Hard Faith: A Memoir
Chapter 1
Princess Wenonah Drive
We finally board and settle in our seats in the front of the flight attendants’ station, which provides extra legroom and space for Tebb to crawl around. The plane takes off; I feel a part of me dying, and I cry. I’ve grown into manhood in California and left childish things behind. I married Paula, stopped drinking and drugging, was baptized in the Holy Spirit, found a church, found a career, earned a graduate degree, bought a home, and was there to see Tebben enter the world. Halfway through the flight, Tebb is tired and cold. I ask a flight attendant for a blanket so she can take a nap on the floor at our feet. I’m not surprised when she tells me there are no more blankets available. But I am surprised by the act of kindness shown by the oversized lady sitting across the aile. She loans us a pair of her shorts which make a perfect blanket, and Tebb sleeps away until she is awoken by the pain in her ears popping to the pressure of our descent. It’s been a long, hard journey back east, and I know I cannot go forward in my own strength. No
But I also know I won’t have to. I know “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13 (NKJV)
We arrive at my parents’ house in Commack before our fleet of three vehicles shows up the next day, followed by our material lives packed into a tractor-trailer meeting us in Shelton the day after. The move to Shelton, Connecticut, requires all hands on deck. Shelton is a perfect distance, not too close and not too far. It’s only thirty miles to Commack as the crow flies to 4 Sarina Drive. The Larkfield Pub, aka “The Twilight Zone,” has been replaced by a dry cleaner. It’s about 50 yards from my parents’ house, which was some small grace in the darkness, as I could crawl home if necessary. And there are other changes.
Paula’s sister, Carla, found a home for us to rent in the White Hills section of Shelton. White Hills still has small ranches, some cattle, old woods and 19th Century remnants scattered about. The house is on Princess Wenonah Drive. Princess Wenonah. Princess Wenonah. Princess Wenonah is fun to say. It sounds a little magical. Princess Tebben lives on Princess Wenonah Drive. The house is on top of a small hill. The paved driveway offers a 40% grade that rounds into the parking area in front of a two-car garage. It’s a quiet neighborhood. We can hear our neighbor’s conversations on still, silent nights. So, it’s Paula, Tebben, me, and “Mama’s Stupid Dissertation” living on Princess Wenonah Drive. I don’t recall ever calling it Mama’s Stupid Dissertation. Tebben takes the copyright on that one. She’s such a sensitive little girl.
I do a little research and come to find that Wenonah is a Dakota Sioux character in a “Lover’s Leap” romantic legend set at Maiden Rock, which is on the Wisconsin side of Lake Pepin. Rather than marry a suitor she does not love, Wenonah chooses to leap from the cliff off Maiden Rock to her death. There are three levels of rocks, from the edge of the small front yard down to the street. One missed step could result in a broken leg. Death is not likely. However, the driveway becomes my nemesis.
Paula gets right back to finishing her dissertation, and I have a month before starting work. There’s a little swing set in the backyard, a small area backed by more rocks continuing up the hill. We place a small plastic pool near the swings, and Tebb, at three-years -old, is content to splash around.
God’s grace is poured out in timely portions. I am originally told that my duty station would be the U.S. Probation Office in Hartford, a 100-mile round trip. But when Chief Judge Jose Cabranes finds out that Paula will be working in Fairfield and we are living in Shelton, he tells my chief, Maria Rodriguez McBride, to place me in the Bridgeport office, a 22-mile round trip. So instead of spending two hours a day commuting, I’m looking at a half-hour on a typical day.
Fortunately there’s a pull-up bar in the house, and I get by with pushups, pull-ups and sit-ups every day. I’m about to turn 35 and although I’ve spent the last 14 years bulking up to a 225-lb bodybuilding physique, I still feel pretty light on my feet and decide to mix it up a bit by running sprints up our steep driveway.
I’m feeling good doing the work until my right calf explodes halfway up the third sprint. It feels like I’ve been hit with a twelve-lb sledgehammer! I’m diagnosed with a torn plantaris tendon. I’ve never heard of it. The tendon is essentially useless in adults, unless you do a lot of crawling around like a baby. It’s often used to repair a pitcher’s shoulder during Tommy John surgery. It hurts like hell when you tear it and results in extreme swelling and bruising. Surgery isn’t necessary. You just have to stay off your feet, elevate, and ice the calf. And so it goes. I’m immobilized for a couple of weeks and end up limping into work on the first day.
Our adjustment to living back east is difficult. Paula is working on her dissertation full-time. I’m lying on the couch with ice on my calf, and Tebb’s an active three-year-old. After a couple of weeks, we decide that I should take Tebben with me to my parents so Paula can finish without any distractions. I’m still suffering from California separation anxiety. Paula and I haven’t really talked since our flight, and I’m still angry. When we get to Commack, my mother and sister perceive that our marriage is under strain. Well, we are hitting some major marks on the stress meter: a huge move, the start of Paula’s academic career, a new world of federal probation for me and the changing tides of Tebben. The plan is for Paula to finish her dissertation before we return or I have to start work. I don’t know where the tickets come from, but Paula takes a break and we go to a James Taylor Concert at Jones Beach on August 30, 1994. The drive out is a little strange and awkward because we know people are worried about our marriage but we know we’ll be okay. As others see it, life has dimmed the shine a bit; we’re no longer “the perfect couple.” We leave after the second song, “Oh I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve seen lonely days that I thought would never end.”
Ray Lopez, evangelist, writer, ordained minister, ministering to the hardcore, one at a time. 