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I grabbed my daughter's hand and squeezed it, Baby,
you're doing really well, I'm so proud of you, I encouraged my only
daughter who was close to presenting me with
my third grandchild. Annie had moved in with me shortly after her divorce.
I'd climb into a pair of jeans and wander out to the
screened porch barefoot, and there
would be Chris and Frank in track shorts and gym
shoes, usually shirtless, toiling away at returning my
manor to a civilized appearance. To paraphrase somebody or
other, manual labor is a wonderful thing I could sit and watch it for hours.
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Almost a year later, though, the day came as I had
known it would. Chris would graduate in June and
was headed for Notre Dame on a major
athletic scholarship. And Frank, already
an up-and-coming basketball player, would be adding varsity football
in the fall which meant a summer filled with weekend practice sessions. I was
happy for both of them, but I was also going to
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have to find some new yard guys. When I asked
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Chris if there was anyone he felt he could recommend, he and Frank exchanged
glances and Chris cleared his throat.
My mind was racing, Why didn't you marry a normal guy. Why
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did Eric wait until you got pregnant to tell you he wanted to live
with his male lover and your marriage was a mistake. These thoughts
blitzed through my mind as this precious
daughter was working so hard to deliver life into this world.