family

A Headline for the Single Mothers

In 1990, when I was 18 years old, unmarried and pregnant, headlines bemoaning single mothers screamed out from the front page of the papers:

One-Parent Trend Threatens Society

The Consequences of Single Motherhood

The Growing Problem of Single Mothers

Only to be followed up with narratives like this:

A sharp increase in single parent-led households since the 1970s had been met by a political and social narrative that single-parent families (c. 90% of them headed by women) were both a drain on the public purse and a root cause of social breakdown.

And finally this:

Dan Quayle Was Right: The social-science evidence is in: though it may benefit the adults involved, the dissolution of intact two-parent families is harmful to large numbers of children. Moreover, the author argues, family diversity in the form of increasing numbers of single-parent and stepparent families does not strengthen the social fabric but, rather, dramatically weakens and undermines society.

Decades before we would semi-collectively attempt to dismantle and decenter the patriarchy, I understood I was on my own. No one was shooting disapproving glances at my boyfriend (who would become my husband a few years later). It’s hard to describe the shame and embarrassment I felt; So much so, I bought a thin gold band, to at least appear as though I were married.

Being an unmarried or single mother has always been like a scarlet letter, but it was even worse back then. Had I gone the way of a Planned Parenthood appointment, I would have faced protestors and shouts of “Baby killer!” or “You’re going to hell!” But carrying the baby was apparently not the right choice, either.

So the looks of disdain and sidelong glances at my growing belly were one thing, but the headlines were another. They were a gut punch to my entire sense of self. Me? I was going to be the downfall of society? Me and this baby? Was this true? Were we a disgrace and going to drag the rest of society down with us?

What a heavy and unfair burden to bear.

Over the next three decades to follow, I made it my life’s work to be the best mother I could possibly be, with those headlines always running me down, but never mentioning why and how I became a single mom, never mentioning the men that made it possible.

Without belaboring years of sordid details, here’s a quick recap: Baby at 19, married at 23, another baby at 25, only to be widowed at 26. Got remarried, another baby at 30. Divorced 10 years later. Single mom ever since, going on 14 years now. Those babies are now 34, 28, and 23. When people wonder why I still refer to myself as a single mom, I am quick to point out, there is no second parent on the scene. Not physically, not financially, not emotionally. If you have grown kids, you most certainly understand how much parenting and support is still involved, even as it transitions to simply keeping the family close and connected.

And now, as my youngest is officially just about out of the nest, I’ve done a lot reflecting on our societal impact that I’d like to share with you:

My son (the oldest), was a star baseball player who served our country in the Navy, specializing in Aviation Electronics. He spent most of his time in Japan, and when he came back to Buffalo, landed an incredible job with a company that builds freeze dryers especially for the pharmaceutical and biotechnological industries. He owns a home, is a beast in the gym, and just a generally happy and well-liked guy. We’re only 19 years apart, so in many ways, we grew up together. I’m occasionally mistaken for his girlfriend or wife- nightmare for him, absolute delight for me.

My daughter (the middle child), is a Funeral Director. She completed her undergrad in Gerentology and continued her education to become a licensed Funeral Director, graduating Magna Cum Laude. She considers her work sacred, and believes it’s an honor to serve the families she works with and provide their loved ones with thoughtful and dignified care. To anyone who knows her, she’s usually the kindest, most compassionate and funny person they know. She is a gem of a human being and I get to be her mom.

And last but certainly not least, the youngest. The baby. She finished her undergrad in 3 years, Summa Cum Laude, and just graduated from Law School with her Juris Doctorate, where she served as President of the Student Bar Association (among many other associations and accolades). Recently, she had the incredible honor of giving the opening remarks for President Biden, when he visited her school for a portrait unveiling ceremony. She’ll take the bar this summer and will continue her work with a Buffalo law firm. She is funny and whip smart and bold and I am so proud to be her mom.

These kids. My Magnum Opus. They are the funniest people I know. They’re smart and kind and inclusive and tolerant. They love each other and they love me. What a life we’ve had.

So why am I writing about this now?

