A Day In The Life Of....

Zach has scribbled "tats" all over his arm and they all smell Sweet..NOT.

Sometime around lunch today, it all started to fall apart. I knew from the time I got up this morning, it would happen. At some point. It was destined to happen. I got up tired. Wore down. I was ready for Saturday at 6:30am.

I eat lunch at home. Every single day. Leftovers, sandwiches, or soup. By Friday, I am sick of leftovers, and whatever else I have scrounged up every day at home. And usually, my choice, because we have so many here in Quincy, is a hot dog from Hardees. I know it must seem very strange, that of EVERYTHING you think I could pick, it's a hot dog from Hardees. So, let me tell you our ENTIRE food choices here in Quincy. Pizza Hut, Hardees, Burger King, McDonalds, Dominos, KFC, The West End Grille, Lindy's Chicken, AJ's Chicken, and a couple of sandwich shops. So, it's a hot dog I choose.

So today, I place my order like I always do. This is how it goes. On the order board it says, Chili Dog. Now, if I say, I'd like a hot dog with ketchup only, they say, do you mean a chili dog plain with ketchup only? I say, yes. So the next week, thinking I know the secret code now, I start off by saying, I'd like a chili dog plain with ketchup only. They say, so you want a hot dog with only ketchup? And I sigh, and say yes. So, no matter what I say, I never say it right.

Today was no different. Except, they got my order wrong. I got home, and I had chili on my hot dog. Which I do NOT eat. Not even scrapping it off, am I going to eat it. So, I called Hardees. Explained what happened. Said I would be back by in a few minutes. To get my hot dogs the way I wanted them. NAKED with ketchup only. A naked weenie, as my friend Debbie Houston White says, with ketchup only. I went BACK through the drive thru window, they were very nice. And so was I. I did not fuss or get crazy. Though I felt like it.  I simply smiled. And said thank you. My good deed for the day.

At 1:35, my son Zach calls me from school. From his cell phone. Which is not allowed. In school. He starts the conversation by saying "Hey Mama, what are you doing?"  Which means. He wants something. And he does. Want. Something. Unbeknown to me, there is a maniacal man roaming the streets of Quincy and Mt. Pleasant. The whole town had been looking for this man for hours.The police had been running dogs, helicopters had been low flying. The man hunt of the month was on, and I had no idea.

Zach's entire school had been in lock down mode since 9am. He gets out of school at 2:30pm. The call at 1:35pm is because now....he is bored. They have played cards, drawn tats on each others bodies, and cut the fool all day. But now, he is ready to come home. Less than an hour before they will get out of school. He wants me to leave work. And come pick him up. Thirty minutes after I had got back to work from taking my hour long lunch. My answer was an unequivocal NO. Finish your hand of poker, then come on home at your normal time. Call me when you get there.

At 2:50pm, Zach calls again. From his cell phone. And he is not at home. He is with his bud Mike and they are taking another buddy, Robert home. In Havana. Because Robert lives in Havana. He will be home by 3:15. I say alright again, and remind him to call me when he gets home.

At 3:25pm, Zach calls again. Mike and Zach are now at Matt's house. Which is between Havana and home. He wanted to show Mike where Matt lives. Matt is one of Zach's best friends and business partner. He wants me to know where he is, because he was not home by the time we discussed. Again, I know. He wants something. Because this is the child who NEVER thinks it's necessary to check in or call, or answer his cell when I call. Because I already know where he is and what he's doing. And his cell..IS ALWAYS DEAD. Or in his gym bag.

And he does want something. Else. He wants to know, can they all go buy steaks and baked potatoes and grill out. I tell him I am not comfortable with them and fire, without me being at home. He tells me, reminds me, he is almost 16 years old and he and Matt have grilled out before. When they dog sat for his brother. I knew about the dog sitting part. The grilling out part, with fire, not so much. I am thinking, while he is talking. Ninety miles an hour, he is talking. Trying to convince me of his adult demeanor. He hasn't completely, but I decide to take a chance. I decide to try and not think about him horsing around the fire, poking it with sticks, and setting my trees, lawn, or worse, himself on fire.

