Whatever degree of insanity I possess has to be credited first to my mother. Love that woman more than any other in this world but she’s not right in the head. I mean she’s not totally bonkers (meet her and you may think she’s your average very talkative mother) but she’s got some angles to her. There’s her expected maternal side that sends me home with filled-to-the-brim Tupperware, makes the meanest German chocolate cake (Black Nazi) and reigns as the undisputed Michele Obama of banana pudding. Then there’s that Williamsburg Projects chick who with the help of her sister tied a burglar to my grandmother’s rocking chair and placed a pot of boiled water in his lap ‘til the cops arrived; who gave me my first two-piece––jab to the stomach, smack across the head––at the tender age of nine (early lesson for future slapboxing).
While my mom has done some things that in my eyes are legendary (she’d kill me if I told), her insanity is affirmed by what she says. Unbelievable stuff comes out of this lady’s mouth. Even when rooted in wise soil, her perspective makes eyes squint. Her quotables make family history. I remember uncomfortably watching 106 & Park with her ten years ago. Typical booty-infused rap video appears onscreen. Great.
Mom: That’s why all these men are gay.
Mom: That’s why all these men out here are gay cause these women make it too easy. Men need challenges.
This is coming from a woman who rules boyfriends with an invisible leash. A woman I once visited a week before Xmas to find her new boo watching TV while her ex put up tree decorations. Should’ve gotten her a Pimp Cup that year.
Speaking of that new boo. He’s her boyfriend now. I don’t particularly care for him. My mom wishes I did. But I’m reminded of a conversation she and I had some time ago. It began about her dude but ended up exhibiting her prowess for being quirky, embarrassing and adorable all at the same time:
Mom: You should really be nicer to him.
Me: I don’t see why I should.
Mom: He’s very nice to me.
Me: If he wasn’t he wouldn’t even be a conversation.
Mom: No really, he’s a sweetheart. Everyday he comes home and tells me how much he missed me. Some days he even brings me flowers.
Me: Very nice Mom.
Mom: Then again he’s probably trying to get something started. He always comes home excited then falls asleep before…
Me: Ayo mom! T…M….I
Mom: T.M.I? What’s that?
Me: T.M.I. Too much information.
Mom: Ohhhh! [Laughs] I like that! Too. Much. Information. T.M.I! Haha. I’ma use that at work.
The reason I’m reflecting on my eccentric old Earth is because last weekend she got into an automobile accident. She was a passenger in her stupid boyfriend’s car. Nothing severe, just some dented metal and achy older bodies. She’s fine but I can’t front, the initial news had me kind of shook. Hours post accident I realize she didn’t call me back after seeing the doctor. So I ring her cell, only to find mom in standard form:
Me: Where are you?
Mom: Long Island.
Me: Long Island?! What the hell you doin’ in Long Island?
Mom: We were on our way here before the accident so I came to buy my shoes.
Me: You’re crazy! You said you had a headache and your arm was sore.
Mom: Yeah, I’ma feel even worse tomorrow. I took a couple Advil though. My head feels fine now. I’m focused on this accident. Three-car collision? Everybody’s getting sued.
Me: You’re crazy. Well how does [boyfriend] feel?
Mom: His vision was blurry at first but now he’s fine too. Right baby? See, he said he’s fine. Yeah, but I’m suing him too. He’ll be alright.
I know I’m not the only one with a different mom. Let’s hear about yours.