Amanda: Papa’S Story

By R.C. White

The beautiful cherub Manda Bear and Papa develop a seemingly unbreakable bond, as Papa is always there for her. But as Amandas coming of age journey leads her into adolescence, the precocious teenager becomes troubled. Amandas parents attempt to deal with rebellious behavior that eventually lands her in jail, and she begins to isolate herself from all who love her. But when Amanda disappears without a trace, her familys once-happy world is turned upside down.

In this compelling tale, as a frantic search for Amanda begins, her grandfather must learn to trust that all he has taught his beloved granddaughter in her younger years can somehow save her from herself in adulthood and allow her to fulfill her true destiny.

engaging read from beginning to enddrawn into the storyemotional and moving Amazon Top 500 Reviewer

will make you laugh and make you cry

very moving story of a very unique and wonderful relationship between a grandfather and his beloved grandchild

I highly recommend the book to readers across the globe.

Cant wait to read the next book by RC White. Amazon Reviewers

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inspiring Voices
• Release date: Oct 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462403226

R.C. White

R. C. White holds engineering and business degrees and has enjoyed a progressive career in the petrochemical industry, capped by a CEO position in a multi-million dollar corporation and front-page coverage in the Wall Street Journal. He has written several dramatic scripts, including This Is Your Life, King David. He lives in Houston with his wife, two daughters, son-in-law and two granddaughters.

Book preview

PART I

The Early Years

Chapter 1

S ilence. Unnerving silence. We both said nothing, just left the building and walked to the car parked in the lot across the street. Still nothing. If I didn’t see her walking beside me — well, slightly behind me, I’d want to check her pulse. Is she still breathing? I can’t hear it. I even opened the door for her, thinking perhaps…. Nothing. She just plopped herself into the seat like I was some unknown driver, hired just for this trip.

We crept through three lights and onto the freeway entrance ramp. My attention was diverted briefly as I merged into traffic, speeding up as I did. For perhaps the only time in my life, I realized that I was finally cruising just under the speed limit. My usual speed is six to seven miles per hour above the speed limit—no matter what the speed limit is. I figure that living in Texas brings with it the privilege of driving above the speed limit. Countless speed traps have excused me at those rates, so that’s simply the norm in Texas—except in school zones; perhaps two to three mph above the limit there.

Transportation has always been a waste of time to me; I’m a strong advocate of teleportation if it ever works. But today I deliberately wanted to take extra time. We both needed it: time to think, time to reflect, time to fully understand the events leading up to this moment.

What really brought this on? Whose fault was it? Anyone’s? No one’s? I still didn’t have all the facts. I hoped she would open up to me, give me all the (gory?) details. If she wanted to hold back, maybe she would hold back with her parents, but not with me; at least that’s what I hoped. Now, nothing but silence. I had to let her be the first to speak, really tough for a talkative person like me. I bit my tongue and drove.

No judgments on my part, at least not until I heard her side of what had happened. Right now, I knew only what the police had said, and that wasn’t much, just the results of perhaps many details creating a domino effect into the final outcome. Even the police admitted there was likely much more to the story than they knew.

Think. What was occurring at her home yesterday, last week, last month? Could anyone see this coming? Should we all have seen this coming? I needed to think about it.

However, rather than thinking about all that had just happened, I found myself drifting back some fifteen years to that day in Mercy Health Center in Oklahoma City. Nana and I had just flown up from Houston. Driving down the John Kilpatrick Turnpike, Mark’s outside temperature reading on the dash showed triple digits. But we didn’t care; it was a great July day—bright sunshine both outside and inside the car. As we jumped from the SUV, we didn’t even notice the hot wind, slowed only by a few old oil derricks or perhaps a barbed wire fence or two on the prairies west of town. Wind always blows in Oklahoma, plays havoc with your golf game. On this day, however, our thoughts were on only one thing. Our second granddaughter awaited us in the hospital nursery!

Everything leading up to this wonderful event had been great. The pregnancy had been planned. Three years after the first child, just like Nana and I had planned for our children. So it took a few extra months to conceive; no big deal. Not everyone could time it to within two days as Nana and I had. We were lucky, plain and simple, lucky.

