Overcoming Adversity
I have three daughters, two of which are married. I am very proud of all three of them, but right now I have the greatest respect for my oldest. In my mind, she has overcome almost insurmountable odds and incredible adversity. She has succeeded only after finding herself, and marshalling all her strength to succeed. It was essential that she nurture a strong sense of self worth, to believe in herself, and to reject the paralyzing fear of inadequacy. Today she is focused, she is confident, and she has a vision. It hasn't always been that way.
We were just an average middle class family. My wife and I both worked, so we were the typical two car, two television, two pet family. Things were pretty normal until one evening in February, 1978. My oldest daughter began crying and moaning about an hour after we had put her and her sister to bed. She was ten years old, and her younger sister was nine. When she complained about pain in her leg, we made the customary inspection, looking for abrasions and bruises. When we found nothing, we told her to try to get some rest, and that it would probably stop hurting by the time she woke up in the morning. The pain persisted, but my daughter endured it until she no longer could. A visit to the family doctor produced assurances that it was probably growing pains, or maybe a low level infection. The doctor prescribed an antibiotic, and took x-rays of the leg just as a precaution. We left the doctor's office that day feeling very confident that the leg pain problem had been resolved.
The doctor called several days later to advise us that he was puzzled over what he saw in the x-ray. He had observed a certain grey mass in the x-ray of our daughter's leg. He was referring us to a specialist who would do a biopsy of the mass detected in my daughter's left hip. The days became blurred around the time of the biopsy. I remember calling in to my office to let them know that I would not be in that day, and having to explain why a biopsy was necessary. I remember the hospital room, but I know my daughter remembers it in far greater detail. She shared the room with a prominent business executive, who had lost his arm in a car accident. He had slid off an icy road, while driving to work the previous morning.
Immediately following the biopsy, the surgeon asked to talk to my wife and I, in a separate room. He said that the surgery had gone well, describing the "S" shaped incision he had made to our daughter's hip. Then he looked sternly at us as he described the baseball-sized growth he had discovered. The biopsy specimen would be studied by a team of specialists, but his opinion was that the tumor was malignant. We were numbed by his words. It was such a shock! And we still had to find the words to tell our daughter when she regained consciousness.
When we explained that we would be taking her home to await the decision of the doctors, and that it would be up to them to decide what would happen next, our daughter looked relieved. When I asked her why she was happy, she said "because I thought they were going to cut off my leg". She had closely observed what had happened to the man next to her.
The tumor was determined to be malignant, and was identified as Ewing Sarcoma, a very lethal cancer that spreads rapidly from bone to muscle, and then through the bloodstream to vital organs. The treatment, or protocol, was chemotherapy and radiation. My daughter was an out patient at the University Hospital, which meant that my wife and I would take her to the hospital for scheduled injections of five different drugs and for pulmonary radiation. She was given the maximum allowable radiation to prevent the cancer from spreading to her lungs - one of the major threats of Ewing Sarcoma. We had to sign a release indicating that we had been advised that radiation was almost certain to cause sterility. Radiation also slows bone growth, so that one leg would be shorter than the other.
The radiation was administered once a week for six weeks. Since she was an out patient, my daughter was allowed to return to school when she had recovered from the biopsy surgery. The worst was yet to come. The chemotherapy had several very undesirable effects. Certainly the most emotionally devastating was hair loss. We purchased a wig that matched my daughter's natural hair color, and she wore it to school. Some thoughtless kids pulled the wig off her head, and she always wore a scarf after that. It had to have been so humiliating for her! The scarf seemed to be easier to secure to her head, and her friends came to her defense. The chemotherapy continued for over two years. If her blood count was low, the drug injection was postponed. She also endured some very painful testing. I especially remember the bone marrow procedure, and a test for bladder damage caused by the chemotherapy. She was such a trooper, never complaining, and always forcing a smile.
The cancer changed all our lives forever. Even though she was in remission after more than two years of treatment, are lives were never quite the same. My wife moved out of our house, taking our three daughters to live with her. I didn't know for ten years that my daughter thought it was her illness that caused us to separate. My wife and I had been growing apart for several years before my daughter's illness. I think all the stress and pressure pushed my wife to her decision to leave me. She was a teacher in the Head Start Program. Her philosophy on raising children differed drastically from mine. These were "irreconcilable differences in her mind, so she decided to make a change by leaving me. My wife moved with the girls to a poor section of North Portland, and filed for divorce. She bought a "fixer upper", calling it an investment for our daughter's education.