At 5pm, I leave work and go to the grocery store. With Mims. At 6:15 I am pulling into the driveway. Truck full of groceries and a drive way full of boys. Boys playing basketball. And with my windows up, I can hear them whooping and hollering as they shoot wild shots into the hoop. I can see the smoke from the grill rolling...and no one is poking sticks or playing with fire. My chance taking...worked out.  My day begins to feel better.

I park under the carport. As I am opening my door, Zach is standing in front of me with his cell phone. It's a call for me. I say hello, and it's Katy Jo. Breathlessly telling me, she has been accepted into the UNIVERSITY OF FREAKIN' FLORIDA!!!!! Where she has been wanting to go to college, all of her life!! Last week she was announced as Valedictorian of her senior class...today...her letter of acceptance to Florida arrives. How good can it get I ask you!!! My day feels even better. I am so proud for her, of her. She is going to be everything she ever wanted to be. Because she can. She is..just...that..good.

It's 7pm, and the boys are settled at the bar, eating their steaks and potatoes. And talking smack. About each other. About school. About everything and nothing. Zach is cracking on everything he can think of, making the others struggle not to choke from laughing. And I sit here in my recliner and listen. Soaking in the laughter, the smack swapping, and the boys. The boys who are turning into men. Men who grill their own food and shoot hoops with grown men voices. When did their voices become so deep? These are my thoughts. As I listen, to how their day was ....in the life of......them. And my evening is suddenly, one of the best ever. My messed up "naked weenie" from lunch, seems like ages ago now, as it should.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Money Down The Toilet...

The summer I graduated high school, I worked at a Piggly Wiggly in Albany Georgia. The South Slappey location, next to Keys, to be more precise. I was a cashier for the first few years. Now, you want to talk about a young girl learning some life lessons. You put a young girl, on the south side of any town, to work, and lessons are about to be learned.

That was my first introduction to the injustices of the governmental hand out system. Little old ladies and men, would come in with their social security checks and food stamps. Some of them, I wondered how they made it from one week til the next. Then you would have young, healthy people coming in, with twice the check and twice the amount of food stamps. Buggy's full of prime time meats and food, standing in my check out line, talking about where they were going out to eat when they left there. What shoes they were going to buy to go with this or that outfit. I was eighteen years old, and I knew then, the system was a mess.

It's a good damn thing someone like me isn't running the show. There would be an accountability like you would not believe. There would be concrete rules. And they would be followed. There would be no one receiving food stamps who could afford to cover their skin with body art. Or motors for boats, or shopping sprees, or $100 hair jobs. If you cannot afford to feed your family with money, you have no business spending money on anything that is not tangible to living. That is not necessary to live and breathe.

I don't think people are even humble anymore. I don't think it means anything anymore to go in, sit down, and fill out paperwork for assistance. I am not saying I will never be in that place, that I will never not need help. But I can say, without a doubt, I will be respectful of what is given to me, of who is helping me. And for those who want to pipe off, that it's mine or anyone elses duty to help people like that..you are crazy. I work my behind off trying to help myself and MY family. I was not put here on this earth to help you buy Grade A Prime Rib with the food stamps I helped supply, and then ply your bodies with needless tattoos.

Someone actually told my husband one day, that they weren't ashamed. That's what other people worked for..when he came home and repeated that to me I came UNGLUED. Because I don't work for you and your sorriness.  I don't make hamburger stretch five ways to Sunday so you can have steak.

And while I love my children, two was all I could afford. SO I STOPPED. If you can raise them, afford them, by all means, have as many as you want. But if me and everyone else with a job, has to help you raise YOUR kids, you've got too many. I think Federal Assistance should stop at two children. Period. Anymore you have, you take care of...or the government can help you afford permanent birth control. I love children, and I want everyone to have as many as they personally want to have..but they must take responsibility. It is unfair for it to work any other way. That may sound really radical, but this world is in a radical mess. We have let everything just roll off of our backs. Just roll and roll to the point, that the people that should have no say so, seem to hold all the cards. Wasting my money, flushing it away.

