***
My senior year in college was nothing short of a freaking nightmare. My long time boyfriend broke up with me in September and all the fun I expected to have as a senior on the brink of real adult life, flitted away in a fog of disbelief.
I’d gone to college four years earlier with no real plan in mind. I only wanted to escape my mother’s grip and be free to do whatever I wanted. No curfew, no rules. High school classes had been easy for me, though I wasn’t a scholar I graduated in the top 20% of my class. I was accepted to every college I applied to including a few pricey private ones I was not allowed to attend. I chose Bowling Green State University arriving there one chilly fall day in 1973 without any idea of what college life would turn out to be.
Studying had never been my strong suit while in college, drinking had been, and my grades reflected that. Somehow I managed to stay enrolled. Between Friday afternoon “teas” with the fraternity boys and Thursday nights downtown bar hopping, I managed to find an excuse to drown my sorrows seven days a week.
Looking back, I fell into the trap all my friends did at that time. We were college girls fully expecting to start exciting careers of some kind at the end of our college degrees but secretly wanting to be the one blowing out the candle at the sorority ceremony meaning we’d been lavaliered or pinned or even engaged. We were the generation of women caught in the middle. While strides had been made so we could enter any profession we wanted, our upbringing as young girls included as our primary mission in life to get married and have children. Prior generations of women never dreamed those two choices; a career and a family would ever meet. For me however, they intersected and I became caught at the crossroads.
Walking across the football field to pomp and circumstance followed by walking down the aisle to the wedding march was no longer going to be the start to my life. I was devastated. Every time I watched one of my sorority sisters blow out that candle, I wanted to cry. I was so jealous I never got a chance to be the center of attention, as soon as the candle was extinguished; I bolted back to my room and let the others gush the newly pinned sister. We sang an Elvis song, “Only Fools Rush In”. If I paid more attention to the lyrics, I might not have been in such a hurry to rush into a marriage that was strictly selfish and superficial. At the time I didn’t know anything other than selfish. For once in my life, I wanted the world to be about me and only me.
Graduation day fast approached and what was coming next frightened me. I had a rough time lining up a job but finally landed one at Gimbels in Pittsburgh in their retail management training program. How I got the job I don’t know but I suspect my father pulled some strings with his years of department store connections. People I met at Gimbels still remembered Dad from when he was the ladies coat buyer in 1955, the year I was born. If the stack of rejection letters piling up in my mailbox were any indication, I would not be able to land any kind of job by myself.
Excited by the prospect of heading into my great unknown, I invited my parents to my graduation, and reserved them both hotel rooms at the local Holiday Inn. My sorority sisters had done the same thing for their families and our excitement waiting for the big day was electric. We’d miss our days of silly sisterhood pranks, late night study halls and pledge activations but we were all ready to move forward. Packed and ready to start a new chapter, all I had left to do was pick up my cap and gown.
One afternoon, I just got back to my room from a management class I’d be lucky to end up with a D, the phone in my room rang.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Linda. It’s June.”
June? Why was June calling me? She never called me. We talked on the phone periodically but only because she answered when I called Dad. She never initiated a phone call to me. My stomach fluttered.
“I’m calling about your graduation. It’s on June 11th right?” she asked.
“Yep. I reserved your hotel room for Friday and Saturday nights,” I said.
“That’s what I’m calling about. Your father and I aren’t going to be able to make it,” she said.
My heart sank to the floor and my legs turned to rubber. I should have known he’d back out. Dad sounded excited about it when I called to invite him and June a few months ago. I should have remembered that for him, work and his Junie came before Linny. A men’s suit vendor must have invited them for a free weekend in the Hamptons. That’s where the ‘in’ people from the city went in the summer.
“How come?” I asked.
“Paul has some other obligations for work on that day.” June replied. “You understand, don’t you?”
I answered yes because that’s what I’d been trained by both of my parents to do, never disagree with someone older and in an authority position. I did not understand. I will never understand why neither of my parents ever showed any interest in participating in the special moments in my life.
This was my college graduation, the only one I would ever have. I was the youngest and last. Once and for all, I was relieving both of my parents of the financial burden of tuition, room and board, alimony and child support. I figured that was cause for celebration not just for me but also for both of them. Obviously I’ll never understand why Dad didn’t share in that triumph with me, or have the guts to make that call himself.
I was soon to find out my mother didn’t share in the glory of graduation with me either.
On graduation eve she flew to Toledo from New York and rented a car for the short hop down to Bowling Green. I met her at the hotel.
“When’s your father getting here?” she asked.
She never asked about Dad’s plans prior to her arrival and I saw no reason to inform her of them either. My parents were divorced after all.
“He’s not coming.” I answered and then I waited for her reaction.
“What do you mean he’s not coming?” she asked.
“I don’t know why. June called to tell me they couldn’t make it.” I said. ”I’m supposed to understand.”
Mom stopped unpacking her suitcase.
“Well, then who am I supposed to sit with?” she demanded to know.
