He was a handsome guy. Very easy on the eyes and well-dressed. Nice and clean suit; I’m talking about the whole works!
I, seeing how cool and well put-together he was, idly wondered how this gem of a gentleman had come to be the way he was.
He looked almost perfect to me! He’d helped one lady with her chair when she was about to sit down and I’d watched him earlier as he calmed a young kid who had been tearing about the place, intent on destruction.
I didn’t mention that we were at a house party, did I?
I walked up to him; the stranger. I just had to know his secret. He was too good to be true and men like him didn’t walk by me every day! In fact, they were so rare; I was starting to believe they were extinct.
“Hello!” I greeted with a wide smile.
He returned my smile with a greeting and a smile of his own and I was charmed.
Long story short, I told him I’d been watching him for a while now.
Yeah, I’m like that; not shy or anything. Guess you can call me the say-it-as-you-see-it-kinda-girl. Lol.
Of course, he, to say the least, was shocked at my straightforwardness.
“Yep, I’ve been observing your- you know, the way you do things; your appearance and I have to wonder; what is it that made you the way you are? I think someone had a hand in making you this way! You couldn’t have just developed genius gentleman skills all by yourself!” my voice had risen now.
He smiled at me, still surprised though. I waited patiently for his answer. I wasn’t in a hurry. I was going to have my answer.
And no, I wasn’t flirting. I swear, I wasn’t! I was just curious. J
So he was quiet for a moment. He seemed to be weighing his answer. I could tell I’d thrown him a sort of curve-ball with that question.
Then, after about two minutes of careful weighing, he said,
“I guess you can say that it’s because I had to grow up with the meanest mother ever.”
My brows peaked. I was confused. Had I heard him right?
“Uh, pardon me?”
He smiled and said more fervently.
“You heard me right, lady. I grew up with the meanest mother ever”
OK. I had expected any answer but this. I’d thought to hear something along the lines of;
“Well, I attended this school were you had to have the best manners or sign out”
“My father trained me to be a gentleman and since he was, it wasn’t hard to follow suit”
This answer was nothing short of shocking.
I was about to open my mouth to ask him if he’d heard my question but he grinned and held up a hand to stall whatever I was about to blurt out, then he led me to a table. After pulling out a chair for me to sit, he sat down and crossed a feet over his knee.
When he was comfortable, he started talking.
Everything he said to me that day was a revelation of sorts.
“When I was little, I hated vegetables. I preferred candies, pastries and pizza. You know what kids love, right? My friends got to choose what they had for breakfast. I didn’t. Mom made me eat broccoli and spinach and then she’d pack fruits in my lunch box too! Occasionally, we got to eat turkey and other stuff like that but she forced me to eat healthy. Does any kid care about eating healthy? No!”
I gasped. Eew! I hate spinach…and broccoli!
That woman, ugh!
He smiled at my comical expression and continued.
“Growing up, I was the typical kid. I wanted to have lots of friends and play all day like my friends were allowed to. Mom said no, I had to stay at home and finish my homework first. Then she insisted on knowing all my friends. If they weren’t to her taste, she ticked them off my list.”
I had to laugh at that. “She ticked them off your list? Why, it’s called your list for a reason! You should be allowed to make friends with whoever you like, duh!”
OK, the ‘duh’ was silent.
He smiled and continued.
“I didn’t like it either! It sucked. I couldn’t have the coolest friends and all the great dudes at school sort of avoided me. I wasn’t mommy’s boy but I was as close to wimpy as they came.” He said with a straight face. I looked at the man lounging comfortably in his seat across me. ‘Wimpy’ wasn’t a word I would use to describe him by a thousand miles. He oozed self-confidence and assurance without being arrogant.
“Then to make things really worse, she made me kneel by my bed daily and say my prayers to God. Morning and night. I’d be feeling so groggy and all, but prayers had to be said!”
I didn’t know her and neither had I met her but I didn’t like his mother at all. A mother who makes a little child kneel to pray? That had to be sort of illegal, right? Bad mother, that.