The divorce was amicable, and I tried to be as supportive as I could. I attended Head Start functions, and met my ex-wife's co- workers. I would pick up my three daughters about every other weekend, and they would spend Saturday night in my apartment. They seemed to look forward to staying with me, and I would cook some of their favorite meals. I was no chef, but it's easy to please kids with such delicacies as grilled cheese sandwiches and hot dogs. I made a point to attend all their athletic events, school programs, and any other activity that I thought was important to them.
One of the greater challenges for me was meeting and getting acquainted with some of my ex-wife's boy friends. She dated everything from an unemployed handyman, to a nice enough guy with four uncontrollable sons. There were also girl friends, that were well meaning and supportive, but one in particular, "wasn't playing with a full deck". This woman would hide at my ex-wife's house, when her live-in boy friend came looking for her with a knife.
The most bizarre relationship had to be my former brother-in-law dating my ex-wife. That's right! The guy that married my oldest sister, started dating my ex-wife, after divorcing my sister.
Can you imagine what my daughters were thinking when their uncle divorces their aunt, and starts dating their mother? Do they call him "Uncle", "Dad", or "Weird"?
The situation was further complicated by the fact that he was black. My sister's mixed-race marriage to him produced one daughter (my daughters' cousin). Oh, by the way, my sister (my daughters' aunt) is gay. I don't think even the National Inquirer or the Star can top this commentary on entangled lives! As incredible as it sounds, this went on for over two years. I shudder to think that these were some of my daughters role models.
Housekeeping was not one of my ex-wife's strong suites, so my daughters were not accustomed to picking up after themselves. Their clothing was not mended. Hems and torn fabric were held together with safety pins.
There were also new schools to adjust to, with new teachers, different curriculums, new classmates, and just a tremendous amount of change. My oldest daughter was in seventh and eighth grade during those two years in North Portland. Roughly a year after moving to one house, my ex-wife bought another "fixer upper", just a few blocks away. It didn't necessitate changing schools, but they did move into the second house. More change. More adjustment.
One aspect of living among the poor in North Portland, that had a significant impact on my daughter's life, was participating in the Head Start classroom with her mother. It was not apparent to me at the time, but I feel now that it had the most positive affect on my daughter's character development. She was able to observe her mother at her best, being a friend as much as a teacher, finding happiness in the smallest accomplishments of her students.
After two years of living and going to school in North Portland, most of the adjustments had been made. My daughter had made several very close friends, and that seemed to help her cope. Most of all they accepted her as she was. I had forgotten how important that is to a teenager. She was thirteen.
No one could have anticipated what was about to happen. And if anyone had, there would have been no way to prepare. It was a Sunday evening in January, 1981. My ex-wife had gone to a champagne reception, meeting her date (my daughter's uncle) at the reception. She had been taking diet pills, and had eaten very little that day. The pills and champagne were a potent combination. When my ex-wife left the reception, she appeared to be fine, but when she attempted to drive home, she couldn't control the car. My ex brother-in-law was following in a vehicle directly behind her. Suddenly, her vehicle started weaving back and forth across the center line, and then careened off the road, into the Columbia Slough. When the car hit the water, it flipped over on its top and began sinking. The water was only about four feet deep, so all four wheels were spinning above the water. The doors were underwater, however, so opening them was very difficult. My ex brother-in-law finally managed to open the door, find my ex-wife, and drag her to the shore. An ambulance rushed her to the hospital, but she was dead on arrival.
I got a phone call from my ex brother-in-law about ten o'clock that Sunday night. He was calling from the hospital, and he was almost incoherent. He kept saying "She's dead!", "She's dead!" Suddenly I realized that my three daughters were home alone, and that they didn't know anything about the tragedy. I tried to collect my thoughts. I told him that I would drive over to the house that night, and tell my daughters the next morning.
I tried sleeping on the couch in the front room, but I couldn't sleep. I rehearsed all night what I was going to say to each of my daughters as they awoke the next morning. It didn't work. As each one noticed me, they knew something was wrong. Instead of explaining anything, I just held them and cried. Eventually I told them what had happened, and reassured them, as best I could that everything would work out, and that I would be there for them.
If cancer had changed my daughter's life, her mother's death rewrote it! Everything changed for her - not because her mother died, but because she lost her family. All I had to offer her was a step family - a pathetic alternative. The transition from family to step family was a disaster, that got progressively worse as time dragged on.
I had remarried in April 1980, roughly nine months before my ex- wife's death. My second wife had five children - two sons and three daughters. My daughters had met their stepmother, stepbrothers, and stepsisters, on a number of occasions. Usually it was only for several hours on a weekend visit. Suddenly, we all had to live in the same house!
It was a very difficult time for all of us. Everyone thought they were getting the worst of it, and there were countless things to be negotiated.
