Y’all remember Matthew, my ten year old? Well, I find myself frequently saying to people, “He’s ten… he’s not retarded.” as an explanation for his intellect. The boy is downright smart. He’s also quick and
annoyingly extremely observant. Because of this, he cracks me up from time to time.
Yesterday, I was picking the kids up from daycare after work. The daycare is a Christian one that costs a fortune and I send them there because I like all the great, wholesome things they learn on a day to day basis. The downside to this daycare is that it’s located right on a busy main street in our city and one that houses much questionable activity. It’s not uncommon to see…well, anything really. Nothing makes me take a second glance on this road.
It was because of this that I wasn’t surprised to pull out of the parking lot yesterday only to almost run down a hooker who was loitering half in the road. I muttered a swear under my breath as I dodged her and Matthew next to me in the car suddenly goes, “MmmmHMMMM. You know SHE’S on the job.”
I started laughing and said, “Matthew, how in the world do you know that?”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious, Mom. And by the look of her she’s been on the job for a while and could use a break. And possibly a shower.”
I had tears coming out of my eyes at this conversation we were having. The boy was so matter of fact about this hooker that it was weird. I didn’t even know he really knew what a prostitute was… he’s never asked. I know he’s heard the term because we have this conversation about once a day:
HE: Mom, can I ride my bike down to Blueberry Park with Zeke?
ME: No way. It’s going to be dark soon and you know the creepies come out to play in the park at night.
HE: I’ll be fine. C’mon… lemme go before it gets too late.
ME: Matthew, NO. That place is crawling with hookers and druggies at night and you have no business being down there.
He usually gives up at this and so I have always assumed that the ominous tone I used to say “hookers and druggies” had terrified him into not wanting anymore details much like my constant threats that every naughty thing they do causes scurvy had them terrified of contracting the flesh eating disease in the past. (backtalk causes scurvy…. nakedness causes scurvy….. lying causes scurvy… do you WANT scurvy, Matthew???) I suppose I assumed that he was assuming that hookers were some sort of zombie, street roaming, undead thing that would behead him or set him on fire with their eyeballs should he happen upon one in a poorly lit park at dusk.
Nope. The boy assumed that they were women who fuck for money.
At any rate, this sort of realization about the boy startles me at times. How does he know this? Who told him? What did they say? How did they word it? Did they show him pictures? Slideshows? Powerpoint? Other type of visual aids?
More importantly, did they tell him never to steal my rent money and try to acquire one out of curiosity?
I now feel as though I should have a chat with the boy. I’m going over it and over it in my head on which method to use. I could be very blunt about it and keep an unemotional tone to the whole thing or I could powder my explanation with excuses on how these poor girls were most likely sexually abused as children or had issues with their fathers or something like that. I could make him pity them or… I could make him fear them. I’m sort of thinking about telling him that every single one of them has the AIDS. I think this last one might be the most effective.
He likes boobs and this concerns me also. Most whores have boobs, real or otherwise. I don’t want his fondness for boobs to lure him onto the scene.
This kept me up last night.
I can’t allow Matthew to accidentally stumble upon any pro-whore propaganda. I have burned my copy of Pretty Woman out of fear that he might see it and think that all hookers are charming and adorable and deserving of such romantic outcomes. I just want to scream at him that hookers do not mean happily ever after as this movie implies. However, he wouldn’t get it because he’s never seen it. And thank God for that. It would fill his head with all kinds of unsavory junk. Next thing you know he’d be stealing my rent money to buy jewelry for one of them and I’d drop dead on the spot.
I might be overthinking this whole thing a bit.
Regardless, something must be done. We need to save Matthew from the Whores.