me and my mommie

Despite my famously awful memory, I have many recollections of Mom that will stand the test of time, some significant, others of such triviality it’s a wonder they’re still stuck in my head. I also got to spend a good stretch of time with Mom at a time when it was just the two of us. During those five years or so, I needed not compete with my sibs for attention, my sisters all having moved out by the time I was 13. Hmmm, now that I think about it, was that a “good thing” or a “bad thing”… I will choose “good thing”. After raising three before me, I think I was the beneficiary of a certain degree of relaxation that comes with a parents’ realization that maybe your kid will not injure themselves, get into trouble, or otherwise cause you some degree of dismay the second they get outside of your eyesight. Thanks for the long leash, Mom!

That said, in no particular order, I remember and thank you for:

Playing blackjack after dinner with me and my buddies, Steve, Ron, and Pete. Always a great time and I actually don’t think you cheated too much. No one individual had a lock on being the nightly “Big Winner” so the playing field was pretty fair. I’ve got to tell you Mom, the guys loved blackjack night, too. There was always a good level of excitement amongst our crew at the prospect of game night. I was just talking to Steve the other day and he was suggesting the next time I’m up in New England that we have a game night at your place. Guess I’m not the only one for which it made a lasting impression.

Your “male friends” Bob, Dan, and most of all Jim. It always seemed in my mind that you chose good fellas (not the Cosa Nostra kind) and I enjoyed spending time with all of them. My memories of Bob and Dan are fleeting, but all good. Jim of course was a surrogate Dad at an important time in my life. I’ve got quite a few fond memories of Jim. Thank you for bringing him into our household.

On a similar vein, I want to thank you for the way in which you handled yours and Dads split in the way you did. I have no negative thoughts or recollections about that fateful time or the years that followed. I see many friends, acquaintances and others around me traumatized by their parents’ separation, usually related how their parents handled the whole mess. You did a great job with it, with me.

The Halfway House (not Edwina Martin), where I’d go with you sometimes to hang out with the recovering guys, shooting pool, and whatnot. I only remember a few names, Al and Donny were always my favorite inhabitants, but all the guys made me feel at home and comfortable. I remember Jim and Jim in their dingy front offices. It was a very cool experience.

And how could I forget, Donny wanting a snapping turtle to make soup for the guys, a task which I happily obliged. I still remember wrestling that monster into a canoe on the Satucket River, a harrowing affair to say the least and after all these years, I hate to tell you, it’s physiologically impossible for snapping turtles to be “full of mud”. Thanks for sparing me from the truth at the time, which I assume was that the turtle wound up back in some local stream or pond in Brockton. Poor turtle…

I remember you letting me have my electric train setup in the living room in East Bridgewater. At the time I didn’t realize what a sacrifice that was for an adult homemaker, but I do now. I’m sure you got a few sideways looks when company came relative to your decorating style.

Another wee sacrifice that has not gone unnoticed by myself through the years was your trials, tribulations, and financial sacrifice to get my mouth right. Not the swearing part, which you were unsuccessful at, but the orthodontic end of things. I know that was a lot of work and pain and suffering having to have a kid in the dentists chair every other month but it was worth it in the end. I’m REALLY glad my mouth is not a snaggle toothed mess. I was just chatting with my dental hygienist the other day. You know they now call those diabolical contraptions “palate separators”. “Palate splitter” is such a medieval term…

Do you remember me turning your bathtub into a fish tank! On more than one occasion… Of course you do.

The come hither cow bell. I could hear that thing clear down to Beverly’s house. Damn, cow bell….

Keeping me apprised of my sleepwalking antics. I’ve made great hay out of those stories over the years. In fact, if you’d never told me the stories, I’d be in the Navy now… My favorite is standing on the back porch in the middle of the night “looking for my microbox.”

Speaking of the Navy… Since I didn’t go there because I was a sleepwalker, I of course went to Wentworth instead. I will never forget you being the only one in attendance to see me get the college’s highest award at my graduation. I remember coming to graduation that morning in jeans, sneakers, and a four day old beard, only to find my class president scrambling frantically to get me hooked up with the Provost for a photo op. I reckon you were just as surprised when you cracked open the program. I’m really happy you were there.

In any event, thanks for insisting that I couldn’t stay in East Bridgewater after high school, frittering away my days hanging out on the wall in front of Lil Peach or working at the Foxboro Company. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told folks, “I got my illustrious start, because my mom said; “You’re not staying in this town. You’re going to into the service or to college!”. In the end I tried both, one of them stuck. Boy was it the best of the two.

With age brings wisdom, but while I now see the method to most of your madness from my earlier years, I still can’t figure out how or why you let me have that Penthouse Pet poster in my bedroom all those years and at such a young age. It remains in my mind today a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma…

Thanks for not totally freaking out when Mrs. Backstrom thought me, Steve, and Pete had killed somebody and for finally cooking “F@#*! mashed potatoes” for my 20th (?) birthday.

I thank you for taking me back in in my time of need (and right about now, you’re probably trying to remember what I’m talking about), after fleeing my home in Boston of seven years in the dead of night following (or should I say during?) my breakup with Yvonne. I’m sure it was a bit of a rude surprise to have me descend upon your empty nest with only a few hours notice and all my stuff in tow.

I of course could go on forever, but then I wouldn’t have anything left for your Christmas present in a couple of years. Thus I’m going to wrap by thanking you for everything you’ve done for me over the last 45 years and all the great memories. They say you can’t choose your family, but that’s not always entirely true. I’m glad you chose me.

Submitted by Tom.