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Show PAGE 22 THE ZEPHYRJAN-FE- B 1994 that something important had just taken place. My daughter, Bethany, was only ten months old when her daddy was killed, and of course she doesn't remember him. By the time she turned two, not only did she still not understand about her own daddy, but she didn't understand exactly what a daddy was die just thought every adult male was "daddy." Many times at City Market we'd be pushing the cart down the aisle when Bethany would spot some man she had a hankering for and would run up to him, hug his leg and squeal "Daddy!" at the top of her lungs. This, as you can imagine, greatly unnerved the unsuspecting male, especially if he was with his wife or a group of his buddies, and I would have to quickly explain why he was wearing my daughter on his pant leg. After several weeks of this I started to get pretty tired of justifying Bethany's strange behavior, and I swore die next time it happened I was going to look the poor guy straight in the face with a crestfallen expression and say, "Qh...you don't remember me, do you? Gee, and I had such a good time. But thank God I was never so jaded to actually to do it Single parenthood...Being a single mom is difficultenough, but what's really hard is being the dad. I get down on the floor and roughhouse with my kids for a couple minutes and that's enough for me for the month. But a male Mend comes into my house and they're rolling round on the floor for half an hour, and I'm not certain if it's the kids or my Mend who's keeping the game going. I'm out at Arches hiking with the children, saying "Be careful, honey. Slow down. Get down from there, sweetie, it's dangerous, and a father with his own children nearby is teaching them to rock climb. "Keep your weight over your feet Just move one hold at a time. That's it. You're a natural!" I was out at Ken's Lake earlier this year, skipping stones across the water, and Joshua wanted me to teach him how to do it I showed him how to pick a smooth, flat rock, how to hold it in his hand, how to throw it so its trajectory would be parallel to the water and suddenly I was eight years old again, throwing a baseball in from center field and the boys were jeering, "You throw like a girl!" I looked down at my son's eager face and watched his first attempt to skip a stone. Was I teaching him how to throw like a girl? Oh, my son, I want so much more for you than that I want your arm to be strong and skilled and true, I want you to sail a rock across the water twice as far as your mommy ever could... - From Behind ,By Mary Yates SPECIAL FOR THE LAME ISSUE... I've been waiting to write this article for six months at least the lame article for the lame issue of the Zephyr. Every year at this time Stiles asks his staff to write something that's somewhat beneath their talents and intellect, shall I say, and if I remember right, last year no one followed their editor's instructions and he threatened to fire them alL But I've been writing this story in my head, off and chi since I first joined the Zephyr last spring, because, believe me, have I got something LAME to write about. A subject to which, unfortunately far too many people can relate. It's single parenthood. Single parenthood! All of us dud parents trembled at those two words. We were losing our minds raising children with a partner. How did they do it? How did they keep from going on tilt? We watched them incredulously and we admired them tremendousl- y- and we went to bed every night hanking God that it wasn't us. But, surprises happen, sometimes. Not too many single parents plan it out hat way. Separation, divorce death who even imagines it could happen to your family when you and your mate are nuzzling that tiny pink newborn in the delivery roam? But happen it does, not only to our cousins and neighbors and old college sweethearts, but it happens to you and me. And the sun has the audacity to still come up every morning. Single parenthood.. Jn the midst of the grief and the pain, one of the very first obstacles to come your way is taking on the responsibility for all those dreadful tasks you'd somehow convinced your partner to da Like, setting mousetraps. Ugh! I hated it! No matter how carefully, how delicately I slipped die spring lever under the trigger, nine times out of ten the instant I let go of fim trap went THWANG! and my heart jumped into my throat and I jumped out of my skin. The only thing I hated worse was getting the poor little varmints out of the trap in the morning. They always had a cute little white blaze on their nose or something. One day I could not face another dead mouse and I announced to Mark that he was the hunter in the fondly and, therefore, it was his responsibility to set and empty die traps and he said okay. And so that horrible duty disappeared from my life. Until that nigfrt..the night I received the news that Mark and three friends had been killed in an avalanche in Gold Basin. A gjrlMend came over to spend the night with me, and although deep was absolutely