There are so many pivotal moments in life...important first moments that span our years on this earth. I've been thinking about them.
The first time I saw the Pacific Ocean...
It was 2006...the Stinnett household flew to Oahu. We had the good fortune of being hosted by dear friends who were stationed there with the Air Force. The whole trip tests my ability to write. If you didn't know, the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans are two very different bodies of water. Standing on the shore, I could feel the difference. Sugar sand beaches...black volcanic rock beaches...grains of sand more numerous than I can count, but every one of them numbered by their Creator.
The first time I was pregnant...
It happened easily and rather quickly. At that time, I had a close friend who was in the trenches of infertility and I felt the tiniest bit guilty. All I ever really wanted to be was a mama. Yes, I wanted to teach, but it paled in comparison to having a baby. I remember being gripped with an overwhelming sense of "WHAT IN THE WORLD HAVE I DONE??" Not uncommon, if I had to guess. That first baby was our blue eyed Boyo. Hearing his heart beat for the first time...feeling those first kicks (they felt like bubble popping)...sitting through a green light as we watched my abdomen move as he rolled and stretched...seeing his face for the first time. "He looks like me!" If you've seen Mr. Snark, our brown eyed Boyo...Mr. Snark's mama and Uncle Dearest, you would understand my shock. They look near to Xerox copies of each other. This blonde haired, blue eyed baby was a beautiful surprise.
The first (and only time) I went to the principal's office in high school...
I was a freshman. It was lunchtime. A friend and I decided to walk outside and soak up a little sunshine. That can be a rarity in Michigan, depending on the time of year. I bought a Diet Coke from the vending machine in the cafeteria and we walked outside. Our moments of respite were interrupted by one of the assistant principal's as he and the principal drove through the parking lot. He rolled down the window and ORDERED me to report to his office at such and such time to discuss my violation of taking my drink outside of the cafeteria. Did I know that was against the rules? I did not. Could I have lied to him and said that I had walked just a few blocks down the street to the 7-11 and bought the offending can of pop (remember, this was Michigan)? I sure could have...but didn't. If I had bought it from the 7-11, would it have been as offending? Every morning, the back fence that surrounded the campus was kept upright by students having a last morning cigarette, Honeybun, and a can of Mountain Dew before the first bell rang. Did I have plans to throw my empty can on the ground...absolutely not! I was well taught by Woodsy Owl..."Give A Hoot! Don't Pollute!" I got two ears full of administrative correction when I reported to his office. No further punishment beyond that and to be quite frank, that was more than necessary. Maybe he was trying to impress the principal by being a hard-ass. I don't know. I made it my business to never darken that man's door by order or choice ever again.
The first time I had surgery...
2008. Partial hysterectomy. The need for such had made blatantly obvious. We were in Cartersville. MILove had come down to help with the little Boyos. My pastor, choir director, and the pastor emeritus from our church all showed up at the hospital to visit with us and pray with us. Three pastors...little old me. I remember joking with my doctor as I was being prepped on the table. He was born in Argentina, grew up in The Bahamas, but went to undergraduate in Connecticut. "They had to teach you what a sweater was, didn't they?" About the time that flew out of my mouth, things above me split like a Picasso painting. The next thing I knew, I was in recovery. I opened my eyes and my nurse happened to be standing bedside. "There you are!" "Oh, hello, " says I. "Have I said anything ugly?" She assured me I hadn't and that no one had been back to see me in my unconscious state. "What a relief! You know, three pastors from my church came to see me before the procedure. I was worried about what I might have said."
The first time my heart was broken...
Sophomore year. I was IN love. As much as you can be at 16. I had our wedding planned. It was a full on band kid spectacle. I just knew we were destined for "happily ever after." I made mistakes that hurt him...unintentional, but nonetheless hurtful. I also think I was too much. The benefit of hindsight reveals that the average 17 year old boy has a limited emotional capacity. It felt like my ability to breath had been altered. We traveled in the same social circles, had many mutual friends. I saw him multiple times each school day and I could only alter my routes to class in just a few ways. The fact that he went on to date two of my best girlfriends didn't help. Time does have a way of healing hurts. I will admit, though, I was still pretty salty when he showed up at my high school graduation party with one of our mutual pals. He hadn't been specifically invited. He did, however, show up with a small gift which helped.
The first time I really moved away from home...
Mama and Sister moved me to the dorm my first year at Eastern Michigan. That was tough, but nothing like when I left the shores of Port Huron for the hills of Knoxville TN. At Eastern, Mama could get to me within a couple of hours. It was now a full day's drive. A solid two weeks passed before the phone in our little married student housing apartment was in service. I used a calling card and the pay phone in the lobby to call Mama a couple of times. She might have called me at the InLoves' house, once, when she knew we would be there. We sort of jumped right into life as a young married couple. And I do mean young...we were both 21. Married on Saturday, traveled to TN on Sunday, he started his new campus job on Monday and I had new student orientation on Wednesday. I had to forge my path in this new identity as a wife...as a married college student...as a resident of East Tennessee. I remember going back to Michigan the following summer...right around the time of our anniversary. My granny said, "Well, Sister! Haven't you gone and found an opinion?" It was one of the best decisions I have ever made.
The first prom dress...
End of Sophomore year...I went with the fellow who was best friends with my best guy-friend...who was dating one of my best girl friends. Money was tight...it was going to be a challenge. We were at a mall and there it was. On sale and marked down beyond the sale price. The prettiest petal pink...sweetheart neckline, puff sleeves...a tier of ruffles that went down the back of the skirt...and a bow above the ruffles. It fit like a dream...and having always resided on the curvier side of the clothes rack, this was a big deal. I don't think it even needed to be hemmed! Mama went over that dress like an IRS agent with a tax form...she found the smallest slash from a blue ink pen. She was sure she could get the ink out. The manager agreed to take another percentage off and we walked out of that store with that dress.
The first time I got fired...
From my first REAL job, actually. I worked at the new multiplex (multi screen movie theater) in my hometown. Math has never been my strong suit. Mental math is an arch nemesis. Making change quickly and accurately became a problem. My cash drawers would routinely be off. In my defense, I had never learned how to count back change. It was YEARS later that I acquired that skill and realized how a lot of confusion could have been avoided if I had known how to do that.
The first time I sang a church solo...
"Oh How He Loves You and Me" was the name of the hymn. I was maybe eight or nine. We lived with Granny and Papa. They were still members of the same church where they raised their children. It was fun going to church with people who had known my mama and her siblings when they were kids. It was the church where Mama and Daddy got married. I used to stand in the little vestibule or on the stage and imagine myself in their wedding pictures. Granny made me wear this one pair of ugly shoes the morning of my solo. They looked ok with jeans but they weren't the best for dresses. I remember twirling the microphone cord in my fingers...standing behind Mrs. Sue Hall at the piano. Oh, could she make that little upright piano jump for joy!!! Old time, Southern gospel...warbling bass cords...and runs all up and down the keyboard. MANY years later, I stood on the little stage...Mama's youngest brother was now the pastor of that same church...and tried to sing a solo. I got so caught up in the emotion of that moment, the lyrics, and the images from the past that I just stood there in tears. My mind conjured up memories of Granny and Papa sitting in their pew...of me and Sister climbing through one of the sliding windows to unlock the door from the inside (why Papa, as chairman of the deacons, didn't have a key was a mystery)...me, practicing my "step together" wedding march up the center aisle.
There are so many more. I hope there are many more to come.
Great read as always. Love you
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