Pink Freedom

We often hear people say they are thankful for the sacrifices our military make, especially on days of remembrance such as Memorial Day. It is true as a nation we need to take pause to remember, reflect and give thanks and honor to those that have given their lives in protection of our freedom. It is ironic that the liberties we enjoy are at the cost of the liberties they have lost.

Loss of freedom isn't always a life, which is the ultimate sacrifice. But in every day living there are certain freedoms we civilians enjoy that our military does not. This was the most difficult thing for me to embrace when I was a Basic Trainee at Ft. Dix, New Jersey.

I was new to the military life not just because I was a new recruit but mostly because growing up I had not been exposed to the military at all. I didn't personally know anyone that served, we did not live near a base or installation and my family never even talked about the military. On occasion, when in the city (Chicago) I'd see sailors from Great Lakes Naval Base walking around while on their weekend pass--they looked like the sailor on the Cracker Jack box. That's all I knew. Walking into the military life was a complete turn around for me.

While in Basic Training, every very aspect of life was controlled; when to sleep, when to eat, what to eat, how much to eat, what to wear, what to think, what to say, how to walk, how to talk--even down to what underwear to wear. All of our civilian clothes were taken away from us and then we were marched down to this Shoppette, a smaller PX (Post Exchange), and mandated to buy new underwear and toiletries. Yes, they even told us what soap to use, shampoo, feminine products, etc. This did't sit well with me.

One evening I was on KP (Kitchen Patrol) duty and though I didn't have to peel 100 pounds of potatoes, it was still less than desirable duty. I worked in the back scrubbing pans, a job I chose to do because there were no Drill Sergeants in the back and I was in a corner mostly alone. Living with over 100 females in the barracks can wear you down. We didn't even have time to use the bathroom alone so if scrubbing a pan or two enabled me to have a few moments to myself, it was well worth the work.

The kitchen was very hot and humid, no air conditioning. It smelled like a combination of bleach, cleaning products, insecticide, grease, food and sweat. In the back where I was, where all the dish washing took place, there was less air circulating --just a lot of heat and steam. Up front it was much cooler and nicer and nicer still was the dining room, if you could stand Drill Sergeants breathing down your back. I was happy to opt for the heat and steam.  When I finished scrubbing all of the pots and pans, I decided to take a break. After dinner was over, I'd have a stack of serving pots and pans to scrub so I decided to slip out while I could. I stepped out onto the dock where the trucks unloaded the food and supplies that were delivered. I needed some fresh air and the smell of asphalt, exhaust fumes and the stench rolling off of the dumpster was a welcomed change to the bleach burning my nose. At first I thought I was alone and then someone spoke. Over in the corner sitting on an upside down orange milk crate was a civilian woman who worked at the Mess Hall. She was dressed in cook whites, which seemed to illuminate against her dark skin. She was smoking a cigarette and the smoke lingered around her as if she were floating on a cloud. We exchanged hellos and then a little conversation started.

The woman asked me a lot of questions about the Army and basic training, which was odd to me since she worked right there on post you'd think she knew more about it than I did. She said they, the civilian workers, really weren't allowed to talk to trainees. Ordinarily that would have made me paranoid like a Drill Sergeant was going to bolt from around the corner, snatch me up by my collar and, "DROP AND GIVE ME 20!" But our clean and crisp Drills wouldn't be back on the dock, I felt safe back there. I felt safe from them but for the first time in weeks, I felt safe to by myself. too.

I was a mess. My hair was pinned up in its regulatory off the collar fashion but the humidity made it frizzy and small strands of wet hair were falling around my face. I felt damp all over and I knew I had soaked in the smells of the kitchen into my uniform and skin. Despite the fact that she was working too, she was cleaner and her hair was perfectly pinned up, all nestled neatly into a hair net. She wore make-up and as she puffed her cigarette a trace of pink lipstick was left on the filter. I was so jealous of her for all of those reasons. I'd even light up a cigarette just to see the evidence of my pretty pink lipstick left behind. In contrast, I felt ugly and a prisoner of my own BDU's. Looking at her, an older woman that wore more years on her face that her birth certificate probably told, made me feel ugly and keenly aware of my stiff cross your heart Platex white bra and white cotton grandma underwear that went clear passed my belly button. Reeling there in those thoughts the woman asked me what I was going to do first after basic training,  The question was geared towards those little freedoms I had been striped of; favorite foods, movies, friends, sleeping, driving . . . .

As she asked the question, from the outside of my olive-drab t-shirt I lifted up the bottom of my cross your heart Platex bra to allow the sweat to drip down instead of pool up on the shelf the 2 inch wide elastic band had created.  I let the bra go, causing a slight snapping sound and I looked up at the lady and I said:

"I'm going to wear pink panties."

Today as we celebrate Memorial Day people will be dressed in their patriotic red, white and blue but for me, today I am going to wear pink --simply because . . .

I can.

Thank you to the men and woman that so bravely and sacrificially serve.  Thank you to the families that give to us their sons and daughters.