He wasn’t done, apparently. He opened his mouth and went on.
“She made me return other kids’ stuff if I took them without asking. I’d tell her it belonged to my friend and that that was how we rolled but she’d yell and say that if I didn’t return that stuff immediately, I’d get such a spanking, I wouldn’t soon forget it. So, I had to learn to make do with my own things and nothing but my things. Lady, that wasn’t cool either.”
I felt for the man seated in front of me. A faraway look was in his eyes now as if remembering those days was torture for him. At least, I thought so.
At this point, I wanted to tell him to skip this part about his mother and just tell me how he’d become the man that he was today; an absolute gentleman.
But he didn’t look like he was even here with me again. That faraway look remained in his eyes and he continued.
“My very mean mother made life miserable for me, dear. She made me go to church on Sundays while my mates got to hang out at clubs and party the morning off. We had the occasional outing and family moments but it always seemed like more fun out there, somehow. Then she’d ensure that I never missed a day at school. That law of no kid-spanking? Nah, it didn’t work at our home. She’d spank me until my backside turned blue then I had to thank her for the spanking too. As for my sisters and female cousins and friends, I wasn’t allowed to raise my voice at them or hit them. Not even in jest. Mom said every woman was a queen even if I couldn’t see her crown.”
Hmmm…I sort of liked that ‘queen’ bit, but the spanking? My eyes bugged. “Di-did you ever report her to the police?” I stuttered.
He smiled now. “No dear. If I had, my other relatives would have gladly shown me why reporting to the police wasn’t the best idea. They happened to be meaner than mom.”
I groaned now. This was too much. He’d really had a bad time growing up.
“She’d make me attend dance lessons, learn how to knot a decent tie and then she made me wear those ties to formal outings.” He pointed at his throat and true, there was a perfectly knotted tie at his collar. His smile at me widened.
“See? She was that mean. Till now, I can’t knot a tie wrong, even if I’m sleeping! Then she’d make me clean my room. In an age where boys were rebellious, I couldn’t be. I just couldn’t. My room had to be spick and span and my socks and shirts had to be washed weekly and neatly folded as soon as I learnt how to operate the washing machine. My life was hard. The other kids had it so fine and so smooth and so free, I had it rickety, straight and well, not so free. I didn’t live a prisoner’s life but then again, I didn’t live free. Mom insisted on always knowing where I was. Imagine that. If I was out past curfew time, a grounding was waiting for me somewhere on the horizon. And if I was being sneaky, she always knew somehow. I used to think that that was creepy, though. Mom wasn’t my favorite person back then”
At his use of ‘back then’, my brows peaked again. “And now?”
He smiled a sorrowful smile. “She died last year. And her last words to me were, ‘I know I was the meanest mother, boy. But see how you turned out? I made a gentleman out of you and I’d do it all over again if I had to! Your mean mother loves you much, dear’ and she went to be with God.”
I frowned. “So, what you are saying to me now, is your mother-your mo-” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. I was having a hard time understanding it myself.
He laughed now.
“You got it right, lady. My very mean mother is the reason I’m like this. And strange as it may sound, I wouldn’t settle for a wife who couldn’t learn to be a mean mother either!” he said this with a smile and I saw him thumb away a drop of tear from the corner of his eye.
He was crying for the loss of his ermmm…mean mother?!
Who woulda thought?!!!
**********************************
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| Absolutely Beautiful! |
Lol! OK, this is major fiction from my own bejeweled pen. Ha-ha!
You already guessed, right?
Do excuse the weird title. I think I major in weird titles.
N.B – Not all the gentlemen in the world were bred by their mothers but mamas sure can help in breeding more gentlemen for us. I think being a gentleman even in this century can’t ever be overrated.
So right now, I’ll just assume (with hope) that you get what my point is and I’ll snap my pen close. I’m not going to waste my ink! :p
People, appreciate your mamaz. Ladies, value ’em gentlemen!
P.S. – Please, don’t keep your opinions to yourself. There are two comment boxes below! Thanks.
Ciao! J :*
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