Alright. Finally. What happened with Jim's dad? Well, as I told you last night, we got a cute little one bedroom apartment in Bloomington. It was vintage but well cared for and really an adorable little place. I was happy but had no plans to marry my boyfriend. When I gave birth to Jim, we agreed that my boyfriend would stay in school and I would work for the time being. So I got a job. Waitressing. In a diner. I will never forget that job as long as I live. It was at one of those edge-of-town tired old restaurants where the jukebox cranked a steady stream of The Judds, George Jones and Conway Twitty. The local farmers came in for breakfast and begrudgingly graced me with a 25 cent tip before heading out to the fields. It was run by three old maid sisters, Mary, Esther and Beulah. My uniform was a god-awful brown and orange polyester outfit; I worked every day from 6am until 2pm and I hated every minute of it. I managed to last two months at that place before I was fired for eating a doughnut that was doomed for the garbage bin (eating any food, even a throw-away pastry was a sin and I do believe, if they could have gotten away with it, the three sisters would have had me stoned to death for my crime).
Thankfully, I immediately got a job working at the mall in a retail store. That's the good news. The bad news? I was now accessible by telephone at work. Which meant that my mother could (and did) call me regularly to ask me when I was getting married. The phone would ring, a co-worker would answer and I would frantically mouth "I'm not here!" which was completely useless because, of course, my mother knew she'd get in touch with me eventually. The conversation was always the same:
My Mother: "When are you getting married?"
Me: "Ohh.... I don't know."
My Mother: "You should do it soon. How about next weekend?"
Me: "Uhm... I have to work next weekend."
"I have to work next weekend??" Can we say Princess of Passive-Aggression? WHY I didn't have the cajones to just say, "Look, I don't want to and I'm not going to," I'll never know! Anyway, my mother would get angry because I didn't have the guts to be direct about anything - I really had absolutely no clue what I was doing - and I would end up in tears. I do know that, in her own way, she was trying to help. But when it comes to figuring out life, there really isn't a one-size-fits-all solution so, instead of helping, I just ended up feeling worse and more frightened. I didn't know what I DID want but I knew I did NOT want to get married at 19. My mother had different plans for me, though.
One day, she got clever. She did call me at work but didn't ask me about getting married or how I was managing my money (answer: not very well). Instead we chatted about the baby, how I was enjoying my job and what everyone in the family was up to. And then she slipped it in there while I wasn't paying attention: "whatcha got going on next weekend?" and I fell for it: "oh nothing, really; I actually have the weekend off!" and in she swooped: "you do? that's it - you're getting married!" and with that, my wedding plans were born.
*sigh*
So, in a matter of days, my mother showed up on the door step with a plate of cold cuts and my grandfather (a judge) and my uncle (a photographer) in tow. I was an hour and a half late to my own wedding (wine. I needed wine. seriously, seriously... two glasses of red) but I finally showed up at the chosen venue - my boyfriend's frat house (I kid you not) - wearing my friend Julie's white prom dress. Since I was so late, the guests had already tapped a keg of beer and so I walked down the "aisle" under an arch of clear plastic beer cups held by fraternity brothers loudly bellowing, "here comes the briiiiiide.... all dressed in whiiiiiite! dum-dum-de-DAAHHH-dum-de-dum-dum-de-DUHNNNNN" (still not kidding - you can't make this stuff up). And in a matter of minutes, Jim Senior and I were husband and wife. I wasn't thrilled but I was terrified to stand up to my mother so what do you do? I got married.
Naturally, there was a party after the wedding and, frat brothers being frat brothers, much beer was consumed. I, however, was exhausted... I was breastfeeding the baby and, by 11pm, all I wanted in the world was to go to bed. Jim Sr. was more than a little miffed with me for spoiling his partying fun and, in an effort to please, I hung in there. To the bitter end. On our wedding night, we finally left when the party ended. At 3:30am. I was so damned tired it wasn't even funny. When we arrived at our hotel, the night clerk had to scramble and find something - assuming we weren't showing up, our room had been given away, which was understandable. My aunt had taken me out shopping for a wedding peignoir set; it was beautiful, filmy and white... and by the time we were in our hotel room, I'd rather have choked my husband with it than worn it for any wedding night fun!
Our marriage lasted until we were 25. I could play the blame game and tell you what a terrible husband he was (and I wouldn't be lying) but you know what? It's not worth it. Yes, he was a terrible husband who drank excessively, didn't work at all (unless you count his summer life guard job) and who smoked pot every day that we were together. Yes, I worked at two full-time jobs to provide for my family and it was exhausting in every way imaginable. But here's the thing about it: I chose that path. I may have been afraid of my mother but I could have said "No, I'm not doing this." But I didn't. I could have told Jim Senior, "I'm not giving you money so you can blow it on pot and acid. In fact, since I'm earning this money and since you seem to have a problem controlling your spending, I'm putting it into an account in my name only and we'll figure out how to budget from there," but I didn't. My point is, even though other people around me did things that were damaging to me, I have to accept accountability for my own role. I could have said "No," or "Enough," but I didn't.
Jim Sr. and I separated in the spring of 1988. By autumn, we decided to try again. I didn't want to become a divorce statistic and I don't think he really did either. But it just wasn't working - I couldn't handle being the only provider while my husband drank and did drugs all day - in February 1990, I'd had enough and I left for good. It took me a while to work up the nerve to tell my family but once I'd decided I was done, I never looked back.
Maybe tomorrow night, I'll start telling you about my life as a young, single mom... then again, maybe not; it really wasn't all that exciting, to be honest! We had some struggles but there were also some fun (and funny) moments, too! But hey, there you have it - now you know the story of my wedding to Jim Senior... wedding in a week, married in a fraternity house with the brothers and little sisters all standing around drinking beer. You know what makes me laugh the most though? My uncle, the photographer, had been very busy taking pictures all evening. Imagine how he felt a few days later when, as he was developing the film, he discovered that he'd forgotten to remove the lens cap. Not one picture came out. Hahahahaha!
Geez, it's late again! I really should take to writing these entries a little earlier in the evening but it's kind of nice sitting here with you, whoever you are, writing and remembering in the middle of the night, hearing nothing but the clicking of my keys, the waves of Lake Michigan breaking on the shore, and my sweet dog, Jillian curled up next to me snoring happily. I hope, as I write and share my life, my words help someone somewhere. I don't know if they are therapeutic, entertaining, a little of both or are utter nonsense.. I do know that I've come a long, long way and, as I look down at my Jilly-bean, I know that life is good.
Good night, whoever you are - I hope you have a day filled with crazy-good things on Friday!
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