Better Have A Plan "B"

2009-07-22T08:54:00.041-05:00

There I was, all of 19 years old, in the Air Force, living off base with two roommates. One was a white girl, and the other was a white guy. I'll call them Cindy and Bud. Bud was from Kentucky. The hills of Kentucky, and he was as crazy as they come. I had never met anyone that came from a very, very small town and had a very, very small mentality. He was nice, but he was a little off, if you know what I mean. One evening, right around the time that Charles Manson and his group had everyone on terror-alert, we were sitting around in the apartment smoking weed, like we did all the time. Cindy and I started talking about drugs, and somehow acid got into the conversation. Well, I don't know quite where the acid itself came from, but there it was. The "tab". It had to be Cindy; it wasn't me, and Bud was not even the kind of person to pop acid. She was one of those crazy white girls. The kind you end up seeing on a Girls Gone Wild video. Bud and I had never taken it before. Acid had only recently emerged with my age group in Baltimore just before I left. I tried it that night, and never again, ever. The most that I can recall about that evening is that we were in someones car. I have no idea whose car it was because none of us had one. We were going to some burger joint, and I was sitting in the back seat; and all the way there, the trees along the side of the road seemed to reaching out to grab us. I have had some scares with drugs in my lifetime, but that one was a doozie!

One of those weekends, fate was working overtime again! "G" had driven up for the weekend, and we were having our usual fun out on the town. He arrived on Friday evening, we did our thing-thing, and went out for a while. We returned to the apartment, and chilled with Bud and Cindy for a while, and headed off to bed. I awoke that next morning with my best friend lying next to me, sound asleep. It was a bright, cool and sunny Nebraska Saturday morning. But it "looked" different. I couldn't put my finger on what was different, exactly, because it all looked the same. Whatever. I needed to use the potty, so off I went. On my way, I noticed that my stomach felt a little queasy, and my first instinct was to assume that I had drank too much last night. That thought was instantly replaced by what turned out to be the actual truth: I was pregnant! Now, I have heard of women who don't even realize that they are pregnant until months into the pregnancy. I knew the very next morning. And, yes, you guessed it: I proceeded to do the usual "pregnant woman thing" and throw up for the next several minutes.

I must have sat in that bathroom for an hour tossing around the idea of having a baby. But more than that, I had to figure out how I was going to tell this man that I was about to bring a baby into the world that neither of us had planned for in our individual lives. On a personal level, I was fine with the idea. I didn't know exactly how it was all going to work out, but I was born and bred in the land of young, single, black mothers. At least I was legally an adult! Marriage never entered my brain. There was no scheme. We were having unprotected sex, I got pregnant, and I was going to be a Mom. I never even thought of linking our lives together forever because that was not a custom that I had ever seen in play. I figured I would tell him, he would decide if he wanted to be a part of the baby's life (either decision would have been fine with me), and then I would decide if I would remain in the military, or go back to Lexington Terrace to raise my child. Unfortunately, all of my training and preparation in the military did nothing to "fix" the hidden and scarred childhood building blocks that I was made up of. I was a victim of the mentality that made it "ok" to return and be a statistic. At least I had gotten out, even if I did return (a failure).

I returned to the bedroom with a new resolve. I excitedly jumped back into the bed and woke him up with the news. The man was less than impressed. I had no basis to know what he could have possibly been thinking; but in retrospect, I now think I know that he saw his future flash before his eyes, and he did not like it. He was from a place where boys and girls got married if the girl got pregnant. I didn't know that. It must have been like a bomb going off in his head. I was totally oblivious to the disappointment and probable terror he must have been experiencing. The impact and implications of the whole situation were far greater on him than on me. Once again, "The Plan". The man had a plan, he was working it, and he did not have a clue that this was headed his way. Guess he should have had a "Plan B", too, huh?