Everything was fine; that is, everything except that Mark had been transferred by his employer from Dallas to Oklahoma City. For grandparents, a four-hour drive from Houston to Dallas is not a big deal. Easy weekend. But a seven-hour drive or a two-hour flight on a puddle-jumper to Oklahoma City is in another dimension. No more easy weekend, just run up to Dallas to see the kids. Now it’s a week’s vacation.

But even that didn’t matter that day. We were primed and ready. Everything had happened right on schedule, even to the day. We didn’t even have to change our plane reservations. Perfect!

We practically ran down the hallway from the elevator to the nursery and gazed through the big window. Pointing, I quickly exclaimed, There. That’s hers, in the second row. See the name. But where is she? Do the nurses have her? Let’s check the room; maybe Alex has her.

Three more rooms down the hallway. We burst in, forgetting to knock; we just had to see. Mark held the door open. For this one moment, excitement trumped chivalry. I charged in first; Nana would have to wait this time. And there they were. The nurse was just taking her from Alex’s arms. Feeding was over; the tiny eyes were drooping just slightly. Tummy was full. We could hear the faint cooing as the nurse was moving her back to the basket—or whatever they call those things.

Three years, three months and ten days earlier, Mark had stopped us from getting within six feet of our first granddaughter, Brittany, when she was born. There’s the bathroom; be sure and wash your hands good, he had said. You don’t have a cold or anything, do you?

He was so protective of that first child. Nana and I smiled at each other and complied with his instructions to the letter. Wonder how long it would take before that all faded. Perhaps a week or so, we quietly mused later in the hospital cafeteria.

But this day I immediately held out my arms, and the nurse must have surmised that this was Papa and made my day as she tenderly placed this beautiful cherub in my arms. Her face was only inches from mine. As I smiled and said her name, Amanda, it seemed to roll off my tongue, so natural, so perfect. A short arm reached upward toward my face. I lifted her closer until the tiny hand touched my chin. Gone were the droopy eyes, now wide with wonder. Who is this strange new person in my life? Was the bond that would weather a lifetime cemented in that very instant? We can only speculate.

Now it was Nana’s turn. I had to give her up. Darn. But the damage was done. She had captured my heart. It would only get better and stronger.

Nana too was alive with excitement. What is it that makes parents practically ignore their children at least for an instant when the grandchildren arrive? But Nana was echoing my actions, giving all her attention to that little wonder in her arms. Talking so softly and tenderly—hmmm, sounds like a song title. Eyes connected for the first time. All attention focused on that tiny new person in this world.

Finally I was hugging Alex and congratulating her on producing, with Mark’s help of course, such a beautiful child. Alex was beautiful herself, and Mark was a handsome young man. Alex had chosen well—I think she had Mark hooked even before he knew it himself, just as Nana had done with me; it must be in the genes or something.

But it wasn’t always the case with Ali—somewhere along the way, we shortened Alex even further to Ali. Some of those early boyfriends really scared Nana and me. Where did she dig them up? We tried not to interfere with her selections, at least not too pointedly. But she couldn’t help but know who we liked and who we didn’t. There were no poker faces in our family. There was one boy we even contemplated trying to buy off. We figured $10,000 would be more than enough; maybe even $5,000 would do it. Not that that’s all she was worth, but we just figured he would go cheap.

Fortunately, it never came to that. Alex finally came to her senses and picked the best son-in-law we could ask for. I just wonder why it took so long!

So with Mark and Alex, who could expect anything different than a beautiful child. Brittany was also beautiful. Amanda now completed this branch of the family tree. All great-looking, all healthy, all with everything going for terrific futures.

Amanda Katheryn was the selected name. (I sometimes wonder why parents give their children unusual names. Why is there an e in Katheryn? But who am I to talk? Nana and I selected Alexandra; were we thinking of ancient Egypt? And our younger daughter is Cristi; why not Cristie, Christi, or even Christie? We never know.)

