Coming of Age and Teen Parenthood Theme Analysis

“I think you should write about the one that scares you most. Taking risks and making choices in spite of fear—it’s what makes our life story compelling.”

There’s that word again. She walks away but I have a feeling her advice wasn’t about the essay prompt at all.

[’Buela] sits down next to me and removes the book from my hands. I sigh and put my head on her shoulder. She pats my face and I snuggle more deeply into her side.

“You want me to read to you?”

“I don’t think the Applied Mathematics textbook will allow you to practice your character voices,” I say, closing my eyes. She shifts a bit and I hear her pick up the book.

“Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away.”

“Fuentes knows any school I apply to will have to be in Philadelphia. She’s had me research La Salle, Temple, St. Joseph’s. She’s pushing for Drexel, which has a culinary arts program, but you know I’m not good at school, so a scholarship is out of the question. I don’t even want to think about taking out loans. And how can I work full-time and go to school full-time and raise Babygirl full-time? I think in order of most important, school is at the bottom, right?”

But Malachi isn’t listening to Leslie. His eyes are on me. If there was one thing I learned once my belly started showing it’s that you can’t control how people look at you, but you can control how far back you pull your shoulders and how high you lift your chin. Boys think of only two things when they find out you had a baby: thing (1) that you’re too much baby-mama drama, or thing (2) that you’re easy.

I look at Ms. Fuentes. She’s young, maybe early thirties, not like a lot of the teachers at the school. And she’s hip to most things like fashion and music, but she doesn’t have a kid. She doesn’t have a grandmother who’s spent the last thirty-five years raising a son and then her son’s kid and now her son’s kid’s kid. No, Ms. Fuentes has a job that she seems to like, and she can afford nice perfume, and cute outfits, and pretty manicures, and to give out advice nobody asked for.

“In a couple of months you’ll be an adult. I trust you with that child; I should trust you with yourself.”

And although her trust should make me feel better, I feel a slight pang in my chest. Every day it seems ’Buela is stepping back, not just giving me full rein in Babygirl’s life, but also in my own. And I know I should love the freedom, but I don’t think I’m ready for all the safety nets to be cut loose. Doesn’t she know I still need her? That I still wish someone would look at the pieces of my life and tell me how to make sure they all fit back together?

“Emoni, pregútate, are you ready? If you have this baby, your life will no longer be about you. Every decision you make will have to include this child. You can’t be selfish anymore; you can’t put your wants above the baby’s. This is the last time someone will ask you what you want before asking you what your baby needs. Piénsalo bien.”

Chef Ayden isn’t angry with me. Chef Ayden thinks I could own or be head chef of a restaurant one day. Chef Ayden wants me to lead a fund-raising committee.

I’ve seen chefs on TV time and time again say they had to pay their dues. And I never knew exactly what that meant but now I think I get it. It’s about doing the grunt work behind the scenes, washing dishes, folding napkins, taking stock, before you ever touch a recipe. It’s about being the creative mind behind raising a shit-ton of money so you can go on a trip abroad.

Chili aioli would make this bomb. A sweet and savory bite. I almost walk to the spice cabinet, then stop myself.

That’s not the recipe.

The guard is new, and I know he doesn’t know me or my circumstances because all he can do is remind me of the same tired rules. “If you want your phone back, you’ll need a signed release form from your parent or guardian.”

And I almost laugh in his face when he utters those words. I can sign permission slips for my own daughter but can’t sign one for myself.

“Sir, I really think you should speak to my advisor. I have a kid. I need my phone.”

She’s off before I can wave back. Before I can say thank you. Before I can say I always have plenty of Children’s Tylenol. Before I can ask her why Tyrone wasn’t the one to pick up Babygirl, or why I’m accused of being the irresponsible one but he’s so often excused from having to be as much of a father as I am a mother.

I think about Babygirl. How I wake up every day expecting to see her crib and how it clogs my throat with tears not to be near her. How I miss ’Buela’s shuffling slippers, and her yelling directions at the Eagles’ quarterback. How I need to find a new job and figure out what I’m going to major in if I’m accepted into college. My life when I get back is full of people I love and the responsibilities I have. And I love them, and miss them, but I also want to hold this feeling of freedom tight in my fist, because it has wings and I know as soon as I loosen my grip it will fly straight away.

“I go to the doctor so much because sometimes I need to get away from all of…” She swirls her hand in the air and “all of” must mean everything in the house. “I go to the doctor to remind myself I am more than a great-grandmother to a toddler, and a grandmother to a teen mother, and a mother to a rascal of a son.”

She clears her throat. “Okay… The real reason I ‘go to the doctor’ so much is because of Joseph, Mr. Jagoda. […] And nena, it’s…” she pats her chest, and I know just what she means. “He isn’t perfect! I mean, he’s a Giant’s fan, for God’s sake, but he makes me feel like a woman. Not only a mother so many times removed.”

“I understand. And although I’ll be attending Drexel’s Culinary Arts program on a part-time basis, it’s not too far from here, so I can go to classes in the morning and be here by the lunchtime rush. My family is helping me out to make sure. I can commit to the long hours.” I give her a soft shrug. “I want to stay in Philly and work in Philly and learn from a restaurant in Philly. Because I think I have a lot to offer my hometown and the places I’m from.”