So: I woke up on May 21st ready for my date with Drama to ensue around 1:15pm, the scheduled time of my daughter’s event. What happened instead was quite unexpected and quite the opposite of my expectations. I prepared myself for a rather mundane morning. What I got was every mother’s worse fear – My son toppled head first out of his crib and onto the carpet below. His shrill scream caused me to race (as fast as a sopping wet, preggo Black woman can) from the shower into his room and scoop him up to console him as best I could. We were both trembling. Fortunately, I’ve had enough children to know that since he was sitting up independently and could support his weight on his own legs that he was ok.
After I got muh baby calmed down, in stomps my oldest, angry over the clothes I had laid out for her.
“Mooommiiiie!” she whined. “I wanted to wear my pink dress with the lace and bows on it to school today.”
I patiently tried to explain to her that she was having an ice-cream social for her last day of school, and that I did not want her to get syrup and sprinkles all over her church dress. She pouted and her eyes began to well up with tears. Knowing that I would have to face a retarded douche bag later in the day at said social, I was in no mood to brook any opposition.
“You can wear these capris and this pink top to school, or you can stay at home and miss all the fun,” I said with finality. “Your choice.”
“I’ll wear this and go to school,” she said. She did her best to appear heartbroken.
Next comes in her sister, who was also having a graduation ceremony at her daycare.
“Mommy, can I wear my cap ‘n gown to school today?!” (Everything is a both a proclamation and a question when she speaks)
“No sweetie. You have to put it on just before your ceremony.”
Her lip jutted out and she threw herself on my bed and began to whine. Fat, naked, and still wet from the shower I had to jump out of just 5 minutes before, I began to holler.
“Look here!!! You get your clothes on! You straighten up your face!! And when you’re done, get downstairs so we can have breakfast. This is the last day of school, and I am NOT.HAVING.IT. THIS MORRRRRNNNIIING!!!!”
Children scrambled everywhere and I felt my head begin to throb.
When I arrived at Nadjah’s school for the ice-cream social, I braced myself to be confronted with Old Broke and Crazy’s hulking frame and all the drama that would come along with it. 1:15 came and went. The kids sang two songs. 1:35 came and went. Her teacher handed out diplomas. 2:00 rolled around and we were all blissfully eating ice-cream with syrup, sprinkles, fruit and whipped cream – Still no sign of Douche Bag. I breathed a lot easier as I gathered up all the work she’d done over the course of the year and watched her hug her teachers and friends good-bye for the last time.
Am I disappointed he didn’t show? Not at all (although it would have made for an entertaining blog post). On the contrary, it just confirms what those closest to me have always said. My friend Caroline describes him as the village fool who is “constantly kicking up dust for no reason.” My dad says he is a “paper tiger”. My siblings and I are well aware that he is a mentality incapacitated platypus. Fortunately for me, I have never been one to set expectations for my daughter concerning the intentions of her sire-father; she will find out soon enough, when she is old enough, that he is a man who is adept at making promises only to fail.
Today, I got this email: U haven t informed me of any of her school plans. I didn t know about her last day of school function till the day of.
You didn’t know? Really?? C’mon man. I’m no one’s dumb African. We don’t all live in trees, you know.