Thursday, May 7, 1998
Please excuse Daniel for not calling earlier
MOTHERS: Son expresses his love, growing respect for Mom on two
holidays
"A boy’s best friend is his mother."
– Anthony Perkins in "Psycho"
Happy belated birthday, Mom. Oh, and Happy Mother’s Day, too. If
the flowers didn’t get there in time, maybe this copy of the Daily
Bruin will. Yes, not too long ago was my mother’s birthday (she’s,
uh, 39). That means that Mother’s Day is near (Aww, how sweet).
When I was little, I thought the people who ran such holidays
(Hallmark, FTD, etc.) had planned the two days to fall close
together, just for her.
But since I’ve been away from home, the somewhat-near coinciding
of these days has just made it twice as easy for me to
inadvertently forget them both.
But this year I’m not forgetting, and I want her and anyone else
who reads this to know that. Of course, I gave the florists what I
considered "plenty of time," and what they considered "enough time
for a two-day rush with no guarantees," so we’ll see if I’m still
in trouble or not. (Oh, and Dad – if the flowers are there by the
time you print this out for Mom, be a pal and just delete this
part, will you?)
No, your name doesn’t have to be Sigmund Freud for you to
realize there’s a very special relationship that develops between a
son and his mother. That’s especially true for me since I am my
mother’s firstborn son, and for a number of years, was her only
son.
For the first part of my life, she was really my only female
friend, unless you count Michelle Appel – but I only liked her
because she had Nintendo at her house.
And through it all, I suppose my mom has remained a best friend,
even though I rarely treat her like one. While I was still growing
up (as early as this week), I could always look to my mom as my
last line of defense. The person who, if and when the – you know –
stuff hit the fan, would always bail me out and ask questions
later.
"Please excuse Daniel for being late this morning. He woke up
with a headache."
When I was younger, I don’t think I even noticed all the things
she did for me. In the winters she would type up my grade-school
writing projects for me (this was back in the day when I still
wrote rough drafts). In the summers, she would send me to Camp
Kinneret (nature camp) each day for my enrichment. She would calmly
and coolly freak out each time I brought home another baby mouse or
chicken to save it from Cora, the nature camp’s menacing coral
snake. On occasion, she made me the world’s greatest cinnamon
toast.
"Please excuse Daniel from soccer practice today. His stomach
hurts, and also he forgot his shin guards."
As I got older, I was aware but didn’t care about this "special
relationship." I followed standard teenager procedure for
cultivating the child-parent relationship by accentuating the
negatives and disregarding the parents. I remember one night when I
called home from a party to bitch and moan my way out of a curfew,
only to find that what I really wanted to do was go home and go to
bed.
It was only as I approached college that I finally, consciously
accepted my mother in her role as adviser and realized how
important it is to have someone who is always there.
"Please excuse Daniel for his less-than-stellar showing on the
AP calculus test. He was told there would be no math on the exam.
Also, he woke up with a headache."
Therefore, on a day like this, it is meaningful to remember the
woman who cared for me and shaped me into the moderately
well-dressed young man that I am today. I owe tribute to the woman
who would never take "But I just showered Tuesday!" for an answer
and who wouldn’t let me watch too much "Dukes of Hazzard" lest I
grow up to drive like that.
Indeed, I am in great debt to the person who did her best for as
long as she could to protect me from the evils of the world –
including Laney, the kid two blocks over who always wanted to go
spelunking in the sewers.
And so I want to try to speak now on behalf of all the young men
out there who have had an off-day or two as a son (you know who you
are – don’t make me name names!), and just say that our silence
never meant that we didn’t care.
As the day looms closer and closer when my parents can finally
rent out my part of the nest, I guess I find it more and more
important to get that sentiment out publicly.
So, once again, happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you and thank
you for everything. And I think you know what I mean, and I think
you feel the sincerity and love with which I mean it when I say
this:
I’m really sorry I didn’t call more often.