It's a Boy!

I was a soldier on active duty at Ft. Riley, Kansas.  The Big Red One.

My mother was terminally ill.  She was dying.

I was pregnant.  Not married.

And there at Ft. Riley living alone, I decided I was having a boy.  I convinced myself of it.  And so, me and baby Zachary, we got along just fine.  I called him Zach, for short.  Zach was due to hit the scene November 14th.

Jerry and I didn't have much opportunity to talk on the phone but the letters flew back and forth and in those letters we made plans for him to be home for the holidays, and the birth of our son.  Because I had determined I was having a boy.


After I left Germany, Staff Sergeant Newsome transferred to a new unit, just down the street from Hindenburg Kaserne, Katterbach Kaserne, 501st LRSD (Long Range Reconnaissance Special Ops Detachment).  At HHC, 1st AD, he had a staff position, a miserable existence for an 11B (Infantry soldier) except for a certain 71D (Legal Assistant) that kept his interest and existence less miserable.  After I left Germany, he wanted to get back into soldiering --stuff like jumping out of airplanes and shooting guns.  Stuff like that.  The point is --he had to get leave approved because they were a forward movement company (er --Detachment) and you just can't up and leave, on leave, like that.  So there was some uncertainty exactly when Staff Sergeant Newsome would come to Kansas and there was some uncertainty if it would be before or after the baby was born,


More uncertainty.

Making it through a heat record breaking summer in the dry plains of Kansas, autumn was a welcomed change and before we ushered in winter, I'd be a mother.  The uncertainty wore on me, worried me as did many others.  Everyone I worked with would ask me, "What are you going to do if you go into labor?"  I mean, I guess I'm going to have a baby.  The civilian secretary that I worked with asked met that one day and   she said, "You know you can't drive yourself to the hospital in you're in labor, right?"  No, I didn't know that I mean, I never had a baby before.

But I was used to being alone and doing things alone.  I guess I could have a baby alone, too.

Dear Mom & Bob

A letter to my mother with a post date of June 1988.

Hi, I hope all is well with you.  I'm just fine!  Not too much going on here.

Bob, thank you for sending those medical reports from the doctor.  I really appreciate it.  There's so many medical terms its hard to understand.

Mom, how's radiation going?  It should be about half over by now.  Hang in there Mom, it will all be behind you soon.  Do you still have hair?  It doesn't matter because I know you look beautiful anyway!  I truly mean that.

Mom, there's something I have to tell you.  You have been a great inspiration to me.  Even through your illness your faith in the Lord has remained strong.  I know that's why you are recovering so wonderfully.  All this time you have been in his precious care.  So many many prayers have been said and the Lord is answering them all.  You're a strong lady Mom and a great inspiration to me.

When are you going to Chicago/Michigan?  I'm going to come visit for a weekend when you're there.  Even though I just saw you, I still miss you very much and can't wait to see you again.  I know the grandkids will be  very happy to see both of you.  Liz will be having her baby soon.  I can't wait to have mine.  Sometimes I feel like I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life.

Well, I just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you always.  Take Care.

My love,

Mesa

The Neighbors, II

While standing there between the abuser and his victim, I had all sorts of those split moment thoughts --and the thought of my imminent death also crossed my mind.  But for some reason, I was giving this abuser more credit that he deserved as I thought to myself, "He's not going to hit a pregnant woman."  I knew both she and I were weak compared to this man and so in those split second thoughts, the ones that race through your head at lightening speed, I tried to think of what upper hand I could have.  I prayed  and asked, "Lord, now what?"  Then I dawned on me --I got my answer.  You see, right there in the bushes, dark and late at night --standing there with a helpless abused woman and a strong abuser I had the power of . . . .

THE ENTIRE UNITED STATES ARMY.

You see, when you're a soldier, you're a soldier 24/7, 365 --in uniform, out of uniform, at work, at home, on duty, off duty, in the office, in your home --it just doesn't matter.  The Army has control over you in both your civilian and military affairs.  And --the Army just don't take much of a liking to abusers.  Period.  I knew these neighbors both knew my rank because we had seen each other in uniform several times --coming and going to work.  I knew I out ranked both of them.  The man was a SP4 and the woman was a PFC (E4 and E3).  I was a Sergeant (E5) and though I knew I couldn't or wasn't going to pull rank out here, I still knew rank was going to play an important part.

So wait, are you asking me if I had two entire paragraphs worth of thoughts while I had an abuser standing at my back?

Yes.  Yes I did.  Like I said, it was in that moment of panic when you literally can see your whole life flash before you --so two paragraphs is rather short compared to an entire life.  Can we please continue on with the story now?  Thank you.

So very calmly I turned around and I said to the man, "Hey, what company are you in?"

That's all I needed to say because behind that word "company" I had the United States armed forces on my side.  I knew it.  He knew it.  She knew it.

Abuser Guy:  Uh, why?