Unlike those food stamps, this ain't play money I struggle and sweat for every day of my life. I, like many, deal with unbelievable stress just to make a living. To make a good living. To provide for my family. So some other poor soul doesn't have to ...provide for my family for me. I think if people who receive assistance are caught buying alcohol or cigarettes, the assistance should stop.The government can figure out to make sure your children get fed, you can figure out where your own next meal comes from.

In the past two years, more people than since the great depression, have been out of work. If you have lost your job, are in between jobs, and looking for a job, I will always help you. I will help you buy groceries and pay your light bill.  For those of you who seem to live your lives running from a job, I shouldn't have to help you do anything.

For the old, sick, physically or mentally incapable, I will work my heart out for you every day. To help you never be hungry, cold, or without what you need. For the rest of you, half of you younger than my old behind, bump you. You need to get off your sorry behinds and help yourselves. Have some pride about yourselves. And quit thinking the world owes you something. Nobody owes you anything, but yourself. I sure as heck don't. Even though Uncle Sam continues to tell me I do. Every week. He "borrows" from my check. To add to yours. So, have a baked potato with that steak. On me. I earned it. You eat it. And enjoy.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Beautiful Mind, Beautiful Words

I would read to him everyday. The books were already compiling. New mothers buy baby clothes and baby toys. I bought baby books. Before I ever held him in my arms, I read to him in my stomach. I would read out loud and rub. In soothing soft words, with soothing soft hands.

Before he ever drew an outside breath, he knew books. Before he ever opened his eyes to look at the world, he knew words. Before he ever knew who I was, or saw my face, he knew my voice. He knew words. He knew the joy of the sing song language in a Dr. Suess book.

I cannot begin to imagine, if all the hours were added up, what that amount would come to...how many thousands of hours were dedicated to reading. And of course, animation was required. I don't think I ever even thought about it. I would begin to read and the voices would just flow.

A friend of mine stayed with Joshua and I for about a year while my ex husband worked out of town. One night I was trying to cook supper, but Joshua wanted a book read to him. My friend Lynnie, offered to read. She was five minutes into the book. Joshua gently took the book out of her hands. And told her that it was alright, I could read it to him later. Lynnie looked at Joshua, and hollered into the kitchen to me, "Well, I'm sorry I don't read like Miss Walt Disney in there".  She was making a joke, sort of, but I always took pride in being able to bring the written word to life. I loved to watch my boy's faces as I would take the words and the story and bring them to life.

I think Joshua's three favorite books were "The Spooky Old Tree" by Dr. Suess, "The Magic Hockey Skates" and 'I'll love you Forever". I can sit here today, and recite lines and pages out of all three books. I can tell you the minute, his face would begin to light up and his little body would start to quiver with excitement. Because he also knew those books. Line for line. Page for page.

And as he got older, and had been long able to read on his own, he would still bring one favorite collection of stories to me. For me, to read to him.  Uncle Remus and the collection of Brer' Rabbit stories. Now I'm here to tell you, to "get into voice" for those stories took a bit. So I would turn off the television, turn off the ringer to the phone, and we would settle in...and read. Both of my boys always knew, if they saw the ringer to the phone get cut off, the fun was about to begin.

Both of my sons love books. They love to read. They love words. They love the magic you find in other worlds, other places, without ever leaving your place on the couch. I have loved those same things, as long as I can remember. I am very proud of many things I have passed on to my children. But my translation of love for words, books and stories, is one of my most proud achievements. That I was able to take my own love for all of those things, and pass it on, completes me.

That my oldest child has taken all of those same things, and with his own beautiful gift, has learned to create his own words, books, and stories, brings me a happiness I cannot begin to describe.


Twenty five years ago this April, I sat in a rocking chair. I sat in a rocking chair reading out loud, and rubbing my stomach. Waiting for the beating heart inside of me to come out.  Waiting for the day when I could look at his little face and watch his expressions change. With every word I read. Waiting for the day, when that same beating heart, would put his heart onto paper. And here it is, the day I knew would always come.

