Hi all,
It’s been on my heart to share some of our testimony, experiences we had in the Lord, and good and bad decisions we made so others may learn.
Barb and I have known each other since we were kids
Our parents were part of the same social group and knew each other when we were growing up in the mid-1960’s, so they all had children the same ages. Additionally, my grandfather was their family’s doctor, and lived just 2 blocks from Barb and her family.
Being in the same social group meant Barb and I were at the same birthday parties growing up with mutual friends. My memory of her only goes back to about age 8. But she was an ‘icky girl’ back then, so I didn’t pay attention to her.
Fast forward to age 12. Barb’s best friend was Margaret who lived next door and went to the same church I did. (She is still a very good friend) Barb went to a different church. So Margaret and I were friends as well, but I didn’t know Barb yet, she was just in the same social circle.
Barb and Margaret were quite mischievous, known throughout my grandparent’s neighborhood. On Sundays after church we would often go to my grandparents house for Sunday dinner, and very often Barb and Margaret would be playing outside. My grandparents considered them naughty girls and they did not allow me to go outside to play with them. But I saw them through windows. It’s important to understand Barb was the surprise her mother had at age 40, not really wanted, and her sister and brother are 9 and 12 years older than her. Barb’s parents started drinking in the morning and drank until late at night. There was much dysfunction and abuse in that home and she was very unhappy.
My parents had built a house out in the country, about 4 miles (6.4km) west of Barb’s neighborhood in a different school district than Barb. I’m the oldest of 4 and my dad had inherited his father’s and grandfather’s funeral home. Back in that day the Fenn Funeral Home also ran the ambulance service, so we always had a separate phone line in the house. When that phone would ring everything had to be silenced as if dad was at the office, and he put on his ‘office voice’ to answer the phone: “Fenn funeral home, how may I help you.” Once dad hung up we could resume play or watching TV or talk.
Dad was a disciplinarian and went to our Episcopal (Anglican) church because it was good for business, mom went because she believed. We lived in a split-level home, which means the downstairs had a door to the outside ground level. Dad had a workshop in the basement and there he cut our hair. We 3 boys could have any hairstyle we liked as long as it was a crew cut; we looked like Marines in basic training. Our sister was the baby of the family, and took full advantage of it.
Being the oldest of the 4 children I have good memories of my dad.
He taught me to shake hands firmly, shine my shoes, look people in the eye, and I somehow knew he was grooming me to take over the family business, or at least be successful in life. At the dinner table it was dad on one end commanding the meal, and mom on the other, we were 2 kids on each side. We sat up straight, kept one hand in our lap, and shared our school day in turn as if we were still in school giving a report to the class. But there were times of laughter around the table as well.
There were good times. Dad took us camping and taught me how to handle a knife, tie knots, build a fire and how to properly extinguish it. Before we would leave a camp we would ‘police the camp boys’, meaning we picked up every bit of trash. I once asked if I had to pick up someone’s cigarette butt left on the ground and dad replied with a lesson I’ve lived by ever since: “Always leave anything you use or borrow in as good a shape as you received it, or better.”
The divorce
Up until February of 1969, when I was 11 1/2, we had lived a privileged life. Dad had inherited a large yacht from his dad, kept north of us on Lake Michigan in Holland, Michigan. Mom had inherited her parent’s summer cottage further north on Burt Lake, just about 25 miles (40km) south of Mackinaw Island. In summer we went between the two, one time dad even brought the big boat through canals and locks to Burt Lake. Dad taught me to sail on a little Sunfish the summer I turned 8, which was not much more than a surfboard with a sail. But he taught me how to set it up with the rudder and centerboard, and hoist the sail. He took me out and tipped it over and taught me how to right it. By age 8 I was given the freedom to sail anywhere on the lake as long as I could still see our cottage.
February 1969 changed everything. They set us down on the sofa, with mom and dad sitting opposite. Dad explained he and mom were getting divorced. We didn’t know the meaning of the word as no one in our circle of friends had divorced parents. When my 5 year old sister asked what it meant, dad replied: “I won’t be here for birthdays, holidays, Christmas. I’m leaving, I’m divorcing your mother and I’m divorcing you kids.” It was taken as cruelly in our hearts as it sounds today when I type it, but I realize dad wasn’t trying to be mean, he was just very analytical and that’s how he saw it.
He was true to his word. My brothers and I stopped counting at about 23 broken promises. He would say he was going to see our little league ball game or say he was taking us to ice cream, but he never did. Dozens of times he had said to be ready at 4pm because he was coming to get us to go do something, and he never came.
For me, ages 12 to 16 were the hardest in my life. Rejected by my dad not just that once, but dozens of times reinforced through broken promises, I was searching for a father. I was angry at the injustice of it all. Why would he leave his 4 kids to raise his new wife’s 2 kids as his own? My grades went from honor student to failing and near failing. I dropped out of everything because I no longer cared for anything. No drive, no ambition, no hope. Just going through the motions of being a kid pretending to care about a future.
At age 12 I was confirmed in the Episcopal church, along with Margaret, Barb’s next door neighbor. Barb came with Margaret that Sunday and we met briefly on the steps in the church. She talked to me and I thought she was very pretty, but I was 12, red hair, overweight, buck teeth, and wearing the ugliest green wool suit you’ve ever seen. Barb said something to me and I just stuttered over my words, and she in her direct way said something like: “What’s wrong with you dork, can’t you talk?” as she turned to continue down the stairs. Ahh…my future wife, lol.
Barb’s broken nose brought us together, and more next week. Until then, blessings,
John Fenn
