Mi’Kl
R. “Bucket” Monday
Chronicler
Just being loved anyway
Michael was steaming hot, at least as much as an eight year old, red headed, freckle faced boy of a peaceful nature could be. The sun bearing down on him, the humidity, the exertion from digging a large rock, almost boulder size, from the creek bed to dam and pool water for a mini-crawdad farm, and the last of his water drunk more than a half hour ago, had nothing to do with the “steam” pouring out from his ears.
No, Michael was hot, as in being way past mad, at four what used to be friends.
“Who’s your daddy?”
“Milkman in the woodpile. Milkman in the woodpile.”
“No mamma! No mamma! Poor boy got no mamma.”
“Bast---!”
With this last insult, Michael drew from his inner strength and with the knowledge of all the Chinese Kung-Fu movies he had seen, and the two recently taken karate classes, sent his body in flight as a finally honed, martial arts killing machine towards his four what-used-to-be friends.
No more would the meanness of children ever hurt him again.
Left fist, the “snake”. Right fist, the “leopard”. Left leg, the “dragon’s tail”. Right leg, the “typhoon”.
One, if practicing a martial art, should always remember that each stroke of a finely honed fighting machine should be done as a separate motion,,, not all at once as Michael did.
Even before the bottom side of Michael’s young body blessed the earth with it’s presence, the laughter began. Flailing arms and legs a funny sight did make.
A pilot will tell you that any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.
Michael would have told you that any landing you could run back to the safety of your mother’s arms was a good landing.
And, so he did.
“Boy, look at you. What did you do, take on the entire block?”
“Something like that.”
“At least tell your father that you won. Lets have a look,,, hmmm,,, no cuts. No bruises. Just shorts with a quart of dirt on the backside.
What’s wrong, son?”
“Mom, do you know who the milkman is?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Something is bothering you, isn’t it? I’ll share a slice of fresh chocolate pie with you if you share what is wrong with you?”
“Am I adopted?”
It has occurred to me that we spend an awful lot of money going to see actors and actresses make many funny faces in the movies. Has it ever occurred to you to watch your mother’s face and save your money?
Bet you one of those new buffalo nickels that if you do,,, you just might see what seven year old Michael saw that day,,, on his mother’s face. The word is contortionist. Means that someone can squinch up their face or turn their body in all sorts of weird ways, almost at the same time.
First, Michael’s mother smiled with a not-knowing-what-to-say smile.
Then fear ravaged her normally happy prettiness.
A smile.
More fear.
Uncertainty.
Panic.
Another smile.
And, just before the tears began to fall from Michael’s mother’s face, “Go watch TV.”
In the mid 1950’s, long before rockets to space, iPods, skateboards, PCs, big sisters with mini-skirts, terrorist with sick ideas and shopping malls, TVs were a bit different than what you know them to be.
5 feet tall, made of wood with a rounded top. The screen was no more than 10 inches across and was only black and white. And, it took four adult men to move one, what with tubes, diodes and about four miles of wire inside.
There were only two or three channels and about one family in ten had a TV.
Worse yet,,, TV came on at seven in the morning, went off at 12:30PM, came back on at 4pm and went off at ten at night and you had to have an uglier than Manson steel antenna on the roof that was forever being moved by the wind meaning Dad had to climb back up on the roof just to get a snow filled picture.
The Mickey Mouse Club, Howdy Doody, Captain Kangaroo and the Buster Brown show were about the only children’s fare during the week. Mom had “Queen for a Day!” and Dad had the news in the evening.
But, as Michael restlessly tried to watch the 5 foot tall, rounded at the top, black and white, 1950’s TV, he could only think of the pain his former friends had caused him with their insults just a few moments earlier.
Much has been said and written over the years, about how good of a thing it is a child having a short attention span. With many hard lessons to be learned, rejection, failure until overcome, usually at the cost of the skin of at least two elbows and about a half dozen knees, and all the sadness that accompanies childhood,,, it can be said to be a good thing.
So it was with Michael’s worries for soon,,, “Hi! Boys and girls! What time is it? It’s Howdy Doody time.” Captured his attention.
Michael paid little to no attention of the noises, crying, mumbling or pots and pans falling to the floor in the kitchen where his mother had retreated too.
Six eleven PM on the nose. Dad came up the walkway to the front door, just as he did every day except Saturday, when he got home from work at 12:19. As he entered the living room entrance and saw his oldest son lying sideways on the living room divan he was yanked through the bedroom door by his wife, Rhonda.
Ru’Sel, (the great & wise Kemo’s older brother who has been estranged from the main village of Jo^Meo^Kee a very long time and is an entirely different story so don’t ask at this time), sat in the co^Re circle across from many long time old friends,,, and,,, a few new friends.
What Ru’Sel did not understand was the same as many of the village had not. Not that it mattered entirely as in Majdelene time, understanding would come when understanding would be understood by all.
Why was there a persistent “flutter” in co^Re?
Ru’Sel, filling in for the ailing Kemo as head of the village, spoke.
“ÔTis true,,, I see not the worth of worry in this matter. The child will know come Third Stage, that which escapes us now. This should be as it should be,,, not as just one Majdelene wishes.”
For a moment, there was silence,,, that is, until the willowy, honey scented Majdelene woman spoke.
“The child speaks of things far greater than Sec^Nd Stg. This “flutter”, is it not somehow connected I wonder every time I look into the eyes of the child?”
“Ru’Sel, please,,, she has taught every Majdelene child in this village since I was young and she knows every child almost as well as each child’s own mother. If it is of notice to her, it should be of fact to us,,, I would be of a mind to believe.” so^Ng said.
“I do not see the connection. How is this so, then?”
“Call Mi’Kl to come join us, please.” The willowy, honey scented Majdelene woman spoke to another in attendance.
Mi’Kl, outside of the dwelling where all who were inside were gathered for reasons unknown to him, busily sat out front doing little except enjoying the morning rays of the warming sun.
As the shadow appeared in front of him, from over his right shoulder, Mi’Kl greeted his friend without turning his head to see, “eMi^Ly, it is with the warmth of the morning sun that my heart greets you, friend.”
eMi^Ly simply said, “Your presence, please.”
Once inside, eyes adjusting to the darker interior quickly, Mi’Kl knew all but the male Majdelene sitting where Ke’Mo should sit, next to so^Ng and at the head of the gathering.
Little time was allowed to be in wonderment as to the unknown male Majdelene.
so^Ng spoke, “Who is your Mother, Mi’Kl?’
“You are.”
“And is this woman your Mother too?”
“Yes.”
“And, this woman?”
“Yes.
“Who is this Majdelene man?”
“My Father.”
“And, this Majdelene man?”
“My Father.”
In Majdelene ways, even though a child has a birth mother and father, all adults were their “Mother” and “Father” and all children their brothers and sisters.
More so the birth parents, but a close second the others.
“Your birth Mother, do you see her?”
Silence.
“Your birth Father?”
Enough silence to inflate the moon,,, should it ever go flat.
“Mi’Kl, are you prepared for your Great Adventure?”
At first,,, silence,,, then Mi’Kl coughed out, “cahaaa,,,”
Silence. Deafening silence at so^Ng’s question.
“Need I repeat the question?”
It was the willowy, honey scented Majdelene woman, Mi’Kl’s teacher, who next spoke. And, softly she said, “Mi’Kl, we know not two answers, ourselves. As mystery is not often a visitor to us, we know not of your birth.
And, we know not of your readiness to take upon your great adventure. Never before has a second stage Majdelene been asked.
However,,, there is need to ask if you can?”
Mi’Kl looked at the willowy, honey scented Majdelene woman with disbelief.