Tonight I’m heading to the Battle of the Bands between the high school that my kid attends and the high school that I attended…ironically enough, she also attended this school.
In a much different capacity.
During the fall of 1997, curiosity in all its splendid glory, literally killed the cat (pun intended).
I had sex.
During the spring of 1998 I had a daughter.
During the summer of 1998 I turned 17.
Yeah, go ahead do the math (add ‘em up).
So, yeah, she was at school with me…not everyday silly, but I marched in the band that they’re (my kid’s school) battling against this year. My mother was the PTA President and the Band Booster President, very active in school, and even though, her daughter, who played sports, instruments (yeah plural) in all bands, and was a pretty good student got pregnant in the 11th grade, she didn’t hide her face. She wouldn’t let me hide mine either, or my baby for that matter, which meant, at the PTA meetings my babe was up there by mother and during the band competitions much like the one tonight, she (my babe) was decked out in Green and Gold garb, beside my mom and the rest of my family cheering her mother on. I’m not ashamed. I’m not very proud of the ill-thought out decision (my kid isn’t a mistake, her mother didn’t make the best decisions at the time), but I’m not ashamed. Around about now, she’s looking like a blessing, because the sheer fact that she’s even here, is a miracle in and of it’s self. I have PCOS and tried several times to actually get pregnant.
The feat? Undoable.
So no, I’m not ashamed. At all.
As mentioned in previous blogs, I’m one of the few fortunate ones to have had a support system that allowed me to finish school, go off (out of state) to college, complete undergrad and post grad studies, and you know, just live like I was normal.
I spent a lot of time aware that I wasn’t. I left my kid with my parents for two years, (but she may as well have not been left, because during marching band season (see previous blogs, etc., blah) my mother was there every weekend with my kid routing me on, like she always did. When the season was over, (when I wasn’t off somewhere being even faster than what I was (see previous blogs)) I was home being a mom. In-spite of those things, I didn’t miss out on much, my life is comparable now, to that of any thirty-two-year-old woman.
The exception? My FIFTEEN-year-old daughter.
Tonight, I’ll be heading back into that same gym, where my spat covered feet marched, where I played basketball, where my senior convocation was held, where I watched one boyfriend or another wrestle, where my friends and I laughed and played during Gym class, where life seemed sooo much different then it is now…and my soul can’t help but to look back and wonder how I got over.
Not too many teen moms make it to the point that I am in, in life. I’ve been afforded luxuries that they don’t get. You know, post high school education, other luxuries in life that have afforded me at the age of 32 to buy my newly, Learner’s Permitted Daughter a car, that ain’t (that’s right, you heard me) run-down (or in the words of 80’s babies, a hoo-ride or a hoopty), live in a nice home, in a nice neighborhood, and have a little money in my pocket to be able to switch careers to do what the dream is. In-spite of the humongous mess my life could’ve been, it’s turned out pretty great. And tonight, as I step in the gym, I’ll be even more thankful to the woman that will be sitting next to me, routing on that same baby that once sat next to her, routing me on.
Thanks, MOM! I love you and I appreciate and am thankful for you and my kid, more than either of you could ever know!
Vive Sine Paenitentia
Res Ipsa Loquitur.
Note: Refer to the unedited part of the tagline to this blog.