by Zina Abbott
As I grew into my pre-teen and early teen years, I have to admit that most of my arguments with my parents revolved around getting free of Kenny’s presence in my life. My feelings toward him ranged from positively hating him to barely tolerating him; and then, only as long as I didn’t have to see or hear him. I sincerely wanted him to just disappear.
Fortunately, my parents did not share my point-of-view about Kenny. I will have to admit that as I grew older, I gradually grew to love my brother. We have grown much closer and we often laugh about how we acted around each other as children.
As much as my attitude about Kenny was often met with disapproval by my parents, the one thing I always knew would earn their praise and support was my singing. I always loved to sing, ever since I was little enough to remember the dreams with the pretty lady who used to sing and dance for me. My dad frequently bought records of children’s songs for me. I listened to them and learned to sing along with the performer. Some of my happiest early childhood memories were those times Dad agreed to be my audience while I sang the lyrics along with the recordings. I didn’t lip-sync like so many of my friends liked to do. I sang with my own voice, harmonizing with the voices on the records.
Dad always clapped his hands when I finished my performances. Almost always, as part of his praise, he would comment that he was glad I didn’t get my singing voice from him because he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. I sometimes wondered about his comment. Did I have to get my singing voice from someone? Couldn’t it be something that just came to me as a special talent?
But I couldn’t remember anyone else in my family singing unless they were part of a group singing “Happy Birthday” to someone. I knew that when Kenny was a baby, Mom quietly crooned nursery songs to him. Sometimes she would softly sing along with the radio. However, she didn’t have a strong voice.
Kenny didn’t even try to sing properly. His idea of singing was to screech as loudly as he could to drown me out and draw our parents’ attention towards him. Even if he pushed it too far and ended being punished for raising a ruckus, he didn’t seem to care as long as he ruined the moment for me.
When I was younger, I never did figure out what Kenny’s talent was unless being a pest counted. He was so spoiled. Mom and Dad let Kenny’s brown hair grow below his ears. People would often excuse his antics by remarking how cute he was as his hair swished from side to side, or how his big brown eyes were so mischievous. Needless to say, I never thought of him as being cute.
As I grew older, my world broadened as school and friends became more important than spending most of my time with family. Mom seemed to understand this. When she did plan family outings, she encouraged both Kenny and I to invite a friend.
I quickly learned that my teachers recognized my strong singing voice. I was often singled out for more prominent roles in school musical productions. I loved the attention. I quickly learned to manage my stage fright so that nothing hindered me from accepting the parts that put me in front of the other children on the stage.
Then, in senior elementary school, I learned the joy of being part of a school choir. Even though not as many boys as girls went out for choir, there were enough that it was in my choir class that I met my very first heart throb. I was twelve and in the seventh grade. He was a tenor who was a year ahead of me in school. I watched his every move, wrote about him in my diary and talked about him with my friends for four months. He didn’t know I existed. Late in the spring, just before school let out for the summer, I lost interest in him. But, this experience taught me something. I knew that my singing in school choirs could put me in touch with boys with whom I had something in common—singing.
It used to annoy me that the sopranos got all the really juicy roles in musicals. I quickly learned that I didn’t sing high soprano. As our school choir learned more about singing parts, I figured out that I preferred to sing alto. It was a challenge to learn to sing harmony instead of the melody.
By high school, not only was I in the choir, but I also sang in the girl’s ensemble. That’s when I learned I sang most comfortably as a second soprano. That was where I could show off my voice to its best advantage. By that point in my life, I didn’t mind that I shared the spotlight with a whole group of girls. These were my friends and confidants. We became inseparable, on and off the stage. I spent as much of my time with them as I could. I was away from home where I could sing, perform and be myself without dealing with Kenny.
At one point while I was in high school, I realized that Kenny didn’t bother me as much. He spent more of his time with his friends and became involved in sports. Our parents divided their time between the two of us, supporting each of us. I guess I finally grew up in this respect, because I finally stopped resenting him.
Even though I liked being with my friends, I felt confident about my family being solid. I knew that my parents and grandparents, and maybe even Kenny, would be there for me no matter what happened. I felt a certain pride that I had something in the solidness of my family that many of my friends did not have in theirs.
So, as much as I often argued with my parents when I wanted to be with my friends but they said no, and as much as I hated it when my parents questioned where I was going, what friends I would be with and if there would be a chaperone where we were going, and as much as I felt they were sometimes over-protective while some of my friends seemed to be able to come and go as they pleased, I never doubted my place in the order of things. Sometimes I wished they were not so strict and that I had more freedom. Sometimes I wished I could get away with leaving a note or making a quick phone call instead of getting the third degree about everything I planned to do. Still, overall, I felt lucky.
After all, most of my friends had siblings to deal with, just like me. Two members of the ensemble were the only child in their families. One wished she had a brother or sister so that she didn’t feel so alone with her parents; the other was grateful it was only her and her mom. Some of the girls had parents who were divorced. Two were not sure where their fathers were. One was adopted, and wondered why her real mom had given her up. My best friend, Stacy, had a brother who was a pothead, “wasted” half the time, focusing only on the next party. Kenny was into sports instead of drugs, so at least he didn’t embarrass me that way.
