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viewsPlastique Fantastique
By BCBlogger, Wednesday, February 17, 2010, 2 comments
On my way into work this morning, a local radio station was requesting that people call in with "moments of clarity." This supplied the morning commute with quite a bit of humor. There was a lady who, until the age of twelve, would eat vegetables only when her father told her "Go on! Eat it! It'll put hair on your chest." At twelve, her response to him was "B-b-but wait a second. . .I'm a GIRL. I don't want hair on my chest!" There were funny calls about being thunderstruck upon learning that "coin laundry" was not, in fact, a place where one leaves coins to be washed; many dawning realizations that songy lyrics were not what people thought they were.
One of my most embarrassing, horrifying moments of clarity arrived when I was about 18 or 19 years old. The groundwork for that moment, however, was laid long before.
In 1983, my mother and I are indulging in a rare, lazy Saturday afternoon. We are watching some crazy movie where a woman is getting chased through a train yard by a very angry and murderous man. Not shockingly, the hapless and helpless woman falls right into the old "Frail and Screeching Woman Twists Ankle, Falls, Then Lays There, Sniveling and Pressing the Back of her Hand Against Her Mouth Just Waiting for the Murderous Bastard/Scary Monster/Rabid Dog to Arrive and Kill/Squash/Devour Her" plot move. My mother inhales sharply, afraid for the woman. "Get up. Get up. Get up," she whispers to the woman on the screen.
Cut to the angry and murderous man's feet pounding their way through the train yard.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
Pan back to the lady.
Cut to the angry and murderous man's feet pounding their way through the train yard.
Closer. Closer. Closer.
Pan back to the lady.
"C'mon, lady! Get up!"
my mom says, louder this time.
The pressure is building.
my mom says, louder this time.
The pressure is building.
Footsteps.
Lady.
Footsteps.
Lady.
Footsteps AND Lady. He's THAT close. I can't take it anymore.
And out of my eight year old mouth comes the battle cry "FOR CHRISSAKES, YOU STUPID DILDO! GET UP AND RUN!"
WHACK! The slap comes out of nowhere.
The screech "WHAT did you say?"
Me. Horrified. Oh no. I took the Lord's name in vain. Was that it? That was it. Right? I said "Chrissakes." Wow. She's gonna smoke my behind for that one.
Tears and sniffles, I say "Uhh. . . I said. . .ummm get up and run you stupid dildo." I'm thinking that by leaving the offensive "for the sake of Christ" off, she will relent. Have mercy.
My mother glares at me with a combination of horror, fury, anger, puzzlement. . ."Do you even know what that MEANS?"
" size="3">Uhhh. . .yeah."
"WHAT?"
"Yeah. It means. . .that . . .um. . .I think she's stupid and that she should run."
"No! Not that. That WORD. That word you said."
The gears of my brain. . .turning. . .turning.
"Uh. . .dildo? "
"YES! YES! THAT word! THAT word."
I'm thinking she's ready to strike again, so I quickly scream "YES! I know what it means. YES! It means STUPID PERSON. You know, like DILLWEED, DILLHOLE, DILLFACE."
My mother stares at me wide eyed and hisses "No. It doesn’t. And I do not EVER want you to say that word again."
Being a child with a very literal understanding of her parents' instructions, I never did say that word again. I put that word as far back into my mind as I could. Had I been any other child, my mother's reaction might've piqued my curiosity and made me investigate the matter further. But being the simple person that I am, the word "dildo = junior sized bitchslap" and I was never, ever, going to even THINK about the word again.
Life went on. As it always does.
And then, one day, long after I'd moved out of my parent's home, I was at the home of a few of my older friends. We're all sitting around drinking (What? Like you didn't drink when you were 18.) and talking about this or that when someone brings up the subject of porn. And my friend says something like "And then the guy takes out this huge phallus, this GIANT dildo. . ."
My eyes grow wide. Did she just say that word? That word I'm never, ever supposed to say? Did she just. . .
"Wait a sec. What did you say? What's the difference between a phallus and a dildo?"
"Uhhh. . .class? I don't know Amy. It's the same thing. It's a rubber peni. . "
"THANKS! THANKS! I get it! Gotcha. O.K."
And I sit there, flush with shame. My friends think that I'm embarrassed by the conversation; that I'm blushing because I don't like to talk "sex-talk." They make more jokes, more fun. They think I'm thinking that I wish they'd stop talking about it all.
But they're wrong.
In this awful, terrible moment of clarity, I realize WHY my mother smacked my mouth so many years ago. I gasp. "OHMYGOD!" my brain screams "YOU SAID DILDO IN FRONT OF YOUR MOTHER!" The sting of the slap and all of the shame I SHOULD have felt come flooding back to me. I cannot believe I said DILDO in front of my mom.
The shock my mother must've felt when her still-sweet daughter, unsullied by mean girls and bullies, called a movie character "a stupid rubber penis." Oh. Mah. Gawd. What had she thought? Did she believe my explanation of what I thought a dildo was? Or did she think that there was something more sinister lurking beneath that smooth French braid she'd worked so hard to perfect? She had to believe me. She HAD to. After all, she never asked me where I heard it. Who did I hear it from? Oh! yes! Those bad Tooley kids. Those girls were so far ahead of the rest of us, they probably DID know what a dildo was. Ugh. Oh. God. I said THAT WORD in front of my mother.
I don’t remember when, but she and I have talked about it since then - the day I said that word. I know now that she did believe my explanation and that she HAD suspected that it was language I picked up from the Tooley kids. And I'm so glad. I did enough things in my childhood to piss off or disappoint my mother. I didn't really want to add to the pile.
I suppose the moral of this story is that if your kid ever says something horrifically inappropriate, please give them a chance to explain before you get to slappin' them.
xoxo
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2 Comments
Ha. I love that there's an
lol
~Laura
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