St. Rose of Lima witnessed Julia Ellen’s blowout wedding to Russell. Every time Aunt Mimi considered the cost of this heterosexual extravaganza she needed smelling salts.
“They could have just eloped,” Mother would say, snapping her back to her senses.
“Julia, don’t be ridiculous.” Then Aunt Mimi would once again wade into the voluminous guest list.
Not a seat was empty in the church. Julia Ellen truly was a beautiful bride and Russell a stunning groom. Having been a tank man in the army, Russell had a certain manly swagger. He was scared at the altar, though, which I thought funny as I sat in the second row, behind Aunt Mimi, expensive Belgian lace hanky dabbing her eyes. The mother of the bride looked as good as the bride.
Even Dad got misty. I tried to concentrate, but my mind soon wandered. Mother pinched me to stop reading the hymnal.
Once out of the church and in the car on our way to the reception, she dug into me.
“If you throw food, yell at anyone or do one thing rude, you are getting dragged back to the car and you’ll stay here. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“This is the most important day of Julia Ellen’s life and I don’t want you acting a fool.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Someday you’ll be married and you’ll want everything perfect.”
“Not me.”
“Oh, la.” She threw up her hands. “Our little hermit.”
“I believe her,” Dad said.
“Believe her? You encourage her.”
“No, I don’t.” It was rare for Dad to argue with Mother. “Some people are made for marriage and some aren’t.”
She whirled around in the passenger seat to fix her light gray eyes on me. “This will change when you become a teenager.”
“I don’t want to be a teenager. I want to be grown-up right away. I don’t even want to be a kid now.” I was telling the truth.
“Somewhere out there is a little boy who will grow up to be your husband.”
“I’d rather have a horse. Teddy blood, Mom.”
Dad laughed so hard he dropped a wheel off the road.
“Butch, watch where you’re going!” Mother, fussed up from the wedding and helping Aunt Mimi morning, noon and night for weeks, was testy. “This will all pass,” she said as she settled back in her seat.
I stood up and leaned over the seat. “Mom, men are too much work.”
“Well—I—”
Dad started laughing again. “Honey, I hate to admit it, but I think we are too much work.”
Mother’s lipstick red lips curled upward. “If you love the man, he’s not too much work.”
“I don’t want to cook. I don’t want to clean. I hate ironing and I’m not sitting around the house, Mom. I swear.” I punctuated this with a childish saying the boys and I said when we swore sometimes. “Ein swine.”
“Ein swine you.” She flipped her lace hanky at me. “Say, did you see that handkerchief of Sis’s?” This was addressed to Dad. “Cost twenty-five dollars if it cost a penny.”
“She could blow her nose in a Kleenex.”
“She wasn’t blowing her nose, she was wiping away tears of joy. You need a lace hanky for that.” Mother was fishing for an expensive handkerchief.
“Uh-huh.” Dad smiled.
“She was crying tears of relief,” I piped up.
“Since when did you get so smart?” Mother studied her handkerchief.
“Since I started listening to you.”
They both laughed as we pulled into the already overflowing parking lot, where space had been reserved for us.
“Mom, don’t you want to know why I don’t want to get married?”
“I heard why.” She checked her makeup in the passenger visor mirror.
Mother wore light makeup. Too much meant you were cheap, like wearing big jewels during the day. A lady didn’t do such crass things.
“I have other reasons.”
“Make it short.” She pretended to be interested, which was good of her.
“All that work you do in the house disappears. Daddy’s work stays. Like the time Daddy, Uncle Mearl and Uncle Kenny built the fence. It’s still standing. The wash just gets dirty again.”
“The tulip bulbs stay.” Mother rolled her lips together after applying her lipstick.
“She’s got a point, though.” Dad winked at me in the rearview mirror.
“She’ll get a point in her head if she doesn’t behave today. If Kenny or Wadie teases you, walk away and don’t tease them back. And don’t speak until spoken to. You know what’s right and wrong. Come on.”
I behaved like a perfect little lady, which weighted me down with boredom. Julia Ellen was so happy and people cried all over again at her first dance with her father. Later I danced with the boys. That was better than sitting around waiting for some adult to praise my manners.
Children’s pronouncements are often brushed aside, but I meant what I said about getting married. The other issue that bothered me was losing my name. Julia Ellen was now Dubbs. Dubbs is a good enough name, but I liked the name Brown. I was determined to hang on to my last name.
Later that spring the county-wide track meet held at York Catholic High School found me entered in the broad-jump event. I was the only grade-schooler in the meet, but our physical-education teacher had entered me. Mom, Dad, Aunt Mimi and the boys sat in the stands. It was cool and misty. All we had in those days were sneakers like PF Flyers or track shoes with cleats. I wore sneakers since we couldn’t find cleats small enough to fit me. I remember hearing my name called over the loudspeaker and then running and jumping for all I was worth. Each contestant got three tries. The girls from West York High, William Penn High, Red Lion, Hanover High and York Catholic were mostly juniors and seniors. I didn’t even have a uniform, like the Catholic-school kids’ green-and-gold ones. I wore navy blue shorts and a white T-shirt.
I placed fourth in the whole county. When I was handed my green ribbon, my name and the name of Valley View Elementary School were called out and everyone applauded. It was tremendously exciting, but I had to contain myself. Showing off would have brought down Mother’s wrath.
Later, one of the physical-education teachers, I think from William Penn, spoke to Dad. She told him I had exceptional athletic ability and she looked forward to the day when I’d be a freshman at William Penn.
Mother liked my small victory, but anything to do with sports made her nervous because of my natural father. Then too, Juliann was a fine rider. However, Mother loved sports—she was a fanatic—and eventually that overrode her fears. Still, she didn’t want me to resemble my natural parents in any fashion.
I harbored no illusions of athletic glory. I wanted to play any sport girls were allowed to play, and I played baseball and football with the boys in pickup games. I leaped bareback onto any horse or mule that would stand for it. I’d never ridden in a saddle and knew I wouldn’t as long as I was under Mother’s roof.
I loved sports. I loved competition. I loved the feeling of speed when a horse rolled from a canter to a flat-out gallop. The only female athletes I’d seen or read about were Babe Didrikson Zaharias, Patty Berg, Pauline Betz and Alice Marble.
Each of those women was by then in her thirties or forties. I knew of no female athlete in her teens or twenties, and I don’t think anyone else did, either.
I wanted to support myself. I knew sports wasn’t the way, but I was often sad as a child and young woman because my athletic ability couldn’t fully flower.
The gods had other plans for me.