"It's None of My Business"

I had just completed my round of grocery shopping. Nothing frozen to worry about today, on this lazy, hazy hot day of summer. Time to meander. The magazine section had been moved to a new place, near  unique kitchen ware, for those interested in these 'medieval' forms of print. That's me, of course! (I subscribe to Scientific American, Discover, have for decades.)

The digital arena plays a role, today,  but not always, with me, in my outdated, last century mode of information gathering - the magazine. For me, a magazine is a 'lightweight' information folder at a glance, no need for a screen, equipment or a source of power. Too much time on digital screens can affect our personal 'screens'- our eyes - anyway. Magazines are predictable, authors are known, unlike a web site that I might re-visit often. A power failure ends exploration. The site might not be there tomorrow or ever, maybe. A magazine says it all, in a tell-all comprehensive 'seminar', in a moment's notice, without all the parking, course costs and evening appearances. It's an instant reference guide for the Momsey.

I was hypnotized by the selection, that day, when she came of out of nowhere. The young woman smiled as she walked towards me explaining why she had gone to the mens' room. (I didn't care.) My mind was on the wall of mags; hers, on defending her behaviour, as if testifying in court. And so her story began. 

 

She'd entered the male restroom because the other one was occupied. She was almost apologetic when I stopped her, mid-sentence. Her self-recrimination was unexpected. For whatever the reason, her explanation about why she had entered the men's room was absolutely none of my business, I told her again. I had enough in my life, keeping me busy without having to judge this woman on hers. I was not aware of the washrooms off to the side, one of which she had just vacated. She was guilty on all counts, according to her. "Please stop", I said. Whatever she was doing was none of my business!

As a mom of 3 'former' teen boys, two of whom are now 'newborn' dads and husbands, I'd followed a similar code of behaviour. I was a 'leave me alone' mom back then, I told her. Our teen sons' daily lives of full-time school, part-time work, time-off, financial prudence, and relationships was theirs to manage unless it became an unintentional disruption to my life, my husband's and pets'. I was prepared to interfere, make a fool of myself, if need be. (Humour is so missing in our lives.) This would be an opportunity for lawful interference. Both sides had equal rights but only mine mattered, in the final analysis. (They could move.) If a problem could not be handled by its 'owner', 'help' was on her way, expeditiously.

Practicing the art of independence and wise decision making was what life was all about for our children. That was the understanding and we all played a part. It was our legal right till it was not. Mom was just a 'blink of an eye' away, they knew. My leave me alone policy meant exactly that. Leave me alone and get on with life. Everyone had roles to play. I had enough to do, manage and plan. And so did they, I remarked to this mother of three.

The woman listened to my comical rant. Why undertake three 'careers' that paid nothing, I said? I had enough to do as a wife, mother, teacher/volunteer, pet owner. We both giggled. She understood how silly it was to explain to a complete stranger her reasons for anything. No crime had been committed. If there had, I would have acted, without hesitation. But there was none. I had enough extraneous material, floating around in my head, occupying too much space, as it was. No need to add to it with other 'none of your business' stuff, I said. She hadn't thought of it in quite that way. She had three sons, too. Staying out of the business of running their lives made all the sense in the world. It was a career without end or compensation. They needed to figure it all out, on their own, while 'common sense and caring' lived 'nearby' - at no extra cost.We slowly parted ways. Enjoying one another's company is the definition of socializing. In a grocery store, dialogue does happen. 

 

Grocery shopping today was an unexpected meeting of two busy moms going about their day, minding their own business, meeting accidentally, when one thought it was her duty to 'explain'. A comment of parent's rights and obligations made headlines, that morning, we realized our duty to our children was finished. It was now our turn. We mattered. No need to explain. Just enjoy the day. Shall we dance? Now, how do we explain that?