A Bushel and a Peck

 I've only been fired once in my life and it was all her fault.

After two years of a job I loved, guidance counselor at an area high Catholic high school, I was looking forward to the third...when "my kids" would be graduating seniors and the year would be filled with college recommendations, job choices, June festivities. I'd been with that class since they were sophomores and felt they were all a precious part of my life.

Then, in August, I discovered I was pregnant with my second child. In those days, way back in 1970, we didn't know boy or girl...just happiness at wondering which and making plans to take a leave of absence for a month, maybe less, when the baby came in April. 

The school principal had a different idea. No leave of absence. No coming back to the job. Just a terse notice of termination of my employment. Oh yes, he did help carry the box that contained my office material out to the car. Big of him, wasn't it?

Why did I lose my job? According to the priest who made the rules in that school, a pregnant guidance counselor couldn't be seen roaming the halls or occupying an office where students might see her. After all, how did she get that way? Should tender 17-year-olds know the facts of life? What kind of example would be set by a married school employee getting pregnant? With pursed lips and righteous eyes, he had no other choice but to let me go.

So my sweet Erica, born almost a month early on March 3, 1971, caused me to be fired. 

She helped me turn a new corner in my life, added a distinctly wonderful definition to our family and has always made me glad she happened along. 

From babyhood, she smiled. She found joy in everything, a veritable jumping jack when she was happy. I suppose her big sister Terri would recall times when Erica (Ricki, we called her then) wasn't such a joy, but as with Terri, I don't remember anything but gratitude that they were there.

 

She "taught" her neighborhood friends, stuffed animals and pets. Solemn and serious, she filled out the roll book she'd requested for a Christmas gift when she was four and held classes in the family room. At about that time, she began taking French lessons from a friend, who told me Erica must have been French in an earlier life, so easily did the language come to her.

Today, she turns 50. She still teaches, remotely of course, helping her students learn to love French and the French culture as much as she does. She's still got pets and still smiles most of the time as she plans her wedding to the guy who won her heart by giving his.

Happy birthday, Erica. You were more than worth losing a job. You are a treasure.