Summer Love

This summer I am involved with a group of high school students who are parents, or are about to be. I began the group by inviting six girls and two guys, former students in my creative writing class. In class, I saw how they loved to write about and share their experiences with pregnancy and parenting, and I thought it might be a good idea to continue to provide a place for them to do this. The only thing I was sure about when we began was that though I was more than willing to be a supportive adult presence, I had no desire to play “teacher,” in the sense of assigning or critiquing their writing, and that, within appropriate limits, they would direct our time together. What has developed is a small group of mostly girls that meets every other week in a local coffee house.

When we met last night there were three girls, three babies (two on the outside, one who will be born within the month) and me. The boyfriend of the still-pregnant Angela has been attending. He was there when I arrived but left soon after, explaining that he had to go. Tiffany brought a portfolio of poems she had been promising us we’d get a look at. She also brought her son, a sweet, sleepy baby we had visited in the hospital just two days after his birth 16 days ago. I met his father in the hospital that evening. Tiffany asked me to phone her mom and verify that she was with me, so I did.

I had been leaving reminder messages for Emma before each meeting, and she joined us for the first time last night with her darling five-month-old son. Emma still communicates with the father of her child, but he lives somewhere in the South and has yet to meet his son. All of the mothers express that whether or not the fathers of their children will be in their lives for the long term is questionable. To greater and lesser degrees there are issues of mistrust, unreliability, and immaturity that are discussed regularly, but they all remain attached. All of the girls live with either one or both of their parents.

Angela’s baby has dropped, and she is experiencing some new back pain and other discomfort associated with late pregnancy. When I asked about a writing topic for the next meeting she volunteered “Labor and delivery.” She openly expressed increased anxiety as the big event draws closer. She works as a personal care assistant to a disabled young man, and when we talked about circumcision she expressed that though her unborn baby is a girl, if she were to have a boy she would definitely have him circumcised. She has attended to the problems her client has with his uncircumcised penis. She has plans to become a special ed teacher. She is determined to complete her first online college psychology class, which is set to begin 1O days after her due date. We’ve had conversations about her goals, and I do all I can to encourage her to believe she has the ability and strength of character to accomplish them.

Emma handles her son with the ease of an experienced mom and tolerates his extreme attachment to her with the patience of a knowledgeable parent of a five-month-old. When I asked her what she has been doing this summer, she said “Taking care of him and spending time with my family.” Throughout our time in Creative Writing class, her sweet, sunny personality was a constant, something I haven’t experienced with most of the teenagers I’ve come to know through teaching. She must have had bad days, but never let it show.

Tiffany tells us her son is doing what he has done since she brought him home from the hospital: sleeping and crying only when he’s hungry or needs a diaper change. She is the most outspoken of the group, telling Angela (rather loudly, but that’s just Tiffany) that sex with her boyfriend late in the pregnancy contributed to her quick labor and delivery. I have known Tiffany since she attended a summer class I taught to get struggling eighth graders ready for the demands of high school. Her matter-of-fact demeanor and the openness with which she shares the ups and downs of her life are familiar to me.

As I left the group last night, I pondered the purpose of our meetings and questioned what they offer to these girls. As a writing group, we lack structure and discipline. Sometimes our meetings turn to bitch sessions about the boyfriends or the gossip common among any group of teenagers. If things get too intense, I make an effort to redirect, but I mostly sit back during those times and keep still. Should I be doing more to aim their energies toward their writing? Should I be encouraging them to think less about their daily dramas and more about their futures? If I am supposed to be the all-knowing sage, dropping perfectly formed pearls of life-altering advice on these girls at precisely correct teachable moments, I am failing them miserably. Freedom Writers we ain’t. But what are we? To be honest, I don’t know.

Then I thought about what I do know, and that is that I love these girls. Yup, love them, and they know it. Whatever need in me this group fills, I’m pretty sure that it fulfills some of their needs too. Acceptance and stability can be scarce commodities in the lives of these young mothers. Though the shame and insecurity previously associated with teenage pregnancy has abated, the need for acceptance and assurance is universal. Showing up, for ourselves and each other, is what we do best. As long as they continue to show up, I’ll be there too, loving them and doing what I do and don’t do, still wondering if it’s enough.

*Names have been changed to protect privacy