But Amanda Katheryn was specifically chosen to fit AK. You see, back before Alex graced our family, Nana and I were bouncing names back and forth, and in a moment of jest I made the comment that we could name our firstborn Alexandra Catherine and call her Alley Cat for short. The dirty look from Nana quickly squelched that idea, and we settled on Alexandra Michelle. But somehow AliCat hung around, and again for some inexplicable reason it got shortened somewhere along the way to AK. And it only took twenty-eight more years for us to realize how much affection Alex really had for that silly little nickname. But in fact, it was not at all silly. It had become part of that special bond between a father and a daughter, a part that manifests itself in the strangest of ways.

So I had my AK and now Alex had her AK. Through the years, it’s hard to tell how much Alex has used it. But it’s also one of those special ties that lies in the wings and jumps out on stage at just the right moment to enhance the show.

Chapter 2

W e had just changed freeways. U.S. Highway 59 is not the busiest freeway in Houston, not by a long shot. At mid morning, rush hour is essentially over; there are fewer cars on the road. Good.

But at the same time, bad. Still no sound. Nothing yet resembling even a grunt. She just sat there looking out the side window, as if the car was on auto-pilot and she was the only inhabitant.

Again, my mind drifted back to Oklahoma City.

It was only a few days before they returned home from the hospital, both healthy and doing well. We stayed to help with the transition, and especially allow Mark and Alex to build up their strength with extra sleep the first few nights. So Nana and I—okay, mainly Nana—took the night shift and tended to Amanda through the wee hours of the mornings. I assure you it was a labor of love for whomever was on duty.

Amanda was really a great baby. Very little crying. Sleeping through practically all the night; maybe only one feeding. It doesn’t get any better. Thank you, Lord, for little favors. Could this indicate anything special to come?

Alex and Mark had planned the transition carefully to ensure Brittany did not become jealous of the new addition to the family. After all, she had been the queen of the court for three years; no child readily or willingly relinquishes that position. As expected, Amanda had been showered with gifts before her arrival and it continued after arrival. But Alex and Mark had purchased, wrapped and hid several gifts for Brittany which would be labeled from Amanda, just as Nana and I had done with Alex when Cristi was born. Then beginning with each day Alex was in the hospital, Mark would bring Brittany a gift, sometimes two or three, from Amanda in the hospital. So Brittany was thinking this new baby thing wasn’t so bad after all—kinda Christmas in July.

Fortunately, Brittany was also a sound sleeper so the 2:00 a.m. feedings didn’t disturb her rest. We thought we’d made a smooth transition after all. Would it last?

The next few days flew by. Nana couldn’t keep her hands off Amanda. Okay, so neither could I, whenever Nana let me. Apparently, Amanda loved it. Her disposition remained great. There was minimal irritation. I even took an occasional turn at diaper duty—only occasional, I assure you.

We had to be extra careful, however, not to ignore Brittany. The jealousy factor hadn’t yet kicked in and we certainly didn’t want to be the catalyst that initiated it. So I got reacquainted with lots of dolls and doll talk. I guess it comes with the territory, but when it’s with grandchildren, it ain’t all bad. Let’s see, there was Mickey, and Bert & Ernie, Oscar, and the already-emerging favorite, Cinderella.

You see, we had all taken a vacation to Walt Disney World Resort near Orlando, Florida when Brittany was only six months old. Believe me, taking a baby to Disney World is not so bad at all. You attract all the characters, or cast members as they call them, so you can have your picture made with every possible character, uhh cast member, every day. It’s like you’re a magnet; they just flock to you. And you get special attention in the restaurants, in lines, everywhere. But the parades are the best. Stand on a street corner with a baby in your arms and even the dragons are drawn to you.

So the Disney bug was planted at the earliest possible moment and just grew from there. You see, Alex had worked at Disney World twice while in college. First, she was on the college program, where she earned her Ducktorate degree, and was later invited back as an intern. I have said many times that Alex has mouse blood flowing through her veins. Disney played a major part in her college-age personality development—customer service, preparation, high standards, leadership—and has served her well in adulthood.

