Letter to My Daughter - Maya Angelou [3]
It was during that time that I noticed my body’s betrayal. My voice became deep and husky, and my naked image in the mirror gave no intimations that it would ever become feminine and curvy.
I was already six feet tall and had no breasts. I thought maybe if I had sex my recalcitrant body would grow up and behave as it was supposed to behave.
That morning the boy had telephoned and I told him yes. He gave me an address and said he would meet me there at 8:00 o’clock. I said yes.
A friend had lent him his apartment. From the moment I saw him at the door I knew I had made the wrong choice. There were no endearments spoken, no warm caresses shared.
He showed me to a bedroom, where we both undressed. The fumbling engagement lasted fifteen minutes, and I had my clothes on and was at the front door.
I don’t remember if we said goodbye.
I do remember walking down the street, wondering was that all there was and how much I wanted a long soaking bath. I did get the bath and that was not all there was.
Nine months later, I had a beautiful baby boy. The birth of my son caused me to develop enough courage to invent my life.
I learned to love my son without wanting to possess him and I learned how to teach him to teach himself.
Today, over forty years later, when I look at him and see the wonderful man he has become, the loving husband and father, the good poet and fine novelist, the responsible citizen and the world’s greatest son, I thank the Creator that he was given to me. The Revelation is that day, so long ago, was the greatest day of my life—Hallelujah!
Giving Birth
My brother Bailey told me to keep my pregnancy a secret from my mother. He said she would take me out of school. I was very close to graduating. Bailey said I had to have a high school diploma before mother returned to San Francisco from the nightclub she and her husband owned in Nome, Alaska.
I received my diploma on V-day which was also my stepfather’s birthday. He had patted me on the shoulder that morning and said, “You are growing up and you are becoming a fine young woman.” I thought to myself I should, I am eight months and one week pregnant.
After a salutary dinner celebrating his birthday, my graduation, and a national victory, I left a note on his pillow saying, “Dad, I am sorry to bring disgrace to the family, but I have to tell you that I am pregnant.” I didn’t sleep that night.
I heard my dad go to his room about 3:00 A.M. When he didn’t knock on my door immediately, I puzzled over whether he had seen and read the note. There would be no sleep for me that night.
At 8:30 in the morning he spoke at my door.
He said, “Baby, come down and have coffee with me, by the way—I got your note.”
The sound of him walking away was not nearly as loud as the sound of my heart racing. Downstairs at the table he said, “I’m going to call your mother. How far along are you?”
I said, “I have three weeks.”
He smiled. “I’m sure your mother will be here today.”
Nervous and frightened are not words which even barely describe how I was feeling.
Before nightfall my pretty little mother walked into the house. She gave me a kiss then looked at me. “You’re more than any three weeks pregnant.”
I said, “No ma’am, I’m eight months and one week pregnant.” She asked, “Who is the boy?” I told her.
She asked, “Do you love him?”
I said, “No.”
“Does he love you?”
I said, “No, he’s the only person with whom I had sex and we were together only one time.”
My mother said, “There is no reason to ruin three lives; our family is going to have a wonderful baby.”
She was a registered nurse so when I began labor she shaved me, powdered me and took me to the hospital. The doctor had not arrived. Mother introduced herself to the nurses and said as a nurse herself, she was going to help with the delivery.
She crawled up on the delivery table with me and had me bend my legs. She put her shoulder against my knee and told me dirty stories. When the pains came