Chapter 11

While pregnant with Steven, Greg was 14, Jeff was 12, and Andrew was 6 years old. The Army had sent Brian, my husband, away. I don't remember where.

During my pregnancy, Greg was completely embarrassed that his mom became pregnant, or more to the fact that his mom had done what was necessary for her to get pregnant. Moms, in his eyes, weren't supposed to do that. He wouldn't go anywhere with me. He didn't want to be seen in public with me.

One story I have where he did go with me, I forced him, was to one of Jeff's football games. he needed to support his brother. At this time, Jeff played football with the Army's Youth Services team.

This game was away, we played surrounding communities' teams. Greg and I sat at the top of the bleachers next to the edge. They were only maybe five feet tall. Andrew was playing on the ground below us. I had eyes on him.

Beside us stood a dad behind the bleachers, resting his arms on the top bleacher. He talked with another dad who sat beside Greg. The man standing's little boy came crying to him. The child was about three, at the most four years old. The dad asked, "What's wrong?"

The child pointed. "That boy over there hit me."

The dad backhanded the child in the face, hard enough it knocked him to the ground. "Why you coming crying to me? Take care of it yourself."

I jumped up ready to take care of that man.

Greg grabbed me and angrily whispered, "Mom, stop, sit down, you're pregnant. You need to think. You can't do anything. The man's a jerk. He'd have no problem hurting you, and I don't feel like fighting him."

I sat but was furious that any man would backhand a child and tell that young of a child to take care of a situation by himself. This incident ruined the game for me. To this day, I still get angry over it.