After her mother’s death from cancer, Carole O’Malley Gaunt ’67,
then a teenager living in the Springfield Irish Catholic neighborhood
known as Hungry Hill, struggled to save her alcoholic father and
seven brothers—and to keep her own dreams alive. She graduated from
UMass Amherst in 1967 and went on to a career in theater spanning
playwriting, acting, and producing. The following excerpt takes place
just after O’Malley Gaunt lost her mother to cancer; later, she lost
her father as well.
As the car crosses the Enfield line and I spy the “Welcome to Massachusetts”
sign, I start breathing normally again. The green-and-white road sign
seems friendly, hopeful even. But when my dad pulls our station wagon
into the driveway, he grips his hands around the steering wheel and
sighs.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He sounds serious, almost sad. “You’re dating that boy Kevin now. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
His tone is scaring me. “What do you mean? Nothing is going
to happen to me.” “I don’t want you getting pregnant.” Has he lost
his mind? I’m not sure what’s involved in pregnancy, but I’m not even
close.
“Dad, Kevin hasn’t even kissed me good-night.”
“Never mind. He will,” he answers with a conviction in his voice I
don’t often hear.
“I won’t get pregnant. I’m a junior in high school.”
“Your cousin’s pregnant and married now and having a baby any day.”
“Pat’s pregnant?” No, I thought, it can’t be. This was a stomach punch.
My grandmother had raised Pat after her father disappeared, and her
mother, my aunt Grace, had decided that motherhood hampered her fun
lifestyle.
“Yes, she was pregnant the night of her high school graduation.” It
feels as if he’s battering me with this news.
“But I’m going to college,” I sputter, suddenly sure of it.
“You are? And where will you get the money for college?” he asks with
a hint of amusement in his voice. Quiz-show appearances and picking
tobacco jump around in my mind.
“I’ll get it.”
“You probably will. I can’t help you with money, not with eight kids.
I should have invested in real estate, in apartment buildings, and
not bet on the horses. But you’ll end up like your mother, a housewife.
What do you need college for?” he asks in a mocking tone.
“I don’t know. I might teach high school. Do Michael and Danny know
about Pat?”
“No, I didn’t tell them. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Dad, I won’t.” His suggestion just seems so preposterous.
“I won’t always be here. Just don’t get pregnant.”
His words chill me, make me hunch my shoulders even more, hide my
breasts, want to disappear as I open the car door. But wait. What does
he mean—he won’t always be here? His drinking? I’m too afraid to ask.
Arma virumque cano—I sing of arms and the man.
