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| I remember the Friday that my daughter Angela called me. It was in late July, and I hadn't seen or heard much from her for a full month. In June, Angela had gone to visit her aunt, which was her favorite thing to do in summers' past. But every day she was calling crying that she was homesick. I thought this was very unusual for my sixteen-year-old who relished my eldest sister's attention, and I reluctantly asked her to send Angela home after only a week's visit. The plane had barely landed in Raleigh where I live when Angela drove back to Southern Pines, her father's home, which was an hour and a half away. Against my wishes, Angela had been living with her father for the majority of the six years since our divorce. It wasn't that I thought living with her father was a bad thing; it was just that I wasn't ready to let go of my ten-year-old at the time. Her decision to live with her father was devastating. I had been used to living sans children, though being without them was the hardest part of my life with my new husband, Floyd. I worried and prayed that no harm would come to them. Without the extra two eyes in the home, I had magnified the normal concerns of a mother. Regardless of my fears and insecurity Angela remained with her father from the fifth grade through her sophomore year of high school. Angela was at home with her father and I enjoyed her frequent visits. We even agreed that our relationship was much stronger because of the distance. Our time together was always quality. Once back from her brief vacation, Angela immediately got a job in the local movie theater, which meant I would not see as much of her this summer as I used to. In speaking to her on the phone, she seemed preoccupied, I thought with her new boyfriend Shawn. I didn't like her working and having a boyfriend so close this soon in her life, but I had always told my children that I would try to respect their decisions as I expected them to try and respect mine, which included leaving their father and changing my life. I had in fact settled into my new life and was working and attending college at the same time. It shocked me to hear from Angela in my office after her premature flight home from her aunt's. She rarely called me there, and when she said that she and Shawn wanted to come to see me that particular Friday night at eight, I was less then receptive as we were in the middle of a rather forceful summer storm. I suggested she wait a day or two, after all it had been a month. What harm was one more day? She insisted, and in keeping with some habit I had fallen into months before, I asked, "How are things shaping up in the middle? Thick?" This was just a phrase I used with her, mostly thinking about us girls watching our figures. This time the answer to my question was awash with tears that began on Angela's end of the phone. "Angela, are you pregnant?" ~ I didn't anticipate her positive response or my knee jerk reaction. "Fine, you'll just have an abortion," and I hung up the phone. Realizing what I had just said as the phone hit the receiver, I immediately called Angela back and I gave my fifteen-minute "how could you do this to me" speech. I had prepared Angela since she was about twelve years old for the time when she might choose to have sex. I was a very conscious parent. We discussed the most intimate details, sighting that a sexual relationship did not play out like the soaps portrayed, but rather were relationships that required a good deal of responsibility, preparation and conversation to address issues like committed love, peer pressure, disease, and of course pregnancy. I signed all of the papers brought home from school since the fifth grade, giving my permission for Angela to participate in on sex education classes, and I made sure that any conversation dealing with these issues were welcomed. Angela did not have to wonder about things or rely on friends for their answers; she could come to me no matter what. Well, what happened? I know what would have happened to me or any of my three sisters, or at least I had formed a vivid picture of us standing naked on the street with no place to go, no money in our pockets. That was made clear enough by our mother, and I not only feared this, but also believed it would happen if we should become pregnant in an untimely manner. My eldest sister now had our parents visiting, and when I called to tell her the news, I asked her not to react, but just listen. She gasped delicately not to draw attention to herself and give my parents any need to be alarmed. I had decided I had better not mention this yet to them as Angela might choose abortion, and I didn't think my parents could handle that decision. So, saying nothing at this time was my way to protect them from this news. Floyd and our next-door neighbor arrived home at about the same time and saw me standing at the front door of our townhouse in tears. I held tightly to Floyd as I cried the news that Angela was pregnant. His knees buckled as he uttered oh no and motioned for my close friend and neighbor to come and comfort me. It didn't look as if I would be able to get it together to have the conversation that was ahead of me. Eight o'clock came quickly and the expecting parents were right on time. Upon her arrival, Angela wasn't surprised by my famous big eye treatment, which she had felt coming through the phone earlier. We arranged ourselves around the living room and Floyd and I prepared to listen to the youngsters' sound reasoning about how they were going to handle the result of a weak moment in their relationship. Angela's stepfather was known for his ability to mediate especially in disagreements with Angela and myself. Often he settled disputes and encouraged us through a crisis with laughter and a brighter side. On this issue however, he was not budging. Angela was sixteen. There was no alternative. She had to have an abortion. She could get on with her life, and everything on the outside would be neat and tidy. He never understood Angela's psychological needs, nor did he think she had the right to express them. |
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