Nina

Aileen breast fed Nina until just recently. I called Aileen a few months ago after receiving an e-mail from her, indicating that she was planning a trip to New York City this December. “I hope to see you when I’m there,” she wrote. ” Call me when you get a chance– 814-669-5555″.

She put Nina on the phone that evening when I called her.

“Nina, say hello to your Uncle Charlie.”

In a squeaky childlike tone, the little girl introduced herself to me – “Hello, Uncle Charlie.”

I said hi to her even though I am not the little girl’s real uncle. I’m her mother’s childhood sweetheart turned gay. Her mother was once a lesbian– I met one of her girlfriends while Aileen was in college at Lock Haven State University. I realized that Aileen was bringing me into the child’s life by introducing me to her on a level that the little girl would understand. I was not simply a stranger on the phone talking to her mother, nor was the informal introduction undercover, gay-terminology that we use on little children to brainwash them into the homosexual lifestyle. I was someone important in Aileen’s life. Our sexuality had nothing to do with me being referred to as “uncle”, I could easily have been named Nina’s godfather if we practiced such silly, religious traditions. She wanted her daughter to get to know me, not just over the phone, but on a more intimate level.

“No, no. Not now, Nina,” Aileen said on the end of her wire with the phone obviously still close to her mouth. “Nina wants to eat now. No Nina, momma just had her tea. That’s how I explain to her that it’s not time to breast feed. Her daddy and I had a few cocktails at dinner this evening.”

“My God! Do you mean you can get her drunk by breast feeding her at the wrong time?”

“You got it. I’m going to breast feed her for as long as we can, Charlie. There’s been tons of research done on the subject of children who are breast fed, compared to those who are fed processed baby formula. It’s much healthier this way, and it is all natural, you know.”

I could only imagine.

“That’s so weird,” I said. “Forgive me, but she can talk now and you are still breast feeding her.” I gasped, imagining a little girl who tries to grow up in the home of hippie, metrosexual parents who want to do all the right things for their child– tofu, bottled water, skim milk, bean sprouts and fresh mother’s milk, squeezed daily from a tit that keeps lactating until it finally dries up– when Nina turns eighteen and makes plans for college. A little girl with a momma like Aileen may never run out of fresh milk. I imagined Nina leaving for her first day at Penn State University, but Aileen screams at her child before she ships off–

“What am I supposed to do with all this milk? Do you know how much I have sacrificed for you and you can’t even give me a hug and kiss before leaving me?”

When Aileen showed up in Three Springs at the Smith Family Bar-b-q reunion, I offered Nina cookies baked by my Aunt Naomi and brownies browned just right by Aunt Roxie.

“I don’t let her have sweets that often, Charlie.”

“It’s a picnic, Aileen. Don’t do this to your child! Remember how chunky you were as a little girl. Stop punishing her for your uncontrollable childhood eating habits. It’s called ‘projecting’ darling.”

I’m surprised she didn’t slap me. It was the truth though– what harm would a little finger Jello with Miracle Whip whipped cream and a little pudding dessert made with Vanilla Wafers and fresh bananas do to a cute little girl like Nina? Besides, I’m her uncle. We do those sorts of things.

I got my answer to my questions regarding the impact of late life breast feeding when we were standing inside Mrs. Hiles’ home. Nina was turning cartwheels in the middle of our high school music teacher’s living room, despite the fact that there were nicknacks and antique furniture everywhere. The little red headed child had an energy just like her mother. I understood why Aileen didn’t want a hyperactive child just yet. Nina was so well behaved back at my parent’s house and now, after eating the desserts, she was bouncing with an abundance of energy– too much energy.

“Nina, no! Not in here,” Aileen said to her cute little girl.

“Charlie gave her goodies at his place and she’s not accustomed to having sweets. Now look what you got started, Charlie.”

Mrs. Hiles laughed. She was enjoying our company and she seemed mesmerized by the charisma of the little girl who looks a lot like her mother both spiritually and physically. She was not in the least bit concerned about the child knocking something over and breaking it.

“I think she has perfect pitch, Bonnie. Sing for us Nina. Sing the song we wrote for Mrs. Hiles.”

I looked at my old music teacher and felt almost sorry for her. Doesn’t that woman deserve a break from all the voices that have sung for her over the years? How long must she share her love for music with children? Does she ever tire of giving lessons? I asked myself.

Nina sat on a camelback sofa, not particularly interested in singing for us. She seemed more enthralled by the texture of the fabric on Mrs. Hiles’ antique sofa.