Defending Eve

A Summer Romance

A SUMMER ROMANCE

I was a child of summer.  Running along the beach as the surf played on the shore brought out my inner spirit.  In later years and even as I gained immense satisfaction from my work, I still craved those liberating moments touched by the ocean breeze.

I grew up in Atlanta, Georgia.  All year I would wait for the marvel that I witnessed in Destin on the Gulf Coast of Florida each and every summer. There was a perfume in the salt air that sent my mind into a spin.  While the asphalt and skyscrapers gave definition to my youth, I longed for a paradise – a feeling as much as a place where my true nature might flourish. My mother indulged my fantasies by introducing me to romantic movies with their breathtaking kisses and broken hearts.  The average boy would have reacted by violent retching, but my heart would go all aflutter as the overwrought heroine would finally meet her match on a moonlit night.  My mother’s inspiration tamed my wildest impulses.  I would get lost in those restless tides, as I watched the lovers reconcile on an island resort.  

Sylvia, my mother, was happy.  She was a geography teacher at Brookwood High School in Atlanta.  She married David Morgan because she believed he would be a great husband, and his success as a tax lawyer would provide a secure foundation for them to raise a family.  David eventually spirited her off to Birmingham, Alabama where he developed his law practice.  

It wasn’t difficult for my mother to pursue her own enrichment.  She absolutely adored the art of cuisine, and realized she could apply her skills to a catering business.

When my father understood how much she was inspired by her desire to work in the catering business, he was aghast.  He couldn’t imagine his wife expanding her role any further.  It was one thing for her to teach school.  But he didn’t see his wife devoted to a new full-time career, especially a demanding business of her own.  That was too much for him to take.  

My mother wasn’t one to give up on her dreams.  She enjoyed teaching, but it didn’t offer her the challenges she truly craved.  She also valued exploring her independence.  If this meant divorcing my father, that would be the best decision for her.  She became resolved on her course.  Moving back to Atlanta allowed her to come out of her shell.  She had no choice.

She needed to assert herself.  At this time, I was 5 years old.  I was her partner in crime.  She found special comfort in my unconditional support.  As I was her witness, she swore to make good on her plans.  Coupled with my father’s incredible work ethic and high standards, her perseverance and drive were the bedrock of my character.  Her example became a shining light for me to pursue my own dream without the fear of any obstacles.

From the moment my mother separated from my father, she made no secret that she wanted to find another man in her life.  I was her co-conspirator in her efforts.  After each one of her miserable dates, she would rush home to share chapter and verse about the awful times.  This allowed me to pursue my own romantic vision.  I felt by listening to my mother’s stories, I was beginning to understand how a woman wanted to be treated by a man.  At the same time, I understood there were a host of men who felt it was their prerogative to belittle women.  They really believed women admired such aggressive and rude behavior.  It couldn’t be further from the truth.

I was 11 years old at summer camp.  As I lie in bed, I had the earphones of my Walkman in, and I was being lulled to sleep by Whitney Houston.  She was my angel.  And I prayed that God might send me a true love just as was depicted in her songs.  Whitney knew the pitfalls of love.  Her music extolled a romantic vision where profound loneliness found salvation in the arms of a mysterious lover.  If Whitney’s pleas were answered, I figured that my own rescue was only a heartbeat away.