I Can’t Miss This Opportunity to Write About Mom
5/13/24
I’m a day late to write about Mother’s Day, but don’t worry. No sad stories today. I miss my mom, but I’m also extremely grateful for her. Besides, this weekend was a lot of fun. I didn’t lose on Saturday during family game night, plus we had a great Mother’s Day restaurant outing on Sunday, and to add to that the house looks like an arboretum from all the bouquets of flowers Donna has received. (She’s received so many flowers, jealous bees are buzzing our windows offering their pollination services.)
Back to my mom.
Unless she wasn’t feeling well, mom was a smiling, happy person who consistently fussed about how her hair looked whenever we took photos (I see where I get that from now). The other thing she was known for was calling her sons “sonny boy” (but never when we were in the same room together, so I thought the nickname was just for me, and they did too). For years, my brothers and I walked around feeling superior to each other.
In reality, as mom aged, it was probably just easier for her to call us “sonny boy” than to try to remember our individual names. But that doesn’t mean we weren’t special to her, judging by the way she continued to buy us things long after we no longer lived with her. The notorious bargain hunter in her couldn’t help herself. If she ever spotted something in the clothing stores that she thought we could use, she purchased it.
I would walk through her door to be greeted by, “Here try this on. See if it fits you.”
She spoiled us all and showed us amazing love, sometimes in mysterious ways. My favorite story, which I’ve mentioned on this blog once, was when I roped my mom into helping me get out of work. It was during my college days when I worked as a telemarketer.
I hated selling products over the phone. Correction: I hated being told off by angry customers while I tried to sell products over the phone. I was just no good at it. I would break out into a sweat and stutter through all my calls.
“Good morning… or afternoon… or evening, Mr. or Mrs. Smith. I don’t need to tell you how much you love TV Guide Magazine…”
Then, “click,” they’d hang up. (I guess I really should’ve have said, “I don’t need to tell you…”)
Anyway, on one particular shift, when I was especially tired of all the hang ups and the nasty comments, I decided that I couldn’t take it any longer. I devised a plan where I would ask a friend to pretend to be a relative and call my boss about an emergency at home. But I couldn’t think of a friend who would do that for me. So, I did the next best thing: I asked a real relative to bail me out. I called my mom.
I had never asked my mom to lie for me. Even though there was no hesitation in her voice when I asked, would she actually do it? I was on pins and needles. I was stunned when my boss called me into her office.
“Your mom says your dad is sick. Go on and take the rest of the day off.”
Yes, I felt badly for making up a sick-dad story, but don’t judge young Michael until you’ve walked in his telemarketer shoes.
The point is that my mom came through for me. She got me out of a real jam. (I never did go back to that job, so that I could untangle myself from that web of lies I’d started.)
And that’s why I will never forget that day, the day when mom was more than a mom to me. She was my friend. She was my hero.
Okay, yeah, she was my accomplice too.
#IblameTVGuideMagazine
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