the farthest thing from either of our minds, we stumbled off to our respective beds around midnight just because we didn't know what else to do. The lights had been off for only a few minutes when I heard Jenny's mildly panicked voice call, "Mary, a mouse just jumped up on my sheets!" Glad for a reason to leave that impossibly empty bed, I walked to the kitdien and grabbed the peanut butter jar out of the pantry. Word of Mark's death was only three hours old and yet, here it began, life without him. He will never -- do this for you again. I found the trap under the sink cabinet spread a smear of peanut butter, set the trap, released it THWANG! As if I didn't have enough adrenalin pumping through my system already. I Med it again THWANG! I don't believe this. My soul mate is dead and here I am playing around with a stinking mousetrap. I set it once more. THWANG! Again THWANG!! THWANG!! "I can't do this!" I cried, and sat down on the linoleum, hugging my knees to my chest For the eighth or tenth or twelfth time I reset the lousy trap and finally, finally it held. Okay. Okay, then. It's okay. 1 walked back down the hallway to my bedroom, vaguely aware - - - - - - Single parenthoocL.if you have a partner, you enjoy the fact that when you and the kids really get into a jam you can just pick up the phone and call for your mate to come rescue you. One morning last spring I was cm my way to work, the kids were loaded up in their car seats on their way to preschool and the babysitter's and the Jeep wouldn't start Dead battery. Now, when you have a spouse and you have a dead battery, you go in the house, call them at work, and tell them the frustrating news. They, in turn, ask you why you let the battery run down, carry on for a while about how busy they are and how they can't possibly leave work to give it a jump start and then they come home and dap on the jumper cables and everyone's back in business. I sat far a few minutes with my head resting against the steering wheel, making a mental roster of all my dose friends. Everyone I knew was either at work, themsdves, or had small children of their own they'd have to drag along to come help us. How could I ask them to do that? But I had to call someone; I was now officially late far work. A couple cars drove by while I debated the matter and finally I dedded: I'd flag someone down. In springtime there is quite a lot of traffic on the road past my home; most of them are four wheel drive vehicles. Four wheelers are used to having to monkey around with their vehicles a bit surdy someone wouldn't mind giving me a hand? I didn't have to wait long. I stood at the roadside and in a couple of minutes a silver Jeep came around die bend. Perfect I waved my arms and a man and a woman in their thirties pulled up beside me. "Thanks," I said, "I was hoping you could give me a jump start My battery's dead and I'm late for work. I've got the jumper cables. My would-b- e rescuer looked at his wxistwatch, looked ahead down the road at the pink slickrock canyons, and gave me a condescending smile. "I'm sorry," he said, "but this is a rental jeep and we only have two hours to enjoy this country before it's due back. I just don't have the time." He dipped the stickshift back to first gear and drove off toward the beckoning canyons. I stood there dumbfounded, then sort of stumbled my way back to the car and the kids. Dad that just really happen? Did that man redly fell me he wasn't going to help me because he had - some sightseeing to do? Maybe..jnaybe I Mghtened him. Maybe it was my imposing height of five feet four indies in sneakers. Maybe it was my "powerful dressing" knee length white nursing shots, white cotton bobby socks...Maybe..JWyk he didn't know how to jump start a battery. Of course; I realized, that was it! He'd just met his lady friend at the Rio last night and was out to show her same wild country. How on earth could he admit, in front of her, that he didn't have any idea how to use jumper cables? Never mind that I knew. I suppose that would have been even worse. Tremendously relieved that it was only a male ego thing and the world wasn't going to hell in a handbasket after all, I walked inside the house and called up one of my friends. - Singje parenthood..xlating certainly takes an a whole different flavor than when you're simply single. You're a package deal, now, and there's no getting around it I was working out in my flower beds this spring when a mountain biker stopped and asked to fill up his water bottle. He looked like he was about my age, very Mendly, and we chatted about the beauty of southeastern Utah. I was beginning to wonder if maybe he might be interested in mote than just a water stop when Bethany came charging around the comer from the bade yard screaming, "Joshy HIT me! Joshy HIT me!" Hot on her heels streaked Joshua, tears streaming down his face as well "Mommy! Befeny Well see you In KtV I fe-ft-f- c- MOVNTArlN I? IKE T0UK4 391 S. MAIN ST. 259-74- 23 or 800-451-11- 33 featuring: SALSA - SLINGSHOT - BONTRAGER FAT CHANCE - TREK - SCOTT file Spring |