A Piece of the American Pie

It was the summer of 65

We shagged the Drag

In your parent’s Impala
Drank cold root beer in frosty mugs 
Chasing each other up and down
Main Street USA
Searching for our piece
Of by, by Miss

American Pie
We drove your dad’s
Truck to the river

But he river was flooded
Chanting our anthems
Unchained Melody
I Can’t Help Myself
I Got You Babe
Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me
The beat went on
And on and on…
Like Seger said
A few years later
We were workin’
On our night moves
In that sweet
Sweet summer time
As the autumn was
Closin’ in
And we waited on
The thunder
Just tryin' to find
Love
Before we embarked 
Into adulthood

Star Crossed Love

A half century ago

Star crossed lovers

Came together in cornfields

And on back roads

In small town America

Our love a rampage of desire

Too strong to be held

Too fragile to last beyond the summer’s rain

Too young and yet too old

A lover’s paradox

Dark moon filled nights

Across a field of green prairie grass

And ripening stalks of yellow corn

The summer’s rain has long ago passed

The words spoken aloud across the sea

Of corn stalks and tall grass

Now lie silent against the north wind

Fertile fields no more

I call your name aloud

Across a sea of time

I whisper it to a moonlit night

Young no more

My love can be contained

It will last far beyond the summer’s rain

1956

The summer of 1956, the summer my dad almost died, is the time when I realized I could escape into a fantasy world when my real world was falling apart and became too painful. 

Left in my grandmother’s care

In the house that was my first home

Sleeping in the bedroom

Of early childhood

I was only nine

That summer – still a young child

I cry myself to sleep

Each night

Wondering what

The morn will bring

I wake each morning to the sound of Lady’s paws clicking on the hardwood floors that greet my bare feet as I get out of bed.  My grandma is awake, having fed and watered Lady and let her outside.  I wash my face, brush my teeth, and set forth to capture the day.  My play ranges from the front to back porch, basement, up the outside cellar stairs, and into the yard.  In nine more summers I will leave for college, but at age nine this is not a thought I can yet entertain.  So like don Quixote I set forth to tilt the windmills of my nine-year-old world.

With Lady as my faithful companion Sancho Panza we rode forth each day seeking adventure and leaving the fear of my father’s health far behind.  It only caught up with me when the adults intruded into this world I was creating; they did not know nor understand how fragile the structure of my world really was. How could they; they could not see, feel, or touch it.  It was my sanctuary and my salvation, so easily breached by their inquiries and concern, and so quickly reconstructed when they would ebb from my inner life.  

A world where I did battle with the illness that plagued my father and was a champion for my mother who accompanied him on his journey, and at night Lady and I would cuddle with each other to keep the dark fears away. These were formidable foes for a nine year old, and like don Quixote they required precise skills to do battle with them. 

In the dark of night, cuddled with Lady, they felt overwhelming. In the daylight these were things I could vanquish along with my faithful and trusted companion.  So we fought imaginary battles with imagined foes in the yards and with the trees in the neighborhood.  There were no windmills for my young don Quixote, so trees, bushes and grain elevators had to do.

In those moments with my faithful sidekick we were invincible, and it was then I realized the power of fantasy, creativity, and inner dialog.  I rode on an imaginary horse to the conquest of the images of my father’s illness and in that quest I was successful.  In truth he did survive the ordeal of his journey, and returned, but not the dad that left me weeks earlier. 

His physical return marked my emotional abandonment.  The powerful father of my early childhood returned a fragile shadow of the hero who had set out on this journey to save his life.  In Stockholm the Equestrian Games of the Olympics played out as I guided my imaginary pony on through the streets of a small town with my faithful sidekick Lady aka Sancho Panza.

 

There was safety in the world my mind constructed and it kept my frightening thoughts and images at bay.  It has taken me decades to remember the feelings of my nine-year-old self.  I have danced with these images but have left them on the dance floor as I moved on in my life.  “Too frightening”, I tell myself.  “Why disturb my memories with this long ago fear”, I respond, and so I dance away from embracing this unremembered part of me.  

