I came back to my apartment the next day. It was practically empty. Jeremy had taken all the furniture out of the house, leaving Justin and me with just a television.
CHAPTER
Ten
A few weeks passed before Jeremy and I spoke again. I finally got up the nerve to ask him if he wanted to spend some time with Justin. As angry as I still was, I didn’t want to keep our son from his father.
When Jeremy came over for that visit, I noticed he hopped on my phone right before I walked out the door. As I said goodbye, he was distracted by the phone conversation and nodded absentmindedly in my direction. “See you, Pattie,” he said and went right back to chatting with whomever he was talking to.
I returned two hours later. Jeremy was still on the phone. “Who are you talking to?” I asked, annoyed, wondering if he had been on the phone the entire time.
“My mom,” he whispered without even looking up.
I couldn’t believe it. His mom lived in British Columbia. It was a two-hour-plus long-distance phone call that I’d have to pay for.
I was furious. “Have you been talking to her this whole time?”
Jeremy stood up just as he hung up the phone. He cocked his hip to one side and spread his legs like a cowboy. His face was plastered with an all-too-familiar arrogance as he haughtily challenged my question. “Um, yeah, so what’s it to you?”
I wanted to wipe the smugness right off his face. I couldn’t stand his audacious attitude. I had no time for it anymore. I had depleted my reserve of patience, and in yet another display of immature anger, I lost my composure. With all my might, I swung back my right leg and kicked him where the sun don’t shine.
Jeremy dropped to the floor, writhing in pain. He rolled around, moaning and trying to catch his breath. I’ll be honest: it was pretty satisfying seeing him in a moment of weakness. It felt good to be in control for once. But I knew deep down that it wasn’t the right thing to do. I also knew I could very well have just instigated a fight that had the potential to end badly, even in violence.
As my ex continued to groan muffled insults, fear gripped me. I started shaking. Though Jeremy had never been physically violent with me, I knew how strong he was and the temper he had. I knelt on the floor beside him and started apologizing. “I’m so sorry, Jay. I’m so sorry.” He continued to roll around the floor in agony from my strategically placed kick. “Please don’t hurt me,” I begged. “Please don’t hurt me.”
I was petrified at that point. It was anyone’s guess what would happen next.
Jeremy got up from the floor and in one move shoved me into the wall. I opened my eyes just as the spit from his mouth landed in my hair. Even though I hadn’t moved, I was out of breath, panting for air that wasn’t circulating fast enough.
My friend Missy, who had come back with me and had been in the other room, had run toward us. She bent down to pick up Justin as he crawled around the floor but froze when Jeremy yelled, “Don’t you touch him!”
As I leaned against the wall, sobbing, Jeremy picked up Justin and started dressing him in his snowsuit. We begged him not to take the baby. We cried and pleaded, but he was determined. Missy and I knew neither one of us was a match for Jeremy.
Justin wailed from the chaos of the blowout while Jeremy struggled to zip up Justin’s jacket. He suddenly stopped and put down the baby. He knew there was no reason to take Justin. Where would he go? What was he going to do with a baby? He didn’t even have any diapers for him.
The reality of the situation finally exasperated Jeremy, and he left.
A few days later, after the adrenaline finally subsided, we were able to be civil enough to talk about Justin and make arrangements for Jeremy to see him again. Outside of discussing our son, though, there was nothing left to say. We barely spoke much after that.
I’ve often wondered why I stayed so long. Why was I so desperate for Jeremy and me to work out? I think it’s simple—I was convinced there was a fairy tale that was reserved for me. A storybook ending that included a lifetime of love and happiness, an endless chorus of affirming words whispered in my ear by an adoring husband, and, of course, the standard-issue white picket fence.
I was always waiting for the moment when I would be loved and accepted beyond anything words or feelings could describe. And I thought Jeremy just might be the ticket to that fantasy. In a way, I was always optimistic—though you could argue naïve—that things would change. That he would see the light and love me the way I yearned to be loved. It was unfair of me to put so much expectation on Jeremy to meet all my unmet needs and fix all my brokenness. How could he? He was just as wounded as I was. And like me, he had no grid or reference for what a loving, nurturing relationship looked like.
It would take a long time, but eventually Jeremy and I got to the point where we maintained a healthy relationship. Though we’ve had our share of hurtful moments and on-and-off drama throughout the years, we’ve tried our best to keep our differences at bay. Today, I would even consider Jeremy a friend.
I once heard someone say, “It’s not hard to be a single mom, but it is hard to be a good one.” Single moms have to carry a heavy weight. It’s lonely. Tiring. Nothing prepares you for being a mom, even if you have support. You can read (like I did) What to Expect When You’re Expecting fifty times cover to cover. You can take a hundred parenting classes. You can listen to your mom, your friends, your neighbors, or the lady who does your hair talk until your ears fall off about their experiences. And you still won’t be ready.
When you’re on your own playing the roles of both parents and you walk out of the hospital carrying this wrinkly bundle of joy, you’re even less prepared. And when you’re not even out of your teen years, you just got thrown into a whole different game. It’s tough trying to swing the bat with that curve ball thrown at you. The pressure can at times feel overwhelming.
