Mother’s Day, Plus 1. As one of 4 boys, I always thought my mother was some sort of Gestapo agent sent to us from the government to keep us boys from having any fun. Table manners, correcting our English, no dribbling basketballs through the house, making us read. All we wanted to do was play sports and break things. When I was around 8, my brother, Fat Wally and I got a hold of some gun powder and blew up the tool shed. Damn that was fun! Mom didn’t even crack a smile. The next year, around the remnants of the old tool shed, we killed a 6 foot snake. Mom and Dad were out of town that weekend and Daisy Canada was babysitting us. Daisy was around 70. Fat Wally and I carried the snake into the house, pretended like it was still alive and threw it on Daisy. Once again, my mother didn’t even get a chuckle out of it. What a killjoy!
As an 8 year old, if you merely said the F word, she would slam a bar of soap down your throat! Geez!
Well, the point of this short epistle is to let all you young mothers know that your efforts to mold your children into well mannered, non-Unabomber decent human beings will one day be appreciated by them. As you can see from my April 9th birthday post below, I think my mother was a peach!