The night was young…
Two hot chocolates down and a vat of popcorn between us, we slipped into the second to last movie theatre row, shades flipped.
Instead, a commercial! Ggggrrrrr!
A shiny family appears on the screen {all smiles}. They are standing in front of their brand- new van. So content. The prepubescent daughter, arms folded, smirk-laden, and as defiant as a whiplashed bug on our 2001 [long been paid for] minivan, remarks: “Now, I don’t hate my parents anymore!” She cocks her little blonde head.
Parents beam!
Parents. Beam.
Announcer tells us parents how to rock. You can do it. Walk on coals, feel the fire, don’t stop! This parody of family is too much {funny, that is}, the audience reels with laughter.
My son, 11 years old, mouth gaping, startled….looks like he just saw two pimps beat up an old lady and take off with her heirloom wedding band. He shakes his head. He wants to say words. The words won’t come. I’m also lost {to this world}. And then….
“My mom always rocked!,” he asserts, fist pumping, with the zealotry of a radical.
Big moon-smile erupts.
As wide as the womb that bore him.
Collard Green Muslim 