It’s true that I had become accustomed to drama in my family.
My father was loud and mean,
especially when he was drunk,
which was most evenings and every weekend.
He would back my poor mother into a corner of the kitchen and berate her,
towering over her in that threatening way that I knew so well, telling her she was fat and ugly and stupid and spending too much money on me.
He would get louder and louder until she finally began to tremble and sob –
then he would storm out of the house in disgust as if her crying gave him the right to leave his “silly emotional wife” and visit his drinking buddies.
Yes, I had become accustomed to this sort of thing,
so I was amazed and confused when it suddenly stopped.
One day he left and never came home.
It seems there had been an accident.
He had been killed
. I shed tears, but not for my father.
I cried because I was frightened and because my mother was so upset.
The day it happened, she discovered she was pregnant.
She was alone with a boy and another child on the way.
She wept for days.
I tried to console her,
but I didn’t know what to say.
I didn’t really understand.
Then one day, she was over it.
I came home from school just as her insurance man was leaving.
There was good news financially, we would not have to worry about money for a long time.
Mother suddenly knew exactly what she wanted to do.
She motioned me over to join her on the couch and put her arm around my shoulder.
“Honey, we’re going to be leaving this awful place.
We’re going to live with Grandma in the country.
Won’t that be nice?”
“Will I be going to a new school there?”
“No, dear, I think we will try home school for a while.
Do you remember, Grandma was a teacher before she retired?
I think it will be nice for the three of us to spend more time together.
Anyway, the kids in the country can be rough sometimes.
I think we all need some peace and quiet for a while,
don’t you?”
“Yes, Mother.”
I figured that they were trying to make it up to me – losing Dad and all – because Mother and Grandma were so nice to me after we moved.
They always called me “Sweetie” and “Darling” instead of my real name (Chris) and were so patient and gentle with me.
I overheard them talking about it in the laundry room one time, so I knew I was right. Grandma said,
“The poor child has been exposed to a lot of roughness and ugliness, dear.
He’ll grow up to be rough and ugly himself if we don’t introduce him to gentler, kinder ways.
I want him to have the kind of childhood you had, honey.
It’s not too late for him to learn.”
Mother didn’t say a word, which seemed strange.
But I liked what I was hearing.
She was always talking about how happy she had been growing up.
How much fun she and Grandma had doing things together.
I didn’t miss being chewed out and called names by Dad one bit – I felt safe and happy now.
Truth is, I had been a major disappointment to my Dad.
I was small for my age, and very immature physically.
In other ways, too, I suppose.
He had always let me know that I wasn’t living up to his expectations.
He’d look me over with a withering glare and shake his head in disbelief.
“Jeez, what a wuss,” he’d say,
and then get furious when tears welled up in my eyes at his cruel words.
Before very long,
Mother began to have her morning sickness and other symptoms of pregnancy
. Grandma made a big fuss about how she needed to get her rest and shouldn’t overdo it,
and Mother seemed to enjoy the concern and attention.
Mother was very affectionate with me – more than she had been for years,
and I really liked it.
We would sit on the porch swing together and she would sing songs to me, j
ust like when I was little.
One day, while we were rocking slowly together in the swing,
she held me close,
took my hand and placed it on her tummy,
and spoke very softly.
“Sweetie, you know that Mommy is going to have a baby, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Do you understand what that means?
It means that a precious little girl or boy is growing inside of Mommy right now.
Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Oh honey, it is so magical being a woman, having this miracle taking place inside of you.
If you want me to, I’ll let you know how it feels so you’ll know what it’s like to be a Mommy.
Would you like that?”
“Yes, I really would!”
She was almost whispering to me now,
enveloping me in her arms.
I felt so close to her.
“Would you like to help Mommy while she’s having our baby, dear?
I won’t be able to do my usual housework, and it will be so hard on Grandma to do it all.
Would you be willing to help her a little?”
I paused, and pulled away slightly.
“Do you mean like cooking and cleaning and that kind of stuff?”
“She stiffened slightly and spoke less softly,
“Now I know your father said that boys shouldn’t do such things,
but good boys want to help their mommies.
Are you a good boy?”
I missed her soft voice and wanted it to return.
“Yes, Mother, I am. I’ll help. I don’t mind. Really!”
“That’s my darling! Would you like to start right now?”
My eyes widened.
“I don’t mean housework, I mean helping Mommy?”
“I guess so.”
“Will you brush my hair for me, honey?
It calms me and makes me feel so much better.”
I could feel my heart pumping and there was a hollow space in my stomach.
She had never asked me to do anything like this before.
I loved Mother’s hair; it was very long and golden brown, with soft curls that banked and swayed when she moved.
I loved it when her hair would accidentally brush across my face or my arm.
But I never imagined I would be allowed to touch it.
My excitement made me nervous.
“I…I guess so. But I don’t think I know how.”
“Oh, Mommy will teach you, sweetie.
Or Grandma will show you.
It will be such a great help for me if you’ll brush it every morning and every evening.
Would you like that?”
I swallowed hard. “OK.”
We walked arm in arm to her bedroom where Mother sat on the stool in front of her dressing table.
Grandma joined us with an air of anticipation as if she knew this was going to happen.
She helped Mother remove a barrette from one side and motioned for me to remove the other one.
“Now be gentle darling,” she said,
you don’t want to tangle or damage your Mother’s beautiful hair, do you?”
“No, Grandma.”
“Now, dear, spread her pretty curls across her back.”
I was very stiff, as if her hair would fall out if I touched it too roughly. Mother noticed.
“Oh, honey, don’t be afraid to handle it!”
She turned towards me and playfully gathered some tresses and whisked them across my face.
It tickled and I giggled.
Then she pulled me close by her side and let the curls fall on the far side of my own head, so that in the mirror,
it looked like it was my hair.
Then she began to brush it on the far side of me.
I reached up and touched it, then smoothed it against my cheek.
Grandma let out a little squeal of excitement
. “Oh honey, you look just like your Mommy when she was a girl!”
I flushed with embarrassment,
but Mother pulled me close,
smothering my alarm, and then she got business-like.
“OK, enough horseplay.
Let’s start brushing my hair before it becomes a tangled mess!”
