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Authors: E. N. Joy

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BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
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Chapter Thirty-five
“Franklin County Children Services, Mom? Really?” Deborah roared at her mother. “You called the people on me? Seriously?” Deborah could not have confronted her mother about her surprise visitor soon enough. She immediately knew that her mother was behind this nonsense. She didn't know how she did, but she just knew.
Deborah being so sure her mother was responsible for the claims probably had a lot to do with the arguments they'd had lately. Mrs. Lewis had not bitten her tongue about how she disapproved of some of Deborah's parenting techniques. In turn, Deborah had not bitten her tongue on what she thought about her own mother's parenting skills when it came to how she'd raised her. Deborah knew she was somewhat out of line in the way she had come at her mother. Had she known this was how her mother would retaliate, she would have most definitely held her tongue.
Deborah had watched enough episodes of
Judge Judy
and
Judge Mathis
where folks had falsely called Children Services on a person they were beefing with. She just never thought her own mother would do that to her. The people on the court shows had done it out of spite. The judges had seen right through the defendants' vindictiveness, awarding the plaintiffs money for their suffering and loss as a result. Deborah didn't have any plans of suing her mother, but she had every intention in the world of confronting her about it.
Once Miss Folins, the woman from Children Services, had left Deborah's house after over an hour of questioning her and her son, Deborah couldn't wait to get on the phone and let her mother have it. But after picking up the phone and dialing the first few digits of her mother's phone number, she slammed the phone down.
“This requires a face-to-face,” Deborah had spat as she gathered together her son and their things and made a beeline out the door—straight to her mother's house. As soon as Deborah's mother had opened the door, Deborah burst through the door in rage.
“First of all, you need to calm yourself down,” Mrs. Lewis shot back. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Children Services . . .”
“Oh, so now you're going to act like you don't know what I'm talking about.” Deborah rolled her eyes up in her head. “Puhleaze.”
Mrs. Lewis tightened her lips. She tried to count to ten, but only made it to four. “Now for the last few years I've been trying to be a different person—a better person. But I'm warning you, Deb . . .” She walked up to her daughter and put her finger in her face. “You gon' make me go old school on you for real.”
Deborah was taken aback. For a moment there, she felt like a little kid again. This feeling was brought on by the look in her mother's eyes. There was a hint of the expression she used to wear whenever she used to go on her tangents when Deborah was coming up. Deborah had never met a real, live madwoman. But she'd bet the farm that back in the day her mother bore a close resemblance.
Put in her place, Deborah found a more respectable tone. “Look, Mom, I really don't want to come over here disrespecting you. No matter what, no matter what I think about how you raised me, God only gave me one mother. That is what forces me to strive to want to have a halfway decent relationship with you, but you calling Children Services on me, making accusations that I might be abusing my son, that's kind of hard to look past.”
“Deborah, I honestly have no idea what you are talking about,” Mrs. Lewis assured her daughter. She said it with such a sincere tone and expression that Deborah knew her mother was telling the truth. Deborah could feel it in her gut that her mother had not been the one to call “the people” on her. Deborah began to soften, preparing herself to apologize to her mother. “But I can also honestly say that I thought about doing it.”
Deborah's mouth dropped open.
“I'm just trying to tell the truth and shame the devil,” Mrs. Lewis admitted. “Now you know I'm not the praying kind—not on a regular basis anyway—but I even prayed to God about whether to make the call. I ain't too clear on deciphering God's voice, so I don't know what His response was. Obviously He told me to make the call, and when I didn't, He found somebody else to do it.”
Deborah threw her hands on her hips. “Now if that just ain't the craziest thing I've ever heard. You're grasping at straws, Momma. But it's all good. I see how you're playing this game.”
“I'm not playing any games with you, Deborah. I'm trying, and I have been trying, to be as real with you as possible. When I look back at how I treated you, I don't want that for my grandbaby. That's why I try to give him all the sweet kindness and love that I never showed or gave you. I want to break the cycle with him. But then you counter everything I do with your own hateful actions.”
“What I don't get is why you dog me out for acting the same way you did.”
“Because I know better now, Deborah! How many more times do I have to tell you that? I was wrong. Dead wrong. But I can admit that I was wrong. Now you need to step up and admit that you're wrong. Because, like the saying goes, you can't quit it until you admit it.”
There was a lot of truth to what Mrs. Lewis was speaking and Deborah knew it. But rather than acknowledging that her mother was right, Deborah would prefer to be wrong.
“Just forget it, Ma. I don't have time to stand here and do this with you, my baby is out in the car and the car is running. I gotta go.” Deborah headed for the door.
“I didn't call those people on you, Deborah.”
Deborah stopped right when she got to the door. She turned and looked at her mother knowingly. “If you say so.” Deborah just couldn't bring herself to fully believe her mother; not now. Not after her little spiel about she was going to but she didn't—blah, blah, and blah.
As sincere as her mother had seemed in her earlier comments, the latter comments almost Xed them out. Besides, there was no one else who came to mind who would have done something like that. It just so happened that she and her mother had been disputing over the way Deborah was treating her son. Now out of nowhere Children Services showed up at her door questioning how she treated her son. How Deborah saw it, one plus one equaled two.
“I love you, Mom. God knows I love you. And I'll keep loving you until the day I die. But forgiving you . . . I'm not so sure anymore, Momma. Just not sure.” Deborah sighed and then walked out the door.
“Deborah, please,” her mother shouted after her. “We can't keep doing this. We have to mend this broken bridge between us.” Deborah kept walking as her mother came out on the porch. “You don't even have to meet me halfway. I'm willing to walk all the way across the bridge and meet you where you are. Please, Deborah.”
