All my life I have been known as somebody else. Paul's daughter. David's wife.* Christopher's Mom. Will I ever be known as just Me? Buried deep below the surface, beneath the layers of all the different people I once was and have now become, is the real me. The realization of self-discovery is a journey that sometimes has no end. It is constantly changing. With different paths ahead and destinations unknown, the decision of who you are and who you become is your choice. Circumstance may control the situation but your reaction will decipher the outcome. As daughter of not just a school teacher but Vice-Principal, it is difficult to try to fill the shoes of the highly respected and renown man. As youngsters, my sisters and I would walk behind him every day to elementary school, trying to match the footprints of his large stride. He would break a trail in the knee-high snowdrifts for his three scarved ducklings lagging behind. Sheltered from the wind and blowing snow, we followed the echo of the muffled crunch of the crisp mantle that broke beneath his steps. In high school, his constant presence was resented. We were never allowed to be as free as our peers. Classmates were unforgiving of his status and unacccepting of us into their circle. As wife of a career military man, it is necessary to be supportive yet flexible. The sometimes, confining role of the woman behind the man was dutifully assumed. Sea duty kept him away for lengthy duration and career courses were interspersed throughout the years to accelerate his promotions. We have moved from one end of the country to the other and have accepted the fact that home is where the Air Force sends you. The five moves have been exiting and exhilarating, yet have taken their toll. Every few years our lives are uprooted and must start from square one all over again. Shallow roots are never allowed to fully take hold. The nomadic lifestyle is inconceivable to native towns folk and temporary residents are not usually invited to fully participate in the community. As mother of two, it is difficult to be many people rolled into one. To be a housekeeper, cook, maid, servant, chauffeur, seamstress, laundress, baker, teacher and nurse all in one day is no easy task. There are endless chores to tend to at home and away. Meanwhile the children have to be nurtured and pushed only as hard as they need to be pushed. They need to be allowed to test their wings safely before they are thrust into the world once they leave the nest. For the past 15 years, a career has been sacrificed to be a housewife. Dreams and aspirations have been temporarily set aside. With this last move, the focus has been switched to take care of rediscovering me. Going back to school to learn a trade has not become necessary financially but also personally. It has sparked old interests and many new ones too. As I tucked my daughter into bed last night, she said to me. “I’m sad.” It was because “I never get to hardly ever see you any more.” Our days used to be filled with building castles on sandy beaches and exploring playgrounds, flying kites, building forts, packing picnics and sightseeing. Now there is only the frenzied in-betweens, the clips of conversations in-between driving from here to there. That will soon have to cease to take time for second thoughts about priorities. I will always be Paul’s daughter, David’s wife,* but most importantly I don’t want to hear those two words again. Somebody needs me more than I need to be me. Somebody needs me, more than me. I, am Somebody’s Mother! Corinne Bolt English 082 October 19, 1995 (*ex wife)