Me:  I don't know --I was just wondering.

Abuser Guy:  Wondering for what?  What's that got to do with anything?

Me:  Well, I was just wondering how interesting your 1SG would find all of this.

Girl:  We was just playn' --I tole you.

She walks over to the guy and he puts his arm around her.

Abuser:  Yeah, we do this all of the time.

Me:  (speaking directly to the girl)  One call to his 1SG or Commander and all of this will be over.

Girl:  I tole you --we's just playn'!  Awe, this ain't nuttin.

I walked away and as I did I hear whispering and kissing sounds.  I guess they were making up --or whatever that was.  I got back into my apartment and locked myself behind my paper thin door.  I realized I was trembling and I didn't know if I had just started trembling or if I had been that scared all along.  I was just glad I didn't know, that I didn't realize how scared I really was.  I prayed for protection again --because I had no idea who this guy was or what he was capable of.

After that I didn't hear much more fighting.  I heard a lot of yelling but nothing like before --or even that night; crashing noises and screams of pain.  And then pretty soon I didn't hear yelling either and then I realized, the girl left.  GOOD FOR HER!  I hope she left him for good --I really don't know.

A while later, even after I had my baby, there was a knock at my door one night.  I looked through the peep hole and saw the abuser standing at my door.  I opened my door and he was very friendly --like we had been  lemonade sipping neighbors all along, "Hey uh --I'm moving out and uh --well one of our end tables broke --I'm not sure what happened --but anyway, so the landlord is going to make me pay for it and I was wondering, do you have the same tables as we do?  Because I thought maybe I could borrow one of yours and then after the inspection I could bring it back.  (tries to look over/around me into my apartment) --so do you have one of those brown wooden end tables like . . "

I cut him off, "No--I don't have the same furniture as you but even if I did, that just doesn't sound like a good idea to me."  I start to close the door.  And he pushes the door, gently but still pushed it.

And then I was more frightened than that night standing in the bushes.  This time I had a baby in the house and no other witnesses around.  That's when he did it --

He turned on his charm.  Like I said before, he was a very attractive man --and he knew that.  This guy started smiling and batting his eyes and turning on charm like the waters of Niagara Falls.  All I could think was --UN-BE-LIEV-ABLE!  What a jerk.  He was making me sick to my stomach.  I felt like he was a creepy poisonous spider weaving his web and hungrily looking at me to see if I'd just dare to get caught in his trap.  Whilst trying to charm his way to my table, I looked at his hand on my door and then looked at him, "I already said you can't have my table.  Now if you would please take your hand off of my door --because if you don't, I'm going to call the police and when they come I best assure you I'm not going to tell them "we was just playn'".  He took his hand off of his door and then waved it at me saying, "Awe, forget you man!"  Then he walked back towards his apartment.

I again locked myself behind my paper thin door, in my crappy apartment and once again, my hands were trembling.

I never saw the girl or the abuser again.

The Neighbors

Remember I lived in a small crappy apartment?  I had neighbors, too.

I mostly stayed to myself as I really wasn't interested in making friends with my fellow apartment dwellers.  There were three floors to the building with 2 apartments on each floor.  I was on the second floor and in the apartment across the hall from me was a young couple.  They could have been married, or not --I really don't know.  They were both active duty soldiers as well.  That's pretty much all I knew about them.  I heard them more than I ever saw them.

And heard them I did.  Almost every night there would be screaming and yelling coming from their apartment.  It was more like the man yelling and the woman screaming in fear or pain --and loud crashing noises too.  The woman would be yelling things like, "Please stop! No!  Okay, I won't. . . ."  Sometimes it was just inaudible words.  It always scared me.  I would go over to my door and double check the locks and put the chain on the door --that really didn't make me feel much safer but it seemed something smart to do.  Sometimes I would hear their door slam as if someone left.

The first time it happened I called the police but I did not give my name.  I was too afraid too.  When the police showed up, the woman came to the door and told the police everything was fine.  I, of course, through our paper thin doors, could hear the entire conversation and even see bits of it through the peep hole on my door.  My heart was pounding and my palms sweaty as I realized there was just a paper thin door between me and this man across the hall --and this woman seemed to be defending him.

That angered me and scared me all the more.  After the police left I heard the man yelling, "DID YOU CALL THEM?  DID YOU CALL THE POLICE ON ME?"  The woman was crying and assuring him she had nothing to do with it.  Calling the police only made the situation worse.

On occasion when I'd see one of them in the hallway, they were both so nice and friendly.  The man was very attractive, which surprised me.  I wanted him to look like the monster I thought he was.  The young woman was very attractive too and timid and shy.  Without looking like I was gawking at her, whenever I saw her I tried hard to see bruises, marks or any other signs of injury.  She was a lovely dark skinned woman, these things were difficult for me to spot with just a quick glance.

