A Childhood Lesson in Unconventional Wisdom
"You know the easiest way to burn the most calories, right, girls?" My best friend's mother, whom we affectionately called Mary Therese, leaned casually against the doorframe, not waiting for an answer. "Sex."
My nine-year-old eyes shot up from the Monopoly board, wide with curiosity. "You can burn up to 1500," she continued matter-of-factly. "Really?" I inquired, the concept mostly sailing over my head, yet I felt intrigued nonetheless.
"You should tell your mother," Mary Therese nudged with a knowing smile. My mother, like many others at the time, attended Weight Watchers meetings and certainly did not discuss such topics openly.
The Rhythm of a 1978 Summer
Regina, my best friend, grabbed my hand, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and embarrassment. "Let's ... go swimming," she suggested quickly, eager to escape the conversation. That afternoon in 1978 was part of a magical summer filled with Marco Polo games in the pool, bike rides to Circle K, playing Spit, and experimenting with the neighborhood's newest marvel – the microwave oven.
Regina and I took turns spending nights at each other's houses, blissfully unaware that predictable days could shatter in an instant. Our lives had an awesome rhythm, until one Saturday when Regina's father left to give a flying lesson in his small plane and never returned. They crashed into North Mountain, just down the street from our neighborhood.
How could this be? I wondered. We were just playing. We were just feeding peanut butter to Regina's dog, Rags.
Loss and Separation
Mary Therese – suddenly a widow at thirty-eight and already somewhat fragile – was left to raise four children under fourteen alone. She decided to move the family to Ohio, and I watched, devastated, as Regina's bed, dresser, bathing suits, and board games were loaded into a moving van. My childhood seemed to end in that moment.
For a year, Regina and I exchanged countless letters, pouring our hearts onto paper. Then, gradually, we stopped. Decades passed without contact.
An Unexpected Reconnection
Twenty years later, I found myself in Uzbekistan, teaching English and mending a heart broken by divorce. My two-year stint was ending, and my future appeared cloudier than when I had arrived. I had burned bridges and had nothing to return to in America.
One evening after dinner, a bright green line flashed across my computer screen: Ker! It's me, Regina! Where are you? I moved back to Phoenix. Mary Therese is here too. I'm married and I have a baby. I need a friend!
Memories flooded back like a monsoon: two little girls rollerskating in matching red, white, and blue swimsuits in the Mormon church parking lot; humming songs underwater during "Name That Tune" games; playing softball under bright lights – me as catcher and Regina on second base, hoping to catch someone stealing. The heart of my nine-year-old self tugged powerfully in my chest.
Reunion and Rediscovery
Three months later, I stood sweating on the doorstep of the address Regina had provided. After knocking, I heard dogs barking, a small child's voice, fumbling sounds, female voices, and the Bee Gees playing on television. Regina swung open the door. "Ker!" she exclaimed with a plump toddler balanced neatly on her hip.
We exchanged excited greetings, and then Mary Therese sailed into view, white-haired and lovely. "Little Keri Dresser. Now let me get a look at you," she said warmly. Wine glasses appeared, and within minutes, twenty years vanished as we plotted the next twenty – which Regina and Mary Therese determined would include finding a great man for me.
"Time to start burning calories," Regina winked, and we all laughed. I blushed under their attentive eyes.
A Professional Partnership Forms
When my savings dwindled, I found a job teaching at a small charter school in the desert. I fell in love with the first and second graders, and after just two years, they made me principal – a role that left me completely overwhelmed.
Discussing my struggles over wine with Mary Therese and Regina one evening, Mary Therese smiled mischievously and said, "It sounds like you need a good secretary. I'll do it."
"Really?" I gulped, wondering if she was up to the challenge. Little charter schools come with their own breed of large problems. Still, I loved Mary Therese, and the thought of her working alongside me was exciting. I said yes.
When her mother left, Regina sat across from me, her face ashen. "Are you sure about this, Ker?" she asked worriedly.
Revealing Hidden Strengths
A month before school started, Mary Therese arrived sporting beautifully done hair and gorgeous pink lipstick. She came early, stayed late, whipped our upside-down filing system into shape, and color-coded our crumbling trailer. She tackled forms, answered phone calls, learned state mandates, and comforted worried parents – all on her first day.
I hadn't realized I'd been handed a professional. She made me feel like I might actually be able to do this job.
When I called Regina, unable to contain my excitement, she blurted out before I could speak: "Oh, God, did she not show up?"
"Oh, she showed up," I replied.
"Shit. Was she dressed?"
"Looked like a million," I said. "She's amazing! She's having so much fun meeting all the families – and then the president of the board walked in..."
"Carolyn deDragonlady?" Regina interjected.
"She left smiling," I finished.
Silence followed on the other end of the line. "Your mother's a miracle, Reg," I said softly.
Understanding a Lifetime of Resilience
What does someone say when the person who once crumbled to dust when you were nine years old – who spent a lifetime trying to pick up the pieces for you – becomes the strongest one in the room at age seventy?
"Phew," is what Regina said, before proudly telling me about her mother's previous employment at University of Ohio's medical clinic during the 1980s. Once Mary Therese had regained her footing after Hank's death, she had simultaneously served as the clinic's office manager, director's secretary, human relations specialist, and staff social worker at one of the leading research and practice institutions of the era.
I hung up the phone and lifted my eyes to the water stains and blinking lights in the cracked ceiling above me. All I saw was grace. Mary Therese had given me this enormous gift and asked for nothing in return.
A Legacy of Love and Support
The rest of the school year unfolded in amazing ways. Enrollment grew, and the children were loved by what I considered the best school secretary and nurse in the world.
A couple of years later, Mary Therese and I both left school administration. She went traveling, and I married a wonderful man – exactly the kind she and Regina had manifested for me.
I don't pretend to know what the afterlife may hold. All I can say is this: If there is any sense in creation, Mary Therese is decluttering heaven while holding hands tightly with Regina's dad – never having to let go again. And she's holding the rest of us steady – with love, perfect hair, and pink lipstick.
