Tales Of A Mamas Boy

Rather than write this for Mother's Day, I figured I'd post it not because the calendar says I have to, but because I just feel like it.

OK, I'm gonna be a big ol' Mama's Boy now.

It took me a little while to write something about Mom, because "on paper" she doesn't have a big ol' story to tell, or a bunch of life tragedies she's survived, or tons of family drama she's endured or instigated. And then it dawned on me that that's precisely why I should write about Mom.

My childhood and adolescence were a generally pleasant experience; I had many great times and a few really crappy ones, all of which helped shape me into the person I've become. But above all, my youngster-hood was stable.

Dad sold dental equipment (with basically the same company, through three buyouts and name changes) from when he was in his twenties until he retired a few years ago, and he's now in his 70's. Mom worked at a bank until she decided to quit working full-time so she could raise her little knuckle-headed miracles, a.k.a. my older brother Barry and me. When I was in middle school, Mom went back to work for a trucking company (no, not driving trucks, although if you knew my mother you'd realize what a funny image that is), and worked there (through two buyouts/name changes) until she retired herself last year. They still live in the same house I grew up in, and seem to be fairly happy in their retirement. By the way, Mom sold Avon ever since I can remember, and still does. So, if any of you gals reading this need any of that stuff, I can, like, totally hook you up.

But as far as biographies go, it's not super-action-packed, is it? Exactly.

When I was growing up, I thought this lack of action was a detriment to my development; I had curfews, so I couldn't stay out all night like the other little hooligans and be a "cool kid". We never moved, so I never got to be the "new kid in school", or even the "new kid in the neighborhood". We didn't have tons of money, so I only got the cool expensive clothes and other stuff on special occasions. My parents never fought (at least that they let us hear), they never used us kids as pawns in their disagreements, they never tried to buy our love, they never shoved us off on neighbors or relatives so they could go out doing "grownup stuff" for weeks at a time. They insisted on being involved in almost every reasonable part of our lives, they made sure we got decent grades, they knew where we were and who were with at all times. Booooring.

Or so I thought, until I grew up and realized that this is not normal. Once I entered the real world, I found out from meeting people from all walks of life that this type of stability in today's world is almost the exception, not the rule. I've learned even more by living with a social worker for the last seven years, and realizing that anybody that grew up with the life I did is extremely lucky.

We also had that prototypical Mom-Dad dynamic in the household, where Mom was mostly charge of the everyday stuff, and Dad was "the heavy". I argued with Mom about something just about every other day, usually because I had a "smart mouth" (me? what a shock), and I hated chores of any kind, or anything that took me away from ballplaying time. I only got in real trouble when I crossed a line in an argument with Mom, which would make Dad jump in with a verbal hammer of some sort. Argument over. Child grounded.

The point is, Mom put up with plenty. She had two boys that were too smart for anybody's own good, yet too dumb to take care of themselves yet. Not to mention Dad's gift for the witty barb, which may or may not come at an opportune moment for Mom's liking. We did a fair share of house chores and yardwork, but Mom really did the vast majority of everything. Cooking, cleaning, chasing after us little yayhoos (and one big one). She drove us to and from countless practices, rehearsals, concerts, plays, ballgames, and general activities ad nauseum. She was the finder of lost shoes, the retriever of left-behind jackets. She was a master songstress of the age-old tune "The Exasperated Mom-Sigh", and she could belt out a rendition of "You Just Wait Till Your Dad Gets Home, Mister" with the best of them.

Some of my earliest and best childhood memories are of riding around with my Mom doing errands, when my brother was in school and I was still a little ankle-biter, too young to go yet. To the laundromat (they had Bugles in the vending machine), to the bank ("Why do people go to the bank, Mama?? It's the most boring place ever!"), to the Kay's Ice Cream lunch counter for lunch, other random Mom-errands, and maybe a stop by the bakery down the street from our house if I wasn't too much of a relentless nuiscance for the past three hours. That right there's a dad-gum decent day for a 4-year-old in 1975.

