Source: Livin’ In the Green

My Real Memoir

The holiday break was upon us–and just in time. My fall semester had been a rough one. And now the government was demanding proof of “satisfactory progression,” or it would be “Hello, Vietnam!” My grades were falling and I’d dropped two classes, so I never filled out the student deferment form. Amazingly, that was the last time I ever heard from the Draft Board. My “Welcome to the Army” notice is probably in some forgotten warehouse at the bottom of a Steelcase filing cabinet next to the Ark of the Covenant.

Meanwhile, I’d fallen in love with Ginnie, the most adorable dog God ever invented, only to have my college pass a no-dogs-on-campus rule. So roomie Doug and I had moved into a cheap gangland bungalow, leaving Ginnie to cower in a fenced-in yard, surrounded by creepy humanoid potato-bugs. When my girlfriend Dar visited, she refused to be intimate to the sounds of gunfire. Chicks. Go figure.

Ah, well, Doug and I were broke anyway, so we hugged goodbye, and moved back in with our families. The glow of the holidays made everything hopeful. Dar and I saw Fiddler on the Roof, and loved it; it revived my dreams of not only creating stage musicals, but making movies that featured my songs as well. My feelings for Dar began to revive too. It seemed there was a kind of love, maybe even a better love, beyond the “I’ve met the perfect girl!” stage.

Dad was furious at my imposing Ginnie on them while (at his expense) attending artsy-fartsy college classes, instead of doing something real. Ironically, I realized years later that he was every bit as much an ambitious dreamer as I was. While I dreamed of making movies and musicals, this man without a high school diploma, who’d will-powered his family into the upper echelon of the middle class, took business courses and hunted for a national franchise to invest in.

Mom insisted that the cats be nice to Ginnie. Ginchy and Streisand hissed, “No!” but then discovered Ginnie made a very comfy daybed. So Ginnie had lickable companions while Papa Mitch was away being artsy-fartsy.

There was one “pet” she hated though. Mom bought her a life-sized stuffed German Shepherd and put it under the tree on Christmas morning. Ginnie circled it, growled, and then looked over at me utterly heart-broken, and lay down in a corner and stayed there for days. I finally brought the faux-canine over to her, and punched it in the face to demonstrate that I didn’t love it like I did her. She nipped it a few times for good measure, and then adopted it as her pet, and was happy again.

And so the holidays ended on a positive note. Our family was at peace. Mom loved Ginnie. Mommandad both loved Dar. Dad and I had arranged a peace accord: I’d pull it together the coming semester and graduate, after which Ginnie and I would get real jobs and move out. And best of all, the two persons I loved most in the world, Ginnie and Dar, were still in my life. So everything was on track…

Until one of them got pregnant.

My Real Memoir is a series. To read the next one, click here.