Raising New Hampshire

My wife Martha and I had our daughter, Jessica, when we were quite young. I was 22, she was 21. That was 39 years ago. We were the one and only couple in our social group at that time, 1970, with a baby. At least one guy we knew from college was so horrified at the thought of bringing a child into this wicked, wicked world that it ended our acquaintanceship.

Other folks were more circumspect and simply shook their heads in wonderment at some people's foolishness. What about careers, income, success, getting up in the world, people asked. And Jessica was a challenge. She was beautiful, smart and stubborn, like her mother. I have often said Jessica was preparing for her career as a lawyer long before she went to law school!

Her birth was also relatively easy. We both assumed we would have another baby whenever we felt ready. And, eventually, we tried. Three miserable miscarriages later, we resigned ourselves to one wonderful child and I had a vasectomy so Martha wouldn’t have to continue with birth control pills.

As we neared forty, and Jessica graduated from high school, everyone else we knew was about to have their first child or desperately trying. Suddenly, the world appeared less wicked, overpopulation fell into the background and babies were everywhere. And we were empty nesters before the term had even been invented.

We could run around the house naked as jailbirds, whatever those naked birds are, as much as we liked! Everyone else we knew was debating breast versus bottle feeding.

I’m not recommending everyone get married young or have kids while they are still kids. But, while sometimes very rocky, it worked best for us in the long run.

Jessica now has three daughters, ages 10, 7 and 4. I do not envy her raising these children in this day and age. Has the world or this part of it changed so much in 40 years? Or have I just gotten older and more risk adverse?

How fast is fast enough?

I commuted long distances by car, back and forth to work, for many years on the crowded and inadequate 1950’s Eisenhower highways of the Northeast. Our home was in Milford, NH for twenty five years and in that time I worked an hour or two north or south of home. Certain times of day were clearly more dangerous on the road than others. I'm sure a review of highway accident reports would show that to be true.

Some drivers became especially determined at certain times in the morning. A few minutes before 7:30 or 8 am, 8:30 or 9, some cars would pass you at tremendous speeds, more so than at other times. Their drivers would frantically weave in and out of traffic passing all and sundry. I concluded that they were about to be late for work for, perhaps, the third time that week and they knew the boss would be furious. So let’s endanger all of us on the road, but get to work close to on-time.

I’m still amazed by drivers, usually very young ones, who come right up to your rear bumper in the passing lane of the highway and then when you shift into the right hand travel lane they follow you, still within inches of your bumper. The reason, in about half the cases, appears to be that they are going off the very next exit at 100 miles an hour! Might they be late in picking up their dry cleaning? The other half simply drive continuously on someone’s bumper apparently for miles and miles. They must live in fear of any open road in front of them.

Some people still insist on blinking the high beams when they wish to pass at 85 miles per hour. What that means is, “I am speeding more than you are speeding so get out of my way, you idiot!” Sometime later, when you come upon them driving sedately in the travel lane you wonder if it might have been some kind of temporary insanity. Or perhaps someone in the car screwed up their courage to say, “What are you, nuts?”

Glory Vanderbilt, I was told, said that you can never be too thin or too rich. Well, we know that one of those isn’t true. Likewise, you can never go fast enough on the highway. Someone will always be going faster!

Driving in a Mercury

Driving Stella

I have always generally enjoyed driving an automobile. I drove to West Virginia in January to meet my daughter and grandchildren to go skiing. I love the feeling of setting off early in the morning in “the machine” as my grandmother called out beat up station wagon and driving all day.

I think that may be because I started driving so young, when I was thirteen in fact, that fall right after my father passed away. I had been starting the old Ford beach wagon each day as my mother asked when, one afternoon, she rushed out and got in the passenger side. When she said, “Let’s go”, I explained, as if to a child, that not only didn’t I know how to drive but I also did not have a license.

“That’s alright”, she replied, “The oldest son of a widow can drive as long as the widow is in the car with him”. That sounded suspicious even to me but there wasn’t anyone to check with so I said, “Okay”.

She wanted to go to the market on the upper road but first we had to get out of the driveway. It was a long one that sloped down from the two lane road passing by up above to an old, tiny one car garage. We were actually in the garage.

I had played a bit with the clutch and had a vague notion where reverse was located but I had never worked the clutch so as to move the car. With a modest grinding of gears I got it into reverse and almost immediately stalled out. My mother sat stiffly beside me on the red and white bench seat and said not a single word.

I started the car again, popped the clutch giving it plenty of gas this time and we flew out of the garage and up the driveway like a small rocket. Thinking almost as quickly as the car was traveling I hit the brakes and we were in the middle of the road stalled once more. And we were both suffering mild cases of whiplash. I wanted to get out of the car and go hide somewhere, perhaps for the rest of my life. Luckily, there was not another car to be seen on Riverside Avenue!

My mother saved me from panic when she said, “This car is always doing that! Pay no attention. Let’s just go to the market.”

I started again, found first, let the clutch out slightly more slowly, gave it slightly less gas and, tires screeching, tore off down the road.