Parent, A Steward, A Guide (eBook)

CHAPTER 1

And when He was twelve years [old], They went up, as was their custom.

Luke 2: 42 Amp

And when the Feast was ended, As they were returning, the boy Jesus Remained behind in Jerusalem. Now His parents did not know this.

Luke 2:43 Amp

After three days they found Him [came upon Him] In the [court of the] temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions.

Luke 2:46 Amp

The Beginning

I [that’s me] found myself torn about my newly discovered pregnancy. I knew Ernest [B.C.] would not be happy about the news. As I stood outside of the old house, to frighten to go in, the ground was moist beneath my nursing shoes. The air was cold and misty. The fog engulfed my body like a glove, stillness, no sounds, and no movement. The 1968 VW bug was in its familiar spot across the grassless lawn.  I began to rehearse what I would say and what my answers would be when he tried to talk me out of having this precious child.

I worked at the local convalescent hospital. I knew from a young girl I wanted to be a nurse. Now at age twenty, out of high school two years, but still a nursing assistant, I couldn’t help but feel like I had let myself down. I painfully finished one full year at Cal State Fresno, on probation most of the time and barely surviving each semester. I was immature and scared, with deep feelings of inadequacy haunting me daily. I was somewhat aware of the reading comprehension problem which had become apparent now. I couldn’t read as fast as other people, nor could I retain what I was reading.

In high School I managed to cover it up. Who knew? But now, sitting in an auditorium listening to lectures I didn’t understand, I was afraid to raise my hand. Out of the 500 students in the room I was the only one who didn’t know what the man was saying. I noticed that the teacher never had notes, and one day I realized it was because his name was on the front of the thick Biochemistry book, I guess he wrote it. Lost in the classroom, if that is what you call it; my seat high in the nosebleed section, I thought, God, is this college? Oh well I’m not going to quit.

My mother literally begged the counselor to let me in. I sat in the office with them, my mom Tom. He was some type of small town politician, a friend of my moms.  She dated this guy for 16 years. Talk about a record, but who do you think was in church every Sunday? Yep! Dressed alike too. But when daddy died guess who screamed and cried the loudest at the casket. Yep, momma snatched us all right out of the moment. Our tears turned to laughter instantly. Oh well, I think I got into Cal State Fresno because of them. I survived the first year September, 1972, until June, 1973. Oh my God was this college? Overrated I thought.

I felt a little nauseated the last few weeks. I knew there was something happening with me. I felt tired. One afternoon while on my lunch break at work, I went to the clinic and realized I was pregnant.

I moved in with B.C. a few months later. I loved him so much. I was willing to sleep on the old mattress box springs. The only heat in the cold two bedroom hardwood floor house was the hot plate on the floor next to the bed. The sheets could have easily ended up next to that hot plate and caused a huge fire, but who thought about that? I surely didn’t. I could feel the spring wires piercing my back. I didn’t complain though, because I was with B.C.

B.C. was a Sergeant in the Air Force. Castle AFB was less than a mile away. We had a roommate, Steve, who only came around if the local ladies didn’t put him up for the night. I was young, excited, and in love. I would get up and make instant coffee. I didn’t have a clue about cooking. I ironed B.C.’s uniforms. He was very picky, lots of starch, and I had to glue the stripes on the arms in just the right spot. The Officers at Castle Air Force Base held uniform inspection every morning. One day I forgot to empty B.C’s pockets when I washed his uniform; I left all of his important papers in his pockets and they were ruined. B.C. fired me from doing his laundry that day.  I was happy about it really, but I tried to act disappointed.

As I opened the door and slowly approached the bedroom, I was already packed to leave.  I knew what his response would be, and I knew I would never get an abortion. Ernest always told me that he couldn’t tell his old girlfriend about us. He said it was because she had some horrible blood disease and if she knew about us it would kill her. I was young and foolish, so of course that explanation worked for me.