After that visit, things got decidedly cooler between us. He would still come to visit, but his visits were marred by brooding and long silences. My military experiences were getting to be less and less pleasurable, and I was having morning sickness every day, all day. My superiors were not happy with my performance, and I'm sure, secretly wished that I would just leave the military, voluntarily. I specify "voluntarily" because they previously had tried to kick me out with a Dishonorable Discharge, and did not succeed. That situation involved me bringing charges against the married senior master sergeant who was dating Cindy, calling me a "black bitch". That didn't turn out very well for him; he lost 2 stripes in that. And, fortunately for them, I was ready to go anyway. As far as I was concerned, they were starting to get on my nerves. In my own way, I was taking care of me and my unborn baby. What?! With all of that "Uncle Sam comes first" bull-crap! I felt no loyalty to the military, and if I had ever had any, it was certainly gone now. My priorities had shifted through no choice of my own, and my Higher Power went to work once again.

2009-07-22T08:42:00.009-05:00

Early in 1976, we were both to begin our respective "jobs" with the Air Force. I graduated from Weather Specialist training and "G" graduated from Fire Protection Specialist training at Chanute Air Force Base, IL. I received orders to report to Offutt AFB, Nebraska, and he got orders to Whiteman AFB, Missouri. We were both okay with the parting, and made plans to see each other since we were not stationed that far apart. Often times in the military, one developes close friendships with people that they will never get to see again. Ours was not the case. Our situations and circumstances made it possible for him to drive from Missouri to Nebraska at least twice a month to see me. I had gotten an apartment off base with a couple of roomates, and life was just what a young adult would want it to be. His visits made my days of dealing with those seemingly senseless rules beareable! After Basic and Tech school, life returns to normal, and everything is not quite as dramatic and formal as before, and therefore not as scary. All I thought about was when "G" was going to next be there with me. Funny, though; they told me way back in Tech school that my attention to my personal life was taking away from what I needed to learn in order to perform as a Weather Specialist for the United States government.

2009-07-16T09:21:00.012-05:00

I say I fell in love with him, but I must attempt to clarify what "love" meant to me at that time. I was from a place where love between a man and a woman was only dramatized using sex. And not that fairytale, carry-me-away-on-a-white-horse kind of passionate sex, either. It was the dark, forbidden, dirty kind. The kind where there would be a definite exchange of services for money. Not prostitution; just every day people. Sex was a tool, and too many times I saw the tool get used and equated to love. I remember once when I was around 9 or 10 years old, my mother was having male company in the living room. I hated it when had men over because even then I knew that she would be "doing the nasty" with them, and then suddenly, one of use would be getting something new that we needed. She didn't work, so I don't know what the hell I expected of her! Unbeknownst to me, it was my turn. The next morning, we all dressed and ready to go downtown shopping. We go into the shoe store, and I was then informed that I was getting new tennis shoes (sneakers, for those of you in the midwest :). I can still feel the contempt that I felt at having her buy me shoes with that money. I had the audacity to open my mouth and proudly announce that "I don't want your whore shoes!" Needless to say, she slapped the taste out of my ungrateful mouth, and bought the shoes anyway; and I wore them, too! But not all of the men who came around were for money, though. Some of them were just for drunken fun with her best friend, who will remain nameless. I need to say that "B", who was my mother's best friend is one of the most wonderful, caring peopleI have ever known. She loved my mother with her whole heart. I will be forever grateful for her presence in my mother's life for almost all of her life. They were teenagers together. They both came to know the Lord at the same time in their lives, and their friendship never ended; right up to our mother's death. She even helped me handle the funeral arrangements. I knew nothing about preparing a funeral. She was so gracious, and caring. Thanks, "B". But I digress. I was attempting to clarify that my concept was, and some ways still is, way off. So when this lovely black man reached out his hand to make sure that I didn't die, I knew that what I had known before that moment was not love at all. This was different. Yes, we had sex, lots of sex, incredible sex; but somehow, I knew that even if he and I never saw each other again past Tech school, he would remain one of "those" people forever in my heart. But once again, as my Higher Power would have it, our paths were to forever remain tied for now.