Just as we were getting to be on a first name basis with Cindy and the other dolls, however, it was finally time for Nana and me to pack our things and prepare for our return to Houston. As she had done with Brittany, Nana had incessantly told Amanda, This is Nana. She would continue this for the next couple of years over the phone as Alex would hold the receiver to Amanda’s ear. Nana was determined that her granddaughters remembered her voice and her name. It was a great idea, and Nana loved doing it as much as the girls seemed to like hearing her upbeat voice.

Amanda waved goodbye—with Alex’s help, of course—as we backed out of the driveway. I could tell that Nana was having a hard time with this. It had been difficult to leave just Mark and Alex, more difficult leaving Brittany also. Now with Amanda, it was a world class tragedy. But Nana didn’t want to break down with Mark driving us to the airport. Save it for later. Maybe time would minimize the impact of leaving those beautiful angels.

I must admit that up until this time I’ve maintained the macho-man attitude. It’s great to see them, but when it’s time to go, no problem. I could easily get back to the normal life. But now for the first time, I’m leaving Amanda too. For you math majors out there, the pressure increases exponentially. Now when will we see them again? Hmmm. Can I wait until Christmas? I’m not sure. Will time minimize the impact or compound it?

The plane ride back was long and generally silent. Grandparenting is simply the best. But there comes a moment when you grasp the enormity of the situation. Your own age is now creeping up in chunks, beginning to be a little concerning. Upon reflection, parenting was living day to day. What’s the latest crisis? Bad day, good day. It’ll be different tomorrow. Just keep making decisions of the moment.

As grandparents, however, we have time to consider what we are doing, the effect of our actions, both on our grandchildren and their parents. Being a grandparent provides you with a license to spoil the grandchildren. That’s a given. But the extent of that spoiling must not create a monster and, equally important, must not undermine the parents. Fine line; gotta walk it.

I wish we, as adults, could learn some very important lessons from the youngest children. They approach everything with innocence, no preconceived notions, no prejudices. Their little minds are not made up before events occur. They make their decisions, unconsciously of course, based on what they see in front of them. Their likes and dislikes are on the surface. It’s simple, no complex issues.

Amanda was no doubt already forming opinions of Nana and me. At this stage, she was a sponge, absorbing everything around her. Who are these people who have been holding me so much, and are now leaving? Will she remember us the next time we see her? Or will she cry for Mommy to get these scary faces away?

Over the next few years, we will influence everything that gets absorbed in that sponge. We can’t pick and choose. Absorb this, but not that? No way. Remember only the good stuff or forget the time I ignored you because I had other things on my mind? Not a chance. It all goes into the hopper. The bonds will be formed that will carry into decades, a lifetime. We probably won’t even know how it’s playing out for perhaps years. But the bonds have begun. Amanda and Papa have already begun something special. It’ll just get bigger, wider and stronger.

Chapter 3

I s she ever going to speak again? Now I’m getting a little antsy with this silence. I must continue driving though, get my mind off the current icy atmosphere. Maybe if I turn on the heater, it’ll warm things up. Naaa, it’s September in Houston, Texas. It’s still blistering hot outside. Air conditioners can hardly keep up. I’m drifting back….

I remembered the Christmas season after Brittany had just begun kindergarten. She had impressed the teachers throughout the preschool program held at the nearby Presbyterian church. Mark had been transferred again, this time to Michigan, and he and Alex had settled in a bedroom community about thirty miles west of Detroit. While the church preschool wasn’t the closest to their neighborhood, it was generally accepted as the best available.

Brittany was quiet, not particularly outgoing, but still seemed comfortable around adults. She excelled academically—yes, even in preschool—and had developed a particularly strong attraction to reading, a trait that would serve her well throughout her academic career. Reading after a few months in kindergarten at the first grade level was quite an accomplishment. It only got better with time.

Alex was a stay-at-home mom, taking care of the girls as Mark traveled extensively in his sales job. He was very successful, but would typically be out of town two or three nights each week.