My mouth fell open and I stared in disbelief at this woman who pretended to be my mother.
“Whoever is in the seat next to you on the bleachers,” I answered.
“Call Carol German or your friend, Stacy Stout. Their parents must be here,” she said.
Mom still remembered the names of girls I hung around with in high school. Both had come to Bowling Green State University with me but when they left me out when selecting their dorms during freshman summer orientation, I lost contact with them. BGSU had over 15,000 students while I was there. It’s a big place. I didn’t run into them in my daily schedule and sorority commitments.
“Mom. I lost touch with both of them long ago. I wouldn’t know where to find them,” I said.
My temper began to flare and my blood began to boil. This time was supposed to be about me. It was not. It was about everyone else in my family. I was always the afterthought. I was supposed to ‘understand’ every time I got pushed to the back of the line. I tagged along with Mom to Susan’s college graduation at Wittenberg. Martha graduated early in December and then proceeded to get married to her first husband so a wedding substituted for a cap and gown. Steve refused to go to either his high school or college ceremony. None of my siblings found it important to show up for my special day either.
“I’ve got to finish packing up my stuff. I’ll come back around six and we can get some dinner.” My ears burned and I couldn’t listen to her unreasonable blather any longer.
Mom didn’t answer and I opened the door to the room and walked down the hall. I made a slow, labored death march across campus back to the sorority house, wiping the tears from my face first with one hand and then the other for the entire mile. I snuck in the side door and prayed no one would see my red and swollen face. Luc
kily for me, all my sisters were out with their families enjoying the attention that a soon to be college graduate deserved for their accomplishment. The house was unusually empty and quiet.
I finished putting the last of my college remembrances into my trunk; a hand made paddle from my sorority little sister, a traditional gift. I wrapped it in a well-worn towel after four years of being used for a variety of things not only to dry off after showering. I’d take them to my new home, in Pittsburgh, a city where I knew no one, and make do until I could hopefully earn enough money to furnish an apartment the way I wanted.
Not wanting to be late and face more of my mother’s unreasonable logic, I made the return trek back to the hotel. Mom waited for me in the lobby. We walked next door to the Golden Kettle and ate in silence. After dinner she drove me back to the sorority house.
“Can you give me a tour?” she asked.
“Sure,” I said hoping the house would be equally as empty as it had been this afternoon so I wouldn’t have to make any awkward introductions.
I got lucky once again.
After I showed her the kitchen and living room downstairs, and the showers and laundry room on my floor, Mom sat down in my college issued desk chair and said, “I need to talk to you.”
I sat crossed legged on the floor, nervously running my fingers through the orange and red shag carpet that I detested the entire year I walked on it. The best rooms in the sorority house, those with most windows and closest to the stairwell had the ugliest carpets. The trade off, I suppose, for seniority in the organization.
“I know this is a big moment for you, graduating from college.” She took in a deep breath. “But you’re going to run into a lot of roadblocks especially living in a new city. Stronger people than you have tried and failed.”
My face dropped toward the floor and the disgusting rug. I couldn’t speak or look her in the eye. Mom rambled on about how easy my life had been up until now, and I’d better toughen up if I expected to survive in the real world. I closed my ears and my mind to the rest.
From the day I left home for college, I took care of myself. I’ll admit, I didn’t always do such a bang up job, but I certainly wasn’t going to ever turn up on her doorstep homeless and penniless in defeat. While my parents covered my college costs, I worked in the sorority house kitchen washing dishes to cover my dues and provide some drinking money. I had a substantial bank account that I built up by working summers and after school while in high school. Grandma sent me $500 as a down payment on a used car for a graduation gift. I could get myself started in an apartment without going broke.
I was never going home again, I made up my mind about that a long time ago. If that’s what my mother was afraid of, all she had to do was ask me. I could have saved us both the time and effort she invested in a hurtful and useless lecture on the eve of my journey into adulthood.
Forty years later however, I’ve never forgotten those words. They’re what got me to where I am today, in a marriage that has lasted for more than thirty years, financially secure, living a happy, peaceful life that I Iove. On that day, at that moment, my mother reduced me to less than nothing. She ripped what little sliver of a soul I had left and ground it into that pitiful orange and red shag carpet.
On what should have been an occasion filled with tears of happiness had been reduced to rubble. Without any idea why my father chose not to participate in this grand affair, there I stood facing the future all alone.
“Better to fight for something, than live for nothing.” -George S. Paton
Chapter Nineteen
Happy Valentine’s Day
My Dearest Paul,
When you first came to the May Co., I knew I liked you. Little did I know we were destined to spend our lives together. It’s been almost 21 years of perfection —- thanks to you. I wouldn’t trade places with anyone I know, because with you I have it all! You are the kindest, most loving, intelligent and sensitive person in the world —- and I love you and every minute we have together. You also don’t let me get away with too much and that’s for the best!
Love,
Junie
After college, I lived and worked in Pittsburgh for several years on my own. I made friends and I got promoted to assistant buyer at Gimbels. I pulled down a meager salary even with my new position; I dated a little and mostly hung out with a group of buyers and managers from work. I enjoyed my independent life but emotionally needed something more.
