petition Congress to denounce Supreme Court decision in Roe vs. Wade and either put the issue of abortion back into the hands of each state, or make a federal law on the issue of abortion the old fashioned way, by the Constitutional powers vested in the Legislative Branch of our government not the Judicial.

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The Truth of the Matter was Known

October 12, 2008 at 12:46 am (Slice of Life Sunday)
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Slice of Life Sunday is a meme dedicated to preserving the accounts of events cut out of the lives of average people just like you and me from all over the world. And like having ice cream with your pie, there is more to this meme than meets the eye – it’s a meme a` la mode. I hope you will join me and share a Slice of your Life.

This week I am sharing a very difficult time in my life written to the prompt of  “An Inconvenient Truth.” Sometimes it is hard to except the truth, especially when that truth leads you to make a decision you really didn’t want to make.

The Truth of the Matter was Known

 

Parents of teenagers go to bed each night thanking God when another day has passed without a major disruption in the family dynamics from their adolescent.  Increased use of drugs and alcohol, higher rates of car accidents, and teenage pregnancy on the rise are just a few causes of increased anxiety for parents and their teenagers. Teens face many challenges and make daily decisions trying to deal with pressure form their parents, pressure from their peers, and pressure from their changing bodies. It isn’t any wonder why high school graduation is one of the most anticipated events in a child’s life, and not just by the teenager. There are as many different ways for a parent to handle the unwanted news of an unexpected pregnancy of their teen as there are parents. I have talked with several female friends over the years about how they broke the news to their parents about their teenage pregnancy.  Emotions during these conversations ran high. Hearts were broken and tears were shed, but in the end sanity prevailed and decisions were made in the best interest of the beloved teen. Except in my house .

To be fair, my mother did not have the advantage of her daughter coming to her with the bad news. I did not tell her because I did not know. I had been ill for several months, but not with morning sickness which may have given mom a clue. I would become extremely nauseated on the bus ride home from school. I worked as a dishwasher in a nursing home after school, which only made the nausea much worse. Once my four-hour shift was over, I would go home and go right to bed. The week of our prom, two girls in my school had been diagnosed with mononucleosis and my mother was concerned I may have caught the disease. She made an appointment with our family doctor for the end of the following week just to know for sure.  Prom night came and went and I continued to become ill each day. The day before my doctor’s appointment, I was more ill than usual. I always stopped at my boyfriend John’s house after school to spend the hour before I was due at work. His mother Ruth decided I was too ill to go to work and made a call to the main office to call me off work. She then had me lay down in her bedroom in hopes my stomach would calm down. She was wise enough to set a bucket by the bed.

As it turned out, the stars and the moon did not line up for me that day. The main office failed to notify the kitchen where I was assigned that I had been called off work. The head cook called my house when I didn’t show up. My mother said as far as she knew I was at work. Once they convinced her I was not, she knew immediately where I would be. She grabbed her car keys and went straight to John’s house. Ruth answered her pounding on the door and explained I was very sick when she demanded to know if I was there. Ruth brought her into the livingroom and said I was laying down in her and Don’s room. She motioned to the open door leading from the room and mom stepped through it to find John lying behind me as I lay on the edge of the bed with my head hanging over the side. As she explained later, “I just saw red!” She did not notice I was vomiting, but only saw John and me “in bed together.” She came over and grabbed my arm and pulled me up from the bed. She began swearing and threatening to have John arrested because he was 18 and I was only 16. She also threatened to have Ruth arrested for allowing us to “have sex” while she sat in the next room watching soap operas. I was too ill to say anything and did nothing as she pulled me through the house and out to the car. All I could think about was getting home and going to bed.