High school was a happy time, full of happy memories of a blur of singing practices, programs, homework, socializing with friends and parties. With my long blonde hair that I kept permed in tight ringlets and my blue eyes, I had plenty of boyfriends. My only frustration was, of course, with my old-fashioned parents. I remember I used to roll my eyes when Dad would say he was just looking out for me because I was a pretty girl and he had been a young man once himself.
Dad had a lot of rules. He insisted that my dates come to the door to meet him and Mom. No smoking. No drinking. No R-rated movies. And if I ever found myself at a party where they were drinking or doing any kind of drugs, I had strict instructions to call him right away so he could come and get me. Actually, that rule didn’t bother me so bad. I didn’t mind being at a party where there were a few beers. But, if everyone was drinking a lot of hard alcohol or doing drugs, I wanted no part of that, anyway.
And, no matter what the occasion, my date had to have me home before midnight. I got tired of hearing Dad say, “After all, what is there to do after midnight except things you shouldn’t be doing, anyway?”
There were a few guys that gave me some trouble, and I will admit that using my parents as an excuse helped me out of some bad situations. Still, I felt so annoyed with my parents at times. I found it easier, though, to play along with them and work around them when it suited me. On more than one occasion, I told my parents I was staying at a girlfriend’s house for the night. What I didn’t tell them was that my girlfriend and I went go to the show and met up with some guys. We weren’t really doing anything my parents wouldn’t allow; I was just avoiding the third degree.
What other things did I do that I might not want
to tell my own children about? I tried smoking, if a person wants to count taking one puff of a friend’s cigarette as smoking. I knew before I tried it I wouldn’t like it. I guess it helped that my parents didn’t smoke. Mom was always saying, “Who wants to kiss someone who tastes like an ashtray?” I guess she did, because I found out that Dad didn’t quit smoking until after he married Mom. I must admit, after I kissed a guy who regularly smoked, I had to agree with her.
The peer pressure was there but, like I said, I decided early against the hard-core party scene. Instead, I stuck closely to my friends who shared my goals. I found that as long as I did that and refused to let my friends pressure me into doing something I didn’t want to do, they backed off. Most who were true friends respected my choices.
Ultimately, what it came down to was that I wanted to get to college on a music scholarship. I had no intention of missing my opportunity by getting involved with something that would drag me down and get in the way of going where I wanted to go.
The first hint that I had that there might be something unusual about my family situation happened in my junior year at high school. The choir was planning a pre-Christmas break party as a reward for all the hard work we were putting into preparing and giving several Christmas programs. I asked Mom for a baby photo for one of the games that we had planned. The picture Mom handed to me was taken when I was about two or three years old. In the earliest portrait of me I remember ever seeing on our living room wall, I was the same age.
“No, Mom, I need one of me when I was a baby,” I remember telling her as I handed the picture back. “This one looks too much like me. I need one taken when I was only a few months old. You know, before I had hair.”
Of course, even as a junior, I was so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t always notice how some of the things I said affected others. I probably would not have thought anything unusual about this particular conversation or remembered seeing the strange look in Mom’s eyes if things had not turned out like they did. It was only when I thought back on this incident that I remembered the look of uncertainty on her face. I recall that she hesitated. Then she quickly said something like, “I’m not sure where any of your earlier pictures are, but I’ll look for one.”
It struck me how that was such an odd thing to say. Everyone has baby pictures, especially if they are the first child in the family, like I am. I remembered the menagerie of framed family photographs that graced the family room walls as I grew up, being updated every year with new school photographs, or every two or three years when a new family portrait was taken. I assumed that surely my parents had taken baby pictures of me just like they took scads of baby pictures of Kenny.
But like I said, in my junior year, as long as she said she was going to get the picture for me, I put the thought aside.
The morning of the day before the party, I still didn’t have my baby picture. I remember feeling a growing sense of panic as I asked Mom again about the baby picture.
“I haven’t forgotten,” Mom smiled in the way she had of assuring me that she had everything under control. “It’s just that we are having problems finding some of the older pictures. I’ll keep looking.”
That night, after a choir performance at the mall, I asked my mother again about the baby picture. I had already spent most of the day talking myself into a frenzy. I was sure that Mom was not going to come through and I was going to be the only one at the party who didn’t bring a baby picture.
“Here it is, Christy,” Mom said, as though getting the baby picture was a major accomplishment. She handed me a large envelope. “I was able to get one from your Aunt Pat.”
Then Mom sucked in her breath and bit her lower lip.
“Thank you, Mom, you’re the best!” I grabbed the envelope with the picture. I remember sighing with exaggerated relief as I hugged my mother.
