Kudzu Queen

By Tamara Ducote

A friend once observed that I possess all the right training, painted over all the wrong instincts. When these two forces collide, as they sometimes will, my congenital darkness generally prevails.

My daughter engaged me in conversation the other day. Since it is rare for teenagers to voluntarily talk to their parents, I dropped the book of voodoo spells I’d been studying, and gave Veronica my full attention.

“Mom! Mom!” V. exclaimed. “Omigod! My friend John says he’s going to kill himself!”

“How is he going to do it?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“How can you ask that?” Veronica said.

“Well, many commonly employed methods are notoriously inefficient,” I explained. “Overdoses and wrist-slitting are the purview of drama queens. If he wants to do it right, he’ll use a gun.”

My daughter stared at me as if I were something she had just scraped off of her shoe.

“Has he been giving away his prized earthly possessions?” I asked. “Isn’t John the kid that has that kickass CD collection? What do you think he’ll give you?”

“Mom, you are so…so…utterly EVIL!” my offspring shrieked. “I don’t know why I even try to talk to you!”

I interpreted the slamming door to be the exclamation point that concluded this mother-daughter bonding session.

Geez, I was only trying to help. I was trying to empathize with her world, like the parenting magazines suggest. Look what I get for trying.

It seems like every conversation I have with my daughter ends up with her accusing me of being Evil Incarnate.

Veronica was writing a position paper on abortion, and asked for my opinion.

“I’m all for it,” I said. “I think it should be free and available at the Circle K.”

“How can you say that?” V. gasped.

“In fact,” I said, “I’m all for retroactive abortion. That’s where you see somebody that is a pure-D pain in society’s ass, and you get to push a button and retroactively abort him/her. I wish somebody would install kiosks in the mall for that.”

“You are so…so…SICK!” my progeny declared, and slammed another door.

Somebody (a very sleazy, disreputable Somebody, in my opinion) we know was hurt in an accident, and my first, uncensored response was gales of laughter.

Veronica started carrying around a crucifix, which she held up protectively whenever she was in the same room as me.

Then she told me about karma. This is the principle whereby whatever you put out into the world comes back to you.

Frankly, it scared the hell out of me. If my child is correct (and how could she not be? After all, she is 18, and therefore knows EVERY damn thing.), I’ve got a whole lot of darkness out there spinning in the cosmos, ready to boomerang itself right back to me at any time. I’ve got to put some positive stuff out there, in a hurry. I decided I’d better make an effort to put some goodness and light out into the world, for my own sake. That’s where the kayak comes in.

My friend Terry gifted me with a beautiful kayak. I’d wanting a kayak very badly and suddenly, BOOM! There it was. This was clearly a sign from God. I understand my mission, and I accept it. The kayak is obviously meant to be a vessel from which I am to launch positivity, love and goodness into the world.

I’d been wanting to paddle around our bay and rivers, exploring little islets. Now I understand I must take some small plastic jars or bottles, put something positive in them, and leave them on the islets for lucky random strangers to find someday. I could put $10 bills in them, with an accompanying note saying, “It’s your lucky day! Here’s $10 for you,” but I can’t afford to do very many of the ten dollar gift jars. I could do, maybe, one. And I could only do that if the person would give me change back (“It’s your lucky day! You get $7.00. Send three dollars in change back to Tamara D. at this address…”).

Actually, nix the whole money idea. I’m always deadly broke right before payday. So I’d surely end up paddling back out and retrieving the money for my own use, at the end of the month. Which kind of defeats the purpose.

I could put inspirational poetry in the jars, or snippets of uplifting Scripture. But if I did the Scripture thing, would I really be any better than those cheap-ass cretins who leave religious tracts on restaurant tables in lieu of a tip? Those people are going to hell on the devil’s own bullet train. Wait tables long enough, see enough of those pamphlets, and you’ll become an ardent Satan worshipper, too.

Of course, my genuine self wanted to leave spooky messages, like “I KNOW what you did,” or “I’m watching you, right now. I’m always watching you,” or “So you think you got away with it? Hah! You’re doomed,” or even “You will die on Thursday.” But I daren’t use the kayak for putting more negativity out into the world, even if it would amuse me. I’ve got to remember the karmic boomerang, and act accordingly.

So, if you have an idea for some kind of uplifting gift I can put in my little jars and bottles, please let me know. Something that would absolutely make the day of the finder. Something that would make the world a better place. Something that will counter-balance all the negativity and darkness I have spewed out into the world.

The weather is warming and kayak season is imminent. I’ve got a lot of isles to seed with positivity. I welcome suggestions, and quick. Because I know that boomerang is out there, steadily spinning.

Contact Tamara Ducote at TDDucote6@aol.com.

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