His heart has been put to paper, and published in ink. In writer's ink. That will be read by thousands of people. Who no doubt, without ever meeting my son, will be able to hear, that same heart beating in a beautiful sing song rhythm.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Red Hot ....COURAGE

There are so many definitions of the word Courage. Over the years, the use of that word has been stretched, misconstrued and abused.  I heard an announcer this morning on ESPN, refer to a player as being "absolutely courageous in his last three games".  It is not courageous to be a winning quarterback who takes a beating all day from the opposing team. He chose that job and he gets paid for it. Grandly.

Courageous acts are those which go above and beyond. Acts that happen with no thought process. And decisions that are made, some with great thought process.

Courage is:

When a young man chooses to defend his friend. The class cut up, the boy with some emotional deficiencies. The boy so few children tolerate. Because he is in trouble once again. This time, for something he is wrongly accused of, there is a bigger story that must be told...and the young man, his friend/protector, takes a stand. When no one else will.  And defends him to the headmaster. It is hard at 13 years of age, to step up and be a man. But he does. Because it is the right thing to do. He steps forward and stops the wrong.

When a straight A student, appears different from all the rest. For two years of his high school career, he dresses in complete Goth attire. He is picked on, called names, bullied and taunted. But he is still the boy he wants to be. You cannot change him. You cannot make him be someone he is not. Because he marches to the beat of his own drum. And he survives those people. He is the last one standing. At the podium. Delivering the speech of a lifetime.

When a man has been given his diagnosis. He has prostate cancer. But it is the "slow growing, slow killing" kind of cancer. He may live another 10 years of quality life. His choice, is to remove the cancer. Knowing, the intimate life he now shares with his wife will change. He chooses to believe her when she says, it will not matter. She will love him always. He takes the step to live longer than the possible 10 years of quality life. He chooses to believe her. And live.

When a woman has been told, the cancer must be removed. She makes her decision immediately. She knows, that she cannot wait. She has two daughters who need her. She has a life to finish living. When she is told three days later, worst news than the first time. She again, does not hesitate. And knows, this will be worse. But she moves forward. She chooses to live. For her girls. And for herself.

When a man has drank all of his life. As a teenager and as an adult. And now his job and family are on the line. He takes the hand that reaches out to him. He begins treatment. He follows the rules. He listens to the lessons. And he learns them. He knows and accepts he will never be cured. But he can stop. To save himself. To save his life. 22 years sober. He chose to stop.

When her son is killed in Iraq. And she wants nothing more than to sink, into the deep dark hole that is calling her name. When she wants to be, with her son in heaven. Because these are thoughts, she cannot help but think. But she knows, she cannot. She has another son. Who will need her. Her job here on earth is not done.  Barely six months later, when she thinks, she cannot withstand anymore heartache and pain. She is diagnosed with breast cancer. She has decisions to make. Body altering decisions. But she must, make them. She still has work here on earth. She must be here for her son. And herself. It is not time. I know, she will choose, to live. Again.

A little boy has fallen into a bonfire. She does not think. Instinct takes over. She rushes in to save him. She pulls him out and pats him down with her bare hands. She has second and third degree burns.  She has been back and forth to the burn center. She will be fine. Her hands are healing. The boy, is still in critical condition. If not for her, he would be dead. If not for her courage and her heart.

I cannot imagine the courage it took to live the lives I have described above. I hope, if and when my day comes, and I am faced with the choice, of right or wrong, live or die. I hope I make the right one. The right choice. I hope I have the courage to make the right choice. For courage is the very being of one's heart and soul. One's inner strength as it takes control. It is not a direct derivative of a paycheck or a spotlight. It is the most real, a human being will ever be. It is the most naked of emotions. It is living with fear, but still moving forward, requesting nothing in return. Redemption at it's finest, silent moment.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Unlock Your Own Mind..and Enjoy

Do you ever just sit? Maybe while you're drinking your morning coffee. Or when the house is empty and you're the only one there. And for once, the television is not blaring and no one is calling your name. And when you're just sitting, do you ever just drift off? Drift back in time to memories.  Memories that have been locked away so long, you forgot they were there?  I don't know how your recall works, but mine is so random. Sporadic. Chaotic even. Sometimes there is no rhyme or reason as to where my mind goes, or how it jumps from 1972 back to 2004. In two minutes. In rapid fire, ever changing motion, my random thoughts work a little like this....

