A voice of mothers

Adele's Point of View.

"Oh, little Tim, if only you knew what vegetables would do to your body. You would eat them rather than throw them away or secretly give them to your mother." My mother said, that made Timothy's hand freeze in the air. His eyes squinted at his grandmother.

"If I eat them, will you tell me what they do?" Timothy pleaded, then added. "But you don't have to tell me anything if they are bad things." Mom chuckled softly.

"They are not bad things. In fact, I'll tell you the secret then. They make you grow so tall that they might mistake you for a sixteen-year-old fella instead of a five-year-old." She exaggerated and I rolled my eyes. But Timothy was buying it. So help me God, he was buying the lie my mother was feeding him. I chuckled at his widened eyes.

He turned to me, "Did you hear that, Mama? I could be tall like you if I eat my vegetables."

I nodded and ruffled his thick brown hair. Since he was already buying into it all, I might as well contribute to this party of hoping to love vegetable aspiration. "I did, sweetheart. I sure did. It doesn't only make you grow so tall, it also makes your teeth as strong as they can be."

His eyes danced. "Does that mean I get to eat all the candy I can without caring for my teeth?"

I chuckled. "Sure, why not."

He immediately started shoving all the broccoli that could fit into his small mouth, stopping in between heavy bites to drink water. Oh, kids were so gullible.

My sister, Ann, didn't say anything for a while. Her head was drowned by the newspaper in front of her. "Oh my God!" her voice rang loudly, bringing us all to a halt. She then stared up, her eyes apologizing before her voice did. "Sorry. I just... Believe it or not, your name is on the paper. Carlton Perry wrote about you after all. He says your voice can soothe a bruise, and cut tension loose. Wow, that rhymed!"

I sprung to my feet, collecting the newspaper from her at once. She wasn't joking. My name had actually been there. My heart warmed at the beautiful words. Everyone read the paper, did that mean that they were going to see this? Of course, they would.

"Does that mean you're famous now, mama?" Little Tim asked with his mouth full. The excitement and hope in his voice weren't hidden though. My eyes moved to the leaking ceiling and the bucket that accommodated all the water it had to pour since last night and sighed.

I shrugged. "I wouldn't say that I'm famous now baby, just that perhaps I may be drawing attention to myself. That's all."

He frowned. "Isn't that what being famous means?" He asked, staring at me. Waiting for an answer. I shrugged and nodded. Finally giving in to his question. I knew how difficult it was to answer Tim's question. Whenever it started, it didn't seem to stop.

"Yay!" His hands raised up and back down. Something about seeing my son that excited made me excited. If only I could do more...

I raised my gaze from Tim's face and they fell on my mother who had grown unusually silent. She pursed her lips and shook her head. Then placing a careful smile back on, she turned to Tim who seemed like he was contemplating eating the one last broccoli on his plate or losing the challenge that my mother hadn't uttered.

"Come on, Tim, let's go find that sweater of yours before your daddy comes to pick you up."

Tim immediately got up, looking like he was excited to leave the food. He was sick of the veggies. I knew it. That made me want to laugh, but Mom's silence about the newspaper held me back. I wasn't sure it was okay to laugh, yet anyway. When they both disappeared behind the curtain, Ann stared at me.

"What do you think that was about?"

"I have no idea and if I'm being honest, I hate that I don't know. Maybe if I did know, I would have the slightest idea on how to just soothe her. Let her know that it's okay. That it's going to be okay. We are going to be okay. We've always been okay, it's not going to be the last time."

"Yeah, well, I don't know about that," Ann said. Her gaze then flew down to her dinner plate like she had already said enough and shouldn't have spoken at all.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

"Annie Charity Freeman, I can read you like a book. You can lie to everyone but not me. What did you mean by what you said?"