This went on week after week until one night, it was the worst it ever had been.  By this time, I was well into my pregnancy.  The fighting began as it usually did but soon it had escalated beyond anything I had heard before.  There was a loud smashing sound --like something very large had been throw against the wall.  It was horrible.  Then I heard their front door open so I quickly looked out the peep hole and saw the woman running out, she was terrified.  The man ran after her and I could hear them outside.

I have no idea what sort of lack of sense came about me but when I thought about calling the police I remembered that only made things worse the last time.  So this time I decided the last thing this guy wanted was a witness --so slowly I slide the chain off of my door, turned the door knob and found myself walking down the stairs toward the screams.    I got outside and looked over to find the woman hiding in a bush.   She was crying and trembling so I walked over to her and said, "You don't have to take this.  You can get help.  Let me help you."  She looked at me and started to step out of the bushes and suddenly her expression changed and she conjured up a fake smile and said, "Oh man, we're just playn' and stuff."  She stood there with stone cold eyes, staring behind me.  I turned around and there he was, the woman beater and I was standing between him and his victim.

Burning Coals

My chapel experience rattled me.  I was already reeling in my own guilt and shame and grasping forgiveness seemed far out of my reach.

Because I didn't deserve it, right?

That's what Satan wanted me to believe.  And it worked, for a time.

I was rattled and uncertain and I never wanted to go back into a church again, not if that was how I was going to be treated.  And so for a time, I put off the quest for a church.  I couldn't bring myself to endure that rejection again.

Jerry and I were not able to call each other, because of the crazy overseas calls expense.  But we wrote to each other every day.  That was the only form of communication we had with each other and as it were, mail was slow to reach him and we were constantly a week or two behind each others lives.  It was frustrating in a way, but it was all we knew.  It wasn't like we had any concept of emails, chatting, skype or the like so though we had limited means to communicate- --it just was what it was.

I was also torn between wanting to be married and not wanting to be married.  I did not like the looks of disapproval my unwed pregnancy brought upon me.  I did not like how people seemed to equate my pregnancy with a lack of intelligence.  I did not like the assumptions people made about me because I was pregnant.  And mostly, I wanted to be a family; Mom, Dad & baby.  I wanted that.  I desperately wanted that.

But I was scared.

Because a baby did not seem a good enough reason to get married and before I left Germany, prior to knowing I was pregnant, I was already beginning to have doubts, doubts about Jerry and me, doubts about marriage, doubts about the Army.  And those doubts scared me.  A lot.  For as much as I wanted to bring my baby into a complete family, I also did not want to jump into a marriage that wouldn't last and put my child through divorce and separation. 

But what bothered me the most was how people just assumed I was going to get married.  It was never asked of me but rather stated like, "When you and Jerry get married . . ." And the assumption was that the only reason we were not married yet was because he was in Germany.  I found that odd.  On the other hand, they found it odd that I wasn't running to the alter.

In all the hurt and rejection I was already facing, this matter wasn't making it any easier.  In a conversation with a close family member about me getting married it was asked of me, "So when are you and Jerry getting married?"  Not "if" but "when".  I didn't know how to put into words what I was feeling and confused about so I simply said, "I don't know."  And to that, this person responded, "Well, this has gone on long enough.  It's embarrassing.  What do you expect us to tell people when they ask about you?  You're being selfish and not thinking of the position you have put your family in.  We are uncomfortable telling our friends about your pregnancy and you're not even married."

Those words cut deep and even to this day, sometimes they resound in my head and my heart has a hard time wrapping around them  Selfish?  I was so desperately trying not to be selfish and conceive what was best for my baby.  How was that selfish?  And wow, an embarrassment to my family?  Hurtful words.

Hurtful words to a young woman that was alone, losing her mother, confused, pregnant and without any means to even have these conversations with Jerry.

But I did realize that I wasn't the only one struggling.  This was huge to my family --all of them.

And coals of guilt and heartache were heaped upon my head.

Going To The Chapel

Having made confessions of the heart, I desperately needed spiritual nourishment and so, I sought out to find a church.  At the time, I was still living in the barracks and so it seemed attending church on post would be the easiest thing to do.  I looked in the post directory and found the listing for the Main Chapel's services.  The next Sunday I was prepared to go to church.

The main chapel was located on the main post, I suppose.  It was near the Officer Housing, where the officers and their families lived.  It was a small chapel but had a basement where classrooms for Sunday School classes and the like took place.

Walking into a brand new church alone was certainly not something I was accustomed to doing, nor comfortable with.  Especially back then, much younger and more insecure with myself, it was a monumental task for me to muster up enough courage to do so.  But courage I found but it was wrought with nerves and fear and anxiety.  But my desire to go to church was far deeper than my anxious thoughts and feelings and so, I made myself go.  I pushed through it.

I don't remember much about the services but I do remember not feeling very welcomed.  Not many people greeted me or even acknowledged me.  Even so, I sat through services and determined within myself to keep coming and keep giving it a chance.  Every fiber in my body wanted to bolt out the back door but my heart was so aching for fellowship, love and acceptance.  My soul was thirsting for God's Word and all those desires, they kept me planted in the pew.

