X and I took Number 1 and Number 2 out to the beach this weekend. Never ones to let teenage kids get in the way of our planned activities, X and I really redefined good-parenting when we took the kids to a bar. “Zzzlong as the youngins keep four feet from the bar, I reckon it’s fine.” At least, that’s the rule in Delaware.
After we ordered dinner, some decrepit lady, whose back looked like a U-Ring, stumbled over to tell X that he looked like her son. X and I both looked at each other with a stunned look of surprise because, you see, X was adopted. He has attempted, thus far unsuccessfully, to find his birth mother. It only took this woman a second to spit this out before she turned around and went back to her table. We both sat there with our mouths open.
Me: Oh my god it’s your birth mother!
X: Stop that.
Me: Come on! It could be her!
Number 2: Wasn’t she like 16 when she had Dad?
X: Yeah, and I was her second child!
Number 2: So, could that lady be, um….
At this point Number 2 trailed off to do the math to add X’s age and 16. He never did get back to us with the answer. Stupid private school.
I just couldn’t let this go. I looked over at the lady and suddenly it was like looking in a mirror. X has very distinct eyebrows. Even in his baby pictures, he has the same eyebrows that he has now. It’s actually pretty funny how that arch just stayed in place all these….Number 2? Are you done with that math yet? How many years?
Anyway. Back to the Birth Mother.
She kept looking at X, and I said, “Do you think it’s possible this lady is your mom?” X said, “Yeah. I do.”
I looked back at her. I just got this feeling and I practically demanded that X go over and talk to her. We ate and he agreed to go over and try to get some more clues. He was over there for a while. I probably should have mentioned earlier that there was Karaoke in full swing by this point. By “full swing,” I mean there were three people on the rotation, including the D.J.
Some tall drink of water country bumpkin with ducks ass feathered gray hair decided to take his opportunity behind the mic to sing Elvis’s “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” Right about the time X was getting into it with the U-Ring Birth Mother, there’s the Kenny Rogers, pointing in her face, screaming, “Are You Lonesome Tonight???” Ugh. Stupid Delaware. Stupid fucking useless Delaware. Don’t even get me started on the conversation I had with Boss Hogg on my property tax bill.
I wish that I could have pulled that moron aside and said, “Do you mind? He just found his birth mother, here in this shit hole bar, that we’ve taken his teenage sons to, in this shit hole neighborhood where I’ve bought a house and now feel like I’m in Harper Valley/Mayberry Hell in Hazard County. Back off, Stretch.”
As it turns out, X couldn’t get enough information from her to get anything other than the fact that her father was from North Jersey – which doesn’t match up to what we know about where his mother was from. However, based on her age, and the age of her son, I firmly believe that she could be X’s aunt – whether it’s her brother who is X’s father, or her sister who is his mother is obviously unclear, but this I’m sure of. Because I do believe in fate and I don’t believe in chance encounters.