tonight for dinner and cake.” She stopped as the idiosyncrasy of what she just said dawned on her. “I’m sorry Andrew, you are my son, too,” she offered to me with her face slightly brushed in warm redness.
“I know Mom, it’s just as difficult for me to see you and Dad, in this time, compared to the parents that I know, twenty-five years from now.”
“Andrew, it’s just, you know, I can’t quite get my head
around all of it yet, but it doesn’t matter. What is important now is what we do about it.”
I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. My head hurt from
all the “what ifs.” “I don’t know what to tell you Mom. I don’t remember much about this birthday, I’m pretty sure it was normal—if that word holds any meaning anymore. I know
we probably had chocolate cake with peanut-butter frosting, chicken and noodles over mashed potatoes, and your special three-vegetable, cheesy casserole for supper. I still ask for it every year!” I genuinely smiled as I said it.
My mother’s eyes widened as she realized that supper had been the least of her concerns as we spent the late afternoon talking. Looking up at the clock all she said was, “My God!”
In the true authoritative form she would grow into down
the road, she belted out directives to my dad. “Neil, I don’t have time to make the homemade noodles and bake the cake.
We only have a couple of hours before Andrew, Tami, and
Samantha gets here. I want you to run to the store and buy a cake from the bakery and get a couple packages of noodles off the shelf, and for God’s sake don’t buy the cheap ones—get the home-style ones.”
S 47 S
Brian L. MacLearn
It was an old joke between family members. My father was a bit of a pack-rat, and he believed in being frugal, sometimes detrimental to actual quality. In all fairness, he managed to pass on his reasoning skills to me, and I greatly benefited by his mantra: “don’t pay twice the price for the same ingredients or product.” Yet, sometimes my mom was right too, the cheap-est doesn’t mean the tastiest either. My father sprung from the couch and hustled towards the door to the garage which was just off the kitchen. Right before he turned the knob, he stopped and came back to the living room.
He faced me and a look of genuine concern covered his
face. His eyes were full of sincerity as he spoke, “Andrew, please forgive me for my outburst earlier.” He held up his hands, palms facing me, making sure I didn’t interrupt him so he could maintain his train of thought. “I have no doubt whatsoever, that you are indeed my son. Like your mom, I’ll do all I can to help you!” With that said he spun around and raced out the kitchen door and into the garage. My mom and I listened for the overhead garage door to open and the car to start. Once the garage door began its noisy trek back down, she turned her attention once again to me.
“Andrew, I can’t even begin to imagine the thoughts running around in your head. What feels right to me is that we should do our best to make sure tonight goes on as closely to what happened before…wait… no that doesn’t make sense,
it hasn’t happened…not yet, not here exactly…Dang. This
line of thinking is going to drive me bonkers. Nothing is ever going to be exactly as it was, for you or us, because…well you know—you are here now.” Her eyes narrowed ever so
slightly as a passing realization took seed in her brain. She said, Andrew? What do you think is going to happen now that you are here?”
It was a thoughtful question, but I knew what she was
S 48 S
RemembeR me
really asking. How was I going to affect the timeline by just being here, and did bringing her and Dad into the fold exac-erbate the situation? I answered her truthfully, “Mom, I just don’t know.”
I let the memory of yesterday slide away as I got up and out of my old bed. My back ached and I had to force myself to stand erect. The bed badly needed a new
“I know Mom, it’s just as difficult for me to see you and Dad, in this time, compared to the parents that I know, twenty-five years from now.”
“Andrew, it’s just, you know, I can’t quite get my head
around all of it yet, but it doesn’t matter. What is important now is what we do about it.”
I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. My head hurt from
all the “what ifs.” “I don’t know what to tell you Mom. I don’t remember much about this birthday, I’m pretty sure it was normal—if that word holds any meaning anymore. I know
we probably had chocolate cake with peanut-butter frosting, chicken and noodles over mashed potatoes, and your special three-vegetable, cheesy casserole for supper. I still ask for it every year!” I genuinely smiled as I said it.
My mother’s eyes widened as she realized that supper had been the least of her concerns as we spent the late afternoon talking. Looking up at the clock all she said was, “My God!”
In the true authoritative form she would grow into down
the road, she belted out directives to my dad. “Neil, I don’t have time to make the homemade noodles and bake the cake.
We only have a couple of hours before Andrew, Tami, and
Samantha gets here. I want you to run to the store and buy a cake from the bakery and get a couple packages of noodles off the shelf, and for God’s sake don’t buy the cheap ones—get the home-style ones.”
S 47 S
Brian L. MacLearn
It was an old joke between family members. My father was a bit of a pack-rat, and he believed in being frugal, sometimes detrimental to actual quality. In all fairness, he managed to pass on his reasoning skills to me, and I greatly benefited by his mantra: “don’t pay twice the price for the same ingredients or product.” Yet, sometimes my mom was right too, the cheap-est doesn’t mean the tastiest either. My father sprung from the couch and hustled towards the door to the garage which was just off the kitchen. Right before he turned the knob, he stopped and came back to the living room.
He faced me and a look of genuine concern covered his
face. His eyes were full of sincerity as he spoke, “Andrew, please forgive me for my outburst earlier.” He held up his hands, palms facing me, making sure I didn’t interrupt him so he could maintain his train of thought. “I have no doubt whatsoever, that you are indeed my son. Like your mom, I’ll do all I can to help you!” With that said he spun around and raced out the kitchen door and into the garage. My mom and I listened for the overhead garage door to open and the car to start. Once the garage door began its noisy trek back down, she turned her attention once again to me.
“Andrew, I can’t even begin to imagine the thoughts running around in your head. What feels right to me is that we should do our best to make sure tonight goes on as closely to what happened before…wait… no that doesn’t make sense,
it hasn’t happened…not yet, not here exactly…Dang. This
line of thinking is going to drive me bonkers. Nothing is ever going to be exactly as it was, for you or us, because…well you know—you are here now.” Her eyes narrowed ever so
slightly as a passing realization took seed in her brain. She said, Andrew? What do you think is going to happen now that you are here?”
It was a thoughtful question, but I knew what she was
S 48 S
RemembeR me
really asking. How was I going to affect the timeline by just being here, and did bringing her and Dad into the fold exac-erbate the situation? I answered her truthfully, “Mom, I just don’t know.”
I let the memory of yesterday slide away as I got up and out of my old bed. My back ached and I had to force myself to stand erect. The bed badly needed a new
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