2009-07-15T18:10:00.000-05:00

Chanute Air Force Base is located in a town called Rantoul, Illinois, and was where the friendship between Airman "G" and I blossomed into a romance. He knew the exact day and time that I was to arrive, and as soon as I checked into my squadron, I headed for the nearest phone to let him know that I was there. We saw each other almost every day after school; and each and every weekend we headed into town. We would meet after classes on Friday evening, go to the base package store (liquor store), and make that short, wonderful walk into town, check in the Rantoul Holiday Inn, have some fun out on the town, and then go back to our room. We laughed, made loved, probably drank too much, and became what a I thought was the best of friends. Neither of us claimed to love each other. Not out loud, anyway. We knew that were FIRE together. We knew we had a lot of similar interests and a lot in commom. We both were very intelligent, and had dreams and plans for our individual futures. We were simply "kickin' it".

I recall the evening that I knew that I had fallen in love with him. It was a weekday, and we were staying on base. I was in my dorm room waiting for "G" to arrive. The normal procedure we used for receiving guests was for the airman on guard duty to let you know that someone was downstairs waiting for you. Well, unfortunately, that was the time in my life when I needed to feel anything but the real me. I didn't know it then, though. I've since learned that I didn't know who the "real me" was. As only an alcoholic/addict would do, I decided to use a trick that one of my past boyfriends taught me. I, with all of my intelligence, proceeded to drink a half bottle of cough syrup! You see, that was the last get-high craze that I knew about before I left Lexington Terrace. I had never done it before. I had only been around my boyfriend when he did it. The problem was that I couldn't stay awake to wait on "G". Thinking that I needed some air, I sat on the window sill, with the window wide open, legs hanging over the outward side of the window. It would have been a good idea, and it seemed innocent enough, but I started thinking that I could probably fly with little or no difficulty! Now, at the same time, somewhere in in my brain, I knew that it was the cough syrup, and that I COULD NOT FLY in reality, so I got my behind out of the window sill and lay down across my bed. Bigger mistake! Fortunately, before I could get too deep into that "nap" I heard a loud, persistant banging on my door. Suffice to say that if "G" had not come when he did, and if the airman-on-duty had not banged on my door when he did, I would have lapsed into a coma... a syrup-induced coma. But the banging and calling of my name woke me up. My brain was mush, and that walk down the hallway to the stairs was done in a complete fog. "G" must have seen that I wasn't fairing too well; and being the man that he was, he didn't say anything until we got out of earshot of the young man, and with his arm around me, he walked me outside and asked me what was wrong. I told him what I had done, and that I was way too high, and I was scared. He asked what he could do to make it better, and do you know that my stupid behind had never found out from that thug boyfriend what needed to be done to come down from a bad trip? I though I was toast! What happened next was another one of those Higher Power intervention things. "G" started to play with me. When I say play, I mean we got into a one-on-one touch football game right there on the manicured lawn of the Weather Training Squadron. He chased me around, and gently pushed me, and tackled me, and made me laugh until some of the fog rolled away from my brain. Apparently, he surmised that if I worked some of it off, it would get better. He was right; it did. In the midst of it all, I was thinking, "this man is saving my life. I think I love him". That was the same night that I heard Elton John's song, "Someone Saved My Life Tonight". From that night until this day, it's still one of my favorite songs. Later, we went to the NCO club on base, and I requested it from the dj and dedicated it to "G". I've often wondered if he remembered that incident throughout the years. That was the night that I fell in love with LCG, Jr.

2009-07-15T14:00:00.000-05:00

To backtrack a little, I went home to Baltimore on my first leave between Basic and Technical School. I must confess, my mother got back a different daughter. I was Airman Scovens. I left home a smart-mouthed, back-talking, opinionated little girl masquerading as a woman. I returned a young military person with a new attitude. There I was, fresh out of Basic and Tech School; and anyone that's been thru that experience knows that it's a time period for stripping an individual down to basic raw materials, and rebuilding them with the principles and ideals representative of the United States military. It worked perfectly on me. Things that my mother would previously ask me to do would either not get done, or the back-talk that I would give about doing it was not worth it. Now, a second thought was not even produced my brain. My mother was an authority figure, and therefore, respect was automatic, and the chore was not a chore. It was simply a command given by my superior to be obeyed. Taking out the trash was nothing compared to scrubbing the building pillars with a toothbrush!

