I used to question everything...
Back in the day, I was an inquisitive little boy. Pain in the ass is probably more like it, if you were to believe my parents.
I used to question everything (still do on occasion), and my mother would pretty much answer everything within reason. Within reason because some of the stuff was not age appropriate. Those times she would just make something up.
Which brings me to today's entry.
My mother was watching a soap opera one day and I was waiting for the soap opera to be over so I could watch more important shows. Like Godzilla. No time for love, Dr. Jones.
Anyway, one of the characters on the show was proclaiming that another character had raped her. Not knowing what rape was, I asked my mother.
"Uh," she said, no doubt trying to figure out how you explain rape to a five year old. "It's, uh, when you hit someone over the head with a telephone."
That answer was good enough for me. I filed it away and continued to wait for Godzilla.
Later on that night, there was a knock on the door. My father opened it and found Skeeter, a neighbor from up the street, standing on the porch with a blood soaked handkerchief to his head.
"Oh my God, Skeeter! What happened?" My mom asked, rushing to help him inside.
Skeeter stumbled in the house. "Diane got drunk again and she hit me over the head with a telephone."
Being the knowledgeable young lad that I was, I blurted "YOU WERE RAPED!?!?"
My father looked at my mother. My mother looked at me. "Go. Upstairs. Now." She said. She seemed pissed.
I can't remember how old I was when I found out what rape really was, but I wasn't too surprised to find out it wasn't when you hit someone over the head with a telephone.
I used to question everything (still do on occasion), and my mother would pretty much answer everything within reason. Within reason because some of the stuff was not age appropriate. Those times she would just make something up.
Which brings me to today's entry.
My mother was watching a soap opera one day and I was waiting for the soap opera to be over so I could watch more important shows. Like Godzilla. No time for love, Dr. Jones.
Anyway, one of the characters on the show was proclaiming that another character had raped her. Not knowing what rape was, I asked my mother.
"Uh," she said, no doubt trying to figure out how you explain rape to a five year old. "It's, uh, when you hit someone over the head with a telephone."
That answer was good enough for me. I filed it away and continued to wait for Godzilla.
Later on that night, there was a knock on the door. My father opened it and found Skeeter, a neighbor from up the street, standing on the porch with a blood soaked handkerchief to his head.
"Oh my God, Skeeter! What happened?" My mom asked, rushing to help him inside.
Skeeter stumbled in the house. "Diane got drunk again and she hit me over the head with a telephone."
Being the knowledgeable young lad that I was, I blurted "YOU WERE RAPED!?!?"
My father looked at my mother. My mother looked at me. "Go. Upstairs. Now." She said. She seemed pissed.
I can't remember how old I was when I found out what rape really was, but I wasn't too surprised to find out it wasn't when you hit someone over the head with a telephone.
Expunged by Stewie at 2/02/2006 11:39:00 PM
11 Comments:
Okay, so you were 5, your mom had soap operas on while you were around, and you had a neighbor who regularly was beaten by his drunk wife?
Interesting.
So tell me something... if I ever do an abrupt career change, and decide that I want to be a psychologist, can I use you as the subject of my thesis?
No reason. I'm just asking.
Lesley - the stories I could tell.
I think there might be the time she dropped me off at the graveyard floating around here.
And Diane was Skeeter's niece. Whether or not they were having sexual relations I don't know.
But I wouldn't be surprised.
Your mom rocks, seriously rocks, when she does shit like that.
I may borrow that explanation for my six year old if you don't mind :-)
freak - you know i could write a book on her.
christine - by all means, do. however, i can't be blamed if he uses it in the wrong setting. blame that on my mom.
HHAAHHAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!
So - when's the last time you were "raped?"
norman
I just got off the phone with your mom (our regular Saturday morning chat,) and she says this never happened. She says you're sullying our blog reading experience with make believe stories.
Norman - I've been able to talk my way out of the rape situations I've been in.
Renaldo - It's comments like that that make me wish you updated your blog more. lol
And to think, when I was little, I accidentally hit myself on the head with a telephone. No wonder I needed therapy twice in one lifetime.
I gave that dumb answer because Stewie questioned EVERYTHING! How in the heck did I know that crazy fool Diane would get drunk that SAME NIGHT and beat the hell out of poor Skeeter.
If I didn't question everything, I wouldn't know everything like I do now.
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