6 years later
“Jo come on, we gonna be late,” I scream from inside where I’m currently standing by the small kitchen window watching my little girl chasing Kim McGerby’s son around the small complex where we stay. Well used to stay.
After five years of saving all my quarters, doing double shifts and working part-time for my friend DJ
I’ve finally managed to put a down payment on a small two-bedroom house in the center of Kanla.
It’s down the road from the diner and local church, barely a couple of miles from work and most importantly it’s near my best friend DJ’s house.
It isn’t a prime location, but then again this is Kanla, there is none. But the place is mine, well as mine as it can be until I paid off the mortgage.
Jocelyn has been so excited about the new place, having her own room and a yard but all I’ve been doing is stressing. And with barely two days to settle in before work Monday morning and that includes today there isn’t time for anything else.
My bestie DJ owns the local club just past the mall about five miles north from the hospital where I work.
She couldn’t close shop today and I didn’t expect her to, especially when it was the busiest day of the month. She offered to help me out tomorrow morning but I never miss church so I ended up taking my co-workers up on their standing offer to come in today and help me unpack.
There is no way I’m going to be able to swing it on my own.
Jocelyn’s light brown locks swish down her back, looking golden under the bright Southern sun as she runs inside.
My head shakes in amazement as I watch my little hero. Her long legs carry her closer to me, before a pair of light grey eyes so much like my own find me staring. Her small button nose scrunches up right before she blesses me with one of her goofy smiles and rolls her eyes.
“You’ve got practice in fifteen minutes. Get your shoes on missy.”
She scowls, as her nose wrinkles, a telltale sign that I’m not going to like what my six-year-old kid is about to say,
“I told you I ain’t no missy momma. Missy is Jamie Coleman’s sister and I ain’t her, she stinks like rotten fish, I saw her yesterday down by the field and she looked like she didn’t bathe for days, Caden said if we went close to her we might catch somethin’, is it true momma?”
“Jocelyn May, didn’t I tell you not to bad mouth that girl.”
“I ain’t bad-mouthing her, I was just…” she argues back at the same time her posture straightens in defense.
“Just what Jo?” I interrupt in my sternest voice, my eyes firmly placed on hers.
We stay like this, in a standoff until she relents. Her shoulders hunch and she huffs with a slight frown still marring her brows,
“Nothing momma.”
“That’s what I thought, that girl has enough to worry about without you and your friends adding to that.” I don’t like this part of parenting, and there was a time when I didn’t do it but my baby got out of hand when she pushed a kid off a swing last year.
I was called into the pre-school and ended up taking Jocelyn out and transferring her to the local public school even though I knew she wasn’t entirely to blame. The boy she pushed played a part too, the only difference was that Jo was the first one to strike.
At the time I didn’t know how to handle this. I wasn’t keen on spanking my kid and punishing her seemed a bit harsh. Talking to her didn’t work either because my baby even at five had a temper. So, becoming stern and strict was my go-to evil, but a necessary one at that. Lord knew that if I didn’t play the bad parent game with my kid what my baby would turn out like.
But it doesn’t mean I like it, my mother never told me how hard it was to be a mother, she made it look easy. It’s the most difficult position a person can have.
When you got a determined kid like Jocelyn staring at you hunched and sorrowful, it’s even worse. Because even though I’m aware that deep down she doesn’t see the error of her ways I just got to go mush.
It’s like a curse because instead of letting Jo pass me like the strict parent I’m ought to be, I snatch her around the belly and tickle her something crazy.
She howls, “Momma, I’m gonna pee my panties.”
My big smile matches hers as I let her go, ’cause now I’m feeling lighter. Watching her rush off to our old room where I still have a few suitcases scattered on the floor that needs to be taken over to our new place, my moment of happiness is short-lived. Truth is it’s hard as a parent as is, but a single one? I have no clue how I’ve done it for these past six-years.
My hat comes off for those single parents with two or more kids just doing it on their own.
But isn’t that what loving our kids is about? Sacrifice, selflessness, love, devotion. It’s so close to marriage vows, difference is, being a parent isn’t tied by empty promises, and repeated words.
To be a parent is to be bound by blood, it’s a lifetime commitment.
Because, no matter where you are, or where your kid is, the day that child sucked its first breath was the day you became bound.
I am no perfect mother, but I have made sacrifices.
One of them was staying in this one-bedroom complex since I stepped foot in Kanla almost six years ago.
At one time it was enough for the two of us, but my girl is tall and she needs her own space. I thought about this when Jo was a year old and was getting bigger and fast. She is one of the tallest in her class and a purebred tomboy.
Hence why I’m taking her to soccer practice on a Saturday morning and not to dance lessons like most of the girls in Kanla. But Jocelyn has never been anything but unique.
“Momma let’s go I’m done.”
Her grey eyes shoot up, and my heart swells with a heaviness I’ve always blamed on my past because she looks just like her father when she does that even with eyes and curly light brown hair so much like my own.
Too bad he will never know that.
Six-years-ago I kept my word and emailed Landon a picture of a one-week old Jocelyn and a note that it was his.
I promised myself, I wouldn’t recall the email he sent me back unless I had to. But I will just say that he wanted nothing to do with his daughter.