Carol's Book - from Mom 2009

​31 August 2009:
Next chapter in Darryl’s Book: this one to commemorate Carol’s 49th birthday:
 
Love,
Mom
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Unlike most little girls of my era whose sole goal in life was to get married, have the white picket fence and two children: “A boy for you and a girl for me…” I never aspired to either of those achievements.
 
Not that I had any concrete plans for a career or anything, it was just that I had seen no happy marriages, and I certainly couldn’t picture myself as a mother. Therefore when your father came along and changed all that, it took me a long time to acknowledge and accept the fact I might be pregnant.
 
In fact, because I had learned to trust, love and feel so free with your Dad-- whom I thought was all wise and knowing--I would have him rub my tummy and ask him if he thought I might be pregnant (which could easily have been the case). If he said no, I could dismiss that situation and continue being his one-and-only without the official bonds of marriage that seemed to mark the end of romance in every relationship.
 
He would happily oblige the tummy rubbing bit, (a practice I learned from watching my sister, June, during her 3 pregnancies) but he always hesitated to confirm or negate anything else. He told me later he relished the thought I might be pregnant because then I might be more inclined to marry him—something I had refused to commit to from the very first time he asked, shortly after the first kiss about 6 weeks after we met and had been seeing each other almost constantly—in between my other dates.
 
You see I had a phobia about kissing, not to mention the other intimacies such kissing might lead to. But your father was different. That was the era BEFORE the pill, and guys, particularly most of the young officers I later met, were content with the pleasure of my company.
 
The others I had no problem with, but as I said, your father was different. He was forever persistent. He never stopped trying and it became a sort of a game with him and I feared he was building up a mere kiss to represent an impossible to fulfill fantasy. I didn’t want to kiss him then, but didn’t want him to be terribly disappointed if and when we did kiss.
 
At the time I lived in a Civil Service Women’s Dormitory across from the Officer’s Club and one day when I was sick Ray called and asked if he could bring me some hot soup. I met him at the side door, sans make-up and wearing a ratty bathrobe. He still seemed so happy to see me that after taking the soup I leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the mouth.
 
Despite my forebodings that he would be disappointed in the long awaited kiss, he beamed from ear-to-ear and later said he floated on air until the next time he was able to see me.
 
Now how could any girl resist someone like that!
 
It was about this time in my life when the secretarial skills I learned at Tech school stood me in good stead. I started out as a waitress at the Officers’ Club, worked my way up to becoming Cashier, and when the secretary to the Club Officer quit to get married, I was able to step into her position. For the first time in my semi-adult life I had my weekends free to be young and gay and go out and have a good time with the other young girls who lived in the dormitory. Peggy, Annette, and Macey became three of my “buddies.”
 
It was shortly after the 4th of July after returning from a weekend trip to Florida (the first such adventure for me with some of the girls and guys) when I reported for duty in my new job and learned a certain 2nd Lieutenant Raymond I. Coffey was assigned to fill the position of the Lieutenant who married the girl I was to replace.
 
As it turned out we were both leery of marriage. I didn’t wish to add my name to a list of unhappy wives, and Ray had plans to be a bachelor general. He evidently changed his mind about the bachelor status because he started asking me out shortly after we took on our new positions. My stance had not changed, however, and I also did not think it looked good to be dating the “boss.”
 
Ray was persistent however, and was not the least bit possessive or jealous as several of my former beaus had been, all of whom wanted to get married and bulked when I refused. One, a handsome Italian who drove a red convertible and looked smashing in his Military Police uniform, struck fear into my heart the last time I refused him by saying: “You’ll NEVER, EVER find anyone who loves you as much as I do, and you will be SORRY for the rest of your life.” I feared he might be right as he drove away and left me in a cloud of dust.
 
Another young lieutenant used to take me to dinner at the Officers’ Club and, a slave to the game of golf, tried to introduce me to the pleasures of chasing that little white ball around the golf course. I was bored to death and could barely wait to hit the last ball. After his last proposal, and my refusal, over dinner at the O. Club, he left me sitting alone, his dinner uneaten, and walked out of my life.
 
And then there was Jack, another cute lieutenant the girls in the front office set me up with. He was a good dancer, and that I loved, but anything else was out of the question. After a number of fun dates with him, particularly on Wednesday nights over at the “Little Club” where they had a live band, he intimated that most couples, after dating awhile, usually kissed. But I couldn’t bring myself to cooperate, so down the drain went that relationship, as well.
 
The truth was I had a phobia about kissing. Like so many other false images I had of myself, due to one or another perceived slights in my childhood, kissing was one of them.
 
During my pre-teen and teen years I had only one big crush. I met him when we were both in the 8th grade and we visited our Uncle Hut and his family who lived with Aunt Alice and Uncle Ed in Phoenix, Arizona. At the time we lived in Chandler, AZ, which was an eternity away from Phoenix. In reality, it was probably about 1 ½ hours away.
 
The name of my Dream Boat was Mickey, and I’ve loved that name ever since. We were both in the 8th grade and he was neat, clean cut and well mannered. He lived down the street from my cousins and that day we all played “Spin-the-Bottle” in Uncle Ed’s garage. Regrettably, we never got close enough for a kiss but that modest beginning was enough to keep me day dreaming about him for the next several years.
 
Shortly after that, Mom and Dad moved to Phoenix’s Alzona Park. That was about the year I started high school. I was ecstatic because I would be closer to Mickey even though we attended different high schools. He went to Phoenix Union and I to Phoenix Tech. The two schools were just a block from each other but Tech was a trade school. Since I wasn’t expected to go on to college, it was important I learn subjects like typing, shorthand and office machines that might help get me a job.
 
