The heat had taken a temporary hiatus and the weather was a welcomed eighty degrees. I got off the bus and walked down Fourth Avenue. As I turned left onto Main Street I heard a voice calling me.
“Danielle Allen.” It was Rhonda Porter.
“Hey, how are you?” I hadn’t seen her since we graduated from high school.
“Good,” she said hugging me. “What’s going on? How was Penn State?”
“Had a good time. What about you? How was Rutgers?”
“I got what I went for – it was alright.” She never paused. “I’m surprised to see you; I heard you were in Pittsburgh.”
“I was a summer intern.” I answered, hoping there were no more questions. “What’s up with you?”
Her excitement was obvious. “I’ll be opening my own pre-school next month. The renovations are almost done, I’m so excited!”
“That’s great Rhonda. Congratulations.” I hugged her.
“I just put an ad in the paper for two teachers and an Administrative Assistant,” she told me. “Are you looking?”
“I’m pounding the pavement for a job,” I sighed. “I haven’t decided what I want to do as far as grad school.”
“Girl, you were an honor student and editor of our year book – I know you’ve got to be organized. If you want the Administrative Assistant position, you got it.”
“I don’t know much about preschool, but I was an Administrative Assistant in the Dean’s office during my freshman year at Penn State.”
“I can’t pay much,” Rhonda smiled, “but it will be a little something until you decide what you’re going to do.”
Rhonda and I talked for almost an hour before exchanging numbers and promises to call.
Riding home on the bus I decided to take Rhonda’s offer. At least I wouldn’t have to continue looking for a job.
Mom was sitting on the porch. “Hi baby,” she greeted me as I walked up the driveway.
“Hi Mom.” I nervously smiled.
“Come, sit with me.” She motioned for me to join her on the swing. “You’ve been distant since you came back from Pittsburgh. What’s the matter? What happened with your interview?”
It was a beautiful sunny afternoon and the trees shaded the front porch. Mom was drinking lemonade. She put her glass on the windowsill as I sat down.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurted out burying my face in my hands. The tears flowed as the weight of my secret began to dissipate.
Mom didn’t say a word. She held me and let me cry.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I wiped my eyes with a napkin. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“Who is he Dani? Is this your boyfriend Greg?”
“He told me he loved me. We spent the summer together. When I went back to tell him I was pregnant, he told me he was married.”
“Oh, mercy Jesus!” Mom was momentarily speechless. She stopped swinging and she stopped stroking my hair. “He’s married?! Where was, I mean did you know he had a wife?”
I shook my head no.
Mom turned my face towards hers. “Is he going to help you with the baby?”
“He wants me to have an abortion,” I answered through tears. Then I whispered, “His wife is pregnant, too.”
“Lord, Lord, Lord, Lord. Lord,” was all she said. Then she contemplated for a moment. “Your father is going to have a fit.”
“I know.” I sighed trying not to imagine having to tell him. “Do you think he’ll put me out?”
“Oh, no!” Mom’s tone was adamant. “That will not happen. You’re going to need my help with the baby.” She hugged me and for that moment I felt secure.
Another week passed and I still hadn’t told my dad. Mom continued to remind me that I needed to tell him. I role-played scenarios – there was no good way to do it.
When we returned from church on Sunday I let him settle in the recliner with the paper. Mom was preparing salmon steaks, his favorite, but my news was going to ruin his appetite.
“Daddy, can I talk to you?” I asked, feeling like he could see me through the crossword puzzle.
He sat up in the recliner and folded the paper. “What is it Danielle?”
“I’m pregnant,” I said, squinting as if the words hurt.
“So you need to be married.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Who’s the father? I will speak with his parents about having the wedding next month.”
I plopped down on the couch wishing I could disappear behind the pillows.
“Who is it Danielle?” His voice was now demanding. “Is it Quincy Jordan?”
“No,” I quickly told him. “It’s nobody you know.”
“Then who is it?”
“His name is Greg. Dr. Gregory Henderson.”
“Well I need his phone number. I will handle this with his parents.”
I hesitated and then whispered, “He’s married.”
“He’s what?” My dad threw the paper down and began to yell. “Married! You mean to tell me that you are pregnant by a married man? Is that what you were doing in Pittsburgh?”
“He told me he loved me,” I tried to explain. “He never said he was married.”
My dad got up from his chair and kicked the paper, wildly scattering the pages across the floor. Without looking at me, he went upstairs. He was furious. I heard the study door slam and fell apart, again.
On Thursday, I called Rhonda and invited her over for lunch to discuss the job. It was nice day and I set the table on the back porch.
“Hey girl,” I greeted her in the driveway. “Let’s go around back.”
“Sounds good,” she smiled. “Is there a blind date back there, too?”
We both laughed. I sat on the bench and Rhonda sat at the table.
“Rhonda, I’d like to take the job as your Administrative Assistant.”
“Oh good.” She interrupted my practiced monologue.
“I’m pregnant.”
“Oh,” she replied with a look of disbelief. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I’m due in April.”
“You don’t seem too happy about it.”
“He left me,” I began to explain, biting my lip and refusing to cry, again. “Told me he loved me and left me.”
