Copyright February/2011
Constructive comments, critiques, and emails are welcome and appreciated.
Please enjoy the story.
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The visiting team was ahead 2 to 1. It was the bottom of the ninth, with two outs and runners on second and third. The count of 0-2 put the batter in the hole. He was one strike away from ending the home teams run in the playoffs. Their catcher called time and went out to talk to his pitcher.
"C'mon Sammy focus," I yelled encouragement to the batter from my coach's position on the third base line.
The youngster stepped out of the batter's box, turned and smiled at me. He nodded his head and took a few practice swings waiting for the catcher to return to his position behind the plate.
That smile is just like his mother's, I thought. She could say more with a smile than a lot of people could with words. Sammy's smile showed he appreciated my encouragement and understood my instructions; it also showed his confidence. He turned and gave the pitcher a smile and this one challenged the pitcher. It said do your best but it still won't be good enough.
I could read Sammy's smiles and recognized his mother in him because Sammy Gerard is my son. My daughter Maggie is in the stands cheering for her younger brother; she never lets him forget that she is the oldest.
My son feels he's too old to be called Sammy; he prefers Sam or Jr. He may be right. Sam Jr. at 15 is just two inches short of my 6' 4. He has my dark hair and blue eyes but his smile is his mother's. Sammy hasn't filled out yet but he'll match my 225 pounds when he gets his full growth.
Maggie, who at 16 prefers to be called Margaret, is tall for a young woman at 5' 10. But she takes after her mother with light brown, almost blond hair and big brown eyes. Margaret also has her mother's slender but athletic build. Like her brother she also plays ball, both softball and volley ball and we'll be at one of her games tomorrow afternoon.
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Their mother, my wife Carol, is not in the stands. In fact I don't know where she is. She left us. I came home from work one day and found the kids with my mother, watching cartoons in the family room. Mom quietly pointed to a note from Carol propped up on the breakfast bar that separates the kitchen from the family room.
The note read:
Sam,
I'm sorry but I can't take it anymore. You and the kids are turning me into an old married woman. That's not what I signed up for. I'm only 35 for Christ's sake. I can't and won't be made into a soccer mom.
There is a signed and notarized divorce decree on the night stand beside the bed. There is also a signed power of attorney giving you my half of the house. I've taken the savings and checking accounts, my clothes and my car. The equity in the house should be worth a lot more than that. Those things and out of this prison of a marriage are all I want.
One last thing, you're a good man. We had fun going to parties and taking trips before the kids came. Then you wanted me to become a stay at home wife and a mother. That isn't me. I have to have excitement and adventures.
Don't come looking for me. Even if you found me there's nothing you can say or do to change my mind.
Goodbye Sam.
Carol
Mom told me, "She called and told me she was leaving and someone had better come over and watch the children. When I got here Maggie and Sam were eating cookies and watching TV; Carol had already left."
Mom's face was red with her anger. She tried and almost succeeded in keeping her voice calm. "What in the world was she thinking leaving two little ones alone?"
My Mom and Dad had tried to be friendly to Carol and welcome her into the family when we got married. But I could tell they weren't real happy with my choice of a wife. I knew their feelings because Dad warned me just two weeks before our wedding.
You see Carol had a reputation when we met as a, well as the English call it, the village bike. Anyone could ride if they bought her dinner and a few drinks. Sometimes dinner wasn't necessary. But after our first date she changed. They village bike had retired and I was the only one riding.
About six months after we started dating Carol told me she was 2 ½ months pregnant. My Dad suggested I have a paternity test done to make sure I was the father. "After all, celibacy hasn't been one of Carol's strong suits," he said.
In the twelfth week the test proved that I was the father of Carol's baby. I was in love with her so marriage was the next step. Our daughter Maggie was born and was perfect. A year later Sam Jr. came along and I thought Carol was happy with our family for six years. Then she changed almost overnight.
I'd noticed that Carol didn't seem happy for the last month or so but she refused to talk about it when I asked her what was wrong. About three months earlier she had started going out one night a week with women from where she worked. That's when she became unhappy. I found after the fact that it wasn't just the girls from work she was meeting.
We never heard from Carol again. The first year was the toughest. How do you explain to children that are 5 and 6 that their mother doesn't want anything to do with them. There were many nights that I had two little bodies snuggled up to me in bed. They knew their mother was gone and were afraid that I would disappear too.
It took a couple of months but I finally convinced them that no matter what I would always come home to them. No matter what, I would always be there with them. Soon they were able to sleep in their own beds without nightmares; or at least not too many of them.
I've taken care of Maggie and Sammy for the last 10 years with help from my mother. My social life, what little there was of it, was put on permanent hold. Taking care of my children was more important than my love life.
Now at 16 and the woman of the house Maggie made it a point and Sammy backed her up, to tell me I should date. Or "get a life" as she says. Maybe they're right, now with them almost grown I can begin to think of myself a little.