I felt like I had to do it all. I had to provide for Justin’s physical, emotional, financial, and developmental needs. I didn’t have a husband I could hand him off to if I needed an hour break. I had to suck it up and figure it out on my own. And as small as it may seem, not having a partner was also hard for me because I had to lug everything around myself. Do you know how strategic (and strong) you have to be to carry a baby, a diaper bag, and a bag of groceries while manipulating a stroller?
Then there’s discipline. I was in charge of setting limits, enforcing rules, and providing correction when necessary. It’s hard enough to mesh different parenting styles when you’re in a committed relationship; imagine how much harder it is to do when you’re apart. At times my efforts to discipline Justin were thwarted because of how Jeremy handled him when he spent time with him. It wasn’t always the case, but Jeremy admitted to me that he didn’t want to spend the little time he had with Justin disciplining him and playing the “bad guy.” I’m sure many parents feel the same way.
Unfortunately, it made my job a whole lot harder. I found myself having to be the bad guy while Jeremy was the fun parent or even the hero. The thing is, I’ve learned that children don’t just need discipline and boundaries, they actually want those things. Even though kids may resist or challenge discipline, it creates in them a sense of love and security. And that’s what I wanted for my son.
I survived single motherhood by sheer willpower and a ton of prayer. You do whatever you have to do. There really isn’t much time for complaints or wallowing in self-pity when you’re trying to change diapers, feed your baby, play detective to figure out why he’s crying, find ways to come up with money for baby stuff on top of rent and utilities, and get educated to create a better future for you and your little one.
Like most single mothers, I quickly discovered the art of survival mode. It’s not that I became numb in the process; it’s just that sometimes switching on autopilot is the only way to persevere. It’s what I needed to do to get through Justin’s early years. If I was tired from being up all night and had to work all day, I’d drink an extra cup of co
ffee. If I came home from work after a stressful day and realized rent was due in a few days, I’d figure out a way to find the money. If I felt lonely when I saw couples together with their child at the park, at the movies, or at the mall, I’d pull myself together and try not to let that heartbreak rub off on my baby. I came to accept that life isn’t always fair. That good things don’t always happen to good people. And that no one is immune to tough times.
Jeremy and I had our rough patches in the beginning of our son’s life. There were times he would make plans to see two-year-old Justin and not show up. My heart would break as I watched Justin sit on the front steps for hours, waiting for his daddy. I had to fight back the tears when I’d hear Justin ask with such longing, “Is he coming now, Mommy?” and then again an hour later, “Is Daddy coming soon, Mommy?” I’d always make excuses and pretend something had come up, reassuring Justin over and over that Daddy still loved him. “He’ll see you next time,” I’d promise.
I finally told Jeremy he had to stop disappointing his son this way. “If you don’t show up one more time without at least calling to cancel, I can’t allow you to see Justin anymore. It’s your choice. You can break his heart this way once but not over and over again.” I warned Jeremy not to call my bluff because I would keep good on my promise. Sadly, he did. A few days later, Jeremy was scheduled for a visit. Once again, he didn’t show, nor did he call. I put an end to his visits.
Frankly, I questioned my choice. I knew what it was like to grow up without a dad. Though I was sure it was the right thing to do, the only way I knew how to stop the cycle of crushing disappointment, it still broke my heart not to allow Jeremy to see his son. That’s why when he showed up two years later at church on Father’s Day and asked for another chance, I was hopeful. I so desperately wanted Justin to have a healthy dad around. I wanted my son to have what I didn’t have. Jeremy made a promise that he would never again break plans to see Justin without calling. To this day, he has kept his word. He has always shown up when promised.
(Although it took a long time for Jeremy to be present in Justin’s life on a consistent basis, Jeremy didn’t just show up when Justin became famous, contrary to what some media outlets have portrayed.)
While Jeremy was working on becoming a better father, we still had our share of drama. Whatever differences we had, however, we were intentional about not putting our son in the middle of our issues. We had both seen family members and friends use their children as pawns to hurt each other. We never wanted that to be the case in our relationship. So we always did our best not to bad-mouth each other in front of Justin, and we never withheld Justin from one another just because we were angry. We made sure Justin knew that both of us loved and cared for him, even though we weren’t together.
Today, Jeremy is a totally different person than he was when Justin was a baby. He has changed in many ways for the better. Being a father is his first priority. It’s evident in the way he is a full-time parent to his two younger children (from another relationship) and to Justin. I’m proud of what a great dad he has become.
When Justin was born, I hadn’t finished high school. I knew I had to eventually go back and get my diploma. I wanted to; I just didn’t have the money to pay someone to watch Justin while I was in school. Government assistance would pay for child care if I had a job, but they wouldn’t cover it while I was getting an education. Their guidelines didn’t make any sense. It was as if the government was trying to keep people from bettering themselves to ultimately get off the system.
