Letter to Mom

Last Sunday I sat on the couch through most of the afternoon and evening trying to get my mother on the phone. I dialed, only to get the voice mail. So, since it looked like I was going to strike out on the phone, I thought I'd just write Mom a heartfelt letter.

Dear Mom,
I'm sorry I wasn't able to reach you on Mother's Day. I guess you and Dad went out to the Dog'n Suds, or maybe Dad fell and broke a hip, so I'm writing. Hope you get this before Father's Day.

Anyway, I wanted to thank you for being my guiding light, for making so many sacrifices. Yes, I remember you telling me about having to use Dad's old bandana for my diaper, you were so poor. But hey, it was the sixties, man, and civilization was falling apart. I was born into the JFK assassination, Vietnam, everybody free-basing on nudity and spray painting psychadelic tulips on their Volkswagen vans. But you and Dad stayed together, and even made love that one other time nine months before brother was born. Though why you felt you had to bring him into the mix I'll never know.

But look, it all worked out. Here I am today, married to a beautiful woman who reminds me so much of you. She even cooks sometimes, ma . . . and hey, she's a teacher like you were (for forty-two years). Like you always told me, I could have done worse. And you've seen my kids, too. Aren't they spectacular? The oldest (a girl, I think) leaves this fall for college and I can't wait to convert her bedroom into a billiard parlor. Tell Dad we'll shoot some eight ball next time you get over this way.

I'm so glad you also guided me away from the clarinet when I was in fourth grade. "Men don't play clarinet," you told me. And hey, after a decade of listening to Kenny G, I see what you mean. You are right, the trombone has a more masculine movement for an instrument. Sometimes I'm sorry I gave it up.

Finally, I wanted you to know that I still keep your 8 X 10 photo next to my bed. You're the first woman I see every morning. Often the last I see at night. Help Dad with his dentures and tell him I love him, too. After all, you could have done worse.

I love you, Mom.