Evangelical Baby (Memoir, Part 3)
Driving back from the gynecology clinic knowing the results of the examination we were both initially subdued. Then, he looked over at me in the passenger seat and smiled broadly, “I’m going to be a father!” His smile didn’t faded when I started questioning him about when we should tell our families, and next steps . . . like maybe marriage, one those dusty old institutions people still seem to participate in.
The good news, if you could call it that, was now as hormonal 23-year-old’s we didn’t have to worry about pregnancy. The bad news was, just like that old blues singer, Tina Turner, sang, “What’s love got to do with it?” That was a great question considering that in our religious backgrounds, love was supposed to have everything to do with it. For the record, I was in love with my boyfriend. He, however, seemed more smitten with the sex. Such an old story.
So I got that waitressing job I’d forecast to the college Finance officer at a truck stop a couple of miles from my apartment and my boyfriend went back to the family farm, driving the hour into town to visit me for conjugal visits at least once a week. He put off telling his parents about our growing dilemma, but finally broke the news to his sister, a social worker and also an evangelical Christian. She was shocked and disheartened for her brother and ironically, curious about why I hadn’t been on birth control, as if the big Christian taboo of premarital sex was okay as long as there was protection.
“Hypocrite!” I thought, but I didn’t say anything. She on the other hand, insinuated there was some sort of entrapment, that I’d figured out a way to force my boyfriend to marry me. I was so offended. Overall, not a great introduction to his family.
