Wednesday, June 11, 2003
A WALK ON THE MOON, Sex and Lies continued... Monday, June 02, 2003
The motel was not far from the Justice of the Peace. It was so nondescript I can't remember a thing about it. Our honeymoon, we spent the night there. The next morning I feel the urge to call my folks and tell them. It was a sense of duty that compelled me. It's the minimum I could do. We are still in bed. I fumble for the phone on the night-table. Mom answers, "Hi, where are you?" "In a motel in New Hampshire." Silence. I wait. "Is Pete with you?" she asks. "Yes, we're married." "You're kidding". I knew she wouldn't be happy about it. At the time I thought I was doing her a favor. No big wedding to plan, no expense, no debt, no dealing with inlaws she doesn't want to know. In retrospect I see how I cheated her. Attending my own daughter's wedding was such fun, such joy-but this is now and then was then. I didn't care what my mother thought.
Pete and I loll around for awhile, then get dressed and head back to Boston. I have a job working in the Dean of Admissions Office at the Art school, helping with portfolio reviews of incoming freshmen. At night I teach painting at Arlington High School in Adult Ed. classes.
Pete's divorce was pretty brutal. He had huge alimony payments. His wife had his entire summer salary attached to the settlement. Pete knew he didn't have a leg to stand on. He fell for a younger woman, had an affair. Wife has two kids. End of story. He and I knew what we did. He loved his kids. It was difficult for him. He wanted liberal visitation rights and got them. He deserved that. In spite of leaving his wife, he was a great, I mean really great father. He was 1/2 a kid always. He knew how to make kids laugh and love him but he was a disciplinarian-in the best sense. It was a trait I admired most in him. After having a father who was clueless in how to treat children, I married one who was a master at it. The one trait they had in common was their drinking.
We were married in June of 1969. In July that year we had his kids, Jenny and Pete Jr. for the weekend. We'd been at Singing Beach that day, came home to Eastgate. We lived on the 22nd floor, corner apartment with windows all around. A glorious view of Boston across the Charles River. The moon was high in the sky that night. We called the kids to the window, pointed out the moon's shimmering reflection on the river as the glow from the TV in the corner showed Neil Armstrong as he took his first walk on the moon.
THE CAKE WENT SPLAT, Sex and Lies continued...
Meeting the parents was the next step. That need to preserve a sense of family runs deep.
My graduation from B.U. was coming up. I was pretty pleased with myself. The first in my family to go to college and to stick with it for a masters degree. So, it was a degree in ART - my parents seemed proud of me. Everyone in my small family came to Boston in the spring of 1969; gram and gramp, my brother, mom and dad. What they didn't know was that they would also meet my husband to be.
I was pumped. My family got a room in a hotel in Kenmore square. What they also didn't know was that I had already moved in with Pete. His divorce wasn't final, but we managed to get an apartment in Eastgate, an apartment tower in Kendall Sq reserved for faculty and graduate students at M.I.T.
After the ceremonies I made arrangements for dinner when they would get to meet THE MAN. Pete is a relaxed, easy going kind of guy. The kind of person everybody likes. We didn't say anything to my parents about living together. I also didn't mention marriage. We did talk about Pete's other family. There was some tension.
After dinner my dad takes me aside and wants to speak to me ALONE at the bar. This is a rare occurance. He had had a few drinks at dinner but was not drunk. I steel myself for the onslaught. It does not come. He is tender. "Honey, this man is trouble. You can get who ever you want. He's too old for you. Do you understand the burden of children?" and on it goes. He and I have a drink or two. I sympathize with my dad. I'm more touched by the fact that he cared enough to have this conversation with me. We did not talk about love. If he'd asked me if I loved Pete, I couldn't have answered.
The next day the family goes home to NJ. Pete and I go home to Eastgate and wait for his divorce to become final. We get the word the papers will be processed at a date in June. We plan to go to New Hampshire the very next day to get married by a justice of the peace. We can't get married in Massachusetts since they had a 6 month waiting period following divorce before you could remarry. We planned to drive up with our best friends Marge and Dave as witnesses. Dave was the Sports Information Director at Tufts. The sky was a flat gray the day of the trip. I wore a very short dress with a plunging neckline. Marge's dress was so short it looked like a belt. She had great legs. They were to follow us up in their car.
We're in our little caravan driving north. I'm deep in thought and then start to clutch. "Pull over". Pete seems flustered. I'm having doubts. Dave and Marge pull over behind us. They seem confused. We all sit in silence. Pete cajoles me. Not quite begging. I start to feel embarrassed. Something pushes me forward. I don't know what but we decide to drive on.
The rest is like the Beatles movie HELP!. The pace seems manic. We're in the justices' office (It's actually a real estate office but they do weddings too.) Dave is wearing a vest covered with buttons and political jibes. (Dave and Marge had been smoking weed). Pete had on a suit. The gezer who marries us doesn't know whether to stare down the front of my dress or at Marges legs. There's a planter with a philodendron in the shape of a telephone on a desk. Dave picks it up and starts talking into it. The gezer looks confused. I'm a robot. I say something after he reads something. It's over, we're married.
Across the highway from the office is one of those catering halls for big events. We ask if they will serve us. We don't have reservations. Dave tells the waiter this is a wedding. They laugh and seat us at a table. We are the only ones there. It's a huge empty hall. We start drinking. Hysterical laughter. The waiter brings me a big white decorated cake. It is a gift from the hired help. No wedding should be without a cake. Our car is parked across the road. It's a busy highway. I have the cake in the box. We all make a dash for the car. I stumble and drop the box in the middle of the road. I can't go back for it. I watch as car speeds over the box. The cake went splat.