1970 I'm lying in bed, on a school night, and I can still hear kids playing outside. The time has changed, so it's still daylight at 9pm. I am seven years old.

2004 I am in the Greenboro High School Gym listening to my son Joshua give the speech of his life. His Valedictorian speech. And I amazed at where this young man came from. The one who is speaking with such confidence. The one everyone is standing up and cheering for.

2000 I'm watching Zach smack his first hit off of a tee. His skinny little legs are going as fast as they can go. His helmet is so heavy on his little head. I'm wondering as he runs, how he holds his head up.

1996 I'm at Twin Oaks Elem School in Leesburg Georgia watching Joshua play his snare drums in a band concert. Who would have thought Joshua would have ever liked the drums.

1972 My PaPa Josh has passed away. My new Barbie Head I got for Christmas just that morning, is on my dresser. In the dark it looks like a person. I cannot sleep. It scares me. I get up and put it in my closet floor so I won't be scared anymore. Of ghosts.

1998 I am barbecuing ribs in the oven. The house is permeated with that wonderful smell. Zachary who is barely three, says as he walks in the door, "I want summa what I smell, I'm hongy". Since 1998, anytime our house smells especially full, of good cooking food, that will be repeated. 

1982 The Group Alabama is performing in Albany. The biggest country music group of my time. The tickets go on sale that Saturday morning. I got called into work. My mother, stood outside in a mile long line, in the wind sleeting rain and cold, to get my tickets. She could not even feel her feet when it was over. I tell my boys all the time, what mothers do for their children. They still have no idea. 

2008 My mother calls me from the hospital in Albany Georgia. The doctors say stints will not work. My daddy must have heart bypass surgery. My mother is crying. She never cries. I hold it together until I hang up the phone. Then my body is wracked with pain and tears. The surgery will not be for another week. But I leave immediately for home. I have to, need to, see my daddy. I am so scared.

1978 Me and my MaMa are in a used/trade bookstore. I am teaching her all about the Archie Comics and she is teaching me about Mark Twain and Huckleberry Finn.

1985 My mother is in the hospital for surgery. I am sitting with her. You cannot have your nails painted before surgery. They must be able to press your nails and see color. Blood. The surgery is over. And my southern Alabama mother asks me to paint her toenails for her. She has already done her fingernails. And her "lips" are on.  She obviously cannot reach her toes. And you know, "your toes are the ugliest part of your body, if you are going to expose them, they must be painted".  Or so I was told, all of my life.

2002 Zachary is playing Tiny Mites football. I'm watching Coach Joey Edwards hold their attention like no other adult could. And I wonder, where he gets that magic from?

1988 Joshua is two. My back door leading to our deck is open. I am in the kitchen, he is going back and forth. I turn around at his cry, and he is bleeding. He has tripped over the hose that was drug up on the deck to water the hanging baskets. It's only his nose that got busted. There is so much blood, it appears to be his whole body.

1976 My cool Aunt Amanda takes me to an Andy Gibb concert in Columbus Georgia.  First concert ever.  I had the time of my life!

1990 I wake up to a smoke filled house. My ex has drank himself to sleep and the supper he started on the stove is trying to burn our house down. I drop to the floor, I am choking. I drag Joshua out of the bed, and push him out the bedroom window. I am behind him. Smoke is billowing out of the windows now. My ex is still asleep in his chair on the deck. Josh and I stand in our bed clothes. In the yard. While I pray we will still have a home.

1979 I am in the 10th grade, and my father has found out that I had been cutting classes. There is a knock on the door of my history class. The door opens and it is my father. Telling me to come on. I stand to walk, he tells me, in front of all of my classmates, to stop. Go back and get all of my things. I may not be coming back. I did, of course, go back. But it was a "Come to Jesus"  like no other.

1980 Our family vacation is in February. We are in Gatlinburg Tn. It is snowing and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. We are riding in a glass tram taking us across the mountain to a beautiful restaurant. With live entertainment. Between the snow and the Swiss dancers, it was the most magical vacation of my life. 

1990 Santa brought Joshua a guitar. He has discovered CMT. For three months he stands in front of our television and he plays that guitar. For three months, at four years old, he is country music.

