My Husband Swore That I Was Vaccinated with A Phonograph Needle the Day I Was Born.
(A true quote from him from my true life story.)
Happy Mother’s Day . . . and Hooray for DNA!
It’s Mother’s Day weekend, so of course I would be thinking of my mother. My mother passed away in 1993 due to a brain aneurysm, but memory is such a wonderful thing. I often think of her—how we used to shop together (we were Jedi Shoppers, nobody could keep up with us), how she taught me to cook, the way she showed up when my daughter was born and became the housekeeper so I could focus on motherhood—and so on with so many more sweet memories of her.
I particularly thought of her Friday after I had finished a doctor’s visit at the local hospital—just routine. I sat in the lobby because my daughter was on her way to pick me up—she had dropped me off as well (due to a forecast of rain) as a way to keep me fairly dry here where we have been having deluges. I did not sit really close to anyone—distancing, you know—but I positioned myself (on my rollator) next to a pretty lady in a hospital wheelchair. She looked pleasant and all seemed well except for the oxygen tank that she had to keep with her.
Of course I spoke first—extrovert that I am—and a conversation followed. We talked about our children and grandchildren and the weather and movies and where we grew up and our marriages. I know that is a run-on sentence, but that’s about how the conversation went. It was constant after my first hello and stopped only when her bus pulled up out front and she absolutely had to leave.
At one point we got around to talking about our conditions. She has COPD and lung cancer and was there for her treatment. But that did not get her down, she remained upbeat. I explained that I am a Polio survivor and in my twenties developed epilepsy. Because I have balance issues I use the rollator. I told her it was either that or go to stunt man school to learn how to fall.
At any rate we talked on through the rainy afternoon until that bus did come, and I truly hated to halt the stream of chatter. She was such a sweet lady. So we bid each other a fond farewell and she boarded the bus and I guess left my life forever. It was then I thought of my mother.
You see, my mother was the one with the “talking” gene, and thankfully I inherited that. Now my Dad talked, but as a police officer was more wary of folks than us, and his talk was for lectures for speeders, or civic groups that he had joined. Other than that he was the quintessential “Quiet Man.” Why, I bet many who hung around with us, thought he was Amish and just following their way of economizing on words.
But not me and my mom! Oh, no! We talk to anyone. We once “picked up” a young man on a street corner in downtown Atlanta. I needed directions to register for a college course and my mom was heading off to shop. But we chatted with him and he offered to show me the way to registration. After that we chanced to meet him again, and of course the only extrovert, Southern woman thing to do was to invite him to dinner. So we gave him directions to our house for one day the following week.
Well, when we told my dad, the lawman, of this fortuitous meeting and the upcoming dinner date, of course he went all “Vesuvius” on us. He pointed out that we did not know this person, that he now had directions to our home, and that he could be any manner of criminal—and he did not spare calling out all the categories (which we both knew by heart.)
The fateful night came, our new friend came to dinner and turns out he was just a regular guy—so regular that my dad liked him, he became our friend and even visited us later, as well as me and my first husband after we married. This young man went on to join the Air Force and became a Captain with a high level security clearance. So, we chose well and sometimes talking to folks is not so bad.
I know we would not do that today, this was 1968. Today is different, but I still talk to people. I also inherited my Dad’s DNA which is like radar for sizing people up. I talk in grocery store lines, in parking lots, wherever, to total strangers—many times finding out a lot about them and their mission or what they are buying for their family, etc.
But all that talking is due to my mother. Without her DNA and training I would be the most boring person in town. I would be a lump. Truly I STARTED OUT very shy, but under the tutelage of a Yoda like my mom, I am now able to chat with the best of them. Mother taught me to listen as well and I have learned much from mingling with some fine people here and there.
So, my mother was a great mom. She did teach me to cook, and how to act for various occasions and situations. She tried to teach me to sew, but even a high school teacher could not pull that one off. She gave me a great gift, the literal gift of gab. And so, I am never lonely, or afraid to smile and start the conversation first . . . and who knows make a new friend. And that is a great gift in this life, one of the best ones I ever received.
And so, when I corner the next person for a talk, I will be channeling my mother again and thinking of her dearly because I am not shy anymore and can hold forth with the best of them. Thanks, Mom!