My neighbor Mike would always remind me of the importance of education and encourage me to go back to school. He was a computer whiz. Mike came over one day to say hello. We chitchatted for a few minutes while one-year-old Justin crawled around on the floor, babbling away and playing with Mike’s shoelaces.
“So, Pattie . . .”
I knew what was coming.
“You gotta go back to school,” he sweetly reminded me as he always did. “You need your diploma.”
We had a long discussion that afternoon about my dilemma and the ridiculousness of the system. While I complained, Mike listened and tried to be helpful. I didn’t see him for a few weeks after we spoke.
You can imagine my surprise when I got a call from a local day care saying I needed to enroll Justin soon because someone had dropped off a check covering an entire year of day care. I almost dropped the phone. Who would do something like that? I knew my mom and Bruce couldn’t afford it, and, well, I didn’t know anybody who had the extra money to be so generous.
Somehow I found out it was Mike. When I thanked him, gushing my appreciation, he was bashful. His generosity was huge to me, but he didn’t make too big of a deal out of it. As I thanked him and promised to pay him back, Mike interrupted my babbling gratitude. He had only one stipulation for giving me the money: “One day, help someone else go to school.” In other words, pay it forward.
Mike told me someone had helped him when he struggled financially in college. Instead of paying back the money, he promised to down the road help someone else finish school. I am eternally grateful for his act of kindness. His generosity is nothing short of a blessing, a miracle.
I was surprised how much fun it was going back to school. I made a ton of friends quickly, an incentive to enjoy and not dread my classes. My friends and I had a blast, and I even maintain a few of those relationships to this day.
I was hesitant about going back to school at first, however. Unsure of what to expect. My life was radically different from the last time I had walked the halls. I didn’t sit in class stoned this time. My mind wasn’t a million miles away while teachers droned on and on about math or literature. This time I paid attention. I hung on every word. And after school, I studied hard while little Justin slept.
As a new mother, I had grown up. I was more mature than the other students. I worried about my future, about the well-being of my son, about creating a stable life where I could give him the best possible chance of being successful. Most high school kids don’t need to think about stuff like that. They have partying on the brain. They spend their time playing video games, picking out cool outfits, or just hanging out. They’re more interested in Friday night’s football games than figuring out ways to pay the bills. And they should be carefree to a certain extent, not having to juggle responsibilities far above their maturity level.
Though my life situation was nothing like that of the typical high school student and some of the kids knew I had a baby, no one knew how old I was. Because I looked young and was young at heart, no one even questioned my age. It was assumed I was seventeen, just like everyone else. Except, of course, I wasn’t. I was twenty. There were no extracurricular activities for me. No sports, dance recitals, or choir practices. As soon as the last bell of the day rang, I hurried to day care to pick up Justin.
That day care was such a gift. I appreciated that each day his teachers would write details about his day in a notebook. There aren’t many earth-shattering things a one-year-old does in a matter of a few hours, but every now and then I’d read something that would make me smile . . . or shake my head.
For the most part, each day listed a different rendition of “Justin ate well” and “Justin took a great nap.” Every now and then they noted Justin doing unusual things, like biting. I was embarrassed to read “Justin is biting his friends again” or “Justin did better with biting and only bit one boy.” Other than that, though, my son was a pretty happy-go-lucky kid.
When I recently reread the notations in that notebook, I was blown away at how many of Justin’s personality traits and quirks back then are still the same today. The teachers always (and I mean always) made notes of how energetic he was, how he was always on the “go-go-go,” and how he loved saying “hi” to everyone he passed (Justin was a ham and loved the attention). As anyone who knows him today will attest, he is still very much energetic, busy, and friendly. Justin’s love for music was also evident early on. His favorite time of the
day was circle time, when the kids sang songs led by a teacher who played a keyboard. One entry especially cracked me up: “Justin’s pants keep falling off, so we tied them with a string.” Some things never change—I’m still telling Justin to pull up his pants, to no avail.
I can’t begin to count the number of nights those first couple of years when I’d lie awake in the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning from worry. Most times Justin would be up not long after to eat, so there was no point trying to get comfortable. I’d stare at the red numbers on the alarm clock, my body exhausted but my mind racing. So many questions cluttered my mind, weighing me down.
Will I be able to finish high school?
How many diapers does Justin have left?
How will I pay for day care next year?
Will I ever go to college?
On and on my mind would spin in never-ending circles. The worry was incessant, like a salesman who refuses to walk away until he seals the deal. I couldn’t live wrapped up in a razor-sharp bundle of nerves. My head would have exploded. So I prayed.
Don’t think for a minute, though, that I looked at God as a vending machine, where I’d pop in a prayer and out would come a miracle. I do believe God will come through for us when we pray; I just didn’t expect Him to magically supply my needs while I sat back and watched TV all day or wasted the money I had on stupid things. From the day Justin was born, I was either in school, working, or looking for a job. My prayers were always birthed out of situations that were beyond my control, and the answers to prayer always seemed to come at the eleventh hour. Though I believed in miracles, doubt wasn’t totally off my radar. And I won’t lie: last-minute provisions aren’t fun. They’re frustrating.
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