Kathy Ward:
CLASS OF 1974
Maria Regina SchoolClass of 1974
Seaford, NY
Kathy's Story
With a Long Island boy in the driver's seat, I left Long Beach, riding shotgun in a '66 Conestoga Ford, Destination: Houston, Texas. With a thousand dollars in our pockets and everything we owned piled in the trunk and back seat, we set out that late September day in 1977, seeking fame and fortune amid the tumbleweeds.
The first sight of Texas is imprinted in my mind's eye. Leaving the car parked in a riverside lot, we overnighted in New Orleans, exploring the French Quarter. Our naivety paid off. The next morning, the car and all our earthly passions were right where we left them, so with night still blanketing us, we headed west on I-10 for the last leg of travel. With a quick shake, Harry roused me from a catnap. Dawn was just breaking on the Texas border. The land, flat and immense, disappeared into the dusky distance. A curve of orange flame burst from the knife edged horizon; spellbound, we watched the blood red orb rise, filling the sky, a sun god blessing our adventure.
We loved Houston likening it to New York, though younger. Obviously Yankees as soon as we opened our mouths, we were nonetheless welcomed. Ten years later we added a "Native Texan" to the mix with the bir...Expand for more
th our son. Thinking it was important for Joe to know his northern family and friends, we moved to a small town nestled on the banks of the Shenandoah River. Front Royal, Virginia is Rockwellian charming and quaint and much like Long Beach, everyone knows everyone. We have two acres in a high valley between the Blue Ridge and Massanutten Mountains where Joe and dogs romped, climbed and played to their hearts¿ content.
When Joe started college, the nest was empty. Harry treads the road as an engineering consultant so with evening time on my hands, I went back to school. It's great and come May, we'll share a dual graduation party before Joe heads back to Houston for law school.
Everyone has ups and downs, but I like to take credit that the three main men in my life are happy. Thirty-one years later, I'm still with the boy who stole me away from New York. Joe, our joy and pride, is a charming and charismatic version of his dad, a handsome mix of his Italian and Anglo-Saxon heritages. Meanwhile, our yellow lab, who at nine years old still does not realize he is not a puppy, sleeps at my feet, dreaming of chasing the squirrels that constantly raid the myriad birdfeeders in the back yard
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