I have a great mom. When I was growing up, she tried her very best to instill in me a moral set of standards that were fit for the Royal Family. “Always tell the truth”, “sit up straight,” “take your thumb out of your mouth”, “clean your room,” she would say in her diminutive way. My mother has always been unassuming. In her mannerisms, her speech, even the clothes that she wears. I picture her with her plaid skirt, matching sweater set, and a single strand of Republican pearls.
Our house was always clean and free of clutter. Tastefully decorated – like a picture from Better Homes and Gardens Magazine. Mother has what I consider‘rules for a happy life’. Do not get dirty. Always go to church on Sunday. It is good to tell the truth, but you do not always need to be telling it. And when I drove home my first new car painted a very loud “pull me over red” the now famous - machines, like gloves, should be either black, white, or brown. Mother does not go in for bold colors. She prefers pristine white poinsettias to the rather pedestrian red color. Red poinsettias are the “Bob Gullet” of botany. One of my earliest memories of my mother is me strapped into my car seat, she driving her Thunderbird (white, of course), humming along to the Dionne Warwick eight-track, tapping the steering wheel with her finger, hair meticulously coiffed into a Marlow Thomas style. I wasn’t able to talk well, yet – but I remember thinking, “cool.”
Mom made us strive to achieve. She did this by subtly withholding huge amounts of meaningless praise. She would only give just enough so as not to make our heads swell. I could win the Nobel Peace Prize for excellent literature and she might just pat me on the back and say, “Isn’t he cute?” She also hides her disappointment in anything that does not turn out quite the way she would wish. When it comes to my eccentric and eclectic décor – she simply states, “Nice.” When it came to calling off my engagement to a girl, I had dated for five years because I had to accept the fact that I am homosexual – she changed the subject, although she knew. They always know.
Because of my mother’s influence, I am probably the straightest looking gay man you will ever meet. Of course, I press my clothes, but they consist of quiet colors, traditional button down plaid shirts, and sensible shoes. I wear tweed jackets and cardigans. I dress like a cross between Mr. Rogers and Prince Charles. I do not go in for wild hairstyles or colors, and (except for a short stint with an earring) I do not have “body jewelry.” I am soft spoken and mild mannered – just like mom. I work hard at my job, and I rarely, if ever, go out to “party,” I keep a clean house and always try to do the right thing.
Consider, then, the contradictions in my mother’s behavior, as she grows older. After years of knowing her, in fact expecting her, to act a certain way; she is exhibiting certain questionable tendencies that worry me. In fact, they frighten me. My mother thinks nothing of flying to New York City with my aunt to spend a week shopping, or seeing shows, or what ever else they do in NYC. Picture it, my mother, walking the dangerous streets of New York – by herself – with no other protection! Once when she visited, she brought back imitation Rolex watches as gifts. I believe these to be illegal. She was even present during a raid of these seedy, illegitimate, booths. She asked me if I wanted her to bring one home for me. “No, thanks” I said, “my karma is doing pretty good right now and I’d rather not jeopardize it.” Honestly, my mother, a common counterfeiter.
As if this was not bad enough, both mom and dad have been visiting Las Vegas – a lot! Several times a year, they fly out with my auntie and gamble away the inheritance. My mom says that she and my auntie put sparkle glitter on their hands when they play. Sparkle glitter? My mother?!? What in God’s name is next? Gold lame? When not in Las Vegas, they visit other fine gambling establishments all over the country. I think it may be becoming serious. Not that I object to the money spent – but the mental image of my mother in a smoke filled casino playing the slots is just too disturbing!
This past summer, my folks came out to pay us a visit. They had been to a gambling casino in the nearby city of St. Louis – and thought since they were out this far, why not come down and spend the day. They left earlier than planned so that my dad could have one more crack at blackjack. I am beginning to think an intervention is needed. My auntie herself while canceling plans to come and stay said that she had a better offer in Atlantic City. I have taken second fiddle to the casinos. My mind boggles at the thought.
It is interesting that as we grow older, so does the perception that we once had of our parents. When we are small, our parents are authoritarians who know all. When we are in our teens and twenties, they know nothing and are powerless, so we must rebel. Now that I have finally reach adulthood, with all the lessons and ups and downs – I see my parents as people. In fact, I see them as interesting people. I guess I like that after all.