Once we arrived home, I was not permitted to go to bed. Mom demanded to know why I was so sick all the time. I sat on the couch and said nothing for fear I would begin vomiting again. She went on ranting and raving about finding me and John in bed together and finally said, “You’re not pregnant are you?” I said nothing. I thought she was crazy because even I knew pregnant women got sick in the mornings, not in the afternoon. Not that I knew how a person got pregnant, but I had heard enough aunts complain about morning sickness to know that was the first sign. But mom took my silence as affirmation that I could be pregnant. “Have you been having sex with that boy?” she demanded. Again I said nothing, thinking to myself what that had to do with anything. Mom became violent and began hitting me in the face with her hands. “You are aren’t you?” she screamed. Again, I said nothing. Mom stomped out of the room and I laid down across the couch thinking she was done with her fit of rage. But I was wrong. She came back with one of dad’s leather belts and began beating me with it. “How dare you shame this family!” “You’re nothing but a common slut!” I rolled onto my stomach and hid my face into the couch with my hands crossed over my head as she continued to beat me. Each hit seemed to get harder and I must have passed out as I do not remember when she stopped. The next thing I remember was mom and dad pushing each other and arguing.

When dad realized I was getting up from the couch, he came over to help me. “Cricket, I am so sorry your mom did this. She was wrong and she won’t hit you anymore.” I said I just wanted to go to bed and went up to my room. Some time later dad came up with a bowl of soup. I told him I hurt too bad to eat. He told me to just rest and Toupey, my older sister would be up to look after my bruises. True to his word, my sister came up with a pan of cold water.  She filled in the details of what happened as she placed cold compresses on my back, buttocks and legs. She said she tried to stop mom when she realized how bad it was getting, but mom just knocked her down.  My younger brother also tried to stop her, but mom hit him with the belt too. She said she knew mom would have killed me if dad wouldn’t have gotten home. “She was just crazy! I’ve never seen her that bad before.”

I stayed home from school the next day because I was too sore to walk. Mom took me to my doctor’s appointment after she got off work.  I never said a word to her on the drive for fear she would go crazy again. Once we were in the room, she informed the nurse that she wanted a pregnancy exam performed.  Dr. Huston came in just as I was getting up on the examining table. He could see the welts and bruising on my legs below the gown and on my back where the gown was not fastened. “What happened to this child?” he demanded. My mother began explaining she had whipped me because she found me in bed with my boyfriend. “Are you telling me you did this to your own daughter?”

“Well, yes, I did. I became so mad when I found her at her boyfriend’s house – in bed with him! Then when we got home she said she thought she was pregnant and I just saw red. I guess I may have gone a bit overboard, but she. . .” Mom never got to finish her explanation. Dr. Huston put his hands on her throat and backed her up against the wall. The nurse was so shocked she knocked over a pan of silver utensils and I watched as they fell to the floor. “This is completely unacceptable Barb. No child deserves to be beaten like this; I don’t care what they have done. If I ever find out you even lay a finger on this child again, I will have you arrested and this child removed from your home. Have I made myself clear?” He let go of her then and ordered her to wait in the lobby until he called for her.  To my amazement, she actually left the room without saying a word.

For the next hour, Dr. Huston tended to my wounds and asked me many questions. When I said I didn’t know how someone got pregnant, he explained it to me. I admitted that John and I did have sex “a few times.” Yes, that was a bit of a lie. He then examined me and found that I was indeed pregnant, more than four months along. He asked if John and I had ever talked about getting married. I said no we hadn’t and in fact I was planning on breaking up with him after he graduated in June.  I explained that John had gotten into trouble with the law back in the winter and I thought he might be cheating on me. He wanted to know if I wasn’t planning on spending my life with John, why I hadn’t already broken up with him. “Well, I couldn’t until after the prom and the graduation parties. Am I really going to have a baby?” I responded.  Dr. Huston and the nurse looked at each other and he said something about me being such a naïve child. Of course I didn’t know what naïve meant at the time and assumed it had something to do with my being pregnant.

My mom was called back into the examining room and was told I was pregnant. “Well, I figured as much. She is just going to have to marry that bastard Bickel boy. I never liked him from the first minute I laid eyes on that son of a bitch. And now look what he has done. Do you know how embarrassing this is going to be for me at work?” she sneered at me.  Dr. Huston immediately informed mom, “This is not about you Barb. This about your daughter and her life and the life of the baby she is carrying. And it will be up to your daughter to decide if she wants to get married. Being pregnant does not mean she has to get married.”