I rode with him to the hospital the night B (the ex girlfriend) had her baby girl, one year earlier. That’s right January 1975, I was sitting outside Community Hospital in Fresno California, the same place I was born. I was patiently waiting in the Volkswagen for the birth of my boyfriend’s (Sarina’s father) first child.  Never did it dawn on me how crazy this was. I was hurt but never for one moment did I think about leaving him or calling it quits. I believed him at the time.

Ernest was sitting on the side of the bed listening to music. I sat down next to him and told him I was pregnant. That night he drove me up and down the 99 freeway telling me how having the baby would interfere with my dreams of becoming a registered nurse. I cried so long my heart ached with a physical pain I thought would never subside. The pain I felt at that moment was unbearable. I wanted to die, but I knew I had to live for the child steadily growing inside of me that I loved so deeply.

It was late; it felt as if we were on the freeway for hours. I wasn’t listening to him anymore; I was trying to figure out where I would go. I glared through the window watching the exits, uncontrollable tears falling, but not a sound from my mouth, waiting to escape. There was silence now, only the sounds of the freeway and passing cars.

We pulled into the driveway of the old house I got out of the car emotionally exhausted.  I grabbed my packed bag and I left. I drove not knowing where I would go. The car was practically driving itself on the familiar freeway to my mom’s house in Stockton, CA.  I sat outside for a moment, not ready to explain the events of the day. I parked outside my mother’s house, I was paralyzed; I then drove to my sister’s apartment on the other side of town. With no explanations offered, I laid on her couch for a few days until I was able to face the pain of my situation.

The next few months were painful for me. I thought I would hear from Ernest, but no calls came. A couple of times I drove to Winton, CA a small military town outside of Merced. The Base housing was down the street for those who were lucky enough to be married to the soldiers. B.C. was best friends with my cousin Gerald. So I ran into him at my Aunt Katie’s house.

I drove up to the house. I sat in the car hesitating, rehearsing my words, heart inside me racing. But the fear of rejection for me and the baby made me turn the car around and travel the 45 miles back to Stockton. The second time I actually approached the house, I got out of the car and as I stood in front of the house, I raised my hand, about to knock on the door when I heard voices, one B.C. and the other some woman laughing (B). I ran back to my car with my heart feeling pain so bad that my entire chest ached. It was right at that moment I knew that I would never ask Ernest for anything. This child would be well taken care of without him.

I was 8 months pregnant before I would attempt once again to involve Ernest in our lives. I was visiting relatives in Fresno California. Ernest’s mother lived just up the road from my Aunt Girtha Mae’s place where I spent a great deal of my childhood. Well I decided to introduce myself to his mother. I’ll never forget. I took all the money I had and bought her one dozen long stemmed red roses in a gold box.  I always wanted some of those for myself. They were the nice ones. The kind they gave each other on TV. So I walked up the road past the old fruit stand where the little apartment was located. A soft voiced, mingled gray haired lady answered the door. She looked just like Ernest so I assumed it was his mother. I told her who I was and she said, “My son hasn’t mentioned you so until he does I won’t believe this is his baby.”

I walked away. I was hurt but it wasn’t devastating, because I knew who the father of my child was. I was confident that this child would be well taken care of whether they acknowledged it or not.

I had an apartment in Stockton California a couple of hours away. I stayed with my mother just a block or two away from my place. She had just had a heart attack, stroke or something, or so she said. Like I needed something else to worry about. Momma would always make out like things were so much worse than they were.

Her traumatic childhood made her exaggerate a bit. But we found out as we got older that some of her childhood stories were true. She was the oldest girl, and my grandmother Lucille died when my Mother was only seventeen. They said my granddaddy married some crazy woman after that. Well my uncle Wesley said my Mom was the only thing that kept them alive after my grandmother died.

Let me see now, they said, my grandmother and my aunt [two sisters] had kids by my granddaddy, I don’t know - it was all so complicated...