IOIIT Chapter 1: The Union
Spring 1988
My father picked my sister, Juliet, and me up from elementary school on Friday, as he did every other weekend since he and my mother divorced the year before. He stayed in the house we had lived in as a family while my mother, sister, and I moved to an apartment in town.
My father had been devastated by the divorce. He cried a lot and was deeply lonesome. His visits with Juliet and me were the only thing he looked forward to then. We were sad for Dad and sometimes wept along with him. He loved Mom dearly and couldn’t believe we were not a family anymore. We called him often from Mom’s so he could hear our voices and tell us he loved us. To take his mind off things, he threw himself into different do-it-yourself projects around the house. He gutted both the bathrooms, remodeled them top to bottom, and sometimes let Juliet and I help when we visited. We got to paint, hammer nails, and play assistant to Dad.
After nearly six months, he finally began to emerge from his melancholia and was dating again. While Juliet and I knew he was dating, he never introduced us to any of his dates. I recall, on several visits, him filling us in on how it was going and how he felt about being single again. Dad grumbled a bit about how costly dating can be, as he had been with Mom for nearly a decade. Dad also signed up for a dance class to meet people and network. Church and related activities became more important to Dad as well, as he sought ways to fill his time and distract his mind.
After picking us up from school that Friday, he introduced us to his new girlfriend. He had never introduced us to any women he dated, so this was a momentous event in my eight-year-old life. She was a nurse named Regina and had three children of her own from a previous marriage.
She was a petite brunette with deep brown eyes and olive skin. Her face had sharp features that made her intriguing to look at. Her nose was pointy though not disproportionate to the rest of her face. Her thin lips formed a perfect smile that could put people at ease. She was dressed casually in blue jeans and a sleeveless button-down shirt adorned with daffodils, with the tails tied in a knot at her waist. When she spoke, she had an air of confidence and enlightenment that made me want to keep conversing with her for as long as possible. Regina was from Michigan and had a solid midwestern accent, which I had never heard before then. She said “pop” instead of “Coke” for soft drinks, “cupboard” instead of “cabinets,” and “spigot” instead of “faucet.” She also had funny sayings and proverbs like “Jeez Oh Pete” to exclaim and “Ope” as an alternative to “oops.”
Throughout the evening, we learned about her children, her childhood in Michigan, and the various outdoor hobbies with which she occupied her time. She also spoke about her career as a nurse, which she seemed to love and be very dedicated to. Regina regaled us with numerous tales and anecdotes about what took place at the mental health facility where she was employed at the time. She played outside with us and played games with us until we were pooped. We thought she was fun and couldn’t wait to see her again.
We did see her again…and again…and again. Many planned outings with her and her kids took place over the next year. We were like the Brady Bunch. Her daughter, Crystal, was the same age as me, and her son, Gunner, was the same age as Juliet. She also had a two-year-old named Jackson, or “Jack” for short. We went on picnics, hiking, swimming, and camping together.
One Friday afternoon, after Dad picked us up from school for his weekend visit, he told me there was a surprise waiting for me when we arrived. I was intrigued and excited as it was quite out of character for Dad to surprise his children. When we pulled into the driveway and got out to go inside, we noticed an enormous hand-painted banner that read “Happy Birthday, Sarah.” I was so excited and felt like the most special girl in the world. We celebrated with cake and presents. This event is perhaps one of my happiest memories of that time.
At some point during their courtship, our weekends with Dad evolved into staying the entire weekend at Regina’s home with her kids. Spending time with Dad and having other kids to play with was an ideal situation for Juliet and me at ages eight and five.
Regina and her children lived in a modest house she rented in the small rural town of Bristol, about an hour west of where we lived. She had moved there after her divorce. It was a red brick bungalow-style home on a sizeable treeless field with an empty above-ground pool and an old rusty shed in the backyard. Juliet, me, and Regina’s children spent time playing hide and seek, as well as various other silly games out in the field. I once hurled myself into the empty pool as an unexpected hiding spot. Beyond the open field was a woodland area where we went exploring frequently. Regina’s daughter and I ventured a bit too far into the woods and got turned around on one occasion. We couldn’t see the house from where we were and couldn’t discern which direction to go to find our way home. After walking in circles, we finally made it back to the field. Once we returned home, we had quite a tale to tell Dad, Regina, and the other kids.
The inside of Regina’s home seemed like an ordinary house with a kitchen, living spaces, three bedrooms, and a bathroom. The house was old and smelled like aged wood with a hint of mothballs. The walls were wood instead of the white drywall I was accustomed to, giving it a dim feel. While it was different, it felt homey and accommodating. The living room featured a navy blue sectional sofa with an accompanying coffee table built from a single piece of driftwood. I still think that the coffee table is one of the most unique pieces of furniture I have ever seen, and I haven’t seen one like it since. The bedrooms struck me as queer, specifically the beds, as there were no bed frames on them. Each room contained a box spring on the floor with the accompanying mattress on top.
Dad and Regina were married a year later in a small ceremony at First Presbyterian Church. First Presbyterian was where Juliet and I were baptized as babies and attended every Sunday with Mom and Dad. The façade was brick trimmed with white wood. The front featured white columns and twin staircases that curved up the second story. The sanctuary's interior had a regal vibe, with aged dense wood floors and plush claret-colored velvet runners down the aisles. The same velvet adorned the cushions in the pews. Every Sunday, I would sit in services with Mom, Dad, and Juliet and stare up at the beautiful jewel-toned stained-glass windows and the great pipes that thundered out the organ music above the choir. I could almost transport my consciousness to another time.
Regina wore a knee-length white dress adorned with pearls and sequins, and Dad looked handsome in a gray suit. Incidentally, Dad had developed laryngitis a few days before the wedding and could barely talk on their wedding day. He squeaked out, “I do,” like a pubescent boy, which we all thought was hilarious. The wedding reception was held at a farmhouse restaurant not far from Dad’s home. In hindsight, the party was substantial, considering it was Regina’s second wedding and Dad’s third. There was a buffet of various food items and a two-tier wedding cake. I also remember a tower of champagne coupes that was eventually filled from the top down. My sister, the other three kids, and I were all on cloud nine. We ran around the wedding reception giddy with excitement about our parents’ nuptials. It was finally official; we were a family of seven.
Little did I know, this would be as good as it would get for this Brady Bunch.