This nine-year-old who tilted the windmills of my mind as each morning of my father’s hospital stay I set out with my dog to slay the dragons of the shadows of the nighttime.  She was a brave and gallant girl accompanied by her devoted dog into a world that neither understood nor trusted, but one that she had to navigate.  My learning how to navigate and survive this quest was the making of my first hero’s journey.  No longer stalked with fearful or disturbing images this is a tribute to the resilience of my being.    

After My 19th Birthday I began to really grow up.

I was a freshman at Iowa State when I turned 19.  I lived in Roberts dorm; my major at that time was English, and I was in love with my high school boyfriend, David.  Fall on that campus was beautiful and we walked everyplace we could on campus, off campus, and downtown Ames, which we got to via bus.  At the end of the day he walked me back to my dorm and we stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the front door passionately kissing until the last possible moment of curfew.

 

In those days of 1965 women had “hours”; men did not.  It was the end of an era and the beginning of the human rights movement; including women’s rights.  But in the fall of 1965 women still had hours at ISU.  By the time I graduated women no longer had hours and coed dorms came into existence.  During that fall, winter, spring, and summer I was catapulted into the beginnings of adulthood.

After Thanksgiving break when we returned to school David and I broke up.  I don’t remember why, but I suspect it had a lot to do with my insecurities and my attempt to control him.  He was more mature and independent than I was and the freedom of college overwhelmed me; much more so than him.

So we broke up after Thanksgiving break, got back together after Christmas, broke up again that spring, and reconnected that summer.  The final end of our relationship came the fall semester of our sophomore year.

I was a young woman whose insecurities led to a fragile sense of entitlement and a desire to control my world; starting with my love relationships.  My relationship with David became victim to this entitled girl’s insecurity. So fall semester of my sophomore year I was forced into the adult position of needing to take full responsibility for the end of my relationship. 

It ended without fanfare on his part and with total devastation on mine.  I entered a period of self destructive behavior with edgy people as I lost myself in narcissistic pursuits.  It was all about salving my wounds and instantaneous gratification.  This eventually led me to therapy and also to my getting pregnant.  The two were unrelated but interesting that when I reached a point of seriously looking at my need to change I then became pregnant.

Tad was born the fall of my junior year; I left school for awhile, he was born, and he returned with me to complete my education.  I grew up; perhaps because of him and also because I was ready. Whatever the reason I began my journey into adulthood with my son and my new found self image.  This was made possible by my family’s love, support, and assistance in raising a child while finishing my academic studies and launching my professional career.  

I lost contact with David after our final break-up, but he still follows me in my dream time.  He was an important influence in my young life.  His appearance in my dreams is a symbol for change that is to manifest in my life, and when I moved beyond the literal interpretation of him, the boy/young man I once knew, he is transformed into my dream symbol for approaching change in my life.

A part of my maturing and changing was my continued therapy.  In the beginning therapy met my narcissistic need to talk about me, but in time, and through good consistent limits set with my therapist, I began to explore this need and learn how to grow through it.  Narcissism is a normal part of human development.  It is a stage that many get stuck in and without therapeutic help are unable to move beyond.  I was one of these folks.

The winter of 1967/68 I work up one morning after a night of drinking, looked closely at my reflection in the mirror, and realized it was time to change.  I found an analyst in a near-by city and began the process of analysis.  I worked with this woman until I left school, Tad was born, and I returned to school and to analysis.

I knew I had to stay the course of both my education and my analysis to be able to be a good, positive, and productive parent and person.  In 1969 I returned to being a full time student and a full time mom with the support of my family.

 

I clearly began to embrace becoming a conscious adult at that time.  I would finish my studies within another couple of years.  I found a job, moved away, and began my life as an employed single mom in 1971.  My maturation and my analysis did not end there; it has not ended now; it is a part of life that I eagerly embrace and anticipate.  It is me becoming me.  

The loss of my high school love was my first major heat break.  It came at a time that I had been introduced to “The Prophet” by Kahlil Gibran.  I read and reread this book knowing there was deeper meaning than my intellect was ready to absorb.  Somehow as my heart was broken I experienced a vulnerability to my own humanness, empathy, and kindness.  It began my inner changing and my maturational development.  It prepared me for accepting my vulnerability to change.

 

This did not happen immediately, it takes a long time, years of therapy, and it is still my personal process today.  I believe that my maturing continues until my death, and beyond that I do not know.