I listened to what Dr. Huston was saying but realized he was wrong. There were six other girls in my class who had gotten married the last few months and it was rumored they were all pregnant. I wasn’t sure what John would think about getting married, but I knew I wasn’t ready to be married. I didn’t even know how to cook. Then I thought about being pregnant and wondered if my belly would get as big as my Aunt Joan’s did. I began to shiver thinking about that as I remembered I had an appointment to have my Senior pictures taken in August. Then I thought, will I even get to go back to school and graduate? And what will I do with a baby? I had held a few babies and even changed a diaper once, but I had never thought about having one of my own. I was going to college and become a lawyer. So many things ran through my mind as mom continued to talk with the doctor. I didn’t know what, or how, or where, or when about any of the things running through my mind, but I did know one thing. I did have to get married. Staying at home and having a baby was not an option with a lunatic like my mother living in the same house.

The next five weeks passed quickly. My mom had called Ruth to tell her about my being pregnant.  After a few shared hostile words, they both settled down and began to plan a wedding. John never asked me to marry him, and I never said yes. We both just knew that was what was expected in 1968. The night before our wedding, my dad came outside to where I was sitting on the porch swing. I had a bridal shower that week and was writing out thank you notes. “Cricket” he began, “I know your mom had made a lot of plans for this wedding tomorrow, but I want you to know you do not have to get married. I talked with Dr. Huston and he thinks you do not really want to get married. Is that true?” I thought for a moment and said, “It doesn’t matter what I want dad. I am pregnant.” Dad cleared his throat and for the first time in my life I saw his eyes gloss over like he was going to cry. “Just because you are pregnant does not mean you have to get married. You have a choice here Cricket. Just say the word and I will call this whole thing off. You can have the baby and stay here at home. I can make the back room into your very own room, just for you and the baby.  And don’t worry about your mom. She is never going to hit you again.”

Again, I thought about what he was saying. And for a moment I almost believed him. How I wanted to believe him! “Dad, I know you don’t want to hear this, but mom has never liked me. Never once in my life have I ever felt she liked me. Most of the time I knew she hated me. And this, my being pregnant has only made it worse. It’s the truth and we both know it. No dad, I do have to get married. And I will do everything I can to make it work. You will see, it will be ok.” The next day my dad walked me down the aisle to marry a man who did not love me, and, who I did not love. Over the year that we had dated, we had said the word.  Neither of us had a clue what love was, but we both knew the consequences of our actions. We both said “I do.”

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Warts & All

October 9, 2008 at 7:46 pm (Slice of Life Sunday)
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Slice of Life Sunday is a meme dedicated to preserving the accounts of events cut out of the lives of average people just like you and me from all over the world. And like having ice cream with your pie, there is more to this meme than meets the eye – it’s a meme a` la mode. I hope you will join me and share a Slice of your Life.

Warts & All

My grandson Caleb brought a book home last year when he was in first grade about frogs and toads. I always enjoy reading with him and often finding myself thinking about the books we read and how it seems children learn so much more than we did at that age. When I selected the writing prompt this week, I remembered the frogs and toads book. It is not that I hate toads, but I learned while reading with Caleb that a group of toads are called a knot. I also learned the difference between frogs and toads is primarily their appearance. Toads are just frogs that have adapted to dry environments by developing a leather-like skin which retains water better and have changed from a green color to brown for camouflage protection.  And, Caleb quickly pointed out in the book that toads do not cause warts. This clarification was made in reference to my making a joking comment a few months before to his older sister. Torrey had developed a wart on her finger and I teased her that she should stop playing with toads. As I sat laughing, recalling how proud Caleb was in correcting his grandma’s knowledge on toads, I remembered a comment about warts my mother had made to me when I was in the sixth grade.

Although I was very small at birth, and remained small for my age until I started school, I was one of those girls who seemed to grow overnight. By the time I was in the fourth grade, I was as tall as most of the boys. And by the fifth grade, I was five feet tall and had to stand in the back row with the boys for our class picture. I was beginning to worry about being born on my Uncle Jake’s birthday as he was 6’6”. And if my height wasn’t bad enough, I began developing breasts. School shopping for the next year included buying my first bra, which should have been purchased many months before to spare me of all the teasing from the boys. I was relieved to find at the beginning of my sixth grade year the other girls were beginning to catch up with me in the height department. I did not grow even a half an inch over the summer, and haven’t grow any taller since. My breasts were another matter.  They continued to grow and by Christmas I had to have new bras with a B-cup.  During Christmas break, my mother came into the bathroom as I was getting out of the bathtub and began to gasp. “Oh my God, how long have you had hair down there?” she demanded. I didn’t know what she was talking about until she held a hand mirror so I could see the fuzzy pubic hair. Looking back on all the physical changes my body was undergoing at that time, my mother should have known what would be coming next and given me some advanced warning. But she didn’t.  And those being the days of no health education before eighth grade, I didn’t have a clue I was about to live a scene right out of the movie, “Carrie.”

