Carolina Girls
>> Thursday, December 7, 2017 –
Beach Music,
Sons and Mothers
Every
summer, my family vacationed on Topsail Island, North Carolina for one treasured
week. Mom would load the back of the wood paneled station wagon with brown
paper grocery bags of food. My three brothers and I laid claim to our space for
the four hour drive by karate chopping a boundary line in between us on the
vinyl back seat, Hi-yah!
Invariably,
someone’s foot, hand or breath would breach the imaginary border.
“Mom,
he’s on my side!”
When
she tired of playing the role of United Nations, Mom would banish the offending
party to the way, way back.
I
didn’t mind riding in the back so much. I’d lie down and watch the rows of green
tobacco plants flicker by like the spokes of a wheel. When I became hungry, I’d
pull out the Honey Combs cereal and have a snack while secretly admiring the
picture on the box of Bobby Sherman.
Just
when cow poker was about to lose its luster, Mom would sing “Who can see the
ocean first?”
We’d
train our gaze on the undulating sand dunes, searching the tiny valleys between
them for a glimpse of blue. Like baby birds we’d chirp, “I see it! I see it!”
We
were drawn to the sea, bobbing like bell buoys in the briny currents, searching
for the perfect crest and sometimes getting pummeled by a rogue wave. At night,
sunburnt, tired and lying in between the sandy bed sheets, we’d close our eyes
and get rocked to sleep by the phantom push and pull, push and pull, push and pull
of the tides.
We
continued that family tradition for years, even after Dad left us. One moonlit
night, there was a party on the deck of the cottage next door and I watched Mom
peering through the open kitchen window, elbows resting on the sill. The sounds
of “Beach music”—those boppy, Carolina R&B tunes—drifted up from the party
below. Mom held her hand to her mouth as she laughed, her feet dancing to the beat.
For the first time, I realized there was someone else my mother used to be. She
was not actually born a mother. It was then that I realized she was in this
alone.
Mom
was fiercely protective of us, still is. Breaking into the Dameron family for
any girlfriend and later, a boyfriend must have been a daunting task, much like
wading into the ocean. There were a few family dinners with significant others that
crashed terrifically beneath a sea of tears. I think Mom just got used to
protecting our borders.
When
I worked up the nerve to tell Mom that Paul was going to become my husband, I was terrified. She wept
for many reasons, but happiness certainly bubbled to the top. Mom told me she
felt like she had missed that boat—that she never really had “The love of her
life.” She had devoted herself to her boys and God help the poor man who came calling
at our door on Latham Road. He would have been greeted by a tsunami of rambunctious
Dameron boys and the flotsam and jetsam of our pets. As much as Mom protected
our borders, we flooded hers.
Like
all kids, I pushed Mom and my brothers away at one point or another, attempting
to find myself and become the man I am today, but Mom never stopped pulling me
back. She starts every conversation with, “When was the last time you talked to
your brothers?”
There
is a faded photograph of Mom as a pretty, young woman clinging to us on Topsail
Island. When I look at it, I can feel the phantom push and pull of the tides.
God, we all look so happy. The edges may be a bit tattered, but it’s clear to
see, Mom didn’t have one single love of her life. She had four.
Read more...