*The title of this piece was actually a song written by the legendary blues-man B.B. King. Somehow, it seemed to be appropriate here:
Things I learned from my mother:
-She somehow convinced me that Poppa Boone (sp?), which consisted of a bowl of small chunks of old hard bread, milk, and a smattering of sugar was a delectable Italian breakfast dish.
-That my eating all of my tripe, liver and asparagus was somehow vital to the success of our troops during World War ll.
- That “if you start out laughing, you end up crying.”
-That I would go blind if I masturbated.
-That pets are a transient relationship. This became evident when, in preparing the dinner menu, she chopped the head off of my pet white chicken while I watched in horror as the bloody, headless fowl zig-zagged wildly around my feet until it collapsed.
- That it was inevitable that I would poke my eye out while playing with anything that happened to be in my hand at the time.
-That, because it wasn’t in her to physically punish me, she taught me the terrifying feeling of impending doom with her words of, “Wait ‘til you father gets home!”
-That it was of the utmost importance to mark the calendar with a big X on every day my father was out of work, thus easing his already out-of-control paranoia.
So, given all of the above, why is it that I miss her greatly and remember those insane and quirky things with a sense of nostalgia and love? Strange.
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