Starting Point

Rewinding…  An article was once written and it went something like this: On June 10^th 1979 at 4:06pm a girl named Jennifer Marie Hofmann was born.  (That would be me.)  It was a glorious day where the world stopped turning and the angels sang praise and showered the beautiful baby girl with gifts...  Okay, so maybe that article was never written (except in my head), but I like to think it was a special day.  Hey!  I never claimed to be modest.  MY birthday is always forgotten! Well not so much forgotten as confused…

I have to go back to a few years before I was born, and tell a story told to me, before I can continue.  Then you’ll see why my birthday gets ‘confused’. 

Flashback Moment One

My mom and dad meet at West Point.  It was in October of 1973 that my parents’ paths crossed.  I remember the story better than I remember what happened five minutes ago.  I always thought it had a certain romantic appeal (in my odd sense of humor way).  My father was a sophomore; actually Yearling would be the correct term, at West Point.  Mom had gone up there, to the Gymnasium, Eisenhower Hall (future location of all ‘hops’) was still being built at the time, for a ‘hop’ (better known today as a dance) with a friend.  She’d just turned down a guy who’d asked her to dance, when dad came up to her. The guy she turned down was one of those snobbish and full of himself type guys (fanciful thinking on my part—I have no idea what he was like).  I think he only asked mom to dance because she was beautiful, with her incredibly long brown hair, streaked with natural red highlights, and glorious dark brown eyes that illuminated her face. Then dad came up and asked her. Mom says she said yes because she couldn't think of another excuse quick enough.   I always wondered what possessed mom to say yes.  I’ve seen pictures and my dad looked so ‘geeky’ (if I may use my childhood term).  Though when I look back, I realize it was the glasses my dad wore that I didn’t like. He fit in quite well since everyone else wore the same awful glasses—those big rimmed, heavy black framed glasses—YUCK!  Anyway, that’s how they met.  Obviously that first dance went well because look where I am today!

Dad graduated in 1976 and my parents married a year later on June 11, I was born on June 10, two years later.  It seems, however, in my family’s mind marriage comes before children hence I have to be the second of the two dates!  I keep reminding people that dates can be deceiving, but each year there’s always one call (at least) that comes on the 11^th.

Okay picking up my story again: I was the first child of William and Mary Ann Hofmann (blessing and a curse).  Those rumors you heard about me having all those first-born qualities are true.  I’m bossy.  Just ask anyone I know.  I love to give orders.  It gets things done.  I’m straight lace, much to the relief, then (in later years) despair of my parents.  (I laugh.  I can hear your questions.  What in the hell does that mean?  Don’t worry I’ll explain at the end if you, after reading this novel, still don’t get it.)  I’m organized.  I’m responsible.  I’m stubborn (got that trait from my mom…you’ll hear about the week we wouldn’t speak to each other…).  Most of all I’m driven.  Driven to accomplish everything I put my mind to.  Nothing EVER stands in my way.  It’s been that way since the day I was born.

I’m a Gemini (very important fact).  Gemini’s got the two personalities.  It’s a perfect way to describe me.  There are two sides to me and most people see only one or the other, rarely the two. 

Back to my birth. I was born ten days late and I never let my mom forget it.  If I was born on May 31^st as I should have been then I would have had the emerald as my birth stone: my absolute favorite stone and favorite color.  I’m getting off track again.  I’m very good at that.  Just shout at me when that happens, but be forewarned that it’s going to happen many a more times before this story is over.

So the story begins much farther south of New England.  Keep going past Virginia…even farther…STOP!  That’s it.  That’s our location, Fort Bragg, North Carolina (I’m saying that with a major drawl.)

I was born on an ordinary afternoon at Cape Fear Hospital in Fayetteville, North Carolina.  I’m serious.  That was (still is) the name of the hospital.  Confidence inspiring isn’t it?  My only claim that I ever lived in the south is my constant use of ‘y’all’, which is hard to explain where it came from since I was only there for seven weeks.  Hardly enough time to develop speech variations—especially considering my age.

Mental Image: Fort Bragg, North Carolina

Ft. Bragg was my Dad’s first duty station.  They lived there for two and a half years off base just outside of Fayetteville.  He started as a 2LT (Second Lieutenant) and was a 1LT by the time we moved.

Mom and Dad called it the Armpit of Earth.  I’m totally serious.  I don’t know what it’s like today (from stories heard it’s much better) but 28 years ago when they were living there it was a dump.

They say you could describe Ft. Bragg by the 2P’s: Porn and Pawn.  If there wasn’t a Pawn shop on the block then there was a Porn shop, but there was always one or the other.  Lovely image I know.

My parents were robbed on one occasion (that they know of.  They believe someone attempted to rob them two other times).  My parents bought a gun and my Dad taught my Mom how to shot.  One warning shot the next one to do damage. (Hey sounds good to me!)

From a military viewpoint it was a great training base.  My Dad was a part of the Signal Airborne Battalion Unit. (He got to jump out of planes.)  It wasn’t particularly my Dad’s favorite choice of activity but for every jump my Dad made he got an extra $100 dollars (or something like that).  At that time they were struggling to get by.  At the end of the month my parents were lucky to have $50 left for spending purposes.  They didn’t go out much.  Entertainment was spent at other officers’ houses playing cards, sharing a good meal and a good time. 

Apparently the ladies all got pregnant around the same time…right before or after a field assignment. I guess if you’re new or fairly new husband is going out on a field assignment and leaving you alone for a month there might be some goodbye loving or hello celebrating going on…

While my parents were there for two and a half years.  I on the other hand only have the honor of calling it my birthplace.  Seven weeks after I was born we were off to Worms, Germany.

Oh! One last thought before I end this chapter.  The story wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t rant about my name.  My Dad named me.  I’ve never liked my name and for good reason.  The year I was born two names were beyond popular: Kathryn (and all it’s variations of spelling) and Jennifer.  I can’t remember a class where there weren’t at least two Jennifer’s in it.  Which meant I was relegated to some variation of my name: Jennifer M, Jennifer H, Jen, Jennifer Marie, and they tried Jenny, but Hell would freeze over before anyone called me that.  I detest (with every cell of my body and then some) the name Jenny.  In fact I don’t particularly like Jen, but that’s what my family calls me and you don’t change twenty-six years of ‘Jen’.  I got smart about 12^th grade.  I started writing Jennifer Marie on everything I did.  People still insisted on shortening my name (I’d like to know where that comes from.  If someone tells you their name is Jennifer what gives you the right or makes you think you can just shorten it and call me Jen or Jenny or whatever?  Please explain it to me.) but they shortened it to Jennifer (which was my ultimate goal anyway).  Now if I’d been names Carrie Morgan, my mother’s choice of name for me, I wouldn’t have had this problem.  My mom made a deal with my dad however.  She wanted a Jr. if they had a boy and dad didn’t.  So my mom said he could name the first child and she got to name the second.  My brother happened to be second—just my luck.

SIDE NOTE: There's more to tell about my parents and Ft. Bragg.  Will be added in at a later time.  For now you can get the picture with what I supplied.