I was 14 years old and in the ninth grade, working nights at the Waffle House, going to school during the day and taking care of my 12-year-old sister. Most nights I could barely make it home I was so tired. We lived in a two-room garage with our mother, who was hardly ever there.
My mother never made me feel loved. Years later, after she passed away, I learned from a relative that I was the result of an affair, and my mother passed me off to my father as his because she was afraid he would kill her if he found out she had been unfaithful.
There was a man who came into the Waffle House at night after he got out of class at the community college. He would come in and order pie and coffee almost every night. He would flirt with me and ask to drive me home, but I never let him.
My family eventually moved about 10 miles away into a small, shared duplex apartment. I got a job as a night waitress at a supper club behind the apartment by lying about my age. There was a small store across the street where we caught the bus to school. The man from the Waffle House made deliveries there.
After a while, he would come over to mow the yard or take me and my sister to drive-in movies. I thought of him only as a friend at first, but he started coming over a lot more often. He would watch my little sister sometimes while I was at work. After a few months, my mother told me that I should marry him. She told me he would make sure I went to school and that he had agreed to annul the marriage or divorce me when I turned 18. She said she would marry him if I didn’t. He was 27 years old; I was 15.
The next thing I knew, I was on my way to the altar in a black suit appropriate for a funeral. My mother’s boyfriend paid for it, along with a pair of black patent leather heels — my first high heels!
I didn’t know where my dad was, as he was an absent parent too, so he wasn’t there as I walked down the small church aisle after a Sunday service. It wasn’t a wedding; it was just a minister saying words from the Bible and pronouncing us husband and wife. I knew I had made a mistake right away. I ran away to a relative’s home as soon as we returned from our short “honeymoon,” but she called my husband to come pick me up. She told me, “You made your bed; now you will have to lie in it.” I didn’t know where the rest of my family was by then. I had nowhere to go but back to him.
He told me that, since I was his wife now, I had to submit and do whatever he wanted, because that’s what wives do. Three months later, I was pregnant and very sick. We moved to another city where I didn’t know anybody and was now too sick to work or go to school. Our son was born shortly after. Less than two years later, our second son was born.
It was never a good marriage, but I tried to make the best of things. For the first time, I had a stable roof over my head and food to eat. But I was sick a lot and had to work nights and take care of my boys during the day. When I was 20, our daughter was born; she was breech and had to be fitted for a hip brace before going home. When my daughter was about a year old, I got pregnant again. This time, the doctor said I could not carry a child to term, and I ended up having a hysterectomy.
My husband did whatever he wanted and went wherever he wanted while I stayed home with the children. He did not treat me as if he loved me or respected me. We were all afraid of him and his temper. He was a big man and a bully. I caught him cheating on me several times, but I really didn’t care; it kept him off me. I felt trapped and at times didn’t want to live, but I had to think about my children.
I finally divorced him after I got the nerve to leave. It was hard; I left everything to get away but fought for my children. I had to agree to not take anything from him in order to keep the kids. He reminded me that I had no education nor anyone to rely on if I tried to fight him in court, so I walked away with nothing.
After a year, I was able to take him to court. I got custody of my children and was allowed to stay in the house as long as I had all three kids in my care. I got my GED and took some community college courses. My boys joined the military after high school, and my daughter was talked into moving in with her father; it released him of his obligation if she lived with him. I had to borrow money from the house and give him his share of it in order to finally have him out of my life.
He’s been married a couple of more times, and I’m still single after 40-plus years. But I made something of myself. I raised my children to be good people. I started my own business. I became a volunteer for several groups and am finally happy. My past has made me who I am, and I’m proud of myself.
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*At Jean’s request, her name has been changed and the photo used here is not actually of her.