Being at home again was an eye-epening experience for me. Now I could SEE it. Baltimore was not the place to live out my hopes and dreams. All of those things that I used to dream about were slowly but surely coming into view on my horizon. It had now been confirmed for me that life really didn't have limits. The contrast was placed before me and it was stark. It was like placing hope along side of despair, and I was definitely coming down on the "hope" side. One evening while visiting, I had an epiphany. I went to my best friend's house. We were buddies from the word "go". Before I left for the military, we were inseparable! We got high together, we had boyfriends at the same time, we went to the same high school, and we cut the same classes together. Best of friends. Well, this particular evening, I went to her house. She, I and her sisters were back on the same page; just like I had never left. All of us were excited about seeing each other again, and we began to smoke weed and drink, listen to music; just generally partying. At some point in that setting, my mind started to wander. As I was daydreaming, I came to the realization that they were headed nowhere, not concerned about it, and that was where I was headed not more than 2 months ago! When I left Baltimore that time, it was with no trepidation. I was happy to be returning to my new life, with new friends, new paths to places that I never had access to before. I felt like I was on my way to somewhere. I had a plan and I was working it; and to top it all off, I was helping my mother to care for my sisters with the allotment that came from my paycheck every 15 days. I was good to go! Little did I know that probably should have started on Plan B that very day!

2009-07-15T10:27:00.009-05:00

While stationed at Chanute AFB, one sunny afternoon, there was a phone call in the dorm. There was a community pay phone midway the hallway, and I answered. It was for her, and I told the male caller that I would knock on her door. I did, and there was no answer. I went back to the phone, told the caller that she was not there, and asked if he wanted to leave a message. Don't think I had a sudden attack of "nice". I didn't want to do it, but I believed in (and still do) "do unto others blah de blah, blah". Unfortunately, the male caller was a jackass, and proceeded to tell me that I way lieing, called me a couple of racial names, and demanded that I get her to the phone. Well, Airman Scovens wasn't going to listen, and Joanne from Lexington Terrace was lurking just below the surace waiting to take over the reigns at any time. After I told him what I thought about him and his hillbilly girlfriend, I hung up, went to back to my room and wrote the girl a note. I think I said something like "tell your ignorant friends that no one has to go and get you, or take any notes, and if you want to discuss this note, meet me in the tv room". I taped the note to the door, and went to the tv room to await her arrival. I knew she would come because she was just that kind of nerd. I think I already knew that I was going to beat her up. True to form, here she came, talking in that high-pitched country voice, and waiving that note, which I knew I had to get back. Too much evidence. She yelled out my name, and man, I could hardly wait to answer. She started screaming about me leaving such a vulgar note on her door, etc. I can remember that I felt such an internal satisfaction that I had rattled her chain. I happened to be eating an apple at the time, so I continued to eat while she vented. After I finished with my apple, I calmly walked over to the trash can, threw in the core and then turned to her. This stupid girl had followed me across the room to the trash can! I don't even remember what else she was saying. I just knew that I was ready to dust her off. I snatched the note out of her hand and was about to put it into the pocket of my fatigue pants when she tried to grab it from me and made the mistake of touching my hand! HOUSTON, WE HAVE TOUCHDOWN! My time had finally come. I hit that girl so hard that her glasses flew one way and she flew the other. She tried to get up, but I rushed her; and to say that I thoroughly pummeled her would be too easy of a description and too much of an understatement. Some of our fellow airmen broke up the ruckus, helped her pull herself together, and I headed for the First Sergeant's office. I knew that's where I was going to end up, and that was just fine with me. I was feeling quite justified and satisfied. She should have never put her hands on me AT ALL. After the First Shirt (as we called him) got both sides of the story, I was released and she was told to "check" her friends. Needless to say, I felt very vendicated on that wash-back thing, and she never spoke to me again. Furthermore, the Drill Sergeant from Basic lied. I haven't heard a word from her yet!

