Author: Sharron Burnett

I was back at work early Tuesday morning after a whirlwind  honeymoon in New Orleans. Since we had only one car, an ancient Dodge that had once belonged to Mike’s grandmother, he dropped me off at the school each morning still urging me to take a driving test soon. I managed to work even as my mind was more focused on getting our apartment set up to be more livable. For much of the week I spent my evenings hanging pictures, arranging the bits of furniture that we had accumulated and organizing the kitchen and linen closet. 

Mike and I had purchased a sofa for under a hundred dollars at FedMart, one of the early versions of a big box discount store. It was a burnt orange color which was one of the popular hues of the day along with avocado green and gold. Many gift items for my kitchen echoed that trend, dating them as artifacts from the sixties to this very day. 

Mike’s mother had bought us a rocking chair which added extra seating to our living room. Alan and Susan gave us their old formica topped table with metal chairs for our dining nook. Mike brought the furniture from his bedroom that included a student desk, a double bed and a dresser. His parents also gave him an old television that sometimes behaved and sometimes had a tendency to flip and roll or become fuzzy. It worked just well enough to suit our needs. In our thinking we had exactly what we required to be comfortable. Best of all it was the first time that I had lived in a place with central air conditioning. In the humid heat of Houston, Texas that was a big win for a girl who had always slept with the windows open and the attic fan attempting to pull enough air inside to create a breeze.

We soon learned that our strict budget often became stressed when emergencies arose. There were times when our dinner consisted of boiled cabbage with canned pineapple for dessert. We were young enough to laugh at our folly and simply carry on until the monthly checks for our work arrived. Mama knowingly had a tendency to present us with a bag of groceries whenever we came to visit. Mike’s mom sometimes gave us packages of meat from the stash that she stored in her freezer or slipped a twenty dollar bill into one of Mike’s pockets. We timed our visits around meal times more often than not. Even Alan and Susan came to our rescue with invitations to Saturday feasts of Susan’s incredible cooking. 

Our sacrifices felt minimal to me. My mother had taught me to have gratitude for having a roof over my head, a warm bed in which to sleep safely at night, and a loving family by my side. As long as we made it from one day to the next and kept moving toward our goals together I was happy. In fact I enjoyed the challenge of that first year of wedded bliss. I suppose that those will always remain some of the happiest of my days.  

I finally screwed up enough courage to take the driver’s test. I had turned twenty years old and felt that I was long overdue in that regard. My first attempt went magnificently until I hit the orange cones while attempting to parallel park. The officer shook his head and bluntly announced that I would have to come back another day to try again. 

At first I felt totally defeated, but I’ve always had a stubborn determination in the face of challenges, so not long thereafter I was jumping through the hoops of the exam again. I froze as I approached the final leg of the test which was parallel parking. Mike had told me that the important thing was not to hit the cones, so when I realized that I was about to fail again I abruptly stopped and announced that I would probably have to practice some more because I felt incapable of parking properly. The kind officer asked me how old I was and shook his head when I told him I was twenty and that I had failed the test before. He sat quietly for a moment and then asked how often I might need to park a car between two other vehicles on the street. When I acknowledged that such a thing would rarely if ever happen he announced that he was going to give me a passing mark with the proviso  that I never try to parallel park unless I was certain I would not damage another car. To this day I have never attempted to park in such a situation. 

Mike was able to vote in the presidential election that year, but I was still shy of being twenty one and the voting age had not yet been lowered. Richard Nixon handily defeated Hubert Humphrey who had received the nomination of the Democratic party almost by default after the death of Robert Kennedy. Neither Mike nor I were fans of Nixon but his election had appeared to be inevitable so we were not surprised by his victory. The Vietnam War was very much on our minds, dominating the worries that we had. The mood in the country was tense and uncertain after a year defined by upheaval. Meanwhile Mike and I were happy inside a bubble of our own making as we charted our future together. 

In December we attended the wedding of our friends Linda and Bill. It was a beautiful ceremony just as I knew it would be. Bill was still in the army so the two of them were soon on their way to Germany where they would enjoy an adventurous beginning to their own love story. It seemed that so many of us Boomers were rapidly becoming adults and facing challenges not unlike those our parents had endured. Somehow we all rose to the occasion. 

When Christmas came that year we struggled to purchase gifts for our family members and each other. We found a small “Charlie Brown” Christmas tree that we decorated with makeshift ornaments and a single string of lights. Our budget was so tight that we literally debated whether or not to purchase a manger scene for five dollars. In the end we took a leap of faith and invested in the creche that we have continued to place under our holiday trees over the years. It remains a precious reminder of the joy and love that we found together. 