I had been very authoritarian when raising my daughters. I expected them to abide by my rules. I would not tolerate their talking back to me. I had raised my daughters the same way I had been raised. My ex-wife essentially agreed with respect for authority, but she had very few rules. Her belief was to encourage a child to obey, rather than to demand obedience. My second wife however, had an entirely different philosophy. She encouraged independent thinking, with everyone free to speak their mind, regardless of age, or any other consideration.
Here we have an impossible situation. My daughters, who were raised to remain silent and to obey, were being ordered around by their stepmother, stepbrothers, and stepsisters. Somehow they were supposed to assert themselves, arguing like prosecuting attorneys, for their own self interests.
The house that had to shelter ten of us was a five bedroom, 2600 square foot structure, including a daylight basement. However, it had only two bathrooms - one upstairs and one downstairs. The house had been built to my second wife's specifications, and she considered it "her house". My second wife was both seller and buyer when we purchased the house from her ex-husband. My daughters were clearly "outsiders", and their stepsisters reluctantly shared bedroom space. Fortunately, one bedroom downstairs was quite large, so four girls, including my oldest two daughters, shared that bedroom. My youngest daughter had to use part of the family room.
As you can imagine, there were constant conflicts. To make matters worse, my wife had developed her own set of rules for her house. Many of the rules had to do with sharing the housekeeping tasks, such as scrubbing bathroom fixtures, keeping rooms picked up, and vacuuming carpets and floors. My daughters had been living for over two years with a mother who put the lowest priority on housekeeping. They were accustomed to stepping over things rather than picking them up. Their stepmother was at the other end of the spectrum in terms of cleanliness. Her years in Nursing school instilled in her a desire to keep her own house as clean as a hospital. I was frequently shown what a sloppy job one of my daughters had done. My oldest daughter finally rebelled.
After several months of "cleaning chores" every weekend, my oldest daughter made friends with a girl that lived across the street. In a very short time, she was with her friend night and day. This was her escape from a hostile environment. At the neighbor's house, she was accepted and loved. Regrettably, I knew that she was trying to escape, and that there was little I could do to make her want to stay home.
What I didn't understand is that she was also getting love and a feeling of belonging from across the street. This girl's family was a bit untidy, and both parents smoked. This fit perfectly with what my daughter was accustomed to, but when she would return to our house, she was ridiculed by her stepmother and a stepsister. They said "You stink!", referring to the cigarette smoke on her clothing. They made fun of her friend, referring to her as "her pudgy friend". Soon "spending the night" was an every night occurrence.
Eventually, my daughter came home only when she absolutely had to. She was not doing well at school, so I tried to help by meeting with her and her school counselors. Most of the problem was that she had no motivation to learn. Even though I tried to help her with her homework, it did little to help. I insisted that she do an hour of homework every night, and that she do her homework on weekends before she could escape to the neighbor's house. It didn't work. Even this predicament was compounded by the fact that her stepsisters were good students, and her stepmother's ex-husband was one of her high school teachers! I'll never forget sitting across the table from my wife's ex-husband at one of my daughter's counseling sessions. I'm sure my daughter won't either.
Household conflicts escalated. They included everything from sharing the bathroom sink to curfews. If my daughter used something like a hairbrush, and didn't put it back where she found it, she was accused of stealing.
My job required me to do a certain amount of traveling, and I remember calling home one night, just to check in. What I heard was a lot of screaming and yelling. My daughter and her "outspoken" stepsister had resorted to hair pulling. Of course, my daughter was at fault according to her "impartial" step family.
Until that night, the conflicts had been verbal, so I decided that it was time to physically separate these antagonists. I rented a house about five miles away, moving my three daughters with me. More change. More adjustment.
It was a welcome change for us. There wasn't the stress imposed by previous rules and inspections. I appealed to my daughters for help in keeping the house clean, and things went quite smoothly. But my oldest daughter was still having difficulties at school. She was very weak at math, and still lacked motivation. I persisted with my requirement for doing homework, but my daughter would just stall, claiming that she didn't know how to do it. I'm sure this was true, but she had also given up trying.
She continued to rebel, and her challenges increased. She skipped school with a girl friend who was equally rebellious. She would stay out most of the night. And she had to resort to lies to cover her real activities.
I stayed up and waited for her to come home. One Saturday night I waited up for her until five o'clock Sunday morning. She said she went to a drive-in movie, and fell asleep. I accused her of lying, and she said that I never believed her. She probably was telling the truth, but I had heard so many lies that I didn't believe her. I know now that I was too caught up in my own righteous indignation to listen to anything. After staying up all night, I was worried, angry, and frustrated. I could only think of all that I had done. I never stopped to think of what my daughter was going through. Anyway, the next bomb was about to drop!
