The Daily Write: In the corner (October 17, 2012)

In the corner

I think all 5-year-olds are obsessed with their own butts. It's just natural. They are very regular, but somehow slightly naughty. And you can shake them. Plus, that's where the poop comes out. But still, he shouldn't have hit me.

 

In fact, he should have appreciated the fact that I was developmentally right on target. And it was his daughter who egged me on anyway. She wanted to flash her tush at the boys as they ran by the bathroom door. I thought that sounded fun. I mean, I was scared, but excited. So I did it.

 

And guess who walked by? Yep. Him. The dad.

 

I was only five so I don't remember much. I get him confused with a man I helped die once, long after he had grown old and I had grown up. A father of my  best childhood friend. A man who intimidated and ignored me when I was the hungry little fat kid who hung out at his house every day after school hoping to eat something from his wife's special dinner buffet. At my house, we usually had frozen mixed vegetables with Hamburger Helper and iceberg lettuce salad. Or pop up TV dinners. Or Burger King. Once in a while my dad would grill a steak, but only when it wasn't too hot or too cold.

 

I thought everyone "normal" ate at buffets every night like my best friend's family. I wished I lived with them instead of with my stern and scary dad and my brother. Can you imagine being motherless in a wealthy bedroom community in the early 70s? Without a mansion?

 

But when I was 5 I hadn't yet met them. I was with another friend. A girl whose name I will likely never remember. Her mom was named Bee. I know that cause she was mean and fat with a bulldog haircut and a stern face. She looked so old to me in her mumu. Her hair seemed salt and pepper black shorn on top of her head. I don't even know how she let a wild hippie child like me in her house. And her husband. I don't know if he ever did talk to us kids. He wore white sleeveless t-shirts under button ups. He probably liked country music. Like Dawn's father. Like Wendy's dad. All those crotchety redneck white men. We never did get along much.

 

I guess he felt like it was okay to spank me. He did it to his daughter. It was our bare butts together that got us in trouble when we stuck them out into the hallway. My mom was not happy about it. But how old was she by then? Maybe 27. Struggling. Next to no money. She needed neighbors who would look after the kids. She probably told him it wasn't okay, but in some passive 1960s voice that didn't really get noticed.

 

My daughter is 6. She loves to shake her booty. She stands in front of the mirror admiring her own rear. I laugh. I don't tell her what happened to me.  Butt shame is not worth passing down.