After service was over there was mingling and I was doing my best to mingle too.  People were talking to each other, fetching their children from Sunday School/nursery, etc.  As far as I could tell, the congregation was made up of families; husbands, wives, children.  That made me uneasy too --a single soldier and I wasn't even showing yet  but that stigma of the unwed pregnancy was ever in my mind, too.  I was also keenly aware, though no one was in uniform, that these were mostly, if not all, Officers and their families.

There were some crooked smiles tossed my way and even a few good mornings but no one talked to me, much to my disappointment.  I even tried to muster up questions to ask, prodding and hoping to spark a conversation but I'd just get a simple matter-of-fact answer and that was that.  Ready to move on back to the barracks, a woman was approaching me.  I was excited.  I felt like okay, this moment here, this was my gateway in.

The woman extended her hand and a smile, introduced herself and welcomed me.  She asked me if I was new to Ft. Riley and if my husband would be joining me soon.  I explained to her that I was not married and then assuming I was an officer, asked where I was living. When I told her the barracks and she knew I was enlisted --she quickly withdrew her hand from mine.  Her smile abandoned her face in a flash.  She gave me a look-over from head to toe and in a matter of seconds, she made me feel like an unworthy piece of trash.  She just responded to me, "Oh" and as she said just that simple two letter word, her voice trailed off.  And as quick as her smile left her face, she left my presence.  Left me standing there.

And I couldn't get out of that chapel fast enough.  I rushed towards the exit and got to my car.  I sat in the front seat and bowed my head and cried.  And in a prayer crying out to God, I uttered out loud, "I'm so sorry."

Because that woman and that entire congregation made me feel so unworthy of God's love, like I didn't deserve to be there among them.

These Were The Days

While I was soldiering at Ft. Riley and going through my pregnancy, my Mom was back and forth between her home in Florida and my sister's home in Michigan.

After surgery, Mom underwent radiation treatments.  She never did have Chemo as the doctors said it would not be affective with her type of cancer.  So Mom would get her treatments in Florida and then my step-dad, Bob, would drive Mom to Michigan and there Mom would stay.  At this point I don't remember knowing Mom's prognosis and I'm not sure if its because none of us knew or because no one would tell me or maybe I knew but just blocked it out.

Talking to Mom on the phone was difficult because her tumor was in the part of the brain that controls speech so Mom often forgot words or misused words.  Sometimes she'd be very frustrated with herself and other times she'd laugh and say, "I know what I want to say but my brain doesn't know how to tell me what word to use." And she'd point to her head and roll her eyes as if to say, "Silly brain."  It was cute.

But as you can imagine, being alone in Ft. Riley and going through a pregnancy and my Mom's illness simultaneously was tough.  I had good days.  I had bad days.

My Dad called me just about every day.  One day he called while I was at work, which wasn't all that uncommon.  We didn't always talk long, he'd just check in and see how things were going.

This particular day, this was one of those bad days.  It was so bad it had no words.

I'm sitting at my desk in Legal Assistance, a waiting room full of clients, and I answer the phone and hear my Dad's voice and I froze.  I could not speak.  I could not move.  I was completely frozen in time and at the time, completely unaware of any of my surroundings.  All I was aware of was the sound of my Dad's voice.

This was a particularly bad day for me because Mom had a bad day.  She had suffered a seizure and had to be rushed to the hospital.  I was helpless. I couldn't be there with Mom and all I could do was wait for news and while I waited, all I could do was continue to soldier . . there at Ft. Riley.

My Dad said, "Melissa?"

And I said.  I said nothing.  And then Dad said nothing.  And it was one of those very rare moments that even for a phone conversation, words were not needed.  I heard his silence and he heard mine.  Tears were rolling down my face and no words, none at all would come to my lips.

And Dad said, "I know how difficult this is for you girls."

And I cried.

And more silence but in that silence was a volume of communication.  I heard Dad's comfort.  I heard Dad's hugs.  He heard my pain.  And unable to speak, every tear and every sob said a word.  I tried to utter words but nothing seemed big enough for this moment, deep enough.  No words conveyed my heart.  They were too limited but as I struggled to utter something Dad said, "You don't have talk."

And there sitting at my desk with tears dripping down onto my green Army maternity uniform, my Dad's silence comforted me.  Until finally, my heart found some words and I said, in my sobs, "I love her so much."

"I know you do."

"I have to go now.  I'm at work."

"Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll be okay, Dad."

And event though we were not in the same room or even the same state, it was one of the most intimate moments I ever had with my father --exposed hearts.

I hung up the phone and aware of all the people staring at me, I got up and walked out of the office.  I had no mind as to where I was going or what I was doing.  I was just walking.  And I walked right into my NCOIC and upon seeing me he asked if I was okay and I said to him, "I can't be here right now."  With no further questions he told me to go home.  I told him I'd have to ask my OIC (my Captain) and he said, "No, I'll take care of everything.  You go home and take care of yourself and your baby."

