Fifty

50 years ago today, at 11:39 PM, a chubby baby girl was born - weighing in at a whopping 9 lbs, 12 oz. It’s unlikely this was the reason her parents didn’t have any more children, but plausible.

What did the parents think would become of this squalling, writhing, bald girl?

Later, the girl, no longer bald or writhing, wondered what would become of herself. No answers would come for many years. Just questions.

Sometimes, she would bring these questions to the God she learned about in Sunday School, later church when she stayed awake for the service. In the early years, she would try to quietly coax her Grandma’s tic-tacs out of their plastic case, fall asleep, only to awaken at the conclusion of the service to ask if it was time for donuts. Even then, she had priorities. Maybe the priorities weren’t in order, but she had them.

The priorities wouldn’t be in order for a while. Her mom would say the kid was smart, but she didn’t apply herself. Applying oneself isn’t fun and she didn’t know that applying herself was the answer to some of the questions she had - like how was she going to leave Illinois? Pay for college? Afford her apartment and New York Seltzer?

She ended up on the high school speech team - which seemed implausible after she froze while stepping up to the pulpit to deliver her “testimony of faith” in 8th grade - a requirement (which clearly was overlooked by the Missouri Synod Lutherans) for her confirmation. A year later, she had to take speech - a dreaded freshman requisite - and met the Barnes. Mr. B was her speech teacher and he made it less scary, somehow, to let the words fall out. He helped her be brave and that’s how she ended up on the speech team and in the drama club.

… Say what you wanna say

And let the words fall out

Honestly I wanna see you be brave

She had fun with this group of people united under Kindly Old Mr. Barnes and his wife, but also began to apply herself a little. Not enough to answer the questions that nagged at her. But a little.

The days were long, the years short.

Christmas break of her Sophmore year, a skinny, older red headed boy called her house to say he was home from leave from the Navy. Could he come by?

Had he ever been by? She didn’t think so but agreed.

He told her about his adventures in the Navy and planted a small seed. The seed seemed like it held an answer. She began to quietly nurture that seed.

The Army seemed like a better plan. When she told her high school boyfriend, he told her that the Army was “no place for a girl”. The girl would have said, “fuck you”, but it was the 90s and she was polite and nice - midwestern. The girls knew it was time to end that relationship. Instead, he broke up with her. When she arrived school the next day, he was waiting. He was sorry. He made a mistake. Too bad, too late, the girl said and walked away my, head high and stubborn.

The Army seed grew and her parents agreed to waive their rights so she could enlist in the delayed entry program on Friday the 13th of December, 1991.

… I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I just wanna see you

I wanna see you be brave

She graduated. Not with honors or anything impressive but she did it. She began running that summer - she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to pass the Army’s 2-mile run on the PT Test . Two friends from high school enlisted - one into the Army, the other into the Navy. Both failed out of basic training. The girl ran more. She wasn’t going to flunk out.

She passed the PT test in basic and was secretly thrilled to learn that she was a damn good shot too.

She met a boy and married him so they could go to Korea together. The night they married, they stayed at a hotel and cooked a meal in the room. The girl didn’t know how to cook (but she could shoot!) so she accidentally locked the oven shut to clean it. She knew then the marriage wouldn’t last. Not because of the oven, it was just a feeling.

The boy was very cosmopolitan to her - having grown up outside of NYC. The entire family was so brave - bombing down steep, snowy trails.

She didn’t lose sight of why she joined the Army and attended Northeastern University nights and weekends. The highway shifting week after week as she drove to the main Boston campus while the big dig droned on.

The girl’s dad died - it was mercifully quick. The girl kept going to school - drowning her feelings in alcohol. Then she had a public health class where part of the assignment was to attend 2 open AA meetings and (later) write a paper about the experience. The professor warned the student not to fake this - he’d know, he warned. The girl would never fake it - she closely followed rules back then. She went to the meetings, and went, and went, and the grip of the alcohol loosened.

The marriage didn’t last but it had a good enough run and she learned a lot from the boy and his family, and not just how to ski.

… You can be amazing

You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug

You can be the outcast

Or be the backlash of somebody's lack of love

Then the girl met a girl and felt feelings that felt far away from Lutheran school or Illinois flatlands.

But don't run, stop holding your tongue

Maybe there's a way out of the cage where you live

Maybe one of these days you can let the light in

Show me how big your brave is

She stopped holding her tongue and told the girl how she felt. Then she told other people. She told her friend Jeanette. Jeanette said she was happy for her and she loved her.

Years passed, the two girls got engaged to one another. Jeanette died from breast cancer two months before the wedding. The girl had carefully guarded her heart over the years but this broke it. She didn’t have alcohol to drown the feelings - the only way out of them was though.

The girls married and this time it felt like it just might work out. That’s not to say it was easy - there was a dark year that cast shadows. The girl stayed even when the walls closed around her heart a little that year.

… Everybody's been there, everybody's been stared down

By the enemy

Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing

Grey hair has crept into the girls hair. She’s not a girl anymore. She’s 50. She’s learned to apply herself, to use her voice, to be brave. She’s come so far - but in circle. Not full circle, but rather a concentric circle with a common center. Sometimes she’s brave.