Obloquy

  *

  A year passed, and though I never really forgot the incident in the kitchen with Mom and Dad that day, my focus on what was important had – I hate to admit – altered a great deal. Greg was going to school at the local Christian college to become a minister, and when he wasn’t helping Dad, we spent a lot of time together. I was happy and thrilled to simply be aiding Greg in planning lessons – he still taught the youth group – and assisting him with his studies. I had pretty much convinced myself that Greg wasn’t like Dad. He understood that a woman needed to be her own person.

  Every now and then I would notice Mom’s right eye twitching slightly when studying me – something that always happened when she was worried. I understood. But I also convinced myself she was wrong when it came to Greg. Greg wasn’t like Dad at all.

  I was in love! Blinded by my own stupidity.

  Then one late Saturday night, after a week-long revival of which Greg led, he proposed. Like the lovesick idiot I was, I didn’t hesitate a second in blurting a voluminous yes. I was ecstatic!

  Mom wasn’t.

  Soon as Greg took me home, we announced our engagement to my folks. I think Mom’s mouth dropped a foot. At least, it seemed that way. She was speechless.

  Dad, of course, was thrilled and gave us his full blessings. After all, Greg was going to be co-minister of the church soon as he finished his schooling.

  The next morning, right before church service – Dad had already left for the church which was just across the yard – Mom knocked on my door.

  I opened the door all smiles, happy as I could be. It was clear Mom had been crying. “What’s wrong, Mother?” I noticed then that she wasn’t dressed for church. Still had on her robe. “Are you sick?”

  “I guess I am in a way,” she said with unmistakable anger in her tone.

  “Are you mad at me?” I knew she wasn’t thrilled with me getting married, but I thought she liked Greg. I thought she knew as I did that things would be different with us.

  “I am not sure what I am, Brenda. I have spent most of your life trying to insure that you would not make the same mistakes I have.”

  “I’m not, Mom. I’m not,” I tried to assure her.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head despairingly. “You’re deluding yourself, young lady. Greg might as well be the carbon copy of your father!”

  Angry myself now, I replied, “Mom! How can you say that? He is the sweetest man I’ve ever known.”

  She guffawed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You really haven’t known any men, Brenda. Not really. Greg is the only boy you’ve ever dated seriously.”

  “There was Delbert … And Ronnie,” I protested.

  She chuckled sarcastically again. “Two others besides Greg. Brenda, news flash – That is not nearly enough. You need to get out in the world. You need to find out what you really want out of life. You need to get a college education! You excel in art. Get a degree in art! Granted you probably wouldn’t make much unless you were to teach, but that is better than nothing.”

  “I can marry Greg and still be an artist.”

  “Maybe you can. And that is a big maybe.” She shook her head, flustered. “However, once you’re married, you’ll probably get pregnant.”

  “What’s wrong with that? I want children.”

  “Do you seriously think you will have time for art or anything else when you have a tiny baby? And when you’re not taking care of that baby, you will have to give your husband all your spare time. I know! I’ve been there and done that. It’s not going to be any different for you.”

  “You’re wrong, Mom! I know you are!” I yelled, now spurting tears too.

  Suddenly Dad appeared behind Mom. “What’s going on? I can hear you yelling from the church. People are starting to show for service.”

  Turning quickly on her heels, Mom did something I’ve never seen her do – she sneered at my father. “Go to hell!” She stormed off.

  It is the first time ever that I saw my dad at a complete loss for words.

  “She’s not happy about my marrying Greg…” was all I could muster. I was so stunned by my mother’s behavior.

  The next thing I knew, I heard the door to my folk’s room slam and my mother stormed back down the hall, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, with a backpack thrown over her shoulder. We heard the back door slam and then my mother tearing out of the driveway in her little black Kia Rio.

  Dad and I just stood there dumbfounded.

  After a moment, Dad’s countenance changed from total shock to anger. “She will be sorry she’s put on this childish display!” He slapped the wall with his hand and strode out the door and back over to the church.

  I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there until I heard the back door open again and Greg suddenly came in the hall peering into my room. “Hey there… You okay?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.”

  He stepped in and put his arms around me, trying to comfort me. A gesture that assured me that my mother was wrong about him. I had convinced myself that he was different from my father. After a few minutes, I calmed down and went on over to the church with Greg.

  I didn’t know it, but I would not see my mother again for a very long time. She didn’t come home, nor did she call. It looked more and more like she had left us for good. It took me a while to accept it, but accept it I finally did. At that time, I was actually a little pissed off at her for leaving, especially at such an important time in my life.

  Three months later, Greg and I were married in our church, with Dad officiating, of course.