Who? Us?

We are two disabled, oldish women who have been adventuring through life for years. We are talking about how disabilities, both visible and not, change the way we enjoy our retirement.

Thursday, January 21, 2016

A Different Beat

When my three boys were youngsters, we lived in Biloxi, MS.  Their dad was in the air force stationed at Keesler AFB.  Before I became gainfully employed at the welfare department (that's what they called it in the 70's), I spent lots of time playing at beaches with them.

That's correct: beaches.  When I told them, "Get ready. We're going to the beach."  They'd always ask, "The clean beach or the dirty beach?"

"The Dirty Beach" was the one in Biloxi; "The Clean Beach" was 90 minutes away in Alabama.

One this particular occasion, we went to the dirty beach.
In addition to the litter that littered the beach, both from beach goers and from fishermen, there was often dead fish in varying degrees of decomposition strewn along the water's edge.  

But we'd make the best of it, pick up around our chosen spot, lay out our blanket, and get down to the business of sand and water play.

Oh, there was one more obstacle:  the water was the color of chocolate milk.  So when the boys went in the water, I'd have to be hypervigilant 'cause once they went under, they were invisible.   

"Scot... Tod... Jeff... 1...2...3...1...2...3...where...oh, there... hey, where's your brother?" and so on.

This particular day, Tod, who was four+ years, ran from the water to me.  I was sitting on the blanket scrapping sand off his little brother Jeff's tongue.  

"Mom... gotta pee, gotta pee!" as he danced the well-known pee-jig.  "Ok... just go in the water..." I told him offhandedly, forgot about him, and turned my attention back to the task at hand - sand removal.  

Shortly thereafter, my oldest, Scot, almost seven, yells, "MaaaaMom!  Hey, MAAAAMOM!"  "What!?" I replied. "Maaamom... Look at Tod."  I turned my head to the water and Tod.

There Tod was. Standing in the water.  Standing knee deep in the water.  His swim suit was around his ankles, swaying to and fro with the tide.  He had his little dick in his little hands, with his fully exposed little butt kinda tucked in... Ya know, in that guy-peeing-posture.  And he was letting the pee rip, in that well-known pee-arch - for all the world to see.

"But, mom," as he explained to me later, "Ya told me to pee in the water."  It was my fault; I'd just forgotten to tell the little man NOT to pull his swim suit down... 

Who woulda thunk?!

To a different drummer that child, now a man, has always walked.

That was probably the first time, of many times, throughout the years, that I called out, "Taaaa-oddd?"

Have a great day, Miss Althea. 

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