Our wedding reception was a simple but loving affair. Most of weddings were like that in the nineteen sixties. We rented the Parish Hall at the church for the evening and a woman from the neighborhood decorated the area and brought cakes, finger sandwiches, coffee and and punch for the guests. She did a wonderful job of making the hall feel special and everything she created in her home kitchen was quite tasty while also having an exquisite appearance. 

Mike and I greeted our guests as they passed through the reception line wishing us the best in our future life together. It was all a blur as we engaged in small talk with an effort to be certain that everyone felt welcome. The families and friends mingled together with laughter and good spirits with my Grandpa Little being a particularly popular member of the gathering. He looked quite handsome in his new Sunday suit and few would have guessed his advanced age of ninety years if they did not know him. 

The photographer kept himself busy snapping photos of the occasion while Mike and I mingled with the guests to show gratitude to them for sharing our joy. Soon we were carrying out the standard traditions of the times. I was wearing something old, something new, something borrowed and something blue and a garter. I sat on a chair and raised my skirt so that Mike was able to remove the garter amidst laugher and cheers. He tossed it into the air for one of the single men to catch. Then I did the same with my bouquet of white roses. Whoever caught those things was supposed to be the next to marry, but I can’t remember who they were for the life of me. After a bit more chatting we both left the party to change into our traveling outfits.

We emerged to shouts of love and encouragement as well as applause. The groomsmen had moved our car to the front of the building. It was decorated with shaving cream, tin cans, toilet paper and all sorts of silly scrawling. Mike and I were showered with rice that the guests hurled at us as we passed through the gauntlet of happy people. Everyone was laughing with delight as we drove away, but we were not quite yet leaving for the beginning of our life together. We had a flight to catch for a journey to New Orleans at Hobby Airport, but it was a bit early to depart, so we ended up driving to my family home where Mama was hosting an after party with my aunts and uncles and cousins. 

Everyone gushed about how beautiful the event had been. My Uncle Paul said that it was the best wedding he had ever attended. His comment made me smile because I’m not sure that he had been to more than a few weddings in his lifetime, but I enjoyed his enthusiasm nonetheless. It felt so comfortable in that house that I suddenly felt a tinge of sadness in knowing that I would never live there again. Such notions were fleeting however each time I considered the adventures that lay ahead for me and Mike.

Soon we were saying goodbyes again and heading for the airport with my cousin Alan and his wife Susan behind us. Those were the days when airports were relaxed places where everyone was free to wander the premises, so Alan and Susan not only followed us to the boarding gate, but even said their goodbyes to us inside the plane. Susan was taking photos the entire time to commemorate the occasion. After hugs and best wishes they left and I felt as excited as can be because I had never before flown nor did I ever remember being in New Orleans. I would later find out that I went there with my mother and father when I was still a baby riding in a stroller. 

The flight was quick and easy. We caught a cab and headed for the French Quarter where Mike had made reservations in the Hotel Monteleone. I had to admit to feeling like a kid on an exotic adventure as we turned down one of the narrow streets filled with beautiful historic architecture and people celebrating late into the evening. Soon we were walking into the lobby of the hotel where Mike felt a jolt of disappointment because it was under renovation and we walked on sheets of plywood to reach the desk. I was so fascinated by it all that nothing marred my enthusiasm. It was literally like being in another world unlike anything I had ever seen. 

For the next two and a half days we toured the lovely shops on Royal Street and sampled food from fine restaurants. We went to Pat O’Brien’s where I sampled a breeze and Mike went all out for a hurricane. We listened to jazz bands and munched on beignet at Cafe du Monde. We rode the trolley to the Garden district where Mike showed me the dorm where he had lived as a student at Loyola. We walked through the neighborhood where he showed me the place where he and friends played the pinball machines. We ate roast beef poboys from a tiny eatery. We even enjoyed a steak from a place that offered a meal for under two dollars. 

Back in the quarter we dressed up for a special dinner at Broussard’s. We sat in the courtyard feasting on foods so indescribably delicious that my mouth still waters at the thought of them. One evening we went the Blue Room of the Roosevelt Hotel thanks to Mike’s Uncle Bob who thought we might enjoy some great entertainment. A singer, dancer, actress named Fran Jeffries was the featured performer and she did not disappoint. I felt like I was on a movie set starring in my new role as Mike’s wife. 

During those days we woke up early and stayed up late. We invested every bit of our youthful energy into enjoying New Orleans at its best including visiting the St. Louis Cathedral for mass on Sunday morning and walking through the Cabildo which gave me a feeling of deja vu. I would later find out from my mother’s photo album that I had been there with my parents in the long ago. 