In early June, only several weeks before school was out, my daughter ran away. She was a high school junior, and had almost finished three years of high school. My strategy had failed. Although tensions had subsided between my daughters and their step family, tensions had escalated between me and my oldest daughter. It seemed like I was constantly giving her ultimatums. Most had to do with finishing her homework before leaving to be with her friends. Her standard reply was either that she didn't have any homework, or she didn't know how to do it.
When she ran away, she merely went to a girl friends's house. She left a note which basically said she was no longer willing to comply with my rules, insisting that there were too many, and that they were unfair. I remember saving that note, and reading it many times. Once again I was angry and frustrated.
At first I thought this incident would be just like so many times before. She would spend the night at a girl friend's house, and return home the next day. But this time was different. I heard nothing from her for a week. Her sisters had heard nothing either. I wondered if something had happened to her. Many times recently, I had given her rides to a girl friend's house several miles away. Since she had spent most of her time with this girl, I decided to look for her there.
Before I could knock on the door, this friend opened it, and greeted me. It seemed a little peculiar because I had never met her before. I had only talked to her on the phone when she called my daughter. She said that she had not seen my daughter for about a week, which also sounded suspicious. The two of them had been inseparable for several months before.
I continued to inquire about my daughter's whereabouts, asking all her known friends. Then one day my second oldest daughter, who attended the same high school, heard that her sister was staying with the same girl I had originally suspected. That night, I called this girl's house, and asked to speak to the girl's father. He was a very pleasant man, and after telling him why I was calling, he admitted that my daughter had been staying with his daughter. He said he liked having her around because it had a "calming affect" on his daughter. Neither were good students, and his daughter was failing nearly all her classes. The two of them had studied together, and my daughter was helping with the house cleaning! He said if it was all right with me, he would like my daughter to stay. He also assured me that he would call immediately if anything changed.
I should have realized that my daughter was just looking for love and understanding, but I was once again angered by her ingratitude. We had moved, at considerable expense and inconvenience, only to have my oldest daughter run away!
About three weeks later, I got a phone call at work. It seems that my daughter had "borrowed" too much clothing from her friend, and they had a "falling out". My daughter had left in a huff, taking her friends clothes with her. They had no idea where she went.
This was a major turning point in my daughter's life. And unfortunately, it was a turn for the worse. She essentially dropped out of school, and became a street person. She had no job, no money, and no future. She lived with other "friends", most of whom had also dropped out of school, or were on suspension. My daughter was very polite and soft spoken, a direct contrast to most kids on the run. Most of her friends were living in single parent homes, where the mother worked all day, leaving my daughter and her friends unsupervised. When my daughter wore out her welcome, she moved on, starting the scenario all over again.
About once a month, my daughter would surface somewhere, only to disappear again. I told myself that she was okay, and that she would certainly come back if she had any serious needs. When we would see one another, we would say "Hi!", and then hurry off in opposite directions. We are both very stubborn people. Its a trait she got from me. I relied heavily on her sisters to keep me informed of her general well being.
Our step family lived in two houses for about a year. My wife and I decided to give it another try living in the same house. My two youngest daughters and I moved back into the original house. One of my oldest daughter's best friends lived less than a block from this house. My daughter spent most of her time now with this friend, so it was not uncommon for me to see her coming and going to the neighbor's house.
Eventually she asked me to relinquish custody to her friend's parents. All I had to do was sign a form, giving my consent. I refused, which infuriated my daughter. I had been putting money aside for each of my daughter's clothing and education. They could not gain access to it until they graduated from high school. If they had what I considered a legitimate need, such as a winter coat or school supplies, then I would withdraw the money from the account. This custody thing was nothing more than a legal maneuver. It was to circumvent my last remaining rule, and to provide access to the money.
My daughter had returned to high school, and she claimed that she would graduate that coming June. She had missed a lot of classes.
I attended her commencement ceremony, and congratulated her on her high school graduation. In a greeting card, I told her I was proud of her. As promised, I had transferred the savings account to my daughter's name. The account number was written in a note in the card.
About a month after the commencement ceremonies, my second oldest daughter told me that her sister had received a blank diploma. She still lacked the necessary credits to graduate. The entire savings account had been squandered on a trip to Mexico.
With no money, and no intention to return to school, my daughter now had to get a job. Even her friends were not willing to provide food and shelter indefinitely. She bounced from job to job, mostly fast food places, because that's about all that will hire someone without a high school diploma. Finally, she got a job as a waitress in a respectable restaurant. With an income, she was able to pay half the rent and share an apartment. I saw her less frequently then because the apartment was over ten miles away. In retrospect, this was the worst part of her life.
