Mom’s Tribute to
Missy and My Favorite Mom Stories
The one thing I think I’ve left out
of all this is Mom’s originality and insight.
Dana’s captured some of these in her
comments, but I’d like to add a couple of illustrations that really impressed
me.
When Missy died, most of us talked
about how sweet she was. I recalled the
time she was in the first grade at the same school where I was in sixth grade,
and she used to come up to our classroom to visit us after her day ended. The teacher welcomed her, and everyone loved
her. She sort of became every kid’s
little sister. She showed us her
drawings, including one of her teacher (“Miss Bwoom fat”) and just seemed
totally at ease with the thirty older children.
But Mom chose an example that Missy
had all of her life: A tendency to love
and accept people without passing judgment.
Mom said that she wished that she could be more like Missy in that
way. I know what Mom means because in
our family—at least the Martin side—we are very prone to judging other people
and not always accepting them.
Another bit of insight that
impressed me was what Mom said in her mid-1980s. She told me that she and Kathy were going to
visit a friend, and for some reason she didn’t like the friend as much as she
had in the past. “I don’t know why,” she
told me. “She hasn’t done anything
wrong.” And then it dawned on her. “Oh, I know why. Most of my friends are younger than I am, but
she’s my age, and she’s doing better than I am.
I’m jealous.” I was so impressed
that Mom could admit this to herself and to me.
Mom, who had always been admired for her youthfulness and activity, was
going through a much harder time, and instead of trying to find fault with this
friend, Mom was honest enough to face the reason that she liked her friend
less. How many people would be able to
admit something like that? I actually
admire Mom more for admitting this than I would if she hadn’t been jealous at
all.
Of course, my favorite anecdotes are
ones involving The Man in My Life. As
Suzy pointed out in her tribute to Mom, Mom wasn’t controlling, and she didn’t
try to live through us, either. I’ve
already said that for many years most of my outings with Mom were to see David,
and if she called me, it was usually about setting up a time to do that. But once she called and asked, “So, what are
you up to?” I said, “Well, I’m about to
go out with a man I love.”
“You’re not going to marry him, are
you?” she asked.
“Not today,” I said.
“Well, that’s good.” Then she went on to another subject.
About a year later, there was a
small blurb in the SF Chronicle, and I mentioned “a man I love.” Mom heard about that, and the next time I
visited her, she asked, “So, who is this man you love?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. “He’s very secretive. I think he’s either a drug dealer or a CIA
agent.”
“Well, Mom said, “I hope he’s a drug
dealer because I don’t think CIA agents are very nice people.”
I laughed and said, “Well, some
people don’t think drug dealers are all that nice.”
“It depends on the drug,” she said.
Then, after she met The Man in My
Life, she commented on how nice he was.
“Yes,” I said, “he is really
nice. And he always brings me
flowers. But, Mom, he lies.”
She said, “Well, that could work.”
I laughed, and she explained, “I
mean, as long as you know he’s lying.”
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