Posted tagged ‘outside clothes’

“But mothers lie. It’s in the job description.”

October 27, 2014

My outside clothes are clean and have all their buttons and no holes. The colors match even down to my socks; however, my mother would be embarrassed by my inside clothes. If that accident she warned me about countless times ever happened, the holes in my socks and the torn elastic of my clean, but falling apart, underwear would have her humiliated. She and I were world’s apart in our underwear theory. I believe that what’s hidden is of little importance. She didn’t. I figure no one sees it anyway, and if that accident really happened, I suspect the doctor would be too intent on my injuries to criticize my hole ridden socks and underwear.

My mother was the font of all wisdom. We always believed her. I never swallowed gum. If I had, I’d probably still be digesting it as we were warned the gum stayed in our system for years. I imagined a giant pink ball of bubble gun sitting in the middle of my stomach growing bigger and more menacing. My mother told us our tongues turned black when we lied. I’d look in the mirror and see my regular pink tongue. Only mothers could see the black tongue was the reason. I swallowed that whole story. If she asked me something and I’d lied, I wouldn’t show her my tongue. Little did I know I was implicating myself. I never went outside with wet hair. I didn’t want pneumonia. I never ate watermelon seeds. I didn’t want a garden growing in my stomach. Besides, it would have had to fight for room with the bubble gum ball. I never went blind or even blurry eyed sitting close to the TV.

We never questioned my mother. We believed everything she told us. My entire generation waited an hour after lunch before we went back into the water. My mother had a direct line to the North Pole and Santa’s ear. Fright made us good before Christmas.

I have no idea what works on kids today. Google has put an end to watermelon gardens and giant balls of bubble gum.


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