Soon it was time to return to reality. We flew back to Houston on Monday afternoon, spending our last dollar just to be able to boast that we had spared no expense for our honeymoon. We would both be getting back to work the following day, walking into a future that would take us to many unexpected places. We were two kids who thought we were grown up. Life would teach us a lesson or two about that.

As the saying goes, best laid plans often go awry. On the Sunday before my wedding one of the priests asked us to remember the pastor in our prayers while he traveled on a vacation that week when I knew that he was supposed to be in town to officiate our wedding. Then the reverend urged us all to attend the First Friday mass scheduled at the same time in the same church as my wedding. I drifted between the idea of passing out or becoming hysterical as I realized that somehow, someone had forgotten about our supposedly scheduled wedding. It took every bit of resolve that I had not to dissolve in tears right then and there. 

On the way home I ranted liked a banshee while my mother attempted to remain calm, urging me to wait until I got more information before coming unglued. My only thought was to immediately call the rectory to find out how something so disastrous had happened. I practically ran into the house before Mama had even put the car in park. I tore through the phone book searching for the number and dialed with my hands shaking and my heart racing. One of the priests answered the phone and suggested that I call the following day to speak with the secretary who would be back in the office. Not to be trifled with, I demanded an immediate explanation for the mixup, so the poor man agreed to look at the master calendar of events to determine how my wedding date might have been overlooked. 

The now irritated priest put me on hold while I became more and more agitated as the minutes passed. He finally returned and admitted that there was no indication anywhere that Mike and I had reserved the church on any date, nor did the pastor note that he had agreed to preside over the wedding. His words, “I don’t know what to do.” trailed off while I felt myself falling into an abyss. 

My next call was to Mike and I was barely able to speak through my sobs. He tried to calm me but I was not ready to surrender my anger, so he finally suggested that he would attempt to resolve the situation. I hung up having little faith that he or anyone else would be able to do anything. After all of our careful planning we seemed to be facing a nightmare. 

A few hours later Mike called again. His mother had contacted the priest for whom she worked at Assumption Catholic Church to ask for his advice. He had immediately contacted the powers that be at Our Lady of Mt. Carmel. He learned that the pastor who had agreed to officiate at our wedding had indeed neglected to record any of the information, and so over time our wedding was forgotten. Nonetheless, we would still be able to use the church at the appointed time with a few additional “guests” who would come for the First Friday mass. He would be the person presiding over our vows and one of the priests at Mt. Carmel would assist him. All was well. The wedding would still happen at the appointed time and in some ways it had become more meaningful because Father John Perusina, who would be the official witness to our vows, had long before baptized both me and Mike. It seemed fitting that he would be person joining us in matrimony.

Mama and I worked all that week at Eliot Elementary, even on Friday. After school we rushed to the beauty salon to have our hair coiffed then hurried home to put the final touches on our faces. Mama set out the tuxedos for my brothers Michael and Pat and placed my wedding dress and veil in the car. Just before the appointed time she revealed the concerns that she had concealed up to that time. She was worried that I had hurried into a commitment that I was not yet ready to make. She assured me that if I had any misgivings it would be okay to back out even at the late date. She said that she would go to the church and tell people that I had changed my mind and nobody would think any less of me. I simply smiled and told her that I had never before in my life felt so sure about what I wanted to do. That was all she needed to hear and we were off to the church. 

I found my bridesmaids waiting for me. We all donned our dresses in the bridal room with the assistance of the photographers’ wife. I went into a kind of surreal fog, an out of body feeling that I was floating above the reality of all that was happening. Soon we were lining up for the processional into the church. My brother, Michael, would give me away. He looked so grown up and serious in his tuxedo as we linked our arms. I thought of all that our family had endured and how wonderfully we had survived. I felt incredibly blessed.

Soon the music began to play. Mrs McKenna, Susan’s mother, sang with her beautiful voice that I had grown to love. One by one Susan, Nancy and Ingrid walked down the long isle while Mike stood looking so handsome and strong. Finally with the flourish of a trumpet Michael and I slowly coursed through the center of the church while our guests turned to smile at us as we passed. Mama was sitting in the front with Grandpa Little by her side. Mike’s parents, Mary and Julio, were on the other side of the aisle. Father Perusina was flanked by three priests, who hearing of the confusion over our wedding plans had insisted that they also celebrate our nuptials. The flowers were magnificent. Everything had fallen beautifully into place, but best of all there was Mike who would forevermore be my best friend and my rock. 

