I am the mother of two beautiful children: 1 girl and 1 boy. My daughter is 9 and my son is 3 years old, soon to turn 4 in about 20 days. I wouldn’t consider myself the traditionalist memory parent. I don’t remember a lot of those details that other parents remember that incur warm memories. I do not remember the first time my daughter walked, or the first time my son walked. I don’t remember the first time my son got a tooth or the first time my daughter rode her bike. I do not even remember my daughter’s first day of school.
However, I do remember the bitter beginnings of my becoming a single parent. I was in high school when I got pregnant, I was a senior headed to college. As the oldest child in my small family, my mom who was a single mom had high hopes for my future. Hopes that came to a crashing halt when she found out from my teacher that I was pregnant. I had confided in a teacher at my school, Vaughn Shores, only for him to tell my mother the following day. My mother was crushed, I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.
I can imagine the hurt I would feel if my daughter with so much potential had thrown a wrench in her future by having a baby with a loser. And indeed, my daughter’s father was a bonafide loser lol. I knew that at 17. He had already tried to talk to half the girls at my school, with no avail. He had no job, insisted that he wouldn’t go to college and instead insisted that he wanted to become a rapper. O, I had the ultimate Loser. Lol.
However, as naive as I was about him getting me pregnant, I wasn’t naive about who/what I was dealing with. And yes, I say him getting me pregnant because during the time of conception he ejaculated in me, never told me this and when I asked about the amount of fluid he told me bluntly, ‘thats not me, thats you’. Only to find out later, he was lying through his teeth. But I knew that he didn’t have potential in my life. I knew he wouldn’t be the type of father my daughter needed. I knew not to get my hopes up on expecting him to do the right thing. This was the sole reason that I refused to give my kid his last name.
I already thought it was disgusting when I ran into women who had 2 kids and everyone in the family had a different last name. The mother would be a Jones, one child would be a Williams and another Danes. It was disgusting to me. I didn’t want that in my family. I knew I wasn’t going to marry him.
When I got pregnant, my dad asked me what my plans were. I told him I was going to college. He replied : “So your not going to have a baby?” I told him yea, I was having a baby. He told me that I couldn’t have a baby AND go to school. I had to choose one or the either.
I then got a call from the guy’s mother asking me who was the father of my baby. She asked me what I planned to do. At that time I told her that I was going to put the baby up for adoption. She asked me a string of other questions that didn’t make any sense…. like when did this happen, how did it happen. Lol.
By the time graduation rolled around, my mother was not speaking to me. She had told the world I was pregnant. I had calls coming in from all of her friends expressing concern and sympathy about my situation. It was really over the top.
After I had the baby, just as I predicted, my daughter’s dad= bonafide deadbeat. But his mother was ridiculous. She would constantly be defending him and his non-existant role in my daughter’s life. When I told them I was going to file for child support she went ballistic saying that I was ungrateful that I had gotten myself pregnant. She said that I should have kept my legs shut and that the pregnancy was my fault.
All of the bitterness from my experience with coming into motherhood is still fresh in my mind. However, as opposed to sitting around being just bitter, I’ve used that energy as fuel to push myself through life. I have a point to prove. I will never forget what my experience was like coming into motherhood.