Sometimes, you have to do a double take at some of the things you hear. You might have to lean back, with a mean side eye as you mouth the words “say what?
I rode the train for work today and a lady was riding with two small children. The youngest looked like he was about one years old. He cried the whole way. After a while, the mom yells at him, “man , shut up I don’t have no candy man, y’all get on my F**** nerves crying all the time, shut up”.
I cringed on the inside.
That poor baby immediately began to cry a river of tears, but this time it was different, these cries came deep from within, a place of hurt. She hurt that little one with her screaming, ranting, and raving. I wanted so badly to snatch him up in my bosom and soothe him and tell him that everything would be alright. I watched and his image lingered in my mind long after the bell sounded for his cries to exit the train. The mom didn’t have any shame. None at all. If she screamed like that on a public train, it’s no telling what she gave those kids at home. It made me wonder who was she, where’d she come from and how was she raised. Was she hurting? Abused? A drug addict? Overwhelmed? Am I judging her? Yes, I totally am. By nature, this is what most of us do. I don’t know her story, but the circumstances prompted me to break out a pen, my notebook, and here is what I came up with.
Don’t look at me with disgust in your eyes. If you don’t know my name, then you don’t know my shame.
She gave birth to me, but she was not present. She disappeared from my life before I could ever call her Ma-Ma.
She left me to cradle in my own arms. Singing lullabies to myself at night, and eating dry cereal in the morning.
From pilar to post.
In her sights and out again. She gave me up and came back again. This time wearing a shinny ring and holding hands with a new daddy. She said, “from now on baby, life is good”.
He bounced me on his knee and tickled my fancy with treats.
He tried to ignite me with passions a young girl should never be made to understand.
Closing my eyes tight.
Ugly, terror, horrifying, imagery of golden lilies and death caskets.
I want to die.
Eyes tightly shut, but try as I might, death will not come.
I tell Ma-Ma to remove that shinny ring from her finger because her new found daddy is a new found disaster.
In one swoop.
She packs my life, my dry cereal and sends me away never to return.
A new place, hardly a home.
Now I’m fighting, stealing, screwing, and strutting.
I light my own flame, and I am high.
I powder my own nose, and I can breathe.
I am sick by morning, and thirsting for more powder and flame by night.
No 28 days til the next one, but 9 months later a new life is born.
He sings lullabies to himself while eating dry cereal.
I’m here, but I’m not present.
The cycle continues.
Yup, I broke out the pen and pad and started writing my Dears. That’s how the situation made me feel. Sometimes, without thinking, we judge people (myself included) without knowing the circumstance nor thinking of why the other person has the wrong behaviors. By nature, I’m an advocate for those who otherwise may not have a voice. My heart leaped for the kids, but after thinking, and writing, I felt something for the mom too. I’m not preaching, just reminding that sometimes we have to think outside what looks right, to get inside of what is right. Mom had some issues and it came from somewhere. I’m praying for her and those innocent helpless babies today.
Peace and blessings