I don't know why I've never written much about my mother. My brother and I certainly owe her a lot. Not only did she give birth to us, more importantly she kept dad from killing us. No doubt her life would have been far more sanguine had she been mother to a couple of girls instead of two clowns destined to require constant monitoring. "Wait until your father gets home," ran in pretty much continuous loop in our household.
A mother with sons is generally in referee mode from the time a boy can walk until--at least in my case--about age forty. Dads and sons, sporting that pesky Y chromosome, are often pig-headed and spoiling for a fight. The father wants his boy to get both smart and tough before life lands a gut punch and runs his pants up the flagpole. It's a gift of love that can only be seen by sons in their rear view mirror. The hard part for a father is receiving only a sullen expression and silence as a thank you. As far as I know it has always been this way and it makes moms sad.
Doubtless my mother must have felt like Henry Kissinger shuttling back and forth between Nixon and the Vietcong as they haggled over the size of the conference table at the beginning of peace talks ending the Vietnam War. "Your dad is a good man." "He only wants what's best for you; so you should talk to him." Of course she had been bamboozled into all of that nonsense by a clever and evil man. My brother and I knew him to be a sadistic SOB who's sole purpose in life was to napalm every ounce of fun out of our lives before bulldozing our hopes and dreams. Yes, we were geniuses!
As is the case for most baby boomers, dad and mom are now long gone. I'd like to think both of us let them know that we were sorry to have been such horse's asses to raise and that we owed them each for keeping us out of jail and becoming reasonably well behaved adults. Somewhere, I'm sure, dad laments what he would deem a major failure of his parenting responsibility. I chose a career in radio and Steve, my brother, got into the newspaper business, two industries overloaded with "a bunch of bums" according to dad. The good news is that we fit right in and mom thought that it was pretty cool. She always did.
Happy Mother's Day to moms everywhere and, to those with sons, my deepest sympathy.
A mother with sons is generally in referee mode from the time a boy can walk until--at least in my case--about age forty. Dads and sons, sporting that pesky Y chromosome, are often pig-headed and spoiling for a fight. The father wants his boy to get both smart and tough before life lands a gut punch and runs his pants up the flagpole. It's a gift of love that can only be seen by sons in their rear view mirror. The hard part for a father is receiving only a sullen expression and silence as a thank you. As far as I know it has always been this way and it makes moms sad.
Doubtless my mother must have felt like Henry Kissinger shuttling back and forth between Nixon and the Vietcong as they haggled over the size of the conference table at the beginning of peace talks ending the Vietnam War. "Your dad is a good man." "He only wants what's best for you; so you should talk to him." Of course she had been bamboozled into all of that nonsense by a clever and evil man. My brother and I knew him to be a sadistic SOB who's sole purpose in life was to napalm every ounce of fun out of our lives before bulldozing our hopes and dreams. Yes, we were geniuses!
As is the case for most baby boomers, dad and mom are now long gone. I'd like to think both of us let them know that we were sorry to have been such horse's asses to raise and that we owed them each for keeping us out of jail and becoming reasonably well behaved adults. Somewhere, I'm sure, dad laments what he would deem a major failure of his parenting responsibility. I chose a career in radio and Steve, my brother, got into the newspaper business, two industries overloaded with "a bunch of bums" according to dad. The good news is that we fit right in and mom thought that it was pretty cool. She always did.
Happy Mother's Day to moms everywhere and, to those with sons, my deepest sympathy.
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