I was four maybe five years old. We were in my bedroom and it was during the day. It could have been before noon, around nine or ten in the morning. It could have been after twelve; around one or two in the afternoon. It was not dark out. That much I know for sure. In my memory it feels as though the day lay out before us. Things were still hazy, calm and peaceful but quiet. My money is on before twelve o’clock. I had no idea what was in store and I don’t recall much of what is stored in my memory banks. I recall there were a few facts I had pinned down and knew for sure. We all had them pinned down, we all knew for sure. The rumor around our small burgundy red 4 person home in the woods on a culdesac, was that Ima, my Ima, was pregnant. We were to have a new boy or girl in the family!! I was excited. The mood was somber.
We were standing in my brother’s bedroom just past the threshold of the doorway facing into the room. The carpet was blue with speckles of print repeating. There was no padding under the carpet in my room or my brother’s room. Just a thin layer of something insignificant in relation to cushioning or padding. My room, which was the 2nd door on the right and the last door on the right as you made your way down our hallway and had to take a left turn to goto my parents room. As I walked down the long long hallway I was always faced with a mirror. I would sometimes do funny walks or funny faces as I walked down the hallway. Mostly I watched my own posture and my own body, wondering when it would be bigger, faster, stronger and more intelligent than it was in its current state I was viewing. My brother and I would sometimes climb from the floor to the ceiling using the two walls of our hallway, pressing out with hands and feet shimmying up to the ceiling. From the living room one would begin down the hallway. Immeditely there is a wall with the two choices being a door leading to the back yard to the right, and the long hallway to the left. If one took a left they would immeditely see a walk in closet where we kept old winter coats and other things we only pulled out when we needed such as the vacuum cleaner. On the other side of the closet was our fireplace but the brick couldn’t be seen or touched it was all stucco walls. About 3-4 feet further down the hallway was my brother’s room then my room both on the right. At the end was the aforementioned mirror with a wreath and some other stuff on it. It was around this area that there existed an attic fan. A big one this thing was much largrer than a box fan found in most homes today. This thing would suck the doors of our fireplace open and ashes out into the living room if it was turned on and the windows were not open, which happened once every few months when guests were in the house or my one of the two boys of the house felt naughty or curious and flipped the switch. I know around that time or later on around that time I definitely flipped that switch a few times. To the left of the mirror there was a door to the bathroom and upon taking a left it was immediately to one’s right. There was another door here to the left but it opened up into the air conditioner/heater thing. It was basiclly a door to access the HVAC system from what I can remember. Just past the Hvac door and the communal bathroom was my parents bedroom.
My Abba spoke to me and told me we needed to have a conversation, like men do or like adults do. We were to have an adult conversation. He was going to be quite surprised. He had come to the right person! I knew Ima was pregnant, we all did. When it came to anything regarding my Ima or the baby that now apparently grew inside her, I would do anything and everything within my power to help any way I could any chance I could. I had been paying close attention to and I felt as though I was more than prepared to be a full blown adult, especially now.
My Abba was close to my head. He was talking in a manner I’d never heard him talk before but or maybe a second. He spoke to me in the way a father speaks to a son when the son must listen, and the father must say what needs to be said. There would be comprehension. I would understand. If I did not, I could ask questions. Abba always let me ask questions. Literally thousands and thousands of questions I had for him. I would ask them insistently and in an insatiable manner. He always listened to me and answered my questions. He spoke in a soft but stern tone. The importance, paramount. I was listening.
My Ima was gone. She had been gone for a week or so and I’m not sure exactly where it was she went off to. Perhaps it was a church retreat or maybe she went to visit with relatives. I simply do not recall but I do remember that the trip wasn’t unexpected from what could tell. Perhaps it had something to do with the pregnancy, perhaps it was a scheduled getaway that just happened to coincide with the happy news. I’m simply not sure. I was only four or five at the time. Nobody was panicked. These were relaxing times in general. Sometimes we left the house and went cool places like parks or swimming, or to play “Pooh Sticks”at a local creek or small stream we happened upon. One of my favorite games my Ima and I used to play was Pooh Sticks and I was very much looking forward to getting a good round going again with her as soon as she was feeling better.
It turned out she wasn’t feeling well. Everything was fine. I was assured of that fact 100%. She was pregnant. Her body was changing. I understood.
My father got down next to my small head and began speaking to me. He said many things, much of which I did not remember, just the broad strokes. I’ve always been a broad strokes big picture person, especially in my early to mid five’s. Ima was going to be fine but her body was changing from the pregnancy. She was getting bigger. “Fatter” I thought and maybe said. This was a halting point and Abba made it clear this was much of what the conversation was about. Without dragging things on with my writings in an attempt to captivate readers or encapsulate the moment with the right selection of words properly placed the following is basically what he said: You’re mother is now extremely self conscious about her body, do not stare at her and do not make comments about her physical appearance it will hurt her feelings greatly. Try not to stare at her.
Not staring or talking about Ima being fat was easy enough for me to do. Of course I felt bad for Ima. Who wouldn’t. I assured Abba he could count on me not to stare at her, and not to make comments about how she was now officially fat. It all made sense of course because it was all so sensible. It was engraved in my mind from then on that women get fat when then become pregnant, and generally speaking, one should never comment about the fatness and one should certainly never ever stare at the fat parts of the person in question.
Abba and Ima could count on me. I was basically an adult at this point. Abba let me watch some rated R movies while Ima was gone. Murder, explosions, guns in the old west. Clint Eastwood sweaty with a cigar in his mouth and gold in his pockets. ‘One day soon I’ll be a man just like Clint Eastwood’
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