On April 9th, 1980, I slipped and fell on some ice and cut open my lip with one of my teeth. I remember the date because it was my mother’s birthday and it’s the day I decided I no longer wanted to put up with the cold, snowy winters. I started my search for a job in Florida.
My best friend from elementary school, Georgia and her husband, Terry, moved to Miami the day after their wedding a few years earlier. Dad and June moved to Tampa after leaving the Big Apple and doing a short stint in Chicago. I had some options to live near friends and family, which is what I really wanted after three years of unsuccessfully trying to integrate myself into a strange city.
I arrived in Tampa to stay with Dad and June for a few days before heading to Miami. They had a beautiful but small condo on a high floor with sweeping views overlooking Tampa Bay. By small I mean only one bedroom. The red sofa was no more and I slept on the couch in the living room. Maggie and Molly greeted me at the door, older and fatter but just as feisty.
The first three days I spent in Tampa were filled with Dad driving me around to job interviews at local department stores. He had a new Cadillac after years of living in New York without the need for a car. I told him what time my interview was and where and he got me there with time to spare. He relished in the task of driving Junie around town to all of her appointments. In the days before GPS he knew just where to go. Retirement seemed to suit him.
I met with people at Maas Brothers and Robinson’s in St. Petersburg knowing a convincing interview wasn’t my strength. All my life I’d been kind of shy until I went to college and a boy put a drink in my hand. These people were only interested in my job skills not my dancing ability. I struggled to convince them I’d be a good fit in their organization and I left every interview not feeling very optimistic I would find a new home here.
The only television in the apartment was in the master bedroom. Dad sat in an uncomfortable barrel chair to watch it in the evening. June stretched out on the bed, wrapping her hair in orange foam rollers. I usually sat on the floor with the dogs.
One morning I took his place in the his favorite chair while he read the paper in the living room and June fussed with her coffee and the dishes in the kitchen.
I don’t remember what I was watching, some blathering morning talk show, when the conversation in the living room suddenly became much more interesting.
“We’ll leave for the racetrack around eleven,” I heard my father say.
“We are not,” June answered. “You spend too much money there. We can’t afford it.”
“Junie. We’re going to the track. We’re not broke. Stop it,” he said.
“No, we’re not,” the volume of her voice raised several notches.
“You aren’t telling me what to do,” Dad answered back.
June started into a tirade about everything wrong under the sun. So many things flew out of her mouth, I couldn’t keep track. Dad burst through the bedroom door, flung open the closet, rummaged around for a bit before removing a suitcase. It landed with a thump on the bed.
My eyes glued to the television, I stole a glance in his direction every few seconds. He never looked up or made eye contact with me. Whatever was on his mind, I never saw him so laser focused. This was turning out to be better than any lawsuit in front of Judge Wapner on The People’s Court. I took after Dad in that I inherited his temperament. He never blew up, always calm and collected. The story goes that his father and stepmo
ther argued all the time growing up and he hated listening to them. He made up his mind not to repeat that in his own home and refused to raise his voice. He simply walked away from an argument. I’d seen him do this to Mom too, years ago before they divorced. She’d scream and waive her hands and he’d continue to watch television, ignoring her. I’d never seen or heard the two lovebirds toss barbs like I did that day.
June’s scratchy voice permeated every room. Dad said nothing in return. He quietly emptied a dresser drawer into the suitcase, folded some pants and shirts still on their hangers and closed the case. He picked up his things and marched, suitcase in hand, toward the front door.
Wailing as loud and as piercing as a police siren came next, similar to the sound June made years ago when she thought she had a bug crawling through her hair, but sharper with a hint of scratchy gravel. A few more harsh words exchanged between the two of them. The crying stopped. Dad came back into the bedroom put down the suitcase and said,
“Linny. Be ready in a half hour. We’re going to the track.”
I changed my clothes, put on some makeup and was ready to go right on time without saying a single word to either of them. I took my spot on the soft plush leather back seat of the big, white Cadillac. June, all dolled up in a new blue dress and her favorite strand of pearls, took her seat in the front. Dad drove us to the racetrack in silence but he’d gotten his way. I looked forward to a day at the track. I could now place a bet or two since I’d surpassed legal age a couple years ago. June and I would pick out a horse by a name that we liked and I’d walk up to the betting window acting like I’d done it a thousand times before. Dad probably had a new local tipster waiting in the wings.
Dad hit it big that day betting on the horses. June and I were ordered to scour the seats to pick up losing betting slips thrown away on the dirty concrete floors. We stuffed our purses full of crumpled papers dirtied with footprints and coffee stains. He needed them as evidence for the accountant to offset the gambling win on his tax return. My father smiled at his good luck and I didn’t hear June make a peep the entire drive home. She’d never won an argument with him and she knew better than to pick a fight with him when his pockets were full of money.
A Bittersweet Goodnight Page 13
