I just had not had the maturity or the strength to allow myself to see the truth. In reality, we never loved one another.
How could we? Our relationship was based on a sexual attraction. I think in our secret hearts we both knew that when you date
someone as a teenager, even if sex is involved, somewhere deep down you know that it is temporary. You are young with the
world at your feet -- everything to explore and learn, and there is plenty of time to settle down and get serious. But girls
and guys like me -- so desperate to feel love, never realizing that the love starts from within -- girls and guys like me
cling to every word, every touch, every kiss, and make it into something much more than it is.
By the time our child, a beautiful girl named Christina, had been born, things were irretrievably broken between her
father and me. Several months later, I left his home and moved back to my grandparents'. I was lucky to be able to continue
high school, but like most young parents in my situation, I needed to seek government assistance to help with the
insurmountable bills I never expected.
Reality came crashing down on me. I never had realized the demands and pressures that parenthood would bring. I was lucky
to have supportive teachers, friends and family members, who, although sometimes overbearing, were always there for me. My
daughter's father came by occasionally, although by the time I moved back home he and I had become quite volatile toward one
another. We rarely spoke and when we did, it was never nice. He felt I had trapped him, and I, still clinging to my childish
fantasies, felt he had betrayed my love, my trust. I laid a lot of the blame and guilt that I felt in his direction. It was
much easier to feel less guilty myself by making him the bad guy.
Now I realize how he must have felt seven years ago, when I called him late at night to tell him of his impending
fatherhood. Scared, alone, disbelieving. I don't absolve him for not taking part in his child's life, but I guess I can
understand him a little better.
Looking back on the last seven years, I realize that I have grown up, and am still growing up right beside my daughter.
I regret that there were many things that she did as a baby that I did not have the character or the maturity to appreciate
as fully as I do now. I remember that when she was a baby, I was much more a big sister to her than a mom, content to play
with my beautiful little "doll," dressing her in the prettiest dresses, putting the cutest bows in her hair and matching
frilly socks on her feet.
Eventually it dawned on me that she was not a doll I could put on a shelf until I felt like playing with her again. She
was a living person who soaked up everything I did and learned from it. She had demands and needs, and it was my
responsibility to take care of them.
She isn't a baby anymore; she's already in the second grade. She is growing into the confident young lady I hoped she
would be. I listen as she reads books out loud or calls a friend on the telephone, and I see how precious a gift I have been
given.
First published December 7, 1999
© St. Petersburg Times
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