1998 Zachary is three years old and has discovered he can fly. Off of our front porch on Hwy 65. We sit in the emergency room for 3 hours to find out he has a sprained ankle.

1971 I am riding a neighbors bike. A bike unfamiliar to me. It has hand brakes. And suddenly, I am flying down the hill behind our apartment. It's a summer night, people are grilling out at the foot of the hill. I cannot figure out how to stop the bike. The people in the lawn chairs begin to scatter as they exclaim "She's not going to stop!". I slam into the brick building. They help me back up the hill. Where my parents are having a company party, as I come in with blood from head to toe.

1974 My mother had to work late. Karen Pelham was babysitting me and my sister. I beg to ride bikes with her sister Diane. The roads are those kind with the huge rocks poking up. I lose my balance and fall. The rocks jab into my kneecap. I literally have 2 holes in my knee. My summer would be spent swapping out bandages and applying Vitamin E oil. The oil my mother swears would prevent scarring. It is the worst scar on my body. She still abides, it could have looked so much worse.

2006 We are in my living room exchanging vows. Me, for the last time in my life. Both of my boys are giving me away to the man they have been calling their Daddy for years. Zachary, my child of few emotions, is crying. It was a beautiful day. 

1987 I am reading the Dr. Seuss book, Hop on Pop to Joshua. He is barely one year old. He likes the letter P. Every word in the book that starts with the letter "P" sends him into a gale of giggles. The most beautiful baby giggles you have ever heard in your life.

1999 I have forgotten what my new boyfriend has said, I absolutely must do. I am already almost to work. I cannot be late. I call my best friend, Donna Hall. Tell her my problem. She does not have a key. But she can climb in my bedroom window from the back porch. And she does. Climb in through my bedroom window. She saved my life. Best friends make the world go round'. 

And then it's over. My family comes rolling back in the house. The noise begins. And the memory door closes. Until another time. When peace and quiet take hold. Silence is welcomed back. And my mind finds comfort in what used to be.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Ignorance

Sometimes, it's best to wait. When anger or tears are driving your emotions. Wait. When you most want to strike out and defend. Wait. Wait until your actions and words will reflect the truth. Wait until you can speak with a calm the situation demands. Wait until you are answering, not screaming a response with words.

Last night, I chose to take the high road. I should know that road by heart. I have told my children so many times in their lives, which direction it is, and how to get there. I chose to remain calm. To collect my thoughts. Before I spoke again.

First, I will say, my children are my world. For so many years of my adult life, they have been my every waking thought. I have two of the wisest, most intelligent, and compassionate children you will ever meet. I knew once my first son was born, I was going to have to work very hard to keep up. And by the time my second son arrived, I knew moving double time, still might not be fast enough.

Secondly, I repeat, I have never regretted any conversation subjects or depths of conversation I have ever had with my children. I wanted to know, from the moment they both began to speak, everything they had to say. I wanted to know every question that crossed their minds. And I prayed, that both of them would always come to me for answers. Instead of strangers, or friends, or worse, whoever might lead them in the wrong direction.

I am well aware, that no matter how much I talk, how open I think I am, that I cannot control their lives. I cannot be with them through every decision making process they encounter. I can only hope, that somewhere, in their minds, my words still linger.

No doubt, there will come a day, my children may disappointment me. Their choices may disappointment me. No doubt, I may have very well already disappointed them at some point. I think I do the best I can. I'm pretty sure they think they do as well.

I am only going to say this one last thing, that I feel must be addressed if I am able to lay down and sleep again. For people who somehow think the way I raised my son, the openness in which I chose to raise Joshua, somehow "caused" him to be gay....you have absolutely NO idea what in the world you are talking about.

Both of my boys were raised the same exact way. To have choices, to be themselves, to pave their own road.  I gave/give both of them directions. It was their job to ride the wave. Nurture ~vs~ Nature. The great debate of all time. You don't know me if you think you can make me even remotely believe that I "caused" my child to be gay. Genetics "caused" Joshua to be gay. Period.

