My Daughter, Jackly Denise Martin

Jacklyn, who prefers to be called "Jacki" (and I'll honor that), is the last of my children, so it's only right to start off with her. She will be 27 in January, yet it seems like only a few months ago I was changing her diapers (sorry, Jacki).

I remeber everything about the day she was born, January 17, 1984. I was, at the time, the Leading Petty Officer for the ADP Division. It was five months before I was sent to the Navy Alcohol Rehabilitation Facility, so I was still drinking. Mom and Dad were in town, to help out after the "new" baby, so I wasn't particularly worried about Mary. Mom and Dad could handle getting her to the hospital, if need be, so I was following my usual routine. For some reason, I hadn't had a drink, either at lunch, or after I got to the bowling alley for league night. I had a locker in a different bowl, and had my ball, but had left my shoes. No prob, I'd rent a pair, and was in the process of doing just that when I caught part of a phone conversation.

The Counterman at the bowl was doing a great job of multi-tasking (something the job really requires), and was answering the phone as he got my shoes. What I heard was, "Which one?" I knew right away, that the call was for me, because there was another Steve Martin in a different league. I told the Counterman, "It's for me," knowing it was probably about Mary going into labor.

I took the phone, and it was my mom. "Steven, your wife has gone into labor, and we're going to take her to Balboa." I pushed the shoes back, ran to my lane assignment, packed my bag, and was out the door.

I was riding a Suzuki GS-900, so it took a minute to get the bag strapped on, and my helmet and gloves on. I was off the lot, pretty quickly, and managed to get through the fairly light traffic in good time. Good enough, that I beat my mom and Mary by a couple of minutes, so I was on the floor when they came up on the elevator. This being the fourth time, I'd had my share of near-delivery experience, but when the elevator doors opened, I still wasn't prepared for what I saw.

Mom was holding Mary up; Mary was doubled over, groaning loudly. When she saw me, she said, "I have to lay down, now." I turned around, looking for someone to help, and saw a nurse on the phone in the "prep" room. She was a LTjg, and was talking on the phone. I admit, it was rude of me to try and interrupt her phone call, but she waved me off with a "Don't bother me" gesture that pissed me off.

I slammed the cradle down, and shouted, "Phone call's over. There's a woman coming out of the elevator who needs to lie down NOW!" The JayGee blinked a couple of times, and was about to ask who I thought I was, when she looked towards the elevator, and saw my mom and wife. "Oh! I didn't... I'll get her a spot right now."
At the moment, an Ensign was lying on the Prep Room table, resting comfortably. The nurse chased her out of the room, and quickly reset the table; the Ensign glared at me on her way out.
It took only a couple of minutes, and Mary was lying down, and obviously in deep labor. I headed for the waiting room with my mom, to get out of the way. The Prep Room quickly became a beehive of activity, and I figured they would look for me in the waiting room, if they needed me. I didn't see it, but Mary didn't spend much time in Prep, she was wheeled into Delivery within five minutes.
When Mom and I entered the waiting room, the Ensign -- now sitting with her Ensign husband -- continued to glare at me, and whisper things to her husband, who also glared at me. I was about to say "Hey, it's an emergency," when the nurse came in, and said, "If you want to be there for the delivery, you better get into scrubs, and get over there."
The glares softened a bit, and I dashed off to change. In something like a minute and a half, I was in the Delivery Room. Mary was in serious labor, I could tell, and the doc informed me that due to circumstances, there wasn't time to give her any pain medication. "This one is going to be au natural."
From my previous experiences with childbirth, I knew it was my job to help her focus on something, and to fight the pain through controlled breathing. We started "puffing," and the usual La Maz stuff, and she laid her head back on the pillow. She was beaded in sweat, and not trying to mask the pain, "There isn't time for this," she said, "this baby is coming now!"
"She ain't lyin'." The doc had a panicked look on his face for a second. "I see the top of the head now."
Seconds later, the doc took a step back, holding my daughter in his hands. She was already crying, and the doc observed, "This one's in a hurry to get living. A real 'zest for life'". He didn't know it, but he had spoken quite prophetically.
To say that Jacki has a zest for life is like calling the Grand Canyon a divot. As a child, she was fearless, rushing headlong into life. She would walk up to strangers and say, "My name is 'Jackwyn.'" It was easy to tell when she was determined to do something; she'd stand up, and set off on a quick pace, her left arm held out in front of her, as if to barge through any oposition.
Once, on a field trip with her 5/6 grade class, Jacki was on of the first kids to brave the cold creekwater, and get wet. When we got to the end of the trail, there was a rock, maybe 20 - 25 ft above the creek, that was used for jumping into a deep pool. Jacki was one of, if not the first to brave the jump. When I saw what she was doing, I had that moment of "parental horror," but she was determined to do it.
When she came up after, she ran to me, "Dad, you really have to try it!" I had just gotten my breathing under control, after she came up out of the water, screaming, and said something like, "Nah, not today."
She grabbed my arms, facing me, and looking me in the eye. "No. Dad, you REALLY need to try it!" It was the look of determination in her eyes. I mean, really, who am I? I'm just her dad, and would have done just about anything for her. I relented.
Standing at the top of the rock, I noticed that all of the other adults were dry, so I would be the first "big person" to take the plunge. I've never been one for heights -- at least without a railing -- so looking down was pretty upsetting, and I had a few "second thoughts". The teacher, a woman who was at least 10 years older than me, saw me struggling, and said, "I'll go." I decided that being the first adult would be "cool" to the kids, and said, "Nah, I got it," and jumped.
Somewhere on the way down, I wondered how I was going to hit the water, and the thought of "can opener" went through my head. I extended my left leg, hooked my right foot under my left knee, gripped my hands together around my right knee, and reclined my upper body. I knew it was a near-perfect "splash dive," by the "BOOM" of the water rushing in to fill the void as I cut into the water, and took a second underwater to enjoy it. I came up 20 yards down stream, and looked back at the teacher, who had moved to the jump point, and sporting the success of my "can opener". When I climbed up out of the creek, Jacki ran to me, a look of sheer pride and joy on her face, "Dad, that was so cool. The water came up way above the rock. How did you do that?" I had made my daughter happy, it just doesn't get any better than that.
You see, I kind of owe it to both of "my girls," for the many, many times they've made me happy. For those crappy days at work, coming home to my girls running to meet me, and greet me with hugs, what crappy day at work? Particularly to my little "Care Bear," who has always seemed to love me, even when I was acting like a jerk.
She has always cared enough to ask me what was bothering me, and even though I haven't always been honest with her, I know that I can talk to her. I think we bonded differently than I did with Tyff and Cory. Maybe it's the fact that we were both "babies" in the family hyerarchy. Everyone thinks we're spoiled, we both know the flaws in that line of thought.
Today, that zest for life has led her to do something she has always wanted to do, work around lots of animals. It is very apparent in her "hobby," photography. Her portraits seem practically alive, her landscapes have energy, and candid shots capture more than just the look of the moment. Her ability to think logically (she gets that from me), and problem solving abilities (which she also gets from me), has garnered her a reputation as a "subject matter expert" with regards to computers, and she applies these skills as a bookkeeper at Animal Care Center here in Vacaville.
I am very proud of my daughter, Jacki.