Those that she worked with were a terrible influence. They were prone to heavy drinking and drug use. Once their work shift was over, the party began, and it lasted all night - every night. It was during this time that she became an alcoholic and drug addict.
I had no idea how bad things had gotten. She had given up the apartment, because she couldn't afford it. All her money was going to support her habits. She stayed wherever a "friend" would let her. She was dating a guy who said he "loved" her. He was also "dealing". I met him once when she brought him by the house to introduce him. He was a nice enough guy, and I thought he was just another friend.
It was Christmas Day, 1990, when I received a telephone call from the boy friend's mother. I remember that call as clearly as if it was this Christmas, instead of Christmas two years ago. We talked for nearly an hour. She told me that her son loved my daughter, and that he only wanted the best for her. Unfortunately, they both used alcohol and drugs, and her son was dealing drugs. They had been arrested and her son was going to jail. My daughter was seriously in need of treatment. She had been praying for both of them, and had decided to call me to solicit my help.
My worst fears had become a reality! I had told myself that after my daughter had undergone the misery of chemotherapy for cancer, that she would never be tempted to use drugs. I had underestimated my daughter's pain. I failed my daughter when she needed my love and understanding. For this I am truly sorry. Alcohol and drugs were just her way of coping. I should have been there for her, and I wasn't. I will bear this guilt for the rest of my life.
My daughter had no permanent address or telephone. I didn't know this until I tried to find her. The only telephone number I had was for the restaurant where she worked. After several unsuccessful attempts, I contacted her a work, and arranged to meet her at her apartment. I told her I needed her signature on some legal papers. Her apartment turned out to be one of her friend's apartments, that she had used to have a place to sleep. We met in the apartment parking lot, and I described the conversation I had with her boy friend's mother. When I told her that I knew she was addicted to alcohol and drugs, she began to cry. Then I began to cry. I told her that I was equally to blame because I had failed as her father. She was relieved that I finally knew the truth. She was excited when I told her I would get help. Treatment would work only if she admitted she had a problem, and paid for part of it. She assured me that she was ready.
After many calls to treatment centers, I selected one I thought was appropriate, and arranged an interview for my daughter. I drove her to the interview, and in early February 1991, she was admitted to the treatment center. She did very well. Many visits helped speed the time in treatment. I took her youngest sister with me to visit, and her stepmother also came. Her boy friend's mother came, even though her son was serving time in the Pendleton Penitentiary.
Upon successful completion of the treatment for drug and alcohol abuse, my daughter needed to find a half way house to help her transition back to society. She interviewed and was accepted by a facility in Southeast Portland. Once again, she did very well. Because her behavior was that of a responsible adult, she was soon made the assistant manager. The proprietor, who did not live on the premises, needed someone she could rely on to look after things in her absence. This was high praise for a young lady who was still recovering from a life of irresponsible behavior and dependency.
She also got a job as a clerk at a local retail store, and was quickly recognized as a reliable employee, always volunteering for overtime and extra hours. I assisted her with establishing a budget, and living within it. The bus was her only transportation unless she could pay coworkers to drive her home. Meanwhile, her boy friend was still serving time, and she would go visit him with her boy friend's mother.
In order to get her high school diploma, she enrolled in classes at the Community College. Once she completes high school, she wants to go on to college. She's getting "A's" in classes she was struggling just to pass two years ago.
Last November, about Thanksgiving, my daughter's boy friend was released from jail. It was a joyous time for all of us, but it had to be a very special time for both of them. Their lives had hit "rock bottom", and together they climbed back to respectability. They announced their engagement, and made plans for an August wedding.
The garden wedding was beautiful. Not only did the weather cooperate, but everything went as planned. It was a great day for a wedding, as two committed individuals became an awesome team.
It's amazing what a little success will do for someone. With success comes self confidence, a focus on objectives, and a plan of action. If I had encouraged my daughter instead of threatening her with consequences, I know that she would have succeeded years ago. Now that she knows she has talents, she is trying to decide how best to apply them. She told me just the other day that she wants to teach young children. Her major will be early childhood education. You know, like her mother's work in a Head Start classroom.
My daughter now has confidence in her own abilities. She has learned from her experiences, and based on a successful track record, she has matured. In spite of the physical rigors of cancer treatment, she is still a very pretty woman. She has learned to act responsibly, and she has enjoyed the benefits that accrue to responsible people. She is committed to teaching children, and she knows how best to do that. She has a vision, and I know she will succeed.
