Mothers Day Four Years On
"When I was a little boy I had the good fortune of taking a trip with my Mom to the Coronado Hotel in San Diego. The stars were all aligned perfectly and it was just the two of us. There in family lore is the story of how I sailed my little hound’s-tooth matching cap from Robinson’s Department store into the bay during a harbor cruise. The trip is golden in memory. Early on it became apparent that I had a hearty breakfast appetite that Mom satisfied by ordering me adult sized servings of flapjacks, Denver omelettes, and bacon, the food of joy. When we checked out the staff knew us as a Mother and son who fed the squirrel, Nutty Jimmy out on the lawn and ate the big breakfasts on china plates. As we dawdled at the front desk, a staff member mentioned my status in the dining room and she took my hand tenderly and said “yes, he’s good boy!” It was then I realized what I enjoyed for the rest of my sixty years with her, that she loved me. Nothing ever came close to being that valuable for me. For all the stupid, insensitive, coarse and selfish acts I have committed, for the hundreds of times the raw old world bruised me to the bone I could hold to those words and remember the softness of her voice calling me “sweetie” even when I was as sour as lemon rinds."