2009-07-15T09:41:00.009-05:00

While still at Lackland, I received my technical training orders. Lo, and behold, "G" and I discovered that we were both going to be stationed at Chanute Air Force Base in Illinois. More of my Higher Power's intervention! My job specialty was to be Weather Observation, and "G" was to be a Fire Protection Specialist. We were supposed to leave Lackland at the same time, since we both went into the military at the same time from different states; "G" was from Oklahoma City, OK. Now, like I said, I stayed in trouble. I made it all the way to the last week of Basic. The group was given a town pass. Town pass meant that during the weekend, and that weekend only, we were free to go into town (San Antonio) and spend the day sightseeing, eating, etc. Well, of course "G" and I made plans to spend the day together, and that was allowed. What was not allowed was reacting to the uncontrollable rush of sexual tension that materialized when we actually got to be in closer proximity to each other. I had never experienced that kind of physical attraction, and up until this very day, I haven't experienced it since. We were sneaking little kisses, and when we thought no one was looking, he would inadvertenly pat me on the butt. You know, the stuff that gets the blood circulating. It got way too heated for public, and one of my sister airmen ran back to the barracks and informed the drill sergeant that I was participating in PDA (public displays of affection). Talk about a thing snowballing out of control! I was immediately summoned back to the barracks. Boy, did the sergeant read me the riot act. Town pass was immediately revoked! I had to stay in the barracks for the rest of the weekend on dorm guard duty, of all things! And to top it all off, I was no longer in day 25 with 5 days to go. I was now officially WASHED BACK! Come Monday morning, I would be placed with a new flight (group of female airmen), who were only on day 19! I didn't know any of them! I didn't want to be washed back! Basic was hard, and I was ready to leave there! Especially since "G" was going to be leaving Lackland in a few days. Needless to say, I wanted to literally kill the girl who ratted me out. I guess the drill sergeant could see it in my eyes because she informed me that she would be "keeping her ears open" to make sure that I don't ever do anything to the girl for as long as I was in the military. That was to scare me, and believe me, it worked. The irony of it all was that the snitch was going to Chanute AFB also! She didn't know I was coming, but they knew I was going. Fact of matter is, I was going to let by-gones be by-gones until she had a brain-fart and ever so slightly put her hands on me while we were stationed at Chanute. It was innocent enough, but it was all I needed to beat the tar out of her and not get court martialed. That was one of the more delicious moments in my brief military experiences, so let me tell you about that!

2009-07-14T08:46:00.006-05:00

Around week 2 of Basic Training, I met the man who was to change my life forever. In Basic, females and males are not even allowed to acknowledge that the opposite sex exists. We couldn't and wouldn't make eye contact. Also around 2-week point, there is yet another training class where the sexes are "re-introduced", and are allowed to speak to each other. It was like a cliche; the class was taking place in the Chapel, and I saw him across the sanctuary. He was the most handsome black man I had ever seen! First of all, I had never even seen anyone that dark, and then he was pretty. I had no idea what they waere attempting to teach us in that class because I had made my mind up right then and there. As soon as they let me, I was going to make a bee-line for him and introduce myself. Well, they did, and I did it. Let me tell you, I did not know that black people could get that black, and I surely did not know that a black bald head could look that good and delicious sweating in the Texas sun! Lord, have mercy! I didn't stand a chance, and little did he know, neither did he. Remember? I was 18 years old, and now physically fit, with a body full of rampaging hormones! If I could have jumped on him right then and there I probably would have. He must have gotten the message, because he did not turn and hightail it away from this girl who was obviously interested in him.

