Oldest Profession

Mama raised me by herself and tried to give me a normal childhood. We lived in a small town with a little-known community of like-minded people from the same cultural roots. We loved to fellowship on Sundays; attend the church picnic if the weather held warm. Eat a variety of good ol’ southern cooking and desserts that make you happy but fat if you don’t watch out. Living here kept me safe from the ills and troubles of most big city hoods, so mama said.
I loved going to school, had many friends and the best birthday parties ever. Me and mama spent some Saturday afternoons with this one family – a woman and her daughter, who is a few years older than me, I called big sister. She’d always fix my hair real pretty and played dolls with me. I remember her mama being proper-talking and sophisticated but down to earth. I was building wonderful childhood memories, but all that soon changed.
My mama worked a lot, mostly at night. I don’t know what she did exactly. At least not then. When she thought I was asleep, I’d be up waiting for her to leave. I snuck out room and over to the top of our white staircase. Squatted down quietly and peered through the bannister bars. Being thin seven-year-old, I felt invisible in the darkness above the stairs. Mama, she always looked pretty. No matter the weather she always wore the best makeup, clothes and high heels. Then she’d leave. Sometimes my daddy would leave with her, leaving me alone until he’d come back – but without my mama.

One day, daddy left right after he and mama got into a real big fight. Shortly after, I ended up with a new daddy. His name was Khan. He liked pit bulls. The one I remembered out of all of them was Red dog ‘cause he was mean just like this new man of mama’s. With Khan in our lives, I remember my childhood changing.
One day we upped and moved – didn’t say good-bye and left behind all my friends, grandma, and all I knew was safe.
We now live in a whole new city called Las Vegas. I go to a new school during the day while mama continues to get dressed and leave at night. The man Khan starts acting differently as I grow older. Then I turn 16. I didn’t have a sweet 16 party or nothin’. Instead, that was the day I finally found out my mother’s profession. A profession she’d teach me. Her next generation, baby.

Starting at 16 and as the years passed, I got really good at it, like my mama. The hussle and bussle. The different customers, most big tippers and returnees. Lots and lots of men, when they find out just how nice you are to look at.
What my mama does and now me, I wouldn’t wish on any young lady, especially a teenager like I was. My advice would be to leave here. Vegas ain’t the place for anyone smart, wanting to do something bigger than the casinos.
Among all the jobs here, I work in the oldest profession, but I think it is one of the worst. You stand on your feet all day and use your hands and mouth quite a bit. Until one day you are old and they want to hire someone else.
That is what my new boss, Saul did. The one I got right after leaving mama’s house.
Saul says, “This is Vegas honey, gotta keep ‘em happy, even if it means giving ‘em one of our best meals on the house. But, that comes with a smile. One you aint got no more.”

So, at age 55, I said goodbye to the oldest profession that kept me clothed and fed. Kept me off the streets and out of trouble. Only had the energy for fleeting romances – too tired to care or to love really. I gave it all to my job.
If I had to do it again, I would tell Mama doing what she does, just wasn’t for me. No disrespect to her or the ladies who still choose this profession.
There are some fine women who do it well and love it. The life of a Waitress. No. Not for me.