Humor by Debi Stack
Open and overdue confession
to my mom
Skip the mushy Mother's Day cards and instead come clean with Mom
Dear Mom,
In first grade I made a Mother’s Day card for you that read, “Roses are red, grass is green, you are prettier than a washing machine.” My teacher didn’t understand, but you did. Dad had just bought a washing machine for you and it was truly a thing of beauty to behold. You still didn’t have a dryer, but at least you could wash clothes at home instead of lugging them to the Laundromat before hanging them on our backyard clothesline.
This year, instead of making or sending a card to you for Mother’s Day, I’m going to confess something.
You always had a knack for catching me doing things I shouldn’t. Take my reenactment of a television commercial in the bathroom. The look and feel of bright red lipstick smoothly gliding over the gleaming white porcelain of a bathroom sink is great fun, as any sneaky seven-year-old will attest. But just as I held up a can of cleanser in the mirror to recite its virtues and then demonstrate how it could remove even stubborn lipstick stains, you walked in. I believe that is when the term “buzz kill” originated. Anyway, what I’m about to confess is something I doubt ever made a blip on your radar.
Remember back in the 1970s when we moved into a new house? Remember how hard you worked decorating with new paint, furniture, appliances, wallpaper, window treatments and floor coverings? Remember how you worked full-time and so Steve and I had a lot of time at home alone?
One day after high school, Steve and I experienced what is commonly referred to as "sibling rivalry." I don't remember what started the conflict, but I do remember running, yelling, slamming doors and chasing him with a new, jumbo tub of margarine. Somehow it overturned onto the new carpet in the dining room and no, the lid was not on the tub at the time.
The good thing is that our quarreling stopped and, after we looked at each other in shocked silence, we had a good, long laugh. Then Steve disappeared and I was left to scoop up the margarine from the new carpet all by myself.
Another good thing is that the ensuing coverup became a bonding experience for your frequently fighting children.
Still another good thing (will the benefits never end?) is that what you thought were toast crumbs in the margarine were actually carpet fuzzies. That prequalifies you as a contestant on Fear Factor. You would win a million dollars! (You're welcome.)
But the best thing of all is that spilling margarine on new carpet, though it really happened, is not my main confession for Mother’s Day. It is this:
Mom, I have not appreciated you nearly as much as you have deserved. To ensure that others had what they needed, you went without. Yes, I remember that awful pumpkin-colored jacket you wore for years. It was thin and intended for spring or fall, but you wore it even in snowstorms while Steve and I stayed toasty in new winter coats. You always found ways to send me to summer camp, buy band instruments and fund orthodontia. You were never too tired to listen to me or too busy to watch me in a school play.
Thank you for being the mom I needed when I was young. Because of that, today you’re the friend I can’t do without.
© Debi Stack 2008. For permission to reprint this article, contact Debi's business manager, Teresa Vining, by clicking here.