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It is on my twelfth birthday I notice her as an individual. Up until that time, she is part of the group I know as relatives. It's the time in a boy's life when girls are no longer yucky and they start to be more than just a person who is not a boy. I also remember noticing my buddy's older sisters around the neighborhood. Especially, when they would lie out in their bikinis, bikinis, considered scandalous at the time, yet covering three times as much as the 'bikinis' of today.
She is a beautiful woman, with dark hair and clear brown eyes with specks of gold. Her nose, slightly bigger than most, fits her face perfectly. Her smile is what brings her to my attention, bright and sincere. At the time, all the women in my life are moms. Looking back, I now realize they are each in their own right, what we today call MILFs. Even my own mother is one, as are the mom's of all my friends. I remember this like it is yesterday.
Over the next couple of years, she attends every celebration parent's heap upon their children, little ones and big ones. Her name is Joan and on a number of occasions mom tells me, she is my God Mother and her husband is my God Father. At the time I have no idea what that means. It isn't until I truly notice her I want to know. So, shortly after my twelfth birthday, I ask my mother.
"Mom, what does it mean to be my God Mother?"
"I was wondering when you would ask that question. Joan is your God Mother and George is your God Father. If something were to happen to your father and me, they would take over for us, caring for you."
"Oh. Like what?"
"Well if we were to get into a car accident and…and…"
"Die?"
"Yes. Then Joan would become your mother and George your father. They would also take care of you if both dad and I were hurt at the same time and can't. Joan asked she be included in your life just in case something happened and she needed to care for you. She wants you to know her so you won't be afraid."
"Oh, okay. Thanks."
That is the best news I ever heard. She doesn't appear to be a blood relative. Oh and the part about her taking care of me if something is to happen to my parents isn't bad news either. Over the next couple of years, I grow close to Joan. At every event, which she attends in my life, I sit and talk with her. I tell her what is going on in my life and what my dreams might be at that point in time.
She seems so happy to hear every word I have to tell her. When I first did, she seems a little surprised, yet also pleased. As I grew older, I start to play sports. She attends every one of my little league games. Sitting in the bleachers with my mom and cheering me on. Then comes pony league. She is there, but seems sadder. When she attends my birthday parties, she comes alone.
She seems so happy to hear every word I have to tell her. When I first did, she seems a little surprised, yet also pleased. As I grew older, I start to play sports. She attends every one of my little league games. Sitting in the bleachers with my mom and cheering me on. Then comes pony league. She is there, but seems sadder. When she attends my birthday parties, she comes alone.
It is my sixteenth birthday when I get the nerve up to ask her. We are sitting in the driveway the night of my party looking up at the stars. She is sipping a beer while I take small swigs out of my bottle of Pepsi.
"Joan, where is George?"
"Oh, god," she replies, her shoulders droop as her face, full of sadness, turns my way. "Sweetheart, George and I have divorced."
"Oh, Joan, I'm so sorry."
"Joan, where is George?"
"Oh, god," she replies, her shoulders droop as her face, full of sadness, turns my way. "Sweetheart, George and I have divorced."
"Oh, Joan, I'm so sorry."
I am no stranger to divorce. Several friends on the block have been through them. It is sad to watch and I bet it is horrendous to experience.
"Thank you sweetie, you are such a joy to have in my life right now, I thank the stars that you and I can share our lives and experiences."
"Me too, Joan and I have wanted to say this for a long time now…I love you."
"Oh that's so sweet, I love you too."
She leans over, kisses my cheek, placing her hand on my head. She sits there smiling at me for a long time, stroking my hair gently. Then she stands, looks down at me and turns, hurrying away into the backyard. I swear she mutters under her breathe, 'If only…'.
Over the next couple of years, I just enjoy her company when I can. She is so easy to talk to and an avid listener. I tell her about everything I experience. My loves, my losses, my ups and downs, she listens to them all, intently, she is always concerned about my well-being and helps me work out my emotions.
As I get older, she gets more and more beautiful. It is true she is athletic. In our conversations, she tells me about her work out regime and I am truly impressed at how well it is working for her. Although she is not my mother's contemporary, Joan is at least five years, if not more, younger than mom, Joan has withstood the sands of time far better than my mother.
"Thank you sweetie, you are such a joy to have in my life right now, I thank the stars that you and I can share our lives and experiences."
"Me too, Joan and I have wanted to say this for a long time now…I love you."
"Oh that's so sweet, I love you too."
She leans over, kisses my cheek, placing her hand on my head. She sits there smiling at me for a long time, stroking my hair gently. Then she stands, looks down at me and turns, hurrying away into the backyard. I swear she mutters under her breathe, 'If only…'.
Over the next couple of years, I just enjoy her company when I can. She is so easy to talk to and an avid listener. I tell her about everything I experience. My loves, my losses, my ups and downs, she listens to them all, intently, she is always concerned about my well-being and helps me work out my emotions.
As I get older, she gets more and more beautiful. It is true she is athletic. In our conversations, she tells me about her work out regime and I am truly impressed at how well it is working for her. Although she is not my mother's contemporary, Joan is at least five years, if not more, younger than mom, Joan has withstood the sands of time far better than my mother.
