Single Mom (59 page)

“How about if I got you in a tennis camp this summer? Would you like that?”

“Yeah, that would be fun.”

“Have you ever heard of Venus Williams?” I asked him.

“Yeah, I’ve seen her play. She’s
real
tall. Her and my brother would make some tall kids.”

I almost choked on my pizza laughing. “Is that so? Does you brother like tall girls?”

“I don’t know. But they can’t be too short. He would have to bend all the way down to kiss them.”

I laughed again and thought about our conversation. I don’t remember my father asking me much about anything outside of my grades and my career goals, and I lived at home with him until I left for college at eighteen. I wondered how many fathers actually took time out to talk to their sons about what
they
were interested in. It didn’t seem like many conversations were going on with the Generation X kids whether their fathers lived with them or not. I think more fathers were trying to tell their kids what
they
did rather than listening to what their kids wanted to do. Fathers were spending far too much time trying to make their kids understand them, instead of trying to understand their children. I wasn’t
saying that you let a kid do whatever he wanted to do, because that could lead to disaster. But maybe a different approach to parental communication was needed. Instead of saying, “Listen to me, young man,” maybe we should have been saying, “Let’s listen to you,” and challenge more kids to make sense out of their own lives.

When we got back to the house after a full day of quality father-and-son time, I couldn’t wait to tell my wife the news about Denise. By then, Walter and I had watched a new movie at the mall’s theater, as well as rented an old one from the video store, because that’s what
he
wanted to do, check out some movies he hadn’t been able to see.

I didn’t get a chance to talk to Beverly alone until eleven o’clock at night when Walter was in bed.

“Guess what?” I asked her. We were in bed ourselves, as usual. It seemed as if Beverly and I did most of our talking at night. We were both such active people during the day that bedtime was one of the few periods where we actually were calm enough to discuss anything in detail, especially when Walter was over.

“Do I really have to guess, or are you going to tell me on your own?”

Beverly was nearly seven months pregnant and really showing, but she refused to stay home from work. The spring semester at school was over in early May, and our child was due in mid-May, so she actually planned to work straight through the pregnancy, and there was nothing I could do to convince her not to. I guess that was the nineties woman for you. Beverly had read all kinds of new books and pamphlets that said it was good for her
and
the baby to keep a normal schedule of activity.

Anyway, I went ahead and told her the news. “Denise is getting married to Brock,” I said. Neither one of us had ever met the man, but we had heard enough about him through my son to believe that he was at least a good guy.

Beverly turned and faced me. “Walter told you this?”

“Yes, he did.”

She smiled. “I guess now Denise is going to know that
we
know.”

I giggled. “I guess she will.” Kids were not known for keeping grownup people’s business to themselves, or at least not
my
son.

Beverly thought about it and said, “I wonder if she would invite us to the wedding.”

I said, “I wouldn’t count on it. The way things are between us, we would probably get into an argument at her wedding.”

“Not if you kept your mouth shut,” my wife told me. “All you need to say is congratulations, and
nothing
else.”

I smiled. “Denise could probably
look
at me and find something to argue about. We can’t even stand in the same room together.”

“Well, I don’t believe she’ll be like that if I’m there.”

“We’ll have the baby by then,” I commented.

“You think they’re going to have a big wedding?” my wife asked me.

I shook my head. “I doubt it. Unless
he
has a big family, because Denise doesn’t. All she has is a sister, a mother, and a couple of girlfriends who she doesn’t really have much time for.”

“Don’t be surprised. People tend to come out of the woods for a wedding ceremony,” Beverly responded. “You find yourself sending out invitations to people you haven’t seen in ten years. Look at how many people I had to invite to our wedding.”

I said, “Yeah, and they were
all
your people.”

“I can’t help that you had a secluded family,” she snapped. “That’s why we have to work on your selfishness now. You know we have another session on Monday evening, right?”

