Author: Virginia Boshears (Page 5 of 8)

You’re How Old?

December 11, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

Before we get too entrenched in the holidays, I want to slip in a little tidbit about an upcoming milestone. Two days before this year comes to a close, my firstborn will celebrate her 50^th birthday. I can scarcely believe it. Seems like only yesterday, I was rocking her to sleep, teaching her to ride a bike, wondering why on earth she was obsessed with The Cure, and trying not to cry as she walked down the aisle. But it wasn’t yesterday. It was a boatload of yesterdays that spanned half a century.

As a nod to her impending birthday, I decided to pen (or type rather) what transpired lo those many years ago. I was young and ignorant, and bringing her into this world was anything but a cakewalk. But if I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. The little munchkin who stole my heart a lifetime ago is today, not only a treasured daughter but also a friend. And she’s a pretty awesome mom and wife who, as a teacher, spends most of her days showering unconditional love and devotion on a bunch of lucky little 2^nd graders.

Jacki…this one’s for you.

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Time Really Does Fly

December 11, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 2 Comments

I was 17 when I had my first child, but I never thought of myself as a “teen mom” statistic. I’d simply become what I told my high school guidance counselor I wanted to be…a wife and mother. Had he been the type of counselor who encouraged girls to go to college, I might have followed a different path. But this was the early 70s, and the importance of furthering an education didn’t seem to be stressed as strongly to girls as it was to boys. As a matter of fact, all I remember was a very brief meeting in which he asked me what I wanted to do after graduation. I told him about my domestic ambitions, he nodded his head, and I was sent on my way. And I was fine with that. While I was fortunate enough to be a pretty good student, it certainly wasn’t due to any sense of academic dedication. I studied because it was expected of me but, while I did feel that grades were important, I didn’t much care for school and all its trappings. Truth be told, it was a part of life I couldn’t wait to put in the rearview mirror.

My boyfriend was two years older than I was and joined the Navy after he graduated. We became engaged when I was in my junior year of high school. The plan was to get married that summer, and then I would graduate midterm and join him wherever he was stationed. Considering my age, my folks weren’t overly keen on the idea, but my mind was made up. I convinced my mom who, in turn, managed to get my dad to come around. Once that was settled, we began preparations for an August wedding.

When my then-fiancé came home on leave in May, he jokingly asked what I had planned for the following weekend. Turned out he’d received orders for a 6-month tour of sea duty, and the date of departure was fast approaching. He said we could either get married in the next week or wait until he came home in December. Neither of us wanted to wait, so a quick wedding was arranged, we had a blink-of-an-eye honeymoon, and he shoved off before the ink was dry on the marriage certificate.

After his ship departed, I kept myself busy with the summer school classes that would guarantee that mid-term graduation. In July, I suspected I might be pregnant and made an appointment at the medical clinic at a nearby base. I can still remember the idiotic response I gave the nurse when she told me I was approximately four months along. “That can’t be,” I said. “I’ve only been married two months.” It was a statement that warranted a facepalm if ever there was one.

I tried to keep the gestational timeline a secret but, unless I could figure out a way to carry my baby for two extra months, the jig would eventually be up. What bothered me most at the time was the idea that everyone would think we got married because we had to. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The only thing dictating our wedding date was my fiancé’s impending sea duty. But it’s a good thing we decided not to wait until he got back because, by that time, I’d have had to waddle down the aisle while sporting a huge baby bump.

No matter how grown up you think you are at 17, having a baby is, at the very least, a confusing endeavor. My mom did her best to prepare me, but that could only get me so far. Even now, with a plethora of available information, being a first-time mom consists of a lot of on-the-job training. Back then, there was even more guesswork. Books on the matter weren’t particularly plentiful, and Google wasn’t even a sparkle in its daddy’s eye. The mysteries of labor and childbirth remained just that. Mysteries.

As if to prove to me that fudging the due date wouldn’t have accomplished anything, our firstborn decided to make her entrance into the world two weeks early. And to make it even more memorable, she thought it would be fun for my water to break inside a local restaurant. The contractions started getting really interesting shortly after that. Ah…those were good times. Not.

People, if you haven’t had the pleasure yourself, I’m here to tell you…hard labor pains hurt like the devil. I’d never experienced anything so violently relentless. Fortunately for me, the alleged beauty of natural childbirth had gained no foothold in my life plan, so I was totally cool with accepting whatever fabulous pain-killing drugs the doctor offered me. When the spinal block finally took effect, only one word could do it justice…Hallelujah!

While I may have been a “Sadie, Sadie, Married Lady,” I was also still a shy teenager. The delivery itself went smoothly, and the obstetrician did his best to put me at ease while he stitched up the episiotomy but, when he finished, I wasn’t prepared for the indignity that followed. Splayed on the table like an overcooked Thanksgiving turkey, I heard the doc tell the orderly and nurses to come down to where he was sitting. When I asked what was going on, he said, “I figure not many people are going to see this, so I wanted someone to appreciate my handiwork.” At that very moment, I would have happily crawled under a rock and died.

