Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, February 9, 1995 TAG: 9502090049
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
It's been more than a year now since the headline, ``Pregnant and Proud,'' brought this city's emotions to a peak. More than a year since the three of us - all pregnant, all complaining of back aches, all looking toward the future with our babies - squeezed into my VW Rabbit and then a tiny interview room of this newspaper.
``You're carrying low,'' you told me. ``It's gonna be a boy.''
You were right.
Teen-agers and best friends, you told me you were happy to be pregnant. You knew it would be hard - going on AFDC and living in public housing, without a father in sight - but you had goals. Shannon, you dreamt of becoming a sociologist. Tasha, you wanted to cut hair.
You would be each other's labor coach, and some day, when you could afford it, you'd rent a house together and look out for one another's kids.
I was moved by your friendship, touched by your shared dreams.
It's been over a year since the story, and people still ask me about you. ``Those girls, the pregnant and proud ones, you should write about them again,'' a caller told me last week. ``I think about them every time I read about welfare reform; I'd like to know what they think.''
Others want to know if motherhood's as great as you thought it'd be, whether you're in school, on AFDC. Do you still dream of community college and cosmetology? Do you still practice that ancient teen-age rite of fussing over each other's hair?
You became the unwilling poster children of teen pregnancy in Roanoke. With every welfare-reform story, every program about kids having kids, it's your newspaper picture - your confident grins, your naive wonderment - that flashes in Roanokers' minds.
Maybe it was my own naivete, but I had no idea your story would provoke such venom, such racial slurs, such a spectrum of criticism ranging from ``How could the newspaper stoop to glamorizing and promoting teen pregnancy?'' to ``How could those girls behave so irresponsibly and expect us, the taxpayers, to foot the bill?''
School officials accused me of setting back teen pregnancy-prevention efforts. One city worker cried in disappointment and disgust, saying she'd pray for me.
I got sick of seeing my name blasted daily on the editorial page. I flinched that Christmas when I waddled my seven-months-pregnant self to a party and the hostess shouted, ``Here she is - `Pregnant and Proud!'''
As tough as the response was for me, it had to have been harder for you. One of you quit going to school for a while, I heard. And you've since moved several times. Although I don't regret writing the story, I am sorry if it hurt you.
I've left you messages through one of your friends - that I'd like to see you again, that I didn't set out to exploit you, that I'd like to update your story.
I'd like to tell you that your story more than any other made this community take notice of its teen-pregnancy problem - though little, if any, action has resulted.
But I can't blame you for ignoring my call.
It didn't strike me till I sat down to write this how ironic it was, the public outrage that poured into this newspaper the day your story appeared. While the editors were besieged with phone calls and angry letters, I was on vacation, working on the novel I'd started the year before.
I call it fiction, but it's based on the true story of my Grandma Ruthie, who grew up poor and orphaned in the hills of Pennsylvania, living with her oldest sister and her brother-in-law Albert, 20 years her senior.
She was 15 when Albert forced her onto a train in the middle of the night, pregnant with his baby, and into a nightmare of a new life far away, where they changed their names and never spoke of home. She clung to her secret - and her shame - for 50 years.
Shame destroys. I can still see it in my grandma's jittery hands as she lies in her nursing-home bed, still tortured by the lie she lived for 50 years - all because she was a poor and pregnant teen-ager with no support and no self-esteem.
The government can try to punish young mothers like you by taking away your children's benefits. But nothing good will ever come by fostering shame. Your children need you to set goals and work toward them, no matter how unrealistic or far-off they seem. They need you to be proud.
Maybe that's why I was so moved by your story. Judging by the reaction it provoked - ranging from pity to loathing, with every possible emotion in between - I doubt I did it justice.
I only know that when you described recognizing your own pregnancy glow without a hint of angst or shame, it was one of the most poignant and honest revelations anyone had ever shared with me.
``I said to myself, `Damn, I'm pretty,''' you said.
And you were right.
I hope you still feel that way.
Beth Macy is a Thursday columnist and features department staff writer.
by CNB