What's That Thing Called?

You know that thing that people used to have on old shows that was kinda wrinkled on the sides like an accordion, but that you held with two hands to suck in and blow out air to fan flame to kinda give a lil jolt to the fire? Well yeah...that thingy...whatever it's called...that's what I'm doing now. I'm tryna revive this thing. Maybe I should change the background or something...maybe that'll help. I think I'll try that after I'm finished typing this.

So back in October I took my mom to the Bahamas as an early Christmas present. She's never been and neither had I. As a matter of fact I didn't even own a passport. The whole thing was a big deal. For weeks we talked on the phone making all of our preparations. By the way, I added her to my cell phone account and she has learned how to use her phone pretty well. At age 59, soon to be 60 January 28, 2011, she is texting messages and pictures. I even caught her watching tv on her phone. When we spoke the other day she mentioned that she forgot her password to Facebook. I was thinking to myself, "Since when did you get a Facebook account? You not 21 lady." I digress.

So yeah, we made our plans and whatnot and took a ship over to Grand Bahama to stay for a few nights. The ride over was absolutely dreadful. We had been warned though. The people said the seas were very rough and asked if we still intended to travel. I saw others still getting on the boat (well walking through the inside of the terminal thingy) so I assumed if they weren't deterred, why should I be? I had never been on a cruise ship. Both she and I got soooo sick. She was worse off than I. We both decided to try to go to sleep just to get through it. I was so relieved to be on solid ground again. Whew! It was so bad that my first thought once we had docked was that I could not take the boat back to Florida. I was going to have to secure flights for both of us. Fortunately, the ride back was pleasant. So smooth. I knew what I experienced on the ride over had to be the exception, otherwise I can't imagine why people would be traveling this way.

The trip was relaxing and cool. We shopped, ate, hit the beach, did some tours and frolicked with the locals. She was very appreciative and when we parted she of course asked the obligatory question about interacting with him*. I told her that I cannot make her any promises but I'll do what I can. By the way, I got another lead on AARP. I heard that they will write a policy on someone pretty much regardless of their health condition. If there is anyone out there reading this...do you know of any life insurance companies that will write policies on people regardless of their health? I need to know most expediently.


*************************************** One more post to go til I get to post 100. Go Jay...go Bee...go go go Jay Bee.

Asthma Attack

Not me. I don't have asthma, but my mom does. She was diagnosed as a little girl. As she grew up her attacks became less and less frequent. I haven't heard of her complain of having had an attack in about three years, so maybe she's kinda grown out of it now. She'd have an attack when she was around too much dust/dirt. Sometimes when we were dusting inside the house, she'd have to be in another room or she'd just let that be the last thing that we had to do when we were cleaning up. If she let it be the last item on the checklist, she'd just leave the house while we completed that.

Picture it, Savannah, 1993. ::wavy television lines and me titling my head at a slight angle to the right:: We had gone to visit my grandmother. Good times indeed. How I long for the fun, food and fellowship of those former days. (Gold star for the first person who has been out of high school for at least ten years who can remember the term for the literary device that I used in the previous sentence.) At some point on this trip mama's asthma began to flare up. I'm not really sure if people say flare up when it comes to asthma, but whatever. Fortunately she had her inhaler because she knew that there was always the possibility of an attack whenever we visited my grandmother because some of the rooms may be dusty. I was there when it happened and whenever I see her in this condition my heart races, because I know that all I can do is make sure she has her inhaler and pray that she doesn't get nervous or panic herself. I don't remember who got the inhaler to her, but once she got it and inhaled she was okay after a few minutes. Crisis averted.

Once we returned home we returned to business as usual. You know, complaining from him* about keeping the house clean, going to church and school, cutting the grass. I only offer that information to underscore the fact that nothing was happening out of the ordinary. On the second night after the return from Moultrie, Georgia, where my grandmother lived something happened. Late one night I heard wheezing coming from my mother's bedroom. I instantly went into fix it mode. The bedroom that my brothers and I shared was directly across the hall from the bedroom that she shared with him*. I woke up with a start once I heard the wheezing. I instantly associated this with an asthma attack and since she had just had one a few days ago I was already on orange alert.

I screamed, "Mama," and dashed across the hall to locate her purse. I saw her purse on the floor near her dresser and quickly rifled though it in search of her inhaler. It was the only thing separating her from relief. What I soon realized when I turned toward the bed to give her the inhaler is that she didn't need relief. Whereas I thought I heard wheezing, I heard her she was engaged in copulation with him*. I am forever scarred.
::come out of the dream state::

Okay that last line was a little dramatic, but I definitely wasn't expecting to walk in on them. We never really discussed the incident. In my household we treated matters related to sex like the plague.

So That Makes Sense To You?

Picture it. Sicily 1924. Oh wait, I'm getting my story confused with the way the grandma used to tell stories on the Golden Girls. Don't hate on the Golden Girls. That show was so damned funny. Actually, it was eighth grade year and we were getting ready to go on our class trip to Washington, D.C. I remember the trip cost $319 per person and of course you had to bring some spending money. We were gonna be in the city for five days four nights. The plan was to do all the touristy stuff the city had to offer.

I don't remember a whole lot of details about the trip. I do know that we had a helluva good time. We had coach transportation so the ride was comfortable. We watched movies, told jokes and reminisced about days gone by. Good times were had by all.