All the aforementioned difficulties drifted from my mind as soon as the nurse placed a heated blanket over me before wheeling me out of the delivery room. I had never in my life felt anything so wonderful. I thought perhaps I had died…and gone to Heaven. That unexpected coziness was pure bliss.

It got even better, though. As soon as I was situated in my room, my husband and I got to officially meet our new daughter, Jacqueline Rose. She was a bundle of red-faced yowling perfection, and I immediately fell in love. Body-splitting labor just hours before? What labor? I didn’t remember any labor.

We took our little Jackie home – she later changed the spelling to Jacki in a rather subtle display of teen rebellion – and life was never the same again. She was the bearer of countless joys and challenges, delights and frustrations, and never-ending worry. Over time, as she blossomed into a young adult and then – dare I say – a middle-aged woman, the challenges and frustrations fell by the wayside. However, the joys, delights and, yes…never-ending worry…still remain. (I’m fairly certain a mother doesn’t stop worrying about her children until she draws her final breath. And perhaps not even then.)

There were a lot of hiccups during those first several months. Since the rabbit didn’t die at my premarital exam, and because I had such sporadic cycles, the doctor instructed me to go ahead and start taking birth control pills right away. So, during my entire third month of pregnancy, Jacki was exposed to whatever contraceptive chemicals might have leached into her tiny system. I also had two minor – but very jarring – car accidents that I’m sure had her flailing about in her little amniotic wonderland. And, when the poor thing was only a few months old, she managed to scoot through her bedrail and landed on her head. As luck would have it, our first home was a very old trailer, and its aging flooring was probably just soft enough to prevent any lasting injury. Jacki is, however, more than welcome to use that as an excuse any time she does or says something that’s less than brilliant.

It astounds me that her 50^th birthday is right around the corner. I don’t quite know how it’s possible. I mean…she’s still my little girl. I often lament about how horrible my memory is but, when I think about how and when Jacki came into our lives, it’s clear as day.

Starting parenthood at such a tender age is not something I would recommend to others but, now that we’re approaching this major milestone, I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Being a young mom means that, God willing, I’ll have more years to love on Jacki and her sister, Jen (you know…the one she didn’t flush down the toilet*) than I might have if I’d waited until I was older to start a family. And it’s really nice not to feel like we’re separated by some huge generational divide.

Who knows…it may be a race to see which of us is the first to wind up at Shady Pines.

*Click here if you missed the toilet story.

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Happy Turkey Day!

November 24, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

I’m breaking my own rules here and posting on Thursday instead of Sunday. That’s because this isn’t just any Thursday. It’s Thanksgiving Day. And on Thanksgiving Day, it’s nice to reach out and make a friendly connection. So that’s what I decided to do with a (mercifully) short essay on a couple of the traditions that pop up annually at our house. My guess is, they may pop up at yours, too. Just click the button below to read Arlo and the Pigskin.

And, if I haven’t said it in a while, let me say it now…I’m very thankful to you for taking precious time out of your own life to read a little bit about mine. It means more than you know.

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Arlo and the Pigskin

November 24, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 6 Comments

Anyone who knows me knows it just isn’t Thanksgiving without listening to Alice’s Restaurant Massacree. Doesn’t matter if it’s in the car, in the kitchen, or curled up in a chair 20 minutes before midnight. I simply must hear Arlo at some point before Thanksgiving Day signs off. If you share that affinity and somehow missed out today, I’ve included a link below. You’re welcome.

But that’s not the only essential tradition that always happens around here this time of year. I’m talking about…

Football.

At the risk of being disowned by half my friends and family, I‘ve got a confession to make. I have never been, nor will I ever be, a fan of football.

My husband, of course, does not share my opinion and it seems like every time I turn around lately, he’s watching whatever football game is on. Sometimes he switches channels back and forth when other games are going on at the same time. The man is nothing if not a multitasker.

When that happens, I go into another room and find something more enjoyable to do…like ramming bamboo sticks under my nails.

But, as the sounds of the commentators, whistles, and cheers waft down the hall, I can’t help but get into the spirit. I may have zero affection for the sport itself, but I do get this warm, fuzzy feeling when it’s on because, to me, football season signals the start of the holiday season. And that signals the start of delightful gatherings with family and friends.

While today is actually Thanksgiving, we’ll be heading to our youngest daughter’s house tomorrow for our annual familial feast, fun, and freakiness. I won’t even care if they turn on the game while we’re there. The important thing is to be together, so I’ll be feeling nothing but gratitude for those guys chasing around that stupid pigskin.

I hope you’re having – or had, depending on when you read this – a terrific Thanksgiving. If you’re like me, it’s the start of the most wonderful time of the year.

And, once Arlo finishes singing, it will also announce the official (in my book) permission to put up Christmas decorations and listen to Mannheim Steamroller. Or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Or the Chipmunks. No judgment here.

