A Cautionary Tale

I am now a criminal. One who has broken the law. One who has flouted societal conventions and proprieties to blaze my own, illegal trail. Oh sure, it was completely unintentional, but I believe lack of intent will not win me any favor from the jury.

This from me, a woman who has typically abided by the law. Undoubtedly, I did a little underage drinking in college, and I have occasionally gone over the speed limit, but I have typically stayed within the confines of the law. However, with my family history of criminal activity, it’s really no surprise that I’m in the position I’m in.

Let me explain.

As I tell my tale, I believe that you will understand how two innocuous – nay positive – actions on my part could lead me to the point of being on the wrong side of the law.

Action 1: Cleaning My house has seen cleaner days. Hence, I spent a lot of yesterday - Easter Sunday- getting ready for company by cleaning up. As we have hardwood floors in our downstairs (which is actually a delightful side effect of having a severely asthmatic kid – we’re not allowed to have any carpet in our house), part of the cleaning involved sweeping and mopping the floors downstairs.

Action 2: Jumping Zane has a heartfelt devotion to jumping right now. He jumps across the room and back again. He jumps with two feet, and he jumps with one – which is probably more hopping, but whatever. He jumps like a frog. He jumps like a kangaroo. He jumps in the morning, in the afternoon, and the evening. He probably even jumps in his dreams. Sometimes, however, Zane would like some company while he jumps. After all, having jumped on his own for many hours of the day, a little boy could use a little attention and affection from – and communal jumping with – his loved ones. So Zane asked, and I jumped with him for a while.

So there we were jumping. Giggling our fool heads off and being bunnies, frogs, and whatever other hopping animals Zane came up with – when a broom that I happened to be cleaning with earlier falls into our path.

So Zane and I take turns jumping over the broom. Tons of fun there, and Zane decides to up the ante. We need to jump together, so he takes my hand, and 1-2-3 JUMP!

Some of you may see where I’m going here, but it took me a good 6-7 times of jumping over the broom with Zane to realize that we were actually engaging in a tradition from our African ancestors. We were now husband and wife!

Depending on what source you believe (i.e. this one or this one), “jumping the broom” is a tradition that either originated during slavery or even earlier from Africa itself, which involves a man and a woman jumping over a broom to seal their marriage vows. It is akin to “tying the knot” so to speak.

So Zane and I jumped the broom, and I became an “offender”.

That’s it - the whole sordid tale of my downfall and turning to a life of crime. I am now entered into an unlawful union AND a bigamist.

To be sure, Ohio has some prohibitions against who can enter into marital relationships which are bigoted, shortsighted, and mean spirited. (See Issue One) The prohibition against marrying one’s own son, however, seems pretty legitimate to me.

My action plan is to pretend this never happened. I figure Zane and I are the only witnesses, and he probably won’t be able to give an accurate report to the authorities should they come to visit. I think I’m in the clear, but if I stop blogging in the near future, you’ll know that I had to go on the lam.