I run twice weekly. Once during the workweek and once during the weekend. Each run is 5K broken in half by a one-mile brisk walk. I run slowly sans a fitness tracker, and I only glance at my watch once in order to see the time. I do not keep tabs on pacing, heartrate or any of that other nonsense. I simply run away from home before coming back, the exact same route twice weekly.
I love to hate to run.
Last week, I ran one weekday evening, and upon my return home, it had become dark out. As I made my way into our 'hood, I could see a Chevrolet HHR parked just inside the property of one of the three surrounding churches - Episcopal, Assembly of God, Presbyterian (circumnavigating our neighborhood).
Despite the fact that the intensely smoking (it was on fire) retro-styled automobile had emergency off-ramped at the Episcopal church, it was just as vacantly quiet as their religious competitors' property (at the time).
If I'm remembering correctly, it was around 8:30-8:45 PM when I first noticed the smoldering vehicle and its distressed occupants (mulling about).
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My parents got pregnant with Rob when they were 17 (mom) and 18 (dad.). (90) days later, they were married in rural Humphreys County (Gooden Lake Baptist Church), not far from where my grandmother (Darlene's mom) still lives (she's 92) within her 900-sf rancher to this day.
My parents were children who unintentionally had a child together. The year was 1972. Both the era as well as the Mississippi setting presumptuously placed a shotgun wedding within their crosshairs.
My father had no intentions of leaving Belzoni, MS until a wise, older man convinced him otherwise (my father's father died of lung cancer when he was a 9-year-old boy).
From there, he. pursued higher education both at MS Delta Community College and Delta State University (the three of us lived in married family housing during his two years as a student at DSU).
Immediately following graduation, my dad got a job in Jackson. During this time, we lived within an apartment in South Jackson (I was around age 4-5 and my parents were in their early to mid-20s).
We traveled back to Humphreys County regularly to visit my grandparents. It was no secret that my father longed to return to his small-town roots. These weekend furloughs served as the antidote.
I, of course, simply went along for the ride. Back and forth. Back and forth. Always riding in the backseat of our army green Volkswagen Beetle.
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I walked the ROW for about a minute before reaching the young family. The mom was talking on her pocket computer while her young (preschool age) son stood close by her side (tablet in hand). The father was hastily emptying out the backseat of the still heavily smoking Chevy. Clothes and trash were being strewn onto the ground via his reactionary cleaning. The hood of the defunct car had been raised. This served to only solidify the despondency of their situation. I asked the young man, from ten or so feet away, who the woman was talking to. He smugly replied "911" without stopping to look over at me.
I then turned and walked back to the entrance to our 'hood, sensing that I wasn't needed (or wanted).
By the time I reached it, I could hear the screaming of the fire truck approaching fast. As a result, I paused to watch the vehicle eventually pull into the same church entrance drive, directly behind the now - somewhat less smoky - vehicle. Law enforcement also came alongside within a matter of only a few additional seconds.
I felt at peace knowing they were being tended to during this tough situation. For they were so very young and obviously just starting out...
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One evening in the late 1970s, my parents and I left Humphreys County (too) late at night for the 90-minute drive back to our apartment in Jackson. You should know that it wasn't 'till the mid '80s that Highway 49 N was constructed into a divided highway. Hence, at this time, it was two-lane, all the way from Yazoo City to Jackson. Up and over, up and over those massive hills as the opposing traffic whizzed by.
It was on this highway that my parents' VW Beetle ceased operating (we weren't far outside of Yazoo City) whilst traveling south. Overall, we'd been on the road around 45 minutes. I can remember my dad pulling over onto the ROW, and from there, him asking my mom to locate a flashlight within the glovebox. Once she did, it unfortunately failed to illuminate with anything other than a faint glow.
I distinctly remember how dark it was sitting quietly there in the cramped backseat as I watched my mom's motionless silhouette seated just a few feet in front of me. Neither of us spoke. We could hear my dad outside. He'd raised the hood (on the rear of the Beetle), though we both knew he'd no way of seeing anything via the faint glow of the almost dead flashlight. A familiar fear crept up inside of me like some sort of emotional nausea. Yet, there was no means to escape it. Our situation (once again) looked and felt bleak. We were like three sitting ducks.
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As I continued to grow as a boy, my parents grew alongside. Because of this, their perspective matured in tandem with my own. Hence, the fears I faced as a young child were mostly faced alone (as they did their own).
Children rearing children is completely distinct from adults rearing children. I was privy to this, even as a boy. For I was no dummy. Every one of my peers had parents who were much older (& therefore behaved far differently) than my own.
But back to that earlier statement.
Children rearing children is completely distinct from adults rearing children.
And it's especially apparent when families like the one I was reared within face crisis.
Children from those families must find a means to cope with the insecurities that come with being reared by childparents.
For Rob, that coping came in the form of fantasy. Elaborate, commiserate fantasy that was customized to my needs (security) as a boy, then teenager, then young man, then man...
Eventually, at the outset of adolescence, those fantasies became sexualized. And this happened in proportion to hastily accelerating (sizable) insecurities surrounding my sense of adolescent masculinity (or lack thereof). Aligned with that stopgap solution was me being - by God's design - an extremely visual boy who was easily captivated by beauty - beautiful people (mostly masculine men), automobiles, buildings. All of these enthralled Rob, but none had the seemingly tangible allure as them Adonises. For they represented - to me - safety and strength, confidence, gentleness and care. Sexual fantasies revolving around these men served as the ultimate boyRob pacifier.
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My parents & I have numerous stories we can tell relative to our adventures as a 3-legged stool family unit. I love my mom and dad. And frankly, I know that it was only via God's grace that we made it through intact.
I realize I've posted this prior, but I love this photo of all three of us on my parents' wedding day. Enjoy.
