Monday Ramble #32 Stop Looking At My Moms

Do you remember being a kid and meeting one of your friend’s Moms for the 1st time? If your friend’s last name was Brown, you would say, “Nice to meet you Mrs. Brown” and she would say, “Nice to meet you little whoever you are.”
And it was all good. But then there was a time when you would meet someone’s Mom and the convo would start out, “Nice to meet you Mrs. Brown” and she’ll scowl and say, “Brown is his/her father’s name, and I hate that bastard. My last name is Pearson.”

Or something like that. And she might even point out that she isn’t a ‘Mrs.’

But as a kid, what do you know? It’s not the kid’s fault. If she hated that guy so much, she didn’t have to give her seed his name. Maybe she didn’t know how it would turn out. She also didn’t know that she was going to have a kid with another dude. And when she did, she thought this guy was the one.

And now just like Doughboy and Ricky’s mom, (Boyz ’N’ The Hood) she has a favorite babyfather, a favorite kid, and she’s throwing herself subliminally at some guy that looks like Laurence Fishburne who lives on the block.

The closest thing I’ve had to offspring was a cat when I was a kid. I took care of the little feline, emptied his litter box, bought his cat food, gave him water and spoke to him about drugs and peer pressure in the community.

It worked out well and although he lived to be around 90 years old, I don’t think it readied me for a human pet. I mean a baby. Sorry about that. I’ve watched a lot of kids though. If you ever need someone to watch your kids, I’m one of the best.

Oh no not babysitting, I mean watch them, I don’t do diapers or vomit cleanup or anything but I’m an excellent watcher. I can look at them, stare at them, I am exceptional at that, especially from far away. You should see my skills.

I am related to some children, I’ve hung out with them, conversed about school and kindergarten drama, I’ve even read a children story or 2…with animated voices and all that. If I did have a seed, I don’t think I would ever be cool with letting the little bastard…sorry again, out of my sight. I don’t trust babysitters. I can imagine being a single parent and trying to date someone. I would be so leery letting a person in my life that didn’t help me create the youngster.

The other day I’m watching What Chilli Wants and every time she gets with a dude, she starts mentioning her son and dudes start to get shook. The guy that was trying to get some TV time, maybe a little bedroom action with the consolation prize of a relationship is now faced with the thought of an add water, instant family.

The kid has to like you, respect you, and not try and kill you. Then you have to worry about the other parent in the picture. Does that parent still come around, still have beat-rights, are they paying some bills? Do you care enough to go that far?

The toughest part about dealing with a single parent is putting yourself in the place of the kid. You are Lebron James, and Delonte West is lurking around trying to be cool with you so he can get in and maybe get out once he’s done. Go ahead and envision all those tattoos, and some weirdo breathing heavy on top of the woman that gave you life.

But you don’t think about that, you’d rather be Delonte playing the role of the predator and your mission is to invade the birthplace of the little homie. And once you’re there you have to stay, or else you hurt a bunch of folks. How do you escape the notion that there is a child that isn’t yours but is going to pretend you’re the new parent with the hopes that a newer baby doesn’t get more attention, that your love will mirror that of a blood relative and that your disciplinary actions never provoke the phrase. “I’m not your child!!! (followed by bitch or nucca) ”

So you have to make a decision and try not to let the extra pressure affect your thought process. The opposite spectrum is the kid that’s really feeling you and vice versa; then you’re like Jerry Maguire rolling with the Mom just because you bonded with the little youth.

There are limitless scenarios to this unsolvable equation:

-2 Baby Daddies, 1 with drug habits, the other makes drug deals.

-2 or more Baby Mamas, one likes you, the other says she likes you or they all like each other and call you a bitch that doesn’t know he still wants them.

-Disappearing Baby Daddy with intrusive family that keeps getting your name wrong.

-Cool Baby Mama that gets child support not ordered by the court system so he has to bring it to her house…at night.

-Baby Daddy that wants to get back in so he buys presents for everyone…including you.

-Baby Mama that posts subliminal hate on Twitter but if you say something about it, you’re a hater.

-Baby Daddy that posts “The Real Family” pic on Facebook that you’re not in at Chucke Cheese, even though you were at the party.

-Baby isn’t a baby and wants money to leave y’all alone on weekends and can go to the club with you.

-Mother-in-law that wishes you would go away and the original family can work it out because her marriage didn’t work so she’s pissed at you and won’t let your mother receive a Nana or Granny moniker because she’s not blood and you don’t like her but you’re glad that she’s not phony about her feelings…or something like that.

Like I said, the different complications and situations can become elaborate yet beautiful.

And when it gets to the point where the child has to get called into the room to hear the explanation why Mr. Jamal is going to be spending the night and checking homework…or why Ms. Sharon was yelling at Jesus in Daddy’s bedroom the other morning, it’s real.

There’s no answer, solution or knowledge I offer you here today, all I can do is speak on what I see.

“The best advice is keep moving slow/’cause honestly, you don’t know what the future holds/one day you’re dating model broads, groupie hoes/next day you’re watching Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh…” –The Milf Song.