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Mischievous Minds

November 13, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 12 Comments

A few years ago, I was diagnosed with ADHD. This came as no surprise, but receiving an official confirmation was a bit of a relief. I used to feel guilty for my lack of focus…thinking I just wasn’t trying hard enough. But the diagnosis helped me realize that my tendency to zone out or get sidetracked isn’t the result of a lazy mind that simply refuses to pay attention. It’s because I’ve got some funky wiring going on upstairs that makes it a real challenge to fire on all cylinders.

This disorder manifests itself in various ways. For example, more often than not, my brain would rather wander hither and yon than zero in on one particular subject or situation. I lose focus easily and sometimes find it very hard to concentrate during a conversation. It’s not because what the other person is saying isn’t compelling. It’s because my mind has a knack for chewing through its leash and galivanting about. Pulling my attention back to the present feels like a physical struggle inside my head. In an attempt to stay in the moment and retain what I’m hearing, I’ll often silently repeat what the person has just said. It generally works, but it’s exhausting. My mind will even float away on a stream of consciousness during my nighttime prayers, and I wind up apologizing to God for getting distracted. For whatever reason, it seems the only times I’m fully focused are when I’m engrossed in a book or lost in writing.

At the end of the day, if I try to inventory all I’ve done since rolling out of bed, my brain freezes up. The same thing often happens when I’m asked a question about something I did earlier in the week…or even that same day. It can take some serious concentration just to recall what I had for breakfast because basic information retrieval is, quite often, a downright struggle. I should probably be used to it because this isn’t something that started happening after I entered the golden years. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember. (Of course, you can take that with a grain of salt since it’s been pretty well established that I can’t remember squat.)

I also have a habit of getting sidetracked while doing things around the house. I’ll be working on a task, go into another room for a moment, notice something there that needs attention and then start in on that. The fact that I’ve left a half-finished job in the other room completely slips my mind. What makes this even more bothersome – and not just for me – is when the initial task was something I was working on with another person. For all they know, I simply abandoned them.

Decision-making is another challenge because I tend to overthink things. Once I finally do make a decision, I almost immediately second-guess myself. This trait definitely gets in the way when I’m facing a particularly multifaceted project. It often causes me to become so overwhelmed that I simply throw in the towel. I’ll usually start up again somewhere down the road – and even bring the project to fruition – but it drags things out unnecessarily and, frankly, it’s mentally taxing. I keep thinking I’ll finally get into the habit of staying the course but, so far, my intellect is the only part of me that considers that the best way to accomplish something. My nature has yet to jump on the bandwagon.

I am, however, second to none in at least one area…I’m a master procrastinator. Take this essay, for instance. I like to post new blog content every other Sunday. As I type this, it’s already past 5:00 pm on the “every other” Saturday. And, as you may have ascertained since we’re only midway through the essay, it’s not even ready to proofread yet. This is pretty much how I roll, but it’s not the most effective way to handle deadlines. And, yes, I’m well aware that, since I’m no longer in the workforce, most of those deadlines are set by me. That means much of the stress in my life is self-imposed. But that’s a self-help project for another time.

When it comes to ADHD, I identify with most of its laundry list of symptoms. But when I was diagnosed, I did question whether I truly fit the “H” aspect of that acronym. I mean, compared to me, a sloth looks like the Tasmanian Devil. I learned, though, that the term “hyperactive” doesn’t necessarily mean you spazz out and spin around in circles. (Although considering my lack of grace, that might be fun for others to watch.) Hyperactivity sometimes presents itself in much less noticeable ways. For example, I move my hands and feet a lot. Not because they’re uncomfortable or I feel nervous…it just seems to happen. I’ll also find myself chewing my tongue, particularly when driving. Sort of like Bessie the Cow chomping her cud…but behind the wheel instead of out in the field. I make a conscious effort to stop these behaviors when I notice them, but they generally start up again in short order. You’d think all that movement would at least burn a few calories but, if it does, my waistline hasn’t gotten the memo.

I envy people who seem to absorb and retain things easily because I have to consciously work at it, and it rarely sticks the first time. My husband has trouble understanding why I repeatedly forget directions to various destinations. He’s one of those people who can mentally file away this type of information and immediately access it the next time he needs it. For me, it becomes automatic only after I’ve taken the route multiple times.

I know it’s frustrating for others when I ask them to repeat what they’ve already told me – sometimes more than once – or when I forget what I was doing because I get distracted by something on the sidelines. But what they may not realize is that it’s frustrating for me, too.

Over the years, I’ve tried self-help books, tapes, and videos but, as is typical, I’ve never followed through enough to reap any major benefits. I realize there are effective pharmaceutical treatments available, but I’ve opted not to take any of the medications because I’m not all that keen on the potential side effects.

I’m fortunate that, while my level of ADHD (and its sidekick, OCD) may be an inconvenience, it’s far from debilitating. It hasn’t kept me from enjoying the important things in my life, so I figure I’ll just continue to navigate my happy little world as best I can. It hasn’t failed me yet.

