Stefanie R. Jefferson
ENG 272—Creative Writing Nonfiction
Sandra Dihlmann, Instructor
Assignment: Write a personal essay.
Out of the Mouths of Babes
It is a beautifully clear, nippy Sunday morning, and the snow from the past few days has melted. Ryan and Samantha are getting ready for church. Sam is pushing out her bottom lip; she hates wearing dresses. Because she sits as if on a bar stool ready to spit her tobacco out and take a swig of beer, my goal is to get her to act and sit like a young lady. Ryan is excited because he is going to wear his little black-and-white checkered vest, white shirt, and black pants. He is a little obsessive compulsive and washes his hands just one more time. “Mommy, can we go now?” he asks.
Sam is flopped on the couch.
“Dresses are stupid,” she says, in her pouting, grumpy voice.
“I know, Sweetheart,” I tell her.
“Sis, you look pretty. Don’t wowwy,” Ryan says, as he struggles to articulate his “r.”
Ryan has never held back anything he wants to say, and I know he means it. I think to myself how sweet he is to say so. After all, she does look cute, and he adores his sister.
I pick them both up in my arms and walk them outside. I put them down and lock the door. We get into the car and drive down the road to church. I loop around the parking lot and realize there are no open spaces. Should I make the “Great Escape” home? I admit it crosses my mind. I drive back out to the street and find a parking space.
Sam holds onto my hand while I carry Ryan on my side. I take Sam into the kid’s room, and I put Ryan in the preschool room. I climb up the stairs, go through the usual greetings at the door, find a seat, and sit down. I listen to the sermon. Today, it is something about ministering in Mexico. I am wishing someone would tell me what that has to do with my relationship with God.
I cannot wait till the sermon is over, because deep down I know falling asleep in church is rude. If I had my blanket at this point, I would lay on the lap of the elderly lady next to me in hopes she would pat me to sleep. Listening begins to feel like a chore. I am unmotivated. The tithe bowls are passed and the wannabe tabernacle singers sing the closing song. The pastor walks down the aisle giving everyone the signal that they can now exit the building. I stand up and watch people walk out with their forced smiles.
As I begin walking down the stairs to pick up Sam and Ryan, Adele, with Ryan in tow, begins up the stairs. She is elderly and wears a knitted sweater bordered in blue, little flowers settling in its colored boxes. The elastic waistband of her blue polyester pants rests snugly around her white button-up shirt. Ryan is trying hard to keep up. His little hand touches the stair above each foot for that extra push. She looks at me and smiles, stretching her bright red lipstick like a stressed rubber band. We meet midway on the stairwell.
“Hi Mommy, we had fun!” Ryan says.
“Good, handsome.” I smile as I look down at him. Adele chuckles under her breath. She shakes her head and says, “Out of the mouths of babes.” I don’t understand. She asks me if Ryan is a little obsessive, and I tell her that he is and has been for about a year, since he was three.
“Well, we decided to continue playing Chutes and Ladders like we played last Sunday,” Adele explains. “ Ryan turned the game board around exactly the same way it relationship with God.
I cannot wait till the sermon is over, because deep down I know falling asleep in church is rude. If I had my blanket at this point, I would lay on the lap of the elderly lady next to me in hopes she would pat me to sleep. Listening begins to feel like a chore. I am unmotivated. The tithe bowls are passed and the wannabe tabernacle singers sing the closing song. The pastor walks down the aisle giving everyone the signal that they can now exit the building. I stand up and watch people walk out with their forced smiles.
As I begin walking down the stairs to pick up Sam and Ryan, Adele, with Ryan in tow, begins up the stairs. She is elderly and wears a knitted sweater bordered in blue, little flowers settling in its colored boxes. The elastic waistband of her blue polyester pants rests snugly around her white button-up shirt. Ryan is trying hard to keep up. His little hand touches the stair above each foot for that extra push. She looks at me and smiles, stretching her bright red lipstick like a stressed rubber band. We meet midway on the stairwell.
“Hi Mommy, we had fun!” Ryan says.
“Good, handsome.” I smile as I look down at him. Adele chuckles under her breath. She shakes her head and says, “Out of the mouths of babes.” I don’t understand. She asks me if Ryan is a little obsessive, and I tell her that he is and has been for about a year, since he was three.
“Well, we decided to continue playing Chutes and Ladders like we played last Sunday,” Adele explains. “ Ryan turned the game board around exactly the same way it was turned last weekend. He told me it had to face the same way it did before.”
She looks down at him and smiles, still holding his chubby hand while he swings just enough to make her body move a little, right along with his.
“I decided to let him pass out the colors too,” she says. “He gave Becca the red piece. He said it was because she had on a red dress. He told Dustin he had to be the blue piece because he had on blue pants. He told me that he had to be green because green is his favorite color. He then, very nonchalantly, gave me yellow and said I had to be that color because my teeth are yellow!” She laughs.
My eyes must open up as wide as the Grand Canyon, because Adele looks a bit worried.
She quickly shakes her head and puts her hand on my arm, looking over her spectacles.
“Oh, don’t worry. You know, out of the mouths of babes.”
I apologize profusely on Ryan’s behalf. I take his hand and start down the stairs to get Samantha, all the while telling Ryan that he should not tell people they have yellow teeth because it might hurt their feelings. Under my breath I cannot help but laugh, thinking, “Out of the mouths of babes indeed.”
I sign Samantha out of her class, thanking God every moment that no one came to me to tell me she has been holding a dead fish again like she did a couple of years ago. I remember she was sitting in her dress, her legs wide open. She was holding her little fish with a kung fu grip, its eyeballs now shriveled and too small for its sockets. Her poor fish had died, and she must have thought that keeping it warm and taking it to church would somehow revive it.
Sam and Ryan jump into the car anticipating the usual waffle and strawberry breakfast. On the drive to the restaurant, I feel guilty for telling Ryan not to say what was on his mind. I remember growing up with my mother’s philosophy: you should not be seen or heard. I look at him in the rear view mirror, his chubby little cheeks a bit red from the cold. I call for his attention, telling him I am really not angry at him for what he said to Adele. He shows me his teeth and looks out at the window. I wish I could hear his thoughts.
I would never again tell Ryan or Sam what they could or could not say when it involved their opinion, if not for their sake, then for mine – telling them not to speak their minds made me feel guilty. I had been stifled by my mother for eighteen years and could not bring myself to stifle my children. But I think I must save “my story” for another time.