Possums, when is a soap opera no longer a soap opera?

When it becomes your life!

And you should be so lucky!

Why?

Player read on…

You know I always wondered why my mother used to fantasize about being a soap opera star.

She would burn our dinner, but if she didn’t, how would she find out the latest on the Kim, Bob and Susan triangle?

She would burn a hole in the seat of my father’s pants, put a patch on it and pass it off as style, but if she didn’t, how would she find out about the Erica and Maria baby switch?

She would forget to notice (thank Christ) that I purposely forgot to wear a tank and just a black bra under my see-thru blouse a la Madonna as I snuck out the house back to school after lunch, but if she didn’t how would she find out about Marlena’s possession?

She would forget to dust and vacuum, but if she didn’t how would she find out about Erica’s stint in rehab?

She would accidentally forget to add the fabric softener, but if she didn’t how would she find out about Maria’s death in an airplane crash??

However, my mother would never forget to stop and ask my father for money, a quick feel and a couple of cigarettes and that’s only because my father left the house for work at nine and soap operas didn’t start until about eleven!

But, there was only one soap opera that topped all others-The Young and the Restless. Possums, I heard the theme song so much that it wasn’t until I was five, that I realized the theme song was my nightly lullaby!

You know how nobody could come between Brooke Shields and her Calvins? Well, no one could come between my mother and Mr. Victor Newman on Young & the Restless! Oh, Possums, how she fantasized about not only being in the arms of Victor Newman, but liking it! True, he was everything my father could have been, but was not. Victor Newman was debonair! Victor Newman was gallant! Victor Newman was posh! Victor Newman was white!

My mother didn’t even mind picturing herself as Nikki Newman (née Reed, formerly Foster, Bancroft, DiSalvo, Abbott, Landers, and Chowback) when Nikki used to be a stripper and prostitute at a strip club called “The Bayou” (later renamed Marsino’s, then Marilyn’s)! Besides, it was exactly what my mother had being doing to my father for years, just not getting paid for it!

So what makes a good soap opera-phyte?

Possums, it wasn’t her finest hour. It wasn’t my father’s finest hour, either.

My parents are still in hot Jamaica. Remember when I told you that my father has been getting on my mother’s nerves? Well, let’s just say that it was the case of the dramatics that finally brought them back together.

Have you ever heard of a person who never knew how to perform CPR, perform it when they most needed it? I think that it is a force that comes from God when you need it.

My parents had gone out for brunch, which is really breakfast if you are in Jamaica cause everyone gets up at 4:00AM to feed the chickens. So, my father needed a drink and he needed it bad!

You would have a stiff drink first thing in the morning too, if you were married to my mother!

So, when the waiter came to take their order, he ordered his usual-vodka on the rocks. I think he added the “rocks” because he thinks it is a protein. You know you gotta get in all the food groups whenever you can.

My father then excused himself to the bathroom. But, when he came back to the table my mother had already thrown the drink into the potted plant nearby! So, what did my father do? He sat and stewed. Then he stewed and sat.

Jigga-man wouldn’t eat a thing.

Not even a drink of water!

Who knew later that he was going to spite two people that day!

You know Possums, there comes a time in your life when God sends you a lifeline. And if and when that time comes, you better not throw it back to Him. You better take that life line, wrap it around your waist and hold on cause you are going in for a ride!

How do I know?

It’s in the Bible.

I’ll get back to you later on the chapter and verse.

After their meal, my father, like a child with his arms crossed, pouted alongside my mother and her full-from-brunch belly all the way up the street. They stopped a few miles from the hotel they are staying at to chat to a couple of friends that they haven’t seen in a long while.

As I was told later:

All of the sudden, my mother noticed that my father started sweating.

“J.B? Is something wrong?” asked my mother.

My father wouldn’t answer.

I think this is what they call the “soap opera pause”. You know the pause that they do as they look yonder past the camera, just before they go on a commercial break.

Possums, my mother’s instincts came into play.

Her soap opera instincts!

Soap Opera Instinct #1-Flail away your arms like crazy to grab attention to yourself and not to the person who falls ill.

My father began to feel faint. His eyes started to roll back to check to see if his brain was still there. It was. Then my father slightly arched his back ¾ of the way.

“J.B! J.B! What’s wrong? Why you look like that?” asked my mother as she did circles around my father drawing his circle of friends around them.

Soap Opera Instinct #2– You must run and grab water and bring half the court yard back with you.

My mother screamed to the Father above for help. She ran one and a half blocks, uphill, to the closest bar. She screamed for a barmaid, who came from the back. She screamed for water, bottled and not tapped (we wouldn’t want my father to have the runs now, would we?) and threw the money at the woman.  She then grabbed the bottle of water, and ran back down the hill, as she clutched her breasts, all two of them, yelling her husband’s name bringing the entire courtyard with her.

My father’s knees began to slump.

Isn’t it funny when you are in the middle of a crisis how slow everything seems to go?

Soap Opera Instinct #3-You must grab a hold of your chest when you have a chance to break away, for the dramatics, of course!

Then my father teetered this way and then my father teetered that way, just giving my mother enough time to run her hands from front to back in her hair because even though most people would pull at their hair in distress, soap opera stars make sure that it is still in place.

Not to worry.

She was frantic about it though!

My mother grabbed at her shirt as my father fell forward towards his feet. And then he kerplatzed in my mother’s arms!

Soap Opera Instinct #4-You must always blame the other person for any wrongdoings.

“Jesus Christ! Please don’t take my husband away from me! Not now! He is all that I got right now! In Jesus name I pray, Amen!” prayed my mother.

“At least not until I update the Power of Attorney and Life Insurance Policy, Amen to that too!”

Possums, I just inserted that part, to see if you were paying attention!

“You see what you are doing to me? This is what you get for treating my so bad! God is whipping you!” exclaimed my mother, as she leaned my father towards the brick wall and started to dowse him with water.

Oh, yeah, and he got to drank some of it too!

Soap Opera Instinct #5-You must cup your lover’s face and wipe their tears away, but make sure you get the right lighting.

“Do you know what you put me through?” asked my mother to my father, as the ruckus died down. His eyes were half closed, but just opened enough to see the sun was shining brightly behind her head, forming a small halo around her Afro puff.

Soap Opera Instinct #6-You must ask the other a question that is only answered with a “soap opera pause”, just before you go to commercial break.

Possums, I would like to say that my father then looked up to the heavens and cried out to his maker, but sadly no. My father had water thrown on his face and was slapped back into consciousness! And conscious he was, when he came to reality, he saw his wife’s face. And not a hair or make-up out of place, for one must stay true to the soap opera star inside. He thought for a moment that maybe he did die after all…and made a wrong turn at St. Peter’s gate!

My mother came away from this experience, a full woman, having realized that acting is not only for the bedroom.

My father came away, like all marriages, half a man.

You ask, after all of this, are they still mad at each other?

Possums, the man known as my father, spent the night with his wife’s head resting in his lap!