Angie's DIARY | Online Writing Magazine

Angie's DIARY | Online Writing Magazine

My Mother’s Son

Posted by on Nov 16th, 2010 and filed under Home & Family, Human-Relations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. You can leave a response or trackback to this entry

After spending a week together, I discovered that my Mama-San, as I used to call her when I was a teen, is getting older! I know that shouldn’t be a surprise, but alas, it made me acutely aware that I too am a little hard of hearing, don’t walk as far as I used to and can’t read small print, even with my glasses on.

Being alone with my mother, for the first time in about a decade, without other siblings or grandchildren around, also reminded me of other ways we’re alike. We both “plan” and worry about the future, whether it’s days or hours away. We both love reading, movies and music; often the same books, films and artists. We are both interested in other people and like to hear about their lives, thoughts and feelings. We both have big noses, big feet and love cats.

mother son 300x168 My Mothers SonShe has a habit of starting to talk about something that she has been thinking of in her head, but when she speaks you have no idea why she’s suddenly talking about a friend’s son in Washington who builds houses. It usually takes a minute or two and some investigative skills, to discover how she got to where she is and why you didn’t understand the connection.

Alas, some people, including my wife, tell me I do the same thing! For instance, she’ll be talking about the garden, which “naturally” makes me think of carrots, which in turn leads me to thoughts of Bugs Bunny, which lapses into “What’s up Doc.” At that point I began to think of doctors, health care and insurance, which inevitably causes me to blurt out, “Did we pay that last bill from the doctor visit?”

After a week with my mother I understand more clearly then ever why people often have such a perplexed look on their faces when I make such statements and why, upon explanation of my “logical” train of thought, they laugh or ignore me altogether.

Neither my Mom nor I can read our own handwriting, which can cause countless confusion and misunderstanding. We would make excellent physicians, as nobody could read our prescriptions.

On the other hand, we do have our differences, thank goodness. My mother has always loved to wear bright colored clothing with animal shaped earrings. In contrast, I tend to wear the same tired old blue, green and black that I’ve worn since childhood and I never wear earrings. She was raised as a Methodist and I have practiced Buddhism, converted to Catholicism for a few years and attended Quaker Meeting for a few more. And she posed nude for an art class, in her younger years, which I wouldn’t be caught dead doing at any age!

Remember that book that said, “Everything You Needed to Know You Learned in Kindergarten”? Well, everything important that I’ve learned has come from my Mom. She has always been an example of strength and independence, even when women were not “supposed” to be that way. She taught me to be honest, caring, involved and to respect others. And most importantly, she showed me that personal happiness and love could live simultaneously with responsibility. Maybe it’s not so bad to be like my mother after all!


Similar posts on this magazine:

You must be logged in to post a comment Login

VIP Author Info

Gabriel Constans

Gabriel has written for numerous journals, magazines, newspapers, ezines and websites in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa and has 13 books published in the U.S. His latest work of fiction is Buddha's Wife and most recent non-fiction is Don't Just Sit There, Do Something! Grief's Wake Up Call.

Cynthia Miller
Angie's DIARY | Online Writing Magazine © 2008-2012 is a Network Holland™ initiative
Tel.: +31 20 675 2721 - Fax: +31 20 676 2016 - Email: contact@angiesdiary.com

ONLINE WRITING MAGAZINE-GET READ-GET PUBLISHED-WRITING CONTESTS-BOOK PROMOTION-REVIEWS-INTERVIEWS-STORY AND ARTICLE SUBMISSION-ANGELICA PASTORELLI