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| A very young Penguin and his Mommy |
As I slide into the final stretch of my fifty-seventh encircling of our sun I can't help but laugh. Not at being this old, but recalling a few months ago when I had to ask my brother how old I was, in the middle of a minor freak-out thinking I was about to turn 59 and how did I just lose a year of my life. I remember Mom calling me many years ago with the same thing. She always used my age to remember hers because our birthdays were exactly 20 years apart...by only 2 days. She was delightfully silly in her ability to remember my age and not hers. But now that I'm as old, I see her logic.
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| Our December birthday pix often had Christmas trees |
When I was very young and it was just Mom and me, we'd celebrate on the day between. She'd bake eclairs, cover them in chocolate cake frosting, and stuff them with ice cream. She'd dim the lights, we'd sing, and blow out our candles. It was this time of year they usually showed her favorite movie, "The Wizard of Oz." In my little footie pajamas, we'd cuddle under a blanket and eat milk duds and popcorn. That might account for my affection for wicked witches. Warm-fuzzies. (If only evil could be so easily destroyed by nothing more than a pail of water. Evil these days.)
I don't recall the dinners. For years her tradition was eclairs and ice cream, but knowing me, she probably made something as mundane as fish sticks. To this day one of my favorite things is soft fish tacos with the cheap-o fish sticks. After all, with a little lime and tartar sauce, you're not going to notice the fish as much as the delightful texture of a crisp fish stick wrapped in a soft tortilla snuggled with shredded cheddar.
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| Mom and me at the Texas capitol with my brother |
Tonight's meal was a leftover steak from a holiday dinner I attended earlier in the week. When my brother called (he's the best) we mutualed our fondness for leftovers. Steaks aren't always the best. That typically goes to Italian, Chinese, or anything with sauces that can meld overnight, but every once in a while I manage to cook leftover steak perfectly. This was one of those nights.
Last week while shopping I came across mini eclairs in the freezer section. I asked her if I should; and her response was, you're only young once. (Too late?) Mom's were the size of ten of these minis (at least that's how this little kid remembers them), and her icing was much better. And moms know best...ice cream is superior to the sweet cream in these little treats—good, but not Mom-quality. Nothing can compare to the memory of a six-year old with the best mom there ever was. Right?
I asked my brother if he ever shared his birthday with his oldest son. Like me and Mom, theirs is 2 days apart. Half out of financial hardship and half from being far from her family, who were in the Texas Panhandle, we combined our birthday in between. But it isn't the hardship that I remember, and I never saw signs of Mom being unhappy or lonely sharing her birthday with me so close to the holidays. We may have shared our special day, but she made it all about me. Those early memories are stronger than titanium.
I wanted to advise
my brother, in the few years left before his eldest of two sets off
for college, bake him a cake, sing to each other, and cuddle up to
watch your favorite movie together. Because we're never promised
tomorrow, and long after you're gone, its these sort of memories that
will warm his heart. But Mom and I shared a sense of sentiment rarely
seen in kids these days, and high school boys would sooner eat
titanium than cuddle under a blanket to watch Ninja Turtles with Dad.
Here's to you Mom, on my Birthday (our birthday). Thank you for me and all you sacrificed to create the man I've become. I know I make you proud and I'm thankful for feeling your presence often. And now that I've titled this, I'm all, "Wait. WHAT?! Fifty who?"
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