The night wind was the perfect setting for that autumn night, as its whistling seemed to play a tune against the front window. It was around the time of Halloween because I recall that every television show followed that same theme.
The sun had gone down over the Jackson neighborhood where my mother and I lived during my younger years. Momma was working the graveyard shift at the hospital, and I was on my own until around 7:30 the next morning.
I had a timer set for my Hamburger Helper on the range. I had prepared it just a few minutes earlier, vowing that when I grew up, I would never eat Hamburger Helper again. Come to think of it, I have broken that vow, considering it’s not that bad of a meal on a hectic night.
Sitting at the coffee table with the television blaring its nightly sitcom, I looked over my homework that was due the next day. With Momma not there, I cheated and used the calculator, but I still had to make sure I showed some form of work to get the credit. I timed it perfectly because as soon as I was done, the timer went off, signaling my supper was ready.
The night went like most nights when Momma worked the graveyard shift. I fixed myself some supper, finished my homework, watched some television, got in the tub and then went to bed.
Momma would call at the exact time every night to make sure I was in the bed and that I had finished my homework. She reminded me not to talk on the phone all night, but she said I could leave the television on for background noise. Strange enough, even as an adult, I have to have a television set on around me. I won’t even watch it, but the noise makes me feel like somebody's there.
But this night was different. I heard a knock on the door as I finished off the last of my cheeseburger casserole. I had figured out how to look at the blind through the hole where the string connects so that whoever was outside didn’t see that I was looking. Turned out to be one of the kids who lived up the road from me.
Opening the door, I talked with her for a little while. She was in my class at school, and we talked about the work due tomorrow and whether or not we should play sick to get out of the test next week. She then asked if I wanted to ride bikes with her. She had some grand idea of sneaking into the backyard of one of the other neighborhood kids and stealing their new bicycle. She said her cousin would give us some money for it.
I knew that Momma would be calling to check on me soon so the idea of leaving was out of the question. But then I thought about after Momma called. She would think I was in bed, and she would never know I snuck out for a bit. Even so, we might make some money.
But I chickened out. I even lied to my friend and told her that Momma would be home any minute and I had better not risk it. She told me it was my loss and headed out into the dark night. I quickly closed and locked the front door, hoping she wouldn’t come back later.
It would have been easy to sneak out. It would have been tempting to make a few extra bucks over a lousy bike. It would have been no big deal to not tell Momma I snuck out.
But I didn’t because I knew that Momma would have probably got the switch after me and would have been disappointed in me if she would have found out. Yes, fear motivated my decision. And it would have been my fault, not anyone else.
Granted, I got in my fair amount of trouble. I was busted in a lie or two. But I paid for it. Momma didn’t always have to have “the talk” with me about what I should or should not be doing. I just understood it because of how Momma raised me.
I survived childhood, but I saw many friends who I thought I would know forever go down different paths.
Some succeeded in life. Some disappeared. And some died or ended up behind bars for one bad decision.
But I always go back to that time I was home alone and the knock came for me to make a decision. And it is during those moments that “a talk” goes forgotten, a mentor no longer exists. In a kid’s mind, it is what my friend will think of my decision.
But the foundation the adults set for me overshadowed a lot of what my peers thought. Granted, I still got in trouble, but it was never something too overwhelming.
Unless that foundation is poured, the ground can be pretty unstable for young people. And unless that firm rock is there, it will always be shaky ground.