Now let’s just hope that, when I’m ready to publish this, I’ll remember which folder it’s in…and what I named it.

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Hello? Anybody Home?

November 13, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

Have you ever been lost in random thoughts that have nothing to do with the situation at hand? Let’s say you’re out to dinner with a friend, and you notice the server’s bracelet is a lot like one you saw recently at a local boutique. You then recall other items that had caught your interest in that same shop, and you wonder if they’re still available. Next thing you know, your friend is clinking her spoon against her glass and playfully accusing you of not hearing a word she said.

Odds are, you’ve found yourself in a similar position…perhaps more than once. It’s not all that uncommon to lose focus now and then. But that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. You either apologize profusely or laugh it off by saying you’re a total space cadet.

Now picture yourself in scenarios like that every day. Not occasionally, but…every. single. day. Does the thought make you cringe? Or does it fit like an old worn glove? If it’s the former, consider yourself lucky. If it’s the latter, welcome to the club no one wants to be a member of.

Fighting an ongoing battle against distraction is tough, but it’s often winnable. Or, at the very least, a truce can be called periodically.

I know this to be true because I live with it. For a glimpse into my cerebral world, hit the button below. It will take you to my current essay, Mischievous Minds.

If you read the essay and happen to see yourself in any of it, let me know in the comments. As they say, misery loves company.

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Cheers to Ears

October 30, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 6 Comments

[Disclaimer: The essay below is in no way meant to show disrespect for individuals with physical anomalies. It simply describes my own tendency to initially focus on the negative until I remind myself how inconsequential that perceived negative truly is.]

My husband recently had a spot on his ear diagnosed as basal cell carcinoma, and he underwent a procedure to have the malignant tissue removed. The dermatologist cut out the lesion, tested it, came back and removed more tissue, tested that, and then came back to remove even more. That last removal, fortunately, got rid of all the cancerous cells. It also left a quarter-size hole through the upper portion of the ear, creating the need for reconstruction. That involved a cartilage graft and a skin graft over the course of two separate surgeries. Considering the extent of the work that was done, the surgeon produced a great result. Hopefully, no one – my husband included – will dwell on the fact that his ears are no longer an exact match.

Witnessing all of that not only brought home the importance of regular skin cancer screenings, but it made me super aware of ears in general. I mean, have you ever paid attention to ears? They’re sort of weird. Or weird looking, anyway.

Don’t get me wrong…I have great respect for the function of ears. But I wonder, why do they have to look the way they do? I have a vague recollection of a school assignment – it might’ve been for middle school health class – in which we had to draw a diagram of the ear. It involved canals and stirrups and all sorts of whatnot. While I clearly don’t remember the specifics, it seems the ear is strategically designed to bring in sounds that reverberate and help us hear. Without a doubt, an ear’s shape is very important, hence the reason for its appearance. So, in thinking that through, I guess I pretty much answered my own question.

My newfound interest in ears has nothing to do with hearing, though. I just seem to notice them more now than I ever did before…like the other day when I was binge-watching a week’s worth of my soap.

Unrelated Side Note: Have you ever noticed that the majority of actors on soap operas are ridiculously good-looking, appear to be super fit and have flawless complexions? It begs the question, are those characteristics prerequisites for the job?

Anyway, I was watching an episode in which this drop-dead gorgeous woman’s silky black hair was slicked back into a perfect ponytail. Much like her skin, it was flawless. She was super deep in a serious conversation, but I was distracted from whatever earthshaking dialogue was taking place because all I could focus on were her ears. With her hair pulled back the way it was, the ears of this model-perfect specimen reminded me of Alfred E. Neuman. Physically, she’s an absolute beauty, but it was the wingspan of her ears that caught my attention that day.

Initially, I found the whole thing a little off-putting. It was like those ears didn’t belong on that woman. But the more I looked at them, and then looked at her as a whole, the more I realized her protruding ears didn’t seem so out of place after all. Before I knew it, I’d forgotten the distraction, I was back in the dramatic groove of the moment, and nobody’s ears ever became the topic of discussion. Nor should they. They were just…you know…ears. We all have them.

So, you might ask, what does all that have to do with anything? Well, for me at least, it’s a reminder that dwelling on a few imperfections has no place in a well-lived life. Not one among us is physically perfect, nor can we be, so perfection should never be the goal. Striving for perfection is a fool’s game, and my mama didn’t raise any fools.

I have, though – for most of my life – suffered from a severe lack of respect for my physical self. The mirror has always felt more like an enemy than a friend and rising above my brain’s negative chatter is a daily struggle. But it’s a fight worth fighting and, on some days, I can almost convince myself I’ve come out the victor.

While it’s not easy to look past our flaws, when we manage to do it, we find out we’re just like everyone else. We’re not the crooked nose, or the overbite, or the Dumbo ears. We’re not the round tummy, the crepey skin, or the big feet. We’re the sum of our parts and, in the end, they all work together beautifully in our favor. We might not always see it in ourselves, but our family and friends do. The trick is to learn to view ourselves as lovingly as they view us (and as we view them).

