Children should have fathers; I get that.  The reality of my situation is that of a single parent, and I have embraced it for all it is worth.  My oldest son, however, has not.  Consistently, he has beckoned for me to take a look at a photo of a good-looking man, point out a possible candidate at a park, (forgetting that all men there are complete strangers,) and simply making suggestions for me to go out on a date.  He has no idea that by Friday, the only date I want to have is with my pillow and DVR shows I have missed for the week.

Life often throws us curve balls, and some people end up in places where they never expected.  I have taught for over twenty years, and while quite a number of my former students have done exceptionally well for themselves (some making twice my salary), others fell into unfortunate circumstances that have landed them behind bars for a while.  I connected with one such student recently and was happy to know that he was alive and doing well. I expressed an interest in making a visit to see him one day to which a reply was sent a few weeks later.  The letter remained opened on my kitchen counter, and I walked away, forgetting that its contents were exposed.

The letter included a lovely photo, but outlined specifics that the prison system  would not allow.  No wires on bras, no jeans, a recommendation of dollar bills and coins for the concession stands and visiting hours were specified.   My eldest was in the kitchen making a snack while my nose remained buried in a stack of books I was studying.  A few moments later, I heard a loud scream.

“MOM!” He hollered at the top of his lungs.

“WHAT!” I hollered back just as loudly.

“MOMMY!” His assumption was that I must not have heard him the first time since I did not come racing down the stairs to answer him.

“WHAT IS IT?” I screamed again, hoping that he would get a clue that I was not moving and he would want to make his way up the stairs to express his concern.

I heard footsteps bounding up the steps, and a very heated child stood at the foot of my bed, a letter hanging at the side of his body.  He threw me a perplexed look and shoved the paper in my face.

“Uhh, mom!” I saw the paper clearly.  “You’re getting our new dad from a PRISON?!?!”

It took everything in my being not to burst into laughter in front of my child. He was serious as a heart attack, and I feared he would have one if I went along with it and told him, “Yes.”

“Oh NO, baby!” I chuckled.  “That is a student of mine from a long time ago!”

“You’re marrying your STUDENT?!?!?”  He was done.

“NOOOO!!!” I replied. “He is in jail honey, and I am going to see him.”

“And why would you do that?” He asked.

“Because I want to check on him to see how he is doing.” Silence. More silence.  Wait for it…

“Well,” he said. “Just don’t tell him where we live!”

He was innocent in his assumptions, but serious with his intent.  He left the paper on my bed and walked away, still a bit exasperated.

If I decide to ever get married again, I am certain that it will be a grueling experience for my new mate.  As long as he is not a cell mate, I think he will do well!

Laugh, people. It’s good for the soul!