Lemons to Lemonade(Shelly Garrod) My childhood wasn't easy nor pleasant. Coming from a very dysfunctional family, my parents constantly fought with each other. My father was an alcoholic and would always beat on us kids. Our mother always seemed to take his side on everything. Neither of our parents showed any interest in our schooling. They never attended open houses or parent/teacher conferences. Us kids were never in concerts, programs or plays. My mom always had an excuse when the school questioned her. It was quite easy for me to rebel from my family, and I did so with little to no regard for anyone including myself. Many nights I'd cry myself to sleep. Angry at God, cursing him for giving me this family.
At night I'd climb out my upstairs bedroom window onto the roof and then jump to the ground. I'd meet up with my friends a block away. We'd spend hours cruising through town, drinking and smoking pot. On occasion we'd attend parties at someone's house or in the woods. At the crack of dawn my friends would take me home. I'd sneak back in the house. Like a little mouse quietly scampering about, in a jiffy I'd be dressed for school and gone before anyone even woke up. No one ever saw me. My parents never knew of this ritual I had created.
Because I hung out with friends and partied all night, staying awake during the day was difficult to do. Drowsiness was a constant knock on my consciousness causing me to fall asleep in most of my classes almost daily. I hated school anyway. Teachers didn't seem to care. They'd say I was smart. I needed to show more interest in school. “Put forth more effort and motivation.” They'd nag. I didn't want to hear any of it. Getting angry and frustrated, I'd yell at them, shove chairs, throw things and run out of the class. Spending hours in the counselor's office didn't help. My parents were frequently called by the schools' principal or the counselor. Of course, they blamed the school for my behavior.
One evening I went to an all-night party in the woods with my friend Kim. It was a wild party. Lots of people, most I didn't know. Kids were getting high and drunk including me. Unaware of what was happening, I had no clue as to what I was doing. This one cute guy walked over to me and said his name was Jake. He asked if I wanted to go sit in his car with him, I said yes. Here I am two months later sixteen and pregnant.
When I told my parents, they were furious. Not sure why, they never seemed to care about anything anyway. My father was like a pot of boiling water filled with eggs whose water has evaporated and the eggs were ready to explode. He'd begin slapping me around and calling me nasty names. Repeatedly punching me in the stomach in hopes of me losing the baby. My mom would holler at him to stop. He finally did and stormed out the door slamming it behind him. Seconds later tires squealed as he rolled out of the drive.
Liquid coated my eyes as I became overwhelmed with tears of anger, fear, joy and the unknown. My mother tried to soothe me, but I pushed her away. Turning, I ran to my room. “Leave me alone. I don't need you!" I shouted. My mom wanted me to give the baby up or get an abortion. I said absolutely not. My father could care less one way or the other. He said he would not be involved in anything. That was the norm.
As the months went by, I slowly slipped into soon-to-be mommy mode. No longer did I drink or smoke with my friends. No more sneaking out in the middle of the night.
There was a life growing inside of me now which took priority over everything else.
I was in eleventh grade and still attending regular school. Arrangements had been made so I could do my schoolwork at home for the rest of that year once the baby was born.
As the days and months crept by, I found myself gradually accepting this little entity growing inside of me. Sitting in my grandmas old rocking chair, I'd rock forward and backward rubbing my tummy, as I did so, I would sing or hum song's that I knew. At four months into my pregnancy the doctors announced I was carrying a boy. About seven months along I decided my baby needed a name. Doug came to mind. As I rubbed, Mother's Stretch Mark Lotion over my ever-growing belly I'd Softly speak the affectionate words, “I love you Dougie. You are the best thing that happen to me in my entire life. We haven't met yet, but I already love you so much.”
My mind was made up. Staying in school, graduating, and going on to college, became my personal goal. My son was going to have a good life. I was not going to let my baby down. I was determined to give him the best childhood I possibly could. He wasn't going to grow up like I did. My determination was clear, even at the ripe young age of sixteen. My boy deserved a mother who loved him and would protect him at all costs. This was the promise I made to him while he was still in my womb.
On May third just two months shy of my seventeenth birthday I gave birth to a beautiful blonde haired blue eyed six-pound eleven-ounce baby boy. As the doctor gently placed him on my chest, he lifted up his little head, looked at me with his deep blue eyes and smiled. Soft tear drops gently escaped my eyes as I gazed in amazement at this beautiful creation from God that I brought into this world. At that very second a peace came over me. I knew that my little baby and I would be just fine.

Let's jump ahead

I followed through with the promise I made to my son while he was still in utero. After graduating from high school, I went on to college, which wasn't easy being a single parent. My persistence and motivation paid off. Gripped with a strong desire to meet my goals of succeeding and making a good life for myself and my son, I made it happen. I became a specialized registered nurse working at Mayo Clinic, which I absolutely love. At the age of thirty-four I met and married the love of my life Caleb. He also works at the clinic as a doctor of neurology. We have two gorgeous girls named Adeline and Isabelle. My son is also happily married to his wife Sybil (no children yet). He works in the medical field as well, as a specialized dentist,
Life is what you make of it. And yes, the old cliche' is true. When life tosses you lemons you make sweet lemonade or tea! I like tea!

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