Play & Book Excerpts
Forget the Fairy Tale and Find Your Happiness
(She Writes Press)
© Deb Miller
CHAPTER 1: To the Ball After All
With a little help from her friends, this rags-to-riches protagonist stepped out of a pumpkin carriage to explore life beyond the confines of home. She met a prince at the party and enjoyed a magical dance in the moonlight. Spoiler alert: There may be a shoe lost in the process.
Lesson 1—Follow the Path
Occasionally, my sister, Teresa, and I got to stay up past bed-time and watch a movie on the family’s black-and-white television with foil on the antennae. In 1965, it was Lesley Ann Warren in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. Cinderella’s fantasy was my mom’s reality. I believed it would also be my key to success—my princess path to a good life. The moms in my neighborhood seemed to follow a similar journey. Brief college stays long enough to land a guy and become a stay-at-home wife and mom.
Mom explained an updated version of the plan: “Nobody wants to end up an old maid, so girls need to find a husband. It used to only take about one year of college. But nowadays, the girls graduate.” She rattled off a list of neighbor girls who had completed that schedule. “So your father has to pay for you two girls to go to college, not just for our two boys. That means four kids for four years each, which is a lot of money! You girls should be grateful.”
That’s when I first understood that girls could expect to go to college—and to graduate! From that moment on, I understood my precise path—I was supposed to go to college and get an education, but I should find a husband during my four-year stay. That’s how I’d reach my happily ever after to become a mom!
It was 1975 and move-in day for me and 35,000 other college students at Purdue University. The last day my hair would smell stale, like secondhand smoke. The last day I’d have to endure the prisonlike rules I followed while living with my parents. Dad held his cigarette near the cracked window; occasionally, he’d take a long drag and exhale in the general direction of the opening. No one spoke during the three-hour drive. The shrill whistle from the lone window filled the silence. Our dog, Puff, awoke in the back seat and stood on her hind legs next to me. With her nose pressed against the window, she must’ve sensed something worth watching besides the flat, endless fields of corn and soybeans. We passed the county courthouse, crossed the Wabash River, and joined a long line of cars. The final stretch of our journey was a slow crawl up the town’s only hill and through the gateway to Purdue’s campus. Students walking on the packed sidewalks moved faster than the cars.
My heart beat almost as loudly as the music pounding from fraternity house windows. With all this traffic, my life would have to wait a little longer to begin. In a few minutes, Mom would drop off her youngest child at college and complete her mission of motherhood. But I doubted Mom would experience maternal feelings—even at this landmark moment. I was the youngest of her four children. When my oldest brother left, Mom cried for weeks and Dad became the parent president of his fraternity. But ten years later, they were bored with raising children. My dorm, Fowler Courts, was a row of converted army barracks built before I was born. Only one story high and with a flat roof, the buildings stood in contrast to other new, tall, glistening dorms, but to me, it was heaven. Dad landed an ideal
parking spot near the entrance to my new home, and I slipped on Puff ’s leash. By the time Dad opened the trunk, Puff had watered the parched grass, and I’d already assured my parents I could take it from there. I’d miss Puff but couldn’t wait to see my high school friends on campus, and those I was about to meet. I didn’t need my parents’ help hauling my possessions for the last few yards and assumed Mom wouldn’t want the humidity to mess up her hairstyle. Dad would be anxious to start the long drive back. “See you at Thanksgiving,” was all we said. I guess that sums up where we were after eighteen years together. Turning to conceal my smile, I inhaled my first wonderful breath of freedom.
“We have only two jobs between now and when school starts. Finding alcohol and meeting guys,” said Brees, one of my hometown friends who was also attending Purdue. There was a longer-term strategy too. For many women, freshman year was when they began hunting for the man of their dreams. Their clocks wouldn’t strike midnight until graduation. Most were presumably on the “princess path” with four years of college to land a prince—their ticket to an engagement ring and the good life as a stay-at-home mom.
