Positive

Positive.

That word always meant Good. All of the sudden, it meant Not Good. Apparently, the nurse on the other end had explained this enough times to silly young teens in the past. She reiterated the test results and what that meant.

I felt like the world was going to end.

I was suddenly afraid to death of telling my mom because, for sure, she was going to beat the shit out of me when I told her. That's what was going through my mind as I put the receiver down at the phone booth across from the counseling center. My friend Holly was standing next to me with her usual goofy hopeful smile. She saw my face and knew the answer. I don't remember anything but her hugs and reassurance. The warning bell rang and she was off to her next class. I wished I could just go to class with her. Instead, I turned and walked straight into the counseling center and into Mr. Aleman's office. He was used to me just plopping myself in the seat in front of his desk. He was my surrogate father and he knew it. I looked around his office at all the familiar items. The poster of kids climbing a jungle gym with something about wouldn't it be great if the military had to have bake sales to raise funds for weapons. I looked over at the tiny hoop and net attached to his trash can that some kid made for him in metal shop. I looked at anything I could before I finally looked at him. I couldn't stop crying. Before I could tell him, he knew. He had years of dealing with fatherless teen girls. His shoulders slumped as he half stated, half asked, "You're pregnant?" I lost it.

I was seventeen. I was smart. I was nice. I was kinda popular. And I was pregnant.

I keep hearing snarky comments about Bristol Palin. I read all over the internet all the ugliness about her situation. I keep wondering if Bristol is as afraid of her new responsibilities as I was. And then I wonder how much scarier and possibly more humiliating life must be for her than it was for me. It took all my strength to show up day after day to complete the final semester of school before graduation. But I did it. I can only imagine how difficult it is for Bristol to hold her head up knowing that the snickers aren't just coming from classmates and neighbors but from judgmental men and women all over the state and the rest of the US.

"What did your mom say?"

That was the first question I got from all of my friends. The tone in their voices was compassionate... not at all judgmental. I think they were probably putting themselves in my shoes in thinking about how their parents might have reacted. They knew that my mom was strict and a bit *ahem* grumpy, so they weren't really surprised when I told them about the ride in the car when she yelled and yelled at me about how I had ruined my life. In retelling our "conversations" to my friends, I kept out her screams of how I had embarrassed her and how was she going to explain this to my dad and how she had failed... She was so angry and humiliated. That made the whole situation worse. Not only was I going to have to bear the responsibility of becoming a mother, and not only was I going to have to live with the shame on a daily basis as the "evidence" of my dalliance grew and grew... I was now also fully responsible for my mother's feelings of failure.

I hated myself.

I wonder, again... how must that poor seventeen-year-old, Bristol feel? Does she feel like she's humiliating her mom? Will marrying the boyfriend make it all better? As much as I enjoy good political back and forth, I wish all the "journalists" out there would just let Bristol fade into the background. She has enough to deal with. Like that too young boyfriend-slash-husband of hers. And maybe the judgers and haters should do what my friends did for me... put themselves in Bristol's shoes... and just let this little side story go away.

And maybe focus on the issues.

...

This is not really a political post. It's a former-teen-mom-sticking-up-for-another-teen-mom post. Any "haters" will be taken out back and beaten with a switch by my mom. Don't laugh, Dude... she's scary with a stick!

AND, let me just say this in no way is a statement that the beautiful daughter that came of the teen pregnancy is anything less than an awesome kid who I love love love very much. Nothing negative there...

What was your name again?

Most of us are given names that our parents thought sounded nice for the little being growing inside of them. The names could have been handed down as a family legacy, or maybe the choice was based on a biblical persona or saint, or even just a popular name at the time. Think of all the Jennies in the 80s...

Last night, I showed up to my High School Reunion with butterflies in my stomach and a pen to rewrite my name. The name I graduated included my bio father's last name. Unfortunately, until the last part of my senior year, everyone knew me with my step-dad's name. My first name was the nickname to my actual name but was not reflected on my name badge. I knew that was going to happen, so I was prepared to make the change. What was funny was walking in knowing that these people all knew me by that name. That was a person I was so long ago. I really liked that person... full of love and potential, regardless of the stupid adults thwarting her dreams at every turn. She had a fun time and made so many good friends. She enjoyed life and learning, even though sometimes she was too busy frolicking in the waves to show up for class. She laughed out loud and hugged everyone hello. Reuniting her as an adult and with a new name was like a circle closing. By closing, I don't mean ending but finally being complete.

It felt like a ghost who had been haunting the hallways was finally set free to move on to the afterlife.

I walked away from High School as fast as I could, not because I didn't love my experience. That's not it at all. I loved being there. It was like paradise compared to being home. At school, I could be myself. Sometimes that was good, and other times embarrassing. That's just life. The reason I ran so far from there was out of shear humiliation. Although I held my head up while sticking it out, it was really hard being the pregnant girl. I left and started a new life. All along, I searched for friends that were older that had kids the same age as mine. We had that in common, but really nothing else. I missed people my age, so I started finding friends that knew the same songs and remembered the same movies. Unfortunately, none of them had kids. I was always either the youngest mom or the mature adult. Nobody else cared, but I never felt at ease. With the search for a new life came new names. First, the nickname had to go. I was no longer a child and the cutesy name wasn't jiving with my attempt at playing the responsible adult. Next, I took on the name of my first husband... then back to my legal last name... and now my second husband's name. Between husbands, I decided that my birth name was nice on a driver's license, but I really resonated with Sugar, given to me because of my need to go swimming at 2am in any available pool when I had too much to drink. Long story...

You know how when you fall on your face and look around to see if anyone saw and then thank God that the only person that saw had just tripped on the same thing? No? Well... I guess I'm just trying to come up with a metaphor... not working... Anyway, turns out that while I was running to escape what I thought was this awful stigma, many of the friends I left behind fell into similar situations. Some of them had kids the following year. So while it didn't happen in high school, it did happen. We laughed about the fact that I had always thought I was the only one that had to deal with these surprises at such an early age.

You know how when you fall down and then look around and nobody even noticed because they were too busy with their own stuff? Well, turns out that half of the people I came across last night don't even remember that I was pregnant. I was like "WHAT? How could you miss it? I was like totally pregnant! I was in labor at our graduation! You don't remember?" Blank stares. Turns out they were just typical 17 and 18 year olds who were too busy and narcissistic taking care of their own stuff. The only kids that remembered my "condition" were the ones that I had classes with.

All this time I had run away thinking I was the odd ball that had not had enough sense to either get on the pill or say no to her boyfriend. And all this time, I had friends just waiting for me to show up to the party to reconnect. I am so glad I went. And I am so glad to have reconnected. But I am eternally thankful for putting this ghost to rest...

releasing the feelings of torment that were never even necessary in the first place.

...