As fate would have it, the next year Phoenix Tech merged with Phoenix Union and I became physically closer to where Mickey went to school every day. Although there were over 5,000 students at Phoenix Union and I was just a number, I lost little time finding out what classes Mickey had. We didn’t share any classes, but I learned where he might be crossing the campus to head for another class and I did my best daily to run as fast as I could so I might just be “sauntering” by when he came out of class.
 
Little good that did me: Mickey, it turned out, had “lowered” himself to date a younger girl who was ONLY in the 9th Grade! Moreover, I felt she was far inferior to him and worse, had a “bad reputation.” How could he!
 
I didn’t give up. I planted myself in his way across campus whenever possible, though he rarely noticed and if he did say “Hi,” it was an indifferent “Hi.” I even sunk to the level of calling him after school whenever I was able to be near a telephone, which was not too often. I detested girls who chase after guys, but there you have it. My immature, insatiated, idealistic love for him caused me to humble myself to such depths of depravity, but the few times I actually reached him he was distant and cold.
 
That didn’t stop me! When the Rose Prom (A girl-ask-boy-event) came around one year, I invited him. He at first said no because he was going deer-hunting with his dad, but when his dad canceled out he allowed as he might be willing to go.  
 
Somewhere I still have a picture of myself with my Dad in front of Aunt Alice’s house wearing the home-made formal my mom put together for me. It was winter and I wore one of Dad’s jackets over it to keep me warm. Hardly the sexy vamp image I wanted to project.
 
Probably wouldn’t have mattered much because in those days it appeared Mickey was more interested in his guy pals than me, and he spent most of the time at the Prom standing around talking with other guys. Not a fun experience. And no, he didn’t even try to kiss me goodbye. Just dropped me off at the door with a polite “G’nite.”
 
Somewhere along that time period I went to the prom with a cute (but very dull) neighborhood boy. I can still recall the turquoise dress I wore that had an accordion like skirt. After we got home and were sitting in his back yard with the other teens who went with us, he kissed me. I had anticipated something of the sort happening, so previous to that night I queried my twin brother, Gary, who was more worldly than I.
 
“A friend of mine is going out with a guy and says she doesn’t know how to kiss,” I ventured. “You’re a guy, Gary, what would you tell her?“ Pleased at this rare status I had given him as a probable expert in such things, he replied that the  girl doesn’t have to do anything, she just lets the guy kiss her.
 
I didn’t feel well armed with that information so when Mom and Dad went to bed and Gary did his usual slipping-out-of- the-window-bit for some after-hours fun with his friends; I used the window to practice learning how to kiss.
 
I guess it didn’t help much because when my date kissed me and I just sat there, my lips yielding to his as I thought Gary instructed, he gave a grunt of disgust, wiped his mouth, and that was the end of our “necking” session.
 
That experience had a traumatic effect on my self confidence as a “kisser” and, in retrospect, might have saved me from succumbing to a far less desirable suitor than your father. From that day forward I was afraid to kiss a guy for fear of “turning him off.” My dates-- seldom that they were because of Mom’s strict policies--assumed I was just playing hard- to- get and few felt the effort worth a second date.
 
A few other events in those teen age years which, in retrospect were blessings in disguise, further diminished my self esteem as an attractive, well-worth-being-sought-after-femme-fatale. On hearing I had been stood up for two formal high school dances by the SAME guy, no less, my girl friend Lola’s father advised me not to let it tarnish my image of myself. That little piece of advice, in fact, just reinforced my negative self image.
 
My life was about to change dramatically, however, because my “hero” big sister, pregnant with her first baby, came to stay with us while her husband, T., was going to Army Boot Camp. He had been sailor when she, then an Air Force WAF, met him at a base dance in White Sands, New Mexico.
 
Pregnancy became June. She looked angelic in her pretty, new maternity clothes and soon became a hit with all our teen friends in the neighborhood. That included the “cool cats” in the black leather jackets who wrapped cigarette packs in their T-shirt sleeves to accent their muscles and assumed an exaggerated swagger to cover the inherent uneasiness at the thought of facing the real world.
 
All of us were infatuated with June’s pregnancy and even the guys wanted to take turns rubbing her tummy to feel the wonder of a new fetus growing within her. And T’s regular phone calls to check on the status of his wife and baby-to-be began to melt my fear there was no such thing as a happy marriage.
 
June stayed with us through Christmas when her friend, Gloria, also a former WAF, spent the holidays with us. I had barely entered puberty at that time and was way behind my voluptuous classmates in the breast and hips department. I took in everything I could learn from June and Gloria and could hardly wait until I had the “fixings” to put in a Maiden-Form-Bra, the same kind that Gloria wore. And I still recall the solemnity and the beauty when all of us attended Midnight Mass at the nearby Catholic Church.
 
After T. finished Boot Camp and came to pick up June so they might start their new life, I once again went into depression at being left behind. I was overjoyed when at the end of the school year June and T. invited me to spend the summer with them so I might become June’s “Mother’s Helper” to get her through the pregnancy which was due in August.
 
 The deal was I could do so IF I got a job after I got there and earned enough money to pay my bus fare back in time to start my senior year in high school. Hey, I thought to myself, “Throw me in the brier patch!”
 
June’s husband, T., who happily traded in his sailor uniform for Army fatigues, was going to be stationed at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, airborne, ranger, infantry. And I was a willing subject eager to learn all about making a PLF. (Parachute Landing Fall.)
 
But that’s another chapter….
 
Love,
Mom ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,