The priest who delivered the homily spoke of the uncertainties of the world, particularly in nineteen sixty eight, a year that would be remembered for great upheaval. He mentioned how faith and goodness would guide us through other times of turmoil. He talked of the power of our love to change the world. It was a beautiful lesson for all of us and I would always remember his words of encouragement. Then we made our vows to love, honor and cherish each other all of the days of our lives. We performed the sacrament of matrimony just as both of us had been taught in our Catholic School upbringing. I knew before God and humans that our union was meant to be. 

As we left the church everyone was smiling. Some of the people who had come for the First Friday mass exclaimed that it was a beautiful idea to schedule a wedding for the occasion. The church had been almost full with both guests and parishioners. The extravagance of priests on the altar had made the event feel even more significant. I felt a happiness that had been missing from heart since the day my father had died. The outpouring of love had shown me once again that our family had never been alone and then there was Mike and we were one. 

My first foray into education had come long before I began working at Eliot Elementary as a teachers’ aide. I had been pretending to be teacher even as a child at play. I kept a box of school supplies and books in my closet and commandeered my brothers and neighbors into my homespun play acting that always featured me as the teacher. I taught lessons and created tests. I graded homework and quizzes. I even gave each of my captive students report cards at the end of sessions. Perhaps it was inevitable that I would more and more feel compelled to become a teacher as I grew older. I was quite excited about working at Eliot Elementary as the fall semester grew near. 

I had an appointment to meet with the principal one August afternoon. I still did not have a driver’s license but Mike had insisted on giving me instructions and helping me practice my skills in empty parking lots and on quiet roads. His plan was to have me driving as soon as we were married. For the time being I was still hitching rides with anyone I might find who was going my way. On the occasion of the meeting with the principal, my mother was my chauffeur who waited outside while I had a conference with the woman who would soon be my boss. 

The meeting went well as the principal outlined her educational philosophies and told me a bit about the students I would encounter. She methodically outlined my duties and explained the expectations that she had for all of her employees. She was somewhat abrupt and seemed tired and a bit anxious even before the school year had begun. Suddenly she revealed that she was still trying to fill several vacancies and wondered aloud if I knew of anyone who was certified and ready to begin teaching. Since my mother had quite recently earned her degree and satisfied all of the state of Texas requirements I tentatively mentioned that Mama was actually searching for a public school position. The principal eagerly asked if my mother might be willing to come to the school for an interview. When I told her that Mama was waiting for me outside, she insisted that I bring my mother to her immediately. 

I was a bit flustered as I rushed to our car to tell my mother what had just happened. She was hesitant to interview without preparation. She was not dressed professionally and had no time to mentally prepare for the questions that might come, but she was also intrigued by the possibility of landing a teaching position. She quickly combed her hair and dapped a bit of lipstick on her lips, adjusted the collar of her blouse and walked inside the school with me. She greeted the principal with a big smile and a contrived confidence that hid her confusion in that moment. Only minutes later she walked out with a big grin on her face, announcing that she was going to be a fifth grade teacher at the school. 

Both of us were ecstatic over our good fortune. My worries about how I was going to get to the school each day were suddenly solved and my mother was no longer uncertain about where her new future would lie. She had made very little money from her job at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Elementary School. Now she was going to triple her salary and have better health insurance to boot. It was cause for celebration as Mama beamed that God always had a way of answering her prayers. I joked that the principal had been blessed as well because I knew that my mother was an excellent teacher. 

The weeks before the start of the new school year went by quickly. I was still in planning mode for my wedding and Mama was eagerly preparing lessons. We were both excited about our new beginnings. Meanwhile Mike continued my driving lessons and I was feeling more and more confident that I would pass my driver’s test and finally be independent in getting from one place to another. Everything in our lives was seemingly falling into place for my family, save for the tension that our mother was feeling over continuing to date the man who never seemed to make her happy. Instead he was a source of agitation and each time she was with him she appeared to grow more and more upset. Somehow I did not understand her reticence in ridding herself of his negativity. It was so unlike her to be dominated by anyone and yet this man seemed to have some kind of psychological hold on her that was tearing at her strong will. 

I would worry about my mother for a time and then throw myself back into my own preparations for the future, relying on her resilience to eventually take her to a better place. I knew how strong my mother was and believed that nothing and no one had the power to tear her down. If I had possessed a crystal ball I might have seen that the culmination of all the challenges that she had faced alone were beginning to ravage her. She was human and being always strong for everyone around her had taken its toll. I was not mature enough or ready enough at the time to understand the extent to which she needed help that was not forthcoming. She pretended to be fine, but was not. It would only be after I had moved into my own life that I was able to develop enough perspective to realize how vulnerable she was feeling. For the time being I had to think about her situation tomorrow. I had a new job to tackle and a wedding to plan. I was too busy to see that my dear mother was trying to juggle balls while balancing with one foot on a barrel. She hid her pain so very well that few of us saw her predicament. It would eventually become at once both one of my greatest regrets and one of the most defining moments of my life. Our roles were on the verge of great change. 