Anyway I had my lil $200 spending money. I decided that I was going to eat very cheaply all week and spend my money on me some name brand clothes. Growing up in my house at the time there were four children and two adults. My parents really, honestly couldn't afford to have four children. I'll never forget one day when we were in the car him* asked me if we (my siblings and I) wanted a little sister. I have two brothers and a sister so there were three boys and one girl. I was quick with my absolutely not reply. I told him* that he couldn't afford the children he already had. How was he gonna pay for another one? Although I was telling nothing but the sho nuff truth, this of course caused a small argument. Stop being so grown, blah blah blah. Disrespectful blah blah blah. I was thinking to myself, why ask a question if you don't want the answer? Even now when my friends and associates probe me for information I'll first ask them if they really want my opinion or if they want me to say what I perceive that they want to hear.

I almost forgot the point of that whole side story. The point is my peeps didn't really have it like that to be popping out any more babies. Plus, what's the guarantee that the next child would be a female. So far 3/4 kids have been male. Nikes and any other things with a recognizable label were not always things that we had the luxury of having. When we did get something we'd have to take excellent care of it because who knew when the next time was that you'd be able to have something else.

Like I said I ate cheap that week. There were even a couple meals built into the price of the trip so we weren't responsible for every single meal anyway. Everyone else was ordering some costly stuff for each meal but I fell back, because I knew I wanted to get myself a Tommy Hilfiger outfit. When it came time for the mall trip on the itinerary I did just that. I was so proud of my conquest. I couldn't wait to show my mom what I had purchased since they valued sacrifice. It seemed like that word was a constant theme in our house.

When I got back and showed her my outfit him* was present as well because it went down in their bedroom. Him* asked me how much I had spent. I don't remember the exact amount but it was somewhere around $130. Him*'s eyes got huge. He was like why would you be so selfish and spend $130 on one outfit. What about your brothers and sister? You could have stretched (another common word heard resonating in our house) that and got something for everybody. I was thinking to myself and I didn't say it that I thought the spending money was my spending money. I didn't realize that I was expected to shop for the neighborhood while I was away. If I had understood that I would have, but of course I would have needed more money because prior to leaving I had already decided what I was spending my money on. I rarely got to get name brand stuff so when I saw the chance to get me something I was definitely going to take advantage of it. Cancel those plans.

Him* decided that the following day, a Saturday, we would drive to the nearest Macy's and take back my purchase to get a refund. Then we'd drive back to Savannah and go to KidsWear and get outfits for me and my three brothers. I had a learner's permit so I did the driving. Mind you the nearest Macy's was 2.5 hours away. Back then gas was nowhere near what it is today, but I still didn't see how driving 2.5 hours to take back a $100 outfit was all that cost effective, not to mention the intangible cost of my time. That's about 7 hours of my life that I can't get back. Of course the stuff at KidsWear wasn't a recognizable name brand, but it was clean and I didn't look homeless. I think each of use got two outfits on that money.

When I told my best friend she laughed like no tomorrow. It became a running joke. "Shut up before I tell [him*] to take you to KidsWear." Even to this day we'll mention this incident in casual conversation from time to time and trip.

Just a thought

You cannot choose your parents. Here's a question for parents everywhere.

• If you had to prepare a "resume" of your accomplishments, everything you have to offer a child, would your child/children choose you to be their parent?

If the answer is no, then you need to do something differently.

I think I want to tell the story of a seance that my parents had for me when I was 15. It wasn't really a seance, rather it was more like an intervention. I just like to say the word seance. I might post it tomorrow. Gotta get some zzs.

What Were They Thinking?

How many times are we going to read in the news about couples abusing their kids? Unfortunately this type of behavior has become commonplace. The latest episode stars a couple from north Georgia that has been described as "extremely religious." I wonder what that means. I suppose it means that they adhere to strict codes of conduct with regard to the activities and associations that are and are not allowed. Anyway, the story is in an attempt to punish their eight year old son they beat him and put him inside a box. Apparently the young boy suffocated in the box because when they went to check on him, he and I quote, "...wasn't quite moving." Prior to this this same couple had a practice of having their children go in a closet when they misbehaved. I guess to seem concerned, they had cameras installed in the closet that was used for punishment so that they could monitor their children. To me it is inconceivable that a parent would be so unjust, so cruel to their own flesh and blood.

Fast forward to the trial. Both parents have been cutting the monkey crying in court. They are so sorry because they didn't intend for him to die. How ever true that might be, if you put a kid in a box that wasn't really built with ventilation in mind, (because children don't belong in boxes), you cannot be upset if the kid dies. It is the negligence of the parents that has made this situation manifest itself.

I grew up in a household that was stricter than a lot of my friends' homes. We went to church every Sunday, prayer meeting and Bible study on Wednesday, choir rehearsal on Tuesday and Saturday and did other stuff as necessary for upcoming events and special programs. I was never locked in a box though. (Considering some of the abuse I had to take, locking me in a box is probably lesser of two evils.)

I don't feel very much sympathy for the parents. I know a part of them is hurt because of the loss of the child and the loss of the lives that they once enjoyed. I'm saying loss of the lives that they once enjoyed because they are almost certainly going to jail. They also had other children who probably suffered as well at the hands of their abuse and irrational discipline methods. I read somewhere that one of the motivating factors for the parents placing the youngster in the box was that he was possessed by the devil. I wonder if they'll use the "The Devil Made Me Do It" defense in court.