According to his name tag, his name was "G" (protecting his privacy). We talked and walked, and it was an awkward first meeting. The tension was high because we never knew where the line was with the Air Force. Public Displays of Affection were a big no-no and would get you a big demerit. We had to carry around these pieces of paper in our shirt breast pocket. I think they were akin to an Article 15, which no one wanted. Almost like being on probabation. Gee whiz! What pressure! Well, Article 15 or no, I was a goner. He had my heart from the first words he spoke. I remember going back to the barracks and just throwing myself on my bunk and screaming to the top of my lungs how much I wanted him. Every time we had a chance to see each other after that initial meeting, we did. By the time Basic was over, I knew I had met the man of my dreams, plus I was no long a girl. I was a young woman who had been polished by the United States Government.

Part 2

2009-07-14T08:22:00.006-05:00

My 6 weeks of basic training would have been ordinary for an ordinary person, but I was, and am, for that matter, far from ordinary. I took at that whole experience and treated it as if it were a play that I was starring in. In a way, it was. It was another one of those extraordinary things that my Higher Power was doing to bring me to where I am today, relatively happy, remember?

Basic training was intense and hot. I had never experienced anything even close to that! They must have been kidding. Me? Joanne, run around a hot concrete track in 90+ degree Texas heat and no shade to be found. Not I! Some days I would, and some days I wouldn't. On the days that I wouldn't, I would fake fainting right there on the track so that I could be taken back inside of the barracks where it was air conditioned. It was too hot, and I didn't see the point. Boy, was I full of myself, and I was in for a reality check! I was not prepared physically, mentally or emotionally for what was about to happen.

To look at me, I was a fine specimen of young womanhood. I could not have weighed more than 110 pounds, no inclination toward athleticism, and happy about it. It made me sweat, and was therefore, deemed unnecessary by me! Perfectly proportioned back then: Approximately 34-24-36, light chocolate brown complexion, shoulder-lenght black hair that I chose to wear in an afro. All that said, I was put together well, and had no problem getting my way (most of the time). Well, Uncle Sam took this "project chick" and beat the literal "hell" out of her. I had two female drill seargeants, and they were no joke. It was like somebody sent a note ahead of me and told them to hassle me until I broke. Life in the dormitory was not a strange way to live for me. I grew up sharing a bedroom with my 2 sisters. This was just a multiplication of that. For the most part, I got along well with my fellow airmen. That is, of course, until one of us messed something up and the whole flight (title for a group of female Air Force basic trainees) got into trouble. A couple of times it was me; usually, my mouth. I hadn't learned yet to shut up all the way. After the initial shock of being there wore off, things leveled out. I started feeling a sense of pride and honor within myself that I had never experienced before. The uniformity of the drills, the expectation of passing inspection, the learned appreciation and respect for the authority were some of the things that helped to develop character traits in me that would certainly aid me in the years to follow. The thing that I learned really well was when and where NOT to cut the fool. Even with that learned, I still managed to get into trouble! One instance, when I voiced some smart-mouthed opinion about something, I ended up scrubbing the pigeon poop off of the outside pillars with a toothbrush and a bucket of water! And just when it seemed as if I would make it through Basic without being court-martialed, 11 days from graduating from the most grueling 6 weeks of my life, I got into the worse trouble of all.

