Why do bad sons happen to good mothers?

“Listen,” he began in a wooden, rehearsed-sounding tone, “I sympathize with you, I do. My maternal grandmother was 1/16th Arab and she tried to jihad a dozen times before she finally just settled down and married my paternal grandfather. But this is the wrong place to do it. First of all, this is an Islamic establishment in an Islamic neighborhood in an Islamic district of a Jainist city in an Irish-Catholic country. Second, we have a specific policy against suicide bombing. You understand.”

– Excerpt from my novel (I’m writing the subplots until I get my own computer)

I love my mom. ((More than Lizzie Borden, but less than, say, Oedipus.)) She — until further evidence to the contrary is presented — gave life to me. She raised me. She taught me how to read and pushed me to excel in school. Once, she yelled at a neighbor because he accused my bother and me of shooting his children. ((Long story.)) Another time, she wrote a check for seven dollars because of a misunderstanding we had in school over a Wolverine toy. ((Note to self: plastic melts at shockingly low temperatures.)) Despite her Bachelor’s degree, she worked minimum wage jobs for years to earn enough money to raise us.

Then she went back to school and earned her masters. Several of my worst memories were of her working on papers for her class and losing them because I kept messing around on the computer without telling anyone. ((I was 12. “DOWNLOAD ME, I’M A VIRUS” seemed like a joke e-mail header… I’m SORRY!!)) The year I started high school, she started teaching at the middle school. And for the first time in my life, I remember money no longer being a problem.

That was about the time that my mother decided to lose weight. She bought a treadmill despite my insistence that if she wanted to walk, there was ground everywhere. But then she did something that surprised me: she used it. Every day. She made up a tally sheet whereby she would pay herself a nickel for every five minutes she used it and kept track of it until she payed it off… and then some. She had motivation and perseverance that I’ve not seen before or since. I’m proud of her, I really am.

That said, she and I also had a torturous time whilst I was in high school. She began to force me to go to church because she thought it would help the family cohere better (not a good idea). Then, when my brother left for the army, my parents spent several months needling, begging, threatening, bargaining and finally bribing me to go to the local college. I did, although I spent half the time on exchange as a direct result of my resenting my decision.

She threw the biggest graduation party for me when I finished college, even though I didn’t want it. Now that I’ve graduated, my mom has kindly allowed me to move back home. In fact, she doesn’t mind me being a bum at all: she prefers it. She even goes so far as to push me to stay in-state again for grad school. Luckily, this time I have a plan: I chose a field that isn’t offered in New Mexico. 🙂

It’s time for this little birdie to fly away… but it’s not with resentment or relief. Because I love my mom and I’m glad she can tolerate me. With my dad and brother gone, I’m the only person she has left and that’s sad, but nobody wins when you live your life for someone else, so I have to go. And yet, as a wise bartender once said, “I reserve the right to return.” If only for summers and holidays.

Today, I’m thankful for my mom… I just hope she never reads this.

p.s. The title is a reference to my brother. 🙂 Nah, just kidding, I’m talking about Queen Jocasta.

Lappy Update: My motherboard is fried. To replace it will cost $749. I’m just going to buy a new lappy instead. My mom said she’d front me the money (thus prompting this post). Next stop: eBay!

“Listen,” he began in a wooden, rehearsed-sounding tone, “I sympathize with you, I do. My maternal grandmother was 1/16th Arab and she tried to jihad a dozen times before she finally just settled down and married my paternal grandfather. But this is the wrong place to do it. First of all, this is an Islamic…