I have beautiful children. I dressed them both as boys. They both had trucks and tractors. I read the same books to both boys. Now they both like to read. They both love the humor of Will Ferrell, Adam Sandler, Seth Rogan and gross teenage folly. They both have the best sense of humors and the most sincere laughter you will ever hear. They both have the biggest hearts. I raised both of them to be good men. And they are..good men.

Joshua is gay. Zachary is not. At least I don't guess he is..maybe I should re-think this thing.  Zachary loves nice clothes, and has wonderful tastes in color and fine furniture. I wonder if Zachary knows, he could be, there is a possibility, he is a 1/4 gay?  He hates to be left out of anything....I'll have to let him know...some small minded person may prejudge him one day.  But to ignore it. And continue to be himself. Who he was raised to be. Who he was born to be. Just like his brother.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Keepin' It Real.....On The Fast Track Of Life

I can remember my "sex" talk when I lived at home. I was eleven years old. My mother gave me a book. Told me to read it. And if I had any questions. To ask her. I had questions. But I did not ask.

The last thing I expected when my first born was a little boy, was that he and I would be having his first sex talk. At five years of age. My husband was working late, so Joshua was sleeping with me. Or I thought we were sleeping. It was dark and it was quiet. All of a sudden I heard Joshua stirring around. And he began to talk. He asked me, where did babies come from. Now, for those of you who know Josh personally, you will know, what I am about to tell you is exactly the way that conversation went down. For others, you may think I could have handled it differently. Let me assure you, Joshua is my brain child. He reasons with intelligence more so than common sense sometimes. And though he was only five years old, I was already well aware of this fact. Nothing but the truth would do.

I began, as any parent would do, with the story of baby Jesus, it's a miracle, etc. My story lasted about 10 minutes. I finished. And was quite proud of myself. Because Joshua had listened intently without saying a word. Another dodged bullet. It was quiet for about two minutes. And then he said, "But Mama,  HOW are babies born?" Now, we all know our children. Better than ourselves sometimes. Joshua was not the child to be put off. And I knew this. I heard it in his tone, and I knew, I had to answer his question. Or he would never believe in me again.

So, I started again. And explained it all as "clinically" as I could. Again, he never said a word. Just listened. I was pure sweating by the time I was through. Finally, I was done. And I laid there, waiting to be questioned again. Finally, after all of that, he finally spoke. And he asked me one, and only one, question. He said, "Mama, does that mean you didn't have any panties on"? I sucked my last drop of breath in and said, "Yes Joshua, that's what that means". He then said "Eww", rolled over, and went to sleep.

The next time Joshua and I would re-visit the "discovery" conversation, he was six years old. His first grade teacher called me at home one night. Said that she had caught Joshua and a little girl classmate "talking and touching" during lunch time. She told me the little girl had 3 older brothers, and thought that maybe I might need to "check" on Joshua and see what all they had been talking about. That she intended to speak to the little girls mother as well, but that she was more worried about Joshua.

When I got off the phone, I went to Josh's room to talk to him. I started off by asking about his day. He calmly told me, I had already asked him that. Which I had. See, I told you already how he was. Anyway, I took another tact. I was honest and told him his teacher had called, and she was worried that maybe he and Caitlyn had been talking about things they shouldn't. I explained to him "boy talk" and "girl talk" and the "no touching in personal areas" rule.  And I figured it was time for the body parts talk. What we do and do not touch on other people, talk. I explained all of his body parts, using the proper names and what their uses were. Asked him to please keep his hands to himself. Only talk to Mama and Daddy about those personal things.

The next day, I am picking him up from daycare. And before we can even get out of the daycare door, he is LOUDLY telling me, "Mama, you told me wrong yesterday, Caitlyn said those (as he blatantly points) are my balls". I swung around, grabbed his hand, and was trying to hustle him out of the building and telling him to hush all at the same time. We get outside, and he is repeating himself...just as loudly. I just stopped and looked at him and said "Joshua, I said hush, we will talk about it when we get home". I was flustered beyond belief. My mind was racing..worrying about where all of THIS was going to end up.