These were the days I was living.

There at Ft. Riley, Kansas.

Crim Law Clerk

I remember the Crim Law clerk well, though I don't even remember her name.  Like me she was pregnant and due just before I was.  She was a SP4 which meant I out ranked her because I was an E5.  But Crim Law Clerk had two things I wanted very badly.

She had my old job.

She had a husband.

It was astonishing to me how differently people treated me when I was pregnant (and unwed).  Remember, I did not tell anyone at Ft. Riley that I was pregnant and they found out when I just showed up in a maternity uniform one day --and that day, everything changed forever.  It was the proverbial red letter on my chest.  And I wasn't used to being treated or judged in that manner.  I was used to being treated like I was smart, capable and a good solider.  I was used to being treated like . .well, like Crim Law Clerk.

And I was INSANELY jealous of her.  Mostly of her husband.  I mean, not particularly her husband as I never met the man but a husband so I could rip the red letter off my chest.

Working in Admin law was okay and there certainly were elements of that job that I enjoyed, like the direct contact with soldiers and helping them.  But mostly, that job was boring and it certainly was without any challenge for me.  There was hardly any thinking at all to do.   I wanted back in Crim Law.  I even asked to be assigned to Crim Law but that request was never granted but I think had I not been pregnant, that request would have been granted.

Crim Law Clerk knew that too.  Maybe someone told her I was vying for her job or maybe she just sensed it in me --but whatever it was, she knew that and she flaunted that before me.  She also flaunted her marital status before me like having conversations in regards to being pregnant like, "So what does your husband . .  .oh that's right, you're not even married."  Her family situation was complicated.  Both she and her husband had been married before and had children from their previous marriages and then got pregnant together --his, mine and ours sort of thing. 

We had to do this weekly training so the enlisted JAG soldiers would gather in the court room and we'd have training and EVERY SINGLE thing I said she'd pipe in, "Oh, I disagree."  She always challenged me.  Always.  I think she was jealous of my rank.  I was jealous of her marital status and thus, it was a mutual dislike.

But more than anything, I hated how she made me feel about myself.  It was a constant reminder to me I wasn't married and yet, I was having a baby.  It was all wrong.  I wanted the wedding, the white dress, the bridal showers . . . I wanted all the things in the right order and at this point, there was no going back.

Don't misunderstand, I was not at all sorry I was pregnant.  I was thrilled to be a Mom.  I was excited to meet my baby.  I was scared too, yes but mostly, I waited in eager anticipation for my baby's arrival.

It just was more difficult to do alone.  Alone without a spouse and alone as in --simply alone.

And Crim Law Clerk was just a constant reminder of that to me.

Babies For All

1.  I was pregnant.
2.  Captain's wife was pregnant.
3.  The Girl was pregnant.
4.The Crim Law Clerk upstairs was pregnant.
5.  Another JAG clerk was pregnant.
6.  The civilian secretary's young sister was pregnant.
7.  Miss B probably wanted to be pregnant.
8.  A defense JAG clerk's wife was pregnant.

Babies for all!

Okay so you already know about me.

You already know about the Captain (slides his name over to "do not like" list)

You already know about Miss B, who really wasn't pregnant.

You already know about The Girl.

I guess now you need to know about the others.

Okay well, the civilian secretary was older than me, she had kids just a few years younger than me and she also had a sister younger than me.  I don't really remember all the details of the family logistics.  But . . .

The sister was not married and really didn't want to be pregnant and so, she decided to terminate her pregnancy and she asked her sister to go with her.  The sister (my civilian counter part in the office) just wasn't on board with that decision at all and she did all she could to talk her sister out of it but, her sister had made up her mind.  The secretary was sick about it for weeks but decided she'd go and support her sister. 

I'll never forget that day, the secretary took the day off from work to go with her sister.  That whole day it weighed heavy on my mind and heart.  Here I was pregnant, too and not married and yet, my baby was alive.  I was disturbed and distracted all day long.

The next day the secretary comes to work and first thing says to me, "She didn't do it!  She changed her mind!  When we got there she just couldn't go through with it!!  So I brought her home and she's going to have and keep her baby."

And having never ever met that girl before in my life, I was so proud of her.  I felt kindred, in a way.

#5, another JAG Clerk --I don't remember much about her except her baby was born just a few days after my baby, though she was due a whole month after.  Her little pre-mature girl was a tiny tiny 4 pounds and her name was Amanda.  And this girl, her husband and baby were at a Christmas party that I was at too.  Her daughter was so tiny she couldn't even drink out of a normal bottle --it was seriously the same size as my baby doll bottles I had as a little girl.  And I also remember she didn't strike me as the best mother --it seemed motherhood was a complete inconvenience to her.  And that's all I really remember about her.

The Crim Law clerk?  Oh yeah, I remember her well.

My Captain, MY Baby

One of the difficult things to deal with in regards to my pregnancy was the way others treated me or reacted to my pregnancy.  I hated it.  It made me feel cheap.

