When I look at this face, one of the first things that come to mind (after OH SHIT!) is that somewhere this guy has a mother; and I’m glad I’m not her. I don’t know what drives someone to mutilate his face to this degree. But I know it isn’t what his mom hoped for from her son. Seeing everything from a mom perspective brings a kind of dissonance that takes the fun out of simple things, like a guy who thinks his face is a pin cushion.
Today for Mother’s day, I went to my sister’s house with my kid, who’d offered to repair her computer. My sisters kids have moved out, so she bought a parrot to take their place. The Parrot is cute and parrotty, but it doesn’t like to perform on cue. After begging the parrott to bark, oink, meow, say Daddy and imitate Homer Simpson, we decided to ignore it. Soon, it started to go through it’s entire repetoire, in a scrambled fashion, as if defragging. It’s impression of my sister’s voice was uncanny. She is currently tyring to teach it to say “I’m Jewish!’, possibly because my sister’s husband, once an atheist, is now a Christian Holy Roller. When she and her husband started yelling about their computers, it seemed like a good time to bark at the parrot and leave.
My sons took me to lunch, where I was distracted by the geriatric patrons, one of whom kept poking her lunch companions in the eye, as well as the sight of an amazingly ugly baby with a bouffant hair arrangement that made her look around 65.
After lunch, my kid screamed about going to Staples instead of going back home. I thought it was My Day!, but no, it wasn’t. I gave a short lecture on the evils of consumerism, but he just demanded even more money for Staples.
Later, I was interrupted during the Sopranos by a call from my adopted mother Vicci, a beautiful Jamaican woman who had helped nurse my mom when she was bedridden with Cancer. Vicci has stayed in touch for five years and introduces me to her huge extended family as her daughter. She has taught me about making families with people you love. This year I adopted a wonderful son from MySpace, who will one day get to meet Vicci and be embraced as her new grandson.
It’s complicated, being part of a parent-child continuim. I know a woman with two sisters, whose mother was a bopolar, alcoholic actress. One mother’s day, the daughters went to visit their mother, who had chosen to surprise them by killing herself before they arrived. It was the ultimate rebuke. But my friend went on to become a good mother of three kids and has published two novels.
It’s hard to stay true to your ideals; it’s hard to love crazy family members. It’s hard to reach out to others who may turn out to be your family in a different way. Personally, I got four bouquets of flowers, a great omelette, a framed portrait, no one punished anybody with suicide, and my kids have left their faces unadorned by metal spikes.
I feel like a fucking queen this Mother’s Day!