Because those headlines haunted me. They shamed me for being at the mercy of the men around me; partly by choice, but largely by circumstances I had little control over. My late husband was killed in a devastating car accident and my ex-husband was about to ruin us all, until I left, and rebuilt our family into the one we know today. None of those headlines ever addressed THE MEN. No woman leaves a situation to become a single mom, and carry the literal weight of the world on her own, unless it’s truly unsustainable. And it was. The point of it all is not a sense of victimhood, but the profound impact it had on my experience of motherhood.

I’m writing this now to honor my younger self, who was scared and embarrassed and ashamed. I see you girl, and I’m giving you your flowers. You got us here. And I’m writing this for the woman I am today- we did it. We DID it. They said we were the downfall of society and instead, we built beautiful, meaningful lives. All of us. We wondered and worried and cried and believed and we did it. I’ll never get over us.

And lastly, it’s a love letter to my three kids, who are the gas in my tank, the stars in my eyes, the reason for it all. I’d choose to be your single mom in every lifetime. I don’t think it gets better than this, and so I’ve rewritten more accurate headlines:

One Parent Trend: An Asset to Society

The Consequences of Single Motherhood: Happy, Well-Adjusted Kids and a Peaceful Family Life

The Growing Success of Single Motherhood

A sharp increase in single parent-led households since the 1970s had been met by a political and social narrative that single-parent families (c. 90% of them headed by women) are both an incredible resource for the public purse a root cause of social growth and improvement.

And finally,

Dan Quayle Was Wrong: The social-science evidence is in: Though it absolutely benefits the adults involved, the dissolution of intact two-parent families is not, in fact, harmful to large numbers of children. Moreover, family diversity in the form of increasing numbers of single-parent and stepparent families strengthens the social fabric and dramatically improves society. When children have one loving, stable and consistent parent, instead of family disruption and upheaval… They are shown to thrive and lead happier, more well-adjusted lives.

Just ask us. We’re living proof.

For more essays like this~ The Nest , Does It Ever Get Easier? [Spoiler: No], Your Kids are Watching You. Man Up., Taking the Long View, Life Requires Time and Space,

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Happy Valentine’s Day to Me

c35c4cf30946a35730c72186c17dda09Let me start by saying right away that this is not an endorsement for the single life. Or divorce. I’m not a “Love Stinks” kinda girl. So relax. I’ll talk about all of that another day. But not today.

Today is about love.

And for the first time in about 13 years or so, I’ve decided that today is about me. I am alone. Alone, as in, I don’t have a Valentine. I’m not part of a couple. And please, my Evangelical friends, please don’t say Jesus is my Valentine. Or husband. Or any of those other well-meaning but weird things that get tossed around.  I have some friends in my circle who hate this holiday. And depending on what your normal V-Day experience usually is, I totally get why any man OR woman WOULD hate it– but honestly, as I was thinking about its impending arrival this year, I’m happy to say, I feel fine. I feel better than fine. I feel good. I feel happy. I feel peaceful. Because the truth is, I think I’ve found the one. And it’s me.

I think I’m the one. And so far, it’s really working out.

Having been both widowed and divorced within the past 15 years…let’s just say there aren’t a lot of Hallmark cards that fit. And somewhere along the way, within these difficult years of survival, I lost myself. I became perhaps overly engrossed in my roles of perfect mother and perfect wife (so I thought) and lost my identity. I take responsibility for this. Nobody DID this to me but me, and nobody is responsible for changing this but me. And that’s exactly what I’m doing now. I’m creating and designing a life that I love. And along the way, I have fallen in love with myself again and the things I love to do. Things I forgot about. Things that feed my soul and spark my brain and light my fire. I’m dating myself.  And honestly? I am amazing company. I’m smart. I’m interesting. I’m fun. Sometimes we read, we run, we shop. We work on projects around the house. We lunch. We go to dinner. We have a beer. We catch a movie. That’s right. Just me and myself.

And instead of feeling lonely, I feel alive.

