Gasp

I remember the first time I had the wind knocked out of me. I was no older than 5. It couldn't have been later than 1987. We lived in Rosemead and we had a nice big back yard. There was tons of room to play. There was an old swing set in the center of the back yard. I was running to reach up to grab what could only be described as two chains a couple of feet in length. At the end of these chains was a metal pipe. A bar.

I was running as fast as I could with my Thundercats Kite that my father must have purchased from the local 7-11. With this kite I could not only take on legions of Skeletor's army but half of the "Bad" Gremlins, one or two of the Foot Clan, and maybe if I was lucky enough I'd be able to kick the shit out of one of the Goulies. I hated those mother fuckers.

So, I was leaping gracefully with my kite, grabbing onto this pipe when one hand grabbed as hard as I could when the wonderful world of "Physics" came rushing at the back of my head. My grip was firm (This is what happens when you're a 5 1/2 year old Ninja, you understand) so firm that it snapped me parallel to the brown and green earth below me.

Now, I don't know if it was the shock of seeing for a moment my house, than the blue sky above me (oh look there goes my kite. Awesome.) and the sudden impact of the ground against my back that freaked me out. Maybe it was the stars that I saw, that I had never seen before. It might have been the strange sound I was making when my eyes started to tear and the tubes that the "Good Lord" had seen fit to fashion out of flesh and bone that got oxygen from the world outside of young William Joshua and into my body began flowing normally.

I dont know if it was any of that, which would normally be the case. Or, it should be the case but not for me.

I think it was the trip from the yard to my house that hurt the most. My mother was in the house. There were men in the driveway talking on their lunch. They were the ones who tore down the old Garage and put up a simple posts in the ground with a white roof over a concrete slab to replace it.

From the time I got to my feet to the time I got to the back door one of those men asked "Mijo are you okay?".

I couldnt speak so I just nodded. I felt silly.

I went inside and on the way I kept thinking that the only one in the world who could make this better was my mother.

When I found her she was smiling. She smiles a lot. She asked "William whats wrong?"

I blinked,

I was breathing again,

I was fine.

She didn't know I almost died. I could have fell apart into a million tiny pieces from that amazing fall or worse yet I could have never began to breathe again. Christ what if one of those old bastards had seen how good I was with my kite and decided to recruit me into the underground world of 5 year old featherweight kick boxing? What then Mom? What the fuck would you have done then?

I was stunned. She didnt do anything because she didnt know. I was hurt, I hurt myself. I was doing my thing, minding my own business and I somehow got up and did the only thing I knew to do and that was do something familiar. I went to her and I realized that I was okay. On my own and without my mother, who should have known EVERYTHING but knew nothing of her son in that moment.

I never told my mother what happened. It was my secret. Later when I poked my eye really hard I didn't tell her about that either. I rubbed it, and checked to see if my eye was still in my head. I thought it was but I couldn't be sure so I checked in the mirror. It was still there, if a little blurry.

When one of the old splinters from the garage that was now gone had gotten lodged into the palm of my hand I yanked it out. It stung, and it bled but I didnt tell her then either. I just kept going.

I never told her about the nightmares I began having when my parents divorced.

I didn't tell her that I knew why she and my father REALLY split up.

I never told her when I figured out that she was a fucking liar. I just kept going.

Innocence is a funny thing. It goes away eventually, but its an amazing thing to see in action when its pure.

I was sitting and watching a movie while my daughter slept next to me. I checked her PJs to make sure she hadn't wet herself. She had. So I grabbed her up, and told her "Honey wake up you forgot to tell Papa you have to potty remember?"

I got piss all over me. I plopped her down on the toilet. Told her to finish. I cleaned her up and changed her.

At no point was she ashamed, or did I get upset. Its what you do when you are teaching. Training. Getting someone to grow and learn. She wasn't ashamed because I wasn't upset with her. I just have to remind her and keep trying till she learns to get up and go.

I want her to come to me with this. Anything. Burns and cuts and bruises. Pains and aches and rashes.

All of it.

I'm afraid that one day she wont. The day she doesn't is the day that she begins to figure out that there are some things that she can handle on her own. Those scrapes that need band aides will one day give way to anger and embarrassment. Her pals will be friends who might be short lived or life long or lovers.

One day she'll handle the air leaving her body in gasping heaves till she has corrected what she did on her own.

What good will I be to her then?

When my mother kicked me out for the last time. When my older sister had already been gone for years after being kicked out. When I was gone and my little sister had left the next day leaving my mother alone it was like the day that I first had the wind knocked out of me. I had to work it out somehow on my own.

All of it.

I hope its a long time before Emma realizes it.

5 is a bit early I think.