I come from a long line of single mothers. As many generations as I can trace back in my family tree, the kids were raised by single moms. In one particularly complicated case, both parents bailed which resulted in my grandmother being raised by her aunt who claimed she was actually her mother and told my grandmother that the girl she was growing up with was her cousin, but it was actually her sister. Yeah, it’s some soap opera/telenovela/Maury Povich/Jerry Springer type bullshit.
Well, I’m continuing the single mother tradition which is actually really depressing because when you see every woman in your family wind up alone, you really begin to wonder what kind of freaky genetics they’re passing down to you. I also just hope I’m not severely fucking up my son because he’s no longer so young that he won’t remember all the times I’ve fucked up. No, he’s at the age where he can finally use these memories to tear me down in the future and I am not okay with that. So in celebration of that, I want to tell you about a few of my favorite memories that I use against my own mother.
I was about five years old and for whatever reason I wound up at work with her which wouldn’t be a big deal for most kids but my mom was a bartender…at a strip club. So while she was busy tending bar, I was getting pole dancing lessons from Ginger and Candy. The lessons didn’t stick, don’t get too excited. Honestly, I wish they had.
I was ten years old and Cruel Intentions came out and she took me to see it in the theater. Now, I’m not sure if you’ve seen Cruel Intentions but there’s a lot of inappropriate stuff that happens in it and as a ten year old, I was not mentally prepared for this movie. My first question after we left the movie was, “Mom, what’s an orgasm?” and she told me in full detail what an orgasm was. I then shared that information with my friends at school the next day.
I was maybe four years old and my mother’s boyfriend (a man who was actually married to someone that was not her), made her cry so I threw a tin of peanuts at him and it hit him in the forehead and struck blood. The next day I was being babysat by my aunt and cousin and kept telling them what a dickhead he was for making my mom cry. I got in trouble for using the word “dickhead” and my only response was, “What? That’s what my mom calls him.”
As far as my own parenting skills go, I feel like I may already know the first memory my son will use against me. There was a cold day this winter so I sent him to school in a coat. The coat was freshly washed and dried and I don’t know how I didn’t notice this but apparently static cling is a bitch. To make a long story short, my kid went to school with my thong on the outside of his coat. His teacher was the one that noticed it and had to tell him to hide it in his backpack.
What memories do you like to rub in your parents’ faces? Which memories will your own children use against you someday?