Parental Indecision

               Most families have stories about things that have happened that are funny, or sad, or strange and ended up with a happy ending anyway.  In my family, my parents’ indecision is pretty legendary. Maybe indecision isn’t the right word.  A better description of it is actually their inability to compromise.  Both of them were pretty stubborn. I have proof.

               My evidence starts with my name.  Back in those days (dinosaurs had been extinct for only a decade or two), the mother couldn’t leave the hospital until the baby had a name.  I don’t know if that’s still true, but what I do know is that the mother and baby are discharged from a hospital within hours, so the baby better have a name pretty quickly.

               I was born on July 31 and my parents were still arguing about my name on August 18.  That’s when the hospital told them enough was enough.  A name had to be chosen and chosen that day.  Nineteen days in the hospital was sufficient.

               My mom wanted to name me (shudder) Star Lynn.  Say that quickly and I’d be named after a dirty bird.  My dad favored a mom-junior, which meant I’d be named Adelene Josephine.  (Please.) When she would hear none of that, he countered with “Helen Ellen.” Given that my surname was “Llewellyn,” I would have been saddled with a rhyming moniker which initials spelled, in my dad’s vernacular, “H – E – double toothpicks.”  How fun.

               The nurse faithfully brought me to them each day, saying “here’s your little Susie Q.” So after nineteen days of this and an administrative ultimatum, my father went to the business office and filled out my birth certificate, naming me “Sue.” But everyone in my family called me “Susie.”

               Years passed, and the power struggle between my parents didn’t dissipate.  When I was in high school, my parents informed me that they would pay for my college education but I would have to major in the subject they selected.  Fortunately for me, they couldn’t agree.  My mom thought that, since I could type really fast, I should major in secretarial science.  My dad thought that since I had an aptitude for math, I should study engineering.  I told them both that I was suited for neither.  I could also wash dishes, but I hadn’t planned on majoring in dishwashing.

               They were not deterred by my logic.  They continued to argue their positions.  Meanwhile, I got two jobs and put myself through college, getting a degree in speech and language therapy.  By my senior year, they had quit arguing and honestly, I think both of them were surprised that I hadn’t selected the major each of them wanted.

               They didn’t take me to church while I was growing up.  From all accounts, my brothers were baptized and attended a local Methodist church with my mom for ten years. After I was born, my dad – for reasons that I was never told – refused to attend a baptism ceremony for me.  So, I wasn’t baptized and didn’t go to church. 

               Well, except for Christmas and Easter, when Dad suited up and we all attended.  Fortunately, I did frequently attend church with my girlfriend and her family, so I did get some religious exposure.

               It also allowed me to explore many different churches as an adult and I had myself baptized when I was 27 years old.  I’ve been attending church ever since, and realized that their “disagreement” permitted me to make my own informed choice.

               Parental indecision and arguing can cause children some angst, I know.  In my case, I think it ended up giving me options I might not have had.  Except my name.  I guess at this point, I’m just stuck with “Sue.”

               Well, there are worse things.