CHAPTER 18 - ONE YEAR TO ADJUST

Romaine and I ride the bus together to Bentley High School in Livonia, Michigan from our rented single story home set on a long street backed by thick woods. Dan and Dave ride a different bus. Ro is a sophomore, I am a senior. It’s our last year as a whole family together, and a fresh beginning of life for me in America.

We are both excited. Mom buys new clothes for us that summer of 1964, and we are trying to be stylish, to fit in. Dad takes a picture of us putting on makeup in front of the mirror one morning. I have short curly blond hair, Ro’s is a little longer. My red winter coat, thick scarf, and tall boots make me feel dashing.

Bentley has 2,400 students, with 700 in their senior year. An enormous change from Dalat School, but I am eager, ready to be immersed in a new culture.

The first day is the hardest—finding the right classrooms amid packed hallways, sitting at lunch trying not to feel alone. I take marching band and make third chair in clarinet, a place where I make friends. Jean plays clarinet also, a Christian, also a senior, and we begin to eat lunch together.

The classes are not hard—Dalat was much steeper academically. But it takes me awhile to get a handle on social life. I observe that there are two main subcultures at Bentley: the Greasers and the Frats. Greasers dress mostly in black, and subtly reject the status quo. Guys in tight jeans, slicked hair, girls with high teased hairdos, eyes thick with mascara. The Frats look clean cut, collegiate—as if they are preparing for the sororities and fraternities they will someday fit into. They sit more toward the front of the class and often make better grades.

I am definitely more of a frat, but socially very tentative. A boy behind me in algebra II sniffs the air and nudges me. “What perfume do you wear?”

“White Shoulders,” I answer.

“Hmmmm. Do you party?”

I reflect. “What does ‘party’ mean?”

“Hang out. Drink a little.”

“Well, no, not really.”

“Okay.”

Applying at Crowley’s department store down the road from us, I begin working 16-20 hours a week in the junior high clothes department. My styles improve as I spend wages on my wardrobe.

One tall girl in my department—Lisa—seems very mature and knowledgeable about clothes, giving ideas for advertising them to our supervisor. I am impressed! She is my age, engaged to be married after graduation. I try to imagine her outlook on life. I have nurses’ training and college ahead of me. Why does she want to limit her future potential? Does she just expect to have children and stay working at Crowley's her whole life? Could she be a supervisor without a college degree? It seems so confining. Such a small circumference. In my view there are mountains to climb, and Lisa is settling for a plot on the plains.

I begin to think of college—there are two that offer a B.S. in Missions for Nurses. I could take two years of Bible college with three years in nursing at either institution—in Rochester, New York, or St. Paul, Minnesota.

But what if I do something more fun—like become a flight attendant? Through the years of flying I had observed those young women with interest. They led exciting lives flying from place to place, and always looked glamorous. I pray about it for awhile, and the Lord speaks to me. “I called you to be a missionary nurse. Remember that.”

“Yes, Lord.”

I apply to both schools and pray that the right one will accept me first. St Paul Bible’s registrar writes back a welcome, and I accept. It happens to be the Bible school that my Grandpa Larson had attended for a semester when he and Grandma lived in Minnesota!

On graduation day from Bentley High parents line the bleachers in the hot sun while their offspring troop slowly through the line. Two people take turns reading the 700 names. Dad, linguistically observant, phonetically marks the cadence of each one on paper, staving off boredom. The family cheers as Marlene Larson takes her diploma.

I want to work for two months as staff at Glen Rocks Bible Camp in Canada. Mom and Dad protest. “This is our last summer together, Marlene. We can have family times…go shopping for college clothes,” Mom explains. But I am adamant. Knowing the family is leaving I have begun to emotionally detach myself. I will defer my frequent teenage arguments with Mom this way, and gain more independence.

And I do have fun at Glen Rocks. Mike isn’t staffing that summer, but I date a tall guy named Fred and we start going together. And there are inspiring sermons six nights a week at the chapel. I especially remember Dr. Bernard King teaching one week on the powerful, condensed book of Jude. But when I return Mom and Dad are packing up, and there is little spare time to enjoy one another.

Aunt Christine and Uncle Maxey take us to the airport…and it is there I begin to realize my tremendous loss. Four years—I won’t see them for four years! Mom is preoccupied with details of hand luggage as we hurry down the concourse, and keeping track of Danny and David.

“Mom—aren’t you going to say goodbye to me?”

“Oh, Marlene, of course I am!” She tears up, and Mom and Dad hug me close, and I embrace Ro, Dan, and Dave goodbye. They board the plane and Aunt Christine stands with me a long time as it taxies down the runway, finally soaring off.

Four years.

I have left home.

I am supposed to be grown up.