I spent most of nineteen sixty eight excitedly and naively planning my wedding while continuing to take classes at the University of Houston. Because I was leaning with ever more certainty toward a career in education I had competed for and landed a position as a teachers’ aide at Eliot Elementary School in the Houston Independent School District. I hoped to get a better idea of the day to day life of a teacher by spending a semester there. It would also give me a small salary to add to the stipend that Mike would receive as a Teaching Assistant in the Sociology Department of the University of Houston while he continued studies for his graduate degree. In the meantime, he also planned to work with his uncle as an electrician’s helper during the summer where he would make much more meaningful money that he planned to save for our first year of married life. My friend Susan helped me land a job during the summer at Holiday Inn making reservations for travelers and earning far more money than I had ever before made. 

Mike and I were full of dreams and ideas, thinking we had an ironclad plan to support ourselves. We were playing an adult’s game with little experience, but a great deal of unproven faith in each other. Little by little we moved forward with our audacious insistence on cementing our commitment to each other. We set our wedding date for October 4, 1968, the first of our real life experiences in compromise. I had wanted to get things settled before I went to work at Eliot Elementary, but an August nuptial did not work for Mike’s dad so we agreed to a Friday evening in October that would allow us to launch our life together with a weekend honeymoon in New Orleans before returning to the jobs to which we had committed ourselves for the fall season. 

Step one was securing the church for the event, so we met with the pastor of Mt Carmel Church and signed up for Pre-Cana classes as well. The planning began in earnest. Soon we were picking out invitations, creating a guest list and choosing the members of the wedding party. My bridesmaids would be my cousin Ingrid, my good friend, Susan, whom I had known from my first days in Overbrook, and Nancy who was a high school buddy who often drove me to the University of Houston and had become a closer and closer friend. I had wanted Linda to be one of my bridesmaids as well but she was also planning her own wedding for December and we both agreed that it would be too difficult to balance so much at one time. Instead she and my long time friend Lynda Barry who had already married would be servers at the reception along with other high school friends, Claudia and Elke. 

Mama and I spent much of the spring and summer reserving the Parish Hall for the reception, choosing the cakes, visiting with a florist and securing a photographer. I thought we would never find the perfect wedding gown but a trip to the downtown Foley’s led us to exactly what we had in mind. I also enjoyed shopping with my bridesmaids as they discussed what kind and color their dresses should be. It was a whirlwind of activity that kept me and Mike moving forward without thinking too much about the reality of what we were doing. 

Soon the wedding showers came. Linda held a lingerie shower for me that was a blast. Mrs. Barry hosted an elegant luncheon that made me love her even more than I already did. My Aunt Polly insisted on having a bridal shower at her home and as usual she went all out in preparing food and games. Everyone was so generous with their encouragement and love. Somehow I knew that Mike and I would not be entering our new life without the support of the very caring people around us. My usual tendencies to become anxious about the future were sated by the outpouring of kindness that surrounded us. 

Mike and I had to find a place to live so we began searching for an apartment. We had already created a budget that would keep us within the confines of the salaries we would be earning. There was little room for extravagance so finding reasonable housing was tantamount. We had to turn away from many places that appeared to be quite nice more than once. Just as we were beginning to wonder if we would ever find a rental that was within our means we stumbled upon a small project on Beatty Street just a few miles from the University of Houston where Mike would be working and we both would be taking classes. It would also be quite convenient for my travels to Eliot Elementary School.  Best of all the one bedroom apartment was spacious and impeccably clean. The small group of people living there were quite friendly as well. For one hundred ten dollars each month we had a place to grow our love with all utilities paid. We had found a hidden jewel. 

Looking back I can only imagine what my mother and Mike’s parents were thinking. I would still be only nineteen years old on our wedding day and Mike would be barely twenty one. My mother would have to sign a document giving her permission for me to marry. Both of us would be leaving our family homes to set out on our own. On the surface it all seems quite reckless when I think of it now, but back then we felt no hesitation whatsoever. The world seemed to be on the verge of cataclysm and we believed that we had no time to tarry in our resolve. Many of our best friends had already married and many more were engaged and planning their own weddings. It seemed to be the wise thing to do even as we understood the challenges that we might face. October 4, 1968, loomed large on our calendars. It would be the moment when we officially forged our union. Somehow we believed without reservation that we were on the right track. Only time would prove us right or wrong. We took a giant leap into the future.