momma's pride and joy

The Chosen One

One afternoon, several weeks after our "woman of the house" conversation, Ma reached out and touched my hand as I passed by her on the couch.

"Kevin, have a seat," she began while patting a spot on the couch next to her. "You're such a pretty boy. Almost too pretty to be a boy. You know, you would make a lovely girl, if you let me do a little work on your face. I used to be pretty before my illness. Let me pretty you up."

"Ma," I whimpered, "I don't want to be pretty."

"But you already are with your small size, soft features, delicate mannerisms, and quiet ways," she responded.

I tried to recall how many times Mama had hinted that I'd make a nice girl by pointing out these very same things. It was never anything big, just a quick comment every once in a while, but over time it had added up to a lot of comments.

"But Maaaaa," I instinctively whined.

I felt I should protest much more than I did, but I knew I was never very manly, being small boned and so shy. In fact, I'd had thoughts of my own before, questioning whether I'd be able to make it through life as a man with such feminine qualities. At Mama's insistence I hadn't had a hair cut in quite a while. I even had almost shoulder length hair, which made me look even more delicate.

"Please dear, just once? Humor your poor sick mother. Let me try. If you don't like it we can talk about it, but I think you'll like your new look," she said as she raised her hand to my head.

Stroking my hair she continued, "Let me fix this first. I always wanted a daughter that I could brush her hair and make her look beautiful. Please, I may not be around much longer. If you don't like the look, you can undo it when school starts."

"But what about the other kids, and Timmy, Jimmy, Johnny, and Jessie? What will they say? They'll all laugh at me. They'll call me all kinds of things."

"No they won't and I won't do anything to your hair that can't be washed out," Ma said in a sweet voice. "Just try it for one day, please sweetie? Please for your mother."

Ma was so determined and so good with getting her way by using the guilt trip. How could I deny her after that? I just had to give in. Besides, with her medical condition, none of us knew how much more time we'd have with her and I just couldn't bring myself to disappoint her.

She had me get a chair and I used it to lean over the kitchen sink while she shampooed my hair. We shampooed, rinsed, shampooed, rinsed, put on a conditioner, and rinsed.

This took a long time, but I found that I really didn't mind the attention. I mean I'd washed my hair before, but can't remember anyone else ever doing it for me.

Mama's fingers felt so good massaging my scalp; her nails causing shivers down my back.

After wrapping a towel around my wet hair, we went to the living room and I sat down with my back to her.

On the coffee table she had a bottle, a pair of scissors, and some other items, like she was going to operate on me, which, in a way, I guess she was.

"Your hair is long enough and so full. I'm sure you're going to love your new look," Ma said as she place a basket of hair rollers in my lap.

Regardless of what she was currently doing to me, I was happy that Ma was happy. This was the happiest I had seen her since before she got sick. I told myself if this is what it took to make her a little happier, then it was okay cause she deserved a little happiness.

I felt the large tooth comb slide through my wet shoulder length hair, hitting a snag every so often.

"Ouch... Ouch," I whined.