“These are not the “fact of life” you’ll hear at school or on television. This is reality, and you better listen...”
Marcy’s mother had a way of speaking when she deemed it important, and this was how.
“You can never trust a man. Never love a man, any man, in that goopy Hollywood way. Men want one thing, sex. They’ll say and do anything to get it. If they like it, and like how you do it, they’ll want to keep you around.”
Glancing at the dresser, for the conversation was taking place in Marcy’s bedroom, Momma took up a bottle of skin cream.
“You like this brand, right? So you always buy it. Until something else comes along you like better. Maybe something else smells better, maybe it’s cheaper, but soon enough you’ll find another cream and try it. Maybe you’ll stick with that one, maybe come back to this one, or try another. You understand? It’s skin cream, all kinds exist.”
Momma put the bottle down, turned back to Marcy;
“Men see women the same way. A man’s mouth can say anything, promise anything. Love, devotion, faithfulness, blah blah blah. If anything comes along that attracts their eye, they’ll give it try. And you, if you are their wife, you will be left on the shelf or thrown in the garbage.”
Marcy, who was sitting on the bed, pulled up her knees to embrace them. Her mother was scaring her.
“If you never trust a man, if you never love him, when he tries another product, you won’t be hurt. And not just that; if you get into a relationship for the get, you will have protected yourself. I’m not just talking about your feelings, I’m talking about your financial position. You have to amass as much money and property in your name as you can. You want to walk out with more than you walked in with.”
Momma stared at Marcy to ensure that she was paying attention. At sixteen Marcy was an average teenager. Skin a little bumpy, body a little awkward.
Marcy had gone on a few casual dates here and there, but nothing Momma hadn’t ended to prevent a bad sexual interlude. For Marcy was not going to make the same mistakes she had.
Shirley Watson Dobson did not really expect her daughter to repeat her errors. There was a coldness to Marcy, a disengagement, a lack of emotional response. Marcy did not cry, unless it was part of a scam. Marcy was not compassionate. Marcy arranged reality as to what benefited her the most.
Shirley was not displeased with her handiwork. Softening her voice a bit;
“Marcy, when you are older, if you want to play around and test the waters, you make sure he uses a condom so you don’t get a disease, and you make sure you use birth control, just in case the condom breaks and you don’t need a bastard on top of disease.”
Marcy was two big frightened eyes. Shirley had gone as soft as she intended, and plunged further.
“That’s what men are. They are predators, animals. A man will have sex with anything that opens her legs. A man gets a disease or diseases and passes them on, as if women deserve it. He’ll get a woman pregnant, and run out on her.”
Marcy would much rather be watching television, doing her homework, taking a bath. But Momma wasn’t done.
“Go to school, get an education, avoid the stupid boys in your class. They don’t have money, they don’t have anything. You have to find a man who has promise. A man who has money, a house, and you can take him for what he has. When you got what he has, you move on. You only have between the ages of eighteen and thirty four to get. After that, it isn’t easy. Men want young women they think are 'innocent’. Only a really older man, a guy in his fifties, sixties even seventies or older is going to look at a woman over thirty five. So all your moves have to be during those fifteen, sixteen years.”
Momma knew Marcy was not a quick study, she would need a few repeats of the lesson before she was ready for the world. This first blast would unbalance her a little, but after a few days it would fade. Shirley would repeat her proclamations about six months from now, then a year after that. She’d use different words, but the same points would be made.