“The odds are in our favor, Brees,” I said. “Do you realize that male students outnumber female students two-to-one at Purdue?”
“You know I hate math, but why do you think I chose this university?” replied Brees. “The guys at our high school were so lame. Let’s get this party started!”
Like Brees, I hadn’t dated much in high school. At nearly six feet tall, my standards for eligible guys were high, and in more ways than one. College offered a new frontier. I couldn’t control the timing of meeting my prince, but I knew he’d eventually find me, as the fairy tale goes. For now, I wanted to do well in school and earn my degree. That I knew I could do.
By the time I was a sophomore in college, I’d secured an A average and had become a more socially polished coed.
“Was your summer at home as boring as mine?” a sorority sister asked me as our group entered the massive ivy-covered red brick of the Beta fraternity house, home to sons of doctors and future captains of industry.
“Yes! Worked every minute. So ready for this first kegger of the fall!” I replied.
Once inside, I paused at the balcony and gazed down at the Great Hall, soon to be filled with uninhibited college students drinking and dancing the night away. Then I confidently stepped down the broad, wooden, curved staircase to the main level like a princess arriving at a ball. Only a few Betas stood along the long wooden bar, but soon the word would be out that the Pi Phi sorority girls were in the house. The Betas had organized a high-volume beverage operation with dozens of filled cups lined up and ready to go. I grabbed a red plastic cup of foam covering a small amount of lukewarm beer. It was Thursday night, time to flip my academic switch to party mode.
With a little help from her friends, this rags-to-riches protagonist stepped out of a pumpkin carriage to explore life beyond the confines of home. She met a prince at the party and enjoyed a magical dance in the moonlight. Spoiler alert: There may be a shoe lost in the process.
Lesson 1—Follow the Path
Occasionally, my sister, Teresa, and I got to stay up past bed-time and watch a movie on the family’s black-and-white television with foil on the antennae. In 1965, it was Lesley Ann Warren in Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella. Cinderella’s fantasy was my mom’s reality. I believed it would also be my key to success—my princess path to a good life. The moms in my neighborhood seemed to follow a similar journey. Brief college stays long enough to land a guy and become a stay-at-home wife and mom.
Mom explained an updated version of the plan: “Nobody wants to end up an old maid, so girls need to find a husband. It used to only take about one year of college. But nowadays, the girls graduate.” She rattled off a list of neighbor girls who had completed that schedule. “So your father has to pay for you two girls to go to college, not just for our two boys. That means four kids for four years each, which is a lot of money! You girls should be grateful.”
That’s when I first understood that girls could expect to go to college—and to graduate! From that moment on, I understood my precise path—I was supposed to go to college and get an education, but I should find a husband during my four-year stay. That’s how I’d reach my happily ever after to become a mom!
It was 1975 and move-in day for me and 35,000 other college students at Purdue University. The last day my hair would smell stale, like secondhand smoke. The last day I’d have to endure the prisonlike rules I followed while living with my parents. Dad held his cigarette near the cracked window; occasionally, he’d take a long drag and exhale in the general direction of the opening. No one spoke during the three-hour drive. The shrill whistle from the lone window filled the silence. Our dog, Puff, awoke in the back seat and stood on her hind legs next to me. With her nose pressed against the window, she must’ve sensed something worth watching besides the flat, endless fields of corn and soybeans. We passed the county courthouse, crossed the Wabash River, and joined a long line of cars. The final stretch of our journey was a slow crawl up the town’s only hill and through the gateway to Purdue’s campus. Students walking on the packed sidewalks moved faster than the cars.