And, as far as ears go, I’ve decided it’s a good thing they’re shaped the way they are. Otherwise, we’d have to find some other place to dangle our earrings, and that’s a challenge I don’t think any of us wants to take on.

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It’s All Good

October 30, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

When I was a Weight Watchers leader – many moons and pounds ago – one of the visual aids I used in a meeting consisted of nothing more than a black dot in the middle of a large white flipchart. I asked my members what they saw when they looked at it, and they all agreed they saw a black dot. When I asked if they saw anything else, they just shook their heads. I then pointed out the expanse of pristine white paper all around that gnarly little dot, and I asked, “What about all this?” You could almost hear the light bulbs popping on in their heads. The nearly perfect paper hadn’t even hit their radar because their minds gravitated toward that one tiny imperfection.

For whatever reason, it seems to be human nature to focus on the negative in any given situation. At least initially. If you’re like me, you can generally find an upside, but it’s not always automatic. Seeing the good in something often takes effort because the bad tends to jump out and grab our attention first.

I experienced this recently when I noticed a flaw in the appearance of someone on TV. It was a very minor thing, and my brain quickly moved on to other thoughts, but it did spark something in the back of my mind that later drew me into a bit of introspection. To find out where my psyche traveled, just click the button below to read Cheers to Ears.

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The Wait Is Over

October 16, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 0 Comments

Have you ever gotten all wrapped up in a story only to discover the ending isn’t actually…well…the end? You’re happily reading along and, just as you’re getting into it, the last three words are “To be continued.” Blast it all! It’s beyond frustrating. The sense of abandonment is downright palpable.

Well, if it seems you’ve been waiting forever for the second half of The Journal to go live, you can put your skin back on. Melissa and Brett are back. All you have to do is hit the button below to find out how the story ends. And, for those of you who haven’t yet read the first half, you’ll find a link to that at the beginning of The Journal – Part 2.

To paraphrase the late Paul Harvey: Very soon now you’ll know…the rest of the story.

So go on! What are you waiting for?

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The Journal – Part 2

October 16, 2022 / Virginia Boshears / 4 Comments

Melissa bumped the car up over the curb and, as she drove through the gravel parking area, she noticed a figure down by the creek. When it turned and ran, she realized it was Brett. Throwing the car into park, she whipped open the door and jumped out, yelling his name. He didn’t stop, so she tore off after him. She never would have caught up if he hadn’t tripped and fallen by the edge of the creek. She reached him just as he got to his feet and, before he had a chance to make another run for it, she grabbed the hem of his tee shirt.

“Brett, stop it! Turn around here…and…look at me!” Melissa yelled between puffs of breath. Lowering her voice, she said, “Please.”

Brett stopped struggling, but he wouldn’t look at her. Melissa took hold of his shoulders and gently turned him toward her. “Sweetie, I know what happened. I know you read my journal. We need to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Not to you. Not to anybody!” He tried to jerk away, but she held tight.

“I don’t blame you. What you read was some pretty bad stuff. You were never supposed to see it.”

Brett’s resolve melted and he started to cry. “I wasn’t snooping, Mom. Honest. I just needed some old magazines, and so I got into that drawer, and that’s when I saw it. I know I shouldn’t have read it. Please don’t be mad. I’m sorry.” He was fairly sobbing at this point and they both dropped to their knees.

Melissa tentatively reached for Brett’s face and, when he didn’t pull away, she wiped his tears. “Brett, I’m not mad at you. I’m not thrilled that you went through my things, but I’m not mad. You know what you did was wrong, but that’s not what’s important right now. What matters now is what you read. I need to explain it to you.”

“No, you don’t.” A little of his fire returned. “I’m not a baby. I know what you were talking about. What Dad and Aunt Kat did. I don’t need anybody to explain that.”

“Well, we still have to talk. It goes way beyond what happened between them. But, come on, I don’t want to do it here. Let’s go home and I’ll do my best to help you understand this.” Melissa stood and held out her hand. To her relief, Brett took it.

As they strolled side-by-side toward the car, she glanced up at the soft clouds and breathed a prayer for guidance.

The ride back to the house held a funereal silence and, when they got there, Brett went inside first. Melissa called out to him as he headed for the stairs.

“Brett, don’t go up to your room yet. I meant what I said about talking to you. The sooner we get this out in the open, the easier it will be.”

“Mom, why do we have to talk about it? I mean, it doesn’t have anything to do with me, right?” He followed her to the sofa in the family room. “Or…are you guys getting a divorce? That’s it, isn’t it? Dad’s not hunting with Uncle Jake. He’s not coming home!” Tears sprang anew as Brett allowed himself to be drawn into his mother’s embrace.

“Brett, no…no. We are not getting a divorce. I don’t want you thinking that. Dad will be home tomorrow afternoon, probably with a half-dozen squirrel carcasses.” She tried to sound light and cheerful but didn’t quite hit the mark.