Part 1

2009-07-13T15:39:00.009-05:00

On May 5, 1975, I graduated third in the 1975 class of Douglass High School, and on May 6, 1975, I had some decisions to make! My mother had this rule: You either worked or you went to school. She preferred I worked, and I knew I wasn't going to school any more, so I decided to go into the United States Air Force! It seemed like a decent way to help mother by way of monthly allotments, and to get out of Baltimore at the same time. After about a week or two of smoking weed all the time, hanging out with my friends all night, sleeping late all day, and having way too much unprotected sex, my mother started looking at me with "the eye". You know "the eye". That one where she can look at you from across the room and stop you dead in your tracks? So, one afternoon while strolling around downtown Baltimore, high as a kite, I saw the USAF Recruiting Center. I went, just out of curiosity, and low and behold, the recruiters were men! BINGO! I loved to flirt, and the next thing I knew, I was in the process of enlisting. Don't get it confused. I was aware of everything that I was doing; but it's just so strange to look back at it now and see it for what it was. I now know that my intent was to flirt and be a temptress to those grown men, but my Higher Power's intent was to get me positioned for the series of events that He had planned for my life. As for me, I asked this man well over 20 years my senior if he would take me to my prom! He accepted (for reasons of his own). I just know he took a heck of a ribbing from his co-workers for taking doggone-near jailbait to her prom. What a night that was! I was so young, naive and uncultured that I didn't even know that I needed to bring an overnight bag with me since I knew I would be spending the night at his house after the prom. I didn't even have a toothbrush! He had to give me one (funny how he happened to have a spare brand new one). The days following the prom are not quite so clear. I partied so hard and consistently after prom that I barely made it to the recruiting center on induction day to become United States Government property. I do remember that I basked in the glory and attention I was getting from making such a decision. No one I knew was going to do anything like that. Most of them were not even going to work much less the military. My mother practically lost all of her friends due to bragging on me. None of her friends' kids were going into "the Service" (as she always said). She must have told anybody and everybody in Lexington Terrace that her daughter turned down many scholarships to go into the Air Force. To be perfectly honest, I didn't think it was a big deal. I had to do something, and the military seemed like the thing to do. In a way, I felt like she was faking a little. Acting all proud, and in reality, all she wanted me to do is get the cash value of those scholarships, give her the money, then go into "the service" and start an allotment to her. You know what? I was happy to do it because that's the way I was raised - to always look out for her and my sisters. I was proud to do it, and resentful at the same time. Looking back at that decision, I now know that it was not my decision at all. My entire life has been totally orchestrated by a Power so much greater than myself.

On July 1, 1975, I was inducted to the United States Air Force. Airman Joanne Scovens. I was a wild weed from Lexington Terrace Housing Projects in Baltimore, Maryland. There I was, 18 years old, going on my first airplane trip ever to San Antonio, Texas, Lackland Air Force Base Basic Training! Boy! Was I in a fog or what! I probably had a hangover. My seat on the airplane, I've since learned, was the most undesireable seat on a commercial aircraft: that first one in economy class facing the closet panel with the window to my right. I can still recall the terror. I didn't know that no one else on the plane was about to throw up! I must have looked like a runaway slave, because the stewardess asked me if I was okay,and I must have responded affirmatively because no paramedics came. I couldn't even process the thoughts: First time out of Maryland, first trip on a plane, and going into "the service". What the hell was going on here? Little did I know that this was the beginning of a new plan and a new chapter; not just for me, but for my entire family. A new root structure to my family tree began to take hold on that flight to San Antonio. The maternal side of my children's family has been so deeply rooted in poverty, shame,and way too much darkness. Always hiding and rebirthing the kinds of secrets that keep generations of aunts and uncles and cousins mad at each other for things they know nothing about, and had even less to do with.

Insight Into Me

2009-07-11T10:08:00.022-05:00

When I was a teenager, around 17 or so, I liked life a lot. I, and my sisters, (whose names I will change for privacy purposes), Marie, Vanessa, and Lenora, and my mother lived in the projects, and it was okay. Matter of fact, it was a definite step up from the row house in the middle of ghetto Baltimore in the early 1960's! I can clearly recall how excited the three of us girls were to be moving out of the tenement and into the "jects". Lenora hadn't come along yet. She came after we moved.

