My Sons.

They came in a pair and immediately touched my heart. Was it their scruffy teen appearance? Their large and slightly sullied winter coats? Their cherubic faces? For whatever reason, they spoke to my heart... to my womb. I wanted to be their mother.


Profiles of Greatness.

They looked so out of place - even at an all ages rock show at the House of Blues on a Thursday night. They stuck out like sore thumbs because there was something different about them... something special.
They looked so scared and wore their winter coats like down filled armour. They almost looked scared enough to snap in the middle of freshmen year Geometry and take out their class with the shotguns of their fathers. Well... NOT ON MY WATCH!!
I wanted to make sure nothing bad happened to these kids at this rock show. There was alcohol involved... and tidily groomed facial hair... and beard braids!! Who knew what could happen to these cherubic, dirty, awkard (so painfully awkward) little boys in their large winter coats? On a SCHOOL NIGHT?? Until their REAL mother came to pick them up in the Ford Windstar, I vowed to act as the watchful Mama Bird they so deserved. I even drank on it... a strong, strong concoction brewed up by the House of Blues she-devil bartender.

I could see a group of rapscallions circle around my sons - a little too close with their star print zip up hoodies, studded belts, tight, tight hipster jeans... and their side swept bangs... dear GOD. Their bangs!!
I felt my sons were in danger... so I had another drink to calm my nerves. I mustered up the strength to stand without the support of a wall and planted my feet shoulder width apart for balance, AND to give myself the air of a bouncer... the air of authority. It was there I stood, my arms folded across my chest, a scowl only my Gramma could match plastered on my face... watching my sons through heavily lidded eyes.
I imagined defending those sweet little boys should worse come to worse. Maybe ninjas would zip in from the mezzanine and I could use my ONE karate "move" to best them ALL (the Van Damme sidekick).
If a hostage situation should arise, I imagined throwing my (third) drink at the bad guys and yelling in slow motion, "NOOOO!!! NOT MYYY SOOOONNNNSSSS!!" and then jumping in front of them, in a perfect fantasy there wouldn't necessarily be bullets. I would have taken a fake bullet for them. Anytime. Just not a real one.
No hostage situation arose, so I finished my third drink without having to throw it in anyone's face... although just ONCE, I would love to do that.

I continued to ruminate all the bad assery that could go down. I would not be prepared for a mosh pit. I bruise easily, my sons would be on their own... that was something I had to come to terms with. Imagine how agonizing it would have been to stand on the side and WATCH as my boys were beaten bloody by people jumping around and kicking and flailing their limbs. It would be like Sophie's Choice, but without the choice.
Luckily, there were not enough people in attendance to even START a mosh pit. This was an all ages rock show. Did I mention? It was a Thursday night. And it was a band called Trapt. In other words, tickets were only $15. What I'm trying to say is... it wasn't sold out.
It became clear to me after that third elixir of the devil that I could not defend my boys in any circumstance... not in my condition. I was, how do you say... retardedly drunk. It was a lucky coincidence for me that no harm befell my adopted sons that evening. All I could do to defend those boys were to have well wishes for them and good feelings. I nodded with approval when I saw one of them take out his grey cellular telephone, pull the antenna out and dial his... biological mother.
It was then I felt all my "maternal instincts" abandon me, they were replaced with the instincts of a strong, single and indpendent woman in my (late) twenties who had had three killer strong murder-death-kill drinks at an all ages Trapt show on a Thursday night. Burgers and Fries. Now. Right the fuck now. I took the arm of my friend (it was offered, and sorely needed) and we made a bee line for the McDonald's on Clark and Ontario.
Gone were the thoughts of protecting two scrappy young men, gone were the feelings of motherly guidance... only the thoughts of inhaling a cheeseburger and fries in order to coat an alcohol filled stomach remained.
I'm not ready to be a mother. I still have a few quality drinking years left in the old girl yet...
As for those boys, my sons... they exist now only in my memory. A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets. I hope they never face the danger of mockery during their formative teen years. I wish them years of playing Dungeons and Dragons or Halo or whatever it is nerd teenagers do in a safe cocoon of innocence. I wish them a full ride to MIT where they will find nerd brethren and live out their lives happy, successful, imaginative little virgins. Bless their hearts... and their calculators.