“Well, I just figured, if Aunt Kat was Dad’s girlfriend, you guys would be getting divorced and they’d get married.” His voice sounded small and frightened, and he rested his chin against his chest while he picked at a hangnail.

Seeing her son so dejected broke Melissa’s heart, and she had to push down the old familiar anger that sprang up in the back of her mind. “Brett, nothing like that is happening. I don’t know where you got that idea, but Dad is not leaving, and he most certainly is not going to marry your aunt.”

Brett looked up into his mother’s eyes, as though searching for the truth…something safe to latch onto. “For real? I mean, one of the girls at school got a new stepdad when her mom cheated on her dad.”

“Brett! Where did you learn such talk?”

“I told you, Mom, I’m not a baby. I know what…well…what sex is. And I know you’re only supposed to do it with who you’re married to, and if you do it with somebody else, you get divorced. At least, that’s what happened to Mindy.”

Melissa sighed heavily and leaned her head back against the cushion. “Sometimes, in some families, that is what happens. Because sometimes the mom and dad can’t fix the problems that led to the…the cheating as you so aptly put it.” This time she gave Brett a genuine smile. “But that’s not the case with me and your dad. We’re not getting divorced, and nothing bad is going to happen.”

“How can you be so sure?”

With a quiet, controlled voice, she said, “Because your dad doesn’t know that I know.”

Brett’s look of incredulity came dangerously close to making Melissa burst into laughter. What must this kid be thinking? That his mom has gone full tilt bozo? That she’s been living in the “Land of Denial” for the past four years? She reined herself in and said, “It’s true, Brett. If you read that entire passage, then you read what I said about not wanting anyone to know what I’d seen.”

“But why not? Aren’t you and Dad always telling me that if someone does something wrong to me, I should let you know?”

“Yes, but…”

“Well, what Dad and Aunt Kat did was wrong, and if you didn’t tell anyone then you just let them get away with it. You just let them think what they did was an okay thing to do and so they probably did it over and over. If Aunt Kat hadn’t moved away, they’d probably still be doing it!” He was getting excited again, and Melissa pressed her hand down on his knee as she shushed him.

“Honey, it’s different with grown-ups. I mean, yes, you’re right. We do want you to be open with us if someone is doing something that upsets you or could hurt you. We’re your parents, and it’s our job to look after you.” At this, Melissa’s stomach knotted a bit because it was her own written words that were hurting her son now. She pushed the guilt aside and continued. “I can’t explain everything to you so that you’ll completely understand, but I can tell you this. I felt that, in order to protect you, I had to keep what I had seen to myself. It was hard, Brett. Really hard. I won’t kid you about that. But it was what I knew I had to do. And even though you found out about it, I still believe I did the right thing. Way back when it happened, if I had let it fill me up and control me, it might have destroyed our whole family.”

Brett was quiet for a moment, and then he asked, “Did you forgive Dad? And Aunt Kat? I mean, you wrote that you hated them.”

“Yes, that’s true. I wrote it and, at the time, I felt it. Maybe when you’re a lot older, I’ll tell you more about that. The important thing for you to understand now is that I learned some things that helped me accept what had happened. Not to like it, mind you, but to accept it. And, yes, in time I was able to forgive both your dad and your Aunt Kat. Now I’m hoping you’ll be able to do the same thing. Not only that, but I hope you’ll forgive me for hurting you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hey, buddy, just because you were reading something that was never meant for your eyes doesn’t mean it didn’t affect you. You discovered some pretty disturbing stuff today about people you love. I know how hurtful that is, and I’m so very, very sorry you had to find out. If I hadn’t left that journal there, you would have never read it. But, right or wrong, you did. And now we have to deal with it. So,” Melissa said as she chucked Brett under the chin and placed her forehead against his. “I need you to promise me something.”

“What…what do I have to promise?”

“When Dad gets home tomorrow, don’t let on that you know any of this.” She could read his confusion and hurried on. “I don’t mean ever. I just mean when he first gets here. Like I said, I never told Dad that I knew about what happened between him and your aunt. You don’t want to blindside him the way you were blindsided when you read my journal. I just want you to give us some time alone so I can tell him everything. It’s going to be a lot harder for him than you realize. That journal entry made your dad out to be an awful monster. It’s not a fair description of how things really were at the time. So, can you promise me?”

“Yeah, sure. But Mom…after you talk to Dad, do you think he’s gonna make me talk about it with him?” Brett had a look that bordered on nausea.

“Probably so. But it’ll be okay. Dad loves you very, very much. And no matter what you think right now, he loves me, too. Trust me on that.”

“Okay. Can I go back outside now?”

“Of course. But stay in the yard. I’ve had all the adventure I can take for one day. I’ll call you in when supper’s ready.”

They both walked to the door and Melissa watched as Brett ran to the middle of the yard and grabbed his football. Then, she turned and went upstairs.

Brett was far too young for the details, but everything Melissa told him was true. Incidents and events that transpired after that dreadful summer day had allowed her to come to a sort of peace with her husband’s infidelity. She didn’t like it, but she was able to move past it.