Beverly and I had gone to three sensitivity classes, and we were scheduled for five more. She had signed us up for an eight-week program. After the first two sessions, I was ready to move on. I had made a lot of progress already. I wasn’t
half
as bad as the rest of the husbands and boyfriends in the program. Beverly and I were the only black couple there. If you think
black
families have problems, sit in on a couple of white family discussions. I had a case of
minor
insensitivity compared to some white men. Black women would never let their men get away with the things that white women allowed. And I wasn’t talking about something I had read, I heard it with my own ears.

“Yeah, I know,” I mumbled.

“I know you think this program is extreme, Walter, but it’s a start. Maybe if you can see how crazy these other guys can be to women and their wives, then you can begin to curb your own attitudes.”

“Yeah, but my attitudes are not that bad.”

“Nevertheless, we paid for eight sessions, and I expect us to finish them.”

My mood was soured. I didn’t feel like thinking about those damn sessions! They made you feel so awkward in those groups. I didn’t even
like how the guy talked to me: “Walter, what are some of the major concerns you have with women? Walter, explain to the group what your perfect relationship would be? Walter, do you have problems speaking to your wife about pressing issues without feeling surges of anger?” Those sessions made me more anxious than an argument with Denise or my wife ever did. Once you begin listening to that flimflam, you can start to believe that you really
are
crazy. White couples have been doing it for years. My only question was, did it really help to solve your problems, or did it only make you dependent upon more sessions before you ended up filing for a damn divorce? Plenty of couples who were married for thirty and forty years never had to put up with a shrink session, so why did I?

I sat there and wondered how Denise would do in one of those sessions. I could imagine her cursing the guy out and asking for a refund. I sat there in bed and grinned at the idea.

Beverly asked, “What is so funny?”

I said, “You don’t want to know.”

She responded, “You just make sure you remember to be home on time.”

Another thing I noticed was that those sessions seemed to be giving Beverly a stronger voice of authority. Or maybe that was the pregnancy again. Whatever it was, I didn’t like that so much either.

I was just about to finish up my day at work when Beverly called me at the office to remind me, for the third time, about our counseling session that Monday evening.

I said, “Actually, I was just finishing things up here.”

“Okay, well, I’m making us a snack to eat while we’re on the way,” she responded.

I hung up the phone and shook my head. “She’s about to drive me insane with this,” I mumbled to myself.

One of my coworkers, Lawrence Isaacs, stopped by to see me before quitting time. He and his wife had just had their third child a few days after Christmas. Lawrence was an easygoing white guy in his early forties, who seemed to know how to turn his assertion off and on when he needed it. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from the guy so that I could last at work and at home without burning myself out.

“So how’s your wife’s pregnancy coming along?” he asked me.

I said, “I’m not sure. That’s what I need to ask
you
about.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, spit it out. Is she driving you crazy yet?”

“Exactly,” I told him. “Is that normal?”

He broke out laughing. “Of course it’s normal. You got a lot of different hormones going on down there, pal. But it really depends on each pregnancy. When my wife was first pregnant with our daughter, Anne, I thought for the life of me that I needed an exorcist. But while she was pregnant with my two sons, Larry Jr. and now Michael, it wasn’t all that bad.”

“You think it makes a difference between boys and girls?”

“I don’t know, maybe it was just the first-child thing. You have a hundred different myths and old wives’ tales about these things,” he told me. “I’m a guy like you, man. What the hell do I know? I can barely change a damn diaper. I’ll just take over when they’re teenagers, you know, once the hard part is done,” he said with a slap on my shoulder.

Lawrence just confirmed what I already knew: most men didn’t think twice about being insensitive. That was just the way we were. I couldn’t ask Lawrence about going to some damn shrink! The word could get around at the office, and I could lose the respect of my peers and end up being pushed out of my job.

I smiled and said, “Thanks, man. It’s good to know that I’m not the first guy to go through this.”