And My Captain was no different than everyone else.  Keep in mind, this was over 22 years ago and the military tends to be a very conservative environment --attitudes today have changed somewhat.

But people just assumed things about me because I was unwed and pregnant; stupid, slutty, ignorant, poor . . just to name a few.  And I got a lot of pity too.  Like, "poor unwed mother doomed to a life of poverty and scorn."  And My Captain assumed something else about me, too.  He assumed because I was not wed that perhaps I was open to adoption.

Seriously.  The nerve of some people.

My Captain was a good 'ol Catholic boy.  He and his wife had 3 or 4 boys.  I can't remember which but it was a brood of boys.  And Mrs. My Captain wanted nothing more in life than a little girl of her very own.  But she was afraid on her very own, she'd not produce a little girl.

One day I was in My Captain's office and I'm not exactly how the conversation transpired but he point blank asked me if I was considering adoption.

*cricket, cricket*

I didn't know how to respond because you see, there were actually a lot of people bringing up the adoption subject but at least those people were related to me and had a genuine interest in me and my baby.  This guy?  This Captain?

And the conversation only got worse.  Because you see, he and his wife had apparently been talking about my pregnancy and wondering if I was thinking about adoption and if I was and if I had a girl, would I be willing to give them my baby.

*cricket, cricket*

I was offended on so many levels but I, unlike the Captain, was keeping my military bearings about me.  In other words, I was still a Sergeant talking to a Captain, not an unwed mother talking to a ---well, jerk.  And I remember instantly wanting to guard my heart and my thoughts.  This huge brick wall just started to surface and I was closing myself off to My Captain.

Sir, I realize all of the options that are before me and I realize that bringing a child into this world as an unwed mother is not ideal however; that is a very personal choice and it is only a decision the baby's father and I will make but just because we aren't married doesn't mean we are not "together" in this. 

He was so casual about it like he had just asked if I wanted to sell him my car or something, "Oh okay well, I just thought I'd ask.  If you do decide to go the adoption route just let me know.  My wife and I would love to adopt a little girl."

Ironically, not too long afterwards his own wife did become pregnant again and yes, they even had a girl.

But ever since that day, I kept My Captain on a strictly professional level and I never discussed anything related to my pregnancy to him.

And maybe there was something in the water.  Pregnancies were popping up all over.  And none of us were even Fesslers.

Captain, My Captain

The OIC (Office In Charge) of Legal Assistance was a Captain.  My Captain.

Here's what I liked about My Captain:

He was very smart.
He was a good lawyer.
He was a family man.
He did not give me much grief or trouble.

Here's what I did not like about My Captain:

He was more lawyer than he was soldier.
He really didn't know how to be a soldier.
He could be arrogant.
He seemed to "try harder" with officers or officer's wives than he did with enlisted or enlisted soldier's family members (as legal clients).
He ran our office more like a civilian law firm than an Army Legal Assistance.
He was a tad bit chauvinistic.
He thought my feet stunk up the place.
He wanted to adopt my baby.

Miss B, The Seamstress

While having dinner at Miss B's in the course of our conversation or rather, her drilling me with questions about my pregnancy, I mentioned to Miss B dressy civilian maternity clothes were my biggest challenge because I was on such a limited budget and I didn't have an occasion to wear them much so . . .but you can always use a dress or two, pregnant or not.

Some time after that dinner and our auction-eering, Miss B came to me at work at said she would love to put her sewing skills to good use and make me a maternity dress.  Again, I honestly think she really had plans in those deepest recesses of her own mind that when she herself was pregnant, she'd fancy all sorts of dresses for herself from her sewing machine . . . but she said she wanted to do this for me and all I needed was to provide her with the pattern and material.

Thanks but not thanks, is basically what I told her but she kept pressing the issue so I said to her, "I really wouldn't know what to shop for so I'd probably give you a giant mess of stuff you couldn't use."

Which was sort of you know, a fib because I took sewing class in high school and my very own mother was a marvelous seamstress so I actually knew my way around a fabrics store but I was trying to be kind to Miss B but Miss B in turn was trying to be kind to me.  So I relented.

And one Saturday Miss B and I went shopping and I got a pattern for a maternity jumper and decided denim would be a good choice.  I purchased all that was needed and Miss B was delighted to take the treasures home and start sewing them together.

Here I am in the finished product at 7 months pregnant:

What's that?  Why no I was not expecting twins, why do you ask?  Why yes, I did still have two months left of my pregnancy so no, I wasn't full-term yet.

And what?  Oh, I'm really not sure what's up with those lace white tights.

Huh?  Oh no, I wasn't playing "Where's Waldo"  -that's just the shirt I had on.

And no, this is not at Miss B's nor my crappy apartment.  These pictures were taken at my sister's house in Michigan while I was there visiting my Mom.

Let's Start the Bidding At . . . .