_______________

That first evening had been brutal. James came home totally unawares and, while he and Brett teased each other over pizza and corn chips, Melissa forced herself to toss in playful little remarks. After enough time had passed to make it appear normal, she excused herself, using the oncoming cold ruse. Back upstairs, she readied herself for bed and settled down with a book.

She was still staring at the same page she’d opened it to when James came in a half hour later.

“Brett-Man is all settled in for the night. You want to go make sure I tucked him in right?”

“What do you mean by that? I’ve never criticized how you take care of Brett!” Melissa felt a blossoming fire deep in her gut.

“Whoa, there! I didn’t mean anything by it. Man, you really don’t feel good. I think you’d better take something for that cold and get some sleep.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You’re right, I’m just feeling lousy.” Melissa slipped out of bed and went down the hall toward Brett’s bedroom. As she got closer, she could hear the faint melodies of Mozart. From the time he was an infant, they’d played classical music to help calm him at night. It was something she was glad he hadn’t yet outgrown.

Tiptoeing to his door, Melissa peeked in. Brett’s eyes were shut, and his breathing was steady. Already sound asleep. She crept in and knelt beside his bed, gazing at his perfect seven-year-old face. She would lay down her life for this child. Putting up a front…even if it was denial…was something she could do if it meant saving Brett from growing up without both his parents.

As she headed back to her bedroom, James came out and said he was going out to his workshop for a little while. He kissed her on the forehead and went down the stairs. She stood there until he got to the bottom and turned out of sight, then she went into their room and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t cry. She was cold and confused, but she was also all cried out. Turning out the light, Melissa started to climb back into bed but then stopped and turned toward the bedroom window. She walked over and looked down at the garage. The light shone through the garage window, and she watched James walk into view. He simply stood there for a few minutes, and then he picked up the phone on the workbench and punched in a number. Melissa raced over to the bedside phone and quietly lifted the receiver. She held her breath and listened.

“Kat, it’s me. We’ve got to talk about this afternoon.” James’s voice sounded almost hoarse.

“Oh, James, I’m a mess. I can’t even wrap my head around what we’ve done to my sister.” The unmistakable sound of weeping surprised Melissa, but her anger was full throttle. Holding her palm firmly over the bottom of the receiver, she continued to listen.

“Kat, I’ve never done anything like that before. I swear. Things haven’t been great around here for a while now, but it’s not Melissa’s fault. Work’s been crazy, and we’ve been putting in ridiculous hours with nothing to show for it. I know she wants me home more. Hell, I want to be home more, but I’ve been stuck at the shop night after night. Then, today when I ran into you outside the shop…I don’t know. Something just snapped.”

“James, it was obvious you were upset about something. What’s happening with your dad is terrible. You just needed someone to be there for you.”

“That may be true,” James said. “But that someone should have been my wife. Not her sister.”

Melissa could hear Kathryn’s choked sob. “I know…I know. My god, what have I done? What if she finds out? Oh, James, she’ll never forgive us. Just the other day, she was confiding in me, telling me about her doubts and concerns because you were gone so much. I just…I just…” At this point, the sobbing was uncontrollable.

“Kat, hey, listen to me. We’re equally guilty here. Neither of us had any right to do what we did. Not only are we married, but we’re married to good people. People who don’t deserve this.”

“Well,” Kat said, calming a little, “Melissa is a good person. Todd’s another story. He left me, James. A couple of weeks ago. Melissa doesn’t even know about it. I’ve just been floundering and, I don’t know, maybe that’s why I was so drawn to you today. But still…it’s no excuse.”

“I am so sorry. I’m sorry about Todd, I’m sorry about what we did, and I’m sorry I didn’t call Melissa as soon as I found out about my dad. Nothing like this would have happened if I’d just picked up that phone. She’d have been there for me in an instant.” Melissa watched as James paced back and forth, running his hand through his hair. “You know what’s even worse? She actually did come by the shop today. Randy told me after I came back in from…well, you know.”

“Oh, James. What if she’d seen us together? Oh, God…” Another fit of crying.

“Hush, now. Listen, I have to go. Melissa’s not feeling well, and I want to get back in there and check on her. I just wanted to call and tell you we’ve got to keep this to ourselves and put it behind us. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Melissa…and Brett. I couldn’t live with that. I love them both so much.” Even though Melissa couldn’t see his face, she could tell James was crying now, too.

“I’ll die before I say anything. If I could, I’d turn the clock back and never come by the shop at all.” Then she asked, “Did you tell her about your dad?”

“No. I put on this big show of being the happy working stiff. I just have too much going on in my head tonight. If I’d started telling her about Dad, I might have blown it all and told her everything. No, I’ll talk to her tomorrow. Put some space between what I did to her today and what I have to tell her about Dad. That alone is going to wreck her. She loves my dad like her own.” With that, he hung up the phone. Then there was a click as Kathryn’s line disconnected.

