Memories: Some Are Good, Some Are Awkward

Since this is close to the eve of my wonderful sister's birthday, and I'm listening to some cutting- edge classical music on the radio right now, I was reminded of a story that I thought was worth sharing because of course, it's embarrassing.

Back when my mother was "with child," and I was just a little version of my freakish tortured self, she was in college getting her bachelor's. I must say at this point in the story that my Mom is an Intellectual. I say it with a capital "I" because I mean the upmost sincerity and respect when I say this, and I am in no way being ridiculous by also mentioning that if weren't for me ruining her life with my untimely arrival, she'd be a big smarty-pants Ph.D or medical doctor right now. But, I did, so there you go, and she was rendered to getting her bachelor's part-time, 8 years later at a local State School whilst preggers with my sis.

Being a bonified brainiac, she was able to handle the course-load whilst also a parent and full time working woman, but it must have been some sort of a challenge to be in classes with 19- year olds. She managed to graduate Summa Cum Laude, which means "The Smartest of the Friggin' All Possible Smart" in case you didn't know. My Dad was so proud that he had one of his clients, a gas station in town, put up the news on their sign with the interchangeable black letters. As a little kid, it couldn't have been any cooler from my perspective. Mom was famous.

But alas, it wasn't all fun and games, having Mom a Biology Major. One frightful time, I came across the carcass of a dissected cat she was working on in the basement sink. She had neglected to tell me about this "project" and I, of course, freaked the fuck out, as we had a house cat named Lucille. It took some reassuring and the live presence of Lucille to convince me that it wasn't Lucille lying on the table with no skin or eyeballs.

Another time, Mom brought me to her college to hear the symphony for one of her classes. No doubt my Dad was psyched to have gotten out of this task, as classical music of any kind is and never will be his bag. Plus, he was no doubt wasn't around to babysit me because he was working his ass off to support us per usual. But this one evening is the point of this verbose anecdote. It is an example of my life as an only child and quality time with Mom, pre-sister. The symphony was an avant garde-type of Philip Glass deal, not traditional classical music at all. There were lots of jarring notes of varying degrees. I remember that while I was sitting there bored, she was diligently taking notes. At one point, she engaged me, leaned in and whispered, "What does this sound like to you?"

I was excited and surprised by the attention, thought about it for a second, and replied, "A fox in the woods."

She wrote it down.

I was so pumped to be a part of her project, and being a creative soul myself felt the green light to--for the rest of the concert--whisper to her more of my esteeemed "advice" and "pointers" for her paper:

"This one sounds like a ghost waiting for bad news."

"This sounds like a lemon being squeezed."

"This sounds like a sad Raggedy Ann doll, skipping rope."

I really thought I was so great. I felt brilliant. I really did.

Patient, she put up with it for awhile, and at then at some point turned to me and was like, "Yes. I wrote it down. Shhhh. Ok?"

I remember thinking, "She wrote the fox one down, but not the lemon one. Or the Raggedy Ann doll one."

I felt my cheeks burning.

What an a-hole I was. Errr, I mean, am.