What Will the Neighbors Think?

I mentioned in my last post that my mom wasn't much of a mama bear type. I know she loved us. Loves us still. She has never stopped thinking of us and worrying over us and we keep in touch.

She's a great grandmother to my kids and to my brother's kids, too. They all love her. She is very sweet.

But she was raised a long time ago by people who owned a florist business in a small town in Colorado. To have a thriving business, it was important to not make waves, not argue with people, not appear in any way something other than nice and accommodating. The customer is always right, you know.

So she brought that attitude with her into adulthood, even though there was no business to build or worry about.

Anything she did in public was done with one eye on what someone might think if he or she saw it. It worked that way the whole time I was growing up.

And even after.

When Matt was eight years old, Lyssa two, we visited my parents for a few days. I had gone with my mom and Lyssa and her little stroller to take a walk around the track at the local high school. I left Matt at home with my dad, they were working on stacking wood and Matt was proud to be able to "help Grandpa."

When we returned to the house, my dad was still out in the driveway. There was a tall man with him, who was introduced to me as Dennis, their pastor. I observed the social formalities, then asked my dad where Matt was. He sort of looked around with a he was here just a minute ago expression on his face, and then said, "I think he went in the house."

So Mom and I took Lyssa in, and I called out to Matt. He unlocked the door,came out of the bathroom and hugged me, hard.

I could tell there was something wrong.

"What happened, Buddy?"

"That tall man pulled my underwear up my butt!"

"WHAT?!?!"

He repeated it. And said, "And it hurts here." Pointed to his inner thighs.

I didn't take the time to examine him. I spun on my heel and headed for the door out to the driveway.

And my mother stepped in front of me. Body block! Trying to head me off.

"Now Dear," she said. "Don't go off half-cocked. Your father and I have to live here, you know."

I brushed her aside and stomped outside and up to the asshole, ready to tear his fucking head off.

"I understand you yanked my son's underwear up his ass." I told him.

And he looked... caught. My mom, standing behind me, gasped over my use of the word ass in front of a man of God.

My dad looked at him incredulously.

"Why would you do a thing like that?"

Pastor Dennis began trying to smooth things over with me.

"Oh I didn't mean anything by it, it was just a joke, his underwear were showing above his waistband and I said a little joke my father used to say to me. I didn't mean to offend."

I was speechless with anger.
But my mom's anguish tempered it a bit, I have to admit.

I had nothing else to say to the molester.

I just walked away and went back into the house to see what was going on with Matt.

I got more details, and was pissed as hell. He had a goddamn friction burn!

Then, Dennis came into the house and tried apologizing to me. All over himself. A picture of contrition. He hadn't intended to hurt anyone or make anyone mad.

I wasn't buying it. Through gritted teeth, I told him that I didn't care what his intention was, it was just wrong for him to have touched my kid.

I once again turned from him, took my kids and went down the hallway to our room, where I shut the door.

I wish I hadn't given a shit what my mother thought. If I had it to do over, I would have called the police and filed a report. Fucking pervert. I'm still pissed off about it actually.

But the thing that bothers me the most of all, the thing I remember from the incident?

My mom was more concerned about what the pastor might think of HER than about what the pastor may have done to her grandson.

And I guess I'm guilty, too, because I backed off and walked away when I should have raised the biggest shitstorm I could over it.

Do you care what your neighbors think?