Melissa stood frozen for a few moments, the receiver glued to her ear, before her wits returned and she hung up. She turned back to the window and looked toward the garage. James was standing at the workbench. Hunched over, was more accurate. She could see his shoulders heaving as he continued to cry. She felt a sudden release of tension and was struck by the dissolving anger that had, just moments before, nearly consumed her. She was hardly aware of returning to bed and climbing under the covers. Her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were of her father-in-law and what possibly could be so traumatic that it would drive her husband into the arms of another woman.

The following few days put things into a clearer perspective. James’s father had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and his prognosis was bleak. Six months at best. James was right when he told Kathryn that Melissa was devoted to her father-in-law. The news devastated the entire family. She shoved the episode between James and her sister into the furthest corner of her mind. She’d deal with it later. Right now, her family needed her.

A couple of weeks passed before she heard from Kathryn. After making a perfunctory call to tell her about James’s father…she couldn’t let on to anyone that she was aware Kathryn already knew about it…she’d wiped her sister from her mind. So, when Kathryn did call, Melissa was taken aback.

“Hi, Melissa, it’s me. Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been putting it off, especially since I learned about your father-in-law, but I really need to let you know what’s going on.” Melissa’s chest tightened as she realized her sister was about to confess everything. She couldn’t face this. Not right now. But before she could change the subject, Kathryn went on. “Todd left me a few weeks ago. He filed for divorce yesterday.”

Relieved to know her sister was not about to make a pronouncement of her brief liaison with James, Melissa warmed a bit. “Kat, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

Kathryn told her about Todd’s supposed need to go off and find himself, and how he had never really been happy in the marriage. Supposedly no one was to blame, but he just couldn’t be tied down. Kathryn went on and on, but Melissa only half-listened. Her thoughts returned to her father-in-law and how she needed to end this conversation so she could get on with the important business at hand.

After deftly extricating herself from the phone call, she realized her feelings toward her sister were rather hollow. She didn’t hate her anymore, and she wasn’t particularly angry. She just felt a sense of apathy. Considering where she needed to be directing her energies, she decided that was just as well.

Four months later, James’s father was laid to rest. As the cold November wind cut through the tent at the cemetery, Melissa stood between James and Brett, holding both their hands, and she promised herself that she’d do everything in her power to keep her family together.

Time and quiet contemplation assisted Melissa in her quest for normalcy. Eventually, she was able to put that summer, and all the pain it evoked, behind her. Shortly before James’s father died, Kathryn took a job out of state. As far as Melissa knew, she and James were never again alone together. At family gatherings, they acted like polite strangers. Civil, but aloof. That made it a bit easier for Melissa to let go of the memories. After a year or so, it seemed as though the entire incident had happened to someone else. Every day, it became easier to be just James’s wife and Brett’s mom. No pretense. No paranoia. She had almost been successful in convincing herself that she would never have to confront James with what he had done.

_______________

Melissa walked into her room and picked the journal up off the bed. She started to open it, then reconsidered and went to her closet. Way back behind her out-of-season clothes stood a stack of boxes labeled “Shoes” and “Purses.” She took down the top two boxes and removed the lid from the third. Lifting out a couple of purses, she came to a bundle of old journals and notebooks with curled edges. She put the incriminating journal in with the rest, replaced the purses, and closed the box. After putting the other boxes back, she closed the closet door behind her and walked out of the room.

Sounds drifting down the hall told Melissa that Brett was back inside and playing a video game. She went into the bathroom, shut the door, and opened the linen cabinet. Reaching behind the large stack of towels, she retrieved her current journal. As always, her trusty ballpoint was attached.

Dear MAT,

This has been the hardest day of my life. I would have sworn that nothing could have been worse than that awful summer day so long ago, but I was wrong. Today I let the most precious person in my life get hurt. Because of my carelessness, Brett had his world thrown into a tailspin. I think he’s going to be okay, but it’s not over. Tomorrow, I have to tell James that I know. That I’ve known all along. I’m not sure how he’ll react. My guess is, he’ll feel ashamed and humiliated. And probably very, very scared. Four years ago, I might not have minded that so much. Might have even relished it. But now, I need to assure him that as hurt and disappointed as I was, I’ve long since reconciled myself with it.

I always thought I’d be afraid if I ever had to confront James about this. I thought it might spell the end of our marriage. But I’m not afraid now. If anything, I’m kind of relieved. I love James, I know he loves me, and we both love our son. We’ll work through this together.

I realize tomorrow’s going to be tough, yet I feel more at peace than I have in years. It won’t be the end of our marriage, but it will be the end of one thing…the hidden secret. Getting it all out in the open is going to make our marriage, and our family, stronger than ever.

And I don’t just hope this. I know it.

Care to Share?

Author: Virginia Boshears (Page 5 of 8)

You’re How Old?

Time Really Does Fly

Happy Turkey Day!

Arlo and the Pigskin

Mischievous Minds

Hello? Anybody Home?

Cheers to Ears

It’s All Good

The Wait Is Over

The Journal – Part 2

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