“Yeah, and you won’t be the last guy either. You just hang in there, Walter. There’s no joy greater than the joy of having a child. Trust me.”

I drove my car back home as slowly as I could from work that day. I was trying to come up with the strongest excuse I could offer not to go to any more sensitivity sessions. Maybe what we could use, instead, was a trip out of the country. Spring break was coming up for Beverly at the school, and I had already coordinated it with my first vacation week to spend time with her. I thought about ordering two round-trip tickets to the islands, and calling the money I had spent for the sessions a simple sacrifice.

I had it all planned out by the time I made it home. All I had to do was phone the travel agency that Tuesday, but Beverly was waiting for me at the front door.

She kissed me on the cheek and marched right out the door, heading for the car in the garage.

I said, “Beverly, we need to talk. I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“Okay, we can talk in the car. Come on, it’s cold out here.”

She was all wrapped up like an Eskimo.

I took a deep breath and let her inside the car. I didn’t want her to catch cold. Maybe I should have called her on the cell phone to discuss things before I arrived.

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?”

Before I realized it, I had turned the ignition key and was driving toward Western Avenue to head north for Evanston where the sessions were held, far away from anyone I knew.

I said, “You know, I’ve been thinking, Beverly. And instead of going to these sessions, what I really need is a good vacation to the islands or something. Maybe even to Hawaii. We could go on vacation during your spring break.”

To my surprise, she said, “Yeah, I thought about that myself. After we have the baby this summer, we may not be able to go on a vacation for a while. So that would be a good idea.”

“That means you agree with me then?” I asked her.

“Not about canceling our Monday sessions. We’ll just have to miss it that week.”

Shit!
I thought to myself. I finally said, “Look, honey, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable with this thing anymore.”

Beverly looked at me with an evil eye. I started thinking of an exorcist myself.

She said, “We have hardly finished
half
of the program. Need I remind you that this was
your
idea?”

“
My
idea? All I did was joke about it. You’re the one who took it to the third degree and started calling around.”

“You still initiated it with all of your past actions. This is actually something you needed to do a long time ago.”

“So how come you didn’t tell me
then?
” I was getting so worked up that I hadn’t noticed the light was changing to red. I ran right into a busy intersection before I could try and hit the brakes. I should have swerved to my left, pulled back to the right, and kept speeding through, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I jammed the brakes and an overzealous driver, who was already committed to the green light, charged ahead. Instead of screaming, Beverly braced herself for the hit from our right side, the side she sat on.

BANG! The car ran right into us. The seat belt was the only thing
that stopped my wife from being thrown into my lap. The first thing I did was try and get her loose. She was pregnant!

I unstrapped her seat belt and tried to slide her out, but Beverly wasn’t helping me.

“Try and push yourself out,” I told her.

When she faced me, all I saw was her tears and an excruciating look of pain on her face. “I can’t!” she hollered at me.

Someone from behind said, “Her leg is stuck.” I looked down and noticed that the car door had folded in on her right leg. The entire passenger-side door had been smashed in. If Beverly hadn’t braced herself, it could have been much worse. As it was, she was still stuck.

“Someone call the fire department!” the same guy behind me yelled.

“
Fire department?
Call an
ambulance!
” I screamed, grabbing my cell phone.

“They’re already on the way!” someone else yelled.

I looked into his face and said, “Thank you.” Then I turned back to my wife. I held her hands and asked her, “How do you feel?”

She just shook her head and was unable to talk while crying in severe pain.

“OOHHH, SHIT!” I hollered, clenching my teeth. My emotions were starting to get the best of me.

“You need to stay calm, sir,” the guy outside the car told me. “That’s not going to do her any good. You have to keep her calm until help gets here.”

Instead, I tried to position myself inside the car where I could try and push the door off Beverly’s leg. I couldn’t just sit there and
wait
for help! My wife was pregnant! The stress could have killed
her and
the baby!