That was a Friday night, which was always McDonald's Happy meal night. We were in the drive thru, I had placed his order and he began again. Instead of stopping him this time, I asked him, exactly what he and Caitlyn were doing when they were talking about all of that..and WHY where they talking about that after I asked him not to do that? Well, Joshua was never one to be deterred. As far as he was concerned, I was the one in the wrong. I gave him false information. It was my fault. I knew I would not win this discussion the way we were going, so I told him as soon as we got home, I would explain it to him. I would explain what she was saying and why. He didn't look very pacified but he settled down somewhat.

As soon as we got home, and I mean as SOON as we walked in the door, he asked me again. So I calmly told him. I did tell him the right words, for the right body parts. I told him that sometimes, other people used slang words, words that weren't the right words, for our body parts. I told him to pull his pants down, and look down there. To look and he would see. He did what I said, and as he looked back up at me, I wish you could have seen his face. It was if the heavens were singing, the sun was shining, and the light bulb had gone off in his head. He was grinning from ear to ear, and he said "Ohhhhh...that's why she called them balls, because they're round like balls". Worn out and in distress, I said "Yes, son, that's why she called it that. Now pull up your pants, wash your hands, and go eat your Happy Meal."

At 16, Joshua and I had our last discovery discussion. And again, for those of you who have read my stories, or know my son personally, you will know, some of this last recollection is no longer relevant. No longer a worry. For me or for Joshua. During his earlier teenage years, unbeknown to me, Joshua was still trying to figure himself out. Who he was, what he was about. During this time he was dating girls. One particular girl was giving me cause for worry. I felt she was a little more "advanced" than Joshua. I had already seen some behavior that was setting my radar off. I had already discussed it with Joshua, but I was beginning to feel like my concerns were falling on deaf ears. I decided to wake them up. Their ears. His and her ears.

Joshua had lived with me long enough at that point, that he was not startled when I told him I wanted to have a discussion with both him and his girlfriend. Together. He was however, a little unprepared for exactly what came out of my mouth once I got started. I have already told you all. I have an open house. I believe in saying what needs to be said. I believe in telling it the way you want it heard, so that there are no misunderstandings. And that is the premise I took, when I began to speak.

I told them both, that I had no idea what they were doing. I was not stupid enough to believe that even though I had spoken to Joshua about "waiting", that I could control either one of them. But that I wanted her to understand, that Joshua had big plans for his life. He had those plans for as long as I could remember. And those plans did not include babies, or early parenthood. That he was on the fast track for a full and productive life. That he was destined to do and be great things. That if she wanted to get on that train, she'd better get with his program, or get off and step aside. I would not stand by and let him mess up his life by simply being a teenager who did not take take his responsibilities seriously by not taking care of himself. That he knew what he needed to do to protect himself and if she was smart, I expected her to do the same. That neither one of them needed to trust  the other to "take care of anything". That there was no room for error. They needed to make sure they took care of themselves.

I can remember when Joshua was five years old, and I retold that first story to my mother. She seemed to be shocked and stunned that I thought that conversation was necessary. For such a young child. I explained to her that I knew, nothing but the truth would do for Joshua. I have known that all of his life. All of our lives together. I knew it again when he was six years old, as he swapped words with Caitlyn, the little girl with the three big brothers. And again, when he was a sixteen year old boy, trying to keep up with a seventeen year old girl.

That last conversation I just relayed, was very similar to the one I had with Zachary this past year when he began to date. Our conversation only involved he and I.  But it was just as serious and just as honest. I left nothing to doubt. And I am pretty sure, I was very clear. He seemed to be very uncomfortable, of course, but there was no lack of understanding on his face. I was sure of that before I decided we were finished. I'm sure some of you may be thinking, that I could have left that conversation for Mims to have with Zachary. But sometimes, I have the fear, that the good old boy network will take over, and important parts may slide. Slip through the cracks. Or get left out. I can't allow that to happen. I have to know, there was no mistaking what was being related.

I have never regretted my measures of protection or depths of my conversations with my sons. My goal has always been for them to understand me as clearly and concisely as possible. I think it's the only way. It's important to me, that they both achieve what they were put here on this earth for. I want them to be everything they need and want to be, before they HAVE to be everything life expects them to be. But that's me. That's how I roll. And so far. It's working.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims