Emmanuel

What can I say?

I love children and I love women…

…in that order.

I live for my children, and I don’t have enough of them yet. I’m thinking about stopping at 20 or 21…

…children, that is.

I’m 35. I figure I want to get them all “made” before I turn 40 and then spend the next 40 to 50 years watching them, and all my grands and great-grands, and probably my great-great-grands, grow up. I think I have time on my side. All my grandparents are still alive and kicking. So are my parents. Barring a tragic accident, I should be able to make it into my 90s before I leave this bad, old world…knock on wood.

You should see my babies. Every one of them looks just like me. I couldn’t deny any of them if I wanted to, and I never would. The only thing they got from their mothers is skin tone. They’re all shades; from high-yellow to dark-brown and every shade in between. They are so beautiful. I have pictures of every one of them plastered everywhere in my cubicle at work. People who don’t know think some of them are my nieces and nephews. They’re floored when I tell them they’re all mine. I get the usual silly questions:

“Do they all have the same mother?”

“You starting a little league team?”

“Did you start making babies when you were 9?”

“Which one is your favorite?

“How can you afford all these kids?”

“I bet you do more with the boys than the girls, don’t you?”

“Can I borrow a few of them at tax time?”

It doesn’t matter to me what people say or think. I love my children, I take care of my children, and I know and spend time with all my children. I was at every birth, my name is on every birth certificate, and they all have my last name. I go to every play, athletic event, recital and preschool, kindergarten and sixth-grade graduation that I’m physically able to make it to. When it’s necessary, I take them and pick them up from their schools, doctors’ appointments and practices. It’s not a burden or any trouble. You make time for the things you want to make time for, and my children come before anything or anyone else. My parents taught me that. My parents are the reason I’ve always wanted a big family.

See, I was an only child, but my mother and father both had lots of brothers and sisters. Interestingly enough, they’re both from the same itty, bitty town and they’re both the oldest of all their sisters and brothers. I actually have aunts and uncles who are about the same age as me. The entire time I was growing up, one aunt or uncle from either my mother’s side of the family or my father’s side of the family moved in with us, stayed awhile and then moved on. When that aunt or uncle left, it seemed like another one took his/her place. The best times for me were when an aunt or uncle brought their sons or daughters with them. Then I had live-in playmates. Being an only child, I enjoyed having people to play with. My parents were very protective, and they didn’t allow me to go to other people’s houses and no one could come in our house. I played with a few neighborhood kids in the front yard, but they wouldn’t stick around for long. There was only so much you could do in one tiny front yard, and they opted to go ride bikes and play at the nearby park, which I wasn’t allowed to do unless my mother or father were able to go with me.

My best memories of childhood were the four weeks in the summer where I’d get to go to my grandparents’ homes. I’d spend two weeks with my mother’s parents and two weeks with my father’s parents, and there’d be cousins and aunts and uncles everywhere! We’d get up at the butt-crack of dawn to do chores on the farm, and then we’d play until the sun was simply a crescent on the horizon. I wasn’t restricted to a patch of grass in the front yard. We went everywhere; all over the farm, the creek, the woods, the store across the railroad tracks, the movie theatre in town, everywhere! We’d sit around the long table and eat and talk and laugh and just have a good ol’ time being together. We had our fusses and fights, too, but they were nothing compared to the good times we had. I’d go into a state of depression whenever it neared the time to go back home.

I remember one summer right after dinner, and the day before my parents were supposed to come get me, I ran into the woods and climbed a tree. I resolved in my young mind that they weren’t going to take me home, where I had no one to play with. I was young and dumb enough to believe they’d come, look around for a while and then leave without me. Instead, everyone panicked when they all realized I wasn’t sitting in the living room watching television with all the other children. From my perch, I heard voices yelling my name from every direction around me.

At first, the voices were faint and then they grew louder and louder and I remember my chest began to rise and fall quicker and quicker. When two of my uncles were so close to the tree I was hiding in that it sounded like they were shouting in each of my ears, I put my hand over my mouth to keep from yelling out. Their fear and panic, and the strained and panicked voices of everyone else, caused me to begin to get frantic, even though I was well aware of where I was and that I was fine. My two uncles passed by and some more aunts and uncles and all four of my grandparents walked swiftly passed my tree, going here, there and everywhere trying to find me. No one thought to look up, and that’s how I overheard from two of my aunts why my parents were so protective of me. After everyone stopped searching in the area where I actually was, that bit of information is what made me get out of the tree and go back to my father’s parents’ home.

On top of the shock of what I’d overheard, I had so many people yelling at me and smacking me upside my head and shaking my shoulders, I didn’t know how to react. I just sat in the chair…

…in the middle of the room…

…and let it all wash over me.

I’d just learned the worst thing anyone could have told me, and I couldn’t tell any of them what I’d overheard.

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This is Installment #5 of “The Pride.” If you missed the beginning, go to “The Pride: From the Beginning” to start at the first installment.

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Copyright© 2009, Faydra D. Fields, All rights reserved.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, June 9th, 2009 at 22:33 and is filed under The Pride. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.