As a seventeen-year old in the middle of a crisis pregnancy, I did not choose options number 1, 2 or 4. The back alley abortion idea never sounded good. My mother had arranged a place for me at a Salvation Army home for unwed mothers where I would be cared for and my child would be placed for adoption, but that route didn't work for me at the time. Having the baby, living with Mom and finding my bootstraps had a certain appeal, although my step-father would not make life easy or pleasant. Surprisingly, my... more

With a few moments of peace and quiet, I can sometimes throw my focus back thirty-six years and see very clearly my seventeen-year old self. Pregnant and searching for a resolution, I weighed up the available options: back alley abortion; home for unwed mothers followed by relinquishing the child for adoption; marrying my reluctant, unemployed, philandering boyfriend; or, none of the above, resulting in saddling a child with a young, clueless, virtually unemployable single mom, and bastard... more

Thirty-six years ago I was in the middle of a crisis pregnancy. I was seventeen-years old, a senior in high school (drama club, columnist for the school paper, student council, etc), with a nineteen-year old boyfriend who was far more interested in scraping together enough cash to get to a Cream concert than starting family life. Birth control was illegal in those days for anyone under eighteen -- How was that for a plan in the "Swingin' Sixties"? -- and abortion was illegal for anyone.

My father managed to arrange a back-alley quack job, just in case... more

Today, the 4th of March, eighty-two years ago, my father was born. Unfortunately, he died before he turned seventy, so I’ve been missing him for more than fourteen years.

I didn’t meet him until he was twenty-seven and have no recollection of the introduction, being a newborn and all. There are photos, however, that show him adoring me, so I’ll assume I was a hit.

Although a Renaissance man in many ways, he was also a product of his time. Born in rural California in 1924, the Depression and WWII taught him to work hard, be loyal and stoic. Not at all effusive,... more

“I love the smell of diapers in the morning!”*

(*A very different Robert Duvall in “Apoopoolypse, Now” speaking over the wail of a wet and hungry baby, a Barney sing-a-long blaring at full blast, and a never-ending loop of See n’ Say doing farm animals.)

Some people aren’t fond of kids. They may go all squishy inside at the sight of a newborn, but that’s just nausea. Sticky fingers scare folks like this and can have them avoiding contact as though melted chocolate contained a deadly virus. And diapers? Don’t even think about diapers!

My... more