The Birth of a Daughter
by Suzanne Lytle

Some people can pinpoint an event in their lives that made them "grow up overnight," but I did just the opposite. I let go of adult responsibilities and became a child again at the age of 15. In the fall of 1970 in the midst of the flower-power hippie era, my parents were married and blended two families. Prior to the marriage, our separate families had common experiences which included the fact that a parent had abandoned us, but we had very different lifestyles. They were the poor-little-rich kids without a mom and we were the poor-little-poor kids without a dad. Because of my new dad, I was able to focus on teenage activities instead of adult concerns. Although he gave me financial and emotional stability, the greatest thing my new dad gave me was the role of his daughter.

My biological father deserted us emotionally long before he deserted us physically. Similar to the Vietnam War draft-dodgers of the time, he often was AWOL; he seemed to use our house as a base, but came and went for long periods of time as he pleased. His financial contribution was sporadic, his emotional support non-existent, and it was only because my Mom kept his role alive in our house that my brothers and sister and I knew we had a dad—even though we really didn't. I cannot remember, for instance, sitting on his lap, or having him tie my shoes, or sitting down to eat dinner with him, or any of the things I would so love to have memories of—the daddy relationship—that other little girls, even now in my grown-up world, refer to. I always wanted the kind of father-daughter relationship in which I was referred to as a "honey" or a "pumpkin" or some other silly nickname that implied that the person who picked out the nickname spent time with me and valued me. Instead, my role in the family was that of a hard worker which proved to be a good thing after my father's final defection.

I clearly remember the period of time when my biological father simply did not come back. It was early 1969; we were living in a small town in Oregon, during a time when 5000 women were planning a march for equal rights in New York. If their choices, or lack thereof, were similar to my mom's, no wonder that they were going to march for their rights! My mom had never worked up to that point in her life, having been discouraged by my dad. Therefore, when he left us, we had no money coming into the house, which was frightening. However, we were guided by my mom's faith that our financial needs would be met.

People in our church and community somehow became sensitive to the needs of our family, and allowing us dignity, they gave us opportunities to work. The money was hard-earned; I spent many nights babysitting until the early hours of the morning, and left feeling like a cartoon character with toothpick-propped eyes, only to give my mom two or three dollars the next day. It seemed a pitifully low amount even then, but with it we were able to buy food for a couple of days because back then a loaf of bread cost $.24 and a gallon of milk cost $.39. We weren't able to pay our rent; however, and we were evicted from our house. I think it was a pivotal point in my mom's life; she was energized by our need and kicked into high gear. She found a rental house, negotiated the first month's rent by offering to clean and paint it, procured an old Studebaker car, and found a job, as well as summertime jobs for my sister and me. Because of my mom's faith and determination, we finally had the ability to make ends meet; we had transportation, jobs, and a house, although old and rundown. Our new little home was rich with family love; it was a happy place to be and it was in these circumstances that my youngest brother brought two little boys home from school to play with. Little did I know that their father was the reason for the smile on my mother's face, and that these boys would become my brothers.

All I knew was that they were nice boys, with a stylish older sister, and they seemed to have everything a kid could want, if their Dad's three vehicles, their clothes, and their lifestyle were anything to judge by. I couldn't image what their life must have been like; it seemed completely different from ours, and I was sure they must have had everything they wanted. Later I learned that they didn't have everything, and neither did my future dad, who experienced a great deal of loss during the period of time from 1960 to 1965. First, when he was about 20, his father was killed in a logging accident. Next, he lost his leg in a logging accident, and finally, his wife and mother of his three very young children, left him and the children. He was, and is, a traditional man, and so he did what he knew how to do, which was to work hard and provide for his family; he hired a housekeeper, who also looked after the children. They flourished financially as his business grew, but the children were sometimes lonely and lacked motherly attention. It was in these circumstances that he met and dated my mom, which was to change all our lives.

The change was rapid and rather abrupt; our parents' courtship was short, and soon after they met, they decided to get married. My brothers and sister and I were dropped off at our new house to get acquainted with our new brothers and sister on our own, while our parents went away to get married. The four of us sat on one couch, the three of them sat on another couch, and we stared at each other. We couldn't think of anything to say at first. As I looked around at my beautiful new home, which had wall-to-wall carpeting, a dishwasher, three bathrooms, three bedrooms upstairs, and a spiral staircase leading to the recreation and bonus rooms, I felt as though I was dreaming. It was decorated in a very chic art deco theme with burnt-orange colors and was the most beautiful house I had ever seen. The boys soon began their noisy rough-housing, and I knew it was no dream. We all became acquainted in no time; behaving like long-lost relatives; we were delighted to find each other and eager to experience the joys and advantages of a large family.

The sheer number of children in our home, along with two parents who wanted to be parents to us all, fostered an environment of great fun, love and security. The boys instantly doubled their number of playmates and adjusted quickly to their new circumstances. The four of them shared a tree house and four-wheelers and the recreation room downstairs. The girls shared the master bedroom upstairs and in it we became sisters for life; we giggled and teased, helped each other with homework and boy problems, and borrowed each other's clothes as we listened to the top songs of the day. My favorite song was Simon and Garfunkel's "Bridge Over Troubled Water," and to this day the song connects me instantly to that period of time. The lyrics symbolized my parent's marriage, which bridged a gap in both families and enabled us over time to form a bond that would never be broken. My new dad gave me my childhood and the role of his daughter, which was evidenced by his nickname for me; a silly, simple nickname shared by many daughters—he called me "sis."