Miss B was quite a bit younger than her soldier boy.  They were an odd couple, seemingly not likely to be together.  But they were, together.

Miss B was absolutely fascinated with my pregnancy.  Absolutely.   Almost wanted to have a vicarious pregnancy through me.  It was strange.  But her infatuation with my pregnancy is, what I suspect, why she liked to be around me. She'd always ask, "Is the baby kicking?  Do you feel it moving?  What does it fee like?"  She wanted to know every detail.  I think deep down in the darkest recesses of her heart, she longed for a baby of her very own but I think she knew under the circumstances, a boyfriend married to another woman, that would not be wise and so I think she just pretended she, "never ever ever in a million years", as she used to say, wanted to have a baby.

One weekend Miss B and soldier boy invited me to auctioning with them.  I had never been and any reason to get out of my crappy apartment was a good reason --any reason.  So I drove to Miss B's and then we went auctioning.  Like out in the country --miles and miles in between each auction.  Armed with a newspaper, we drove from one auction to the next.  Some of them were just auctions just for the sake of having one and others were estate auctions.  I found those to be rather sad.  I also found that 90% of the stuff being sold was crap.  Junk!  I guess one man's trash is another man's . . . . but seriously, I was bored out of my mind.  Not to mention exhausted out of my mind.  Exhausted.  It was a lot of standing and a lot of walking.  I was walking for two, you know.  Some of the auctions you had to pay if you wanted to bid.  Others just anyone could bid and I was warned more than once, be careful of your gestures as they could easily be mistaken for a bid.

Besides being bored (mostly) and very tired, I found it to be an interesting experience.  I've never seen so much junk in my life.  Ever.  I never heard a real live auctioneer and that was interesting.  At least the first couple of times it was.  After that it was --well, like the rest of the day, boring!

But it also explained the condition of Miss B's and soldier boy's house.  They were auction junkies and junk junkies and that's why their house looked like an episode of Hoarders.  I had some mild interest in finding baby items but this was all old antique-ish stuff *cough* junk.  Miss B and soldier boy were going to renovate their old house to its glorious original old state --and that's why their house was such a mess.

Or maybe it was such a mess because they filled it with everyone else's junk and not a treasure to be found!

And the entire day Miss B was watching my stomach, asking me questions and then I thought, "Okay, this is really quite enough of this odd pair."  I was happy with auctioning came to an  end and I went back to my crappy apartment, completely exhausted.

But for odd a couple as Miss B and soldier boy were, they were very just --nice and down to earth people.  They were not judgmental of me which was a very unusual thing.  Because you see, every corner I turned was a scorn and a "look".  Everyone seemed to give me their glances of pity and disapproval of my - delicate condition.

Miss B, Soldier Boy and The Wife

We're not in Kansas anymore --

Or um -actually we are.  In Kansas.  Ft. Riley, Kansas.

In case you've forgotten.

And Ft. Riley, Kansas is surrounded by . . .

absolutely nothing.

Except for that little Kansas State University . . but that's in the opposite direction of Miss B's, where I'm going to dinner.

I'm just driving out in the middle of no where.  In the middle of a lot of corn fields, actually.  Then I get to this little community of older homes --some of them quite lovely.   At the end of the street and on the corner sat the house I was looking for.  Where Miss B and her soldier boy lived.  Together.  Not married.

I don't even remember what we ate for dinner that night.  I was just in shock over what I saw once inside.  Well you know, this was way before the TV show Hoarders but it would have been the perfect house for such a show.  But it wasn't just that --stacks and stacks of stuff everywhere --the house was like --under renovation or something.  The kitchen appliances were oddly stationed in the middle of the room.  Its hard to describe but it was just weird.

But not as weird as Miss B and her soldier boy feeling comfortable enough with me to spill their guts.  Air their dirty laundry, dark secrets and stuff.  Because you see, soldier boy was married but not to Miss B, obviously or she'd be Mrs. B.  And soldier boy was married to his first --or um, current wife for a very long time --over 15 years.  Yeah, soldier boy was much older than Miss B. 

So as the story goes, soldier boy didn't want to divorce his wife because she'd get 1/2 of his military retirement and he just wasn't going to let that happen.  And Miss B was okay with that.  She just wanted to be alone with soldier boy and no matter really, the fact that he was someone else's husband.  And the wife?  I don't know.  That was all pretty weird too.  Apparently she only really wanted solider boys' money --and retirement --so she was perfectly happy living without her husband just as you know, the money kept coming.  And here was the big master plan.  Because I asked Miss B and soldier boy like --how they saw this playing out and see they were smart.  The plan was this:  wait for Mrs. soldier boy to find a boyfriend of her own and fall in love and want to get married and thus, find the need to first be divorced.  That's right folks, that was the big master plan.

And even I thought that was a really really stupid plan.

And living situation.

But for some reason Miss B and soldier boy really liked me.  I dunno how I attracted these people to me --like when Chief really liked me.

And I gotta tell you, with all else that was going on in my life, it was just nice to be liked.