Things change

Im back home, that's right in houston, baby, houston. Unfortunately it's not for good, but, that will change someday. The ride into town was one of the best drives ever. I left san antone about 6:30 in the pm and arrived in houston shortly after ten. I missed every kind of traffic, and some deer on the way in. But, it wasnt those reasons that made the trip pleasnt. There was a silent piece about it all. The radio was on, but, not loud enough to where it drowned out the sound of the tires along the black top roads or the wind finding its way into the cab of the truck. It was if it was the first time I had ever taken a road trip for the first time alone. No one yelling to turn up the radio or to change the track, no one complaining about the drama going on in their personal life or the dreaded "I have to pee". There was no one to interupt the comfortable silence or feel that they had to talk about something to make the trip seem shorter than what it was. It was the forgotten excitment of being on the road alone.

For some reason I thought it was strange. Little did I know how strange it would be. I had a real conversation with my mother for the first time in a long time. It wasn't a conversation that began with questions from her digging into my personal life, leaving me feeling like I was being interogated or have to explain my life. We sat in the living room while she sewed a quilt for a grandchild and she shared stories about the funny things that has happened to her and my father at old age. My dad was recently fitted with a pair of dentures and he bought this denture glue that apparently worked to well, he couldn't take them off and he needed help, so they stayed up laughing all night, with my father making a comment that he use to come home drunk and he needed help talking off his boots now he needed help taking off his goddamn teeth! My mother and I began laughing till we ran out of breath and tears rolled down the sides of our face. As she relived the experince and as I pictured the image in my head.

After a few more stoies, I began to ask her certain things about myself that only a mother could explain. Questions that people ask me in regards to my likes and dislikes. Red meat, for example. I like it, enjoy it, yet its not the first thing I think about when figuring out the menu for my trip to the grocery store. People that I meet for the first time, or those I engage a conversation with will assume I eat allot of red meat, yet, I will prefer chicken everytime.

So I asked my mother was there a reason why I dont eat red meat? Have I always prefered chicken over beef? Growing up there was always red meat for dinner, whether it was a dish with ground beef, pot roast, steak, the list goes on, my father is a big red meat eater, so that was usually on the dinner menu. As she gently pushed the neddle with bright red thread through the material her eyes opened wide, her brow raised and at that moment I knew she could explain why I dont eat read meat as much. She went on to explain to me, that one night I was eating a steak and I choked on a piece, I turned blue and almost passed out, she ran for the phone to call 911 and when she came back, I had somehow stuffed my whole hand in my mouth to free the lodged piece of meat from the back of my throat. I do not remeber any of those seconds of my life. Although it did explain why I get nervous everytime I eat red meat with the fat attached to it.

I then asked her what my favorite subject was in school. I have always been a math type of person, numbers fascinate me, they always have. But, for some reason, I enjoy writing and telling stories. It's a hobby of mine, a blog is part of it, but, I have been keeping journals for over 15 years. I learned today, something I had no idea of. Apparently, I was good at it. She showed me elementry school and jr high news letters, where the english teachers printed allot of things I wrote for creative writing classes. Hell, in one of those pieces, is a picture of my mother, with a story about her father picking cotton and supporting a family in the early 30's and 40's. As soon as I saw that I knew what I must have been thinking when I wrote it, black people weren't the only ones doing that shit!! And yes it was written and published during black history month.

I also asked what kind of women was I into cause she met a few and she just replied, "apparently not the good ones cause you would have been married with kids by now!" Good ole mom, always ready to cut me when she gets a chance. I learned allot about myself tonight, I asked if I was always a hot tempered person, which she explained that no one would no there was something wrong until I exploded. Then it all came out, I could have been having a bad day and she could have served corn and I would have thrown a fit. It was great to hear certain things and stories that would explain allot of my reactions to things in life, because grwoing up we forget those innocent situations that shows our character, as adults we tend to hide those traits in situations where it is not socially exceptable. My mom said that as a kid I always liked big boobs and when I was around women do anything to hug those women and put my head on them, my mother and I looked at each other, I grined and she said "aye Jacob go to bed" That would explain it, and I was thinking it was an aquired fascination!