In the evening, after Christmas dinner, my parents took me to the train depot in Portland, Ore. I was taking the overnight train to Boise, Idaho. It was unclear when I would be returning. My birthday had been in June and I turned 15. Just before school began in the fall of 1964, I found out I was expecting my first child. Naively, I thought that this was the very worst thing that could happen to me, and that the day I left for Boise was the worst day of my life. My father had made arrangements for me to go to the Salvation Army Home for Unwed Mothers in Boise. I was scared, especially since I had been told, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be welcome at home until I got rid of the baby. It confused me as I wondered, “What was I going to do?” and “How do you get rid of a baby?” I actually doubted I would ever be all that welcome at home again. My parents told me they were ashamed of me and that I had shamed them, too. Then the months began to pass, slowly. I found a social Read more