CATEGORY: Pathos
AUTHOR INTRO: Little bit of truth and a lot of sadness about growing up.
Occasionally my mother would wake up and be normal for a day. She would do normal mom things, like make breakfast and give me advice.
"Hi honey," she'd chirp as I was getting a bowl for cereal on a school morning. Then she'd grab a dish towel, the good one with appliquéd strawberries that was just for decoration and playfully swat my behind. "Scoot. Go get dressed. It's MY job to fix breakfast, not yours."
That's more than she usually said in a week. In our version of the mother-child relationship, I was supposed to guess what she wanted or needed me to do. I always guessed wrong, because whatever I did caused her either to sob or threaten to kill me.
But on these 'normal' days - my standard of normal being the moms from books and movies -- she chattered like the best of them. And instead of staying in bed until evening, she was the Mrs. America of Housekeeping. I loved to peek at her in action. I knew it wouldn't last, but that didn't diminish the joy of watching her spin around the cracked, blood-red linoleum like a whirling dervish.
A half-hour later, I was dizzy myself, as she twirled me out the door. My head tingled where she smoothed my hair. I left the house with a sack lunch grown to fit a shopping bag, her final motherly kiss, and a piece of advice.
"Be nice today," were the words with which she armed me against the world. "Everyone loves a nice girl."
One day, I lingered and asked, "Did your mother tell you that when you were young?" My grandmother died when I was a baby, and I didn't know much about her.
She looked off into the distance, puzzled. Then her brow cleared. "Why yes, yes she did. And so I grew up and got a nice home and a nice little girl of my own."
Some years later she offered me more words of wisdom, right before my first date as a teenager. "Don't let boys touch your titties," she said.
I didn't followed her advice that time, either.
And here you had me feeling all nice and sad until the last couple of lines, though that laugh came out more like a sob.
ReplyDeleteHeh. Change 'never' to 'didn't' for the punchline.
ReplyDeleteLeave 'em sobbing, I always say, Toady.
ReplyDeleteKW: I changed it in one version on my computer, but put the wrong version up. Your eye is spot on, as usual.
Thank you, gentlemen.
The use of, "In our version of the mother-child relationship, I was supposed to guess what she wanted or needed me to do." I don't wonder if it is either your version or her version. Is there a version of it both of your versions?
ReplyDelete:o)
Thanks for stopping by, Trularin. I wish I could answer your question, but I don't understand your question! It's interesting , when you write something you think has clarity and then someone else goes "HUH?!" So do you feel that my use of "our version" involves a misplaced modifier and thus, renders it unclear?
ReplyDeleteWould this be better, to you: "In our version of the mother-child relationship, the child is supposed to guess what the mother wants or needs?"
I enjoyed that. It was like a photograph. And it made me smile at the end. Pardon my nitpicking, though, but should the "Moms" of the fourth paragraph be capitalized? The other "mom" and "mother"'s aren't. Capitalizing it accentuates the stature of Hollywood moms (Moms) though, right?
ReplyDeleteI think tru misunderstood; you say "OUR version" (emphasis mine) so the version is obviously shared by both you and your mother. I think it's clear the way you have it.
ReplyDeleteGood catch on KW's part; 'didn't' sounds much better.
Thanks rToady, you are right, I did screw that up. I also typed faster than I should have and totally messed up the question itself.
ReplyDelete:)
Liked your story! Made my dysfunctional Mother's Day feel a little less lonely. Cheers!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Summer of 1985 (ah, I remembair eet well...). You are correct in your correction, so I corrected it! Thanks so much for reading and commenting!
ReplyDeleteKelly,
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping by and leaving a comment. I know what you mean about lonely and dysfunctional around this holiday. Not until I had my own daughter was I really able to feel sorry for my own mother, that she didn't have what I do with my girl. There is a great compensation for growing older, to me: most of my old demons are too tired out to mess with me anymore. I wish you the best!