While both of my parents and my older brother were good singers, I think it was Mom who taught me a love of music at a very early age. One of my very earliest memories is hanging around the house before I was school-age, singing "That'll Be The Day" by Buddy Holly with Mom. I also always noticed that when she sang along with the radio, she didn't try to imitate the singers -- she sang the melody, as if it were a written piece of sheet music. I think that gave me a very early understanding of the difference between a song and a record; the fact that songs were made of words and notes, not just performances. But most importantly, I think, Mom taught me how to sing harmony. I actually remember it fairly distinctly -- we had just dropped my brother off somewhere, and Mom was doing this thing where she sang along with the song on the radio, but with different notes than the singer on the record. It wasn't the same, but it wasn't off-key. So I asked what you call that, and what was she really doing. She said "It's called harmony. Just try it and see if you can do it." So I did, and I got it pretty quickly. I'd say I was about 6 or 7 then. My family always sang in the car (there was time for plenty of caterwaulin' on our trips to and from Atlanta), and we could whip up some pretty righteous racket, 4-part harmony and the whole bit, on stuff like "Daddy Sang Bass", "Flowers On The Wall", and "Elvira" back in the day.

There's one more thing about Mom that I can't leave out. Most people assume (correctly) that I get my "Soapboxing" ways from my Dad. Dad was always the one preaching about something, always with words of wisdom and sage advice on the ways of the world. But it was Mom who really had the biting tongue -- basically, Mom didn't put up with no crap from nobody. Many of you met my folks at the wedding in May, and everybody had really nice things to say about meeting them, about how nice and fun and cool they are, just the sweetest people on the planet. And all that is true. BUT -- as the old saying goes, "If Mama ain't happy, nobody's happy." As friendly and sweet and traditional-Southern-lady-like as Mom is, she was never hesitant to say something to somebody who was either crossing her personally, or was comitting an injustice or wrongdoing of some kind in public. She taught me a valuable lesson along those lines, that I still use often: be afraid of nothing or no one, stand up for what's right, and don't ever let people walk all over you. If somebody was acting like a jerk in a public place, like smacking around their kid at Target, or talking during a movie, or just being generally rude to people, Mom had no problem piping up and telling them to knock it off. People obviously weren't pleased with this, but she didn't budge an inch of her 5-foot-3 frame or her will. She wasn't mean about it (the one and only time I ever hear Mom cuss was when somebody stole her parking place at the mall, and yes, she rolled down the window and gave that jerk a what-fo'), she didn't make a scene, she just let them know how it was gonna be in no uncertain terms. And they usually did as they were told, as did my Dad, my brother, and me. When Mama ain't happy, nobody's happy.

One of my other favorite parts of my adolesence was my brother and I making Mom laugh so hard she cried at the dinner table. As different "on paper" as my brother and I were and still are, one thing we always had in common was our sense of humor. And our favorite way to apply our goofiness was to joke around at the dinner table, about whoever and whatever we could think of. We'd start on something, and our folks would roll their eyes and keep eating. We'd keep it up, and Mom would giggle. Then, of course, it's on. My brother and I would exchange a glance that said 'Hey, let's see if we can make Mom's iced tea come out of her nose.' And we'd just keep it going and going and going until Mom had her napkin over her mouth, dabbing at her eyes, just flat hee-hawing. Dad just kept eating and shaking his head, trying to act like he wasn't having as good a time as everybody else. She'd finally wave her napkin around and gasp, "OK, OK, that's enough.... dinner's getting cold...." MIssion accomplished.

Now that both of my folks are retired, I assume they spend most of their time trying to stay out of each other's way. Otherwise, they do yardwork and other projects, Mom hangs out with her friends doing stuff, and Dad golfs as much as possible. Mom's taken up bowling again, and now bowls with my Dad (who is a ridiculously good bowler, 70+ years old or not) in a league. I go watch them when I go back home, and it's great to see them competing and having a good time.

I am incredibly thankful for one thing in particular, that came from the rare stability I grew up with: being able to talk to my parents as adults now, without all the family melodrama and baggage that I see with many folks. A lot of people, when they call home or visit, have to go through a whole rigamarole of nitpicking, arguing, judging, crying, apologizing, and the whole family drama thing before they can have some semblance of a conversation with them. Our relationship just isn't that way. I call. We talk. I come home. We hang out. Thank God, and them.

Dad always had the job of keeping us concretely stable -- he got up & went to work every day, and kept us fed, clothed, and housed. Mom's job was more nebulous and indefinable, and in many ways more difficult. She had to be both a field general and a babysitter, a disciplinarian and a psychiatrist, the cleaning lady and Queen of the house, and most importantly, the glue the held the fragile, cantankerous, ramshackle contraption called a family intact and functioning like a well-oiled machine. To be able to perform all these tasks, without killing or seriously maiming anyone, without years of family melodrama and guilt and resentment, raising kids who went to college instead of prison, and all the while maintaining not only her sanity but a good sense of humor and a nonstop flow of love and encouragement, is nothing short of miraculous. But not to Mom -- I think she's just that way.

Roger