Everybody has a story to tell. This is mine. I am a 44 year old woman who had a beautiful baby boy 27 years ago next month. I usually let people do the math, but for you all, I was 17 and unmarried.

San Jose, California 1981, Santa Clara Valley was on the way to becoming something greater, Silicon Valley, producing microchips instead of fruits and vegetables from it's fertile soil. The soil wasn't the only thing fertile in San Jose. I waited that spring until it was too late for me to have an abortion before telling anyone who could've persuaded me to do so. My son's father was 19 at the time and proved to be much more of a hindrance than a help. Dealing with him would be harder than caring for my baby.

The next step was to get medical care for my pregnancy, thankfully getting on state aid in California was quite easy, albeit quite humiliating for anyone unused to it. But as they say, "Ya gotta do what ya gotta do" Securing an apartment was easy as long as you didn't mind living in the crappiest part of town. Over in the "better" part of town I would visit my parents, who tried to help and support me emotionally as best they could. It was all new territory for everyone concerned. I spent time at the library reading Dr. Spock, checking out books on breast feeding and natural childbirth. Of course, most all my friends were still in school and busy with their lives, doing the things that teenagers did. That was ancient history for me. The only classes I was taking now were Lamaze classes. I will never go to homecoming, my prom or don a cap and gown and be handed my diploma.

October 31, 1981 12:20am, my only son arrives into my life, and I will never be the same again.

Motivation for anything and everything will stem directly from my desire to make this child happy and healthy. I am someone's Mom, and I want to be a good one. Some of my decisions will include leaving the baby's father to keep from becoming the continued victim of domestic violence, realizing that not having a male role model will be so much better for my son than having a horrible one. I will go to trade school with my GED and become a medical assistant, in order to get my self and now my son, off welfare.

In the years to come my life will go through many ups and downs, but I will always have my son and he will always have me. Together we will discover God and the Bible and I will train this boy up in the way he should go so when he is old he will not depart from it. I believe that saved us both.

By the time he reaches nine years old I will have married a fine man who loves my son as his own flesh and blood. Life takes on a somewhat normal ebb and flow. Another child is born, a little sister, who, to her delight has a doting big brother.

This son of mine graduates high school and amidst friends and family we celebrate this milestone, I celebrate it in my heart as if it were my own graduation. My mother comes to me on this day and tells me what a wonderful job I've done raising this boy to a young man. Those are the sweetest words I've heard from that woman in 18 years.

Off to college now, but not too far off, holidays and summers are still spent at home, after all, there is a little sister waiting at home to worship her hero. By the time the vicious acts of Sept. 11, 2001 shatter our reality, this son of mine is already Army ROTC in college, and the reality of what could happen is taking it's time settling in.

May 2004, another wonderful milestone is reached, college graduate and Commissioned Army Officer. I believe there is no prouder woman in the entire world. My whole family comes together to share in our joy. The shared joy quickly becomes shared trepidation and worry as my only boy is sent to Afghanistan as the Medical Platoon Leader. Twelve agonizing months I prayed and cried and hoped and feared then four more months just when we thought it was over, more praying and crying. After being awarded the Bronze Star, he returned home to much rejoicing.

Present day, he is a Captain in the Army and is stationed stateside, close enough that I can drive to see him whenever I please. He is a wonderful human being and someone you would be proud to call your friend.

I don't really have a moral for my story, for it is hardly a cautionary tale, but I would quote John Mellencamp and say, "Hold on to 16 as long as you can, changes come around real soon, make us women and men."