A few months later, I had a really bad week. I didn’t feel well and I ached all over. Mom thought I was coming down with a cold and made me put Vick’s Vapor Rub on my chest before going to bed each night. I hated the smell but I didn’t want a cold, so I did as I was told. I was so tired by bedtime, that even the odor didn’t keep me from going right to sleep. That fateful morning, I woke to mom’s yelling up the stairs it was time to get up before “I come up there and drag you out of that bed.” It seems she had already been up fifteen minutes earlier but I had not heard her, or if I did, I just fell back to sleep. My sisters were already up, dressed, and downstairs.  I could tell by the tone of her voice that mom meant what she said. I flipped the blanket off me, jumped up and turned to make my bed. I saw what appeared to be blood on my sheet. I was startled. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out where it came from. Then I looked down at my nightgown and saw it had blood all over it. I was so scared, I quickly removed it only to realize the blood from coming from me. I started to scream and wrapped my blanket around me and ran downstairs. Mom met me at the bottom of the stairs and wanted to know what was going on. “I am bleeding to death! I don’t know what happened but I am bleeding to death.” I screamed. Mom opened the blanket and told me to go to the bathroom. “You are not bleeding to death. Go get in the tub and get cleaned up. I will be in and show you what to do.”

Show me what to do? What was she talking about? Here I am bleeding to death and she wants me to take a bath! She had always said it was important to bath everyday and put on clean underwear in case you were ever in an accident and had to be taken to the hospital, but this was different, I was bleeding to death. However, I knew better than to question her orders. I went to the bathroom and starting running water into the tub. It seemed like the blood just kept bleeding and I didn’t know how I was going to get it to stop. I got into the tub and just sat there crying. I kept my eyes closed because I was afraid the water would be all red from the blood. Mom finally came in and was very angry I was not out of the tub and dried off. “I’m going to be late for work so get out of there. And stop that crying. I told you, you are not dying. You are just getting your menstrual period like all women get. Of course, like everything else, you’re doing it before your sister. You are more of a pain than a wart on my ass. “

I still did not understand what was happening to me, but I did as she said. She gave me a thin elastic belt to put on and showed me how to attach a pad she had under the sink to the metal hooks on the front and back of the belt. I was instructed to check the pad throughout the day and put a new one on if it got too bloody. Too bloody! I was going to bleed to death! She said I was to stay home from school that day and gave me a booklet to read. “I got this from the doctor to read to Toupey when she started her period, but I don’t have time to read it with you now. You can read it today. And make sure you wash your sheets and blankets in cold water today so they don’t stain.” And she left for work. I stayed in the bathroom reading the book until my sisters and brother left for school. I still did not under what was happening to me. The pictures and words in the booklet didn’t make sense.  

I did manage to get my bedding and nightgown washed. I went to the bathroom to check my pad every fifteen minutes or so.  After school, my best friend and neighbor Peggy came to see why I hadn’t come to school. At first I was too ashamed and scared to tell her, but being a good friend, she didn’t give up until I told her. ‘Wow, you didn’t know about periods?” she asked. Then she explained in sixth-grade girl language what it meant and I began to feel better about it, especially since she had already started hers four months before and she was still alive.

Many years later I remembered the traumatic experience I went through and made sure my daughter was fully educated on the matter at the first sign of puberty. As I look back on my relationship with my mother, I know I realized at a very young age she did not like me very much. This dislike in my youth blossomed into a love-hate relationship. She loved to show me how much she hated me. She took every opportunity to show disapproval, disrespect, and dislike for anything I did, even if it was in a normal part of growing. I guess she had a large knot of warts on her rear.

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