My heart beat almost as loudly as the music pounding from fraternity house windows. With all this traffic, my life would have to wait a little longer to begin. In a few minutes, Mom would drop off her youngest child at college and complete her mission of motherhood. But I doubted Mom would experience maternal feelings—even at this landmark moment. I was the youngest of her four children. When my oldest brother left, Mom cried for weeks and Dad became the parent president of his fraternity. But ten years later, they were bored with raising children. My dorm, Fowler Courts, was a row of converted army barracks built before I was born. Only one story high and with a flat roof, the buildings stood in contrast to other new, tall, glistening dorms, but to me, it was heaven. Dad landed an ideal
parking spot near the entrance to my new home, and I slipped on Puff ’s leash. By the time Dad opened the trunk, Puff had watered the parched grass, and I’d already assured my parents I could take it from there. I’d miss Puff but couldn’t wait to see my high school friends on campus, and those I was about to meet. I didn’t need my parents’ help hauling my possessions for the last few yards and assumed Mom wouldn’t want the humidity to mess up her hairstyle. Dad would be anxious to start the long drive back. “See you at Thanksgiving,” was all we said. I guess that sums up where we were after eighteen years together. Turning to conceal my smile, I inhaled my first wonderful breath of freedom.
“We have only two jobs between now and when school starts. Finding alcohol and meeting guys,” said Brees, one of my hometown friends who was also attending Purdue. There was a longer-term strategy too. For many women, freshman year was when they began hunting for the man of their dreams. Their clocks wouldn’t strike midnight until graduation. Most were presumably on the “princess path” with four years of college to land a prince—their ticket to an engagement ring and the good life as a stay-at-home mom.
“The odds are in our favor, Brees,” I said. “Do you realize that male students outnumber female students two-to-one at Purdue?”
“You know I hate math, but why do you think I chose this university?” replied Brees. “The guys at our high school were so lame. Let’s get this party started!”
Like Brees, I hadn’t dated much in high school. At nearly six feet tall, my standards for eligible guys were high, and in more ways than one. College offered a new frontier. I couldn’t control the timing of meeting my prince, but I knew he’d eventually find me, as the fairy tale goes. For now, I wanted to do well in school and earn my degree. That I knew I could do.
By the time I was a sophomore in college, I’d secured an A average and had become a more socially polished coed.
“Was your summer at home as boring as mine?” a sorority sister asked me as our group entered the massive ivy-covered red brick of the Beta fraternity house, home to sons of doctors and future captains of industry.
“Yes! Worked every minute. So ready for this first kegger of the fall!” I replied.
Once inside, I paused at the balcony and gazed down at the Great Hall, soon to be filled with uninhibited college students drinking and dancing the night away. Then I confidently stepped down the broad, wooden, curved staircase to the main level like a princess arriving at a ball. Only a few Betas stood along the long wooden bar, but soon the word would be out that the Pi Phi sorority girls were in the house. The Betas had organized a high-volume beverage operation with dozens of filled cups lined up and ready to go. I grabbed a red plastic cup of foam covering a small amount of lukewarm beer. It was Thursday night, time to flip my academic switch to party mode.
|
Deb Miller’s life is a tapestry of adventure and achievement, weaving together experiences from her small-town Indiana roots to business opportunities across the globe. Her job as a hardworking Fortune 500 executive led to rappelling the Great Wall and riding elephants in India, all while remaining a devoted mom.
Now a part-time marketing professor, Deb cherishes the opportunity to learn from her global students as well as her beloved children and grandchildren. She resides in an enchanted forest outside of Seattle, Washington, where the landscaping projects are endless and enjoyable. |
Deb Miller
Photo Courtesy: Deb Miller |
UPCOMING EVENTS
PNWA Annual Conference – Panel
September 11, 1 to 2:30p.m. Seattle Hilton Doubletree Not Your Mother’s Memoir: Slaying Show White and Selling the Truth ~ with Leslie Johansen Nack Barnes & Noble Greenwood Author Signing September 25, 11 a.m. Greenwood, IN Viewpoint Books Author Event September 25, 6 p.m. Columbus, IN with Dr. Brenda Weber of Indiana University Third Place Books, Ravenna October 6 ~ 7:00 p.m. The Pursuit of Happiness Panel With Tabitha Kirkland, Ph.D., and Ronit Plank. MORE EVENTS |
