Letâ€™s talk about my mom. Itâ€™s time, donâ€™t you think? Iâ€™ve been putting this off for a while because, well, itâ€™s hard for me to talk bad about my mom. But if youâ€™re really going to know me, then you need to hear this. Iâ€™ve mentioned it once before, but my mom was a slut.
If you ever met my mom â€“ you know who you are â€“ youâ€™re probably laughing right now. Go ahead, Iâ€™ll wait. Okay, okay, wipe the tears off your face and hear me out. Itâ€™s true, that doddering old lady you remember truly was a slut. I know, itâ€™s not easy to comprehend. I probably sound insane to you.
Let me think. My mom grew up in the 50s, long before the womenâ€™s movement and the hippie years. She messed around in high school and barely began to explore her slutty tendencies before she married a jerk at nineteen. The jerk fucked around on her before he walked out and took their ten-year-old daughter â€“ my sister â€“ with him.
Now, if youâ€™re still paying attention, this is when my mom made a break for the dark side. I wasnâ€™t around yet, so I canâ€™t give you the gritty details. All I really know, I learned from my sister on a gruesome night at the beach that began with an argument and ended with me lying awake on the floor of a scummy motel bedroom listening to the sounds of my sister fucking her girlfriend. So letâ€™s take a detour.
Yes, the night began with a screaming fight. â€œYou donâ€™t know what it was like,â€ Kim screamed.
â€œWhat?â€ I asked. I was fifteen. I still trusted her.
â€œMommy used to be different,â€ she always called her Mommy.
I stared at her in disbelief.
â€œShe used to have men over every night,â€ Kim yelled. â€œI used to lay awake, listening to them. Yeah,â€ she screamed. â€œYou have no idea. They used to come knocking at the back door late at night, calling her,â€ her voice was shrill. You know she enjoyed hurling those truths at me.
My sister hated me. Itâ€™s a truism and itâ€™s beside the point. I mean, come on, if you watched your slut mom completely reinvent herself for your bratty little sister, if you watched her swear off men altogether, learn to put a dinner on the table every day, learn to keep a house, learn how to love for Godâ€™s sake, you would hate the object of her affection too.
My fifteen-year-old self had a lot of trouble handling the truth. See, my mom never fucked around while I lived at home. From when I was too little to remember until I went away to college, my mom was celibate. She threw the word around like a prayer. So from that night at the beach until I saw for myself how much men could destroy her, I denied the truth about my mom. I watched my sister walk out of our lives into the shady underworld of drugs and I was a little bit glad to see her go.
My mom clung to her celibacy until I left home. She avoided sex even while I didnâ€™t, and as a parent Iâ€™ve got to admire that kind of dedication. But donâ€™t you know that just about the minute I traded in my bedroom for a dorm room, she found a creep at Walmart and started fucking him? I was disappointed at first, and then it got worse. She found a â€“ what do you call it â€“ a sugar baby? Some black guy a good twenty years younger than her with a penchant for running up credit card bills and beating on old white ladies while he was fucking them. Yeah, great, I know. I kind of avoided home while that was going on. Then she found Mike the used-car salesman, and you know how that ended up.
So, you know, maybe I should love celibacy. Maybe I should be thanking my lucky stars. My momâ€™s celibacy gave me a normal life. I grew up thinking the best of my mom, never having to deal with the truth. But you know what? Celibacy just put a cork in my momâ€™s life, it didnâ€™t solve any of her problems. In the end, my mom ended up dying for some guy she met in a phone sex chat room. Once a slut, always a slut. I hate self-denial.