You’re the breast, Mom!

breast feedingFor some mothers, it’s hard to let go of their children as they grow older.  They’re always remembered as babies, but most parents eventually adjust.  Some, however, cling to the notion that their babies will always be young by letting them suck the milk from their supple bosom well after it’s socially acceptable to do so.

A recent documentary highlighted a mother who breastfeeds her 8-year-old daughter:

When Bethany, Mrs. Robinson’s older daughter, asked for breast milk for her ninth birthday she said, “I was delighted, if a little taken aback.”  I stopped breastfeeding Bethany when she was five.  I continued to feed her younger sister, Elizah.  Bethany clearly remembered what a wonderful feeling it had been.  “It was the best thing she could imagine and, presented like that, it seemed like a great idea.”

Mrs. Robinson and her family are very big on organic foods.  Elizah at almost 8 years old is not happy at the prospect of giving up breastfeeding.  Elizah said, “I don’t want to be weaned. I want to breastfeed for ever.”

There’s nothing more organic than sucking on mom’s teat until your preteen years.  Why wean a child from the milk?  The negatives of weaning outweigh the positives.

It likely means upgrading your weekly milk purchase at the grocery store from a quart to a gallon.  Certainly a risk with the high prices of dairy products.  Besides, breast milk adds a sweet new dimension to the frosted flakes they eat before school.

While it might be easy at first to get away with feeding, as a child grows older, it would get considerably more difficult.  The thought of a kid discretely ducking away from a junior high dance in the middle of a song to get a quick suckle would be hard to pull off for even a young James Bond.  Hard, yet justifiable.  There’s always the chance some street wise kid spiked the punch.  On the other hand, unless mom is knocking back cups of Irish Coffee in the morning, her milk will remain pure and alcohol free.

At the child’s high school graduation, I’d imagine he/she’d wear an extra large gown so mom can hide under it and squirt it into their mouth at the appropriate times.  Those ceremonies last a long time and a human being is liable to get thirsty.   Indy 500 Milk

As time passes, mother and child would figure out ways to beat the anti-breast milk system.  One situation, however, could spoil the whole operation:

Winning the Indy 500.

After the victory, it’s tradition for the winning driver to knock back a glass of milk.   They’d have to do their whole tit sucking song and dance in front of thousands of race car fans, and, well, that would just be awkward.

Hooker Grandma

As Bill Cosby once said between licks off his pudding pop, kids say the darndest things.  During my childhood, the darndest of them all was when I referred to my grandmother (I call her Nonnie) using a word normally reserved for women who fuck for money.

After overhearing someone jokingly say to my mother “hey, you’re a hooker” at a friendly gathering in 1988, I thought it was a normal part of the lexicon to be used in every day conversation.  Though I was only 5-years-old, I was able to tell by the tone and the way it was used that it was an insult.  While it would take a few more years to find out the true meaning, that didn’t stop me from using it days later.

It was a typical summer day in Clairton, Pennsylvania.  I was running around like a brat and Nonnie was chasing me around the house with a wooden spoon, the weapon of choice for an Italian punishing a child. 

She caught up to me since I was a good 3 years from being able to outrun her and began swinging the spoon as hard as she could with her arthritis laden hands.  As the pain and anger grew inside me, I screamed at her.  Then I remembered what I had heard several days prior.

“Stop it, you hooker!” I yelled.
“What did you say to me?” Nonnie said.  She stopped hitting me, taken aback.
“You’re a hooker,” I repeated.

I don’t remember the look on her face, but I imagine it was a mixture of shock, anger, and humor that a 5 year old uttered that word. 

“Where did you hear that?” she asked.
“I heard someone call mommy that.”
“That’s a very bad word.  Don’t say that again.”

Later on that evening, my mom had a heart to heart explaining that a hooker was a woman who does bad things and to never say that word.

And to this day, I never use it.  I’ll only describe women as sluts, whores,  bitches, cunts, hos, strumpets, trollops, floozys, harlots, and streetwalkers.  But never hookers.  I’m a good son.