I became a mother for the first time in 1984. I honestly wasn't the maternal type. I hadn't thought much about the whole idea until about three months before I got pregnant, which I am convinced occurred in a passionate moment one night on our patio next to the spa, which probably explains the challenges we faced during our daughter's adolescence. You know, what goes around, comes around. I never understood the whole "babies are so cute" thing. Still don't. Mine were. Alexis Rides was. That's about it. Maybe my grandkids will be. Chuck and I had been married four years. Before getting married, we'd never lived in the same city or state, unless you count the four week visit to Florida one summer. We met on my uncle's farm in Michigan, where Chuck was working for the summer and I had visited on a trip north. We had our first date two months before my thirteenth birthday (which my kids did not know until well into their twenties). I had a lot of fun between then and the time we got married, and so did Chuck. When I was 18, my grandpa said, "Why are you wasting your time with all those other boys? You are going to marry that Chuck Slagle." I had to remind Grandpa that I hadn't seen Chuck in years; but Grandpa was not deterred by that. I didn't know until years after getting married that Chuck had tried to track me down on numerous occasions. One of those times was when I was spending the summer in Kalamazoo. After driving half way there from his grandfather's house in Ohio, he realized that he didn't have a way to find me in Kalamazoo. So Chuck turned around and drove back to Ohio. He was sleeping on a cot in his grandpa's garage. He explained that he knelt next to the cot and prayed, "Lord, if it is your plan, please bring Debbie back in my life." Even though I didn't see him again for another three years, that summer The University of Tampa, where I was going to school cancelled its football and wrestling programs. This meant my boyfriend of two years who was a great wrestler transferred to a different school about 800 miles away.
At UT, now known as "the Harvard on the Hillsborough," I was all that. I was the editor of the school newspaper, the copy editor for the yearbook and the chairman of the traffic board, that latter I took solely for the scholarship attached and not knowing how incredibly popular it would make me on campus. UT is in downtown Tampa. I'd chosen UT over Hillsdale College, where I also had been offered a scholarship, because UT was close to the beach. I planned my classes around prime sun time, working hard and playing hard. It was there my dear friend and professor Dr. Andy Solomon dubbed me "Ticklebrain," shedding light on the fact that even then I tended to digress - which I have managed to do in this blog as well. It is the thing circuitous timelines are made of - digression. It isn't always bad.
So here I was in 1984. Married to a man I'd known since early adolescence. Living in a place I moved to after getting married to this man and not having lived less than 1000 miles away from each other prior to saying "I do." Not surprising that in spite of being in love with Chuck, my dad did a lot of talking to calm me down before we walked down the aisle of Derbyshire Baptist Church on August 9, 1980. Now in 1984, giving birth prematurely to the most beautiful little girl. No instruction manual. Shoot, I rarely even babysat when I was a teenager. I figured I would take a week or so off and head back to work. My boss at the time, who was childless, mentioned to me a week before Rachel was born that he had just read an article about how women didn't need to take as much time off as they thought they should when they were pregnant. I believe it was in the same discussion about the deadline for the upcoming issue of the magazine for which I was the editorial coordinator. It is also why I refused to stay at home with my feet up in spite of the fact I had toxemia. Rachel was born the Monday following our discussion - the day after Father's Day, a month early. I knew at that moment that deadlines would no longer be the priority in my schedule. It caused a serious identity crisis, which isn't always bad ( do you see a trend?).
. The day we brought Rachel home, Chuck and I laid down on our bed next to her cradle. And there we lay. Fully clothed. Holding hands. Staring at the ceiling. Two fairly intelligent, college educated adults, scared to death. All the education in psychology and social work, as well as Chuck's four years as a fifth grade teacher, didnt give us the wisdom we needed to guide the life of the little girl who was relying on us. during th ose early years, we were carried by the wisdom of those who were farther along in the journey. I returned to work at the magazine after seven weeks off. And then I quit.
No comments:
Post a Comment