There’s so much love in my life that has nothing to do with being part of a couple. Today and every day is about loving my  kids, my parents and the other friends and family I’m surrounded by. In spite of my experiences, I’m still totally a love kinda girl– I got cards. I got flowers. I got chocolate (including some ah-mazing chocolate covered bacon. Swoon.) I feel totally spoiled–not by lovers–just people who love me. And there are a lot. And that doesn’t just make for a Happy Valentine’s Day-that makes for a happy life. And the best part of the love I have in my life now is that it’s constant. It’s not just about a feel-good (or crappy) holiday. The Valentines in my life loved me yesterday and they will love me tomorrow and today just happens to be another day that we spoil each other.

Look around your life today and see all the love. It’s not a loveless day just because you’re not part of a couple.  Look in the mirror and admire yourself. Rediscover yourself. Whether you love this day or hate it, I bet you actually don’t have to look that far to find love.  I’m looking in the mirror today –and I’m completely smitten.

How do YOU feel about Valentine’s Day, love bugs?

My Personal Memorial Day

unnamed-3Every year while the rest of the country is celebrating Memorial Day, our family is also celebrating my dad’s birthday. There’s a special irony to this because while I fully appreciate and honor what veterans have done for this country, my dad, though not a veteran,  is a hero to me, too.

The stories I could tell about my dad are really not that remarkable or dramatic to anyone but a daughter– but that’s okay. When you need your dad and he’s there–that’s all the hero you  need. Take the time we were skiing together, headed up the mountain on the chairlift and I somehow slipped off, literally hanging onto the edge of the seat, dangling above Gore Mountain.  Fast as a flash, my dad grabbed onto my wrists and held me there like it was nothing until we reached the top. I didn’t think anybody could be stronger than him!  Or how about the time I was running in a track meet, and wanting to beat the girl who was threatening my lead as we approached the finish line, I literally dove, head first. I heard the crowd gasp as I went down onto the asphalt, skinning my knees and elbows to shreds–and as I looked up, there was my dad, in his suit and tie  racing down to the track to rescue me.  (Just for the record, I won.) Or the sandbox he built for my 5th birthday. Or the Richard Scary dolls he helped my sister and I sew together.  The Girl Scout wood- working badge. The desk for my room. Learning to drive. Singing Thunder Road, or A Cat Named Jake and a Dog Named Kalamazoo. Boating. Camping. Coaching soccer.  Of course, these are but a few…because can anyone really number the gifts a dad gives?

And yet, there’s one gift my dad has given me that stands out among the rest: The gift of  Optimism. I like to say that I was born with a sunny disposition; a glass half- full kind of girl. And I was. But the truth is, I inherited a lot of it from my dad.  “The race does not always belong to the swift but to those who keep on running!” Oh Dad, we would groan! Or, “If you never had a bad day, how could you appreciate the good ones?” >insert eye roll here< Or here’s a good one: “The difficult we can do. The impossible take a little longer.” Sigh. You just couldn’t drag him down.

One of my favorite examples of this was the time he drove a couple of hours to pick up a part for my car. When he got there, it turned out it was the wrong part. All that driving for nothing. I felt horrible. But not Dad. “I’d never been to that town before”‘, was all he had to say.  “It was a nice drive.” No whining. No complaining. And that goes for the rest of his life too– he worked hard–at the office and at home. He frequently could be found in his workshop or under the hood of a car, doing all the things dads do. I was impressed. And impressioned. Was anyone smarter or greater than my dad? He gave me an outlook on life that I treasure, that I would need– that I would try to duplicate in my own life.

Now that I’m grown and a parent myself, I see some of Dad’s positive bravado in a different light–not that it’s not genuine–most of it is, I know.  But it’s a sacrifice. It’s a sacrifice to smile on the outside when the weight of your family is pressing on the inside. A mortgage payment. Job pressures. Kid problems. Real life, grown up problems. But you filter it all so that your kids can feel safe. Unfettered and unburdened with the cares of this world. So that kids can be kids–not afraid of life or hard times or bad days.  Because, as my dad likes to say, “If you have money in your pocket and speak the English language, you’ll be fine.”

Dad and I both know he wasn’t a perfect father. Because no one is. But I watch him with my kids now–the pride, the love, the adoration; The sparkle in his eyes as he watches all of us, actually. And I realize, though not a soldier in a war, still a hero in my eyes. Happy Birthday, Dad. And remember, “Old isn’t bad.”