Read Online My Mother Was Nuts by Penny Marshall - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Penny Marshall
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slur. My father was 6’1”, but Mickey was 6’4”—and younger. I didn’t think any teeth would be kicked in. Daily phone calls helped everyone cool off. It was like we all went through the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
Mickey and I set November 23 as our wedding date. We picked up a marriage license at city hall. They also gave us a marriage “starter kit”—a cardboard box containing Tide, a bar of soap, and a tube of toothpaste. My father flew into town on November 22, the same day President Kennedy was assassinated. The news set a tone for the weekend.
On Saturday, after playing in a game against Brigham Young, Mickey changed into a suit and drove to his mother’s house, where the two of us were married in a simple and somber ceremony in the backyard. I wore a beige winter suit with a thick fur collar. My father had brought it from New York. I looked like an animal was swallowing me. I never wore it again.
Afterward, Mickey’s mother served cake and Kool-Aid. Then Mickey and I went to a motel, where we spent the rest of our honeymoon weekend watching President Kennedy’s funeral on TV.
Once married, we left our dorms and moved into an apartment near school. There was an avocado tree in the backyard, and I discovered that I liked them. So there was that. There was also an effort to make the best of the situation. My parents sent Mickey’s mother a letter expressing their appreciation for her watching out for me. They included a loaf of New York rye bread.
Mickey responded with a multipage thank-you, asking my parents to forgive me for not telling them sooner (“She was so upset that she had let you down.”) and assuring them that we were going to make it. “I want you to know that I do love Penny very much and will do my best to make her happy and provide for her every need,” he wrote. “Please don’t think I’m helpless or irresponsible. Irealize the overwhelming responsibility and pressure that I now have.”
Before Christmas, I found out that Mickey’s family members were Jehovah’s Witnesses. His sisters pushed me to go with them to the Kingdom Hall. I tried it once. The big joke there was “How do you tell Adam and Eve apart in Heaven?” The answer: “They don’t have bellybuttons.” I didn’t get it—and I didn’t go back.
As a Jehovah’s Witness, though, Mickey didn’t celebrate the holidays, so I took him to New York and we had Christmas with my family. It was his first time in the city. He was nervous but excited. My father showed him the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and the other sights. They went by themselves. I didn’t do tourist attractions. I had seen them all in school.
But I did take Mickey to his first Broadway show. As we waited for the subway to take us downtown, I got nauseated. My morning sickness struck at night. Mickey turned away from me as I bent over the garbage can to throw up. I thought I detected some small-town embarrassment. “What?” I said. “This is New York. I’m not the first person to throw up in the subway.”
Back home, our lives changed. I realized why it takes nine months to have a baby. You need the time to adjust and prepare. Money became an issue. To cut expenses, we moved into Mickey’s mother’s house. It was shades of my own parents as I found myself living with his mother and grandmother. Mickey also sold his station wagon and got a job at night after school. Wanting to contribute, too, I dropped out of school midway through the year and signed up for office temp work as a Kelly Girl.
Before accepting any jobs, I had to learn to drive. Mickey taught me on his mother’s car, an automatic sedan. Then he bought an old stick shift. I don’t know what was he thinking. I spent months riding around in first gear.
That spring, as my stomach grew beyond a bump, Mickey’s mother moved into an apartment in a new development. She had her ownmoney problems. Mickey and I
Mickey and I set November 23 as our wedding date. We picked up a marriage license at city hall. They also gave us a marriage “starter kit”—a cardboard box containing Tide, a bar of soap, and a tube of toothpaste. My father flew into town on November 22, the same day President Kennedy was assassinated. The news set a tone for the weekend.
On Saturday, after playing in a game against Brigham Young, Mickey changed into a suit and drove to his mother’s house, where the two of us were married in a simple and somber ceremony in the backyard. I wore a beige winter suit with a thick fur collar. My father had brought it from New York. I looked like an animal was swallowing me. I never wore it again.
Afterward, Mickey’s mother served cake and Kool-Aid. Then Mickey and I went to a motel, where we spent the rest of our honeymoon weekend watching President Kennedy’s funeral on TV.
Once married, we left our dorms and moved into an apartment near school. There was an avocado tree in the backyard, and I discovered that I liked them. So there was that. There was also an effort to make the best of the situation. My parents sent Mickey’s mother a letter expressing their appreciation for her watching out for me. They included a loaf of New York rye bread.
Mickey responded with a multipage thank-you, asking my parents to forgive me for not telling them sooner (“She was so upset that she had let you down.”) and assuring them that we were going to make it. “I want you to know that I do love Penny very much and will do my best to make her happy and provide for her every need,” he wrote. “Please don’t think I’m helpless or irresponsible. Irealize the overwhelming responsibility and pressure that I now have.”
Before Christmas, I found out that Mickey’s family members were Jehovah’s Witnesses. His sisters pushed me to go with them to the Kingdom Hall. I tried it once. The big joke there was “How do you tell Adam and Eve apart in Heaven?” The answer: “They don’t have bellybuttons.” I didn’t get it—and I didn’t go back.
As a Jehovah’s Witness, though, Mickey didn’t celebrate the holidays, so I took him to New York and we had Christmas with my family. It was his first time in the city. He was nervous but excited. My father showed him the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, and the other sights. They went by themselves. I didn’t do tourist attractions. I had seen them all in school.
But I did take Mickey to his first Broadway show. As we waited for the subway to take us downtown, I got nauseated. My morning sickness struck at night. Mickey turned away from me as I bent over the garbage can to throw up. I thought I detected some small-town embarrassment. “What?” I said. “This is New York. I’m not the first person to throw up in the subway.”
Back home, our lives changed. I realized why it takes nine months to have a baby. You need the time to adjust and prepare. Money became an issue. To cut expenses, we moved into Mickey’s mother’s house. It was shades of my own parents as I found myself living with his mother and grandmother. Mickey also sold his station wagon and got a job at night after school. Wanting to contribute, too, I dropped out of school midway through the year and signed up for office temp work as a Kelly Girl.
Before accepting any jobs, I had to learn to drive. Mickey taught me on his mother’s car, an automatic sedan. Then he bought an old stick shift. I don’t know what was he thinking. I spent months riding around in first gear.
That spring, as my stomach grew beyond a bump, Mickey’s mother moved into an apartment in a new development. She had her ownmoney problems. Mickey and I
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