Tag Archives: Mama

It All Changes

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It is an eye-opening moment the day you discover your parents are real people. You actually didn’t appear in a cabbage patch, but YOUR PARENTS had . . . sex!  Ewww. You realize that a time existed when you were not the center of their universe and life did not revolve around getting you to practice on time or refereeing sibling shouting matches. Something happens and you see through the parental veneer to the man or woman responsible for giving you life. They do something “normal” and it makes you realize that, “My parents are actually PEOPLE.” It marks a transition from parent as abject object of worship to parent as person who loves me but still has issues of his or her own. A bitter divorce will bring this particular realization about real quick and in some more of a hurry. Sometimes it’s simple; sometimes . . . it’s a bit more complex. No matter how it happens though, your relationship with your parents is never the same.

It is a heart-warming moment the day your parents treat you as an equal. Maybe Dad offers you a beer or Mom doesn’t ask you to leave the room when the gossip topics get R to X rated. Whatever the case, you know when it happens. It’s a subtle shift in how they look at you and how they treat you. You’re not just their child anymore, you’re a member of the club of adults. To use an image from the “olden days,” it was when you were allowed to be heard and not just seen. Sometimes, some truly glorious times, you end up having not just a parent but an incredible friend who already knows all your stories because they were at the center of so many of them. No matter how it happens though, your relationship with your parents is never the same.

It is a gut-wrenching moment the day your role switches with your parent. Mama wants your advice or asks if you will, “just handle this.” Maybe Dad can’t go all day in the yard and you need to come over and take care of trimming the holly bushes. Often, it around the time the folks don’t insist on everyone coming “home” for the holidays but instead let “one of the children host this year.” Sometimes, you catch a grimace of pain or come in unannounced and find Mama taking a breathing treatment you didn’t know she needed. Sooner or later, you’ll taste the hideous, coppery tang of fear when you realize that this once invincible tower of strength and safety is beginning to crumble. Instead of drying your tears when you skinned your knee, you you dry their tears when they can’t quite remember the recipe for your favorite cake. We laugh and joke during the good times about how our parents had better be good to us because we are going to pick out their nursing home one day. The joke isn’t quite as funny when the day actually comes that you have to leave them and when you look at the expression on their faces and they tears in their eyes, you know EXACTLY how they felt looking at you on your first day of school. Unfortunately, a big yellow bus isn’t going to bring them home to milk and cookies and maybe a nap or a game before homework and supper time. In place of the big yellow bus will be a long black limousine and you will have a new standard of loneliness to measure things against in your life. No matter how it happens though, your relationship with your parents is never the same.

Once the changes start, your relationship with your parents is never the same.

Love y’all and don’t forget to wash your feet.

Good Directions

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Turn off the paved road . . .

If the US Navy should, for whatever reason, wish to deposit a Tomahawk cruise missile on my front door a la the First Gulf War, they will be, as the teens say, S.O.L. because Tomahawks are guided by GPS navigation and GPS will not get you to my house. The crazy thing is, I don’t even live up in Montana or North Dakota where they go ahead and TELL you GPS won’t work. I live in South Cackalacky, BUT I live in The Sticks, The Boonies, BF Egypt, etc. Yep, GPS is pretty useless out here.

Well, I guess I should say that “civilian” GPS is useless out here. Main reason? Two words: road names. Two More? Turning directions. See, to give directions to my home place, you must have at least a passing knowledge of the history of my particular dot on the map. For example, if you don’t know where the Old Williams’ Place that burned down once stood, you’re going to get lost when told by one of my erstwhile neighbors that you need to “turn by the Old Williams’ Place that burned down a while back.”

Likewise, if you aren’t sure which of the seemingly endless monolithic boulders dotting the pastures around my rural homestead is “Dove Blind Rock,” the knowledge that you have to turn left two miles past “Dove Blind Rock” isn’t going to be much use to you. Also, as I alluded to earlier, most of the roads around my house don’t have “official” names and the “unofficial” names can vary slightly depending on which generation of folk is giving you the directions.

Finally, sheer distance will defeat all but the most intrepid adventurers who seek Wham land. The citified term “block” as in “go two blocks” has no meaning at all around my stomping grounds. Our addresses don’t change at the whim of a side road. Mama’s house address (or 911 address, since she gets her mail at the post office) is 526 Darby Circle. Meanwhile, my grandmother and great-aunt’s childhood home, which is Mama’s closest related building is 498 Darby Circle. No houses lie between. Out here, the addresses tell the distance in feet from the nearest intersection.

One person who followed me home from the school where I taught told me, upon getting out of his car that I, “lived in another Twilight Time Zone!” Despite having made believers of some, most people laugh when I tell them, turn off State Highway 14 and drive until you are CERTAIN you have gotten completely lost and at that point you’ll go about another two miles and turn right by Dove Blind Rock onto Old Hog Pen Road.

They’re the ones who just laugh and say, “I’ll just punch your address into my Tom-Tom.”

Yeah, good luck with that one, Goober.

Love y’all! Stay cool and keep your feet clean!