I rushed to my room, all thoughts of homework forgotten as I took the picture out to examine it under the light of my desk lamp. First, I noticed the little pink bow stuck to the short fringe of light blonde hair. The pale pink dress complemented my large blue eyes. The open-mouthed smile I gave the camera spoke of a happy baby—one with no hair. I knew that I had no recollection of ever seeing that particular picture of me before.
I turned it over, wondering how old I was when it was taken. On the back, in a handwriting I did not recognize, was penciled, “Feb 1970.” Since I was born in June of 1969, I knew it was taken when I was eight months old.
It wasn’t until days after the party that I wondered why Mom would have to go to Aunt Pat to get my baby picture. It was not until years later, when I thought back on this incident, that I remembered how uncomfortable Mom was after she slipped up and mentioned that. Like I said, with me being so absorbed with everything going on at school and the choir, I never got around to asking. Eventually, it slipped my mind and I didn’t think about it again until years later.
Chapter 7 – Jennie
“Let’s finish your bath, Garrett. It’s time to get you into your jammies.”
Jennie forced a look of happy anticipation on her face and spoke to her son with an air of excitement she could not feel. She hoped it masked the apprehension she felt building inside. “Tonight is the night we talk to Daddy. You want to be ready to talk to Daddy, don’t you?”
“Is Daddy home yet, Mommy?” Garrett asked in wonder. “Or is he still in the computer?”
“No, sweetie, Daddy is still in Afghanistan. We talk to him on the computer.”
“I want Daddy home, Mommy!”
“I know. He’ll be here for Thanksgiving. But first, Big Guy, you need to get ready for bed so we can talk to him on the computer.”
Jennie wrapped the towel around her dripping son and told him to stand on the bathmat while she cleaned the bathtub ring and let the water drain. Then she grabbed the towel-shrouded child up in her arms and headed for his bedroom. On the way, she stepped into her room long enough to turn on the computer. Garrett reached toward the monitor.
“Not yet, Garrett. Jammies first.”
Jennie knew Garrett would have a difficult time settling down to sleep after seeing his father. She still thought it amazing how far technology had come. She and Gerald were on opposite sides of the world, yet with Skype they could not only talk to each other, but they could also see each other. For Garrett’s sake, she was grateful for the technology. He could see his father’s face and hear him speak, and Gerald could see his son grow and develop.
With the webcam on, though, she knew that she had to be careful to control her facial expressions. Although Gerald expressed his happiness to see and talk with their son, increasingly his attitude toward her had become more distant, and sometimes critical. The conversations between the two of them had grown more strained. She didn’t want to say anything to him in any manner that he might use as an excuse to fault her.
It was so different from the times they had communicated over the computer during his first deployment overseas. Then, he had told her he missed her. He seemed to be interested in what she was doing. She remembered how excited he was as the time for Garrett’s birth approached. He was so touched the first time he saw his newborn son in her arms even though he was thousands of miles away.
Gerald could say little about exactly where he was or what he was involved in. He never told about his actual involvement with fighting. In spite of that, back then, he shared as much of his life in camp with her as he could. He also shared some of the funny human interest stories involving his fellow soldiers. She thought then they were a close and loving couple.
But ever since he made his big announcement prior to leaving on this, his third deployment, his talk was no longer as friendly. She hated the coldness, the indifference he expressed toward her and what she was doing. Now, he seemed to be impatient with her. At best, he now discussed family business in an impersonal way. She was getting to the point that she dreaded their conversations which took place after he finished talking with Garrett and asked
her to take their son to someone else in the family. At this point, if she had her way, she would prefer to communicate with her husband through emails.
Jennie closed the door to her room, not only for privacy, but to keep out the noise of the television. Once they were ready, Jennie sat in her desk chair with Garrett on her lap. She watched for the green bubble next to Gerald’s name on the Skype program that would tell her that he had logged in and was ready to talk. Once she saw it, she reached around Garrett, and, in spite of his wiggling bulk in her way, managed to message her husband that they were ready.
Within a few minutes, Gerald’s face popped up on the screen.
“Daddy!” screeched Garrett as he waved vigorously at the screen.
“How’s my little soldier doing?” Gerald asked, all smiles at the sight of his son. Gerald put his hand toward the webcam, and Garrett responded by putting his hand on the monitor screen. Jennie waited patiently while father and son carried on their bantering conversation as Garrett shared what he had been doing, showed him his latest drawing from pre-school and asked his father questions. She knew it didn’t matter to Garrett what his father said to him as long as it was his daddy’s face and voice radiating love and attention toward him.
Jennie did take note that Gerald had not bothered to sneak in a greeting to her before he got involved with his son, even though she knew that her face was visible to him on his screen. It was as though she was nothing more than a part of the furniture supporting Garrett.
Jennie sensed that Gerald was starting to wind down his conversation with Garrett, which lead up to him saying good-bye to his son. Finally, Gerald looked up and made eye contact with Jennie.
“Are your folks available to take Garrett for a few minutes? I need to talk to you in private.”
Jennie carried Garrett out to the family room and handed him off to her mother. She closed the door tightly when she returned to her room and sat down in front of the webcam. Her stomach felt tied in knots.