“I love you, Mom,” Deborah said, then got in the car and drove off. Tears spilled from her eyes. She was saddened that there was such a huge wedge in her and her mother's relationship. Mostly, though, the tears were of anger. If the person who had called Children Services on her had been anyone other than her mother, she would have done them bodily harm. That's just how angry she was. But the woman was her mother. So she'd have to keep all her frustration sealed up like a can of soda. But it wouldn't be long before, like a soda that had been shaken up, she would explode.
 
“Thank you, Zelda. The food looks delicious,” Debora said to her waitress as she and her son sat in Family Café. No matter what she ordered from Malvonia's local restaurant, she knew it would be delicious. Over the years, she'd tried almost everything on the menu. Her son, on the other hand, had never eaten anything from the diner other than chicken fingers and fries. That would probably go for most kids though.
“Thank you, Deborah. I hope you think it tastes as good as it looks.”
“Quit being modest, girl. You know your family makes the best food this side of the map,” Deborah complimented her. “And good thing, too, because after the day I've had, the last thing I felt like doing was cooking.” And Deborah was telling the truth there. Had her son not begun to beg for fruit snacks, yogurt, and a list of his other favorite foods, Deborah would have forgotten all about dinner. After her conversation with her mother, she'd been way too mad to eat. Hopefully, though, a good meal would relax her mind. Prayer hadn't seemed to be helping her mind, God, church, Jesus—nothing. If food didn't work, she was running out of options.
“We have a new dessert menu. So you and little man need to save room for that.” Zelda winked. “Let me know if you need anything else.” She walked away to take care of her other customers.
Deborah blessed her and her son's food and they began to eat. Halfway through her meal, Deborah was interrupted.
“The way you smashing that food, I think I'm going to order that,” Deborah heard a voice say. She looked up to see Helen standing over her.
“Oh, hey, Sister Helen,” Deborah greeted her, wiping her mouth. “How are you?”
“I'm good, but it's my little guy here I'm worried about.” Helen pinched Deborah's son's cheek. “That bruise he had. It just stayed in my spirit. Is it doing any better?”
“Yes, he's fine,” Deborah said while smiling at her son. “Mommy's baby is just fine.”
“Good,” Helen replied. “Did you ever figure out how he got it—what the bruise was from?”
“No.” Deborah shrugged her shoulders. “Things just happen with kids. You know how that goes.” Deborah actually did know how the bruise had gotten there, but she didn't want her food to get cold while she explained all the boring details to Helen. Besides, she didn't have to answer to anybody. Not her mother and certainly not Helen.
“I know. They take a lickin' and keep on tickin',” Helen joked. “But that was just odd. It concerned me. He's always so happy. So it bothered me that it was bothering him so much. It was like he took a lickin' but his tickin' wasn't the same anymore.”
Deborah was glad that someone cared about her son just as much as she did. What she didn't appreciate was Helen making it appear as though she cared more than Deborah did.
“Well, he's back to tickin' just fine,” Deborah assured Helen.
“You sure? Let me see.” Helen leaned in to check the spot where she'd seen the bruise on Deborah's son's arm.
“I said he's fine.” The snappiness shot out of Deborah's voice and stopped Helen's actions instantly.
“Oh, my goodness, I'm sorry,” Helen apologized. “You two are trying to eat and I'm just interrupting y'all.” She laughed. “Forgive me for overreacting sometimes. I'm going to be a mess when I open my own daycare. I'm probably going to be getting on those parents' nerves.” She laughed again. “But I don't play that mess when it comes to kids. I'm like Oprah Winfrey when it comes to the kids—very protective and concerned. I can't just let things go.”
“Well, the parents should be so lucky to have someone caring for their children who are truly concerned about them,” Deborah stated, hoping Helen would keep it moving so that she and her son could enjoy their meal. Let that caseworker tell it, this could be their last meal together.
“Mrs. Lewis,” the caseworker had said, “I should inform you of some of the possible outcomes if the allegations of child abuse against your child are found to be true.”
“But they won't be found to be true. I do not abuse my child,” Deborah had countered.
“So you say, but I should still let you know that not only could your son be removed from your home—temporarily, permanently, or indefinitely—but you could also face criminal charges and serve jail time. And, might I add, having a criminal record, especially against a child, is very, very, very damaging. It will limit you in future career choices, and—”
“Look, I don't mean to interrupt you, but like I said, I do not beat on my son.”
The woman stopped and stared at Deborah for a moment before stating, “Mrs. Lewis, do you understand that child abuse involves more than just hitting a child? There are soooo many ways parents hurt and damage their children that do not involve them ever laying a hand on them.” To drive her point in the woman added, “You saw that episode of
Dr. Phil
where that woman would punish her son by making him take a cold shower, all the while she's fussing him out?”
“I heard about that.” Deborah brushed it off as if sweeping dirt under the rug.
“Then you also heard that she was arrested and charged with abuse.” The caseworker swept it right back out.
Those words had really made Deborah think just how serious this situation was. She could go to jail. She could actually go to jail because someone else thought the way she was treating her child was wrong. It was behind that thought that the arguments Deborah had been having with her mother lately had popped into her head. Her mother had made it no secret that she felt Deborah's behavior was damaging to her son. But now, as she sat in the Family Café, she realized that her mother obviously wasn't the only one who thought that. If Deborah didn't know any better, she'd have thought Helen was undercover, trying to hint around that perhaps Deborah could have put the bruise on her son.
BOOK: The Sunday Only Christian
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