A Real Mother For Ya
Here in the UK, it's Mother's Day, today. My mother lives back in New York. It's not Mother's Day in America until May sometime. This affords me the luxury of watching from the sidelines as the vast majority of the British public run around trying to comply with the social pressure to conform to the commercially driven expectations of "Mother's Day." I didn't have to buy any flowers, nor take anyone out for a meal, today. I relaxed around the house and enjoyed some ribs for breakfast, and some calamari for lunch. Magnifico!
For the first time in my life, I miss my mother. We never got along too well, when I was young. She never told me she loved me and never once hugged me. She used to experience what I would call, for lack of a better word, "episodes." Sheer fits of rage where she would throw stuff and scream things. When I was a child, I learned the best policy was to keep my distance from her. At times she used to threaten to kill herself and me. I figured it was just talk, as she never actually did it. One time, she chased me around the house with a pair of scissors in her hand. I was able to run fast when I was a kid, so I got far enough ahead of her that I was out of sight for a moment. I grabbed a baseball bat and waited in the kitchen for her. When she started to come through the doorway, I swung. Fortunately for her, the bat hit the wall. She seemed to get the message, because she froze, then turned around and left me alone. When I was 16, I was in the back garden, working on my bike. She called to me from my bedroom window to come upstairs for a moment. As I approached my bedroom door, I noticed movement with my peripheral vision. Perched one step up the stairway to the next floor, she was swinging a big old wine bottle, half filled with pennies, towards my head. I caught her arm in my hands and disarmed her. By then I was physically bigger and stronger, so I could fend off her attacks. The thing which annoyed me most was that it was my bottle of pennies she was trying to hit me with.
More recently, decades later, she told me that she hadn't actually intended to really hit me with the bottle of pennies. Maybe she wasn't, or maybe she was. In my twenties, she always seemed to manage to do something which would cause me great difficulty. We went through long periods of time not speaking to each other. In my thirties, not only did she refuse to attend my wedding, she never met my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen (BQ), until after we were married. The BQ found my mother's refusal to meet strange and put pressure on me to get my mother to agree to meet her. All my mother was willing to do was call and speak to her on the phone. When she did, she proceeded to tell the BQ that she shouldn't marry me. Gee, thanks Ma.
For most of my adult life, my mother routinely used to predict nothing but failure for me. One of her favorite things to say was that I would end up homeless. So, when the BQ started divorce proceedings against me, I was reluctant to tell my mother. I figured she'd just say, "I told you so" and I didn't want to hear that. After the BQ locked me out of the house and I spent two months living in my car, I thought, "oh great, she'll say she was right, I've ended up homeless." It wasn't until I was in my second rented accommodation, nine months after my wife started to divorce me, that I broke the news to my mother. To my surprise, she was comforting and supportive. After the betrayal of my evil ex-wife, all my anger towards my mother, which I had carried for years, suddenly left me. I realized that, by and large, my mother never meant me any harm. To me, what the BQ was doing was worse. The BQ betrayed a solemn oath to me and her perjurous statements in our divorce were intended to hurt me, and separate me from money.
After my divorce, my mother and I got on much better. Okay, it wasn't perfect and there were still occasional flareups by her. We haven't spoken for the past nine months, although we have exchanged birthday cards and she sent me a Christmas card, which arrived after Christmas. She kind of freaked out during a phone conversation with me, last year and asked me not to call her anymore. I wish she was on the internet, so I could email her. For the first time in my life I want to take care of my mother and, ironically, I am not in a position to. We are 3,500 miles apart, separated by an ocean and I don't have enough money. For the past four years, one of the biggest motivations I have had, to achieve success, has been so I can take care of my mother. I wish I could start sending her money again, like I used to do when I was first married. With all of your help, I can. Get as many people as you know to read my blog and to add me as friends on Myspace, if they are on it. With a big enough following, media opportunities or a book deal might come within reach. Then I can earn enough to take care of my mother and, of course, I can entertain you lot. Is there a way to have violins playing while people read this blog?
For the first time in my life, I miss my mother. We never got along too well, when I was young. She never told me she loved me and never once hugged me. She used to experience what I would call, for lack of a better word, "episodes." Sheer fits of rage where she would throw stuff and scream things. When I was a child, I learned the best policy was to keep my distance from her. At times she used to threaten to kill herself and me. I figured it was just talk, as she never actually did it. One time, she chased me around the house with a pair of scissors in her hand. I was able to run fast when I was a kid, so I got far enough ahead of her that I was out of sight for a moment. I grabbed a baseball bat and waited in the kitchen for her. When she started to come through the doorway, I swung. Fortunately for her, the bat hit the wall. She seemed to get the message, because she froze, then turned around and left me alone. When I was 16, I was in the back garden, working on my bike. She called to me from my bedroom window to come upstairs for a moment. As I approached my bedroom door, I noticed movement with my peripheral vision. Perched one step up the stairway to the next floor, she was swinging a big old wine bottle, half filled with pennies, towards my head. I caught her arm in my hands and disarmed her. By then I was physically bigger and stronger, so I could fend off her attacks. The thing which annoyed me most was that it was my bottle of pennies she was trying to hit me with.
More recently, decades later, she told me that she hadn't actually intended to really hit me with the bottle of pennies. Maybe she wasn't, or maybe she was. In my twenties, she always seemed to manage to do something which would cause me great difficulty. We went through long periods of time not speaking to each other. In my thirties, not only did she refuse to attend my wedding, she never met my evil ex-wife, the Black Queen (BQ), until after we were married. The BQ found my mother's refusal to meet strange and put pressure on me to get my mother to agree to meet her. All my mother was willing to do was call and speak to her on the phone. When she did, she proceeded to tell the BQ that she shouldn't marry me. Gee, thanks Ma.
For most of my adult life, my mother routinely used to predict nothing but failure for me. One of her favorite things to say was that I would end up homeless. So, when the BQ started divorce proceedings against me, I was reluctant to tell my mother. I figured she'd just say, "I told you so" and I didn't want to hear that. After the BQ locked me out of the house and I spent two months living in my car, I thought, "oh great, she'll say she was right, I've ended up homeless." It wasn't until I was in my second rented accommodation, nine months after my wife started to divorce me, that I broke the news to my mother. To my surprise, she was comforting and supportive. After the betrayal of my evil ex-wife, all my anger towards my mother, which I had carried for years, suddenly left me. I realized that, by and large, my mother never meant me any harm. To me, what the BQ was doing was worse. The BQ betrayed a solemn oath to me and her perjurous statements in our divorce were intended to hurt me, and separate me from money.
After my divorce, my mother and I got on much better. Okay, it wasn't perfect and there were still occasional flareups by her. We haven't spoken for the past nine months, although we have exchanged birthday cards and she sent me a Christmas card, which arrived after Christmas. She kind of freaked out during a phone conversation with me, last year and asked me not to call her anymore. I wish she was on the internet, so I could email her. For the first time in my life I want to take care of my mother and, ironically, I am not in a position to. We are 3,500 miles apart, separated by an ocean and I don't have enough money. For the past four years, one of the biggest motivations I have had, to achieve success, has been so I can take care of my mother. I wish I could start sending her money again, like I used to do when I was first married. With all of your help, I can. Get as many people as you know to read my blog and to add me as friends on Myspace, if they are on it. With a big enough following, media opportunities or a book deal might come within reach. Then I can earn enough to take care of my mother and, of course, I can entertain you lot. Is there a way to have violins playing while people read this blog?
posted by Joey B at 2:03 PM
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