Community Three SigmaChapter 29
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Cindy’s turn:
My Dan likes to say ‘No good deed goes unpunished.’ That’s figured in my life quite a lot, of late.
Like a few months ago when I flew Ed and Laci to a presentation for some IT infrastructure upgrades. Oh, sure, we got the job. We’re possibly starting a new geek branch to 3Sigma because of stuff like that.
After the meeting, though, one of the officers for the bank asked me if I’d be up to talk with her organization that encourages young girls to pursue business and science careers.
You KNOW how I answered that one. I did it, talked with a roomful, maybe twenty young girls. Oh, sure, laugh if you must. I’m eighteen. Most of them were only a year or two behind me. It’s a voluntary group, so the room was full of interested people.
I did a couple of those, even going so far as to gather a few transcripts and write some letters of recommendation. I think Auburn’s gonna get one or two of them.
One success breeds others.
Then the big one. NASA in Houston’s putting it on, and the harried bureaucrat in charge of lining up speakers was turned on to the Legend of Cindy, pilot, engineer, physicist, teacher.
“We’d like for you to do us an hour, Doctor Richards.”
“I can do that,” I said, “But I have conditions.”
“Conditions? This is a non-profit thing...”
“Oh, not THOSE kinds of conditions. I want to bring my posse.”
“You have a posse,” the lady said incredulously.
“Yes. There’s Doctor Nikki Granger, and some of our own students. Let’s see ... I will try and get Terri Addison, Rachel Weisman, Vicki Duncan, Kimberly Duncan and Dana Allen. All college students. I might not be able to get the whole bunch.”
“We’re talking to high school students, Doctor Richards.”
“Please call me Cindy. Nikki’s nineteen, I’m eighteen. Dana’s fifteen, Kim is seventeen, Terri and Rachel are twelve. Vicki’s eleven.”
“I thought you said college students.”
“Nikki is actually Doctor Dominique Granger, PhD. The rest, really – college students. I can send you some papers that are pertinent.”
“No, no ... Seriously – eleven and twelve?”
“Precocious is hardly a descriptor,” I said. “I’d think that these would be an asset to any social mingling that may take place.”
“I might imagine so.”
“You’ve seen the webpages, have you not?” I asked.
“No. Webpages?”
“Let me get your email address. I’ll send you links.”
She gave me the address. I typed it in as she said it, then linked a few good pages and sent it. “There you go. You may see some of our bunch in action.”
“Oh,” she said. I could hear the mouse clicks in the background. “These three young ladies are...”
“Light blonde, Terri. Dark brown, Rachel. Honey-blonde, Vicki. Bot-bot’s the robot’s name. He has relatives at Google and at the Department of Defense.”
“Those people GAVE these girls a robot?”
I giggled just a little. “Other way around. Those organizations paid quite well for the work those girls do. I help a bit.”
“Bring ‘em. For heaven’s sake.”
“Oh, one more thing,” I said.
“What’s that? You have a cold-fusion reactor? EmDrive?”
“No, no, but you might have something that will take these girls off on another track. No, I need an official letter from NASA requesting our presence. For tax purposes, you know. I’m flying us down there, and it gets expensive. We can write it off as a contribution in kind to a non-profit.”
“We’ll do that.”
My life falls into two distinct categories – one, the spontaneous bits that hold such charm for me and my husband and our wide ranging friends and family, and two, like THIS one, a date on a calendar, that are driven by external influences.
By the time the news was disseminated and other calendars checked, there were four of us, me and my sister Nikki, leaving behind two sad Dans, Terri “I wanna go to the International Space Station” Addison, Dana, and, okay ... make it FIVE. Bot-bot.
That meant Songbird, our Cessna twin.
“Bot-bot’s the driver,” I explained to Alan, also my wonderful friend and our CEO. I don’t fight fair, though. No such thing as a fair fight. You either toss every bomb you own, or you clear the field. My bomb was a blue-eyed, expectant pTerridactyl with Bot-bot at heel beside her.
“Tax write-off,” I pointed out.
“NASA, Dad,” Terri added. “Did you EVER imagine I’d be involved with NASA?!?”
“You’re going there for a conference on young women in science and technology, baby. They’re not auditioning you for a space mission.”
“Yet...” she said softly.
I choked, trying to stifle an outright laugh. Alan noted my discomfiture. “You’re a BIG help, Cindy.”
“Networking,” I said. “You and Dan, when we were first talking about starting the business, said networking was the key. We’ve pretty much networked our butts off in the utility business. That’s a primary. Industrial power and controls. That’s a primary. Now Ed ‘n’ Laci are getting out into the IT infrastructure.”
I patted Terri on the head, an almost premeditated move. She leaned into my side. “That leaves robotics and autonomous entities. We’re all walking into a freshly plowed field to spread seed.”
A giggle from Terri. “No, Aunt Cindy. We’re in an Air Tractor with a full hopper, getting lined up to make a pass.”
“Oh, hell, just go...”
“I’ll bring you back a T-shirt, Daddy!” Terri chirped.
“Thank you, sweetie,” Alan said. “Cindy, I’ll expect the usual itinerary, contact reports, et cetera.”
