By Rob Patrick
From the very first of the softball season, Cathy Turpin took exception to the fact that the Bryant High School Senior Prom was scheduled on the same day as the Class 7A State championship game — Saturday, May 9.
Of course, there was no certainty that it would affect the Lady Hornets. Cathy, however, was convinced it would. And she wanted the seniors in particular — Christen Kirchner, Sarah Hart and her own daughter Paige — to be able to go to their final high school prom and win a State championship too.
As it became more and more clear that, indeed, the Lady Hornets were a major contender to play for the title, efforts were made by head coach Lisa Stanfield to have the Arkansas Activities Association move the Class 7A game to Friday, perhaps trading it with the championship game of one of the other classifications that was scheduled for that day. Turpin appealed to those that had scheduled the prom.
But there was no changing things.[more]
And, sure enough, the Lady Hornets made it to the State title game at noon on Saturday, May 9, in Fayetteville. The game would last until 2:30 or 3, the drive home would take three or four hours — it wouldn't leave a young lady nearly enough time to get properly prepared for a Senior Prom.
So, Cathy and Larry Turpin chartered a plane to take the seniors along with junior Shanika Johnson and sophomores Jessica Cudd and Kim Wilson from Fayetteville's Drake Field to the Bryant airport as soon as the game was over.
The emotions of the loss and the unknown circumstances that would be revealed the next Monday about Stanfield's resignation, made it a little difficult to get the girls rounded up but they reached the airport in time and, in 30 minutes, they were home. It was actually the first plane ride for some of the girls.
Word is, everything went quite well in the preparations and at the prom.
The next day, of course, was Mother's Day. I trust Cathy was properly celebrated as a Super Mom.
Now, as an aside to all that, after the game, I spent the rest of the afternoon with my parents who still live in the big old house in the historic district of Fayetteville that we moved to when I was all of 13. (That would be 40 years ago.)
I'm so blessed that both my parents are still around. They will each turn 78 this year and they have had more than their share of health problems in recent years. Dad's had bypass surgery, a light heart attack, stints, a pacemaker and now a defibrillator put in. He's also had prostate cancer that required surgery and regular monitoring.
Mom's a survivor of three bouts with cancer, the worst of which developed in her colon and required major surgery. There have been other problems too. A mysterious rash, a blood clot in her leg, a bad reaction to some medication not to mention the emotional strain. That strain peaked out when, about a year ago, she was told by an oncologist who was investigating the rash, that she had inoperable cancer in both lungs and only a little while to live. The doctor tried to extract some of the tissue for biopsy but couldn't get much. And, as it turned out, what was removed wasn't cancer.
There was no cancer as it turned out but, for a week, she believed her life was pretty much over.
On Saturday, we reminisced as we often do when we get together and, with Mother's Day in the offing, my birth came up. I was the first born and Mom admits to being terrified of something going wrong.
My dad was in the Army and stationed at Fort Hood, Texas. They lived in a duplex on the base and knew fewer than a handful of people. All the relatives on both sides of the family were either in northwest Arkansas (Dad's) or southwest Missouri (Mom's). And, even though Mom was due anytime, Dad was sent off with most of the rest of the troops to maneuvers in southwest Lousiana.
Sure enough, Mom went into labor after he'd left. The neighbor lady in the duplex took her to the army hospital and checked her in and, before long, I was born.
"You were just hollering and carrying on, waving your fists," she recalled with a grin.
"I thought I'd done something nobody else had ever done," she added.
She recounted how they took me away to clean me up and, while she was resting, a doctor came in to the room. "Mrs. Patrick?" he said. "Mrs. Patrick, I'm really sorry. We just couldn't get that umbilical cord from around your baby's neck in time. His lungs never developed. I'm afraid he's died."
Well, you can imagine the reaction. There she was alone in a strange place, far from home or any relatives.
"I need my husband," she demanded. "I need to have him here."
The doctor gave her a puzzled look and replied, "I thought your husband was here?"
She explained where he was and the doctor said he'd have to look into it and left.
My mother mourned for awhile — 30 minutes? An hour?
"I didn't understand," she recalled. "You'd been screaming. It sounded like your lungs were working pretty good."
Sure enough, the doctor returned and apologized. He'd made a mistake. It was another lady's baby.
They brought me to my mother and she would hardly let them take me away until my dad's mother arrived by bus from Fayetteville. (We called her "Bambi" because that's what my oldest cousin Rick blurted out when they tried to get him to say, "Granny," when he was learning to talk. What a jewel "Bambi" was as I was growing up! But that's another story.)
It's telling: You know what my mother was thinking about when she was holding me after that trauma?
There was no bitterness toward anyone, no anger. She said she couldn't stop thinking about that other poor woman whose baby that doctor had been talking about.
I love my mother so!
Now, to finish on a lighter note:
I love my wife.
While I was visiting with my folks on Saturday, she was home having her own adventure.
But first I have to put this in context. We'll be celebrating our 30th anniversary on May 26th. We dated for five years before that, two years of that time with her in Plano, Texas and me in Fayetteville. Anyway, when we'd only been married for a year or so, we were living in a rent house my dad owned in Fayetteville. One Sunday afternoon I looked up and there I was doing the laundry and there Jan was building a fence in the backyard.
Now, 30 years later, I still do the laundry and she's still Mrs. Fix-It.
So, on Saturday, Jan and Kate (my daughter who turns 16 today, May 14), had fixed some corn on the cob with their lunch. Unfortunately, one of the corncob holders got down in the disposal and, when they ran it, the disposal broke.
I was told about this when I called to let them know I was going to stay in Fayetteville for supper. I felt no anxiety about returning to have to replace the disposal. And, indeed, by the time I'd returned that evening, Jan had gone to Lowe's, bought a new disposal and installed it herself.
I think she enjoyed it too.
As it turned out, the corncob holder had actually blasted a hole in the side of the disposal and is still lodged there.
Jan thought it was great that there was an exact replica of that old disposal available at Lowe's, particularly since that was the original disposal placed under the kitchen sink of our house when it was build 21 years ago. "Good disposal," she declared.
Did I say I love my wife?
A belated happy Mother's Day to her, to my mother, to Cathy Turpin and all the moms.
Between now and Father's Day (June 21), I'd love to hear your stories about great moms and dads. Just send them by email to rob@bryantdaily.com. Be sure to attach your name, address and phone number so I can verify you sent it in. Then I'll post the best stories on the bryantdaily.com site for everyone to enjoy.
Along the way, I may add a few more stories of my own.
Cathy Turpin
Thanks Rob!!