Your Mom ... Your Dad

By Ariani Kartika

Every Friday afternoon I go to my parents' home in the suburbs. A few months ago, I decided and they allowed me, to rent a room downtown near my office. So now it is Friday and I am on my weekly mission. Entering the gate of the housing complex gives me a special feeling that I miss during the week.

As I walk to the house, I feel the mild afternoon breeze stroke my face. First, I walk along the large main street lined with large houses displaying beautiful, well-maintained front gardens. At the second crossroad I take a right turn leading to a narrow street and smaller houses. I know the street so well, sometimes I think that I can tread the path to my parents' house with my eyes closed.

"Mom ...! Dad ...! I'm home," I cry as I enter the house. Nobody shows up to greet me but I hear Dad's welcoming murmur from the backyard where he is busy feeding his Koi carp. Taking care of the fish has become Dad's new hobby since retiring five years ago. I don't see Mom. She must be cooling herself in her air-conditioned room, reading a book or something.

I sip a glass of cold water to quench my thirst. Then I go straight to my room to change my dress with something casual and more comfortable. I can feel that my back is wet with sweat. I am unbuttoning my shirt when suddenly the door is opened and Mom walks in. I feel disturbed. I don't like to be disturbed, especially when I need a few moments of privacy.

"Mom...? You should have knocked before you opened the door," I say without hiding my annoyance. She doesn't seem to care about my objection. With a demanding voice she says, "Pita, come to my room!"

"What for mom?"

"Just come to my room!"

She waves her right hand, signaling me to follow her immediately. Her facial expression shows that something is bothering her and she needs to talk about it.

I fold my unbuttoned shirt like a kimono and hold it tight with my arms. I then follow Mom to her room.

"Something wrong Mom?"

"Ssstt ... lower your voice and close the door."

She acts strangely but I obey her dutifully. I patiently wait for what she will tell me. She holds out a man's golf T-shirt and a pair of golf shoes. They both look new.

"Your dad just bought these," explains mom. "He will wear them tomorrow for his golf game."

"So...?" I don't understand why Mom is annoyed.

"I think your dad plans to seduce a young girl."

"Ooo...mom, what makes you think like that?"

"Your dad never cares what he wears. And now he suddenly wants to look dandy."

"I don't think dad wants to look dandy. He just wants to have a new T-shirt."

"You don't get the point Pita," mom sighs. "Remember your Uncle Tom, your dad's brother?"

Mom stresses the blood relation between Uncle Tom and dad, which means dad may have the same bad genes as uncle.

No one noticed when uncle Tom put more attention on his appearance. He had his shoes polished every day. He wanted his suits ironed properly, no wrinkles left. He liked to spray himself with cologne, something he had never done before. Then, one day, we found out that he had a young girlfriend, only half his age and two years younger than his oldest daughter.

Mom sits dejected on the bed. With almost a cry in her voice she says, "I'm old now. I'm not attractive anymore. I have wrinkles on my face. There are many young girls who would like to chase after an old man like your dad. Those girls don't care what a man looks like, old, bald or fat, as long as he has a thick pocket of money, he is okay."

"Mom, you are just making something out of nothing," I try to calm her down.

"I don't care about your dad's money, but I cannot accept somebody sucking up his money and leaving you penniless." Mom is silent for a while then says, "You must accompany your dad tomorrow!"

At that point I know that there is no way I can turn down her wish.

Over dinner I tell dad that I would like to come with him to his golf game tomorrow. He agrees right away. He tells me to be ready at five-thirty in the morning or he will leave without me.

Waking up in the early morning is not a problem for me. By five-thirty in the morning I am ready.

"Wow ... new shirt ... new shoes!" I pretend that I haven't seen them before.

"These were on sale," he replies.

I take a glance at mom and I see her frowning face.

"You should wash it first", mom says, still frowning.

"It's clean, dad says"

"Heeh ... you just can't wait to show it off."

"What are you talking about?" dad grumbles. Then without saying goodbye to mom, he walks out toward the car.

I kiss mom and give her a guarantee that I will watch dad closely every single minute.

Dad starts the conversation as soon as we are in car. "Your mom is getting odd."

"What do you mean by odd?" I ask without looking at him, paying attention to the road as I drive.

"Yesterday afternoon, when I arrived home from town, your mom asked me to take her to the beauty salon for a facial treatment."

"That's not odd."

"But she just had her hair dyed two days ago. You don't know Pita. Your mom visits the beauty salon almost every week."

"Well ... maybe she just needs a little external help to fight her aging process," I try to defend mom.

"That shows that your Mom has low self-esteem. It's a natural process to have gray hair and wrinkles on the face when people get old."

I just shrug my shoulders. I don't know what to say. As I grow up, I watch my parents get older in age, but sometimes I notice they behave childishly.

There are some times when mom complains to me, "Your dad does this ... , your dad does that ... !"

But other times dad turns to me, "Your Mom does this ... , your mom does that ... !"

I can't remember when they started developing the habit of using "your mom" or "your dad" phrases when they talk to me. The reference seems to distance themselves but involve me!