The motel was not far from the Justice of the Peace. It was so nondescript I can't remember a thing about it. Our honeymoon, we spent the night there. The next morning I feel the urge to call my folks and tell them. It was a sense of duty that compelled me. It's the minimum I could do. We are still in bed. I fumble for the phone on the night-table. Mom answers, "Hi, where are you?" "In a motel in New Hampshire." Silence. I wait. "Is Pete with you?" she asks. "Yes, we're married." "You're kidding". I knew she wouldn't be happy about it. At the time I thought I was doing her a favor. No big wedding to plan, no expense, no debt, no dealing with inlaws she doesn't want to know. In retrospect I see how I cheated her. Attending my own daughter's wedding was such fun, such joy-but this is now and then was then. I didn't care what my mother thought.
Pete and I loll around for awhile, then get dressed and head back to Boston. I have a job working in the Dean of Admissions Office at the Art school, helping with portfolio reviews of incoming freshmen. At night I teach painting at Arlington High School in Adult Ed. classes.
Pete's divorce was pretty brutal. He had huge alimony payments. His wife had his entire summer salary attached to the settlement. Pete knew he didn't have a leg to stand on. He fell for a younger woman, had an affair. Wife has two kids. End of story. He and I knew what we did. He loved his kids. It was difficult for him. He wanted liberal visitation rights and got them. He deserved that. In spite of leaving his wife, he was a great, I mean really great father. He was 1/2 a kid always. He knew how to make kids laugh and love him but he was a disciplinarian-in the best sense. It was a trait I admired most in him. After having a father who was clueless in how to treat children, I married one who was a master at it. The one trait they had in common was their drinking.
We were married in June of 1969. In July that year we had his kids, Jenny and Pete Jr. for the weekend. We'd been at Singing Beach that day, came home to Eastgate. We lived on the 22nd floor, corner apartment with windows all around. A glorious view of Boston across the Charles River. The moon was high in the sky that night. We called the kids to the window, pointed out the moon's shimmering reflection on the river as the glow from the TV in the corner showed Neil Armstrong as he took his first walk on the moon.
THE CAKE WENT SPLAT, Sex and Lies continued...
Meeting the parents was the next step. That need to preserve a sense of family runs deep.
My graduation from B.U. was coming up. I was pretty pleased with myself. The first in my family to go to college and to stick with it for a masters degree. So, it was a degree in ART - my parents seemed proud of me. Everyone in my small family came to Boston in the spring of 1969; gram and gramp, my brother, mom and dad. What they didn't know was that they would also meet my husband to be.
I was pumped. My family got a room in a hotel in Kenmore square. What they also didn't know was that I had already moved in with Pete. His divorce wasn't final, but we managed to get an apartment in Eastgate, an apartment tower in Kendall Sq reserved for faculty and graduate students at M.I.T.
After the ceremonies I made arrangements for dinner when they would get to meet THE MAN. Pete is a relaxed, easy going kind of guy. The kind of person everybody likes. We didn't say anything to my parents about living together. I also didn't mention marriage. We did talk about Pete's other family. There was some tension.
After dinner my dad takes me aside and wants to speak to me ALONE at the bar. This is a rare occurance. He had had a few drinks at dinner but was not drunk. I steel myself for the onslaught. It does not come. He is tender. "Honey, this man is trouble. You can get who ever you want. He's too old for you. Do you understand the burden of children?" and on it goes. He and I have a drink or two. I sympathize with my dad. I'm more touched by the fact that he cared enough to have this conversation with me. We did not talk about love. If he'd asked me if I loved Pete, I couldn't have answered.
The next day the family goes home to NJ. Pete and I go home to Eastgate and wait for his divorce to become final. We get the word the papers will be processed at a date in June. We plan to go to New Hampshire the very next day to get married by a justice of the peace. We can't get married in Massachusetts since they had a 6 month waiting period following divorce before you could remarry. We planned to drive up with our best friends Marge and Dave as witnesses. Dave was the Sports Information Director at Tufts. The sky was a flat gray the day of the trip. I wore a very short dress with a plunging neckline. Marge's dress was so short it looked like a belt. She had great legs. They were to follow us up in their car.
We're in our little caravan driving north. I'm deep in thought and then start to clutch. "Pull over". Pete seems flustered. I'm having doubts. Dave and Marge pull over behind us. They seem confused. We all sit in silence. Pete cajoles me. Not quite begging. I start to feel embarrassed. Something pushes me forward. I don't know what but we decide to drive on.
The rest is like the Beatles movie HELP!. The pace seems manic. We're in the justices' office (It's actually a real estate office but they do weddings too.) Dave is wearing a vest covered with buttons and political jibes. (Dave and Marge had been smoking weed). Pete had on a suit. The gezer who marries us doesn't know whether to stare down the front of my dress or at Marges legs. There's a planter with a philodendron in the shape of a telephone on a desk. Dave picks it up and starts talking into it. The gezer looks confused. I'm a robot. I say something after he reads something. It's over, we're married.
Across the highway from the office is one of those catering halls for big events. We ask if they will serve us. We don't have reservations. Dave tells the waiter this is a wedding. They laugh and seat us at a table. We are the only ones there. It's a huge empty hall. We start drinking. Hysterical laughter. The waiter brings me a big white decorated cake. It is a gift from the hired help. No wedding should be without a cake. Our car is parked across the road. It's a busy highway. I have the cake in the box. We all make a dash for the car. I stumble and drop the box in the middle of the road. I can't go back for it. I watch as car speeds over the box. The cake went splat.
