The World of Computer Software/World_Of_Computer_Software-02-387-Vol-3of3.iso/h/hpj01.zip/HPJ02.DOC

Text File | 1993-02-23 | 31KB | 632 lines

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.