As dad's golf game finishes, I am aware that I haven't seen any young girl, as mom though I would. There is only a group of dad's friends who are of the same age and appearance as dad, old with thin gray hair on their heads and bulging bellies under their shirts.

The next day, mom demands to be taken to a mall, not a nearby mall, but a big mall downtown. She has run-out of her favorite beauty cream, and our nearby mall doesn't sell that specific brand of beauty product.

We split up when we arrive at the mall. Mom and I go to beauty counters and dad goes to anywhere but the beauty counters to be by himself. We will meet again in two hours at the front gate.

The beauty counters are shiny, as they always should be, and a perfume fragrance can be smelled lightly in the air. Various shapes and sizes of beautiful bottles and tubes are organized neatly inside a thick glass cabinet. With the help of spot lights, they appear to be sparkling like jewels.

Mom strokes a sample of anti-aging day cream and rubs it on her hand. Then she smells it and smiles. She does the same thing for a night cream, and agrees to buy them. The sales girl praises Mom for her delicate skin and also kindly reminds Mom about wrinkles around her eyes. With professional skill she persuades Mom to buy a tube of anti-wrinkle eye cream. It is in a tube smaller than my little finger but twice the price of the other creams combined!

The sales girl tells mom that if she buys another thing to raise the purchase value up to Rp 700,000, mom will receive a free gift. It is a smart little beauty pouch that contains lipstick, mascara, compact powder and a small bottle of perfume.

Mom stares at me, as if she is asking for approval. But I know that she doesn't need any approval from me. She picks out a small bottle of perfume which cost her Rp 200,000. The free gift itself costs Rp 300,000, so she feels that she has saved Rp 100,000.

We are only ten meters away from the cosmetic counter when a perfume sales girl blocks our way. She holds a bottle of perfume in her right hand and some scented paper cards in her left hand. I politely refuse her offer to spray my wrist with her perfume. But mom does the opposite. She lets the sales girl spray a perfume on her wrist and takes one scented paper. With all politeness aside, I quickly drag mom away. I think she has spent enough money today.

"Why didn't you take the sample card?" mom asks.

"What for?"

"I can put it in my hand bag. It makes my hand bag smell good."

Mom opens her handbag and puts the card in, where she already has other cards, some of whose fragrance has faded away while some are still slightly preserved.

"Next time, if they offer you one, just take it. Give it to me if you don't like it, okay!" Mom tries to extract a promise from me.

"Okay."

"And don't walk too fast!" she warns me.

I have to admit that dragging her in quick steps is on purpose. She can be easily tempted by all the glamorous sparkling display windows.

"Okay. But just look, don't buy!"

A second later, I realize that I just said that in exact the same way as Mom said it years ago when I was whining and trying to spend more time in a toy store.

We continue our journey along the spotless marble aisles.

Browsing shop by shop through their decorated display windows. Letting our eyes have the ultimate enjoyment of luxury things when our pockets cannot afford them.

As we pass a beauty salon, mom decides to have a manicure and pedicure. I then continue my journey in the mall by myself with no purpose but killing time. There are another thirty minutes before I meet dad.

"Where's your mom?" Dad asks when he sees me approaching him without her.

"Guess what dad?" I give him a big naughty smile. "She is in a beauty salon having a manicure and pedicure."

"See ...! I told you so!" Dad is slightly agitated.

"That's okay Dad," I try to calm him down. "Let's go to a cafe and have a drink."

"It will be very expensive. We can get ten cups of coffee at home for the same price of a cup of coffee there."

Dad has became more concerned about money ever since he retired. Excluding his annual golf membership, of course!

"Don't worry Dad, I will treat you. Besides my legs are killing me."

We go to a cafe around the corner and order two cups of cappuccino.

"How about a piece of cheesecake?" I offer, when I see dad doesn't plan on ordering anything else.

"At those prices?"

"Still my treat dad. You don't get this special offer every day."

"Okay." Dad finally agrees, simply because he doesn't have the heart to ruin my generous mood.

The cappuccino mugs attract my attention as they are served on my table. A joke is clearly printed out in a dark brown color on top of light brown froth.

It says, "Beware, Midlife Crisis in Progress!"

This is it! It has taken quite a while for me to find a good description for how Mom and Dad are behaving these days. Now it is laid out just in front of me! Clear and concise!

I look at dad, he is also aware of it. I can take it as a joke, but I am afraid Dad may get insulted.

"I think I should buy one like this for me," dad says slowly but surely.

I feel so glad to hear that, "I will ask if they'll sell the mug."

I am about to stand up when Dad says, "Don't bother, I will buy it myself. And maybe, also one for your Mom. What do you think?"

"That's a nice idea Dad."

I stare at Dad's back when he walks toward the cashier. I know that they still care for each other even though they have their little quarrels every day. And I know that they still love each other, although I notice they have stopped kissing in front of me which, in one way, is good for me -- pretending not to see them kissing is history now.

Mom and dad are just getting older. I just realized they need me to get through their midlife crisis, and I would like them to know that I will always be there for them. ***