She joined me on the bench and held my hand. “Dani, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
“I just need a job.” I tried to smile and hoped she wouldn’t ask any more questions.
“No problem girl – the job is yours.”
On Saturday morning Mom and I went car shopping. When we left Camden that afternoon I was the proud owner of a 1980 white Chevette. I parked in the driveway, careful to leave room for my dad to enter his side of the garage. When he got home that evening he never mentioned the car.
I began working as the Administrative Assistant at Little Wonders Preschool in October of 1980. We started with twenty four-year-olds and by the end of November we had a waiting list of thirty-two. Preschools were new, but the concept was catching like fire. I was happy for Rhonda.
My position evolved into Administrative Assistant/Social Worker and I became Rhonda’s right hand. My energy was better spent helping Rhonda to succeed than focusing on my failure. I worked diligently at my job and assumed the lead in managing the compliance monitoring and social service referrals. What I learned about networking and resources was beneficial to my own circumstances. The WIC program would later prove to be a lifesaver.
Rhonda and I should have been good friends during high school. She probably would have been a very good friend if I had let her in; Lord knows she turned out to be a friend in my time of need. It was one of those hindsight kind of things. I really didn’t trust anyone in high school and had locked out a good friend. She might have been the best friend I had always wished for.
By November I needed maternity clothes – which I dreaded. I had done well pretending I wasn’t really pregnant and maternity clothes would be a daily reminder.
“What are you doing tomorrow?
” Mom asked as I was leaving for work.
“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Nothing I guess.”
“Good, we’re going shopping.”
“For Thanksgiving?”
Mom smiled. “No silly, for maternity clothes.”
I’m sure she thought I was kidding – buying maternity clothes was the furthest thing from my mind.
The baby department at Sears was captivating. I was in awe of the layette items.
“Do you want a boy or a girl?”
“I don’t know Mom. I never think about it.”
“Do you have names picked out?”
“No, I haven’t thought about that either.”
“You better start thinking – you’re really having my grandbaby.” Mom smiled.
I tried to force a smile, for her.
“Looking for a gift?” Mrs. Walters asked, poking her face between Mom and me.
The town snoop was upon us and the unspoken announcement in church would be that Reverend Allen’s daughter was pregnant. I managed a pretentious smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Walters.” Mom had on her bubbly first lady voice. “How are you doing today?”
“Just fine Sister Allen, just fine. Danielle,” Mrs. Walters turned to me, “haven’t seen you in the choir stand since you came back. If you’re not interested in singing anymore you know we’re always looking for ushers.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” She was standing directly behind me and I couldn’t walk away.
“I didn’t know anyone was expecting,” Mrs. Walters snooped. “Who is the gift for?’
“It’s no gift Mrs. Walters,” Mom was still bubbly. “Danielle is having a baby.”
Mrs. Walters paused, seeming to contemplate a response.
“You have a good day,” Mom told her as she pulled my hand down the aisle. “Usually the truth will shut them up, at least temporarily.” Mom was almost giddy and we both laughed.
Shopping for maternity clothes was difficult. The clothes were ugly, but I managed to buy enough to get through the winter. Mom suggested I do more shopping in February to get through my last few months.
“You’ll be a lot bigger by then,” she reminded me.
Before leaving the store we went back to the baby department. Mom and I looked at cribs, high chairs, play pens, strollers, changing tables – there was so much stuff, and it was all so cute. I couldn’t decide if I wanted white or brown furniture so I told Mom we’d have to come back. She agreed and we went to lunch.
Mom sat across from me and smiled. “Dani, it’s okay to be nervous about having your first baby. And it’s okay to talk about it.”
“I’ve been trying to pretend I’m not pregnant.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She took my hand and gently squeezed it. “Have you felt the baby move yet?”
“Yeah, all the time.” My emotions were out of control and I began to cry.
“The next time the baby kicks will you tell me so I can feel it?”
“It’s usually after dinner.”
“And I’ll go to the doctor’s office with you, if you want me to. I’m here for you Dani. You don’t have to do this alone.” She lifted my chin. “Let me help you. I want to.”
“Mom, I’m so nervous about everything. I don’t even know what to ask Dr. Thompson. She wants me to go to a Lamaze class – I’m embarrassed because it’s for couples. I’m getting fat, I can’t stand the smell of hot sauce and I cry all the time. I’m falling apart.” I was whining. “Do you think Nana would be mad at me?”
“No, she wouldn’t be mad.” She paused. “And yes, she would still love you just as much.”
I wondered if she was still smiling.
Just as I imagined there was pointing and mumbling as I entered the Women’s Sunday School class. Mrs. Walters had done well informing everyone of my pregnancy and my maternity dress confirmed it. Mother Jones motioned for me to sit next to her as I stood looking for a seat. She opened the class with prayer and told Sister Beth to read the lesson. I was nervous and fumbled through the Old Testament.
Mother Jones took my hand. “You’re not the first one, or the last one, to have a baby without a husband. Some of them staring and squawking don’t want me to start tellin’it.”
I smiled as she turned to the book of Daniel for me.
