Fünfundvierzig und Mutter



Last Sunday a speaker asked us what we were doing back in 1964. My mom and I started laughing. For most of that year, she was 35 and I was zero. She and I were doing what we have been the last two weeks: hanging out together as much as possible.

My mom was always the straight man, the foil to my dad's ongoing joke- and storytelling. I know why he enjoyed her company so much: she is actually quite funny, a great sidekick as well as a source of humor. Mom is always up for an adventure and encourages the rest of us to be, as she is, forever young. Here's some highlights from her current visit.

A week before Thanksgiving, we had finished shopping at Walmart and were putting stuff in our car. A man approached us, asking, "Excuse me, sir, would you like to buy some tamales?" I responded automatically, the way I always do to unsolicited soliciting, "No thanks." As he walked away, I turned to close the car door for my mom. Before it shut, I heard her say, quietly, "Those might be the best tamales you've ever had." I smiled, then walked over and bought a dozen tamales.

So we watched Up the other night and when we switched back to cable, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea was on. My mom asked my wife if she had ever read that book. I mentioned that I started it, but it was too deep for me. Mom asked, in all seriousness, "Really?" I laughed 'til I cried (and it hurt).

Then, the other day, we were in another parking lot, but driving this time, when she spotted a minivan. "There's an Odyssey." (Noteworthy because that's what one of my sisters is driving these days.) I mentioned that it was Homer's favorite vehicle; he liked it almost as much as the Iliad. She almost asked me who Homer was, but then caught on, and shook her head in disgust . . . the perfect response to a bad joke.

Yesterday, my younger son had peeled an orange and left the remains on a plate. Before Mom threw them away, she pointed at some white stuff and said, "This is my favorite part because it has the bioflavonoids." Not much later she referred to the decorative treads on her socks as "doodleywhips." She's a walking, fictive, vocabulary lesson.

What I'm trying to say here is that my mom is a blast, a real treasure. I am spending my "Fünfundvierzig" birthday with her and my eldest brother. (Of all the languages, German makes 45 sound like the most fun.) I feel honored to be with them. My dad's stories, wit, humor, and zest for life lives on in her and all of us who remember him. I think he would be pleased.


1 comments:

Sarah C. said...

Happy Birthday! Woot!