MISS BECKY TAKES A STAND

Dearest Friends,

I have a confession to make. It is something I am not very proud of. Maybe if I give you a bit of background, you will find it in your hearts to forgive me.

You see, though there was much to be said for working for a large corporation like Mobil Oil, and we certainly liked working for them a heck of a lot more than John's previous company, there were a few drawbacks, the primary one being the amount of control they had over almost every aspect of our lives.

Big Brother
 (image from tvacres.com)

It was bad enough back in the states, what with their telling us when to move and where, every couple of years, and with their having held an axe over our heads, with the constant threat of being laid off, since right around the birth of our first child. Also, I can't tell you how many times they'd screwed up vacation plans, no matter how much notice we gave them, and there must be something really critical about our anniversary date because, I swear, it was pretty much a given that John would absolutely have to be out of town on May 31st each and every year. (Hmmm, do you think my hubby might have had a hand in that?)

In Sumatra, however, we had the added bonus of their controlling the school, our medical facility, our transportation, our housing, and even which food was available in our commissary. Since the only people we had to socialize with all worked for them as well, perhaps you can understand how, after a while, and in such close quarters, it could all start to, well, chafe a bit -- maybe even start to feel a little like you were one of those miners they sing about, who "owed their soul to the company store." Please keep this in mind, when I tell you about the no-good, dirty rotten thing I once did to my poor, sweet hubby.

If you recall, we had decided to start this year's home-leave with a trip to Orlando, since none of us had ever been to Disney World, or even Disney Land, for that matter. It wasn't easy, but we had finally managed to piece together our jigsaw-puzzle-plans for the summer, even managing to get the flights we wanted and to get booked into our first-choice hotel on the Disney grounds, despite only planning three or four months in advance, rather than booking a year ahead, as was recommended. We lucked out because our kids got out of school slightly before most kids in the states, which meant we could get there the week before the hordes descended. The nearer we got to our departure date, the closer to fever-pitch our anticipation had become. John and I were every bit as giddy as the kids, because we couldn't wait to see it all through their eyes, to share the wonder of their very first Disney experience!

One day, just a few weeks before school was to let out, John came home with some news. Now, since most every decision made at the office could have such a profound effect on our personal lives, I had got into the habit of reading my hubby's face when he walked through the door each evening, and I knew this news was bad before he ever even opened his mouth. I followed him back to the bedroom, closing the the door behind us. "Uuhm, Beck? I really don't know how to tell you this, but, well, they've moved the plant shut-down back a few weeks...to the same week as our Disney trip. I have to be here for it."

That was it. That's all he said. That's all he needed to say. The rest was understood. If he couldn't go, none of us should go. After all, it certainly wasn't his fault. He too was crushed by the news. We should put it off a year, so we could all share the experience together, and I was the one who should convey this news to the kids, in a way that wouldn't break their hearts (like that was even possible!) and wouldn't make John out to be the bad guy. That was my job. I have always been the "bad cop" to John's good cop.  I mulled it all around in my head for a moment or two, and then I told him "I'm so very sorry to hear this. It won't be near as much fun without you."