Significant Occurrences

Although my early childhood consists of a plethora of "significant occurrences", this "significant occurrence" however, was more of a reoccurrence throughout my childhood and it wasn't as much an occurrence as it was an announcement, a proclamation if you will.

"There's my boy!" That's it. Nothing more. Just those three words. but what may seem to be "just" words to most, were, to me, full of warmth, comfort and reassurance.

You see, I was raised inn an abusive-alcoholic home at the hands of an angry father along with my mother and my two older sisters. But no matter what traumatics my dad's alcohol-fueled evenings brought us at night, my mother would effortlessly dissipate them in the morning by uttering those three simple words, "There's my boy!"

And then, as if by magic, all was normal once again. All the nights horrors, the yelling, the screaming, the swearing, the hitting, were forgotten

As I would emerge from my bedroom, eyes still crusted from the previous nights tears, my mother, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with a smile that never seemed to dim and with the utmost joy, sincerity and warmth in her voice, would profess to any and all within earshot, "There's my boy!"

Hearing those words instantly chased away any doubts I may have had that anyone cared for me.

I know that most people would perceive my notion of the intent of my mother's words as foolish, unwarranted or maybe even overly analyzed but I don't. I truly believe that she knew the effect that her statement had on me; she could see it in my face and feel it in the strength of my embrace every morning, for as I've previously stated, it was a reoccurring episode.

I was ritualistically greeted every single morning by those words and, truth be told, I'll never tire of hearing them. Not then, not now, not ever.

(Even if I did get tired of hearing it (which I wouldn't) I'm willing to bet that my mother would negate any request that I might make for her to cease.)

I could never make such a request to her because deep down in my heart, I need that. I need to hear those three words. I need to be reassured that, in spite of all my wrong-doings, I am STILL "her boy". And for what it's worth, I am.

Every time I call home, there's a warm "Hi my boy" on the other end of the phone.

Every time I walk into the visiting room her angelic voice, over all others, chimes out "There's my boy".

Every time I am ridiculed for my past indiscretions, chastised for a mistake or a poor choice, talked down to or beat up on, my mother will have none of that, for I am, have always been and forever will remain "Her Boy!"