I used to order just to watch her float across the floor – Neil Young
I exchanged a brief, long-distance hello with my old buddy and Greenbrae legend Joe Lazor the other day. Joe grew up down the hill from me and we went to school and played on the same Little League team together. If everyone has one “larger than life” character from their youth, Joe would be mine. And while “infamous” might come to mind before “domesticated” when describing him, his exploits never outshone his personality. “I saw your mom two days ago,” Joe told me. “What a great lady.”
My mom’s birthday was approaching on March first and I’d been planning on sending her a letter. But I couldn’t seem to put my thoughts about her in written form. I didn’t feel pressured; I write her somewhat often and don’t need a special occasion to do so. My connection with her is innate and uncontested as the rising sun. Still, Joe’s simple assertion — “What a great lady” — stuck with me. It’s a truth I’ve perhaps taken for granted, as one with unusual athletic talent does his skill or a musical prodigy does his ability to play. It’s taken me some time to put my mother in proper perspective outside the context of her being my mother. Objectivity can seem irrelevant to the blessed. Two truths are apparent : Not everybody is as lucky as me and I couldn’t have put it any better than Joe Lazor.
So I called her instead on her birthday and mentioned hearing from Joe about seeing her. She told me about her plans for a casual dinner with my dad that evening. As she was about to hand the phone to him I told her that I had something else I wanted to say. But I fumbled for the words as she waited intently, offering some poorly formed version of the above. I said that I always liked hearing when she runs into someone I know because she represents “the best part of me.” Only the first part of this is accurate, however. The truth is that I lack my mother’s easy social ability and often go out of the way to avoid seeing people I know. My mother’s skill in this arena and knack for making people feel seen and appreciated is something I’ve long admired but likely do not possess. But that’s OK because I probably make up for this in other ways. I know this because she’s told me and she isn’t one to pay such compliments falsely. Had I been more on my game I would have reminded her of the time she took Joe, Kevin Benjamin and me to San Francisco’s Chinatown on the last day of fifth grade to buy firecrackers for the Fourth of July. It’s a decent story and probably conveys a good chunk of what I’ve been trying to cover here. Any competent writing instructor is familiar with the rule : Show; don’t tell. What they typically fail to include is that it applies equally to love.
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