Mamma Mia I'm Pregnant

By Maria Anania Brinkman

The screaming and yelling was intense. There were slammed doors, broken TVs, broken dishes. There was love, there was kindness. There was forgiveness. Mamma Mia, I'm Pregnant is the story of an overweight, beautiful young Italian girl (one of six) who grows up in an extremely strict household. She has a father who has a volatile temper and demands everything his way. Her mother is a subservient Italian wife but adheres so strongly to the demands of her husband that she unknowingly neglects the attention, guidance, and emotion her daughters so desperately crave. Maria finds herself compensating for the lack of her mother's attention by overeating and becomes fat. As she grows up in this sheltered, rigid environment created by her father, she often wonders and is curious about other households, cultures. She then loses weight in her early teens and is overwhelmed by the amount of male attention she is now getting. She does not know how to handle it. She becomes defiant, disobedient, and stubborn. She is forbidden from dating certain male prospects but doesn't listen. Maria becomes a statistic. She becomes a pregnant teenager. This is a book of stories and challenges she faced while trying to raise a baby, toddler, and young man (one and the same), as well as herself after teenage marriage/divorce while embarking upon young adulthood. She had to live the consequences of decisions/choices she made as a young adult. This book reveals some of those stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jul 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781640039971

Book preview

About Me, Maria

I started writing these short stories at the age of fifty-four at my son’s—age thirty-eight—urging to do something with my life. At this time, I am on disability which began about three months ago (multiple sclerosis diagnosed almost twenty years ago). I never wanted to go on disability but sometimes things happen in your life you have no control of and your life is changed in an instant. I currently am married to Mike (kindest man in the world) who I married two weeks after we met and have the one adult son from my teen marriage. You see, I became pregnant at fifteen, got married at sixteen, and had my baby a month later. The marriage was a tumultuous one. I divorced at the age of nineteen and went on ADC for about three years while attending a junior college. Over time, I learned to become a medical transcriptionist, and that is how I supported both me and my son. My husband and I attend Holy Cross Catholic Church, although I strayed from Catholicism as a young adult to what some people would call… a Holy Roller Pentecostal. As both our parents did, we live paycheck to paycheck. At this time in my life, I have nothing but time on my hands, so I will write these stories as I remember them but not all necessarily in chronological order. All of the stories are factual.

Chapter 2

My Childhood

Well, my dad was very strict with us girls. I remember he always made us curtsy when we were young, and as we got older, if we attended a social event such as a basketball game, we would have to wear dresses. No slacks. We attended church almost every day, except Saturday. I loved Saturdays.

My mom and dad fought all of the time. She would say white, he would say black. They would argue about the stupidest things. But these were big arguments, sometimes with a TV being thrown across the room (we went through so many televisions), and I hated hearing him scream. I used to go up to my room and pray they would get divorced. They always made up. I remember one instance in which we were sitting down for Sunday dinner. After my mother made pasta (spaghetti and meatballs) that took her all morning and part of the afternoon to cook, my dad noticed there was not a butter knife for the butter dish. He then burst into anger, started yelling like a crazy person and threw his spaghetti up onto the ceiling. He then made my mother clean it up. She did. I hated him for that and maybe her a little, too, for putting up with it. Keep in mind, though, this was the early 1960s and women did not have the options back then like we have now. Maybe my sisters would say we had a good childhood, but all I remember is the yelling and screaming.

To my dad’s credit, though, in dealing with people, I would say he was fair and honest, such as… I remember, even as a little girl, he would tell me that when I grow up to treat everybody the same and that there was no difference between us and colored people (common term; early 1960s). To my mother’s chagrin, I believed him (will delve into that chapter later). Also, my father always loved to have his family around him. He was a complex person. My father was a good man and may ultimately have been a victim of his own childhood. I miss my father.

Chapter 3

An Omen

It was the summer of 1974, and my sister Lisa and I, plus her friend Mary, were walking to the store on a Saturday morning. I was only twelve and still quite the tomboy. As we were walking, Mary said, "Look ahead. Do you see that boy walking up the street? That is Jim Moreno, he is really wild and has a terrible reputation but a lot of girls love him. Have no idea why."

That was the first time I heard Jim Moreno’s name. I knew nothing of him before then, neither did my sister. For some reason, after Mary’s comments about Jim Moreno, I distinctly remember a cold chill come over me. I did not say anything, though and all three of us just kept on our way walking to the store. It was not until almost two years later when that name surfaced again poking its head in my life. Little did I know or have any clue of what was in store or how much a turn my life was going to take.

Chapter 4

Losing Mary Sue

It was the spring of 1976. I was in high school and the end of my freshman year was fast approaching. I was looking forward to summer break. I did not have a care in the world and I liked it that way. My only responsibility was to do my homework, and after dinner, all of us girls would have to pitch in and clean the kitchen. My job was usually sweeping the floor because nobody liked how I washed dishes. To this day, my husband doesn’t like how I wash dishes. Anyway, like I said, I was carefree. I had friends but mostly was a loner. I was uneasy around boys but still curious, as I grew up with only sisters. Had I grown up with brothers, maybe my curiosity could have been hampered somewhat after having to smell their socks. I put boys on a pedestal. I am sure I wouldn’t have had I known at least one.

Finally, I did meet a boy. His name was Heath. Heath mowed the lawn for my next-door neighbor. I