Thanksgiving passed quietly. My parents spent the day with my dad’s friends in Philadelphia and I spent the day eating and sleeping. Noah called and said he hadn’t heard from Joey in a few months. He didn’t mention my being pregnant and neither did I – no need to have to go through the whole story. His family was doing fine. Tashika was thinking about getting a job. Noah was still working at the phone company.
Christmas was just as uneventful. We had dinner after church and then my parents spent the afternoon visiting the sick and shut-in members. Rhonda and I exchanged gifts at her house and ate some of the sweet potato pie her grandmother made. Later that evening, I called Alicia and Andrea to wish them a Merry Christmas and thank them for the gifts. Then I ate again and slept for the rest of the night.
We were getting dressed for New Year’s Eve service when Joey called. It was nice hearing from him and Stormy sounded like such a big girl to be six. He suggested the family get together for Thanksgiving and I told him I’d work on Mom. My dad would be a task for Mom to handle, especially since he had said very little to me since I announced I was pregnant.
Nineteen eighty-one presented new possibilities. After accepting the fact that I was pregnant, graduate school still seemed attainable. The thought of being on welfare, even to get through school, embarrassed me – but if it was a means to an end I would do it. My New Year’s resolution was that 1982 would not find me doing the same thing – sitting around thinking about what to do.
Mom had told me I would be much bigger by February and my reflection in the hall mirror confirmed it. We took our second trip to Sears for more clothes and I picked white baby furniture. The baby’s room would be decorated in mint green and ivory.
“I asked your dad to move my sewing machine and hat boxes to Noah’s old room,” Mom told me on our way home from Sears. “That way the baby’s room will be next to yours.”
“Do you think he will?”
“Of course he will. He loves you Dani, he’s just disappointed.” Mom was trying to be reassuring.
“Thanks Mom, I really appreciate everything.”
“Are you excited yet?” She asked changing the subject.
“Yeah and still nervous,” I admitted.
“I’m excited.” Mom was smiling. “This is my first grandbaby I’ll see at birth.”
I hadn’t thought about the fact that my mom hadn’t seen any of her grandchildren until they were at least six months old. It made me happy that this was going to be special for her – in spite of the circumstances.
Joshua Boaz Allen was born April 5, 1981, three hours after I arrived in the labor suite. I was alone, but pain superseded my fear. My body trembled so hard that it shook the bed. I was cold but perspiring. My screams seemed like they were coming from outside of me. Panting like a dog was useless.
God answered my prayer when the anesthesiologist gave me an epidural. I didn’t know what it was, but he said it would take the pain away so I agreed. My body was exhausted from the two hours of trauma and I closed my eyes to rest. Ten minutes hadn’t passed before a nurse came in to check me. She rolled my bed down a hallway and into another room. Dr. Thompson pulled her mask off and told me I was going to be fine. She told me to push. That was the hardest part. Then I heard him cry – so I did, too. It was for real, I was a mother.
Exhaustion doesn’t adequately express how I felt after delivery. Even the adrenal rush of motherhood didn’t mask my sudden need for sleep. I was dozing when Mom and Rhonda tiptoed into the recovery room to meet my son. Although my dad wasn’t there, I hoped it would make him happy that I picked biblical names for his grandson. Joshua was valiant leader who carried out a mighty task in
spite of obstacles and Boaz was perfect gentleman. My son would be a valiant leader and a perfect gentleman.
As I cradled my son, I thought about the wisdom seeds. They would now be critical and I would have to do better at helping them grow.
I spent my first three days home from the hospital on my sitz bath. My stitches were just as bad, if not worse, than the delivery. Breastfeeding turned out to be a nightmare because my son had a grip like a shark. He needed a bottle with a nipple that didn’t have nerve endings!
Motherhood was a difficult transition – there was always something to do – feeding, bottles, laundry – it was a never-ending cycle. My feelings vacillated between my fear of being a good mother and my contempt for Greg. I resented being a single parent and I hurt for my son who would probably never know his father.
My plans to go back to work in four weeks failed, I ended up taking six. With Mom’s help I was able to do some work at home to keep Rhonda from falling behind. It also kept my paycheck coming, which I desperately needed. Returning to work would have been unbearable if Mom had not agreed to keep Joshua.
My dad continued to say very little to me – he never said congratulations or even asked to hold Joshua. His only acknowledgement of the baby was an unwrapped monitor left on my dresser.
On Mother’s Day, I let Mom take Joshua to church. Having just gone back to work, I needed sleep and stayed home. Feeding Josh at midnight and six, and then getting up at seven-thirty, was taking a toll on me. My intention was to make dinner for her, but I didn’t get up until two o’clock and Mom was already cooking. Josh was asleep in his bassinet, which she had pulled into the kitchen, and Mom was singing Amazing Grace. She should have been a singer; she had a beautiful voice.
Father’s Day was a major event at St. Luke’s. Mom was aware that I was avoiding people and stares. Everyone was trying to figure out who was Josh’s father and they would be waiting to see who came to church with me on Father’s Day. It was more than I felt like dealing with. I had managed to avoid talking to people after church over the past three weeks by going to my dad’s study after service. I would again seek solace there before the benediction.
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