For De, on the occasion of her birthday, (never mind which one)
Not sure this story was ever really told.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a land far, far away ('bout a thousand miles, give or take, ) there lived a young family, man, his wife, and a young son, soon to be three. Their mobile home, parked in a trailer park in the suburbs of the big city, measured 42 ft long by 8 ft wide and had only a couple of window air conditioning units, one in either end, to temper the scorching Southern sun; two bedrooms, one a "walk-thru" for adults (had to go through to get to bathroom), and a second with bunk beds for the boy. A small kitchen, living room and a bath. Why bunk beds, you ask. Well, a second child was expected, and soon.
It was in the hottest month of the summer and the AC units just weren't enough. He worked nights in a bakery downtown and carried a full load of classes at the local University, hoping to teach math and history upon graduation, which was at this point, at least three years away. She was not in residence at the time of this telling.
Her first pregnancy had been far from routine. Horribly beset by morning sickness that frequently would not go away for days, keeping her from nourishment to the point of hospitalization and intravenous feeding. His being on duty with the Army overseas did little to reduce the stress of a first pregnancy, not to mention living in her parents' home. The volume of glucose administered over the nine months of her first pregnancy was measured in gallons, not liters.
Since these episodes were beyond prediction and his caretaking availability severely limited by the work and study schedules, when the she became pregnant a second time, it had been decided that she and the son would remove to her parents farm home, some 75 miles to the south so that she could have readily available assistance at home and an attending physician within reach. Her nausea was guardedly controlled, and since the income was badly needed, he remained on his job in the city. As luck would have it, there was the usual summer break at the university and no summer classes scheduled due to the upcoming delivery.
It was a Sunday evening, just after the late southern sundown when his shift at the bakery ended. He was tired, sweaty, hungry and thirsty; no was at home awaiting his arrival and/or preparing an evening meal. The little bar just down the street was on the way home; what harm could a cold beer and a hamburger with fries do? He stopped, had his meal and spent some time with chatting with a couple of guys from the newspaper print shop just over on the next street. It was maybe half past nine when he finally set out for home.
Stopping at the service station at the entrance to the trailer park to refill his nearly empty tank on the '57 Mercury gas hog, the night attendant wondered where he might have been since there had been several long distance calls from a hospital asking for him or his whereabouts. There was a number he was to call and the message was simple, "we are at the hospital; you need to be here".
"OH SHIT!", he mumbled under his breath. He knew that this meant one of two things, either the delivery of his second child was eminent or problems had developed and she was in danger. It was a bit earlier that predicted for the former scenario so the latter situation seemed most likely.
He paid for the gasoline and shoved some additional bills in the attendant's hand, suggesting that he call the aforesaid number and advise that he was on his way, and sped off with all the speed he dared to use and the eight cylinder, four-barrel carburetor fed, stick shift Mercury could produce, the highway being 75 miles of two-lane road, interspersed with small towns with speed zones and traffic lights and State Troopers having a reputation of having no sense of humor or any sympathy for emergencies, real or manufactured, and childbirth is hardly an emergency anyway.
Trip usually took about two hours, but, with Sunday night traffic being light he was able to run with his twin spotlights trained on the road to assist the high beams, he arrived at the hospital a few minutes after ten o'clock, still in his dirty white baker's uniform and smelling of sweat. beer and onions, not to mention being tired and somewhat tense.
His mother-in-law was, to say the least, unimpressed. Her imagined version of the husband of her only child and his conduct while living alone in the city was not enhanced by his condition and appearance; she had not really approved of her daughter's selection of a mate and his chosen vocation anyway. Grandchildren should live near their grandmother, for heaven's sake.
She was still in her room, pains were about 2-3 minutes apart and she was just before going into delivery. He did not accompany, as he had with the firstborn; had not been invited. He had another coffee and rested; spent time with his amiable father-in-law to tell his version of the night so far.
The delivery went well, the mother was healthy and hungry, and after a few weeks was able to return home with her new little daughter; a young cousin came to stay a while to help.
The little girl was healthy, lively and bright. She grew up; went to school, learned to love to read and became a model student, always achieving top grades, honor society recognition and went on to complete college, earn a masters degree and became a teacher, married a teacher and became the mother of three. She was successful, helpful and happy. Her parents were (and are) very proud of her, and, although sometimes forgetful of family occasions, forgetting birthdays, etc., have always been, and still are, extremely proud of their daughter.
It is hoped that she has had a wonderful Birthday today, with many more to come!!
So there you have, as Paul Harvey used to say, "the rest of the story".
With Love,
Dad
