Michigan Weather and Women: Part 2

Dancing, and other forms of sentimentality.

Based on a post by CleverGenericName, in 4 parts. Listen to the
Podcast at Connected.

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 As we finished the prep work, I asked Wilma about her
day with Mary.

"She is a good kid but is carrying a lot of anger and
shame. We spent most of the day getting in touch with that anger. It takes some
people years before they can express their emotions through art; it took her
about five minutes. But we had to take some breaks to clean up the paint
splatters afterward before they stained."

"Oh shit! Sorry about that. I can pay to replace
anything that;"

"Nothing to apologize for; I asked her to express how
she felt, and she did it in the way that felt right to her."

"Well, I appreciate your taking the time. I am just her
big brother; I feel so lost when it comes to parenting."

"Being a parent doesn't mean that you know any more
than anyone else, and it certainly doesn't mean that you know any better. For
what it's worth, I think you are doing a fine job with your family. I know that
you don't have your parents around to say it, but this old woman is mighty
proud of who you are and of how you have stepped up for your brother and
sisters. They are very lucky to have you."

I turned away so that Wilma wouldn't see me getting choked
up. I couldn't remember the last time that someone had said they were proud of
me. Soon enough, though, it was dinner time, and Erin came into the kitchen
with that same look of amusement on her face.

"Sorry to bother the chef, but Lane needs some help
that only a big brother can provide."

When I gave her a quizzical look, she blushed.

"It seems like he is going through puberty, which can
pose; some new challenges. When I was assessing his ankle, he; well, indicated
his interest in me in a way that can be difficult to hide, particularly while
wearing sweatpants. It's natural for his body to react that way at that age,
and it's nothing for him to feel badly about, but he was mortified. I think he
could use a bit of brotherly guidance and understanding."

I went to the living room and saw that Lane was curled up on
the couch and looked like he was fighting back tears.

"How are you doing, Buddy?"

He couldn't even look at me he was so embarrassed.

"I am so sorry; I just couldn't help it. I don't know
why it started to get bigger, and I wanted it to stop, and it wouldn't and then
she saw me, and;" he continued as he fought back a sob. "Can we just
go home?"

"Erin is a doctor. She knows how the human body works
and has seen that kind of thing a hundred times. She isn't mad at you or
embarrassed. She just feels bad that you feel so bad. This is just part of
getting older and growing up.

"Did I ever tell you about what happened in Miss Iron's
class when I was a freshman?

Miss Iron was a bit of a legend among the male students at
our local high school. She was the youngest and prettiest teacher, by far, and
even though she always dressed professionally, the clothing style had yet to be
invented that could fully conceal her bountiful natural endowment.

"Well, I liked Miss Irons a lot. She was one of the few
teachers who looked past my difficulty with reading and writing. So, I
developed a little crush on her, which was fine until the inevitable; hmm,
physical demonstration of my crush; happened in class one day, just before she
asked me to collect everyone's quizzes. I tried to delay, I tried to ask a
friend to do it instead, but eventually, I had to stand up. It took me until my
junior year to live that one down."

As Lane listened to my story, he turned to face me and his
second-hand embarrassment for me helped to push his embarrassment to the side.

"So, what happened?"

"Miss Irons was lovely and kind like she always was,
but I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me or to get hit by a bolt of
lightning. Things would have been fine if she hadn't mentioned what happened to
the principal, who called Mom. She didn't find the story funny at all."

I hadn't thought of the aftermath when I started telling
Lane this particular story, but as they say, might as well put it in four-wheel
drive and keep going.

"Mom was mad?"

"By then, Mom was pretty much always angry. I did my
best to keep her away from you and the girls when she got that way, but yeah;
she was mad."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No, Bud, I'm not. In a few years, once your
embarrassment has died down a little, I will tease you mercilessly about this
because that's what brothers do; and maybe threaten to tell your girlfriend, if
you fall behind on your chores or homework. But I will never get mad at you for
something that you can't control. And I promise that Erin isn't mad at you
either."

Just then, Mary poked her head in to tell us that dinner was
on the table.

"Are you safe now, or do you need a few more
minutes."

"I'm good. Thanks, Dad."

After I helped Lane hobble into the dining room, we got down
to the business of eating and teasing each other, but not necessarily in that
order. It felt good; almost like what I imagined a real family would feel like.
Eventually, the conversation turned to more serious matters, though, and Erin
led off the questions.

"So, how do you know Gran, and why are you wearing
Grampy's favorite sweater? And, for what it's worth, I don't remember him
filling it out in quite the way that you do."

I blushed a bit as Wilma jumped in.

"If Phillip had filled out that sweater like young
Davis here, it wouldn't have stayed on him for very long, I can tell you
that."

"Gran!" Erin exclaimed, laughing while sounding
scandalized. "I didn't need that mental image. Heck, none of us needed
that mental image."

"Oh, don't you worry, Dear. He still filled it out well
enough, and it looked equally good on our bedroom floor."

We were pretty much all blushing at that point, which I think
was Wilma's objective, so I quickly changed the topic.

"I am just your mother's plumber. I came out to fix her
boiler and then finished the job earlier this week when a couple of parts came
in that I needed."

Wilma jumped in at that point and added her two cents to my
story.

"He also brought me my groceries and we had a lovely
conversation. He is a real Renaissance gentleman, a rarity these days."

Erin looked grateful but concerned.

"Did you have enough money to cover the bill, Gran? You
know I can help if you need;"

I tried to jump in before Wilma could reply.

"No need to worry, the bill was paid in full;"

"Hogwash," Wilma exclaimed as I tried to finish,
turning to Mary before she continued.

"Your brother wouldn't let me pay him a cent for the
work that he did. Not even for the parts that needed to be replaced! He is a
very nice boy but a terrible businessman."

I turned to Erin for support.

"I figured your Gran has enough going on right now with
her health and all. It was the least I could do to help her out."

Erin looked at me with a strange expression on her face. I
didn't have much experience with women, so I figured I must have made her angry
somehow. Most of my interactions with women, including my sisters, seemed to
end with them being upset with me for one reason or another, but she didn't
sound angry when she spoke.

"Thank you, Davis, that was very sweet of you."

"Yeah, well; you see, it's just; pass the fish,
please."

"That still doesn't explain why you're wearing Grampy's
favorite sweater.

When I was a little girl, I used to curl up in Grampy's lap
and snuggle into that sweater as he read to me. He was wearing it when I danced
my first dance with him in front of the fireplace. Do you remember that old
record player, Gran? You used to bring it out and we would waltz around the
living room to Moon River."

"I still have that record player here somewhere, let me
go see if I can find it."

Erin started to protest, but it was too late.

"To finish answering your question, Erin, we were here
today because your Gran offered to mentor Mary. I tried to politely decline,
but your Gran