Okay ONE LAST TRY I Promise not to send Any more revisions of this A Birthday and a Bakery Jill
jill stockinger
Jill Stockinger
A Birthday and a Bakery
Sad beginnings do not always result in sad endings. Perhaps such beginnings prevent that pervasive feeling we have when things seem to be going almost too well, when it seems almost inevitable that we will slip on the banana peel, and the whole world will see it and slap its knees and heehaw in loud, braying laughter. But if you begin with the sadness, that fear is comfortingly absent.
For instance, after
we married, we were miserably poor at first. The baby came and I was happy, but
there was also that silent, twisting sensation inside, almost a knife
stabbing my guts, with What now? What do we do now? And I had no
answer. You finally were accepted as an apprentice in a machine shop. For two
long years, you brought home so little money, we became masters at doing
without. For instance, after we
married, we were miserably poor at first. The baby came and I was happy, but
there was also that silent, twisting sensation inside, almost a knife
stabbing my guts, with What now? What do we do now? And I had no answer. You
finally were accepted as an apprentice in a machine shop. For two long years,
you brought home so little money, we became masters at doing without. Our son had
a birthday, turning two years old, AND this day was to be your first big
payday. Four weeks earlier, you had graduated to being a journeyman. This would
be the first paycheck containing your full wages as an accomplished journeyman.
Two great reasons for celebration! Instead, with no food left in the apartment
except half a bottle of milk and some off-brand dry cereal, you came home with
our friend Alan, nicknamed Alleycat, at five-thirty in the evening. You had
a large trunk of metal filings. You thrust the trunk at me as you stood on the
threshold of our home. “What is this?” I asked, not understanding. I rushed on
with, “We have time to run to the store, get some food and buy a small cake!” You shook your head,
no, and said, “Mr. Broderick says he has no money to pay me, all his money is
tied up in new equipment he just ordered.” You paused. “It was either ‘take
this,’ or take nothing,” you said, dejectedly. “But there’s nothing in the
house and our son just turned two!” I responded, my voice strangling on itself
in my throat.
Alleycat said, “Wait here! We'll be right back!” He pulled you away. I stashed the trunk of metal under the bed and started playing some game with our son to make him laugh. And he was having a happy time, and I was pretending I was, too. And I kissed him a lot, which he enjoyed. At last, you came back with a big cake, two bags of groceries and something in a great big bag, thanks to our kind friend. Alleycat waved goodbye as I was mouthing, “Thank you, thank you,” at him! We had a lovely birthday party, with cake and ice cream and candles, and, best of all, there was a brand new plastic-bodied yellow and orange Big Wheels bike for our son. He adored it.
The next day, I got up and said to you, very quietly but very seriously, that you were to stay home, and that I was going to look for work. You agreed, with a silent nod. When we first got together, you had said you wanted to raise a child, more than anything in the world. As a secondary goal, you wanted to be an artist. I had said I was unsure about having children; I had explained that I wanted to leave my mark on the world through my work. I will never forget how flabbergasted I felt when you stated you wanted twelve children. I am sure you felt I was giving you a rather strange look as I said, “I’m willing to start with one, and see how it goes.” It took awhile for me to recognize this, but the day I went out to get a job was the day our relationship “righted” itself.
Down the street, just as I remembered it, there was a small sign in the window of the bakery. It was handwritten, advertising an opening. The sign was a bit dusted with flour. I went in and said I was applying for the job. The baker hired me on the spot. I soon became a partner in the bakery and took most of my classes at night. The bakery proved understanding and flexible about my hours. I got my master’s in library science, became a full-time reference librarian and then a branch supervisor. It was the perfect job for me.
You later got a fulfilling job in an art foundry which allowed you the freedom to juggle your hours. You started making extraordinary metal and rock sculptures. One of the most celebrated ones was the twelve-foot-tall metal dragon. You had installed pipes with gas that ended in the dragon’s mouth. When you lit it, the dragon was roaring real fire! It became part of Port Arthur’s Mardi Gras celebration, with a contest to “Name the Dragon” touted in the local newspaper. Port Arthur’s founder was Arthur Stilwell; the winning name we picked from all the entries was “Arthur Steelweld.” If we had chosen the name most suggested, the dragon would have been named “Puff.” Our son graduated first in his high school class and obtained a nice scholarship to U.C. Berkeley. Now he has a lovely wife with a doctorate in statistics, and he received his undergraduate degree in electrical engineering. They have two young sons, their own house in Berkeley and are crazy-successful in what I call “Computerland.” This I call, “Happy endings!”