“Hai, sensei,” I smiled.
“Sure. Dan still hasn’t awakened to what he got himself into?”
“He’s in a happy delusional cloud. I like it that way,” I laughed. “C’mon, Terri. You have some history books to finish. I have to edit a draft for our white paper.”
We left, trying NOT to skip. A thought entered my mind, but I wasn’t about to bring it up. Let’s see if Terri...
“NASA’s in Clear Lake, Texas. That’s an hour from Houston...”
“Excellent grasp of geography,” I prodded.
“Jerry’s in Houston...”
“You get to SEE Jerry, then?”
“You know it’s on my mind. Probably Dad and Tina’s minds, too.”
“You don’t have stupid parents, kiddo.”
“You call me ‘kiddo’ to remind me of my age, right?”
“Not intentionally,” I said honestly, “but since you mentioned it...”
“You just KNOW I’m talking about this with Jerry. We’ve been trying to find a way...”
“I am NOT letting you out of sight with Jerry, Terri.”
“You know me better than that, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“And I will have a long talk with Dad and Tina about that before I leave, but you KNOW he’s gonna come see me.”
“I expect as much.”
So that’s on the list of events in my life. There’s another thing, though. You know that this is Real Life™ and there’s always another thing.
Back in the dark days before Dan came into my life, when I was living with the OLD mom, I used to pray that one day she’d catch a clue as to the whole motherhood schtick. (Yeah, I said ‘schtick’. I hang around Beck entirely too much, to the homogenization of both of us.) I asked God that Mom would decide on being a real mom one day.
As I’ve learned, sometimes God’s answer to prayer is “In a bit. You need to see what works out first.”
Of course, one of the things that worked out was Dan. The other is that Mom and Mister Bill and my half-sister Elise were at the house one evening and Mom’s positively BUBBLY. I’m sitting on the floor with my sister. She toddled over to me with one of the books she keeps here, and we’re going through the pages looking at animals. That’s entirely age-appropriate. That she’s trying to tell ME what’s on the page, a continuous stream of what MUST be a language, that part isn’t. She keeps looking at me to see if I’m getting all this.
“Anyway,” Mom says, “we waited. We have news.”
Okay. Mom says ‘news’. Mister Bill looks like the cat that ate the canary. I am now listening with rapt attention. My eyes darted between them and my Dan. Little Elise sort of leaned back against me expectantly.
‘Expectant’ was apparently a prescient choice of words.
“We’re pregnant!” Mom blurted.
Her husband, my dear old benefactor, Mister Bill, was beaming. “We’ve been sort of keeping it a secret, but we went to a pre-natal exam yesterday and this one looks a lot like a BOY!”
It’s okay to squeal, Cindy. Elise rolled out of the way. I got up and wrapped my arms around my mom, tears in my eyes. “Mom...”
“Baby, I love you. I wish I’d had more sense...”
“No, Mom. Perfect timing.” I had tears in my eyes, tears of a dozen reasons, I know, but mostly happy tears. So many nights I’d lain in my tiny bed in that stupid travel trailer we lived in, expecting to hear that Mom had been killed in a drunken crash or beaten to death by some drug-addled loser. I worried when she disappeared off the radar, leaving me to Mizz Helen (and Dan). I was mostly horrified when she showed back up in my life.
And THIS is good. Good good.
“Little brother,” I said to Elise.
She burbled in return. I swear that my mind heard her say ‘This is a good thing.’
Bill’s happiness was obvious. “The name goes on,” he said. “All my life, I wanted Donna.” He put his arm around her like she’s his precious possession. From Mom’s expression, that’s a correct analysis. “Now I have my Donna, and I have my Elise, and I have a son on the way.”
He twisted and kissed Mom on her head, pure love there. “And all of it started when you, Dan, showed up with a middle school student at MY project.”
I looked at my Dan, glowing inside from the love that brought us to this place in life.
“Congratulations, both of you,” Dan said. “Elise, you’re gonna be the big sister, you know.”
Elise bounced, said something in response.
“You understood that, didn’t you?” Mom asked.
“I kinda did,” Dan said quizzically.
“Happens to us all the time.”
“One time too many on the tanning bed, Mom,” I quipped. “Messed up your DNA.”
“Whatever it is,” Bill laughed, “We get some pretty good kids. C’mere, Elise.”
Elise is walking. I watch her. I know she’s working out the parameters of bipedal locomotion, but she’s at the point that she bravely looks back at me to see if I’m watching as she toddles to her dad’s waiting arms.
As they say, ‘Interesting times.’ After we got the news, Mom and Mister Bill posted it to the community bulletin board. Naturally, that’s the centerpiece of the Saturday music get-together.
It’s all good.
Nikki and I, though, are in frantic mode with the Munchkins. No, it’s NOT their academic progress. Heaven knows, it’s not. We, in conjunction with a couple of still befuddled faculty advisors on the REAL (we’re just an interesting sideshow) Auburn staff have laid out coursework that, when complete, will allow Doctor Hoskins to present baccalaureate degrees to three girls still shy of thirteen.
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