Brittany had successfully navigated the terrible two’s or should I say Alex and Mark made it through with little difficulty, only minor uprisings of the Indians from time to time, so to speak. But history does not always repeat itself. Amanda had now entered that particularly challenging period, and Alex had already concluded that Amanda had arrived early to that phase of life. Her normal disposition was great: easy going, even tempered, seemingly positive attitude, helpful around the house, enjoyed playing with Sissy. We couldn’t ask for much better. From the earliest stages, Amanda could be the sweetest child on the planet. But on those other occasions, it was a bloody meltdown!

Toys could be thrown; breakage wasn’t an issue with Amanda, just throw something— fortunately toys are now made to withstand an asphalt roller on cement. Nothing and no one mattered. Amanda would go into a zone. Is this the definition of schizophrenia? Does it occur at age two and then disappear forever or perhaps go dormant until later in life? [I’m actually told that schizophrenia is not split personality although it is frequently associated with that disorder. So my reference above should actually be multiple personality disorder even though I used the colloquial terminology.] Anyway, you get the picture. Amanda became a little terror—not to be confused with terrorist although the characteristics are quite similar!

Fortunately, it’s at these times when grandparents have the complete authority to say, Your child, and go get a drink of water—or whatever drink seems appropriate at the time. Then when tempers subside and the raging inferno is past, we can reactivate our presence and tell the little darling how much we love them even though we don’t like their actions. If there’s anything that I can’t resist, it’s I love you too, Papa.

For Amanda, or Mandy as it frequently became, the terrible two’s seemed to have an overtime shift, well into the three’s, maybe even early five’s. Some things we tend to forget, or purposefully repress, hopefully never to revisit again.

But Mandy was her own person. She seemed to resent authority from the early stages. It probably wasn’t evident because she generally assumed the role of a good and cooperative child. So discipline was not usually a problem. The worst thing seemed to be the perpetual delays in getting a bath and going to bed. Mandy just was not into the end of the day. I suspect that applies to most children. Bed is simply not on the daily schedule. But she did learn to comply with minimal complaining.

In general, she also loved playing with Brittany. Brittany was her best friend although she easily made other friends. This didn’t seem to bother Brittany either. Although more reserved than the energizer bunny Mandy, Brittany was usually there for her, willing to join in the pretend time of the moment. It was during those times, however, when they would be playing together and Mandy was determined to do something very different from Brittany’s preference that sparks would occasionally fly.

And when that alter ego kicked in, the best place for family and friends was somewhere else! Oh, hello. We have this new person in the house today. She doesn’t really live here but shows up unannounced from time to time and virtually takes over the world around her. Does any of this sound familiar to anyone else?

Time out? No real effect. Spanking? Rarely used, but ineffective also. Go to your room? Door slams! Perhaps a few other sounds emanate from behind the closed door too. Does time heal all? Perhaps it’s the only thing that works. Sooner or later, the real Mandy returns. Everything is fine. Sorry is prevalent. And all’s well again in Whoville.

One of my least fond memories was when they had all trekked back to Houston for Christmas with Nana and Papa. Mark and Alex put the kids to sleep in the back of the SUV with the presents loaded in a storage compartment on top. They would then drive straight through from Michigan to Texas. It seems like we used to do dumb things like that too in our younger years; memory is failing me there. I must have repressed those twenty-hour periods somewhere in the dark crevices of my mind.

Nana and I loved the visits, even though it was only two or three times per year: Christmas in Houston—time for them to thaw out, October visit in Michigan—leaves turning in crisp fall weather, and maybe another visit or vacation sometime in the summer. There just weren’t enough of them.

The holidays were going great. No major problems. Everyone was happy with anticipation. What was Santa going to bring? Would he find Brittany and Mandy a thousand miles from home? Oh, we sent him a note with the wish list; problem solved.

Mandy was developing into a special person indeed. She was a quick learner, grasping the alphabet and beginning reading quite readily. And at problem-solving, she was exceptional. Whether it was the puzzles given to her at early ages or just a keen analytical mind, Mandy could analyze a situation and find a solution almost instantaneously.

She could be deep in a play setting with Brittany when together they wanted to accomplish something. Brittany might suggest the obvious, but a three to four year old Mandy could come up with such a unique solution that you’d think a ten year