Don't get it twisted; we had a ball growing up in our neighborhood! "Fun" is not a descriptive enough word for it. If you've ever seen one of those Spike Lee period-pieces, then you have a picture of what my life was like as a child. It was poor, and yet it was rich in love, and nobody had any more than the next person. We didn't know that life could get so much better, material wise. But, I, on a personal level, didn't know that life could get so much more horrifying, emotionally. Most of the "high living" was only on television, and certainly for white people. For some reason, though, I had this thing inside of me that had to know if I really could have better. Consequently, I knew I would have to leave. I didn't know where, and I wasn't unhappy. I just wanted more, and I was tired to getting laughed at, and poked fun at for wanting more. Even my mother, now deceased, used to tell me that I was crazy. I would say something like, "I don't understand why we can't have a color television". Now, that statement within itself is not far fetched. But, if you make a statement like that in the socio-economic conditions that we lived in, it did seem like a crazy thing to say. We barely had a television, much less a color one!
Within these pages I hope to leave my family some history, some laughs, and some insight into who Joanne S really was. The "G" came later.

I will start by saying that I was something to contend with on any level. You see, I am a Libra, and I've always known it. When I first learned about my zodiac sign, I was so intrigued to find that so much of what I was supposed to be like was actually what I was really like. But being a Libra was not all that shaped my life. When I was in my mid-30's, I experienced the resurfacing of a repressed childhood memory. I recalled that I had been sexually molested by an uncle when I was around 5 years old. I had no clue why I acted out sexually during my teen years. I thought I was just being me. I didn't know that sex was not the only way to get my boyfriend to stay with me. Don't misunderstand. I knew my body was precious and not be spread around. What I didn't know was that it's okay to feel good about sex and to enjoy sex (when the time is appropriate). That experience from childhood put sex in a "bad place" in my brain, and it affected me for many years into my adult life. Unfortunately, my ex-husband had to live through those unexplainable reactions that I sometimes had to the simplest sexual requests he may have had, and had a right to have, from his wife. I am the eldest of four sisters born to an alcoholic-turned-Christian single mother. Most of my youth was spent being "too grown" for my own good. You know the kind of girl I'm talking about.... that fast-assed, smart-mouthed, quick-witted one who spoke up when she probably should shut up? Yeah! That was me. It's been that way for most of my life, though. I can recall despising my mother for not speaking up and being stronger. I did not know that those very same traits existed in me, and would manifest themselves, and play a pivotal role in my marraige, and in the raising of my own daughters.

2009-07-11T08:22:00.009-05:00

At this stage of the game, I am 51 years old ("half of a hundred", as I so fondly call it), of average health, and relatively happy. And let me tell you, relatively happy was not easy to come by. There was a long, sometimes painful journey to this, and the scary part is that it almosts feels like the end! What a freaking shock! I know that in most likelihood, it not nearly over; but the fact that it could be is nothing to be cavalier about. You see, my ex-husband, and father of our now-adult 3 daughters died at age 50! I'm pretty sure that after all he strived for in his life, dieing at 50 was not a part of his plan. I think my point is that life truly is a mystery. No one could have ever told me that I would end up a bona-fide, card-carrying, self-proclaimed alcoholic! Not just a run of the mill alcoholic, but a 40-something, crack-smoking, cocaine and heroin shooting, homeless crazy woman! That was never a part of my plan! I've often been told that I am crazy, but I never pictured that kind of crazy! Ironically, I've often found that "crazy" helps to make it through sometimes.

Plans are good to have, so they say. Sometimes they fall apart, though. For me, the bottom line is that sometimes we are not prepared for what life has in store for us, so a Plan B might be a good thing.

Foreword

2009-07-10T23:02:00.000-05:00

Everybody says that I should write a book. Don't they say that to everyone? I believe that my life was ordinary and normal. Not boring; but ordinary and normal. The funny thing is that I didn't have (nor do I now) any idea what "ordinary" or "normal" is.

I really don't have any idea how to do this, and I am hesitating; but maybe by the end of this venture, something good will come to someone. Hopefully, someone somewhere can "feel me". If nothing else, my family will have a chronicle for the grand kids and great-grand kids! I can honestly say that I don't know where the "beginning" is, but I do know that we (as mere humans) have NO CLUE! No clue at all. Hence, the title of this manuscript (for now): "Better Have a Plan "B".