I Didn't Break It (and other tales of misplaced blame)

 Sometimes, life blows. I mean to say that it can often make you want to drink yourself into oblivion, throat punch someone, and/or set houses on fire. What separates the women from the girls, the men from the boys, or more specifically ME  from about a third of the population is this: I don't drink, ( haven't in nearly 2 1/2 years), I can't afford to bail myself out after the arrest that would surely follow me assaulting someone, and EWW I would never be able to wash the smell of a structure fire out of my hair. Basically, self control is what's keeping me (and possibly you) afloat. It seems simple. But sometimes its like trying to chew and swallow a mouthful of peas. I hate peas, you can substitute something else. You keep chewing, and chewing, it just keeps growing in your mouth, after gagging a few times, you finally manage to swallow. Ugh. Gives me heartburn just thinking about it.  I have been told that I have my fathers keen sense of the obvious and my mothers audacity. If you've never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Kirby, let's just say its a deadly combination when left unchecked. As I continue to mature, slowly but surely, I try my damnedest to filter myself. I try to hide my evil on the inside. Because, quite frankly, most of you simply are. Not. Ready. For. This. So, i try to use my powers for the betterment of society (look at me and the big words Check out the big brain on Sarah) Allow me to illustrate.
 I was in Target earlier today. The lines were pretty long, but I didn't mind, I had nowhere important to be. A youngish mother, maybe mid to late thirties and her teen daughter were behind me. Oh...one more disclaimer.... I have no children of my own. I have a 13 going on 35 year old step son, and the limited amount of
 time that I have been blessed with in his life in no way makes me an expert in parenting. Which is precisely why this is about common decency and not child rearing. If that doesn't satisfy your urge to tell me why my opinion is incorrect due to lack of experience, dont let the door hit you in the ass, doll face.
Anyhow, mom and the teen, who I will call Pumpkin from here on out, are behind me, and here's how it unfolds:
PUMPKIN: Stop acting so fucking stupid, mom. Just because you were a whore and don't know who my dad is doesn't mean I'm gonna be knocked up at 16.
Mom: (quietly) Pumpkin, we do know your dad. I don't know why you say that.
PUMPKIN: then why doesn't he pay child support? Everybody I know gets checks from their dad. We don't get shit! If he was my dad, he'd pay for stuff. I fucking hate you. You make me sick.
At this point my eyebrows are raised so high that they're on the back of my neck. This line needs to MOVE.
Mom: can we discuss this later?
PUMPKIN: When? You're never fucking home.
Mom: I'm sorry, I have to work. God forgive me, I have to keep a roof over your head and clothes on your back.
Mom almost sounded like she was growing some back bone...almost.
 PUMPKIN: you look like shit when you cry.
Then she stomps out, and yeah. Mom is crying a little. She catches me looking, shrugs and says " Teenagers" with the saddest, most artificial laugh I've ever heard. By this time, I'm entering my debit pin and grabbing my bags. Mom is pulling out coupons, paying part EBT, part cash, part debit card. You know what really got me? There was a single tear caught in her bottom lashes, right above a dark circle that screamed "IM TIRED!!!" That one fucking tear. It really broke my heart. My life is hard, but I'll probably never understand what it's like to walk a mile in her shoes.
So I walk out. There's Pumpkin. Smoking. And texting on a very pricey phone. I typically hear two voices in my head. One says "Go home, Sarah" and the other says " Don't pass this up, kid." The latter is louder and pushier, which is why we get along so famously. Uh oh. Pumpkin is about to get squashed. (Dont judge me, I rarely come up with puns)  Time for another disclaimer: WARNING: Don't try this at home. Or at Target, Walgreens etc.
Me: (in a panicked, breathy voice)Hey!  That was your mom in there? Behind me? Holy shit, she collapsed, she's not breathing, they called an ambulance.
The color drains out of Pumpkins face, she throws the cigarette down and starts back toward the entrance.... and nearly collides with Mom. Who of course, is fine. Health wise, any how. I wait, patiently, for baby Lucifer to absorb the reality of what's taken place.  And oh, wow, she is one pissed off demon spawn. Like Medusa with tacky eye makeup.
She starts to scream about how evil it is to mess with someone like that, how much I scared her, she loves her mom, bullshit, lies, bullshit blah blah, and my personal favorite" You're going to hell!" I must say, I'm proud of myself. My typical response in this type of situation would be to go toe to toe with this broad, regardless of her age or experience. I told you. Im maturing. I'm trying to WORK on  myself. So, when Pumpkin started running out of steam, I said to her,
" I hope this gave you a reason to think about what a mess your pathetic, insignificant life would be without your mother. Regardless of what some douchebag does or doesn't do for you, your mom didn't break anything. But she was the one left to pick up the pieces. If you want to criticize someone take a long hard look at yourself, Pumpkin. Because from where I'm standing, you look like you got it pretty fucking good."  Mom is standing there with years streaming, and says "Thank you". So now I'm crying. I gave her one of my cards. She texted me a while ago. This was what it said:
"Thank u so much for today. I love my kid, but I'm tired of being blamed for falling in love with the wrong person. I work so hard to do everything I can because its my responsibility, and I still feel like she hates me. Hopefully she'll grow out of it. Today, you made me feel like someone is on my side"
Does this make me a a superhero or a patron saint? Fuck no, I'm just like everyone else, but with a bigger mouth. If Mr Rodgers was alive today, he'd lace up his Keds, throw on a spiffy cardigan, and  turn our attention to the picture frame on the wall where we would get a guided tour of the Personal Responsility factory, brought to you by the makers of Self Respect.

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